Winterheim

17

"Wow, I didn’t know there were so many of you!” Tookie exclaimed, as Bruni returned with Mouse, Dinekki, and the rest of the war party filing along behind. If the girl was frightened by the appearance of more than two hundred fur-clad, armed warriors, she gave no indication, but she shook her head at the prospects of maintaining secrecy. Her brown face creased into a scowl.

“I don’t think we can sneak you all into the city, not right now anyways. I mean, I can go in with a few of you dressed like slaves, and I can show you where it is and everything, but we have to go right past the ogre barracks. They’ll notice if there’s so many of you.”

“Is there a place in the Moongarden where the war party can hide while a few of us go into the city for a look around?” Moreen asked.

Tookie scratched her head and frowned as she looked around, scrutinizing several of the side caverns that broke off of the main chamber of the great underground warren. Abruptly, she brightened, pointing to one alcove about halfway through the huge cavern. “You could hide up there in the Port Grotto. That’s where they grow these big mushrooms that take a long time. Nobody will go in there until the winter when they’re ready to harvest. There’s lots of space, soft moss in the meadows where you can rest, and even blindfish in the stream.”

The suggested alcove was about thirty feet above the main floor of the cavern. A thin waterfall trailed over the lip, dropping through a white plume to splash into one of the many little brooks gurgling across the floor of the Moongarden. There was a clearly defined path, almost as a steep as a stairway, leading up to the alcove and disappearing between the trunks of several massive, wide-capped fungi.

“Is there another way in or out of there?’ Kerrick asked.

Tookie shook her head. “Nope, just that path going up, the one you can see from here.”

“Well, they’ll be able to keep an eye on the rest of the cavern,” the elf noted. “It would be easy to defend, if the war party gets attacked there.”

Moreen turned to Mouse and Barq One-Tooth. “Will you two take the rest up there and get everyone settled and concealed? Keep some guards posted, but try to let everyone get some rest and food. We’ll scout the approach to the city and try to get back here as soon as we can.”

The big thane shook his head stubbornly. “I’m going with you,” Barq declared. “Thane Larsgall can take command of the Highlanders, but I want to find out what they have done with my king.”

Moreen was about to object then nodded. Larsgall was a young, strapping warrior from the eastern shore of the White Bear Sea, and she knew him to be a level-headed commander, well respected by the men.

“Very well. Bruni, Kerrick, you, and I will go along with Tookie. The rest of you wait and watch. I hope it won’t be for very long.”

The plan was acceptable to all except Slyce, who wanted to tag along into the ogre city. The chiefwoman informed him sternly that he was staying behind, and though he sulked, he eventually accompanied Mouse, Dinekki, and the others as they made their way toward the hiding place. Moreen watched as the fighters crossed the central stream on a ford of dry rocks then vanished into the fungus forest.

Tookie led the four companions deeper into the Moongarden. They followed a narrow trail through a thicket of tall mushrooms, a route the girl had told them was less heavily used than the main path in and out of the barracks. Concealment was easy as they stuck mostly to the shadowy reaches below the wide caps of tree-sized mushrooms.

For two hours they walked in silence, marveling at the vast stands of fungus around them, the smooth meadows lined with verdant moss. All of it was illuminated by the soft green light that seemed remarkably consistent. As they neared the far end of the cavern, they saw more alcoves branching off of the main cavern. Most of these were dark, though one gleamed with the harsh light of torches and lanterns. Several balconies overlooked that wide passageway, and Moreen saw an ogre lolling casually there.

“This is the work barracks up ahead,” Tookie explained in a hushed voice. “It’s where the slaves live who work in here.”

“Are there guards nearby?” Kerrick asked.

From here they could see a wide-mouthed side cavern, deep and shadowy. It was fenced off by a stockade of timber, but the gate was open, and there didn’t seem to be any ogres in this immediate area.

“Well, they have their own barracks over there,” the girl replied, pointing to a ledge higher up on the cavern wall, “but they’re always coming and going. You see, past there is the ramp up to the city.”

