Pidwermin splashed water from his canteen onto his hands to wash away the grease of the roasted game, then carefully cleaned his fork and knife with a silk handkerchief. He leaned comfortably back into the seat of his travelling litter, which was now settled atop two heavy logs. The chair resembled a miniature, wooden throne with its high back and long armrests.

  “That was excellent. The meat is perfect at that age. You really should try it cooked sometime.”

  Kovak broke the last rib bone between his jaws and sucked the marrow out. He sat on a fallen tree twenty yards from his travelling companion with the small fire situated between them. His armor was neatly stacked at the base of the downed tree, along with his sword and folded cloak.

  “I hope these aren’t bothering you terribly.” Pidwermin half-lifted his fork before rolling it up in a thick napkin and stuffing it into his culinary basket.

  “It’s fine.” Kovak assured the frog. “With the fire I can barely smell the silver from here. Just be careful where you point that thing.”

  “You’re safe, I promise. I’ve used this knife and fork hundreds of times without injury to myself or another.” Pidwermin knew that Kovak knew he took some pleasure in delivering that barb after a somewhat harrowing-for-the-frog trip down the mountain earlier that day.

  The thin crescent mother moon hung low in the sky. She had just awoken from her new phase.

  The daughter moon was sleeping this night and absent from the sky. Moon lore held that when the smaller moon was in her new phase, she rested from her unruly behavior on the previous two nights when she was not with her mother in the night sky, instead being visible during daylight hours.

  The thin waxing mother moon touched the lowland plains with only a faint silvery light. Intermittent patches of forest dotting the landscape were transformed into purplish-black, blotchy silhouettes barely visible against the backdrop of the dark night.

  Above the horizon in the east a new point of light could be seen for the first time in nearly a year. About the size of a large star, surrounded by smaller points of light that flickered in and out like a cloud of glitter, the Herald began its journey across the night sky. The peculiar tail of light trailing behind this heavenly object could not yet be seen, but would be visible in the weeks ahead.

  A few hundred yards north of the small grove where the companions roasted their deer, the rounded base of Little Bowl spanned the entire plain between two woodlots. An outcropping the size of a large hill, the massive rock resembled an overturned, 400-foot mixing bowl, hence the name.

  The rushing of the Akanu River provided a pleasant, background soundscape, easily capable of singing a weary traveler to sleep. The occasional last calls of a group of waterfowl perfected the ambient lullaby.

  Kovak stood and stretched his arms overhead, as if intent on touching the sky. He then immediately dropped down on all fours, tail erect behind him, and leaned into another deep stretch. First forward until his snout nearly touched the ground, then leaning back on his hips, he extended all four limbs outward at a slight angle and stretched until every muscle seemed to tremble from the great effort. Satisfied, he collapsed and curled his body into a shaggy arc, his chin resting on slightly folded forearms.

  Pidwermin studied the wolf closely. A spectacle and a fascination he found his companion. His arms were those of a man, albeit disproportionately long, with four fingers and a thumb on each hand. His rear legs looked as canine as any shepherd dog’s or wolf’s, again aside from their immensity, ending in large, clawed paws that held a somewhat human shape. Despite these oddities and inconsistencies, Kovak looked very much like a gigantic wolf when he curled into his sleeping posture.

  “What is keeping her?” The frog posed the rhetorical question as he scanned the flats to the south.

  “She’s close.” Kovak assured him. “I caught her scent before we started the fire.”

  “I see. Playing one of her ranger games. How very endearing.”

  A pleasant, yet rather loud voice with a musical quality emanated from a stand of young Hemlock trees that straddled the edge of the firelight. “Trying to keep your senses sharp, frog.”

  The frog gave an involuntary “Yah!” and sprang off its toes, launching six feet straight up and dropping back to the ground behind the wooden conveyance.

  Mlasha laughed wickedly as she stepped from the Hemlock stand. “Met with health and joy Pidwermin.” Her silhouette towered over the flat ground, eleven feet and change. She had the voice that could only belong to a beautiful woman, with the peculiarity of being exceptionally loud.

  “Health and joy to you, ettin.” The frog answered in an amicable but scolding tone.

  Kovak’s tail beat the ground with three stout wags before he caught the involuntary act and composed himself. The instant he heard Mlasha’s voice he realized she had maneuvered upwind of him to avoid detection. Clever girl, he thought.

