The Black Talon

XVIII

Tarkus had served the grand lord nearly as long as Khleeg, and while he had the utmost respect for Golgren, the ogre captain had to wonder if he had done something that merited punishment. Why else had he and the dozen warriors with him been sent out on such a long-range patrol? Who was in those parts for the grand lord to fear? All his enemies were dead.

The band was three days out of Garantha, and Tarkus hoped to complete his task in time to return just prior to Golgren’s coronation. There would be much feasting and many competitions of strength and skill. There would also be many young females eager to spend their time with a strong warrior such as he.

With those thoughts in mind, Tarkus pushed his small troop well into the night. They grunted and growled at that but not much, for they were as eager as he to be done with their job and return for the celebrations. Still, there came a point when even the hardy ogre horses demanded a rest. Tarkus chose a location near a toothy outcropping and had his warriors set up camp.

The sky was overcast, something rare during the summer season. The last time the sky had been like that, the ogre recalled, was when his lord had ordered the blue ones to deal with the rebellion. As superstitious as any of his kind, Tarkus ordered the others to stay close to the small fire and made certain that guards were posted at all times. The only reason for any ogre to leave the vicinity was if nature demanded it.

And for Tarkus himself, that demand occurred deep into the night. Stirred from sleep after such an arduous ride, the captain sought out privacy on the other side of the outcropping. The location was not far from and barely out of sight of the nearest guard.

However, without even the light of stars to illuminate his way, Tarkus failed to see the sudden drop just around the bend. His left foot only grazed the ground; then he stumbled. The ogre fell and rolled for some distance. He was so startled by his accident that he let out no more than a grunt all the way down.

Fortunately, the slope was harsh but not deadly. Tarkus wound up in a heap just shy of a pair of spindly plants with long, sharp needles covering their many thin branches. The captain lay there for a while, briefly dazed.

But just as his head cleared, a huge shadow rose up before him. For all its size, the thing moved without a sound. Its vague outline suggested it was a mastark, albeit an exceedingly thin one. The creature was barely more than bones.

There was something with it, something walking on two feet and about the size of an ogre. Tarkus recalled no knowledge of another patrol or other armed force in the region but knew that his information was limited. It was very possible that one of the nomadic clans simply happened to be crossing his party’s path.

Whatever the case, it behooved the ogre captain to identify himself and find out who the intruders were. Drawing his sword, Tarkus stepped up to where he could get a better view.

He nearly dropped his weapon. His hands shook, and it amazed him that he did not run away screaming in fear.

The mastark was not barely more than bones; it was only bones. What still connected them with the sinew and such all gone, he could not say. Despite its deficiency, the skeleton moved exactly as a living beast would have.

Yet even more terrifying than that was the figure Tarkus had also glimpsed. It was not an ogre, no, but the bones of one.

No, it was not merely the bones of one ogre, for behind that first ghoulish warrior marched another and another and another.

“Garduuk i solum if’hanosi!” someone in the camp shouted. That call was followed by a shriek that was cut off by the unmistakable sound of the clash of weapons.

Tarkus was shaken from his stupor. He and his warriors faced great danger: f’hanos-the dead that lived. The tales his mother’s mother had told him as a child all came back.

He started for the camp but found his way blocked, suddenly, by a skeleton with a badly battered, twin-edged axe. Instinct made the ogre captain dodge away and deflect the monster’s attack. The axe should have shattered, but instead it flashed silver-surely a sign that it carried magic.

Tarkus kicked at the skeleton and was grateful to find that the force of a strong leg was able to knock the ghoul back. He leaped over his grisly foe, hoping to make it to the horses.

But more undead blocked his path. They moved with a silent determination, surrounding him and swiping relentlessly at the captain, even if all they carried were rocks or what might have been the cracked bones of other creatures. Tarkus swung madly, somehow blocking most, if not all, of the hapless blows.

