by GARY DARBY
“Amil and I will take the first watch,” Helmar affirms. “Phigby, why don’t you and Alonya take the second, and Hooper and Cara can take the last since they both have had very little sleep the last two nights.”
I nod weary thanks and stumble over to Golden Wind, where I slide to a sitting position against her leg. “Golden Wind,” I question while trying to keep my eyes open, “what was Vaskarhart’s full name?”
“Vaskarhart Broojr Pengillstorr,” she answers.
I sit up and stare. “Pengillstorr?”
“Yes,” she returns. “Pengillstorr’s brother. In our tongue his name means Brave Prince of the Forest. I suppose in your language you would call him Fearless Wind.”
“Fearless Wind,” I murmur. More to myself than to her, I say, “A very well given name.”
I let out a long sigh. “Golden Wind, why did he come to save me?”
“There was no other way,” she answers, “to keep the promise.”
“Promise?” I ask as I sag down, my overwhelming weariness returning. I want to hear what she has to say but I yawn wide, my eyes fluttering, trying to stay open.
Slumping over to where my head is lying on her talon, I ask “What . . . promise . . .?”
I don’t remember her answering. All I know is that it seems as if I’ve just closed my eyes when Cara is shaking me awake. “We’ve got the watch, Hooper, up you come.”
She holds out her hand and pulls me upright. I shake my head to try and dispel some of my grogginess before asking, “Everything quiet?”
“So far,” she replies, “and, for once, let’s hope it stays that way.”
“Well,” I reply, “all we have to do is tie Regal up and it will.”
Smiling a little, she hefts her bow and motions to the right. “I’ll take this half.”
Snugging her tunic down, she gives me a little wave. “See you on the other side.”
I draw my blade, its soft hissing sounding even louder in the dank, roiling fog. I pace away to the water’s edge and begin to patrol my half of the small, muddy island.
Following the natural curve of the marsh’s bank, I pace until I see a familiar form materialize out of the gloom.
Cara and I step together, our eyes never leaving the wispy mist that floats across the bog’s surface. “See anything?” I ask.
“No,” she returns. “You?”
“The same,” I reply.
Nodding, she turns away to begin her rounds anew. I wait a moment before I too, turn to retrace my footsteps.
I haven’t taken more than four or five steps along the bank’s edge when I notice tiny waves running across the water’s surface.
Jerking my head up, I halt and peer into the darkness. Something is either moving in the water or just stepped into it and disturbed the placid liquid. I wait and watch for several moments.
The waves become a bit larger and more of them are lapping against the bank. I take a step back from the water’s edge and squint, trying to see into the haze.
Then, my eyes catch movement. Huge dark shapes moving toward the camp.
The dense fog makes it impossible to make them out all that well, but I have no doubt that whatever they are, death is wading across the bog, heading straight toward us.
“Hooper!” Cara’s shout rings through the fog, but before I can even turn to rush to her aid, the dragons are already up, pawing and snorting.
They turn and twist this way and that, stomping at the ground. It’s clear that whatever unseen and monstrous thing is lurking in the haze has us surrounded.
Clutching Galondraig tight, I keep backing away from the water’s edge while yelling at the top of my voice, “Helmar, Amil, Alonya, Phigby!”
I know it took only a few heartbeats for Alonya to rush to my side, but my fear made it seem like it was an eternity before the giant maiden has her bow up and drawn next to me.
With narrowed eyes, she peers at the shadowy shapes that move in the mist and her arrow point slides first to the right and then to the left as she tries to get a good sighting in the gloom.
“What about Cara?” I demand.
“Helmar and Amil are with her,” Alonya answers.
Dark shapes begin to materialize from the fog, rising from the water’s edge to stand at the muddy bank’s slime-coated edge.
My eyes widen in disbelief. “What—” I start. “Those aren’t phantoms. What are those things?” my voice squeaks.
“Marsh ogres,” comes Phigby’s firm voice from behind. “And, unlike their cousins, trolls and goblins, they’re not afraid of snakes, or much else for that matter.”
