“So we rest,” Golgren declared. Without waiting for any reaction from Tyranos, he slid into a sitting position against one of the many huge faces of Safrag.
The hooded figure glared then joined him. As he settled into some semblance of comfort, Tyranos muttered, “You are going to be the death of me, oh Grand Khan.”
Golgren shut his eyes, not trying to sleep, but rather starting to plan and to think anew about a silver-tressed elf slave. “Yes. Likely to be the death of us all, wizard.”
Sir Augustus had not said so to Golgren, but his men had actually been ready to march the moment that the half-breed had reached a desired distance away from the encampment. Stefan might have provided the deciding factor in Solamnia’s push into the ogre realm, but the senior knight had already been planning for an advance long before. Solamnia saw the instability of the ogres and the seizing of the capital by the Titans as inevitable threats that they could not afford to wait to settle.
Therefore, much of the force under his command was already well into the enemy lands. It was time the world was put in order, and the Knighthood was the only force capable of doing that.
And with the Fire Rose … well, perhaps the task would prove even simpler than his superiors had initially imagined. That was in part what the coded message at the bottom of the missive regarding Golgren had concerned. Solamnic codes could relay great amounts of information in seemingly random scratches and not merely the scratches; Sir Rennert had no doubt that Golgren had noticed them when reading the missive anyway. There were other markings set in strategic places and even among the words themselves. Altogether, they painted a detailed picture of just what Sir Augustus’s superiors expected to come out of their pact.
The senior knight felt some guilt toward his nephew. Stefan had presented him with a clean, straightforward proposition that should have been to the equal advantage of both sides. However, Stefan was too young to understand the intricacies of matters of state. When it was all said and done, no one would be able to claim that Solamnia had not lived up to its obligations … if there were anyone left alive to make any claim. Certainly, Sir Augustus doubted Golgren’s chances of survival.
For just the briefest of moments, Sir Augustus’s sharp eyes fixed on what appeared to be a figure poised on a high ridge ahead. The knight blinked and when he focused again, he saw nothing.
But Stefan’s uncle knew very well what they might face ahead, so he surreptitiously sent a signal to one of his officers. The knight in question slowed his mount, falling back to inform others who needed to spread the word.
As that happened, there came a low rumble that sounded like thunder; but it could not be, for there was no cloud in the sky.
“So it begins already,” Sir Augustus muttered. “Well, let’s see what you accursed spellcasters are made of when facing Solamnics.”
The first of the battle horns blared. The Knight of the Rose adjusted his helmet then drew his sword.
As the clear sky thundered again, the Solamnics charged forward.
The forest seemed as endless as it was foreboding. Stefan promised her that they were making progress, but more than once, Idaria wondered if they were making sufficient progress. They had already been forced to take a long rest—sleep, actually—on the elf’s account. That bothered her, for it began to feel to Idaria as if she were entirely to blame for their slowness.
What made it worse was that it was still impossible to tell night from day. By then, one should have followed the other. It was possible that Stefan knew the hour, but the knight never spoke about the passage of time, and for reasons she could not entirely explain to herself, Idaria could not bring herself to ask him what should have been a simple question. All the elf knew was that the Solamnic appeared anxious and beleaguered.
The dark trees continued to rustle ominously, but there had been no repeat of the sinister trap the forest had set for them before. Twice, the trio had avoided skeletal patrols, and once something large and black had leaped among the branches above before moving on. There had been no other Titans yet, but Idaria could not imagine that she and her companions would be fortunate enough to avoid a future confrontation with one or more.
Stefan suddenly waved for a halt. Holding the medallion just ahead of him, he began muttering as if speaking with someone.
A moment later, he glanced back at his two companions, the elf and the gargoyle. “The Titans’ sanctum is near.”
That simple sentence made Idaria shudder. The culmination of her work, of her suffering, lay just ahead.
