The Gargoyle King

XXV

Eyes gleaming, Safrag reached for the floating shard. With the swiftness of a ji-baraki, Golgren rolled onto his feet. His hand left his waist, but he held a dagger identical to the one that he had earlier tossed at the Titan.

It was the second dagger, which he had located in his mother’s tomb.

The half-breed lunged.

Safrag didn’t notice until the last moment, surprise vying with contempt. “You cannot-”

Golgren seized the fragment with his teeth before the Titan could grasp it. The piece flared as he thrust the dagger toward the sorcerer’s stomach.

The Fire Rose glowed, but the abrupt shock in Safrag’s face revealed that he was no longer the one wielding its power.

“No!” the Titan began. “I hold it! I hold-”

The dagger, with the energies of the Fire Rose surrounding it, sank deep.

“But I control it,” Golgren returned through clenched teeth.

Safrag howled. No blood spilled from the wound, only the same fiery energy as that which had embraced the dagger. Safrag had no more blood; he had long become like the second hand that Golgren had gained through the artifact: a shell of what was real, a false miracle, the truth of Sirrion’s gift.

Keeping his teeth clenched and ignoring the shard’s own powerful energies, Golgren twisted the dagger. His will flowed into the Fire Rose and, therefore, into the blade. As he turned the weapon, Safrag, still howling, turned with it.

The half-breed gave the dagger a final twist back.

Like a puzzle, Safrag tore into jagged pieces that went flying in all directions. His desperate cry continued for a moment after his dissolution. The still-living shreds flew beyond the walls of Garantha before they at last burned to ash then scattered.

The Fire Rose floated by itself for a few seconds then dropped. Golgren released the dagger before deftly catching Sirrion’s creation.

The blade clattered harmlessly, the energies fading. The ancient weapon was blackened from hilt to point, and the smell of melting metal was everywhere.

Breathing raggedly, Golgren stared at the Fire Rose. The blazing forces within churned wildly, enticingly.

“You do me proud!” declared a maddeningly cheerful voice that made the half-breed grit his teeth. “I expected it to be you, but there were enough variables that made the game so very interesting!”

Golgren spit the fragment out. It paused in the air then flew unerringly to the artifact. Like a child clinging to its mother, the piece adhered to the Fire Rose, the two melding together.

The half-breed looked up. Sirrion smiled benevolently at him. Bright flickers of flame constantly escaped his wild mane of hair.

“You expected it to be me?” Golgren rasped.

“Oh, yes, although the others would have made for some interesting outcomes should they have succeeded!” He waved the thought off. “But enough of that! You have earned the honor of gaining my great gift! You will be the herald, the catalyst, of the new age, during which the ogres will look to me as their chief patron!”

Straightening, Golgren looked up at the lord of fire and alchemy. “You … our god?”

Sirrion spread his hands. “And what better herald could I ask? The impossible child! You truly are what the Fire Rose-and thus, I-am about! How droll! How very appropriate this is! You will create a most fitting kingdom to honor me, oh yes.”

Golgren wordlessly stepped past the god. He went to the edge of the roof. Midway there, the half-breed took note of the still-floating populace.

Expressionless, Golgren held forth the artifact. The Fire Rose flared.

The ogres began drifting safely to the ground.

With a curt nod, Golgren reached the edge, leaned over, and peered down.

Idaria lay sprawled on the stone walkway below. Her arms and legs were bent at angles that made it seem as though the elf were boneless. Her face was turned skyward and she looked as if she were sleeping … if one did not immediately notice the pool of blood that was staining her long, silver hair and shredded gown.

A clink of armor foreshadowed the appearance of Stefan Rennert next to her body. Panting from exertion, the human bent over her. He muttered something that sounded like a prayer.

Golgren suddenly looked over his shoulder at Sirrion, who stood smiling at the outcome. “Can this bring her back to life?”

