The Gargoyle King

by Richard A. Knaak

  She told them, leaving out none of the terrible details. The knight had been trying to rescue her when the macabre creatures serving the gargoyle king had surrounded them. They had seized Stefan, and one of them had slain him with his own sword. His body had been tossed to a corner where the gargoyles deposited their refuse.

  Chasm nodded vigorously in support of her story. They also gave an account of their escape. In the telling, though, the tale expanded to reveal more about the dread master of the citadel and his desires. Golgren and Tyranos did not interrupt, both keenly aware that to do so might cause some memories to lapse and, thus, vital knowledge to be lost.

  “He claims utter ownership of you,” she told Golgren. “From before your very birth! He says that you would not even exist if not for his desire.”

  “There is some sense in that,” Tyranos muttered, despite a glare from the half-breed. “Ogres and elves … the mix is not a workable one.”

  “No less so than a human and an Uruv Suurt,” Golgren returned.

  The wizard opened his mouth to retort then clamped it shut. His eyes blazed.

  “So,” continued Golgren, “I am to be his hound so that he might have the Fire Rose. I—”

  Chasm suddenly began hopping up and down. “They come. They come!”

  Screeches filled the air.

  “Brace yourselves—” the wizard began.

  But as he spoke, the signet flared brighter. Light crackled around them, light that shaped itself. The foursome was abruptly surrounded by shining silver shields stacked one upon the other, so they were covered from all sides and overhead.

  The cries of the great flock drew closer.

  “I had thought we lost them,” Idaria muttered. “Forgive me! I should have warned you—”

  Golgren silenced her with a wave of his hand. He listened to the thunder of flapping wings. The minions of their foe were upon them.

  Then the cries grew more distant. The thunder lessened. As the four waited, the noise became less and less audible.

  It became quiet again.

  “Now how could they possibly miss a mound of glowing shields?” Tyranos asked with a snort. He touched the nearest shield with the crystal. “How could they—?”

  The wall of shields dissipated. Golgren and the others stood in the open.

  “The ring is perhaps of a bit more use than you believed?” the half-breed mocked.

  Tyranos angrily shook his head. “You still can’t win with that! Not when Safrag has Sirrion’s gift!”

  “Safrag, yes …” Golgren thought about the Titan leader. Whatever matter awaited resolution between the half-breed and the master of the gargoyles, it was Safrag who possessed the Fire Rose. “It is a mistake I’ve made. Safrag has the key.”

  “So now you intend to go after him?”

  “Yes.”

  The robed figure was not convinced. “I desire the Fire Rose, too, oh Grand Khan, but consider your choices carefully and ask a few questions.” Tyranos eyed Idaria. “Ask a lot of questions, like how she so easily managed to escape someone willing to plot for lifetimes to gain the Fire Rose?”

  “There was nothing simple about my escape!” Idaria insisted.

  “No? He left you alone with one pathetic guard easily swayed by your beauty and the giving of a name? He left Chasm chained but otherwise unguarded? I think your escape was anticipated! He wanted you to find your way back to Golgren here.”

  “That is not true!”

  Tyranos rubbed his jaw. “And for some reason, I feel as if you’ve left out something important about what happened, maybe why he bothered to keep you alive in the first place, as if you have been and still are of some use to him.”

  The elf looked in desperation at Golgren. “I would never serve that creature!”

  The half-breed’s face betrayed little of his true emotions as he answered, “I would never serve him either.” Golgren looked again to Tyranos. “And nothing matters now except to march upon Safrag, yes? To wrest the Fire Rose from him.”

  “‘March upon’ him?” The spellcaster let loose a humorless laugh. He gestured at the four of them. “’Tis a sorry legion you’ll march at the head of!”

  “The legions I will need, they will be ready to serve my purpose very soon if I beckon them … and you will help me, wizard.”

  “I?” Tyranos looked genuinely puzzled. “And what legions are these that you speak of?”

  The half-breed looked over his shoulder to the south.

