by Andrew Lynch
The ogres looked at each other in confusion before Tuggok jumped in. ‘Ye’! We've read about thi’ thing you have. ’ex and gender?’
‘Uhh, man and woman, yeah,’ Khleb replied with the subtlety expected of him.
‘Ogre’ don’t have,’ Tuggok said simply, and shrugged.
‘But one of you must have an outey bit and one an inney bit, right?’
Tuggok considered it for a moment. ‘No.’
‘How do you—-'
‘Thank you!’ Lucian decided to put a stop to this. ‘But we have important business to attend to.’
By now Gluk had stoked the fire enough, and the two ogres sat back on their haunches, their beady eyes on the group, and a constant smile on their faces. The kind of goofy smile a human might get when looking at a group of puppies. Lucian found it odd to be considered a small fluffy animal: he felt robbed of power in some way. Of course that was true, and he could no more hurt them than a newborn pup could hurt him, but still...
‘We have an odd favour to ask of you. You see, a man—'
‘And an Aviq,’ Darrius added.
'— yes, and an Aviq, will be coming through here about a day behind us. And, well, we wondered if you could… Darrius, help me out here.’
‘Yes, well, we were hoping you could be a bit… well, more like Ogres, I suppose.’
‘Oh yes! We are very practiced at being ogres. Shouldn’t be a problem.’
‘No, no,’ Lucian said. ‘What we mean is, well, there are books, and expectations, and… deep seated fears, you know?’
The ogres looked puzzled.
‘We want you to be a bunch of cu—’ Khleb started.
‘Mean!’ Gar shouted, saving them with his eloquence.
The ogres looked shocked. ‘Why would we be mean to a Human?’
‘Well of course we wouldn’t want you to actually hurt him,’ Lucian rushed to reassure them. ‘Think of it as… acting.’
It’s not that Tuggok became excited, it’s that his excitement stopped being a nervous excitement. When they saw his face light up, everyone covered their ears. ‘My friend!’ he boomed. ‘You are in luck, for I am…’ he paused dramatically, ‘a the’pian.’
‘Umm, what?’ Lucian replied.
‘He’ an actor,’ Gluk said.
‘Part of the rea’on we learned the common tongue,’ said Tuggok. ‘I had dream’ of becoming the fir’t ogre to really make it in the big citie’.’
‘Probably would have faced a lot of typecasting,’ Darrius said.
‘Maybe ’o, but I would have per’evered.’
‘Perfect! That’s great news then, because we would like you to act a bit more... Ogre-like,’ Lucian said.
It took a long time for Lucian to convey what Ogre-like actually meant, and by the end, both of his new friends seemed a bit shocked at how their race had been so misrepresented. They explained that old age changed them, and that older members would go on a self imposed exile. Sadly some would walk near human cities and get confused. Hence the stereotype.
Fortunately, Tuggok insisted he wanted to flex his acting muscles, and would enjoy this challenge.
‘Now we don’t want you to actually hurt them, or get hurt yourselves. So, you know, just tie them up, tell them you’ll eat them tomorrow, and allow them to make a brave escape as you sleep, waking up just as they get out of their ropes, and give chase. Well, just roar a lot.’ Lucian suggested.
‘That ’ounds ea’y enough,’ Tuggok said.
‘And, maybe, umm, be less well spoken.’
‘You mean, don’t use our full diction?’
‘That’s good, but also more subtle things. Instead of “I” try “me”. And shout more. Remember, you’re wild beasts in his eyes.’
‘Do you think thi’ could lead to more role’? In the capital maybe?’ Tuggok asked hopefully.
‘Well, never say never. Certainly the Company we work for may want to hire you,’ Lucian suggested.
‘Oh, that could be very good,’ Darrius threw in. ‘A genuine ogre arena for the dedicated, where the evil ogres still live. You may get a lot of work from this, yes.’
‘Excellent!’ beamed Lucian. ‘It’s settled, you’ll tie up Moxar and allow him to escape at night giving him a half hearted chase.’
