The Ogre's Pact

17. Goboka Returns

From deep in the forest echoed a loud, sharp thump, then something began to crash through the underbrush toward them. Too exhausted to leap up, Tavis and his three companions slowly gathered their weapons and dragged themselves to their feet.

"Do we run or fight?" asked Avner.

"I can't do either-at least not well," Basil complained. "I'm too tired."

The company had been on the move for two solid days and had glimpsed the distant figure of a lone, one-armed ogre often enough to know Goboka was dogging their trail. Apparently, the rest of the ogres-if any had survived the battle at Noote's lodge-remained trapped in the hill giant valley, for the shaman had no warriors with him. To make certain, Tavis had even circled back twice and found signs of only their single pursuer.

"Maybe we should hide." Brianna said. "If we're too tired to run or fight, that's our only option."

Tavis shook his head. "The cover's not good enough."

They were standing beside a cold bog, surrounded by swamp spruce, white birch, and tamarack. The terrain was flat and level in all directions, with nothing to offer protection except fallen tree trunks and a single boulder.

"Besides, Goboka wouldn't make so much noise unless he's already seen us," the scout added.

"Maybe it's not Goboka," suggested Brianna, staring into the forest. "If he can see us, we should see him too."

"What are you implying?" asked Basil.

Brianna licked her finger and held it in the air. "That noise is coming from downwind," she said. "Whatever's coming, I'd say it smelled us."

"A bear?" Avner asked.

Two more thumps echoed through the woods. The unseen beast snorted in alarm, then seemed to regain its footing and continue crashing through the undergrowth. Tavis could now hear its footfalls well enough to realize the creature was galloping.

"It's a horse," the scout said.

"Blizzard?" Brianna gasped.

A loud whinny rang off the trees, then the horse's white-flecked head and chest came flying into view, her hooves barely clearing the jumble of logs over which she had leaped. She caught sight of Brianna and whinnied again, galloping toward the princess as fast as she could. The mare looked as haggard and tired as the four companions. Her coat was dull and rough, so smeared with dirt and mud that it was more brown than black. Her mane and tail were tangled with burrs, and she had lost so much weight that her ribs stuck out like sticks.

Brianna stepped away from the boulder and spread her arms. Blizzard did not slow down until she was almost upon the princess, and the impact as she galloped into her mistress's arms would have sent a smaller woman tumbling into the cold bog. As it was, Brianna stumbled and nearly fell, but the near mishap did not wipe the smile from her face.

Tavis found the sight of Brianna's gleaming teeth a welcome one. It was the first time he had seen her smile in longer than he cared to remember.

The princess finally released Blizzard's neck and began to stroke the mare's nose. "It looks like you've had a rough time of it, girl," she said. "You must be as ready to go home as I am."

"Home?" Avner gasped. "Back to the castle?"

The smile vanished from Brianna's lips. "That's right." She nodded. "I must face my father."

"Are you sure that's prudent?" asked Basil. "In all likelihood, he'll return you to the ogres."

"Not before I tell the earls the price he paid to win his kingdom." she replied.

"What good is that?" Avner objected. "Half of them would do the same thing! They won't defy their king to protect you."

"He doesn't deserve to be their king!" Brianna snapped. "When he made his bargain with Goboka, he didn't betray me alone. He betrayed his kingdom!"

"How so?" Basil asked.

"The king has sired no other children," Brianna explained. "If the ogres take me, there's no legitimate heir to the throne. Hartsvale will fall into anarchy when my father dies."

"And that's why we must go back," Tavis said. The scout chose not to comment on the other, more ghastly possibility: that the Twilight Spirit would help some giant get a child on her-a half-breed who would, in time, become heir to Hartsvale's throne. "We must make the earls understand the king's crime."

"Not we." Brianna took Tavis's hand between hers and looked into his eyes. "You've already done more for me than I deserve."

"Brianna, that's not possible." the scout protested.

"It is, especially given my poor behavior," the princess insisted. "I should never have doubted you, but I swear in Hiatea's name it will never happen again. Please forgive me."

Tavis felt the heat rising to his cheeks. "My lady, I already have," he replied. "All I ask in return is that you allow me to stand with you during the trying days to come."

