Idaria gave thanks when the exit from the sanctum came into view, even though that meant they had to traverse the sinister forest. However, compared to the evils of the Titans’ underground chamber, skeletal ogres and such paled.
That did not mean that the throng could travel blithely through the wooded area. Once outside, Idaria quickly organized the slaves into groups, with those who looked healthiest becoming part of a defensive force. True, they had only their hands, but that would have to do. Older and injured elves were taken within the ranks, where they could be better protected.
Stefan finally caught up with her. He still did not look pleased with what had happened inside, but the medallion was around his own neck. There were no signs of blood upon it.
He nodded satisfaction with her arrangements. “You could be a Knight of Solamnia.”
“Or a Nerakan?” she could not help retorting.
He grimaced. “I’ve no right to put myself above those who’ve suffered so greatly. Let’s now concern ourselves with getting your people to freedom.”
A face abruptly filled Idaria’s thoughts. “Sir Stefan, I must ask one thing. Do you know where Golgren is? I must know because I realize now that I must stay away from him.”
“But why?”
She studied the dark forest, her thoughts on both the past and the future. “Because the gargoyles’ master indicated that I still had some role he wished me to play. I will not be his puppet.”
“As you wish. The path I intend for us will take your people toward Solamnic-controlled lands and, coincidentally, far away from Garantha. Is that to your satisfaction?”
Idaria stiffened. “Yes. Thank you.”
The cleric shrugged and, without another word, walked to the front of the makeshift column. Brandishing his sword, he pointed at the forest. “Stay close to one another, and ignore all sounds and images. The Titans are distracted, but we must get as far as we can from this place! The forest is dangerous, but with our numbers and faith in Kiri-Jolith, we will prevail!”
Some of the slaves looked doubtful, but they nonetheless followed the Solamnic. Idaria took up a place at the back of the column to make certain no one was left behind.
The column proved far more lengthy than Idaria had expected, and yet not nearly so great as the elf had once hoped. So many slaves had died, and more were likely to perish before journey’s end. Idaria fought back tears.
There was at first a sinister silence when the refugees entered the dread forest, as if the elves had trespassed upon some realm of the dead. The silence was broken only by the ominous sound of the rustling of leaves. The escaped slaves huddled close to one another. The stronger ones kept a wary watch, although what they would do if the forest attacked was a question no one could answer and all prayed would not be necessary to discover.
Curiously, there were no signs of the skeletal guards. In fact, there was no sign even of those that had sprouted from the sanctum grounds. Nor was there any hint of Chasm’s fate. Neither Idaria nor Stefan had spoken of Tyranos’s servant when they had stepped out of the Titans’ lair. What both believed was that the gargoyle had given up his life for them, and all they could do was prove themselves worthy of the winged creature’s sacrifice.
The party moved on for hours. They had no food, no water. They had not dared stop to look for any inside the sanctum. One benefit of the terrible spell cast upon them had been that they were no thirstier or hungrier than when they had first been made prisoners, but that would not be enough to see them through their ordeal.
So when the column came to a sudden halt, Idaria knew why. She quickly joined Stefan, who looked as pale as the elves and seemed in some unsettling manner even less substantial.
“Are you all right?” the elf asked in concern.
“I’ll last,” he responded. But then he added, “We need to feed them, and I fear this is as far as they’ll be going this night. We made good progress, though not nearly so much as I wished.”
Idaria gazed up at the trees. “But what can we do for sustenance here? Or water, even? Anything in this forest would surely be poisoned or worse. Do you have some miracle in mind?”
“If there’s a miracle this time, it’ll be your doing.” He removed the medallion then handed it to her. “You were able to touch some part of the forest the last time you wielded this. Perhaps you can do so again.”
“I will certainly try.” However, Idaria did not know how to begin. She awaited instruction from the cleric, but Stefan only smiled ruefully. The forest was not the domain of his patron, although Kiri-Jolith had already done much for them.
She walked a short distance away from the column, giving her just enough seclusion to concentrate better.
“Habbakuk,” Idaria whispered. “If it is you, please hear me. I do not know if you can help us, but I must ask. You have every right not to listen, but if you could merely show us food and water, or how to acquire them, it would greatly help us.”
Her father would have reprimanded her for such an inglorious prayer, lacking in ornate verbiage and so sparse. But both he and that time were long dead.
Nothing happened. Idaria turned to Stefan, but he stood in silence. Focusing again, she repeated her makeshift prayer and waited.
Still, nothing happened.
Frustrated, she walked back to Stefan, the medallion already stretched toward him. “There is no point, it seems. Neither Habbakuk nor any other power heard-”
Idaria stopped as she noticed first the Solamnic’s expression then those of the refugees nearest the pair. They were all staring past her.
She looked where they gaped and saw several tiny, gleaming pools of water. Each was the size of a footprint and illuminated their immediate surroundings. That they were the size of a footprint turned out to be the least part of the surprise. For each pool had evidently been created by her returning steps.
