The Gargoyle King

by Richard A. Knaak

  “What do you think this is? A shovel?” Still, despite his protest, Tyranos stepped over to the spot. “Show me exactly where.”

  Golgren used the tip of the blade to mark the location. That done, the half-breed moved back. Grunting, Tyranos braced himself then muttered a spell.

  The crystal glowed.

  The ground cracked open. The fissure was only a couple of feet wide at first, but then it spread in both directions. Tyranos shifted to one side as he continued to press his spell.

  “How deep?” he asked. When Golgren shrugged, the wizard growled, “Wonderful.”

  The fissure became some twenty feet long and half again as wide. Tyranos glanced beyond Golgren and him in the direction of Garantha. The risk of discovery increased with each moment that the mage continued his spellcasting.

  With a gasp, Tyranos withdrew the staff. The fissure was several yards deep. The wizard eyed it with skepticism. “You’ve got your hole. Now what? I don’t see a damned thing!”

  In response, Golgren thrust the dagger between his teeth and jumped into the fissure. Even with only one hand, he expertly gained a hold on the side then continued climbing down. The half-breed moved swiftly and efficiently, well aware that each second was precious.

  He was not quite at the bottom of the fissure when he sensed through the dagger that he was near his goal. Golgren paused to study the jagged sides of the crevice.

  The rock supporting one of his feet loosened. Golgren managed to shift his foot before the piece broke away. He was still far enough from the bottom to injure or even kill himself if he fell.

  Facing the wall upon which he hung, Golgren noticed that the dagger’s reaction seemed muted. The half-breed peered over at the opposing side.

  The moment he did, the dagger reacted. Golgren braced himself then pushed off.

  He caught hold of another rock thrusting out from the other wall. His body slammed against the hard surface, nearly causing him to lose his grip. Golgren bit down. The blade shifted, the edge nicking the side of his mouth.

  Ignoring the blood that began to dribble out of his mouth, the deposed Grand Khan inspected the wall. From the dagger, he sensed that he was very near. Unfortunately, Golgren’s single hand became an impediment. He could not hold on with his other limb. However, Golgren made no move to call to Tyranos for help.

  Looking down, the half-breed sought out more secure footing. Managing that, he braced himself then reached for where he thought he had to search.

  His digging consisted of short scratches and grabs into the dirt and stone then quickly clutching a hold again. Golgren did not give up when the first few attempts yielded nothing. The dagger had led him so close; he was determined to succeed.

  His fingers grazed something that felt like metal. Golgren did not feel any hope yet, for in that place there would be a lot of metal buried in the stone and rock—weapons, armor, and such.

  On his next grab, he loosened his as-yet-unseen find. Bracing himself better, Golgren thrust his fingers deeper.

  The hidden object finally came free. However, it did so with such ease that not only did Golgren almost lose his balance, but the object itself came flying out.

  He caught it at the last moment then twisted back to the wall. With only his thumb and index finger, he clutched his prize and managed to get just enough of a grip on the rock with the rest of his hand to keep from falling.

  Moments later, Golgren returned to the surface.

  The wizard cocked his head. “I’d ask if you found what you were looking for, but I know you too well.”

  Paying no heed to Tyranos, Golgren focused on the direction in which Garantha lay. “We are done here. It is time to go and meet Safrag.”

  “And the other.”

  “And the other,” the half-breed agreed. “Tell me, Tyranos, how great is your desire for the Fire Rose?”

  The hooded form did not answer, which was answer enough for Golgren. The half-breed readied his dagger. “I tell you this, wizard, if you do as I say, you may have the chance to wield it yet. If you seek it on your own, I promise nothing for you.”

  “Would it surprise you to know I’ve little faith in your promises right now? It’s you, me, maybe Idaria and Chasm against the Titans and the gargoyles’ master. Who would you bet on, oh Grand Khan?”

  Golgren’s answer was immediate. “On myself.”

  “Naturally.”

  “Will you listen to what I wish?”

