Winterheim

22

The Moongarden slaves spilled out of their cages as soon as Mouse and his warriors opened the latches. Some of the humans stopped to kick and spit at the corpses of the ogre guards, bristling with arrows, that lay just outside the portals. Others charged into tool sheds and work stations, emerging with all manner of picks, hammers, pipes, and other tools.

“Up to the barracks!” shouted one burly Arktos, gesturing to Mouse. “They have an armory up there-lots of weapons-and most of the ogres have gone into the Moongarden on those patrols.”

“At least one of those patrols won’t be coming back this way,” the warrior said grimly. He clapped the man on the shoulder. “Lead on!”

The war party, now augmented by hundreds of slaves, rushed up the ramp that led into the wide, torchlit tunnel to Winterheim. Mouse saw Slyce, short legs pumping, running to keep up, and Feathertail, up among the vanguard. He put on a burst of speed to stay ahead and keep an eye on her.

Several heavy spears clattered down into the midst of the humans, cast by ogres on balconies overlooking this passageway. The humans responded with a fierce spray of arrows, driving the guards back from their ramparts twenty feet or more overhead, atop the smooth stone walls.

“Those are the doors to the barracks!” pointed the burly Arktos slave. “Bash them in, and we’ll have the run of the place!”

Immediately, dozens of slaves set to work with their picks and sledgehammers, and the wooden barriers were soon reduced to splinters. Humans of the war party mingled with liberated slaves as they charged through the anterooms and tore into the few ogres guarding the area. Mouse was shocked at the frenzy of the slaves, some of whom used their fingernails and teeth as they surrounded the terrified ogres, dragged them down, and killed them. Even then, the vengeance didn’t cease as the gory corpses were spat upon, stomped, and otherwise abused.

More slaves were breaking open equipment rooms, and in moments big spears and heavy axes were being passed among the rampaging rebels. There were huge shields, too, but these they left behind as they were too heavy for human use. Still more men had discovered a great keg of warqat, and they rolled it into the center of the room. One big Highlander smashed the cork off, and the freed slaves took turns lying down, placing their heads under the stream of biting liquid, letting it pour into their mouths.

Mouse was not surprised to see Slyce squirm through this pile. When the much larger humans pushed him away, the gully dwarf settled for licking the floor where the considerable overflow had started to spread in a wide pool. Acutely conscious of time slipping away, the Arktos warrior looked around, wondering how to mobilize this large, bloodthirsty, but temporarily distracted mob for the charge on Winterheim. It seemed clear that, given their choice, these people would stay here, get drunk, and become easy fodder for the ogre patrols that would inevitably arrive here.

It was Thane Larsgall who came up with motivating inspiration. Striding up to the keg, he brought down his huge hammer with a timber-splitting blow, crushing the barrel and sending a cascade of liquor across the floor. Many of the slaves rose to their feet in fury, but the thane stood there ominously, staring them down, his own expression equally furious.

“Do you think we freed you so that you could have a party at the first chance?” he roared, his tone contemptuous. “There’s plenty of this stuff in the city-and plenty of ogres too! If you want your vengeance, follow us to victory. I promise you feasting and drinking for the ages, when this is over!”

Mouse was relieved when the slaves, after a moment’s hesitation, began to cheer lustily. A thousand strong they were now as they poured out of the ogre barracks and rushed into the Moongarden corridor toward the ogre city and a destiny for the ages.

“Here, these come from the weapons room near the dungeon,” Tildy Trew shouted.

She and several slaves were bringing out bundles of halberds and heavy swords, dropping the weapons unceremoniously on the floor of the harborside plaza, where they were quickly snatched up by some of the hundreds of slaves Kerrick, Moreen, and Barq had liberated. These still streamed out of the huge pen, through the double doors that Kerrick and the rebels had carried in their sudden attack.

Once again ogre overconfidence had worked to the rebels’ advantage. The masters had guarded a cavern of five hundred slaves with a mere two dozen ogres. Apparently the city’s rulers had been overly concerned with keeping the prisoners in the pen and not particularly worried about a rescue attempt stirring from the outside. The overseers had been overcome in three minutes of furious battle, and when the bar from the inner door was at last lifted, hundreds of slaves had spilled forth. These included strong, muscular men who had been brutalized by ogres, sometimes for many years. Every one of them was spoiling for a fight.

“This is Black Mike,” Tildy shouted to Kerrick and Moreen as the elf led the group in passing out weapons. “He was one of the leaders of the rebellion and he has some ideas what to do.”

Kerrick looked at the swarthy human, a sturdy and bowlegged man of Arktos ancestry and evident fierce demeanor. “What do you suggest?”

