Spirit of the Wind

“Silence!” Ruog bellowed, spittle flying from his lips. Reluctantly, the warlords fell still. “You cannot make pacts for this horde, Black-Gazer! Only the hetman may do so!” He thumped his chest soundly.

“Yes,” Kurthak agreed. “That is so. And that is why I intend to replace you as hetman.”

The stillness that settled over the crowd was almost eerie, disturbed only by the crackling of the fire. Kurthak looked up at Ruog, his face maddeningly calm. The warlords glanced at each other, not knowing what to do.

Ruog seethed for a moment, then looked toward Grul and nodded once. With a howl, the wrestler spun and swung his firebrand at Kurthak’s head.

Kurthak moved so swiftly that to many of the watching warlords it seemed his spiked club appeared in his hand by magic. He brought the weapon up to block Grul’s attack. Wood cracked against wood, loud as a thunderclap, and the firebrand shattered in a burst of flaming splinters.

Baloth stirred as Grul stared stupidly at the stump of charred, broken wood in his injured hand. Still dazed from his beating, he lurched up and struck Grul from behind. Before Grul knew what hit him, Baloth seized his shaggy head and twisted, breaking his neck.

Most of the warlords hung back, unwilling to enter the fray. Still, half a dozen of Ruog’s staunchest followers surged toward the melee by the fire, screaming of treason. Tragor fell upon these attackers, his sword flashing. Blood washed the dusty ground as he cut the first two down with a single stroke, then charged the others with berserk fury.

Ruog bellowed for his guards. No one answered his call. “You great idiot,” Kurthak sneered, striding toward the dais. “Do you think I would challenge you without dealing with your guards first? Most were easy to bribe. Tragor took care of the rest.”

His temper finally snapping, Ruog yanked the war axe from his belt. He leapt down from the dais, swinging a mighty two-handed blow. Kurthak blocked it, the head of the axe notching the thick wood of his club. He shoved Ruog back, then lashed out himself. Ruog batted the attack aside with his own weapon.

Behind them, Tragor cut down a third warlord, then drove his sword through the belly of a fourth. He dodged a spear thrust, then yanked his blade free and stood ready, facing his last two opponents.

“I’ll tear out your heart!” Ruog bellowed at Kurthak as axe met club again and again. “I’ll rip it from your chest and eat it while it still beats in my hand!”

One of Tragor ‘s foes swung a wicked, sickle-bladed sword, scoring a cut across the champion’s chest. Dark blood welled from the gash as Tragor returned the blow, slicing off the top of his assailant’s head. The warlord stubbornly remained on his feet for a moments, blinking stupidly, before he toppled over sideways into the fire. A blossom of cinders erupted from the blaze.

By the dais, Kurthak ducked a clumsy swing, then lashed out at Ruog’s legs. The hetman’s iron greaves turned the blow aside, however, and Ruog’s next attack nicked Kurthak’s shoulder.

Tragor’s last opponent swung a knobbed mace in both hands. Wounded, Tragor backed away from the whistling weapon, parrying only the blows he couldn’t dodge. Laughing, the warlord drove him away from Kurthak and Ruog, so when Kurthak stumbled at last beneath the hetman’s whirling axe, Tragor was too far away to help.

At that moment, Kurthak did something very strange. Reaching to his belt, he drew out a dagger as long as his arm and threw it behind him. It landed next to Grul’s limp body.

As Kurthak tossed the knife, Ruog kicked him solidly in the belly. A great whoosh of air escaped the Black- Gazer’s lungs, and he dropped his club as he fell. Roaring with triumphant laughter, Ruog loomed above his writhing, winded foe, and brought up his axe.

A shriek tore the air. Baloth, who had been watching the fight from beside Grul’s corpse, scooped up the dagger Kurthak had thrown. Then he hurled himself at Ruog, who had been a heartbeat away from ordering his death only a minute before.