Yet the f’hanos’ numbers only grew. They pressed on him. Fleshless fingers grasped his arms, his body. Others seized his blade by the edge because the undead didn’t mind cutting themselves.

When at last they tugged his sword free, Tarkus let out a wail. He slammed his fist against the hollow-eyed faces, ignoring the cuts and bleeding that caused him. His frenzied effort enabled the ogre to create a narrow opening in their midst, and through that he blindly plunged.

Stumbling across the landscape, Tarkus sought some means to get away from the monstrous horde, and only then did he realize just who the f’hanos must be. It was the eve of the grand lord’s crowning. They were his slaughtered foes, streaming in the direction of Garantha.

Despite that realization, Tarkus wasn’t thinking much about the capital. All that mattered to him was his own life. The flickering flames of the campfire beckoned him. The horses surely could be not much farther.

In the camp, though, the scene was so terrible that he froze. Body parts from his troops lay scattered all about the vicinity. One warrior lay facedown in the fire, slowly roasting, the stench of his burning flesh filling the captain’s nostrils. Another had been almost flayed before dying, but skeletal nails, not blades, had clearly done the terrible task.

Recovering from his shock, the ogre headed to where the horses were kept. All he needed was one … just one.

But of their many mounts, there was only one left: a single ruined corpse. The rest had evidently made their escape. Tarkus shook his head, trying to will a different reality.

Something struck him in the back of the head. He fell to his knees but managed to rise again. Glancing over his shoulder, Tarkus saw that a score of f’hanos were swarming the campsite.

He started forward, but from the darkness a new line of undead approached. Tarkus spun in a circle, seeing nothing but horror wherever he looked. The ogre reached for his sword then recalled he had lost it. In despair, Tarkus seized the largest object he could find-the cut-off forearm of one of his warriors.

As the f’hanos converged upon him, he let out another wail and swung as hard as he could, caring only that he hit something, anything. He landed a blow that shattered one f’hanos, but his momentary exhilaration faded when the pieces simply reformed immediately into a fresh skeleton. Worse, his gory club began to come apart. The slickness made it almost impossible to retain a hold on what pulpy flesh remained.

The fingers grasped him everywhere. Tarkus saw nothing but shadowed bones.

Then he saw nothing.

The glittering runes leaped off the parchment, dancing before Hundjal’s eyes as he scoured them for anything of importance. One by one, the apprentice dismissed them back to the page, then summoned up fresh ones to read.

As before, he came up empty.

Rolling up the latest parchment, Hundjal sent it flying back to its proper place on the shelves of Dauroth’s personal sanctum. He extended his hand, and a thick black-spined book flew to him. His hopes were not high as he opened the book. Hundjal was not usually one to accept defeat, but he was coming close. The Titan had poured over his master’s previous attempts to circumvent the tomb’s protections without destroying the contents and found no fault with them. He would have even chosen several as his own, had not they already been tested and failed.

It had been an honor when the master had chosen him for the task of opening the tomb, but that honor was becoming a burdensome yoke on his shoulders. Those spells Hundjal had thus far created had fared no better against the ancients’ magic than any previously cast by Dauroth. Even in death, the High Ogres proved themselves again the greatest masters of the arts. After his fifth attempt turned out to be as much folly as the prior ones, Dauroth’s apprentice secreted himself in his master’s sanctum-not the library, which had works useful only to lesser Titans, such as Safrag-and pored over every tome, parchment, and artifact that he could lay his hands on.

That Dauroth left him to his task made Hundjal assume that he was being tested. He had to prove himself as he had back when the lead Titan had first approached him with the offer of apprenticeship. Hundjal swore that he would not fail in his task, just as he had not failed his master then … not ever.

His senses sharper than any of his brethren’s, Hundjal noticed Morgada’s unique presence even before she announced herself. The lone female in their ranks fascinated him as much as she fascinated Dauroth. However, Hundjal was very much aware of Dauroth’s intentions concerning a certain experiment in mating, and thus he kept a cautious distance from the Titaness.