Brianna's eyes grew watery, and she released Tavis's hand. "I only wish I could," she said. "But Avner is right about my chances with the earls. When we reach Castle Hartwick, I want you to wait in the woods. If I fail, take the boy and go find your tribe. You're a remarkable firbolg, and I'm sure there will be a place for you."

Tavis shook his head. "You know I can't do that," he said. "Now more than ever, you need a bodyguard-and I'm the only firbolg available for the job."

"But what of Avner?" Brianna demanded. "If we fail, n won't be safe for him in Hartsvale."

"It would be safer than sending him to live with firbolgs!" Basil protested. "The child wouldn't last two days in such a stern society."

"Besides, my place is at Tavis's side," Avner said.

"If Brianna and I fail, your place will be with Basil." the scout countered. "You aren't going into the castle."

Avner rolled his eyes and sighed. "If that's what you want."

"This won't be like the time you let Morten walk into the ogre ambush," Tavis warned. "I mean what I say."

"So do I," Avner replied. He met the firbolg's eyes squarely. "I won't disappoint you this time."

"I know you won't." Tavis ruffled the boy's hair, then looked back to Brianna. "See? We're all set."

"Almost," the princess said. "But there's one thing you must promise me."

"As long as it's in my power," the scout replied.

"It is," Brianna said. "You mustn't let my father return me to the ogres. Kill me first."

"I couldn't raise a hand against you!" he objected.

"What I ask is well within your power," Brianna insisted. "To deny me this promise is to break your word."

Tavis looked away, but the princess stepped around and forced him to look at her.

"I've told you what I want. Will you obey?"

A knot formed in the scout's throat, but he nodded. "My last arrow will be for you," he said. "But, if it comes to that, the first one will be for your father."

"Agreed," Brianna replied. "It will be better to end the Hartwick dynasty quickly, so that a powerful earl can seize the throne before the others start plotting and scheming."

"I'm glad you've developed a plan for what you're going to do inside the castle, but what about getting us there?" asked Basil. "As exhausted as we are, we can't outrun Goboka."

Tavis nodded. "You're right about that." he said. "Sooner or later, we'll have to rest-or pass out from fatigue. Either way, the shaman will catch us long before we reach Hartsvale."

"Then let's meet him here." Brianna studied the bog for a moment, then said, "Here's what we'll do."

When the princess finished explaining her plan, Tavis shook his head. "It puts you in too much risk," he said. "You'll suffocate if something goes wrong."

"We all share in the risk," Brianna countered. "And if something goes wrong, I want to suffocate. I'd rather die than fall into Goboka's hands again."

Basil passed his hand axe to the princess. "In that case, the hunted shall become the hunter."

From his hiding place in a log tangle, Tavis watched Goboka's bulky figure approach. The shaman could not have had much rest in past two days, but he showed little sign of fatigue. His strides were long and steady, his eyes alert, and his jaw set with determination. Even his wound seemed to be healing. From the stump of his severed arm dangled the beginnings of a new limb, complete with a tiny elbow, wrist, and hand.

Goboka stopped twenty paces from the bog. His purple eyes narrowed and glared over the gray mud at the weary Brianna, who sat in the center of the quagmire on a hastily constructed raft of three logs. The ogre's gaze flickered to the opposite bank, where Blizzard stood nickering and scraping at the shore with her hooves, then his nostrils flared. He scowled and dropped to his knees, sniffing at the ground as a wolf might.

Cursing under his breath, Tavis nocked an arrow. Goboka had stopped a good dozen steps short of the cross fire he and Basil had set up, but the scout knew their target would come no closer. Ogres normally did not have an acute sense of smell, so it seemed apparent the shaman had used magic to enhance his-and if his spell was half as powerful as a wolf's nose, it would not take him long to find his ambushers.

Tavis rose and fired. At the sound of Bear Driller's bowstring, the shaman sprang to his feet. As fast as he moved, his reflexes were not quick enough to spare him entirely. The shaft took him in the shoulder above the severed arm. Tavis was still using ogre arrows, so the impact did not even knock Goboka down, but when the ogre saw the arrow's black fletching, his eyes widened in alarm. Cursing in the guttural language of his people, he ripped the shaft from his wound and flung it away.

"Now, Basil!" Tavis yelled. The scout was already nocking another arrow.

