"You're daft!" he whispered.
Rosalyn smiled. "I see why you've no family. You should never speak like that to a lady."
"You're not a lady, you're a witch!"
Rosalyn winced. She spun on him and curled a hand into claws that looked curled around something. Ketten wheezed and clutched at his chest. "I am a witch," Rosalyn snarled. "I'll be the greatest witch who ever lived! I'll have power undreamt of! The power of nature and of dragons. What are the elements compared to those who can defy them or use them for their pleasure?
"Do you see these markings?" Rosalyn relaxed her hand and gestured at the tattoos across her chest and arms. Ketten slumped forward and had to lift his head back up to look at her. "The last man I stayed with thought to enslave me with them. He underestimated me and he was an arch mage! I have what he taught me and his power now, just like I can take yours as I take your life if you displease me."
Ketten straightened his back slowly and regained his composure now that she'd released her magical grip on him. "Seems I don't have a choice," he said.
Rosalyn smiled. "You learn quickly.
"It grows late and we have much to explore," Rosalyn said. "Fetch the horses and bring them in. We'll need food and if they run off or are eaten, you'll have to hunt something for us."
"What if I run off?" Ketten asked.
Rosalyn chuckled and tapped her breast over her heart. "You won't unless you desire a fate more painful than death."
Ketten glared at her a moment longer and then turned away. He tried to pull his split shirt and leathers together but he had nothing to tie them together with. He scowled and headed back towards the passage.
"Do hurry, there's much to be done," Rosalyn called to him right before he slipped into the tunnel that would take him back to the hill below.
Rosalyn turned and stared at the statue of Sarya again. She moved closer to it and stared up at it, and then closer until she could reach out and lay her hand on the leg of the silver dragon. The witch gasped when she felt the warmth within. "You're still here!" she whispered.
Rosalyn grinned and glanced at the corpse behind her. The meat was long since rotted away but the bones and great flaps of dragon hide remained. Sarya's hoard of treasure had been acquired and distributed among the realms of the north, for the survivors of Highpeak, the northern barbarian tribes, the Kelgryn people, and the final share going to the Church of Leander. Rosalyn chuckled. They'd missed the real treasure. It lay in Sarya's remains, both living and dead.
She turned away and went to fetch her shirt. She had a lot of work to do if she was going to punish the man who had ruined her.
Chapter 3
The young man burst through the trees and leapt off the boulders, only to land and roll until he could come to his feet again. He stumbled on and then regained his balance and continued to sprint down the rugged northern hillside.
The boy splashed through a stream and used his youth to spring down a ravine before he landed in the glen where his family had built their hall. His father and the warrior from the Snowbear clan were outside working on the timber wall around their house.
"Ho there, Borwin!" his father called out with a chuckle when he ran through the gate gasping for breath. "Racing your brother again? How long until he walks in?"
Borwin shook his head and had to gasp a few more breaths until he could speak. "Never! Harn's dead!"
"Dead?" Amvar echoed.
"Ogres," Borwin panted. "Too many to count!"
The visitor grabbed up his scabbard and slipped it over his back and then drew it tight. He checked the great sword on his back and asked, "What happened?"
"You saw him die?" Amvar demanded, ignoring their guest.
"Rock hit him in the head," the boy said. He'd caught his breath enough to slow down so they could see the trails of tears that had run down his face and the snot he wiped from his nose with the back of his hands. "They surprised us while we was fishing! He was closer."
"It killed him or you left him lying senseless?" Amvar demanded.
"An ogre-hurled stone will break a bone easy as an axe," the visitor declared.
Amvar turned to him. "I've fought ogres before, Garrick; I know what they can do."
Garrick nodded. "Then let us avenge your son."
Amvar nodded and turned to grab his own sword. Borwin shook his head. "There's too many!"
Amvar buckled his belt about his waist and turned back to his son. "They followed you?"
"I don't know," the boy admitted. "I ran as fast as I could once Harn fell in the river and I saw the blood."
"Did you even see the ogres?" his father asked with his fury barely controlled.
Borwin nodded hard enough to jostle his brain. "More than I could count. A score, maybe more!"
