Wander West, in Shadow

The moment Martimeos had heard the drums, he had sent Flit flying.

He watched as his familiar struggled to climb against the bitter mountain winds, a small red dot against the pale sky. But the cardinal had not risen far before diving back down, alighting on Martim's shoulder, shaking his feathers and muttering about poor flying weather. Three of the ugliest men he had ever seen, he said, came down the path they walked, headed straight for them.

The steady beat of drums only grew louder; the beat was fast, and distinctly aggressive.

Martimeos let out a groan. He had hoped not to meet the ogres so quickly and so improptu; he had wanted time to observe them and figure out a way to approach them peacefully, so they might talk. He glanced around quickly. They were stretched out along a narrow, rocky path, leading upward; brittle, dead hardscrabble clung to gray stone that pressed in around them, tight enough that Mors was almost unable to squeeze through.

"We might hide, especially with the help of glamour," Elyse muttered, gesturing to the boulders that surrounded them as if reading his thoughts. "But Mors would never be able to."

Martimeos frowned as he turned, and saw that Aela had drawn her bow. "We do not want to fight them," he told the Crosscraw woman. "If this can be a peaceful meeting, then it should be."

"GET BEHIND ME," Mors snapped. The gigantic black bear stared up the path, squaring himself as the drums grew louder. "THE OGRES KNOW AND FEAR ME. LET ME HAVE WORDS WITH THEM, AND THEY WILL HEED ME."

It was not just drums now. They could hear footsteps kicking loose rocks; even the low murmur of strange, croaking voices babbling back and forth to each other beneath the drums. With nothing else to do, the humans squeezed through the path to let Mors take the lead, and no sooner had they done so than three men rounded a bend in the path up ahead, emerging from behind a shelf of gray stone.

They were enormously tall; the smallest must have been at least ten feet in height, with stooped backs that curled over large pot bellies. Gangly, too-long arms that were nevertheless thick with hard muscle ended in wide, shovel-like hands. Their skin was pale and dirty, tinged yellow, reminding Martimeos of nothing more than a grub squirming beneath a rock. They wore furs and hides much like the Crosscraw, though stitched together much more crudely.

But the most peculiar thing about them were their heads. Each of them was bald, only thin strands of wispy hair gracing their heads, and while their faces were grotesque - squashed, flat noses and wide, jutting mouths full of teeth that seemed too large - each of the ogres had a dark seam running straight down the center of their foreheads to the bridge of their nose, as if their skulls had been split in two, right down the middle. Small, beady eyes that seemed set too low in their faces stared, flat and blinking, with only a dim spark behind them.

Two of the ogres carried enormous drums that looked to be made from hollowed-out trees, stretched across with dirty animal hide, strapped to their chests with rope woven from old vines. The third ogre, who led the small band, carried a crudely carved wooden club, nearly as tall as a man, embedded with sharp stones, and stained with what was unmistakably dried blood. Upon seeing Mors, the two drummers stopped their beat, surprised. They looked to the third, who stepped forth and slammed the head of his club into the ground.

"Urakato," he said, in a voice that seemed like a strangled, choking yell. "For why you in our lands, Stonetooth? We am not your prey." He cast his small eyes over the humans that stood by the bear, and his smile grew wider, full of yellow and brown teeth. "Do you bring us meat for peace?"

Mors gave a derisive snort, his paws clawing long furrows into the ground before him. "WHATEVER I PLEASE IS MY PREY, SHOULD I WISH IT," he growled, his lips peeling back to reveal his sword-sized fangs. The two drumming ogres eyed these nervously, but their leader did not seem perturbed. "I BRING THESE MANLINGS TO PARLAY. WE WILL HAVE PEACE, OR I WILL EAT YOUR HEART."

Martimeos cursed under his breath, while by his side Elyse snickered quietly. He glared at the witch; it seem she and the bear shared the same idea of diplomacy.

The ogre leader laughed, a booming, coughing sound. "Mighty Stonetooth," he said when he was finished, his tone mocking. "You nothing but Foxhair's slave. I fear you no. Bone-brothers will kill you once they done with Foxhairs. They eat your heart in the end."

"Bone-brothers...?" Elyse said quietly. But she did not have the time to speak more.

