The Fire Rose

V

The guards no longer actively watched Idaria. Indeed, in many respects, they treated her almost as though she were Golgren’s queen. The elf maiden made good use of their lax attitudes toward her. All Idaria’s arduous work, her suffering, seemed to have finally paid off. She could pursue her true task.

She had given up her hard-fought freedom and cast herself into slavery. Idaria had done so in the hopes that she might somehow bring the freedom she had sacrificed to those of her people who had been enslaved by the ogres. With the help of other agents, she had maneuvered herself into the position of the Grand Lord’s favorite slave. It had meant dishonors that many others would have been unable to suffer and survive, but Idaria had managed to bury a part of herself deep inside, so that there was always something those shames could never reach and poison.

But she was also confident in those with whom she had made her bargain. True, they were not elves, but it behooved them to follow through on their promises. For by aiding her, they aided their own cause.

The slave moved effortlessly through Golgren’s chambers, the heavy bracelets on her wrists and ankles hindering her little. She, who knew him best, had not been entirely startled when Golgren had refused to have the links reforged. She believed his promise that he would free her people and was certain that he still would do so … when it served him best.

The silver-haired elf went to a window near the bed and softly sang. Yet it was no human or elf song that escaped her perfect lips, but rather the trill of a bird.

Mere seconds later, a small, feathered form alighted on the sill. The bird sang a few notes of the same song. It was one of her messengers, her avian friends through whom she made regular contact beyond Garantha. With Golgren away, it was the perfect time to send one of her missives.

“Thank you for taking it,” she murmured to the bird as she placed a tiny note in a small container around the creature’s leg. What the avians did for her was done at great risk to themselves, and she very much appreciated their bravery. Idaria had always prided herself on her rapport with birds, hints that she was perhaps favored by Astarin-or, as humans called him, Branchala-the god of song and life, and thus also the god of the woods and the songbirds who thrived in forests.

With loving care, Idaria gently raised her messenger back to the window. Setting it there, she sang a short note to bid it farewell.

The bird flew up into the sky.

A much larger, leathery, winged form suddenly burst from its hiding place atop a nearby tower. It dropped heavily upon the bird. Before Idaria’s messenger could even squawk, the gargoyle had caught it and crushed it in its grip. The creature quickly spiraled back to its hiding place.

A horrified Idaria stumbled back, in part because of the death of her pet and also because that particular gargoyle was one that she had seen before.

“You’re a dangerous little fish, you know that?” growled Tyranos.

She spun on the wizard, striking him across the face. Or at least she attempted to do so. The tall human snagged her wrist and held it tight.

“Why did you do that? How could you let that beast of yours kill-”

“To save us both some trouble, elf! Your friends have learned enough. Let Neraka stumble in on its own.”

Idaria stiffened. “I have no tie to the dark knights! They are enemies to elves. Or have you forgotten Mina and her army?”

“Oh, I’ve not forgotten that fiery little madwoman. But we’re long past that time, Oakborn, and into another far more complex era when enemies are allies, allies are enemies, and those who should have no common cause with anyone stick their tridents into the mix just to make things more interesting and frustrating!”

She pulled free, but only because he allowed her to. “And where do you fit into everything, wizard? Who-or perhaps what-are you really?”

His eyes narrowed appreciatively. “You are wily. I’ll leave it to you to guess the answers to those questions. But let us speak of other things.” As she opened her mouth to protest angrily, he added, “The bird would’ve died a lot harsher death if it’d made its destination, elf! Your Nerakan friends are on the move, and apparently they don’t want you to know just what they’ve got planned. I can only hazard a guess that, for some odd reason, they think you might be sympathetic to the Grand Khan! I can’t imagine why.”

“You lie! How do you know such things?”

“Choose what you wish to believe. That is my warning to you-take it or leave it.”

Idaria’s eyes flashed. “Why are you really in the palace, wizard? What do you want from me?”

He laughed loudly, ever unafraid that the guards beyond would hear him. Magic cloaked his activities. “I want nothing from you, my dear Idaria. I want something from your loving master. If I read matters correctly, our good Golgren is about to embark on a hunt. I need you to thus relieve him of something I was foolish enough to have you give to him. You remember what I am talking about, don’t you?”

“The signet.”

“Clever elf!” Tyranos’s leonine face broke into another grin. “And mark me, he’s better off without it! In fact, keeping it is going to greatly raise the chances of him getting killed, just when we both need him the most!”

The slave eyed him closely. “You speak in too many riddles. And why do you not simply take it yourself? Golgren is no wizard.”

