The Gargoyle King

VI

The angry throng carried few weapons-a handful of clubs, a sword here and there-but ogres by themselves were a threat, even to their own kind. The mob looked unkempt and even more ragged and wild of hair than usual, as if they had poured out into the streets of Dai Ushran from their slumber.

Indeed, they had done just that. Barely an hour before Golgren and his companions had risen, the capital had been shaken by what most initially had believed was an earthquake. Only when their very homes had begun to change form did they understand they were once again at the mercy of Safrag’s whims.

By then, Dai Ushran had become a city of giant spherical structures. Even the towers were topped with rounded crowns. And though it was by mainly torchlight that the mob was able to see, the visibility was sufficient to reveal that the one constant with each transformation was the placing of the lead Titan’s visage everywhere.

As the furious crowd reached the outskirts of the palace grounds, from within burst forth a ready force of armored figures. With spears, axes, and swords, they charged out to meet the mob. At their head, astride one of the rare and massive ogre horses, rode Atolgus. In the darkness, he looked as if he were a full Titan himself. However, it was not sorcery he wielded, but a sharp blade and a savage intent.

Matters had been building up to that confrontation for another reason. Many in the throng shouted anger at being continually shaken by the unexpected changes, but they also complained that they themselves had not yet become like the Titans, as promised.

And though Atolgus heard and understood the angry cries, he paid the complaints no heed. He had one intention: to keep order for her and her master. If the ogres could not be grateful for their current conditions, they were undeserving.

The armored ranks crashed into the disorganized mob with deadly force. A line of spears at the front slew more than two dozen protesters and kept others at bay. Warriors wielding swords then cut into the second line of protesters, quickly butchering them as well. The smell of fresh blood further stirred the warriors, and they pressed forward without mercy.

The mob did not retreat immediately; ogres were always stubborn, even in the face of certain doom. Thus, Atolgus’s forces slaughtered more and more, with only the occasional careless warrior cut down by the disorganized mob.

Atolgus raised his sword, signaling for a new assault. From behind his foot soldiers, archers fired into the air. They did not need even their best aim and limited proficiency for their arrows to find many marks among their targets. Scores fell wounded or dead, many of the former then either trampled by their fellows or subsequently cut down by the advancing warriors.

Finally, the mob broke. Ogres fled in every direction. Even then, Atolgus did not order an end to his troops’ efforts. They hunted down all those too slow in flight, slaying dozens more. The bloodbath stained the area crimson.

It was Wargroch who finally managed to stem the frenzy by riding up close to the eager Atolgus and shouting, “All is ended! There should be no more blood!”

Atolgus nearly turned on him, but at the last moment, Morgada’s puppet calmed. Without any word to Wargroch, he gestured with his sword to a trumpeter. Raising a curled goat horn, the ogre warrior blew loudly.

Hearing the signal, Atolgus’s warriors pulled back. Bodies lay sprawled everywhere; some were hacked apart so badly that they were nearly unrecognizable as ogres.

At last, the warlord spoke to Wargroch. “I leave to you the clearing of the streets!” With that, the former chieftain turned his great mount around and led his warriors back to the palace.

Wargroch was left with the handful of ogres who had followed him out. None of them looked eager to be there.

The Blodian surveyed the massacre. Hardened as he was by his own past, including his own betrayals, Wargroch was nonetheless shaken by the sight.

But there was nothing he could do about it. With a grunt, he called a subordinate to his side. “A wagon. This will need a wagon … two.”

The ogre saluted then rushed off to find the wagons. Wargroch signaled the other warriors to dismount and begin the grisly task.

The wagons arrived but a few moments later, no doubt appropriated from some side street. With the situation under control, Wargroch found himself glancing toward one of the outer walls and thinking of the buried pouch. The Blodian considered how just a matter of a few days had altered the situation greatly. Golgren would have given a Grand Khan’s ransom for the contents. They represented the possibility of one of his greatest hopes coming to fruition.

