Ogre's Passing

by Paul Melniczek

  The captain screamed, barreling forward and catching the ogre in one meaty thigh with his blade. The creature howled in agony, its throaty call echoing hideously through the dead corridors and turrets of the fortress. Livid with rage and pain, it brought the club around and Grundel jumped in the air to avoid having his legs shattered. One of the spikes caught his right leg and he felt a searing fire in his limb, as the metal tore through leather and into his exposed skin. He staggered backwards, crumbling to the ground and gasping for breath.

  Chertron and Forlern plunged headlong into the fray, unable to have anticipated the captain's drastic action. Another knife sliced through the air, but the ogre saw it coming, deflecting it to the side with the club. Chertron placed himself within three yards of the lumbering brute, trying to move it away from his fallen comrades. Grundel stood up, heavily favoring his leg, but his sword was lifted high once again. The pain was evident on his face but he refused to concede anything.

  The ogre noticed his movement, and leaned to its side, angling steadily towards him. Forlern slashed madly with his weapon, yelling at the beast to anger it further. He feinted to one side, then charged directly for the brute, which was taken by surprise. Forlern dove at the monster, driving his blade into the creature's right arm, the limb which carried the devastating club. Its rage was indescribable, and it pulled away, kicking Forlern in the ribs and grabbing the blade with its left arm. The sword had struck deeply and the ogre removed it, ignoring the volley of arrows fired from Chertron, and cracked the sword in its powerful grip, tossing it aside.

  Forlern rolled away from the creature, reaching for another knife, although the short dagger would not be nearly as effective as his sword. Rundin had not moved since being struck by the monster, and the others attempted to lead it away from where he lay. The monster seemed unconcerned with the status of the brave warrior, content for the moment that he was out of the fight.

  Grundel moved forward once more, gritting his teeth at the fire in his leg. It was a deep cut, and he was losing blood quickly. He knew they had to find a way to put the beast down, as it showed no sign of weakening. Despite its several injuries, the ogre was a massive and powerful creature, a savage predator of the Lowlands, and a match for most of the other inhabitants. It clearly had the advantage, and knew it.

  The captain whistled several times, signaling for his men to fall into one of their field tactics. Chertron and Forlern immediately backed off, giving the ogre leeway, while Grundel held his ground. He was still able to fight and move, and his mind raced, trying to devise a plan which would either drive away or kill the ogre outright. Rundin was seriously hurt, and time was swiftly moving against them. He shuddered to think what would happen if the Killworm emerged from beneath the sewers and found them once more.

  A pair of bows sang as Chertron and Forlern released a hail of volleys upon the ogre once more, both men trying to maim the relentless beast, or blind it. Some of the arrows were slapped harmlessly aside, others finding a mark. The creature seemed more annoyed than injured by them, its flesh thick and durable, able to withstand a tremendous amount of suffering. It lunged forward towards Grundel, who instead of engaging it, pivoted to one side, trying to steer the creature away from Rundin, and further into the fortress. The men maintained a good distance between themselves and the ogre, ceaselessly letting fly their shafts and hoping to do some real damage. It was a deadly game of cat and mouse, and the captain used every trick of swordplay he knew to stay just out of reach of the monstrous club. He was tiring from lack of rest and loss of blood. His concentration was slipping, and he knew that his first mistake would be his last.

  The ogre was growing increasingly angry, and the effects of its numerous injuries were slowly beginning to take a toll. It bled from over a dozen different spots, its greenish blood oozing from the tough hide like sap squeezed from a tree. The stone pathway of the fortress was stained with small puddles as it loped forward, trying to crush Grundel who taunted it with his blade, slashing quickly when it approached, then sprinting away, maddening the monster further.

  A hail of fresh arrows rained down upon the ogre, piercing its leathery skin, causing it to roar in dismay. Hesitating, it looked over at the men, shielding its face with a meaty fist. It was tiring of this game, and the captain paused along with it, waiting to see what the ogre would do next. It reached into a sack tied fast around its midsection, pulling out another war horn. The captain immediately recognized their danger.

  "Shoot it! The beast signals something to come!"

