Fist came to the rogue horse’s side and patted his flank. “You notice something?”

  Its blood tastes funny, Rufus said with a grimace. He smacked his lips.

  Fist reached through the bond and probed the rogue horse’s injuries. The shoulder wound was ragged and deep, but no major blood vessels had been damaged. Fist worked on closing the wound, then healed the gashes in his arms where the luperos had clawed them. Finally, he looked at Rufus’ back. There were a few partially torn ligaments that he was able to repair.

  “You’re like me,” he told the rogue horse.

  “Me?” Rufus smiled. “Like you?”

  “Just too big for our own good,” Fist said with a nod. “Justan had to fix my back a few times. I had to learn to walk different so I didn’t hurt it so much.”

  “Hey! You three come here,” Maryanne called to the ogres who were still standing at the top of the path. She pointed at the dead creatures. “I want you to take some of these down to the camp so that Wizard Locksher can look at them later.”

  The ogres walked closer, frowning. One of them spoke up. “Womens don’t tell us what to do.”

  “Do it,” Fist said. He agreed with Maryanne’s idea. The wizard would want to examine the beasts. “And don’t take off those collars around their necks.”

  “But . . .” said another. “You not think we should burn them?”

  “No,” said Fist. “They don’t have any of the evil in them.”

  “Oh.” The ogres looked relieved.

  “Just take two of the small ones and two of the big ones,” Maryanne said.

  They looked at Fist and he nodded back at them. He planted his mace on the ground and began using his foot to pry the lupold carcass off of it. “Should’ve used the blunt side,” he mumbled.

  Maryanne trotted up to him and rubbed his shoulder where she had punched him. “Fist, sorry I got mad at you. I-.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Maryanne,” Fist said, grabbing her hand. “You are part of my tribe, so you can get mad at me if you want. I don’t like that, but if I have to choose between the safety of my bonded and you being mad, I’m choosing them.”

  Her mouth closed and she nodded slowly. “I see. That makes sense.”

  She turned away and Fist frowned. He sensed that had somehow hurt her feelings by what he had said, but he couldn’t understand why. It seemed perfectly reasonable to him.

  “We should get back down there!” shouted Lyramoor. The elf had run back to the cliff’s edge to check on the progress of the approaching army at the eastern pass. “They’ve gotten past the pit traps.”

  I look at other side! Rufus ran to the other side of the rocky shelf and looked down at the south fork. This series of trails that led to the south fork entrance of the Thunder People Territory were long and winding, but had fewer choke points for simple traps like in the eastern pass.

  There was one good spot for a trap at the joining point of the trails and Locksher had set that one up himself. The wizard had imbued a series of rocks with elemental magic and had placed them at key points along the trail, ready to be ignited at the right moment.

  “Ooh! They come!” the rogue horse announced.

  Fist ran over to join him, arriving in time to see several columns of shambling dead creatures coming down the trails to meet at the joining of the fork. The lead beast, a sweating and grunting giant who was not yet dead, but fully under the sway of the evil, stepped over the magical wards the wizard had set.

  The rocks the wizard had planted erupted in an expansive burst of fire and air. The series of explosions ripped through the morning air. Fist felt the concussive force of the blasts even from his vantage point high above.

  Maryanne reached his side, wide-eyed as she saw the plumes of smoke and fire rising from the trails. Chunks of the infested bodies began to litter the slopes with a wet patter and she laughed out loud. “How many did we get?”

  “I don’t know,” Fist said, shocked at the extent of the damage. As the smoke cleared, he saw deep craters pitting the trails where the magic-infused rocks had been left. “But it was a lot.”

  Not all of them were destroyed, however. Many of the bodies began to move. Even those that were horribly mangled were still controlled by the larvae inside of them. Some even stood. On top of that, more dead and infested were still streaming in from further up the trails.

  Suddenly, there was a loud crack. A large slab of the slope above the trails shifted and broke free. It slid down the mountainside, causing a rumble that Fist could feel in his feet. The trails disappeared from view, covered by an enormous sheet of rock.