But all that mattered not. Golgren had departed before the pouch had arrived; then, according to Atolgus, the Grand Khan had been slain by Safrag’s sorcery. The most valuable treasure in the world could have been in the pouch, and it would not change the fact that the Titans ruled the ogre realm and would soon leave their mark on all Krynn.

Nor could an offer of negotiations by the Solamnics concerning a cessation of hostilities and a potential pact against the Uruv Suurt change that reality either.

As tall as Golgren, which made them roughly two feet shorter than full-blooded ogres, the Uruv Suurt greatly resembled him in the design of their bodies, save that instead of the coarse, ogre hair they had fine coats of varying shades of brown, black, and on the rare occasion red or white. However, their coats were not the most startling factor to outsiders. No, that had to do with their heads.

Whether male or female, Uruv Suurt-minotaurs-had heads very akin to those of bulls.

Faros was, by the standards of his people, handsome. His muzzle was sleek, and his eyes penetrating … so penetrating, in fact, that it looked as if they desired to literally skewer the half-breed.

Golgren reached toward the minotaur emperor.

“Betrayal!” roared one of the nearest guards. He and a companion thrust themselves ahead of Faros and attacked the two intruders.

The wizard used his staff to stop his foe’s attack then struck the Uruv Suurt under the muzzle. At the same time, Golgren let his own adversary’s weapon shoot past him. He then drove the stump that was his other arm-considered so little a threat by most of his enemies-into the guard’s unprotected throat.

“Stop!” commanded Faros.

The two guards stumbled back; the one Golgren had struck was still clutching his throat and coughing.

“The Grand Khan Golgren …” The tall, brown minotaur stepped in front of his soldiers, almost within reach of the half-breed. Although the horned figure also wore a breastplate and kilt like his followers-save that the condor on his breastplate was lined by a pattern of tiny, interlinking axes and swords-his uniform did not completely obscure the many horrific scars the ruler bore from head to foot. Even the muzzle and face had not been left unblemished, though those scars were mostly due to battle. The majority of those on the body were due to slavery, first at the hands of his own people then under the ogres.

“The Grand Khan Golgren …” Dark brown eyes narrowed as they surveyed the half-breed. “Or is it the former Grand Khan? We’ve heard much of late.”

“And I hear of Uruv Suurt marching north into the province of Blode.” Golgren waved aside the disrespectful comments. “But I come not to discuss these trivial matters.”

“You should be discussing what reason there is for letting you keep your head,” a female voice added. From behind Faros emerged the occupant of the other throne. Her tone bore even more malice toward Golgren than that of Faros.

“Maritia.” The half-breed bowed. “It is a pleasure to be in your fair presence again.”

The female Uruv Suurt had a less pronounced muzzle and horns only half as long as the two-foot ones of her mate. Her body was more graceful than that of Faros and very much akin, despite the smooth, brown fur, to that of a human or elf female. However, it was a mistake to think she was not as capable in battle as the emperor. Indeed, for a time, she had led the empire’s forces in Ambeon and had even been allied with Golgren against her future mate. But she desired his death more than Faros did, for, at the behest of her mother and eldest sibling, Golgren had imprisoned her and seen to the death of her favored brother, Bastion.

“You’ll find the company of a hungry pack of meredrakes more pleasant if you don’t give us a reason to keep you alive,” she retorted.

“Speak faster,” Tyranos muttered, unusually subdued around the minotaurs. “And wisely.”

“You travel with humans now?” Faros asked, studying the wizard. “A spellcaster, of course. Golgren no longer has your mother to protect him, Maritia.”

Once Maritia had been devoted to her parents, but in the end, she had learned that the Lady Nephera, high priestess of the Forerunner cult, had not only been instrumental in Bastion’s murder, but had used sorcery to cause the death of the Emperor Hotak, Nephera’s mate and Maritia’s father. Maritia had been there when the god Sargonnas, through Faros, had finally delivered unto Nephera final justice, letting the power of her own patron-Morgion, god of disease and corruption-slowly and horribly slay her.

Tyranos’s grip on the staff tightened as the guards stared at him with renewed interest. He said nothing.

