By the time they reached Garantha’s gates, a little more than a hundred warriors—many of them limping and even, in some cases, dragging wounded legs—marched with the grand lord. It was a sorry lot, admittedly, but at the same time one that set Golgren’s blood stirring with pride.
Another familiar figure met them at the gate. Wargroch, fairly untouched and mounted, leaped down from his horse and dropped to one knee. “Grand Lord, I thought all dead! I search and search then return here! When I hear of your living, I bring you this!”
He turned the horse so Golgren could mount. Golgren couldn’t suppress a grin, in spite of the pain, as he mounted. He looked back to survey the survivors of his force, nodding at Idaria nearby, then raised his hand and clenched his fist.
The beaten, broken soldiers shouted out his name. “Golgren! Golgren!”
Seeing one trumpeter among the guards still manning the ruined walls, the grand lord gestured. The trumpeter hastily put the goat horn to his mouth and blew hard. Another trumpeter farther away picked up the note and joined in. As Golgren started to ride, the capital resounded with one blast after another.
Khleeg renewed the shouting. “Golgren! Golgren!”
The other warriors followed suit and, within a minute, many onlookers did too.
And as the small party rode deeper into the devastated city, more and more ogres came out to line the cracked streets or halted their cleanup efforts to stare at the return of the grand lord. Many joined in the cheers and shouting.
At they turned toward the palace, Golgren’s eyes narrowed. He suddenly guided his horse in a different direction. Khleeg, Idaria, and the others did their best to keep up, not knowing what he had in mind. But Golgren did nothing by chance or accident.
As word continued to spread ahead of the march, ogres from various sectors of Garantha joined in the grand lord’s wake. Many were warriors left to defend the city, overjoyed to find their leader alive, even if so badly battered. But many ordinary citizens, in growing numbers, swelled the parade.
At last, Golgren arrived at his chosen destination. It was not the Jaka Hwunar, where he had once intended his glorious climax to take place, but rather the temple of Garantha’s patron spirit. The ancient edifice was intact—minus one column that had broken free and tumbled down the steps—and the area was clear enough of debris to enable a crowd of citizens to surround the grand lord as he rode the horse up the steps. At the top, Golgren leaped down as if full of fresh energy and entirely unharmed from his ordeal. Not even Khleeg or Idaria were allowed to know the pain that made him wince, the jarring of his bones when he landed on the stone steps. Golgren bound his mount’s reins to one of the columns then turned and stood before the many assembled ogres. Over his chest he still wore his mummified hand, and that he suddenly held high.
“Kee yo if’hanosi uth if’hani dakar!” he roared so all present would hear his claim. Golgren then repeated the words in Common. “I have brought death back to the undead!”
His followers barked and, lacking clubs, slapped one fist into the other over and over. Their enthusiasm spread among the ordinary folk. To the people, Golgren was alive and the undead were no more. The people were amazed, and they were proud.
“Dakar iGaranthi uld iGolgreni ne iGolgreni uld iGaranthi! Garantha is Golgren just as Golgren is Garantha!”
There was more clamor from the crowd and especially the grand lord’s warriors, with Khleeg leading the shouts, “Kala i iF’hanosi il aF’hanari Faluum iGolgreni! All praise to the Final Death of the Undead That is Golgren! All praise!”
“Kala i iF’hanosi il aF’hanari Faluum iGolgreni! Kala i iF’hanosi il aF’hanari Faluum iGolgreni!” the crowd repeated in an awkward chant. To ogres, any title was prestigious, and the more titles, no matter how ungainly they tripped off the tongue, the more prestige.
Golgren looked at Khleeg, who understood immediately what was asked of him next. The officer rushed halfway up the temple steps then turned and yelled in Common, “All praise the grand khan of all ogres! All praise the grand khan of Golthuu!”
The crowd immediately cheered his bold, new pronouncement; those whose grasp of Common was not good enough to understand all the words caught the gist and simply mouthed the Common chant, “All praise the grand khan of Golthuu!” Caught up in the excitement, all accepted the momentous proclamation, for it would bring a semblance of order and sanity to a devastating situation.
