by Jean Rabe
The bozak was not much taller than Fiona, and was not as muscular as Maldred. But he looked powerful. Battle-tested and old. He wore a gold collar about his neck. It was studded with bronze spikes, and at irregular intervals chunks of onyx, sapphires, and garnets were scattered. It was a singular piece of jewelry, and some part of Fiona's mind recognized it. Recognized that and the deep crisscrossing scars across its chest.
It was the draconian who had appeared before Fiona and the Solamnic Council, the one that was supposed to be in Takar, and the one that had information about her brother. But only a small part of Fiona's mind registered this ironic fact.
The creature opened his mouth as if to speak, but Fiona cut it off.
"Foul beast!" she hollered as she raised her sword high above her head.
Momentarily puzzled, the bozak took a step back and began gesturing with his hands, instantly forming a shimmering gray web in the corridor to keep her and Maldred away from it.
"Foolsss," it spat. "Ssshining Knight, you'll not take thessse minesss. The missstresss holdsss them. As she holds others, and you might…"
Fiona stabbed her sword into the web and fought her way through the sticky mass. Then she pressed her attack, even while it was in the midst of another spell. She sliced into the creature's belly, not letting it finish its vile speech. Deep under Maldred's enchantment, she was oblivious that this was the creature she had planned to meet at the ruins of Takar, the creature she had raised the ransom for. The creature that was her hope of regaining her brother. Only a small part of her mind noted that the Black's minion was instead at the Trueheart Mines, where she was tricked into going.
She drew her sword back again and struck out at its neck. The head lopped forward as the thing dissolved into bones, leaving the gold collar behind. Maldred tugged her back just in time-for the bones burst apart, sending deadly shards through the air while bouncing off her armor.
Then she and Maldred were rushing down the tunnel.
It took nearly two hours for both silver mines to be cleansed of spawn and abominations, and of two enormous constrictor snakes that had been used to keep the slaves in line. Maldred and Fiona searched niches and cutbacks, she calling out in the common tongue and he in ogrish to find more slaves. The mines were immense, and it could have taken more than a day to fully explore them. Maldred wasn't willing to devote that much time, as he wanted to get the freed ogres back to Bloten before any more spawn or other swamp denizens came by. He told Fiona that perhaps Donnag would send more men back here later-if those ogres who were freed provided information that necessitated a return trip.
"After you, Lady Knight." Maldred bowed and extended a hand, and Fiona grabbed the rope and pulled herself up.
He followed. "She has served her purpose," he mused aloud. "A most fine sword arm."
Dhamon and Rig were already in the clearing above, marshaling the freed slaves into some semblance of order and placing those who could barely walk under the care of the ogre mercenaries. Three mercenaries had died to the spawn and abominations, including the white-skinned shaman.
The mariner had a new concern. He didn't want to return to Bloten, and he didn't want the freed humans and dwarves going there either. He knew how badly nonogres had it in that city. His stomach knotted. Taking them farther away would mean that much more time lost from his plan of slipping into the Black's lair and freeing whoever was still alive in her dungeons. "Shrentak," he said. The word sounded like a curse.
"Shrentak? And what would you want with that most wondrous and hallowed place?" The voice was lilting and silenced the murmurs of the freed slaves and mercenaries.
Rig cocked his head and looked around for the speaker. All he could see were the wart-riddled bodies of the mercenaries and the beaten and frail forms of those they'd rescued. Fiona was just emerging from the larger mine. It wasn't her voice. Maldred crawled out behind her.
"Lose your tongue, o' man the color of night?" the voice persisted.
Dhamon was looking for the speaker, too, the hairs standing up on the back of his neck. He clutched his sword and motioned for Donnag's men to circle the freed slaves and protect them. Then he took a step toward a line of cypresses. He thought he saw something dart behind a trunk. He squinted and took another step.
"Dhamon!" Maldred shouted. The big thief was gesturing at the canopy.
Dhamon glanced up, and his eyes widened in surprise. The leaves of the cypresses were falling, as if the tree were dying in a moment's time. But the leaves didn't flutter to the ground, they began hovering. A heartbeat later they were rising and swooping-heading straight toward Dhamon and Rig.