But the pools remained so small for only a moment more before gushing up and spilling over toward one another. As they spread, the area around them grew brighter yet, and a loving warmth that Idaria had not felt in ages radiated toward the party. The scent of fresh spring flowers wafted toward them even though none could be spotted.
Before she realized what was happening, elves were streaming past her to reach the glistening water. Idaria started to warn them to be careful then decided that there was no reason to be concerned.
Still, the crowd grew so swiftly that she and Stefan had to step to the side. The elf even had to press against a nearby tree, something that she would have considered very dangerous before but, in the presence of the swelling pool, bothered her not in the least. All of the nearby trees seemed harmless, as if they, too, had been affected by the miracle.
“We have water, at least,” she commented. “Perhaps we’ll find food before long-”
“Your hand!” the knight interrupted, indicating the one touching the trunk.
She eyed her hand, expecting to see that it had been infected by some sinister poison in the tree. Yet at first glance Idaria saw nothing wrong.
Then her gaze shifted to the tree itself. There, her hand print radiated a lush green from which began to sprout small stems. As the two stepped back, the stems became full branches. At the same time, the lush green spread over the tree. The other branches took on a healthy appearance akin to the new ones.
And from the branches, small, red fruits began to sprout. At first they were the size of peas, then cherries; then they grew to be on par with the largest apples. They were a type of fruit, though one that no one there could recognize.
Idaria was the first to dare pluck one. Without hesitation, she bit into it. Rich, sweet juices spilled down her chin as she devoured the succulent delight.
With the first swallow, her weariness began to abate. She felt revived, fresh.
“It will nourish us well!” the elf declared to Stefan. To her people, she called, “Everyone! Come and partake of this fruit!”
“Will there be enough?” the knight asked
.
In answer, another fruit began blossoming from exactly where Idaria had plucked the first. Within seconds, it was already nearly as large as hers.
“There will be enough,” she responded with a smile.
Elves who had been waiting their turn by the expanding pool turned to the tree. Idaria worked to organize the lines so no one suffered too long a wait. Soon all were drinking and eating, in turn.
“All will share fairly,” she insisted as she cautioned patience.
Among those who finished drinking and eating, Stefan began choosing the strongest to rebuild the column’s defenses. The forest had not attacked them thus far, which was both encouraging and suspicious.
Idaria finally returned the medallion to the cleric. He accepted it gratefully.
“You have used the gift of life, my lady. I had faith in you.”
“I am grateful to Habbakuk or whichever god granted me these miracles, and that is all.” Seeking to change the subject, she said, “I did not see you eat or drink.”
“When matters are settled for the night, I will.” He looked around. “We’ve been very fortunate … too fortunate. Either the Titans are extremely distracted by what Golgren sought to put into motion or …”
She understood immediately. “Or the gargoyles’ master has begun to play his final hand.”
“There is a third possibility. Safrag may be choosing his own course of action that goes against what his followers know.” Stefan grunted in dissatisfaction. “Forgive me, my lady. Best if I return to the task at hand. With an unoccupied mind comes too much second thought. That’s all it is.”
Idaria watched him in concern but said nothing. She returned her attention to seeing to her people. Though refreshed in one way, they still needed sleep. There was no thought of continuing onward.
But as the freed slaves began to settle down, thoughts of Golgren rose to the forefront of her mind again. The elf shook her head; she had her people to save. Golgren was no more concern of hers, nor was the fate of the ogre realms.
And yet …
Idaria suddenly walked off toward the glistening pool. A few remaining slaves bowed gratefully to her as they finished sipping from the water. Idaria herself was not thirsty; she had come there to contemplate matters that nagged at her mind.
Kneeling by the pool, she peered into it. Despite the darkness surrounding the region, the water itself perfectly illuminated her face. Unfortunately, that meant that it also revealed her worried, almost fearful expression.
Then the pool revealed something else. A winged form that darted among the trees. Smothering a gasp, Idaria carefully turned her gaze skyward.
A hulking form dropped from among the branches, seizing her by the shoulders. It hefted her into the air before she could even make a sound.
The winged fury soared above the forest. By then the elf knew what had her in its clutches. It could only be one creature, a gargoyle.
But it was not just any gargoyle; it could be but one: Chasm.
It was difficult to tell, but to Idaria the gargoyle appeared unhurt, despite the desperate struggle with the undead. The gargoyle’s wings beat hard as he not only ascended, but headed farther and farther away from Stefan and the refugees.
Finally collecting her wits, Idaria shouted, “What are you doing? Why did you take me?”
His voice sounding even more gruff than usual, the gargoyle answered, “My master … he tells me in head that Golgren … he needs you.”
Idaria struggled with conflicting emotions. “No! I should not get near him! That would be dangerous!”
Chasm did not look down at her. “My master … he says Golgren is dying.”
The words struck Idaria sharper than a sword. All concern of the possible danger, of falling prey to the sinister machinations of the gargoyle king, all melted away. Golgren was dying.
A ray of hope filled her. “I may … I may be able to help.” She did not have the medallion, but surely Habbakuk would hear her appeal nonetheless. Surely Habbakuk would help her somehow. “If we do not arrive too late.”
“Will not,” assured the winged creature.
