Winterheim

23

Mouse looked up and saw a high, vaulting archway and a vast space yawning beyond. Torches and lamps flickered like stars high above, and he knew that he was seeing the inside the ogre city. There was a scent of salt in the air, suggestive of the sea, and the Arktos sailor knew that somehow, inside this mountain, the great city’s harbor was near.

The bodies of a hundred ogres lay scattered through the cavern behind them. Mouse and Thane Larsgall had led the defeat of the defenders of Winterheim. As the war party surged through the wide tunnel, each detachment of ogres had been overwhelmed in a brief, furious skirmish.

The war party had been reinforced by hundreds of slaves liberated from the Moongarden barracks. Along the way to the city, as they passed other slave pens, caverns to either side of the passageway that were fenced off by pickets of stout timbers, they threw each gate open, and additional men and women had joined the revolt.

Slyce was still running with the humans, a grin on his face. The gully dwarf carried a long knife that he had claimed from a foe, and though at first Mouse was afraid the little fellow would get injured, he had welcomed the enthusiasm with which Slyce had flung himself into each attack.

The Arktos captain had no idea how many slaves had spilled out of their pens and were charging along with the throng-hundreds, perhaps even a thousand or more. They carried pitchforks and cudgels, hammers and picks, anything that might serve as a weapon. Shouting and whooping, they headed toward the ogre fortress with an air of joyousness, a spirit that Mouse suspected would be violently dashed all too soon. He couldn’t help feeling that it had been too easy up until this point.

He saw Feathertail running along in the crush, her eyes alight. She smiled at him, a slash of white teeth in her brown face, and she looked fierce and beautiful at the same time. He wanted to live through this battle, to spend the rest of his life with her, but he knew that if they were to die here it would be a death that would be the stuff of legends.

At last the corridor opened into a wide atrium, but here the momentum of the rush slowed. Mouse pushed himself to the front rank, then stopped and stared in dismay. The exit from the corridor was blocked by a solid phalanx of ogres, six or eight deep, armed with long spears and sheltered securely behind a wall of tall, iron shields. A captain stood with them, and upon his order the formation began to advance at a measured stride.

The slaves outnumbered the ogres here, but the weapons and the narrow frontage all worked to the defenders’ favor. Mouse heard murmurs of dismay and a few cries of fear, coming from the slaves who were massed behind him. As if sensing this wavering morale, the captain of the ogres shouted something, and the heavy formation, spearheads gleaming like wicked swords, broke into a trot, still holding those tight, precise ranks.

Mouse raised his sword. “Archers, shower them with arrows!” he called. “Highlanders and Arktos, meet them with your blades and your blood!”

Thane Larsgall was beside him, the man’s bearded face creased into an almost bestial smile. He held his hammer high and cried out an ululating challenge. The shout was picked up by the humans of both tribes.

The tromp of the ogre march was a drumbeat in the corridor. Arrows poured down, bouncing from the shields, here and there penetrating the chinks in the enemy armor. No order was given, no signal made, but as if they shared the same mind the humans surged forward against the ogre steel.

Grimwar Bane stared at the captive human woman, who in some ways reminded him of Thraid. She had that same buxom, attractive shape, and her eyes were large and entrancing, even now as they burned with anger and contempt. At the same time, he saw an intelligence there, a depth of knowledge and wisdom that far exceeded any ogress, even his shrewd queen.

“I think I start to understand your feelings,” he said, surprising himself with the blunt truth of the statement.

She shook her head in what was almost a gesture of pity. “What does a monster like you understand about anything?”

“A monster?” The king felt genuinely hurt. “I try to rule my realm with wisdom and care. I study, and I learn, and I rule.”

“You’re a killer of innocents, a maker of war!” she declared, though her eyes narrowed as she seemed to consider his words.

“You are an interesting person,” he said. “I regret that we are forced to be enemies by the reason of your birth.”

“It’s not my birth,” she retorted, glaring at him. “It’s because you keep coming out of your city and attacking my people, dragging us into slavery or killing us. That’s why we’re enemies!”

The king flushed. Nobody spoke to him like this! Even in his anger, his response was not the slap or kick that such a remark would normally have provoked. By Gonnas, why did she have to make everything so confusing? He wanted to talk to her, and she insisted upon saying these infuriating things!

Abruptly he spun on his heel, stalked out of the palace, and crossed the promenade to the edge of the atrium. It pleased him to see that the battle was progressing well. The humans were being pushed back everywhere. He should be happy, but he was not. Instead, he was confused.