"What in the blessed memory of Habbakuk…" Rig began. He drew his sword to meet this new threat, which Dhamon was already attempting to engage.
The leaves shimmered in the torchlight, the green melting from them to be replaced by grays and blacks and browns, many of which were difficult to discern against the shadows of the swamp. The leaves continued to transform, growing wings and tails.
"What are they?" Rig hollered.
Dhamon shrugged and readied to meet this new mysterious threat.
There were hundreds of the things-roughly the size of blackbirds, though they were not birds. They had batlike wings that were more membranous than leathery. Their heads resembled that of mosquitos-complete with needlelike noses that dripped something viscous.
Dhamon reached up to knock one away, discovering that their bodies were segmented and hard like the shell of a beetle. He swung at another, slicing it in two and releasing a foul red gore.
"Stirges!" Fiona hollered.
"What?" This from Dhamon.
"Stirges. They're… they're insects. They'll drain your blood!"
Dhamon was quick to react, for the creatures were already swarming him. Though he swung his sword high above his head, cleaving some in two, several dove at his chest, their needlelike stingers stabbing into his flesh. He hollered, in surprise and pain, as they began feasting on his blood.
He heard Fiona behind him, sword whistling as she cut through the foul creatures. The Solamnic was protected by her plate mail, the stirges flying at her and stunning themselves by colliding with the metal. She was careful to cover her face with one arm. And she continued to strike at one after another as she made her way toward Rig.
The clearing was filled with growls from the ogres, who had never encountered such malevolent insects and who were plucking them off their bodies and squishing them in their bare hands; screams from the freed slaves; the soft thud of the dead stirges hitting the ground; smacking sounds from the creatures gorging themselves.
Bare-chested, Dhamon was an easy mark for the little beasts. A dozen were latched onto his chest and his back. He scraped some off his legs, stomping on them before they could take to the air again.
"They're not that difficult to kill!" Maldred was shouting.
"No," Dhamon muttered, as he jabbed at the stirges who flew in to take their dead brethren's place. "There's just so many of them! Too many!" He felt weak, and realized it was because so much of his blood had been drained. "They could destroy us," he shouted to his friend.
"I'm not going to die here, Dhamon Grimwulf!" Maldred returned. "I promised to help you with that scale, remember?"
I won't have to worry about the scale, Dhamon thought. If we can't get rid of these deadly pests, soon the scale will be the smallest of my concerns. He hefted Wyrmsbane with one hand, using it to fend off the creatures diving on him. With his other hand he began plucking at the insects, squeezing them in his hand until the chitinous shell broke, then hurling them on the ground and stomping on them for good measure. His hand was slick with his own blood that they'd drained, and he whirled about to see that the ogres' hands were bloody as well. They'd all abandoned their weapons, using their hands to squeeze the life from the stirges. Dhamon considered doing that as well, but he was loath to drop the long sword, and wasn't about to leave himself too open by taking a moment to sheathe it.
There was a snarl behind him-Mulok. The big ogre was plucking the stirges off Dhamon's back. Dhamon felt blood spatter him with each creature the ogre squeezed. Then he felt the ogre's back against his, slick with blood. Others were copying Mulok, standing back to back; those who didn't were falling.
"No! Mugwort!" Maldred cried to the largest ogre, the one who toted Fiona's chest of gems through the swamp. The great ogre dropped beneath a cloud of black, winged bodies. He flailed about on the marshy ground for a moment, then lay still. More of the creatures descended on his body, their smacking noises hideous.
"Enough of this!" Maldred was battling several of the creatures. He tugged a few free and then began gesturing. An instant later, Mugwort's body-and all the stirges blanketing it-were engulfed in a crackling ball of flame.
The ogres nearby began plucking the stirges off themselves and throwing them on the bonfire, the insects shrieking and popping and releasing a nauseating stench. There was another burst of flame, and then another, as Maldred ignited the corpses of other fallen ogres and slaves.
Finally he tended to himself, tearing one bloated insect after another from his arms and legs, backing toward a pair of Donnag's ogres and shouting for them to pull the last ones off his back.