The smile not in the least fading, the deity casually remarked, “The elf has already moved on. No matter, though. You can use the Fire Rose to give another her semblance if you like!”

“It will not be her.”

The smile faltered, a hint of impatience arising in Sirrion. “No, her spirit is gone! I’ve told you that already! What does that matter? You can create a better Idaria.”

Turning to face him, Golgren flatly replied, “Yes, if I chose to keep this thing.” He stretched the Fire Rose toward its maker. “I want nothing of it. To restore her life is the only use I have for it. If that is beyond its feeble powers, you may take it back and then leave and never return.”

“Take… it… back?” Sirrion burst into flames. He was a living elemental, pure fire. “Take it back?” he repeated, his voice growing more strident, more painful to hear.

YOU REFUSE THE GREATEST GIFT EVER GRANTED A MORTAL?

His voice was as Golgren and Idaria had first heard it, a terrible thundering in one’s head that made Xiryn’s a pale whisper by comparison. Yet Golgren did not press his hand to his head, nor did he stagger under the mental onslaught. He calmly stood there, the Fire Rose still extended to Sirrion.

Intense heat washed over the half-breed; then it enveloped the entire city. Below, cries of panic ensued as many ogres who had witnessed the arrival of the god no doubt assumed that he was about to raze Garantha. Sirrion stalked toward Golgren; the deity was taller and more menacing than any Titan.

AND YOU REFUSE TO WORSHIP ME? ME?

Sweat poured down Golgren’s body, but none of it due to fright, only the searing heat. Golgren cocked his head. “I do.”

More than four times the mortal’s height, the being of flame transformed into the faceless golden sentinel.

YOU CANNOT! NOT WITH ALL I OFFER, ALL THAT YOU FEAR I CAN DO.

A circle of flames surrounded Golgren. It would have been simple to deal with them using the Fire Rose, but he was aware that was what Sirrion desired of him. The more the artifact was used, the more the Fire Rose’s ability to seduce increased. Even Golgren, molded-not created-to wield it would eventually succumb to its power. Like a moth drawn to flame, he would immerse himself in the Fire Rose until it burned him out.

WITH MY GIFT, YOU CAN RULE ALL.

“No.” Golgren took a step toward the ring. As he suspected, the flames shrank from him regardless of whether he was using the Fire Rose. Sirrion desired his servitude too much.

“No,” Golgren repeated as he closed on the elemental giant. “This is not how I desire to rule, for, in truth, it would be the Rose that rules, not me.” He paused just within reach of Sirrion. “The ogres will always honor and fear you, Lord of Fire, but I–I, Golgren-will foist no god upon my people. Not you. Not Sargonnas. Not Kiri-Jolith. When we fell, no god smiled upon us then. Through centuries, we were used and used again, and no god came to truly help us. We survived without any of you, and therefore, we do not need you now.”

YOU WILL HONOR ME MOST-

Golgren shook his head. “We will honor no god above all the others, not even you.”

Though mouthless, Sirrion roared. Fire enveloped Golgren and his surroundings.

Then the flames and the agonizing heat withdrew. Golgren, who had briefly had to shield his eyes from the flames, saw that the robed incarnation of the god had reappeared.

“You will do very fine!” Sirrion remarked jovially. “Once you make up your mind properly!” He gestured at the Fire Rose. “For your keeping, while you think about matters and my gift’s usefulness! After all, you have minotaurs deep in the south, Solamnics at another gate, and dark knights testing other boundaries! How valuable a prize my flower might look under those circumstances, and how valuable a caring patron you might have in me.”

Sirrion chuckled and flames once again surrounded him. They were so sudden that once more the half-breed had to cover his eyes.

When he was able to see again, it was to discover the god was gone and the artifact was still in Golgren’s hand.

“No.” Golgren turned, seeking Sirrion. However, there was no sign. The half-breed bared his teeth in anger. “No.”

