The Gargoyle King

XX

Sarth had imparted much information of relevance to Golgren, but before departing, he had failed to say something singularly important.

“The staff still can’t transport us from this place,” Tyranos explained. “There’s some force blocking our way.”

Golgren studied the mummified High Ogres. None of them revealed any reason the pair was trapped there, yet there was no other immediate explanation.

At last, the half-breed decided, “Then we will find another way.”

“We’ve looked in either direction and both are-if you’ll pardon me for saying so-dead ends.”

It was true; the other paths ended in suspicious collapses. Sarth had made no mention of that, and the wizard and Golgren had agreed it was unlikely that he had been the perpetrator.

Yet if not Sarth, who?

Golgren abandoned the uncommunicative mummies and strode over to a wall that he had not ever studied thoroughly.

The half-breed frowned. “This is different. This has changed.”

Tyranos joined him. “What was on it before?”

The deposed Grand Khan shrugged. It had not been important then. “Not this.”

This was a vast panorama that filled their view. It was the picture of a glorious city that gleamed gold despite being carved from only rock. The architecture was reminiscent of Garantha, yet more fabulous, perhaps Garantha as it had first looked.

An urge to touch it filled Golgren, yet when he raised his hand toward the wall, the signet fought him for control.

“Look out!” Tyranos roared.

A blinding glare burst from the image, enveloping them.

Instantly the two found themselves standing in the midst of the great city itself.

Everything was made of gold, gold the color of the sun. High, spiraling towers rose around them. A vast, segmented walkway led up to a rounded temple with winged arches.

The half-breed did not have to ask who it was who had brought them there. Only one being could be so audacious.

To the empty air, Golgren said, “Sirrion desires us for something. Will he tell us what it is?”

At the top of the temple’s glittering steps, two massive bowls that had themselves not existed a moment prior shot forth high streams of golden flame. The flames arched toward one another, entwining as if vines. The ends descended to a spot exactly between the bowls.

The fire formed into Sirrion.

“Welcome to your kingdom, if you’d have it,” the deity proclaimed with a grin.

Shielding their eyes, both stepped back from the fiery god. Yet instead, their actions brought them closer.

“Come now! Don’t be shy! All of this is yours, elf-ogre, if only you’ve got the resolve! The moment is coming and the choice could be yours unless you make it theirs.”

There was no need for Sirrion to say whom he meant, either the Titans or the gargoyle king. It mattered not to Sirrion who seized the Fire Rose. All that mattered was that someone used it.

Tyranos stepped in front of the half-breed. “There’s another choice! Let me have your gift! I’ll use it as it should be used!”

Sirrion shook his head. The grin was replaced by an angry frown. “If you can take it, it becomes yours, but your fate belongs to another’s control.”

That brought a curse from the wizard. “Neither Sargonnas nor Kiri-Jolith are masters of my fate!”

“Did I say it was them?” Sirrion blazed with fury. “Are you correcting me?”

“He is impetuous,” Golgren interjected. “None would ever correct you.”

The grin returned. “No, not if they’re wise.” The flames subsided to a point. “Will you have my gift, then, elf-ogre?”

Glancing at his severed limb, the half-breed calmly replied. “No. I must leave it to chance.”

Sirrion appeared torn between frustration and a temptation to concur. The god rubbed his chin, sending sparks flying. Finally, he grinned again. “Interesting … and so very right!”

“What by the Kraken’s gotten into you?” muttered an angry Tyranos.

Golgren did not reply. He bowed his head to Sirrion, who accepted his obeisance.

“Chance, as always, is the most fascinating course!” the god cheerfully remarked. “Yes, I was right about you.”

Sirrion exploded into flames. Golgren and Tyranos fought for balance as the entire city turned on its head.

The pair reappeared but not back in the chamber of the mummies.

Instead, they stood in an empty area that at first glance to most would have seemed just one more worthless piece of untillable land. There was little life save a few hardy and ugly shrubs with sharp stickers for leaves. The landscape itself consisted of tall, dirt-brown hills and little else.

Tyranos eyed their surroundings with contempt. “Now what backward part of Krynn have we dropped into?”

The half-breed did not answer, for he was racing away from the wizard at breakneck speed, seeking a place that he had not seen since his youth. That it would still exist was a definite possibility, for who would care to seek it out? That would mean risking life and limb, not to mention starvation.

And for what? There was nothing of value there unless you were a half-breed, who had been given at birth the name Guyvir, the Unborn, the mongrel who should not exist.

