The Fire Rose

IX

As Golgren marched in one direction, Khleeg marched in another. Despite his trepidation at being far from the lord that he had sworn to protect, the ogre officer was also eager to reach the area where the Nerakans were said to have crossed the border. There would be much fighting, much bloodshed, but he was very confident in the combined might of the ogre hands that would stand against the humans. The Black Shells would be crushed, their females wailing their deaths for years.

Behind him, the hand marched with all the precision of a Solamnic army. Khleeg beamed, for the Grand Khan had presented him with the finest warriors yet trained. He could only imagine that they were as fine, indeed, as the armies of the High Ogres.

It was three days before he would reach his counterpart, Khemu. From there it would take another three, maybe four days to Angthuul. Fortunately, the Nerakans had chosen a place not all that far from Garantha, perhaps because they had the misguided notion they would be able to easily conquer the capital without the ogres rallying to prevent them.

Already, Khleeg could see the crushed and bloody corpses of Skolax G’Ran littering the battlefield. It would be a glorious ogre victory, one that would, in many ways, bring honor to his master. Khleeg was aware of Golgren’s background, of the slaughter by the Nerakans of the village where the half-breed had been born. And the death of his mother. Each Nerakan the officer managed himself to slay he would dedicate to the Grand Khan.

One of the subcommanders rode up beside him. The other ogre was not quite as adept with Common as Khleeg, but he spoke it well enough to exclaim, “Dust! Many riders approaching!”

Straightening in the saddle, Khleeg looked around, but could not swear to what he saw. A heavy force was indeed moving at a rapid pace toward his. He frowned, wondering if somehow the Nerakans had managed to bypass Khemu and the others.

A horn sounded from the oncoming dust cloud, and its notes were familiar ones. Some of Khleeg’s concern evaporated. As he squinted, the figures began to define themselves into exactly what he knew them to be: ogres.

“Khemu’s hand,” he announced to the other officers. “Why here?”

“Neraka?” suggested one unhelpfully.

Grunting, Khleeg continued to eye the approaching force. He could clearly make out the banner of the Grand Khan, the severed hand clutching the blood dagger. However, of Khemu, there was no sight. Instead, as the riders approached, Khleeg noticed another ogre leading the hand, one he recognized.

“Rauth.” A subcommander. Had something happened to Khemu?

Something else worried Khleeg. There seemed fewer warriors than there should have been, and those that did approach appeared to have fought in some great battle only recently. Again, his fear rose that Neraka had intruded deeper into Golthuu than previously believed. Rauth would have the answer.

Khleeg made an estimation and thought that about two-thirds of the original hand marched toward him. Such a heavy loss surprised him. The Black Shells must have had a large force.

To his surprise, one warrior broke from the front ranks of the other hand. The ogre shouted at the top of his voice, and the only reason that Khleeg did not at first understand what he was saying was because the warrior was speaking Ogre, not the Common to which the officer had grown accustomed.

“Drakuth bakiin!” the lone figure cried over and over as he suddenly brandished his axe. “Drakuth bakiin!”

He was warning Khleeg’s force that the meeting was an ambush.

From somewhere among Khemu’s warriors a pair of arrows streaked out. With terrible efficiency the unseen archers dealt two perfect strikes to the neck of the axe-brandishing warrior.

The ogre stumbled a few steps and fell on his face, already dead.

Rauth shouted back at whoever had fired. Khleeg, meanwhile, seized his own trumpeter by the arm. “Battle!”

The trumpeter raised the curled goat horn-just as one of Khleeg’s other officers thrust a dagger in the trumpeter’s throat.

At the same time, a second officer attempted to similarly attack Khleeg. The only thing that saved Golgren’s second in command was the sudden jerking of his horse. The assassin’s blade bounced off Golgren’s breastplate and left a long, wet scar across his forearm.

Before the traitorous officer could try again, Khleeg used a heavy foot to shove his assailant off his mount. The Blodian drew his sword and ran the trumpeter’s killer through.

As the other ogre died, Khleeg let go of the reins and snagged the horn from the slumping trumpeter. He himself blew the warning notes-

But with mounting horror, he saw a warning was no longer needed. A goodly number of his soldiers had already turned on their own comrades. Still, many others were loyal and fought back.

Khleeg tried to rally those who stood with him. He blew the horn again before tossing it aside to defend himself against a pair of warriors converging upon him on foot. One he knew well, and that fact alone made Khleeg furious. He maneuvered his massive steed in front of the pair, reached down, and cut a river across the familiar warrior’s throat. The other he dueled with for several minutes, and disarmed before doing the same as he had done to his comrade. The new warriors were well trained, but Khleeg was experienced and had learned personally under his Grand Khan, who knew not only Uruv Suurt tricks, but those of the Solamnians and the Nerakans too.

