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  Vanx reached for another arrow and found that the quiver was empty. He didn’t panic. Oddly, the more tense the situation, the calmer he felt. It was one of the qualities about him that his trainers had all praised. The ogre bearing down on him was in a bloody rage. Vanx reached to his hip and found that his dagger wasn’t in its place. His immediate suspicion was confirmed when he saw that Matty was using it. Once a thief always a thief. He’d had a sword, a long, thin work of Zythian steel that his mother’s father had given him before he left on his vision quest. No doubt it was hanging in Duke Martin’s trophy room next to his mounted bears and wolves. Vanx knew he had to do something, so he did what instinctually came to his mind.

  As the ogre came rushing up, Vanx heeled the haulkatten sharply. The alert young beast leapt into a sideways twisting sprawl that only those of the feline persuasion can manage. The ogre’s grasping claws closed on nothing but air. The enraged beast couldn’t stop its momentum, though, and it smacked face first into an ancient oak tree with a skull-cracking crunch.

  Vanx laughed out loud. His mirth was cut off quickly, though, when a blow caught him in the ribs and took his breath. He went flailing from the haulkatten and the startled animal jumped away from the unseen attacker. Vanx was left dazed and looking up at another ogre. This one held a club over its head and was already bringing it down to smash him. Unable to clear the cobwebs from his mind, Vanx held his arms up in a feeble attempt to ward away the blow.

  Trevin was drenched in thick, dripping gore. He had caught the jugular of one of the ogres with his sword and had been sprayed as its hot, sticky life pulsed out of the wound. He fought like a madman, as if defeating this enemy might ease his anguish or save his lover. Beside him, a few of the wolf-riding Kobalts were fighting the ogres too. Blood slung from glistening steel and filthy claws alike. Both fang and arrow bit into flesh, and the savage snarling of the wolves mixed with the roaring ogres to create a terrible din. Several hulking forms already lay dead at Trevin’s feet, and another was on him before he could take a breath. He heard Matty call out for Vanx and was surprised that she’d survived the initial attack. The weight of the diving beast alone should have crushed her and Darbon. He couldn’t concern himself with that, though. He was getting tired, and the beast before him was just agile enough to stay clear of his blade. This ogre had a weapon, that is if you consider a severed arm of one of its kindred as such.

  Matty yelled at Darbon, and Trevin’s eyes followed her pointing finger to where Vanx was struggling. Darbon went streaking as fast as he could to help. He was cut, ripped open across his back. Trevin knew that the boy couldn’t feel it because the rush of the moment was keeping the pain at bay. Had the boy felt the pain of such a wound, it would have been debilitating.

  Matty saw the gash as Darbon ran naked across the camp to help Vanx. It made her heart clench. She looked away just in time to see one of the ogres reach for the pack the wizard was clutching to his chest. The explosion of light and heat that occurred burned her eyes horribly. The sound and smell of wizard fire and charring flesh was acrid and hard to stomach. When the hair-raising intensity of the magic subsided, Matty found that she still couldn’t see. Only silvery flashes and swirls of light appeared in her eyes. The sensation scared her so badly that she screamed. The relative silence that followed was more frightening than the battle had been. Now, only a few grunting combatants could be heard, but she had no idea who or what they were.

  Darbon didn’t get blinded by the wizard’s magic because he was racing away from it. He saw what it did to Vanx, though. The slave-turned-friend was looking around aimlessly and fighting not to touch his burned orbs. Darbon felt hot blood running down his back though.

  Darbon hurled his rock into the back of the arm-wielding ogre’s head. The ogre reached to the wound, staggered a step, and then fell to its knees. Retrieving another rock from the underbrush, Darbon slammed the ogre’s head again. This time it fell in a sprawl and lay still, its skull a concave mush.

  Darbon looked around and saw Trevin cleave the head from the only ogre left that he could see. He realized, as the last beast crumbled to the ground, that they were alone again. The ogres, the tree beast that had saved him and Matty, even the wolf-riding Kobalts, had fled. He’d seen the bright flash reflecting off the trees when it happened. Now he saw the ogre’s husk of a body; a toppled statue of ash, just like the one he had fallen into the night before, was all that remained of the beast that had touched the wizard’s shield.