Mors roared, causing the ogres to take a step backward; his growl now was much more feral-sounding than usual. "YOU," the gigantic black bear said, as he moved forward and his muscles tensed, "HAVE THE OPPORUTNITY TO APOLOGIZE, BEFORE I TEACH YOU THE PROPER RESPECT."

The ogre leader glanced back at his drum-carrying comrades, who were busily inching away from him. Fear sparked in those small, dim eyes of his; he lifted his club and leaned it back against his shoulder. He licked his lips nervously with a gray, flat tongue. "I...fear you no," he repeated, far less certain than before.

Without another word, Mors charged.

"No!" Martimeos cried, as the bear moved forward faster and more nimbly than he would have thought possible for something of that size. He cursed under his breath. So much for keeping their meeting peaceful.

For it was too late. Like a rolling black boulder, Mors slammed into the ogre leader, and before he could bring his club up in defense, the bear's jaws sank into his arm. There was the distinct sound of cracking bone as those massive teeth sank into the ogre's flesh. The creature screamed as Mors' claws sank into his chest, blood already beginning to bubble from his mouth, but it was cut short. With one swift movement, Mors released his arm, and sank his teeth into the ogre's neck instead. There was a sickening crunch. Mors twisted his head, shaking the ogre like a ragdoll, slamming him against the boulders that lined the path. It wasn't necessary. He was almost certainly already dead.

It had all been over in moments. but it was long enough for the two drummer ogres to turn and begin to flee in terror. That would not do. Aela had nocked an arrow to her bow and drawn it back, grimly taking aim at one of the fleeing ogres, but before she could fire, Martimeos reached out with the Art, to touch the ground of the path beneath the ogre's feet. The earth there was frozen, and hard; more difficult to make move than it might otherwise be.

But Martim's Art made it hum. It bubbled and churned , and one of the drummer ogres tripped with a shout as his feet sank into what was once solid dirt, but was now a slurry of snow and earth. The other ogre made it another three steps, before it shrieked in fear; its own shadow had risen up before it in a twisted silhouette of itself, clawed and horned. Martimeos glanced towards Elyse, who was wearing a mischievous smile with her hand outstretched. He took the opportunity to move the earth beneath that ogre's feet, as well. and it tumbled over backward, onto its companion, landing with a thud that shook the earth and a pained groan.

"Hold!" Martimeos cried, rushing forward, as the ogres struggled to regain themselves. Though he slowed as he neared them, and kept a good enough distance; one of those things could crush him to death with their bare hands. "Hold! There need be no more bloodshed. We do not wish to kill you. Only to talk."

He stepped back, hand going to his blade, as one of the ogres rose to its knees. There was a wild fear in its small eyes, and it did not seem as if it had listened to a word he had said. It reached out towards him with a hand that could have easily wrapped around his chest.

But it froze when a roar rang out, echoing off the boulders of the rocky path. Mors raised his snout, dripping with blood, to glare at the two remaining ogres with his one orange eye blazing like a wildfire. "DO NOT MOVE," he snarled at them, standing over the bloody corpse of thier leader. He breathed heavily; guttural growls interrupted his speech, and he trembled as if to contain himself from further bloodiness. He sniffed at the corpse beneath him, lapping at the blood that spilled from it, and then raised his head again, the dead half of his face a wicked, leering grin. "IF YOU LIFT ONE FINGER IN VIOLENCE TOWARDS THESE MANLINGS, I'LL TASTE YOUR BLOOD AS WELL."

The ogre blinked, and then sullenly drew back, sitting on its hands. "I hear you, Stonetooth," it said, eyeing the remains of its companion. "Urakato."

"GOOD," Mors replied. "NOW, LEAVE ME TO MY MEAL."

Martimeos tried to ignore the gruesome sounds as Mors settled in and began devouring the dead ogre; the cracking of bone and the tearing of flesh. Elyse joined him at his side, holding her crossbow, loaded and aimed at the ogres; Aela too, with her bow nocked and drawn as well. Kells dragged along a shocked-looking Torc, the soldier holding a mace in one hand as he stared wide-eyed at the ogres.

The creatures did stink; they reeked of offal and rotting meat. Their strange, split skulls were unsettling to look at, and their eyes far too small; Martimeos found himself staring more into the creature's mouth as he spoke. Those large, yellowed, grisly teeth, the spaces between them packed with the remnants of Fortune only knew what. He did not know how to begin. One of the ogres was looking glumly at his drum; it had broken when he fell, and for a moment, Martim felt absurdly sorry for the foul creature. "I...apologize, for your friend," he said, awkwardly.

