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"What! What! What!" an ogre shouted.
One of the uninjured pair who'd been on the far side of the wagon was staring at Ragnar in disbelief. It had dropped the wagon's tongue and rushed around the front, only to come to sudden halt when it saw Ragnar stabbing under the wagon with his axe.
"Hey!" growled the other of the pair coming up behind the first and stopping quick before it slammed into its companions back.
"It killed Maluk and Malmur!" squeaked a goblin standing atop the driver's bench of the wagon.
"Shut-up maggot!" growled the first ogre.
"More come to die." Ragnar shouted at them in their harsh tongue.
"You speak the true speak." said the first ogre. "I'll eat your tongue, pale-bag-of-flesh, after the chief is done with you."
"Korm!" cried out the second ogre. "Kill it now. Give the chief its bones. Let the witch have its skin. She make it talk, another slave for the island."
"Maybe," Korm said undecided, "we have some fun with it first."
"You'll taste this axe first." said Ragnar. "I'll be shoving it down your throat."
The ogre, Korm, almost smiled, while the other ogre moved along the edge of the road just outside the axe's reach. They sought to circle the northman and come at him from both sides at once.
The rough planks of the wagon's side scraped across Ragnar's back as he turned, keeping his eyes on both opponents. He was sidling toward Korm, trying to slowly close with the ogre while moving away from the other, when a hand, huge and long-nailed, snatched at his ankle.
Ragnar jumped, one hand releasing his axe and grabbing hold of the side of the wagonbed.
Korm yelled out, "Get him Venj! Maluk, you still alive under there?"
"Blast him!" Maluk cursed from under the wagon. "Rot his bones!"
With only a one-handed grip Ragnar couldn't pull himself up the wagon's side. Swinging his axe high, the lower curve of the blade caught like the prong of a grapple. He hoisted himself over and into the bed of the wagon.
***
About two miles from their graves, Emiel and Ted found a small pond shaded by a stand of trees just south of the roadway. Emiel had sniffed out the pool of brackish water, following a mere trickle of a stream that ran beside the road. Ted dropped his pack and jumped in fully clothed.
"Make it quick." Emiel called to Ted. "And keep it quiet."
Ted stopped his splashing and ducked his head beneath the water. He floated face down for a moment then rolled over on his back. Vigorously he scrubbed at his face and scalp, then rubbed his hands together. A cloud of muddy water spread out around him. Finally he squelched from the pond, pulling at his water-soaked clothes.
"Should've taken my boots off first." he said to Emiel.
Emiel looked past him toward the pond and shook his head. "Keep watch." he told Ted, then walked over and sat on a tuft of weeds at the water's edge. As he pulled off his boots, Emiel realized he was tired. His breath came out in a long huff and he had to resist the urge to just lie back on the soft grass and close his eyes. He settled for a quick dousing of his face and feet, but Ted's headlong plunge and hasty bath had taken far less time.
"Still filthy," Emiel said as he slipped his boots back on, "but it will have to do. It would be my horse and my pack that ran off."
"I have an extra cloak." offered Ted.
"It's a clean shirt and trousers I'd rather have." Emiel replied.
"That robe was clean." said Ted. "Handy thing that."
"A wizard's robe. " Emiel had left it back at his grave. "Too risky to fool with. Enough. We will need to run if we're to catch our barbarian."
"We could change." Ted said uncomfortably.
Emiel looked at him from the corner of his eye. "We will need our clothes and packs." he said, but his hand and mind were on the golden sword. "Better too, if we are not seen clearly in the shape. Night travel, remember."
"I know." Ted looked down at his feet. "It was just a thought."
"The giants would know how to deal with us if they knew. We'd soon find ourselves hunted with fire and silver."
"I know, I know." Ted said quickly. "I just... feel better, changed. Not scared. I didn't used to be scared. Now, ever since the farmhouse...It's all the time. Things aren't right."
Emiel gave a snort. "To say the least. Things are very wrong indeed."
* * *
(To Be Continued)