“He is of no consequence to you,” Golgren replied to the emperor. “Less than nothing, though useful. It is I to whom all responsibility falls, yes? And it is I to whom you must speak for the sake of all Uruv Suurt.”

“I never know just where your limits of Common begin and end,” Faros muttered. “Nor where the limits of your conniving end either, but this should at least be entertaining. We can always kill you afterward.”

“Don’t listen!” Maritia urged. “That one’s already talked himself out of too many deaths.”

“He’ll speak true. He knows he has to with me.” To emphasize his words, Faros tapped the half-breed’s chest with the tip of his sword right where the half-ogre’s mummified hand hung. The same hand that Faros himself had removed when still an escaped slave leading a revolt. “Still carrying it, I see.”

“Always, Faros Es-Kalin.”

“Wise.” The emperor waved back the guards. “Resume your places-no-better yet leave us.”

“My lord, we should not go,” growled one soldier, who bore a helmet and cloak that marked him as an officer.

“Rest easy, dekarian. I know this one’s tricks. We’ll be fine … that is, if we can trust your pet wizard, Golgren.”

That infuriated Tyranos. “By the Kraken! I’m nobody’s pet or slave.”

Faros’s brow furrowed. He stared at Tyranos, whose eyes blazed.

“Keep your word and you’ll have no trouble from me,” the spellcaster finally murmured.

Faros nodded, seeming to take the wizard’s word far more readily than Golgren’s. To his nemesis, the emperor said, “And now? Will you tell us why you’ve committed this madness?”

The half-breed grinned coldly. “Your legionaries, they do not appear to obey you very readily.”

Faros looked over his shoulder to where the dekarian and other soldiers stood near two high, bronze doors bearing the condor symbol. The emperor did not look pleased with his followers. “I ordered you away!”

“My lord! It is Golgren!” the officer persisted. “You yourself have placed a price on his head matched by no other enemy of the state! His description”-the dekarian pointed his sword toward the maimed stump-“has been committed to memory by every legionary! All know his connection to the Lady Nephera and her foul scion, Ardnor-begging your pardon, my lady!”

Maritia wore an expression of distaste, but it was not meant for the officer. There had been little familial care between her and Nephera’s eldest. He had been his mother’s son-a monstrous creature of the darkness, willing to serve the god Morgion. “No offense taken, dekarian, but do as your emperor commands.” Her hand went to her own sword. “We have the situation well in hand.”

There was no arguing with the reputations of the imperial pair. The guards retreated from the chamber.

There stood but the four-or perhaps three as Tyranos appeared not at all eager to be a part of the conversation. He stepped to the far corner, never taking his eyes off the trio. One hand loosely held the staff, the other was turned fingers down and open palm toward the minotaurs.

“You know our ancient sign of parley,” Maritia noted with a hint of approval. “Even most of our own no longer recall it.”

“I have no hidden intentions,” the wizard snapped back.

The empress shrugged; her interest returned to Golgren. There had been rumors the grand lord had once been fascinated by her, despite their great differences. The female Uruv Suurt had never returned his affection; her loathing for her former ally was well-displayed in her narrowing eyes and slightly flaring nostrils. “Well, Golgren? What is it you want this time? The removal of our legions from your southern lands?”

“In time, yes, but they are convenient where they are. The quicker to send them to where I desire.”

Faros laughed. “Where you desire? Are you now emperor?”

“No,” responded the half-breed with a slight bow, “but I will save your empire.”

Both minotaurs glared. Faros exchanged glances with his mate then rumbled, “And in what manner will you save us? This should be entertaining.”

“Why, I will save you from the Titans, naturally.”

Despite attempting to appear otherwise, the mention of the sorcerers clearly disturbed the imperial couple. Nostrils flaring, Faros rubbed the underside of his muzzle. “And of what concern are the Titans to us?”

“The emperor is no fool,” Golgren baldly stated, absently touching his severed hand, “and should not treat me so. The Uruv Suurt, they deal with a warlord who is the puppet of the Titans. You know this, of course?”

“We had some gleaning of that just recently,” Faros admitted. “We have just learned of this Atolgus.”