  Chertron pulled his bow back, firing two quick shots, Forlern releasing one of his own. The first arrow embedded itself into the club, the second striking the creatures fist arm which held the horn. Forlern's shaft landed with an incredible stroke of luck, hitting the horn before the ogre's astonished gaze and cleaving it into two equal parts, now totally useless. Its face smoldered with rage.

  The captain was pleased with the accuracy of his men, but was greatly concerned as to what it had attempted to do. There could be no question that other creatures lurked somewhere nearby, and the ogre had tried -- and failed, to call them. Whether it was the Killworm or otherwise, he didn't know. It proved beyond doubt that an organized, concerted effort had been put into place to thwart their undertaking, or at least to alert the guardians of the stronghold. He realized that something powerful and deadly was manipulating the creatures -- and themselves, for that matter.

  "We're almost out of arrows, Captain." Chertron shouted over to him, twenty yards from his left. Forlern knelt another score of yards to Chertron's left side, aiming another shaft as his comrade spoke. The ogre moved steadily forward, not taking its eyes off Grundel's determined form.

  Then, to the surprise of them all, it did something completely unexpected.

  ***

  Sarion ran like a man possessed.

  His boots clicked mutely on the harsh stone, and he plunged deeper into the citadel. He'd raced away from the terrible corridor, where the shades of the two fighters had confronted him. Invigorated by their silent warning, Sarion set off to find his companions, knowing full well that a Killworm was prowling the fortress. It was a chilling thought.

  As he turned down another long, narrow pathway, he noticed marks on the stone, fresh ones, created by something large and dangerous. He had seen them before, as they tracked an elusive quarry into the Lowlands, and he was startled, realizing that it matched the prints of their quarry.

  The ogre was inside the fortress! Grimhounds, a Killworm, and now the ogre.

  Dark thoughts plagued his mind at the implications. Areck and Cerestin were already dead. Time was passing swiftly for the remaining warriors, who had entered the forsaken citadel, falling victim to the dreadful guardians. Hunted by a Killworm, pursed by the ogre.

  A terrible yell of anguish echoed along the pathway, and he paused. Battle was being waged somewhere nearby…

  Sarion quickened his pace, glancing skyward for any signs of danger from the barren rooftops and towers. He was within a haven of nightmares, populated by the living and dead alike. Shades and monsters. He rounded a curve, his eyes glaring wide at the scene in front of him.

  He'd found the warriors at last!

  His joy quickly changed to dismay as he surveyed the grim circumstances of their plight. The ogre shambled in the midst of the three remaining fighters, and he saw a figure laying upon the unforgiving stone. Their situation was desperate. His heart went cold at the sight and he sprang forward, yelling encouragement to the men.

  At the same moment, the ogre swung its club in the air, releasing it directly at Grundel. Sarion watched, horrified, as the spiked weapon smashed into the captain's body, hurtling him several yards through the air from the momentum, and the man landed on the ground, his sword spinning wildly along the smooth rock. He lay still.

  Forlern shrieked with outrage, yelling oaths at the brute, which ignored the fallen fighters and now headed for them, a snarl etched into its hideous features, the mou
th gaping, the crooked teeth grinding together. Their arrows spent, the warriors drew weapons together, a pair of swords gleaming silver in the air, and they spread apart, anticipating the deadly clash with their adversary. Concentrating on harrying the ogre, and now devastated by the fall of their leader, the men were unaware of the figure charging toward them and directly into the fray.

  Sarion flew across the hard path, a fire raging inside his breast, an emotional storm needing release. So quick and silent was his approach, that the ogre failed to realize his presence until he was within arm's reach. The two fighters watched in disbelief and hope as Sarion emerged from behind the dreadful beast, hefting his sword in a mighty swing. The ogre's keen hearing alerted it to this new danger, and it turned around, but not quick enough to avoid Sarion's blow. He flung all his weight into the monster, cutting deeply into its left shoulder.

