“For all those years I thought you were losing your mind,” the chiefwoman said.
“Just because my imaginary friend is real doesn’t necessarily prove me sane,” Kerrick said with a wink.
They hadn’t taken more than a couple of steps when they spotted Tookie approaching with a sturdy, apple-cheeked, human woman in tow. The adult regarded the two intruders with intense interest.
“You were supposed to wait for me,” said the slave girl, with a worried glance around.
“I know,” Moreen replied, “but we looked around some and learned where Bruni and Strongwind are-now we’re going to see if we can find them.”
“Strongwind Whalebone, King of Guilderglow?” said the woman with Tookie. “Do you know him?”
“Yes-we came here to rescue him,” Moreen said pointedly, assuming that anyone Tookie brought to them must be trustworthy. “I take it that you have met him as well?”
“Yes. I’m Tildy Trew. I run the Posting House where all the new slaves are brought to be cleaned up. Before they get sent to their posts, that is.” She looked at Kerrick, so appraisingly that the elf felt as though he was one of the new slaves subjected to inspection by a prospective owner. Finally she nodded with the hint of a smile.
“Hey, you’re a handsome one,” she said warmly. “A little skinny-and with those big eyes! Not like any man I’ve seen before.”
Somehow he found himself trusting her. He tilted back his hood just enough to show his sole, distinctively pointed ear. “Have you ever seen an elf before?” he asked.
She shook her head, the smile growing broad. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Moreen spoke up. “How was Strongwind when he got here? Was he hurt?”
Tildy shrugged. Kerrick wondered if there was an edge to her voice when she replied, speaking directly to Moreen, “He was bruised and hungry. Gave himself up to capture in order to help a woman, he said … he thought she died on Dracoheim, and he was pretty broken up about it.”
Moreen’s face went pale. “She … she didn’t die,” she said dully.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” The slave woman nodded appraisingly. “Mistress of Brackenrock and all that. Why did you come here?”
“Because I couldn’t let Strongwind stay here, any more than he could let me go into Castle Dracoheim without his protection.”
“Well, you sure caused a ruckus. There are patrols all over the place, and I hear that the queen is fit to be roasted. She’ll just as soon skin a human as look at him when she gets into these kind of moods.”
“Do you know where Strongwind is now?” Moreen demanded, her face growing pale.
“Yes, I think I do.” Tildy Trew nodded decisively. “He was locked in the same cell with your friends-the dungeon, down on the harbor level.”
“Can you take us there?” asked Moreen urgently.
Tildy Trew nodded again and gestured for them to follow. The slave woman led them along the ramping passageway until they once again came out on one of the broad floors in the center of Winterheim. There were a hundred ogres walking about within a stone’s throw of their position, but Kerrick noticed that many humans were dressed in the same type of robe in which he and Moreen were disguised. He kept his head low and followed Tildy and Tookie to the edge of the vast central atrium.
In a few minutes they were crossing a wide street. The slave woman pointed downward as Kerrick and Moreen looked in amazement.
From here he could see down into the central harbor and up through the rings of ascending levels. Several of the connecting ramps were visible, and Tildy pointed to one of those. They saw a file of red-coated guards marching along. The company turned in unison to start climbing a wide stairway that led toward a landing with a single, closed metal gate.
“That’s a company of grenadiers, the king’s own regiment. Like I said, your arrival has been noticed and created a bit of a stir.”
Even as they watched, more guards emerged from through a gate that opened atop the wide stairway. Kerrick caught a glimpse of Bruni’s black hair amidst the golden helmets of the ogre guards. Moments later the gate slammed shut, with four burly guards facing down the stairs.
“Seems like she’s being taken up to the palace,” Tildy said, with a worried shake of her head. “Not much chance of us getting up there. They’re sure to search every slave going anywhere near the Royal Level.”
“What about Strongwind?” asked the chiefwoman.
“He might still be down there. Worth a look, anyway.”
“Then let’s get into the dungeon, if we can,” Moreen said.