  Tyranos smiled grimly. “I really don’t have much of a choice at this point.” The broad-shouldered spell-caster gestured curtly at the half-breed. “So. What’s your great plan?”

  Golgren displayed the dagger. “It begins with this.”

  XXI

  MORGADA’S BETRAYAL

  An ominous stillness hung over the ogre capital, so noticeable that even the most stalwart ogres remained in their domiciles despite the constant threat of their surroundings being wildly altered at Safrag’s whim. Something was in the air.

  The only ogres visible were the guards on duty, and their grim expressions betrayed their desires to be somewhere far away. Those standing watch by the palace were the most unsettled, for they knew that anything that happened would surely involve the Titans and, thus, the palace.

  All could sense the imminent danger, though they did not know in what form it would come. Nor did they know how much time remained of the calm before the storm, which as it turned out, was no time at all.

  Morgada materialized in her chamber and let out an uncharacteristic gasp at what she found. Atolgus and Wargroch lay on the floor of the chamber, obviously slain in battle. The female Titan gritted her teeth at the sight then noticed more bodies beyond the hole that someone had blasted in the wall leading to the corridor. There were several guards beyond, all lying as if asleep, yet certainly dead. The smell of blood, generally intoxicating to her, instead repelled the sorceress.

  “Falstoch is no more.”

  She spun to find Safrag standing behind her. “Great one! What do you mean about Falstoch?”

  The lead Titan, the Fire Rose nestled in the crook of his arm like a beloved infant, casually pointed to a moist spot on the floor. “That’s all that remains of Falstoch, who was most loyal. I learned of his death from the guards who, failing their initial duties out of misplaced loyalty, I killed a moment ago.”

  Morgada could not refrain from shivering. “But how? What happened here?”

  “The mongrel and his pet wizard. How else, dear Morgada?”

  “We must avenge Falstoch!” she quickly responded. “Let me be the one to deal the fatal blow.”

  Safrag shook his head. He looked to the Fire Rose. “Falstoch’s death is a minor note. What matters more is that I sense the game has reached its end. He’s come for what belongs to me, fool that he is.”

  “Golgren is here?”

  The lead Titan sneered. “I’ve only just realized that the great mongrel himself is only a tool! No, Morgada, I mean the master of the winged watchers! He has come! Shall we go to meet him, you and I?”

  She immediately moved to join him, standing on the side where he held the Fire Rose. “I am honored to serve.”

  “Yes, you should be.”

  In the blink of an eye, their surroundings changed. They were still in Dai Ushran yet outside—indeed, atop—the palace.

  And moreover, so were the rest of the Titans, every one of them.

  One bowed, an act that the rest quickly imitated. “We have come at your summons, Safrag, though you now leave the realm’s borders filled with marching Uruv Suurt, mounted humans, and hundreds of foul gargoyles.”

  “My lord—” Morgada began, confused. “Hush,” Safrag quietly ordered her. To the other Titans, he said, “Let the fools savor their moment of triumph. They won’t have it for long. Besides, we are here on a far more important mission than a matter of a few insects with swords and claws.”

  He turned to Morgada and, to her surprise, handed her the Fire Rose.

&nb
sp; The other sorcerers looked at one another in surprise and, for some, consternation. All coveted the artifact for their own purposes, and all had considered ways by which they might convince Safrag to let them use it, if only for a brief time. But he had given it to Morgada as if it were nothing.

  Her face lit up. “My lord! I—I am honored! Truly, I didn’t think myself worthy of this!”

  “No one else is more worthy of this, dear Morgada,” he replied with a fatherly smile. “Come now! Isn’t there something you wanted to do with it?”

  Morgada’s expression was caught between anticipation and confusion. “What—why, of course—yes!”

  “Then do as you please.”

  With those words, a change came over the female Titan. Gone were all traces of worship for Safrag. Instead, Morgada leered at him. Those sorcerers who could see her face muttered among themselves and did their best to edge away from Safrag.

  A sudden wind whipped up, shoving the reluctant spellcasters back to where they had been standing. Still seemingly ignorant of the change coming over Morgada, Safrag politely commanded, “Remain in your places, all of you.”

