by Troy Denning
Seema did not speak again until they reached the edge of the icefall, where the little glacier filled the air with groans and crackles as it spilled down to the main valley.
“The afternoon can be a treacherous time to descend the fall,” she said. “We could just as easily wait until morning, if you want to have a last look around the basin.”
“Oh no, there is nothing to be gained by that,” said Rishi. When the others frowned at his outburst, he cringed and added, “I mean to say, are we not running low on food? It will be difficult enough to retrace our steps with the little we have.”
“There’s always you,” suggested Yago.
Rishi’s eyes widened, and then he showed his teeth in an uneasy grin. “You are making a joke,” Rishi said hopefully. “Very funny.”
The ogre looked toward Atreus, his brow furrowed as though confused, and asked, “What’s he mean?”
Rishi paled and began to back away, and Seema regarded the ogre with a look previously reserved only for Tarch. Atreus chuckled, the only one to realize that Yago was still mocking the little Mar.
“Relax, Rishi, we’ll be back in the Five Kingdoms long before Yago gets that hungry.”
Atreus studied the avalanche run out at the base of the icefall. There was no longer a cloud of vapor hanging over its surface, and he could see an icy, funnel-shaped hole where Tarch had melted his way out of the snow. “The sooner we get down from here, the better,” Atreus added. “I fear I’ve put us at risk already.”
Atreus pointed down at Tarch’s escape hole.
Seema gasped and Rishi moaned. Yago simply removed Atreus’s chain from the supply bundle and passed it forward. They spent a few minutes searching for their foe in the maze of seracs and crevasses below and finally gave up. Seema led them over to the edge of the glacier and started to pick a direct route down, reasoning that since they had not seen the tailed devil yet, he must be following their old trail up the middle of the icefall.
A day in the sun had made slush of much of the ice. Although it was easy to kick steps in the steep sections, their feet were soon numb from the wet cold. They began to stumble and slip, even on relatively steady footing. Once, they nearly lost Yago when he slid fifty paces and slammed into a serac, toppling it over in the opposite direction. Both Rishi and Atreus had close calls when the slush gave way beneath their boots and sent them gliding toward deep crevasses. As frightening as these mishaps were, none of them were as unnerving as the all-too-frequent boom of a falling ice block. Several times, they felt the glacier jump with the impact of a nearby monolith, and once they were showered with ice chips from behind. It did not take long before they began to worry less about Tarch than thawing seracs.
They were a thousand paces from the bottom, working their way down a steep ledge between a mountainous ice slab and a narrow lateral crevasse, when Atreus glimpsed movement out of the corner of his eye. He tapped Seema on the shoulder and whirled around. He found himself staring across an icy abyss deep into a bluish maze of horizontal crevasses and cockeyed seracs. It looked like some sort of crazy cemetery, full of open graves and monolithic tombstones.
“What is it?” Seema whispered.
“It can only be that tailed devil,” Rishi hissed, leaping to conclusions. He glanced up and down the steep ledge, then started to push his way forward. “Hurry! We are doomed if he traps us here.”
Yago grabbed the Mar from behind. “Stay put, or I push you in. And be quiet!” His deep voice rumbled across the icefall twice as loud as Rishi’s.
Atreus eyed the crevasse beside them, peering down into its blue depths. At close to four paces, it was wider than he felt comfortable jumping from a standstill, but there was another way.
“Yago, remember that game your nephews used to play with me?”
The ogre scowled, thinking, then glanced at the crevasse and raised his heavy brow.
His answer was a cautious, “Yeah.…”
“Can you make it?”
The ogre scratched his head and closed one eye, measuring the distance. “Probably,” he said, “but you know it don’t work unless there’s someone on the other side.”
“There will be,” Atreus promised.
Yago grinned and passed the supply bundle to Rishi.
Atreus looked across the crevasse into the maze of cockeyed seracs. He could feel the tailed devil out there watching them, nursing his cold anger. The Sisters of Serenity seemed a long way to come for retribution, but Tarch was after more than simple vengeance. He was after Seema, and Atreus suspected the slave master would be willing to travel a lot farther than this to capture such a prize.