“Dear, sweet Hundjal,” she purred. “Such a pleasure to have you here among us again.”

He did not look up from the ancient tome. “Fair Morgada. Forgive my less-than-appropriate discourtesy, for I am hard at work for the master.”

“And if there is anyone who can be trusted to achieve what the master desires, it is surely Hundjal.” She draped her arm over his shoulder as she pretended to peer at the book he was reading. “Has the clue been found to open the way?”

“As with all things the master teaches, the clues ever lie before us. We are but blind to their reading.”

The Titaness giggled. “Perhaps if I joined your efforts, our two heads together might between them gain the insight needed.”

There was no question that she was crafty, and Hundjal was tempted to accept her partnership, but the glory or failure ought to be his alone. Dauroth would expect his lead apprentice to rely upon no other. That surely was part of the test.

He shut the tome but still did not look at her. “The offer is generous but must still be declined, fair Morgada. I must continue this quest on my own.”

Her face swung down very close to his. “But surely the two of us can stoke the fires of inspiration as none of the others could alone or together. You shall see; we will find the answer.”

Hundjal was no longer truly listening to her. Something she had said had stirred a notion previously unthinkable, something that could work.

He rose, pulling her up with him at the same time. “I think not, fair Morgada.”

She gave him a seductive smile as he steered her toward the door. At a later time, Hundjal would endeavor to find out how she had gained entrance to Dauroth’s rooms. For the moment, he was busy with more important matters. “As you like … a shame.”

It was all Hundjal could do to keep himself contained until he was certain that the other Titan was gone. That time, the apprentice made certain that the seal on the door was intact. Only he and Dauroth could open it.

Thinking of his mentor, Hundjal decided to act quickly, just in case the master might be coming to check on his progress.

As the heir apparent to Dauroth’s secrets, Hundjal had taken it upon himself to learn and understand all of them, even those his master had not yet officially revealed to either him or Safrag. Both apprentices knew the legend that interested Hundjal; both knew that there must be some fact behind the legend. Both knew, even, that the master hid the only proof within his sanctum. But neither was supposed to know more than that.

That was true, at least, for Safrag.

It had taken Hundjal many months to decipher the master’s protective spells, but, as with all he hunted, the secrets of those spells had eventually fallen to him. He did not hesitate to summon the pathway to the hidden chamber, a place that he had visited only once before but could never, ever forget.

Once the way was open, it took mere seconds to reach the Chamber of Ice, as Hundjal knew it would. Immediately, he noted the various mounds, recalling what was hidden inside of them. Utterly confident, the apprentice stepped inside the chamber.

Barely had his foot touched the chill floor when the first of the skeletal warriors broke free of its prison. A second and a third followed.

In a voice that was an exact replication of Dauroth’s, Hundjal sang the words. “Asymnopti isidiu.”

He watched with impatience as the guardians stepped back and allowed ice and snow to bury them again. Although the entire encounter had taken but a mere handful of seconds, to Hundjal it felt as if dangerous years had passed.

When the mounds were at last still, the Titan rushed to the ice-encrusted box. Anticipation and apprehension gnawed at him like starving meredrakes. Suddenly he wondered why he had waited so long to once more witness the glory of its contents.

When the silver tendrils came at him, he used a spell of his own crafting to suspend them. The spell would last only for a hundred heartbeats, but by then Hundjal would be long gone.

His breathing rapid, the apprentice opened the chest. He was prepared for the intense light and kept his eyes turned away until he felt able to adjust them accordingly.

Within, floating trapped in the clear liquid that Hundjal knew Dauroth had created, the minute fragment awaited him.

The fragment was out of legend.

Hundjal snorted at the tale Dauroth had once told him, that even that piece called all those who had used it every time it was used again … and again … and again. After all, since the one time he had been there, months had passed. It had not even been his idea to use the fragment; that inspiration had sprung from Morgada’s mouth, when she had spoken of fire.