He found the crevasse looking exactly as memory recorded. Golgren pressed against it, discovering that reality was different than memory. He had been slighter, shorter as a youth, so had easier slipped inside. As an adult, he had to squeeze himself against the rock. Golgren ignored the scraping of his flesh and the dust in his lungs. All that mattered was to gain entrance.

At last he did. The cool cave air soothed some of the sting from where his skin had been removed. Still, the half-breed paid little attention to his injuries. All that mattered was her.

There was just enough light to see the crumbling temple. The shattered relief of the two battling mastarks remained, the gleam of one creature’s furious orb-carved from some brilliant, orange-red stone-greeting him as if welcoming back an old friend … or an old adversary. Beyond, other cracked walls and small alcoves stirred other memories, not all of them pleasant.

His foot knocked something. He peered down to see some of the jawbone and other skeletal remains of a large animal. They were the bones of a ji-baraki, an ogre-sized reptilian predator of that land. Golgren knew that, even without seeing the rest of the skull, which was missing. After all, he had killed the beast himself.

Then a rounded shape to his right made the half-breed forget all else. As if mesmerized, Golgren stepped toward a high pile of stones dug from the ruins. They were set in the shape of a six-foot-long mound, and if that caused resemblance to a burial place, it was because that was what it was.

It was where Golgren had buried his mother.

The half-breed went down on one knee to the side of the mound. A few withered plants lay atop the mount, somehow a little bit of their flowery scent still clinging to them. It had taken much effort for a young Golgren to find those plants; they were the best he could do. His mother deserved more than this, the semblance of the lush world she had forsaken when taken prisoner long before.

Words barely discernible to the naked ear spilled from his lips, words in a tongue that Golgren had not spoken since the fatal day he had lost her.

“Didn’t even know you knew how to speak Elvish.”

Golgren did not turn to the wizard. “Leave me.”

“This was where she died?”

“No. She died two days earlier.”

The wizard let out a snort that indicated surprise, not ridicule. “And you carried her for that long a time? You didn’t tell me that you were part minotaur too!”

Still facing the mound, Golgren bared his teeth. “Leave me!”

“Pay your respects; I can appreciate that. Just recall that there’s a living elf you seem interested in, albeit in another way.”

The wizard was silent after that, but his words had an effect on the half-breed. Even though he wanted to stay longer, Golgren finally rose. The look in his eyes when he finally turned to his hooded companion was enough to make Tyranos momentarily grip the staff in self-defense.

But just as quickly as he had glanced at the mage, Golgren shifted his attention elsewhere, to the faded image of the battling mastarks, although his thoughts still lingered in a different place.

“So,” Tyranos finally dared interject. “Any particular reason why Sirrion or maybe your friend Sarth might’ve dropped us off here? Surely not merely so you could pay your respects?”

Golgren suspected Tyranos knew the truth. “There was a dagger. With it, I slew the ji-baraki who sought to dine on her body. It remained with me until lost when Garantha was attacked.”

The wizard rubbed his chin. “Yes, I was never quite certain about that. What did our friend in the citadel hope to gain from the attack?”

“He stirred the situation.” Golgren did not explain further. Instead, he wandered over to where one wall had fallen down due, years before, to his careless leaning against it.

“Ah! He was setting all this into motion! Yes, that sounds right-be careful there!”

The reason for Tyranos’s shout had to do with Golgren’s suddenly stepping atop what was clearly a loose piece of stone overlooking a deep gap behind the wall. The half-breed stood perched atop the stone for a breath or two then dropped into the pit.

Golgren heard his companion shout something else, but it was lost to the half-breed as he landed. Centuries had not much altered the petrified garbage those who had built the temple had left behind. The first time that Golgren had landed there, he had been concerned only with finding his way back up. At the moment, though, he was hoping to locate something of value, a dagger or other weapon akin to the one he had lost. It was to him the most logical reason he had been sent there.

The pit was the only area that Golgren discovered was larger than memory claimed. The hopes of locating what might not even exist dimmed as he searched without finding anything.

Then, among the refuse, something stirred. Golgren groped around for some kind of weapon. He came up empty. Whatever stirred, the half-breed would have to face it unarmed.

There came a hissing sound, one so familiar, it sent a rare chill up the deposed Grand Khan’s spine. He knew the calls of many predators, but it was worse than that; it was as though he recognized the hiss as the voice of someone he knew.

Golgren watched the darkness even as his hand dug around for anything that might be wielded in a fight.

From above came Tyranos’s voice. “Are you all right?”

The half-breed did not answer. He was lost in time, remembering when last he had faced that most heinous foe. There were perhaps only a few others he hated as passionately, chief among them his father and the Nerakan who had slain his mother.

