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  Ogre's Passing

  Paul Melniczek

  Ogre's Passing

  Copyright © 2008 Paul Melniczek

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in Canada by Double Dragon eBooks, a division of Double Dragon Publishing Inc. of Markham Ontario, Canada.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing from Double Dragon Publishing Inc.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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  ISBN-10: 1-55404-545-2

  ISBN-13: 978-1-55404-545-7

  First Edition February 26, 2008

  Also Available as a Large Type Paperback

  Now Available as paperback and hard cover

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  Ogre's Passing

  A chill wind blew in from the west, gently swaying the high grass bordering the grain fields of Sarion's farm. Arms folded across his solid chest, Sarion stared past his own lands, pondering the black rumors circulating the countryside. Stories of outlying homes being broken into, the families taken away in the night. The destruction of property, the loss of cattle. Peddlers traveling along the dusky roads spoke in low tones about the unrest, an increasing number of them staying away from outlying areas as they made their way to the more secure larger towns and villages of the central kingdom. Many tales, all of them troublesome.

  A dark cloud hovered ominously over the collective conscience of the durable men and women who lived in this region, and Sarion felt it as well, creeping slowly over his own heart and mind, a growing menace, a warning of ill times to come. Something evil was encroaching on the borders of his homelands, the kingdom of Trencit. Sarion lived at the westernmost fringe of the domain, close to forsaken lands ruled by dangerous and malevolent creatures. And now a nameless entity was terrorizing the peaceful frontiersmen, plaguing their nightmares and threatening all who dwelt nearby.

  He stooped down, grabbing a huge bale of hay, his brown, shoulder-length hair catching some of the individual straws. It smelled fresh and pleasant to him, a mundane aroma of peace and order. The cooler season was not too far distant, and this was a busy time of year for the household.

  "Uncle Sarion, a group of horsemen approach."

  He turned around as his young nephew Edward came towards him, the boy's cheerful face thoughtful as he pointed down the dirt lane leading to the farmhouse. Dust rose in trailing clumps as the party made their way steadily towards them.

  "Yes -- and they're warriors, I see. Thirteen strong." Sarion replied, a note of surprise evident in his clear voice, as he held a hand over his keen blue eyes, blocking out the late afternoon sun.

  "How can you tell from here?" asked Edward. He lifted his curly blond head up excitedly. There were few armed companies in the region as they were seldom required, except as routine patrols. The king's royal armies were needed in the east, where a war was being fought against their enemies, the Devlents.

  "Hmm, perhaps they were sent to investigate the raiding. It's probably not large enough to be part of a major division."

  The group approached at a modest gait, and Sarion waved a hand in recognition. The men were dressed in with a minimum of armor, looking more prepared for quickness and stealth, the common attire for a small scouting party. The horses were tall and broad, bred and raised in service of the kingdom's fighting force. Coming forward was a lightly bearded man of brown hair with a hawkish face wearing a helm of steel, a crimson eagle on his breast. Sarion knew it to be the symbol of a captain in the Trencit Home Guard. He raised his eyebrows in response, genuine surprise on the handsome face. It was unheard of to see one of the king's own elite commanders outside of the eastern provinces, their numbers being very few. Unusual indeed…

  "Well met, my good captain. It is not too often we see any of His Majesty's finest in our lands. What brings you so far from the capital?"

  The man signaled for his squadron to halt, expertly reigning in his own steed, steel glinting in the fading sunlight.

  "Greetings also. You're obviously familiar with royal insignia. I'm Captain Grundel, leader of this company and an officer of the Trencit Home Guard."

  Sarion made a short bow. "My name is Sarion, and this is my nephew Edward. You and your men are welcome, and at my service. Whatever supplies or information I have is at your immediate disposal."

  A sharp look passed Grundel's weathered face, quickly disappearing. "Our thanks to you."

  "Could I ask what it is you seek? The sight of your group is encouraging, and I'm sure you are well aware of the recent events. The people of the countryside have appealed directly to the king. There is a nameless force which threatens the region."

  Grundel dismounted from his great steed, a black mare that frisked with scarce contained energy.

  "And that is exactly why we are here. To offer aid and to find answers. My assignment is to seek out the source of danger, eliminating whatever is preying upon our people."

  Sarion nodded. "The popular belief is obvious, of course. Something has crept in from the wilderness, and is terrorizing the countryside. But this isn't the work of bandits, or common men at all. No, my belief is that it hails from the Grammore Lowlands."

  "And if that is where our mission takes us, then it will find us ready and determined." Grundel's eyes were quietly intense.

  Sarion frowned. "Is there a larger group being dispatched?"

  The captain shook his head.

  "Surely you don't mean to go yourselves?" Sarion did not attempt to mask his pessimism.

  "I think our farmer here knows little of the king's guard." A huge man on an enormous horse trotted up. He looked oversized, even for the magnificent steed. A thick red beard covered half his face, and he jumped off his mount. "I hope that you do not question the prowess of our company." It was a statement, and the man loomed before him in an obvious pose of intimidation.

