More signs of Lukotor’s passing greeted them. Another sentry with its lungs burned out. A patrolling ogre with three spears skewered through its neck, surrounded by a trio of broken bodies.

“Shit! Shit!” Wurhi hissed. “Think they have that magic egg?”

Kyembe growled. “If they did, we would be dead.”

“Look at that!” St. Cristabel pointed forward.

Beyond the trees up ahead rose an ancient greenish wall, cyclopean in structure and jagged at the top. Vine and moss crawled over the stones, colouring them verdigris. The tree-line ended before it, and from behind drifted the sounds of grotesque life.

Where once a magnificent bronze gate would have stood, now only a tangled barricade of logs and brambles blocked entry to what was the ogre’s settlement. Strangely, none guarded it. The party of three approached the wall undetected. A slight boost from the saint brought Wurhi and Kyembe to the top, hidden from the ogres’ eyes by verdant boughs. They peered into the settlement. The knight stood guard below.

Before them rose the broken promises of a lost civilization. Throughout, they could see half-towers and fallen temples, overgrown markets, tumbled statues and stone houses repurposed. Zabyalla dwarfed it, but Wurhi could well see that it had been a proud city in its day. At a distance a towering figure of stone overlooked all in the central plaza: powerful, stern and clad in stone robes beneath a breastplate of bronze.

Wurhi shuddered at the feat of metallurgy required to craft such a giant piece of armour, but her gaze was drawn to the face of the statue. It had been long despoiled, hiding its original identity. Deep gouges marred the stone over which a grinning skull had been painted in red pigment. A crown of mastodon tusks writhed into the air above its head, suggesting some abyssal giant standing guard over its horned people.

Ogres stalked about the ruins below its gaze in agitation, weapons in hand. From the west a party of four came, bellowing and boasting to each other. They bore several of Avernix’s warriors tied to saplings slung over their shoulders. The soldiers hung like harvested rabbits after a hunt. No sooner had they passed, than another hunting party surged boisterously through the same western gateway. The barricade was pulled shut after them.

Wurhi’s eyes narrowed. If that portal was guarded, why was this one abandoned? Best be away from here quickly.

“Where do you think it’ll be? There?” she pointed to a dilapidated palace behind the grand despoiled statue.

“I doubt it,” Kyembe mused. “If I led these monsters, that is where I would make my throne.”

“Oh. Then we should never go there,” Wurhi said emphatically.

Kyembe pointed in the distance to the north end of the city where earthen mounds rose from the soil like conch shells in the surf. “Those barrows will hold the wealth of the dead. You see that one in the middle?” His finger focused on an earthen heap large enough to be a natural hill. “I will flay myself if that is not Gergorix’s tomb.”

“That’s all the way across the city!” Wurhi cursed. The ruins were not wide, but they would need to weave through an entire village of ogres to pass. “We should go around.”

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A tumble of pebbles nearly made her spirit leap from her body. St. Cristabel pulled herself up the wall with her sword and shield on her back. “You found the bower of their leader, you say?” Her eyes burned with excitement. “At last! The swift wind to glory blows!”

She tensed to throw herself over.

“Wait wait wait wait wait!” Kyembe panicked, catching her by the shoulder. “You will rouse the whole village!”

A grin came through her freckles. “It will be a battle to remember!”

Wurhi rapidly shook her head. “You’ll kill us! Kill us!”

“Surely not!” St. Cristabel scoffed. “Alone, this rabble would be barely a challenge for me. With the Spirit Killer at my side, it would devolve into unfair contest!”

They were dead, Wurhi realized. This fool knight was going to charge out screaming, and ogres were going to come and squash her flat while the two fool warriors fought their ‘unfair contest’.

“Hrm, possible.” Kyembe rocked his head to and fro, ignoring the Zabyallan’s incredulous look. “But such chaos could allow Lukotor to slip through and gain the egg. Please, I ask for your aid until it is in our hands. I will help you have your fight with your ogress after.”

She thought for a moment. “Very well. I have no love for this Lukotor. I would sooner see Gergorix’s legacy in the hands of friends.”

“Friends?” Kyembe cocked an eyebrow. “We just met.”

She chuckled. “And what of it? We broke bread, saved each other’s lives and journeyed into danger. If those are not the seeds of friendship, then what can be called thus?”

A wide grin broke on the Sengezian’s face. “I like the way you think.”

“Funny that, so do I.” A mischievous twinkle lay in the saint’s eyes.

“Okay, that’s all nice. Very, very nice. Good! Good!” Wurhi’s tone was acid. “But much better after we get the magic doom egg away from the fire-spraying wizard!”

Amused, Kyembe turned to say something back to her, but froze mid-movement, his eyes locked on the centre of the village. “By the Stars! Look!”

Three ogres made their way through the central plaza, drawing stares from their fellows. Between them strode several prisoners. Walking defeatedly were three Garumnan warriors. Striding boldly was a tall and powerfully built man, red bearded and bronze helmed with a golden crown hammered into it. Dragging himself along was a towering old man in a vulture feathered cloak. Shining jewels were woven into his hair.

“Yes!” Wurhi nearly crowed in malicious glee. “Captured! Good! Good! Saint! Wait until that big ogress eats them before you fight her!”

“No, no, no, no.” Kyembe slowly shook his head, his voice tight. “Something is wrong. Look how stiffly the ogres walk.”

The Zabyallan looked again and saw he was right. Each moved as a wooden puppet, like those used by the travelling performers of Huangzheai. Their bodies were stiff, and at times they shuddered with faces grimaced in a scowl. Their fellows only stared at the passing prisoners, their attention utterly focused, detecting no note of anything amiss. Bypassing the broken palace, the three ogres and their captives continued north toward the barrows.

“They seem bewitched!” Kyembe dropped from the wall. “They will take Lukotor right to the Wizard-King’s tomb! Come! We have to run!”

Panic surged through Wurhi. “Going around will take forever! Can’t we go through?!”

“Even I could not conquer the ogres’ numbers before they reached their destination.” St. Cristabel dropped, grimly bringing her bearing sword and shield to bear.

“What about blasting them with your ring?” Wurhi demanded.

“I would have to channel much power to the beam to hit them from this range!” He sprinted beside the wall, drawing his sword. “It could cut through the village and set the forest ablaze!”

Wurhi cursed vilely, bringing out her sword and knife. “I swear, I’m going to cut that old man’s heart out.”

The three raced around the wall of the ruined city.