Something rose up from the refuse ahead of him. At first, it seemed an indistinct shape. Then as it moved toward him, Golgren made out the long, tapering forelegs and the sleek, sinister skull. The thing hissed again at him.

It was a ji-baraki but not just any ji-baraki. He sensed it was the one that he had killed, built from the missing skull set atop a collection of smaller bones and other fragments. Together, they reconstructed the body of the male beast Golgren had caught scavenging the corpse of his mother.

And in turn, it sought revenge against its killer, just as Golgren had taken revenge on it for desecrating the dead body of the only person who had ever cared for an unwanted infant.

The skeletal ji-baraki opened its toothy maw-the lower jaw composed of other bones and fragments-and hissed a third time. Golgren had tossed that skull into the refuse pit as a final gesture of his victory. He had forgotten about it until that moment.

As the ji-baraki hissed, it changed form. From skeleton, it became something part mist. The ghoulish aspect of its fleshless appearance remained, but it drifted as much as stalked toward him.

“Stand clear!” Tyranos shouted, the wizard abruptly materializing next to Golgren. The crystal crackled and a bolt of arcane energy shot forth to enshroud the ghostly beast.

The ji-baraki shattered.

The wizard raised the staff in triumph. “Ha!”

Then, from wherever some piece had landed, new shapes started to form. They were composed of the ancient refuse, and as they grew, each took on a macabre aspect of the undead monster.

As Tyranos swore, Golgren continued to sift through the rubble.

A sharp edge cut his hand. Despite the pain, he seized the item and drew it up.

It was a dagger identical to the one that he had found so many years past. Golgren hefted the blade just as the nearest of the reanimated fiends struck. That ji-baraki had no true skull, but the ancient bits of refuse had formed one with just as sharp a set of “teeth.” Worse, the body was half mist and as much coiled around Golgren as it did strike at him with its “claws.”

He parried the claws with his dagger. Emerald light flashed each time the blade touched the phantasm. The ji-baraki recoiled.

Nearby, Tyranos sought to keep two more at bay. He used the staff as a physical weapon, swinging at anything that came near him. The crystal crackled with lightning as it hit the phantasms, but with a lesser intensity that marked a different spell at play. Whenever he struck, the “bones” would fuse together, making it harder and harder for the beasts to move.

The “jaws” of Golgren’s foe sought to close on his throat. The half-breed thrust the dagger up through where the creature’s jaws met its skull. As the blade sank in, the emerald glow spread.

The spirit beast let out a shriek identical to that of a true ji-baraki in mortal pain. The misty part of the body faded, and the rest fell in a clatter. No new monsters were spawned from the remains.

But there were still many more to be dealt with. Like the cunning predator after whom they were fashioned, the fiends began to organize in packs that surrounded their two targets. Tyranos, who had just finished turning one into a solid mass that could do no more than wriggle, was seized at the legs by another. A second ji-baraki attacked the hand best gripping the staff.

The magical artifact slipped from the mage’s grasp.

Golgren, too, found himself in dire straits. Although his blade was useful, it could be wielded against only one at a time, not three. As one lunged, Golgren, instead of meeting it, ducked low. At the same time, he thrust the blade sideways in his mouth, like a brigand getting ready to climb a mast, and used his free hand to seize a larger piece of rubble.

Just before one phantasm’s jaws would have bitten off part of his face, the half-breed thrust the chunk into it. Like the real predator, the magical one struggled to free its mouth. Its claws scarred Golgren in several places, but he was able to spit out the dagger into his hand just in time to strike the oncoming second. The blow would not have been fatal to a living creature. However, it proved enough to drive back the one fiend.

Maneuvering the first between himself and a third, the half-breed readjusted his grip on the dagger. He shoved the blade into what passed for the gullet of the shadow creature and grinned in satisfaction as the wound burst open in a blaze of emerald light.

Beside him, Tyranos gripped the throats of his two nearest attackers. They, in turn, sought to ensnare his lower body with their smoky torsos and rip away his face with their jaws.

The wizard muttered a spell under his breath. His foes suddenly flew at one another as if drawn by some intense display of magnetism. Their makeshift bodies became entangled.

Scrambling to his feet, Tyranos stared beyond them. “We’ve got a lot more trouble coming!”

Peering past his own adversaries, Golgren saw immediately what the spellcaster meant. There were a dozen more of the ghoulish reptiles, each a hodgepodge of whatever refuse could be pulled together from the surrounding garbage.

