Marakion watched as the young boy, bundled to the teeth, left Lader's Knoll.
"Off on a journey, are we?" he said quietly from the shadow of a wall. "And just where are you going, little looter?"
Marakion had been in the small village for about half an hour, and he hadn't seen a living being. His disappointment was acute. He'd assumed that Lader's Knoll was the marauders' camp. It was perfect, a desolate place; all those within traveling distance were scared to visit.
But instead of seedy shacks full of murderers and cutthroats, he'd found fresh graves or, sometimes, a few bodies, sleeping the slumber of the dead. The gaunt faces were a faint purple, and dried blood covered their lips.
Another false trail. His frustration was painful almost beyond bearing. He wandered the town in search of some sign, any sign that this had been the hideout of the marauders, but it appeared that the only curse to take up residence in this town was a plague.
"There's your evil, Griffort," he'd muttered.
He'd been about to start off from the devastated village when he'd seen a door to one of the houses open. He slid from view behind one of the nearby buildings.
With a quick-beating heart and silenced breathing, Marakion watched the boy leave the village. "Well, well. Looting the dead, eh? Where are your cohorts, Marauder? Or did they just send you to scout the area?"
Marakion exulted in his discovery. The boy was headed toward Mount Phineous! Marakion berated himself for not thinking of it before. What better place for a band of brigands than a Cataclysm-spawned, uninhabited mountain?
Marakion detached himself from the shadow of the house and followed. He was not about to reveal himself to his guide, at least not until the sanctuary was found.
"I'm coming, Marissa," he whispered as he fell into a loping stride behind his prey.
Occasionally during the trek up the mountain, the boy turned to look at the sky, or at how far he'd separated himself from the village. The ever alert Marakion moved skillfully into a nearby copse of trees, ducked behind an outcropping of rock or shrubbery. It wasn't difficult for Marakion to remain hidden from the youngster's view. The cloud cover made the terrain gloomy, and the falling snow decreased visibility dramatically.
It was afternoon when the boy first stopped. After extracting a few things from his pack, he dumped it on the ground, sat on it, and began eating.
Marakion watched from just over a small hillock, built up by a tremendous snowdrift, then settled down to a meal of his own, consisting of some strips of dried rabbit.
The snow stopped falling sometime before noon, and the afternoon opened up clear and bright, making Marakion's stalking much more difficult, but not impossible. He smiled. It wouldn't be long now.
While tearing at the rough meat with his teeth, Marakion studied the youngling with interest. The boy was not very large; Marakion guessed him at about eleven or twelve years old. He looked innocent enough, sitting there, chomping on his lunch, not much like a sneak-thief. But, no, he was one of them — a messenger, maybe, or a pickpocket. He had to be.
Marakion's teeth fought the dried meat for another bite. He gauged the size of the mountain. It was not the biggest he'd seen, but impressive in its own right.
Marakion turned his attention back to the boy. He wasn't going anywhere for the moment. Obviously he'd settled down for a long rest. Marakion set his excellent hearing to guard and hunkered down comfortably.
Relaxing, he slipped into a light drowse, waiting for the boy to make the next move. He was startled back to wakefulness. His ears caught a crunching sound from up the mountain. Rolling to his feet, he peered over the drift.
The boy had heard the sound, too. He scrambled upright. The bramble-breaking noise grew louder. Marakion tensed his body, relaxed his mind, letting it disappear, allowing the energy to flow. This was it. This must be some rendezvous point. The entire band, maybe! He was ready.
But the boy did not run into the trees to welcome a gang of murderers. He did not call a greeting to comrades. Instead, he let out a fearful yell and, stumbling over himself, began running down the hill. Marakion stared curiously into the trees to see what was following.
A huge ogre burst from the foliage. Sallow and crustyskinned, the ogre charged forward with long, quick strides. Wet brambles and a few straggling pine needles showered off the creature as it ran, sending snow flying in a blinding flurry.
Marakion cursed as he watched the ogre closing on the boy. The damned ogre was ruining everything! Scaring off Marakion's guide, the ogre might kill the boy before Marakion could question him!
Gylar's heart beat against his rib cage like a woodpecker. The snow impeded every step of his short legs, while the ogre's strides cleared the terrain as though it were midsummer ground. It was just a matter of time. Gylar gulped for air as he struggled onward. His mind had gone numb, and all he could think of was escape. He'd heard stories about what ogres did to children…
Just at the height of his despair, when the ogre loomed over him, casting a nightlike shadow that engulfed Gylar, the strap of his pack slipped off his shoulder.
If Gylar had been thinking straight, he'd have abandoned his pack and kept going, but he reflexively hung onto it as it scraped the snow. Too late, he realized his error. The momentum of his flight sent him sprawling, then tumbling down the hill. He careened into a snowbank in a fluff of white.
The massive arm of the ogre plunged into the snow, groped around, then plucked out a struggling Gylar. The ogre's craggy mouth split like a crack in a tree's bark, revealing a fairly complete row of sharp teeth as dingy yellow as the ogre's mottled skin.
Twenty feet away, Marakion leaned against a tree, listening. A shimmer ran the length of Glint.
The ogre chuckled at the boy as it began to walk home. "Glad came," the ogre said, with a thick, grating accent. "Hungry, me. We eat, I and you." The ogre chuckled again, sounded like someone scraping rough rocks together. "Take home you to me. Dinner, we have — "
"Not today." Marakion said clearly in the frosty air as the two walked past the tree he stood behind. The ogre took one look at Marakion and dropped the boy into the snow with a snarl.
But Marakion was on the ogre before it could even raise its arms in defense. Marakion kicked out, struck the ogre in the knee, swung the Hat end of Glint into the side of the ogre's head.
The creature went down in a tumble of arms and snow. Marakion stood ready as the ogre surged onto its feet. It was calm, imposing.
"Leave, friend. The boy is under my protection. If you have any wits at all, you'll seek food elsewhere. Surely catching a deer could not be as much trouble as this little one will cost you."
The ogre growled, flexing its muscles under its rough yellow skin, but it did not take a step forward. It was accustomed to fearful enemies, not one facing it with confidence. The ogre showed its teeth viciously. "Hungry. Food mine. You leave."
"Not on your life." Marakion smiled, his stance immobile. It felt good to fight, for whatever reason. The despair, the frustration, the hopelessness — all disappeared when Marakion went into combat. "You leave, or we fight. If you insist, I must say I'm really in the mood for the battle. Is it worth it?"
The ogre stood swaying back and forth, wondering, perhaps, what it was that made this human brave enough to challenge it. It showed its teeth again. "Hungry!" it growled, clenching and unclenching its clawed fists anxiously.
Marakion's eyes narrowed. "Times are hard for all of us, friend. Everyone's got — "
Marakion didn't have time to finish his sentence. The ogre — a madness in its eyes, daws extended — charged the knight.