The Ogre's Pact (32 page)

Morten shrugged. “What use does a dead man have for eyes?”

The bodyguard looked away from the poker’s white tip, distracting himself by fixing his attention on the spit. Tavis’s blackened cocoon was now beginning to shrivel. From what Morten could see of the scout’s face, he was suffering more from the shrinking leather than the heat. His cheeks had turned that peculiar crimson of someone being choked, and the veins in his temples were bulging.

Once again, the bodyguard found himself envious of the scout. From all appearances, the cocoon was squeezing Tavis’s chest so tightly that the runt could not have screamed if he wanted to. But if Morten’s eyes were burned out, he would have to rely on his own willpower to keep from yelling.

Noote kneeled beside Morten, then grabbed his head and twisted it toward the poker. “You ‘fraid!” the chief insisted, moving the tip closer to the firbolg’s eye. “Say it!”

“I’m not afraid,” Morten replied. “But I will run-if you give me reason.”

Noote stopped short of pressing the poker into the bodyguard’s eye socket, but he continued to hold it so close Morten could feel the heat searing his eyeball. “What?”

“The princess,” the bodyguard suggested. “Put her at the other end of the palace. If I carry her out the door, then we’re both free.”

“Fun!” chortled a giant.

“No!” burst the queen.

“Then burn my eyes out.” Morten said. “I won’t run for any other reason.”

This occasioned so much grumbling and scuffling of giant feet that Morten feared the vibrations might cause the chief to inadvertently blind him. Fortunately, Noote’s hand remained steadier than the dirt floor, and he continued to hold the glowing iron a mere finger’s breadth from the bodyguard’s eye. Sensing their chiefs indecision, the giants whispered among themselves optimistically.

Finally, they broke into an excited chant, “Rabbit run, rabbit run!”

The chorus made Noote’s mind up for him. He rose to his feet and tossed the poker aside, then held out his hand out to his wife. “Brianna,” he demanded.

The queen shook her head. “Think of what it would mean if that little vermin succeeds-“

Noote grabbed his queen by her silver necklace and pulled her toward him. “Me chief!” he growled. “Chief want girl!”

The queen refused to yield her prize, even when the other giants gave an approving cheer and stepped forward to support Noote. Morten feared the confrontation would erupt into a full-fledged combat, which bothered him only because he remained tied to the post and would be powerless to protect Brianna. The chief leaned forward and whispered something into his wife’s ear. She listened for a moment, the scowl never leaving her face, then slapped the princess into her husband’s hand. The resulting cheer was so loud Morten felt it in his bones.

The queen glared at Noote until the deafening sound died away, then she ran her angry gaze over the crowd gathered around the cooking fire. “If that firbolg escapes, I’ll crack every one of your skulls.”

The giants quickly wiped the smiles from their faces, but the enthusiasm with which they began to bind each other’s hands suggested they took the threat less than seriously. So did Morten, but for a different reason. Even if he managed to run the gauntlet and squeeze out the door with Brianna, he knew better than to think Noote would actually set them free. But once they were together, with his hands unbound, their situation would be better than it was now.

As Noote passed the princess’s bound figure to another giant, Brianna asked, “What about Tavis? Won’t two rabbits be more fun than one?”

Noote appeared to consider this, at least for the half moment it took him to spot the queen violently shaking her head. “No,” the chief said. “Him sick. No fun to chase.”

“I can make him better,” Brianna insisted.

“No!” Noote boomed. The chieftain returned his attention to the giant to whom he had passed the princess, then pointed toward the other end of the lodge. “Hang her on wall down there.”

The giant grinned, dangling the princess by the rope entwining her body, “Gar put her good and high.”

Morten fought back the urge to despair, and immediately began thinking of ways to turn this new obstacle to his advantage. If he could find a long pole or spear, he might use it to lift the princess off her hook instead of trying to climb up the wall as the giants would expect, and that would cause a short period of confusion-confusion he could use to good advantage.

Once the giant had disappeared into the gloom at the other end of the lodge, Noote stepped behind Morten. Instead of untying his prisoner, the chief pulled the entire pole out of the ground and dragged the bodyguard toward the far end of the Fir Palace.