As he gave this convenient summary, he heard the rumblings of a third ogre entering the arena. The newcomer was smaller than Tuggok or Gluk, so Lucian assumed this was their child. A deer was slung over one shoulder, and a large brown sack hung from its hip, dripping a sticky blood red fluid as it swung back and forth.
He was suddenly reminded of just how long they had been on the road, without money to buy a decent meal. His mouth started salivating at the thought of what was to come. Freshly caught meat!
The new ogre saw the small people and looked taken aback. Lucian filed this away as useful information. Not all ogres were outrageously excited about meeting humans - some were indifferent.
Gluk leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, which was still loud enough to deafen small animals. ‘Our child. The’e are the difficult year’. A bit moody, but harmle’.’
Gluk stopped stroking the wolf, and raised a hand in greeting. ‘Welcome, Glugguk!’
The team winced in pain, and Lucian wondered if the Company often had to deal with burst eardrums.
Glugguk replied in a series of grunts and roars. Maybe it couldn’t speak the common tongue. It traipsed over to the fire-pit, and unceremoniously dumped the red, gooey sack on the ground. Curiously, it placed the deer down very carefully, only after clearing aside some of the stones.
‘Hello, Glugguk,’ Lucian said loudly and slowly.
Glugguk looked at the parents briefly, and gave a grunt of acknowledgement. The parents just shrugged. Lucian realised Glugguk’s refusal to communicate stemmed from being a teenager.
‘I have noticed that you are very good with the wolf,’ Jess said to Gluk. ‘She seems to trust you, despite your frightening size. Why?’
‘Treat them with re’pect and they will return it. That’ how most of life work',’ Gluk replied.
‘Yet you killed a deer and whatever else may be in that sack?’
The three ogres looked horrified, and Glugguk enunciated clearly for the first time.
‘We would never hurt animals!’
This managed to be an outraged shout and a reluctant mumble at the same time.
Seemingly on command, the deer raised its head from the floor. It didn’t seem to be able to get up. Glugguk sullenly knelt, grabbed a tree branch, and started splinting one of its legs.
‘It’ true. We wouldn’t hurt an animal. Glugguk here i’ even training to be a healer.’ Gluk beamed with pride. Glugguk grunted. Tuggok, meanwhile, was staring into the distance muttering to itself - Lucian suspected already rehearsing for tomorrow’s performance.
Lucian eyed the blood red sacks. He now suspected they were berry red sacks.
The rest of the team cottoned on at the same time. Apparently Ogres were vegetarians... Everyone groaned at the loss of the feast they had thought to be coming their way.
‘So, berries for lunch?’
Gluk nodded happily. ‘And cave mushrooms.’
Jess had clearly not been distracted from the wolf. ‘We have yet to name her. You seem to be in tune with such things. Suggestions?’
‘Why would you need ’uggestion'? You ju’t need to a’k her to tell you her name.’
Lucian gave it some thought, and as he was a Human, had a pretty solid grasp on how well Humans spoke to animals. He asked Jess, ‘Can you talk to animals?’
‘The lesser species are difficult to communicate with, Lucian. Although I suppose it would be easier than communicating with you Humans.’
And for the first time, Lucian caught what he thought was a wink from Jess. Had she made a joke? Or did she just have something in her eye?
Chapter 15
Lucian suspected that Darrius was going through his ale too quickly. It was free at the
lodge of course - the Company wanted everyone to start the Quest in a good mood - but there was no need to overdo it. Perhaps not everyone found maps and logistics as exciting as Lucian did, but Darrius was definitely starting to sway.
‘It shouldn’t be a problem to stay ahead of Moxar after the cave, so we'll have a good night’s sleep at Mounthold,’ Lucian said cheerily. ‘Several weeks travel on the great road shouldn’t be an issue, and then next up—'
‘Bandits!’ Khleb interrupted with a smile, knowing this was his big task on the Quest.
‘That’s right. And this is all you.’ Lucian looked at Khleb, doubting the man could be relied upon. But the bandit camp was the only reason they needed a thief. On the plus side, he would be a good scapegoat for any nasty jobs. Lucian had already labelled such jobs as “Khleb work” in his head.
