The Fire Rose

XIX

Is that better? asked the voice, its intensity causing Golgren’s head to burn more fiercely than his flesh. He felt Idaria slump next to him and knew that she suffered the heat too.

“Ah! So tender! Forgive me again.”

The voice had become a true voice, but each syllable still struck with heat and force in the Grand Khan’s ears.

At least the heat was tolerable. Continuing to follow the elf’s warning, Golgren looked just below the imposing figure’s eyes. Sirrion-if indeed it was the god-stood just a little taller than Golgren, although clearly that was by choice, not by nature. The half-breed recalled widespread tales of Faros Es-Kalin’s supposed encounter with Sargonnas, and how it was said the god had the ability to appear in more than one shape or size. Sirrion could no doubt make himself look as mighty as a giant, or tinier than a gully dwarf.

“Born of elf and ogre, an impossible mix, an improbable mix. Well, to most,” Sirrion declared with some solemn humor. “And bearing the child of mine pleaded for by the High Ogres.” Golgren thought he detected a chuckle.

Golgren suddenly recalled the Fire Rose. He held it reverently toward the god. “It is yours?”

“Did I speak of any desire for it?” the fiery figure suddenly roared. “If I demand it, you will give it to me. There is no mistake!”

Flames erupted around the god. The heat once again grew suffocating.

Golgren, who had faced down all manner of beasts, mino-taurs, Nerakans, and, of course, the dread Titans, bowed low. “Forgive this humble one, oh god of fire. Never would I presume to know better than you what you desire.”

“There’s no need to apologize,” Sirrion responded, the fury with which the deity had just spoken utterly gone, and with it the terrible flames and heat. “But that is your choice, of course!”

Golgren dipped his head again. Sirrion was very much like the incarnation of his element. Volatile.

The god peered at them, his eyes shifting from the Grand Khan to the elf. “Branchala’s love. Another interesting blending! I find such change stirring!”

The flames returned, albeit in a more subdued fashion. They seemed to reflect whatever level of emotion Sirrion was feeling.

“Great is Sirrion,” Idaria said of a sudden. “For without fire, there would be no civilization.”

“So very true! And do you like my little flower, Grand Khan of all ogres? Does its sweet scent of possibility entice you? It did for those who begged it of me so long ago.”

“The Fire Rose is … glorious.”

Sirrion grinned. “Glorious or monstrous, the choice is yours! The choice always is all of yours.” “All of ours?”

“Oh, there are many coveting the prize, including one coming nearer by the moment! He seems very, very eager! How would he wield the Fire Rose, do you think? I’d be fascinated to watch.” The god of fire had started to raise his hand toward Golgren and the Fire Rose, but lowered it again. “But that would be against what has been set in motion!”

Despite the danger of stirring Sirrion’s anger, the half-breed dared ask, “What is set in motion?”

The deity spread his arms wide. The flames grew stronger, hotter. “So much, so much! Ah, how long I’ve sat back and watched, when the world constantly cried for change!” He looked at Golgren, who barely managed to keep his own gaze from being trapped again. “You are set in motion, child of elf and ogre! For evil and ill, for good and fortune, you and others are set in motion! Krynn has grown, and in growth some things must give way, some things must grow stronger! You and they choose that my flower blooms again, after being buried for so long.”

Mention of others reminded Golgren of Safrag. The deity spoke of one who desired the Fire Rose, one who was nearing. That could only be the Titan leader.

Time was of the essence. “Oh great Sirrion, lord of fire! May this humble one ask how best to stir the Fire Rose to its glory?”

“One might well ask, where would the challenge be? Where would the reward be? The wonders of Krynn rise from the determination of its children to understand all!”

It was not the answer that the Grand Khan desired. Golgren carefully asked, “Why has the god ventured to us?”

“Why? Why?”

Idaria clutched Golgren’s arm. Both Sirrion and the Fire Rose flared so bright and hot that the Grand Khan felt the artifact burn his hands. Yet despite the scorching of his hands and the rest of his suffering because of the volatile deity, Golgren stood his ground.

“Child of elf and ogre, impossible creature, I come because I do! I am fire and flame, spreading onward wherever there is a spark, creating by cleansing, birthing by burning! I am the hand of alchemy! My mere presence stirs the imagination, the dreaming. It stirs something within you that you, especially, should appreciate, Grand Khan of all ogres!”