Golgren considered the dagger, the best he had against the monsters. Without saying anything to the mage, he again set the blade between his teeth and looked to the side, where Tyranos’s staff lay. Golgren dived for the staff. Taking it up, he rested it in the crook of his maimed limb. As he seized the dagger once more, the half-breed pointed the staff toward the oncoming pack.

“That might not be the best idea,” his companion warned as he braced himself for a lunging creature.

Ignoring him, the half-breed placed the tip of the dagger on the crystal. An emerald hue spread over the head of the staff.

Golgren shouted out the words he had heard Tyranos use.

Bright green lightning burst from the crystal, shooting out at each of the monstrous attackers. The lightning enveloped them.

The ji-baraki phantasms hissed as one. Then each collapsed into mangled heaps, reverting to the ancient refuse.

Falling to one knee, Golgren eyed his victory with pleasure. Once more, he had slain the beast that had feasted on his mother’s corpse.

A powerful hand ripped the staff away from Golgren. “You shouldn’t be able to use this so readily! I spent years learning its secrets!”

Golgren did not reply. Rising, he inspected his find. There was indeed no difference between the dagger he held and the one that he had lost, yet he knew somehow with utter certainty that it was a twin, not the same one.

“Imagine you finding that here,” the wizard remarked sarcastically. “What pure luck it isn’t.”

“No, in that we agree.” Golgren inspected the ornate hilt of the dagger. There was no mark to indicate any special reason it should have come to him. Yet that in itself made him wonder. “I was meant to have this, to replace the one I was expected to wield at the right time. This was a test of me.”

“‘A test’?” the hooded figure snorted. “Oh. Our friend from the citadel?”

“No, that might be true, if he and Sirrion were of one mind.” Golgren bared his teeth at Tyranos. “You must look to your own gods, Uruv Suurt, to explain this.”

“Kiri-Jolith … and never call me that again.”

“Kiri-Jolith,” the half-breed agreed.

“You’re very popular with the gods suddenly. It’ll be the death of you.” The wizard shrugged. “So. Do I take it that you want to return to Garantha and get this over with, one way or another?”

“I wish to get this over, but Garantha is not going to be our immediate destination.”

Tyranos’s brow rose. “No? Then where, exactly, if I’m not too bold to ask?”

Golgren told him.

The wizard grimaced. “There?”

“Yes. I see now that something lies there that I will also need … first.”

Though not convinced, Tyranos nonetheless nodded. “As you wish … and against my better judgment.”

They vanished then appeared where Golgren had hoped they would be. The landscape for some great distance looked as if an astounding upheaval had taken place. Hills had been reduced to rubble. Mountainsides were shattered, leaving vast gaps that looked as if some giant had taken a bite or two out of them. There was no flat ground. Massive rocks jutted up in surprising places, and treacherous ravines were everywhere.

But even more unnerving was what lay among the rocks: bones, countless bones. Some were of immense size, bespeaking a beast several times the height of either of the pair. Most, though, were of a more familiar length and form, and though they were scattered, one skull was enough to identify all if only because, though it was akin to a human skull, it had powerful tusks.

It was an ogre skull. It was one of the many ogres who had once fought for three warlords determined not to let an impure half-breed become their master. Golgren himself had slain the first among them and taken his head back to the capital as sign of his victory. That had marked the end of internal resistance to the half-breed’s ascension to power, at least for a time.

But that ogre and the hundreds more that could be found there had died far from that place. A power at that time unknown to Golgren had raised them up and sent them from that distant battlefield to where they stood. It had sent them to attack his precious Garantha, just beyond his sight.

“Our friend did this,” the wizard said. “Our friend with all the gargoyles.”

Tyranos’s eyes widened in understanding. “Ah! I see it! Dauroth wouldn’t go hunt the Fire Rose, but our friend knew that if Safrag was leader, then he would! This was all to stir Safrag into taking over, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. Dauroth’s death is Safrag’s doing, so I believe.”

“Ha! So Safrag owes his rise to the very same creature who saw to it that you were born.”

“Yes, it would seem so.” There was something in Golgren’s tone that warned his companion not to pursue the subject any further.

The hooded spellcaster peered toward where Garantha lay. Although obscured from their view, it was not all that far away. “We should be safe for the moment, unless the Titans are actively observing this area, but I still don’t understand what you want from here.”

Golgren had edged away from him. “If it is found, you will understand, Uruv Suurt.”

“There are things you indicate I’d better not mention; for the last time, calling me that is one thing that you should not bring up again.” He waited for Golgren to reply, but when there was nothing, Tyranos gave an angry snort.

The half-breed was busy searching for something. His foot kicked up a leg bone. A tingle raced through his fingers, one that did not originate with him, but rather emanated from the dagger. Golgren paused. The reaction had been weak but definite. He was close, very close. As he had suspected would happen, the dagger he held was the key.

