Abruptly he spun on his heel, stalked out of the palace, and crossed the promenade to the edge of the atrium. It pleased him to see that the battle was progressing well. The humans were being pushed back everywhere. He should be happy, but he was not. Instead, he was confused.
Absently he started along the promenade, walking, not paying attention to where he was going.
He needed to think. Think!
Stariz made her way back to the throne room, satisfied that the ogres were determined to win for their god and their king-or at least, their queen. Her thoughts, when they turned to her husband, were furious. He was a weakling! He lacked the resolve necessary to destroy his enemies, and thus, unless she continued to protect him, it was inevitable that his enemies would destroy him. For the first time, she no longer felt willing to coddle him.
The Axe of Gonnas was a good weight, a touch of familiar power, in her hands. In the haft of that weapon she felt a sense of immortal violation at having been handled by humans, but at least the weapon had come back to her. She deserved it, for she was the true source of ogre power in the Icereach. The axe was the most potent symbol of that might, and it pleased her to know that it was once again in the hands of its rightful owner.
The guards pulled open the door to the throne room, and she stalked inside, having made up her mind. She took long strides toward the center of the great hall. The two humans were still chained, and they sat motionless while a dozen ogre guards stood around, keeping careful watch on the prisoners. Her foolish husband was nowhere to be seen.
Stariz raised the Axe of Gonnas, twisted the handle, and relished the power that surged forth, flamed forth from that golden blade.
“Hear me, faithful subjects of Gonnas! See the vengeance of your immortal lord! Bear witness to the fate of those who would stand in his path!”
She spun on her heel, enjoying the look of consternation on the two humans’ faces as she stalked back and forth before them, chanting her prayers. A bat fluttered through the air, flying away from the man and out the palace doors. She ignored the creature but glared at the human woman who watched the bat, not her, with a strangely thoughtful expression. The man’s eyes glowed with malice. She relished that spark of hatred, of pride and resistance, for she knew that she could crush that light, extinguish it forever.
All her hatred, her revulsion at the blasphemy, her fury at the treachery of the slaves, welled within the queen as she raised the sacred weapon. This human woman represented weakness and evil, just as surely as had Thraid Dimmarkull. Stariz had dealt with the Lady Thraid. Now she would do the same with this pathetic human.
“You humans!” she cried. “Behold the vengeance of Gonnas!”
She turned, gestured to the sergeant in charge of the palace guard detail. He hastened forward, dropping to one knee so that he could bow his head.
“Take the prisoners to the temple!” ordered Stariz ber Bane.
“My queen!” objected the guard, looking upward with wide eyes. “The king commanded us to remain-”
“Do you see the king here now?” growled the high priestess, her voice rumbling with menace.
“N-no,” replied the ogre hesitantly.
“Then if you know what is good for you, you will bring these two prisoners to the temple of Gonnas so that the Willful One may observe their fate and slake himself upon their blood!”
“The gates are opening!” cried Black Mike, who had been pacing back and forth before the upper barricades. “Stand ready, me mates!” The rebel leader raised his sword and strode up to the gap, other humans pressing behind.
Kerrick looked up to see that indeed the heavy portals that had blocked their advance upward from the Terrace Level were rumbling apart. Before he could call the slaves to rally to the attack, however, the growing gap was filled by a sight that filled him with dismay.
“Behold the Talisman of Gonnas!” crowed Stariz ber Bane.
The golden axe blazed in all of its fiery glory as she advanced, waving it over her head. She brought the weapon down in a sweeping slash, driving the shining head through the rebel leader’s skull. Black Mike fell dead, and the nearby humans recoiled with a gasp.
A throng of ogre warriors behind the ogre queen cheered lustily, and as soon as the gap was wide enough they began to press through, stabbing with spears and chopping with their great halberds. Some of the slaves turned and ran. Those few bold humans who tried to stand were quickly cut down, bodies scattered haphazardly as the gates pushed open still wider.
More and more of the brutish attackers crowded into the gap, quickly shoving forward, starting down the ramp, driving the panicking humans before them. A brave woman ran forward, screaming in hatred. She stabbed with a spear, but the weapon was brushed aside by a looming grenadier. That ogre smashed her skull, using the hilt of his sword in an almost casual backhand blow, and she fell like limp doll, her head bouncing roughly off the floor.
Kerrick tried to hold his own ground against the attackers. He chopped at an ogre, forcing the creature back, leaving a gory cut in its face. Beside him, Barq One-Tooth wielded his axe with savagery, while Moreen shouted and cajoled in an attempt to bring more humans into a massed line.
The ogre attack was too forceful. Several more men fell, badly wounded or slain, leaving Barq and the elf alone on the wide ramp. Knowing they would be surrounded in a second, the two fighters had no choice but to fall back. Still they fought hard as they retreated, made the ogres pay for each footstep of ground. Stabbing and chopping in unison, the two warriors forced the enemy to at least measure the speed of their advance.
Nevertheless, the slaves were for the most part milling about in growing panic on the broad avenue next to the atrium, and the ogres pouring through the now wide-open gates waded into them with glee and savagery. The melee roiled across the road, fighters of both sides mingling in hand-to-hand combat. Here and there a formation of slaves made a bold stand, keeping the attacking guards from sweeping across the entire Terrace Level, but in most places they broke and ran. Some fled down the ramps toward the lower levels of the city, others ran through the streets and alleys of the city, seeking shelter from the imminent onslaught.
Kerrick looked for the ogre queen, hoping for a chance to surprise her with an attack. Perhaps he might even regain the axe. Unfortunately, she had not followed the attackers through the gate. She seemed content to urge them on, from the safety of the rear. He saw the gleaming fire of that axe and heard her shrill commands, but he could only curse in frustration.
“It’s like Tildy said. More ogres are coming from below,” Moreen reported after a quick glance over the rim of the atrium.
The elf shook his head angrily, and it was only then that he noticed the bat fluttering past his scarred ear.
Slyce huddled miserably against the wall of the Moongarden corridor. The ogres had charged past and were doing their best to kill all the humans who had brought the gully dwarf to this interesting place. He saw Mouse and Feathertail, humans who had been nice to him, fighting against much bigger ogres. Slyce even tried to help, lunging forward, trying to stab with his big knife, but he tripped and fell, the knife went flying, and the battle quickly swirled past him as the humans were forced to retreat. Now it seemed as if they would be driven all the way back to the Moongarden.
He hid behind the body of a dead ogre, crouching in the space between the corpse and the wall, watching wide-eyed as the melee moved down the corridor, farther and farther away. Finally he was left in silence except for the groaning of a few badly wounded ogres and men.