creature. Screams and howls rose from the darkness, ogre and human voices mingling for shrill seconds before they terminated in brutal, violent smacks of flesh against stone.
Bruni knelt nearby, fumbling with her pack, pulling out the wrapped Axe of Gonnas. The big ogre glanced at her then looked deeper into the cave-clearly it was still concerned about the elusive elf. Kerrick crouched in the darkness, long sword extended. Barq hadn’t moved, and Moreen prayed that the brute wouldn’t notice the bleeding Highlander, since one shove would have been enough to send the man over the edge.
Finally, Bruni pulled the huge axe free. She tore away the leather shroud in a single gesture, then raised the weapon and twisted the hilt. The feeble light of the dying torch reflected on the golden blade, and the ogre’s eyes widened as it saw that sheen of pure metal. Bruni lifted the haft, and immediately flames sparkled into life, bright fire outlining the edge of the golden cutter. With an almost bestial roar the big woman charged forward, swinging the weapon. With the impetus of her blow the flames erupted into a roaring ball of fire, rushing straight toward the ogre’s head.
Those huge eyes remained widened, more in awe than fear, Moreen thought. The monster uttered a surprisingly plaintive moan as Bruni lunged closer, the fire searing the shaggy breast of the ogre’s cloak, but instead of retreating the creature reached out a hand as if he would grab that fire, that golden blade, draw it close, and crush it. Bruni pressed the attack, jabbing with the fiery blade, and at last the brute took a step back.
There was no floor behind him. The human woman maintained the thrust of her assault, and this time the ogre was too far gone to recover his balance. He swatted a great fist toward the head of the golden axe, missing by several feet as Bruni pulled the blade out of the way.
The ogre toppled into the darkness and was gone.
13
Stariz sat on the floor of the temple, a film of sweat damp on her brow. She was trembling, breathing heavily, trying to reconstruct the fragments of an unsettling vision, a sweeping experience of godly power that had left her drained and unconscious on the floor. Anxiously she stood on the smooth obsidian surface, casting a spell that brought light to the sconces posted on both sides of the great chamber.
“What is it, O Willful Master?” she murmured. Her mind was bright with an image of gleaming gold, an immaculate and sacred expanse. She recognized the memory: the Axe of Gonnas, the cherished talisman that she had lost more than eight years ago. It was a burden of guilt that bore heavily upon her conscience, even to this day. She had felt that loss anew when she had dreamed about the axe two weeks ago.
Why would she see this vision now, again, and in such a vivid fashion? It was as if … perhaps it was not lost forever.
Now she could really believe that the Axe of Gonnas was near. Whatever the means of its transport, it called to her, and not from terribly far away. Someone was bringing it to her, carrying it into Winterheim.
Where, once again, it would belong to the high priestess and queen.
Strongwind waited in his alcove for longer than two hours, but nobody came out of the Lady Thraid’s apartment. Finally, the two guards ambled past, chortling in private amusement over some crude joke. They did not see the Highlander, and he waited until they had turned the corner before he emerged.
The man looked at the exit, the only exit, from the courtyard. He had been posted where he would have seen anyone coming or going from here, and his vigilance had never waned. No one except those two guards had passed while he watched and waited.
He advanced to the door and knocked tentatively. A short time later, Wandcourt opened the door, and Strongwind entered without comment.
“So there you are,” Brinda said, coming out of the kitchen.
“What is that? Did Whalebone come in?” Thraid called from the bedroom.
“Yes, my lady!” Brinda said, with startling urgency. “I will put him to work cleaning up the supper mess.”
“Let me see him,” Thraid said. The door to her sleeping chamber opened, and the ogress emerged.
Strongwind glanced up and froze a mental image in his startled mind, then quickly looked away so that he would not be perceived as staring. The truth was plain in the smearing of the lady’s lip gloss and fact that her dressing gown hung wide open across her otherwise naked body.
Clearly the ogress had just engaged in a tryst with her lover. The presence of the royal guards seemed to confirm the rumor he had heard from Black Mike, that Thraid’s paramour was none other than the king himself. The final detail was proved by his watch over the only known approach to this place. He wasn’t sure what he could do with such information, but he knew it was valuable.
For now he knew beyond any doubt that there must be a secret passage connecting Lady Thraid’s new apartment to the royal quarters of Winterheim.
“Will my lord king be eating dinner in the royal apartment tonight?” asked Stariz solicitously.
“I don’t know!” snapped Grimwar Bane. “Why do I have to decide everything right away?”
“I beg Your Majesty’s forgiveness,” said the queen demurely, casting her eyes downward. “I meant no offense-merely hoped to have the pleasure of your company at the evening meal.”
“Well, yes, I will eat here, tonight,” the ogre king declared, guilt and irritation mingling to darken his mood. “First I have to go out-the grenadiers are drilling, and Captain Verra asked me to inspect the ranks.”
“Very well, my lord. May Gonnas watch over your footsteps.”
“Yes, may he do so,” Grimwar replied, hastily throwing a cloak of white bearskin over his shoulders and making his way toward the door so quickly that the slave on duty there barely had time to pull it open.
Once outside, on the King’s Promenade, Grimwar Bane drew a deep breath, angry with his wife and with himself as well. A week ago, when he had made up his mind to cast Stariz out of his life, he had felt grand and imperial, commanding and masterful. That feeling had lasted only until he returned to the apartment to find his wife offering him a comfortable pair of whaleskin slippers and a chilled glass of the finest vintage warqat.
Why did she have to be nice to him all of a sudden? He didn’t need her ministrations, didn’t even want them. Now that he had made up his mind to act, he resented her very presence, and it would have been much easier if she had treated him coldly, arousing the feelings of antipathy that had been so common during their decade of marriage. Instead, it was as if she were trying to prove herself a good wife.
Well, it was too late for that! Making long strides along the paving stones, he pushed through the crowds of lesser ogres like a great ship gliding through a flock of bobbing seabirds. The citizens of Winterheim drew their cue from the expression on his face and quickly moved out of the way, bowing and murmuring honorifics but making no effort to meet his royal eyes or to draw him into any conversation. This was as he desired it, and he began to feel better as he descended the long ramp to the Martial Level.
Once he entered the grenadiers’ barracks compound, he was almost back to his old, confident self. Certainly the matter of Stariz would have to be addressed, but he would postpone that until after the ceremony of Autumnblight. Until then, the best thing was clearly to avoid her as much as possible. That was when he remembered that he had just told her he would have dinner with her tonight.
“Your Majesty-thank you for honoring us with your presence!”
Captain Verra of the grenadiers rushed forward and bowed as the king approached. They were in the great, square training room, where the ogres practiced their weapons drills, as well as marches and other ceremonial pursuits. Several of the red-coated warriors were in here now, and they had snapped to attention at the king’s entrance. The others, Grimwar knew, would be polishing weapons or tending to their equipment in the many smaller rooms adjacent to this drill floor.
“Yes, of course,” barked the monarch. “Proceed with the review at once!”
“Certainly, my lord-right away!”
Verra, who was a stalwart ogre veteran of many raids and campaigns, spun on his heel and roared out the