  “I knew you were there.” The wolf lied cooly.

  “Of course you did.” The female ettin chided as she approached the small, temporary campsite.

  Her travelling cloak could not hide the magnificent curves of her figure and the alluring, serpentine motion of her hips and waist as she walked. Any man, even if terrified by the sight of the gigantic female, would find himself mesmerized by her provocative gait and sultry idiosyncrasies, like the way she rolled her forearms and let her wrist dangle, pinky finger extended as if casually doodling a mark in the air while she walked.

  The companions watched her approach without another word.

  At a glance one might think her head favored her left shoulder in an impossibly exaggerated lean. Upon closer examination that same one would discover her neck actually came out of her torso to the left of center. Right of the centerline and equal distance from the opposite shoulder sat the remnants of another neck, wrapped tightly in fabric that was secured by a heavy gold chain with big, square links.

  Mlasha was of a smaller race of giants with the remarkable attribute of having two heads. In the common tongue such creatures were called ettin, but in their native language her people called themselves Duarok. Both terms meant “two-headed” in their respective dialects, though in Duarok the connotation was closer to “two people”.

  She had been a two-headed giant, prior to the loss of one head at the hands of an enraged mate. She had of course promptly avenged the murder of her sister, for the ettin regard themselves as two sibling people sharing a body, and was subsequently exiled from her tribe for the crime of Eikk Boar, or husband slaying.

  Reaching the fireside, she slid her pack from her back and let her hood fall down onto her shoulders and with an amazing, wide smile had a good look at first the curled up wolf and then the fidgeting frog. Her face was long and slender by proportions, still thicker than any human woman’s face of course but for a creature of Mlasha’s size elegantly narrow. Her features, nose and cheekbones were also long and had a subtle sharpness about them. The ettin’s eyes were an icy, pale blue and so clear and penetrating that even creatures close to her size, like Kovak, found prolonged eye contact uncomfortable.

  How interesting, Pidwermin mused. The word ettin had come to mean “ugly giant” in common, albeit improper usage. Indeed the males were hideous to behold, making the eye of the beholder cry out for a glimpse of an ogre or troll to ease the pain. The unrefined masses were largely unaware of the fact that females of the species were epically beautiful, every bit as lovely and desirable as their male counterparts were disgusting and repulsive.

  “Whose ready to kill a damn wyvern?” Mlasha asked with genuine enthusiasm.

  “Just one?” Kovak knew his attempts to show off for Mlasha were obvious and clumsy. Still he couldn’t help himself. Fortunately the lady ettin was always kind enough to let his gaffs go without embarrassing him.

  “You’re both here with all your arms and legs. I take this to mean your ogre hunt was magnificently successful.” The giantess eagerly awaited an in-depth report.

  “Oh my.” Pidwermin fretted. “Survival and the retention of our limbs scores a magnificent rating.” He put on his best fake smug face. “How we must be slipping.”

  “You know I didn’t mean that you little purple turd.” Mlasha set the record straight, turned her nose up subtly yet unmistakably, and added, “I await a proper accounting of events for these past three nights.”

  She turned her head so she could look the frog full in the face and so he could see all of her face. After holding eye contact for two seconds she winked and returned her gaze forward into the fire.

  “We saved you some venison.” Pidwermin motioned to a stout wooden table offset from the fire. A plate piled high with cooked cuts from the deer sat in the center of the table; offset from the plate a giant-sized mug full of dark beer awaited.

  “Thanks I am kind of hungry.” Mlasha grabbed two steaks from the pile and devoured one quickly. “I didn’t take the time to do any hunting today; wheat rolls and a cube of cheese will only get a girl so far.”

  The giantess consumed the plate of meat and chugged the contents of the mug, wiped her mouth with her sleeve, then said “That hit the spot all right. Now tell me how things went with your ogres.”

  “The first two nights were frustrating at best.” The frog began.

  He gathered his thoughts for half a second, for he knew if he withheld too many details he would be subjected to a rapid volley of follow-up questions. The wizard mentally browsed his repertoire of narrative styles, settled on a combination of military reporting and folk storytelling, then continued.