  His speed was too great for him to change direction, and he used his leverage to pull the sword away and roll forward, narrowly missing a vicious kick leveled at his head. The ogre bellowed in terrible pain, the blood pouring forth from the angry wound to its limb. It was a fearsome predator, not used to suffering such injuries in battle. It was bred for violence, and it immediately moved to crush its foes. Lunging forward again, it grabbed for Chertron who had closed in, attempting to catch it off-guard. Forlern yelled to his comrade but it was too late.

  The ogre grazed the warriors brow, knocking his helm off and smacking him aside. Chertron collapsed onto the stone, and the ogre moved in for the kill. Sarion was on his feet again, but too far away to do anything. Forlern slashed at the creature with his dagger, more as a distraction, knowing that it was virtually useless against such a beast. The ogre swatted at the brave fighter, taking its eye away from Chertron's crumpled form. Sarion rejoined the warrior, grabbing the captain's weapon and heaving it over to Forlern, who retreated as the monster came closer to him now.

  Sarion looked in alarm at Grundel's lifeless body -- the man's eyes were closed, but his lungs drew breath. With renewed determination, he held his sword high, staring into the ogre's eyes. The creature was wounded in numerous spots, and within its orbs burned a primeval rage, the look of the hunter, and it started forward, but Sarion was undaunted. He would not accept defeat.

  Instead of giving himself room to maneuver, Sarion took a step towards the approaching behemoth, and his boot caught in the stone. Stumbling, Forlern screamed to him in warning. "Sarion, no!"

  The ogre saw its opportunity and did not hesitate. A survivor of countless fights and hunts, its lunged towards Sarion's bowed head, its good arm clenching the air in fury. Forlern looked on in horror as the monster descended, using its weight to propel itself onto the vulnerable figure in front of it.

  At the last second, Sarion moved to the right, lifting his head up and regaining his balance. He swung upwards with the sword, slicing into the ogre's neck, letting the creature's ponderous body work against itself. It caught Sarion sharply with a balled fist, but the sword continued to cut into the monster, slicing through muscle and tendon, and completely severing the head. Eyes still wide open, the ogre's head rolled across the stone and lay still, its body crumbling to the ground, shuddering uncontrollably. It was dead.

  Forlern watched in amazement, his face changing to relief, and after several seconds he ran over to his companion. "Are you all right?"

  Sarion's head was sore, his body terribly bruised in many areas, including his shoulder from the battle with the Grimhounds, but he'd suffered no major injuries. On the verge of collapsing from weariness and pain, he nodded to Forlern, wincing. The warrior helped him stand.

  "What a chance you took -- I thought the ogre had you as well."

  "It nearly did, but I was desperate -- and it was injured. Such a move would not have worked under any other circumstance, I can assure you. What about the others?" He felt a lance of anguish pierce his heart at the sight of the fallen warriors, and he hobbled over to his comrades.

  Rundin was dead.

  The ogre had struck him a tremendous blow, and he had not moved since. Sarion felt for a pulse but knew instantly there was none to be found. Tears streamed down his face at the white pallor of Rundin's skin, the quenched appearance of the bearish man's face. The warrior had shown his reliability and loyalty countless times on their expedition. Durable, dedicated to his country, comrades, and especially his Captain. One of Trencit's finest.

  Gone.

  Fallen in an unforgiving and treacherous land, far from home and family.

  "Sarion, how is Rundin?" Forlern called from several yards away where he knelt with their fallen leader.

  His response was a pained whisper. "Dead...Rundin's dead."

  Forlern gasped. "You better come over here, he's asking for you." He faltered. "Sarion...it's not good."

  Sarion snapped his head up, staring at Forlern's stricken gaze, the man cradling Grundel's head within his lap. He heard a moan from beyond them both, and Chertron sat up, much to Sarion's surprise.

  "Chertron is up -- he must not be too badly hurt."

  Sarion went over to Forlern. The man's eyes were closed, and his breath was barely noticeable.

  "He's dying, Sarion."

  Forlern choked back the words, and Sarion felt as if a dagger had been driven through his chest.

  Dying!

  No, he thought. You don't understand, he can't be dying. It's not Grundel -- there is no Grundel. He can't be dying.

