In the Company of Ogres (24 page)
She stamped her staff twice, and the earth rumbled. “It’s like riding a horse. One never forgets.”
“Have you ever ridden a horse?” said the raven.
“I don’t recall.”
The raven flew from her shoulder and perched on the wall. “Think I’ll sit this one out over here.”
Belok’s golden aura darkened to a bloody copper. A small sphere of fire appeared between his outstretched hands.
“Fireballs?” The Red Woman held up her own wrinkled palm, and materialized a red and white fury. “Not very original, Belok.”
“I don’t waste my A material on piddling witches.” Belok’s flames grew larger and larger. He pitched one of his phantoms into it, and the blaze blackened, feeding on the ghost’s agony as her screams darkened the air itself. The power struggled in his grasp, yet it grew larger still. As large as the wizard who’d created it. The Red Woman’s fireball remained conveniently palm-sized.
“Is that all you’ve got to show me?” mocked Belok.
Chuckling, she balanced her magic sphere on one withered finger. Funny how most wizards, even one of Belok’s experience and power, made the same mistake. They always thought it came down to who had the biggest balls.
Nineteen
AFTER LEAVING NED in the garden, Frank was invited to play a game of goblin crush. It was a favorite among those who enjoyed equal parts skill, violence, and luck in their sports. Teams of goblins were arranged on a playing field with miniature terrain. They were given equipment to emulate different military units. And then the players (or generals, as they were called) took turns maneuvering their goblins, either jockeying for the high ground, or attempting to reach a flag, or often just beating the hell out of the other army until all the soldiers on one side were eliminated or the goblins got bored and wandered off.
Goblins generally enjoyed the game. The armaments were largely symbolic, and rarely were casualties real. Although when fatal accidents happened, as they sometimes did, it was the goblins themselves who were most impressed. It took a great deal of skill to brain a thick-skulled goblin with a paper-thin wooden sword.
There were goblin crush courts in use by some royalty that had actual miniature fortresses and rivers and simulated cities, but Copper Citadel’s was an improvised affair. Barrels and plants were placed here and there. There was a high mound of rocks for a hill. It got the job done.
Frank was company champion. He rarely lost. Part of this was due to a natural talent for tactics, partly due to the generally poor skill of his opponents. But the most important part was that Frank bought the drinks for his winning army, which granted his goblins just enough incentive to fight a little better, a little longer. And it held their attention so that usually the other team was the first to wander off.
Presently he engaged Gabel in heated combat, though the game had experienced a brief timeout when all those birds had appeared. Gabel was no slouch in the game. Frank’s army was pinned down behind some barrels, and he was having a devil of a time getting them out of there. He was considering his next move when Gabel observed, almost as if the thought had just occurred to him, although Frank knew better, that Ned had been curiously absent for the past few hours.
“I wonder what happened to him?” said the orc.
“Must be off somewhere,” said Frank.
“Last I saw him, he was wandering away with you, wasn’t he?”
Frank grunted.
“I hope he’s okay,” remarked Gabel.
Frank grunted again. He ordered a unit out in the open, two strides toward more cover. One of the enemy archers aimed true, and a padded arrow socked the unit right in the eye. Frank shrugged. He hadn’t expected it to work. He still had his Ace though.
Ace was a good player, but only if he got to play a behemoth hound or a giant or some other titanic creature. He now sported a pair of wings and a horn strapped to his head to symbolize his current stature as a fire-breathing dragon. He lurked, reptilian, behind some trees, waiting for the order to strike.
Gabel skipped his turn, holding his army in place. “You wouldn’t have any idea what happened to Ned, would you?”
Frank scowled. “I killed him, okay? I killed him. But it was an accident.”
“I’m sure it was,” said Gabel.
Frank turned his attention to the game. He suspected Gabel was only bringing this up to distract him, but it worked. “He wanted my help. So I helped him. And then I accidentally crushed him.”
“Is that so?” asked Gabel, smiling innocently.
“It wasn’t on purpose. Humans are very easy to crush.”
“I’m sure they are.”
Frank glowered. “Are you saying I crushed him intentionally?”
“I don’t believe I’m saying anything,” replied Gabel. “It’s your turn. The armies are getting bored.”
Ace slinked impatiently behind the tree. He uttered a low, grumbling imitation of a hungry growl. When he played a dragon, he played it very well. But Frank kept Ace safely behind cover and moved a cavalry unit. The goblin took a hit, which according to the rules reduced him to infantry. With a great show of disappointment, he threw aside his hobbyhorse.
Gabel made a show of studying the field this time. He never took his eyes off it as he spoke. “But some people might think it’s an awfully strange coincidence that the man your woman likes should be crushed by you. It does look suspicious. If one were of a suspicious sort.”
Frank mumbled, “She’s not my woman. And I don’t care if she does like him, although even if she did, it would surely be a mild attraction, a passing fancy. And even if I did care, I wouldn’t crush Ned for that reason alone. If I’d wanted to crush him. Which I did not.”
“Of course.” Gabel’s artillery units tossed several rubber balls into the air. The rounds pinged off several of Frank’s units, removing them from the game. Except for the berserkers, who took off their blue “calm” hats and put on their red “angry” ones. Which was exactly what Frank had been waiting for.
He should’ve smiled, but he was too distracted by other thoughts. Try as he might, he wasn’t convinced he hadn’t killed Ned on purpose, even if he had done so subconsciously. As a young recruit, he’d slain a handful of soldiers in boot camp. Orcs, thick-boned, didn’t crack easily, and trolls, naturally squishy, usually just popped back into shape. But humans were far less hardy, and elves, they snapped like twigs. But Frank had learned how to handle these delicate species, and it’d been years since he’d squished anything by accident—except for goblins, who hardly counted. If Ned’s death was an accident, it was inexcusable. And if it was on purpose, it was even more so because Frank liked Ned, and Frank had a strict “No Friend” squishing policy.
