Winterheim

19

You go in here,” said the ogre, roughly pushing Bruni through a low doorway. She ducked so that she didn’t bump her head and found herself in a large, stone-walled room where several dozen humans sat listlessly on the floor. Most, possibly all of them, were chained to the walls, though it was hard to make out many details in the near total darkness of the large cell.

She heard a burst of violence behind her and turned to see Barq One-Tooth struggling in the grip of another of their captors. The big Highlander tried to throw a punch but instead took a hard blow on his head from the hilt of a grenadier’s sword. Groaning, he staggered and was pushed unceremoniously through the door to sprawl heavily on the floor.

The large woman knelt beside him, touching his head, feeling the sticky ooze of blood. Barq groaned and sat up, rubbing the wound then pulling his hand away to look at his bloody fingers.

“You’d think I’d learn to pick my fights better,” he growled in disgust.

“It was a nice gesture,” Bruni told him, “hopeless but nice.”

“Bastards!” snarled the man, glaring at the metal door that clanged shut across the dungeon entrance.

He turned his attention to their surroundings, blinking in surprise as he saw the other men in the cell, all of whom seemed to be watching them with interest. There was a rattle of iron from one of the corners as one or two prisoners tried to stir. As she squinted into the darkness, Bruni perceived that many, perhaps all, of these men were secured in place with heavy chains.

“Where are we?” Barq One-Tooth demanded.

“The queen’s own dungeon,” muttered one fellow disgustedly. “We’re locked up here till she finds the time to kill us. Don’t worry-it shouldn’t be long now.”

“Cheery thought,” Bruni said. “I know what we did to get tossed in here, but what about the rest of you?”

“Don’t talk to her!” snapped one of the men, a swarthy fellow who was chained to the wall by both wrists. “She could be a spy-just like Thraid’s lackey, over there!”

The prisoner spat contemptuously at another of the captives, a thin, bearded man in the far corner of the room. He, too, was chained and was gazing at the two newcomers with a strange expression.

Bruni thought the man looked familiar and was trying to place him when Barq One-Tooth cried out. He crossed to the prisoner and knelt before him. “Sire! May Kradok smite those who would dare to restrain you thus!”

“Strongwind Whalebone?” Bruni exclaimed in wonder. “Is that truly you?”

Their words provoked a startled reaction among the prisoners, several of whom whispered among themselves or muttered words of disbelief. The man was thin and haggard, bedraggled enough that he looked like a different, much smaller monarch than the noble Strongwind she remembered, but those eyes and that tight smile were un-mistakeable.

“Aye, it is, Bruni of Brackenrock and my old thane Barq One-Tooth. How did those ogre scum-lords acquire you two?”

Bruni was about to counsel discretion, at least in what they said within hearing of the rest of these prisoners, but the Barq spoke bluntly.

“We came to rescue you,” he said, shaking his head miserably. “The Lady of Brackenrock brought us here, she and the elf and a small force of volunteers, but Bruni and I were taken as we tried to penetrate the city. My Lord King, we have failed you! May all the gods strike me down as just punishment!”

Strongwind’s eyes all but bulged out of his head. Impatiently he waved off Barq’s continuing efforts at apology. “The Lady-Moreen Bayguard is alive?” he asked. “She survived the disaster at Brackenrock? How? That’s wonderful news!” He glowered, suddenly and looked askance at Bruni. “Was she captured as well? Where is she?”

“She and Kerrick avoided capture when we were taken, as best as I could see. Barq and I were carrying the Axe of Gonnas. It was hidden in a basket, but somehow it gave us away.”

“You dared come to Winterheim to rescue me? That’s mad!” Strongwind said in despair, still looking at Bruni.

“I came because Moreen was coming,” the big woman said tartly. “There was nothing I or anyone else could say that would have deterred her from the path she had chosen. She felt responsible for your capture. It was the honorable course of action.”

“How did she ever think she could succeed? No one has ever been rescued from this place!” Strongwind shook his head in agitation. “It is a hopeless quest!”

“I fear, Sire, that I must bear some blame for that,” Barq said, hanging his head in shame. “Some of the thanes … led by myself … well, we were all set to accuse the lady of treachery when you failed to return from Dracoheim. Of course, we realized that she was a true friend to you when she declared for this quest. There was not a man from all the Highlands who would not have gone along with her.”

Strongwind Whalebone slumped back against the wall, his eyes closed. When he spoke to Barq it was not in anger but in a tone of disappointment that Bruni suspected might cut even deeper than rage.

“Mad Randall and I … we gave ourselves willingly on Dracoheim to allow Moreen a chance to succeed in destroying the Golden Orb. Randall perished, and I was taken by the ogres. Even now that I know that the lady lives, I have to judge that day a success. What a blow … to learn that my own capture has led to her undoing! This is too heavy a burden to bear. It were better I died that day than to have drawn her into this ice-walled trap.”

“Sire, don’t say that!” Barq pleaded miserably. “She still lives, and we’ll find a way out of here, you watch. That elf is a brave one, and he has a million tricks, too. There is still the party of brave warriors who came with us, and they’re not done yet!”