  “As you may or may not know Ogres had come and gone from Wellington’s Orchards, killed six people and taken three horses along with some coinage, jewelry and other valuables – they were unable to get into the town vault. An elven archer in the town was able to pester them away by putting numerous arrows into their hide while staying out of reach; he no doubt saved many lives. This was the event that started our little quest.”

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  “The bird we received told of three ogres.” the frog had another drink. “As it turned out those three were part of a larger group of seven ogres.”

  “Seven ogres!” Mlasha exclaimed. “That’s a handful all right. I’d have to fight cautiously until I took the first three or four out; maybe use my sling before we got into close-quarters melee.”

  “We ended up engaging them in two separate groups.” Kovak clarified.

  “Makes sense.” said Mlasha.

  Pidwermin cleared his throat. The wolf and giantess gave him their undivided attention.

  “The second night we patrolled the avenues going to and from the gnaw. I cast a divination spell and learned a small tribe of ogres – fourteen including three adolescents – had come up from the depths and made camp inside a cave near the peak. Our seven culprits were among them, so we waited. And waited.”

  “It seemed they weren’t coming down, and another magical examination of the situation indicated they were on the verge of returning deep underground. We accepted disappointment and began our trek down towards Argentum, thinking we’d turn east after a resupply and wait for you here.”

  “On the third evening, acting on a wolf’s instincts, we turned back and wouldn’t you know it - intercepted a group of seven ogres just past the nape of the Gnaw.” the frog continued. “They were coming down. Initially it appeared they were ready to settle the affair then and there but to Kovak’s dismay they opted out of a fight and slipped down a gorge when we thought they were dug in at higher ground.”

  “We reached their defensive position through a long, careful flanking maneuver only to find it deserted. Kovak finally found the new trail in that rocky country. They had split into two groups and headed into the frontier, one going south and the other northwest.”

  “From the nape,” Mlasha began figuring. “Badger’s Burrow is almost due south and northwest would run along the collar bone to the cutback that takes you off the ridge, assuming they kept to the trail.”

  “Right you are and they did keep to the trail.” the frog reported.

  “At the end of that cutback there’s a little spur leaving the main trail and then reconnecting right before Scree Basin Mine. That’s about sixty men, maybe a few women and children, plenty of supplies and hey, all the silver a raiding band could want since it’s mined right there.”

  “Thinking like a raider.” The frog encouraged his young pupil. “Continue.”

  “On the other hand there’s also at least a flank of soldiers from the mountaineer corps protecting that mine. If you keep going after the cutback once you come down off the ridge you’ll hit a fork in about a mile; left goes back down the mountain to Topaz Falls and then into the duchy proper, but right winds you to Cobble Home, eventually.”

  “You can’t chase both groups at once. It’s just you and your companion, the legendary wolf-warrior Kovak. How do you proceed?” Pidwermin had another drink then folded his arms to assume one of his favorite listening postures.

  Mlasha thought for a second, then realized she needed one last bit of vital information. “How did the ogres divide their numbers between the two groups and who went where?”

  “Excellent question my dear.” The frog’s praise was authentic. Most giant species were prone to making rash, hurried decisions in similar circumstances. Instinctively they sought the shortest path possible to the most violence available in any given moment.

  Mlasha kept her cool, using her mind to solve problems and choose effective actions for getting to the most violence as quickly as possible, in a sensible manner that allowed other goals to be considered as well. Most of the time.

  The giantess possessed more beauty than brains, and more brute capability than brains and beauty combined. Yet she could use her available intelligence very well so long as her emotions remained in check.

  If she became anxious or flustered she would soon thereafter become aggravated, which put her within arm’s reach of being angry. An angry Mlasha wasted no effort on calculations, had little interest in complex strategy. To be honest she rarely spent more than a moment in anger, typically progressing to rage in very short order.

  The enraged version of Mlasha alarmed even Kovak and terrified Pidwermin to the point of trauma. Three times had he witnessed the rage consume her and he would neither discuss any of these incidents nor could he bring them to mind without significant distress.

  Mlasha suffered no anger nor agitation as she sat with her companions by the fire this night.

  She understood the stakes and factors involved here. The lives and properties of many common folks could be lost to a poor decision. Furthermore, her own safety and that of her fellow rangers was at risk. Lost or wasted time gave the enemy an opportunity to set traps or enact an ambush.

