Ogre's Passing

by Paul Melniczek

  Sarion examined his wound, opening his tunic and aggravating the injury. Not too deep, but it throbbed painfully, the upper part of his shirt soaked with blood. He was ready to make a quick field dressing when he heard the approach of something from behind him in the valley, a low thundering, and he immediately sprinted for cover within the shadows beneath the guardians.

  Sword in hand, he knew someone on horseback was drawing near, and moments later a war-horse plunged out from the mist, a familiar figure on top. It was Alayian.

  Relieved but confused, Sarion moved from his place of concealment, but she had already steered the horse directly for him as if knowing exactly where he hid. "Sarion." She called out to him, the words weaving a gentle enchantment across his exhausted frame. "Are you all right?"

  "Alayian," he answered. "What are you doing down here, I thought you were going to stay back with the horses? You shouldn't be here."

  "What happened?" She dismounted, staring at the bloody carnage." The girl scowled in recognition. "More of them, waiting for you. Grimhounds."

  "You know of them? They are formidable beasts." He sighed, wincing as he lowered his sword arm. "They almost had me."

  She looked at him, concern spilling over her face. "You're injured! Let me see." Alayian rushed towards him, and Sarion was surprised at the intensity he saw within her eyes. Embarrassed and touched at the same time, he held still while her gentle hands probed the skin around his wound, gritting his teeth at the new flare of pain.

  "Hold, while I dress the wound."

  "No, I must go in search of the others. They passed inside, and I don't know what other evil lurks within these dismal walls."

  She frowned, but was persistent. "You won't be of any use if you bleed to death. It will not take long."

  He conceded, knowing that if he lost too much blood, he would indeed grow weak. Alayian pulled out a pouch, which appeared to be formed from some unknown type of soft animal skin, and she brought out a packet of dried leaves. Sarion watched as she crinkled them within her smooth hands, whispering beneath her breath as she did so. He felt light-headed for a moment, then studied her closely as she rubbed them along the wound. It tingled for several moments, then slowly grew numb. She wrapped a cloth around his shoulder, and offered him a flask to drink from. "This will sustain you, through dark times. You will need this."

  Sarion drank, savoring the splendid taste of the cool fluid, and would have continued, but she pulled it back. "Ah, it is very potent, my brave warrior. Too much and you'll feel the arms of slumber calling." She smiled, and he returned her gaze.

  "But why did you follow?"

  "To look after you." Her simple answer sounded sincere, but he shook his head.

  "I smelled the foul beasts shortly after you left, and knew you were in grave danger, although it seems you certainly know how to take care of yourself. Any ordinary man would not have withstood six Grimhounds. You are strong among men -- and foolhardy."

  Sarion shrugged. "My friends are in need, and I have to go on."

  "I know. When I passed through the valley, I came across more of the beasts. I distracted a larger pack that were heading straight for the fortress."

  Sarion's face turned dark. "More of them? You should not have come."

  "I lured them elsewhere." Alayian smiled mischievously, her eyes twinkling. "You forget, Grammore is my home. I know many tricks...and secrets," she added.

  "Apparently so...I hesitate to think what would have happened if more of them would have found me here. My thanks."

  Alayian was silent, and Sarion retrieved his fallen bow and lantern. "I'm going inside -- you stay out here."

  She pursed her lips in protest, but he was not going to give her a chance to speak. "No, Alayian. I fear the stronghold holds creatures more powerful than these. Too much for even you ." He gestured to the slain Grimhounds. "I will not let you follow me. Wait outside, I will need your help once I return."

  "But..."

  "Alayian, no. Promise me you'll stay. Please?"

  She nodded reluctantly. "I will." She tilted her head slightly, then looked at the brooding walls of the fortress. "I've never met anyone like you before, Sarion. My people are scarce, and reclusive. Your kind is so different...determined. Not easily dissuaded."

  "Well, you certainly are as well. Maybe we're not so different."

  She looked ready to respond, but remained quiet.