Goboka's eyelids began to droop and he sank to his haunches, but he managed to pull a clay vial from his satchel. Without even opening it, he stuck the small bottle into his mouth and bit down. Runnels of bright blue fluid spilled from the corners of his mouth and dribbled down his chin, bubbling and hissing, sending wisps of blood-colored vapor up past his nose.

The scout released his bowstring, aiming for one of the shaman's sleepy eyes. The ogre's lethargic gaze was fixed on his attacker, seemingly oblivious to the streaking shaft. Tavis's hand dropped reflexively toward his quiver, but he found himself thinking he might not need another arrow-until, almost casually, Goboka tipped his head aside and allowed the shaft to hiss past.

Basil rose from his hiding place, also in a log tangle, and flung a flat runestone toward the ogre. With smoke and flame spewing from its edges, the rock sailed straight for Goboka. The shaman looked toward the sizzling rock, then raised the stump of his arm into the air and, with the tiny hand growing at its end, tapped the disc ever so slightly. The missile changed directions and came shooting straight for Tavis.

The scout hurled himself from the log tangle and rolled, trying to put as much distance between himself and the runestone as possible. A loud thump echoed through the forest as the disc buried itself in a log. The sizzle deepened to a rumble, became a roaring crescendo, and finally exploded with a deafening clap.

An eerie tranquility settled over the wood. The silence lasted only an instant before it was shattered by the sputter of a hundred flaming wood shards returning to earth. Tavis curled into a tight ball, listening to the lumber crashing through the tree limbs. The acrid smell of smoke filled the air as huge staves thudded into the ground all around, then he heard a branch snap above his head. The scout looked up to see the sharp end of a flaming stick dropping toward his face. He twisted away, barely keeping the fiery stake from piercing his skull.

Tavis jumped up, nocking another arrow. When he turned to aim. Goboka had vanished.

"Where is he?"

Basil slowly spun around, craning his neck in all directions. "He's disappeared, Tavis." The verbeeg's voice cracked as he registered the complaint. "I can't see him!"

"It's all right. Don't panic," the scout said.

Tavis moved cautiously forward, his eyes searching for fluttering branches or some other sign that might betray an invisible foe. Goboka's voice echoed through the trees behind Basil, chanting the mystic syllables of an incantation. Tavis turned toward the sound and found his arrow pointing at the verbeeg's chest.

"Duck!" the scout yelled.

By the time Basil could obey, Goboka had ended his incantation. The scout released his arrow and heard the shaman leaping for cover. The shaft hissed into the forest without hitting anything, but at least it would make their invisible foe think twice before he uttered another spell.

Basil's log pile shifted. The runecaster cried out in alarm and tried to scramble away, but something caught his feet and pulled him back. One of the logs began to writhe, its gray bark changing to scales before Tavis's eyes. The bole slithered around the verbeeg's waist and began twining him in its mighty coils.

The scout resisted the urge to sprint to Basil's aid, realizing Goboka was probably using the runecaster as bait. Instead, Tavis stopped well out of the snake's reach and fired his arrow. The shaft bounced harmlessly off the beast's thick scales. He tried again, this time drawing his string back until the tip barely touched the bow. Again, the shot did not penetrate.

"Where boy?" demanded Goboka's voice.

Tavis nocked an arrow and turned toward the sound, but remembered how the shaman had thrown his voice in the fault cave and did not fire. Taking care to conceal the maneuver with his fingers, the firbolg slipped the notch of the ogre shaft off Bear Killer's string, but drew the bow as if he were going to fire.

"Leave Avner out of this," Tavis said, relieved to hear the shaman trying such a trick. If it had been possible for the ogre to throw his voice while uttering a spell incantation, Goboka would not have bothered trying to make conversation.

"Let all you go." Goboka said. To give the impression that he was moving about, he had shifted the location of his words. "Give me princess."

Tavis turned his bow toward the voice and released the cord beneath his fingers. The sonorous strum of Bear Killer's snapping bowstring echoed off the trees, but the firbolg's arrow remained between his fingers.

As the scout expected, Goboka's heavy footsteps came rushing at him from behind. Tavis tightened his grip on the arrow and spun, thrusting the shaft out in front of him. He heard an astonished groan and felt the iron tip sink into something pulpy, then the shaman's huge bulk smashed into him, breaking the arrow and knocking the firbolg off his feet.

