In the Company of Ogres

Twenty-three

Thick clouds rolled over Copper Citadel the next morning, and dawn was dull and gray. Gabel, Frank, and Regina stood in the empty courtyard. The goblin bugler lay snoozing across some rubble.

“Where’s Ned?” asked Regina.

“He’s not coming,” replied Gabel. “He said he wouldn’t be coming to these morning assemblies anymore.”

“Why^?”

“I don’t know. He just said he wouldn’t. He didn’t bother explaining.”

“That doesn’t seem like Ned,” said Regina.

“How would you know?” said Gabel. “How would any of us know? He’s only been here four days. Can you really claim to know someone that well that soon? People are complex. You can’t just go by your first impression.”

Frank snorted.

“I suppose you have an opinion,” said Gabel.

Frank shrugged. “Just doesn’t seem like Ned.”

Gabel smirked. “We can’t all have the amazing insight of an ogre.”

“Just because we’re big that doesn’t mean we’re dumb. I believe it was the great ogre philosopher Gary who observed that complexity is, generally speaking, an illusion of conscious desire. All things exist in as simple a form as necessity dictates. When a thing is labeled ‘complex,’ that’s just a roundabout way of saying you’re not observant enough to understand it.”

“Oh, and I infer that you understand everything then.”

“No, but I know enough to know that when I don’t it’s generally a flaw in me and not whatever I’m observing. But when it comes to Ned, there’s not a lot to observe. He’s pretty straightforward.”

“He doesn’t seem the deceptive type,” agreed Regina.

“Have you both lost your minds?” asked Gabel. “I don’t know what’s so special about him. He’s just someone in our way. Or have you forgotten that we all agreed to keep getting rid of these fools until one of us gets the promotion?”

“I don’t know,” said Frank. “I didn’t have any problem knocking off the other guys, but they were all jerks. Ned seems like a genuinely decent guy.”

“He’s an idiot.”

“Maybe,” agreed Frank. “That doesn’t mean I can’t like him.”

Gabel knew any appeal for reason from Regina was doomed. Rather than waste the effort, he went over and kicked the bugler. The goblin jumped to life, and after shaking himself to semi-alertness, he blew the call to assembly just as it started raining. Distantly, thunder rumbled. The rain grew harder, the wind colder. Gabel resented being exposed to this while Ned sat cozy and warm in his office.

It seemed out of character for their new commander, Gabel had to agree. He prided himself on being a good judge of men. He was at least as good as any ogre. And he had a fair idea of what Ned was like. His opinion didn’t differ much from Frank’s. Ned was decent, even likable in an unassuming way. But whereas Frank was easily fooled, Gabel was wisely wary. Ned was too unassuming, too plain. But Ned was also immortal at the very least and possibly a secret wizard as well. It didn’t add up. He was too damned unremarkable, too obviously mediocre to not be up to something. Regardless, he was still in Gabel’s way. He’d worked too hard, assassinated too many people to give up now.

Ogre Company still wasn’t used to getting up this early, but they were ready for it this morning and managed to shave five minutes off their previous assembly time. They didn’t appear happier for the effort. The hard rain didn’t do much to improve their mood, except for Miriam and Elmer who enjoyed a little extra moisture. Sally looked absolutely wretched, having taken on a pallid gray shade while rain-drops steamed on her scales. Though still dangerously warm to the touch, she shivered noticeably.

Gabel addressed the company briefly. For his own amusement he threw in an offhand remark about Ned wanting to behead every soldier just to study their twitching bodies. Then Gabel handed the company over to Frank, who started the soldiers running laps around the citadel, slipping and sloshing through the soggy earth while Gabel went to consult with the commander.

The sentries currently posted at Ned’s office weren’t nearly as devoted as the previous pair, and they allowed the officer to knock on the door. It opened, and Ned stuck his head out.

“Yes?”

“Excuse me, sir,” said Gabel, “but I was wondering if I might have a word with you.”

Squinting, Ned appraised his first officer. “Just you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Make it brief.”

Gabel stepped into Ned’s office to find it stripped to the walls. There was nothing in it except a mound of cushions. Gabel already knew this, having carried out the orders to have everything removed, but it was strange to see. The commander clutched a red staff, the same staff he’d used to transform the dragon wizard into a platypus.

Gabel hadn’t taken the time to dry off and stood in a puddle growing larger around his feet.

“Why are the men running in the rain?” asked Ned.

“Just whipping the company into proper fighting shape, sir. As per your instructions.”

Ned went to the window and glanced at the churning, gray sky. “But it’s awfully wet out there, isn’t it?”

“They don’t mind, sir.”

“They don’t?”