The chamber rumbled, but not because of anything that Sirrion had said or done. Golgren knew that it was because Safrag had located them and was on the trail of the artifact.

“The players are in place; the time of change is upon us,” the god continued, staring around at his surroundings. “The High Ogres sought change, but change sought them! They wanted a world that did not want them, and when they realized that, they begged for something with which to wipe clean the decay they saw around them. I was touched, and though my loving Shinare cautioned against it, I decided that their plea should be heard. Why not? To craft the gift is not to influence the choice! They made the choice, just as you and you and he and the others make it!” He suddenly thrust a finger at Golgren. “The choice is always yours, impossible child, even if the option given isn’t what you expected it would be.”

The chamber erupted. Golgren and Idaria were thrown to the floor. The Grand Khan clutched the searing artifact tight in his arms, but it was not completely protected. As he landed on the ground, he stared directly into the Fire Rose and saw for the first time that it was not perfect. A small piece, one of its leaves, had been broken off. It was doubtful that the break had happened by accident, for even striking the stone floor had not left a mark on the crystalline form. Indeed, the stone floor had cracked.

As dust rose around him, Golgren shoved the Fire Rose into one arm and used the other to push himself up. In doing so, he happened to glance into Sirrion’s ever changing eyes.

It will be interesting, the choices all of you make, the voice, once more burning in his head, declared. It will be interesting, the changes you demand of my flower. And the changes it demands of you and Krynn.

Sirrion’s form was rippling, just as a mirage created by the heat of the sun rippled. The god became less and less distinct, and when Golgren finally had to blink to keep his eyes from hurting, Sirrion was gone when he opened them.

With the lord of fire’s departure came the return of another menace. The wall exploded inward, the fragments freezing in the air just before they would have struck the Grand Khan and his slave.

With his right hand extended palm upward, Safrag stepped into the chamber. He paused to survey his surroundings.

“Fascinating! So much to explore once everything has been put in order.”

A blazing light emanated from his palm. Its hue matched that of the Fire Rose.

Golgren immediately knew the fragment in Safrag’s palm was what was missing from the artifact. Safrag had used the fragment to keep on the trail of the Fire Rose.

“There is nowhere left to run, mongrel! Surrender the Fire Rose to me willingly, and perhaps I’ll let you live to watch the rebirth of the ogre race!”

“Its further downfall is what you mean.”

The Titan eyed him with disdain. “You will never understand exactly what I truly mean.”

Safrag gripped the fragment, glaring at the Grand Khan.

The Fire Rose fought Golgren’s hold. The half-breed clutched it tight, refusing to let it go though it shook him powerfully. Idaria grabbed hold of him from behind.

The Grand Khan was yanked into the air. Idaria lost her hold. Golgren and the Fire Rose flew toward the sorcerer.

“Surrender is inevitable, mongrel,” the towering spell-caster smoothly remarked as he clamped the hand with the fragment against another part of the Fire Rose’s stem. “Inevitable as my rise to master of the Titans!”

“Yes, Dauroth was blind,” murmured Golgren, pulling hard. “But Safrag is blinder.”

He let go with his right hand-the hand restored-and struck the Titan soundly below the spellcaster’s rib cage.

Safrag let out a gasping cough and bent forward. That enabled Golgren to reach out and slug him again, under the jaw.

Tearing the artifact free, the Grand Khan turned back to Idaria. “Flee!”

But instead she rushed to him, helping Golgren to carry his burden. Golgren cradled the crystalline form as they ran from Safrag. “Would that I understood better the thing’s use,” he muttered.

“There may be-”

Idaria got no farther. A terrible sound wave struck them, deafening the pair and sending them tumbling. The Fire Rose slipped from Golgren’s grasp and immediately flew back toward Safrag.

The half-breed managed to grab onto the stem of the crystalline artifact as it flew past. It dragged him along.

“You are as persistent as a meredrake following a blood trail,” the blue-skinned sorcerer said tersely as both the artifact and Golgren sped toward him. “And when I have the Fire Rose, perhaps I’ll leave you to one of those damned reptiles!”

Suddenly Golgren felt a deep hatred for Safrag and his grandiose ambitions. Suddenly he knew he would never surrender the Fire Rose to the Titan because he intended to use it himself. Forever and ever. If there was anyone who should wield the artifact, it was him. Only him. He had felt the touch of its power, and would give it up only upon death.

