In the Company of Ogres

by Martinez A. Lee

  A barrage of fireballs erupted from the smoking garden. Most of the projectiles went into the air, but a wall, a roof, and a small gathering of soldiers were blown to pieces. That was all it took to send most of the other soldiers scurrying for cover. Only Frank, Ned, Gabel, and Ace remained. And Gabel cowered behind the tall ogre.

  Clouds boiled overhead. With a deafening thunderclap a blast of blue lightning sizzled through the sky to strike the garden. A shaft of purple flame followed. It shot upward and burned away the cloud with a demonic howl.

  And then, only quiet.

  “What was that?” asked Ace.

  Ned dropped to the cobblestones. “Wizards.”

  The vermilion raven flew down to perch on his shoulder. “Wow! Didn’t think the old bird still had it in her.”

  “Is it over?” said Frank.

  “Probably not,” replied the raven. “They’re both very powerful. I imagine they’ll have to kill each other several times to get it right.”

  Belok strode from the gray haze. He seemed shorter now. And hairier. He rubbed his shoulder. An expression of minor discomfort crossed his face. His phantoms had taken on ghastly appearances, gaunt and corpselike with hollow eyes and bony limbs. He raised his hand in Ned’s direction, and the cackling specters poured forward to snatch Ned up. Frank and Ace swung wildly at the ghosts, but their blows passed harmlessly through the phantoms. They dragged Ned to the wizard.

  A black sphere shot from the smoke to strike Belok on the head. He lurched forward. His phantoms released Ned, who scrambled back to safety by Frank. Not that there was much the ogre could do against this magic, but he was still the largest, toughest thing around. Instinct alone compelled Ned to Frank’s side.

  The Red Woman limped her way from the smoke. Milky white blood ran down a gash across her face.

  Belok rubbed his head. “You’re tougher than I thought.”

  “Perhaps you’re weaker than you think,” she replied. Strange energies gathered on the tip of her staff. The magic pulsed and throbbed. By now the cloudless sky had gone a dark, consuming gray, and the magic cast a brilliant beacon in the gloom.

  Ned pondered running away, but this wasn’t something he could retreat from. These two wizards were deciding his fate, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

  Belok grew into a large, reptilian beast: a dragon with giant wings and a single, jagged horn protruding from his forehead. With disgust, Ace threw away his mock wings and horn. Even in dragon form, Belok had his bill and his furry head. And his tail was the round, flattened appendage of a beaver, proportionately large enough to pulverize three healthy ogres in one swat. He drew in a deep breath. His cheeks bulged. And Ned noticed a line of fur advancing down his back and across his shoulders.

  The dragon exhaled his gout of fire, which the Red Woman parted with a wave of her glowing staff. She burst from her skin into a long, crimson serpent. She hurled her staff away as the two massive reptiles snapped and wrestled. The staff, still radiant, clattered at Ned’s feet.

  “I don’t know if that’s a good plan,” said the raven.

  “What plan?” asked Ned.

  “I wasn’t talking to you,” replied the raven, turning his attention back to his telepathic discussion. “I don’t know if I’d rely on Ned myself.” The bird cocked his head to one side. “You’re the boss. Ned, pick up the staff.”

  Ned hesitated. The staff glowed with dangerous sorceries. “Uh ... I’d rather not.”

  “It won’t hurt you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Fairly certain.” The raven sighed. “I told you this was a bad plan.”

  The Red Woman shrieked.

  “Don’t yell at me,” shouted back the bird. “Yell at Ned.”

  Regina appeared by Ned’s side. She held a long, long spear topped by a three-foot blade, a weapon designed for dragon slaying from her personal collection. She never thought she’d have use for it. But having studied combat with all manner of man and beast, she knew its use well, and she was quite excited by the possibility of wetting the blade with actual dragon blood. Had there been only one beast, she would’ve waded into battle immediately, but now it made more sense to let the monsters fight it out and then take out the weakened victor. Less sporting perhaps, but the raging behemoths were enough to give pause to even Regina’s courage.

  Everyone was so intently watching the fight that it was some time before Ace glanced up and noticed a difference in the Amazon.

