The Gargoyle King

IX

Golgren awoke as though sleepwalking, with chains binding his arms behind his back, and which kept his legs close together as he walked. At best he could shuffle along slowly.

The Solamnic patrol had treated him rather courteously, considering his ogre heritage. They had not run him through the heart nor had they lopped of his head. They had settled for chaining him and slowly marching him back to their leader through the uneven, hilly terrain far west of his beloved city.

They had not offered him a mount nor did he demand one. Golgren intended to accept whatever trials the humans wished to impose on him. Golgren would not make himself look weak before the knights.

Despite his predicament, there was only one concern on his mind, and that did not immediately have to do with his own welfare. Some time during his capture, Tyranos’s staff had vanished. Golgren had not witnessed its disappearance but knew that none of his captors had it in their possession. For one thing, most of them would have looked upon such a magical tool with scorn. While spellcasters were useful at times to the Solamnics, the knights were comfortable with only a few clerics among their number who had been granted powers by their patron gods.

But if the humans did not have the staff, it seemed likely that Sirrion had taken it. Yet Golgren could not fathom why the fiery deity would have first teased the half-breed with its presence, then, without teasing fanfare, removed it from him.

“He’s awake,” remarked one of the knights.

The others, all seated around a small fire, glanced without interest at Golgren. Even though they knew who he must be, his fate was for their commander to decide, not for them.

“Help him up and give him some food,” the leader of the party commanded. His great, brown mustache wiggled as he spoke, almost making it look as if he sported furry tentacles.

Two knights obeyed the order. They set Golgren down carefully then removed the bonds keeping his arms tied. The half-breed cautiously stretched agonized muscles under the watch of his two guards. He then accepted a small bowl of oats that was the same fare upon which his captors had also breakfasted. The faint smell of burned grain wafted under his nose.

Perhaps they expected him to spit out the food, for the guards warily studied each bite he took, as if waiting for him to flaunt his swordsmanship skills. Full-blooded ogres rarely ate such fare, preferring very rare-cooked-even raw-meat and some of the harsh, edible plants of their locale. To most of Golgren’s race, the food the knights ate would have seemed fit for only toothless elders almost ready to die. However, Golgren’s dual heritage had given him a more egalitarian appetite, although the oats were hardly comparable to the fine dishes his elf slaves had been known to cook for him.

Thought of elf slaves reminded Golgren of what he had hoped Idaria might accomplish. By rights, she should be somewhere far ahead of him, perhaps already meeting with the same human to whom his captors were bringing him. Golgren wondered whether she had made it to her destination or whether the wizard or Chasm had interfered with her mission.

When he was finished with his meal, the guards prepared him for the next stage of their journey. To his surprise, they set him atop a stout, brown mount that they generally used for carrying supplies. They must have discussed their captive and decided that more haste was needed. After all, they had captured the Grand Khan of all ogres. Or, at least, the former Grand Khan.

The journey covered hills that rolled up and down as if they were frozen waves. The monotony of the trip did not end until midway through the day, when Golgren spotted something in the distance that he took to be a large encampment. With each successive hilltop that they reached, it came into better view.

His captors spoke only when necessary, which meant most of the time they rode in silence. Golgren was not certain where he was exactly, although the staff had followed his dictate, bringing him to the edge of Golthuu nearest to Solamnia. It had been fortuitous that a band of riders had come along.

Perhaps too fortuitous. Golgren had not forgotten that Sirrion was involved somehow. It was possible that either he or the gargoyles’ master had plans for Golgren and that he was still playing out a role destined for him before his birth.

Finally, they reached the last hill overlooking a large contingent of fighters who had made camp. With a combination of pleasure and irony, Golgren surveyed the full military force. Crisp tents lined the vicinity, all of them in perfect formation. A fine array of horses was tethered to the north. Everywhere, knights in full armor polished their swords, lances, and other weapons. Everyone looked ready to fight at a moment’s notice.

He had found what he desired already waiting on his border.

The sentries at the perimeter watched warily as the party approached. An officer of the Order of the Sword stepped up, the great blade emblem filling most of his breastplate.

