Torment and Terror by Craig Halloran Page B

over the dusty ground and faded away.
    All of the brigands’ expressions eased. One half-orc with a missing nostril wiped the sweat from his brow and said, “He must be in a good mood today. I was certain somebody would be in for.”
    “Aye, I remember the last time he was disturbed. He cut poor Milsap’s arm off and beat him to death with it.” The male brigand in full chain dress turned his back to Brak and said with arms wide, “Looks like we all live to laugh another day! Aye!”
    A spear bigger than any Brak had ever seen ripped over his head and skewered the celebrating man through the back.
    “Urk!”
    Huge and thick, the eight-foot-long spear protruded evenly through the man’s body.
    “What a throw!” one brigand praised.
    “Quite the cast!” one said with trembling lips.
    Another spear rocketed into the same man’s face.
    Glitch!
    The corpse teetered over and stuck half upright in the sand. Blood and gore oozed from his wounds.
    The brigands let out a raucous cheer. “Gondoon! Gondoon Gondoon!”
    “Fogle!” Jubilee shouted in a whisper. “We need to get out of here!”
    The mage shrugged at her. His face was fixed on Brak’s.
    The recesses of Brak’s mind recalled something familiar. It was that scent. It was that name. He knew it. Gondoon Stoneskin. That was the ogre who had broken his back.
    ***
    “Brak!” Fogle said to him while the chanting continued. “Brak, don’t lose your mind. Not now. I have a plan.”
    Hunger, rage, and frustration fused together in the huge man’s face. Brak’s eyes started to flutter like beating wings.
    Oh slat! He’s going to get us all killed!
    “What’s your plan, Fogle?” Jubilee said, gawking at Brak.
    On a good note, he did have a plan. There were a few serviceable spells on his lips, and the brigands hadn’t figured out he was a mage yet. They’d gone through his bag but hadn’t found the spellbook. It was mystically hidden.
    On the other hand, Brak was ready to explode.
    The moment Fogle heard the name Gondoon Stoneskin, he was certain the bowels of Bish would start erupting. Everyone in the Magi Roost remembered that battle. Detail after detail. The way Venir told it, the sound of Brak’s spine snapping could be heard for a mile. Venir snapped a heavy broom stick when he told it. It wasn’t one of Venir’s gusty and boisterous tales either. It was dark, sad, and with sympathy.
    “Fogle! Do something!” Jubilee urged.
    Brak started to grumble and mutter. His eyes rolled up in his head, and only the white with a red rim shone. The cords that bound him snapped. Brak was on his feet. He headed for the dead man with the huge spears sticking through his body. He ripped them both clean out of the corpse.
    One of the brigands caught wind of the attack. “Aye, how did you get loose?” Suddenly the blood ran from the man’s face. He turned to run.
    Brak skewered him like a pig. Using the spear, Brak hoisted the brigand up off the ground and skewered another and another.
    Three men died on the end of one spear.
    Brak chucked them aside and charged the others.
    Fogle never saw men run so fast. They scattered in all directions.
    Brak was like a giant tusked boar. Fierce and terrible. The berserker ran down the slowest, and using the spear he gored the brigand to death.
    Captivated by the bloodcurdling scene, Fogle almost didn’t hear Jubilee screaming at him.
    “You know, once they’re dead, he might kill us too!”
    “I know. Give me a moment.” Fogle started recalling a spell. Nothing complicated. The short term was “rot.” It was something he’d thought up after talking to Melegal once. He summoned it, said the words, and let the magic do its work.
    “Well?” Jubilee said, scooting closer to him.
    “Be patient,” Fogle said. His wrists were burning with a fire-like sensation. The fire was burning away at his bonds. He fixed his eyes on Brak. The huge warrior’s dripping spear was broken in half. With half in each hand, he impaled one