Chapter One – Part Seven – That’s No Ogre!
The court exploded into a rage of screaming. The Duke raised his hands, to no effect. Edvard shook his head and shrugged.
“I cannot repeat my earlier feat,” he admitted sorely, resigning tow ait for the din to quiet of its own accord.
“That’s no ogre,” Kintere argued, catching the attention of the warriors, the Duke, and even Rhayd.
“Explain your lies!” Drakar boomed.
“I am of Namar,” Kintere said by way of explanation, lifting his shoulders. “Ogres our hunters have spotted are dark creatures over ten spans tall, with huge jaws and glowing red eyes. This cannot be an ogre. It is far too small.”
“Then explain this,” Drakar challenged, dragging away the tarp.
Underneath lay a tall form, of a height with Kintere, robed in the colours of the deep jungle – black and green and deep brown mottled in patches over the protruding ends of knife scabbards and many belts. The head was cowled, with dark hair spilling about the frame of its hood, and a lacquered mask rode the lower half of the face, in the shape of a horrible mouth, full of glimmering redstone teeth. Sure enough, however, the eyes were not glowing red. They were green – a bright green Kintere knew intimately, and suddenly the big man understood Rhayd’s sullen anger.
“This is no ogre,” he repeated in a stark growl just as the shocked crowd began to quiet. “This is Kienor Blackfang, a hunter among my tribesmen. You’ve just captured your own business partner!”
“What do you know, you great oaf?” Drakar growled, taking a step toward the trio.
“Now stop this,” Mireya said calmly, holding a hand up warding the warrior away, resting a careful touch on Kintere’s forearm. “This is no place for such threats.”
“Silence, whore!” Drakar wound his arm back and made to send a blistering backhand slap at Mireya. Kintere’s vision went red.
He wailed and swung a heavy fist at Drakar, connecting with the man’s forehead and sending him to the ground like a felled log. From somewhere far away he heard Mireya screaming for him to stop.
The other two warriors started for him, but Kintere was expecting that, so he clasped his hands together and swung both arms like a club into the stomach of the closest of the pair. There was a sickening crunch as the man’s wooden mail fell to splinters under the force of his attacker’s entire weight, and the man collapsed over Kintere’s arms, dragging him to the ground. Much as he would have liked to have gotten up and continued with the third warrior, by then the court guards had gotten to his side and he felt two sharp points rest against the back of his neck. From what he could see, the last warrior wasn’t fairing any better – he had turned to take on the guards that came for him and now found himself cut across the shoulder and howling as he was dragged away.
Through it all, a bound and tied Blackfang could do nothing else but laugh.
“You idiot,” the hunter said in the broken tones of their native tongue. “You always were a rash idiot.”
“Cleared your name from being thought an ogre, didn’t I?”
“Oh yes, a great help that is,” Blackfang laughed, staring up at the ceiling far above. “Now all three of us are to be prisoners bereft of honour. At least Porphigaul will have company.”
Blackfang continued laughing even as his pallet was dragged away, presumably toward the jail.
“He’s right, you know,” Kintere heard Rhayd say from behind him as he was being hauled up to his feet. “You really are an idiot sometimes.”
“That’s not kind, Rhayd,” Mireya said, and Kintere could imagine the sour face she must have been wearing.
Funny, though. Kintere hadn’t known Rhayd understood Namari.