“But that was before I determined how dangerous such a course would be. Already, the avarice is clear in the eyes of too many of you. That is why I must take such actions.”
“There is more avarice staring back at us than comes from all our eyes together,” Kulgrath angrily retorted.
“We are not the ones so possessed by it,” Draug offered.
Morgada pressed back against her seat. Her expression was guarded. Among the Titans watching the spectacle from the floor, Falstoch stepped forward and thrust a taloned finger in Kulgrath’s direction.
“Safrag is the wisest among us! If he states that he must keep the Fire Rose to protect us from ourselves, then so be it!”
“Well said,” Morgada quietly interjected. Her wary expression did not change.
Gadjul shifted his seat as much as he could to avoid being too close to Kulgrath. The other Titan was too incensed to notice.
“Fawning abomination!” he snapped at Falstoch. “You are unworthy of being one of us!”
The Fire Rose flared, its brilliance blinding all but Safrag, who stared into its flaming depths without fear. As the artifact’s glow lessened, he glanced from Draug to Kulgrath.
“I have relied heavily in the past on the advice of both of you, and I appreciate your concerns.”
Draug frowned but nodded. Kulgrath remained unmoved.
“You are steadfast in your resolve,” the Titan leader commented. “As strong of determination as the very stone of this sanctum.”
Draug’s eyes flared in sudden horror. Kulgrath’s hand rose toward Safrag as he, too, realized where the master was going.
“It is only right then, that you should be as them.”
The Fire Rose burned.
Draug howled and curled into himself. Kulgrath almost managed to complete a spell, but whether it would have done him any good was moot. He, too, suddenly twisted in agony.
For a moment, there was the terrible sound of crunching bones. Then both Titans became thick, gray vapor. That vapor hurtled toward the thick, oppressive walls. Other Titans darted out of the way as if fearing to join the pair’s fate.
The two clouds of vapor poured into the cracks. As they did, shrieks rose from both. The stone swelled as if taking heaving breaths.
Then all was silent. No one had to ask what had befallen the duo. The power of the Fire Rose had transformed them into stone.
Morgada rose. “The master has wisely administered justice! The Titans and the Fire Rose are safe from unwise influence now.”
“Hail, Safrag!” Falstoch lustily shouted.
The other Titans immediately took up the shout. Safrag nodded benevolently. With his free hand, he then gestured for Falstoch to step forward.
Despite some obvious trepidation, Falstoch held his head high as he walked up to the Talon. Only when he stood directly below Safrag did he then lower his head once more.
“Falstoch, your wisdom is evident to all of us. Therefore, I grant you the seat vacated by Kulgrath.” The other Titans were shrewd enough to immediately applaud the decision. A stunned Falstoch moved to the seat, where Morgada briefly touched his shoulder in congratulation.
Safrag stared at his audience. “I shall ponder who is worthy of the remaining opening in the Black Talon. As for this gathering, it is ended.”
Almost from the moment that he made the pronouncement, the Titans began vanishing in short bursts of black flame. No one wanted to draw Safrag’s ire.
Morgada murmured in Falstoch’s ear. The newest member of the inner circle nodded then also disappeared. Within moments, only Safrag and his apprentice remained.
“An august choice,” the female Titan quietly spoke.
“Falstoch or the removal of Kulgrath and Draug, my dear Morgada?”
She blinked. “Why, both, naturally.”
He smiled wider than before, revealing many, many sharp teeth. “And that is why I keep you near me.”
The female sorcerer looked as demure as any of her kind could manage. “May I … may I merely touch the Fire Rose?”
Still smiling, Safrag extended the artifact to her. He did not release his grip, though.
Morgada’s long, taloned fingers stroked the flowerlike structure. Her golden eyes blazed bright as she sensed the incredible forces flowing through and radiating from it.
“So much power … to remake anything or anyone…”
“To remake even us.”
She cocked her head. “Us?”
Safrag chuckled. “I have decided that Dauroth’s spells were inadequate. I have already begun formulating just what I desire the new Titan race to look like.”
She gaped, displaying her own sharklike teeth. “You intend to transform all of us, as well as the entire realm?”
“I intend to transform most of us. There must be some additional … culling.”
Morgada bowed. “Whatever service I can render in that regard, I offer.”
“Of course.” The Titan leader briefly cupped her jaw, then, stepping back, vanished in a burst of black flames.
For a moment longer, Morgada retained her expression; then she, too, disappeared, materializing a breath later in her personal quarters.
The female Titan immediately began concentrating. In her mind, she saw the subtle seals she had learned to put in place. The runes were hidden with deep, ancient spells. Even Safrag would not have been able to sense them.
Satisfied, Morgada turned her thoughts to contacting her true master. She had come there serving another, the shadowy form known as Xiryn.
She had only just become a Titan when he had visited her in a dream. He had sensed her ambition long earlier and, in truth, had manipulated matters so she would be invited to join the sorcerers’ ranks. Things had so easily gone her way, and Xiryn had offered her a new future, to help steer the choices of the leader of the Titans until the Fire Rose-Xiryn’s ultimate goal-could become his. For her part, Morgada would have a place in his new kingdom that would be second only to his.