  “What happened to your face?” he asked.

  She glared down at the goblin but pretended not to hear the question over the howls of monsters. But once the detail was called to attention, Frank noticed as well.

  “What’s that stuff?” His curiosity compelled him to reach out, cup her chin, and lift her face up to him.

  “It’s nothing.”

  She turned her back on him to study the battle. The dragon’s beaver tail brushed against a wall, reducing it to rubble. The serpent spat some sort of acid that sizzled on the dragon’s scales.

  Ned glanced over at her, his eyes wandering from the spectacle. “Is that makeup?”

  “No, sir.” Regina shaded her face, a half-finished application of powders and paints. “It’s ceremonial war paint.”

  “Amazons don’t wear war paint,” said Ace.

  “Yes, we do.”

  “I’ve never seen you use it,” observed Ace.

  Regina clutched her long spear. Effective as it was against dragons, it was far too unwieldy for goblin slaying. “We only wear it when we kill dragons,” she lied.

  Ace appeared skeptical, but didn’t care enough to explore the topic.

  The dragon Belok spewed flames hot enough to set a stone construction ablaze. Scorched and bloody, the serpent managed to twist around and bury her fangs in her opponent’s rump. Belok roared, and the grappling beasts rolled from one end of the citadel to the other, leaving wreckage, fire, and blood in their wake. The phantoms cheered on their master, while the raven coached the Red Woman.

  Ace’s sifting nostrils discovered a strange scent lingering among the smoky odor. “Is someone wearing perfume?”

  Before Regina could swing her spear into a workable goblin-skewering position, the dragon sank his fangs into the serpent’s neck. A great fountain of white blood gushed into the air. The Red Woman hissed. Her coils loosened, allowing Belok to slash her all the more.

  The Red Woman became a flock of cardinals and soared her way free of Belok’s fangs. He swallowed the birds that hadn’t escaped his snapping jaws with a satisfied slurp. He roasted another portion with his flaming breath. The handful that remained settled down to earth and returned to the Red Woman’s familiar shape. She bled badly; drenched in her own pale blood, she could rightly be called the White Woman.

  Belok laughed. His voice rumbled like two mountains grating against one another. He gazed down upon her withered, wounded form. She showed neither fear nor defiance. Only quiet acceptance as he raised a clawed hand to grind her into dust.

  “It’s now or never, Ned,” said the raven. “By all the gods, she’s sacrificing herself for you. Don’t let her die in vain.”

  Ridiculed into action, Ned grabbed the staff without thinking. He felt the power running through it, sending shivers up his arm.

  “Now use it,” said the raven.

  “How?”

  “Don’t ask me. I’m just a talking bird.”

  Belok’s hand fell. Ned heard every one of the Red Woman’s bones crunch, every nauseating squish of every pulped organ. The staff still vibrated with seething, unharnessed magic. Belok turned, lowered his head to look Ned in the eye, and stalked forward. Gabel bolted, but Frank and Ace remained with Ned. He held the staff forward at arm’s length, waiting for something to happen.

  Regina charged with her spear angled to pierce the dragon’s heart. Despite her inexperience, it was a flawless maneuver and would’ve worked on any ordinary dragon. But Belok snatched the weapon by its shaft and
hurled it away without breaking stride. Regina refused to release the spear and was tossed away with it. She landed a few feet away, slightly bruised but unharmed. Belok could’ve crushed her with a single step, but she was disregarded by the wizard as beneath his notice.

  He laughed one of his earthshaking chuckles into Ned’s face, nearly knocking him over. “Is this all that has become of the Mad Void? Is this weak little immortal the ultimate end of his quest for redemption?”

  The phantom maidens, ridiculously lovely once more, tittered. They tousled Ned’s hair and pinched his cheeks.

  “Use the staff, Ned,” said the raven.

  Belok agreed. “By all means, Ned. Use it. Find a spell. Bring your wrath upon me.”

  The staff vibrated in Ned’s grasp. He felt the power, but he couldn’t access it to form it into fireballs or lightning bolts. He wasn’t a demon. Or a wizard. He was just a soldier now, and he could think of one thing to do.

