The Fire Rose

by Richard A. Knaak

  “The glory of the High Ogres!” Safrag breathed. “The culmination of their civilization.”

  “And the death of it?” added Golgren in mockery.

  The Titan ignored him, instead reaching out for the Fire Rose. Idaria remained still as Safrag’s hand touched it.

  Golgren felt the signet flare. Some sense of impending danger made him look back at the entrance to the chamber.

  A shadow stretched there.

  And gargoyles formed from the shadow.

  They flew furiously at the trio, but especially at Safrag, who turned toward them just as the first reached him. The sorcerer let out a growl, and the first gargoyle turned to white ash that scattered into the beaked faces of the others behind it.

  Idaria grabbed for the artifact, but the wing of another gargoyle battered her, sending the slave tumbling to the altar’s base.

  Golgren seized another gargoyle from behind, using its momentum to swing him around toward Safrag. He let the beast take the brunt of the Titan’s spell, which shriveled the gargoyle into something more mummified than the High Ogre dead.

  Coming up on Safrag’s blind side, the Grand Khan ripped the Fire Rose away. Safrag was knocked to the side by more gargoyles.

  The signet glowed as bright as the Fire Rose, and with the exact same colors. The crystalline artifact took on an odd feeling, as if it were melting.

  No, not melting. It was slowly disappearing.

  Golgren reacted instinctively, trying to grab it with the hand that was no longer there. Coming to his senses, he did the only other thing that he could, thrusting the artifact into the crook of his maimed arm. Yet that only seemed to slow the vanishing.

  He swung his hand, using the force of the action to fling the signet away. The ring struck the altar and fell atop Idaria.

  Meanwhile, the Fire Rose solidified again. And the gargoyles turned toward Golgren. Worse, Safrag, who had been too besieged to at first to react to Golgren, had regained his poise and was fixing his angry gaze on the half-breed.

  Golgren held the Fire Rose between them. He felt the Titan’s spell strike—

  The crystalline artifact grew blinding. The fiery glow enveloped both the half-breed and the three gargoyles nearest him.

  The gargoyles writhed and fell to the floor. They rolled onto their stomachs, and as they did so, their wings shriveled, and their bodies twisted into something ugly and more reptilian.

  Three ji-baraki rose in their place, immediately attacking the gargoyles nearest Golgren. The tall, sleek reptiles stood on two long legs and slashed with savage claws at the end of their paws. They snapped and bit with long rows of teeth designed to tear apart even the toughest hide. Two gargoyles fell under their attack before others began to swarm the trio.

  The Fire Rose’s glow decreased to its original level. The Grand Khan’s brow wrinkled as he realized something. He had been thinking of the ferocity of the gargoyles and what beasts could possibly counter them … and the vicious ji-baraki had sprung to mind.

  Sprung to mind and to existence, thanks, somehow, to the artifact.

  He had no doubt it was capable of much more, but there was no time to consider just how he might summon its power. The reprieve the artifact had granted him was a temporary one. Only the incredible number of gargoyles standing between him and Safrag was saving the half-breed from annihilation.

  The path to the steps was blocked by the sinister shadow from which the gargoyles continued to emerge. That made Golgren think of the signet. It still lay where it had fallen, near the fallen Idaria, the symbols glowing almost as bright as the Fire Rose.

  As he reached for it, his eyes fixed on the elf. Clutching the ring, he grabbed for Idaria, pulling her to her feet.

  “Away with you, you damned pests!” the Titan roared. There was a burst of blue light, and the gargoyles, stripped of their hard hides, suddenly lay dying at Safrag’s feet.

  The three ji-baraki were faring little better. One had already fallen to the gargoyles, and the other two were caught amid the sorcerer’s attack.

  Safrag’s golden orbs fixed once more on the half-breed.

  Aware that he could not hope for another miracle from the artifact, the Grand Khan sought some other avenue of escape. He needed to be far from Safrag, far enough to gain time to recuperate and think—

  The Fire Rose burned bright.