Atreus turned toward Rishi and Seema. “When Tarch comes,” he told them, “flee uphill and circle around. He’ll be expecting you to run downhill.”
Seema frowned and asked, “Where will you be?”
“We’ll meet you down in the valley,” he said, “but don’t wait for us. If we’re not there before you, it means something went wrong.”
Seema shook her head. “I can’t let you do this,” she said. “Tarch will kill you.”
“Hell try.” As Atreus spoke, a muffled splash sounded somewhere in the serac field. “There’s going to be a fight, Seema. The only thing you can control is whether it means anything.”
Seema closed her eyes, then nodded. “No killing,” she insisted again. “Not on my behalf.”
“No killing?” Yago grumbled. “This fight’s going to be hard enough—”
Atreus raised his hand to silence his friend.
“We’ve given our word, Yago. No killing. If you can’t abide by that pledge, then you’ll have to stay—”
“Not on your life!” The ogre glowered down at Seema, then nodded and said, “You have my word.”
“And you mean to leave me here with the woman?” demanded Rishi. To Atreus’s surprise, the Mar actually sounded insulted. “I am as much a man as you. Have I not proven my skill in battle many times?”
“Too many times,” Atreus said, “but someone has to stay—”
Atreus was cut off by an angry snarl and the sound of feet splashing through slush. He turned to see Tarch charging out from the seracs, his reptilian scales reflecting rainbows in the brilliant sun. Though the tailed devil carried no weapons, the claws at the ends of his fingertips looked more dangerous than any sword, and of course he had plenty of other surprises.
Atreus stretched the chain between his hands, calling, “Now, Yago!”
In the next instant, he was dangling upside down by his ankles, swinging backward as Yago cocked him to throw. The wall of ice behind them was coming up perilously fast.
“Throw, Yago! Throw!”
Atreus turned away just as his shoulder slammed into the ice, suddenly whipping forward and seeing the icy depths of the crevasse spin past beneath him. He caught a glimpse of Tarch’s sharp-toothed mouth hanging agape, as he slammed into the devil broadside and bowled him over backward.
Atreus came down flat, driving the wind out of his foe’s lungs and winning himself a much needed instant to secure his advantage. He sank his teeth into Tarch’s ear and tasted something awful, like rotten fish. They began to slide down the slushy slope, and Atreus smashed an elbow into the devil’s flank.
The blow would have broken the ribs of a man, but it merely irritated Tarch. The devil growled once and hurled his attacker off. Atreus kept his jaw clenched, nearly snapping his own neck as the devil’s ear came off in his teeth. Tarch roared in pain and slapped at his wound, then rolled to his knees. Atreus was already on him, whipping the chain into the slave master’s skull time after time. He did not worry about his promise to Seema. It would take more than a few blows to kill the devil.
In his confusion, Tarch actually brought his arms up to cover his head. Atreus switched his chain to the body and heard a rib snap. If he could break five or six more, the agony just might make the devil flee.
As it was, the pain only brought Tarch to his senses. The devil lashed out with a h
ammer-hard fist and caught his attacker in the shin.
Atreus felt something snap and fell screaming. He landed head down on his back and started a long slide toward a nearby crevasse, but Tarch saw no delight in such simple death. The devil caught him by his injured leg and reeled him back.
“Slag my boys, will you?” the devil growled. He twisted Atreus’s leg around like a wheel as Atreus wailed in pain and rolled to his stomach, still holding the chain. “Peel my best girl, will you?”
Tarch twisted again. Atreus spun to his back and found himself looking up into his foe’s sunken black eyes. Yago was sliding down the hill behind the devil, having just leaped across the crevasse.
“Before I’m done with you,” said Tarch, “you’ll be beggin’ me to kill you nice and slow-like!”
“I doubt it,” Atreus groaned.
He whipped the chain forward. Tarch hopped it with a quick one-two step and gave Atreus’s leg a savage twist, then abruptly let go as a pair of huge hands caught hold of his tail. His eyes flashed crimson, and he started to turn. Yago yanked him off his feet and spun him around, slamming the astonished devil into a serac.