  He prepared himself to be roasted alive and smacked the dragon across his bill.

  There was a burst of light. Bits and pieces of magic hopped from the staff into Belok. The wizard roared and stumbled back. More silky brown fur sprouted on his scaly skin.

  “Again, you dolt!” shouted the raven.

  Ned struck the dragon, narrowly avoiding being flattened by Belok’s flailing tail. More of the staff’s magic infected the wizard, and he diminished. With each blow, the staff’s glow faded, and Belok, growling in agony, shrank and shrank. And as the chances of getting crushed shrank, Ned continued to beat the writhing, hissing wizard. When Belok was very small and no longer dangerous, Ned held the staff near the wizard until all the magic emptied out, and he was left standing before an enraged platypus.

  “Isn’t he the cutest thing?” observed Ace.

  The irritated little beast dove for Ned’s shin, but Frank caught it by the tail. “Careful, sir. They’re poisonous.” He pointed to the spurs on the hind legs. “Not lethal, but painful as hell.”

  The platypus Belok snarled and wiggled in Frank’s grasp. The phantom maidens glanced at one another, shrugged, and soared off into the clear blue sky.

  “I’ll be,” said the raven. “It worked.”

  “Did I do that?” asked Ned.

  “In a roundabout manner,” explained the raven. “The curse upon Belok was slowly turning him into a platypus with exposure to magic in any form. The mistress basically threw all her magic into her staff, and gave it to you because she knew it was the only way to get him to lower his guard. Typical wizard mistake, really. His arrogance was the ultimate source of his undoing.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “I thought I explained it simply enough that even a dullard such as yourself could understand,” said the raven.

  “Not that.” Ned glanced at the white puddle. All that remained of the Red Woman, and it was evaporating quickly. “Is she really dead?”

  “Relatively.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “It means death isn’t so black-and-white when it comes to wizards. She’s certainly more dead than I’ve ever seen her. Whether or not that means she’s irreversibly so or not is another matter.”

  “Why would she do that? She didn’t even like me.”

  “You’d have to ask her. Personally I’d have left you to Belok.”

  Ned felt more confused than ever. He stared into the shrinking white pool until it disappeared completely, leaving him with an unenchanted staff, one very angry platypus, and too many unanswered questions.

  Twenty

  NED BEAT A hasty retreat before too many soldiers dared reveal themselves in the aftermath of the wizards’ duel. He locked himself in his office, where he sat behind his desk and wished for something hard to drink.

  “Poor old Ned, feeling sorry for himself again,” said the vermilion raven perched upon his window. “You really are a pathetic wretch.”

  Ned, still carrying the Red Woman’s staff, got up and swung the stick at the bird, hoping to shoo it away. But the raven hopped inside, landing atop a bookcase.

  A glance out the window showed soldiers milling about, in much discussion. Several nearby ogres pointed to Ned and whispered to each other.

  “They do go on,” said the raven. “The rumors have already started.”

  “What rumors?”

  “Oh, the standard speculations. Some say you’re a witch. Others a warlock. And some others say you’re cursed by the gods themselves, damned to walk the world forever, bringing plagues and misfortunes wherever you wander.”

  “But this wasn’t my fault,” said Ned.

  “That’s beside the point,” replied the raven. “Somebody must be blamed. And since you are responsible, even if only indirectly, you’re as good as any.”

  The soldiers cast disapproving glances toward Ned. His blood ran cold at the thought of hundreds of ogres, who already didn’t like him, finding one more reason to do him in.

  As if reading his thoughts, the raven said, “Right now, they’re considering stoning you to death, quartering the corpse, burning it, and possibly stoning it once again for good measure. There are other proposals, but that’s the most interesting in my opinion.”

  Ned shut the window, locked it (as if that could keep a single determined ogre at bay), and drew the curtain. He sat down at his desk, still clutching the staff.

  The raven paced from one end of the bookcase to the other. “I certainly wouldn’t want to be you, Ned. If ever there was a man with a run of bad luck. At least all the other poor wretches of this world get to finally perish. Maybe there’s some truth to the rumors. Maybe you are cursed by the gods.”