“Sir Justin! You’re back early.”

“I’ve need to see the commander,” the lead knight of the party answered. “Is he in the camp today?”

“Just returned-” the other knight halted in mid-breath as he registered Golgren’s conspicuous presence amid the others. “Paladine preserve us! Is that-?”

“Let us pass,” Sir Justin requested, eyes narrowed.

The officer quickly nodded then gestured to the sentries. Sir Justin’s riders slowly entered the camp. As they moved through the immense camp, heads turned and voices whispered; the lone prisoner drew everyone’s attention. More than one knight stood up and gazed or glared at Golgren, some with wide eyes.

At last, they came to a tall, white tent with a variation of the banner of the Knighthood-a crowned kingfisher bearing a sword and a rose in its talons-fluttering above. Two sharp-eyed sentries stood at the entrance with swords gripped tightly. They did not acknowledge the newcomers. Golgren kept his gaze on the tent flap, certain that, despite the sentries’ immobility, whoever dwelled there had been alerted of his coming.

A gauntleted hand thrust through the flap. An elder knight with a long, silver mustache and thinning hair only slightly darker in color peered at the riders from under a shaggy brow. The eyes that studied Golgren were deep blue and shrewd.

“Escort our guest inside,” he ordered in a voice that suffered from an unusual rasp.

The half-breed’s guards reached to assist him down from his mount, but the chained figure slid off with ease. He did not expect anyone to undo his bonds and, therefore, was not disappointed when the Solamnics immediately marched him forward. The commander turned back into the tent as one of the sentries held open the flap.

The interior was sparsely decorated with two simple wooden stools and a small table. A pair of round-bottomed, bronze oil lamps-unlit-hung from short chains attached to the wooden frame at the center of the ceiling. Over to one side lay a well-worn cotton bedroll that showed that, on duty, even the most prestigious of knights slept on the most simple of mattresses-the ground. Despite the heat, the tent smelled clean, for the Knighthood was almost obsessed with orderliness.

A map lay on the wooden table, and although it was rolled up, Golgren sensed that it had been spread out for study only moments before. He was fairly certain it was a map detailing Kern.

The commander drew his long, polished sword and set it to the side of the table, a safe distance away from Golgren. He then sat on the nearest and largest of the two stools.

“Undo the Grand Khan’s limbs.”

Golgren hid the slight surprise he felt upon hearing that his arms, too, were to be freed. His prowess in battle, even with only one hand, was surely well known to the Solamnics.

Rubbing his maimed wrist, the half-breed stepped to the stool. However, he waited to sit until invited to do so.

One eyebrow arched, the commander waved permission. At the same time, he reached for a brown flask of wine that had escaped Golgren’s notice.

“Not elven fare since that’s so rare these days,” the human added pointedly, “but some good Solamnic red.”

He poured some into a worn, silver mug, which he handed without hesitation to his “guest.” At the same time, the guards retreated from the tent. As he sipped his drink, Golgren understood that the commander had given them some unseen sign.

“The Grand Khan Golgren,” the Knight of the Rose murmured after taking a sip from his own mug. “Is the wine to your liking?”

“Yes. My thanks. I was parched.”

“Not a surprise. And my apologies for the uncivil behavior of Sir Justin’s party, but he wasn’t warned about you.”

Golgren raised an eyebrow slightly, the only hint of his curiosity over that odd statement.

“We also expected your arrival to be a tad bit more … straightforward.” The commander set down his mug. “But forgive me. I have not introduced myself. I am Sir Augustus Rennert, Knight of the Rose and overall leader of this exploratory expedition.”

Golgren ignored the man’s titles-even the questionable “exploratory” part referring to the expedition-as Sir Augustus’s surname registered. “You are kin to Sir Stefan Rennert?”

“Didn’t the lad make that clear? He’s my nephew by blood and pretty much one of my sons by pride.”

“I see …”

“He’d warned us that you would be coming soon, but it would’ve been more … prudent … if you’d alerted us yourself. Still, no harm is done as we’re yet awaiting word to the missive I sent to Lord Kardon, he to whom I must report.”

