beside a pool of still water in a narrow niche of the cavern wall where the light of the phosphorescent fungus was muted. The liquid was still, reflective as a mirror, but he had the sense that she was peering at something far beyond the surface of the water.
“Are you all right, Grandmother?’ he asked. “I didn’t want to interrupt-”
“Help me up!” she snapped crossly, extending a frail-looking hand.
He did as she asked, unsurprised by the wiry strength in those thin fingers. He could not help noticing that she wobbled unsteadily as she rose then held his hand for an extra moment, as though fighting against a wave of dizziness.
“What is it?” he asked worriedly. “Did you see something amiss?”
The old woman sighed, for once displaying every one of her eight or nine decades of life. Her shoulders slumped, and she seemed to exert great effort just to raise her head to look at him.
“Trouble,” she replied, with a shake of her head. “Trouble on all sides of us.”
Karyl Drago paused at the entry to the Moongarden, taking in the view from a high ledge above the cavern floor. There was no place like this in all the world, he was certain. It gave him a special feeling of pride to know that he was entrusted to guard this place from the outside world. Of course, he had failed this duty, he recalled with more than a twinge of shame, and he ceased his gawking to once more take up the trail of those who had thwarted him, killed his garrison, and left him for dead.
He descended the steep trail to the cavern floor, looking for signs of the intruders. He was not terribly worried when he didn’t immediately find any tracks. The ground was mostly hard stone, and besides, there was no other way that they could have come.
Now that he had reached the Moongarden, he knew that he would have to be diligent. This place was huge, with many concealed groves and grottos as well as side caverns in a half dozen places that were huge caves in their own right, each a place where a party of dangerous intruders might hide out, watch, and wait. They could be anywhere, and it wouldn’t do for him to wander past and leave them undiscovered.
He paused long enough to take a drink of cold, fresh water. He was still sore from his drop into the crevasse and noticed that several large scabs had developed on his belly. These were starting to itch, and he remembered that there was a soothing pool of warm water very nearby. That would be just the place to wash the wounds.
Soon he was wallowing in comfort, rubbing away the grime and grit from his wounds. He was filled with thoughts of the fiery, golden axe. With a sigh of contentment, he leaned back and let the waters caress his battered flesh. It wasn’t until he emerged and shook himself dry, that he noticed something odd about the water running past his little pool. It was discolored, tainted as if by mud or some kind of rust-colored dye. Curious, Karyl Drago followed the stream to the place where it spilled over the embankment. Here he saw that the dye was coming from beneath a pile of rocks. Several bare patches of dirt nearby seemed to suggest that these rocks had recently been moved.
A minute later the big ogre had pulled one of the boulders out of the way and found himself looking down into the slashed and lifeless face of one of the Moongarden ogres who worked as overseers of the slaves.
Clearly he was on the right track of the human intruders. However, his mission took on a new urgency. Again Karyl Drago felt a surge of shame. If he had done his job properly at the gate, this ogre would still be alive.
He picked up the splintered end of his club and scrambled up the embankment. It wasn’t too far to the watch station, he knew, and it seemed time for him to start to spread the alarm.
Grimwar Bane smashed open the front door of Thraid’s apartment with a single blow from his clubbed fist, sending splinters flying as the great wooden slab broke from its hinges and slammed into the ground. The echoes still resonated as he stormed through the courtyard and into the street beyond, bellowing at the top of his lungs.
“Murder! Assassination! Guards! Gather to me, warriors of Winterheim! Bring arms, and stand ready to fight!”
By the time he had crossed the promenade, his roars had raised a commotion. Slaves ran away from him in all directions, ducking into their houses or anywhere else they could find shelter. Ogres came running, including several wearing the red coats of the grenadiers. The king shook his fist at the mountaintop overhead and bellowed his rage.
“What is it, Sire?” asked one grenadier, kneeling before the enraged monarch.
“The Lady Thraid has been murdered, stabbed in her bed,” declared Grimwar Bane, forcing his breathing to slow down, pushing out each word with an effort of will. “I want you to seal off her apartments and stand watch.” He saw others of the royal guard running along the wide promenade. “As you get reinforcements, put them to work! Talk to everyone in these houses, and see if there are witnesses who observed anything! Shake the information out of them if you have to!”
“As you wish, Majesty!” pledged the guard, quickly gesturing to several of his fellows and starting toward the lady’s rooms.
His emotions roiling, Grimwar believed he already knew the culprit. It was obvious. Perhaps Queen Stariz had not wielded the knife herself, but the king had no doubts that whoever had committed this foul murder had been operating under her orders.
He charged up the ramp, scattering ogres and slaves alike, passersby of both races who stared, slack-jawed, at the unprecedented sight of their king sprinting wildly up the sloping avenue. His feet pounded the stone, fists pumping as he lumbered up and up the many tiers of his city. Despite his exertion, he was barely out of breath when he reached the throne room on the Royal Level where the queen was supposedly interrogating rebels. The attendant guards barely had time to pull the door open as he barged in.
Grimwar Bane stalked into the great hall to find his queen seated on her own throne, a granite chair slightly smaller and less grandiose than his own. She was engaged in animated discussion with several of the grenadiers and looked up in surprise as he approached.
“My lord-” she began, then halted when she beheld the fury etched on his face.
“Out!” he roared at the guards, pointing to the door. In seconds they had raced from the room, the attendants discreetly pushing the doors shut.
“What is the matter?” asked Stariz, her square face furrowed in concern-mock concern, the king was sure.
“This time, you hateful creature, you have gone too far! You will be punished for this, punished like any treacherous assassin who dares to lurk in my halls!”
“My King!” she protested. “What has happened? Why are you so angry?”
He sneered, unwilling to consider the possibility that she didn’t know what he was talking about. “I am talking about murder, murder founded on jealousy, carried out by treachery!”
“Murder of whom?” she gasped. “Whatever do you mean?”
“You insist on these protestations of innocence?” he growled. “You know perfectly well that the Lady Thraid has been slashed to death. No doubt you even know who wielded the knife! I will have the truth from you. I will draw it out with sharp hooks if I have to! I will see that you and all of your accomplices die a slow death-a death that will give you ample time to ponder your many sins!”
“My lord, no!” she gasped, in a display of innocence. Her face drained of color, and her jaw worked reflexively, though for once no sound emerged from her mouth. “I do not know of this!”
“Enough treachery!” He stepped close, saw her shrink back into the throne, her face distorted by fear. Abruptly, her expression changed, a light of understanding dawning in her features. The king hesitated, surprised and puzzled.
“It was the slave! It must have been!” protested the queen. “The captive Highlander warrior that we brought from Dracoheim. He was captured in the salt room with the other rebels! He was one of the conspirators! Undoubtedly, this was the first act of the insurrection! How many more ogre nobles would have perished by now had we not caught these perfidious rebels when we did?”
Grimwar Bane had not been expecting this. He scowled and shook his head stubbornly. “Why would the rebels kill a harmless noblewoman?” he demanded, still looming close, studying this horrible creature who was his wife, and his queen.
Stariz stood up and approached him, reaching out a hand that he slapped away. She pulled her arm back but