  “Yes,” interjected Morgada, both hands tightly holding her prize. “It’ll make it easier to get rid of you all!”

  Before the other Titans could react to her declaration, Safrag shook his head in mock sadness. “Dear Morgada, you made the wrong choice.”

  The Fire Rose flared but not as it ever had done previously. A black radiance spread from the artifact to Morgada’s fingers. She gasped and tried to let go but could not. The female Titan’s face twisted from triumph to fear.

  “Did you think me so befuddled by your beauty that I’d stay ignorant of your plans of betrayal?” Safrag grimly asked her. “If there is one thing I’ll not tolerate, it’s betrayal. I gave you a chance to redeem yourself, but you chose to stay aligned with the master of the gargoyles.”

  “You—you could not have known!” Morgada’s arms and much of her upper torso were bathed in the black radiance. Despite her legs being free, still, she did not move … or perhaps could not.

  “I am Safrag. I always know. Unlike Dauroth, I did not accept the dreams and ambitions suddenly thrust upon me as divine! Every urge, every gift, bears a price. I discovered that price the moment the first of the winged watchers appeared, and I knew then that your unique presence could hardly be a coincidence any more than some of the advantages that came my way.”

  Morgada could no longer respond, for her entire body was encased in the radiance. Only her frightened, golden eyes remained visible.

  The Fire Rose transformed, suddenly becoming a cylindrical tube made of some black, gleaming metal.

  Safrag held up his hand. In it materialized yet another Fire Rose. “The true one. Did you think I would ever let someone else even touch it?” The lead Titan’s eyes blazed. “Anyone?”

  If that last comment disturbed the other sorcerers, none dared show their true emotions. All had only to gaze at Morgada to see what could befall them.

  “The spell was forged with the Fire Rose, so you should be honored for that much, dear Morgada. Set to unleash if you proved your loyalty to any other but me. I am fair, after all.”

  He held the Fire Rose toward her. The energies within swirled furiously.

  The black cylinder crumbled to dust. Morgada’s hands followed suit. The female Titan watched in silent horror as her arms also turned to ash. The dread spell overtook her body, her legs, her head.

  Morgada managed a faltering gasp just before she collapsed into a pile of black dust. The pile of ash then swirled around, re-forming.

  In her place stood a lifelike onyx statue of Safrag.

  “You honor me with your presence,” he remarked with a chuckle.

  But as Safrag laughed at Morgada’s folly, a sound like roiling thunder caused the Titans to look up. However, it was not thunder; rather, it was the beating of countless wings.

  The third and largest of Xiryn’s flocks had been unleashed over the capital.

  Grinning, Safrag spread his arms as if welcoming the creatures. The Fire Rose burned brightly.

  “It is time to put my empire in order!” he shouted not only to the other sorcerers, but also to the gargoyles, even. “It is time, don’t you agree, oh Grand Khan?”

  And Golgren, who materialized but a short distance behind him, bared his teeth and responded, “Yes, sorcerer. I agree.”

  Frustration mounting, Stefan urged the elves forward. The refugees were moving as fast as they could, but that was not what piqued the Solamnic.

  “I should be there,” he muttered to himself as he paused to watch the column progress. “I should be there.”

  “A battle is won on many fronts,” commented someone next to him.

  The cleric did not show any surprise. He had become used to Kiri-Jolith’s abrupt appearances. “So I understand, my lord, but I yearn to be there to give my all! Rather me than her! What good is Idaria in this situation?”

  The bison-headed god went unnoticed by the elves. Like other deities, Kiri-Jolith could choose at whim who did and who did not see or hear him. “She may be doing the most good of all. A battle is won on many fronts, and many of those fronts do not involve swords and axes. Thoughts and emotions are also powerful tools and ones that even the gods cannot ultimately control.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Now you know what it is like to be a god of Krynn.”

  Kiri-Jolith gestured. Ahead of the column, a figure appeared. He was a perfect likeness of Stefan.