  "I'll be back. Now I'm the one promising. But I have to go. Don't take any more chances, ride away if anything else appears."

  Sarion turned around, wondering what she meant by her kind, but he didn't have time to consider. He hurried into the citadel, leaving the strange girl behind for the second time now, and thinking that she would probably not leave even if a dragon reared its scaly head from out of the mist.

  ***

  "Just like the monster from the clearing. Another one of these devils!"

  Forlern looked angry, his hand tightly gripping the handle of his sword, trying to contain his tension, control his emotion. The others drew close, unaware of what the two men had glimpsed outside -- the falling strands of massive webbing raining silver death upon the spirit-infested lanes of the forsaken stronghold.

  "Captain, what's out there?" Chertron's eyes were wide and unblinking, bleary red from lack of proper rest. "It must be bad -- what did you see?"

  "What is it that stalks this cursed place?" Rundin moved his bearish frame close to Grundel, and the captain looked weary and distraught. His shoulders slumped more so than usual, head bowed, and he leaned tiredly against the stone wall, staring into the darkness.

  "A Killworm..."

  "What?" Chertron swore beneath his breath, and Rundin simply nodded in understanding.

  "You're sure of this?" Chertron glanced over to Forlern, and the younger man agreed.

  "Yes, their were countless strands falling, as if a thousand monstrous spiders were out there weaving a tapestry above the buildings themselves, attempting to ensnare us all. I didn't see the creature, but its deadly secretion is unmistakable. And I remember vividly that night which seemed so long ago now. In the clearing, and Captain Grundel chased us off, thundering away in the night. I caught a glimpse of it then, silhouetted against the rocks. The Killworm and its call of death."

  Chertron nodded in understanding. "Yes, I heard the noise, just like that other night. I remember." His eyes were glazed over in recollection of the nearly fatal encounter earlier in their venture.

  "And that in itself answers several questions." Grundel looked up, his eyes blazing in fury. "Areck and Cerestin were taken -- snatched from above. They didn't have a chance...The creature must have crept down from the upper reaches of the manor."

  "They're gone, then," Forlern said bitterly. "Good men...I should have been out there with them too!"

  "And you would also be dead as well." Grundel replied, matching Forlern's dark look. "No signs of a struggle because there wasn't any. The monster must be incredibly quick. It's a living nightmare bred within this cursed land."

  Chertron kept his shoulder against the large door which they had locked, and it seemed sturdy enough. A large metal clasp, rounded and sculpted to fit inhuman hands was fixed into the panel. They had seen many of these before, especially inside the central building, a common fixture used by the extinct giants.

  "Worse yet -- there could be a connection between the two creatures." The captain peered ahead, a look of concern over his features, and he motioned Rundin to move forward. "I don't want any surprises inside here as well."

  The rest of them watched as Rundin cautiously searched about, swinging his light, scattering the shadows into the musty corners. After several long moments, he signaled back as the anteroom appeared empty, but other passages branched off, and a staircase led upwards into blackness.

  "I don't believe this is a chance coincidence. Someone has uncovered long-dormant eggs, placing them in certain strategic areas. As guardians…It is clear to me now."

 
Forlern whistled. "Then the first one may have also been a trap?"

  "Yes. The ogre knew about the location, purposely leading us into that clearing. It had to have known, and we barely escaped with our lives."

  "And that one was only an infant, didn't you say? Just hatched?" Forlern shuddered. "It was huge at birth. Then how big do they get? How large is this one? Shades..."

  The fighters stared at each other. None of them had the answer for the terrible question Forlern posed.

  "Too many disturbing events, and they reveal the machinations of a far-reaching strategy. What also is of great concern to me, is the possibility that our quest was known by the enemy before we even left Trencit."

  The warriors were silent, struggling with the implications voiced by the captain. Rundin called to him from his position of watch, further off in the entry room, which consisted of drab walls, lacking furniture or aesthetic designs of any type. "What can we do to defeat the creature, Captain? Do you know of its weakness?"

  Grundel scowled. "No. And it's my belief that we are unable to kill it, either."

