The Fire Rose

XXI

Garantha was near. It had taken Khleeg the greatest of efforts to lead the hand back to the capital so quickly. The warriors were weary beyond belief, and they had lost a few of the animals in their haste, but the effort had been worth it.

Khleeg looked for some sign of military activity, some hint that Wargroch had set other elements of ogre strength into action. True, Wargroch commanded the city guard, but Garantha needed more of a defense than that, much more. Khleeg had commanded Syln to send messengers to the other hands ordered out by the younger officer, but he could not feel confident that they would return before Rauth’s forces reached the capital. Fortunately, Atolgus and the rest of the betrayers were still far to the south, or else the situation would have been even more dire.

Still, as they came within sight of the capital, Khleeg feared for Garantha. There were hardly any guards visible on the walls. For one of the few times since swearing an oath to the Grand Khan, he questioned Golgren’s decisions. Wargroch had proven himself a fine warrior and clever of mind, but he was obviously incapable of overseeing such an important part of the empire.

Syln, a Kernian ogre whose extended belly made it look as though he sought to pretend-badly-to be one of his stouter cousins from the south, echoed his concern. “Need more guards. The city of the griffon should be stronger.”

“Wargroch will learn. No matter. We are home. We will make Garantha strong, eh, Syln?”

“Yes, Khleeg!” Despite his girth, Syln was a skilled fighter and a respected commander. His warriors were worth twice that of most other hands.

A horn sounded as they approached. Some of the sentries raised their weapons in salute. Khleeg relaxed, but only slightly. He would not be satisfied until he knew all that had gone on in his absence.

With a grinding sound, the gates slowly opened. Khleeg led the hand into the capital. In contrast to so many previous times when he had ridden with his lord at the head of a victorious army, the welcome he received was subdued and nearly silent. Warriors of the city guard stood at attention, and those who gathered to watch saluted with fists and weapons. All knew that the Grand Khan was not with the warriors; Khleeg’s swift return without their ruler was not a sign they took well.

“Wargroch must tell them,” he rumbled to Syln. “They must know the Grand Khan watches over Garantha, over all Golthuu.”

The gates shut behind the last of the ranks. Khleeg looked for the younger officer. Wargroch should have met them.

What he saw instead was an ogre who could not have been able to be in the city. He should have been arrested and executed on the spot.

“Atolgus!” he roared, thrusting a meaty finger in the direction where he glimpsed the betrayer.

A puzzled Syln straightened, trying to see.

From somewhere, a horn blew the call to battle. Khleeg started, realizing too late what that horn meant.

The guards flanking the column let out fierce roars and lunged at Khleeg’s warriors. The fighters in the ranks hesitated, confused by their own comrades attacking them in the very capital. They reacted in confusion, and several perished without even raising their weapons in defense.

“Traitors!” the hand commander shouted. “Krehgu u athu-defend lines! Defend!”

The warriors deeper in the column rushed to aid their embattled comrades. Khleeg surveyed the chaos. As with the earlier attack by Rauth, it was impossible to tell from his vantage point whether many in his vision were loyal or were betrayers. The actual line of struggle fluctuated madly, and as he watched, some of those caught up in the fighting broke into individual struggles that splintered off.

Khleeg hunted for a glimpse of Atolgus again. Kill the leader, and the other betrayers would lose heart. “Syln!”

The commander understood. Syln tapped two other mounted officers with the flat of his sword. “Follow him!”

They rode behind Khleeg as the Blodian forced his heavy steed through the packed fighters to where he had last observed the former chieftain. His mind still reeled at discovering Atolgus in the city. Atolgus should have been far south. It would have taken many days with the swiftest steed and the greatest of good fortune for him to ride to Garantha-longer with a column of warriors. Atolgus could not be in there!

Unless …

Two traitors tried to sideswipe Khleeg. He dispatched one with a bloody stroke across the throat. One of the officers who rode with him did battle with the second while Khleeg and the other continued on.