Ruog could only gape in bewilderment as the hairless ogre leapt upon him and drove the knife into his throat. They fell in a tangle, the axe forgotten, and Baloth stabbed Ruog again and again, until his arms were black with blood.

The warlords watched in mute shock. On the other side of the fire, Tragor’s opponent glanced at the dais in astonishment. Tragor put five feet of steel through his chest.

By the time Kurthak and Tragor dragged Baloth off him, Lord Ruog was unrecognizable. Baloth stared at Kurthak a moment, his eyes wild, then came to himself, dropping to one knee. He extended the gore-caked dagger, hilt-first, toward the Black-Gazer.

“My lord,” he said.

Kurthak took the knife, grinned quickly at Tragor, then strode to the dais and sat upon the crude throne that had, until now, belonged to Lord Ruog.

“Hail the new hetman!” Tragor bellowed, kneeling beside Baloth.

One by one, the gathered warlords followed his example, until every ogre around the great, roaring fire knelt before Lord Kurthak the Black-Gazer.

Chapter 8

Brightdawn stumbled sideways, grabbing the railing before her to keep from losing her footing on the ship’s pitching deck. Salt spray, surprisingly cold, splashed her as Brinestrider descended into a trough between waves. By the time it started to climb the next swell, Swiftraven was at her side, touching her arm with a steadying hand. With an embarrassed smile, she let him help her regain her balance.

“Lean on me, if you will,” he offered.

She did, clutching his arm as the ship rolled under their feet.

Brinestrider hadn’t been the largest or finest vessel in New Ports-it was a simple, square-sailed double-master-but her captain, a swarthy Ergothman named Kael Ar-Tam, had been the only man bound for the port of Ak-Thain who hadn’t refused outright to take kender aboard.

“As long as the little squeakers stay out o’ the way,” he’d declared sourly, “I’ll try to keep my boot out o’ their backsides.”

His misgivings, it turned out, had been misplaced-at least where Catt was concerned. The older kender had pitched in with the sailors from the start, proving particularly adept when it came to knot work. Catt knew more about ropes than even Captain Ar-Tam himself, and had taught the sailors several new, maddeningly complicated hitches that were strong as iron but could come apart at the slightest touch in the right place. That, and the vast number of sea chanteys she knew, had quickly endeared her to Brinestrider’s crew.

Which was the main reason they hadn’t yet killed Kronn. If Catt was a boon to the sailors, her brother was the bane of their existence. They had scarcely cleared the harbor before he’d been caught poking around the hold, trying to see what was inside the great crates and barrels the ship was hauling. Only Riverwind and Catt’s pleas, and a few extra steel coins, had kept Captain Ar-Tam from heaving Kronn overboard. Since then, in the four days they had sailed the waves of the New Sea, Kronn had brought down two sails, taken the wheel when the helmsman wasn’t looking, and pulled countless ropes he shouldn’t have. Once, he’d uncleated a single halyard, and the ship had nearly capsized. Each time his excuse was the same. “I only wanted to see how it works.”

Brightdawn glanced up and down the deck, looking for the kender, but couldn’t see him anywhere. She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.

Brinestrider crested the wave and started to descend its other side. Brightdawn clutched Swiftraven, but the young warrior’s footing was no more sure than hers; he staggered as the deck shifted, and both of them nearly fell. A nearby sailor laughed as the Plainsfolk lurched about, and Swiftraven flushed with anger, glaring at the dusky-skinned mariner.

“Be easy,” Brightdawn murmured. “Mind your temper.” Shaking his head, Swiftraven jerked free of Brightdawn’s grasp. He continued to stare at the sailor, though the man had turned his back and blithely returned to his work. “I’d like to see him try to shoot a bow while riding at full gallop,” the young Plainsman growled.

“The horses are in the hold,” Brightdawn countered. “Shall I bring yours up so you can show off?”

He looked at her, then saw the sparkle in her eyes and laughed in spite of himself. He slid his arm about her