Absently he started along the promenade, walking, not paying attention to where he was going.

He needed to think. Think!

Stariz made her way back to the throne room, satisfied that the ogres were determined to win for their god and their king-or at least, their queen. Her thoughts, when they turned to her husband, were furious. He was a weakling! He lacked the resolve necessary to destroy his enemies, and thus, unless she continued to protect him, it was inevitable that his enemies would destroy him. For the first time, she no longer felt willing to coddle him.

The Axe of Gonnas was a good weight, a touch of familiar power, in her hands. In the haft of that weapon she felt a sense of immortal violation at having been handled by humans, but at least the weapon had come back to her. She deserved it, for she was the true source of ogre power in the Icereach. The axe was the most potent symbol of that might, and it pleased her to know that it was once again in the hands of its rightful owner.

The guards pulled open the door to the throne room, and she stalked inside, having made up her mind. She took long strides toward the center of the great hall. The two humans were still chained, and they sat motionless while a dozen ogre guards stood around, keeping careful watch on the prisoners. Her foolish husband was nowhere to be seen.

Stariz raised the Axe of Gonnas, twisted the handle, and relished the power that surged forth, flamed forth from that golden blade.

“Hear me, faithful subjects of Gonnas! See the vengeance of your immortal lord! Bear witness to the fate of those who would stand in his path!”

She spun on her heel, enjoying the look of consternation on the two humans’ faces as she stalked back and forth before them, chanting her prayers. A bat fluttered through the air, flying away from the man and out the palace doors. She ignored the creature but glared at the human woman who watched the bat, not her, with a strangely thoughtful expression. The man’s eyes glowed with malice. She relished that spark of hatred, of pride and resistance, for she knew that she could crush that light, extinguish it forever.

All her hatred, her revulsion at the blasphemy, her fury at the treachery of the slaves, welled within the queen as she raised the sacred weapon. This human woman represented weakness and evil, just as surely as had Thraid Dimmarkull. Stariz had dealt with the Lady Thraid. Now she would do the same with this pathetic human.

“You humans!” she cried. “Behold the vengeance of Gonnas!”

She turned, gestured to the sergeant in charge of the palace guard detail. He hastened forward, dropping to one knee so that he could bow his head.

“Take the prisoners to the temple!” ordered Stariz ber Bane.

“My queen!” objected the guard, looking upward with wide eyes. “The king commanded us to remain-”

“Do you see the king here now?” growled the high priestess, her voice rumbling with menace.

“N-no,” replied the ogre hesitantly.

“Then if you know what is good for you, you will bring these two prisoners to the temple of Gonnas so that the Willful One may observe their fate and slake himself upon their blood!”

“The gates are opening!” cried Black Mike, who had been pacing back and forth before the upper barricades. “Stand ready, me mates!” The rebel leader raised his sword and strode up to the gap, other humans pressing behind.

Kerrick looked up to see that indeed the heavy portals that had blocked their advance upward from the Terrace Level were rumbling apart. Before he could call the slaves to rally to the attack, however, the growing gap was filled by a sight that filled him with dismay.

“Behold the Talisman of Gonnas!” crowed Stariz ber Bane.

The golden axe blazed in all of its fiery glory as she advanced, waving it over her head. She brought the weapon down in a sweeping slash, driving the shining head through the rebel leader’s skull. Black Mike fell dead, and the nearby humans recoiled with a gasp.

A throng of ogre warriors behind the ogre queen cheered lustily, and as soon as the gap was wide enough they began to press through, stabbing with spears and chopping with their great halberds. Some of the slaves turned and ran. Those few bold humans who tried to stand were quickly cut down, bodies scattered haphazardly as the gates pushed open still wider.

More and more of the brutish attackers crowded into the gap, quickly shoving forward, starting down the ramp, driving the panicking humans before them. A brave woman ran forward, screaming in hatred. She stabbed with a spear, but the weapon was brushed aside by a looming grenadier. That ogre smashed her skull, using the hilt of his sword in an almost casual backhand blow, and she fell like limp doll, her head bouncing roughly off the floor.

Kerrick tried to hold his own ground against the attackers. He chopped at an ogre, forcing the creature back, leaving a gory cut in its face. Beside him, Barq One-Tooth wielded his axe with savagery, while Moreen shouted and cajoled in an attempt to bring more humans into a massed line.

