Richard Knaak: The Gargoyle King

He jammed the stone into the ji-baraki’s maw then pulled his spittle-soaked hand away. The startled reptile shut its yap but too late. Still, the close call left jagged, red cuts along Golgren’s wrist and hand.

The ji-baraki hacked and coughed, seeking desperately to dislodge the stone. However, its prey had shoved hard, and the stone was deep in its throat. The reptile rocked back and forth furiously.

Golgren was not willing to rely on the stone alone, though. He observed the ji-baraki for a moment then maneuvered around toward the struggling beast’s back.

The half-breed leaped onto the reptile, wrapping his maimed arm just under the ji-baraki’s jaw. His lone hand locked onto the ruined limb. Golgren pulled back as hard as he could, using his full weight.

The monstrous reptile’s head bent back. It was not enough to break the neck, but the angle made impossible the ji-baraki’s attempts to shake loose the stone.

The scaly hunter spun in a circle as it reacted to the new threat. It staggered, the obstruction in its windpipe at last taking its toll.

Claws sought to scrape at Golgren but to no avail. The ji-baraki’s upper limbs were not designed to reach that far back.

The toothy beast fell forward. As it landed, it rolled onto its side.

Golgren released his grip. The ji-baraki, too weak to rise, flailed around on the ground, its wild throes almost succeeding in knocking the half-breed over.

Finally exhausted, the reptile could do nothing more than hack pitiably. Golgren came up behind the head of the creature and quickly grasped it and snapped the neck.

Taking a deep breath, Golgren returned to the water. Without a glance back at the two dead predators, he drank his fill. The presence of the ji-baraki precluded any other fearsome beasts nearby, save perhaps gargoyles.

His thirst finally sated, Golgren stepped back from the spring.

Despite the dark, something caused a glittering reflection in the tiny stream of water.

Golgren looked behind him and saw nothing. Yet the silver glimmer had to have some source. With renewed wariness, the deposed Grand Khan studied the surrounding area again. At the same time, he returned to the nearest of the scaly corpses.

Crouching next to the dead creature, Golgren seized one of the upper limbs. With his gaze kept on his surroundings, the half-breed dug with his one hand at the base of the claws. He ripped and twisted at it, ignoring the blood and flesh on his fingers and the stench of stomach gases escaping from the limp body. Ogres survived in their harsh environs by being willing to stoop to whatever was necessary, and Golgren was no exception.

With one last rip, the talon came free. It was not much of a weapon, but it was a weapon.

There was still no hint of the glimmer’s source, but Golgren did not assume for a moment that it had been a figment of his imagination. The half-breed was not prone to false imaginings.

With the bloody nail gripped tightly, Golgren moved toward where his instincts impelled him. He sensed nothing but if ji-baraki could blend so well into the shadowed landscape, so, too, could other things, especially those wielding magic.

It could not be one of the Titans. Golgren was fairly certain they still thought he was a living statue. However, it could very well be that the figure he sought-the mysterious lord of the gargoyles-had come hunting for him. Golgren was eager for a confrontation with the lord of the gargoyles on his own terms.

A second silver gleam at the corner of his right eye made him whirl in that direction.

Again, there was nothing and yet …

The half-breed frowned. He felt as if he had almost but not quite glimpsed a familiar figure, the Knight of Solamnia named Stefan Rennert.

Golgren clutched his makeshift weapon tighter. Stefan Rennert, assuming that he was alive, would not play games of hide and seek with him. The Solamnic was a man of unshakable honor who had first come to the half-breed as a prisoner; his own party, infiltrating the ogre lands, had met with disaster. If he were there, he would have stood in the open and faced Golgren.

Yet the former Grand Khan could not shake the feeling that it had been the knight whom he had glimpsed. He stepped toward the spot then, still seeing nothing, looked left and right.

And as he turned to the right, he saw a crooked gap between the mountains that he could not recall having seen before.

The half-breed bared his teeth in a humorless smile then strode forward. The gap seemed to spread wider as he entered it, and ahead he saw the darkened outline of a vast, jagged mountain. The mountain spread to each side as Golgren continued forward until it filled his gaze as nothing else had.

Yet it was not the mountain itself that seized his attention as much as something high above on the slope facing him. At first, Golgren was not entirely certain that what he saw was real. It was so much a part of the high, murky peak that he had to focus hard to make out the barest details.

Then he realized he had stumbled upon the sanctum of the gargoyles’ master.

The sinister citadel appeared to have been carved from the very rock. Its outward walls still bore the roughness of the mountain’s skin. There were two extremely narrow towers, one on each side. The towers were topped by long points that reminded Golgren of great teeth. Something had once been carved across much of the structure, but time had eroded it, and it was no longer legible. As he squinted, the half-breed also noted a lone triangular window on each tower and two side-by-side on the main body.

However, there was no sign of any normal entrance. In fact, Golgren could see no route by which to ascend to the mysterious edifice, which was what he greatly desired.

With renewed anticipation, Golgren wended his way toward the mountain castle. He was not averse to climbing a great height to reach his goal, even with only the one hand. He had conquered far worse. That his adversary likely watched and waited also did not bother the half-breed; the overconfidence of his enemies had more than once played well into Golgren’s plans.

A chill wind howled through the area. The only other sound was that of occasional falling rocks. Golgren paid great attention to the latter; avalanches were not uncommon in such places. He had already witnessed one. Golgren also noted that the wind had brought with it a heavy, musky scent that matched that of the gargoyles. If there had been any doubt that that was where they lurked, it was forgotten.

The citadel seemed to rise higher as he drew near the mountain. The slope was harsh, almost completely vertical. It would be possible to climb but at tremendous risk.

There came a long, mournful wail. Golgren glanced up but it was only the wind again. Otherwise, all was still quiet. The citadel remained as dark as the shadows swallowing it. To the naked eye it looked abandoned.

He thrust the claw into his tunic and started to climb.

Despite only one hand, Golgren pulled himself up at a steady pace. Sharp eyes sought out the best handholds and places where he would have good footing. The elf part of his blood made him more nimble, more capable of locating a way up, than a much bulkier ogre could have done.

At one point, his footing faltered. Golgren clutched the rock tightly, certain he was going to drop.

Something seemed to stop and hold him, though, enabling him to readjust. He felt as if strong arms had kept him safe. He also felt as if metal pressed against his body, metal such as the armor a warrior might wear.

Yet the sensation quickly passed, and though Golgren looked over his shoulder, he was not at all surprised to find nothing there. A creature would have needed wings to be close behind him, and there was no sign whatsoever of a single gargoyle.