He looked disgruntled. “I’ve tried, damn it. But the signet seems to like him … warm to him. Or at least it wants to stick around the half-breed for some reason.”

“You are making no sense.”

“I know. It does not make sense.” The wizard turned to glare at Golgren’s bed. “That’s why I need your help. You can get physically closer. Maybe it won’t put up a fight.”

The slave stepped closer, her beautiful face a cold mask. “You forget something. Why should I believe you enough to risk being discovered stealing the signet? We have never been allies, much less friends, Tyranos.”

“I told you, that signet’s likely to get him killed. Isn’t that enough for you?”

“Why don’t you go to him and simply explain that?”

His eyes narrowed. “Do you honestly think he’d listen to me and give it back? After how it saved him during the quake?”

“And it saves him from the Titans too, as you might also recall.” Idaria shook her head, sending her long tresses flying back and forth. “You will have to find another way to get it from him.”

The tall human snorted. “Bah!” He raised his staff and paused. Stretching forth one clenched fist, he muttered, “I was going to give you this when you agreed to help me, but I’ve no use for it, anyway. So take it.”

Tyranos opened his hand and revealed the songbird that Idaria had seen destroyed. It fluttered out of his hand to her.

“But I saw Chasm crush him!” she blurted out, speaking the name of the wizard’s pet gargoyle.

The robed figure chuckled. “Elf, you of all people should understand that appearances are often merely illusions.” He started to fade into shadow. “Just like the faint hope that your Grand Khan will still free your kind …”

“What-” But Idaria got no further before Tyranos vanished.

She examined the bird, looking for the message she had tried to send. Its leg was bare. Idaria started to write another message, but hesitated. After a moment, the slave brought the bird over to the window. She paused again, and murmuring sweet encouragement to the avian, set it free.

The bird soared up into the sky.

Chasm’s head suddenly thrust out of his hiding place. The burly gargoyle-his muzzle thicker and more squat than those of the ones spying on Golgren-peered closely at the bird. The winged beast tensed before, with a brief glance at Idaria, settling back into his hiding place behind the stonework.

He had let the bird go because the small winged creature had not been carrying any note. Tyranos wanted no further contact between her and her conspirators. Whatever she chose to do in the future was to be her decision alone.

The elf looked over her shoulder at the bed.

They had been out of communication for the past few days, but Vorag was not concerned. The Grand Khan had instituted the use of messenger birds with all his hands, but Vorag’s birdcage had accidentally slipped from its secured place atop the lead mastark, and he no longer had any birds to command. However, the ogre commander expected they would be in contact with another hand before long, and they could send word to Garantha.

The terrain turned hillier in that part of southern Golthuu-the former province of Blode-slowing the hand’s advance. Soon enough they would meet up with the other force. Vorag had fresh supplies for them. With the Uruv Suurt constantly testing the borders, and the ogres doing the same, keeping warriors strong and rested in the field was a priority.

The ogre squinted as two riders came into sight-the scouts he had sent ahead almost a day ago. Another of the Grand Khan’s new rules.

Saluting his commander, the first scout hesitated As best he could, he growled in Common, “Hand ahead!”

Vorag frowned. The ones they were meeting were supposed to be some days ahead, still. He started to reply, but the blare of a horn suddenly echoed from beyond the hills. The notes were exactly those he had expected to hear upon reaching the other hand.

The commander shrugged. The sooner the better. “Horn!” he shouted to his own trumpeter. The other ogre raised a goat horn and blew the replying notes. From the hills ahead came another series of notes.

Vorag urged his warriors on. Several moments passed, but at last the outriders of the other hand revealed themselves. A number rode under the banner of the Grand Khan to meet Vorag’s band.

A young, tall warrior led the riders. Vorag recognized him as one of the five officers who served below Zhulom, a commander of one of the hand’s fingers.

“Atolgus,” Vorag rumbled, greeting the newcomer by name. “Zhulom near?”

“You will see him soon,” Atolgus replied, his command of Common better than Vorag had expected. Golgren had encouraged his officers to use their extra time out in the field and learn Common. It kept the minds of the warriors active when there was nothing else with which to concern themselves.

Atolgus turned his mount around and, with the rest of his comrades, began guiding Vorag’s force through the hills. The passage quickly grew narrow, but they slowly wended their way along. Atolgus set his pace to ride next to the commander.

“You bring all the supplies?” he asked Vorag.

“All.”

Atolgus nodded, straightened, and looked over his shoulder at the force. Vorag responded with a questioning grunt.