The ogres looked over his shoulder, to where Mors feasted on their leader. "He was...." the smaller of the two began, pausing, as if thinking of the right word. "Fool. Now he meat." The ogre shrugged, as if this was simply the way of the world. "Always fear Stonetooth." He blinked, looking at Flit, perched on Martim's shoulder. "Your bird....?"

"Wizard," the other ogre muttered darkly. He pointed to Elyse, who stood with Cecil curling around her legs. "Look. She witch, too." The smaller ogre's eyes widened in surprise, and it gave a gurgling moan of fear.

"That's right," Martim replied. "I am Martimeos, and a wizard. But I do not plan to use the Art on you, unless necessary." He bid the others to stow their weapons, and held up his hands as a sign of peace. "No one else needs to become...meat, today." He winced as a particularly loud crack of bone rang out, as Mors enjoyed his meal.

The larger ogre nodded, and pounded his chest. "I Sooreemah," he replied, and then made an odd motion, biting at one leathery thumb. "I hear you. No Art. No more blood. Peace." He gave an unsettling grin, his wide mouth stretching until it seemed to take up most of his face. "For now." He motioned to his companion, who was staring with wonder at Aela. "He Reekort." And then he gestured towards Mors and his messy meal. "He Kortonsoo. Was."

"Es there a reason he's starin' at me so?" Aela snapped, shivering and stepping back from the ogres. "Ah'm nae one fer yer cookpot."

"I no ever see Foxhair," Reekort replied. He glanced towards Torc, as well, frowning in puzzlement at the the man's missing arm and hand. He contorted his face into something that might generously be called a smile. "I thought you all dead already."

Aela looked disturbed by this. She paled, tugging anxiously at the locks of her long hair. "Et ent been that long that we been goan from these lands."

"He young," Sooreemah explained, waving one wide, flat hand idly at his companion. "He only have three winters."

"Three-are you saying that he's only three years old?" Martimeos asked, astonished, looking to Reekort. The ogre might have been smaller than his companion, but he still towered over the tallest man; taller even than the largest bogge-men.

Torc spat on the ground in response to this; he shifted against his bonds, blowing a patchy string of hair out of his face as he looked at the ogres. "Ogres grow fast," he said darkly. "The ones who live, anyway. Et's what made 'em such a pain tae fight."

Martimeos gave the Crosscraw man a cold, hard stare, until Torc rocked on his heels uncomfortably and fell silent. Turning back to the ogres, he considered his next words carefully. He remembered the reverent image of the Bogge-King they had found on the ogre's stones last night. "We have come to...ask you what you know of the bogge-men," he said finally.

The two ogres exchanged a look with each other. It was impossible to tell what they were thinking; their eyes seemed to hold no expression whatsoever. Their mouths twisted and contorted in strange ways, though. Martimeos had time to wonder if they were somehow communicating to each other with odd grins when the larger one, Sooreemah, turned back to him. "Bone-brothers," the ogre said, his tone hushed. "For why you want to know of them?"

"The witch and I," Martimeos said, gesturing towards Elyse, "Are scholars of a sort." At the ogre's blank stares, he clarified, "We are curious about strange things. We had heard of the bogge-men and wanted to learn more about them. We had heard the ogres of this land might know more of them than the Crosscraw."

Reekort still looked confused, furrowing his brow in a way that played disconcertingly with the seam going down the center of his forehead, but Sooreemah nodded. "You not first, to come for that," he said. "I remember, when I young. Others come. A wizard, too. Wanted to know of bone-brothers and other things."

Martimeos frowned, tugging at his scarf. Another wizard? Could it have been his brother? But it sounded as if whoever it was had come years after the bogge-men had already arrived. "What did the wizard look like?" he asked.

"Scary. Hide his face behind mask. Big hat." Sooreemah lifted his hands to his head, circling them around, as if making the shape of a wide brim. "Dress all black, like bone-brothers, too. His men the same, all black. He make shadows come alive, kill us, when we try to fight." He shook his head. "Fighting wizards, bad idea. Not see him again after he leave."