And once Hundjal was done using the fragment for his vital task, he would never have to touch it again.

Although … how fascinating it would be to hunt down the full truth, hunt to see if the rest of the artifact still existed.

The Titan shook his head. Enough dreaming! Time is of the essence, fool!

Hundjal thrust his hand into the liquid. A sense of warmth spread up his arm as he seized hold of his quarry. However, the apprentice did not remove the piece, but kept it submerged. That was the key to its use, Hundjal had determined, something he was certain even his illustrious mentor had not realized.

With absolute care, Hundjal began mentally formulating his spell. The fragment would help him bypass and overcome the delicate magics involved in the tomb’s protections. All Hundjal had to do was absorb the magic power of the fragment, then hold those forces in reserve using thought control.

Of course, he would have to depart immediately for the mountainside after that, for the fragment’s abilities were very powerful and had the potential to burn out his mind.

It was done, done so easily. Hundjal beamed with pride at his own cleverness. It suddenly occurred to him that his prize could be utilized for other complex troubles plaguing the Black Talon, complex troubles such as the problem of the Grand Lord Golgren. The master had said that the mongrel’s usefulness was nearing its end, especially with the news discovered that not only did Golgren seek a pact with the humans-humans! — but he hoped to do so by freeing all the elves held by the ogres.

Yes, it was time to put an end to the grand lord, and with the fragment, the magic that protected him would count for nothing.

Hundjal’s golden eyes reflected the fiery light from within the box. One more use of the fragment would be all that he required. But first, he had to prove himself trustworthy to his master by safely opening the tomb. Then … then Dauroth would see his genius and agree to the plan of his favored apprentice.

One of the silver tendrils started to move. The Titan reluctantly pulled his hand free then shut the lid. Hundjal held the chest away from him. After a futile grab, the tendrils vanished. Eyes on the icy mounds, the apprentice left the chamber.

Returning to Dauroth’s study, Hundjal exulted. He gathered up some random parchments and the two thickest tomes and left the chambers, singing out, “I have it! I have the key.”

The Talon assembled on the edge of the chill peak within sight of the mountain tomb. Day had given way to night, but through their enhanced senses, they could see the entrance as well as any nocturnal creature might have. The spells disguising the tomb had been easy enough to rip away without danger to the interior, but the band awaited Hundjal’s promised efforts.

And no one waited more eagerly than Dauroth.

“You are very certain of the construction of your spell?” he asked his pupil, more than a hint of menace in his tone.

A fierce gust of wind blew through the area, but none of the Titans were affected by something so mundane. Hair bound back and perfectly groomed, Hundjal answered, “I am, my master.”

“Yet you have required no fresh blood nor any sacrifice for it.”

“Nor did the ancients,” the senior apprentice immediately pointed out, as if he had expected that question and had the reply ready. “And that is part of the path to understanding.”

Dauroth nodded his appreciation. “I would hear more on this subject at a more convenient time, good Hundjal.”

“And I would be so honored to discuss my beliefs with you, my master.” He abruptly winced, one hand clutching the side of his head.

“Something ails you, my pupil?”

“Merely the result of much research. With your permission, shall I begin?”

Dauroth eyed the tomb. “Do so. I shall order the others into position.”

“There is no need, great one! For this, I do not require the rest of the Talon. I require only my own efforts. It will take but a few moments.”

“Indeed? Most impressive. Proceed. I will have the others stand by should any assistance be required after all.”

Already anxious to begin, Hundjal scarcely paid any mind to Dauroth’s last statement. He stood atop a rocky outcropping overlooking the tomb. Below was the stone entrance with its markings in the tongue of their ancestors over the archway.

Hundjal looked proud, undaunted. He began to sing loudly, wondrously, as energies rose from within him and gathered from without.

