The first of the pair threw his spear. The small missile glanced off the upper edge of the beast’s great neck and fell away. He scrambled after the spear as the second tossed.
The second’s spear sank deep enough to catch in the scaled hide. Both the spear thrower and another nearby warrior immediately grabbed hold of the rope and tugged.
But as they did, the burrower’s head darted down. Before the pair could pull it away, it caught the head and arm of the ogre chasing after the fallen spear.
Compared to a meredrake’s tough body, the ogre’s was very soft and so easy to bite through.
The bloody bits that were left afterwards twitched madly before thunking to the ground. The burrower instinctively swallowed the ogre’s head and arm, its digestive system more than able to handle the bones.
But its instincts were working against it, for that move bought time for the ogres to gather nearer and bring forward more warriors with short spears. Two hurled their weapons from the opposite side. Both spears struck home. A pair of warriors grabbed each attached rope and pulled.
One spear that had barely penetrated popped out, taking a chunk of scale with it. The two ogres pulling on the line stumbled and fell, but, fortunately for them, the huge reptile was far too occupied to dip down and snack on their bodies. Another warrior threw a spear, followed by two more.
With five hooked spears sticking into the body of the monster, the ogres were able to drag its head closer to the ground. The burrower croaked its fury, and its paws scratched as wildly at the ground as those of its own victim, the meredrake, minutes earlier.
“Ku ji f’han di ihagheed-araki ko!” roared an older hunter with a balding pate and pronounced belly.
Additional ogres advanced upon the burrower with long spears. Behind them followed ogres with axes and clubs.
But the burrower was not yet defeated. Suddenly, its body whipped back and forth in a frenzy. The rapid movements caught some ogres by surprise. Those clutching two of the ropes lost their grip, and a third rope was held desperately by only one ogre. An ogre approaching with a spear was whacked by the beast’s tail and, despite it being only a yard long, its thickness and the speed with which it struck was enough to shatter the warrior’s rib cage.
Other ogres rushed to seize the ropes. Another with one of the short spears tossed his weapon. As soon as the point of the spear penetrated, that rope was seized too.
With six ropes embedded, the ogres managed to keep the reptile more at bay. They pulled its head closer and closer to the ground, though its snapping jaws prevented anyone getting near.
The burrower continued to writhe in an attempt to free itself while other ogres moved in with long spears. Wherever they found an open spot on the sinewy body, they thrust hard.
The monster’s roars became gasps. Its body grew sluggish.
A warrior with an axe came up next to its head-The elder ogre grunted a warning, but it was too late. With a sudden twist, the burrower’s head came around and bit through one leg and the torso of the axe-bearing ogre. The stricken warrior managed a brief cry of defeat before dying.
No longer interested in food, the trapped beast flung the bloody refuse away, the gory body parts pelting the attackers.
More spears were thrust into its body. The burrower let out one more croak, and the great head dropped with a thud.
Still wary after the beast’s last trick, the hunters added a few more spears before they began hacking away at its limbs and tail. When their quarry did not even twitch, the elder ogre finally pointed to a pair of warriors with axes. They rushed up on each side of the creature, behind its huge head.
The leader pointed at the dead burrower’s head. Raising their weapons, the pair hurled themselves at the spot where the skull met the neck. With great gusto, the ogres chopped away at scale, flesh, and bone.
Only when they had the head utterly severed did the hunters shout “Iskar’ai! Iskar’ai!”
Iskar’ai-victory-often meant merely surviving in the wilds. The huge burrower-called hageed-araki by the ogres and the “volewyrm” by the few outsiders who had survived the experience of witnessing one-had hunted and devoured more than half a dozen of the local citizens in the past two weeks. Using the same technique designed to capture meredrakes-the only difference being that they staked out goats or amaloks to lure the smaller predator-the ogres had triumphed.
But as the elder ogre shared in the victory celebration, a figure in glinting armor caught his attention. While the rest dove in to strip the hageed-araki of its meat and other useful parts-nothing was ever wasted in the wilds-their leader turned to the silent figure and raised his weapon in salute.
The figure, a human in Solamnic armor, saluted back with his dusty sword. The glint masked dents, dirt, and scratches all over the armor of the human. Yet, through all that, the symbol of the Order of the Sword shone clear.
The knight wore a full beard, the areas around the jaw thicker than the mustache, which had only begun growing in the past few months. The dark-haired Solamnian sheathed his weapon and turned to go. His time with Hogran and his people was over. They had done well for him as he had worked to understand his new path. Fortunately, his patron had made it clear to Hogran’s clan from the start that he was a human who was a friend, not an enemy. Although he had not been permitted to be a part of the hunt-Hogran insisting that the kill must be made by ogres-the knight had contributed his share by suggesting the capturing of a meredrake for bait. The Solamnian had even stood by, ready to help if needed. But even with so many terrible deaths, Hogran had not signaled his participation.
Besides, the knight’s patron had other designs for him, which required him to leave immediately.
As he walked, seemingly indifferent to both his harsh surroundings and the fact that he carried no supplies, no water, no map, Sir Stefan Rennert took heart in what dangled on his chest. He gently pulled free a leather cord hanging around his neck, drawing forth a medallion that was identical to one that he had received from the hands of his friends and comrades, Willum and Hector.
Received from their dead hands in the midst of a monstrous attack by undead on the ogre capital.
Stefan turned the triangular medallion around to study it. Its metal was steel; two long, arching horns in brass were etched in the center. His patron had given it to him. The first such pendant had been given to another who also needed guidance.
He did not recall anything of his journey so far south from Garantha. The last thing that Stefan remembered was the ground erupting and the skeletal dead streaming everywhere. Somewhere along the way, he had lost track of the elf maiden, Idaria, who had been at his side. There had been a shower of stone, he thought, and more than one had hit him on his helmeted head.
After that, the Solamnian-minus his helmet-had awoken in a different region. Stumbling to his feet, he had walked directly into the path of Hogran and his tribe. The ogres had reacted most oddly for their kind; instead of attacking, they had raised their weapons in salute. Hogran had handed the human a water sack and let him take up a place beside him on the nomads’ march to their seasonal encampment.
The ogres had helped Stefan recover. Already adept at some elements of their tongue, he managed to communicate with them enough to see to his needs. But at first, they didn’t explain their hospitality.
The answer came to him barely a week after his arrival in their midst. Too weak to depart, but too frustrated to let his recuperation take the time it needed, Stefan tried his best to get Hogran to explain why the Solamnian appeared to be expected and thus was welcomed by the leader and his tribe. The elder ogre led him into the nearby wilderness. There, Hogran chose a place where the stars were brightest and sat down with legs folded. He indicated that Stefan should do the same.