The bellow of the yak was truly monstrous. It was a sound that belonged more in a movie about dinosaur theme parks than it did in a bovine throat. Beyond the walls the ogres were massed, some scrabbling at the earthen walls, some falling back clutching wounds. From the darkness beyond them the yak revealed itself. It emerged from the curtain of darkness like the prow of a ship appearing through a tempest.

  Bulky, hulking shoulders, a mass of ragged shaggy hair. The hooves strode forward with terrible deliberate steps. It pointed at the walls and bellowed again, a long drawn out nightmare sound. It shook its body, the muscle and hair swaying and rippling, a vicious hoof tearing at the ground. Steam seemed to vent from its nostrils like from a whistling kettle.

  From the walls Cutter shuddered and glanced over to Reader. Reader caught the glance and looked back, pausing his work with the next log for the barest instant.

  Cutter spoke under his breath, too quiet and too far away for Reader to hear it. “I sure as shit hope you got this figured out, pal, cause if that thing hits these walls they’re coming down, and then we’re all dead. We can’t compete with the weight of those numbers.”

  Beyond the wall was a single patch of vegetation. It was sufficiently out of place that it had drawn the attention of more than one of the ogres on their approach. It was, seemingly, a benign sprouting of weeds and flowers. It could hardly be considered a concern when they came here with such bigger matters to attend to. What worry could they have for a patch of muted green and night-dulled flowers when they had experienced such terrible upheaval in their home in the last hours.

  Even Tonk had done little more than glance at it. He was in a state of manic exhilaration. He bore his own father’s head on a spike. The reality of that drunken him. He had slain his father. It was not without regret. He was elated, yes, that he had finally seized control. He was giddy with excitement, with a need to put this to an end so he could experience the future he’d always wanted. But wells of grief and panicked fright surged in him as well. He had killed his own father, was displaying him now as a symbol of what had been wrong with their settlement. Others had died in the defending and taking of the old patriarch. The ranch would be a long time becoming again what it had been, if it ever could be the same.

  And so, with a sea of emotions running through the gang of ogres, they marched past the bushy cluster of sprouting plants.

  Eyes watched them as they passed. Dark menacing little eyes that narrowed with the infuriating inability of their owner to utter profanities, and eyes set in a fuzzy face.

  The watchers in the clump of growth bided their time. It was not a comfortable time for them. Just beyond the concealment of their refuge a battle began. Huge feet staggered and trudged past them. Though one of the two might well have been utterly indestructible, neither of them was eager to be trod on and discovered.

  They waited.

  It was only when the yak emerged from the recesses of the dark night that they prepared for motion.

  Grim turned to Bean and hissed, “You better be flubbing ready, hairball. This thing is happening fast and you’re my getaway. Got it, shiphead?”

  Bean just nodded, emitting a single whispered “pip!” The pipkin was trembling with tension and fear, but only determination marked its fuzzy face.

  Grim looked down to his hands and sighed. There he held Cutter’s bag of holding. He shook his head slowly. “This better flipping work.”

  Cutter watched with his heart hammering, watching the yak paw the ground, waiting for the moment of impending violence. A green arm snagged the top of the wall and suddenly there was a broad green face above the wall, a club swinging for him. He barely ducked back in time, cursing at his distraction. The glaive flashed and an arch of blood sprayed, obscuring the ogre’s face. It stumbled back, falling from the wall, clutching its eyes as it screamed in unrestrained pain.

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  Again Cutter’s eyes snapped back to the yak. His heart hammered in his chest so hard that he felt it would come to an abrupt terminal halt at any moment.

  “Come on you little bastards…”

  The yak lunged forward. Cutter’s heart sank. Somehow the plan had failed. It had always been sure to fail, he felt deep down. There were too many possibilities for the failure to occur and only one sequence of events that would have ended with success. Grim and Bean would have needed to go undetected, and for all he knew they’d been found at the start of the assault. Grim would need to be counted on for a second, and for all the rules controlling his behaviour, Cutter had little faith in the little book demon. And Reader’s contraption, stowed in the bag of holding… well the adept had hardly seemed totally convinced it would succeed.

  The yak surged forward, hooves tearing at the ground. Cutter braced himself, roaring, “GET READY! THEY’LL ALL BE IN WHEN THE HOLE IS MADE!”

  Its hooves ripped the ground. Then they scraped the ground. Then they barely touched the ground. Then, to the sound of a confused braying, the yak found itself suspended in the air, legs working and producing no motion. It floated higher, and the startled diminutive form of Grim was revealed. He was looking up at the floating yak, a look of wonder on his usually mean face.

  Just above the yak a length of log floated. From its ends ran two lengths of rope, circling its hips and ending in a tightly drawn noose. The log rose higher, levitation sigils glowing brightly in the darkness, and the yak rose with it. The animal’s expression and bleating changed from confusion to sudden panic and fear. The creature bawled, wriggling and shaking as it was drawn further up.

  Tonk’s jaw hung open as he watched his most precious weapon sail skyward. He snapped his attention to Grim and roared, “GET HIM!”

  No sooner were the words uttered than three ogres converged on him. Grim backpedalled, naked fear crossing his leathery face. A hand lunged out to take hold of him.

  Blades of grass surged and exploded, the ogre’s thick fingers seized nothing but shredded green. Others stumbled in as more tufts of green exploded in a staggered line. Motion could just be glimpsed as a bounding graceful pipkin and a toddling panicked tomegeist raced through the cover. The path of grasses led into the darkness of the night and soon the two were lost.

  Cutter roared with laughter, “YEAH! How you like them apples, Tonk?”

  Tonk turned to him, brandishing the spear that ended in his father’s severed head. His cry was more distressed than angry, “What’ve ye done to Petunia?” He looked up at the receding yak. “Petunia! Baby! Daddy will get you.”

  Tonk’s jaw hung open as he impotently watched the yak drifting away on a gentle breeze. The creature wailed a bovine wail as it continued to struggle against the bindings.

  Tonk snapped his attention back to the walls and screamed in rage, “Get the bastards!”

  Cutter’s laughing, smiling face sobered quickly as all the ogres turned and charged. “Oh shit. Here we go!”

  Then they slowed, stopping. Tonk was waving and shouting, “Wait! Wait!”

  Norris and Cutter exchanged worried glances.

  Tonk screamed, “Go around! They don’t have enough earth for the walls to be so high all the way!”

  Norris grimaced, “Oh… I say… that’s not for the best now is it…”

  The horde surged to circle to the left and Tonk roared again, “No! Both ways, split up. There’s only a few of ’em and they won’t see us coming in the dark! Donk, take those boys that way! You lot, with me! We’ll roast the lot of them before sun up!”

  The proclamation was met with a rumbling cheer, then the host split and a half dozen ogres ambled in each direction.

  Tiller appeared from the darkness beside them. “What now?”

  Cutter shrugged, no small amount of dread threatening to unnerve him. “Well shit, I guess we run after? If they all get in here then we’re toast.”

  Tiller gestured to Reader, “Can you get that thing turned around?”

  Reader mumbled, “You mean pointed in? Um… the wedge is set the other way.”

  Tiller pointed his shovel like a wizard’s staff and his earth sigil glowed. The mound melted and reformed, the direction of the wedge reversing.

  Reader said, “What do I do? I won’t be able to see you guys if you’re down the other end!”

  Cutter said, “Just take your shots! Our odds just went from bad to terrible. Roll the dice, brother, and see where they land!”

  Then they were gone, leaving Reader and Pod alone with the log launcher.