  Yes, he was cursed, agreed Ned. But the gods had nothing to do with it. It was himself, or the thing he used to be. Some part of him wanted to suffer. He knew that. Not just because it made sense, but because of this vague guilt he felt, had always felt without realizing, so accustomed to it he’d grown. Even if he wasn’t the Mad Void anymore. Even if he was just a man now. It wasn’t enough punishment. Eons of tedious existence liberally sprinkled with a hundred thousand horrible, agonizing deaths could still not be enough. Nothing could wash away the blood of merely one obliterated universe, much less hundreds.

  It didn’t seem fair.

  The raven flew from the bookcase to perch atop the staff. “Well, who ever said life was fair?”

  Ned glowered. “Stop reading my mind.”

  The raven chuckled. “It’s not your mind I’m reading. It’s your face. You wear your thoughts, Ned. Can’t hide them at all.”

  Ned willed his expression blank, but the bird continued.

  “If life were fair, you wouldn’t exist in the first place. What right do you have to redemption? What cruel, contemptible destiny allows you the possibility of happiness while otherwise good souls who’ve done no wrong to anyone suffer from fate’s cold indifference?”

  “Shut up.” Ned shook the staff, and the raven hopped onto the desk.

  “It doesn’t matter anyway. Not now. Within the year, this harsh, unbalanced universe shall be nothing but ash and smudge. Good riddance, I say.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The way I see it,” replied the raven, “you’ll get yourself killed within the passing of a day or two. You’ll stay dead for a while, awaiting my mistress to raise you to life. But she won’t come, and eventually you’ll get impatient enough to raise yourself, which will restore you to your old self. And the Mad Void will go about his business, and that will be that.”

  “But there has to be a backup plan. She couldn’t have been the only one watching over me.”

  “I’m afraid so, Ned.”

  “But that’s just poor planning. What if something happened to her?”

  The raven pecked at his wing. “How could anything happen to her? She was practically immortal. She could only truly be killed by her own consent.”

  “But what about the gods?”

  “What about them? Do you think any of those di
vine blowhards would risk intervening in these affairs? They’re afraid of you, Ned. Gods aren’t much different from men. They fear things they don’t understand. And of course, most of them are too busy demanding tribute and worship to be of much use for anything important.”

  Ned laid the red staff across his lap. “But why would she sacrifice herself? If she’s dead, then doesn’t that put the universe at risk?”

  “Undoubtedly. Especially since your survival skills are highly questionable. But look on the bright side. You’ve still got her staff. Maybe there’s some magic left in it. Now all you have to do is find a new wizard who has mastered the forces of life and death itself to be your keeper.”

  Ned ran his fingers along the staff, waiting for that tingle, that pulse of a whisper of the faintest particles of forbidden sorcery. He felt nothing. The wood was not only cold, it also seemed to be peeling beneath his touch.

  “Mind opening the window?” requested the bird. “It’s been ages since I’ve had a day off, and I’d like to find a nice female raven to while away the days before the impending death of the universe.”

  Ned complied, eager to see the raven go. The bird paused on the sill. “Take care, Ned. And do try to stay alive as long as possible.” He spread his wings, but stopped. “Oh, one more thing. I nearly forgot, but she gave me a message for you right before she died.”

  “What was it?” Ned wasn’t interested, but he hoped in vain it would offer him some insight into how he should handle his future.

  “Beware of demons.”

  The raven flew away. Ned watched it go, thinking how damned useless a sorceress’s advice could be. He still had no idea what to do or expect. Only one thing was certain. He needed to avoid dying. He wasn’t going to destroy another universe if he could help it.

  Like the raven, Ned doubted he’d last more than a week. He’d gone longer without perishing, but since arriving at Copper Citadel, his luck had taken a turn for the worse. He took some small comfort in that, since commanding Ogre Company had a reputation as a dangerous job. Justifiably so. But that would have to change now, and he gathered up what little determination he had into one tight knot of resolution in his gut. It was unpleasant, but he felt certain. He had no doubt—not much, anyway—that he could do it.