Stefan led them on. Chasm sniffed the air, shaking his head. Idaria recalled being told by Chasm that he was sensitive to magic. The nearer they drew to the sanctum, the more the gargoyle appeared bothered by the emanations.
The elf put a comforting hand on Chasm’s arm. The winged creature let out a low rumble of pleasure.
Then, through the trees ahead, they sighted a silhouette that grew larger as they neared. It was a tall, massive structure with wide arches and jutting towers. There was a fearsome, fiery tint to its thick, stone walls.
Idaria immediately sensed something wrong about the structure and knew just what it was. “The Fire Rose …” she whispered. “This place has been transformed by it.”
“‘The more it is used, the more it will demand to be used,’” Stefan replied, clearly quoting someone else. “In that may lie our best hope.”
“How so?”
“If it enchants the Titan leader so much, then he may not be very mindful of small things like our task.”
The forest finally began to thin out. Stefan made them pause again.
“This ground is accursed even more than the forest,” the cleric murmured. “I can’t say how, but tread very cautiously and follow closely where I step.” As an afterthought, he added, “Pay no attention to any noises you hear. Any distraction could be costly.”
He stepped into the more open area, with Idaria behind him and Chasm, as usual, taking up the rear guard. The Titans’ sanctum loomed over them.
Idaria stared up. “The building … for some reason I can never really focus on it.”
“Yes, I noticed that. Keep your eyes on the path I take, my lady. We’ll see enough of the sanctum should we reach it.”
A sound arose from their left. The area where they walked still featured the occasional crooked tree but otherwise appeared to be a seemingly harmless patch of black soil with small, rounded spots here and there. The elf saw nothing when she looked for the source of the sound, but her action made Chasm growl low in warning, reminding her of the knight’s caution.
Nodding to the gargoyle, Idaria kept her eyes trained on Stefan’s back. A similar noise rose up from the right, but that time she did not bother to look. There was an odor, too, one that she could not place, but which disturbed her. It reminded her of the musky smell of unbathed ogres and yet not exactly.
From behind her there came a surprised grunt from Chasm. Idaria looked over her shoulder to see what disturbed him.
The gargoyle looked back at her, as if confused by what she was doing.
Only then did Idaria realize that the grunt had not come from him.
She started to turn back, discovering then that she was just slightly off Stefan’s trail. It was no more than a step.
Without realizing it, the elf had set a foot down on one of the tiny mounds.
The mound was rumbling. Idaria tried to pull her foot back up, only to find that it stuck to the ground.
Chasm came to her aid, but in the process stepped even farther away from Stefan’s path.
“Stand back!” Stefan called, brandishing both his sword and the medallion.
The ground below Idaria exploded. As bits of dirt showered her, a skeletal hand reached up to clutch at her ankle.
Pulling hard, Chasm freed her. The fleshless hand scraped her skin as it lost hold.
Even as the gargoyle helped her to safety, the rest of the monstrous figure rose up from the ground. An undead ogre aki
n to the forest guards stalked toward them.
Worse, more of the fiends began shooting up to the surface wherever the small mounds were located. All were armed with rusted weapons. Their hollow eye sockets fixed on the trio.
Stefan slashed repeatedly with his blade. With a startling flash, the weapon cut through solid bone. The upper half of the nearest fiend toppled over, crashing to the ground. However, both the bottom and the severed top continued toward the intruders, the top dragging along on bony fingers.
Chasm thrust himself in front of Idaria. The gargoyle seized one of the tall skeletons and, despite the danger of being stabbed, hurled it at the closest other. The two undead ogres collided with a scattering of bone everywhere.
But the bones began to mend and knit together almost as soon as they landed. And the growing ranks of the Titans’ horrific guards closed on the threesome.
“Stay between us!” Stefan ordered, making Idaria feel even more useless than before. Yet there was no arguing with his command.
