Chapter 8

The temperature dropped as we entered the cave. Blaster had wrapped himself in a thick fur cloak over his Sun robes. When he shivered, I chuckled. All that fur and he is still cold. At any moment, a slavering monster might jump out at us and I needed an unfettered sword arm, so I was not afforded the luxury of a cloak.

"You should feel how cold armor gets here," I told the Muse. "Be thankful you don't have to swing a sword.

Against the monsters of the Arctic, I chose a Flamefang, one of many new weapons replacing my old White Moon Axe. My wife and I had experienced a bit of prosperity since her return. Like any good warrior, I had spent a lot of our money on weapons—I was a walking armory.

We met no ogres in the first chamber. Odd perhaps, but there might be other hunting parties nearby. As we stepped into the second chamber, three huge, blue ogres ambushed us. Before I had even managed to raise my sword, green flames leapt from Blaster's fingers. Striking each of the ogres, they left behind the foul odor of disease. "Scourge" is an effective, though unpleasant, spell. I guess Poets like Blaster wouldn't use it so much if they had to stand next to a "Scourged" beast while hacking it to pieces.

I was graceful enough to duck the first swing of the ogre in front of me, his massive spiked club missing the top of my helm by inches. As his arm went past, everything seemed to slow down. I had entered the world of the "Berserker." The ogre's armor gaped slightly behind his club arm. With a fury augmented by Blaster's healing spells, I drove my Fang through the weak spot.

"Huh?" The ogre wasn't the sharpest blade in the Smithy, and it took him several seconds to realize he was dead.

Sensing that Blaster had summoned a barrier around himself, I turned my attention to the remaining pair. Unfortunately, they had flanked me. To hit one of them, I would have to turn my vulnerable back to the other. While I was deciding which ogre to hit first, a tremendous red glow lit the cavern. At first I didn't realize that it was the ogre on my right, enveloped in a "Hellfire" spell. The ogre, of course, knew right away. He spun away from me, searching for his attacker. After moving only a step or two, he was completely consumed by flames. The remaining ogre howled his rage at us, but it was short-lived. My trusty "Whirlwind" spell hit him before he even raised his club. The spell drained my life force completely, but Blaster's healing had me back to fighting trim before I could begin to feel exhausted.

I felt Blaster's barrier spell fade behind me. Because that spell only lasts a few seconds, I knew the entire battle had been quite brief. When you go "Berserker," your sense of time gets warped

"So," a voice echoed eerily against the icy walls of the cavern, "You have come to hunt my ogres, eh?"

Blaster shrugged when I glanced in his direction, indicating he knew as little as I about the bodiless voice.

We moved slowly into the center of the cavern, Blaster's Star-staff held high to let its crystal tip light our path. I nearly dropped my Flamefang when I saw what awaited us. In the center of the cavern stood an old man. Although long, unkempt hair and beard covered his shoulders and chest, it was obvious that he wore nothing but small, gray underclothes.

"Aren't you cold?" Blaster asked, drawing his fur cloak tighter and shivering in sympathy.

"Thank you, sir, for your help." I bowed slightly to the old man, obviously the source of the hellfire. They say mages sometimes go mad after years of handling some of the strongest offensive magic in the Kingdom. I could see some of that madness in the old man's eyes, but it was hard to see anything beyond the intense aura of power he gave off.