The battle was fast becoming utter chaos. No one on his side knew whom to trust; more than once Khleeg saw a warrior he was certain was loyal cut down by a sudden turncoat.

A warrior from his own hand slammed his axe into the neck of Khleeg’s horse. With a shriek, the animal toppled. Khleeg was unable to leap free before the dying horse hit the ground.

The bulky corpse of the animal heavily pinned one leg. The attacker, his axe dripping, closed upon Golgren’s other.

Khleeg fumbled for his dagger. As the other ogre loomed over him, the officer thrust up and under his enemy’s breastplate.

His strike was perfect. The traitorous ogre stumbled back, unfortunately wrenching the dagger from Khleeg’s grip. The attacker dropped his axe as he sought to yank the blade free.

The head of the weapon lay within Khleeg’s reach. With his adversary distracted by his terrible wound, the Blodian stretched and pulled the axe near, before grabbing its handle.

The other ogre finally drew out Khleeg’s dagger. Blood gushed from the wound. A maddened expression filled his grotesque visage.

Khleeg chopped at his foe’s nearest leg. The blade struck just above the ogre’s ankle and although it did not cut deep, it was enough to send the warrior stumbling to one knee.

And that brought the enemy close enough to enable Khleeg to bury the axe in the back of his neck. The blow was not powerful enough to behead the other ogre, but it came close. The body slumped next to Khleeg, who was busy struggling to free himself.

Just as he managed to drag his leg out from under the dead horse, a pair of warriors seized him by the arms. Khleeg started to fight back, until he realized the arms were coming to his aid.

Golgren’s second in command saw proudly that several other loyal warriors had banded together around him and had begun to reestablish a cohesive fighting force. Such actions would have been impossible for ogres before the half-breed had instituted his methods and training. Instead, the individuals would have stood their ground as single fighters and died valiantly but foolishly.

There were more of his warriors left than Khleeg could have hoped. One who had helped him rise thrust the axe back in his hand. With a confident growl, Khleeg waved the others into a more solid line. Those foes were about to discover that those truly loyal to the Grand Khan were more than a match for traitors-

Suddenly Khleeg had a premonition that the worse was not over. He knew that his brave little band was doomed, yet not once did he think of fleeing. They would have been slain with their backs to fate, a cowardly way for any ogre to perish.

But there was one last service Khleeg could perform. He fumbled for the crystal given to him by his lord. Golgren had to be warned.

Khleeg held the stone up. Realizing he was holding the blasted thing in front of the wrong eye, he switched to the other and concentrated on the Grand Khan with all his will.

His brave warriors roared as they met their oncoming fate.

The crystal flashed-

And suddenly the world around Khleeg shifted. The battle scene vanished, replaced by rocky terrain that might have been days away or just a few yards from where he had stood.

Vertigo struck the ogre. His legs folded under him.

Khleeg blacked out.

Golgren sensed the crystal calling to him as he rode just a few paces behind Barech and the scouts guiding them into the mountains. Aware that if one of the other two were trying to contact him it suggested a matter of great importance, the Grand Khan immediately located Tyranos’s creation and put it to his eye.

But the crystal revealed nothing but muddiness.

Thinking of Garantha, Golgren concentrated on Wargroch. A tense moment passed before the younger officer replied.

“Grand Khan?”

“Garantha. All is well there?”

The question seemed to confuse Wargroch momentarily, but he confidently replied, “Yes, Grand Khan! All is well!”

Golgren dismissed Wargroch from the crystal without further discussion or explanation. He concentrated on Khleeg.

Regrettably, even after more than a minute, his second in command did not respond.

“What is it, my lord?” asked Idaria.

The Grand Khan thrust the crystal back into his pouch. “Nothing.”

But his thoughts lingered on Khleeg. In his mind Golgren ran over the officer’s intended route and found no cause for concern. The first danger should not have come until the combined hands reached the Nerakans, days away. Could the black knights have slipped so far into Golthuu as to have attacked Khleeg already? Golgren considered that highly unlikely if not impossible. Yet, there had been several incidents of late that more than verged on “impossible.”

Even so, there was nothing he could do but wait and see. As with all military hands, Khleeg’s would have had messenger birds at their disposal. It was possible that some note was winging its way to Garantha. Wargroch could be relied upon to alert his master of any such messages.

A mournful howl tore his attention back to the mountains. The ogre warriors tensed before they all realized the howl was nothing more than the wind coursing among the sharp, jagged peaks.