Sir Augustus’s explanations were filled with contradictions and puzzles. He spoke as if he had recently heard from his nephew and as though he expected Golgren to be making something akin to an official visit. Had Idaria reached that place, some of what the commander said might have made sense, but as it was, Golgren grew suspicious.

He kept his face blank, however. “And the details of your missive?”

Pouring both of them a bit more wine, Stefan’s uncle answered, “That I took Stefan’s recommendations seriously, considered the various aspects of acceptance or rejection several times, and finally gave his ideas my guarded approval.”

“So you approve …” the half-breed cautiously began.

“‘Guarded approval,’ I said, actually.” Augustus took another short sip. “An alliance of any sort with a leader of the ogres is one thing, but an alliance with the deposed leader is fraught with questions. Either one, however, presents a complex situation for my superiors.”

Golgren understood. The pact that he had still hoped to initiate with the Solamnics had already been submitted, and was, in fact, under consideration. It was a boon to his cause, but how the pact had been initiated still baffled and bothered him. “I am grateful that the Solamnics will consider this and grateful that your nephew speaks so well of it.”

“I would’ve never expected it of him, I admit, but he came here in the middle of night, insisting that I listen and listen quickly. He set out the parameters of what you required and what he felt was necessary for the good of our homeland.”

Golgren was still puzzled. “I had hoped … I had hoped to cross paths with Sir Stefan on my way here.”

“You missed him by two days and a night. He was adamant about the fact that he had another mission to fulfill.” The elder knight grew somber. “His brief but poignant farewell leaves me fearful that he believes that he will not survive his other task.”

Golgren downed the rest of his own wine. “My respect for Sir Stefan is great. I will honor him always.”

“Thank you.” Setting down his mug, Sir Augustus rose. “He spoke very well of you, though he gave me some warning, naturally. Give me your oath that you’ll behave yourself, and I’ll have the shackles taken off permanently.”

“It is to my benefit to keep peace with you, Sir Augustus Rennert. I will do nothing to make you regret my presence.”

“Spoken as I expected, after how Stefan described you!” The human chuckled. “You are nothing like the stories we’ve heard in Solamnia.”

Setting down his own mug, the half-breed also stood. “No, you are wrong. I am very much like the stories that you have heard, Sir Augustus Rennert. Very much.”

The knight’s humor faded. With a curt nod, he indicated the bedroll. “I’ll have another of these brought in here. It should go without saying-but I’ll say it anyway-that there’s only one place you’re truly safe in this camp and that’s in my presence.”

“I understand.”

“I hope to have word tomorrow on the final decision. I’ve sworn to my nephew, though my superiors don’t know this, that if the pact is rejected, you’ll go free without hindrance. I’ll have a horse and two days’ rations given to you, and that should suffice.”

“Once more, you have my gratitude,” Golgren quietly replied.

“Thank me not. Thank Stefan. He insisted that for all of us it was better to do it this way. I don’t know why, but you’ve touched him in a manner I could’ve never believed possible, and that’s also the reason I deem it safe for you to sleep here unbound.”

Golgren only bowed his head. His mind raced, reviewing all he had learned and how it would determine his next step. Yet there were two factors that continued to muddy his concentration. The first and most obvious was Stefan Rennert’s part in everything.

Stefan Rennert had been dead by the time he had supposedly returned there, through miraculous means of transportation, to convince his uncle of the necessity of the alliance. Not for a moment did Golgren doubt what Idaria had told him concerning the knight’s slaying at the hands of the gargoyle king’s monstrous followers. Yet … the young knight had evidently appeared there.

And that, to Golgren, suggested one thing: Kiri-Jolith.

A guard entered with another bedroll for the half-breed. The fabric was frayed, the material was faded from use, and there was a slight hint of horse smell, but Golgren paid none of that any mind. He was caught up in thinking of the bison-headed deity. What further part the god of just cause intended to play there, Golgren yearned to know. Perhaps Kiri-Jolith desired to gain some prominence over the ogres; either that or the god intended to spread the influence of the Solamnics over Golgren’s realm.