There was a tremendous clatter, and the frozen monolith rained jagged shards of ice down on all three fighters. Tarch whirled on his attacker with slashing claws, but he was no match for the strength of an ogre. Yago cocked his arms back for another smash, flinging the devil out to the end of his tail, then swung again, stepping into the blow like a woodsmasher clubbing down a tree.
Tarch hit with a resounding crash. Something deep inside the serac cracked, and the monolith slumped forward. The devil let out a low groan and started to go limp, shook himself back to consciousness, and managed to fix on angry glare on his foe.
“One more time!” he hissed.
Yago brought his arms back for a smash Atreus prayed would finish their foe when a loud pop echoed across the ice. Tarch went sailing down the icefall, leaving his tail in Yago’s hands and trailing an arc of rust-colored blood. The slaver crashed through an ice slab and landed ten paces below Atreus.
Yago scowled at the writhing appendage in his hands, staring at the meaty stump as though he could not quite figure out what had happened. There was not as much blood as Atreus would have expected, and he had the sinking feeling that the injury was not enfeebling. He drew his knee up beneath him, and even this little bit of effort sent daggers of pain shooting through his leg.
Yago tossed Tarch’s tail into a crevasse and went crashing and sliding down the slope after the battered devil. On the other side of the chasm, Seema was reluctantly fleeing up the ledge as instructed. Rishi was nowhere to be seen, but there was no time to worry about what had become of the Mar. Tarch was gathering himself up to meet Yago, and the ogre was chortling with overconfidence.
“Careful, Yago!” Atreus called, pushing himself up on his good leg. “Don’t let him touch—”
Even as Atreus spoke, Yago launched himself into the air and landed on top of Tarch. They tumbled down the slope locked in a death clench. The devil was all but invisible inside the ogre’s grasp, and Atreus could well imagine those hairy arms crushing the slave master’s battered ribs.
The pair bounced off a serac and slid toward a smile-shaped crevasse lying across the slope below. Atreus started after them, then howled in pain as he put weight on his injured leg. He managed two hopping steps before he fell on his back and started to slide. Instead of trying to stop, he steered himself in the general direction of the combat.
Whether Yago saw the crevasse below him was impossible to say, but Tarch managed to free a scaly arm and start scratching at the ice. Slowly, the sharp claws arrested the pair’s descent, bringing them to a halt only five paces above the icy chasm. Yago rolled on top of his foe and sank his jagged yellow teeth into the devil’s neck.
Atreus’s heart leaped into his throat. Among ogres, this particular trick always brought the fight to a quick end. Unable to free himself without ripping open his own neck, the victim either submitted or died. Atreus wanted to shout a reminder about not killing, but held his tongue. It would be too much of an advantage to let Tarch know they did not mean to slay him.
Atreus hit a shady spot and picked up speed. He rolled back into the sun, causing his leg no end of agony, and began to claw at the slush trying to slow his descent before he smashed into the brawl and sent both combatants over the edge of the crevasse.
A muffled bellow sounded from the battle. Yago released his death hold and raised his head. His eyes were wide with panic, his mouth was smeared with scales and blood, and Atreus knew instantly that Tarch had used his fear touch. The ogre slammed a huge palm into the devil’s chest, then jumped up and began to back away, oblivious to the danger of losing his footing or stepping into a crevasse.
“Yago, stop!” Atreus shouted, steering himself toward Tarch. “Look behind you!”
The ogre stopped, but could not bring himself to glance away from his scaly enemy. Tarch rolled to his knees. Atreus brought his good leg up, aiming a soggy boot at his enemy’s face. The devil scowled; then Atreus was there, feeling the satisfying jolt of his heel smashing into the slave master’s arrow-shaped nose.
The impact stopped Atreus dead and launched Tarch over backward. The devil landed on his back and slid headlong toward the crevasse below. As he was about to plummet into its grinning mouth, he whipped his legs over his head and somersaulted in the air and landed on his belly, his legs dangling over the brink of the icy chasm and his talons dug deep into its rim.
“Hurry Yago!” cried Rishi’s voice. “Go and finish him!”
Atreus glanced over to see Rishi rushing up behind Yago, having done exactly the opposite of what Atreus instructed. The little Mar tried to shove the terrified ogre into battle and succeeded only in convincing him to retreat farther up the hill. Atreus cocked his knee back and pushed off, launching himself at Tarch.