“All right,” Tildy said with another sharp look at the chiefwoman. “I know where we can get some help. We might be able to get him out, and I guess he’ll be very glad to see you.”
Captain Verra ordered his grenadiers to form close ranks. At least his troops moved with alacrity. He had been ordered to send the two prisoners up to the royal level, and the captain had decided to send three dozen ogres as an escort. That left him dangerously thin down here.
He glanced about at the lumberyard, concerned to see all those slaves moving around and the relative paucity of guards. He tried to think: Where could he get some reinforcements? In agitation, his eyes roamed around the harbor and market levels … past the Seagate garrison, the various factories, the royal dungeon.…
There! He knew that some thirty or forty ogres remained in reserve on the dungeon detail. Most likely they were eating and gambling in the barracks room, deep within the bedrock of the mountainside.
The duty staff of at least a dozen turnkeys was more than enough to beat back any attempt by the prisoners to escape. Those other ogres were simply being wasted now when their value was acute.
Verra gave the orders, dispatching an eager sergeant to carry them out. He watched in satisfaction as the extra guards trooped out of the dungeon, some of them casting surly glances in his direction but all of them obeying his orders. They carried their weapons and their armor over to the lumberyard, and went to join the overseers on duty there.
Verra was still nervous. He couldn’t stand still, so he lumbered down the steps to the docks. He would go over to the Seagate slave warren and make sure that everything was secure there.
Tildy Trew rejoined Kerrick and Moreen on the plaza near the waterfront, where she had left them to wait for her a few minutes earlier. She was joined by six strapping men, each carrying a stout wooden pry bar-tools Kerrick saw that could quickly be converted to weapons.
“These are some friends of mine taking a little time off from work in the lumber yard. That’s the entry to the dungeons,” Tildy said, nodding at a dark cavern mouth leading away from the waterfront. “We caught a break. They just sent all the extra guards over to the lumber yard, to keep an eye on the slaves there. The bad news is that Strongwind Whalebone, as well as your friend, Bruni, have been taken out of the dungeon. Seems they’re on their way up to see the king. Your other companion, One-Tooth, is still in there, together with Black Mike and a few other rebels who didn’t have the sense to keep out of the queen’s clutches.”
The slave woman shook her head wonderingly and continued. “They’re accusing Strongwind of killing his mistress, a noble ogress.”
“Why would he do that?” Moreen asked.
Tildy shook her head. “He wouldn’t, I think. His mistress was hated by Queen Stariz, and I suspect that she simply found a way to eliminate her rival and blame it on someone else.”
“What about Tookie?” Kerrick asked.
“She wanted to come along, but I insisted that she stay safely behind in the shipyard,” Tildy said. “Things might get a little rough.” She looked at the faint outlines of the swords that the chiefwoman and elf wore under their robes. “Sure hope you know how to use those things.”
They were sauntering casually across the plaza as they talked. Kerrick’s hand tightened around the hilt of his sword, which was now concealed under his robe. He saw Moreen doing the same thing.
> As they drew near to the two guards outside the dungeon entrance the pair of ogres stood straight and leaned with their halberds to form a giant X across the passage. “Go away,” one of them growled, “or come with an officer.”
“I have a pass,” Kerrick said, stepping forward. His sword was in his hand in that instant, and he stabbed, feeling cold and vicious as he pierced the heart of one of the guards. The other gaped, then toppled as two of Tildy’s slaves bashed him with their poles. Moreen’s blade put an end to him before he could utter a warning.
“No time to waste, now! Go!” cried Tildy, standing back as the elf led the rescuers into the tunnel.
They ran down a long, dark passageway and burst into a room, surprising a half dozen ogres at a table where they were gambling and drinking. The elf dropped two with rapid thrusts, vaguely aware that his companions were slaying the others.
Tildy snatched a ring of keys from a hook on the wall and quickly turned one in a heavy iron lock.
“Hey!” growled a startled ogre as the door flew open. “What’s the meaning of this?”