With as much strength as he could muster, Golgren slammed the top of the Fire Rose into the building. The impact was accompanied by a loud, booming noise. A long, jagged crack developed along the building.

But the Fire Rose went unmarred.

Brow furrowed, Golgren sought out other assistance. He looked to where Tyranos and Chasm remained a grotesque, mixed statue.

The Fire Rose made short work of Safrag’s diabolical spell. Wizard and gargoyle instantly separated then changed back into their true selves.

Chasm let out a hiss of glee, hopping up and down. The scaled creature flapped his wings, testing them. Again, he hissed merrily.

But what escaped Tyranos’s mouth was not any sign of gratitude. Where the guise of a human had once covered him, he was fully recognizable as a minotaur clad in wizard’s garb. Summoning the staff, he thrust it toward Golgren.

“You should’ve changed me immediately! Use the Fire Rose!”

“You would not wish it, wizard. You would be changed inside as well as out.”

The minotaur snorted. “What do I care if blood flows in my veins or some magic! I am a spellcaster, after all! Give it to me, then, just for my own transformation! I’ll give it back right away! You’ll see.”

Yet there was a growing avarice in Tyranos’s voice that was unmistakable, especially as, with each passing moment, Golgren’s own desires increased.

“No,” replied the half-breed. “I want you only to tell me how to destroy this.”

“You want to destroy it? Ha! The hubris of the great Grand Khan! This is the child of a god! You know what happened to the High Ogres who tried to do as you want! They failed! In desperation, they even tried to hide it forever, but that wasn’t possible either!”

Despite those words, Golgren raised the Fire Rose with the intention of trying a second time to smash it. Then something that Sirrion had said returned to him.

“You can’t even try again, can you?” mocked Tyranos, mistaking the half-breed’s pause. “You want to use it, after all, don’t you?”

Slowly, Golgren shook his head. “No … but I must …”

Faros had led his legionaries deeper and deeper into ogre territory. The way remained clear, even more after the astounding destruction of the gargoyles. True, they had not done anything but watch after the Titans had vanished, but the emperor had been certain that at some point they intended to attack. Then the creatures had all taken to the air, shrieked, and turned into vapor.

To Faros, who knew him so well, that could only mean that, against all odds, Golgren had done the impossible, as promised.

And that made the Grand Khan all the more dangerous. Faros was determined to see to it that his old enemy did not live to enjoy his return to power.

A tremor shook the legionaries, sending many dropping to their knees. Great clouds of dust rose everywhere. The ogre lands were rife with such violent movements of the ground, but often they passed swiftly. According to their training, the minotaurs kept themselves still to wait it out.

But the tremor only grew worse, and a shadow rose ahead of Faros. The emperor cautiously got to his feet. At first, all he noticed was the dust.

Then Faros saw the wall.

It was as tall as the nearest hills and growing by the moment. He looked left and right and saw no end to it. Just as unnerving, it was moving, moving toward the invaders.

“Sound retreat!” Faros shouted. There was no honor in standing their ground and being wiped out by … whatever was approaching swiftly. It was magic on a scale that even Faros, who had faced Nephera and her son Ardnor had never experienced.

Horns blared. The alert was picked up by those ahead. The proud lines of the empire began a hasty but orderly flight.

The immense wall reached the hills ahead of the invaders and swallowed them whole. The wall’s movement was accompanied by a thunderous sound, the grating of unimaginable tons of rock and earth. Faros had called for the retreat just in time, for it was too loud for even the strongest horns to be heard.

The minotaurs began their retreat in a standard trot. But as Faros looked behind him, he saw that the pace was not enough. Cursing, the emperor ran faster, and those around him followed suit.

Within moments, the retreat became an ignominious rout.

Yet at that point, the wall’s pace slowed. It kept the legionaries on the run but never quite caught up to them. The minotaurs were pushed southward, always southward.

Would they be chased all the way to Ambeon?