The devil pulled one set of claws from the ice and pointed up the slope. A roiling orange cloud erupted from his fingers Atreus smelled brimstone and scorched flesh and heard someone screaming.
He remained fully alert, gagging on the stench of his own burning flesh, watching the fire lick across his body, feeling his skin melt in the heat. He saw Rishi dash across the slope to Tarch and start kicking at the claws still fastened in the ice. He heard Yago bellow, heard him come crashing across the glacier, felt the ogre’s big hands rolling him through the sizzling slush, felt the icy coolness against his stinging flesh, and smelled, at last, the flames hissing into steam.
Yago pulled him into his lap and cradled him against his chest Atreus saw Rishi at the edge of the crevasse, peering down into its blue depths. All that remained of Tarch were a few rust-colored streaks on the brink of the chasm.
“I was afraid!” Yago moaned. “You needed me, and I couldn’t move.”
Not your fault.
The words echoed emptily inside Atreus’s head. He could not make his lips work.
He did the same thing to me.
“I am so … sor-ry!” Yago had trouble forming this last word, which was as foreign to the ogre tongue as the term for children won in a game of knucklebones was to humans. “What happened to me?”
The ogre smashed his fist into the side of his own face. The blow struck so sharply that Rishi gave a start and nearly plummeted into the crevasse.
Yago spit an orange tooth out onto the ice, shouting, “Coward!”
Atreus fought through his pain and managed to grasp the ogre’s arm. He shook his head.
Yago’s eyes grew glassy. “Am so!” the ogre insisted. “You saw me … just standing there!”
“Atreus does not blame you, my friend,” said Rishi. The Mar backed away from the crevasse and came up to join them, grimacing at Atreus’s condition. “The same thing happened to him on the slave boat It is the devil’s touch.”
“It don’t matter,” growled Yago. “I made the Vow. Shieldbreakers aren’t scared of nothing!”
“That is an impossibl
e vow to keep. Every man fears something.” Rishi grasped the ogre’s elbow and urged him up the hill, saying, “And now let us go. What became of Tarch I cannot tell, but it is too much to hope that a fall of only a few hundred feet would kill him.”
Yago started to rise, then caught himself and sat back down. “Let him come,” he said. “I’m not running.”
Atreus squeezed Yago’s forearm and tried to nod. The effort sent waves of agony surging through his body, but he was terrified that the stubborn ogre would let his pride get them all killed. He could feel his own strength oozing out through his scalded pores, but just as importantly, he could tell by the nervous edge in his friend’s voice that Yago was not ready to face Tarch again.
“There, do you see?” Rishi asked, motioning to Atreus’s nodding head. “The good sir wants us to go. He needs Seema’s help.”
Yago scowled in thought, then reluctantly nodded. “We’ll go,” he said “but not because I’m scared.”
“Oh no, there has never been any question of that,” agreed Rishi. “I am frightened enough for us all. You are thinking only of the good sir’s welfare.”
Still scowling, Yago started up the hill. Atreus’s burns began to ache in earnest He could not keep from moaning as the ogre’s clothes rubbed against his raw flesh. His broken leg became a distant throbbing, and he slipped into a murky world of pain and delirium. He grew desperately thirsty and started to shiver. Yago’s voice became a nightmarish roar, alternately trying to comfort Atreus and cursing himself for a coward. Amazingly enough, Rishi proved the staunch one, continually reassuring Atreus that he really looked no worse than before, perhaps even better. It was a terrible lie, of course, but exactly what Atreus needed to hear.
Sometime later—it seemed hours, but could not have been more than three or four minutes—Seema came bounding and sliding down the slope. “How bad?” she demanded, dropping the supply bundle at Yago’s feet. “Put him down where I can see him. Get those rags off him. Pack him in snow. Rishi, talk to him! Keep talking.…”
Atreus’s companions rushed to obey the healer’s orders. His body roared with pain. When the tattered remnants of his clothes were pulled free, he could not help screaming. As much as it hurt to be touched, the cold slush had a numbing effect on his burns, and his anguish dulled to a raw ache.