If that were the case, the deposed Grand Khan intended to disappoint him.

“I’ll be ordering extra guards around the tent,” Sir Augustus informed Golgren, interrupting his reverie. “Not to keep you in, but to ensure that others stay out. The men will all be chosen for their trustworthiness.”

Golgren smiled slightly, revealing his filed tusks. He knew that doing so lessened the elf part of his appearance. “Are not all knights trustworthy?”

The commander took some slight umbrage. “All knights are indeed trustworthy, but not all prisoners are the Grand Khan Golgren.”

Golgren bowed as if complimented. He then took to the bedroll. Although the day was not quite over, it behooved him to rest or, at least, to pretend to do so. Besides, he had nowhere else to go and had to wait, good or ill, for Solamnia’s response.

“There will be food at sunset,” his host informed him. “Something a little better than the meals you received on your way here but still simple fare. In the meantime, is there anything you desire?”

They were treating him very well, considering. Yet it was clear that, if Solamnia chose not to accept the pact, there was a good chance that some eager young knight might take a swipe at Golgren’s head before Sir Augustus could guarantee him safe passage away from that place.

“There is nothing. I thank you for your hospitality.”

Augustus shook his head. “Again, thank me not. This is all due to Stefan and how dear I hold not only his word, but his life, ogre.”

With that, the commander gave Golgren a curt bow and departed the tent. Not for a moment did the half-breed consider rising and inspecting the map or anything else. It was quite likely that eyes were watching him for just that sort of transgression. Any act that hinted at distrustful behavior might ruin what hopes Golgren nurtured for the pact.

He thought again of Sir Stefan Rennert and the young Solamnic’s impossible feat. However, thinking of Rennert reminded him of his elf slave.

Stefan, who was dead, had reached his people’s encampment. Idaria, whom the half-breed had last seen alive, had not, even with the gargoyle Chasm to act as her winged steed and guardian.

Where was the elf, then?

Golgren ground his teeth. What could have happened along the way that Chasm had not been able to prevent? Unfortunately, the half-breed could think of many dangers, two in particular that were likely. One was the sinister figure who claimed to have been responsible for spawning Golgren himself, who seemed to trail him everywhere. However, it made no sense for the creature who had released her-as Golgren, like Tyranos, believed-to let her go then recapture her so immediately.

That left Safrag, who possessed the Fire Rose and who, very possibly, knew that Golgren was among the living.

Safrag had Idaria. Golgren felt it with certainty.

Safrag had his Idaria.

Although Safrag did not actually have Idaria in his clutches, she was not all that far away from him. Accompanied by Chasm and guided by Stefan, she journeyed into a dark, silent forest. The place unusually frightened her, and it had only a little to do with the lack of any songbirds or insects. No, the very forest itself felt utterly wrong, unnatural.

“What have they done to it?” she breathed.

“Made it much like themselves,” Stefan replied. He, too, did not seem entirely of the mortal plane, but at least she trusted him. Idaria drew courage and strength from his presence and likely the blessing of his patron deity, Kiri-Jolith. That the god had brought Stefan back from certain death was surely a great miracle. Indeed, it gave her hope they might yet succeed in her quest to save her people.

Even though Stefan himself did not boast of certainty, Idaria had hope. The elf was willing to take whatever risk necessary. If the other slaves were not rescued, they would face a dire fate. At the very least, the Titans desired fresh blood for their spells. They would likely experiment in sinister fashion on those they held captive. Idaria had witnessed the sorcerers’ handiwork in the past, and the nightmares remained with her yet.

She clutched her hands to her chest as a chill ran through her that had nothing to do with the damp, cool air. Early on, the elf had found it odd that the air could be damp and cool while at the same time so stifling. Once more, the oddity could only be the work of the Titans.