A hekturion running alongside the emperor waved for his attention. The other minotaur pointed back over his shoulder. Faros looked, wondering what new menace pursued them.

It was not a new menace, not exactly. It was, despite its fantastic appearance, merely confirmation of Faros’s suspicions. Shaped into the wall was the huge relief of a face: Golgren’s face.

The Grand Khan’s visage loomed over the minotaurs. It was repeated at a regular distance for as far as the emperor could make out. The knowing faces stared down at the soldiers.

The wall stopped.

The halt was so abrupt that many of the legionaries continued to run for some distance before realizing they were no longer pursued. The invaders paused then glanced back at the wall.

Faros warily eyed the many faces of Golgren. Belatedly, he realized that the eyes were not exactly staring at his people, but rather at the ground directly in front of the wall.

It was not over yet.

“Keep them moving!” the emperor ordered the nearest officers. “Keep them moving!”

Although they did not understand why, the officers immediately obeyed. Shouts and horns got the bewildered minotaurs on the move.

No sooner had they begun the retreat anew than the ground shook once more. Yet the wall did not move. Rather, a great crack suddenly cut across the landscape, running parallel to the massive barrier. In moments it covered miles, cutting off any hope by the minotaurs of perhaps seeking to climb the high wall.

The crack became a ravine, a deep, deep ravine. As Faros pulled back with his legionaries, he saw that, like the wall had done earlier, the ravine was spreading in their direction.

And the faces of Golgren kept watch over all of it.

Only minutes before, a confident Sir Augustus had urged the Solamnic forces forward, his intentions mirroring those of Emperor Faros. The half-breed had somehow succeeded in his plans, which to the senior knight meant that it was more important than ever to press on. The ogre realm could not be permitted to rise up under Golgren’s cunning rule.

Then a sense of unease had come over Augustus. He knew the feeling, knew that it arose not only from years of honed instinct, but also from some subtle warning by the divine powers that watched over the Solamnic orders.

“Sir Bertrum! Sound the halt! Swiftly!”

The other knight looked puzzled but gave the signal. The horns blared as the expedition came to an immediate stop.

“What is it, my lord?” Bertrum, a younger, black-haired fighter asked. Around them, other knights leaned toward their commander, also curious.

Augustus swallowed in sudden anxiety. He had no source for that abrupt concern, but he trusted his instincts as much as he trusted his beloved nephew. “Turn the ranks about! Now!”

It was not a standard order, but it was an order, so Bertrum signaled for the command to be passed on to the men.

There came a thundering sound.

“The sorcerers are back!” someone growled.

Augustus Rennert shook his head. “No. They’re defeated. We’d have never come this far if they had not been.”

The thundering grew more intense. The ground began to quiver.

Ahead, the horizon grew more distant.

The commander squinted. No, the ground was rising.

“Get the lines moving!” he roared.

Bertrum and some of the others stood in their saddles, trying to make out what they saw. “My lord, what-?”

“There’s a damned wall racing toward us! Get the men moving, or we’ll be crushed by it.”

Like the minotaur emperor, Sir Augustus also had no doubt as to the one who was behind the astounding conjuration, and the faces appearing later would only serve to verify his beliefs.

“It is done,” Golgren announced, a touch of weariness in his otherwise bland tone. Only his eyes gave any hint that, in actuality, he suffered from far more than a touch of weariness. “The spell will finish itself out. Uruv Suurt, Solamnics, Nerakans … all will understand what I wish them to understand.”

Tyranos bent over the hunched figure. “You need rest. Give the Fire Rose to me.”

Golgren shook his head. “No.” He straightened. “No, you do not want this, and I will not give it to you.”

“So you do plan to keep it for yourself.”

The half-breed glared. “No, I wish to destroy it still.”

“Something you cannot do,” said another, familiar voice.

They both turned around to see Kiri-Jolith standing beside them. However, the god was not alone. Stefan Rennert was also standing there, the Solamnic looking pale, almost deathly.