“More madness,” said the slave king, with a dejected groan. “I cannot be the cause of so many deaths. I am not that important!”

Bruni looked around at the other prisoners, who were watching with expressions of amazement. The swarthy captive who had first spoken so accusingly of the Highlander spoke up again.

“Is it true, then-you really are Strongwind Whalebone, the king of Guilderglow? When we were captured, I thought that was a ruse to win our trust, but the heir to the Whalebone kings is here, rotting here in an ogre dungeon?”

“It’s true,” Bruni replied testily. “He is as brave and true a man as you will find in all the Icereach.”

The man cried out as though in physical pain. “Forgive me, Majesty. I accused you of the basest form of treachery. I am a fool!”

“You’re a brave man,” Strongwind said kindly, “and a suspicious one, as you were forced to be. Had our positions been reversed, I no doubt would have been wary of you as well.”

“Is there any way out of here? Can we try to fight our way past the guards?” asked Barq One-Tooth hopefully.

Strongwind shook his head. “There are steel doors holding us here and plenty of guards on the outside.”

“It is up to Kerrick and Moreen, then,” Bruni said. When all the men looked at the floor, she added, “There are no better allies to have at a time like this.”

“Pray to Chislev and to Kradok and to all the gods, then,” said Strongwind solemnly. “May our friends be stricken with true inspiration and no shortage of good luck.”

“Aye, and amen,” said Bruni, bowing her head and adding her own hopes to that prayer.

“Sire!” The ogre courier was panting, his face slicked with sweat. He burst into the throne room without so much as a bow or word of permission from the guards at the door. Staggering forward wearily, he threw himself on the floor at Grimwar Bane’s feet.

“What is it? Speak, man!” demanded the ogre monarch.

He loomed over the fellow, stifling the urge to deliver a swift kick to get the man’s tongue going. Stariz made a move to step forward, as if she would deliver the blow herself, but a glare from her husband bade her hold in place a dozen paces away. Her eyes were bright as she stared at the courier, and Grimwar was irked at the thought that she, with her powers, might already have intuited the ogre’s news while he himself lacked even a clue.

With great effort the messenger pushed himself to his hands and knees and drew several deep, rasping breaths. Finally he lifted his head to meet the king’s eyes.

“Your Majesty, the Axe of Gonnas is reclaimed!” he gasped.

“I knew it!” crowed the queen. “Behold the will of Gonnas! His talisman is returned to his rightful house! Where is it?” she demanded, stalking forward to stand over the messenger.

“Karyl Drago himself brings it here, Highness!” explained the panting ogre. “I came from there now, from the Moongarden Road. There he discovered two humans bringing the axe into the city. They are prisoners now, and he captured the axe for you.” The fellow blinked suddenly and looked back at the king. “That is, for you, Your Majesty.”

“Do not forget who your monarch is,” growled Grimwar Bane. He was looking at the courier but speaking to his wife.

“Certainly, my king. It was Karyl Drago who found the humans and took them with the aid of a party of grenadiers. He would let none other than himself hold the axe, which he clutched to himself most carefully. He bade me race ahead with news while he follows with the axe itself.”

“You mention two captives? I heard a report of a small army of intruders coming through the Icewall Gate. Is that all who were taken?”

“Aye, Majesty-just the two, for now. One was a Highlander warrior, the other a large woman, apparently Arktos. A third was spotted, and he attacked in an effort to free the two. I regret to report that he made his escape out of the Moongarden tunnel, losing himself in the warehouses above the harbor.”

“That is regretful,” agreed the king. “Did anyone get a look at this third rogue?”

“Indeed, Sire. One of the guards stabbed at him and ripped his robe away. From Drago’s description-this is hard to believe, I know-it is possible that one of these intruders may be an elf!”

Grimwar Bane’s world suddenly grew dark around him. He staggered over to the great throne, collapsing into the stone seat as though he had suddenly been drained of the strength to stand.

“Did you say … ‘an elf’?” he croaked.

“Er, yes, sire. Drago noted that he had only one full ear, an unusual ear, long and pointed; the other was stunted or scarred. Also, his hair was an unnatural gold color and his eyes large and green.”

“Just one ear?” Nightmares were swirling up from his subconscious, memories of a cursed threat that had been vanquished-certainly destroyed-in the disaster at Dracoheim. “Was there a woman with him, a small creature with dark hair?”

The messenger looked surprised. “Indeed, your Majesty. Drago reported that two of the attackers were women, and one matches the description you just gave me.”

Suddenly the king had to sit down. He was beginning to feel sick to his stomach. He shook off the feeling and looked around him with grim determination.

“Summon the prisoner to me,” he ordered, “the human woman. Also, have the guards bring up the slave king, Strongwind Whalebone. I would speak to both of them and try to learn what is going on.”

The conversations among the prisoners ceased abruptly as a key clanked in the door of the cell, and the metal barrier creaked open. Four heavily armed ogres came in, swords raised threateningly. A fifth, apparently an officer, entered and gestured to Bruni and Strongwind Whalebone.

