The Ogre's Pact

by Troy Denning

  Without raising his eyes, the giant held a finger to his plump lips. “Quiet!” His order boomed across the gorge many times louder than the princess’s call. “Hunting.”

  Reluctant to argue with a giant, Brianna carefully leaned forward and looked into the gorge. It was one of those narrow ravines many times deeper than it was wide, with cliffs of sheer granite capping its talus-covered slopes. A silvery stream meandered through the patchy forest of spearhead spruce carpeting the canyon floor. Aside from a few nuthatches flitting between roosts, the princess did not see anything that looked even remotely like prey.

  A wolf’s howl echoed somewhere down the rocky gorge. It was answered by another, much closer. Brianna studied the canyon floor more closely but saw no sign of the beasts that had caused the noises.

  “What are you hunting?” Brianna asked. “Wolves?”

  The giant scowled. “No, stupid,” he growled. He twisted his mouth into a gluttonous grin and licked his lips with a fat gray tongue. “Horse.”

  The wolves howled again. Brianna’s heart fell, certain that it had to be her mare the beasts were chasing. She heard the distant clatter of hooves on rock. The sound was sharp and distinct, leaving no doubt that it had been made by steel-shod feet. The hill giant grabbed a boulder off his pile and stood, raising the huge stone over his head. In the bottom of the gorge, a white-flecked streak came galloping out of a stand of spearhead spruce, pursued by the gray forms of nearly a dozen huge wolves. The sentry gave a long, piercing whistle, and the beasts instantly fanned out, forcing the horse toward the wall where their master stood waiting.

  “Blizzard, no!” Brianna yelled, her voice echoing through the valley. “Come!”

  The mare stopped and, with a joyful whinny, pricked up her ears. She looked half starved, with a snarled mane and dozens of open cuts on her flanks. The horse began to circle, following the sound of her mistress’s voice as it bounced off the canyon walls. The wolves surrounded her immediately, but contented themselves with snapping and snarling and did not close in for the kill. Blizzard looked up and saw Brianna standing atop the cliff. With a determined neigh, the mare charged the wolf blocking her way. When she reared up to lash him with her hooves, the beast wisely dodged aside and allowed her to escape.

  Bellowing in anger, the hill giant hurled his rock into the gorge. His pets scattered in all directions, just in time to avoid being sprayed with debris as the boulder shattered in their midst. Blizzard cast a wide-eyed glance over her shoulder, then continued across the valley. The wolves rushed after her, regrouping as they ran.

  Casting an angry glare at Brianna, the hill giant grabbed a small boulder and raised it over his head. Though the princess was not sure whether he intended to hurl it at her or her mare, she pointed up the canyon.

  “Blizzard, go!” she yelled. “Run!”

  “Quiet!”

  Startled by the giant’s roar, Blizzard turned and galloped up the canyon. The angry hunter bellowed again, scattering his wolves once more, and hurled his boulder into the gorge. His aim and range were incredible, for the stone sailed straight down and would have intercepted the mare had she not dodged into a spruce stand at the last second. The wolves sprinted into the trees after her, their howls of frustration echoing through the gorge.

  “Stupid, stupid girl!”

  The hill giant grabbed another boulder, and this time, Brianna knew, it was intended for her.

  “Wait!” Brianna yelled. “I’ll make it up to you. I can give you something better.”

  The sentry checked his throw. “Better than horse?” He cocked one side of his heavy brow. The expression looked more gruesome than inquisitive. “How?”

  “I’m your chief’s friend—”

  Before Brianna could continue her explanation, the hill giant burst out laughing. “Why Noote want little girl for friend?” he demanded. “Too small for the rut!”

  Brianna felt the blood rising to her cheeks. “I’m not that kind of friend,” she said. “I’m Princess Brianna of Hartwick. Noote and my father are comrades.” She didn’t think it wise to say friends. “I want you to take me to see your chief.”

  Still holding the boulder over his head, the hill giant scowled. “How that better than horse?” he demanded. “Maybe good for Noote—not for Rog.”