Imagine a beast, somewhat smaller than Alonya, but with four arms instead of two. Its skin is gray-green and warty, and its mouth full of wolf fangs. Its head is covered with what appears to be unkempt, mud-slimed mossy hair.
In two of its hands, it wields cumbersome clubs whose knotty ends are twice as big as my head, and which, no doubt, if they connected with my skull with a well-aimed blow would split it in half.
The dragons are bellowing, their ferocious roars cutting the haze, but that doesn’t seem to faze the fiends as they advance toward us with a rumbling growl of their own.
There appear to be dozens and dozens of the brutish beasts who drip mud and muddy water off their warty torsos. We three begin to back away from the oncoming creatures.
Alonya brings her bow to bear with an arrow notched and aimed toward the nearest beast. “Alonya,” Phigby points out, “it will take a head shot to bring one down. Otherwise, even with your great bolts, it will be a wasted dart, I’m afraid.”
“Then there will be ten ogres with holes in their heads in addition to their noses,” Alonya snarls. “For that is all the arrows I have left.”
“And we have but six,” Helmar answers from behind as he, Amil, and Cara join us.
“Sixteen arrows,” Cara states, “will hardly make a dent in their ranks.”
Phigby starts pawing in his bag. “Maybe I can deepen that dent,” he offers.
“And I as well,” I growl as my hand goes to my tunic to bring out the gemstones. Phigby’s hand goes out to stop me.
“Hold, Hooper,” he cautions. “There are those within this swamp who would like nothing better than to get their hands on the Gem Guardian. Let’s not give away the fact that you’re here, not yet, anyway, and only as a last resort.”
He motions toward the dragons. “If you want to do your part, then bring the dragons to bear against those fiends.”
I scramble away and organize the dragons into a protective semicircle just behind the others. They roar, growl, and rip at the ground, sending great clods of mud and grass flying.
Nevertheless, that doesn’t stop the giant brutes. At some unseen signal, they charge. Three bows sing as one and three ogres go down with arrows quivering in their skulls.
Another round of arrows flash through the mist, and three more monsters crash and tumble in the muck. Still, the beasts rush on, bellowing and waving their great war clubs in the air.
Once again, three arrows zip across the distance, three more ogres scream in agony as the bolts split skull and eye, but still they lumber forward.
“Now, Hooper!” Phigby bellows. “Cara and Helmar are out of arrows.”
“Dragon fire!” I command and as one, the dragons unleash their torrent of fire.
Streams of whipping, lashing flames sear the leading ogres, boiling the water and muck and sending scalding steam across the following beasts.
Even that doesn’t stop the creatures and they charge ahead.
A quick glance over my shoulder shows me that Scamper is safe atop the golden and chittering away while the little sprogs are spitting out puny balls of dragon fire as if their tiny fury would somehow deter the monstrous horde that sweeps toward us.
Almost quicker than the eye can follow, Alonya unleashes two more arrows, and as many beasts go down. The little sprites zip out of the fog, flitting in and among the giant ogres, their small bodies awa
sh in flames.
The ogres swing at the sprites using both clubs at the same time, but they are too slow, too clumsy in their attempts to bring down the speedy sprites.
Nevertheless, in their awkward attempts to hit one or more of the little dragons, they present prime targets to Alonya and two more monsters cartwheel to the ground with arrows buried deep in their brains.
Before I can bring the dragon’s fire to bear again, the ogres are among us, and now it’s a fight with sword against giant, knotty clubs.
One brute swings both of his clubs down at me, but I manage to leap aside at the last moment and with a downward slash of Galondraig, slice one of its arms off.
Shrieking in pain, the thing starts to swing its other club at me, but an upward cut from Galondraig and two arms plop into the mud.
It roars in agony, but Alonya puts the thing out of its misery with a slashing stroke from her great blade that leaves the brute headless.