Kallel and Safrag were among those who looked to Dauroth for commands, for all had assumed that the Black Talon would act in concert, as one. However, the lead Titan ignored the others, continuing to watch Hundjal expectantly.

The senior apprentice finished his chanting then drew the symbol of the Talon-raptor’s claws-in the air.

From the glowing claws emanated a field of black light that swept over both the entrance of the tomb and a good portion of the surrounding rock and earth. It settled onto the area then seeped through the ground, vanishing into the mountainside.

There was a brief crackle of static energy in its wake, then silence.

“That is it?” blurted one of the other Titans, already starting to drift toward the tomb. “All this expectation and nothing but another failure-”

An explosion of magical forces shot out from the mountain without stirring a single pebble or disrupting a flake of snow. The presumptuous Titan was thrown back. He might have fallen down the mountain to his doom, but Dauroth, feeling magnanimous, forgave his arrogance and used a spell to push him back to safety.

“Now it is done,” Hundjal proudly remarked. “The forces used by the ancients to both seal the entrance to the tomb and destroy its contents should someone manage to enter have been cast out and will dissipate in the emptiness of this land.”

“Well done, my pupil,” Dauroth declared heartily. “For your reward, you may be the first to enter.”

It also meant that Hundjal would be the first to possibly face any unexpected traps lying within, but the apprentice was more than confident in himself and pleased to take the lead. He bowed to his mentor, then leaped up into the air and let his power allow him to alight just before the stone barrier.

Raising his left arm, Hundjal let his hand sweep across the symbols above the entrance. He sang each of them loudly, the musical tones causing the assembled Titans to listen in fascination.

As Hundjal ceased his singing, the stone slid inward. The apprentice strode forward as if master of all within.

Dauroth descended to the doorway then followed behind. The other Titans, Safrag at their rear, entered one by one.

Inside the chamber, Hundjal and Dauroth paused to gaze at some of the illuminated images lining the stone walls. There were more than a score on both sides of the corridor.

“It is as written,” the lead Titan remarked reverently. “The life of the dead is set out for the gods to see so they may know this one was worthy.” Dauroth placed his fingers on one illustration. Immediately, his eyes stared off into space.

“A trap!” Kallel hissed, reaching for their master.

Hundjal slapped his hand away. “Do not touch him!”

Barely a breath later, Dauroth blinked. He stepped back, his expression almost childlike. “I was there! I was the one! A female! This was the burial of a personage of much power!”

“There may be signets after all!” someone else murmured.

Dauroth signaled for attention. “And if there are, then we shall find them. Lead on, Hundjal.”

The apprentice walked slowly but confidently down the corridor, with Dauroth but a step behind. Near the image of two robed figures-one male and the other female-holding up what seemed to be a crescent moon, Hundjal came to a sudden halt.

“A spell spawned from the magical essence of dragonfear,” he informed his master. “Old but still potent.” After a pause, he added, “It is dealt with.”

As they proceeded, the illumination from the reliefs proved less and less sufficient, even for Titans.

“There is a magic-dampening spell,” Dauroth explained. “Not enough to stop us. We shall have to make our own light from now on, though.”

Hundjal created a small sphere of blue and white energy, which hovered over his palm. Some of the others followed suit.

Then the corridor simply ended. Ahead lay a darkened chamber. Hundjal glanced at his master, who bade him to enter.

The moment that the apprentice did so, however, the entire chamber blossomed with bright light. Dauroth immediately joined him inside and the two stared at the walls, which were of crystal and silver and reflected the low illumination of Hundjal’s sphere a thousand times stronger than the source.

Kallel approached behind them. The chamber light suddenly grew brighter, glaring.

“Kallel!” the lead Titan called. “You will keep your sphere active! Hundjal! The rest of you! Dismiss yours!”

As the others swiftly obeyed, the light diminished to a tolerable level. Dauroth nodded with pleasure as he examined their find.

“Intact! Utterly intact,” he declared triumphantly. “It is ours!” His gaze focused on the item most central to the chamber. “There! The sarcophagus! Nothing matters more!”