  "This is Rundin, my second," said Grundel, who made no offer to appease the anger of his fighter.

  But Sarion was undaunted. "I question no one's ability. You do not know the dangers that lurk beyond these borders, unless you were born a frontiersman. Little knowledge reaches the king's city, or those who fight in the east."

  Rundin towered over Sarion, who was over six feet tall himself. The man had the visage of an awakened bear, eager to confront anything that threatened. He licked his lips, scowling.

  "And there are many who are so far removed from battle that they forget the valor of the men keeping the peace." Rundin tapped his chest.

  Sarion shook his head in defiance. "Some, perhaps. Maybe many. But not all. Sacrifice comes in a variety of forms. The touch of loss plays no favorite tune." A dark look crossed Sarion's face, and Grundel nodded to himself in approval, the sea-ice eyes narrowing a hair.

  "Rundin, you shouldn't be so quick to judgment -- or anger. This man speaks much truth. And, he is not what he appears to be..."

 
Edward stared at his uncle, innocence reflected on the ten year old's face.

  The captain continued. "It is not by accident that we came to this farm. And this is no ordinary farmer standing before us."

  Rundin looked questioningly at Sarion.

  "I seek out someone who served in the Western Watch, now seven years past. This man was the greatest tracker and swordsman on the frontier."

  Rundin's mouth opened, realization dawning on him.

  Grundel continued. "A captain in his own right, he once led a company into the wilderness, fighting back a band of marauding Glefins. Fifty men were sent. Out of that sizable force, only three returned, one of them lost to his own mind, the other gravely wounded, passing away shortly after entering our lands. The third man stands before us -- Sarion, who slew the Glefin leader himself."

  Sarion's eyes grew dark with the memories. "You awaken black thoughts, captain. Ones I would rather keep forever from the light of day."

  Grundel sighed deeply. "The need of our kingdom outweighs many reprieves, I'm afraid. For it is you who I have searched out for help."

  Gesturing with his arm, Sarion pointed towards the west. "Death and madness. This is what waits beyond the hills." He paused. "My experience I will gladly lend, however terrible. Although I am one of the only men to have traveled within the Lowlands, I can't guess at the source of trouble myself. But I'll provide whatever information which still remains of that disastrous journey."

  The captain lowered his voice. "You misunderstand my intentions. We need someone to lead us into the wild, and help to determine the source of unrest. You have been there before, and your skills are required once more, although you would wish it otherwise."

  Sarion stiffened, feeling Edward's eyes boring into his face. Was this the shadow which he had felt clutching at his heart recently? Now come to reality? He stared across the gentle fields, feeling a sudden sense of foreboding at Grundel's words.

  "You ask much, captain. There are nightmares beyond description past our safe lands. And now you want me to leave my farm and nephew behind?" The two locked gazes.

  Grundel nodded in sympathy. "The war demands the bulk of our men. There are few left to spare. We must be enough. If the danger grows larger, then the king needs to gain knowledge of what it is which menaces his people. Failure is unthinkable. Things are grim now. But it may only be the start of worse to come."

  Sarion gripped Edward's shoulder, a frown of disapproval on his youthful face.

  "Help see to the men's comfort. We'll put them up in the barn, if that's all right with the captain." He turned towards Grundel as the boy hurried away. "My hope is for the lad to have a better future for himself, along with all the youth of our kingdom. Too many have died sharing that same dream. Brave fighters, my countrymen and kin."

  Grundel replied, his voice low. "And many more await their own grave as evil grows stronger. Come, I am sorry to have brought this upon you, but the need is great. We're all tired, and the end of our path is nowhere in sight. A warm bed beneath even a barn is a comfort to weary fighters in the field. You know this too."

  "Perhaps a glass of ale can bring a good night's rest to your men. And you're right, but it's been a long time since I've slept under the trees and stars. Such service to the kingdom allows for little relief. You deserve better."

  Rundin snorted as Sarion led them away. "We all might be dreaming and remembering your pleasant farm here in the weeks to come."

  ***

  The small cabin was hazy and dimly lit, as the figures of two trappers sat around a modest ring of burning embers, the open roof vent drawing out the lingering smoke. Several stars glittered downward from the vast heavens in the clear sky. Mixed hardwood tress huddled against the small structure, moss covering the bark, a carpet of twigs and leaves blanketing the great roots.

  "Been pretty poor lately, don't understand it." Rigel puffed on a long pipe and he looked over at his companion Dustan, who had worked with him for the past two years.

  "You think we should push a little deeper?" Dustan's bushy eyebrows clung to his forehead like caterpillars as he squinted at the older man.

  "I don't know, with all the talk I've heard. People are pulling back, getting away from the border. We're probably the last ones on this side of Hawker Peak anymore. Can't remember when things were this bad." Rigel took a swig of ale, wiping his mouth on an already stained shirt sleeve.

  "Aye, but we have a great pack. Some of those others work on their own."