“You plan to scour this whole area? That could take some time, oh Grand Khan.”

The half-breed bent down to touch the ravaged ground. The dagger tugged in his hand.

“It is deep, very deep. But it is here.”

Tyranos grimaced. “Oh, come now! Are you trying to tell me that, so quickly, you’ve not only found the area where it lies, but also you can detect how far down it is hidden?”

Golgren looked up at the mage. “Your staff. Can it break open the way?”

“What do you think this is? A shovel?” Still, despite his protest, Tyranos stepped over to the spot. “Show me exactly where.”

Golgren used the tip of the blade to mark the location. That done, the half-breed moved back. Grunting, Tyranos braced himself then muttered a spell.

The crystal glowed.

The ground cracked open. The fissure was only a couple of feet wide at first, but then it spread in both directions. Tyranos shifted to one side as he continued to press his spell.

“How deep?” he asked. When Golgren shrugged, the wizard growled, “Wonderful.”

The fissure became some twenty feet long and half again as wide. Tyranos glanced beyond Golgren and him in the direction of Garantha. The risk of discovery increased with each moment that the mage continued his spellcasting.

With a gasp, Tyranos withdrew the staff. The fissure was several yards deep. The wizard eyed it with skepticism. “You’ve got your hole. Now what? I don’t see a damned thing!”

In response, Golgren thrust the dagger between his teeth and jumped into the fissure. Even with only one hand, he expertly gained a hold on the side then continued climbing down. The half-breed moved swiftly and efficiently, well aware that each second was precious.

He was not quite at the bottom of the fissure when he sensed through the dagger that he was near his goal. Golgren paused to study the jagged sides of the crevice.

The rock supporting one of his feet loosened. Golgren managed to shift his foot before the piece broke away. He was still far enough from the bottom to injure or even kill himself if he fell.

Facing the wall upon which he hung, Golgren noticed that the dagger’s reaction seemed muted. The half-breed peered over at the opposing side.

The moment he did, the dagger reacted. Golgren braced himself then pushed off.

He caught hold of another rock thrusting out from the other wall. His body slammed against the hard surface, nearly causing him to lose his grip. Golgren bit down. The blade shifted, the edge nicking the side of his mouth.

Ignoring the blood that began to dribble out of his mouth, the deposed Grand Khan inspected the wall. From the dagger, he sensed that he was very near. Unfortunately, Golgren’s single hand became an impediment. He could not hold on with his other limb. However, Golgren made no move to call to Tyranos for help.

Looking down, the half-breed sought out more secure footing. Managing that, he braced himself then reached for where he thought he had to search.

His digging consisted of short scratches and grabs into the dirt and stone then quickly clutching a hold again. Golgren did not give up when the first few attempts yielded nothing. The dagger had led him so close; he was determined to succeed.

His fingers grazed something that felt like metal. Golgren did not feel any hope yet, for in that place there would be a lot of metal buried in the stone and rock-weapons, armor, and such.

On his next grab, he loosened his as-yet-unseen find. Bracing himself better, Golgren thrust his fingers deeper.

The hidden object finally came free. However, it did so with such ease that not only did Golgren almost lose his balance, but the object itself came flying out.

He caught it at the last moment then twisted back to the wall. With only his thumb and index finger, he clutched his prize and managed to get just enough of a grip on the rock with the rest of his hand to keep from falling.

Moments later, Golgren returned to the surface.

The wizard cocked his head. “I’d ask if you found what you were looking for, but I know you too well.”

Paying no heed to Tyranos, Golgren focused on the direction in which Garantha lay. “We are done here. It is time to go and meet Safrag.”

“And the other.”

“And the other,” the half-breed agreed. “Tell me, Tyranos, how great is your desire for the Fire Rose?”

The hooded form did not answer, which was answer enough for Golgren. The half-breed readied his dagger. “I tell you this, wizard, if you do as I say, you may have the chance to wield it yet. If you seek it on your own, I promise nothing for you.”

“Would it surprise you to know I’ve little faith in your promises right now? It’s you, me, maybe Idaria and Chasm against the Titans and the gargoyles’ master. Who would you bet on, oh Grand Khan?”

Golgren’s answer was immediate. “On myself.”

“Naturally.”

“Will you listen to what I wish?”

Tyranos smiled grimly. “I really don’t have much of a choice at this point.” The broad-shouldered spell-caster gestured curtly at the half-breed. “So. What’s your great plan?”

Golgren displayed the dagger. “It begins with this.”