Just beyond the comer of the stockade, a man stood leaning on a spear staff. He yawned, and a stick smacked him sharply across the buttocks. 'Here now!' he started to say, but only part of it was ever said. The club that smashed into his skull put an end to it.
'Wow,' the Lady Drule muttered.
Another guard stood at the next comer, and just beyond him burned the coals of a cook-fire. Other men lay in sleep, their weapons at hand. Quietly, Drule approached the guard, raised her stick, and whacked him on the back. The man said, 'Ow!' and spun around, raising his spear. 'Gully dwarf,' he said. 'And a female one. Where did you come from?'
'Woop,' Drule shouted. She raised her stick and struck again.
The stick whacked across the man's knuckles, and he dropped his spear. His eyes narrowed. 'Why, you little snake,' he hissed. 'You'll pay for that.' He drew a long knife from his boot and lunged at the gully dwarf, who dodged aside, tripped, and fell.
The slaver aimed another thrust, then stopped. A chorus of shrieks sounded from inside the pen. Some of the slaves had just noticed Krog stepping into the light of the fires. Crashing, thudding sounds erupted. Thuds, rending snaps, and a high-pitched scream abruptly silenced.
The guard turned, gaped, screamed, 'Ogre!'
He started to run, tripped over the Lady Drule, and sprawled facedown.
A stick whacked him on the back of his head, and a voice said, 'Take that!' Then, 'Don' know what wrong with this bashin' tool. Used to work real good.'
As the man got to his knees, Drule decided she had done enough bashing, and ducked away. The area around the nearby campfire was a shambles — sprawled bodies everywhere, dropped weapons lying here and there… and blood, lots of blood. Krog had finished there and gone on to the next fire, unleashing havoc. There were screams of fear, screams of agony, the rhythmic thudding of a huge club against flesh and bone.
Like huge death, Krog strode around and through the sleeping-fire, a growling, implacable horror with rending fingers, ripping teeth, and a great club as tireless and relentless as a harvester's scythe. Wide-eyed, terrified slavers came out of their blankets, grabbing up weapons to confront him. Some never even got to their feet before the heavy club flattened them and great feet trod across their bodies. Others tried to regroup and fight, and were splattered with their companions' blood even as their own blood splattered others.
A man with an eye-patch rolled aside, hid for a second in shadows, then sprang to his feet, aiming a heavy sword at the marauder's backside. He swung — and the sword thudded into hard wood, embedded itself, and was torn from his grasp. A huge hand closed around his helmed head and squeezed, and the iron helm collapsed, crushing the skull within. Krog flung him aside and went on, growling his pleasure.
Somewhere, deep in Krog's mind, a glimmer of memory awakened — memory triggered by the violence and the smell of fresh blood. Rampant and towering in the remains of the sleeping camp, Krog raised his club toward the sky, and a growl sounded in his throat — a growl that became a roar that echoed from the hillsides, a roar of challenge and of pleasure, the cry of a rampaging ogre.
Ahead of him were other fires, where men with weapons scrambled in all directions, and his eyes lit with pleasure.
But then, behind him somewhere, a voice called, 'Krog! 'Nough foolin' 'round! Got better things to do!'
The glimmer of memory held for a moment, urging him on, then became tenuous and faded. Feeling a disappointment he didn't understand, Krog turned and headed back, pausing only for a casual swat that brained a panicked, fleeing slaver. 'All right, Mama!' he thundered, his lower lip jutting in a huge pout. 'Comin'!'
The ladies of Lady Drule's retinue, and the few males with them, had followed Drule and Krog as far as the pen. Not finding a hole in the cage, they made one. Using the edges of burnished iron stew tureens, they chipped away enough sapling bars and lashings for the gully dwarves to come tumbling out, and a flood of crouched Talls right behind them. Pushing past and through the gully dwarves as though they were not there, the Talls grabbed up fallen weapons and launched a murderous attack on the stunned and disorganized slavers.