“We’ve got to try and rush the city heights right away,” cried the man. “They have some massive stone gates in place. Once those are closed, we’ll never get up the ramps, and the ogres can hold out for the whole winter up there.”

“What about more slaves? Are there more places we can free lots of men who’ll throw in with us?” asked the elf.

“Yes-we’ve already sent men from the gates into the Moongarden and the fish warehouses, also into the lumber yard. They’ll have a thousand more recruits for us within an hour, and they’ll be bringing all the weapons and tools they can get their hands on.”

“Let’s get moving upward,” Barq One-Tooth said, coming to join the impromptu council.

By now all of the weapons had been dispersed. Kerrick could see hundreds of men milling around on the harbor plaza. Some were swarming onto Goldwing, battling the few ogres who were trapped aboard the ship, while others were chasing the merchants from their stalls on the marketplace one level above. The lower two levels of the city were churning in chaos under the onslaught of more than two thousand rebellious slaves.

“You men!” Moreen called. “Will you follow me against the ogre king? To rescue Strongwind Whalebone and to bring down the House of Bane?”

“Hail the King of Guilderglow!” cried Barq One-Tooth. “Long live the Highlanders!”

“And the Lady of Brackenrock!” Kerrick bellowed, exulting in the power of his own voice. “She leads the revolt, in the name of all the Arktos!”

The roars of hundreds of cheering men rose like thunder through the vast atrium of Winterheim. Kerrick found himself shouting along with the rebels, while Moreen held her sword over her head, looking every bit the part of the warrior princess. In a surge of energy, the slaves advanced, and the pair led the frenzied horde in a pell-mell rush across the harbor level.

“They would make a splendid couple, wouldn’t they?” Tildy Trew remarked dryly.

Kerrick was surprised to see the slave woman running beside him, keeping up with apparent ease. She carried a long pole, and he noticed that the end was slick with gore. Clearly, she had joined in the revolt with full enthusiasm.

“Who?” he asked, genuinely confused.

“Why, Strongwind Whalebone and Moreen Bayguard,” she retorted, without breaking stride. “Isn’t that what they both want?”

“Some would call it destiny,” the elf replied tentatively, feeling a familiar twinge.

Strongwind and Moreen were the leaders of the Icereach clans, and in their union, mankind would have a real hope of freedom and prosperity. Moreen herself had acknowledged that, and Kerrick had willingly offered to help her. He shrugged away his misgivings and ran, shouting.

The throng of rebels followed the elf and the chiefwoman as they raced across the plaza, up the steps to the market level, and onto the ramp leading them higher into the great mountain city. Barq and Tildy ran close to them, and Black Mike surged into the lead, waving a big sword. Kerrick felt a thrill of emotion and knew that there was nowhere he would rather be, nothing else he would rather be doing. Life in Silvanesti, life as an elf, was but a pale shadow of this intensity, this battle frenzy, this joy.

They charged past two more levels, everywhere witnessing scenes of struggle and celebration as the newly liberated humans wrested the city away from their former masters. Amid the chaos was proof of great violence. Bodies of ogres and humans, males and females, young and old of both races were scattered along the promenades, streets, and markets. Here and there pockets of ogre warriors battled stubbornly, each of them isolated in the midst of a storm of raging men, but they were disciplined, especially the red-coated grenadiers. They more than held their own, and in several places they were mounting savage, coordinated counterattacks.

“This is the Terrace Level,” Tildy explained to Kerrick as they ran past yet one more level of the ramp. “If we can get above this, we should be able to capture the heights!”

“Onward!” shouted Black Mike, at the head of the file.

They surged up a broad, inclined road, toward the opening leading toward the next level. A thin line of ogre warriors, less than a dozen spanning a fifty-foot gap, stood grimly in their path.

The crash came only moments before the slaves reached that tenuous line. Two huge barriers of stone swung forth on massive hinges, their own weight bearing them outward and downward until they slammed into a framework to form a makeshift wall, nearly crushing the leading rank of humans. Kerrick felt the paving stones shake underfoot from the impact, while many men were knocked from their feet by the powerful vibrations.

The result was clear to the elf and to all the humans, who groaned in unison. The two stone gates formed an impenetrable barrier across the ramp leading to the Noble, Temple and the Royal Levels of Winterheim. Beyond that wall of rubble they heard the cheers of a thousand ogres, roaring in defiance and victory, knowing that-for now-they were safe.

“Sire, the slaves are in full revolt!” cried Lord Forlane, reporting to Grimwar Bane in the throne room. “We have dropped the gates across the ramps above the Terrace Level and blocked them from the heights of the city, but I fear we have lost the harbor, the Moongardens and much below.”

“Hold the line at the gates,” ordered the king with an angry glance at Forlane.