When he had first seen Atolgus, the young warrior had been standing atop a low, flat-roofed building waving his sword to signal his followers. Like magic, though, he had vanished from sight only a moment later. Yet, Khleeg was absolutely certain he had not imagined the image of the traitor.

A sharp pain tore at the calf of his right leg. Grunting, Khleeg drove off another traitor. He glanced down at the wound and was happy to note that the cut was a superficial one.

Wargroch must be dead. Atolgus could not have set the trap into play otherwise. Wargroch’s foolish dismissal of the hands protecting Garantha had signed his own death warrant.

What mattered was putting an end to the astounding uprising.

The officer with him grunted something unintelligible. Khleeg glanced his way and saw him pointing to their right.

Atolgus stood there watching the battle, the renegade’s expression almost gleeful. He looked mad, but not with blood-lust. His eyes had an animal wildness to them.

Khleeg urged his mount on. Atolgus saw him coming. The former chieftain grinned in greeting.

Another ogre blocked the Blodian’s path. Cursing, Khleeg swung at his new foe, trying simply to beat the other ogre back enough so he could go on after Atolgus. But the other warrior refused to give ground to the mounted Khleeg.

Golgren’s second in command finally cleaved the other’s skull. As he pulled the dripping blade up, he glanced toward Atolgus.

But once again, his quarry had vanished.

Another horn sounded, one from within the column. Khleeg looked over his shoulder to detect the hand commander trying to rally the loyal fighters. Meanwhile, the crowd of onlookers that had lined the way had vanished from view. Khleeg frowned. Ogres did not shy away from a fight. The populace should have chosen one side or another. And more than likely they would have chosen Khleeg’s, since he was the Grand Khan’s representative. Instead, though, they had, like Atolgus, disappeared.

Khleeg froze, uncertain where to go, what to do next. The hand commander was doing his best to keep his warriors together, but they couldn’t hold the ground where they had been forced to take a stand. They needed a far more defensible location.

Only one place came to mind.

With a snarl, Khleeg signaled to the other officer to turn around. As they returned to the column, he roared to Syln, “To the palace! Follow!”

It was a sign of the other ogre’s trust in Khleeg that the commander immediately obeyed. Under his guidance, what remained of the hand formed a square and began a slow but relentless move to the walled palace. Khleeg could not be certain the traitors were not already ensconced within, but if so, he could confront the guards at the entrance. Besides, they did not know all the hidden ways in and out of the ancient structure.

Golgren had hidden many secrets inside the palace that would help against an uprising. The Grand Khan was no fool; he had not ruled out such a dire event occurring during his reign.

The column retreated down the streets to the palace. The commander and his warriors followed Khleeg, trusting in him.

Khleeg only hoped their trust was not misplaced.

The palace walls rose in the distance. Khleeg rode up next to the officer. “Four riders with me! Your warriors fight to the gates!”

Syln slapped his fist against his breastplate and ordered four warriors to follow Khleeg. Golgren’s second in command led them down a side street.

They met no resistance. Khleeg’s eyes narrowed, but he saw no hidden threat. Atolgus had concentrated too much on his trap.

At a ruined structure southwest of the palace, Khleeg ordered everyone to dismount quickly. With reluctance, he slapped his horse on the flank, sending the animal racing off. The other horses chased after his steed.

The five loyal ogres silently entered the ruins. The official reason for the area still remaining in disrepair had to do with the precarious condition of the ground. The ruins had once been the villa of a valued ally of the predecessor to Golgren’s own lord, Zharang. A fire had supposedly destroyed the half restored villa midway through Zharang’s reign.

Only Khleeg knew the fire had been set at the Grand Lord’s behest. And that the villa had never been rebuilt in order for Golgren to disguise other work being done by his minions.

Khleeg knew exactly where to look for what he was seeking. It was hidden deep in a treacherous-looking section of the half restored villa, two levels below the surface. Anyone scavenging in the building would have had little reason to notice the pile of stone cluttering the section. Khleeg, ducking under a broken column originally carved by some skilled High Ogre artisan to resemble a living tree, made his way directly to it. As his warriors watched in puzzlement, he twisted a piece of marble near the top of the stones, before tugging hard on the entire pile.