"Fetch Lars," Amvar said.
Once Borwin ran to the hall, Amvar turned to Garrick. "The boy's got a mouth and he's spun his share of stories, but this is too much."
Garrick nodded. "He's a good boy, but to lie about his brother being killed by ogres?"
Amvar sighed. "I never wanted him to lie to me so much in my life."
Garrick offered the patriarch a troubled smile and turned to the opening in the wall they'd been building. "This wall won't hold ogres for long. If there's twenty of them, they can smash it down or go through the holes we haven't filled yet. We can slow them but they'll surround us. Your hall is no better; they'll tear the walls down to get to us."
Amvar's eyes narrowed. "The winds speak of you as a giant slayer. A man who knows no hunger except the lust for battle. You've told us tales that seem unlikely, save you speak of a warrior from the south that is your equal. If you were full in your cups, you'd have no man who could stand beside you."
Garrick nodded. "If Alto were here, he might have a plan to fight. He is not. I would suggest we march and take the fight to them. Even surrounded in a field is better than trapped here. Your wife and daughter might escape that way, even if we fall."
Amvar scowled. "I agree we must take the fight to them, but Aressa will not flee. A Spottedwolf woman takes a single man and will love no other."
Garrick bowed his head. "Then let us be off. Borwin can use a bow or sling while we fight."
The door opened and Lars, Amvar's eldest son, emerged. Borwin followed, as did Aressa and Kendall, Amwar's daughter and the real reason for Garrick's visit. They met near the gate and saw Aressa's cheeks were white with the news of her son's death. Kendall wiped tears from her eyes and stood with her hands cross tightly in front of her chest. Garrick reminded himself not to smile in spite of how pretty she looked with her hair blowing in the northern breeze.
"Lars, Borwin, we go to stop these ogres," Amvar said. "Garrick will come with us. Show him you've got the spine of the mountains in you and do the Spottedwolf clan proud!"
Aressa nodded. "We'll wait inside for your return."
Amvar nodded and turned to the others. "Come, boys. No mercy to these beasts!"
Garrick caught Kendall's eyes and thought he saw a flicker of a smile in them. "We'll stop them," Garrick promised.
"Then you'd best be hurrying," Aressa snapped.
Garrick turned and saw the others had already made it to the gate. Garrick spat out an oath and hurried after them, his cheeks burning. He caught up outside the gate and nearly ran into Borwin. He leapt to the side to avoid knocking the boy over and saw the company of ogres sliding, falling, or climbing down from the steep hillside above.
"They're fast!" Borwin breathed.
Garrick snorted. "Large and stupid, not fast. They chased a bunny but didn't know it was guarded by wolves."
"Spottedwolves," Lars agreed.
"And a bear," Garrick referred to his own clan of Snowbear.
"There's so many!" Borwin whispered, daunted by the approaching ogres.
Garrick frowned. The boy was right; there was a lot of them. More than a score. Alto or even Mordrim would have come in handy. "Last time I seen this many was when the drago
n had gathered them."
"The dragon's dead, you said," Lars said.
"Seen the body with my own eyes," Garrick confirmed.
"Then let's hope they didn't learn to get along," Amvar offered.
"Right here, in the open?" Borwin stammered. "There's so many!"
"Throw rocks, sticks, whatever you've got!" Garrick said as he drew his sword and started forward. "I'll keep them busy."
"You're one man!" Lars said.
"He's not alone," Amvar said. "Stand with us, son, or guard the women—no one will think any less of you."
Lars snorted and hurried to catch up to the two men. He barely drew his sword before Garrick spun away from the swinging club of an ogre and surprised the ogre beside it with a crushing blow that hewed deep into its arm and chest. Garrick wrenched his blade free and cut the first ogre's arm off at the elbow.
The ogre howled and grabbed his spurting stump. He stared as his blood stained the short grass of the small valley and then grunted when Amvar's sword thrust up and into his heart. The ogre fell back while the men continued their assault on the small army of ogres.