He knew those stone blocks would be virtually impassable, at least until the humans started using their chisels and picks. There were small gaps in the stone barriers, but these were narrow enough to restrict access to single attackers and could be held by brave ogres. The king knew that under those conditions his warriors could stand against the humans indefinitely.

However, he understood that they needed to do more than simply hold back the slaves-they needed to attack. His judgment told him that he should lead that attack, but he found, to his continuing amazement, that he had no desire to fight, to kill, not right now. He looked at the big human woman, still in chains in the corner of his throne room, and once again felt that urge to talk to her, to try and see this matter from her point of view. Nearby was Strongwind Whalebone, the king of the Highlanders. He looked strangely apathetic for a king, as if he had no fears and no hopes regarding the outcome of this battle. Both people intrigued the monarch of the ogres.

“My husband, allow me to take the axe, to rally your warriors with the symbol of Gonnas. The men will benefit from the knowledge that the sacred talisman has been returned.” Stariz spoke for the first time since appearing in the throne room, bearing the Axe of Gonnas.

Grimwar scowled. He didn’t trust the queen and for that reason didn’t want her out of his sight, but he needed to do something, make some gesture to prove to his warriors that the royal presence was still in command. He glanced questioningly at Forlane, who nodded firmly.

“The queen has a good idea, my lord. The sight of the axe will surely raise morale all along the barricades, and it could serve to terrify the slaves, as well. Your palace guard is ready to move-two hundred ogres, armed and eager for battle. They will follow the axe-er, the queen!”

“Very well,” the king ordered, suddenly grateful for the respite from matters of war. He waved his wife away. “Go, go make your gesture, your attack, and see if you can drive them back from the gates. Return here when you are done.” He couldn’t resist an added, sharp admonition. “This time, do not expose the axe to the chance of capture!”

“As you command, my husband,” said Stariz, flinching at his words, then bowing deeply. In another moment she was gone, zealously clutching the axe and followed by Forlane and a retinue of palace guards.

Still agitated, the king started to pace around the throne room. He found his eyes wandering, again, to the solemn figure of the human woman who had been captured with the axe. Her hands had been chained as a precaution, and she was seated on the cube of stone that the queen had wanted to use as a chopping block. A pair of grenadiers, swords in hand, flanked her and watched their charge with determined attention.

The king stalked over and tried glaring down at her, his hands planted firmly on his hips. Several questions had occurred to him, and he decided that it was time for some answers.

“Why did you come here?” he demanded. “Was this rebellion your doing?”

She shrugged. “Wasn’t the rebellion inevitable? My companions and I did not come here to incite your slaves to revolt, but surely you must have realized that you couldn’t keep that many people under your heel forever. There are more humans here than ogres by far. Think about it!””

“Why must they revolt?” he asked. “I feed them, allow them to live and breed. Those who work hard are rewarded. It is not a bad life!”

“It isn’t close to freedom, even for those who live that blessed existence,” she retorted sarcastically. “What about those who suffered the lash or the sacrifices demanded by your pitiless queen? People will not live in slavery forever. As I said, it was inevitable that they revolt.”

“Many of them have been killed, and many more will die before this is over!” he argued. “It is pointless!”

“Perhaps to you, but not to them,” the woman said quietly. He was startled to see tears in her eyes, and he felt strangely uncomfortable.

“What about you?” Grimwar Bane asked, turning to the Highlander king. “How do you explain yourself?”

Strongwind shook his head with an air of sadness. “I should have died on Dracoheim,” he said. “None of this would have happened. They came to rescue me, but I’m not worth all these lives! It was a mad quest, and I would give anything to send them all away from here!”

“Maybe there’s more than just lives at stake, whether it be your life or the lives of a thousand slaves,” Bruni suggested gently. “What if many are freed because you were brought here?”

“That would be a worthwhile gain,” Strongwind agreed wistfully, “but I don’t see how it can occur.”

“It will never happen,” Grimwar Bane interjected sternly. “My grenadiers will prevail!”

“Perhaps the mere chance at freedom is worth the risking of life,” Bruni replied sharply. “I know that would be my feeling, if I was out there.”

“You are a strange enemy,” mused the king. “You say things like that, knowing that I hold your life in my hands. Do you not worry about enraging me?”

She shrugged with elaborate unconcern. “Perhaps I am beyond worries such as that.” A hint of a shy smile appeared on her round face It made her look very appealing, Grimwar thought. “In any event, it’s the queen’s capacity for rage that has me worried … not yours.”

Grimwar Bane chuckled in spite of himself, before turning to resume his pacing. The queen. Yes, her capacity for rage was worrisome to him as well. Abruptly he turned back to the slave king.

“Did you kill your mistress, the lady Thraid?” he demanded of the human.