Tavis crashed to the ground beneath his attacker. The air rushed from his lungs in a single excruciating gasp, then a pair of huge hands closed around his throat. He felt hot ogre blood spilling onto his skin, then Goboka's loathsome face appeared before his eyes, the illusion of invisibility shattered once the shaman revealed his location by attacking. The brute's yellow tusks were gnashing in fury, with blue poison antidote still frothing at the corners of his mouth.

Tavis slammed his palms into the ogre's elbows, trying to break his attacker's arms and free himself of the hands that had squeezed shut the veins in his neck. The shaman roared in anger, but his sturdy limbs did not budge, and he brought his heavy brow down to smash his captive's face. The scout turned his head, keeping his nose from being shattered, but Goboka's forehead still caught him in the cheek. An agonizing crackle resonated through the firbolg's head, and his entire face erupted in pain.

Tavis's sight began to grow murky and black, as though he were climbing into a cave for a deep winter sleep. The scout fought to stay alert, turning all his thoughts toward the dwindling light at the lair's distant mouth, but the gloom continued to close in, until he could see nothing but Goboka's hideous face leering at him from the other end of a narrow, dark tunnel.

Tavis reached up and pressed his thumbs to Goboka's eyes, trying to gouge the purple orbs from their sockets before the warrens of his mind grew completely dark.

The shaman threw his head back, pulling his eyes safely out of reach-then Avner's small frame appeared in the gloomy shadows at the edge of Tavis's vision. The youth's hand was arcing through the air, driving the gleaming blade of a steel dagger down past Goboka's face. The knife struck with a deep thud. A spray of blood shot up past the shaman's cheek, and the ogre finally pulled his hands from Tavis's throat.

As the blood rushed back into Tavis's head, the murk began to lighten. The scout glimpsed Goboka's clublike arm swinging toward Avner's small form. The blow landed with a terrible crack and sent the youth sailing through the air. The boy yelled once, then fell quiet.

The shaman stood and turned to follow. As soon as the tremendous weight disappeared from Tavis's chest, the scout pushed himself up and reached out to clutch Goboka's ankle. The ogre did not even spin around. He simply swung the heel of his huge foot and caught Tavis beneath the chin. The scout went reeling down into the dreamless mists where bears sleep.

Brianna snatched up the small wooden javelin Basil had prepared for her and stood, more than a little frightened by what she saw on shore. The shaman's kick had left Tavis lying motionless, either unconscious or dead, while the ogre's snake had just captured Basil's second arm in its coils. Goboka himself was striding toward Avner's groaning form, apparently determined to make certain the youth did not survive to attack him again. Despite the steel dagger and two arrows that had been lodged in his bloody torso, the shaman showed no signs of discomfort-much less of debilitating injury-as he moved to finish the boy.

"Hiatea, give me your blessing," Brianna whispered. "The battle has fallen upon my shoulders now."

The princess spoke the command word Basil had taught her, then hurled the javelin in her hand at Goboka's back. With a great whoosh, the spear burst into flame and streaked away, long tongues of yellow fire trailing after it. The shaman cocked an ear toward the hissing shaft, then, without even glancing toward the sound, hurled himself to the ground.

The maneuver did not spare him. The shaft curved down and planted itself between his shoulder blades. Goboka's scream echoed through the woods. The javelin burst apart, leaving a geyser of flame to shoot from the hole in the ogre's back.

At last, something had injured the shaman. For several moments, he lay on the ground with a pillar of greasy black smoke rising from his wound, growling with pain and digging his long talons into the dirt. Brianna thought he might be dying, but that hope vanished when he raised his head and looked back toward her. His purple eyes had gone black with rage, while his lips were covered with gashes from his own gnashing tusks.

Goboka pushed himself to his feet. After glancing around to make certain his other foes would not be attacking again, he fixed his eyes on Brianna and staggered toward her.

"Princess like hurt? Goboka too. Got plenty." The ogre stopped at the edge of the bog and scowled at the syrupy mud. "Hurt you good before we go."

Brianna stared across the bog, not trying to hide her fear. "You're not going to hurt me," she said. "I won't allow it."

The princess turned and took quick steps, then leaped away from the edge of the raft. She splashed, with a syrupy gurgle, into the mud and plunged in as far as her chest, then began to sink more slowly.

Goboka's angry eyes paled to lavender, and his heavy jaw fell open. "Stop!" he ordered. "What you do?"

