The Ogre's Pact

by Troy Denning

  “Poison!”

  Brianna took Morten’s dagger and pushed the blade into his thigh. When she felt the point slip past the arrowhead, she twisted the knife and began to pry, at the same time using her free hand to pull the broken shaft out of his leg. Tossing the vile thing aside, she squeezed the puncture’s red-rimmed edges to promote bleeding.

  That done, she removed her silver necklace, from which hung her goddess’s symbol: a golden amulet shaped like a flaming sphere. She placed this talisman inside her waterskin, then turned her eyes toward the sky.

  “Valorous Hiatea, bless this water, so that it may purify this warrior’s spirit and make him worthy of your healing magic.”

  A gentle gurgle arose inside her waterskin, then the sides puffed out and white vapor gushed from the open neck. Brianna poured the steaming contents over her patient’s injuries. Dark bubbles frothed up from the wounds, covering Morten’s skull and leg with thick, brown-streaked foam. The princess waited patiently as the lather cleansed Morten’s spirit of wicked thoughts and emotions.

  Although the process took many moments, Brianna thought no less of her bodyguard. She had learned not to judge people by impurities of the heart. All men, even firbolgs, waged a shadow war with the evil aspects of their own natures. Whether or not they won was far more important than the struggle itself. And Morten always won his battles—even those with himself.

  At last, the blessed water stopped frothing and turned more or less clear, spilling from the firbolg’s wounds in red-tinged runnels. Now that Morten’s spirit was ready to receive Hiatea’s magic, Brianna worked quickly to heal the bodyguard. She scraped a piece of white bark off the tree stump at her patient’s back and shredded it into a stringy mass. The princess laid this over the puncture in the firbolg’s thigh, then pressed Hiatea’s symbol onto the dressing.

  “My goddess, take mercy on this courageous firbolg. Banish from his blood the vile poison of the ogre’s arrow, that he may live to serve you again.”

  Brianna spoke the mystical syllables that actually cast the healing spell. A wave of searing energy arose beneath the princess’s fingers, and when she pulled her hand away Hiatea’s symbol was glowing yellow. The flames of the talisman turned orange and flickered like true fire. The bark dressing began to smoke, then erupted into a red blaze.

  The magical fire whirled down into the puncture wound, then Brianna saw the veins glowing red beneath the firbolg’s thick skin. Morten’s eyes popped open, and he sat bolt upright. A deafening scream of pain burst from his throat and continued until the crimson glow of Hiatea’s magic faded from his body. Only then did he close his eyes and collapse against the tree trunk again.

  “Thank you, Huntress,” Brianna whispered. “Now, let us hope Blizzard has the strength to drag him home.”

  The princess slipped her necklace over her head and rose. Intending to fetch a rope from her saddlebags, she turned toward her horse—then screamed.

  Between her and Blizzard stood a huge ogre with skin as brown as an acorn. He was both taller and huskier than the dead ones Brianna had seen so far, almost as big and burly as Morten. He wore the skin of an enormous white bear over his shoulders and a human thigh bone through his greasy topknot. The princess could not imagine how a creature so large and awkward-looking had crept up on her so silently.

  The ogre motioned at her with a single black claw. “Come, Brianna. It safe.” The voice belonged to Morten, not to the ugly, stooped creature from which it issued.

  Brianna pulled her hand axe from her belt, at the same time glancing at Blizzard. The mare stood a few paces beyond the newcomer, her ears tipped forward and her flanks trembling with tension. The princess shifted her attention back to the ogre.

  “How do you know my name?” she demanded.

  The ogre smiled, revealing a mouth filled with ugly orange fangs. “Someone tell me,” he replied. “Now put axe down and come here. We not supposed to hurt you.”

  Brianna heard a bough of aspen leaves rustle far above. Another ogre dropped to the ground behind her, filling the air with the rancid, sour-milk odor of his race. The princess gagged, then felt an oily hand seizing her wrist. The brute slipped his other arm around her waist and lifted her off the ground.