With two great swings of his ax, Amil leaves another ogre without legs before finishing it off with a thundering chop that lops off its head.
Helmar and Cara, stand back to back and take on several monstrous beasts at one time. Their swords flash and slice through the air, leaving two brutes with stomachs split wide open.
An enormous horde of ogres rushes the dragons, their roars matching the thunderous growls coming from the dragon’s throats.
A flood of warty bodies swarm up and over our dragons, bashing at them with their monstrous, knotty clubs. The golden, Wind Song, and Glory rear and stomp, trying to throw the beasts off their backs.
Wind Song whips her tail to one side and skewers two ogres with her tail spikes. Glory rears up and with its front talons rips a monster almost in half.
With a violent upward lurch, Golden Wind throws several creatures off and to the ground. Before they can rise, she raises high and comes thundering down with her talons, skewering both ogres and pushing them deep in the mud.
I slash down with my blade, severing one’s head off at the shoulders, while, with a backhanded slash, Alonya beheads the other.
The brutes are pushing us back, there’s just too many of them. The only thing that’s saving us is that they’re clumsy and slow to react. “Phigby!” I yell. “We need help, we can’t hold them off!”
From his bag, Phigby pulls out what looks like miniature lightning bolts which he whips into the throng of ogres that are trying to reach our dragons.
The bolts flash through the air and slice through the monster’s bodies, leaving smoldering, fist-sized holes wherever they strike.
A half-dozen beasts topple off the dragons, writhing, clutching at their terrible wounds before they become motionless in death.
Still, even with all our efforts, there are just too many of the monsters, and even more seem to be wading out of the marsh to join in the fray.
We’re fighting a losing battle and every time I try to reach for a gemstone, before I can do so, I’m fighting for my life against another ogre.
“There’s too many!” I shout at Phigby. “We’ve got to get out of here!”
“I most wholeheartedly agree,” Phigby answers with a grunt and whirls to throw another half-dozen bolts at an onrushing tide of raging fiends.
The smell of scorched flesh wafts over the air from the dragon fire and Phigby’s tiny lightning arrows as he straightens and calls back, “But how?”
“Helmar, Cara!” I yell out. “Get on Song and Glory. Loose dragon fire to slow the ogres down and then lift Alonya out of here. Amil, you, me and Phigby on the golden!”
Helmar and Cara slash at several attacking beasts and then spin around to dash for their two sapphire dragons.
Alonya leaps between them and a half-dozen fiends who try to cut them off before they can reach Song and Glory.
The giantess needs help in holding them off so I jump into the skirmish, slicing into the legs of two of the creatures while Alonya counters the brutal poundings of the ogre’s thick clubs.
Cara screams, “Everyone down! Dragon fire!”
We four dive as fast and as far away as we can. Even then, I feel a blast of heat that grazes over my backside as I slide through the muck and grime.
Mud splattered, I scramble to my feet and glance over my shoulder. Scorched and seared ogre bodies litter the ground and I wrinkle my nose in disgust at the stench of burnt flesh that lies thick on the mist.
Those brutes who were lucky enough to be too far away from the powerful blast are for the moment dazed and confused. This is our chance to get away.
“Helmar, Cara!” I shout. “Get Alonya out of here.”
Glory and Song lift off the ground and hover for a moment. Alonya scabbards her sword, adjust her bow over her shoulder, and reaches her arms skyward.
The two sapphires reach down with their clawed feet and Alonya leaps up to grab a talon with each hand.
The two sapphires beat their wings hard and fast and then, slow at first, they raise the giant maiden off the ground. Moments later, they’re aloft and skying through the thick haze.
“Hooper!” Amil shouts from atop Golden Wind. “Hurry, the ogres are coming at us again.”
I slip Galondraig into its sheath and scurry toward the golden. Both Amil and Phigby are already aboard. I don’t even try to scramble up to her neck saddle, as soon as I’m up her leg I yell, “Sky Golden Wind!”