‘Of course we'll all be there to help if things go wrong, but we'll be holding back and letting you practice your craft.’
Khleb shrugged noncommittally, infusing Lucian with a lack of confidence. He pressed on regardless, addressing the whole team. ‘The key here is for Khleb to get in and out. This is all him. The rest of us don’t need to be anywhere near the bandit camp. It will be crawling with murderers and thieves—’
‘Just like Khleb!’ Darrius joked.
‘So it is vital not to get caught. We shouldn’t even be seen. We’ll be like whispers in the night. Shadows.’
* * * *
The sword at Lucian’s throat as he knelt in the centre of the bandit camp, was not the first indicator that things had deviated from the original plan.
No, Lucian prided himself on being more observant than the average man. He blamed the time pressure. Moxar could have been right behind them, so he had pushed the group hard. It had been an oversight then, that they hadn’t seen the sentries on duty. That had been a bad start.
Also there had been archers lying in wait on the ridge they had chosen as their observation point - a nice quiet location overseeing the camp. In his defence, they had been very well camouflaged, and he still doubted their claims - and Jess’ confirmation - that they hadn’t been veiled by magic.
It had been revealed a few minutes later, just before the backs of his knees had been kicked, forcing him to the ground - which was rather unnecessary as he would have happily knelt if asked - that there had been a party of a dozen or so bandits following them for the last hour.
Still though, his powers of observation were unmatched. He was secure in that knowledge.
Their one trump card was that Khleb had split off before being spotted. He hoped.
‘Much like the renowned thief, Count Clawgrip,’ Lucian whispered to Darrius. ‘We almost made it into this top security camp.’
Darrius looked around, noting the absence of walls and general precautions that one would traditionally associate with “top security”. ‘Count Clawgrip... a notorious cheat, who upon trying to break into the island fortress of Um'thar, after planning the heist for three years, was shot through the eye at two hundred paces by a particularly vigilant bowman. Apt comparison, sir. I'd argue we've fared a bit better.’
‘Oh yes. To be honest, I had forgotten how that story went exactly. We've got one up on him then.’
‘Shut it!’ said the bandit that had thrown Lucian to the floor - presumably offended by the concept of words with more than a single syllable. He also liked to use beatings as punctuation, and clipped Lucian round the ear. Again.
After being in similar situations several times in his career, Lucian had learned that it was best to do anything his captors said. The stories spoke of snarky quips and verbal sparring, but that was Hero work. His experience said that verbal sparring led to real sparring - minus a weapon for him and with hands still bound- so would probably lead to heads being cut off. But then... Lucian would be a Hero soon.
‘I'll have—' Lucian began, before being cut off by a kick in the gut. He knew that he’d won that verbal bout, the opponent was obviously too scared to even engage. But as he gasped for air, the victory seemed bittersweet.
They all stayed on their knees for far longer than was comfortable, which was only a few minutes because it was a very painful position. During this time Lucian found himself wondering why the bandits around them wore such bright and vibrant reds. They were surrounded by dry earth, and scraggy bushes, and trees that were nearing brown instead of green. Maybe they were trying to hide from colourblind adventurers only. How the Gods had it worked on him, he wondered? He pushed that worrying thought from his mind, and appreciated that at least they had found the right bandits. The clothing matched the dead bandit from the cave all those weeks ago, and the brief flashes of their insignias were the same as the one he’d taken. Battered trinkets, with a shield, an odd looking mace, and an orb above them, with three indentations along the bottom. Now Moxar could find the insignia and use it to track down the dark lord. Everything was going according to plan. For Moxar, anyway. Lucian’s current situation was a bit more ad hoc than he would have wished.
They had been waiting for the bandit leader to deign to pay attention to them. A busy man, apparently, as two scribes trailed behind him with bundles of parchment masterfully not flying out of their grip when they should rightfully have been claimed by the wind. He seemed to be dictating notes to one of them, while the other took a break to massage a cramp out of his hand.
‘What have you got for me, men?’
‘Scoundrels, sir, nothing but,’ the bandit behind Lucian said.
‘We're the scoundrels, Tunney. Who are these?’ the leader asked.