The pile shifted as one. Stepping back, Khleeg pointed at two of his companions and at the pile.

With ease, the pair pushed the shifted stone aside, revealing a hidden tunnel. Khleeg went first, the officer bending to enter. A few steps in, Khleeg stood to survey a passage whose solid stone walls surely dated back to Garantha’s founding.

With growing eagerness, Golgren’s second in command led the four other loyal ogres along the narrow path. They came across some minor cracks in the stone, but for the most part the tunnel was clear of obstructions. Since discovering the ancient passage and having it repaired, Golgren had ensured that it would remain in good working order, just in case a hidden route was needed.

There was no light in the tunnel, but there was only one direction in which to travel. The only mark of their progress was a faint silver line drawn across the width of one part of the tunnel. Khleeg knew it to indicate the point where the tunnel crossed under the protective wall surrounding the palace.

At the other end of the tunnel, he encountered a marble wall. With no light to guide him, Khleeg ran his hand over the left side of the wall until he located a tiny lump. He pressed it and used his weight to push against the wall.

The wall gave way, sliding like a door until there was enough of a gap for the huge ogres to squeeze through. Sword in hand, Khleeg entered first.

He emerged in one of the lower levels of the palace, a place left in disuse for generations by Grand Khans who had acted more as squatters than as true lords of the ancient edifice. Again, it had taken Golgren, inquisitive of the nature of the ogres’ great ancestors, to discover the disused level.

The room was filled with dust and years of cobwebs. Khleeg cut through a dense curtain of silken threads, sending scores of thick, black spiders skittering away. Huge, shriveled rodent bodies hung in some of the webs, while on the ground lay bones of other creatures next to gnawed remains of the spiders.

Golgren had left the webs and bug creatures as another deterrent against explorers. Khleeg followed the narrow way his lord had shown him, without deviating from the recommended path. Khleeg knew there were other things in the supposedly empty chamber-things hidden from the sight of Khleeg and the others-that were far worse than rats or spiders.

With growing relief Khleeg led his small party through the rusting iron door at the far end and up a set of blocky steps to the next level. They were near their goal. Khleeg had confidence that Syln had in the meantime reached the gates.

They came through a newer heavy door, one with the sign of the severed hand of Golgren molded into it. Khleeg had one of the warriors cautiously shove it open.

One of the outer halls greeted the band. Khleeg paused, orienting himself. The faces and figures of High Ogres living their opulent lives filled his view from the opposite walls. Khleeg snorted at the lighthearted moments in some of the depictions that contrasted with his own tense emotions.

“That way,” Golgren’s second in command finally ordered, indicating a path to the right.

They had gone no more than a few steps when the sound of someone approaching sent Khleeg and his warriors behind the nearest column.

But to his surprise, it was Wargroch and two guards, who came rushing down the corridor to where they hid.

Khleeg leaped out. “Wargroch!”

The other officer stopped, surprised. “Khleeg?”

“Ha!” Golgren’s second in command slapped Wargroch on the shoulder. The four warriors with him stepped out of their place of concealment. “The palace! It is secure?”

“Secure? Yes. How have you come?”

Khleeg quickly spoke of the secret passage. Wargroch’s eyes widened.

“Enough!” Khleeg said. “Syln waits at the gate! Must open the way for him!”

“Syln expects that?” Wargroch rubbed his thick jaw. “Syln will enter, yes.”

At that moment, more guards appeared. Wargroch gestured for them to lower their weapons. He started to lead Khleeg on.

“Atolgus is in Garantha, Wargroch.”

“Yes. That I know.”

The senior officer paused to stare at his counterpart. “You know?”

“I have seen Atolgus.”

Khleeg grunted. “There must be magic at work. Atolgus cannot be in Garantha without magic. It is”-he searched for the Common word, but could not find it-“ba’gharuc!”

“Unarguable. The word is ‘unarguable,’” Wargroch answered. “It is a hard word for ogre mouths.”

