were there, stepping forward to take the place of the Danaan once they saw them fall. Unable to form the words of the ritualistic chant with their malformed mouths, they gave support to Orath by opening themselves up fully to their leader so he could draw upon their power to tame the beast.
They don’t understand what really happened
, Orath realized.
They just think the Danaan faltered because they were weak
.
The power of the other Minions washed over Orath in a massive wave, and he swallowed it all in a single gulp. In an instant the ogre’s rush was halted, the beast frozen in place. But the creature’s will still refused to yield.
As he had done with the Danaan, Orath began to draw on the Chaos trapped deep within the other Minions, sucking it from their blood and the marrow of their bones. Like the mortals, Gort and Draco recognized what he was doing and tried to pull away. But the Danaan had caught Orath off guard. This time he was prepared, and he would not allow the ritual to end prematurely.
Gort howled and barked, Draco hissed and screamed as Orath bled them dry. His companions were strong, but Orath was stronger. It was over in seconds, their bodies transformed into desiccated, mummified husks that fell lifeless to the earth.
The sudden influx of power allowed Orath to lash out with one last, desperate attempt to crush the ogre’s will. The beastroared and thrashed its head from side to side, then collapsed onto the ground. Whimpering, it curled up into a ball and lay still.
Orath tried to approach, but his body was completely spent from the ritual. Staggering in the soft earth, he fell face forward where he lay motionless and only semiconscious.
When he heard the ogre begin to move once more he struggled to rise but could only manage to roll over onto his back. He saw the beast was crawling toward him again, and this time Orath was powerless to stop it.
The creature slowly rose to its feet as it reached his side, a foul-smelling mountain of swollen gray flesh looming above him. Orath braced for the killing blow, knowing a single swing of one massive fist could pulverize him into nothing. Instead, the ogre dropped to one knee and bowed its head.
“Master,” it croaked out in a thick, wet voice.
Chapter 9
K EEGAN COULDN ’ T REMEMBER much about the journey to the barbarian camp. He vaguely remembered the arrival of the Pack Masters, and he could recall Norr carrying him as they trudged through the wind and rain. Everything else was a hazy blur of fever dreams and hallucinations.
At one point he’d imagined Norr as some kind of monster—an ogre that had crawled up from the bottom of a dark and sinister lake, coming to kill him. Another time, he imagined himself to be an elk, racing across the tundra with an army of barking, slavering dogs in pursuit. Most of the time, however, he’d just slept.
But he was feeling better now. Two days had passed, or maybe three. It was hard to track the passage of time inside the small deerskin tent. Apart from Vaaler’s checking up on him numerous times, he’d had no contact whatsoever with the outside world.
Keegan welcomed the visits from his friend, though he was disappointed none of the others had come to see him. Especially Scythe. At first, he’d been too weak to wonder about their absence; just staying awake and eating the warm soup Vaaler fed him was all the effort he could manage. This morning, however, he had woken up feeling refreshed and strong. And he couldn’t help but think something strange was going on.
Maybe she’s avoiding you because you made a fool of yourself last time you talked to her
.
Even if that were true, what about Jerrod and Norr? He couldn’t think of any good reason why they wouldn’t have at least come to check on him.
Knowing he wouldn’t find any answers trapped inside the tent, he kicked away the heavy hides he’d been sleeping under. Someone had removed his boots; in the darkness of the tent he fumbled around
They don’t understand what really happened
, Orath realized.
They just think the Danaan faltered because they were weak
.
The power of the other Minions washed over Orath in a massive wave, and he swallowed it all in a single gulp. In an instant the ogre’s rush was halted, the beast frozen in place. But the creature’s will still refused to yield.
As he had done with the Danaan, Orath began to draw on the Chaos trapped deep within the other Minions, sucking it from their blood and the marrow of their bones. Like the mortals, Gort and Draco recognized what he was doing and tried to pull away. But the Danaan had caught Orath off guard. This time he was prepared, and he would not allow the ritual to end prematurely.
Gort howled and barked, Draco hissed and screamed as Orath bled them dry. His companions were strong, but Orath was stronger. It was over in seconds, their bodies transformed into desiccated, mummified husks that fell lifeless to the earth.
The sudden influx of power allowed Orath to lash out with one last, desperate attempt to crush the ogre’s will. The beastroared and thrashed its head from side to side, then collapsed onto the ground. Whimpering, it curled up into a ball and lay still.
Orath tried to approach, but his body was completely spent from the ritual. Staggering in the soft earth, he fell face forward where he lay motionless and only semiconscious.
When he heard the ogre begin to move once more he struggled to rise but could only manage to roll over onto his back. He saw the beast was crawling toward him again, and this time Orath was powerless to stop it.
The creature slowly rose to its feet as it reached his side, a foul-smelling mountain of swollen gray flesh looming above him. Orath braced for the killing blow, knowing a single swing of one massive fist could pulverize him into nothing. Instead, the ogre dropped to one knee and bowed its head.
“Master,” it croaked out in a thick, wet voice.
Chapter 9
K EEGAN COULDN ’ T REMEMBER much about the journey to the barbarian camp. He vaguely remembered the arrival of the Pack Masters, and he could recall Norr carrying him as they trudged through the wind and rain. Everything else was a hazy blur of fever dreams and hallucinations.
At one point he’d imagined Norr as some kind of monster—an ogre that had crawled up from the bottom of a dark and sinister lake, coming to kill him. Another time, he imagined himself to be an elk, racing across the tundra with an army of barking, slavering dogs in pursuit. Most of the time, however, he’d just slept.
But he was feeling better now. Two days had passed, or maybe three. It was hard to track the passage of time inside the small deerskin tent. Apart from Vaaler’s checking up on him numerous times, he’d had no contact whatsoever with the outside world.
Keegan welcomed the visits from his friend, though he was disappointed none of the others had come to see him. Especially Scythe. At first, he’d been too weak to wonder about their absence; just staying awake and eating the warm soup Vaaler fed him was all the effort he could manage. This morning, however, he had woken up feeling refreshed and strong. And he couldn’t help but think something strange was going on.
Maybe she’s avoiding you because you made a fool of yourself last time you talked to her
.
Even if that were true, what about Jerrod and Norr? He couldn’t think of any good reason why they wouldn’t have at least come to check on him.
Knowing he wouldn’t find any answers trapped inside the tent, he kicked away the heavy hides he’d been sleeping under. Someone had removed his boots; in the darkness of the tent he fumbled around
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