Martimeos shook his head. Whoever that was, it did not sound like his brother. At least going by the clothing; his brother had always preferred to dress in bright colors. He supposed it was not impossible that another wizard might have come by in honest curiousity about the bogge-men, if he had somehow heard of them. "Have you heard of any other wizards that have come through your lands...?"

"No." Sooreemah shook his head, then shrugged, as if apologizing, and scratched at the seam in his skull in a way made Elyse gag. "I only have five winters, though."

Elyse managed to choke back her disgust; the witch folded her arms and looked the ogres up and down, the way one might look at a bug too unsavory to squash. "The bogge-men. Why do you call them your bone-brothers?"

"They come up from belly of the Earth." Sooreemah patted the ground, giving a disturbingly wide smile. "From Stone-Mother. Like we did, long, long ago."

"Stone-Mother," Martimeos said, dubiously. He glanced around, looking at the Crosscraw, but Aela and Torc merely looked back at him with blank stares. "Do you speak with them...? Did they tell you this?"

"No!" Reekort gasped, aghast, as if the very thought of this was disturbing. "You never speak with bone-brothers! You stay far away!"

"Bone-brothers mad," Sooreemah explained, more calmly than his wide-eyed companion. "They kill us if we come too close. But they leave us alone if not." The ogre's eyes drifted towards Aela and Torc; he regarded the Crosscraw with some twisted version of sympathy. "Stone-Mother sent them up from far below to punish Foxhairs for killing ogres. It sad. Foxhairs tasty, and very pretty. But it need to be done."

Aela made a sound of deep disgust. "Why are ye tellin' me Ah'm tasty like it's some sort o' compliment?"

Sooreemah blinked, confused. His frown was even more unsettling than his grin; it seemed as if it might carve his chin clean off. "It is."

"And what of the Bogge-King?" Martimeos asked, as Aela gawped, flabbergasted. "The leader of the bone-brothers. We had heard that the ogres knew of him when first he stepped foot here."

Both the ogres grew very quiet. It was odd, to watch such giant, brutal things seem ill-at-ease. "The Mad Father," Sooreemah said finally, "Old ones say, he one of Stone-Mother's husbands. Bone-brothers are his children. Stone-Mother's blood made them strong. His blood made them mad."

Stone-Mother, again and again, Martimeos thought. He wondered whether it was just a story the ogres told themselves. They clearly did not know much of the true nature of the bogge-men. Or, perhaps, whatever this Stone-Mother was had been what had changed Hadley into the Bogge-King. "I had heard you knew where the...the Mad Father, came up from the earth," he pressed. "Could the two of you show us that place? Do you know what lies in there?"

Reekort looked a little ill; or at least, more ill than he looked normally, with his pale and yellowed skin. Sooreemah fidgeted, but eventually mumbled, "I know this place. Big cave. Not far. Goes deep into earth. Into Stone-Mother's lands. We show you, but we block it off long ago. Mad Father kept coming through it. Kill us before he go to kill Foxhairs."

Martimeos cursed beneath his breath. Poor fortune that it had been blocked off. Though, if the Bogge-King used it to travel, he did not know how much use it would have been anyway. He did not want to face Hadley, not yet; he wanted to learn about him, after all."Your...Stone-Mother," he muttered, tugging his black-furred cloak tighter around him as the wind howled. "Is she here...? Could we speak to her?"

"Stone-Mother everywhere," Sooreemah replied, his tone condescending, as if Martim was a fool for not realizing this. "Old ones talk to her. Not us. Ask them."

Martimeos stared at the two ogres for a long moment, his arms crossed, tapping his boot on the ground. Then he cursed and left them, pacing away, his cloak flapping in the wind behind him as he went.

He stalked across the path to Mors, who lay, sated now, his snout ginged with blood, beside the half-eaten corpse of the ogre. "Damn you, Mors," he snapped. "This is why I wanted this to be peaceful. We need to talk to the other ogres; we can't very well walk into their home having slain one of their own now, can we...?" He paused, then shook his head and spat. "We will have to kill these two," he said quietly, "To prevent the others from finding out."

"Must we....?" Martimeos turned around; the others had followed him, and now stood in a circle around Mors. The two ogres sat further up the path, out of earshot; blissfully unaware that their lives were being discussed. It was Aela who spoke; the Crosscraw woman frowned as she glanced back at the ogres, biting her lip. "Aye, they're foul, but...et doesnae seem right tae jest kill 'em when they hae done naught but tell us what we want tae know."