  Darbon turned as Trevin fell to his knees. The soldier’s chest was heaving as he gasped for air. Darbon counted five, no, six dead ogres around him. The camp was littered with green-fleshed bodies and thick with the stench of ozone and molten copper. Already insects were buzzing about, searching for their share of the free meal.

  “Darby?” Matty called. “Darbon, I can’t see.”

  “I’m here, Matty,” Darbon replied. He saw that she was curled in a fetal ball, lying in the scrub brush. “Just stay where you are.”

  “I can’t see, either,” Vanx said. “If someone can tell me, I’d like to know what’s happening.”

  “They’re all gone,” Darbon told him in a tone that inferred that he had no idea why. “There’s another charred ogre by Quazar’s orb; the flash might have scared them away.”

  “What of Trevin?” Vanx sat up and rubbed at his eyes furiously. Still, all that he could see was splotches and blurs.

  “I am here,” Trevin said between heaving breaths. “Is everyone all right?”

  “Other than being bright blinded, I am,” said Vanx.

  “Darby is not all right,” Matty said, her voice a little more steady than before. “He’s been clawed across the back.”

  Turning in a circle like a dog chasing his tail, the still naked young man twisted as if he might get an angle to see his own back.

  “Help Vanx over here, and we’ll see if we can get that cleaned out,” Trevin ordered. “With those filthy trolls it’s the infection you have to worry about, not so much the wound itself.”

  Trevin got to his feet and examined his arms and thighs. “We’ll need some cold water too, to wake up that fargin wizard.”

  “They’re after his pack!” Matty said. “That’s what they came for.”

  “What makes you say so?” Vanx asked as Darbon helped him stumble closer to her. He couldn’t figure why the Kobalts, much less an ancient enta would help defend them. He was still trying to figure out why the Kobalts had led them to Quazar.

  “It reached for the pack,” Matty said. “I saw it plain. It wasn’t reaching for the sorcerer or Gallarael.”

  After Darbon set Vanx down close to her, he gave Matty a hug. She seemed to forget herself and let out a long sob of relief.

  “Must be a secret pocket in there for gold,” Matty mumbled. “I only saw the stuff for spells when I looked.”

  “Components,” Vanx corrected. He’d seen some stones when he’d explored the contents of Quazar’s pack. Everything else in there was typical, as far as spell-working goes. The ogres weren’t after those. It had to be the stones. But why? What were they for?

  “You’re a greedy, ignorant woman, Matty,” Trevin said in a kindly, almost sweet voice. “What by all the fargin’ gods would a bunch of fargin’ ogres want with some fargin’ gold?”

  “I may not be very smart, you bastard.” She wiped a tear from her face and seemed to grow a little angry. “I don’t know what sorcerers and wizards hide in their packs, nor what those nasty beasts are after, but I am not greedy.” She spat in his direction. She then reached out and felt until she could put a hand on Vanx’s arm. “Go help Darbon clean his wound, Trevin,” she snarled. “And if you’re so fargin’ smart, you tell me what those things are after, because they didn’t get it and they’ll probably be back sooner than later.”

  “Aye.” Vanx nodded. He was starting to be able to pick out shapes and shadows again. “She’s right, Trev. Hurry, and don’t forget to bring back some cold water. I wa
nt to wake that wizard up and find out what’s in that pack.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Across the land he flew

  on a brilliant flaming steed.

  Brandishing old Ornspike

  in the kingdom’s time of need.

  – The Ballad of Ornspike

  Again Quazar came up into a brawler’s crouch with a sputtering yelp, but it was Trevin who splashed him this time.

  “Quazar the cowardly wizard, we should call you from now on,” said Trevin with a disgusted snarl on his face. “You’d let us die at the hands of beasts that were coming after YOU?” Trevin spat a wad of cottony saliva at the point where Quazar’s translucent shield met the earth. “What is worse is that instead of helping us with your magic, you hid in your shell like a frightened turtle.”