And thinking of the Titans, she wondered about Golgren. He had expected her to journey to the Solamnics. Even though Stefan had assured her that he had already taken the proper steps in that direction, Idaria felt guilty. She was absolutely certain that Golgren, assuming he regained his throne, intended to keep his promise to release her people. Yet when the knight had offered her the opportunity to journey with him, the elf had turned away from Golgren’s mission with little hesitation. In her heart, she wondered if the Grand Khan was more capable of staying true to his word than she was.

Trying to dispel such thoughts, Idaria shook her head, focusing on her surroundings. The forest was darker than the night should have permitted; indeed, Stefan had informed her from the beginning that it did not matter whether they passed through it in the day or night. The forest would work against them either way. She took that to mean that the shadows would have enshrouded the trio even in the midst of a sun-filled noon.

But the shadows were the least of her concern. Leaning close to Stefan, she murmured, “I could swear that the trees are closing in on us.”

“I believe they’re trying,” he replied in just as subdued a voice.

“You have noticed that too?”

“Shortly after we entered. I think they sense intruders and aren’t sure about us.”

“Then the Titans must know that we are here!”

Stefan shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.” He held up the medallion upon which the mark of Kiri-Jolith was engraved. The medallion offered a faint, silver glow that was visible for only a foot or two, yet it gave off warmth. “I would know if that was the case.”

Idaria accepted his word, but Chasm, guarding the rear, grunted in distrust. An elemental creature, the gargoyle believed in two things only: his master and his strength, and the former was not accompanying them.

“Should go in front,” the winged creature muttered not for the first time. “Protect elf.”

Idaria had become the most important person to Chasm other than Tyranos. She treated him as no other did, with a respect that likely even the wizard did not demonstrate. That respect was probably the main reason Chasm had agreed to the change in plans, for which Idaria was grateful. She suspected that Stefan could have taken her from the gargoyle if she had demanded to go with him, but to do so would have made her feel even worse than she did about betraying Golgren.

He is an ogre, whatever his mother was, she tried again to remind herself. Her original reason for willingly becoming his slave had been muddled over time, and she had acted as the pawn of the gargoyle king, it was true. Even more important, though, over her time with the half-breed, Idaria had witnessed enough of Golgren’s attempts to raise up his people to see the love and care he had for them and the care he also displayed toward her.

It gave her a headache to try and sort it all out. All that should have mattered was freeing the slaves and yet-

The leaves rustled, yet there was no wind.

Stefan raised his hand, silently calling for a halt.

Something moved in the shadows ahead. It was tall and had an odd gait, as if in part dragging itself along. A scent that evoked images of a moldering grave filled the air. The knight went into a battle stance while Chasm flexed his claws. Idaria prepared to do whatever she could to help them fight.

Then her sharp eyes picked up another figure moving from the right, and behind it was a third and a fourth. The elf quickly looked around.

They were being surrounded.

She tapped Stefan’s shoulder. He nodded, understanding her warning.

“Stay between Chasm and myself,” Stefan whispered.

The leaves continued to rustle, almost as if urging the newcomers forward with whispers. Idaria counted at least a dozen and knew that there were probably at least twice that number.

The first stepped near enough to enable them to see it better.

Idaria stifled a gasp.

It was an ogre … or, rather, the skeleton of an ogre. There was no flesh, no muscle, merely bone. Some tattered garments remained; a few bits of hair clung to the skull. That was all. Its jaw hung slackly, almost as if the monstrosity were trying to speak.

In its bony hand it gripped a rusted but very serviceable axe.

The eyes were empty sockets, yet the skeleton peered around as though searching for something else besides them. Some of the others neared. They were identical to the first, save for their weapons. Some held axes; others, clubs, swords, or spears.

And they all intently scanned the general vicinity in which the trio was trapped, which made Idaria suddenly realize that none of the undead knew that the three were actually there.

Stefan leaned close. “The medallion is shielding us from their knowledge, but the magic of the forest is strong enough to tell them something is not quite right. We must continue to stand still.”

They had little choice. The macabre sentries had them ringed. It was possible that the stealthy Idaria might be able to slip past them, but the other two would not be as fortunate.

