He might not know many of the details of Skrae’s history, but he had the broad outlines down pat. He knew that when his ancestors came over from the Old Empire they found this continent already occupied by the elves and the dwarves. Centuries of warfare had been necessary to clear the land for human habitation—bitter centuries, when the likes of Hazoth scorched whole mountains from the face of the world and dug out broad valleys with their magic, when the seven Ancient Blades were forged to fight the demons that roamed the night. At the end of that hellish time, the elves had found themselves unable to resist the onrushing wave of human might. They made pacts with their own ancestral enemies for aid—the goblins, the trolls, and, most fearsome of all, the ogres. The hairy giants were unstoppable in battle, it was said, their tough hides proof against iron blades and axes. They were able to catch arrows out of the air and throw them back at the archers, or to simply pick up human warriors and pull them to pieces with their bare hands.

He had believed that ogres were gone from the world. They had fought tirelessly, but the elves who commanded them were driven from existence, betrayed by the dwarves they’d once considered their allies. The dwarves had always been practical folk, and knew when to make a treaty with humankind and call it a day. The ogres had been too disorganized to keep fighting on their own. The wizards of that time slaughtered them remorselessly, hunting them down wherever they hid, until none were left. Oh, there were stories of survivals, of individual monsters still roaming the wild parts of the woods, but those were just stories. No one believed them.

“I thought the ogres were as dead as the elves,” he said.

“Wherefore hath I survived, when all others like unto this favor hath vanished, as smoke into the air?” Gurrh asked. “When at last the killing was done, when the age of man had come, some few of us did still live. The merciful king Theobalt—may the Lady hold him to her ever-abundant bosom—came unto that wretched scattering and bade us bow at his feet. Many there were who refused, and rose up, and were slaughtered in their turn. Yet not all.”

“He swore an oath of loyalty to the crown,” Croy explained. “He was given a pardon for all past crimes, under the condition that he would serve the king whenever he was called upon. He took the Lady into his heart and was given a place to live. Here.”

“And the Burgrave knows he’s here? And hasn’t sent pikemen and priests to roust him?” Malden asked. “No offense meant, Sir Ogre,” he added, looking up into the giant’s face. The ogre smiled, showing a double row of huge peg-shaped teeth.