"I swore I'd die before I let you take me again," Brianna said. Her feet touched the boulder she and her companions had placed on the bottom when they moved the raft into position, and she slowly bent her knees so that it would appear she was continuing to sink. "And I meant it."

The princess held her chin above the mire long enough to see the shaman grab a log and come splashing toward her, then she closed her eyes and let her head sink into cold mud. Pinching her nostrils shut with one hand, Brianna kneeled down and ran her hand over the boulder until she found the line they had tied to it, then she followed the rope until she came to the hand axe.

The princess pulled the weapon loose. Her heart began to pound, rebelling against any plan that required her to stop breathing, and within thirty alarmed beats the rest of her body joined the panic. Soon, it seemed to Brianna that she had been submerged forever, though a small corner of her mind knew that no more than a minute had passed. Her lungs began to ache for air, and her mouth longed to open wide. It required a conscious act of will to keep her legs folded beneath her, for every instinct screamed at her to straighten them out and thrust her head up into the cool, crisp air just two feet above. But the princess knew what would happen if she did: Goboka would realize he had been tricked. He would react instantly, dodging or blocking her axe strike, and her chance would be gone.

The princess could not understand what was taking Goboka so long. He was obviously intelligent, at least for an ogre, and this was a simple enough thing to do. Push his log out to her raft and plunge his hand into the mud, then grasp her hair-or whatever he could find-and pull her up.

Perhaps he was casting a spell. They had talked about that possibility, but Basil had convinced them that once Brianna was submerged, the ogre would not have time to prepare a spell capable of saving her. Unfortunately, Goboka had surprised them too many times for the princess to place much faith in the runecaster's reassurances. That she was now crouching in the bog was proof enough of the shaman's prowess, for this was the last hope of victory. All of their other plans and assaults had failed to stop him.

There was nothing for Brianna to do but wait, fighting against her own instincts while her body slowly burned her last whiffs of air. Her temples began to throb, and her chest was about to burst with the urge to expel the stale breath in her lungs. In the back of her mind, a fiendish voice kept saying she would feel better if she exhaled. The princess did not listen. She knew her desperate lungs would try to refill themselves the instant she emptied them, and she still had enough control over her mind to know humans could not breathe mud.

At last, Brianna felt the mire swirling near her face. She pushed her head toward the activity and felt her brow brush a pair of talons. They twitched away, and she lost contact. The princess almost screamed, then felt the coarse pads of five ogre fingers slipping over the crown of her head. They squeezed down, the claws digging into her scalp so deep she feared they would puncture her skull.

Brianna took her fingers away from her nostrils and reached up to claw at the hand, trying to pull Goboka into the mud on top of her. She did not want to succeed, but if she allowed the shaman to pull her from the bog without a struggle, he might sense a trap.

Goboka's talons dug deeper, and he pulled. Brianna was surprised by the force the bog exerted to keep her down. The suction was more powerful than the princess had imagined possible, and she found herself worrying the ogre would not be strong enough to pull her free. She had heard many stories of moose, bears, and even dragons that had become so caught in quagmires that they starved to death within plain sight of solid ground. If such powerful beasts could not free themselves, it seemed unreasonable to think an ogre could pull her out.

Fortunately, Brianna did not have to rely on her foe. Ever so slightly, she began to straighten her legs and push against the solid surface of the boulder. She felt herself slipping slowly upward, until, with a loud whooshing sound, the suction broke and her head came shooting out of the mud.

Brianna found herself looking at the side of Goboka's log, with what appeared to be a bleeding mass of mud piled on top. At first, the princess did not know what to make of the sight, then she understood exactly what she was seeing and braced her feet solidly on the boulder. She pushed herself to her full height, so that she was standing only chest-deep in the mire, and brought the hand axe up from beneath the muck.

Goboka tried to slide off the other side of the log, but Brianna was already swinging the weapon at his throat. The blade came down with a damp, distinct thump, then she felt the satisfying crackle of a skull popping free of its neck.

The head splashed into the bog, but the rest of the shaman's bulky corpse remained on the log. Brianna shoved the loathsome body out of sight and pulled herself from the bog, already turning toward the shore where her friends lay in desperate need of healing magic.

It did not occur to the princess to give a victory cry, not until she reached the shore of the bog and saw Tavis lift his battered head.