In the Company of Ogres (39 page)
At least in the citadel he was surrounded by several hundred soldiers. They might not be the best of the best, the greatest collection of warriors, but they were a damn sight better than striking off on his own. He didn’t know how many demons might be coming, but a few hundred ogres at his side meant he’d have some chance. Circumstances left him no other choice.
Ned shuddered. He didn’t have much confidence in Ogre Company. And even less in their commander.
A goblin tugged at Ned’s leg. “Did you really blow up a demon, sir?”
Ned didn’t feel like offering clarifications of things he didn’t truly understand himself.
“Yes. Yes, I did.”
Thirty
THE CITADEL CAME INTO view far too soon for Ned’s liking. He would’ve preferred more distance from the Iron Fortress. He couldn’t help but count every inch of every mile between him and an army of demons. It didn’t make much difference, but it would’ve made him feel better just the same. The bulk of rocs put down in the pens on the other side of the citadel, but Ace put Ned’s flight down in the courtyard. The courtyard was bustling, but Ace managed—impressively—to not squash anything in the landing.
The riders disembarked, and Ace spurred the roc back to the pen. Frank limped forward to greet Ned and company. The Ogre held a tree trunk across his shoulder. He saluted, the gesture without a trace of sarcasm.
“Any trouble, sir?”
“Nothing we couldn’t handle.”
“Good to have you back, sir.”
“Good to be back, Lieutenant. And it’s Ned. Just Ned.”
Frank smiled. “If you insist, Ned.”
“I do. I think we both know I’m not the right man to be in charge.”
Regina cleared her throat behind Ned, who shrugged.
“Right
person
,” he hastily corrected.
person
,” he hastily corrected.
“Can’t disagree with you there, Ned,” said Frank, “but you are in charge. To be honest, I’ve seen worse commanders.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Look at it this way, Ned. Most horrible commanders don’t know how horrible they are. You’ve got that on them.”
Frank put his hands on Ned’s shoulders. The gesture was meant to be comforting, but it reminded him how easily Frank could flatten the delicate human skull with a casual squeeze.
“This is all very nice,” said Regina, “but we can probably expect a demon horde any moment now.”
Frank waved his tree trunk at the soldiers running around. “We’re almost prepared. As much as we can be. The citadel isn’t designed to resist a full-scale assault. The gate’s good and strong, but it won’t amount to much defense with these crumbling outer walls. That one gap is large enough for a phalanx to march through.”
“Won’t really matter. Most, if not all, the demons can fly. A breach is to be expected.”
“Good.” Frank, like most ogres, preferred his warfare direct and to the point. A protracted siege would be far too dull.
“How are we doing for armaments?” asked Regina.
“Not nearly well enough,” replied Frank. “We don’t have a full complement. Just enough for training purposes.”
“We’ll make do,” said Regina, “but the darkness will put us at a disadvantage.”
“Ulga said she might be able to do something about that.”
While Regina and Frank shared strategies, Ned stood to one side. They had things well in hand, and he didn’t have anything constructive to offer, neither the experience nor the skills to be of great use on the battlefield. It was better, just plain smarter, to leave this war to others. If the mark of a good leader was the ability to delegate authority, then Ned wasn’t just good. He was great.
He didn’t feel great. He felt helpless. He might contain the most powerful force in the universe, but it didn’t change the fact that he himself was practically useless.
Miriam tapped Ned on the shoulder. “Everything all right, Ned?”
“I guess.”
She held out the speaking staff. “Some of the soldiers found this. Thought you might need it.”
He didn’t. The staff had no magic, and even if it did, he didn’t know how to use it. He took it just the same. It was comforting to have something solid to hold.
“It’ll be okay, Ned,” said Miriam.
“I know.”
He didn’t, but he was commander. He couldn’t afford to show fear or weakness or uncertainty. That was part of the job, damn it. He could fake it if he had to.
Miriam put her hand on his shoulder. Unlike Frank’s meaty mitt, hers seemed a small reassurance. “Don’t worry. We’re professionals. Fighting is what we get paid to do.”
Ned realized he wasn’t as good at faking confidence as he’d hoped. Yet another basic leadership skill he lacked.
“We should really get you under cover,” said Frank suddenly from beside Ned.
Ned sighed. The battle of the universe was about to commence, and he’d be stuck in some dank hole. It made perfect sense. His life was what this was all about. It’d be plain stupid to have him join in the melee. He was sure to be killed within minutes (if not seconds). He knew all this, but it didn’t change his distaste for it. If he was to die today, he wanted to meet oblivion face-to-face, not cowering in some basement waiting for death to come to him. Especially since it always found him in the end.
“Private Lewis and Corporal Martin have agreed to serve as your personal bodyguard,” said Frank.
The massive ogre twins saluted.
“It’s an honor, sir,” said Lewis.
“And a privilege, sir,” added Martin.
“Right.” Ned looked up at the towering brothers. They only made him feel all the more insignificant. Ironic, considering how the fate of the universe was so indivisible from his own.
An orc watchman in a balcony blew the alarm on his hom. It was blasted dark now, but ores had excellent night vision.
“They’re coming.” Frank wrapped his hands around the tree trunk and took a few practice swings. “Get him out of here.”
“Right this way, Commander,” said Lewis as he ushered Ned toward the pub basement.
“Good luck, Frank,” said Ned.
The ogre lieutenant didn’t hear him; he was too busy scanning the darkened sky for the first signs of the enemy. On the way to his hiding place, Ned passed Ulga as she began conjuring burning balls of light and launching them into the air in rapid succession. They bathed the citadel in a soft glow. They lit the night like small, very near stars. The light of an artificial dawn cast through the pub. Ned paused, staring out the window. He held tighter to the speaking staff.