  Forlern snarled in response. "What? How can you know such a fact? You admit, there is little you understand about the creature. It is indeed extremely dangerous, but surely we have a fighting chance."

  He gently shook his head. "True, I know little. But what I have read in the royal archives seemed clear enough. The Killworm is a monster bred in ancient times, a hybrid of several different unique species. It is lethal, spawned from dark magic. The power needed to control one must be vast, and our adversary has mastered at least two, maybe others. It is also said to be vulnerable only to similar magic. And we have none. It was written that normal steel could not harm the monster."

  "Then we must avoid combat at all cost. Flee." Chertron remained poised at the door, but there was no sound from outside. "Will it continue hunting us, I wonder. Are we even safe here?"

  Forlern pointed to the staircase. "What if it descends from above?" Chertron's mouth opened in an expression of pure terror. "It will have us all. I wouldn't venture up there for all the gold in the Vanyair Market."

  The captain scanned the walls. "We must find a way out then. Perhaps it stays only within the fortress, acting as protector. What more suitable creature could exist for such a task? The giants used them as such, to guard their strongholds and treasures." Grundel walked restlessly about the room, pondering their options.

  "Just like now," muttered Forlern. "Well. Let's be off quickly. Maybe there is a tunnel in the lower chambers and we can sneak out another way."

  "It's worth a try, Captain Grundel." Rundin nudged his head, gazing upwards at the steps.

  "And maybe our only hope," answered Grundel, gesturing to the far wall. "Rundin, try that door. Swiftly."

  ***

  Sarion entered the high walls of the fortress, cautiously working his way beneath the broken gate, alert for any movement or sound. He was sure the warriors had went this far unchallenged, and he wondered if this was by chance or design. He'd slain the Grimhounds single-handedly, although he was not brash about his deed. Good fortune, combined with swift-thinking, both played a role in the outcome. The beasts were certainly formidable, and if he'd been without his bow, things might have turned out terribly. A greater number would have proved too much, and he was thankful that Alayian had distracted the other marauders. What had she done to lure them away?

  The girl was as mysterious as she was beautiful. And secrets? She concealed many...He gently shook his head as he passed through the main courtyard, amazed at the height and breadth of the stronghold. It was beyond doubt a place created, and inhabited, by a much larger species than humans. The legendary giants. Their legacy survived, and their structures remained intact. The statues which sat at the entrance showed them to have been a fearsome manner of creature, and he was certain they'd been extremely dangerous, and well-organized also.

  The sky overhead was becoming brighter but steeped in twilight, yet accompanied by the incessant mist which curled around the upper turrets and battlements. To see the warm face of the sun again breaking through the dismal atmosphere of the Lowlands, he thought. He wouldn't take a wondrous borderland's sunset for granted ever again...Sarion sighed, feeling the ache in his shoulder, now reduced to a dull throb. The remedy Alayian used on him was potent as she said, taking effect within a short period of time. He felt confident enough to engage in battle again, but desperately hoped none would be necessary. Sarion longed for the sight of the captain and the others. He'd become attached to them throughout the dangerous journey, admiring their courage and loyalty, and yes, he could call them friends. He'd risked his own life to help them, and he knew they would respond in like fashion.

  Sarion advanced further, finding himself at the edge of the immense front courtyard. It was an area meant to house thousands strong, a sizable army to support the impregnable fortress. He stooped to the ground, noticing traces of the company's passing. Looking around first to make sure he was alone, he made out the boot prints left by the men, small clods of dirt all the detail he needed to convince himself of their earlier presence. They had continued onward, keeping to the left wall of the courtyard, appearing to have moved in single file along the length, attempting to minimize their vulnerability. Sarion found no fault in their methods, but still was convinced the captain had been wrong to enter the fortress. What else lurked inside?