He got his answer in the form of cold elven steel. Twenty seconds later, the humans and elf were pulling open a large door, another barrier Tildy had unlocked. Kerrick and Moreen charged into the room and saw two dozen or more men looking up at them in mixtures of hope and alarm.
“Barq!” cried Moreen, racing across the dingy cell. Tildy came after, still carrying the ring of keys.
The pole-wielding slaves had spread out through the other passages of the dungeon, and Kerrick heard sounds of violence from several directions.
“Hurry!” he cried, as the woman freed one after another of the prisoners from thir manacles. They stood unsteadily, rubbing chafed wrists, then stumbling out the door of the cell to look for weapons. “Where do we go from here?” the elf called to Tildy Trew.
“Let’s head for the Seagate,” she said. “I think we’ve got a rebellion on our hands, and the capstan slaves will be more than happy to help us out.”
The escapees burst from the dungeon a few minutes later, abruptly encountering a party of half dozen ogres who had gathered in consternation around the bodies of the first two guards. They were trampled by twenty or thirty infuriated slaves, as horns of alarm sounded higher up in the atrium of Winterheim.
Tildy was right, Kerrick decided. Like it or not, the slave rebellion was under way.
Stariz left the throne room, wringing her hands in agitation. The elf! Gonnas curse him-where was he? That was just one of many questions for which she lacked the answer. She could only hope that Garnet’s accomplice, the treacherous slave woman, would find a chance to stick a knife in his back before he caused any irreversible disasters.
Something powerful and appealing grabbed her attention. The Axe of Gonnas was near! She felt it, looked up, and saw the immense ogre, Karyl Drago, striding out of the ramp from the lower city. He bore the prized talisman in his great hands, and his face was rapt as he stared at that gleaming, immaculate blade.
The queen stood, her hands on her hips, watching him approach. She remembered the great oaf, an uncouth fool from her own homeland, but she felt pride that it was he who had recovered this talisman for her.
As the immense ogre strode closer, however, it became apparent that he intended to step around her, to proceed into the palace on his own.
“Give that to me!” she demanded.
“I give this to the king,” the big warrior declared, shaking his head stubbornly.
“It is mine!” she declared, stepping in and reaching for the weapon.
To her surprise and consternation the ogre yanked the axe away and glared at her as though he might dare to strike her. Rage swept through Stariz, a wave of heat that left her trembling, and she raised both hands, fingers outstretched as if to envelop the massive Drago.
“Gonnas paralaxsis!” she cried, bringing forth the magic of her god in a wave of pulsing power.
Karyl Drago halted in surprise as she reached forward to touch his burly forearm. The spell was cast in that touch, and the brute slumped to the ground as if he had been felled by a blow to the head.
The high priestess smoothly grasped the Axe of Gonnas as the big ogre fell, making sure that the device did not come into contact with the floor. Satisfied, she spun about to return to the throne room, leaving Karyl Drago unconscious, breathing very slowly, on the floor.
22
Rebellion
The Moongarden slaves spilled out of their cages as soon as Mouse and his warriors opened the latches. Some of the humans stopped to kick and spit at the corpses of the ogre guards, bristling with arrows, that lay just outside the portals. Others charged into tool sheds and work stations, emerging with all manner of picks, hammers, pipes, and other tools.
“Up to the barracks!” shouted one burly Arktos, gesturing to Mouse. “They have an armory up there-lots of weapons-and most of the ogres have gone into the Moongarden on those patrols.”
“At least one of those patrols won’t be coming back this way,” the warrior said grimly. He clapped the man on the shoulder. “Lead on!”
The war party, now augmented by hundreds of slaves, rushed up the ramp that led into the wide, torchlit tunnel to Winterheim. Mouse saw Slyce, short legs pumping, running to keep up, and Feathertail, up among the vanguard. He put on a burst of speed to stay ahead and keep an eye on her.
Several heavy spears clattered down into the midst of the humans, cast by ogres on balconies overlooking this passageway. The humans responded with a fierce spray of arrows, driving the guards back from their ramparts twenty feet or more overhead, atop the smooth stone walls.