  “Four ogres went south and the other three went northwest.” Pidwermin clarified and then watched as the gears turned behind the lady giant’s lovely eyes.

  “Then we know four are headed to Badger’s Burrow for certain. There’s nothing else that way for miles of hard terrain. Plenty of loot, supplies, and doodads at the Burrow and at least one-hundred souls with a small, professional security force of about two dozen men. Rugged men who’ve been in more than a few fights, but not with ogres, Four ogres would have their way with that place, maybe at a cost of one of their own.”

  “The other three won’t go to the mine. A flank of the duke’s men would probably end them; it’d be about twenty solders on each ogre. They’ll go to Cobble Home as fast as they can get there, figuring they’ve got a junction on the other end of town with good options on escape trails.”

  “Your reasoning is sound, child.” The frog commended his protégé, beaming like a proud father. “Go on.”

  “Who says they have to go back up the gnaw right away? They’d just have to share their loot with other ogres, that or plan on fighting their whole clan. They could hole up in the Canyon of the Hiding Eyes or in the cliffs by the old ruins, or in the ruins themselves for that matter.”

  “Very good.” The frog took a hard pull of booze. “So what do you do, Ranger of the Jagged Jaw?”

  “First I’d send a bird to the mine to warn the flank commander. Ask him – no, as a deputized ranger I’d order him to dispatch a squad, spears and light crossbows to Cobble Home. He could send a bird ahead so Tansin could mobilize the militia at Cobble Home. With a squad of mountaineers and their militia they might be able to handle three ogres or at the least hold them off.”

  “We could pace the ogres heading to the Burrow and, by going off trail probably cut them off before the plateau the inn and its town are built upon. Ideally after we’ve destroyed them we could double back as fast as our legs would carry us. Unlikely we would catch the other three before they arrived at Cobble Home but we might; they shouldn’t beat us there by much at any rate as ogres are slow.”

  “Impressive planning Mlasha.” said Pidwermin.

  “Yes.” Kovak spoke up again. “A solid plan of action.”

  Mlasha nodded. “Is that what you did?” She looked at Kovak, then Pidwermin.

  “Not exactly.” Kovak admitted. “We took a slightly different approach.”

  “Oh?” Mlasha leaned in attentively.

  “I took off after the four that went due south, thinking I saw an opportunity to head them off.” the wolf began. “Once more they cast their shadows from far off to fall where they were nowhere near and thus I headed off the shadows of the fiends and not they themselves.”

  “Ogres, goblins, kobolds, trolls, cast from afar whose shadow rolls.” Mlasha sounded part of the old nursery rhyme that taught children about the elusive nature of ugly things moving at the edges of their world.

  “Yes.” The wolf agreed. “As I have learned these last eight years traversing your realm. It is a strange thing that even as I am aware of their trickery, the movements and tricks of the light, whatever magic or nature it is, can seem so real. I was certain I could see the ogres in the distance navigating a particular scar of a high pass, but it was not so; they had taken a rough spur and returned to the trail well ahead of where I thought them to be.”

  “My people have fought trolls and ogres for hundreds of generations, such that their tricks seldom work on me.” Mlasha explained. “I can see how the displacement of shadows and sounds could cause trouble; how does one discern the false from the true signs of the passing of such creatures?”

  “Your eyes do not see the false shadows and illusions of silhouettes such creatures cast?” Kovak pressed.

  “They do not.” Mlasha explained. “Why, I cannot say. Certain magical charms do work on my kind, but not these.”

  “I do not think these tricks are magic of beguilement, such as charms. Such magic does not work on my people.” Kovak added.

  “I can vouch for that.” the frog laughed. “I mean the part about Faolchu being immune to charming magic. This ‘trick’, or defense method really, of ogres and their kin is not magical. It’s more akin to a native trait, like a bird changing the color of its feathers to blend in with the backdrop.”

  For a moment no one spoke. The fire crackled and popped.

  “Anyway it didn’t save our ogres, only delayed their undoing by a small measure of time.” The frog declared. “I sent my last bird to the mine.” He looked at Mlasha “You were wiser than I dear for I thought the ogres would go for the silver. Then I caught up with Kovak; we arrived at the Burrow only a few paces behind the four goons.”