The deity bowed his head to Golgren then eyed the Fire Rose. “And before you ask, it is something that I cannot do either.”

Golgren thrust the sinister artifact toward him. “Then take it from Krynn. Take it and place it so far in the heavens that it will be no danger to this world.”

Kiri-Jolith looked at the half-breed with interest. “The Grand Khan Golgren now fears for the rest of Krynn?”

“Does not the god of just cause fear for it in the hand of the mongrel, of Guyvir?”

The bison-headed deity shook his head, saying, “I came into this situation concerned for the sake of the humans and the minotaurs, two races of particular interest to me. Yet I also was concerned for the ogres, so long bereft of purpose and guidance … until the coming of the one who calls himself Golgren. Golgren represented the ogre race’s best chance in centuries to rise above the brutality to which they had been condemned, for which they have paid too high a price. I am forbidden to act directly, but I did what I could throughout the years to see to it that such a hope could be nurtured.”

That caused Tyranos to snort with derision. “Are you telling us that you also had a hand in the emergence of our dear Grand Khan? Ha! What a jest! For one who’s strived to be his own creature, Golgren, you seem to belong to everyone else!”

“Golgren’s ultimate decisions were and are still his, lost one, just as yours are yours.”

The wizard scowled. “If that’s the case, then give me the Fire Rose! That’s my decision! I want it!”

Once again, Tyranos brandished the staff at Golgren, that time with clear menace. The two stared at one another, gazes battling. The wizard would not back down, yet neither did Golgren.

Only when Kiri-Jolith stepped between them was the battle of wills broken. “The Fire Rose was not the cause of the High Ogres’ fall, but it eliminated any hope of redemption by those few who sought to regain their former glory here. Xiryn was the most ardent of its victims, but he was not alone. When those few who had the will to-for the time being-fight the Rose’s seduction-managed to steal it, they called to me to help them destroy it. At that time I could not, due to the nature of its making by Sirrion.”

“But it was damaged,” Tyranos pointed out. “The fragment proves it.”

“Damaged, not destroyed and with an effort that cost lives and left the fragment in the control of Xiryn. And though he could not wield it, Xiryn used it through the centuries as a lure, drawing unwary and ambitious spellcasters to his cause while he formulated his master plan and sought the artifact-”

“Which you hid oh so well.”

The god continued to ignore the mage’s arrogant tone. “Yes, I did guide them to what even I thought was a place where it would remain buried forever. Yet I discounted the obsession of some mortals, like yourself.”

“Spare me your woes,” Tyranos interjected. “Give me the artifact, and no one need ever worry about it again.”

“Xiryn said the same thing. Will you be the next Xiryn?”

“It does not matter,” Golgren stated. “You will not have it, wizard, despite our agreement.” To the god, the half-breed demanded, “Show me a way to be rid of this.”

Stefan, who had been silent all that time, stepped up. “That would be my duty.”

Tyranos did not take that lightly. “Yours? Why yours?”

“Because it’s my choice,” the Solamnic answered calmly. His face was more pale than ever. “And it is a way for me to fulfill the oath I took to myself just before I died.”

Golgren arched a brow. “The citadel …”

The knight bowed his head. “I was on the edge of death when my patron came to me. But he came to me because I demanded it of him. With my last conscious thought, I prayed to him to let me redeem myself for failing”-he swallowed hard-“for failing Lady Idaria, you, and everyone else, myself included.”

“For the gods, there is no more powerful demand that a mortal can make of them than such a prayer at such a time.” Kiri-Jolith grunted. “Only you can release yourself from this vow, Sir Stefan Rennert, and I ask you to consider that now.”

“I’ll not change my mind. I’ll do as we discussed. You know my time’s short on the mortal plane. You stirred the last embers of my life long enough for me to help, even though I failed to help Idaria.”

