Sister of the Sword: 3 (The Barbarians) by Paul B. Thompson & Tonya C. Cook

Author:Paul B. Thompson & Tonya C. Cook [Thompson, Paul B.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9780786963461
Publisher: Wizards of the Coast Publishing
Published: 2012-12-04T00:00:00+00:00

Daylight saw the raider band diminished further, despite Ungrah’s threats and Zannian’s exhortations. When they mustered around their captains, only two hundred forty-four men were present. Hoten reported the rest had deserted, including all the men without horses.

Zannian was livid. “Wretched cowards! After the battle I’ll hang every one of them from the walls of Arku-peli!”

Hoten clenched his heavy jaw. “There’s more, Zan. The slaves have escaped, too. All that’s left are those we captured in this valley. I don’t know why they stayed.”

“They think they’ll be free soon,” Zannian muttered. “Summon Ungrah-de.”

The ogre chief was fully decked out for battle, which on this special day included drenching himself with a foul-smelling oil the ogres called kunj. The acrid oil was supposed to weaken the enemy with its terrible odor while strengthening the ogre who wore it. Fighting the famous Karada demanded all the warrior rituals the ogres possessed.

Upwind from Ungrah, Hoten still had to hold his nose. Grim-faced, Zannian ignored the stench.

“I have a task for you,” he said.

“You do not give a great chief tasks,” Ungrah replied.

“Call it a favor then—a favor I’m doing for you.”

The ogre’s yellowed eyes narrowed. “What favor?”

“There are a score or so captives in our camp. Win or lose, they’re yours. Our other slaves ran off in the night, but those from Arku-peli stayed behind, thinking they’ll be free soon. I want them to know staying behind was a mistake.”

Ungrah looked over Zannian’s head at the depleted ranks of the raiders. “Many humans ran during the night. Why did you not?”

“Because I am Zannian!” He shook with fury. “Because I will conquer or die!”

Ungrah nodded his heavy head. “You have the proper spirit. Like Harak-ta.” Ta was an ogre epithet meaning “small.” He added, “Where is that one, since I speak his name?”

“Dead,” Hoten said. “Taken when the nomads first struck us.”

Zannian snorted. “Deserted, more like. Smooth-talking snake.”

Hoten asked the ogre chief his plan for the coming battle.

“I will kill as many of the enemy as possible, starting with Karada. That is my plan,” Ungrah said, then left to organize his warriors.

“Let the monsters do as they will,” Zannian said, seating the skull-mask on his head. “As for us, Hoten, I want you to take fifty men and follow Ungrah-de. If he breaks through, ride hard and exploit any openings you find. The rest of the band will follow me. I’ll show Karada how the Raiders of Almurk fight!”

With this ringing pronouncement, Zannian swung onto his gray horse. Hoten’s hand on his animal’s reins caused him to look down. The old man looked as though he wanted to say something but didn’t. Finally he bowed stiffly to his chief and watched as Zannian cantered away to the head of the column.

Not long after, under writhing clouds and punctuated by the sound of ogre drums, the raiders rode to their final battle. Hoten led just forty-five men. He sent the other five—all older men he knew well and trusted—on a special task of his own creation.

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