Even Hundjal and the other members of the inner circle could not help but gape at the score of ivory pedestals encircling the pearl stand upon which a diamond coffin lay. Each of those platforms held artifacts with mysterious and valuable contents. There were scrolls, boxes, talismans, and other objects of arcane use. Each artifact alone was a precious treasure, but all together were nothing compared with the coffin.

More pearls floated above the coffin structure, pearls three times the size of a head. They were just translucent enough to hint at other artifacts, other riches held within. They hovered in a five-sided arrangement and numbered more than two score, an astounding cache of High Ogre relics.

Dauroth gestured Hundjal aside and took the lead. “Touch nothing. First the sarcophagus; then all else.”

The Titans flowed as one toward the glorious coffin, cautiously bypassing the pedestals and their prizes. That did not mean that their eyes did not covetously survey the many artifacts as the spellcasters passed. More than one Titan marked items he desired later for himself … if Dauroth did not notice.

Within a foot of the sarcophagus, Dauroth suddenly raised his hand. “Stand still!”

The others obeyed instantly. Dauroth alone circled the sarcophagus, studying the figure within. She was beautiful, so very beautiful that against all other females-even Morgada-there were no comparisons. Clad in shimmering silver-and-black robes, the High Ogre lay in perfect repose. Her blue skin wore a sheen that his own lacked, and her long tresses draped a face that seemed shaped by the gods. Her lips and eyelids had been painted gold, and to gaze at her was to think she was no more than twenty summers old and dead only that very day. Yet Dauroth knew that she had likely lived three to four times longer than he and had gained far more wisdom in the arts.

That she was much shorter and lacking the talons and barbed elbows of a Titan did not in the least disturb Dauroth or the others. Through the knowledge originally granted him by the ancestral spirit, Dauroth understood that only the most skilled among the High Ogres actually achieved the mighty likenesses worn by him and his followers. That they had been given that gift reflected the hopes their forebears had invested in them.

Dauroth glanced down to where the female’s hands lay, studying her long, slim fingers, naked of any adornment.

Frowning, Dauroth eyed the glittering case in which she lay then glanced at Hundjal. “You are certain that the spell of decay on the tomb’s other contents has been removed, my pupil?”

“I stake my life on it.”

Dauroth raised his hands and sang a single word. Thunder boomed so loud that the other Titans had to clutch their ears.

The sarcophagus exploded, shards flying everywhere. Dauroth sang another word, however, and the shards abruptly slowed as if whirling through honey. They then stopped completely and fell with a harsh clatter to the floor.

And as they did, the beautiful figure they had once shielded shriveled and aged. The unmarred skin wrinkled, dried, and peeled off. The perfect face became that of a horrific ghoul, with the aged flesh continuing to rapidly turn to dust until there remained nothing but the white skull beneath.

Immediately, Dauroth gestured. A blue haze fell over the skeleton and its shredded finery.

The decay ceased with the bones still intact.

“Safrag! Kallel! I leave it to you to remove the bones cautiously. The spell will keep them from turning to dust, but I wish them unmarred.”

“Yes, great one,” Safrag quickly replied.

“Hundjal, attend me.”

The senior apprentice stepped next to Dauroth, observing with him, for the moment, the fastidious efforts of the other two Titans in following the leader’s orders. “These are perfect, my master. Bones untouched, the magic in them still fresh.”

“Yes, a pity about the lack of signets upon her, but the remains will prove invaluable once they are prepared.” Dauroth gazed around at the other treasures. “And there may yet be a signet among the other relics. I want to know that before we leave the chamber.”

“You distrust some of the rest of the Talon?”

Dauroth pursed his lips. “I trust no one but myself … and you, naturally, my favored pupil.”

Hundjal bowed his head ever so slightly at that great compliment. “There may be a few individual traps among these riches. I did not dare perform a sweeping spell for fear that I would damage the casket’s power and let time reduce the body to complete dust. I knew the value of the bones, after all.”