Kerrick and the others could observe that wide, smooth route, as broad as a grand street, curving along the cavern wall. The ramp inclined upward at a gentle grade before turning away from the Moongarden to vanish into a wide tunnel. The orange glow of oil lamplight glowed from within that passage, a harsh contrast to the soft green illumination of the great, verdant cavern.

Tookie led them closer, halting within the cover of the last of the giant mushrooms. “Why don’t you wait here and try to stay out of sight, most of you,” she said. “I’ll sneak in and get some slaves robes so you don’t look so out of place. We can get baskets for your stuff.”

“Can you carry all that?” wondered the elf.

“I might need a little help,” she admitted, turning to look up at Barq One-Tooth, who was gaping around. “Can you come along and help me?”

The big Highlander looked nonplussed at the question, but something in the girl’s expression seemed to move him. He cleared his throat gruffly then nodded.

“Sure, girlie,” he replied. “Just tell me what to do.”

Stariz inspected the ragged lot of prisoners with contempt. There were two dozen of them, all male, universally sullen and surly. The guards had chained them in pairs, and despite their bluster and bravado she could see their eyes were wide with fear. She could smell the stench of terror in their sweat. They were doomed, and they knew it. She was pleased, anticipating great suffering before these men finally met the release of death.

One man caught her eye, and she pointed to him. The guards unclasped him from his fellow prisoners and pushed him forward. The slave was tall and blond-bearded. The queen recognized him by his icy blue eyes and sandy hair. It was as her spy had told her, barely two hours before. This prize would be among the group of captives, if she acted quickly in sending the grenadiers. Still, she could not quite believe her good fortune.

“You are the Highlander, Strongwind Whalebone, who was captured on Dracoheim, are you not? You have a knack for causing trouble.”

The man shrugged his shoulders, a contemptuous gesture that provoked one of the guards to shove him hard from behind. Stumbling to his knees, the slave glared up at the queen with an expression of pure hatred.

She snorted in amusement and spoke loudly so that all the slaves as well as the company of grenadiers could hear. “There is no need for you to respond. I recognize you, Highlander King. At the time of your entry into Winterheim I pronounced you a dangerous soul, and now the proof is in your company. Still you were sent into service as a house slave-to the apartments of Lady Dimmarkull, as I understand.”

Looking around the great throne hall, the ogre queen saw that her words had been heard by all in attendance. That was good, another piece in her clever plan falling into place. She sneered down at the prisoner, flicking him away with an outward gesture of her fingers.

“Take him out of my sight. Take all of them away! Lock them in the royal dungeons on the harbor level, and do not bother to feed them. It is only necessary that they live a little longer, until the ceremony of Autumnblight three days hence.”

The grenadiers trooped the hapless rebels away, while Stariz glared coldly after them. As soon as the door to the throne room slammed shut, she hurried toward her own, private exit.

She expected that it would not be long before she heard from her husband, and she expected the king to be in a very bad mood. She had an explanation ready, and she felt confident that she would be able to get him to believe her.

The Port Grotto was a big cavern and well hidden from the main chamber of the Moongarden. Quickly the fighters of the war party found places to stretch out and rest, though several men remained on sentry duty, hidden along the edge of the alcove. Slyce volunteered for this important job, but Mouse ordered the gully dwarf to remain in the back of the group and assigned two alert warriors to keep an eye on the little fellow.

Mouse realized that he hadn’t seen Dinekki in a while and went to look for her. He found the shaman kneeling beside a pool of still water in a narrow niche of the cavern wall where the light of the phosphorescent fungus was muted. The liquid was still, reflective as a mirror, but he had the sense that she was peering at something far beyond the surface of the water.

“Are you all right, Grandmother?’ he asked. “I didn’t want to interrupt-”

“Help me up!” she snapped crossly, extending a frail-looking hand.

He did as she asked, unsurprised by the wiry strength in those thin fingers. He could not help noticing that she wobbled unsteadily as she rose then held his hand for an extra moment, as though fighting against a wave of dizziness.