"Wouldn't they kill you, given the chance? And then eat you?" Elyse asked, giving the Crosscraw woman a frank look.

"Aye...but..." Aela furrowed her brow, frowning crookedly. "Et jest doesnae seem right," she repeated. "Tae kill somethin' ye had a conversation wit'."

"I don't know that killing them is the best choice anyway," Kells said quietly, catching Martim's eye. "Who knows how long we would need to talk to the other ogres. They are bound to notice they are missing eventually. Three dead is harder to explain than one."

But Mors just laughed at all this, a slow, rumbling chuckle. "IT IS FUNNY TO ME, WIZARD," he said, when Martim had turned to face him, "HOW YOUR DESIRE FOR PEACE LEADS YOU TO MURDER. YOU WORRY FOR NAUGHT. THE OGRES ARE NOT LIKE YOU MANLINGS. BEFORE THE BOGGE-MEN CAME, I HUNTED THEM FOR SPORT, AND STILL THEY LET ME INTO THEIR CAMPS IF I DESIRED. THEY KILL THEIR OWN WITH LITTLE THOUGHT ON THE MATTER. IT IS STRENGTH THEY RESPECT. NOT KINDNESS."

Martimeos considered this, looking back at the two ogres. It was true, he supposed, that the two creatures did not seem all that disturbed by the death of their companion. Instead, as he watched, they eyed the corpse of their fallen comrade, licking their lips, wide mouths, sharing happy smiles with each other. They want some of it, he realized with disgust. Perhaps it truly would not matter to the other ogres if they had killed this one. "What about this...Stone-Mother, they speak of," he said, glancing towards Aela. "Have you heard of it?"

"Never," she replied. "But then again, Ah never knew much o' th' ogres. Ah stayed out o' their lands, and they stayed out o' ours."

Setting his jaw, Martimeos turned to Torc. "You may speak," he said curtly. "Tell me, have you ever heard of this?"

"Aye," Torc replied. The Crosscraw man avoided looking him in the eye, choosing instead to stare upward into the sky. "Ah hae. But not that Ah ken much about et. Some god th' ogres worship. Who knows ef et's even real." He hesitated, and then added, "Ef ye plan tae walk intae an ogre's camp, ye may be shocked at what ye see there. Ah hae seen 'em before. Et ent a pretty sight."

"That's enough," Martim snapped. "I did not ask for your opinion on where we might go. You might be surprised at how little would shock me. It is our safety I am concerned with."

"I HAVE HEARD THEM BABBLE ON ABOUT IT MYSELF, ONCE OR TWICE. BUT I CARE LITTLE FOR THE GODS OF MAN OR OGRE." Mors snorted, a blast of hot air from the bear's nose hitting them. "YOU HAVE ME FOR YOUR SAFETY, WIZARD. IT IS THE BEST YOU WILL GET."

"I think we might be safer than you think. Those two seemed suitably frightened of the Art." Elyse sounded pleased at this. Indeed, the witch wore a small, satisfied smile, as she idly plucked a tuft of Cecil's fur from her robes. "I think the ogres might fear us, as well as Mors."

That was true. Martimeos only wished that he might be more certain about what they might learn. The Stone-Mother sounded like some old ogre legend or god, not anything that might necessarily lead him to knowledge about the Bogge-King. But in the end, he supposed, there was little else they had to go on. With a sigh, he trudged his way back to the ogres.

Sooreemah and Reekort agreed readily enough when asked if they could be taken to speak to the "old ones"; they had no desire to cross a wizard, a witch, and 'Stonetooth' all at once. They only looked a little crestfallen when they asked whether they coudl take some time to carve some prize cuts from their fallen friend, and Martimeos refused. "No worry," Sooreemah said, in whatever passed as ogre 'comfort', to Reekort, laying a giant hand ont he smaller ogre's shoulder. "Cold keep him fresh. We come back later."

As they set off, following the giants, Martimeos glanced backwards one last time, to the corpse they left behind. Kortonssoo, as he had been called, lay on the side of the path, staring blankly up into the sky. His chest was nothing now but a wet, red hole. Mors had kept his word, Martim realized. The bear had eaten the ogre's heart.