  Knowing that the ogres would not allow her much time to complete her negotiations, Brianna hazarded a glance down the mountainside. At the other end of the moor, the ogres were still scrambling up the slope, making more progress than she would have liked against the torrent of boulders Morten and Tavis hurled down upon them. Closer to the princess, the brutes had opted for a different strategy. They were staying below timberline, slipping through the spruce shadows as they ran abreast of her route. This puzzled the princess for a moment, until she realized that they were trying to enter the gorge lower down, after which they would quickly move to cut off the last escape route.

  Brianna looked back to the giant. “If you bring me to Noote, he’ll be happy with you.” In spite of her growing concern, she forced herself to remain patient. She would not win Rog’s help by trying to pressure him. “He’ll reward you.”

  This sent Rog into such a fit of hysterics that he dropped his boulder, almost crushing his own foot.

  “All right, then!” Brianna called. “I’ll reward you myself. How would you like five horses?”

  Rog stopped laughing and picked up his club. “Where?”

  From the other end of the moor came the clatter of ogre arrows striking stone. Brianna glanced back to see Earl Dobbin and Avner scrambling toward her across the tundra.

  “Those humans!” the giant protested. “Not horses.”

  “I’ll send the horses to you,” Brianna promised. “Okay?”

  The hill giant’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You not even let Rog eat one horse. Why give him five?”

  “Blizzard is special to me,” Brianna said. “It would be like watching me eat one of your wolves.”

  Rog’s lip curled into a disgusted sneer, and the princess knew she had touched an emotional cord. “I’ll give you ten horses,” she offered. “But you have to say yes right now—and call your wolves off my horse.”

  “Yes!”

  Rog tightened his lips against his yellowing teeth and gave a rising whistle that rang through the canyon. A dozen indignant howls protested the call. The hill giant repeated his summons, this time following it up with a threatening bellow. The wolves yelped, then Brianna spotted their gray forms slinking back down the gorge.

  Rog tossed his club into the canyon, then sat down and braced his hands on the edge of the cliff. He turned around and carefully lowered himself until he was dangling by his fingers. Although the precipice had to be thirty feet high, the hill giant was so tall, and his arms so long, that his feet almost reached the bottom. He dropped into the gorge and fell over backward, tumbling down the talus slope head over heels. Halfway down, he slammed into a spruce trunk, shaking a torrent of brown needles down on his head, and came to stop. As though nothing unusual had happened, the giant stood up and brushed himself off, then retrieved his club and crossed the valley to climb up the slope on Brianna’s side of the gorge.

  The princess turned around to check on her companions. Earl Dobbin and Avner were almost upon her. By the steady rumble of rolling rocks, she could tell that Morten and Tavis remained at their posts, still hurling boulders down at the ogres. Meanwhile, down at timberline, a steady line of Goboka’s warriors were sneaking through the spruce forest toward the gorge.

  “Tavis!” Even as she yelled the name, Brianna found herself wondering why her first instinct had been to call the scout’s name instead of her bodyguard’s. “You too, Morten! Come now—or you’ll be cut off!”

  The princess heard one more set of boulders crash down the hill, then the rumbling began to quiet. Confident that the firbolgs had heeded her warning, Brianna faced the gorge again. She found Rog standing at the base of the cliff, his arms raised toward her. />
  “Jump,” he called. “Rog catch good. Better than most hill giants.”

  Though the hill giant’s words hardly inspired faith, Brianna had no time to indulge her reservations. She simply stepped off the cliff and hoped for the best, fairly certain that at least Rog intended to catch her. The princess dropped through the air for a single queasy instant. The back of her shoulders slapped the edge of the giant’s leathery palm, but the rest of her body missed entirely. The momentum of her fall whipped her forward. Her head flashed past four massive fingers that were slowly curling inward in a futile effort to grasp her before she tumbled away, and she found herself pitching face first toward the rocky talus slope below.

  The hill giant’s second hand rose from his side and appeared beneath her. She slammed facedown into the palm, coming to a stop with a loud and painful grunt. A moment later, Rog’s thick fingers curled around her body, almost crushing her ribs as they locked her in his grip.

