The Kidnapping

Kidnapping Part 4: The Last Ogre King

Every step we made out of that apartment building felt wrong. Every step felt as if we were both condemning a man to death for the simple crime of helping us. The still night did nothing to hide the distant war cry of the Ogre or the fading scream that followed. A scream that chilled the blood to hear.

"What's the legend of the last Ogre King," he asked.

I sighed deeply. "Keep your head on a swivel," I said. "And, I'll explain it on the way."

A long time ago, perhaps over a thousand years now, the Earth was in great turmoil. Humans had risen up as the supreme power on the planet. Vampires weren't around yet, if they were, they weren't that big of a deal. Werewolves were around, but they mostly kept to themselves. They were more feral than tame at that point, attacking human villages not for food, but to keep them out of werewolf territory.

The Ogres, though, they were a warring species. They fought the orcs and had won, wiping them out. Fought with the humans, and despite all of their strength, speed and stamina, had lost. That war lasted a short three years, but they had five different kings within that time."

"Why so many," Greg asked. He appeared to be scanning the rooflines as he spoke, a pistol in his hand. At least he was learning.

"Don't forget to scan the street," I said, then continued my story.

"Well, they had so many kings because they were always fighting. Fighting amongst each other for rank and prowess. Fighting for power. Fighting for pride. It's something in their DNA. How their brains are wired. Two ogre's can work together. But three or more, and sooner or later, they will be fighting."

I glanced up the street as I talked. The buildings were improving some. Not nearly as much graffiti was around, and there seemed to be more buildings with more modern metal roll down shutters than the old wooden ones or abandoned buildings. Still no vehicle in sight, but we were now looking for a specific landmark, as so directed to us by our green benefactor.

"Vurok was the last Ogre king," I said, scanning the roof lines myself. "He ruled out of fear and violence. And he hated it."

"I thought you said Ogre's like to fight," Greg peered down an alleyway as he spoke, pistol held downward in front of him ready for any target to appear.

"No, I said if you get more than two ogres in a group, and they're gonna fight," I corrected. "Vurok hated being violent. He hated making examples of other ogres to keep his throne. Each example had to get more and more extreme."

Greg turned to me and stopped me. "What do you mean? How extreme?"

I gave him a heavy sigh. "He had to have one drawn and quartered in front of the court. Now don't interrupt."

Greg glared at me, but nodded. "Like I was saying," I began again, "He kept having to fight to keep his throne. Vurok knew he would lose it soon. He didn't want to die, but he also saw what happened to the orcs. The ogre's worked temporarily with the humans to defeat them. It would only be a matter of time before the humans wiped them out too."

"So, what did he do," Greg asked.

"Well," I said as I scanned my side of the street. Strangely absent of any blood suckers. Weren't they always more active this time of night? "He first met with a human king to negotiate a peace treaty. While he was in the kingdom, he heard very little arguing or fighting. Most of the humans appeared to be almost jovial with each other compared to his own royal court."

We stopped beneath a streetlamp on the corner of Elm and main. The police station sat before us. "Okay," Greg said taking a deep breath. "Now, we cross the street."

I nodded.

"Well, what happened," Greg asked as we began to cross the street.

"He went back to his royal court and began making deals with the humans. He sent out each member of his court in pairs as special envoys to try and 'broker a peace treaty'. Like he had hoped, most of his envoys just never returned. Now, they didn't die, or anything like that, but found they preferred to stay with the humans."

"What happened after that," Greg asked.

"Well, the king was busy writing letters," I pointed at the police station as I spoke, "he began setting up in each small village and town that he could find a special envoy from his own kingdom of guardian ogres. Most naturally stayed, preferring the relative peace they got with humans compared to being around other ogres. The former kingdom collapsed on its own. People moved in and blended. And the ogre's were never noticed."

"Oh," Greg said. "So, they stay with us, and what...."

"They watch." I replied, looking up at the shuttered business. "They protect. They defend our gates against the approaching storm. They fight with us, so they don't fight each other. Honor and bravery became their entire culture."

The building in front of us was pretty non-descript. Your average square box, flat top, brick design with the standard rolled down shutters. But I smelled something unique as I approached. Greg appeared to smell it to as we came near the front door. Garlic. We both looked at each other, curious.

"I thought the blood suckers killed most of those plants off," Greg said in confusion.

"Obviously not all," I replied. "Come on, lets to knock and see if someone's home."