  “The conjuration will suffice for them at this point,” the deity remarked. “The Titans are paying no mind to their sanctum. Their leader has other interests at the moment.”

  Stefan went down on one knee in homage. “I’m grateful for this last boon, my lord!”

  “Do not be. This is the only help that I can grant you, just as I have been able to give the Grand Khan one last hope. From here, you and he must find the path to victory. I already have overstepped my bounds. Because of that, for Sirrion and I, there must be a reckoning of sorts, whatever the outcome.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Kiri-Jolith frowned, though it was obvious that his frustration was not with Stefan. “This is the Age of Mortals, Sir Stefan Rennert. However much we gods still interfere and desire to interfere, it is you and yours that ultimately will tip the balance. How you do that will help determine which of us—Sirrion or I—is at the disadvantage when we make our case to the others.”

  The Solamnic rose, suddenly troubled. “My lord, I fear to ask … but Chasm had to fly after Idaria after the medallion would not work to send me to her, and—”

  “Because you were needed where you were.” The bison-headed god’s deep brown eyes stared into Stefan’s. “Do you think I would raise up this conjuration of you only to leave you without the means?” When Stefan hesitated, the god chuckled. “Yes, you are wise not to trust even me. My kind has a habit of leaving mortals caught in the midst of things!”

  Kiri-Jolith gestured and Stefan vanished. Still invisible to the elf refugees, the god of just cause surveyed the conjuration for a moment longer as it led the refugee column forward. There was an immense exhaustion in Kiri-Jolith’s face that had not been evident when he had spoken with the human. The deity had done his best to hide his weary condition.

  “May you fare well,” he whispered, speaking not merely to the column or the departed Stefan. “May you all fare well … if it is still possible.”

  Chasm’s powerful wings bore Idaria along at a dizzying pace, but still Garantha looked distant. The elf grew impatient.

  “Can we go any faster?” she asked him, feeling guilty for asking.

  The gargoyle grunted and exerted himself all the more. Every muscle showed strain. Idaria flushed, a sign of her guilt at making such a demand. Chasm obviously was weary. The gargoyle’s breathing was rapid, and sweat dripped from him.

  “It is beginning,” the elf muttered to hersel
f. She had whispered the same words more than once over the past several minutes. Somehow, Idaria sensed that the confrontation between Golgren, Safrag, and the gargoyles’ lord was already starting.

  She felt a warmth on her chest: the griffon pendant.

  Idaria finally understood. “You are what tells me that? You?”

  As if in response, the pendant grew warmer. Clutching the High Ogre artifact, she stared at the landscape ahead. “If only you could do something to help me get there swifter.”

  Nothing happened. No wind suddenly rose up to carry Chasm and her faster toward the capital, nor was the gargoyle’s strength rejuvenated.

  With some disappointment, Idaria let the warm pendant again settle upon her breast. She stared ahead, trying to draw the distant horizon toward her.

  Then a hole opened in the sky ahead. A gold radiance framed it. Its width and breadth were just enough to encompass both the gargoyle and his charge.

  Chasm instinctively veered. Idaria let out a belated protest.

  “No!” she called. “We want to head towards it!”

  The gargoyle issued a questioning grunt.

  The elf held up the still-warm pendant. “I called it into being with this! It’s our path to the capital!”

  “Smells not right.” Chasm growled.

  “What did you say?”

  “Smells not right!” The gargoyle veered more to the north, seeking to go around the hole’s side.

  The magical gap swelled to more than ten times its original proportions. Only barely did Chasm avoid soaring headlong into it.

  Despite her companion’s wariness, Idaria thought the gargoyle was wrong and struggled in his grip. The abrupt imbalance caused the gargoyle to involuntarily change direction again.

  They swung toward the hole. Chasm growled, attempting to regain his balance. He turned from the edge of the astounding gap.

  The hole swelled again. This time it grew to too great a size for the gargoyle to avoid.

  Idaria smiled but a sudden coldness on her chest made the smile falter. She touched the pendant and found that it was the cause of the chill.