Alone, the last ogre threw down his axe. The farmers, thinking he meant to give up, lowered their guard.
“Look out!” Raika screamed.
Drawing a dagger the size of Carver’s sword, the last ogre took a great leap and landed on Khorr. Locked together, the giants toppled into the mud. Raika tried to rush in and stab the ogre in the back, but she was knocked down by a flying fist. The blow almost broke her jaw.
The dagger flashed once, twice, covered in blood as it rose. Khorr had lost his axe when the ogre tackled him. All he had left were his enormous hands. Despite his wounds, he got his foe in a headlock. Over and over they rolled, right to the center of Nowhere. At last Khorr got hold of the ogre’s great flapping ear and with a supreme heave wrung his enemy’s neck. It cracked like a flash of lightning. The ogre let out a final grunt, and his limbs went slack.
Raika was there. She and two farmers levered the ogre’s stinking carcass off Khorr.
“Hey, poet!” she cried, “don’t die yet!”
“Death is not the end,” the minotaur said faintly. “Every epic closes with an epitaph.”
His hand slowly opened. Into the mud fell his most prized possession, the ronto, the memory book Ezu had given to him.
Raika picked up the rain-spattered book. Howland, Robien, and the villagers from the redoubt came running up.
“In all my life I’ve never seen such a fight!” Howland exclaimed. “Did Khorr kill all the ogres single-handed?”
Raika looked up at Howland. She was glad of the rain coursing down her face.
“Yes. Yes, he did.” She knew it wasn’t true, but it would make a better story that way.
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
Rain fell harder, changing the dusty common into a bowl of mud. Both sides used the downpour as an excuse to draw apart. When Rakell’s hired ogres were repulsed, the bandits on the east side of Nowhere retreated hastily. Unsupported, the northern prong of the attack also withdrew without closing with the defenders.
If the bandits were hard-pressed, the defenders of Nowhere were bereft. Only a few adults escaped any injures, and these carried Khorr’s body back to the redoubt, struggling through the mud all the way. Wrapped in the best blankets the farmers had, Khorr was laid to rest in the trench he had so ably defended.
Atop the earthen wall, Howland looked out over the somber scene, sorely troubled. In a single engagement he’d lost half his remaining people. Brave Khorr was dead. Carver was still missing. They’d not been able to dig out the collapsed hut where he’d plunged through the roof fighting his bandit foe. Amergin had disappeared. During the fight with the ogres, Rakell’s men had cleared the field of their dead and wounded, horses included, and of the Kagonesti forester there was no sign. Dead or captured, he was lost to Howland either way.
Caeta came to him with a steaming bowl of broth. She draped a hairy cowhide cape over his shoulders to keep the rain off.
“What word?” she said.
“A few riders passing between camps. That’s all.” Howland sipped the broth. It was chicken, hot and salty.
“Why don’t they give up? Haven’t we cost them far more than the worth of one little village?”
Howland pulled the cape up closer to his neck. “That may be the problem,” he replied. “We’ve hurt them greatly. Now Rakell may be fighting for the sake of pride, not profit.”
She didn’t ask what he thought their chances were. Everyone knew there was no escape.
The rain persisted. Late in the afternoon a lookout cried out for Howland. He climbed the slippery slope of the redoubt and immediately beheld what had alarmed the farmer.
Walking uncertainly across the harvest-bared south plain came a lone figure, cloaked and cowled against the weather. There was nothing special about him, save that he was alone and on foot. He had no visible weapons, nor did he carry a flag of truce.
Howland called for Robien. The bounty hunter hastened to Howland’s side.
“Water’s getting deep inside,” the elf said, indicating the interior of the redoubt. Rainwater had collected to the point that the wounded and aged villagers had to abandon the redoubt for drier positions atop the earthen wall. A few even went back to their homes, saying it was better to die under their own roof than to cower in the mud.
“Never mind the water,” Howland said. “We have a visitor.”
Robien spotted the solitary figure. “Who can it be?”
“We’ll know soon. In the mean time, keep a sharp watch on other fronts. This may be a trick to draw our attention away from another spot.”
The loner on foot moved deliberately, but before long he was near the outer ring of huts. Howland, Raika, and Malek went to the same gap in the houses the bandits had broken down earlier. As soon as Howland entered the narrow lane, he saw the stranger had stopped. He stood outside the former barricade, unmoving, as rain streamed off his smoke-colored cowl.
Raika bared her blade. “Doesn’t feel right!”
Howland nodded but moved forward. Malek caught his arm and stopped him.
“Remember Khorr’s tale?” he said. “Don’t you become the dragon who loses his head!”
Howland certainly didn’t want to be assassinated, but someone had to meet the stranger. To mollify his companions, he turned back the flaps of his cowhide cape, leaving his hands free to take sword in hand.
They picked their way through the trampled fence, broken weapons, and smell of blood. Six yards from the newcomer, Howland halted. Malek and Raika stood on either hand, ready for signs of treachery.
“Who goes there?”
Gloved hands rose and pushed back the cowl.
“Ezu!”
“Right-right! It is I, friends! May this one enter?”
Howland and Raika stood aside, making way for their odd companion. Ezu glided past, saying, “I had to wait until someone came to greet me. This one didn’t want to be taken for a bandit!”
“How did you get here?” asked Raika.
“I walked.”
“Didn’t Rakell hold you or question you?” said Howland sharply.
“Oh, we had a few chats,” Ezu replied. “I must say, I prefer your company to his. Such a difficult man.”
Raika laughed harshly. “Difficult? It’s a miracle he didn’t separate your head from your shoulders!”
Ezu smiled. “He mentioned doing just that, but he could not harm me.”
Howland caught Raika’s eye. Could not harm?
“Laila-did you see Laila, my betrothed?” Malek asked desperately, clutching the traveler’s arm.
“The blind man’s daughter? I saw her. She is well.”
They returned to the muddy common. Seeing the sea of muck, Ezu sighed gustily. “This is too much rain,” he said to no one in particular.
“Why don’t you make it stop?” said Raika sarcastically.
The day-long downpour slackened then ceased.
Wide-eyed, Malek said, “What are you?”
Ezu unclasped the frog at his neck and let the heavy woolen cloak slide from his shoulders. “Who controls the rain?” he asked. “Not I. I’m just a traveler.”
Beams of sunshine slanted in low from the west. Ezu pointed to the nearest standing hut, saying, “I have been ordered to bring a private message to you, Sir Howland.”
Raika and Malek returned to the redoubt, while Howland and Ezu entered the small hut alone. There was nothing inside but lumps of dirt leftover from when the house had been filled. A few errant rays of late afternoon sun filtered through the dripping thatch.
Howland folded his arms across his chest. “Well?”
“I carry a message from Lord Rakell,” said Ezu. His costume seemed much the worse for wear, torn and spattered with mud. “He bade me tell you that you may leave the village with your people, and no one will harm you. How did he put it? ‘Tell the sergeant he’s acquitted himself well. He may take his honor and go.’ ”