  “See? Rog’s hands good.” The hill giant set her on the ground near his feet

  “They got the job done,” Brianna allowed, still gasping from her impact. “But hold your hands like this for my friends.”

  She cupped her palms together to show the hill giant what she meant. He stooped over—way over—and squinted at her hands with a single red-veined eye. Most giants suffered from farsightedness, but Rog’s condition was worse than most He hardly seemed able to separate her from the rocky slope.

  “But what if Rog miss with first hand?” the giant asked, cupping his palms together.

  “Hold still,” Brianna advised. “They’ll jump into your palms.”

  The hill giant looked doubtful, but put his hands together as she had instructed and raised them toward the cliff top. “Your friends, not mine,” he said, shrugging.

  As Earl Dobbin leaped from the cliff, Brianna heard a soft growl, then felt a cold nose nuzzling her neck. She turned around and found herself staring up into the yellow eyes of the leader of Rog’s wolf pack. When she had seen the beast from atop the cliff, she had not realized how huge it was. The thing was almost as large as Blizzard, its thick fur matted so densely that a dagger could not have pierced it. The creature’s muzzle was slender and pointed, with slavering black lips and fangs as long as daggers. Bounding up the hill behind the beast were its eight fellows, all close to their leader’s size and just as wicked-looking.

  As the creature glared at her, the princess realized that she had been mistaken about its species. The thing was not a wolf, but its cousin, a dire wolf—twice as large, nasty tempered, and not nearly as smart.

  When the dire wolf began to snarl, Brianna quickly lowered her eyes so it would know she wasn’t challenging it, then raised her hand to Hiatea’s amulet. Me little no threat, she thought, using her goddess’s magic to project the message to the beast. Big wolf leader wolf. Don’t hurt.

  The message seemed to satisfy the wolf. It merely snapped at her face a couple of times, then quickly retreated before Rog noticed what was happening. Brianna breathed a sigh of relief, then repeated the message as the hill giant lowered her two human companions beside her.

  Rog was just raising his arms again when Tavis’s panicked voice drifted down. “Here we come!”

  In the next instant, both Tavis and Morten came soaring over the top of the cliff, followed instantly by a flight of dark arrows. As the shafts sailed across the gorge, rattling harmlessly off the far wall, Rog’s eyes opened wide as bucklers. He tried to position his cupped palms first under the scout, then under the bodyguard. Finally, he gave up and threw a hand out toward each one. The firbolgs hit the giant with a mighty crash, then all three figures went tumbling down the slope amidst a cloud of dust. The dire wolves bounded after them howling in glee, trying in vain to catch up and join the fun.

  Taking her lead from the beasts, Brianna grabbed her human companions by the wrists and started down the slope. “The ogres can’t be far behind.”

  “They aren’t,” Earl Dobbin assured her.

  The three humans approached the bottom of the hill just as the dire wolves caught up with Rog and the two firbolgs, who were still rolling across the rocks toward the small stream. The beasts leaped into the fray with snapping jaws and wagging tails.

  “Off, Anouk!” commanded Rog. “Back, Elke!”

  If anything, the hill giant’s orders only made the wolves more determined to continue the tussle—until one of the beasts suddenly sprouted a dark shaft in its flank. The creature yelped in pain and limped from the jumble, collapsing less than ten steps away. The other dire wolves scattered instantly, breaking for the nearest stand of woods. Brianna and the other two humans followed their lead.

  “Firbolgs!” Rog yelled, finally getting a look at his companions. The hill giant scrambled to his knees, then began squinting at the ground in search of his club. “Hate firbolgs!”

  “We don’t think much of giants, either!” Morten yelled back.

  The bodyguard pushed Rog over, then reached for the battle-axe tucked into his belt. Tavis simply rolled away, content to have the hill giant’s immense bulk off his body.

  “Morten! Rog!” Brianna yelled. “Leave that till later. We have real problems!”

  The princess pointed up the slope, to where a pack of Goboka’s warriors were drawing their bowstrings. Rog and the firbolgs hurled themselves in three different directions. In the same instant, a chorus of strums sounded from the ogre bows, then a flurry of arrows clattered to the ground where the trio had been wrestling a moment before.

