Read Online Disenchanted by Robert Kroese - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Robert Kroese
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otherwise featureless. The sparse, scrubby trees would provide no shade.
Less than an hour before dawn he came upon a barely perceptible path leading southward. In fact, even when he stood and studied the ground, Boric couldn’t be entirely certain that it was a path. There was nothing particularly path-like that he could point to; there were no markers of any kind and although the ground was flat and the grass was sparse, there was no perceivable linear shape to it. What he experienced was more of a vague intuition that living creatures occasionally passed here. Did he now possess a heightened sensitivity to life just as he had for sunlight? Whatever it was, he was virtually certain that he could have walked past this place a hundred times in full daylight as a mortal man and noticed nothing whatsoever.
If it was a path, he thought, then perhaps it led to some forgotten settlement, a town that had been abandoned after the fall of the Old Realm. That meant the possibility of finding a structure in which he could hide. As there was nothing remotely promising in any other direction, he made his way south, following his sense of the path as best he could.
EIGHT
As serious as his situation was, Boric found it difficult not to laugh at the sight of Padmos’s bald pate reflecting the bluish moonlight through the window of the old burned-out house. The uncanny infantile wails of Daman the blacksmith emitting from somewhere inside didn’t help his composure either.
Boric was perched uncomfortably on a bough of a nearby oak tree, about twelve feet up and a hundred feet downwind from the miller’s house. As long as the ogre didn’t approach from behind him, he had a good chance of remaining unnoticed while the ogre was distracted by the bait. And if the ogre did approach from behind? Well, ogres weren’t known for their tree-climbing abilities, were they? Boric wracked his memory, trying to recall a story in which an ogre climbed a tree. He came up with nothing, but then neither could he recall a story in which an ogre had been drawn into the open by a bald merchant doused with sour milk and a mewling blacksmith. Sometimes stories weren’t much help.
“Prince Boric!” called a voice from the house. It was Padmos. “How much longer?”
Boric gritted his teeth but didn’t reply. Hadn’t he warned those two about breaking character? If they spooked the ogre, he’d have to travel to the next town — assuming they didn’t cause the ogre to alter his pattern — and do this all over again. Meanwhile, Boric’s idiot brothers were undoubtedly scheming against him back at Kra’al Brobdingdon, trying to figure out how they were going to cheat him out of his spoils if he defeated the ogre. He needed to get this over with and get back home as quickly as possible.
“Prince Boric!” called Padmos again. “I don’t think this is working!”
“Quiet, you moron!” hissed Daman, momentarily ceasing his wailing.
“I think he’s left us,” said Padmos. “Left us alone to be ripped apart by an ogre. Figures!”
“Waaaaahhhhh!” cried Daman, doing his best to drown out Padmos’s mutterings.
“Stop that!” growled Padmos. “You sound like an imbecile. Is this how you want to die, mewling like a baby?”
“Waaaaahhhhh!” cried Daman in response.
“Fool!” hissed Padmos.
Boric’s hand went to the pommel of his sword as he imagined smacking Padmos on the back of the head with the flat of his blade. But no sooner had he touched the pommel than he jerked his hand away as if he’d been stung. “What in the…” he mouthed to himself. Brakslaagt seemed to be vibrating in its scabbard, as if it had been struck by a hammer. He peered at the pommel in the dim light, but his breath caught in his throat as his attention was seized by something moving underneath him. A hulking figure lurked directly underneath the bough on which Boric perched, barely visible in the moonlight. The ogre!
Even bent over, with its
Less than an hour before dawn he came upon a barely perceptible path leading southward. In fact, even when he stood and studied the ground, Boric couldn’t be entirely certain that it was a path. There was nothing particularly path-like that he could point to; there were no markers of any kind and although the ground was flat and the grass was sparse, there was no perceivable linear shape to it. What he experienced was more of a vague intuition that living creatures occasionally passed here. Did he now possess a heightened sensitivity to life just as he had for sunlight? Whatever it was, he was virtually certain that he could have walked past this place a hundred times in full daylight as a mortal man and noticed nothing whatsoever.
If it was a path, he thought, then perhaps it led to some forgotten settlement, a town that had been abandoned after the fall of the Old Realm. That meant the possibility of finding a structure in which he could hide. As there was nothing remotely promising in any other direction, he made his way south, following his sense of the path as best he could.
EIGHT
As serious as his situation was, Boric found it difficult not to laugh at the sight of Padmos’s bald pate reflecting the bluish moonlight through the window of the old burned-out house. The uncanny infantile wails of Daman the blacksmith emitting from somewhere inside didn’t help his composure either.
Boric was perched uncomfortably on a bough of a nearby oak tree, about twelve feet up and a hundred feet downwind from the miller’s house. As long as the ogre didn’t approach from behind him, he had a good chance of remaining unnoticed while the ogre was distracted by the bait. And if the ogre did approach from behind? Well, ogres weren’t known for their tree-climbing abilities, were they? Boric wracked his memory, trying to recall a story in which an ogre climbed a tree. He came up with nothing, but then neither could he recall a story in which an ogre had been drawn into the open by a bald merchant doused with sour milk and a mewling blacksmith. Sometimes stories weren’t much help.
“Prince Boric!” called a voice from the house. It was Padmos. “How much longer?”
Boric gritted his teeth but didn’t reply. Hadn’t he warned those two about breaking character? If they spooked the ogre, he’d have to travel to the next town — assuming they didn’t cause the ogre to alter his pattern — and do this all over again. Meanwhile, Boric’s idiot brothers were undoubtedly scheming against him back at Kra’al Brobdingdon, trying to figure out how they were going to cheat him out of his spoils if he defeated the ogre. He needed to get this over with and get back home as quickly as possible.
“Prince Boric!” called Padmos again. “I don’t think this is working!”
“Quiet, you moron!” hissed Daman, momentarily ceasing his wailing.
“I think he’s left us,” said Padmos. “Left us alone to be ripped apart by an ogre. Figures!”
“Waaaaahhhhh!” cried Daman, doing his best to drown out Padmos’s mutterings.
“Stop that!” growled Padmos. “You sound like an imbecile. Is this how you want to die, mewling like a baby?”
“Waaaaahhhhh!” cried Daman in response.
“Fool!” hissed Padmos.
Boric’s hand went to the pommel of his sword as he imagined smacking Padmos on the back of the head with the flat of his blade. But no sooner had he touched the pommel than he jerked his hand away as if he’d been stung. “What in the…” he mouthed to himself. Brakslaagt seemed to be vibrating in its scabbard, as if it had been struck by a hammer. He peered at the pommel in the dim light, but his breath caught in his throat as his attention was seized by something moving underneath him. A hulking figure lurked directly underneath the bough on which Boric perched, barely visible in the moonlight. The ogre!
Even bent over, with its
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