With his guidance as well as her own beauty and cunning, Morgada had easily fulfilled his commands to the point where the artifact was nearly in their grasp. Safrag was doing just as Xiryn had predicted; the treacherous leader was playing into their hands.
Especially by seeing Morgada as the only one-save perhaps the fawning Falstoch-whom he could trust near him.
Morgada sensed Xiryn’s desire to speak with her. With that in mind, the dark temptress spread her fingers wide and placed both palms over her eyes. A faint, black glow emanated from her, darkening the rest of the stone chamber.
Xiryn, she called in her thoughts.
I have waited for you. There was just a hint of warning or threat in that statement.
I could not reach out to you! Safrag summoned us to dictate his decision concerning the Fire Rose!
Her explanation appeared to soothe him. And?
He has acted exactly as you predicted, right down to his intention to transform the Titans too.
Morgada sensed his good humor at that. She relaxed.
Very good … The children have been set loose… The hand is all that is awaited.
She knew exactly what he meant by “the hand.” Will he come?
He is as I intended him to be from his birth. He will come because he must come, because it is in his nature to come.
I shall be ready to do my part, Morgada replied.
As you should. The voice faded. As you should …
Contact was broken. Morgada lowered her hands. A sheen of sweat covered her perfect, azure skin, yet it was caused not by fear, but rather anticipation. Soon all would come together. The only pawn still awaiting was Golgren-Golgren, who had been created through Xiryn’s efforts. He was who would wrest the Fire Rose from Safrag, as Xiryn desired.
The female Titan smiled. And once that happened, it would be Morgada who took it from Golgren, not Xiryn.
Tyranos let out a growl, not the first. The wizard had to constantly cope with Golgren’s arrogance. But
at last things were happening as he desired.
Probably the half-ogre was feeling very proud of himself, the wizard thought as he concentrated. Wonder how he’d feel if he knew that I’d let him take the staff.
It had been a grueling decision but one that Tyranos had in the end felt necessary. He had a method by which to retrieve the staff-a painful method, granted-but for the moment he needed Golgren’s unknowing assistance. Tyranos needed Golgren to act out the plan set in place by the gargoyle’s shadowy lord.
The wizard sat near the spot where he had last spoken with the half-breed, drawing new strength from his exhausted body. In very many ways, his concentration was akin to that of a trained warrior mentally preparing himself for battle.
Tyranos had no problem with using Golgren for his personal gain. The half-breed would have done the same.
All that matters is the Fire Rose, he thought. With the Fire Rose, I can make things right and make me right.
He suddenly sensed that someone was standing behind him. Tyranos made no move, considering carefully just which of the two possible candidates it must be. The fact that he did not feel any sweltering increase in the temperature helped his guess.
“I thought I’d seen the last of you long ago,” he snarled without looking back. “Let us leave it that way.”
“You know a part of you does not agree with that statement,” said the deep, majestic voice.
With an exasperated sigh, Tyranos rose, using only his legs. He made a fluid turn worthy of any fighter, which produced a nod of approval from the other figure.
“You have not let your skills fade,” the bison-headed giant remarked.
“For my sake only. No longer to serve the cause of any god, even you!”
Kiri-Jolith shook his head. The deity stood more than a foot taller than Tyranos, though the two were alike in the breadth of their great shoulders. “No one serves me, Tyranos. I ask favors of them, and they may choose to grant them or not.”
“Semantics. I’ve seen the proof. I’ve watched the lives that were sacrificed for you, for Sargas, for all the others. That’s why magic became my god, but even there, only the magic itself, not the trio.”
“And they’ve been very patient with you, do you not think?”
Tyranos turned away from the god. “Spare me your philosophical mutterings! We’ve no more ties between us! Those perished with my uncle, my brother, my sisters, and my friends.”
“They gave themselves for what they believed. They saved so many others where your own mentor turned a blind eye.”
That last caused the wizard to angrily glance over his shoulder. “I am not him! I wanted only to bring to my people something so many of them feared and yet that could help them!”
The bison-headed god’s deep brown eyes blinked once, only once, for the first time. “And then?”
“And then they rejected me as Gragnun’s puppet, as dangerous as he turned out to be! Even after I brought him down!”
“They were wrong.”
That concession from Kiri-Jolith momentarily pushed Tyranos mentally off balance. The wizard recovered quickly, though. “They were wrong and I was wrong to believe they could understand! I’ve turned from them, turned from my ancestors! I will become what I should become!”
With determination, Tyranos left. He stalked several steps from where the deity had been standing only to find Kiri-Jolith in front of him again.
“A paltry trick,” the wizard muttered.
“You would risk everything to abandon what you were born to be?”
Tyranos sneered. “Yes.”
Kiri-Jolith nodded. There was an indecipherable look in his gaze. “Then there is hope for you yet.”
The hooded figure was incredulous. “Now what-?”
But the god of just cause had vanished.
“By the Kraken!” Tyranos let out a snort. “So typical.”
Then he noticed that something lay on the ground where the deity had been standing.
It was the staff.
