Ogre's Passing Read online

  Everything went black for a minute and he felt himself being dragged away. Rigel had snapped out of his confusion and was pulling the other trapper to the side of the building. The remaining two dogs were howling in agony behind them, and Dustan staggered to his feet.

  "Run, run. I'll try and hold it back." Rigel pushed Dustan and held up his ax. "It's my fault -- I'm an old fool. But I'll gain you some time."

  Dustan didn't argue, and stumbled into the cover of the trees. He ran off, hoping to find one of the horses. If he didn't, the prospect of walking long miles through thick woods faced him. An extremely unpleasant possibility. There was ample starlight to guide him, but it wasn't enough to allow the man to move forward with any sense of confidence.

  Several minutes passed and he scrambled through the brush, leaving the cabin behind. His breath came in ragged gasps, and he wondered as to the fate of his friend. After long minutes he paused, leaning heavily against a hoary oak, when a chilling scream echoed through the night. He faltered, listening to the hideous cry. There could be no doubt as to the source. It was Rigel. The trapper was gone.

  Terror gave him renewed strength and he plunged ahead, nearly falling into a ditch edged with loose dirt and rock. Dustan tried to stop, his hands waving madly, and he plummeted head over heel, crashing to the bottom several feet below and into a churning brook. The water was ice cold and he felt searing pain in his ankle. He knew immediately that it was twisted.

  Cursing in fear and frustration, he limped downstream, trying to keep due west, although his situation made all paths seem murky. If the attacker still pursued him, the water might throw off his scent, and it was all he could hope for. Dustan had no idea what followed, and didn't want to know. He wondered if Rigel had somehow known the identity of their antagonist because of his strange reaction. The old trapper knew a lot about the surrounding wilder land and its legends.

  Dustan shuddered from the horror and cold. He fell into the stream several times, bruised and weary. He needed to rest, so he collapsed under a willow tree, its gnarled roots sprawling down a bank and offering shelter from any prying eyes. The trapper pushed himself as far back as he was able and huddled there, regaining his breath and wits. The last hour had been a harrowing experience, and Dustan was convinced that he'd only narrowly escaped Rigel's fate. All around him, the forest was silent. There seemed to be a genuine lack of insect and animal noises, which was unusual. He could hear his own heart beating -- methodical, and heavy in his chest.

  Dustan heard something then…

  His head lifted, and he stared upstream. It was unmistakable -- something was coming. It seemed that the hunter had not abandoned its prey after all. Indecision gripped the man. He was in no shape to continue the race. His ankle was unsteady, and if he needed to sprint, the end of the chase would be certain.

  Dustan waited, not daring to breathe.

  Something large approached, footsteps crashing down on brambles and rocks, snapping branches and kicking dirt. Hearing the commotion only made Dustan more afraid. The hunter made no effort to even hide its coming. A low snuffling came from nearby, as of a predatory animal in pursuit of fresh meat.

  Dustan willed his teeth to cease chattering, the sound magnified in his ears. The trapper wished he possessed the power to sink into the dirt behind him, disappear with the worms and grubs. Suddenly, a huge shadow appeared from the bend of the stream. Dustan could make out a dim form through the interlacing roots of the willow tree. His blood froze.

  It was a creature like he'd never imagined, monstrous in size. Well over twice the height of a tall man, it lumbered forward with one arm hanging low, swinging it like the limb of an ape. In the other arm it carried a long club tipped with cruel spikes. An animal skin covered most of the brute's body, and now the head came into view.

  A living nightmare.

  Wicked eyes glared from side to side as the grotesque head searched for the hidden prey, nostrils flaring, trying to pick up the scent. Tusks protruded from a drooling mouth which had recently feasted on flesh, and now craved for more. Old stories and fables swam through the maelstrom of Dustan's head. Dark tales of the evil inhabitants that roamed the wild lands. And here was one scant feet away from him, death held in its foul grip.

  It was an ogre.