“Very well.” The armored deity reached out a hand to Golgren. “I will take the Fire Rose now.”

But Golgren would not give it up yet. “What will be done with it?”

“There is another place. A place between places, truly. There, I will hide it.”

“And someone will eventually find it again,” argued Tyranos, the crystal on his staff flaring.

“Doubtful, but if they do, this time it will be well guarded.”

Stefan straightened, looking proud. “Such is my decision. Until it no longer needs be-even unto the end of time-I will guard the Fire Rose from all tempted by its legend!”

Without any further hesitation, Golgren handed the artifact to Kiri-Jolith, who, in turn, gave it over to the Solamnic. As Stefan took hold of the artifact, the Fire Rose’s inner energies faded. Only a hint of its terrible power could be sensed.

The god of just cause then did a startling thing; he went down on one knee before Stefan, in clear homage. “You are what my father, my brother, and I sought to believe of the Knighthood, Sir Stefan Rennert. I am honored.”

“The honor is mine to serve,” the Solamnic replied. His body took on a translucent appearance. Stefan quickly glanced at the half-breed. “My lord Golgren, forgive me for failing her.”

Whether Golgren intended to answer him became a moot point, for even as he finished speaking, Stefan Rennert-and the Fire Rose-vanished.

Tyranos let out a frustrated howl as he leaped to the spot where Stefan had stood. Chasm, who had stood quietly in the shadow of his master, reflected the wizard’s frustration with a long, angry growl.

Rising, Kiri-Jolith confronted the minotaur. “There is in my power the ability to grant your request to be transformed, but I would like you first to consider the consequences. Recall those that you loved, those you lost, and what you may lose in the future.”

“None of that matters! Change me! Make me no longer a minotaur! Change me!”

But the god did not do so readily. “Now is not the time. You must discover the full truth about yourself before you can demand of me such a thing … if you still desire it then.”

“Damn all you gods!” Tyranos bitterly shot back. “Damn all your word games and tricks! That knight was a fool who was probably manipulated into sacrificing his eternity, the elf was tricked into killing herself for an ogre, and you …” He spit in Golgren’s direction. “You are the biggest fool of all!”

Tyranos raised the staff as if to use it. Then the crystal flared brighter and he, too, disappeared.

Chasm hissed at the god and Golgren then took to the air. Ever linked to his master, undoubtedly he would find the mage wherever Tyranos had chosen to go.

“A pity,” Kiri-Jolith murmured. “But destiny still has a heavy hand to play where he is concerned … a destiny his own choices still shape.” To Golgren, the deity added, “The Fire Rose is no more a part of your life, Grand Khan. Sirrion’s capricious interest in you should wane. Such is the nature of fire.” He shrugged. “Still, I will watch. Times have changed, and perhaps even the predictability of gods has also.”

“And will you now demand fealty of ogres for this offer?”

“No. I owe you for Sirrion, though you will never know the full reason why.” When Golgren said nothing in return, Kiri-Jolith concluded, “As I owe you much, I will also do one last favor.”

Closing his eyes, the god raised his hands to the sky. As he did, a slight tremor shook Garantha. Golgren, just starting to step away, looked around suspiciously.

The maddening alterations made by Safrag on Garantha melted away, and in their place returned the familiar, centuries-old image of the ogre capital. Kiri-Jolith was restoring the city to what it had always been, thereby erasing the mark of Safrag; the Titans; Xiryn; and most of all, the Fire Rose.

Eyes still shut, Kiri-Jolith muttered under his breath then lowered his hands. The god gave a deep sigh and appeared slighter in size, though still overwhelming.

“It is all the same as it was, save for one small thing I chose to do,” Kiri-Jolith said as he opened his eyes again. “I thought you might want the one small thing.”

But the bison-headed warrior saw that the half-breed was no longer close to him. Instead, Golgren once more was leaning over and peering down at where Idaria still lay dead, sprawled.

Nodding sadly, the god departed.