  “Oooh,” said Rufus and Squirrel simultaneously.

  “That wasn’t supposed to happen,” Maryanne said.

  “Guess we don’t gotta worry about enemies from that side anymore!” Lyramoor said with a laugh, having run up just in time to see the slide.

  “They might find another way around,” said Fist numbly.

  “Naw,” replied the elf. “At least not today.”

  “I guess so,” the ogre said, feeling a bit sick to his stomach.

  He couldn’t count the number of times he had hunted those trails in his youth. Now they were gone forever. It didn’t necessarily matter that their disappearance was to his advantage. This war had already changed his people in more ways than he could count and evidently it wasn’t finished.

  “Your people will make new trails,” Maryanne commented, seeing the look on his face. She then leaned in close to Fist’s ear and whispered, “They’ll have to be quick about it, too. How is our ‘secret weapon’ supposed to arrive with all the paths closed?”

  Fist blinked, having forgotten about Lenny’s side mission. He and Maryanne were the only ones who knew about it. Valtrek’s instructions had been very specific on that point.

  “We’ll have to worry about that later.” Fist turned away from the destruction. It could wait until the fight was over. “Let’s go help with the east pass.”

  Chapter Ten

  The evil army marched on.

  The pit traps had been filled in by the digging beasts and the other traps set by the academy graduates had proven ineffective. A rock slide trap, triggered by an ogre atop a hill overseeing the pass, had fizzled out before reaching the enemy, merely pelting a few of them with gravel. The other trap, designed to collapse the sheer walls at the pass’ exit, never triggered at all, letting the invaders pass by unharmed.

  Upon exiting the pass, the enemy stumbled into the Thunder People’s first line of defense. The large amount of rock and earth that had been removed from the pass to create the pit traps had been repurposed into building a series of earthen walls that kept the shambling dead confined to a circular area.

  Standing above the area on the surrounding slopes were Qenzic’s Throwers. The Academy graduate had selected them from amongst the best rock hurlers the ogres had. Not surprisingly, most of them had formerly been of the Rock People tribe.

  The ogres hurled rocks and boulders at the enemy, their purpose being to break bones and disable the enemy. Broken bones did not actually kill the dead, but an immobile corpse was useless to the evil. The throwers were an effective group.

  Fist and Maryanne climbed onto a ledge overseeing the attack and watched as dozens of dead and infested creatures collapsed under the deadly assault. Corpses and rocks began to pile up. Fist noted that the majority of this first group of invaders were goblinoids or humans.

  “Whoever is in charge of the evil is testing us,” he suspected.

  Maryanne nodded, firing an electric arrow into the neck of a heavily tattooed orc. It fell silently, the larvae controlling it bursting with the magic’s discharge. “We’re wasting our defenses on the rabble.”

  She was right. Qenzic’s throwers began to run out of ready ammunition. As the hail of rocks slowed down, more dangerous beasts began to exit the pass. Among them were infested, but living, ogres who picked up the thrown rocks and began hurling them back. They were joined by a trio of giants and the pair of armored digger beasts that had filled in the pits so effectively.

  The throwers that were standing on the open slopes were easy targets. Several of them fell, downed by their own method of attack. Others were forced to abandon their positions.

  “Our turn!” shouted a loud voice and Charz came to stand upon the wall, his trident thrust high into the air.

  Behind him was the next group of defenders. They were called “Crag’s Clubbers”, and consisted of the strongest and most adept fighters in the tribe. Crag and Fist’s brother Burl were with them and, to Fist’s relief, Mog. The netherhulk carried a long stalagmite across his shoulder and, despite a wide yawn, seemed ready to fight.

  “I should go down there with them,” Fist said, itching to put his mace to further use.

  “Not a good idea,” Maryanne said, firing the last of her shock arrows. One of the infested ogres collapsed. She lowered her bow as she waited for the magical quiver at her waist to bring the arrows back. “You’ve already had a fight today and we may need your magic for healing later.”