“There are some grumblings, sir. But you’ve got to expect that sort of thing with this lot. They haven’t had much discipline lately, but they’ll get used to it. I daresay soon they’ll wonder how they ever did without it.”

“Really?”

“Positively, sir.” Or, Gabel thought with a cheerful grin, they’ll storm your office and tear you to pieces. That should slow Ned down a bit, immortal or not.

Ned sat on the pile of cushions. It looked quite comfortable, but he was clearly uneasy. He wrung the staff. There was something different about Never Dead Ned, but Gabel couldn’t quite decipher it.

“What did you want to speak about?” asked Ned.

“Some of the others were wondering how much longer you planned on staying in here, sir.”

Ned wrung the staff tighter with whitened knuckles. His forearms tensed into knots. “I suppose it can’t be good for morale. Everyone out in that weather while I’m dry and warm in here.”

Gabel scoffed. He made a show of it because Ned didn’t seem particularly bright. “I wouldn’t worry, sir. The men know the chain of command. They understand you have important business to attend to.” He glanced about the empty room.

“I can explain this,” said Ned. “I can. Really.”

“Of course you can, sir.” The orc’s long, goblinlike ears tilted forward eagerly.

Ned hesitated. He got up and paced the opposite end of the room. “It’s complicated, but believe me, I have my reasons.”

“Of course you do, sir.” Gabel frowned briefly. He’d hoped for an explanation but hadn’t expected one. He was beginning to suspect that Ned had gone mad. If not full-blown insanity, then mildly unsound peculiarity. Gabel wouldn’t have been surprised. Secret wizard or not, a man couldn’t keep dying over and over again without being affected.

“Believe me, sir,” Gabel added, “I would never dare to question your orders. I trust your judgment implicitly. But there are a few others — I’d rather not name names, sir — who don’t believe in the strength of your command.”

He paused, waiting for Ned to ask for those names. Gabel would of course insist he couldn’t betray any confidences, and only after Ned ordered him would he relent with great reluctance. With a bit of a push it wouldn’t be difficult to get Ned to turn on Frank and Regina, thus forcing them to their senses.

But Ned didn’t ask, proving how difficult it could be to sow discord with a man who apparently lacked even the merest curiosity, much less suspicion. In all Gabel’s military career he’d never met anyone of noteworthy rank like Ned. The commander was an anomaly in Brute’s Legion, and probably in every army in the world.

Gabel didn’t trust anomalies. Anomalies didn’t happen. That was what made them anomalies. He scrutinized Ned more closely, trying to unwrap this puzzle. Everyone was up to something. There were no exceptions. Some might say this observation said as much about Gabel as anyone, but he knew better. The only difference between him and the rest of the world was that he didn’t bother to hide it from himself.

“Anything else?” asked Ned.

“No, sir, I guess not. Shall I tell the men you’ll be staying inside a few days longer?”

Something crossed Ned’s face. Some alien emotion wrinkled his brow and darkened his eye. “Yes. Just tell them… tell them whatever you like.” His hands twisted the staff still tighter, and he frowned slightly.

“Yes, sir. I’ve got some paperwork to take care of.” Gabel saluted hastily and left. The image of Ned ran over and over in Gabel’s mind. Halfway across the citadel he stopped dead in the pouring rain. And he smiled.

Never Dead Ned was afraid.

It was really quite obvious. Gabel only had trouble placing the emotion because he’d never seen Ned afraid before. His most reliable emotions tended to be indifferent annoyance, disinterested indifference, annoyed confusion, and confused disinterest. Even when the dragon had attacked him, Ned seemed more confused than terrified. And why shouldn’t he be? What terror could force an immortal to lock himself in an empty office?

Thunder cracked the sky as Gabel stifled a sinister chuckle. “He’s not immortal anymore.”

The idea was certainly worth exploring, but he wasn’t one to act on his own. He considered himself more of a plotter, the mind behind the muscle. He couldn’t go to either Frank or Regina. They couldn’t be trusted. He needed someone else, someone who disliked Ned. Ogre Company was full of soldiers who wouldn’t mind seeing Ned dead, but Gabel couldn’t pick just anyone. He needed someone he could rely on. Someone who would kill Ned in the blink of an eye. Someone who could take the fall if Gabel was wrong and Ned was still immortal.

A line of soldiers jogged briskly beside him. They all looked soggy and miserable and ill-tempered. But one in particular possessed that hint of murder in his beady ogre eyes. Gabel pulled that one out of formation.

“Yeah?” asked gravedigger Ralph. “What is it?”

“What would you say if I told you I knew a way to insure that you would never have to run in the rain again?”

Ralph wiped at the water cascading down his slanted forehead to dribble in his eyes. “Who do I have to kill?”