  “They’re gone then?” Quazar asked with a nervous glance around the corpse-strewn campsite. His voice held little remorse and even less sympathy for Trevin’s anger. After heaving a sigh of apparent relief he looked the guardsman in the eye.

  “Stand back, sir, or I will use my magic to defend myself. You cannot conceive the importance of the artifact I carry on my person. Did you not see the very Wildwood come alive to defend us? The ogres must not get the Blood Stone back. They should have never had it in the first place. But beyond that, I saved Princess Gallarael from further harm. You should be thankful for that alone. Now step back, I say. Back! Back!”

  “Trev,” Vanx called. He still couldn’t see well, but he could hear just fine. “Give the wizard some room.”

  Vanx wasn’t sure what this Blood Stone was about, but the idea of any powerful artifact in the possession of some half-feral, half-sentient creatures was unnerving at best. Ignorance and magic didn’t mix very well, nor did magic and flesh-hungry instinct.

  “Listen to your Zythian friend, Trevin,” Quazar said. “Give me some room.”

  “Zythian?” Trevin asked as he took two steps backward and turned to look at Vanx. “You’re not Zythian, are you Vanx? You don’t look Zythian.”

  “Oooh, I should have seen it before now,” Matty said in a gossipy tone. “Only the blue eyes of a Northlander mixed with the yellow of a Zyth could make eyes that color of green.” She rubbed her own eyes wishing she could see. “I’d bet he’s half and half. I bet he is.”

  “I am,” Vanx said defensively. “What of it? It doesn’t change who I am or how I feel, or how I think.”

  “Can you—can you really turn into a bird—a bird and fly?” asked Darbon. He was feeling the pain of his wounds now. He looked as pale as the river wash.

  “Blah! Blah!” Trevin blurted. “I was wondering how you were able to see so fargin well at night.” He scowled down at Vanx who could see well enough now to register Trevin’s expression of disapproval. “It changes something all right.”

  This is it, Vanx thought. Either I’ll be shunned as a strangeling or put back into chains. He decided that he should have listened to his elders. They’d all warned that the human condition didn’t allow for much tolerance. I should have never hoped that these people, as kind and honorable as they can be, would be able to see past my race. They—

  “What it changes is the fargin subject, wizard,” Trevin continued, surprising Vanx completely. The guardsman stalked back over to Quazar, who’d just dispelled his protective orb. “You’ll not trick me so easily, old man. Now quit trying to turn us against each other and start convincing me not to shorten you by a head.”

  Quazar found Trevin’s still bloody sword point resting at his collar. Even if he tried to cast a quick spell, Vanx knew that all it would take was a flick of Trevin’s wrist to open the wizard’s neck.

  “If you kill me, Gallarael dies for certain,” said Quazar as he plopped down cross-legged right out from under the danger. Before anyone could blink an eye he started into his tale.

  “Firstly, I don’t mean to collapse when I cast the shielding spell. It is a powerful conjuring and it seems that I am not yet strong enough to cast it and remain conscious. As for being cowardly and not helping you defend yourselves, let me make one thing clear.” He crossed his boney arms over his chest like a defiant child. “I am sworn to protect the kingdom and the nobility of Parydon. That is exactly what I did. The Blood Stone and Gallarael were completely safe inside my protective shield.”

  “That’s not entirely true,” Vanx said. “You said yourself that she must be taken to Dyntalla and saturated with potions and whatnot before the venom liquefies her insides. How can that be accomplished if she is stuck in a magical orb with an unconscious wizard?”

  Quasar made a quizzical expression as if he were pondering the validity of Vanx’s words. After a moment he spoke again. “The wellbeing of the entire Dyntalla settlement outweighs the life of a duke’s daughter. I did what I did, and I will stand by my actions before the High Wizard and the king himself if need be. A man named Garner broke away from our original party when we were attacked. I’m certain he’s gone back to Dyntalla to gather a rescue party. Even if he didn’t make it, Gallarael and I wouldn’t have been alone out here forever.”

  “Fair enough,” Vanx replied, and then to Darbon he said, “No, I can’t turn into a bird. We need to put out some fishmeal to draw the haulkats back in. We should probably be on our way.”

