We tramped uphill into the trees, mud sucking at my boots. At least the dense evergreens kept some of the rain off my head.
I reached out with my senses, hoping to detect some ogres out and about, away from their cave. On my previous visit, I’d had a hard time finding it. The illusions not only kept humans away but camouflaged the auras of those inside.
“This way, kid,” I called when I reached the spot where I’d gone off the trail before.
The cub was farther up, sniffing at a fern—no, she was nibbling at it—but she paused and looked at me. She seemed to debate something for a moment, then trotted over and sat by my legs.
“Do you understand me?” I wondered.
Green eyes gazed up at me. “Merow?”
“Hm.”
She came with me as I left the trail, the mud and ferns and brambles difficult to navigate. The creek burbled past below, hidden by the undergrowth. Most of the time, I had a good sense of direction, but the slope and the forest terrain kept me from going in a straight line. I rolled my eyes and chided myself when I ended up coming back out on the trail. I veered off again, certain I wasn’t far from the cave.
“I don’t suppose you smell any ogres?” I still couldn’t sense any, and I didn’t see any giant prints. Here and there, humans and dogs had gone off the trail, leaving their tracks, but ogre prints would be much larger.
It was possible they were all staying inside because of the rain. It was also possible they’d moved their den after I’d found it and killed one of their kind.
I stopped, slumping against a tree trunk as I realized how possible that was. Or even likely.
Why had I assumed they would still be here? And what was my next move if they weren’t? There was a basement pub in a building on Capitol Hill where magical beings gathered to drink and socialize. I was as welcome there as a fungus—and got shot at every time I went in—but maybe a few appropriately placed bribes there would give me a lead.
As I pushed away from the tree, ready to head back to the parking lot and try the pub, I swore. The cub had scampered off into the undergrowth. Though I had no doubt I could find her, I grimaced as I envisioned crawling under bushes and brambles to reach her.
Then I realized I no longer sensed her. My ability to detect magical beings extended about a mile, especially for a creature as magical as the cub, but she had disappeared. She couldn’t have run a mile that quickly. No way.
A reedy roar came from somewhere nearby. What the hell? I could hear her but not sense her.
It dawned on me that she might have found the boundary of the ogres’ magical illusion. Another roar sounded, this time with a tenuous wobble to it.
Afraid she was in trouble, I sprinted toward the noise, tree branches whipping at my face. I tapped my camouflage charm, realizing I might be about to burst in on a pack of ogres. One or two I could handle, but if their whole clan was home…
Magic nipped at my skin like fire ants as I passed through a barrier. The urge to flee in the other direction assaulted me, and I stumbled to a stop, fighting against my own legs. They wanted to obey that urge to flee.
I clenched my jaw and drew Chopper. The blade was capable of defeating the magical defenses of wizards and other enemies, but I’d also noticed it helped me resist magic that worked against my mind.
With the hilt cool in my grip, I willed the blade to drive away the compulsion to turn around. Control returned to me, and my legs carried me forward. The fire-ant feeling disappeared, and between one step and the next, my senses exploded with awareness of magical beings. A lot of magical beings.
6
The good news was that my wayward cub was visible at the mouth of a cave in the hillside up ahead. The bad news was that four ogres stood around her, two carrying clubs and two carrying swords. My senses told me there were more of them inside, beyond a curtain of dangling roots and moss.
The ogres were poorly nourished with pronounced cheekbones and their rough hide and burlap clothes dangling over gaunt frames. They might think a tiger cub was something good to eat.
Glad I’d thought to camouflage myself, I crept forward, willing my breathing to grow steady and quiet after my sprint through the woods. A bead of sweat dripped down the side of my face.
They spoke in their native tongue, and I tapped my translation charm.
“Where did it come from?” one of the club-wielders asked. “And how did it find us through the protection?”
“The cat is magical,” another said with a grunt. “Trouble.”
He bent to grab her by the scruff of her neck—or to wring her neck.
I rushed forward, sword raised, but the cub darted away before his fingers wrapped around her. She bounded into the cave and disappeared from sight. I stifled a groan. Why couldn’t she have bounded away from the cave—and them?
Only ten steps from the group, I paused beside a tree and debated my options. They hadn’t followed the cub inside, and I couldn’t sneak past them. My camouflaging charm was powerful, but if I was within a few feet of someone, the effectiveness wore off.
