[Meetings 06] - The Companions

by Tina Daniell - (ebook by Undead)

  Ogre guards patrolled along the inner and outer walls below.

  "That person down the hall was just a cleaning woman," said Tanis to Flint ruefully, rubbing his foot, which Flint had inadvertently stepped on in the rush.

  "How do you know?" snapped Flint. He sat down on the bed.

  Tas pointed to his eyes and, with the glimmer of a smile, said, "Elfvision."

  Flint let loose a string of oaths.

  Before he was through, the door swung open. A small, bulky figure loomed on the threshold, backlit by bright daylight. Instantly Tanis lunged toward the figure, only to be struck hard in the chin by a mop handle. Flint, a step behind the half-elf, wrapped his arms around the head of the intruder. He was bitten on the hand and hurled backward. Raistlin moved away from the window, stepping into the middle of the room.

  The newcomer swept into the room, waving a mop and glaring at them.

  Both Tanis and Flint retreated a couple more steps. Flint sank back down on the bed. Suddenly struck by the absurdity of the situation, Raistlin chuckled. Indeed the intruder was a cleaning woman—one with thickly corded muscles, a snout like a pig, and long, straggly brown hair. Yet her voice was sharp and intelligent.

  "Now tell me who you be and what you're doing here and be quick about it. If your story isn't convincing, you'll be decorating an ogre spear by morning!"

  Tanis fingered his sword. Flint rubbed his hand. Both were taken aback at being confronted by a half-ogre, a female of a mixed race that neither of them, in all their long travels, had ever seen. Unquestionably fierce-looking, the woman nonetheless had a merry light in her eyes. Although ugly and bestial by civilized standards, she was dressed neatly in a leather smock and appeared to be reasonably well groomed.

  When Tanis shifted his glance over his shoulder at Raistlin, the female half-ogre got a better look at Flint. She squealed with joy and pushed past the astonished half-elf.

  The half-ogre thrust her face into Flint's. He leaned away from her, startled and, if truth be told, a little scared. Her breath blew over him like a hot wind. "Garsh! A dwarf! I ain't never seen one—alive, I mean! 'Course, I see all kinds of dwarf skeletons and bones, but it ain't the same as seeing a live one."

  The female half-ogre reached out her stubby hands and touched the dwarf's long, full beard. "Garsh, what a pretty beard!"

  Flint scowled. His eyes rolled pleadingly toward Tanis and Raistlin.

  The half-ogre spun around and faced the other two companions, putting a thick finger to her fleshy lips. "It wouldn't do to let the chief know. He'd kill the dwarf right off and then make me clean this room ten, twenty times to get rid of the stench"—she nodded politely to Flint—"pardon my saying so. And then he'd eat his heart for breakfast."

  She thought for a moment. "He'd probably give his innards to the others, but the heart would be his, f'sure. The head, of course, would sit in a position of importance on a spear." She shook her head and made a clucking sound.

  Flint blanched.

  "Such a pretty dwarf," she peered at him again, batting her eyes. "I don't know but that I have a hankering for 'im." Her face darkened, and she looked conspiratorially at Tanis and Raistlin. "But we must make sure he isn't spotted, or it’s death f'sure."

  Flint opened his mouth, but Raistlin stepped forward and put his arm around the cleaning woman's shoulders. "Then can you help him . . . us . . . escape from Ogrebond?"

  The female half-ogre's eyes narrowed. "I suppose I could . . . and I suppose I would. I don't like these ogres very much, you know. I've been their slave ever since they kilt my father, a poor farmer, and spared me only so's I could clean for them. And let me tell you, for such a loutish lot, these ogres are surprisingly picky about cleaning.

  "I'm not one of them, of course. I'm only a half-ogre. My name is Kirsig. What're yours?"

  Raistlin made introductions all around, although Kirsig seemed most interested in Flint. "Flint Fireforge," she mused, her eyes shining.

  For one of the few times in his life, Flint felt helpless. He looked to Tanis for aid, but the half-elf only shrugged.

  "And could you help us arrange to hire a boat to take us across the Blood Sea?" asked Raistlin.

  Kirsig clapped her knobby hands girlishly. "The Blood Sea! Garsh, you are a daring band, I can see that! Why d'you want to cross the Blood Sea? It's a terribly risky voyage. You have to skirt the Maelstrom and know your seamanship. Your captain must be bold and skilled, and he'll be sure to demand a pretty purse."