  Sobbing, he felt the man's brow, whispering gently to him. "It's me, Sarion. I'm here."

  The Captain of Trencit lifted one hand, his body wracked by spasms of pain. Forlern shook his head bitterly, grinding his teeth. "By the three... he is going, Sarion -- leaving us."

  Chertron stood, first looking over at the carcass of the ogre, then at Rundin's body in shock. He moved slowly, joining the others.

  "Sarion...go to King Gregor. He'll know what to do." Every syllable was painful, tremendous effort needed to bring them forth from his parched lips.

  "You can't leave us -- the land needs you." Sarion felt his eyes moistening, and the others watched in deathly silence at his side, Forlern stroking their leader's head.

  "Sarion, you have done well, a better man…" Blood trickled from his lips, and Forlern quickly wiped it away. "The best of us..." He finished.

  "I know who you are," Sarion hesitated, squeezing his hand, willing life into the man. "I read your journal."

  Forlern and Chertron stared at Sarion questioningly. "What do you mean?" Chertron touched Sarion's shoulder. "What do you mean by this? What are you talking about?"

  "He goes by another name -- there exists no Captain Grundel." Sarion inhaled sharply, the words pouring out like acid on his own lips.

  The injured leader weakly lifted his hand. "I thought you might, to understand...I'm sorry I didn't get to know you better. Forgive me." He coughed harshly, a look of agony on his face. He opened his eyes. "Don't forget the king. Have faith in yourself, Sarion. You're the one who can save us." His gray orbs closed, and he lay still.

  They all waited in terrible silence. He was dead. Impossible for any of them to accept, they stared at his unmoving form, desperately hoping that their eyes were wrong, his injuries not as serious as they appeared. But they knew the truth, and it overwhelming.

  "He's gone." Chertron mumbled. "Sarion, what did you mean?"

  It was a long moment until Sarion spoke, and he felt the weight of their journey resting heavily upon his shoulders. All the fallen warriors, the dangerous times they shared, the companionship -- their friendship. Yes, he could call them all his friends, if but for a short time. And now two more were dead.

  "He's not Captain Grundel, as I said." Sarion paused for an agonizing moment. He breathed deeply. "You look upon the face of General Charadan, leader of the Trencit royal armies -- King's Champion."

  "What!" Forlern yelled in shock. "This is Charadan himself? Impossible!"

  "Are you mad?" Chertron leaned towards Sarion, probing hi
m with a steely gaze. "Speak not in riddles at such a time!"

  Sarion shook his head sadly.

  "No, I read his journal. And he left this inside." Sarion reached into his tunic, pulling out the medallion of King's Champion. "Sent by King Gregor, commanded to discover the nature of unrest in the westland and beyond…That is why he went to such lengths in pursuing the ogre. He felt compelled to learn of this new threat to Trencit. He gave his life for the land -- and now, we've lost him."

  "We are defeated...I cannot believe my eyes. The greatest leader in the land -- it doesn't seem possible. And I never suspected it." Chertron rambled on, overcome by fatigue, injury, and bewilderment. He dropped to the ground, face held between his arms. Forlern stared silently at Charadan's unmoving body.

  A sound echoed in the distance, instantly putting them all on guard. Forlern gently laid the fallen leader to the stone, cursing. "It seems none of us are yet fated to leave this blasted devil's land. I'll go down fighting like my comrades, at least."

  The noise grew louder, but it sounded familiar -- the approach of someone on horseback. They watched as the beast reared into view, and the fighters held their weapons ready, but Sarion lowered his own. "Wait, this is no enemy which draws near."

  Alayian appeared from the mist, hair flowing free, riding like a warrior maiden. Chertron and Forlern looked on in astonishment as she rode up to them, suddenly materializing from the folds of mist within the forsaken fortress.

  Chertron sighed wearily. "I have not the strength or will left to fight one so beautiful as this apparition, evil or not. And she sits upon one of our own horses yet? What witchery is this, a final act of mockery?"

  She hailed them. "I'm sorry, Sarion. I had to follow after you. Terror dwells within these walls, and your friends look to have suffered much already."