For the ogre people, the mountains had no official name, although, according to the commander, the locals called them Isan du ihageed-araki, the Teeth of the Burrower. They did indeed resemble teeth to Golgren, although more like those of a meredrake or dragon. At a glance, the peaks looked devoid of life, including the hardy shrubs found in southern Golthuu or even southwest of the capital. The oddly narrow mountaintops were also heavily scored, as if countless creatures over the ages had sharpened their claws on the rocky sides.

Golgren’s eyes continually surveyed his surroundings. The mysterious message of the wild fires-and its lack of clear meaning-was still fresh in his wary thoughts.

The way was tight. Often, only two riders could pass through a juncture, or three to four warriors grouped on foot. The lone mastark with the hand actually had an easier time than expected, the great beast stepping on top or over most obstacles. Still, Barech voiced some concern that perhaps he had been wrong to bring the massive lumbering creature with them.

There was no choice when it came to settling down for the night. Night in the mountains fell with a great abruptness, the tall peaks casting pitch black shadows. But the one mastark had another value on the journey. The spoor of the beast was plentiful and fueled the column’s fires. There was not much else to scavenge.

The fires were kept small and, for the first hours, watched from a wary distance by most. However, as the cool night air took over and the flames remained subdued, the ogres gathered in large numbers around each campfire, beginning to relax.

The wind continued to howl. Idaria stayed close to Golgren, her own gaze surreptitiously studying the vicinity as she saw to her duties.

“One could easily find freedom by fleeing into the mountains,” the Grand Khan remarked as she brought him a bowl of hot broth from one of the fires. “Is that not so, my Idaria?”

She looked down as she handed the bowl to him. “One could find many things, but freedom is doubtful, my lord. Not in those mountains.”

“But in Neraka, yes?”

Idaria met his gaze with one just as veiled. “Or in Golthuu as well.”

Golgren nodded vaguely at her evasive reply, and began to eat. The elf knelt nearby, nibbling on some dried fruit she had brought with her. Unless she had no other choice, she didn’t eat meat. Golgren’s mother had learned to suffer meat; life among the ogre tribes was too difficult to survive otherwise.

They bedded down after their meals. The long trek enabled the Grand Khan to drift off fairly quickly. But once asleep, Golgren heard whispers. At first, his dreams could make no sense of the whispers, save that they sounded like a beautiful song whose words he could not understand. The whispers were neither in Common or Ogre, yet he felt that he should understand the words. Not understanding so greatly disturbed him that he suddenly awoke, finding himself covered in sweat.

Even awake, he still heard the whispers. Glancing at Idaria’s still form, the half-breed rose to investigate. The whispering seemed louder the more he moved to his right, yet at the same time, it also felt as if the whispering surrounded him.

Golgren took a few more steps to the right. He was certain the whispering grew louder, more coherent. It was a song, although like none that he had ever heard. Gripping his sword, he advanced a few more paces, and a few more-

A hand suddenly seized the wrist of his maimed limb. Idaria’s excited voice murmured, “My lord! Why are you going so far from the camp?”

He was about to chastise her for her ridiculous statement when, staring past the elf, Golgren looked around and saw that there was no sign of the encampment. Indeed, in the dark there was hardly anything to see at all. He was in the middle of nowhere.

“Where are we?” he demanded. “How far?”

“Several minutes along the trail, my lord. I only barely saw you vanish in the distance and followed as swiftly as I could.”

Golgren hissed, puzzled by how he had come so far. Yet still, he heard the whispering voices as they continued to sing the strange, unsettling song. Loud enough for him to hear plainly, the words remained as riddlesome as the message the flames had left. Did they emanate from the same source?

He glanced at Idaria. She did not appear to have heard anything.

A sudden thought sent his hand into the pouch where the crystal lay. As Golgren tore it free, the voices in his head reached a crescendo.

“No!” the Grand Khan roared. He stumbled a few steps before shouting to the slave, “Lead me!”

She did not hesitate, grabbing his maimed limb and tugging at it to guide him through the deep darkness quicker than he could have done by himself. The pair ran as fast as they could.

A rumble like thunder echoed from ahead.

The ground shook with a sudden extreme violence that brought back to Golgren memories of the confrontation with the army off’hanos. He struggled to maintain his balance, but fell to one knee. As ever, the elf managed to not only keep her own graceful footing, but helped him rise and run again.

The rumble magnified, becoming deafening.

“Hurry!” Golgren commanded.

Fire flickered far ahead. The ogre leader spotted the encampment.

But getting there was an impossibility. The path ahead was blocked by stone and dirt that had fallen from the mountainsides. There was enough of a gap to see ahead, yet he couldn’t attempt to climb over or around, without risking his life.