“Unargu-Yes. It is Titan magic.”

Wargroch gestured, continuing with leading Khleeg. Behind the duo, the guards and the four warriors followed.

“Titan magic, yes,” agreed the younger officer. “They have taken the elves too.”

The senior officer’s eyes blazed. Matters were worse than he thought. “Atolgus must be stopped. After that, the Titans.”

“No.”

Khleeg stumbled. He stared at Wargroch. “No?”

“They must win.” Wargroch leaned close to the other ogre, his face close to Khleeg’s. “They will win.”

Khleeg felt a sudden pain in his side. Wargroch stepped back, revealing a dagger in his hand.

Blood dripped from the point, spotting the marble floor Golgren had always ordered so meticulously polished.

There was also blood dripping from Khleeg’s side, just where the front and back plates of his armor came together.

His warriors tried to rush to his aid, but Wargroch’s guards suddenly turned their weapons on the four. An axe cut down one of them. The other three dropped their weapons.

With a roar partly fueled by his pain, Khleeg swung wildly at Wargroch. The other officer jumped back, drawing his own sword. He parried Khleeg’s attack, but instead of counterattacking, simply stood back, keeping away from Khleeg.

Khleeg tried to carry the fight to him, only to have one of his legs give way. He fell to his knees.

His hand could no longer clutch his sword. The weapon dropped to the floor with a loud crash. Golgren’s second in command grabbed for it, but his fingers would not work.

He stared at the only wound he had. It hurt, but it was not so bad a wound to have hurt him so quickly and terribly.

“Ta’ki’agrur,” Wargroch rumbled, carefully sheathing the dagger. “The word in Common, it is ‘vengeance.’ Vengeance. It is a Common word that I like.”

“Ta’ki’agrur?” The dazed and confused Khleeg was finding it hard to concentrate. “Vengeance?”

“The mongrel, he must pay with blood. For my brothers. For the blood of Nagroch. The blood of Belgroch. The mongrel will pay for their blood. With you. With his dream.”

Struggling to rise, Khleeg rasped, “N-Nagroch … But he served the Grand Khan-”

“His life Golgren claimed with a dagger.”

Khleeg knew the story. Nagroch had failed in a duel with the future warrior-mate of the Uruv Suurt emperor. Golgren had taken Nagroch’s life when she had refused to kill him. “It was n-n-”

“Necessary?” Wargroch snorted. “That also. Die, Khleeg. The mongrel will be with you soon enough.”

Golgren’s loyal officer could no longer speak. His vision was fading. He made an awkward grab at his wound.

In the process he lost his balance. Khleeg sprawled on the floor and lay still.

Wargroch bent down and turned Khleeg over. He looked closely. After a moment, he stood.

“The meredrakes are hungry. The poison will not kill them.”

Two of Wargroch’s guards sheathed their weapons and picked up the body. He watched as they carried Khleeg’s body away. As that happened, another guard approached.

“The battle is over?” Wargroch asked before the other could speak.

The guard nodded. “Hand commander dead. Warriors surrender.” He took a breath and added, “Atolgus comes.”

His task done, the treacherous officer hurried to the front hall of the palace. Barely had he arrived than a large, armed party met him coming through the great outer doors.

At their head strode Atolgus. He was taller than when Wargroch had seen him last, taller and mesmerizing. Unlike most, Wargroch knew something about why Atolgus looked different, and why someone who had only been a minor chieftain and loyal follower of the half-breed would suddenly become Golgren’s great nemesis. Wargroch knew Morgada, and understood her tremendous powers, both magical and otherwise.

But Wargroch himself had no need for such temptations. He had desired Golgren’s blood ever since learning of his older brothers’ deaths. Khleeg’s death was one step of that plan.

Atolgus acknowledged him. “Khleeg?”

“The meredrakes feast.”

The new warlord grinned wildly. “Good. She will be pleased.”

Displaying his sword, Wargroch abruptly knelt before Atolgus. “Garantha is secure.”

