have enough leverage to sidestep. The jagged claws raked
his left side. He grabbed hold of the forearm and slammed
Glint’s pommel into the ogre’s left eye. A follow-up strike
cracked into the side of the bark-skinned head. The ogre
reeled backward, stunned. Marakion hit it again and again.
Snow exploded outward as the huge body fell heavily to
the ground. Jumping forward, Marakion hovered over the
ogre like a dark angel, clenching Glint tightly in his fist. His
breathing was hard and quick. He stared down at the ogre,
waiting for it to rise again, waiting for it to attack.
The ogre didn’t rise, though the eyes fluttered open.
Marakion raised his finely honed arm, preparing to end the
creature’s life, then he paused. The rough yellow hide was
pulled tight over the protrusion of the creature’s ribs; the
bloody, bruised face was gaunt. The ogre’s muscles were
thin, hunger-wasted.
Marakion lowered Glint. The ogre struggled sluggishly
to get up, only to fail and plunge back into the snow. It
raised its arms a bit in a feeble attempt to ward off another
blow – one that never descended.
This wasn’t a monster, Marakion thought, just another
creature devastated by the Cataclysm, whose life had been
turned upside down, ruined, like his own. The ogre was just
trying to survive. Marakion wondered what lengths he
would go to if he were starving. Definitely he wouldn’t be
above eating ogre flesh.
Marakion noticed the young boy watching his
deliberation.
“Go on,” the man said harshly to the ogre. “I gave you
one chance. This is your second. You won’t get a third.”
The emaciated ogre finally made it to its feet. Its unswollen
eye gave one final, hungry look at Gylar, then it turned
and limped slowly into the woods from which it had come,
blood drops dotting its tracks.
Marakion’s brow furrowed. Sheathing Glint, he turned
to face the boy.
“What’s your name?” Marakion asked harshly.
The boy looked dazed, still recovering from shock and
fright. “Uh, Gylar, sir. I… Thanks,” he tacked on lamely.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone. Ogres might not be
the worst you’ll find. I hear there’s a dangerous band of
brigands in these hills.”
Marakion watched for some reaction. Gylar’s face gave
no telltale signs of anything but relief.
“I – I’m on a quest, and . . . Who are you?” Gylar
couldn’t contain his curiosity any longer. “What are you
doing up on the mountain here? My village is the only one
for miles.”
Marakion noted the honest innocence in the boy’s face,
and he cursed again, silently.
“I do a bit of traveling. Just passing through, really.” He
paused and looked at Gylar closely once more. He began to
doubt again. The boy might be a cunning liar.
“Tell you what, kid. Looks like we both need to rest a
little.” He touched his raked side gingerly. “What do you
say to putting your quest on hold and setting up camp? I
saw a cave, over there a ways…. When we get a good fire
going, you can tell me all about it.”
Gylar smiled and nodded.
*****
“I went with Lutha. I knew she wasn’t supposed to go in
there. Mom had told me about the evil in the new marsh,
and Lutha’s parents had told the same thing to her. But
Lutha wasn’t afraid. You see, there was something we’d put
in an old tree before the marsh came, before the Cataclysm
and Mount Phineous. A couple of necklaces we made out of
leather and wooden disks.” Gylar’s mouth became a straight
line, and his brow furrowed.
The warm fire popped and crackled, illuminating
Marakion’s intent face and the makeshift bandages that he
was wrapping slowly around his middle.
Gylar sighed and continued, “She was always doing
stuff like that. Anyway, the marsh wasn’t really scary, just
wet and mucky. The only thing that happened was that
Lutha fell down in the water once.
“But Mom was real mad when I got back. She knew
where we’d been. I guess the smell of the marsh and my
wet boots gave us away. Anyway, I snuck out of the house
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