“Those are the doors to the barracks!” pointed the burly Arktos slave. “Bash them in, and we’ll have the run of the place!”
Immediately, dozens of slaves set to work with their picks and sledgehammers, and the wooden barriers were soon reduced to splinters. Humans of the war party mingled with liberated slaves as they charged through the anterooms and tore into the few ogres guarding the area. Mouse was shocked at the frenzy of the slaves, some of whom used their fingernails and teeth as they surrounded the terrified ogres, dragged them down, and killed them. Even then, the vengeance didn’t cease as the gory corpses were spat upon, stomped, and otherwise abused.
More slaves were breaking open equipment rooms, and in moments big spears and heavy axes were being passed among the rampaging rebels. There were huge shields, too, but these they left behind as they were too heavy for human use. Still more men had discovered a great keg of warqat, and they rolled it into the center of the room. One big Highlander smashed the cork off, and the freed slaves took turns lying down, placing their heads under the stream of biting liquid, letting it pour into their mouths.
Mouse was not surprised to see Slyce squirm through this pile. When the much larger humans pushed him away, the gully dwarf settled for licking the floor where the considerable overflow had started to spread in a wide pool. Acutely conscious of time slipping away, the Arktos warrior looked around, wondering how to mobilize this large, bloodthirsty, but temporarily distracted mob for the charge on Winterheim. It seemed clear that, given their choice, these people would stay here, get drunk, and become easy fodder for the ogre patrols that would inevitably arrive here.
It was Thane Larsgall who came up with motivating inspiration. Striding up to the keg, he brought down his huge hammer with a timber-splitting blow, crushing the barrel and sending a cascade of liquor across the floor. Many of the slaves rose to their feet in fury, but the thane stood there ominously, staring them down, his own expression equally furious.
“Do you think we freed you so that you could have a party at the first chance?” he roared, his tone contemptuous. “There’s plenty of this stuff in the city-and plenty of ogres too! If you want your vengeance, follow us to victory. I promise you feasting and drinking for the ages, when this is over!”
Mouse was relieved when the slaves, after a moment’s hesitation, began to cheer
lustily. A thousand strong they were now as they poured out of the ogre barracks and rushed into the Moongarden corridor toward the ogre city and a destiny for the ages.
“Here, these come from the weapons room near the dungeon,” Tildy Trew shouted.
She and several slaves were bringing out bundles of halberds and heavy swords, dropping the weapons unceremoniously on the floor of the harborside plaza, where they were quickly snatched up by some of the hundreds of slaves Kerrick, Moreen, and Barq had liberated. These still streamed out of the huge pen, through the double doors that Kerrick and the rebels had carried in their sudden attack.
Once again ogre overconfidence had worked to the rebels’ advantage. The masters had guarded a cavern of five hundred slaves with a mere two dozen ogres. Apparently the city’s rulers had been overly concerned with keeping the prisoners in the pen and not particularly worried about a rescue attempt stirring from the outside. The overseers had been overcome in three minutes of furious battle, and when the bar from the inner door was at last lifted, hundreds of slaves had spilled forth. These included strong, muscular men who had been brutalized by ogres, sometimes for many years. Every one of them was spoiling for a fight.
“This is Black Mike,” Tildy shouted to Kerrick and Moreen as the elf led the group in passing out weapons. “He was one of the leaders of the rebellion and he has some ideas what to do.”
Kerrick looked at the swarthy human, a sturdy and bowlegged man of Arktos ancestry and evident fierce demeanor. “What do you suggest?”
“We’ve got to try and rush the city heights right away,” cried the man. “They have some massive stone gates in place. Once those are closed, we’ll never get up the ramps, and the ogres can hold out for the whole winter up there.”
“What about more slaves? Are there more places we can free lots of men who’ll throw in with us?” asked the elf.
“Yes-we’ve already sent men from the gates into the Moongarden and the fish warehouses, also into the lumber yard. They’ll have a thousand more recruits for us within an hour, and they’ll be bringing all the weapons and tools they can get their hands on.”
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