Atolgus accepted the great blade. “Golgren’s …”

It had been presented early on to Wargroch as a sign of favor from the Grand Khan. “No, Atolgus’s.”

The warlord grinned again. He sheathed it and presented Wargroch with his own sword. “Yours.”

Beating his fist on his breastplate, Wargroch stood and embraced the offering. “Great is Atolgus! Great is his power!”

But Atolgus shook his head. Still grinning, he replied, “No. Great is the power of the Titans.”

Morgada and the Black Talon had observed the entire tableau from their safe sanctum far, far away. They and every other Titan were exhausted; the tasks given to them by the absent Safrag had been so monumental that more than one sorcerer was in danger of needing elixir to restore themselves. However, Morgada had refused all pleas. Safrag had ordered that no one be given any elixir until word came that he had been successful in his quest for the Fire Rose.

“Garantha is at last free of the mongrel,” Draug gasped. “The puppet did his job well.”

“Which puppet?” jested another Titan, despite his exhaustion. “The one full of hate or Morgada’s adoring pet?”

“Choose one and dispense with both! Neither are needed any longer! Garantha bows to us!”

“But Garantha is only the beginning,” breathed Morgada with a smile. “Only the beginning …”

Kulgrath did not share in the good spirits spreading among his comrades. The Titan looked from one side to another before flatly stating, “But it’s no beginning without that for which we’ve hunted! Safrag’s not returned! For all we know the mongrel has the artifact! Imagine the Fire Rose in Golgren’s hands!”

“Imagine that if you will,” interrupted another, familiar voice. “But you would be indulging in flights of fantasy.”

Safrag stood in the center of the chamber, exactly upon the symbol of the Black Talon. His once immaculate garments were torn and stained; there were bruises and cuts on his arms, torso, and face.

But his expression was triumphant. As the rest of the inner circle gaped, he stretched forth his arms and revealed the Fire Rose.

Its blazing light filled the chamber and brought a reddish orange cast to the face of each onlooker. The Titans sat speechless, until Morgada was the first to find her tongue.

“It is beautiful.”

“It is the future,” Safrag corrected.

“And Golgren?” gasped Kulgrath, unable to tear his eyes away from the dancing flames within the Rose. “Is he-?”

Safrag’s song was glorious as he shouted, “Golgren is a monument to his folly! Golgren the mongrel is no more!”

As one, the rest of the Black Talon smiled, joining him in celebrating the Grand Khan’s demise.

“The Fire Rose,” one murmured. “Is it all we hope it to be? Can it truly do so much?”

“You would have a test?”

“Is that possible?” asked Draug. “Can you wield it already?”

In answer, Safrag stepped aside and gestured to the spot where he had just stood.

A terrible stench filled the air. Many of the Titans sat back in disgust as a dripping horror materialized.

Falstoch looked around. The abomination was still bent in pain from the wound he had suffered.

Safrag nodded to the monstrosity. “Shall we try again?”

Without preamble, he held the Fire Rose before Falstoch’s constantly melting face. The abomination raised a deformed limb as the artifact’s burning light bathed it in reddish orange. Falstoch let out a cry that shook even the hardened Titans.

Falstoch began to transform. His body straightened and solidified. The wound vanished. The melting wax that had been his flesh became sleek blue skin. Features aligned differently on his face, molding themselves into a handsome visage. A lush mane of hair thrust out of his skull and fell back.

The garments of a Titan materialized around the changing Falstoch. As he finished his transformation, the garments clad him.

The newly rejuvenated sorcerer stood trembling. “Will it … Will it hold?” he sang in faltering Titan speech. “Will it?”

Safrag only beamed. After a moment, Falstoch let out a dark howl of joy. He gazed at his hands, felt his face, and howled again.

And the Titans of the inner circle reveled in his joy, in their triumph. It had been the least of tests. The Fire Rose not only wielded great magic, but it could be wielded by them.

Safrag held it high. “The dawning of the new Golden Age is upon us!” he sang exultantly. “The dawning of the rebirth of the High Ogres.”