A shout came from within the cave, followed by several curses. A thump followed, and I envisioned one of the brutish club-wielders slamming its weapon down on my poor cub.
Clenching my jaw, I strode forward. I couldn’t fight this many ogres, but I couldn’t let them kill the cub either. I would… think of something.
But before I reached the group, the cub bounded back out with a beheaded and plucked chicken in her mouth. The legs were still attached, and the yellow feet flopped on the ground as she ran.
All four of the ogres outside of the cave lunged for her. But the cub darted around their legs, and they ended up grabbing each other instead. One even cracked his head against another’s head. It was like watching a cartoon.
The cub sped off into the woods. The ogres looked at each other, as if confused about whether they should give chase or let her go.
A female wearing a stained yellow apron and a bone ring in her nose stomped out with a meat cleaver and a kitchen spoon in her hands. “No, no, you boys relax. I’ll go get the little thief.”
Even through my translation charm, I could detect her sarcasm, but the male ogres pretended not to. They shrugged and went into the cave as the female strode in the direction the cub had gone.
Keeping my distance, I trailed quietly after her. This was my chance to talk to an ogre one on one. Was it possible the cub had intentionally lured her out for me? Or had she only wanted the chicken? So far, she had rejected all of my food offerings, but maybe plucked hens were the tiger’s meow.
“Come here, you striped thief,” the ogre growled, her meat cleaver raised overhead.
I grabbed a rock and, as she started to swing it downward, hurled it. My pistol would have been more effective, but the rest of the ogres would have heard the gunshots. The rock did the job as it slammed into the back of her wrist.
She let out a startled yelp, dropped the cleaver, and whirled toward me. Since I wasn’t close enough for her to see through my charm’s magic, she peered suspiciously about, scanning the trees.
“Who’s playing with Big Mama?” she demanded.
Playing with? Ogres had rough games if they included rock hurling.
“Me.” I moved several steps downhill, so the cave wouldn’t be at my back, and tapped my charm to deactivate it.
The ogre swore, snatched up the meat cleaver, and waved it and the spoon menacingly at me.
I showed her Fezzik, in case she was thinking of stampeding me, but I didn’t point the pistol at her. “That’s my cub.” Sort of. “I came to retrieve her. I don’t want any trouble.”
My charm only allowed me to understand others—it didn’t translate my words into their language—so I didn’t know if she understood me until she spoke.
She switched to English for my sake. “She stole my chicken.”
The ferns near my feet rattled, and my muddy silver tiger cub scooted out from underneath the fronds. The chicken was now also muddy, but none of it had been devoured.
“You can have it back,” I said as the ogre scrutinized me. I didn’t remember her from my last visit, and I hoped she didn’t remember me. “She just likes to mangle things, not eat them. And I’m willing to trade you a whole sack of meat if you can help me translate something. I was hoping to find an ogre back here who wouldn’t mind doing the job.”
“Help you?” Big Mama squinted at me. “You’re the Ruin Bringer.” That was one of the dubious monikers the magical community had for me. “You kill our kind.”
“Only when your kind kills humans first. I’m not here to kill anyone today.” Unless they were tied in with Michael’s disappearance… but this one looked like a homebody, not a smuggler or kidnapper. “I want to make a fair trade for your time. It won’t take long. I need a note written in your language translated.”
“The Ruin Bringer isn’t fair with ogres. You sent that thievin’ varmint in to lure me out here.”
Thievin’ varmint? Apparently, they had a TV in that cave that was tuned to the all-Westerns channel.
“I’m fair with those who aren’t criminals. Why don’t you look at the note? If you can translate it, I’ll pay you in meat or money. Your choice.” I hefted the bag of sausages I’d managed to keep ahold of during my sprint to the cave. “You have my word. I’m not a liar. I’m an honorable professional.”
The cub flung the chicken onto my boots, grrred fiercely at it, then pounced on it. I sensed another ogre had left the cave, so I didn’t look down, but I made a mental note to scrub my boots later.
“With a thievin’ cat cub.”
The chicken went sailing into the undergrowth, and the cub bounded after it. Something that looked suspiciously like a gizzard lay draped across my boot. I picked it up, put it in the bag of meat, then drew out the raw sausages to show the ogre.
“Lots of good food. Bratwurst, chorizo, applewood-smoked ham, salami. It can all be yours. If you can read, it’ll only take a few seconds to look at the note.”