Dragonlance Tales II, Vol. 2 – The Cataclysm

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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