  “Go!” Tavis yelled. As he rose, the scout grabbed a handful of black arrows from the ground. “Take cover!”

  Neither Morten nor Rog needed to be told twice. Morten scrambled away on his hands and knees, then found protection by slipping over the bank of the small stream. Rog launched himself toward the nearest stand of spruce, crashing into the trees at Brianna’s side.

  “Ogres!” he gasped. His face was as pale as snow. “Now Rog want a hundred horses!”

  12

  Rog’s Gate

  Crouched behind a boulder barely large enough to conceal him, Tavis nocked one of the black arrows. The shaft was too short for Bear Driller’s draw, so it would not have as much power as one of his own arrows. But, having lost his quiver to the river, it was the best the scout had. He could still generate enough force to pierce his enemy’s thick hide, and, thanks to the poisoned tip, nothing more was required.

  Tavis poked his head up, heard the expected chord of humming bowstrings, then ducked back down. A host of black shafts scraped over the top of the boulder and rattled to the rocky ground behind him. The scout jumped up and raised his pilfered arrow toward the gorge rim, where a pack of ogre warriors stood clustered three-deep. He aimed at one of the brutes in the second rank and released his bowstring.

  The shaft sailed toward the cliff top at an agonizingly slow pace. It seemed to float more than fly, allowing the target and the two warriors in front of him plenty of time to see that it was coming for them. They tried to dodge, but the pack stood so tightly crammed they could hardly move. The arrow nicked the shoulder of one of the ogres in the front, then sliced across the chest of the original target as he tried to twist away, and finally lodged in the arm of an astonished warrior in the third rank. None of the injured ogres fell, and the rest of the pack were already pulling arrows from their quivers to counterattack.

  Tavis dived over the dire wolf the ogres had injured with their first volley, cursed silently as he rolled across jagged rocks, and came up running. He heard bowstrings snap as the fastest of his enemies loosed their arrows. The scout hurled himself over a fallen log into a stand of trees. He did not see where the shafts landed, but none hit him.

  Tavis crawled beneath the low-hanging boughs of a spearhead spruce, then stood up behind its bole and nocked another ogre arrow. When he peered around the trunk to take aim, he saw that the three warriors he had wounded earlier were in various stages of collapse, one teetering at the cliff’s edge, one
holding himself off the ground with his hands and knees, the last lying unconscious with the arrow still lodged in his arm.

  The scout fired again, picking, as he had before, a target in the second rank. The arrow gashed two ogres before shattering against the mountainside. This time, Tavis had plenty of time to watch his targets collapse, for those who had not been wounded finally understood the strategy of his glancing shots and were scrambling to open some space between themselves. The poison did not drop the wounded ogres immediately, for they had received only minute doses as the tip grazed them. Still, the toxin was powerful. Their knees began to wobble, then abruptly buckled, and both dropped in the same instant—one knocking the teetering warrior over the cliff.

  The five uninjured warriors kneeled at the edge of the precipice, arrows nocked and ready. They seemed content to hold their fire as long as their quarry made no move to escape. The ogres had no reason to press the attack; reinforcements would arrive soon enough.

  Tavis fired another arrow. He waited long enough to see his target drop flat and narrowly escape death, then the scout ducked back behind his spruce trunk. Four ogre shafts answered his attack, two of them passing so close they peeled the bark from his cover. The arrows had not even planted themselves in the ground before Tavis was sprinting from his stand of trees.

  “This way!” He leaped over the fallen wolf and dodged toward the stream where Morten had taken cover, motioning for Brianna and Avner to follow him.

  The ogres’ bowstrings snapped, and the scout threw himself headlong into the water. After splashing into the middle of the icy stream, he climbed to Morten’s side and peered over the bank. Along with Avner and Earl Dobbin, Brianna was still hiding in a stand of trees with the hill giant.

  Tavis nocked an arrow. “I’ll cover you!” he yelled. “Hurry! We’ve got to get out of here!”