  Revolted by the beast’s vile touch, Brianna brought her foot up as hard as she could, smashing the hard bone of her heel into the ogre’s soft loins. At the same time, the princess whipped her head back and bashed the back of her skull into her foe’s nose. She heard the satisfying crunch of collapsing cartilage, then the brute roared in pain and dropped her.

  Brianna turned, swinging her axe at the height of her own head. The blade took her attacker in the arm, slicing through tendon and bone to truncate the arm just above the elbow. Again, the ogre howled. He stumbled back, his purple eyes glazed with shock and his jaw hanging agape at the astonishing force of the princess’s blow. Giving him no chance to recover, Brianna leveled her foot at his knee in a vicious roundhouse kick. The joint snapped like kindling, and the ogre toppled to the ground.

  The princess spun around, expecting to find the other brute already upon her. Instead, he was watching her with a bemused grin on his lips.

  “I hear you strong for woman,” he said.

  Brianna narrowed her eyes. “Who told you that?”

  Instead of answering, the ogre raised his hands and rasped the deep-throated dirge of a shaman’s spell.

  Brianna whipped her axe at his head. The shaman ducked, and the weapon buried itself in the bole of an aspen. The princess did not care. The attack had interrupted his spell, buying her the precious time she needed to escape.

  Brianna whistled once, then called, “Blizzard, come!”

  The big mare reared up and pushed forward. She brought her two front hooves down squarely on the ogre’s shoulders, driving him to the ground. With an angry neigh, she bounded forward and presented her left flank to her mistress. Brianna grabbed the saddle horn and pulled herself up.

  With unbelievable speed, the shaman leaped up and reached for Brianna. Pushing one foot into her stirrup, the princess raised the other and thrust it at the brute’s chest. The blow landed with a solid thump, and the ogre tumbled backward.

  Brianna planted her heels in her mount’s flanks. As the mare sprang forward, two more ogres dropped out of the aspen trees a short distance ahead. They drew their bows back, leveling their black arrows at Blizzard’s breast. The princess jerked the reins hard, turning away as the strings throbbed. The dark shafts hissed away into the forest, then Brianna found herself sailing through the air as her mount leaped a toppled tree.

  To her horror, she saw two more ogres rising from hiding places behind the fallen bole. Both brutes tossed their bows aside and leaped for her mount’s front legs. Blizzard crashed into them with a tremendous thump, and for a moment Brianna thought the big mare would bowl the pair over.

  Then she felt Blizzard’s head drop. The mare’s rear hooves clattered off the fallen tree with a hollow clacking, and from between the horse’s ears, Brianna saw the ground rising fast. The princess released the reins and pulled her feet from the stirrups, then pitched over the mare’s head into a patch of mossy ground. She tumbled head over heels, coming to a stop only when she slammed into a granite boulder.

  Brianna tried to gather her feet and rise, but the struggle was too much. She had lost her wind, and her ribs were exploding with pain as she fought to regain her breath. Her head was swimming. Her body ached in a hundred places, though thankfully nowhere did she feel the sharp agony of a broken bone.

  Still, Brianna was hardly in a good position, and she would need help to escape. She raised her hands toward her necklace, but stopped when ogre feet began to surround her. Several leathery hands grabbed her wrists and jerked her off the ground. Brianna found herself suspended between two ogres, her arms drawn painfully taut and the white pupils of the angry shaman glaring into her eyes.

  “You want we should hurt you?” The ogre slapped Brianna across the face. H
er head snapped to the side, and she felt a tooth fly from her mouth. “We do it good. All same to us.”

  The shaman hit her again, this time smashing his fist into her midsection. Brianna’s stomach revolted at the abuse, and she vomited on the ground. A dozen paces away, Blizzard whinnied in anger and struggled to her feet. Glaring at the ogre’s back, the mare started forward.

  “No, Blizzard!” Brianna called. The command came out half garbled, for her mouth was full of blood and her cheek badly swollen. “Stand!”

  When the horse obeyed, the ogre nodded his head approvingly. “That better,” he commented. “Smart girl.”

  The shaman looked at two of his followers, then nodded at the horse. They nocked arrows and raised their bows.

  “No!” Brianna yelled. “Run, Blizzard!”