Still, Golgren did not hesitate. There was only way to stop what was happening. And that was for him to hurl himself in the midst of it all.

The avalanche was assailing the column from all sides. Great masses of mountain debris rained down upon the terrified ogre warriors. Their screams vied with the horrific rumbling.

As he fought to reach the column, the fires enabled Golgren to observe the monstrous spectacle. He saw three ogres crushed by a single rock as large as the mastark. Where much of the right flank had bedded down for the night was already a rushing mass of earth that swept over several more warriors as if it were an ocean wave. Horses darted about, but they had nowhere to go.

Of Barech, there was no sign. However, where Golgren recalled the commander had slept he saw that spot was covered by a huge chunk of earth that had dropped from high above.

Amid the chaos, the mastark recklessly charged toward Golgren. The Grand Khan leapt away from a pile of rocks and earth just as the beast reached where he’d been standing.

His decision proved life-saving. The spot where Golgren had stood suddenly collapsed, the earth there tumbling away so rapidly, while fresh rocks and debris rained from above, that Idaria also had to jump aside or die. Unfortunately for the mastark-and Golgren-the path was even more blocked than before. The battered animal trumpeted and backed up to try again.

As it did, a fresh rockslide dropped upon the leviathan, burying the struggling beast as if it were no more than an insect. The mastark let out one last desperate call before being submerged and disappearing.

Golgren pulled farther back as loose scree pelted him from all directions. Compared to the disaster that had overwhelmed Barech and his force, the danger was over for him.

The rumble gradually faded, leaving only the settling dust to echo in Golgren’s ears. There was not a single sound of life within the area of the encampment, which was all but covered by the great collapse. Surely the warriors of Barech’s hand were all dead. Over a thousand lives had been wiped out in perhaps no more than a few moments.

As the Grand Khan let that dread thought sink in, he realized that the warriors had perished because of him.

“Is that it?” sang Ulgrod, one of the newest of the Titans and among the most vocal of those who had called repeatedly for the half-breed’s death. “He’s to remain untouched?”

The Titans had all gathered for the magical event. Safrag had insisted that a pooling of all their power would save any individual from being too taxed with the job. Reserves of elixir were extremely low and had to be rationed.

No one in the inner circle, not even the usually outspoken Ulgrod, had dared point out that the Black Talon appeared to be far more refreshed and powerful than the rest of them.

“Of course, he is to remain untouched,” Safrag responded like a soothing teacher. “The mongrel is our key to the Fire Rose. That was explained to all of you sufficiently.”

The rest eagerly nodded; no one wished to annoy Safrag. The Black Talon and the other Titans had committed themselves to his plan. The artifact was the key to their independence and utter domination-it was the key to everything they desired. If Ulgrod wished to take chances with his life by questioning Safrag’s decision, the rest were willing to let him.

They stood atop the mountains just west of where the column had met its doom, all but untouched by the wind rushing among the dire peaks. Even had it been bright daytime, neither Golgren nor any one else, not even the sharp-eyed Idaria, could have seen them. Yet the Titans could see far and with deadly accuracy, and watching their handiwork was part of the pleasure.

Destroying over a thousand lives had not been much more effort.

“But he’ll surely know it was us-that is all I mean, master! We’ve shown our hand.” Some of the other Titans cracked grins at his choice of words-considering Golgren’s own physical state-but Ulgrod scowled at them. “We have marked ourselves openly as his enemies. Why should he continue on a hunt for something that he knows we also desire?”

“Because he has little choice. And because he is Golgren. He will assume the key to his survival is finding the Fire Rose and wielding it first, against us.”

The others nodded, agreeing with the sense. Only Ulgrod dared speak again.

“And what if he does find the Fire Rose and wield it against us?”

The lead Titan only smiled more broadly. “He will not be able to do what he hopes. But we shall just let the mongrel find out that for himself, shall we not?” He raised his hands to the dark sky, a gesture immediately imitated by his gathered followers. “We shall thank him for preparing our people for our rule and finally, slowly, very painfully, put an end to him.”

As the others joined him in smiling at that particular happy thought, Safrag sang out the words of a new spell.

The Titans vanished.

Just as the Titans were unseen by Golgren and Idaria and the ill-fated warriors, so another figure had remained invisible to the sorcerers’ gathering.

More a shadow than substance, the figure stared for a moment at the spot upon which the sorcerers had stood. Although no taller than Golgren and perhaps just a shade smaller, the figure showed no trepidation at having been so near the full might of the towering spellcasters. Indeed, its long, oval eyes of white radiated only contempt for those who had just departed. From behind the lower half of the tightly bound golden cloth that obscured all its other features, there came a brief but throaty laugh.

The gray and black, hooded figure disappeared.