  “Ooh tell me of that battle. Four ogres. Such a triumph would cast the names of two warriors into the tales of many generations, but I expect they were no match for the two of you.”

  “I must apologize for making it look easy.” Kovak said playfully. “I had the unfair advantage of a purple wizard frog on my side.”

  The wolf and the giantess shared a laugh. The frog watched a bottle of bourbon, hovering of its own accord before him, refill his drinking flask; he took a pull from the topped off flask as the bottle floated back into a square, cloth bag nearby.

  “Suffice it to say I did what little I could manage with what little I had in terms of materials and skills. Kovak did the heavy lifting; short work made of those four, paperwork tendered to the local sheriff and innkeeper, and off we went.”

  “A quick divination was cast.” the frog continued. “I was distraught to learn I had been wrong about the ogres’ heading. We made swift departure back towards Cobble Home.”

  “Men died there at Cobble Home before our arrival.” Kovak lamented. “In retrospect we should have taken more care when we first spotted the ogres descending from the Gnaw.”

  “That’s a glass half-empty outlook.” Mlasha scolded. “The people of Cobble Home and Badger’s Burrow would have suffered far worse, but you saw the threat coming down. Your instincts and follow-up actions saved many lives.”

  “A productive perspective.” The wolf conceded. “Thank you.”

  “I should have shortened our time by magical means.” Pidwermin touched a plain-looking ring on his finger as he spoke. “I decided against it because the magic of displacement, or translocation as some call it, works at least in part on the basis of visualization. It’s easiest and safest to leap to places you’ve been before and can see clearly; if you aren’t precise in your intent you could end up inside of a tree or off the side of a cliff, or worse.”

  “Then you chose correctly.” said the giantess. “You wouldn’t be much help if you magicked into Cobble Home just to fall off the side of the mountain.”

  The frog chuckled “I suppose that’s true.”

  “I never cared for that particular method of travel anyway.” Kovak admitted.

  “I know.” said the frog. “Most people don’t. I admit it does take some getting used to.”

  “The fight with the ogres.” Mlasha smiled. “Tell me about that.”

  “They are lumbering and unskilled.” said Kovak. “Also very large and difficult to miss.”

  The two warriors laughed.

  “It was a slaughter.” the frog spoke up. “All three were dead and headless in less than two minutes once the fight began.”

  Mlasha smiled and shook her head. She knew the frog wasn’t exaggerating as she had seen the wolf in battle many times.

  The trio sat quietly for another moment. More cracking and popping from the fire replaced the talk of ogres and ranger work.

  Pidwermin broke the silence. “I failed to replace my pigeon before leaving Cobble Home. Do you have one I could borrow, Mlasha?”

  “Sorry Dwerm. I used my last bird before sunset to inform Marquess Sharveel that a party of the Duke’s rangers had arrived in his territory to address the wyvern at his request.”

  “Perfect. You saved me the trouble. I’ll therefore forgive your use of that ridiculous pet name, this time.” The frog hated when Mlasha called him ‘dwerm’, though not as much as when she called him simply ‘frog’ in an irate tone.

  “I also requested a mounted patrol in-force from Argentum to Pisco S’Gach.” The giantess amended.

  “Really? In-force no less.” The frog was intrigued, as the term in-force clarified a large patrol, well-armed and expecting hostile engagements.

  “I took the long way to meet you here. Knowing I had time to spare I didn’t want to be idle. In my sweep of the plains from the wild regions to here I found plenty of goblin sign. I even caught a small band skirting the Swamp of Sorrows, using it as cover to recon the roads between here and the Waywards.”

  “You were cordial I presume?” Kovak inquired. “Saw that their leader received a pamphlet listing the local attractions and topped off their wineskins for them?”

  Mlasha laughed. “I sure did. Right before I smashed six of them. The other four got away; little bastards are quick.”

  “Good thinking on that in-force patrol then.” the frog added.

  “I figured we’re busy with the wyvern.” said Mlasha.

  “Indeed.” Pidwermin agreed.

  “If I am to be of any use at all against this giant, flying reptile, I must sleep first.” Kovak announced. “I’ll get started on that if the two of you will kindly keep it down.” He rolled over so his face was away from the fire and his two companions and presently began to snore.

  The giantess and the frog sat quietly watching the fire dance and listening to it rumble.