  As if in answer to his unspoken question, Sarion heard a sound echoing from somewhere in the distance which chilled him to the very bone. He listened in horror as a high-pitched droning issued forth from deeper inside the structure, yet not too distant. It was familiar and terrifying. Recent memories gushed to the surface, and he recalled the dreadful encounter at the fringe of the Ridgeline when they were tracking the ogre, hoping to catch up with it soon. He visualized the clearing with the rocky hillock, Grundel's harrowing escape from the hole, and the subsequent frantic departure which had nearly ended in their death.

  The Killworm!

  Sarion recognized it immediately. The sound was unforgettable, like the buzzing of a thousand angry insects, shrill and unwavering. A Killworm! He couldn't believe it…There was one inside the fortress somewhere. Their situation appeared far deadlier than his worst imagination. His skin crawled at the hideous realization that the creature was aware of the warriors and might be hunting them even now. He shuddered, thinking he would never want to face such a monster under any circumstances. Yet he might very well have to if the warriors were in need.

  Sarion tilted his head, trying to determine the exact spot where the droning was coming from, and to figure out how far away the creature might be. He decided to continue along the path the fighters had taken, hurrying over the smooth stone which served as foundation to the tomb-like stronghold. He needed to be extremely cautious. Sarion didn't have any disillusions about what would happen if he confronted the Killworm -- his only recourse would be flight. Arrows would be useless, and if drew close enough to draw his blade upon the monster, then it would surely have him regardless. The noise ceased after several tense moments, and he now entered a shadowed corridor, surrounded on every side by solemn, quiet buildings, all of them equal in design and dimension. Sarion glanced about for evidence of the Killworm's secretion -- the lattice of deadly silver webs it used to ensnare prey. He hadn't seen anything yet to indicate that the creature lurked near the entrance, but the notion did little to calm his fears. The monster was aroused, and hunting, and these were the only facts that mattered.

  Sarion had faced countless hazards before, a staggering amount in the past fortnight alone, and danger was a familiar companion in its many different forms. Yet there was a growing sense of dread pulsing through his body, and he was unable to discover where, or exactly what, the nature of this disquiet was. As he moved into the dark corridor, he suddenly understood the source of this threat. A host of beings loomed menacingly before him -- grim shades, large and sinister.

  They were spirits of the dead.r />
  He recognized the hulking figures of the giants, their forms shimmering hazily, materializing, and then vanishing within the blink of an eye. It was a company of specters, the creators of the great building, now awakened and disturbed. Sarion was aghast, uncertain as to the danger he faced. They shifted across the stone, squid-like heads swaying to either side, but not advancing. It was a dark moment, and Sarion felt his heart racing in panic. For the first time in his life, he wanted to flee in absolute terror. Run like a child frightened by nightmares. But he knew his friends were in need, and these spirits stood between him and them.

  Sarion was assaulted by an overwhelming sense of dread, but also something else -- a stark urgency, as if they were trying to communicate with him, but he was ignorant of the words or method being used. Whispered fragments of an ancient tongue trailed through his mind, and he tried to grasp onto the meaning, bewildered and frightened in the same moment.

  He felt strong emotions pouring out from their ethereal forms, powerful waves of antagonism, palpable to his senses. He felt ripples of hatred towards him, but also something else -- a tolerance? They drifted closer to the walls and he wondered if they meant for him to pass or if it was another trap. Sarion hesitated, unwilling to be so easily fooled. He told himself they were only shades, and he was not afraid of spirits, since they could not physically harm him. But Sarion understood the terror which could ensnare living men when encountering phantoms of the dead, claiming their minds, driving them to madness, and he'd never before been witness to such dread specters himself. But he knew he had to continue -- his companions were in grave peril.

  Heart stronger, he now walked carefully through their midst, not daring to look directly at their glistening forms. It was not a moment of trust, but necessity, and he didn't know if it was more courage or desperation which propelled him through their ranks. Dreamlike, Sarion found himself surrounded by the implacable spirits, and he willed himself onward as a clear path opened between their tall shapes. He finally reached the end of the grim company when a pair of smaller figures appeared before him. Sarion faltered, gasping in utter horror as they drew closer, and he felt as if a shard of ice had pierced his heart.