Something struck her foot. The elf gasped as she saw an arm bone sliding past her to join the fragments of one of Chasm’s earlier defeated foes. The bone slid and jerked toward its companion pieces as if tugged by an invisible string.
Idaria seized it. The bone fought her, but she gripped it with both hands and gained control. Holding the wriggling bone, the slave watched for a chance to help either of her companions.
Chasm was the ogre undeads’ most formidable opponent. With pure, brute strength, he’d rip off an arm of one creature then twisted off the rib cage of another. Whenever he could, the gargoyle would tangle his adversaries together. Chasm laughed as two sought in vain to extricate themselves from each other.
But still the undead came at them, and the only thing that gave Idaria hope was the fact that the Titans were oddly absent. The possibility existed that, from somewhere safe, they were watching the desperate trio, savoring their predicament.
Stefan brandished the medallion, thrusting it toward each monster that came close. The two nearest skeletons reeled away as if burned, but others came at the Solamnic from all sides. The knight tried to fend them off, but they were converging on him.
One monstrous guard raised a chipped axe. Stefan, his back to the creature, did not notice the imminent threat.
Lunging, the elf struck the creature’s weapon hand. The sword slipped from its bony grip. The towering undead turned to Idaria.
Slipping under his grasp, she shoved the arm bone between the skeleton’s legs, turning it with all her strength. The guard, bending down to grab her, lost its balance. The great skeleton went tumbling.
Idaria immediately lifted her makeshift weapon and crushed in the skeleton’s skull. For good measure, she swatted the ruined skull hard enough to send it flying. If she could not stop the fiend, she would at least do what she could to slow it.
Suddenly, Chasm gave a furious roar that made both elf and human look toward him. With furious energy, the gargoyle tore into one skeleton after another and, for a moment, cleared the path.
Pausing in his frenzy, Chasm turned his ferocious eyes to his companions—especially Idaria—and growled one word.
“Go!”
Idaria might have hesitated, but Stefan seized her arm and plunged ahead with her. Behind them, they heard Chasm unleash another tremendous roar, followed by a raucous clatter of bones and weapons.
The entrance to the sanctum awaited the pair. Twin columns shaped to resemble a Titan flanked great doors that appeared to be carved from silver pearl. Emblazoned on each of those doors was the face of the same Titan whose figure made up the columns: Safrag.
“He is well in the thrall of the Fire Rose,” Idaria muttered to Stefan.
The knight nodded. “Which means that he is more of a threat than ever to all Krynn.”
They strode up the shadowy steps toward the doors. The elf glanced up at the columns. The two Titans that formed columns looked as if they were observing the intruders. Even when she and Stefan reached the doors unhindered, the slave had to peer back at the columns to make certain the figures were not moving.
The Solamnic held the medallion to the doors. With a low creak, they swung inward.
“Don’t tread less than an arm’s length from me,” suggested the cleric. He eyed the arm bone that she still wielded. “We need a better weapon for you. Let me see if he can help us.”
Stefan held the side of the medallion that bore Kiri-Jolith’s face toward the bone. Momentarily sheathing his sword, the Solamnic then ran his hand along the edge of Idaria’s makeshift weapon.
As he did so, the bone glowed lightly and reshaped itself. It became a long, tapering blade, thinner than the knight’s sword and with an elegance that was elven in style.
Stepping back to study the results, Stefan suddenly frowned. “I should’ve asked you first whether a sword was to your liking or even if you can wield one very well.”
In response, Idaria tested the sword with a few expert lunges and slashes.
A smile briefly lit the knight’s face. “You could train our novices with skill like that.”
“Thank you for the blade.”
“I was only the conduit. Kiri-Jolith provided the power.”
“What does he hope to gain out of all this? What can he do for us?” Idaria asked.
“What he can do for us is as much as what we can do for ourselves. His assistance is limited, though the hope he can give us is not. Krynn is changing and the gods are changing with it … and not necessarily of their own volition. My patron’s greatest desire, as I see it, is to keep all that change—embodied by the menace of Sirrion more than anything else at the moment—from destroying everything Kiri-Jolith loves.”