“What is it?” he asked worriedly. “Did you see something amiss?”

The old woman sighed, for once displaying every one of her eight or nine decades of life. Her shoulders slumped, and she seemed to exert great effort just to raise her head to look at him.

“Trouble,” she replied, with a shake of her head. “Trouble on all sides of us.”

Karyl Drago paused at the entry to the Moongarden, taking in the view from a high ledge above the cavern floor. There was no place like this in all the world, he was certain. It gave him a special feeling of pride to know that he was entrusted to guard this place from the outside world. Of course, he had failed this duty, he recalled with more than a twinge of shame, and he ceased his gawking to once more take up the trail of those who had thwarted him, killed his garrison, and left him for dead.

He descended the steep trail to the cavern floor, looking for signs of the intruders. He was not terribly worried when he didn’t immediately find any tracks. The ground was mostly hard stone, and besides, there was no other way that they could have come.

Now that he had reached the Moongarden, he knew that he would have to be diligent. This place was huge, with many concealed groves and grottos as well as side caverns in a half dozen places that were huge caves in their own right, each a place where a party of dangerous intruders might hide out, watch, and wait. They could be anywhere, and it wouldn’t do for him to wander past and leave them undiscovered.

He paused long enough to take a drink of cold, fresh water. He was still sore from his drop into the crevasse and noticed that several large scabs had developed on his belly. These were starting to itch, and he remembered that there was a soothing pool of warm water very nearby. That would be just the place to wash the wounds.

Soon he was wallowing in comfort, rubbing away the grime and grit from his wounds. He was filled with thoughts of the fiery, golden axe. With a sigh of contentment, he leaned back and let the waters caress his battered flesh. It wasn’t until he emerged and shook himself dry, that he noticed something odd about the water running past his little pool. It was discolored, tainted as if by mud or some kind of rust-colored dye. Curious, Karyl Drago followed the stream to the place where it spilled over the embankment. Here he saw that the dye was coming from beneath a pile of rocks. Several bare patches of dirt nearby seemed to suggest that these rocks had recently been moved.

A minute later the big ogre had pulled one of the boulders out of the way and found himself looking down into the slashed and lifeless face of one of the Moongarden ogres who worked as overseers of the slaves.

Clearly he was on the right track of the human intruders. However, his mission took on a new urgency. Again Karyl Drago felt a surge of shame. If he had done his job properly at the gate, this ogre would still be alive.

He picked up the splintered end of his club and scrambled up the embankment. It wasn’t too far to the watch station, he knew, and it seemed time for him to start to spread the alarm.

Grimwar Bane smashed open the front door of Thraid’s apartment with a single blow from his clubbed fist, sending splinters flying as the great wooden slab broke from its hinges and slammed into the ground. The echoes still resonated as he stormed through the courtyard and into the street beyond, bellowing at the top of his lungs.

“Murder! Assassination! Guards! Gather to me, warriors of Winterheim! Bring arms, and stand ready to fight!”

By the time he had crossed the promenade, his roars had raised a commotion. Slaves ran away from him in all directions, ducking into their houses or anywhere else they could find shelter. Ogres came running, including several wearing the red coats of the grenadiers. The king shook his fist at the mountaintop overhead and bellowed his rage.

“What is it, Sire?” asked one grenadier, kneeling before the enraged monarch.

“The Lady Thraid has been murdered, stabbed in her bed,” declared Grimwar Bane, forcing his breathing to slow down, pushing out each word with an effort of will. “I want you to seal off her apartments and stand watch.” He saw others of the royal guard running along the wide promenade. “As you get reinforcements, put them to work! Talk to everyone in these houses, and see if there are witnesses who observed anything! Shake the information out of them if you have to!”

“As you wish, Majesty!” pledged the guard, quickly gesturing to several of his fellows and starting toward the lady’s rooms.

His emotions roiling, Grimwar believed he already knew the culprit. It was obvious. Perhaps Queen Stariz had not wielded the knife herself, but the king had no doubts that whoever had committed this foul murder had been operating under her orders.