  The clubbers descended upon the enemy and worked with efficiency, bashing the limbs of dead and infested alike. The key was to avoid being bitten or getting enemy blood on you. That way you avoided a larvae infestation yourself.

  Rufus joined them on the ledge, having shrunk his body down until he stood at their height and he could stand on the narrow outcropping comfortably. He looked down at the battle below and pounded his fist on the ground while looking around for something to throw. “Ooh! Ooh!”

  Fist realized that his desire to fight was partially because of the excitement of his bonded. Especially Squirrel. The little beast was still watching through Fist’s eyes and living vicariously through him at the moment. Squirrel really wanted the ogre to get down there and zap some enemies with his magic. “I’m feeling fine. I’ll just pull more energy from Rufus.”

  Rufus nodded happily, eager to help.

  The gnome snorted. “And what happens when you do too much of that?”

  Fist frowned. The last time he had fought all day using borrowed energy he had awoken to a debilitating headache. Locksher had told him that it was the result of mental exhaustion. “I can handle a headache.”

  “Is that what you call it?” Maryanne said, reaching to her quiver as she felt the first electric arrow return.

  The gnome drew and fired, striking a giant in the lower back. The electric shock wasn’t enough to destroy all the larvae in its body, but the giant lost all strength in its legs. Convulsing, it collapsed to its knees. Crag saw the opening and wasted no time descending on the giant with bone-cracking blows.

  “It wouldn’t be as bad as that time. Locksher said I just needed to get used to using that much magic.” The wizard had likened it to the soreness that comes when overworking one’s muscles. Eventually, one’s body gets used to it. “He said that students used to get those kinds of headaches all the time when he was an apprentice.”

  “Don’t be selfish, Fist. A headache that leaves you unable to move for half the day is a liability,” she pointed out. “Our tribe can’t have our leader down when a fight is going on.”

  Fist looked down at the battle below regretfully. He didn’t like it, but he knew she was right. Besides, his magic had been feeling strange all morning. The spells he had used when fighting the lupolds had taken more energy to enact than they should have.

  Now that he thought about it, just watching the battle was draining him slightly. He wondered if he might be taking ill. He would have to ask Locksher to look at him later. Meanwhile, he would watch and stay ready to assist. He could be needed to fight or heal at any time. At the moment it didn’t look like he was needed down there anyway.

  Charz was in his element. His rocky skin impervious to the burrowing of larvae, he didn’t have to worry about getting bloody. This allowed him to get in close to the infested. Part way through the battle, he tossed his trident to the side and waded in with bare fists. The rock giant laughed as he used his centuries of gladiatorial experience to disable the infested in a variety of ways.

  The battle went on into the afternoon, members of the clubbers replaced as they grew tired. The narrowness of the pass had made their job simple. Only a few enemies could exit at a time. Fist noted that it was more like chopping down trees than fighting a war.

  The biggest problem became clearing away the disabled enemies so that there would be room to continue fighting at the choke point. Mog was the most effective at this aspect of the battle. The netherhulk’s acidic saliva dissolved larvae on contact, so he would simply lick his hand before grasping the bodies and pulling them out of the way so that the ogre burners could get to them.

  The burners, a long line of ogres with their hands wrapped in thick hides, would drag the disabled corpses to the burn piles to be safely incinerated. The ogres in this group were the most likely to become infested. The ogress healers stayed close by the burn piles, ready to bind the hands and feet of anyone who showed the symptoms until either Locksher or Fist could electrify them.

  The fighting wound down as the sun began its long decent. Horns sounded and drums pounded, signaling that the enemy was turning around and leaving the pass to head back towards the Black Lake. The clubbers were able to return to the camp to celebrate their victory.

  For the rest of the tribe, the work wasn’t over. Lyramoor, seemingly tireless, oversaw the clearing of the defenses. Body disposal would continue into the night as would the details assigned to setting up new traps.

  The dead had never attacked at night. Locksher theorized that this was because the larvae used the eyes of the host bodies to direct them. Nevertheless, guards were kept on watch at all hours in case the evil decided to try something new.