  Rigel agreed. "Those old dogs have a lot of spark in them, don't they? Well, I've always fed them good, and you need hunting dogs in this part of the world. There's creatures past this mountain that'll freeze your blood. I've seen some of them. Moving out of the shadows in the evening, coming out to greet the darkness."

  Dustan shuddered. "What about the stories? Do you know what it could be?"

  The other trapper cleaned some mud off his leather boots, scraping the dirt with a wicked dagger. " Could be a lot of things, but I'd rather not speak of them." He whispered. "They say that you can attract evil sometimes, just by naming it... I'll tell you what the problem is, though. The king's forgotten about this frontier with the war going on back east. He's let the Watch pull in, left it for the locals to protect themselves. But this much I do know."

  He crouched over the fire, moving closer to his friend.

  "There's more death that sleeps in the west than anyone dreams about. Older than the hills, and deadly. Things were here long before men came around. And…" He paused for effect, peering through the window. "…every once in a while, something wakes up , comes looking for fresh territory, and food. That's what I think."

  The cabin seemed to press in on the two men, and Dustan wished he were back home in more hospitable regions. A few more days, and they would have enough skins to take back. Just a few more was all. He could manage.

  "Well, let's start early tomorrow. I'll be happy when we leave these woods behind. They're not too friendly anymore, if you take my meaning." Dustan straightened, yawning as he stretched his lean arms back.

  Rigel nodded. "I feel that way too sometimes. It's good having four warm walls around you, and a spirited pub within walking distance... and a few wenches strutting about," he added with a wink.

  His smirk quickly vanished as a loud baying erupted outside the cabin. The trappers stared at the doorway anxiously, every trace of humor drained away. They had brought eight dogs with them, the pack now tied up at a makeshift rail in front of the cabin. Their howls were terrible to hear.

  "They smell something bad out there. Grab your weapon." Rigel picked up a battle-ax, and a short sword leaning against the wall. The other trapper fingered his own blade, apprehension gripping his chest at the frightful wailing outside.

  Rigel opened the door, gesturing for Dustan to take the large oil lamp which sat on the eating table. "I've never heard them carrying on like this. Whatever's out there can't be very friendly." They locked gazes for a tense moment, both of them unwilling to give voice to the terrible seed of fear which waited to sprout open into the breathing night.

  They rushed outside, the small clearing illuminated by sets of torches set strategically around the cabin. The hunting dogs were in a frenzy, leaping against their chains, the mixed wolf breeds greatly resembling the wilder strain of their bloodline. Some of them were clawing madly against the ground, snuffling in the dirt, attempting to break free.

  "Shades! What do they smell?" Dustan peered into the shadowy eaves, his head darting in all directions as he tried to locate any movement, but all was still. "Should we unleash them?"

  The older trapper hesitated. It might be better to have them free, he thought. They had no idea what lay hidden in the trees.

  "Loosen half of them. I don't want to have all of the dogs roaming around at night. I don't like these woods. They feel bad."

  The men were barely able to unfasten the metal collars. The wolf hounds snarled madly, jumping to break away. As the dogs were
unleashed, they bolted straight into the forest, angling west. Four animals ran with reckless speed as they sought their quarry. Tense moments passed as the trappers waited for any indication of what lurked out of sight. The other dogs carried on ferociously as their kindred went to the hunt. The trappers remained on guard, nervously fingering their weapons. Dustan spat, more an action to ease his own apprehension than anything else. Time dragged on agonizingly.

  Without warning a dreadful noise shattered the clearing. Erupting out of the night was the sound of a great hunting horn, ringing harshly like an invitation to battle. The echoes fleetingly drifted through the forest, and then everything was silent. The woods remained still as the men stood transfixed by the frightful call.

  All at once a terrible yelping broke out. The men listened in shock to pure cries of anguish, ones which scorched them to the very bone.

  "By the Devil's tongue! They're being slaughtered!" Dustan grabbed Rigel's jacket collar, a look of disbelief on the older trapper's face. "We've got to leave. The horses!" Dustan pulled Rigel, but the man was immobilized by his terror. He dashed away, his own mind made up.

  Dustan threw down the lantern and went to the back of the cabin. The horses were tethered, neighing in agitation. The trapper saddled the larger of the pair, gathering the reins from the other horse with one hand. Rigel had not followed him, and Dustan was worried. The man seemed to have lost his senses. Kicking his mount forward, he gained the front corner of the cabin. One of the dogs had broken his chain and was gone. Rigel was standing motionless, staring into the woods, an intense look on his face.

  "Come on, we've got to leave now !" Dustan halted next to the older trapper, willing him to break out of his inaction.

  "You can't escape, it's coming." Rigel pointed into the trees, where branches cracked as something huge approached. It was all Dustan could do to keep from being thrown from his horse.

  "Rigel! Now, there's no time left." He clutched at his friend's collar, but the trapper only watched in fascination as another dog became free and ran quickly behind the cabin, vanishing into the forest's maw. Dustan was about to leave when his horse kicked its legs high, throwing him to the ground.