  The floor ripped up as if some giant hand had seized it in sinewy paws. Stone and earth rose between Golgren and the Titan, who recovered from his astonishment just before the two lost sight of one another. Golgren could see the sorcerer beginning to cast a spell, but by that time, there was an incredible wall cutting off the two from one another.

  The half-breed’s surroundings shifted and reshaped. The walls, floor, and ceiling grew as red as flame, churning as if suddenly molten. Golgren stared down, thinking that he and Idaria were about to sink down into that molten hell. Yet his footing remained solid despite everything else transforming.

  No, not everything. Bursting out of the wall of molten earth and stone, the altar and the alcove were back, their presence restored. They looked exactly the same as before save that, once again, the bars were there. It was as if they wanted to keep the Fire Rose out rather than contain it.

  The artifact continued to radiate a blinding, hot aura. Golgren forced himself to look at the blinding artifact, and realized that the signet touched the Fire Rose.

  He released his hold on the ring.

  It fell onto the shifting floor and sank. It was gone.

  The Fire Rose’s light eased. The walls began to solidify, turning a fiery crystal reminiscent of the artifact. Only the altar and alcove continued to persist in their original form.

  The new chamber stretched wider, growing into a room as vast as the field of the Jaka Hwunar, the great arena located in the capital. Yet there was no sandy floor where warriors fought to the death against beasts or each other, where enemies were executed by graphic means often involving limbs torn apart or beheadings. A polished floor with wicked striations mimicking flames ended on each side with tall, flanking columns carved to resemble great plumes of fire.

  The altar stood at the far end, shadowed by the imprisoning alcove, a vast sunburst etched into the gold and crimson wall above it. The heat surrounding Golgren was thick, so much so that he had trouble breathing and was forced to lay Idaria down again.

  In doing so, he discovered that the Fire Rose had not left him untouched. Caught up in the chaos, the half-breed had not wondered how he had managed to do so much in his own defense.

  Golgren had two hands again.

  With the one he had never lost, he reached into his tunic and sought the severed appendage.

  It was still there.

  With a mixture of muted pleasure and heightened suspicion, Golgren turned his new hand over. It was strong and lean, and when he flexed it, he could feel the muscles tighten. It was identical to the lost one save there were no scars from years of struggle. The skin was pristine, the hair smooth. Even his fingernails were perfect, more akin to those of some elf lord before the fall of Silvanost, than those of an ogre leader.

  The Fire Rose had restored him. There was no other answer. Golgren studied his fingers, turned his wrist, and clapped his hands.

  Idaria stirred. The elf coughed and opened her eyes. Recalling her conspiracy with Safrag, the Grand Khan hesitated, pulling back the hand he had been about to offer her—the new one.

  She saw the hand and gasped. Quickly recovering from her shock, the elf reached up to tentatively touch the new appendage.

  “It is real,” she breathed. “Did the Fire Rose give it life?” Before he could answer, the elf, studying his hand intently, suddenly shook her head. “No, it is new.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “I wonder … How did it happen?”

  He waved off her question, instead asking his own. “You served the Titan. Explain.”

  She did not attempt to divert him. “He has my people. All thos
e you gathered in the stockade for eventual release. He came upon me just as I was about to descend. Immediately, he told me the other Titans were going to use my people for their ends - unless I obeyed. He warned that you had no life, no future with which to still save my people. But he thought that I might be of some service in the future, so he promised that a few would join me in freedom if I followed his dictates.”

  “And so you betrayed me, my Idaria?” When she did not reply, he nodded. “Fair enough.”

  He extended the new hand to her again. The silver-haired slave paused but finally accepted it, with downcast eyes.

  Golgren gripped her hand tight and brought her up. He nodded in satisfaction at the strength he felt in the hand. “Very good. Very good.”

  The elf surprised him by responding, “Is it?”

  He started to ask her just what she meant, when the Fire Rose ominously stirred to life once more. Golgren had done nothing that should have awakened its power.

  “Above the altar!” the elf warned.