The minute Gorge III, Highbulp of This Place and Those Other Places Too, was free of captivity, he threw back his shoulders, donned his most regal pose and issued the orders of a true leader. 'Everybody run like crazy!' he commanded.
It was many hours later, and broad daylight, when the reunited Clan of Bulp paused on the devastated lower slopes of the Khalkist Mountains to regroup. Through night and morning they had fled, each and severally. But now Gorge remembered that he had sore feet and decided it was a good time to stop and reassert his authority. He proclaimed a temporary This Place, and by threes and fives they gathered around him.
There was one small problem. Through it all, nobody had thought to tell Gorge about Krog, so when the Lady Drule and her band showed up, shrieks and screams filled the hazy air and they found a This Place with no one in attendance except old Hunch, sitting on a rock.
Drule looked around in confusion. 'Where Highbulp? Where ever'body go?'
'All run an' hide.' Hunch shrugged.
'Why?'
'Dunno. Didn' say. Ever'body just holler an' run an' hide.'
Impatiently, Drule set her fists on her hips, stamped her foot, and shouted, 'Gorge! Where you?'
Here and there, shadows moved. From brushy crevices and piles of stone, faces peered out. The Highbulp's voice said, 'Yes, dear?'
'What goin' on?' the Lady Drule demanded. 'You playin' game?'
More of the gully dwarves peered from hiding places, all gaping at the towering Krog. 'What that you got with you, dear?' the Highbulp called.
Drule looked up at the ogre, then turned toward the voice. 'Nothin'! Just Krog! Stop fool 'round!'
Reassurance didn't come easily, but lapse of attention did, and soon the whole tribe was gathered.
Within an hour, they had stew on, and the Lady Drule handed a tureen to Gorge III. He sniffed, tasted, and proclaimed, 'This superi… excep… pretty good stew! What in it?'
'Cave bear an' skinny green plant,' she said. 'An' mushroom an' tall-grass seed an' leftover bird nest.'
He took another sip and nodded. 'Good stuff. Best I… cave bear? Where get cave bear?'
Offhandedly, Drule pointed at the hulking Krog, who was waiting for the crowd around the stew pot to disperse so that he could finish the pot. 'Krog get,' she said. 'Krog not much for hunt rats, but bash bears real good.'
'Krog,' the Highbulp said, scowling in thought as he studied the amiable monster. He hadn't really thought much about Krog since the first shock of encounter, but when he did, troubling notions tumbled around in his head. He glanced at Drule suspiciously. 'Krog call you Mama,' he said. 'You been up to somethin', dear?'
'Krog lost, needed mama.' She shrugged. 'Keeps callin' me that.'
'Oh.' Gorge sipped at his stew, relieved but still troubled. 'Dear, wha' happen to Talls at slave camp? Somethin' squash 'em?'
'Mostly Krog,' she explained. 'He got th' hang of bashin' Talls pretty quick. Had lotta fun.'
'Hmph!' Gorge sat in thought for a time, then asked, 'How you an' others find us?'
Again she pointed at the huge creature nearby. 'Krog find place. Krog pretty handy have around, right?'
'Right.' The Highbulp scowled. Tossing aside his empty tureen, he stalked away, sulking.
The Lady Drule stared after him, then beckoned the Grand Notioner. 'Hunch, what wrong with Highbulp?'
'Highbulp?' Hunch shrugged. 'Highbulp is Highbulp. That his main problem.'
'What that mean?'
'Highbulp gotta be Highbulp alla time,' he explained, puzzling it out as he went. 'Gotta be big cheese, top turkey, main mullet, otherwise, no good be Highbulp.'
'So what?'
'So now Krog big hero. Ever'body lookin' up to Krog. Not good for Highbulp. Steal his thunder.'
The Lady Drule pondered, trying to understand. 'Okay,' she said finally. 'What do about it, then?'
'Maybe Highbulp make Krog a knight,' Hunch said simply, 'like Tall kings do. Heroes real nuisance to kings, but if king make hero a knight, alla glory belong to king again.'
'Oh,' Drule concurred. 'Okay' With renewed purpose, she strode to where the Highbulp was sulking and