Golgren collided with Safrag, the prize pressed between them, the Titan preparing another one of his spells.

“Your hand,” Safrag growled, their eyes locking. “Your new hand. How astounding is the Rose, which grows all anew! Why are you so blind to what it will do for our race, mongrel? Why, it could even wash you clean of that foul elven taint! You could become a true ogre at last! Think of it!”

“If that is the best you can offer, you offer nothing.”

The sorcerer sneered. “You really do take pride in your tainted existence! More than ever, you have proven yourself unfit to live among our kind, much less pretend to rule it!”

The Fire Rose burned bright all the while. Flames had erupted around the pair. From somewhere, Idaria cried out, but Golgren did not so much as glance at her. To break from the struggle even for an instant was to lose everything to Safrag.

The ground rose, and the walls and ceiling of the chamber melted away with the heat. Safrag and Golgren were borne aloft by flames as they wrestled close for the artifact. The sky opened up above them, and a hill formed to their side.

The flames lessened. Golgren’s foe laughed shrilly. “Do you see what it can do? It is said that as our race degraded, a band of High Ogre spellcasters gathered together to try to stem the fall! They spoke to all gods who might listen, but only one replied. Sirrion, the one they least expected! God of Fire and Alchemy, he had always remained in the background, helping those gods who came to him without judgment! Yet Sirrion heard the plea of the spellcasters looking for some way to reforge the ogre race and found that a fitting request for him!”

The Fire Rose burned hotter. The ground swirled, spinning the two combatants and their disputed prize around and around. The hill that had just formed melted, before becoming a small grove of fantastic trees with spiked leaves and blossoms as white-gold as the sun. Golgren and Safrag suddenly found themselves on another hill overlooking the grove. An orange-red glow covered everything, including the two opponents locked in struggle.

“But like you, the spellcasters were shortsighted! A fear arose in them as they began to use the Fire Rose! Instead of accepting it as a miracle, some of them decided to bury it forever for fear of what their own ambition would cause it to do!”

The Titan’s eyes flashed with fury. Golgren felt his feet grow numb. He stared into the Fire Rose, silently commanding it to serve him and him alone. He was no spellcaster, yet for some reason, even without the signet, the artifact responded to him.

Golgren threw his willpower into the effort.

The Fire Rose stirred.

Not only did the flames rise up again, but the very ground beneath them turned into molten lava that spat and churned as if eager to devour the loser of the struggle. The Grand Khan did not for a moment think that he would be the loser, though the pain and heat and numbness spread and enveloped him.

Golgren had to have the Fire Rose. The desire was stronger than ever.

The numbness suddenly faded. Golgren stared up triumphantly into Safrag’s dark visage. The Titan tried to shake him off, but the half-breed held tight.

Their surroundings continued to shift, with the tide of their battling minds. Hills rose and fell, lakes blossomed and dried, plants of all shapes and sizes sprouted and withered to dust. Whether they were momentary creations of the Fire Rose or would have remained permanent changes, Golgren neither knew nor cared. Such was the might of Sirrion’s gift.

As the combatants were caught up in their clash, the sky darkened. Both looked up and saw the return of a common foe.

The gargoyles dove down in greater numbers than before, the winged monsters seemingly oblivious to the hot treacherous landscape beneath them. They skirted the rising flames with ease and fell upon the area where the Titan and the Grand Khan battled.

A jutting hill shot up at first, sprouting into existence with such swiftness that the gargoyles slammed against it at full speed. The crack of bone briefly overwhelmed all other sound.

Those behind the unfortunate first group immediately ascended. Yet the hill continued to grow until it reached the gargoyles, earth and stone subsuming a number of the hapless creatures.

It was impossible to say if it was by Golgren’s will, Safrag’s, or both in conjunction somehow. But surely the Grand Khan and the sorcerer were joined in their desire to keep the gargoyles from claiming the trophy. The pair looked around, seeking to counter the dangerous attackers.

“You’ll not have it!” Safrag roared at more of the oncoming fiends. “Neither you nor your master!”

Black bolts of lightning shot not from the sky, but rather up from the ground. Each struck their target with deadly accuracy, searing the flesh of the gargoyles and leaving nothing but charred bones that clattered to the ground.