“Gar ihg,” Atolgus said to Vorag’s trumpeter. Without waiting for his commander to acknowledge Atolgus’s order, the trumpeter raised his horn and repeated the signal he had been given earlier to identify Vorag’s forces.

“Stop!” Vorag growled. “My command-”

Atolgus abruptly struck him along the jaw, sending Vorag tumbling from his mount.

Even as the trumpeter’s call faded, another consisting of three rapid staccato bursts sounded from the hills to the column’s right. No sooner had it begun, than ogres began pouring toward them from that direction.

And ranks of the Uruv Suurt flowed down from the opposite side.

Snarling, Vorag drew his shining new sword. In his excitement, he had forgotten the Common word for ambush and instead repeated, “Bakiin! Bakiin!”

As the ogre commander registered the scene around him, he realized that not only was his column under assault from the hills, but that it was also fighting among itself.

One of his officers had unsheathed his blade and run through another. The lead mastark handler-the very same handler from whose beast the cage with the messenger birds had slipped-urged his mount into a knot of screaming warriors. The round, flat feet of the huge tusked creature crushed a pair moving too slowly. At the same time, the huge prehensile nose seized another warrior and threw him into the rocky hillside.

The trumpeter drew his axe and tried to ride down his commander. Vorag ducked the blow and ran the edge of his blade along the rider’s leg. The other ogre growled as blood poured from the long, tapering wound. He hesitated. That was all Vorag needed to finish the betrayer with a quick thrust.

Vorag tried to seize the reins of the ogre’s horse, but the horse bolted. In the animal’s wake, another foe pressed him. The Uruv Suurt was shorter, but skilled and wily. He traded blows with the commander, pressing Vorag back.

But the ogre, having been trained in part by one of the renegades working for the Grand Khan, anticipated many of his moves. Every time the legionary mounted an attack, the ogre countered.

His blade opened a river in the Uruv Suurt’s throat. The legionary looked astounded-perhaps recognizing the training of his foe-before collapsing.

Another horn sounded. Vorag peered behind and saw a large band of riders racing toward him from the rear of his own force. A relieved grin spread across his ugly features. The traitors and their horned allies were in for a beating shellacking.

“Regroup!” Vorag roared at the top of his lungs. Several warriors loyal to him moved to obey. They gathered near the commander, awaiting the reinforcements.

The riders plowed into them, axes and swords slaughtering most of those joining Vorag.

The commander gaped in disbelief and spotted the treacherous Atolgus venturing near again. Vorag lunged at the traitor. Atolgus suddenly veered his horse around, forcing Golgren’s officer to stumble back as the horse snapped and kicked at him.

As Vorag backed up, a sharp pain struck his spine. His fingers lost all sense of touch, and his weapon dropped. He felt a hot moistness cover his back.

The commander fell on his face, already dead before he hit the hard ground.

One of Vorag’s own warriors grinned fiercely as he raised his bloody axe in salute to Atolgus. “Ki ef’hanfiri iZhulomi!”

“Common we speak,” Atolgus corrected. “Like all good ogres.” The former chieftain shrugged, “But yes, He joins Zhulom in death.”

The other ogre’s grin widened, and he raced off to assist his comrades. Around them, the last of Vorag’s loyal followers lay either dead or dying. There was no goodwill for prisoners. Roughly half of the hand had been slaughtered quickly.

The plumed and cloaked general of the Uruv Suurt came riding up. He saluted Atolgus with his weapon, his teeth bared in the grin of his race.

“All executed as planned! I commend you, warlord!”

Atolgus grunted both in acknowledgment of the success and the title the minotaur had used. “The Uruv Suurt did their part well. Our numbers swell.”

“And those of the mongrel dwindle. My emperor will be pleased. I’ll send word to him.” The general said, saluting. “We shall speak later.”

The young warlord nodded.

The Uruv Suurt signaled his legionaries, who quickly fell into ranks and followed their commander off.

Atolgus looked to one of his own followers. “All the dead must be stripped. The bodies are to be dragged to the caves east.”

The other ogre grunted, “All will be done, warlord.”

As the warrior departed, Atolgus looked around the area for anything amiss. When he was satisfied that his followers had all in hand, the young warlord urged his mount away. A few of his guards attempted to follow, but a look from Atolgus made them pull up on the reins. The great warlord was riding away to commune with the spirit warriors who guided him. It was forbidden to be anywhere near him at such times The punishment was death.

Atolgus rode between two hills, and over a low ridge. He squinted as dust rose from a sudden wind. Rather than turn from that wind, the warlord forced his animal to race into it.