  Fist left the battlefield and went to the healers’ camp. He had hoped to join Locksher there, but to his consternation the wizard was nowhere to be seen. The ogresses said that he had left them hours ago. Fist stayed to heal the few wounded and to electrify the infested, then went looking for his master.

  He found Locksher in the small cave he had appropriated as his laboratory. The wizard was hunched over the slab of rock he was using for his workbench, a pipe in his mouth and a pair of spectacles perched on his nose. The body of one of the gray lupolds was draped across one end of it. A greenish smoke wafted from the cave entrance and a glowing orb lit the area with a soft glow.

  “I was looking for you at the healers camp,” Fist said, standing just outside to avoid the acrid smoke. “There were people hurt over there.”

  The wizard looked up. “Ah, there you are, Fist! Come. Look what I’ve discovered.”

  “Did you hear what I said?” Fist asked in frustration. “People were hurt.”

  Locksher set down his pipe and cocked his head at the ogre. “I am sure there were, Apprentice. There was a battle going on after all. I assume you saw to them?”

  “Yes, Master. But-,” Fist chose his words carefully. “We need your magic at the battlefield if we are going to survive until the Academy army can reach us.”

  The wizard gave him a patient look. “Fist, have you ever known me to be lackadaisical?”

  Fist frowned, trying to remember what that word meant. It hadn’t been one of his words of the day, but he was pretty certain he had read it before and had asked Darlan what it meant . . . “Oh! Uh, I guess not.”

  Locksher gave him a short nod and returned to looking over his bench. The wizard was picking through some kind of chunky slurry on a steel tray. “Efficiency, Fist. As I don’t have a rogue horse to drain, I put my magic where it will go to the best use. Hence, the explosions this morning.”

  Fist couldn’t argue the effectiveness of that. “Yes, Master. But-.”

  “I stayed in the company of those female ogres long enough to determine that my help was not needed. In addition, I told them to send for me if a severe injury happened.” The wizard reached into the pocket of his robes and pulled out a pair of spectacles identical to the ones he was wearing. He held it out. “Now come in here and see what I have been doing.”

  “Okay,” Fist said, still not pleased. The ogresses hadn’t known where to find the wizard. It was likely that he had told them, but they had forgotten.

  He ducked into the smoke-filled cave and put the spectacles on. “Ugh! What is that smell?”

  The wizard gestured to the tray in front of him. “This is the stomach contents of one of those lupids you killed earlier today.” He smiled. “Marvelous creatures, lupids. Resistant to magic, as I’m sure you discovered.”

  “Lupids?” Fist said with a cough. “I thought they were called lupolds,”

  “Yes, well that is one of the breeds.” He gestured to the corpse of the beast on the bench and others that were lying on the floor in the rear of the cave. “Lupolds, luperos, lupins. All of them are part of the lupid family, bred by dark wizards mostly.”

  “That’s what Lyramoor said.” Fist pinched his nose and breathed through his mouth. That seemed to help a great deal. “So why are you looking in their stomachs?”

  “You can tell a great deal from what an animal eats,” Locksher replied. He gestured to the tray again. “What do you see in here?”

  “Uh,” Fist bent closer to look at the gray goop.

  “Hey! What’re you two smokin’ in here?” said the loud voice of Charz, startling Fist so much that he banged his head on the ceiling of the cave. The giant rested his forearm above the cave opening and peered in, his nose wrinkling.

  Fist ignored the giant and, rubbing the top of his head, said, “Master, I can’t tell what that stuff is.”

  Locksher sighed. “What you are seeing is partially digested meat. A mix of goblinoid, human, and a trace of ogre.”

  “You can tell that?” Charz asked. “Looks like soup.”

  “From the putrid state of it,” the wizard continued. “I’d say these lupids have been eating the bodies of the dead that were too badly rotted to be useful as infested carriers. The stomach contents were also free of larvae or even eggs, so that means that their mistress had the bodies drained of their parasites before letting her pets feast.”

 

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