Dagryg listened with very un-ogrelike restraint as the orc stammered through his story. He avoided even glancing toward Gywahier, knowing the frost giant's face would be alive with spiteful amusement and not wishing to give her the satisfaction.
"Galgar said, 'Rush em,'" the orc repeated for the third or fourth time, apparently believing his now-dead ogre commander's stupidity to be some kind of talisman against Dagryg's rage. The ogre noted with some small pleasure that his uncharacteristic reticence was beginning to fray the orc's nerves.
"So, twelve orcs and two ogres dead and nothin' to show fer it?" Dagryg asked.
"Well," the orc hedged, "I think we may a' killed tha big guy. He--"
"The big guy?!" Dagryg barked, slamming his meaty fist on the table. "That was the one you idjits was supposed ta not ta kill!" He snatched up a well-gnawed legbone from the table and hurled it at the cowering orc. Forgetting for a moment the cool front he'd been practicing for the frost giant, he followed up by overturning the table and screaming until the orc scrambled out of the room and away.
"Bad business," Gywahier said, when the ogre had finished raging. He turned and glared at her as she continued. "Letting humans use you to fight their battles for them," she said, her tone almost reproachful. "It's the quickest way to destroy all you've built."
"I am Vorbyx's heir!" the ogre growled at her. "The Red Woman said so! You think I should just let humans and elfs and whatnot steal all I got comin' to me?"
The giantess opened her mouth to reply, but stopped. She stared past Dagryg instead, raising an eyebrow. The ogre, following her stare, turned.
Daumar, the red-haired human ranger, watched them both from the doorway. "You'll get what's yours by rights," he said quietly. "As you were promised."
"Howzat?" Dagryg wondered, glancing at Gywahier and then back at Daumar.
"They have to come here," the ranger reminded him. "The tomb is here, after all."
"Maybe," the ogre countered. "Maybe. We dunno what's behind that stone, eh? What if this ain't the right place? What if they don't come here at all?"
"They'll come," Daumar assured him. He stepped away from the doorway and for the first time Dagryg could see that the ranger held a rope in one hand. As he walked toward the overturned table, the rope went taut for a moment, until a small figure stumbled in behind him.
The ogre looked at the weatherbeaten and despairing prisoner skeptically. "What's this?" he asked, leaning down to look at the gnome, whose light blonde goatee was stained with blood from a cracked lip.
Daumar pulled the gnome to a chair that was several sizes too big and sat him down on it. "This is a thief," he explained, opening the gnome's pack and taking out a shiny cup. "His name is Jafreggi, and the elf your people were unable to kill has been searching for him in every tavern from Melvaunt to Zhentil Keep." Holding the silver cup up to the light of a flickering torch, he smiled softly. "Looking for this."
"And they'll come here for it?" Dagryg asked slowly.
The ranger nodded, tossing the chalice to the ogre as if it was a worthless trinket. "They will," he affirmed. "In a few days, I'd imagine. And when they arrive and see that they cannot simply charge in and take what they want, they will have to negotiate." He nodded toward the cup. "We will give them that, in exchange for what the Rashemi carries and the key to the Tomb."
Dagryg grinned, but Gywahier stood up, carefully avoiding the roof beams, and stepped toward the human, eying him curiously.
"I wonder," she said, "How far Dag can trust you."
"Why's that?" the ranger asked, his tone amused.
"Because it's three days, here to Melvaunt," she said. "And you were here night before last." She shook her head. "How is that possible, hm?"
The ranger glanced over at his gnome prisoner, an uncharacteristic smile on his face. The gnome's eyes widened and he shrank into his chair with fear. When the ranger looked back at the giantess, she drew back in alarm, for his green eyes glowed with an unnatural light.
"I have my ways," he said, and for a moment he seemed framed by a pair of shadowy wings.
He turned back toward Dagryg. "The Red Woman will get what she wants," he assured the ogre, "She always gets what she wants." He walked toward the door. "And you will get what you were promised." He glanced at the giantess as he finished, "We never break a deal."
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(In the middle chamber of Vorbyx's Watchpost... )
Though Ohan's limbs ached with exhaustion, and his eyelids seemed gilded with lead, sleep would not come. He grunted and pressed his back to the unyielding stone floor in a last vain attempt to find comfort. Defeated, he sat up against the lichen-spattered wall and peered around the gloomy central chamber of Vorbyx's Watchtower. He heard the soft scrape of Oiloh's boots as the ranger patrolled the passages adjacent to the long, low cave, guarding against any return of the orcs who'd attacked them during the night. The dwarf dozed fitfully nearby, snoring softly. Syval, the priest of Selune, sat cross-legged and motionless, his eyes closed and brow smoothed in meditation. Ohan mouthed silent thanks to the serene elf, and to the goddess he served. Without Syval, he knew that the darkness that had crashed down upon him when the ogre's club struck would have been eternal. Ohan was alive and grateful, but his veins still thrummed with battlesong, and the restorative magic had left him fitful, restless.
What am I doing here, he thought. Chasing some treasure hoard like any other common sellsword? Since coming to the Moonsea, he'd lost sight of his true purpose. There was a great temptation to lose himself in the carefree life of an adventurer despite its dangers-- he still mourned Cobbybagget and missed Zimfondel's easy wit. But even these losses made it easy to forget what had happened back in Rashemen and accept the fact that his beloved Tashki was dead and that he was to blame. His heart ached when he recalled the sight of her blue eyes glimpsed in that shard of mirror the One-Eyed Witch had given him back in Rashemen. Was the old crone lying to him when she'd said Tashki's soul was still contained in that fragment? He supposed such a thing was possible--after all the Wychlaran were supreme in their mastery of elder sorcery. Still, the old witch had led him straight to that false priestess in Melvaunt -- could anything she told him be true?
"Seek out a servant of seven stars and plead for aid. They will release Tashki and send her soul back to us, back to her waiting body." the One-eyed Witch said. Perhaps she'd deceived him, but fate had led him to Zimfondel and to his friend Syval-- who truly was a servant of the Lady of Seven Stars. It was the barest glimmer of hope, but maybe Selune's order could help restore Tashki's soul to her body. He would help Syval retrieve this sacred chalice he sought, then petition his order for aid. If they could not help, then at least Ohan would have paid his debt to the goddess and her servant for saving his life. Then perhaps he would seek out this Red Lady and learn her secrets.
At the mouth of the cave, the sky had brightened from a deep black to a pale gray. Dawn was upon them, and they would need to get moving soon. A chill draft blew from the entrance, smelling of rain. It was going to be a long ride back to Melvaunt.
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