“We are taking you to the throne room. The king and queen want to have some words with you.” He chuckled wickedly as Strongwind Whalebone pulled at his manacles, struggling in vain against the ogres who hauled upon his chains, pulling him roughly to his feet and dragging him toward the door. “The queen’ll probably want to thank you. Maybe she’ll even give you a reward,” he said mockingly.

“What do you mean?” the Highlander king demanded.

“Well, I think you did her quite a favor, when you killed the Lady Thraid Dimmarkull. Quite a slice that was, right through her throat. She must have bled for an hour!”

Bruni saw Strongwind’s face go pale with shock, then she was turned and roughly pushed out the door, the troop of ogres coming right behind.

Dinekki had spent much time beside the small, dark pool, muttering over incantations, casting her knucklebones, and otherwise seeking some sign via the pathways of Chislev Wilder. Occasionally Mouse saw flashes of light bursting between the stalks of the giant mushrooms or heard rumbles of noise that sounded very much like thunder. The rocks shivered under his feet.

The Arktos warrior had for the most part kept his eyes on the cavern. The ogres were searching systematically out there. Thus far their patrols had been busy on the far side of the central stream, but he knew that it was just a matter of time before they would cross that waterway and make their way up to the Port Grotto.

Finally Dinekki came out of the cave with her wrinkled face darkened by a frown of deep concern.

“What is it?” asked Mouse.

“Trouble,” the shaman said cryptically. “Can’t tell exactly what’s gone wrong, but the signs are clear: Moreen and Kerrick have run into some bad luck, and it’s only likely to get worse.”

“What can we do?” Mouse wondered, staring in frustration at the marching column of ogres amid the green, fertile cave.

The ubiquitous bats were circling, diving to the canopies of the great mushrooms, sometimes ducking even between the stalks before they again circled to the heights.

“Well, don’t know for sure one way or t’other, but I guess I’d better go and see what I can find out.” The shaman clucked her tongue crossly and glared at the vast cavern as if it had somehow offended her.

“You mean, sneak past all those guards?” blurted the Arktos warrior. “No, Dinekki! Even you can’t do that.”

“Not in this body, fool,” snapped the old woman. “Do you think these old legs could outrun even a one-legged ogre?”

“Well, no.”

“Then don’t be talking about stupid ideas.”

“Then … how?”

The old woman made no answer. Instead, she went down into her little niche again and came out with a white shawl wrapped around her frail shoulders. “You wait there,” she told him.

Mouse sat behind the stalk of a giant mushroom as she muttered, chanted, and prayed in the midst of the war party. He couldn’t see her but heard her call out, making strange animal noises again.

He noticed the bats growing agitated, several of them flying toward him, fluttering close over his head. More and more of the tiny creatures swirled around.

Abruptly the bats winged away in unison, flying low across the serene cavern, then flapping briskly, gaining altitude. Most rose quickly, though one lagged behind the others, clearly straining to keep up. He watched them fly away, vanishing in the direction of Winterheim. The silence was eerie and oppressive, and at last he decided to risk the old woman’s wrath.

“Dinekki?” he called.

There was no reply. Quickly he leaped up to the edge of the cliff, fearing that the old woman had come to some harm.

The lip of the precipice was empty. Frantically he looked down, afraid that perhaps Dinekki had fallen, but there was no sign of the woman or of her white shawl on the mossy rocks below.

Only then did he understand, looking toward the place where the bats had flown. Dinekki was not here … not on the rocks … the answer was clear.

She had flown away with the bats.

Stariz brought Garnet Dane to her private sanctum, the small, incense-sweet room behind the great temple sanctuary. She saw by his tight smile that he was pleased with himself, and she decided to allow him this small pleasure.

Indeed, he had done well.

“The Lady Thraid is dead,” she remarked matter-of-factly. “You have performed the task that I required of you adequately.”

“Thank you, gracious queen,” said the man, pressing his face to the floor.

“Did you enlist your female accomplice in the act?”

She was curious about this human woman Garnet Dane had alluded to, wondering who this person was who could perform such bloodletting and yet remain concealed among the ranks of her slave kind. Sooner or later, the queen would have to learn her identity, for she could prove to be very useful.

“Indeed, my queen. She had better access to the lady, so it was she who wielded the knife. She serves you willingly and loyally.”

“I shall need the use of her again soon. I will trust that she will serve as well as she did in the matter of the Lady Thraid,” said the high priestess.

“Yes, Majesty.” Garnet Dane’s eyes were bright with the lust for another killing. “How may we serve you this time?”

“There is an elf loose in the city. He will undoubtedly try to link up with the rebellious elements among the slaves. I do not know where he is, though it seems he entered from the Moongarden.”

“I will have all of my ears alert, looking for any word or sign of such an intruder,” said the human, groveling. “I will report at once, should anything come to my-”

“Fool!” she snapped, relishing the involuntary flinch in the man’s craven frame. “I do not seek information. As soon as you or she finds him, make sure that he dies!”