  His fear overwhelmed him. The ogres were extremely rare, but few legends spoke of a more dangerous and horrific creature that walked the world. Possessing the strength of a score of men, they were cunning and relentless, fearing nothing, and now Dustan was being stalked by such a monster.

  The ogre trudged along the far side of the creek, nearly opposite from Dustan's hiding spot. The trapper braced for the crucial moment when the ogre would be across from him. It continued, taking great strides forward. The creature splashed water as the large feet stomped into the stream bed. It was now directly opposite the terrified trapper.

  Dustan didn't breathe.

  But the ogre never stopped moving, instead shuffled along, sniffing the air every few moments. When it was over a dozen yards past the willow tree, it slowed, then stopped completely. The scent was confused. The monster's head made a circle, sweeping the surroundings, the body remaining motionless.

  Dustan was drenched in sweat, and his chest felt like it was caught in a vice, squeezing the precious life out of him. When he was certain that the ogre would start back, it suddenly let out a low growl, but then pivoted, continuing downstream. Only when the creature was clearly out of sight and sound did Dustan begin to feel a glimmer of hope.

  Luck had been with him, he thought, crawling out from under the bank which had spared him. Fortune for him, at least for the moment. No man could withstand such a beast, and he was no warrior himself.

  He scanned the forest. The evil one was gone. Eyes darting madly in every direction, he crept onward, his body shaking from the almost fatal encounter. Dustan headed back upstream, his chapped lips parting in silent rambling as he ignored the numbness of his ankle and the ache in his bones. The trapper's instinct's kept him moving, the body blindly following the silent command to flee from danger.

  Instinct was all Dustan had left as his mind swirled in darkening confusion, his logic and intellect consumed by madness.

  ***

  "A good vintage."

  Grundel held up the goblet, smacking his lips in approval. He basked in the warmth of a cheerful fire, watching while Sarion poked the embers with a pair of iron tongs. Two stacks of wood were piled neatly to either side of the hearth. Kettles, roasting spits, and ash buckets were placed in careful arrangement within nooks or sitting on one of the several shelves perched upon the wall. The entire house was simplistic and fundamental in design, and immaculately clean. It was clear that the master of the property was someone who respected order and appearance. A pair of hunting dogs lay nestled on a large throw rug, both of them wagging their brown tails when Sarion spoke or moved.

  "It has been a good year for crops and vineyards." Sarion raised his own drink, his face becoming serious. "But let's go back to why you're really here. You're telling me that this token force is all that could be spared from the Royal Armies?"

  "For now, this will have to do. Unfortunately, our ranks are stretched out all along the border. The war is pulling in an increasing amount of warriors. If things get any worse, stronger measures will be implemented."

  Sarion let out a deep sigh. "A calling of former soldiers, then an outright draft. It's worse than I thought."

  "Indeed it is. This is happening already in the east and central parts of the kingdom. Word carries much slower to the borderlands here in the west. But don't be misled...The king has not ignored the rumors and activity, but his attention must be fixed to the closest problem at hand, and quite a large and protracted one at that. And I'm afraid that your problems are not entirely unique."

  "Oh?" Sarion raised his eyebrows. "Meaning?"

  "Meaning... that other parts of the western border have complained also, of infringing raiders, marauders in the n
ight. The king fears that something else may be brewing."

  "These are ill tidings," replied Sarion thoughtfully. "The king cannot afford too many distractions from the war in the east."

  "Exactly. So that is why I need your help. Not only in this excursion, but to perhaps offer you a place in the Guard itself. Your actions have not been forgotten."

  Sarion pushed himself away from the table. He looked at the stone walls of his kitchen, soaking in the warmth and security. Home. He'd never asked for more. Never desired anything else besides a roof over his head and his household, peace for the country folk. Simple hopes for common men. And now everything was in jeopardy of being lost to him. The dark clouds of war and death threatened everyone within Trencit, and could eventually find them all, to the most secluded hamlet or small farm, over hill and dale.