  The robed figure bared his teeth. “You are mad.”

  Golgren nodded with the hint of a grim smile. “Yes, I am.”

  Tyranos hefted the staff. “Well, we’re going nowhere for the moment. This thing has limited powers, and I’ve used it for a great many things today. I suggest temporary shelter.”

  With reluctance, Golgren nodded.

  The wizard turned to Chasm. “Find somewhere.”

  A voice behind the half-breed commented, “To the west you’ll find what you seek.”

  He turned.

  There was no one there, but the voice had been that of the Solamnic.

  “Something?” asked the wizard, gripping the staff like a weapon. Idaria and the gargoyle looked expectantly at Golgren.

  “You heard nothing?” the half-breed asked.

  “Only that damned, persistent wind,” Tyranos retorted. The elf and Chasm shook their heads.

  “We go west,” Golgren declared, already starting off.

  Idaria followed without comment. Chasm looked to his master, who shrugged. “As good a direction as any, I warrant.” Then with a frown, he looked back to where the citadel lay. “Better than some, actually.”

  They walked for nearly an hour, wary for any sound of the return of the flock. However, though once they heard them far in the distance, the cries were headed away from them.

  A smaller peak arose before the foursome. At first glance, the mountain appeared of no more interest than the rest, save that they would likely have to climb some part of it if they wished to continue in their current direction. Tyranos looked ready to say something, but Idaria suddenly cut him off.

  “There! We must go there!”

  Golgren eyed her, but the elf revealed no hint as to her reasoning. Yet he nodded and turned as she indicated.

  And sure enough, in an obscure bend shadowed by the peak itself, they came across a narrow hole. For Idaria, there was no trouble slipping through, while the others needed to squeeze a bit.

  Inside, though, they found themselves in a very serviceable cave that allowed the four to stretch out. The cave ended in a jagged wall with no passages. Some dried bones indicated it had been used at one point by some predator, but the bones were so old that it was unlikely the creature still lived there.

  But in some ways more amazing than finding the cave was the discovery of a small stream of water dribbling out of the back wall. It coursed along for a few yards then spilled through a crack in the floor. Flanking the edges of the stream were more mushrooms of the edible type that Golgren and Idaria had seen elsewhere in the chain of mountains during their hunt for the Fire Rose, only they were the largest yet. There was more than enough for them to share, so the four ate greedily.

  Slumber overtook them shortly after, despite even Golgren’s desire to stay awake. His last conscious glimpse was that of Idaria, whose mouth was pinched in what seemed some inner discomfort.

  Thus, it was not surprising when he stirred to feel her next to him, her lips by his ear.

  “My lord, I must speak.”

  “Yes,” he whispered back as he gazed warily at the darkened forms of Tyranos and Chasm. “You must.”

  “My lord, I said much, more even than I had intended, but still I withheld some knowledge from the wizard.”

  Golgren silently nodded for her to go on.

  “My lord, the shadowed one’s plotting goes even deeper. He hinted at one point that even your ascension to the throne could not have taken place without his covert actions.”


  “He underestimates me. I do not underestimate him.

  That will be his downfall.”

  “But there—there is more—about me.”

  “Yes and it is not for now.” Golgren eyed Tyranos.

  “But—”

  He finally met her gaze. In the dark, her eyes were almost luminescent. “We will speak of spies when this is done.”

  Idaria shut her mouth. She stared unblinking at the half-breed for several telling seconds then turned her face away from him. The slave adjusted her position to lie at his side, as always.

  “A promise has been made,” he whispered as he closed his eyes. “A promise will be kept.”

  The elf’s body momentarily stiffened then relaxed. Idaria did not thank him, but her gratitude was obvious in her easier breathing.

  Golgren briefly bared his teeth before resuming his sleep. To achieve the promise of which he had spoken, first he would have to regain his empire.

  And that meant seeking an alliance with those who despised him even more than Safrag did.

  “You are mad!” Tyranos growled under his breath. “I won’t be a part of such a scheme.”