  "We'll pay as much as we can," answered Tanis warily, "Do you know such a captain?"

  "If he can be found," replied Kirsig coyly, her face dark with secrecy, "but"—she paused—"I cannot leave the keep until after midnight, when my duties are done. You can stay here, but you'll have to be careful. The chief, his band, the legion that guards the keep . . . any of them might appear outside this door. They get confused easy, y'know," she said, winking conspiratorially, "and sometimes wander about the keep, looking for their weapons or shoes.

  "Tonight the chief's entertaining a tribal delegation from the Vale of Vipers. They'll be staying just above you, on the top floor. You dare not make a move until everyone inside the keep is asleep. If you escape"—she corrected herself—"when you escape, you'll have to lie in hiding until I can locate the captain and make the arrangements."

  "Are you certain . . . ?" asked Raistlin tentatively.

  Kirsig laughed lustily. "Oh, don't worry. He's a capable one, more than capable."

  "How—how will we escape?" stammered Flint. He was reluctant to draw attention to himself, yet the question loomed in his mind. Kirsig turned to regard him solicitously. As Flint stared, she reached out a hand and touched his beard, stroking it.

  "Escape, yes!" she said excitedly. "That is the problem, and we shall solve it. We'll teach those dumb ogres a lesson." She lowered her voice, motioning Raistlin and Tanis to draw closer. "But there's only two ways out of Ogre-bond. One is if you're dead—that's the sure way—and the other—" She hesitated.

  She blabbers more than Tasslehoff, thought Flint.

  "Yes?" prompted Tanis.

  "The other," Kirsig whispered, "is worse."

  * * * * *

  They had to confer quickly, for time was wasting and Kirsig would be missed if she stayed away from her housekeeping chores too long.

  Raistlin told Kirsig about their quest. The young mage explained about his brother, Sturm, and Tasslehoff being missing, and even the portal they had used to get here. Kirsig's eyes bulged at the mention of the minotaur isles. She had never been across the Blood Sea, which she knew all about from folk tales, and indeed had never been anywhere except the Ogrelands. But recently, she told Raistlin, some bull-men had visited Ogrebond and parleyed with the chief.

  "What about?" Raistlin wanted to know, keenly interested.

  "How should I know?" Kirsig said. "I'm not custodian of the secrets around here. All I can tell you is that those minotaurs smell terrible and leave their quarters in disgusting condition. Filthy cows!" She spat. The spittle landed near Tanis's feet. The half-elf took a diplomatic step backward.

  According to Kirsig, the only way out of Ogrebond, without fighting your way through the front gate, was through the sewage channel. If they were lucky, said Kirsig, their visit and escape would remain a secret. Nobody would even suspect that outsiders had been in the keep.

  Tanis made a face at the thought of the sewage channel.

  "Go on," urged Raistlin, sensing that Kirsig had more to say.

  "I pour all the slops and dregs down there, and worse—if you know what I mean. I know where the tunnel comes out, down near the bay, a place where the guards can't see you. The only thing is—" Again she hesitated.

  "What?" demanded Tanis.

  "The sewer is haunted with the spirits of the dead. Ghosts and ghoulies. Everybody says so. It will be dangerous to pass through. You could die."

  "We'll take that chance," Raistlin said quickly.

  "Then stay in this
room and keep quiet," Kirsig said, giving each of them, in turn, a stern look. "I'll be back after the stroke of midnight. By then most of 'em inside the keep are drunk on grog or in dreamland. You'll be safe here, but don't stick your noses out of this room."

  She took a last, fond look at Flint, letting her fingers slip slowly and reluctantly away from his gray-flecked beard. His eyes remained frozen. "Such a pretty dwarf," Kirsig said before picking up her bucket and mop. She opened the door a crack, peered outside, then slipped through it without another word.

  After the door closed behind her, Tanis waited several moments before whispering to Raistlin. "Do you think we can trust her?"

  The young mage slumped on a chair. He nodded.

  Tanis seemed satisfied.

  "But—" began Flint feebly.

  His two companions cast him an amused glance. "Surely she wouldn't betray her special new friend," Tanis said.

  Flint scowled, flushed beet red, and fell silent.