Rig and Fiona were standing back to back, a ring of dead stirges at their feet. The Solamnic battled the insects without a word, one hand clenched tightly on her sword, the other reaching up to grab stirges from the air and crush them. Rig was vocal, cursing the swamp and the insects, Maldred, Dhamon, the chieftain Donnag, all the lost gods. The faster the words flew from his lips, the faster his hands moved; he had abandoned the sword, dropping it at his feet in favor of grabbing and squishing the creatures.
"Stirges, huh?" Rig said. "Damn big mosquitos, if you ask me. Fought them before?"
"Hu-uh." Fiona, too, was busy.
"This many of them?"
A shake of her head.
"Where?"
"Once. When I was visiting the isle of Cristyne. But there were only a small number of them. We'd disturbed a nest. We got out of there fast."
"We're winning!" Maldred shouted from across the clearing.
Only a few dozen of the stirges remained, and soon they were dead, too. The ground was covered with black bodies, an insect carpet that crunched as the ogres and slaves trod across it to see if any of their fallen comrades survived.
Rig kicked through the mound in front of him, finding his sword and quickly retrieving it. He shook his head. It was covered with blood-his and the stirges. He scowled as Dhamon approached him, Maldred behind him.
The fires were burning out all around the clearing, but Dhamon was peering into the dense cypresses that surrounded them. "I was certain I heard a voice…"
Maldred nodded.
"I heard it right before these creatures came."
"Yeah," Rig said. "Soft and pretty-these… stirges… were anything but. Bet she brought the snakes, too, our mysterious lady. Doesn't want us in the swamp. Or maybe she just doesn't want us near Shrentak. The stirges came right after I mentioned that place."
Dhamon's eyes narrowed. He thought he spied something with a metallic gleam moving between the fern leaves.
"Shrentak…" The voice was feminine and breathy, the same one they'd heard before the insect onslaught.
"Shrentak would welcome you, o' man the color of night," the voice continued. "There are always a few empty cells." A veil of lianas parted and the figure of a young girl glided into the clearing, her coppery hair disturbed by continuous motion. She appeared no more than five or six, yet she spoke like a much older woman, with a seductress's voice. And in her small hand she clasped Rig's glaive, a weapon she shouldn't have been able to lift. The blade glimmered in the light.
"The girl…" the mariner began.
"From Fetch's vision," Dhamon stated.
Their eyes grew wider as a silvery-gray mist formed and encircled her free hand. Dhamon darted forward, able to take only a few steps before he found himself rooted to the spot, the stirge-covered ground shimmering around his boots and holding him fast like a vise. The silvery mist poured from her hand now, blanketing the ground like a low-hanging fog and swirling around everyone's legs.
Twisting around, Dhamon saw that Rig and Fiona were likewise held. But Maldred was free, the mist somehow was unable to hold him. Now the big man was charging toward the child, bringing his two-handed sword from his back as he moved.
"Fool," she said simply, gesturing again. "My mistress Sable, who waits in Shrentak, will be angry with you. She'll order more than my little rain and earthquakes to gnaw at your kingdom."
A streak of silver shot out like a lightning bolt from her tiny hand, grew to a diaphanous, sparkling cloud, and then draped Maldred like a net. In its misty light, the big man's form shuddered and expanded, his ruddy skin rippling with even more muscles, and its rich color fading until it became practically white. Then it changed hue again, becoming a pale blue dotted here and there with warts and boils. His short ginger hair grew and thickened, turning stark white and flowing over his shoulders like a lion's mane.
"What is she doing to him?" Fiona cried.
"Revealing him," the waif replied evenly. "Chasing away his spell that paints a beautiful human form over his ugly ogre body. Revealing the son of Blode's Donnag-my mistress's enemy!"
When the transformation was complete, Maldred stood more than nine feet tall, an ogre more awesome and imposing, physically, than any of those who accompanied them to the mines. His clothes were now in tatters, barely covering his massive body.
Dhamon stared dumbstruck at the creature he had considered his closest friend. There was no trace of the Maldred he knew, not even the eyes were recognizable.