  Again, Golgren did not deny it: he might very well be mad. He had long before accepted that he probably was. Yet that madness also gave him advantage over his rivals. They would not always try to do what he would do.

  And surely not even the gargoyles’ lord would expect such a move.

  “You will take me there as I have requested,” he replied to the reluctant wizard. “You know you must.” He held out his hand. “Unless you would be willing to give me the staff?”

  “Not even in trade for the signet. And if it wants to help you so much, why doesn’t it transport you?”

  He did not know that Golgren had already attempted that feat. However, for whatever reason, the signet had not obliged. So Golgren needed the staff—and Tyranos, since the wizard would not part with it.

  “It must be done now,” he told the spellcaster. “You cannot fear our destination that much, can you?”

  They stood just outside the cave entrance. Day had not yet come, not that it would have made much difference in visibility, given the heavy shadows and clouds. Still, they had awakened early, well aware they would be better served making haste before even the slightest light appeared.

  The signet continued to glow, so Golgren believed that it still hid him to some degree from the master of the citadel. However, whether or not that was the case, the half-breed was determined to make his decisions as was necessary. No matter what the lord of the gargoyles had told Idaria, Golgren was no one’s puppet.

  “I can’t take all of us, not for such a distance,” Tyranos muttered, the first sign that he might give in to Golgren’s demand. “It must be you and me alone. Chasm can take her to safety. He’ll do that.”

  The gargoyle nodded eagerly. Idaria, on the other hand, did not like the suggestion in the least. “I won’t leave you!”

  “You will,” Golgren stated simply. “You have a journey of importance yourself.” He told her what he desired.

  Both Idaria and Tyranos shook their heads upon hearing his plan, the wizard with a grin.

  “You are audacious, oh Grand Khan.”

  Golgren did not wait for Idaria to accept or refuse his command. To the wizard, he said, “She goes now.”

  Tyranos gestured to his servant. “Chasm.”

  Idaria reached for Golgren, but the gargoyle caught her first. She let out a gasp of protest, but to her credit, she did not cry out. Chasm spread his wings and carried her aloft.

  Her eyes met the half-breed’s as she ascended. Golgren turned away.

  “Such a touching scene,” Tyranos commented once Idaria was merely a speck in the sky.

  “Take me there,” Golgren coldly commanded, not needing to explain just exactly where he had decided to go.

  “Now that we’re alone, I’d like to suggest again what a dangerous folly you are tempting.” The half-ogre waited.

  Tyranos glared. “Oh, very well! On your head be it, then. Grab my arm and hold tight! This will take much effort.” With a last growl, the wizard added, “Picture the one you want to reach; it’ll help.”

  Golgren nodded.

  The two vanished from the mountains—

  And a moment later, they materialized in a great, marble chamber worthy of any Grand Khan. However, in contrast to Golgren’s palace in Garantha, there were no signs of patching or half-hearted reconstruction there. Everything was pristine. The floor was of the finest white marble, and great, fluted columns with elaborate crowns lined the walls on each side of the pair. A massive banner hung above an artfully carved throne, made to resemble two warriors raising their axes above the head of the current occupant. Another, almost identical throne stood next to the first; it, too, was occupied.

  The symbol on the banner immediately evoked a low epithet from Tyranos. That sound, as slight as it was, alerted the armored guards standing at attention against the walls to the sudden and improbable presence of the two intruders materializing in the far corner. Axes and swords raised, they leaped to cut off the pair from those seated on the thrones. With perfect precision, they advanced on the intruders. Their shining breastplates bore the same menacing design as the great banner: a stylized condor.

  Never one to cringe before his enemies, Golgren stepped away from the more-cautious Tyranos and presented himself with arms open. Although he was clearly without weapons—and missing one hand—the guards were scarcely reassured.