Some unseen monster shrieked in the distance. Then another. And another. Ten million demon voices filled the air with their shrill, fearsome war cry.
“How many are there?” Ned wondered.
“Too many,” replied the staff.
Somewhere, someone in Ogre Company had found a bone horn and blew the battle ballad of Grother’s Death Brigade, a company of ores famous for killing a dragon tyrant by cramming themselves down the tyrant’s gullet until she choked to death. The soldiers raised their weapons and roared in one voice. The ogres, with their deep, bellowing voices, dominated the song. The demon’s war cry and the company’s song mixed together into an off-key miasma of glorious determination.
It hurt Ned’s ears. It also simmered his blood. For the first time ever, Ned grasped in some vague sense the strange nobility of charging down a dragon’s throat with a sword in your hand and a smile on your lips. For the first time ever, he wanted to step out onto the battlefield and do his part.
The twins opened a trapdoor behind the bar. “We should get you below, sir,” said Martin.
“Right this way,” said Lewis.
Ned sighed. Unfortunately, hiding was his part of this battle. He walked down the cellar stairway with some strange, foreign reluctance. The twins closed the door, dulling the horrible, enticing dirge of war.
Owens sat on a barrel. He turned his head as they entered. “Hello, sir.”
“What are you—”
“Blind, sir,” the oracle replied. “Hearing the future isn’t much good in a fight.”
Ned stood in the middle of a cellar surrounded by kegs of mead dimly lit by a single candle. Only it wasn’t a candle.
“Is your staff glowing, sir?” asked Martin.
The staff cast a soft light. It also felt slightly, almost imperceptibly warm.
“Why are you glowing?” asked Ned.
“I’m glowing?” replied the staff.
Before Ned could ask it another question, he noticed the howls of the demons and bellows of the company had faded away. In their place was a deathly, all-consuming silence, so complete that even the cellar was seized in its grasp.
Demons settled on the walls of Copper Citadel, yet none entered its grounds. They perched like leering vultures, whispering and chuckling among themselves. And Ogre Company waited for the signal to attack. Both sides remained still as if fate itself dared not play out this final battle.
The first to step into the citadel was a terrible beast of slime and fangs, with the body of a cat, the wings of a buzzard, and the head of a cyclopean gnome. Its rider was a muscular warrior of a demon in black, spiky armor with a long blood-red cloak. The rider carried a wicked barbed lash. The demon spread iron wings and cackled. She pulled back her hood to reveal a face that, while not soft or delicate, was vaguely feminine.
“Who’s in command here?” she asked with a delicate, gossamer voice.
Frank stepped forward. He adopted a proper smashing stance. “I guess that would be me.”
Spear in hand, Regina stood beside him. “That would be us.”
The demoness narrowed her glittering silver eyes. “My master, the Glorious and Dreaded Rucka, First Emperor of the Ten Thousand Hells, has sent me to negotiate. Listen well. Surrender Ned to us, or perish horribly beneath our unforgiving wrath.”
Frank tightened his grip on his tree trunk. “And if we do?”
The demoness snarled and smiled at the same time. “Then perish slightly less horribly beneath our reasonably more forgiving wrath.”
The demons cackled until the demoness quieted them with a thunderous crack of her whip.
“Tonight you will die, and I’ll not insult your intelligence by lying. But to gain even the slightest degree of mercy from Rucka’s minions is a charity anyone should be grateful for.”
The demons cackled again.
Frank chuckled. Regina joined him. Then Miriam. Soon every soldier in Ogre Company was shaking with laughter. The stymied demons fell silent and glared. They were unaccustomed to such behavior from their victims.
“What foolishness is this?” shouted the demoness.
Frank wiped his watering eyes. “Sorry, but I thought this was supposed to be a battle, not a debate.”
“You dare mock the legions of Rucka?”
“Oh, no. You’re a very fine legion,” explained Regina. “It’s just that ogres don’t really go in for that prefight posturing.”
“It’s true,” said Frank. “We’re less talky, more smashy.” He thudded the earth with his club. “And we haven’t had a decent fight in a very long time. So you’ll have to excuse us if we’re a bit impatient.”
The demoness nodded. “Very well. If that’s your wish, then let your blood soak my lash!”
Her weapon shot out toward Frank’s throat. He blocked it with his arm, and the whip wrapped around the limb. They stood there a moment locked in a brief tug-of-war. The spikes pierced his thick flesh, and blood dripped from the wounds. The lash drank the blood, turning darker as the demoness laughed.
Frank shifted his weight and yanked her off the beast. Her mount roared and charged. Its jaws weren’t quite large enough to swallow Frank in one bite, but it was willing to give it a try. Frank smashed it across the face with his club. The monster staggered. He struck again. Blood and slime spewed through the air. Frank wrapped his arms around the stunned beast’s neck. He called on every ounce of his ogre muscle, and the monster’s spine cracked loudly. It collapsed, wheezing, still alive, but limp and broken.
The demoness drew an ax and rushed at Regina. Regina sidestepped a swing meant to split her in half, and struck with her spear. The demoness made no attempt to evade, having absolute faith in her dark armor. But there was a small hole just below her armpit that none had ever noticed before, much less been skilled enough to strike. But Regina’s spear found it. The demoness howled as blood gushed from the fatal wound. She turned and took three defiant steps before falling to the ground dead beside her beast.
The citadel was deathly quiet once more.
“That wasn’t so hard,” said Frank.
“Two down.” Regina took in the hundreds of unholy eyes perched on the walls. “How’s your arm?”
The wounds pierced deep into the muscle, and even a thick-skinned ogre had to feel that pain. “It’s nothing.”
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