  “I will,” Darbon replied. “And I’ll see if I can find that horse too.”

  “Don’t bother.” Trevin’s tone was grim. “I saw it go down over there.” He pointed. “Your back looks terrible, though. You should rest.” Trevin seated himself beside Gallarael’s unconscious body. “I’ll take care of it when the wizard’s done with his tale.”

  “My back’s not so bad,” Darbon told them. But the way his breath caught when he tried to heft up one of the bags of fishmeal said otherwise. He was soon back beside Matty, a few shades paler than before.

  “What is this Blood Stone?” Vanx asked.

  Quazar shrugged. “I’m not really sure. There’s no doubt that it’s powerful, but until I can research its qualities I cannot say for certain. The Kobalts seem to think it binds the ogres to the area. They say that the ogres have slowly turned from typical wild beasts into deliberate, even evil, creatures. They have set fire to mountain glades and have dumped the rotting corpses of their kills into the streams that feed the forest and lakes below. They have begun slaughtering for pleasure, not just for food. All of this since they came into possession of the Blood Stone. You’ve heard the expression, ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend’?”

  Vanx and Trevin both nodded in unison that they had.

  “The Kobalts, who are far more clever than we ever expected, captured a Dyntalla ranging party and, with some difficulty, conveyed that together we could rid the area of the overpopulating beasts. The ogres have grown so populous in the southern mountains that the Kobalts have been forced out of their ancestral domain. They want to go back. They want to restore what the ogres have destroyed. In return for aiding us, they only ask that we leave the Wildwood to them. It seems this forest is one of their sacred hunting grounds.”

  “Of course, Duke Ellmont couldn’t agree to the terms. So word was sent to Parydon proper and King Oakarm made a ruling. He sent Prince Russet with his decision. King Oakarm agreed that all the lands between the Waterdon flow and the Kimber River would be left unmolested by the kingdom save for a protected road running from Dyntalla to the upper Waterdon outpost. He—” Quazar hushed and turned quickly as the sound of crunching undergrowth came from just outside the camp.

  Amden Gore’s old haulkatten came creeping back like a skulking cur. It bypassed the busted sack of fishmeal that Darbon had dropped and went straight to Matty. The animal nuzzled her and when she began cooing to it, it let out a low, rumbling purr.

  Vanx said, “The other one is not very far away. I can hear him.” The odd look Darbon and Trevin both gave him as they strained to hear wasn’t lost on him. Nor was the fact that neither of their expressions held any of the contempt for his race that his peo
ple often spoke of.

  “She returns your feelings then?” Quazar asked Trevin, seeing the way the guardsman was running his fingers through Gallarael’s hair.

  “If she loves me only half as much as I love her, then I am as lucky as a man could be,” Trevin said. “I’ll do anything to save her.”

  “Even prick a fire wyrm to get a drop of its blood?” Matty snorted, causing the old haulkatten to skitter away. Immediately, she groped for the creature and began speaking to it soothingly.

  “Gallarael does love him,” Vanx said. “Gallarain told me as much. Her mother knows of the affair as well. The duke, though, is another matter. And I will go with Trevin to Dragon’s Isle to save her, if it must be done.”

  Quazar stroked his beard and eyed Vanx. “You’ll need more than a drop of it. Why are a venom-riddled princess, her lover, a one-handed—uh—woman, and an apprentice smith traveling the Wildwood with a half-Zythian miscreant such as yourself?” He held up a hand to forestall Vanx’s response to being labeled a miscreant. “This is a tale I want to hear fully told, so I think we should wait until we are on the move again to hear it.”

  “It’s a tale all right,” said Trevin. “A tale Duke Ellmont and Prince Russet should hear as well.”

  “How, by all the gods, can you tell I’m a smith’s apprentice?” Darbon asked through a painful grimace. “Did you spell me?”

  Quazar chuckled. It was a kind of heartfelt laugh that seemed to lift the spirits of the others. “It’s no trick lad. Your right arm is half again bigger than your left from swinging that hammer all day every day. That’s how I know. The fact that you’ve only three whiskers on your chin is how I know you’re an apprentice. Now let me see if I can help that wound of yours.”