‘Oh yeah. Well, these were coming to kill us,’ Tunney said.
‘Four men to take on an entire syndicate?’
‘Ahem.’ Jess coughed pointedly.
‘Pardon. Four people,’ the bandit leader corrected.
‘Umm, yes.’
‘And how do you know that, Tunney?’
‘Well, got that sort of look about them, ain’t they?’
‘They could be harmless travellers who happened to be stumbling towards our camp by accident, could they not, Tunney?’
‘Technically, I suppose...’ Tunney seemed less sure of the whole capturing-them initiative he had lead.
‘Have you asked them?’
‘Hadn’t gotten that far, no.’
‘Well?’ The leader addressed the team. ‘Why are you here?’
‘Lost travellers, as you say, good sir.’ Lucian gave it a shot.
‘You see, Tunney. A waste of time and security. You’ve captured a group of nobodies, when someone actually important could be heading towards us as we speak.’ The leader turned away, waving a hand absently. ‘Well, cut them free and let them go.’
Lucian was given just enough time to marvel at the stroke of luck and how things were suddenly looking up, when the leader turned around, laughing hysterically. ‘I apologise! I do like to tease! Kill them, Tunney!’
The sword at Lucian’s throat tightened enthusiastically, but now, bizarrely, it was Tunney who seemed reluctant to simply kill them. ‘Uhh, could we...’
‘Hmm? Oh yes, of course! Slipped my mind for a second.’ The leader looked to his scribes and waved away the one who had been taking dictation. The other scribe started writing more frantically, presumably to keep up with something. What exactly, Lucian couldn’t figure out. No one was speaking.
The leader explained. ‘You see, we run a very effective crime syndicate from this camp, but we're mostly administrative this far from a major city, and the lads here, well, they get bored.’
‘It’s true,’ Tunney agreed.
‘Just doing their rotation out here, trying to keep their skills sharp, you know how it is. So, we will play a game with each of you, and if you win, then we spare your life. What can I say, they enjoy it, it gives you guys a chance to live. All very sporting. I, of course, will preside to ensure fairness.’ He sauntered over to what could loosely be called a throne.
Lucian was becoming rather annoyed that every
one had moved on from refusing to just give him information in a straightforward manner, to insisting on playing games to decide his fate. Whatever happened to a straightforward, dependable beheading?
The leader pointed to the end of the line. In a manner Lucian found far too lazy when lives were on said line. ‘Name?’
‘Gar.’
‘Looks ripe for a contest of strength wouldn’t you say, Tunney? How about Heaver?’
Tunney eyed Gar. ‘Oh. I kinda hoped you’d forgotten about Heaver and we could test this one’s strength by betting on how many horses he’d need per limb to quarter him. But yeah, Heaver will do.’
‘Thoroughly disturbing, Tunney, but yes, let’s stick with Heaver.’
Gar had his bindings removed and was kicked forward into the improvised fighting ring at the leader’s feet. Of course someone like Gar couldn’t simply be kicked anywhere, so the kick just helped him stand up, his knees clicking violently.
A man stepped out from the crowd which had gathered behind Lucian and the group. A giant by the standards of the Western reaches of the Empire. Easily a head shorter than Gar.
‘Right. First one unable to stand up loses. Go,’ the leader said with little enthusiasm.
The two men took fighting stances. The bandit, Heaver, held two clenched fists in front of his face and hopped from one leg to the other.
Gar used a style he insisted could only be perfected after realising that fighting was a pointless endeavour, and so a total economy of effort was required. His hands were loose, palm out, and at just below shoulder height.
‘Quick question!’ Lucian shouted, to make sure the leader heard him. Over-enthusiastic throat slittings from Tunney were a concern, but his team’s lives were at stake.
‘Let it fly,’ the leader responded.
‘We know what’s on the line for us, well established, but what does he get for losing?’
Gar and Heaver stayed focused on each other, ignoring the conversation, but not engaging.
‘You mean apart from humility and being knocked out?’
‘Right, apart from those.’
‘I do enjoy high stakes,’ Tunney interjected. ‘The same punishment for whoever loses? Death!’