Caspian nodded, and tried to keep his focus on the rest of the briefing, but his mind was too enticed by the idea of leaving these wretched mountains, of being able to write Keira again. Perhaps they would even be allowed temporary leave, and he could go to visit her in Silverfell. He knew her well enough to read between the lines of her last letters. She was miserable. The feeling had only been growing within him as well the longer they were apart, but maybe soon…
Daydreams carried him all the way back to their little campsite. At once, the other swords could read his pleased expression. They looked up at him expectantly from their shivering huddles. Caspian was too happy to even feel the chill.
When he shared the news with the others, it seemed a nearly even split between those who were eager to hear from their loved ones again and those who were simply tired of being so cursedly cold all the time. Yet, none of them could complain as they passed around the small amount of ale they’d saved.
“To home,” Ajax toasted, a slight slur in his words.
Caspian’s smile stretched freely across his face as he lifted his own tin cup.
It was then that a carnal roar pierced the night, stealing the joy from their hearts and freezing Caspian’s arm in midair.
They all sat, statues of disbelief, their arms still extended in a frozen toast, until the first of the calls reached their ears.
“Night raid! To arms!”
Caspian was on his feet within a second. “To arms!” he repeated, voice bellowing into the night.
The world was pitch black beyond the light of the fires, though the camp was largely visible. Even the shapes of the towering mountains that flanked the pass could not be seen. There was no way to know from which direction the enemy was coming, or in what numbers.
What followed was not the glory of battle. It was horror filled hours of massacre. It was blood and dirt staining the snow. It was the distant, terrified calls echoing through the darkness as the knowledge that nothing could be done settled into the most gallant hearts. It was death.
Caspian stood, chest heaving, collecting his bearings. Their ranks had quickly dissolved as the ogres came from all sides. He had no idea how long ago the carnage had begun, but he had lost his entire unit. The thick blood of the ogre he’d just slain was still slick on his sword. The behemoth had already been gravely injured. Still, it had taken every bit of his strength to bring it down.
His eyes flashed through the night. The chaos of battle had calmed, the ground scattered with the dead. Still the fight was not over. Out of the corner of his vision, Caspian saw a glint of gold.
Prince Gilbert was fighting beside two of his guards, one of them was favoring their left side even as they struggled to keep their weapon high. They were battling off an ogre. Caspian was in motion at once. He’d seen these brutes take down five men single handed. One was entirely capable of tearing the prince and his guard to pieces.
The ogres stood ten feet tall and thickly built. Beneath their tough hides was a generous layer of fat to protect them from the mountain’s constant chill. As such, they wore only crudely made skins and carried massive clubs fashioned from fallen trees, burned until they were dense and hard. Their faces were hairy as a hog’s might be. Not only did they possess a keen sense of smell, but their vision in the dark was sharper than a human’s. Their only weakness came that they were slow with their brutal strikes and rather stupid. Yet, only a fool would deny them the advantage simply due to their immense size and strength.
He charged as it swung in a wide arch toward the prince with its great club. With a powerful strike, Caspian slashed at its ankle from behind, severing the tendons there. He spun on his heel, leaving a deep gash in the ogre’s other leg. It roared as it turned to follow where the blow had come from, exposing itself to the blades of the prince’s guard.
The guard stepped forward and took the opportunity to strike. Her sword opened a slice in its arm. Caspian cried out as he saw the motion, but it was too late. The ogre’s great club smashed the guard in the chest, sending her through the air and harshly to the ground. She did not rise again.
Prince Gilbert pulled back the string of his bow, the gold of its grip glinting in the firelight. His crown had fallen from hishead, and many loose strands of his black hair were plastered to his brow. Flecks of blood covered his face as determination creased his features. He could have fled with his royal escort and found safety when all of this began. Instead, the prince loosed the arrow. It shone with unnatural radiance as it streaked through the night before plunging deep into the ogre’s chest.
Caspian slashed his sword with the strength of both his arms, drawing blood from the ogre’s side. The brute faltered, holding the wound as it roared. Both of its legs were too injured to hold its weight, and at last it crashed to its knees. Prince Gilbert wasted no time before firing the Sovereign Bow once more, sending an arrow into the creature’s eye.
A single peaceful breath passed between them as the ogre’s lifeblood spilled into the tainted snow. Prince Gilbert’s remaining guard was still favoring his side. The other lie unmoving some feet away in the snow. Caspian’s eyes scanned the field for movement. It was the slightest sound perhaps that drew Caspian to whirl around. Dread filled him before he even saw the flaming cart hurtling through the air toward them.
“Move!” Caspian put his arm behind the prince’s back, pushing him into motion before he could hesitate, pondering his meaning.
It took diving hard onto the ground to avoid the cart as it fell, splintering to the ground. Prince Gilbert’s breaths were labored as they pulled themselves to their feet. The bow had fallen some distance away, too far to retrieve now. The injured guard had dodged to the other side and was now facing down an ogre alone. This one was larger than the others, its garments ornamented with grim trophies. A dozen metal spikes had been hammered into its weapon.
It did not even bother to use it.
The massive ogre picked the guard up with one hand and tossed him into the wreckage of a tent. It collapsed beneath his weight, and the ogre roared in defiant victory.
Caspian’s heart beat in his ears as he stood, looking to the prince who nodded to him, drawing his sword. Caspian urged every bit of power from his legs as he charged. The ogre swung its wickedly spiked club. Caspian gave its arch a wide berth as he rounded to the ogre’s side. He slashed into the opening provided by the brute’s extended arm. The prince had flanked the ogre, landing a blow to the opposite side.
The ogre roared at the prince, who expertly dodged a swing of its club. Caspian tried to pull its attention, slicing open the back of its thigh. However, its focus seemed entirely fixed on the prince. It turned, faster than Caspian had ever seen an ogre move, snatching the prince by his arm.
Prince Gilbert let out a cry of agony as the ogre lifted him from the ground as a child might a doll.
Caspian stepped onto the remains of the wagon, not wasting a single second, before he leapt onto the ogre’s back. It reeled back its mighty weapon to strike the mortal blow as the prince struggled futilely in its grip. Caspian drove his sword into the meat of its shoulder.
The ogre roared in pain and rage, releasing its lethal grip. The prince fell to the ground as Caspian drove the blade in further, using the full force of his body, the last ounce of his strength, until the tip of his blade was visible through the beast’s chest.
Without warning, the ogre’s massive hands gripped him. His stomach lurched as the world twisted. It was only a sickening second as the world turned upside down that he realized the impact was coming.