  The sunburst was no longer merely a carving on the wall; it had become a living, blazing thing that was swelling toward the pair. As it did so, the chamber grew so hot that the two fell to their knees oppressed. Idaria clutched Golgren by his new hand while the Grand Khan fought to keep his head from swimming.

  It was nigh impossible to see. Golgren’s vision was a hazy mass of shapes, worse even than during his flight with his mother’s body after the savage attack on his settlement by the Nerakans. He could no longer see anything but heat blurs. The altar and all its surroundings were enveloped by the sunburst.

  But in the midst of the sunburst the half-breed thought he made out a figure. Struggling to stay conscious, he peered at the murky form. At first, Golgren thought it the golden figure, for it certainly bore a similar shape But this one moved more freely, as if extremely conscious of what it was doing. Indeed, for some reason, Golgren thought that it moved as if it were curious about its surroundings.

  Oh, I’m so very sorry! an almost amused voice suddenly bellowed in the half-breed’s head. Is it a little too hot for you? I always forget how fragile all of you are.

  As Golgren clutched at his pounding skull, the figure raised a hand. Suddenly the sunburst seemed to shrink into its palm, and the heat rapidly receded.

  Slowly, Golgren and Idaria regained the ability to breathe without their lungs burning. The heat haze dissipated. They could see again. It was still very warm, but no more than any ogre—or even an elf—could tolerate.

  As the Grand Khan and his slave recovered, it was to see a fantastic figure standing before them, a figure in no manner mortal. His semblance was part ogre, perhaps part elf, perhaps part human, and yet not at all like any of those. His face was long, angular, and white like the ash left by a great fire. The mane of hair framing his face was wild and unkempt, and its crimson color made it look truly afire. In fact, Golgren was not certain it wasn’t on fire, for it constantly moved like dancing flames even when the tall figure stood still.

  And the eyes …

  They were long and narrow. Where the eyes of the Titans were gold, the figure’s eyes were golden orange, fiery red, hot blue and even white—all the colors of flame, shifting as rapidly as any dancing fire. They were disconcerting to stare into, but Golgren could not help doing so.

  It was Idaria who managed to break his gaze by tugging hard on his new hand.

  He immediately returned his gaze to the strange figure, but did not look directly into its eyes. Golgren noted the orange-red robes that covered a shape thin to the point of emaciation, as if the astounding being had not eaten in years.

  Indeed, its smile looked hungrier than that of any meredrake, so hungry that the half-breed wondered if the newcomer saw the pair as its next meal. The Grand Khan shifted into a more defensive posture. In the process, he accidentally looked again into the blazing eyes, and was once more caught by them.

  As before, Idaria turned his face away. “Never meet his gaze, for there is little that can fascinate any mortal creature more than what he is.”

  Golgren did not have to ask just whom—or what—she meant. An uneasiness filled the Grand Khan, for of all the gods that ogres paid cautious homage to, that was the one most dreaded. Even though he didn’t wear Takhsis’s mantle of evil, his unpredictable indifference was in many ways more deadly.

  Sirrion.

  XVIII

  UNDER THE SHADOW OF THE MOUNTAIN

  Wake up, cleric! Damn you!” Tyranos snarled. “Will you wake up?”

  Stefan finally stirred. The wizard exhaled. Despite the irritation with which he regarded the knight of Solamnia, he owed him much.

  The bearded cleric’s eyes opened. He blinked. “Where … What happened?”

  “You saved my life, and I got us away Although where I’ve gotten us to is a damned good question.”

  “What do you mean—”

  Stefan stared. Tyranos said nothing, sharing the knight’s astonishment.

  They were still in the mountains, that much was evident, but certainly nowhere near where they had been before.

  The sight before their eyes - high above their eyes, to be exact—could only have been sculpted with the aid of magic or sorcery, for even dwarves would have been reluctant to risk themselves working at such high, treacherous angles.

  “A castle?” Stefan finally managed to blurt. “Or some sort of citadel?”

