The Ogre's Pact

by Troy Denning

  “Ogre arrow,” grunted the bodyguard.

  Tavis fixed his gaze on the rim where Blizzard had been. “But no ogre,” he observed, noting that there were no gleaming eyes peering over the edge. “You’d think the warrior would be curious about why Blizzard was lingering by the crevasse.”

  “Unless he already knew,” suggested Basil.

  Tavis looked down at Brianna’s amulet. The silver spear had stopped wavering, its tip pointing considerably away from the route ahead. Given that they had traveled less than halfway up the icy canyon, the angle seemed much too great. They still had at least a mile to go, so if the ice shelter had been built anywhere near the crevasse, the talisman should have been pointing almost straight up the gorge—at least if Brianna was inside the structure.

  “You’re suggesting Goboka’s ice hut is meant for us?”

  Basil nodded.

  “For us?” asked Morten. “What for?”

  “To l-lure us into his t-trap, you oaf,” said Earl Dobbin. “We should t-turn back for t-tonight. We can warm ourselves by a nice f-fire and try again in the morning.”

  “Our chance will be gone by then,” said Tavis. “Besides, if I’m right, we may be able to turn the ogres’ plan against them.”

  “And if you’re wrong?” demanded the lord mayor.

  Tavis shrugged. “We’ll know soon enough.”

  The scout resumed the journey, sloshing up the tiny stream in the bottom of the crevasse. So frigid was the brook that only its swift current prevented the water from turning solid. A thick layer of slush rolled along its icy bed, making the footing so treacherous that Tavis had to hold on to the canyon walls to keep from falling. Nor was the going any easier where the rivulet slowed, for the eddies and pools were covered by thin blankets of ice that shattered beneath the giant-kin’s great weight, and he often found himself standing up to his thighs in water so cold it made his bones ache.

  Morten and Basil suffered the same discomforts as Tavis, but, for the two humans, wading up the icy stream was an even greater challenge. They stumbled about as if they had lost all feeling in their legs, and more than once Morten or Basil had to catch one of them before he pitched headlong into the frigid waters. That Earl Dobbin continued to wear his breastplate and helmet did not help matters, for the steel was covered with a thick coating of hoarfrost that added to the armor’s burdensome weight Despite their difficulties, they made steady progress. Tavis paused every now and then to look up and see if they were being watched, but he saw no eyes—ogre or equine. The angle between the crevasse’s route and the tip of Brianna’s talisman steadily increased. By the time they had ascended the glacier far enough to see the dark silhouette of the ice wall looming above the rim, the silver spear pointed almost directly at the side of the canyon.

  Tavis stopped and gathered the others close. “Avner, where would you say that ice hut is in relation to us?”

  Despite Avner’s obvious discomfort, the mere fact that the scout had condescended to ask him a question caused the boy’s eyes to light. It was only the third time Tavis had spoken to him since learning how the youth had abandoned Morten and the earls to the ogre ambush.

  “It’d be about th-there,” Avner said. He pointed almost directly up the crevasse. “They were b-building it right on the edge, at the b-b-b-bottom of the ice wall.”

  Avner’s arm and Brianna’s talisman were pointing in completely different directions. “Goboka’s keeping Brianna someplace else,” Tavis said. “He built the ice hut to lure us up this crevasse.”

  “Isn’t that wh-what I said?” demanded Earl Dobbin. “You sh-should have t-turned back when I suggested it!”

  Tavis shook his head. “The trap was already sprung,” he said. “By then, a pack of ogres was in the crevasse, coming up after us.”

  The earl’s eyes widened in alarm. “And you said nothing?” he yelled. “You’re in this with the ogres!”

  “Keep your voice down,” ordered Morten. The bodyguard placed his tremendous bulk in front of the earl and eyed Tavis. “You said you have a plan. What is it?”

  “How much time have you spent under glaciers?”

  Morten frowned, as did everyone else. “I try to keep my head above the snow,” the bodyguard grunted. “Why?”

  “Because if Goboka’s using the ice hut as a decoy, he needs someplace else to hide Brianna,” the scout explained. “And I have an idea where to look.”