The ogre attack was too forceful. Several more men fell, badly wounded or slain, leaving Barq and the elf alone on the wide ramp. Knowing they would be surrounded in a second, the two fighters had no choice but to fall back. Still they fought hard as they retreated, made the ogres pay for each footstep of ground. Stabbing and chopping in unison, the two warriors forced the enemy to at least measure the speed of their advance.

Nevertheless, the slaves were for the most part milling about in growing panic on the broad avenue next to the atrium, and the ogres pouring through the now wide-open gates waded into them with glee and savagery. The melee roiled across the road, fighters of both sides mingling in hand-to-hand combat. Here and there a formation of slaves made a bold stand, keeping the attacking guards from sweeping across the entire Terrace Level, but in most places they broke and ran. Some fled down the ramps toward the lower levels of the city, others ran through the streets and alleys of the city, seeking shelter from the imminent onslaught.

Kerrick looked for the ogre queen, hoping for a chance to surprise her with an attack. Perhaps he might even regain the axe. Unfortunately, she had not followed the attackers through the gate. She seemed content to urge them on, from the safety of the rear. He saw the gleaming fire of that axe and heard her shrill commands, but he could only curse in frustration.

“It’s like Tildy said. More ogres are coming from below,” Moreen reported after a quick glance over the rim of the atrium.

The elf shook his head angrily, and it was only then that he noticed the bat fluttering past his scarred ear.

Slyce huddled miserably against the wall of the Moongarden corridor. The ogres had charged past and were doing their best to kill all the humans who had brought the gully dwarf to this interesting place. He saw Mouse and Feathertail, humans who had been nice to him, fighting against much bigger ogres. Slyce even tried to help, lunging forward, trying to stab with his big knife, but he tripped and fell, the knife went flying, and the battle quickly swirled past him as the humans were forced to retreat. Now it seemed as if they would be driven all the way back to the Moongarden.

He hid behind the body of a dead ogre, crouching in the space between the corpse and the wall, watching wide-eyed as the melee moved down the corridor, farther and farther away. Finally he was left in silence except for the groaning of a few badly wounded ogres and men.

Slyce scuttled away from the battle and in moments found himself inside the largest place he had ever seen or even imagined. There was more fighting going on here, so he continued to run up a ramp that led away from the big flat space where ogres and humans chased each other around.

Some more fighters started to come up that ramp, ogres marching shoulder to shoulder as if they were chasing him. Slyce scampered farther and farther up, around the wide circles of the ramp, higher and higher into the ogre city. He came to yet another place where there was a big fight going on, but he saw some gates that were open. There were bodies around those gates, but nobody seemed to be paying attention right now. He ducked on through and continued higher.

At least here in the upper part of the city there didn’t seem to be any fighting at the moment. There were sure lots of ogres, he noticed. All the humans seemed to be hiding, and the big brutes were running this way and that, many of them carrying sharp weapons.

For once, Slyce was grateful that he was a very small gully dwarf, since he had no difficulty hiding in the shadows when the ogres came rushing past. Still he headed higher until he was at the very top level of this huge place. Here he ran away from the ramp when he heard more ogres coming up from below. Now he was on a wide street, with a ledge and a deep drop on one side, and many fancy buildings on the other side.

There was nowhere else to climb, so he decided to stop and find a hiding place. He saw a big statue of a proud bull ogre wearing a cape and a crown. That stone image would conceal him from the street, and the gully dwarf squatted behind it, wide eyes staring this way and that.

Big doors opened right across the street from him, and to his surprise he saw a person he recognized, all tied up in chains. It was that big Arktos woman-Bruni! — and she marched past with a bunch of ogres on all sides of her. She was being taken with another human, a blond-bearded man, down the street, to the ramp down to the next lower level. A fierce ogress led the way, and she carried the same golden axe that the humans had brought with them from Brackenrock.

They looked terribly frightening. Slyce didn’t know what to do, so he simply kept his head down. After they went away, he scuttled across the street into a dark alley that looked like an even better hiding place. Here he curled up against the wall, a little ball of misery, and fell asleep.

“That was Dinekki!” Kerrick said.

“What? Who?” demanded Moreen.

“It sounds crazy, but she’s that bat that was flying around here! She was chirping in my ear. I had to listen carefully before I could understand her. She told me that she found Strongwind and talked to him, and he told her something that might help us out!”

