Isle of the Ape Page 8

  Chapter 6

  "My lady, an ogre named Grack seeks an audience," Ketten announced.

  Rosalyn stared at the silver dragon statue and frowned. "He should be scouting the mountains and driving away outsiders," she snapped. "I'm busy. Perhaps later."

  "He won't have a later," Ketten said. "He's been injured and is near death."

  Rosalyn's frown turned into a scowl. She rose and turned. "Injured? By what? What of his men? Didn't they fight?"

  "It is best if he tells you," Ketten deferred.

  Rosalyn sneered at him and swept past him. She walked down the passage to the lower tunnel and fumed at the time it took to get anywhere in the dragon's lair. Her lair now, though it needed a great many things for her to find comfort in it. Rosalyn paused in the junction room halfway to the bottom hall. There was a spell she'd seen in one of Therion's spell books that she'd taken. It allowed for instant travel over short distances. She'd thought it pointless and expensive, given the components required at each transportation point, but now it began to make sense.

  She moved on, intent upon studying the spell and understanding its intricacies when time permitted. Acquiring the necessary materials might prove even more difficult than unraveling the spell's mysteries, but she'd accomplish nothing if she didn't at least try.

  She entered the lower hall and saw a dozen ogres milling about, including two that held up the commander of their troop. He was pale and dirty. She saw blood, mostly dried but some fresh, caked the insides of his legs all the way to his boots. Over his pants, cloth had been wound around his hips and between his legs. She smirked, guessing at the nature of his injury.

  "Grack!" she said, rousing him from his stupor. He lifted his head and blinked the fog from his eyes. She could see a fire burned in them still.

  "Dragon Lady," he growled. He paused as though each word was an effort for him. "We done what you wanted."

  "And this is how you return?" Rosalyn asked. She heard Ketten emerge from the passage behind her. He stood at her side and kept his silence.

  He flinched at her harsh tone. She noted the matching wound on his cheek to the scar on the other side of his face. "One man couldn't be killed. Garrick."

  Ketten stiffened beside her. Rosalyn nodded. Garrick was one of Alto's companions. A mighty barbarian from the north, the giant slayer himself. If he could fight off a band of ogres, perhaps he was as mighty as the rumors claimed.

  "And he gave you a lingering death," she stated.

  "Heal me," Grack demanded.

  "I'm not a priestess," Rosalyn snapped. "The saints do not heed my commands."

  "He must die!" Grack spat. He raised himself up on his own legs and winced. Fresh blood ran down his legs and trickled onto the floor.

  "And so he shall," Rosalyn said. "You may go to sleep knowing that he will be taken care of."

  Grack shook his head. "No!" he demanded. "I must see it."

  "Your will is strong, ogre. I admire that, but I haven't the time, materials, or power at hand to bind your spirit once your body fails. I am no necromancer."

  "Your magic is nothing," the ogre declared.

  Rosalyn stiffened. "Nothing?" she snapped at him. "I can rot the flesh from your bones where you stand! Is that nothing, mighty Grack? My spells can wreak havoc and death, not restore life. Perhaps if you pray hard to the saints, one might answer."

  Grack spat on the floor, the movement shifting him enough that he lost his balance and crashed to his knees and one hand. He looked up at her and met her gaze. Rosalyn was amazed to see no fear in his eyes, only hate. It was hate for her at the moment, but she knew its true source was the barbarian named Garrick.

  Her eyes narrowed as a thought came to her. "You are strong, yes?"

  Grack nodded his head. "The strongest!"

  "I believe you. No other man or beast would suffer such a wound so long. Hold on a little longer, Grack."

  He nodded.

  Rosalyn turned to Ketten. "Fetch some wood to make a small fire and bring some small stones that can be crumbled into dust. The smaller the better. Our large friend here won't last long if I must do the grinding."