That said, the Solamnic moved ahead stealthily. Idaria, digesting his words, silently followed.
The corridors were immense; that was no surprise as the chief inhabitants were more than twice Stefan’s height. The sanctum was so imbued with magical forces and the elf felt her long hair slightly rise. There was also a tingle in the air, as if lightning had just struck. The same silver pearl material glossed the floor for as far as their eyes could make out.
“Do you know where to look?” she whispered to her companion.
“I’ve some guidance, but it’s limited here. Still, logic would suggest that the slaves would be somewhere down below, assuming …”
He trailed off. Neither dared voice their worst fears; it was possible they were already too late to help her people.
There were no torches or oil lamps, but the corridors seemed perpetually lit. The reddish glow radiated from the crimson walls themselves, which bespoke the tremendous power of the Fire Rose.
“It could restore all Silvanost,” Idaria absently murmured.
“Or turn it into something like the forest from which we just emerged,” the cleric reminded her. “Sirrion’s creation is not for mortal hands; few, if any, of us have the will to keep its power in check.” After a moment’s silence, he added, “And that also includes some gods, I suspect.”
The elf nodded thoughtfully. Silvanost, if it were ever retaken, would have to be restored through the magic of her people or some other avenue. It was too great of a risk to allow even her ancient race to try to wield the artifact; for all their vaunted glory and superior power, the High Ogres had proven that they were not strong enough. Idaria could only imagine the terrible things that might happen to the elves.
Stefan inspected each side passage as they passed. The Titans appeared not to have laid any traps within their own abode or at least, not so far. There were more than a few wide, massive pearl stairways that led up, but as yet they couldn’t find any that led below. Idaria eyed the walls, seeking any hints of a hidden path. Stefan also held the medallion up to the walls, but with as little result as the elf’s scrutiny.
Voices arose before them, the first sounds they had heard since entering.
Stefan steered Idaria into a shadowy side passage. The voices grew louder but wer
e unintelligible. From her vantage point, Idaria looked around for the speakers but could not see them.
Without warning, part of the wall to the far left glowed brighter. The twin shapes of two towering figures formed on it.
A pair of Titans melted through the unsettling stone as if it did not exist. They were caught up in preoccupied conversation, a few words of which only then could be understood.
“Hargren has not returned! That leaves only the two of us!” said the first.
“Morgada must’ve summoned him like the rest! We’ll be called before long, mark me!” argued the second. “Sent off to do his bidding like lackeys!”
“What care should we have about a herd of cows tromping through the south or some clanking humans coming from another direction? They are nothing to us! The Fire Rose can sweep them all aside—”
“If Safrag ever decides to act!” the second countered angrily. Then, as if he had just committed some terrible sin, the Titan quickly and anxiously amended, “As I’m sure he will, should he deem it necessary.”
“Fool,” muttered the other. “Clamp your mouth shut, and let’s be done with our task.”
Still obviously apprehensive, the two gargantuan spellcasters continued, eventually vanishing down the corridor. Not until they were well out of sight did Stefan and Idaria step out from the shadows. They had escaped notice.
Only then did something strange occur to the slave. “I thought at first they were speaking in that tongue of theirs, but now I realize that I understood everything they said. Why would they be speaking Common here in their sanctum?”
The cleric displayed the medallion for her. “It wasn’t that they were speaking Common. Through Kiri-Jolith, we were able to understand whatever language they spoke.” He frowned. “Their conversation was interesting. It sounds as if Golgren has managed to get matters moving, as he hoped.”
“But they said nothing about my people … nothing at all,” the elf muttered.
“That may mean very little. Come, let’s try the wall from which they emerged.”
The knight gingerly stretched his sword to the stone. Rather than sink through, the tip struck the stone with a low clang.
The Gargoyle King Page 16