  He clicked his teeth. "Edward would be devastated. He's already lost his parents to marauders -- I'm the only family he has left." His voice was sad, knowing that his nephew would bravely accept the circumstances, although the boy's proud face would conceal his pain, his eyes would speak the truth. Inside he would be certainly be crushed.

  The captain leaned forward in his chair. "I'm terribly sorry about all that, but it's not an unfamiliar tale. You must act for his future, and the kingdom's as well. We all have much to lose. I have family back east, and haven't seen my wife and children for close to a year."

  Sarion stared into the captain's eyes, seeing the anguish held tightly. He nodded to Grundel. "A bitter fate, the life of a warrior."

  Grundel followed quickly. "But one that I readily accept, knowing that I fight for the freedom of friend and kinsman."

  Sarion paced along the floor, absently scratching the head of one of the hounds. "Well spoken, captain. But tell me, what of the king's right arm? They say that General Charadan has had great victories over the invaders, and as long as he remains leading the armies, the king will never be defeated. Even in the west, his name is golden. The people have great admiration for the champion of the land."

  Grundel rubbed his callused hands together. "Yes, the people follow his leadership. Hopefully, he can hold courage together and find the means to bring final victory to Trencit. But who can truly know? The enemy is devious, and determined. The challenge monumental."

  Sarion knelt to the floor as the other dog fawned for attention. He stroked its head. "They say he is always at the heaviest point of fighting, remaining in the field. Without his charisma, the leadership would be greatly diminished." Sarion rose, and sat down again, slumping into a wooden chair.

  "Then let us hope that fortune stays with him." Grundel looked down at his drink, gazing more into himself than the sweet liquid.

  Sarion rubbed his eyes and spoke, his voice laced with resignation and sadness. "All right, tomorrow it is. You can rest in my chamber tonight, captain. I will be up late making arrangements for the servants. There is a lot of work needed before the harvest, and Edward will not take this lightly."

  Grundel waved him off. "That is unnecessary -- I'll lodge in the barn with my men. There will be many nights ahead in the country, and a comforting bed takes the edge from the discipline that we are used to."

  "Good night, captain Grundel. I have to talk with my nephew."

  Sarion walked away, his heart flooded with emotions as he went to Edward's bedroom.

  ***

  Edward sat at a small mahogany table in the corner of the room. His eyes were moist, thinking about the company of men and what they were asking of Sarion. A light rapping struck against his door, followed by the tall form of his uncle.

  "How do you feel? You heard what the captain said, about the need of our people. I'm sorry."

  There was little else he could say. The boy was exceptionally bright for his age -- too bright at times, yet so young and fragile. Sarion tousled Edward's hair, his stomach feeling empty inside.

  "I know. There is so much danger in the world, Sarion. And especially the Lowlands." He shuddered. "You've always told me about the evil that lives there, and now you have to go. Is there no other way?"

  Sarion gently shook his head. "I'm sorry."

  The boy looked down. "Please...be careful."

  Sarion sat down next to him. "You know I will. Don't forget, I've been there before, and know better than to become careless. Here, look at me."

  Edward turned around, staring at Sarion with deep green eyes.

  "I'll return -- I promise. Do you believe me?"

  The boy hesitated, then nodded his head.

  Sarion knelt in front of his nephew. "As you get older, you'll learn that difficult decisions confront us at every turn, and you never know when the unexpected will happen. A man needs to be prepared, and make sacrifices for others who might not be able to fight back the darkness. I go, but to protect our village, and all the other towns and cities. A war is being fought in the east. Right now there are brave men dying somewhere, alone in the night, to protect us. It's time to help them out, too. They deserve it."

  "I will practice my weaponry twice as much when you leave."

  Sarion smiled. You'll be the best someday, lad. You're already a match for the older boys. Let's get some sleep. We'll both have our hands full in the days to come. I'm relying on you to help out on the farm, and Jergen will need you while I'm gone. And remember, after every night the dawn never fails to arrive. You must always hope." He raised himself up. "Good night, I'll see you off in the morning."