“The brethren will just have to be extra cautious.” Dauroth turned to the rest. “The signets are the prime objective now. However, if you find anything so unidentifiable that you deem it may be of interest to me, summon me.”

The seven other Titans moved to various pedestals to begin their cautious inspections. Dauroth watched Safrag and Kallel at work then, satisfied by their meticulous labors, indicated that Hundjal and he should begin their own searches.

It did not take long to verify that the female buried there had indeed been a personage of high esteem. There were intricately created talismans among the artifacts, whose purpose promised years of intriguing research for Dauroth. There were parchments that could be gingerly opened that suggested spells that could be altered to fit the more modern arts of the Titans. Other writings revealed details of High Ogre life that Dauroth looked forward to studying and implementing into his future plans.

One of the other Titans used his power to open a small, emerald-tinted box. He peered inside just as Dauroth glanced in his direction.

The lead Titan frowned. “Beware such, Varnin! That has the look of a soul trap there-”

“I sense nothing within, great one! Absolutely-”

His reply turned into a chilling howl that froze the other Titans in the midst of their tasks. Dauroth, however, did not even bother to raise his hand and cast a spell, for it was already too late for Varnin. Instead, he watched and waited-with clinical interest-while the soul trap played itself out.

As the Titan’s howl spread through the chamber, something white and gauzy spewed from the hapless figure’s mouth then his nose, his ears, and even the tear ducts of his eyes. It struggled as it spread over and around the Titan, its vague outline reminiscent of Varnin himself. At the same time, the spellcaster’s physical form became more and more emaciated.

Then the gauzy form shrieked, shrieked as not even Dauroth could have imagined. Even the leader of the Titans felt his heart pound faster.

The ethereal figure was sucked into the box.

The box shut itself immediately after. The physical Varnin, his expression terrifying in its absolute deadness, its emptiness, collapsed then suddenly as if boneless.

Some of the others edged toward the corpse and the box.

“No one goes near!” shouted Dauroth. He alone approached the pedestal. After a brief study of the fallen spellcaster, Dauroth took the box and placed it in a pouch at his waist.

“Varnin has offered a lesson to you all. Open nothing that you cannot identify. Eagerness has its costs.” To Safrag and Kallel, he added, “When you are done safely transporting the bones back to the citadel, see to the removal and disposal of his remains.”

Safrag bowed. “As you command, great one.” The apprentice and his companion had finished setting the bones of the ancient Titan in an organized pile. The shreds of clothing, no longer protected, had become ash. “We are ready to take these away.”

“I will assist.” Dauroth joined the pair. The three stood facing the bones of the ancient. At the lead Titan’s signal, the trio sang the spell.

Black tendrils arose around not only the bones, but Safrag and Kallel as well. The two lesser Titans ceased their singing, enabling Dauroth to seize control of the spell. Safrag placed one hand over the remains.

And he, they, and Kallel vanished.

“It will take them a few minutes to prepare the container for the bones,” Dauroth blandly informed Hundjal, who stood nearby. “Now come. I rely on you as much as myself to see that nothing such as Varnin’s fate befalls the rest of us.”

All but kneeling, the senior apprentice replied, “You may trust in me utterly on this or any other matter, my master. I am and shall always be your most faithful servant.”

In that brief moment when Hundjal turned his gaze to the floor, he could not see the dark look that Dauroth flashed at him. All the younger spellcaster saw, when he turned his eyes up again, was the pleased expression that he expected. “I would expect nothing less of you, Hundjal, nothing less at all.”

“And to prove myself further, my master, I think in another day I shall give you something far greater than this discovery, something to assure the Titans’ guidance over our race.”

Dauroth had expected that. His smile widened, the sharp teeth well displayed. “For that, you shall receive a reward such as you would not imagine, good Hundjal … such as you would not imagine … ”