  Before Morten could ask more questions, Tavis continued upstream, stopping about two hundred sloshing paces later. It was here that the meltwater stream flowed into the crevasse, trickling out of an ice cave near the bottom of the rift. A chill breeze seeped from the mouth of the grotto, gnawing at Tavis’s soaked legs with its stinging breath.

  Noting that the tip of Brianna’s talisman was pointing directly into the cavern, Tavis stooped over to peer inside. The passage was about five feet in diameter, as smooth as glass and about half filled with the swift, silent currents of the meltwater stream. The first few paces of the cave gleamed with the same cool radiance as the canyon walls. But as the grotto snaked its way toward the glacier’s heart, the blue light gave way to an inky gloom more chilling than death.

  “We’ll need to light a torch,” Tavis said.

  “I’ve got something better,” offered Basil. The verbeeg reached into his satchel and withdrew a small poplar stick carved with a single rune. A brilliant yellow radiance shined from the tip of the wand, filling the bottom of the crevasse with a flickering light of gold. “It won’t go out, even if it’s soaked.”

  Fearing the bright light would let the ogres know their position, Tavis grabbed the wand and stuck it under his cloak.

  “I’m not g-going in there,” objected Earl Dobbin.

  “Then stay here and fight the ogres,” growled Morten. The bodyguard’s gaze was fixed on Brianna’s talisman, which continued to point unerringly into the ice cave. “I’ll follow Tavis in there—after he answers a couple of questions.”

  Tavis nodded. “If you wish.”

  “First, how’d you know we’d find a cavern here?” Morten narrowed his eyes, still distrustful of the scout. “Have you been here before?”

  “No,” Tavis replied. “But crevasses don’t usually have streams.”

  “Then where’d all this come from?” the bodyguard demanded, kicking at the icy meltwater.

  “Do you know what a nunatak is?” the scout asked.

  Morten shook his head, but Basil had a ready answer. “It’s a projection of rock protruding above the glacier surface,” the verbeeg said. “It gathers heat from the sun, which tends to melt the surrounding ice and create a hollow area around the stone.”

  “Right,” Tavis said. “And what happens to all that water?”

  “It flows away,” Morten growled. “What else?”

  “Right again, but it doesn’t run over the top of the glacier,” Tavis explained. “It’s already below the surface when it melts, so it seeps down and melts a path under the ice. So when I saw a stream in the bottom of this crevasse, I knew there had to be an ice cave somewhere up here. Next question?”

  The bodyguard did not hesitate before replying. “You said earlier you knew where to look for Brianna. Tell me.”

  “If you want,” the scout said. “I think Goboka’s keeping her in a nunatak hollow—perhaps even one that feeds this stream.”

  Morten raised his brow. “How can you know that?”

  “Because she’ll freeze if he leaves her in the open,” Tavis replied. “And it would be more difficult to lure us into an ambush if we saw his warriors building a second ice hut or digging a snow cave. The hollow of a large nunatak offers the best natural shelter.”

  “It s-seems to me a small c-crevasse would do as well,” said Earl Dobbin. “I’ve been on enough glaciers to know there are plenty of those.”

  Tavis shook his head. “After the trouble he took to kidnap her, the shaman won’t risk Brianna’s life on something so unpredictable,” the scout sa
id. “Even crevasses that have stayed open for decades can close in an instant.”

  The earl cast a nervous glance at the icy walls of their own crevasse, but no one else showed any concern about the risk that their own rift would close.

  “Besides, a nunatak hollow should be warmer than a crevasse,” Basil added. “At night, the stone will release much of the heat it absorbs from the sun during the day.”

  “And you think you can find the right nunatak by going into this ice cave?” Morten addressed his question to Tavis.

  The scout gestured to Brianna’s talisman, which continued to point into the cavern. “What do you think?”

  Morten nodded, then checked to be sure the rope and other gear hanging from his belt were secure. “I suppose it’s our best chance,” he said. “But if something happens—”

  “We’ll all die together,” Tavis replied. “And all your threats won’t save any of us.”