  * * * * *

  At dusk, the three companions heard loud noises from the lower floors, harsh voices raised in laughter and shouting, a volley of oaths building to a tumult, then joined in an ogre chorus:

  "Steel peg, ice pick, fire thong, ho!

  Sliver the heart of friend or foe!

  Blood in the eye—yo!

  Ogres one and all!"

  Such carrying-ons continued until long after the moons rose, causing Tanis to worry that the revelry might last through the night.

  Finally heavy-footed clomping echoed in the hallways, followed by the sounds of shoving and arguing, armor and heavy garb dropping to the floor; and then, at last, relative stillness, punctuated by guttural snoring. From the room's lone window, Tanis saw the battlement guards change shift.

  At last the trio heard a quiet shuffling. The door slid open, and there stood Kirsig.

  "Follow me!" the female half-ogre grunted, beckoning.

  Keeping to the shadows, they followed her down the stairs, hearing the groans and breathing of sleeping ogres on all sides as they descended three flights. Through half-open doorways, they could see feet propped up on bedposts and an occasional glint of metal hanging from wall hooks. But no one challenged them. Just in case, Flint and Tanis held onto their weapons tightly.

  On the main floor, the three companions had to pass through a huge, high-ceilinged room where the remains of the evening's banquet—goblets and animal bones and the like—lay where they had spilled on the huge oaken table and tiled floor. The walls were hung with vivid tapestries of gory battles. The fire had nearly sputtered out. Only embers remained.

  A throne set on a dais reigned over one end of the table, and on the throne lay a gigantic, muscular, yellow-brown ogre, his feet stretched across one armrest, thoroughly drunk and asleep. His mottled skin was covered with bumps and bruises. He was snoring with his snout open. A thick band of silver, decorated with green jewels, stretched tightly around his forehead, the only conspicuous sign of his stature.

  "Arrast, the chief," whispered Kirsig, pointing. "Don't worry. He drank so much grog, he'll be in a stupor till morning."

  As if he heard himself being discussed, Arrast stirred slightly and turned over on his side, his face set against the back of the throne. He lifted his head momentarily, gave a coarse bellow, then resumed his snoring.

  Not entirely reassured, remembering what Kirsig had said earlier, Flint hurried past the sleeping chief of Ogre-bond.

  At the far end of the huge room, a square grating covered a deep, dark pit sunk into the floor. Although Flint peered down it, he could see nothing. Slithering and scratching sounds drifted up from far below. The fetid stench that wafted upward was enough to make the dwarf momentarily lose his balance.

  "Games pit," said Kirsig, grabbing him by the elbow.

  "Black willows," said Raistlin grimly.

  Tanis nodded.

  "Yes," agreed Flint, although he didn't have the slightest idea what "black willows" were, and as he hurried past the dark pit, he told himself he had no desire to find out.

  Through a small archway and down narrow stone stairs to a lower level they descended. This was the dungeon, a fact made plain by the damp, rotting odor, the debris of bones and broken weaponry, and the piles of straw discolored by streaks of dried blood. The walls held flickering sconces that offered only dim light.

  Kirsig pointed ahead. Tanis and Raistlin followed Kirsig closely, with Flint straggling behind. They entered a large musty room. Two dark corridors lined with cells branched off to the right and left. Even at this hour, faint moans and cries emitted from the recesses, the sleep of the occupants disturbed by who knows what manner of nightmares.

  "I wish we could do something to help them, poor devils," Tanis whispered to Raistlin.

  "First we must rescue ourselves," Raistlin replied.

  "There!" pointed Kirsig, indicating a large vent in the far corner of the floor of the room.

  They hurried over to it. Although Tanis and Flint easily loosened the grate covering the vent, they had difficulty lifting it aside. Kirsig and even Raistlin bent to help. At last its weight shifted, and they were able to slide it away.

  When Kirsig straightened up, she found herself eye to eye with a hulking, dull-orange ogre guard. Opening its mouth, the creature barked something at them in a language that none of the three companions from Solace understood.

  They only understood the word "Kirsig" and made a guess at the rest of the obviously hostile message.

  Tanis lunged at the creature, swinging his sword, but the ogre guard was twice his height and, despite appearances, no slow-witted oaf. The ogre guard swung his arm up in the air and batted the sword away, knocking Tanis against a wall, stunning the half-elf. With his knife, Flint made a game stab at the guard, but the ogre's reach was long, and worse, he held a thick, spiked club. The ogre brought his club up in an arc, then down, aiming at Flint's head. The dwarf dodged aside, but the club caught him on the shoulder, smacking him to the ground.