Pulling up near an arching formation resembling a vulture’s beak, Atolgus found a smaller outcropping to which he could bind his horse’s reins, and left the creature to climb over the rocky soil beneath the beak.

In the shadows just beyond the outcropping, the warlord suddenly drew his sword and planted the point in the ground. He went down on one knee, his hands still gripping the sword’s hilt.

“You have done exceedingly well, darling Atolgus.”

Atolgus looked up with a gaze akin to an adoring child or pup. He remained kneeling, although clearly he would have preferred to leap to his feet and rush to the beauteous goddess appearing before him.

Morgada smiled. Even her sharp, menacing teeth did nothing to lessen Atolgus’s adoration. “You have pleased him, and so you please me.”

She reached out and touched the ogre warrior on the forehead with one finger. There was a brief flash of blue energy.

Atolgus grunted. Morgada let her hand slide to his chin. She turned his head so that he was looking straight at her.

“He should be rewarded,” the Titaness murmured in the tongue of her kind.

“Would you like to play with him for awhile? Is that it, Morgada?” came Safrag’s voice. “Perhaps … When he’s done.”

She stepped back. Atolgus’s gaze continued to remain on her, and it was clear that he loved and worshipped her. The female Titan had placed him under a spell.

“He’s proven a good student thus far, master,” Morgada replied. “Easily swayed into slaying his mate and betraying his clan, taking up arms against his commander, and those other comrades … A very good student, indeed.”

The Titan leader stepped up to Atolgus. “Yes,” he said, the talons on his hand coming within an inch of the former chieftain’s unflinching countenance. “A good student. Weak enough to be malleable, but with the potential to become a finely crafted weapon. Certainly clever enough to make fools of the Uruv Suurt, who think they make him their puppet.”

Safrag gestured. With his eyes still on Morgada, Atolgus rose.

“False trails, false friends, false glories,” Safrag continued. “All for the benefit of a false ruler. The mongrel thinks that he controls the hunt, that he pursues traitors and the trail of the Fire Rose as he sees fit. All the while his false empire is eaten away on all sides.” The lead Titan smiled like a cat. “Ah, if only Dauroth could have been seen it!”

Morgada draped an arm over his shoulder. “But he surely looks with pride on what you’ve achieved, master. And surely his blessing is upon us and upon the hunt for the artifact.”

The lead Titan smiled. He held forth his hand, and in it appeared a tiny vial.

Atolgus’s gaze at last turned from Morgada. He eyed the vial with avarice.

“One drop, one word,” Safrag sang. “One promise …”

With two nails, he removed the stopper. There was an almost living sigh, and a small tendril of wispy smoke emerged.

The warlord leaned his head back. Safrag drew a three-sided pattern over Atolgus: a gaunt triangle with the sun on one side and stars on the other two. The pattern flared to life as he completed the spell, and it descended. As it reached Atolgus’s forehead, the pattern shrank, growing small enough to fit there.

There was a slight searing sound, as if the ogre’s flesh were burning. Safrag tipped the vial over just enough to let one drop of its crimson contents fall down.

As the drop struck the center of the pattern, the latter shone bright before fading away.

“So precious,” Morgada whispered, referring to the vial’s contents.

“For the glory of the Titan cause, the sacrifice is necessary. A drop of elixir here, a drop there, to ensure that our warlord is the able champion we desire. The spell enhances the qualities that will draw others to his cause.”

“But how will that help us to find the Fire Rose?”

Safrag replaced the vial. “Because when the half-breed finds the walls of his citadel crumbling all around him, he will have no recourse but to seek that which we seek, and to find it fast.” The lead Titan shrugged. “But do not fear! Golgren will not survive the finding of the Fire Rose.”

He gestured for Atolgus to rise. The puppet warlord silently obeyed. There were subtle changes from the Atolgus of before. He looked slightly taller and broader, and what scars he had received from the battle were all but faded. There was also a slight, golden tint to his eyes.

“Go, my champion! Let the blood of the mongrel’s followers quench the dry lands.”

Atolgus saluted Safrag and Morgada with his weapon and rushed to his mount. The two Titans watched with satisfaction as he rode away.

“An interesting choice, my master,” Morgada cooed.

“Not nearly as interesting as the ji-baraki among the Grand Khan’s own trusted circle. It shall be a pleasure to see how that piece plays in the game. Very much a pleasure, indeed.”

Safrag gestured. Black flames enveloped the pair.

The Titans vanished.