  The scout slipped Brianna’s amulet into his cloak pocket, then crawled into the low cavern on his hands and knees. As impossible as it seemed, the meltwater inside the grotto felt even colder than that in the crevasse outside—perhaps because now both his arms and legs were submerged up to the elbows and thighs. The gentle breeze made matters worse, for its breath was as frigid as a frost giant’s, cutting through Tavis’s damp cloak like daggers of ice.

  When the tunnel began to grow so dark he could no longer see, the scout pulled one hand from the frigid currents and drew Basil’s light-wand from inside his cloak. He placed the stick between his teeth, then paused long enough to look back. Earl Dobbin had apparently forgotten his earlier refusal to enter the cavern, for he was close behind Avner, who was following directly behind Tavis. The youth was short enough to stand upright in the small cavern, but the lord mayor had to stoop over to keep from scraping his ice-covered helmet on the ceiling.

  The lips of both humans were trembling, and the scout knew they could not long withstand the freezing conditions of the meltwater grotto. Unfortunately, there was little he could do to help, except hurry upstream and hope Brianna could save them with a clerical spell after she was rescued. The only way Tavis could help would be to start a fire, and even if that were possible, the smell of smoke would draw the ogres to them in short order.

  They continued upstream for many long, bitter minutes. Occasionally the water rose as high as the shoulders of the giant-kin, forcing them to crane their necks to keep their chins above water. The two humans were not strong enough to battle the cold currents alone, so they grabbed Tavis’s belt and allowed him to pull them forward. Then, when the brook grew shallow again, they pried their frozen fingers open and waded forward under their own power, the icy breeze cutting through their wet clothing like the claws of a life-stealing wraith. Soon, the draft had stolen so much heat from Earl Dobbin’s body that he lost control of his muscles, pitching headfirst into the dark waters. He would have drowned had Morten not been close by to pull him out.

  Seeing that Avner’s eyes had glazed over and his lips were the color of sapphires, Tavis realized the boy was also perilously close to collapse. The scout loosened his cloak, then instructed the youth to crawl under it to ride on his back. The firbolg doubted his body heat would restore the youth, but at least it might prevent him from collapsing until after they rescued Brianna.

  Morten removed Earl Dobbin’s frozen breastplate and started to cast it aside, but Basil took the armor from him and sat down in the water.

  “You g-go on ahead,” the verbeeg said. “I’ll c-catch up later.” It had grown so cold inside the cave that even giant-kin were beginning to stutter.

  Tavis frowned, remembering that the runecaster had tried to slip away once or twice before. “If you’ve d-decided to wait this out, this isn’t the p-place to do it,” the scout advised. “Assuming an ogre pack is following us up the c-crevasse, it won’t take them long to realize we didn’t continue past the ice cave. They’ll come looking for us in h-here.”

  “Don’t w-worry, I’m still on your s-side,” Basil replied. The runecaster opened his satchel and withdrew a steel stylus. When he touched it to the breastplate, the tip began to glow, illuminating Basil’s homely features, “I j-just thought I’d leave a little p-present in the water.”

  Earl Dobbin cast an indignant glance toward his breastplate, but when he tried to protest, all that spilled from his frozen lips was an incoherent mumble.

  “Don’t be too l-long,” Tavis said, starting up the stream again. “We won’t have t-time to wait for you.”

  The scout’s warning had more to do with their human companions than with his fear of the ogres. Avner’s shivering form felt cool and wet against his back, and he knew the boy was starting to freeze to death. Although Tavis had not removed Avner’s boots or gloves, he had no doubt that the youth’s hands and feet were already white with frostbite. Soon, as the boy’s body grew too weak to warm itself, the cold would creep up his limbs into his torso. When its icy fingers gripped his heart, he would give a deep sigh and the life would exit his body on one last steamy breath.

  Soon, they came to a fork in the ice cave. From the smaller tunnel, running more or less straight up the glacier, came the muffled gurgle of water flowing over a field of stones. From the other passage came the distant roar of a small waterfall. Tavis pulled Brianna’s amulet from inside his cloak and dangled the chain between his fingers. The silver spear spun around aimlessly, the tip unable to settle on a direction.