  Raistlin took a step backward, his face masklike. He began to chant in a low voice, anxiously feeling in one of his pouches for the components he needed to throw a spell.

  The ogre noticed the young mage and advanced cautiously. His yellow eyes gleamed, and a spotted tongue darted in and out between jutting, blackened teeth. With taloned hands, he reached out for Raistlin.

  Suddenly the ogre's eyes went slack, and he crashed forward. Raistlin had all he could do to jump out of the way or be crushed. From the ogre's back protruded a long, thin dagger, trickling black blood.

  Raistlin stared. Flint and Tanis got up groggily and gazed at the unpredictable Kirsig.

  "I keeps one handy," said the female half-ogre, proud but shy. She put her foot on the ogre's back and pulled out the dagger, wiped it clean, and stuck it back inside her leather skirt. "You would, too, if you worked at Ogrebond and had to mingle with ogres!"

  Tanis congratulated her on her bravery.

  It was hard to tell in the dim light, but Kirsig appeared to blush. "No time for that," she said briskly. "Down we go!"

  One by one, the three companions lowered themselves down the vent. Using the fallen ogre's spear as a lever, Kirsig managed to replace the grating.

  "Good luck!" Kirsig called after them.

  Left alone, she dragged the body of the ogre guard over to a corner and hurriedly piled straw on top of it, concealing it as best she could.

  * * * * *

  The foul liquid they found themselves in shone in the dark with iridescent silver and purple streaks. Bubbling foam, spongy globules, and floating chunks of things that stank of disease and death eddied around them. Scavenger fish darted at the garbage, their scaly sides brushing against the companions' churning legs. A giant snake lay belly up in the sewage, part of its awesome length submerged, two man-sized bulges in the portion of its white, swollen stomach that bobbed on the surface.

  Weird, faraway cries rent the dark tunnel. Ancient corpses had beached on outcroppings along the
walls, their dusty bones giving off a kind of eerie light. The companions could hear but not see the rats skittering along the thin, narrow ledge that ran along the tunnel sides.

  Tanis kept a firm grip on Raistlin's wrist. "Are you all right?" the half-elf asked both his friends.

  Flint bobbed along on the other side of Raistlin. The sewage channel was only about six feet wide. Their feet could almost touch the irregular, debris-strewn bottom, but not quite, and Flint had to kick himself upward at intervals to keep his chin above the slimy water.

  "I'm fine. Don't worry about me," said Raistlin tersely.

  Flint grunted his reply. He was fine, too, if you call half drowning in a grimy, disgusting, ogre sewer tunnel fine.

  The stream of garbage flowed around them, tugging them in an easterly direction which, as Kirsig had said, was toward the shore of the Blood Sea. The current pulled at them with surprising strength. They had all they could do to hold on to one another and stay afloat.

  "Hang on," warned Tanis, tightening his grip on Raistlin. "The channel must run down a slope. We're going to be picking up speed."

  Flint had one hand clamped on Raistlin's shoulder as the three of them began to be carried along with the current at a faster and faster pace. Nausea as much as terror gripped the companions. They whirled along, past all manner of garbage and dead things wedged in crevices or stuck on outthrust stones.

  The cries they had heard earlier now picked up in intensity and became almost deafening. The tunnel angled and took a downward dip, so that Tanis, Flint, and Raistlin were pitched forward. The current accelerated still more, and they were tossed this way and that, struggling for control.

  Floating bodies—some ogres, some too sodden to tell—bumped up against them in the horrible flow.

  The fearsome cries rose to a din as the tunnel took a sharp curve. The current tossed Flint into a stone wall. The dwarf cried out in pain, clutching at his leg. Raistlin managed to stretch out and grab him by the collar.

  Whirling downward, the trio spun by a horribly disfigured creature clinging to the ledge. It might have been human once. Now it was one of the undead. A long tongue flicked out at them, running over teeth that were sharp and supernaturally elongated. The nails on its hands had become razor-sharp claws. It clung to the ledge with one mottled, desiccated limb, and with the other leaned toward them, making a gesture with its clawed fist that was at once threatening and pathetic.