  One of the two seated figures, the male, rose up and reached for a long sword at his side. However, rather than draw it, the figure stepped down from the stone dais upon which the thrones stood. The guards parted before him. It was easy for him to meet the half-breed’s gaze levelly, for Uruv Suurt—minotaurs—were generally the same size and height as the deposed Grand Khan, though much broader of shoulder.

  “Golgren,” the figure snarled, his eyes darting from the half-ogre’s face to his missing hand and then back again.

  Golgren bowed, a diplomatic smile spreading. “Emperor Faros.”

  Chasm flew toward the direction of Garantha, but that was not his and Idaria’s destination. The gargoyle followed a ragged route to avoid those of his kind that served other masters. Chasm was determined to carry the elf where he had been commanded, even at the cost of his own life.

  Idaria hung helplessly, still bitter over being sent away. Yet there was that part of her that was aware that Tyranos had spoken some truth, that her flight from the citadel had been too simple. Try as she might deny that, the slave could not.

  Therefore, Idaria slowly reconciled herself to the role that had been handed to her by Golgren. If there was any way that she might help his mad plan succeed, she would do it.

  But would they, of all people, listen to her? Idaria eyed the fast-changing landscape below and wondered if she would even get the chance to ask them what Golgren hoped. Chasm had to carry her far past the capital, beyond the very borders of the ogre realm. It was not merely a question of whether or not he had the strength; she felt comfortable on that score. The question was whether there would be any obstacles in their path.

  Assuming they did reach their destination, Idaria knew that it would be hard to convince those whose assistance she sought to join the cause of the deposed Grand Khan. They had no love for him, although one among them had come to respect the half-breed.

  But while Stefan Rennert had been willing to sacrifice himself for Golgren, could she convince his leaders, his fellow Solamnics, to possibly risk doing the same?

  VI

  PACT AMONG ENEMIES

  The angry throng carried few weapons—a handful of clubs, a sword here and there—but ogres by themselves were a threat, even to their own kind. The mob looked unkempt and even more ragged and wild of hair than usual, as if they had poured out into the streets of Dai Ushran from their slumber.

  Indeed, they had done just that. Barely an hour before Golgren
and his companions had risen, the capital had been shaken by what most initially had believed was an earthquake. Only when their very homes had begun to change form did they understand they were once again at the mercy of Safrag’s whims.

  By then, Dai Ushran had become a city of giant spherical structures. Even the towers were topped with rounded crowns. And though it was by mainly torchlight that the mob was able to see, the visibility was sufficient to reveal that the one constant with each transformation was the placing of the lead Titan’s visage everywhere.

  As the furious crowd reached the outskirts of the palace grounds, from within burst forth a ready force of armored figures. With spears, axes, and swords, they charged out to meet the mob. At their head, astride one of the rare and massive ogre horses, rode Atolgus. In the darkness, he looked as if he were a full Titan himself. However, it was not sorcery he wielded, but a sharp blade and a savage intent.

  Matters had been building up to that confrontation for another reason. Many in the throng shouted anger at being continually shaken by the unexpected changes, but they also complained that they themselves had not yet become like the Titans, as promised.

  And though Atolgus heard and understood the angry cries, he paid the complaints no heed. He had one intention: to keep order for her and her master. If the ogres could not be grateful for their current conditions, they were undeserving.

  The armored ranks crashed into the disorganized mob with deadly force. A line of spears at the front slew more than two dozen protesters and kept others at bay. Warriors wielding swords then cut into the second line of protesters, quickly butchering them as well. The smell of fresh blood further stirred the warriors, and they pressed forward without mercy.

  The mob did not retreat immediately; ogres were always stubborn, even in the face of certain doom. Thus, Atolgus’s forces slaughtered more and more, with only the occasional careless warrior cut down by the disorganized mob.

  Atolgus raised his sword, signaling for a new assault. From behind his foot soldiers, archers fired into the air. They did not need even their best aim and limited proficiency for their arrows to find many marks among their targets. Scores fell wounded or dead, many of the former then either trampled by their fellows or subsequently cut down by the advancing warriors.