The landscape shifted anew, with Golgren and the Titan raised to soaring heights. They stood upon a towering peak, so high, and such an astounding transformation of the landscape, that it almost made the Grand Khan fumble his grip.

The gargoyles, which had been diving in relays, had to beat their wings hard and veer to extreme angles to compensate for the change. The gray beasts hissed as they swooped again, reaching with clawed paws for the Fire Rose and its wielders.

“It is between us, mongrel,” Safrag said, glancing around at the gargoyles without looking at Golgren. “We’ve fought for the precious artifact, not sent hounds to steal it afterward!”

Golgren said nothing, though his silence was agreement enough. The pair held onto the artifact as one.

“Think of what the House of Night truly honors. Think of the iSirriti Siroth, the Burning of Day!”

The Grand Khan understood and followed his rival’s lead.

The Fire Rose blazed brighter than ever. Both Golgren and the Titan cried out in pain, so white-hot was the artifact.

But if they found it hot, the gargoyles found it deadly. As if the sun itself had swallowed them, the aerial attackers were disintegrated to the last one by the sudden blast of heat. They barely had time to shriek their deaths. Their winged forms were suddenly outlined by the blinding light and they simply vanished. Not even a trace of ashes marked their passing.

Safrag’s hand immediately came around to the Grand Khan’s chest.

He gripped the obsidian dagger.

Golgren tried to twist away at the last moment, but the only way he could truly escape would have been to release the Fire Rose. Even threatened death could not make him do that.

The magical blade bore through all obstacles without hesitation, sinking between Golgren’s ribs up to the hilt.

The half-breed let out a rasping cough. He squeezed tight, trying to hold his grip as he struggled to overcome the mortal wound.

Safrag pulled the blade free and struck Golgren hard under the jaw with the hilt.

Golgren’s fingers slipped from the Fire Rose.

Idaria could not move. There was space around her, but only above her head and chest. Her legs and one arm were pinned. She was buried in a tiny gap under tons of rock and earth, the remains of what had once been the chamber of the altar.

She was going to die.

Elf notions of death had changed considerably since the fall of Silvanost. They were much starker, less transcendent due to all the tragedies falling upon the race. Idaria did not fear death, but neither could she peacefully embrace it.

The elf struggled to no avail. Her body was fairly intact but only served to mock her efforts with its impotence.

Her concern shifted to last minute thoughts about her people. There was no chance for them. Safrag said that the Titans had the slaves from the stockade, and she had no doubt he had spoken the truth. Whether their blood was presently being drained for the foul work of the sorcerers, or they would suffer some other heinous fate, all their deaths would be on her head.

She had erred grievously in trusting the Nerakan officer with whom she had made her pact. Idaria tried to recall either his name or face, but no longer could, such was her daze. All she could see was a vague figure in the hated ebony armor. The elf had only gone to Neraka when she had met no hope elsewhere. Indeed, the Nerakan had actually found her and offered the deal; information on the movements of the Grand Khan-known for his fondness for elf women-would be utilized for the advancement of Neraka. In return, the knights would free her people when they invaded the ogre lands, sending them on their way. Neraka had no use for the elves, the officer had said with enough conviction to persuade her despite her initial distrust; all the better to burden Solamnia and other neighboring areas with more refugees.

Idaria had not cared for the reasons why the Nerakan would help her, only the arrangement offered hope. The slaves were in that sorry a state. She agreed, and they had made their plans.

As she scraped at the rock above her, Idaria found herself repeatedly trying to recall other details about the Nerakan. Elves usually had exceptional memories, but although she could remember what they had said to one another, she had no luck picturing the human himself. As deadly as her predicament was, Idaria wondered why.

It grew harder to breathe. Somewhere in the back of her mind, the elf knew she was running out of air. Death was coming for her.

Sleep. Sleep and dream, her mind thought. Sleep and dream.

Sleep and dream. She did not have the strength to defy those two pleasant suggestions. Yet as Idaria began to drift off, a part of her protested that something wrong was happening. Something that had to do with the voice in her head.

It had not been her voice she had heard, not at all.

And as she finally blacked out, the last thing the elf thought was that she recognized the voice.

The voice of the very same Nerakan officer. A human whose face and name remained oddly and disturbingly vague as Idaria lost consciousness.