Morten glanced over his shoulder at the cooking fire. It pleased him to see his strategy working well enough to keep Tavis alive. The scout’s face had turned to a light shade of purple and his eyes had rolled back in his head, but the flames still had not burned through the shriveled leather of his cocoon. With luck, the bodyguard might save the scout on his way past-and that would be another surprise for the hill giants.

That was when Morten noticed an ogre warrior walking out of the gloom. The brute was striding down the center of the passage, both hands in plain sight, his purple eyes fixed straight ahead. Walking with him was Sart, the hill giant sentry that had fought Rog, but it was difficult to tell who was the prisoner of whom. Sart’s eyes were fixed on the floor and he bore no weapon in his hands, while the ogre, who was also unarmed, kept his eyes fixed proudly ahead.

To Morten, it looked like the giant had failed in his sentry duties once again, and this time the lives he had endangered were those of the firbolg and his companions. At the very least, dealing with the ogre would cost valuable minutes-minutes that Tavis would spend roasting over the fire. At the worst, it would mean a premature end to the rabbit run when Noote and his queen learned Brianna had lied about Goboka’s death.

Noote did not notice the ogre, but continued to drag Morten along until they had reached the far end of the lodge. There, he stopped and turned around to face his giants, leaving the firbolg half stooped over with the long stake still tied to his back.

“Ready for rabbit run?” the chieftain boomed. Then, when he was answered by nothing more than an astonished drone, he saw Sart coming toward him and demanded, “Who at High Gate?”

It was the ogre who answered. “High Gate Goboka’s now.” He waved his arm around the room. “All this be Goboka’s, soon.”

Noote bared his filed teeth in displeasure. “What you mean, ugly pip-squeak?” he demanded. “Goboka dead!”

The ogre’s jaw dropped, and he knitted his sloped brow in confusion. He studied Noote for a moment, then his purple eyes twinkled with understanding. “Liar, fat giant!” he accused. “Goboka send me to talk.”

The queen’s eyes flashed toward the far end of the palace, where Brianna was probably hanging by now, then she narrowed her eyes and bit her lip in thought. Morten needed no magic to know she now realized the princess had lied about the shaman’s demise.

The ogre fixed his purple eyes on the queen’s face, then said, “Goboka say give Brianna, or Gray Wolves all dead by dusk.”

Keeping her eyes fixed on the ogre, the queen leaned over to whisper in Noote’s ear. If Morten wanted to keep the hill giants from returning Brianna to Goboka, he had to do something now.

Dragging the heavy pole along with him, Morten took a few quick steps and planted his heel in the ogre’s ribs, pushing the brute to the ground with a powerful thrust. “If you want Brianna, you have to race me,” he growled. “Make the rabbit run!”

“Big fun!” yelled a nearby giant.

Such a clamor broke out that Noote could only scowl in frustration as he tried to hear his whispering queen. Finally, he gave up and shrugged her off.

“Grab ogre!” he bellowed at Sart. “New game today: rabbit race!”

Morten told himself that racing the ogre would make it easier to rescue Brianna. With two rabbits in the race, he would be kicked by only half as many hill giants.

But the bodyguard didn’t believe it.

*****

When Avner heard the footsteps echoing out of the fault cave, his weary body jerked so hard that it nearly sent him plunging into the valley below. He braced his hands against the wet timbers and carefully pushed away from the edge of the platform, at the same time trying to swallow the cold lump of panic that had risen into his throat.

The youth’s concentration had been so consumed by the scene below, where the dark figures of Goboka’s horde had quietly surrounded all the hill giant lodges, that he had entirely forgotten the possibility stragglers might be coming through the cave at dawn. Now he feared he would pay a terrible price for his oversight. Hiding was out of the question, since he had been peering over the edge of the timber platform, consequently lying in plain sight, when he heard the sound. Nor could he flee, since the only direction to go was down into the valley with the ogres.

Still, the youth was not about to give up. After Goboka had opened the gate, Avner had spent half the night clinging to the timbers beneath the platform, hiding from the ogre packs as they sporadically came slinking out of the cave. Only his terror and the pain of his broken arm kept him from freezing to death. Despite the ruthlessness with which their shaman was driving them, the brutes seemed as alert and as dangerous as ever, and the boy spent the entire time horrified that his teeth would start chattering and give him away, or that one of them would sense him shivering through vibrations in the platform’s timber floor. But somehow he escaped detection, and they stopped coming, leaving only a pair of sentries behind to guard the cave mouth.

