The ogre opened wide his stinking mouth, ready to maw down on the weakened magician. Nothing could be done, and Terry felt a sinking sense of inevitability, as if this moment had happened many times before. This is that time we lost Arabelle, she thought with a stunning certainty.

Then as the ogre prepared to chomp down, Arabelle screamed as loud as she could.

“I! Taste! Terrible!”

“Ew‼” the ogre screamed. “Get away from me!”

He flung Arabelle away as if he had indeed tasted something horrible, and she crashed through the trees violently, landing out of sight of the golden orb. Forgetting about her, the three ogres lumbered menacingly forward, reaching out their hands toward the orb of golden light, then snatching them back in pain. Still, it wasn’t so much pain. Ogres were just enough magic to be deterred by the orb, but they were just enough beasts that it wouldn’t stop them forever. Unperturbed, Maurice recited his incantation quietly and firmly.

Gregor rushed out and repeated his usual move against ogres, slicing the stomach open of the ogre who had threatened Arabelle so that it held its guts in its hands. How it roared and stank! Then Terry took her saber and exited the orb. As she did so, an odd thing happened.

The two remaining ogres froze in place, their faces twisted with hate.

“Wizard killer! Wizard killer!” they howled. “You killed our master!”

“Old Tom did,” Terry said.

“Why do you keep saying that?” Gregor shouted from the orb. “Own it!”

Terry straightened up. “That’s right, you miserable beasts,” she shouted. “I killed your master. What are you going to do about it?”

She brandished her saber. “Who’s next?” she demanded.

And the two ogres ran away!

“Wow,” Maurice said, as he stopped reading. The orb disappeared. The team then rushed to find poor Arabelle in the trees, still huddled where she had been thrown.

“I think my arm’s broken,” she said, her voice slightly hoarse from her screams.

“I’m glad it’s not your neck,” Maurice said, giving her a healing potion to drink. “Those ogres were scared of you,” he said to Terry.

“They were,” Terrry said thoughtfully. “But I don’t feel stronger. I feel like I could take one with my saber—I did outside the northern city walls—but it was a pretty even fight. I’m not strong enough to make an ogre run away.”

“Wait, they ran away?” Arabelle said.

“They called me a wizard killer. And I—uh—owned it,” Terry said, glancing at Gregor. “Then they ran!”

“Hm,” Arabelle said. “That’s pretty strong magic to kill a wizard. You might have the ability to generate ogre-fear. It wouldn’t make you feel stronger, necessarily, but it would cause terror amongst the ogres. Maybe even the trolls.”

“Let’s hope so,” Terry said. “It just seems weird that I get all the benefit when Old Tom actually destroyed him.”

“You called for him at the perfect time, and he gave you a boon, but you still kind of killed the wizard,” Maurice said. “The ogres certainly think so.”

“It’s close to dawn,” Gregor said. “Let’s get out of here. We have humans to deal with.”

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

“In many ways, the worst of all,” Maurice observed.

Gregor grunted in response, and the four of them began their long journey through the still-dark forest. As they moved through the trees, Terry began to realize that dawn was all around them, even though the lightening sky was hidden from them in the dark forest. It was deeply cold and damp—colder and damper than it had been a few hours previous, and the birds were singing. She came to a fresh appreciation of Gregor’s wisdom and understanding of these woods. She saw how quietly he walked, even thorugh the thickest forest, and even in spite of his considerable bulk—even bulkier now that he had magically increased in size.

It wasn’t long before they neared what had been the command center of Gregor’s army. The forest was dim now instead of dark, and they stopped at a slightly higher elevation. “We shouldn’t get too close,” Gregor said. “But I need to know what’s going on.”

“Should I approach again, try to eavesdrop?” Maurice proposed.

“No,”Terry said. “Once was enough. And now they may be looking for you.”

“Hm. Do you want to use this?” Maurice asked, and brought out a small spyglass. “Hemdale gave it to me before we left the northern city.”

“Aw,” Terry said. “We could have used that in the chariot!”

“Next time,” Arabelle said, bravely, and the four of them fell quiet a moment, thinking of the last time they had seen the golden chariot.

“What do you think happened to the sand castle?” Gregor said.

“Probably collapsed when Zyzzyva was vanquished,” Maurice answered. “Sorry, Arabelle.”

She sighed. “I can’t call the horses anyway, without my wand. Ah, my golden chariot, buried in the sand. Bring out your spyglass, Maurice.”

The cleric handed it to Gregor. But it was not much use as they were too far away, it was too dark, and there were too many trees in the way.

“I have to get closer,” he said. “Wait here.”

Gregor slipped off into the trees, while they waited quietly, listening to the distant sounds of the camp slowly waking up. A very long 15 minutes dragged by, then Gregor returned.

“Could you see?” Terry asked.

“Yes, thanks to Maurice,” Gregor said. “They changed my flags. I don’t know why that makes me so much more angry than I already am, but it does. I’m going to rip him limb from limb.” He clenched his fists.

“What was your flag?” Arabelle asked.

“Yeah, we never got to see it,” Terry added.

“No big deal,” Gregor answered, but there was pride in his voice when he said. “Just a golden eagle, wings spread, riding on the back of a lion, with two swords crossed behind it. And some flames.”

“Subtle,” Maurice observed. “Where did you even find that?”

“In your library,” Gregor responded. “Hemdale let me use it. Now they’ve replaced it with a horse skull and crossbones. So infuriating.”

He seemed about to say more, but fell silent as the noise of the camp became more pronounced. A ragged-sounding bugle blew.

“He’ll never hold it together,” Terry said. “He’s a brigand, not a general.”

“He’s never going to get the chance to find out,” Gregor responded. “You’re right, though, he’s probably a weak leader, taking advantage of an army that’s scared of its life. I have to cut off the head of this beast, and the army will return to me. Then we can rid this forest of trolls and ogres, and gain the blessing of the king.”

They agreed to split up—Terry and Gregor would approach the highwayman’s tent, while Maurice stayed behind to protect Arabelle. “Your magic can’t do much to protect against the human army,” Gregor said, “but it can keep you two safe in the forest.”

“You know I hate splitting up,” Terry said, but she agreed in the end. Maurice and Arabelle hid themselves from ogre, troll, and human, while Terry and Gregor began their approach to the army headquarters. As they journed through the edges of the encampment, they heard much drunken singing and fighting amongst the troops. They were so disorganized and drunk that Gregor and Terry gave up trying to sneak in and just walked among them. Occasionally, one of them would flash Gregor a wobbly salute.

“They may have abandoned you as a leader, but they don’t seem to be holding a grudge,” Terry obsesrved.

“No capture, no kill, just a bunch of drunk fools,” Gregor replied. “Ah, well, I knew that when I gathered them up.”

“That’s what happens when you raise an army of criminals,” Terry said. “We had no choice at the time, and now we’re dealing with it.”

Finally, they approached the highwayman’s tent. Two sleepy sentries stood guard. Oddly, when they saw Gregor, they snapped to attention.

“Welcome back, sir,” they chorused, but they seemed confused, looking him up and down as if measuring his height.

“Thank you,” Gregor said, hiding his surprise. He and Terry glanced at each other, eyebrows raised. If Gregor’s leadership had been thrown off, why were they welcoming him into his former tent?

There was no time to consider it, and they just stepped in. In the corner, the highwayman looked up from his makeshift desk, covered in maps.

“You,” he roared, in a distressingly familiar tone, and stood up, pointing his finger threateningly at the both of them.

“What are you doing here?”

He was absolutely the spitting image of Gregor.