The momentum of the barbarians halted as Lars cried out when a tree limb held in the hand of an ogre smashed his blocking sword down and then broke against his shoulder. Amvar's eldest son crumpled to the ground and screamed in agony. Amvar turned to hamstring the ogre that had hurt his son but was driven back as others pressed their attack against him.
Garrick drifted apart from the barbarians. He sprang back and forth, never standing still and giving the ogres a target. The barbarian had a feral grin on his face as he remembered the battle at the base of Sarya's mountain. It had been similar odds and he'd broken his sword fighting. He had little fear of that this time. Mordrim had forged him a great sword from dwarven steel. Garrick had aided the dwarf in the forging and had to admit that he'd never seen its equal.
The other difference between the battles was the Blades of Leander. His friends were competent warriors. Amvar and Lars were unknown to him, though he'd heard praise of the father of the Spottedwolf family told around dinner fires.
Garrick kicked an ogre in the side of the knee, knocking the creature off balance and giving him time to knock the old and rusty sword the ogre wielded from his hand. To a man, the ogre's blade would take two hands to wield. Garrick turned, unable to finish the ogre when he glimpsed an ogre with a thick spear thrusting at him. He battled on, turning blows intent on killing him into mere bruises or misses with his uncanny agility.
"Garrick!"
Garrick's sword was locked overhead with the club of an ogre when he heard Amvar call for him. He dropped one hand to his waist and strained against the club the ogre was now pushing down towards him. He pulled his axe free of his belt and slammed it into the ogre's ribs, snapping one with hewing deep enough to make the ogre's strength fail him. Garrick let go of his axe and spun around, driving the ogres back as his great sword swept in an arc around him.
Having a moment of time, he grabbed his axe and thrust it through the loop in his belt, trusting he could tie it later. He lunged at a fresh ogre, driving it back from his feint even as he leapt in the opposite direction and drove his shoulder into the belly of another of the nine foot tall creatures.
The ogre stumbled back, surprised by Garrick's assault, and tripped on one of its brethren. Garrick scored a flesh wound on another ogre to his right and slipped between them so he could stand at Amvar's side.
"Lars is hurt," Amvar said. "Borwin's being chased by ogres and others are making for the house. There's too many!"
Garrick risked a glance and saw that Amvar was right. They couldn't protect his family. He thrust his sword into the thigh of an ogre that came too close and was blasted by the broken chips of rock and wood when another ogre's overhand blow landed where he'd been standing a heartbeat before and shattered the ogre's weapon.
The barbarian dispatched the surprised ogre and turned to see Amvar clutching his left hand tightly to his side. Blood ran from a wound on his face that had laid his cheek open to the bone. Garrick paused and nearly paid for his hesitation with his life as a spear snagged the hides he wore and tugged him back a step before he tore free of the wooden tip.
"I can go to them," Garrick snarled while hewing into the spear that had come so close and knocking it from the ogre's hands.
"It's my job," Amvar said. "Stand over Lars."
"I can fight!" Lars protested while struggling to his knees. He picked up his sword in his left hand and rose to his feet unevenly.
Amvar nodded. "You make me proud, son."
Lars nodded, a smile coming to his face right before an ogre's club smashed into his head from behind and sent his twitching body flying.
Garrick turned, distracted by the sudden attack. He winced and then jumped back out of instinct. An ogre stumbled into the spot he'd just occupied, a crude blade leading the way. With Garrick gone, he turned and thrust the primitive steel into Amvar's wounded arm. Amvar cried out and stumbled towards his son's body. He pulled himself free of the impaling steel and thrust his own blade up into the throat of the ogre that had killed Lars.
Garrick's great sword cleaved the spine of the ogre that had stabbed Amvar. He kicked the ogre out of his way as it fell and turned to parry another strike against him. "Go!" Garrick cried. "There's no more to be done here."
Amvar stumbled away, breaking free of the fight and gaining speed as he ran for his house. He came upon two ogres just as the rocks they held smashed open the door to his house. He stabbed one from behind and hacked into the side of the other ogre's head when it turned to face him. The patriarch stumbled over their corpses and saw more ogres fast approaching.
"Amvar!" Aressa cried when she saw him. She put the sword she held down and looked at him. Behind her, Kendall clutched a shorter blade and bit her lip. She shook her head as tears ran down her face.