He saw the fluttering brown creature swirling about, then watched as it darted away along the Terrace Level promenade. “Let’s go!”

“Where?” The chiefwoman was still angry and frustrated. “Explain this to me!”

“No time-come this way,” the elf said impatiently. “Follow me!”

Moreen, Barq One-Tooth, Tildy, and a hundred or more armed slaves followed him as he gestured and took off at a trot. The battle on this level of the city had broken into small pockets as the humans had scattered and the ogres clustered around the gates to the higher levels. A few patrols of heavily armed grenadiers could be spotted here and there, attacking the slaves where they found them, but for the most part they seemed content to let the force ascending from below handle the main fight.

The bat wove and bobbed through the air, leading them along, finally circling frantically at an intersection. When the elf got close Dinekki flew off down a side street, and Kerrick led his group of fighters down the lane and into the courtyard of a large building fronting a wall of the city’s bedrock.

“This is Thraid Dimmarkull’s apartment,” Tildy explained. “It’s the place where Strongwind was posted for the past few weeks.”

The door was a splintered mess on the ground, and Kerrick entered the anteroom in a rush. The first thing he noticed was the rear end of an ogre, who was kneeling next to one of the lady’s trunks, rummaging inside. A small pile of valuables, including a lamp, a wine pitcher, and several goblets of gleaming gold, lay on the floor beside the brute, who was obviously looting.

Barq One-Tooth strode forward and split the surprised ogre’s skull before he could even begin to fumble for his sword. Meanwhile, Tildy quickly looked in the slave quarters of the apartment. “Brinda, Wandcourt?” she called.

Two humans, gray haired and obviously frightened, came out into the room. Each carried a knife, but they looked around in confusion at the mass of people pouring in through the door.

“What’s going on? Is the king dead?”

“Not yet,” Tildy said, “but what happened here? Where is the Lady Thraid?”

The male slave pointed mutely toward one of the rooms. They all took one glance in that chamber, the bedroom, and saw the remains of a gruesome murder. The lady’s body lay on the bed in a pool of dried blood.

Tildy clucked in sympathy. “She was a trivial creature, but she deserved better than this.”

The female slave, Brinda, looked at Kerrick intently. “Are you … an elf?” she asked.

“Yes,” he replied, “but I’ve thrown my lot in with the humans. Do you want to join us?”

She patted her knife, sliding it through her belt and stepping closer. “Yes, I do,” she said, staring at him with a strange expression.

The bat fluttered around his head, and he followed it into the parlor and pulled the bearskin off the wall. The outline of the door was faint but visible, and when he twisted the bracket of the lamp sconce the secret door rolled smoothly open.

“Get some lamps,” he ordered, “and follow me as quietly as possible.”

Moreen came right behind him, with Tildy next, then Barq One-Tooth, followed by the throng of armed men and the two slaves of Thraid Dimmarkull. Taking a lamp that someone handed him, Kerrick darted through the door and started up the stairs that spiraled within.

For a long time they climbed urgently. When Kerrick looked behind he saw a dozen lights bobbing through the darkened passage curving below and knew that the file of rebels remained close behind him. There were many more than he could see, as they curled into the distance, masked by the curving walls of this stairway.

Finally the elf reached a landing and held the light up to reveal another door, similar to the one at the bottom. Cautioning the humans to silence, he found the catch and slowly pulled the portal open.

A quick glance showed that he had not reached a palace hall, as he had hoped, but a narrow alley shrouded in shadow. That was better than a busy street, he thought and quickly slipped out the opening.

“Where’s Tildy?” he whispered.

She came forward, and together they crept down the alley, looking toward the lights of the promenade. “Do you know where we are?” he asked.

“I think so. Yes, that statue out there is right outside of the palace. If we go down this lane and turn left, we’ll be a dozen steps away from the king’s front door.”

“Well, that’ll do,” he said softly. In a hushed voice he outlined a simple plan. They would charge out, swiftly and silently at first. As soon as they were discovered they would abandon stealth and put all their efforts into haste.

“With luck, we can take the king by surprise. If we can capture him alive, then we’ll have something to bargain with.”

“That’s as good an insane plan as any I’ve ever heard,” said Tildy, with a wink.

The file of slaves had nearly filled the alley by then, and still more were still backed up in the secret stairway.

“No time like the present,” he muttered. “Let’s go!”

He drew his sword, took one last look at his file of anxious warriors, and started toward the promenade and the king’s palace at a full sprint.