Page 69 of Ogres Don't Play

Hero, the sword grew hot on my back. I couldn’t let my mind wander, couldn’t let doubt weaken my resolve. Evil would be defeated, therefore, I could not lose. I breathed evenly, blocking out the crowd, the musicians who didn’t recognize me beneath my helmet and the strangers who had come to see the blood, even though only an idiot would go so close to somewhere there were trolls, their curiosity was stronger than their sense.

Like that elven fellow with his little son. He wasn’t a purebred, of course not. They’d have better things to do, except for the emperor. My grandfather. What was he doing here if it wasn’t to assassinate me? It was very strange that an emperor of elves who lived somewhere in Europe, or in some magical pocket world, would come here. Very strange.

I took a deep breath and focused on the weight of Hero on my back, of the pounding in my heart, of the strength and anticipation building with every step. I hadn’t had a real duel for years. This would challenge me, stretch my muscles, and give me the opportunity to fight openly against evil. Being music master, I had to manipulate, persuade, and above all not kill anyone. Today, I was the sword of justice and truth. I would fall on the corrupt troll that had fed on the holy souls of her opponents.

I walked into the field, toward the group of trolls in the center, the sword-bearers carrying my harp. Was it mine to keep? When I got closer, I frowned, because while the trolls were all enormous and terrifying, there was no enormous troll in the group. No, there wasn’t a fifteen foot monster, but there wasa chick in a fur bikini who was probably six feet tall, with all kinds of excessive curves. Was she their mascot? Her skin was ashy green, and her hair was inky green, in a high ponytail, so it swirled around when she spun around to look at me.

She smiled when she saw me, the harp, and the surrounding angels.

“I don’t like it,” Gavriel murmured, still walking behind me. “Shapeshifting shouldn’t be allowed.”

I almost turned to look at him. Was he serious? That furry chick was Garnagth? Impossible. And yet Rook was Magr. If he could figure out that kind of magic, why couldn’t she? The thought of Rook along with the shocking sight of her fur bikini almost shook me from my focus, but the weight of Hero centered me. Evil could not truly disguise itself. It would always be revealed. And when it was, I would defeat it. Even if I got fur between my teeth.

The sword bearers set down my harp and then took two paces back and to the side so I could stand between them, facing off against the troll while Gavriel had my back. I stood there, hands relaxed at my sides while the weight of my old armor settled into my skin. I’d waited for battle so many times in this armor.

The troll woman shifter came forward, flaring her green nostrils in a truly attractive way. Just kidding. Only Rook had attractive nostrils.

“You smell of death,” she rumbled, voice scraping against my musicality like she wanted to corrupt my taste forever.

I smiled. She probably couldn’t see my smile beneath my helmet. “Your death.” My voice cut across the field, like Hero, sharp and primed for battle.

Her eyes widened, then narrowed slightly as she continued sniffing. “Where is the pretty prize? We must be certain he’s herefor claiming once I’ve defeated you. He will hear your screams and feel your pain as I crush your ribs and smash your brains.”

Wow. She was a poet. Too bad her voice was so phenomenally awful, or I’d try to recruit her. Who was I kidding? I’d recruit anyone, no matter how awful the voice. There was a place for every sound. She just needed lessons from Tiago.

I settled into my breathing exercises, the same as Charity and Faith were doing, but Gavriel’s breathing wasn’t as stable, calm, centered as it should be. He didn’t like this situation. He smelled like he wanted to be the one to face the troll instead of me. Protective of me. He smelled protective of me? How could someone smell protective? It was like how ogres could communicate through scent. Only he wasn’t an ogre, but if he was part goblin…I had no idea. I focused on my breathing and trying to smell confident and at peace, to communicate that with him. His breathing eventually steadied, and we became one whole, uniting in will and purpose.

And then Rook came out, flanked by ogres, so many ogres. It felt like we were about to engage in a three-way war: four angels, two dozen trolls, and at least a hundred ogres. In spite of our few numbers, I had complete confidence. Maybe I was a delusional angel, but it was better to lead with confidence than fear.

Rook stood there, in his pretty luthier face, that I refused to let distract me. I was in battle. I could smell him, his concern for me, and something else. When he looked at me in my angel armor, he didn’t recognize me, and worse, didn’t think I recognized him. I centered myself. I was here to battle evil, not wax eloquent about my love. My mate. My fiancé if he’d actually gone to my father to get me a sword, and ask permission to marry me.

My heart ached with a sudden raging happiness. Rook the Luthier, and Luthiel Slandriil the composer had asked my dad for his consent. Rook was serious about marrying me, eventhough I was a delusional angel. He must be completely insane. He was so perfect for me.

“I’m here,” Rook growled, low, but so very sweet. Was he hoarse from singing to me all night? Yes. He needed a nice lemon tea to soothe his throat.

“You will wed the winner of this duel,” Garnagth said in her perfectly awful voice. “Swear it!”

He didn’t look away from me. It’s like he didn’t even notice his lifelong betrothed. “That harp wants to win. I trust you would never disappoint an instrument made by your favorite luthier.” Finally, he glanced at the troll. “Your end has come.”

She snarled at him, and a vapor rose up around her, like pale ashes before it vanished. “You are mine. You and your people will beg me for mercy after I slaughter her like a dog.”

Who slaughters dogs? The vapor was familiar, like the field after battle, when the dead settle, when the souls drift away. Someone had said something about her holding onto souls. How would you do that? She had a black curved tooth on a thong around her neck, framed by her bikini top. At some point, she would explode into her other shape and crush me like a gnat. She would try.

“It’s time,” I said, and nodded at Faith and Charity. They turned as one unit and marched away with Gavriel, leaving me on the field to face my foe.

She said some more things. Was that ogre? What a well-educated troll. Her escorts turned and jogged off the field, leaving only Rook and his hundreds of ogres lined up behind him.

“You will win,” he said to me in a low growl before he turned and stalked off, hating every step he took away from me. He would kill her if she hurt me.

I stood there, still, calm, centered until the clock struck the hour and she moved, leaping towards me while pulling out alarge axe to hack me to pieces. I drew my fingers over the harp I’d never played, drawing a shield around me in a six-foot perimeter. It bloomed from the glorious instrument like a flower in midsummer, as fat and waxy as love.

I played another round of notes that wrapped around her like cords, strangling her. She gasped, jerked, and then pulled out a flute. It looked like it had been carved out of a massive leg bone. There was no way it would have a good sound.

It struck me like tiny darts that wounded my musician soul. It was death, corruption, decay, and despair. It ate at my resolve, my peace, my will. That was her greatest weapon, to defeat the soul first. That’s how she’d feed on me, with that horrible music.

I smiled as I bent over my harp and actually played the love song, not a spell, not an attack, not a defense, but the song on the scroll that had wanted me to learn it. It wasn’t particularly deep or complex, but it matched the flute’s range perfectly. I was the music master of Singsong City. This was my turf, and that flute would play for me.

I twisted her sound until it was on key, and then wove my harp around it, drawing it into my song with the single-minded devotion I’d always had for beautiful sound.

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