"They come for murder and sport," Amvar told her. "They'll have no sport with my family."
Aressa nodded and turned to grab Kendall in her hands. The girl shook her head and blubbered but Aressa soothed her. "Hush, child, you're a daughter of the Spottedwolf clan. Be strong, even now."
Kendall's sobs softened as she lowered her head. She trembled in her mother's arms. Aressa looked at Amvar and nodded, and then lowered her own head.
The sound of wood breaking caused Amvar to turn. Two more ogres were tearing the entrance to his hall, yanking the stone and wood so they could enter. He turned back to his women and took a deep breath. He'd run out of time.
* * * *
Garrick heard a roar of rage and pain and knew that he was the last. Well, unless Borwin was still running. Rather than letting the death of his friends weigh him down, he let it free him. He let a primal roar loose from his own throat and jumped into the ogres circling him. Blood sprayed from his sword with every swing. He seemed to be always ahead of the ogres, moving before they expected him to.
The ogres gave him room after a time. He stood and breathed in the northern winds tainted with the smell of smoke from Amvar's burning house. Garrick saw the flames reaching the sky from the corner of his eye but dared not take his attention from the ogres. He was glad the man had managed, at least, to deny the ogres any pillaging.
"I'm only one man," Garrick shouted at them, making them jump back from his sudden outburst. "Come on, taste my steel! Come and die on the blade of Garrick, slayer of giants!"
The ogres stayed where they were and grunted to one another in their crude language. Garrick's eyes narrowed as he wondered if they were making a plan to rush him. He'd gotten his wind back and the burn had left his arms. Should he rush them instead? He counted close to two dozen left, perhaps more since he could only see the ones closest to him clearly. Insurmountable numbers for a single warrior, but he hadn't lived this long by being told what he couldn't do.
Besides, if Alto could kill a dragon singlehandedly, surely he could handle a small army of ogres!
"I'm tired of resting,"
Garrick snarled at them. "Either you come at me or I'm going to kill every one of you sons of dogs!"
The ogres parted to let an older member of their war party through. The ogre stared at Garrick and snarled, a scar across his face disfiguring the already ugly brute. He held an iron-bound club with spikes driven into the end of it.
"You the leader?" Garrick shifted his stance and asked. "Don't know why I bother asking—you're too stupid to know how to talk."
"Me Grack," the ogre said in a heavy voice. "Grack means bone crush."
Garrick stiffened in surprise and then relaxed back into his fighting stance. Grack and Garrick. He scowled and decided to make sure the sound of their names was where the similarity ended. He glanced around but none of the ogres had moved towards him.
"You Garrick?" Grack asked.
"You hard of hearing?" Garrick taunted.
"You come," Grack said.
"You go," Garrick countered.
Grack scowled. "You come and you might live. You fight, you die."
Garrick swung his sword for effect. "I seem to be doing okay so far. How about I kill you first?"
Grack snarled and brandished his club.
Garrick raised his sword. "I'll kill every one of your motherless dogs," Garrick growled.
"You die," the ogre spat.
Garrick leapt forward and thrust his sword at the ogre. Unlike the other ogres, Grack was quick enough to dodge back, though not without earning a cut on his cheek to match the scar on the other side. His club swung across and bounced off Garrick's back, knocking his breath from him and making his spine pop in several places.
"You first," Garrick snarled at him while he stepped to the side and kept his feet moving. His back hurt but he'd been too close to the ogre for the spikes at the end of the club to touch him. He stepped in and swung his sword, only to find the ogre blocked it with his club. Garrick spun away from the strike and delivered a glancing blow with his blade against the ogre's arm. Grack had moved his sword to block him again.
Grack snarled at him and brought the massive club across, barely missing the retreating barbarian's chest. Garrick jumped forward as soon as he felt the ground under the balls of his feet. His blade was knocked aside but not before it cut a furrow on Grack's hip. In too close, Garrick dropped his sword and pulled his axe free from his belt. He pushed himself into Grack's belly, the muscles straining in his legs as he forced the ogre to back up a step.
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