She cups her wings but just as she’s about to leap into the air, without warning, she tips to one side. An ogre has latched itself onto the golden.
Amil slashes and cuts at the brute while the golden roars and unleashes a stream of fire at a swarm of monsters that are charging at us from the front.
Even as Amil fights with the beast on his side, Golden Wind tries to rise, her wings beating as hard as she can make them go, but the weight is too much, and her talons scrape along the ground.
I try to climb higher onto her back to see if I can aid Amil in his fight but just as I do, Phigby yells, “Hooper, look out!”
I whip around at his yell just as an ogre’s club swishes by, coming so close that I can feel the swish of air as it passes.
The thing leaps up and grabs ahold of the golden’s scales. His weight is too much for Golden Wind and we all but come crashing down to the ground.
Somehow, I get my sword out of its scabbard and start slashing at the brute. One of my wild swings cuts off one of its club-wielding arms, but though it bellows in pain and rage, it doesn’t let go of the golden.
I hear a shriek of pain followed by the sound of a body thudding against the ground and realize that Amil has managed to kill his foe.
With the weight now off, the golden again starts to rise, but her valiant efforts are too slow. More ogres rush toward us.
The golden slips to one side, away from the rushing tide of oncoming fiends but she can’t rise high enough to get above their heads and outstretched arms.
I slash and stab at the ogre, but he uses his club to parry every attempt I make to kill him.
Glancing down, I see that we’re skimming over the water, with the ogre horde in full-throated pursuit just behind.
In desperation, with a brutal downward slice, I cut off another of his hands, leaving him holding onto the golden with one hand and holding his club with the other.
However, it's not enough; the hand that’s holding onto the golden is too far for me to reach and his weight is dragging us down. It’s only a matter of moments before the other ogres are upon on us and there will be nothing we can do to fight them off.
They’ll bring the golden down and that will be the end of us all.
Just then, I look up and see Amil crawling toward us with his bloodied ax. “Amil!” I yell. “Cut off his hand that’s holding onto the golden! I can’t reach it!”
He slides forward and raises his ax to deliver the needed blow. The ogre glances up at the last moment and seeing what is about to happen, hurls his club at Amil.
The big man ducks, but it gives me the opening
I need. I stretch out as far as I can and swing my blade down with every bit of strength I have left.
The blade cuts through the ogre’s thick arm and he bellows out in pain and fury. Just before he lets go, he grabs my loose tunic and pulls me off Golden Wind.
We’re falling, spinning in the air and moments later hit the water. The hard landing must have dazed my captor because I feel his hold on me relax and I push away from his loose grip.
I can hear and feel splashing all around me as the other ogres stomp through the murky water. Several times, one or more of the monsters almost steps on me, but the water is so muddy that they don’t see me hiding in the sludge.
Holding my breath, I push myself along the scummy, mud-coated bottom, away from the brutes’ wallowing sounds. I stay under for as long as I can before I stick my nose out of the water, suck in a breath, and go under again.
I do this twice more before at last I push myself into a dense clump of reedy grass to hold perfectly still while I look and listen.
To my surprise I find that I’ve ended up against the island where the ogres attacked us and through the haze, I can make out a mob of ogres prowling the isle. It’s what they’re doing, though, that turns my stomach and I have to force myself not to retch and reveal myself.
Marsh ogres are cannibalistic.
Plus, they’re cruel and sadistic. They kill even those who bear slight wounds from the battle. However, the gruesome feast has one redeeming quality. It occupies their attention while I push myself, slowly and quietly, through the sludge until I’m able to slink behind a stand of trees.
From there, bent low, and with Galondraig in hand, I rush away from the gory scene and further into the dark fog wisps.
I have no idea where my companions flew off to, the only thing that matters to me at the moment is to put as much distance as I possibly can between the flesh-eating ogres and myself.
After a bit, I decide that I have to have some semblance of direction in which to move. Otherwise, without discernible landmarks, I could find myself going in a circle and ending right back in the middle of the ogre pack.