  “You let the verbeeg t-trick you!” Morten accused.

  “He didn’t trick us,” Tavis replied, examining Basil’s rune. The scout took the amulet’s chain off the bark, then turned the scrap so Morten could see the smeared symbol. “The water washed away his magic.”

  The bodyguard snorted. “Now what?” he demanded. “This is a big g-glacier, and we d-don’t have much time.”

  “It’d take a fairly large nunatak to make a hollow large enough to shelter Brianna,” Tavis said. “It will be the biggest stream that leads us to her.”

  “And if you’re wrong?” Morten growled.

  “I’m not,” Tavis answered.

  Brianna’s amulet had been pointing more or less in this direction before Basil’s rune disappeared, so the scout felt every bit as confident as he sounded. He returned Brianna’s amulet to his pocket, then used his dagger to make several large gouges in the icy wall to show Basil which way they had gone. He followed the largest branch of the stream toward the distant roar of the waterfall, occasionally stopping to listen or sniff at the wind. The passage forked several more times, and Tavis always chose the one with the largest stream flowing out of it. Eventually, the din of the waterfall became so loud he could no longer hear Morten sloshing along behind him. The stream grew so shallow that it barely covered the scout’s hands, and the tunnel flattened out to the point where he had to crawl on his belly to keep from scraping Avner against the icy ceiling. He began to catch whiffs of a sour, rancid smell on the chilling breeze, and he knew they were near their destination.

  Tavis stopped and slipped Basil’s wand into his cloak. Once his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw a halo of purple starlight streaming down around the black silhouette of an enormous rock outcropping. They had found their nunatak.

  The scout pulled Avner off his back. Although he could not see the youth in the blackness of the tunnel, the boy’s skin felt icy to the touch, and his breath came in shallow, weak sighs. They did not have time to wait for Basil before they attacked. If the two humans were to survive, they had to free Brianna—and quickly.

  Pulling Avner along with one hand, he crawled through the icy stream on his belly. Morten followed his example, and by the time they stuck their heads out of the ice cave, both firbolgs were shivering from the cold. The scout felt sick to his stomach, and it took a supreme effort of will to wiggle his fingers.

  Still, Tavis felt optimistic, for the air was thick with the rancid smell of ogre. An erratic curtain of meltwater was pouring off the ice wall ove
r his head, and in the dim light he could make out the craggy features of a granite scarp less than a body’s length away. The scout crawled into the small hollow between the nunatak and the glacier, pulling Avner’s chill form behind him. He could feel a frail warmth radiating off the boulder, but he knew it would not be enough to save the humans.

  Tavis climbed to his feet and looked up the narrow chasm. To one side loomed a wall of glacier ice, the creamy glimmer of moonlight shining through the silvery sheets of water that cascaded down its face. To the other side rose the shadowy scarp of the nunatak, as steep and craggy as any precipice in the Ice Spires. Near the top of this gloomy cliff, about fifty feet above the scout’s head, sat the loutish figures of two ogre warriors.

  The brutes were squatting at the opposite ends of a long ledge, with the yellow glow of an oil lamp brightening the cliff at their backs. In the flickering light, Tavis could barely make out a fur-swaddled form lying outstretched between the two ogres. From his angle, he could see little more than one flank of the tightly wrapped bundle, but that was enough to make his heart pound harder. The figure looked about seven feet long—just tall enough to be the princess.

  Tavis pulled Bear Driller off his shoulder. “Morten, we’ve found Brianna,” he whispered. “Just like I promised.”

  9

  Rescue

  Keeping his eyes fixed on the ogres, Tavis pulled two arrows from his quiver. Before he could nock the first shaft, he felt a huge hand come down on his shoulder. The scout looked back to see Morten shaking his head.

  “You m-might hit Brianna.” The bodyguard whispered so softly Tavis could barely hear him.

  “How else can we k-kill those g-guards before they realize we’re here?” the scout asked, his teeth chattering. Although the nunatak hollow was not so cold as the ice caves, neither was it warm enough to counteract the effects of the freezing waters they had been in. “If you have a b-better idea, l-let me know.”