  Ketten opened his mouth and then closed it. He shook his head and turned to head off in search of Rosalyn's request. The witch glanced at Grack again and chewed on her lip. She spun away, her skirts whipping about her, and walked up the passage to where her bags rested on the floor above. She dug through them and pulled out two small jars, and then set them aside and retrieved a mortar and pestle, a flask, and a skin of water. She nodded at the ingredients and rearranged her saddlebags so she could fit it all inside of one. She carried it back down and found a suitable place to spread out her alchemical supplies on the stone floor of the passage.

  Ketten returned a few minutes later with sticks and a sack filled with rocks. He dropped it next to her and shrugged when she looked at him. "You didn’t say how many!"

  Rosalyn shook her head and looked at Grack. He was watching her but his eyes had a glaze over them. His hands clutched at his groin. The ogre’s fingers were red with his blood. "Grack, have one of your men smash these rocks and grind them into dust. It will go quicker."

  Grack shook his head and turned. He rumbled in his own tongue and waited while two ogres came over and grabbed the sack. She pointed to a spot next to her and watched as they dumped the rocks out. They grabbed the largest rocks they could find and used them to smash the smaller ones into pebbles against the ground.

  Rosalyn nodded and turned back to her satchel. She fished out her supplies and then took the wood that Ketten had delivered and arranged it in a pile. She began to chant a simple cantrip and after a few words, a lick of flame burst from her hand and ignited the sticks. It spread quickly among the seasoned twigs, earning a scowl from her. "Ketten, more wood; this is burning too quickly."

  He nodded and jogged off in search of more kindling.

  Rosalyn poured some of the powders and herbs she brought with her into the flask, and then shook it gently before she poured some of her water into it. She added more water and shook it again. Using tongs, she held it over the fire and swirled it gently as the heat spread. Ketten returned and added more of the twigs and small branches to the fire, bolstering it and heating the vial until the water began to bubble inside.

  She added a fresh pinch of crumbled leaves from a jar to the mix and yanked her hand back before a burst of dark steam belched out of the bottle. She swirled it again and turned back to the ogres. "That's enough," she told them. Grack repeated it so the ogres would understand and back away. She looked at Ketten and said, "Gather up a fistful of the dust. No pebbles, just dust. Hand it to me."

  Ketten moved around the fire and did as she bade. Rosalyn held out her hand and let him pour the dust into it. She removed the flask from the flames and swirled it until it was moving fast enough she could hold the flask still and pour the ground stone in at an even pace. She finished and continued to swirl it even though the mixture was thickening fast.

  She looked at her mortar and frowned, and then saw a flat rock among the ones that hadn't been smashed to bits yet. She grabbed the rock and poured the flask onto it. The fumes rose as it cooled, smelling of sulfur and spice. She rose and walked over to Grack, and then handed him the rock.

  "Quickly, coat your wound with this. It will stop the bleeding but it will burn."

  "Burn?" he asked as he took it from her.

  "Not from heat, from the plants within. Your wound will be cleaned and burned shut, but the plants are dangerous. A man would die from this, but you're bigger than a man."

  "Stronger," Grack said.

  Rosalyn smirked. "Yes, obviously. Now before it cools and hardens, use it!"

  Grack nodded and pulled off the bandage. Rosalyn grimaced and turned away, having no desire to see his ruined genitals. The brief glimpse she saw of the blood-soaked fabric of his hide pants was bad enough.

  She glanced back when she heard the ogre growl. She focused on his face as he continued to
scoop the sludge into his wound. His clenched teeth parted after a moment and he roared, nearly deafening her. He scooped the last of the mixture and smeared it into his wound and then tossed the rock onto the ground. "Done!" he said.

  Rosalyn nodded. "Well—"

  She stopped herself as Grack slumped over onto his side and passed out. The witch smirked and looked to the other ogres. "If any of you can understand me, keep him warm. He must fight the ointment and he is weak. When he wakes, feed him as much as he'll take."

  She turned to Ketten. "Gather my things. I've wasted enough time."

  She swept away while Ketten scrambled to pick up her apparatus. The ogres were shuffling about and looking at Grack and at each other. Ketten sighed and repeated her instructions, this time speaking in the crude tongue of goblins that the ogres could understand.