At mention of Atolgus’s name, Golgren’s eyes narrowed imperceptibly. There was no saving the young chieftain; Golgren considered him only another enemy.

“What does it matter?” Maritia snapped. “Better to let the ogres feud among themselves, and in the end there will be less of them!”

The emperor shook his head at his mate. “You know that you don’t believe what you are saying. You know that we were discussing this … situation … only yesterday.”

Maritia’s expression indicated that what they chose to discuss in private was hardly a matter to be brought up before the hated half-breed.

“Your spies,” Golgren corrected, “were misled. The Titans are very good at misleading.”

“It seems a common ogre trait,” Maritia countered.

In response, the deposed Grand Khan went down on one knee. He bent his head low and extended his hand and the maimed limb to the sides.

“My life is my bond in this,” he stated solemnly. “All I speak will be truth, and all which I agree to will stand, or my spirit will walk with both hands severed.”

Faros gripped the hilt of his weapon. “I know that oath. There were ogres who followed me from Sahd’s work camp who uttered that oath, although not with such flair of words.” Again, he rubbed the underside of his muzzle. “Sargonnas take me for a fool, but I’ll grant you at least the chance to speak.”

Maritia reluctantly nodded. She respected Faros’s opinion on that point, even if the giver of the oath was Golgren.

“Atolgus is the puppet of the Titans; he has given the capital to them and, thus, all of Golthuu.”

“Golthuu.” The emperor chuckled. “‘The Dream of Golgren.’”

Ignoring the mockery, the half-breed went on. “The Uruv Suurt are useful now to the Titans, for they keep my loyal warriors at bay. The offer no doubt was that all southern lands were to be given to the empire, yes?”

“To create a better buffer for Ambeon,” Faros answered, referring to the minotaurs’ mainland colony and the former elf homeland of Silvanost. The realm had been taken by the forces of Hotak, but Faros had deemed keeping them invaluable to his race.

“But the Titans, once they do not need you, you will follow me to doom. They will take the empire, and they will make the Uruv Suurt once more the slaves of the ogre race.”

That last brought a look of intense bitterness to Faros’s gaze. The worst fate for his people-even worse than being the slaves of humans-would be a return to enslavement under the ogres. There was no other race that drew such enmity from the horned warriors. The ogres had been the taskmasters of old.

“Never again,” growled Maritia. “Never again.”

Her mate nodded. “We are speaking of powerful sorcerers, though-”

“And more powerful yet,” Golgren interjected. “For they have that which the god Sirrion fashioned, a thing to give them power over all change.”

“And we have you, not a very good balance. We’ll fight them, though we know we’ll lose. We have no spellcasters. There is no honor in such.”

Golgren tossed Tyranos a wicked grin. “No.”

The wizard glared at them all but otherwise kept silent.

“You don’t offer us much,” the empress pointed out. “Yourself and this … this human. What do you expect in return for that?”

The half-breed’s face was all innocence. “I expect the Uruv Suurt to continue to march into Golthuu.”

Faros snorted. “When we knowingly face the Titans? You wish us to create a distraction for them while you try to regain your realm! You want legionaries to give their lives all for your sake!”

Golgren replied evenly, “You already make incursions, and soon those legions will be set upon by the Titans and your false ally, Atolgus. Would it not be better for your incursions to remain successful … for the sake of Ambeon and the empire?”

“What do you mean?”

“No one knows Golthuu better than Golgren,” the half-breed declared with a baring of his teeth. “The legions, they would find that there are better routes, more profitable routes, than those which they use now.”

The emperor glanced at Maritia. There was no denying that Golgren was more familiar than any ogre with the terrain of his homeland. He had made it a priority in his rise to power. To know the lay of the land was to know its strengths and weaknesses.

“You interest me,” Faros finally returned to him.

“We’ll need the latest charts,” the empress suggested.

Faros shook his head. “I’ll also need to be there … and quickly. We’ll need the fastest courier ship.”

“No,” interjected Golgren. “There is a quicker way yet.”

He gestured with his stump at a suddenly dismayed Tyranos.