  Her warning proved unnecessary. By the time the pair released their bowstrings, Blizzard had leaped over the fallen tree and was galloping through the forest at top speed. The shaman watched until the mare vanished behind the white trunks of the aspen trees, then he shrugged.

  “Too bad.” He turned back to Brianna. “Horse taste good.”

  Brianna sighed, relieved that she would not have to watch the ogres butcher her beloved Blizzard, then turned her attention back to the troubles at hand.

  “Someone sent you for me. Who?” the princess demanded. “Whatever he’s paying, my father will double it.”

  The shaman looked at her loathingly, then pulled a length of thick, braided-leather cord from inside his cloak. Her two captors pinned her to the ground, then he silently began to bind her hands.

  3

  A Sudden Farewell

  Tavis dropped his rucksack beside the well and paused to take one last look at the Weary Giant. The place could hardly be called a mansion, but the doors hung straight and storm shutters flanked every window. He was leaving the inn better than he had found it, and that gave him some small comfort.

  The scout had not even considered remaining in Stagwick. With the princess herself obliged to speak against him, pleading his case before the king could only lead to disaster for all concerned. Brianna would be publicly disgraced for associating with a thief, a pall of suspicion would be cast over the orphans, and Tavis would have his hands lopped off as punishment for a crime he had not committed. The only thing to do was obey the princess’s wish and leave Hartsvale as soon as possible.

  “Will you truly miss this place so much?” asked Basil. The verbeeg stood next to Tavis, his sack of stolen books slung over his shoulder. “I’d think a man of your nature would find the life of an innkeeper a trifle boring.”

  Tavis did not look at the verbeeg. “I’ll miss the children,” he said. “And if you think helping those in need could ever bore me, you know nothing of my nature.”

  “Firbolgs!” Basil shook his head in bewilderment. “It’s beyond me how such a naive race prospers.”

  Across the courtyard, Avner stepped from the lodge, followed by the other orphans. They had wrapped their possessions into woolen blankets and slung the small bundles over their shoulders; their feet were clad in heavy moose-hide boots Tavis had made for them. Each child carried an empty waterskin, and they all had grim, determined looks on their small faces.

  “Is that all you’re taking with you to Princess Brianna’s?” Tavis asked. “You’re going to be there a long time.”

  “We’re not going to the castle,” answered Avner. He motioned for the others to fill their waterskins. “You don’t think we’d abandon you just because you got in trouble, do you?”

  Tavis smiled sadly. “Of course not,” he replied. “But you can’t come with me.”

  “Why not?” Avner demanded. He dropped his bundle on the ground and untied it. “We’ve got everything we need: wool blankets, warm clothes, daggers—”

  “The Ice Spires are no place for children,” Tavis said. “Brianna can take much better care of you in her castle than I can in the mountains.”

  “No!” Avner yelled. “I’m not going with her. She’s the one who’s sending you away!”

  “She thinks I’m a thief.” Tavis’s voice grew more stern. “And we both know why she believes that”

  “So I’ll tell her what really happened,” Avner offered.

  Tavis shook his head. “Someday, but she won’t believe you now,” he said. “She’d think you were trying to protect me.”

  “Then she’s stupid,” Avner sniffed.

  “Why? Because she knows you’d lie for me?”

  Avner looked at the ground. “I wouldn’t be lying,” he answered, dodging the question. “It’s the truth.”

  “After what happened, we can’t expect her to believe that,” Tavis replied. “So go to the castle and do as the princess says. She cares for you as much as I do.”

  “But I don’t care for her,” Avner objected. “I like you.”

  “Then you’ll do as Tavis says,” said Livia. At fourteen, she was the second oldest of the orphans, and would soon blossom into a beautiful young woman. Already, she had riveting brown eyes and an alluring smile. Livia looked at the other children, then said, “Life’s going to be hard enough on Tavis without us to watch over. If we really care for him, we’ll go to Castle Hartwick.”

  Tavis nodded at Livia. “That’s right. Knowing you’re all safe will make my life much easier.” He kneeled on the ground and opened his arms wide. “Now let’s say good-bye.”