Idaria spoke no more. Stefan would guide her people to freedom. All that mattered was reaching Golgren …
Nothing else.
“My lady?”
Stefan searched the area of the pool, even though he had already done so twice. The elves with whom he had spoken had insisted they had last seen her in that area. The knight knew Idaria well enough that he did not think that she would go wandering off into the forest, at least not without good reason.
Clutching the medallion in one hand and keeping his sword ready in the other, Stefan finally took a few steps deeper into the dank forest. The refugees did not know that their chief benefactor was missing, and Stefan didn’t care to inform them. If they found out she was gone, there might be mass hysteria.
As he walked, Stefan prayed to his patron for guidance. As a Solamnic Knight, he was not one to ask for aid at the slightest inconvenience, only when absolutely necessary. If there was any clue, however remote, to Idaria’s disappearance, he needed to find it and know it quickly.
Kiri-Jolith-who Stefan knew had many other battles to fight-responded. The medallion glowed a little brighter as the cleric turned northward. What that meant, he did not know, but he silently thanked the deity and pushed on.
The forest was still wrong there. Stefan could sense that it desired to strike out at the refugees, but something held it back.
The path grew narrower, more treacherous. Although the forest did not attack him, it tried to hinder his progress. Stefan impatiently chopped away at tangling branches and roots. All the while, the medallion indicated he was on the right path.
“May she be unharmed,” he prayed. “I’m already fallen; at least let her be unharmed, my lord.”
A shape in the darkness caught his searching eyes. At first, it looked as if it were pressed against a tree, but as Stefan neared, it became evident the figure was snared, branches wrapped around the body so tightly that only the outline could be discerned. If not for the medallion, the knight would not have noticed it.
“Have no fear, my lady!” The Solamnic moved in, expertly slashing at the branches, thinking of nothing but freeing the elf.
The tangling branches fell in pieces; a moment later, their captive, finally released, also fell. Ragged breathing informed Stefan that he had found the tree’s prisoner still in time.
But the one that the knight had rescued was not Idaria.
It was a badly beaten and scratched Chasm.
XVIII
SECRETS OF THE LOST
Day had become night, and night began to give way to day, and the battle had not ceased. An exhausted Faros had no idea at all of the struggle of Sir Augustus and the Solamnics, although he would have admired their determination and battle skills just as they would have respected his legionaries.
But such mattered little against the foe both fought. Magic was anathema to the Solamnics and the minotaurs. Faros especially resented that he needed a god’s assistance again, yet without it, even his best soldiers would soon all be dead.
Slowly but surely, the minotaurs were being defeated. There was no talk of retreat; it was not the minotaur way, especially against ogres of any kind. Kiri-Jolith had granted them what aid he could offer, but the onus was upon Faros’s people, and they fell short despite their best efforts.
There were bodies everywhere. The smell of death dominated the senses. A legionary lay sprawled to the side of Faros, his eyes staring blankly and with a terrible, ragged hole in his breastplate and chest. His heart had literally exploded from within. He was just one of many to have perished so.
We will not live out this new day at this rate, the emperor thought. Yet he continued to push his fighters forward. At that point, they did not fight for Golgren-no honorable legionary would-but rather because it was evident to all that such power as the Titans possessed must be confronted, or indeed, sooner rath
er than later, it would crash down on the empire.
And there seemed little that the minotaurs could do about that eventuality save die. Without warning, the ground to Faros’s right opened up. At least a dozen legionaries toppled into the newly created ravine. Some might have survived to climb out, but the gap closed as quickly as it had opened.
“Fight like warriors, not cowards!” the emperor growled at his enemies.
But the Titans would fight as they pleased.
An explosion rocked the vicinity, tossing Faros forward. He was not the target; the sound of splintering wood was immediate verification that one of the remaining catapults had been struck. Fragments rained down, some of them from the decimated machine, others, more grisly, from the unfortunate crew. The sharp tingling of the fur that accompanied the aftermath of lightning informed Faros what spell had been used.
The last of their heavy machines was gone. They had no more weapons that could reach the distant sorcerers. Faros grimly corrected his earlier assessment. We’ll not live to see midday, much less sunset.
An ominous shadow fell across the emperor. He looked up, but what he saw was no new spell by the minotaurs’ foes.
A vast swarm of winged creatures was heading toward the Titans.
They were gargoyles, more than any minotaur had ever seen. Faros tried to estimate their numbers but failed. That they were no allies of the Titans was quickly made evident by the beasts’ fierce cries as they dived toward the area where the sorcerers awaited. However, such primitive creatures couldn’t defeat spellcasters, Faros knew. They might buy a momentary reprieve for the legionaries, which Faros would use as best he could, but no more than that.
A blue haze materialized before the gargoyles’ initial ranks. The winged attackers dived straight into it.
Faros snorted. The beasts did not even have sense enough to avoid certain death.
But only two of the gargoyles-the ones farthest to each side-fell dead. The rest were suddenly covered with individual golden auras that seemed to protect them.
The emperor’s brow wrinkled. Gargoyles with magic?
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