“All praise the grand khan of all ogres!” Khleeg shouted over and over at the top of his voice. As the rest assembled joined his effort, their thunderous chant flowed out over the rest of Garantha and became truth throughout the ogre realms.
It was not the extravagant traditional ceremony Golgren had intended, but in the end, it served him as well … at least for the time being. For he was the grand khan of all. When there came an accounting for all the tragedy, he knew there would be controversies and questions focused on his leadership.
There would be many repercussions from the disaster. News of the ruination would reach the Uruv Suurt, whose emperor would smile at the thought of so many dead ogres and who might think to add to their numbers. It would also reach the Solamnics, who, with the knight Sir Stefan Rennert lost—the dream of an alliance lost—might also cause future problems for the ogres.
And there were others whose fate was in question.
Golgren did not glance at her, but he felt Idaria’s gaze strong upon him. The elves beyond the realms, who sought to free their kind from slavery, might take the opportunity to create trouble. There were older enemies yet in Neraka and among his own kind. Not for a moment did the new grand khan believe he had won any clear victory. Not for a moment did he think that he would not soon face opposition from other ambitious ogre warriors. Even if seen as a victory, the day had drained the numbers of his supporters and loyalists.
There was also the mysterious force watching him—trying to manipulate him—through the eyes of gargoyles. Golgren had not rejected the notion that Tyranos guided the gargoyles. Tyranos no doubt had survived. But it was more likely that someone else steered the foul creatures, someone even more insidious.
Yet of all threats, of all his enemies, there existed only one that he considered of immediate danger. They might be leaderless and in disarray—for surely Dauroth was no more—but the Titans were in a power struggle to the death with him. The reins would be taken up, and they would seek Golgren’s blood anew.
He grinned wider and while the throngs assumed the grin was meant for them and his own pleasure, the half-breed ogre leader smiled in anticipation of the great fight ahead of him. In his life, Golgren had endured ridicule, beatings, enslavement, and sufferings that made the loss of his hand a minor inconvenience. He had endured those tribulations and grown the stronger. They had molded his ambition, his ruthlessness.
Guided by Khleeg and his other supporters, the ogres continued to cheer and shout his name. Golgren turned in every direction, waving and acknowledging the crowd. He knew he stood straight and tall and looked powerful, despite his slighter stature.
Yes, the Titans were welcome to betray him again.
The Uruv Suurt, the dark knights—all his adversaries—were welcome to try their best too. Golgren laughed, and his subjects, thinking he was savoring his triumph, laughed with him.
No, he was savoring his future triumphs. He was surrounded by enemies who wanted to unseat or kill him. That was why Golgren laughed. No sane person would wish to be surrounded by enemies … no one.
“Come to me,” Golgren murmured to those distant foes. “Come to me … and I will teach you fear.”
And as if hearing his taunt, something fluttered away from a building in the distance, something the new grand khan realized had to have been there all that time, watching.
Barely had he focused on the ugly thing than a second one rose from the west, joining the first in flight. A third was added to their ranks from the northern section of the capital. The three hovered in the sky, hovered just lo
ng enough for Golgren to understand they wanted him to see them; then, with a sudden, intense flapping of wings, the three gargoyles rose high into the yet overcast heavens … and vanished.
THE END
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Richard A. Knaak is The New York Times best-selling author of The Legend of Huma and many other books and short stories set in the fantasy world of DRAGONLANCE®. He has written numerous other science fiction novels, including contributions to the Diablo® and Warcraft® series.
His website is located at http://www.sff.net/people/knaak.
The Ogre Titans, Volume One
THE BLACK TALON
©2007 Wizards of the Coast, Inc.
All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of Wizards of the Coast, Inc.
Published by Wizards of the Coast, Inc. DRAGONLANCE, WIZARDS OF THE COAST, and their respective logos are trademarks of Wizards of the Coast, Inc., in the U.S.A. and other countries.
eISBN: 978-0-7869-5638-8
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