  “Your patron doesn’t tell you very much sometimes, does he? I was hoping you’d recognize that landmark since I certainly don’t.”

  “I know nothing of it, save that I have a feeling it must have something to do with all that is happening to us.”

  “A brilliant although truly useless statement.” The wizard helped him up. “Perhaps instead you can tell me just how you survived what that creature threw at me. And thank you for that, by the way.”

  Giving the spellcaster a rueful smile, Stefan said, “If you would think before you go charging in like a bull, I wouldn’t need to act as I did. And, incidentally, I had no idea I was going to survive.”

  “You didn’t?” Tyranos was disconcerted.

  “I only knew you were in danger, and I had to try and help.”

  “You’re a fool!”

  Stefan shook his head. “No. That is what you refuse to understand. I am a Knight of the Sword and the servant of Kiri-Jolith.”

  With a grunt of disbelief at his companion’s simple manner of explaining his near-sacrifice, the wizard turned his attention to the uniquely sinister sight above them. The citadel which loomed above them had two oddly narrow towers flanking its narrow main body. All was topped by long, carved points of stone so sharp Tyranos could imagine dragons impaling themselves on them. Each tower had one black, triangular window while the main part of the citadel boasted two windows side-by-side. There seemed no entrance to the massive building, although, perched as it was on the side of a mountain, it was possible some tunnel or cave provided a hidden way inside.

  The outer appearance of the structure was perhaps its oddest aspect, for whoever had created the citadel had left the walls unpolished, indeed resembling unhewn rock. There was no doubt its design helped make the place difficult to spot from a distance, as the citadel blended into the surrounding rock.

  “Really, you have no idea where we are?” Stefan asked.

  “I only concentrated as best I could on getting us away from the gargoyles. I didn’t expect to end up wherever we are.”

  The cleric rubbed his chin. “I have one theory, which bodes both good and ill for us.”

  “What is your theory, cleric?”

  “The citadel is the domain of the gargoyle’s master.”

  Tyranos snorted. “The ill I understand, but what is the good?”

  “We are still near where Golgren must be.”

  “Ah. Of course.” Gripping his staff, the lion-maned spell-caster considered the citadel. “So you think he’s up there?”

  “No, I think he’s far, far bel
ow.”

  “Below?”

  Stefan started walking. “If the Fire Rose was hidden up high, the gargoyle’s lord would likely have it, I’d guess.”

  “And he wouldn’t find it as easily if it was below?”

  The cleric touched his pendant. “You’re the wizard. Haven’t you noticed what surrounds us?”

  His brow furrowed, Tyranos studied the craggy, hard, inhospitable landscape. After a moment, he closed his eyes in concentration. Barely a moment later, his eyes flashed open.

  “I can’t sense anything. No, that’s not right. It’s as if the entire area doesn’t even exist!”

  “In a sense, you’re right. And something that doesn’t even exist would hardly be noticed by anyone beyond that part of the valley.”

  Tyranos pondered long and hard as he followed the knight’s train of thought. After reflecting long and hard he ended up with an idea that left a bad taste in his mouth.

  “Cleric, If the citadel isn’t supposed to exist to anyone who isn’t granted the ability to recognize its existence, I don’t like the notion that I somehow brought us right to it!”

  “Yes, I’ve thought about that too. And it worries me also.”

  “It bodes ill, you mean,” retorted the burly wizard.

  Stefan did not respond. Tyranos paused for a moment, eyeing the Solamnian’s back as he walked ahead of him on a narrow trail leading up. After a moment, he resumed following the human.

  As he walked Stefan held the medallion of his order ahead of him. He continually looked left and right, as though seeking a marker.

  “What’re you looking for?”

  “The same thing you are.”

  The hooded figure paused again. Holding the staff against his chest, Tyranos rumbled, “Hmm. A place where the sense of nothing is at its greatest.”

  “Exactly so. The one glaring fault in that type of deception, but only if you can tell the subtle difference. And that requires skill or, in my case, the gifts of my patron.”