  He kissed the boy on the head and slowly walked out.

  Edward stared after him.

  "When I grow up, I want to be just like you, Sarion. Just like you."

  The boy's voice was a whisper, but Sarion heard it after closing the bedroom door.

  A tear trickled down his eye.

  ***

  It was late morning, and the company rode down a dirt track leading away from the border village of Gristor , stopping for fresh supplies. Members of the king's guard had the right to take what they needed, but were not allowed to abuse the privilege. The villagers spoke grimly of outlying homes and farms being ransacked, with demons roaming the countryside at night. A few households had already been abandoned as families relocated to more populated regions deeper within the kingdom, although most would stay, defending their homesteads if necessary. These were stalwart folk, and not easily moved from their lands. Many had lived here for generations, and nothing would change that.

  Throughout the trek, Grundel conferred with Sarion concerning the geography of the area. The rolling farmland soon gave way to forested hills and valleys. They were approaching an uninhabited country where trappers and hunters made their livelihood, but hesitated on venturing too far into the west, and less hospitable lands. The captain rode with the former soldier, explaining the current strategies being waged in the east. Several other patrols had been sent to the western frontier, and a campaign was underway to enlist more men for the Western Watch. Some of the unused outposts were to be reoccupied in the coming weeks as well -- if they could find the men to occupy them.

  "So King Gregor has definitely noticed the unrest." Sarion steered his mount away from a pit in the road.

  "Let's just say that his eyes are focused on the war, but his ears listen to all points of the kingdom," answered Grundel.

  "That brings some comfort, then. The king is a good man, and the people revere him even this far from Daregil Keep." Sarion paused. "I also think it would be a good idea to send scouts ahead from now on...to make sure nothing catches us off guard," he added.

  "We're still within the confines of Trencit here. Do you anticipate trouble already?" The captain peered into the surrounding countryside, his keen eyes missing nothing. Birds sang in the trees and small woodland creatures scurried away from the armed company. A narrow brook tumbled quietly to their left, high reeds thirstily drinking in the moisture.

  Sarion adjusted his belt. "There have been many strange tales coming out from this territory. I don't know what to expect anymore. Haven't
traveled here recently. I roamed the entire westland in past years, and there is much to see. But when skirting the eaves of the Ridgeline, nothing is certain."

  The captain nodded, scanning the rough woods which were now becoming denser. He gave a quick whistle signaling a pause, and went to the front of the party. Jumping off his horse, Sarion grabbed a leather water sack from his saddle to quench his thirst. His broadsword rattled at his side. Despite being out of the Western Watch for nearly seven years, he'd honed his fighting skills, working on new techniques constantly. Practicing every day, he was quicker than a cat with both blade and dagger. A long knife was strapped beneath his jerkin, and he kept the weapon there even while working on the farm. A warrior's instincts never left you, he knew. His skill with the bow was unrivaled. Sarion was a weapons master in every sense of the word, and had quickly risen through the ranks in his previous service to the land.

  He watched as Rundin walked over, giving him a curt nod.

  "Please forgive my tone when we met, Sarion. My cynicism grows deeper with age." He stroked his beard while holding a stick of smoked meat in the other hand. "Care for a bite?"

  "Thanks, on both counts." Sarion tasted the offering, the saltiness giving rise to his thirst once more.

  Rundin grinned. "Strong, isn't it? Gives one sustenance on the battlefront."

  "Have you seen much fighting?" Sarion chewed on the morsel, watching as Grundel sent two men on ahead.

  "A lifetime's worth, I'm afraid. Too many friends and comrades have fallen to the Devlents. There is no respite on the front, only intervals of give and take, with neither side intent on making any major undertaking. There is talk that our enemies have enlisted the aid of others, but as yet there is no sign of this."

  "That would surely set the scales in their balance."