Fiona and Rig were likewise astonished. The Solamnic felt faint at the sight, the shock of which was enough to drive off at least some of the magic Maldred had cast upon her. She shook her head, trying to chase away… something, she couldn't tell what. Fiona's memory seemed hazy. Still, a dozen thoughts rushed at her: the deceptions played upon her and Rig, the trip through the dwarven ruins, the fight in the mines. An image flashed in the back of her mind, of a bozak draconian. One with a gold collar. Had she slain him?
Dhamon shook his head in disbelief, as if the vision of the blue-skinned ogre might disappear and Maldred return in its place. He twisted his head about to face the girl again.
"You're not revealing anything!" Dhamon spat. "You're making us believe our friend is a creature! Just like you created the stirges and the snakes!"
"Your friend is an ogre mage," the girl continued. "Soon to be a dead one. I will relish giving this news to my mistress personally. Sable will reward me well." She threw back her head and laughed, a cackling sound so incongruous to her small form. Miniature silver lightning bolts arced from her fingers and danced toward Maldred, who was still held by the shimmering mist. "Very well, indeed!"
"No!" Dhamon screamed. He tugged free of his boots, which were held by the child's magic, and raced toward the girl, drawing Wyrmsbane as he went.
The child was faster. Lightning bolts struck the ogre in the chest, skin sizzling and popping and burning. Maldred twitched, but didn't cry out. Rather, he fought against the cloudlike spell that held him in place, gesturing and humming loudly with his own incantation.
Dhamon was nearly upon the child figure when more bolts flew, again aimed at the huge ogre. They struck their mark once more-but a heartbeat after Maldred had retaliated with his own magic.
His spell complete, a burst of flame erupted from the ogre mage's flailing hands. It was a riot of color, green and blue, crackling wildly and shooting forward like a gout of dragon's breath. It grew and changed color, becoming a great fiery red-orange ball that, with a near-deafening "whoosh," engulfed the child and several of the trees around her. Despite the wetness of the swamp, the trees burned, becoming cinders in an instant.
Dhamon skidded to a stop and stared at the smoldering trunks. The girl had been vapor
ized and was gone. Or was she?
He turned to Maldred, face filled with anger and a dozen questions.
The ogre mage sagged to the marshy floor, hands pressed against his blue chest as if that might lessen the pain. Dhamon rushed to his side and ripped strips from what was left of his own cloak, pressing them against the wounds.
"I am what I appear, my friend," Maldred stated, his pained voice difficult to hear.
"It seems you are an expert at deceptions," Dhamon replied. "You are every bit as accomplished a liar as your father." He kept his words low, not wanting the others to hear. "I thought you were… are… a man, like me."
Maldred gasped, fighting for breath. "Sometimes deceptions help to build friendships," he answered. "But other than the form I wore, I have never lied to you, Dhamon Grimwulf. I think you know that."
"You just never bothered with the complete truth." Dhamon continued to blot at the wounds, relying on the skills he learned on numerous battlefields. "Does Rikali know?"
Maldred shook his head. "Fetch did. One of the few secrets he managed to keep." The ogre's eyes searched Dhamon's face. "I'm sorry you had to learn this way. I…"
"Doesn't matter, I guess," Dhamon said. "A body's a shell, after all. Just let me know if you've got any more interesting secrets. I hate surprises."
Rig and Fiona moved toward them, for they too were released from the girl's magic. The ogres and freed slaves had gathered in a circle around them, a few of the scouts cautious to keep a lookout toward the mines and the ring of cypresses.
"Donnag's whelp," the mariner said bitterly. "No wonder you fit in so well in Bloten." He shook his head, then edged by a group of ogre mercenaries and slipped to where the child had been standing. "Told you he couldn't be trusted."
Fiona said nothing, her chest was so tight she couldn't have talked if she'd wanted to. The Solamnic tried to picture the face of the human Maldred, the one with the mesmerizing eyes. There was only this blue-skinned ogre, which made her shiver in anger and disgust. Her hands trembled, the palms clammy. She tried to grip the pommel of her sword, but her fingers fumbled over it.