Without thinking, he snatched it up. It glowed brightly, apparently completely rejuvenated.
The grin spreading over his leonine face faltered. The last time he had seen that staff was when Golgren had taken it. What did it mean that Kiri-Jolith had returned it to Tyranos?
The staff was the lone item that he had from his past, an artifact once belonging to his mentor, which Tyranos had taken after Gragnun’s death, after Tyranos had been forced to kill him. Tyranos had tricked Gragnun into putting it aside, and that had been all the opportunity the younger mage had needed.
Tyranos had regrets about the dishonorable method by which he had slain his former teacher, but not about the actual death. Others had already perished due to Gragnun. Just as Golgren, Idaria, and others were likely to perish at the hands-or magic-of either the Titans or the gargoyles’ master.
A low, bestial rumble escaped Tyranos. He suddenly knew exactly what Kiri-Jolith intended. He knew exactly what he was supposed to do.
“Well, I won’t! You hear me?” Tyranos growled at the sky. “I won’t.”
The sky was silent.
The spellcaster grimaced.
“Damn all you gods,” he muttered under his breath.
Raising the staff, he spoke the command and disappeared.
IX
SIR AUGUSTUS
Golgren awoke as though sleepwalking, with chains binding his arms behind his back, and which kept his legs close together as he walked. At best he could shuffle along slowly.
The Solamnic patrol had treated him rather courteously, considering his ogre heritage. They had not run him through the heart nor had they lopped of his head. They had settled for chaining him and slowly marching him back to their leader through the uneven, hilly terrain far west of his beloved city.
They had not offered him a mount nor did he demand one. Golgren intended to accept whatever trials the humans wished to impose on him. Golgren would not make himself look weak before the knights.
Despite his predicament, there was only one concern on his mind, and that did not immediately have to do with his own welfare. Some time during his capture, Tyranos’s staff had vanished. Golgren had not witnessed its disappearance but knew that none of his captors had it in their possession. For one thing, most of them would have looked upon such a magical tool with scorn. While spellcasters were useful at times to the Solamnics, the knights were comfortable with only a few clerics among their number who had been granted powers by their patron gods.
But if the humans did not have the staff, it seemed likely that Sirrion had taken it. Yet Golgren could not fathom why the fiery deity would have first teased the half-breed with its presence, then, without teasing fanfare, removed it from him.
“He’s awake,” remarked one of the knights.
The others, all seated around a small fire, glanced without interest at Golgren. Even though they knew who he must be, his fate was for their commander to decide, not for them.
“Help him up and give him some food,” the leader of the party commanded. His great, brown mustache wiggled as he spoke, almost making it look as if he sported furry tentacles.
Two knights obeyed the order. They set Golgren down carefully then removed the bonds keeping his arms tied. The half-breed cautiously stretched agonized muscles under the watch of his two guards. He then accepted a small bowl of oats that was the same fare upon which his captors had also breakfasted. The faint smell of burned grain wafted under his nose.
Perhaps they expected him to spit out the food, for the guards warily studied each bite he took, as if waiting for him to flaunt his swordsmanship skills. Full-blooded ogres rarely ate such fare, preferring very rare-cooked-even raw-meat and some of the harsh, edible plants of their locale. To most of Golgren’s race, the food the knights ate would have seemed fit for only toothless elders almost ready to die. However, Golgren’s dual heritage had given him a more egalitarian appetite, although the oats were hardly comparable to the fine dishes his
elf slaves had been known to cook for him.
Thought of elf slaves reminded Golgren of what he had hoped Idaria might accomplish. By rights, she should be somewhere far ahead of him, perhaps already meeting with the same human to whom his captors were bringing him. Golgren wondered whether she had made it to her destination or whether the wizard or Chasm had interfered with her mission.
When he was finished with his meal, the guards prepared him for the next stage of their journey. To his surprise, they set him atop a stout, brown mount that they generally used for carrying supplies. They must have discussed their captive and decided that more haste was needed. After all, they had captured the Grand Khan of all ogres. Or, at least, the former Grand Khan.
The journey covered hills that rolled up and down as if they were frozen waves. The monotony of the trip did not end until midway through the day, when Golgren spotted something in the distance that he took to be a large encampment. With each successive hilltop that they reached, it came into better view.
His captors spoke only when necessary, which meant most of the time they rode in silence. Golgren was not certain where he was exactly, although the staff had followed his dictate, bringing him to the edge of Golthuu nearest to Solamnia. It had been fortuitous that a band of riders had come along.
Perhaps too fortuitous. Golgren had not forgotten that Sirrion was involved somehow. It was possible that either he or the gargoyles’ master had plans for Golgren and that he was still playing out a role destined for him before his birth.
Finally, they reached the last hill overlooking a large contingent of fighters who had made camp. With a combination of pleasure and irony, Golgren surveyed the full military force. Crisp tents lined the vicinity, all of them in perfect formation. A fine array of horses was tethered to the north. Everywhere, knights in full armor polished their swords, lances, and other weapons. Everyone looked ready to fight at a moment’s notice.
He had found what he desired already waiting on his border.
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