He charged up the ramp, scattering ogres and slaves alike, passersby of both races who stared, slack-jawed, at the unprecedented sight of their king sprinting wildly up the sloping avenue. His feet pounded the stone, fists pumping as he lumbered up and up the many tiers of his city. Despite his exertion, he was barely out of breath when he reached the throne room on the Royal Level where the queen was supposedly interrogating rebels. The attendant guards barely had time to pull the door open as he barged in.

Grimwar Bane stalked into the great hall to find his queen seated on her own throne, a granite chair slightly smaller and less grandiose than his own. She was engaged in animated discussion with several of the grenadiers and looked up in surprise as he approached.

“My lord-” she began, then halted when she beheld the fury etched on his face.

“Out!” he roared at the guards, pointing to the door. In seconds they had raced from the room, the attendants discreetly pushing the doors shut.

“What is the matter?” asked Stariz, her square face furrowed in concern-mock concern, the king was sure.

“This time, you hateful creature, you have gone too far! You will be punished for this, punished like any treacherous assassin who dares to lurk in my halls!”

“My King!” she protested. “What has happened? Why are you so angry?”

He sneered, unwilling to consider the possibility that she didn’t know what he was talking about. “I am talking about murder, murder founded on jealousy, carried out by treachery!”

“Murder of whom?” she gasped. “Whatever do you mean?”

“You insist on these protestations of innocence?” he growled. “You know perfectly well that the Lady Thraid has been slashed to death. No doubt you even know who wielded the knife! I will have the truth from you. I will draw it out with sharp hooks if I have to! I will see that you and all of your accomplices die a slow death-a death that will give you ample time to ponder your many sins!”

“My lord, no!” she gasped, in a display of innocence. Her face drained of color, and her jaw worked reflexively, though for once no sound emerged from her mouth. “I do not know of this!”

“Enough treachery!” He stepped close, saw her shrink back into the throne, her face distorted by fear. Abruptly, her expression changed, a light of understanding dawning in her features. The king hesitated, surprised and puzzled.

“It was the slave! It must have been!” protested the queen. “The captive Highlander warrior that we brought from Dracoheim. He was captured in the salt room with the other rebels! He was one of the conspirators! Undoubtedly, this was the first act of the insurrection! How many more ogre nobles would have perished by now had we not caught these perfidious rebels when we did?”

Grimwar Bane had not been expecting this. He scowled and shook his head stubbornly. “Why would the rebels kill a harmless noblewoman?” he demanded, still looming close, studying this horrible creature who was his wife, and his queen.

Stariz stood up and approached him, reaching out a hand that he slapped away. She pulled her arm back but glared at him stubbornly. “Is it true that you assigned him to the Lady Thraid-as a house slave? He was arrested with the other rebels! You can ask the grenadiers,” she insisted. “Captain Verra himself saw the man taken.”

The king turned his back on his wife and stalked across the throne room. He didn’t believe her, but neither had he expected her to make this situation so complicated. Surely she was lying!

How could he prove it?

He was about to summon the guards, to have her thrown into the dungeon, when he heard a ruckus. Stepping out of the palace doors, he crossed to the railing over the atrium and glared at the sight of several guards running across the waterfront plaza far below.

One of them raised a brass horn, and several loud notes brayed through the city, rising up through the atrium, carrying all the way to the king’s ears on the Royal Level. The cry was repeated, and Grimwar Bane strained his memory. He knew it was an important trumpet call, but he couldn’t remember what it meant.

It was Stariz who interpreted for him as she burst out of the throne room and raced over to him with most un-queenly haste. “My lord!” she cried. “Do you hear?”

“Yes!” he declared, sternly. “The alarm sounds!”

He wished he could think of some way to mask his ignorance, but he failed. In frustration, he was about to ask her what the horn meant, when she spoke first.

“Intruders!” she gasped. “It is almost unbelievable, but that is the signal that intruders have forced their way into Winterheim!”