  As the children stepped forward to embrace Tavis, a loud whinny sounded in the street outside. The cadence of galloping hooves echoed through the gate, then Blizzard’s speckled form streaked into the courtyard. A mantle of white lather covered the mare from her muzzle down to her breast, and her eyes were mad with fatigue. She rushed to within a few paces of Tavis and reared, neighing madly.

  Tavis pushed the orphans away, then grabbed Basil’s shoulder and positioned the verbeeg in front of the children. He moved toward the mare slowly, his palms turned toward the horse to show her he was carrying nothing dangerous.

  “Where’s Brianna?” he asked in a soft voice. “Let me come close to look at your saddle.”

  The mare lashed out with her front hooves, then dropped to her feet and ran to the gate. She stopped there and fixed a black eye on Tavis, snorting impatiently as she caught her breath.

  “That horse seems quite mad,” observed Basil.

  “She’s certainly upset,” Tavis replied. He took his sword belt off his rucksack and strapped it around his waist, then picked up Bear Driller and slung a quiver of arrows over his shoulder. “Something must have happened to Brianna.”

  Tavis started toward the gate, but Avner caught him by the arm. “Think this through,” the boy said. “Brianna’s the one who’s sending you away. It’d be unfortunate if something has befallen her, but do you really—”

  “Avner, don’t even say it,” Tavis interrupted. He glared down at the youth. “How could you wish misfortune on someone who’s done as much for you as Princess Brianna?”

  Avner’s cheeks flushed. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” He took a slim dagger out of his bundle. “I’ll come along to help.”

  Tavis shook his head. “Stay here and look after the others,” he said. “If Brianna didn’t reach Castle Hartwick, there won’t be anyone coming to look after you and the other children.”

  Avner scowled. “I’m no child.”

  “And we don’t need anyone to watch after us,” Livia added. “We were doing that long before you took us in.”

  Blizzard neighed again, then stamped her feet on the ground and trotted through the gate.

  “I don’t have time to argue about this,” Tavis snapped. Livia and the other children recoiled at his sharp tone, but Avner did not flinch. “Just do as I say one last time. You’ll be rid of me soon enough.”

  The children dropped their gazes, and several of the younger ones wiped their eyes.

  “Don’t cry,” Tavis pleaded. “There will be plenty of time for that after I find Brianna.”


  “Then you’ll come back?” Avner asked, his spirits rising.

  “At least to say good-bye.”

  With that, Tavis ran out the gate. When he turned toward Castle Hartwick, he saw Blizzard waiting at the edge of town. She whinnied, then set off down the road. Tavis followed at a trot, realizing the run ahead could be a long one.

  Before he had gone very far, the firbolg heard a clumsy, flat-footed gait coming up from behind. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Basil lumbering up the road. The runecaster had left his sack of stolen books behind and carried only a small satchel over his shoulder. Tavis neither slowed his pace nor increased it, allowing the gaunt verbeeg to catch up in due time.

  When Basil finally clumped up beside him, Tavis asked, “What are you doing here?”

  “Avner … arranged … it,” the verbeeg gasped. “He said I could have his books if I watched over you.”

  Tavis scowled, far from happy to hear the boy was using stolen goods to ensure his safety. Increasing his pace slightly, he said, “I hope you can keep up.”

  Somehow, Basil did. While Tavis trotted down the dusty road in near silence, the verbeeg pounded along at his side, gasping for breath and holding his ribs. Despite his obvious agony, never once did the runecaster ask the scout to slow down. Soon, the firbolg found himself admiring his companion’s will, and even began to consider that having a magic-user along might prove useful if Brianna were in serious trouble.

  Pausing frequently to look back and make sure Tavis and Basil were still following, Blizzard led the pair onward for the better part of an hour. Though they crossed several streams and the mare’s mouth was frothing with thirst, not once did she pause to drink. They passed dozens of granges, small farms with huts of rough-hewn logs and pastures fenced by walls of stacked rock. Usually, neither the inhabitants nor their animals were visible, for the sight of a verbeeg, even one accompanied by Tavis Burdun, was enough to send most peasants into hiding.