This ritual was always followed by the sacrifice of a slave, the pouring of blood onto the glacial face. The Axe of Gonnas struck the wall and released the storm that drove the ogres back into their citadel, wrapping a blanket of ice and darkness over all Icereach.
“We will leave for the mines at noon, to use such daylight as we can,” King Grimtruth announced as he abruptly took his leave. These words were largely for his son. “Be sure you are ready on time.”
Before the prince could reply, two slaves had slammed the great golden doors behind the departing king.
“The standard of the Death Hawk flew over all Ansalon at the height of the Foundation Age,” Grimwar recited, stalking around the tutorial chamber as he tried to remember the elusive facts of his history lesson.
“What were the major capitals?” snapped the dwarf, who was seated in a soft chair, leaning back with his eyes closed. Snik was in his hand, and Baldruk absentmindedly cleaned his fingernails with the lethal magical dagger.
“There was Kern in the east … Narakid to the north.…” The prince paused, forcing his mind to work. “Far west was Dalitgar, with Parlathin in the northwest.”
“The south! You can’t forget the south!”
“I was just getting to that,” snorted Grimwar, who had, in fact, forgotten all about the south. “That was Bloden Khalkist, heart of the empire and birthplace of the Death Hawk line.”
“How came the ogres to Icereach?” pressed the dwarf.
“It was King Barkon who set sail after the Heresy of Igraine,” Grimwar continued, once more feeling on firm ground. “He acted upon a prophecy given to him by Gonnas himself, who saw Igraine’s folly.”
“What was that folly?”
“He showed kindness to humans, even releasing some of his slaves. Those humans would breed in freedom, and Barkon saw that their spawn would be the ruin of our race.”
“Go on.”
“King Barkon’s slaves built him a hundred galleys, and he loaded his wives, and his army, and many slaves and craftsmen, wizards and priests, and set sail from the southern shore of Ansalon. Following the guidance of the Willful One, he came to these shores, to the land called Icereach.”
“How long ago?”
“Fifty-five centuries,” the prince said with certainty. “King Barkon departed Ansalon twenty-eight centuries before the elves founded their ancient kingdom.”
“What is that elven kingdom called?”
Gonnas curse him-why did the dwarf always have to ask the questions that Grimwar wasn’t prepared to answer? He had been studying ogre history, not the lore of the accursed elves! “I can name my own ancestors,” he growled, “going back five thousand years!”
“That is not the question-name the realm of the elves!”
“Silver … silver … east … silver something,” he started lamely, then roared. “I don’t know that one!”
“Well, you should know it!” snapped the dwarf, sitting up and confronting the prince with those pale eyes opened wide, a pale and watery stare. “Your father, the king, wants you to know it! It’s ‘Silvanesti’!” he added contemptuously.
“I was going to say that,” growled the prince, who felt that he should get credit for at least being close. “Why in the name of all the gods should I be concerned with a place that lies across the sea, a place no ogre of my kingdom has seen for thousands of years?”
He knew he had made a mistake. This kind of challenge Baldruk Dinmaker couldn’t help but answer. Though Grimwar had heard it all before, he slumped into a chair, resigned to the lecture he knew was coming.
“You must always be vigilant against the elves,” began the dwarf, “because it is the elves who have been the bane of ogrekind throughout the rest of the world. Those great capitals you mentioned, most of them are gone now, sacked by elven armies and inhabited by human rabble and worse.”
“Yes. I remember your lessons. Neraka is a land of men, and the great ogre port of Parlathin has become the place humans call Palanthas. Daltigar, too, is now in human hands, while Bloten and Kern are small, backward kingdoms, mere shadows of the empire that had once united all the world. But those places that have fallen are now claimed by humans, not elves, so why do you insist that elves are still our greatest enemy?”
“Because humans are like cold clay: They can be shaped by artisans of many kinds. Here in Icereach we are shaping them to serve us. Can you imagine what Winterheim would be like, without your human slaves to do all the work?”
In truth, Grimwar couldn’t imagine that. Everything from farming to smithing to mining and building was done by the men and women enslaved within the ogre kingdom. If those humans were gone, the kingdom-or at least the life that Grimwar had been born to know-would cease to exist.
“That simply means that we have vanquished the humans here-we have been strong enough to prevail.”
“Because the humans of Icereach are few, and they are barbarians. They know nothing of the elven civilizations that have spread to other corners of the world. You must understand this: In the First Dragon War, the army that broke the ogre power on the central plains consisted of ninety-nine humans for every one elf. Yet it was an elven army, an elven king-Silvanos himself-who won that victory, in a battle that sealed the fate of the ogre realms on Ansalon.”
“But not here.” Grimwar was anxious to prove that he had been paying attention.
“No, because there are no elves here!”
“I know that!” Grimwar shuddered inwardly, remembering the prophecy of his wife, the message from Gonnas the Strong. “Did we not search every village, interrogate every prisoner, on the summer’s campaign? The humans know nothing of elves, and as you said yourself, men are fit only to be our slaves.”
“That is not what I said. You would do well to pay closer attention,” the dwarf said in disgust. He glanced at the window. The short period of full daylight had arrived, and Baldruk shrugged. “That is all we have time for, today-we don’t want to keep your father waiting.”
“These are fine bears,” Grimtruth Bane said proudly. “The best I have bred.”
The prince, riding beside his father in the large, open cart, could only agree. Four massive ice bears lumbered in harness, pulling the royal sled along the vast curve of Fenriz Glacier. The bears’ motley white pelts matched the dirty ice of the path, and the animals lumbered along at an easy trot. Golden muzzles caged each fierce maw, but their long claws were bare, necessary to hold the smooth, hard path.
Baldruk Dinmaker and Queen Thraid were seated facing the two bull ogres. Above their bench was the driver, a loyal ogre of advanced age known as Kod Bearmaster. The iron skids grated over the snow as the big bears loped along with comfortable speed.
The sun was a pale orb, low even at noon, and soon it would vanish behind the shoulder of the great mountain. All around loomed the huge peaks of the Icereach Range, the loftiest mountains in the world-at least, according to the teachings of Baldruk Dinmaker, who had traveled far and wide. Those summits ran along both sides of the glacier, jagged teeth extending toward the far frozen south.
The glacier was a river of ice that made a splendid highway leading from the fortress mountain toward the ridges where the kingdom’s richest gold deposits had long been mined. The broad surface extended northward for nearly a hundred miles, until it spilled into the gray waters of the Courrain Ocean. As they entered the shadow of Winterheim, Grimwar felt the chill penetrate his clothes and his flesh, seeping into his very bones, but he huddled even deeper under his bearskin and knew better than to make any complaint.