The young thief disposed of the first sentry by chirping softly until one of the brutes, no doubt thinking to make a meal of the birds nesting beneath the platform, stuck his head down to investigate. Avner attacked quickly and savagely, driving his dagger into his foe’s exposed gullet. Leaving the blade buried there, he used his good hand to grab the stunned ogre’s greasy topknot and pull him over edge. The warrior plummeted into the dark night, the knife in his throat preventing him from voicing a scream that might draw the notice of his fellows below.

The ogre had not even hit bottom before the boy was silently climbing up through the chain slots. As expected, the second sentry was kneeling close to where his partner had disappeared. Although the brute’s attention was fixed on the edge, he was not foolish enough to expose himself as his companion had done. Instead, he had a shaft nocked in his bow, and was listening for more sounds from beneath the platform. Moving as quietly as only a terrified thief can, Avner crept a half dozen steps across the platform, then pulled a poisoned arrow from the warrior’s quiver and plunged the tip deep into his back.

Gasping in pain, the brute stood and spun toward his attacker in one swift motion. The youth dove into the fault cave and heard his foe’s arrow clatter off the rocks above his head. By the time the boy stood and turned around, the warrior was lying on the platform, knocked unconscious by his own poison. Avner replaced his lost dagger with the warrior’s bone knife, then pushed the ogre off the platform. That done, he crawled inside the fault cave to take refuge from the cold night.

After all that, the young thief had no intention of surrendering to the brute now stomping through the cave. He would at least go down fighting.

With his good hand, Avner pulled his bone dagger and spun around. His target was still hidden by the shadows of the fault cave, but the footsteps continued to grow louder. The youth cocked his arm back to throw, certain he could hit his foe by sound alone.

“Hold your weapon, my friend!” called a familiar voice. “I’m sorry I fell behind, but surely I don’t deserve such a stern punishment!”

Avner lowered his arm. “Basil?”

“The one and the same.”

The verbeeg stepped into the light at the cave mouth and squinted out into the morning. He looked about as haggard and cold as Avner felt, with a nose blackened by frostbite and hoarfrost hanging from his bushy eyebrows.

“What are you doing here?” Avner demanded.

The verbeeg looked hurt by the question. “Surely, you haven’t forgotten our bargain!” he said. “Or are you hoping to claim all those books I stole for your own?”

“You can have ‘em,” Avner replied. “It’s just that I thought you deserted us at the waterfall!”

“That’s what the ogres thought, too-or I wouldn’t be here now,” Basil chuckled. He stuck his head out of the cave mouth and looked around. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Down there.” Avner pointed into the valley. “I think the hill giants have them, but not for long.”

Basil’s lip twisted into a sneer of disgust at the mention of hill giants, but he did not voice any opinions. The verbeeg stepped to Avner’s side and peered down.

“I’ve been trying to figure out what to do,” Avner said, “but I can’t.”

“Perhaps that’s because there’s not much you can do-especially with that arm.” Basil shook his head at the situation below, then added, “We can only hope for the best-and be ready to help if it should come to pass.”

Avner looked up at the verbeeg. “What do you mean?”

“From what we can see, it appears there will be a battle soon.” As he spoke, the verbeeg turned around and began to study the hoisting chains and the heavy iron gate hanging below the cave mouth. “That’ll be when our friends try to escape. If they’re to succeed, it will be up to us to provide a quick exit.”

“How?”

Basil pointed at Avner’s rope, still tied into a makeshift ladder.

“We can start by hanging that rope over the side,” the verbeeg said.

Avner looked from the rope ladder, which he knew was not much longer than Basil was tall, to the enormous drop into the valley below. “You’re mad!” he said. “Even with no knots, the rope will never reach that far.”

“Then I suppose well have to make it longer.”

“The runecaster sat down next to the rope and opened the satchel where he kept his brushes and quills.

*****

The ogre, now stripped of his clothes and smeared with foul-smelling grease, seemed unable to comprehend what was happening to him. He stood on the other side of Noote’s kneeling figure, glaring up at the bellowing hill giants lined all along the Fir Palace’s gloomy walls. He paid Morten no attention, as though he did not understand he would be competing against the firbolg, and had not even glanced over at the bodyguard.