One of the ghoulish figures stepped nearer. It passed where Stefan stood and bent forward just before Idaria. The elf sensed Chasm starting to move and ever so slightly shook her head to warn him away.

The movement appeared to catch the skeleton’s attention. It tipped its skull to the side and bent closer. The empty eye sockets came within inches of her face. The jaw slowly swung back and forth. So near, Idaria felt an intense cold radiating from the fiend, a cold with which she, as a slave, was well familiar. It was the coldness of death, animating their movements.

Despite the horrific threat the skeleton posed, Idaria felt a moment of sympathy. She doubted that the ogre and his comrades had offered themselves up for such ghastly duty.

To her relief, the skeleton pulled back. It rejoined the others and after tense moments, despite the continued rustling of the leaves, moved on.

Stefan did not signal the other two to continue. The knight remained as still as a statue, and Idaria and Chasm followed suit.

Only the last two skeletons remained in sight. Watching them as they gradually moved on, Idaria prayed they would not turn back. The trees rustled harder and harder, as if trying to urge the skeletons not to make a mistake, to return.

The final ghoul melted into the darkness. Stefan waited a few breaths longer then pointed ahead. He took a step.

Idaria also took one. As her foot settled, she almost expected the monstrous patrol to come rushing back to slay them. Yet other than the incessant shaking of the tree branches, nothing happened.

Breathing easier, the elf picked up her pace to catch up with Stefan. Behind her, the gargoyle loped along, sometimes on his two legs, sometimes using his other two limbs as well.

Above them, the rustling grew almost thunderous.

Something darted across her path.

Idaria took it for a serpent at first, but it seemed to have no end to its long body. It sprouted from the ground, ran a distance, then bored into the earth again.

She paused to peer at it and finally realized that it was only an upturned root. Thinking no more about it, the elf straightened.

Her sharp eyes noticed that the ground was suddenly filled with twisting, upturned roots.

“Stefan-”

The knight turned to her. As he did, he stepped on one of the roots.

The end of the root shot out of the ground and coiled around his ankle. With a startled grunt, Stefan fell back.

Idaria sought to reach him, only to trip over another root. It wrapped around her foot, sending her down on one knee. In the process, that knee touched another root, which then proceeded to wrap around her upper leg.

“The roots!” she warned. “The forest could not locate us, so it set out snares that would attack when touched!”

Understanding her warning, Chasm immediately took to the air but collided with long, tapering branches that were sweeping down from above. At first, the gargoyle shoved them aside, but then, despite his best efforts, he became entangled. The forest had taken into account the possibility of visitors who could fly. The branches tightened around the struggling gargoyle.

Unable to orient himself, Chasm became more and more enmeshed in the tree limbs. Below, Idaria stretched her arms up in an attempt to keep the roots from seizing them as well.

Stefan hacked with his sword at those that wrapped themselves around him. The blade flashed silver each time it struck, and Idaria could only suppose that Kiri-Jolith had blessed it. The roots fell away from his determined blows.

But the sword was one weapon against a multitude. Stefan held up the medallion and muttered a prayer.

The medallion’s light grew so bright, it should have blinded Idaria, but instead she took comfort in the glow. The trees visibly recoiled, however, and both the branches and roots abandoned their harassment of the trio.

Chasm dropped to the ground next to the elf, using his body and wings to shield her from any root or limb that might attack again. Stefan revolved in a circle, making certain the area was safe.

“I had to do it,” he explained, “but it likely means that the Titans will detect us and know something is amiss here.”

No sooner had he spoken than a bolt of lightning blacker than the shadows struck the ground just beyond his feet. The force of the eruption hurled Stefan into Chasm, who caught the human effortlessly. The knight had been struck, however, and was unconscious. The medallion’s glow faded.

Idaria sensed the forest seeking to creep forward again. She rushed over to Stefan, trying to help him.

“You needn’t bother. He hasn’t very long to live.”

Chasm growled. Idaria turned to the source of the foul voice, already aware of just who it was.

The Titan grinned down at her as he raised his hands in spellcasting.