“It’s your turn,” said Gabel in a singsong voice.
Frank wasn’t sure if Gabel was a friend or not anymore, and put him on the indeterminate squishing list for the moment.
“Where did that storm come from?” observed Gabel as angry clouds spread over the citadel.
“Stop trying to distract me.”
The ogre waved his hand. His army knew what to do. The berserkers, shouting, battle-ax-shaped cushions held high, actually foaming at the mouth, charged forth as Ace, flapping his arms and thrashing his artificial tail, soared in from another direction. Gabel’s catapults were empty. His archers were useless, as arrows had no effect on berserkers with red hats or on roaring dragons. Gabel’s knights stepped forward to meet the enemy. And Ace, with a terrible roar—terrible for a goblin’s throat anyway—swallowed half a jug of wine, put a funnel to his lips, and prepared to breathe fire.
Then Copper Citadel exploded. Not the whole citadel, just the garden. In a tremendous, seething blast its walls were blown to dust. The force of the explosion knocked everyone except Frank off their feet. The towering ogre first wondered just what had been in Ace’s wine, then marveled at the clouds of ash and heat where the garden had once stood, and then noticed a screaming figure plummeting earthward, coming straight at him. All Frank had to do was sidestep with open arms to catch it, which he did.
Ned, covered in black and singed around the edges, sputtered in the ogre’s arms. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Frank smiled, feeling perhaps he’d made up for killing Ned earlier. Although he did wonder, had he known it had been Ned, if he would’ve bothered to catch him at all.
A barrage of fireballs erupted from the smoking garden. Most of the projectiles went into the air, but a wall, a roof, and a small gathering of soldiers were blown to pieces. That was all it took to send most of the other soldiers scurrying for cover. Only Frank, Ned, Gabel, and Ace remained. And Gabel cowered behind the tall ogre.
Clouds boiled overhead. With a deafening thunderclap a blast of blue lightning sizzled through the sky to strike the garden. A shaft of purple flame followed. It shot upward and burned away the cloud with a demonic howl.
And then, only quiet.
“What was that?” asked Ace.
Ned dropped to the cobblestones. “Wizards.”
The vermilion raven flew down to perch on his shoulder. “Wow! Didn’t think the old bird still had it in her.”
“Is it over?” said Frank.
“Probably not,” replied the raven. “They’re both very powerful. I imagine they’ll have to kill each other several times to get it right.”
Belok strode from the gray haze. He seemed shorter now. And hairier. He rubbed his shoulder. An expression of minor discomfort crossed his face. His phantoms had taken on ghastly appearances, gaunt and corpselike with hollow eyes and bony limbs. He raised his hand in Ned’s direction, and the cackling specters poured forward to snatch Ned up. Frank and Ace swung wildly at the ghosts, but their blows passed harmlessly through the phantoms. They dragged Ned to the wizard.
A black sphere shot from the smoke to strike Belok on the head. He lurched forward. His phantoms released Ned, who scrambled back to safety by Frank. Not that there was much the ogre could do against this magic, but he was still the largest, toughest thing around. Instinct alone compelled Ned to Frank’s side.
The Red Woman limped her way from the smoke. Milky white blood ran down a gash across her face.
Belok rubbed his head. “You’re tougher than I thought.”
“Perhaps you’re weaker than you think,” she replied. Strange energies gathered on the tip of her staff. The magic pulsed and throbbed. By now the cloudless sky had gone a dark, consuming gray, and the magic cast a brilliant beacon in the gloom.
Ned pondered running away, but this wasn’t something he could retreat from. These two wizards were deciding his fate, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.
Belok grew into a large, reptilian beast: a dragon with giant wings and a single, jagged horn protruding from his forehead. With disgust, Ace threw away his mock wings and horn. Even in dragon form, Belok had his bill and his furry head. And his tail was the round, flattened appendage of a beaver, proportionately large enough to pulverize three healthy ogres in one swat. He drew in a deep breath. His cheeks bulged. And Ned noticed a line of fur advancing down his back and across his shoulders.
The dragon exhaled his gout of fire, which the Red Woman parted with a wave of her glowing staff. She burst from her skin into a long, crimson serpent. She hurled her staff away as the two massive reptiles snapped and wrestled. The staff, still radiant, clattered at Ned’s feet.
“I don’t know if that’s a good plan,” said the raven.
“What plan?” asked Ned.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” replied the raven, turning his attention back to his telepathic discussion. “I don’t know if I’d rely on Ned myself.” The bird cocked his head to one side. “You’re the boss. Ned, pick up the staff.”
Ned hesitated. The staff glowed with dangerous sorceries. “Uh ... I’d rather not.”
“It won’t hurt you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Fairly certain.” The raven sighed. “I told you this was a bad plan.”
The Red Woman shrieked.
“Don’t yell at me,” shouted back the bird. “Yell at Ned.”
Regina appeared by Ned’s side. She held a long, long spear topped by a three-foot blade, a weapon designed for dragon slaying from her personal collection. She never thought she’d have use for it. But having studied combat with all manner of man and beast, she knew its use well, and she was quite excited by the possibility of wetting the blade with actual dragon blood. Had there been only one beast, she would’ve waded into battle immediately, but now it made more sense to let the monsters fight it out and then take out the weakened victor. Less sporting perhaps, but the raging behemoths were enough to give pause to even Regina’s courage.
Everyone was so intently watching the fight that it was some time before Ace glanced up and noticed a difference in the Amazon.
“What happened to your face?” he asked.
She glared down at the goblin but pretended not to hear the question over the howls of monsters. But once the detail was called to attention, Frank noticed as well.
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