Strongwind glared fierecely back at him, the first hint of spirit and emotion that the man had displayed since being brought here.

“I have never killed a woman, be she human or ogress,” he retorted angrily, “and I never will, unless I have a chance to drive a blade into your wife’s black heart!”

This was an honorable credo to Grimwar. The ogre king had to believe the human, but so many questions remained unanswered. If anything, he had more now than when he began to talk to these maddening humans. How could that woman be so calm? Why did she intrigue him so?

What in Krynn should he do now?

Captain Verra was shocked by how quickly his plans had unravelled. The thousand Seagate slaves had been freed, with the loss of every one of the two dozen ogres he had put in charge of guarding the gate. He had never envisioned an attack coming from outside the huge slave pen.

The lumber yards, too, had been swept up in revolt. At least the ogres there had been able to retreat with some modicum of discipline. The rest of his troops he had summoned from their posts on the harbor and market levels, lest they all be destroyed. Now the remnants gathered around him, six or seven hundred red-cloaked brutes, well trained and heavily armed.

“What word of the rebels?” he asked one of his sergeants.

“They have moved past us and up through the city,” reported the veteran. “Only a few are left holding the market.”

“How far will the main force get?”

“I heard a smash of stone moments earlier, Captain. It seems likely that the gates above the Terrace Level have been closed. Surely they will be stopped there.”

The ogre soldier nodded, beginning to form a plan. “There are a thousand ogres from the palace guard above them. If we can attack from below, the wretches will be trapped on the terrace. We’ll wipe them out!”

“Aye, Captain-a great plan!” agreed the sergeant, with an eager bob of his tusked face.

“Send a detachment to the Moongarden Road,” the captain added. “Two hundred grenadiers should be sufficient. I want them to block the corridor, and if any humans come up from that way they are to be driven back to the food warrens, hunted down, and killed.”

“As you command, Sir!”

“Now, form the men into ranks,” roared Verra, his optimism recharging. “We’ll clean them out of the market and head on up from there!”

His veteran troops responded with precision, forming three long lines. “Forward, my brutes!” the ogre captain bellowed. “Attack without mercy!”

With a roar of enthusiasm, the scarlet-clad grenadiers rushed forward to obey and to kill.

“We can’t get through!” Black Mike declared, trembling with rage. “To come so close and be stopped like this! Chislev curse them!”

He and Moreen were gathered with Kerrick and Barq One-Tooth a short distance back from the stone debris that had fallen across the ramp. More humans had joined them, including many house slaves from the ogre dwellings on these levels. They thronged in the passageway but had no way to progress any farther upward into the heart of Winterheim.

Moreen scowled and looked over the makeshift army. Its numbers continued to swell as more and more slaves streamed into the mob from the lower levels of the city.

“We have to do something!” she snapped.

“That’s for sure,” Tildy Trew said, coming back from the lip of the atrium, where she had been looking down toward the harbor level. “It looks as if the grenadiers have gotten organized. They’re on the move. They’ve already retaken the marketplace, and now I think they’re coming this way.”

Dinekki the bat felt strong again. She had perched on the high mast of the galley and watched the slave revolt sweep across the waterfront. Ogre blood stained the deck below her, and pockets of battle still raged. Nearby, a dozen grenadiers were barricaded in the shipyard, while a hundred humans threw burning brands between the planks of their small fort. Already flames were springing up from the stores of timber. The old shaman shuddered at the thought of all that smoke filling up this mountain cavity.

Now she had pressing business, and once again she took wing. Her flight led her up the wide chimney of the city’s atrium, past level after level where slaves still fought their masters or celebrated their newly won freedom.

Higher up, the ogres were still in control, she saw. She spotted the queen wielding her blazing axe and heard the cheers of hundreds of ogre warriors as they beheld their talisman. The ogres on the highest levels were gathering for a downward attack, while other ogres-those in the scarlet cloaks-were fighting their way up from below. There was much killing still to be done, she feared, and it looked as though the main group of rebels would be pincered here on the Terrace Level and annihilated.

The power of Chislev bore her easily, and she offered a prayer of thanks to her benign goddess. When she looked at that flaming axe again, she glimpsed the power of another god there, a deity of pride and violence. Though she sought proof of his dark, evil nature, instead she sensed a power as natural, in its own way, as the might of her nature goddess.

Finally she was at the very top of the mountain city. Winging down a long corridor with a high, arched ceiling, she hurried toward the throne room of the ogre king. She dived through an open door and spied Strongwind Whalebone chained and seated in the corner of the throne room. Bruni was there, too, talking to the ogre king. No one noticed her, just a mere bat, as with a sense of relief Dinekki finally fluttered down and came to rest on a link of chain right next to the slave king’s ear.