Richard Knaak: The Gargoyle King

Their presence nearby chilled her, although it was not as bad as that of their leader. She had suspicions concerning exactly what the strange creatures were, yet she could not fathom how they could have come to such a monstrous state. Clearly, though, her captor had been deeply involved in their creation.

And there were plenty of genuine undead around her too. Several rotting gargoyles kept watch on her from a staircase nearby. Even in death, the creatures were subservient to the masked form. The undead who had attacked Garantha likewise must have been part of the plot of the gargoyles’ lord.

Only recently had Idaria come to understand what he was after. Like the Titans and Golgren, he sought the glistening crystalline artifact whose shape and burning energies gave it the name of Fire Rose. He had told the macabre throng of living corpses that, with the help of that artifact, he would “set the world right.” What he might do with the Fire Rose, the elf could only guess, and those guesses filled her with great fear. She had witnessed the Fire Rose transform landscapes, change the shapes of creatures, play tricks with time, and much more.

That it had such abilities was not so surprising, though. It was the creation of Sirrion, god of fire and alchemy, and the artifact embodied attributes of both those elements. Legend said that the Fire Rose had been given to the last of the High Ogres when they had pleaded for something to help them save their kind from its descent into the beasts that they were. Yet in the end, its magic had done far more harm than good, and the powerful artifact had been hidden away by a few stalwart survivors, keepers of its secrets but no longer.

As the icy eyes of her worst nightmare stared unblinkingly at her, suddenly Idaria wondered if her captor had been reading every thought she had just formed. The elf forced her gaze away, which only brought another chuckle from the shadowy figure.

The pale hand pulled back into the recesses of his robe. The gargoyles’ master looked to the image again, where his pets continued to seek Golgren, continued seeking in vain.

Return , he commanded and the gargoyles suddenly swooped upward. As many as were manifest in the vision, Idaria knew that countless more awaited the master’s every command.

But she took heart in the fact that, despite so many weapons at his command, her captor had failed to capture Golgren. There was hope yet.

Do you think so? the hooded form suddenly asked in her head, verifying that he did share her thoughts. All goes as it should, my Idaria .

He chuckled again, clearly enjoying her distaste at those two words. My Idaria . Each time he called her so, it sounded exactly like Golgren. The Grand Khan always spoke of her possessively, but he also gave those words a rare devotion.

The gargoyle king made a slight but mocking bow. So deep emotions still stir within you. Fret not, for soon you will be reunited with your precious master. It is the least I can do for one who has served me so excellently .

Idaria struggled to move, but again to no avail. Her fury at herself surged; she had unwittingly helped manipulate Golgren for that beast. If not for her-

If not for you, there would have been other ways, my Idaria. You were simply the most desired tool, and your manipulation was merely the culmination of a lifetime-his lifetime! You still do not understand it, do you?

More and more of the ghastly, living corpses collected around the shrouded figure. They clearly hung on his every word, as if those words were what gave them their mockery of existence.

He gestured at the vision, which revealed only the empty mountainside. There is nothing about the half-breed that is not the result of my manipulation! the shadowed form declared with more vehemence and triumph. From even before birth, from before his very conception, he was mine! How many elf and ogre breedings do you know of, my Idaria? How many?

She knew of only one, of course, only Golgren.

At that moment, if Idaria could have gasped, she would have shown her amazement.

He chuckled again to hear her thoughts, and even worse, she could sense amusement flowing through his monstrous entourage. There was surely little that gave those strange beings pleasure, but her sudden realization of what should have been obvious, of what she should have guessed long before, did amuse them.

Yes, my Idaria , the gargoyle king verified in her head. He is mine even more than yours. He has been mine since before his birth. There would be no Grand Khan Golgren but for me, for it is I who made possible the impossible .

Wargroch was having second thoughts. The brawny warrior from the dry hill region of Blode, the southernmost of the two ogre realms, had journeyed from his distant village to Garantha, capital of the half-breed’s land of Kern, to serve the same master attended by his two brothers in times past.

But those two brothers, Nagroch and Belgroch, had died for their loyalty. One, Wargroch had discovered, because he had failed to sufficiently serve his master in a certain task. Golgren himself had struck the blow that killed Nagroch. Belgroch had also perished under mysterious circumstances that had convinced the youngest brother that he, too, had been wronged by his master.

Much of that he had learned from the Titan Safrag, who had come to report to him personally. Safrag had not been leader of the sorcerers then; he was merely second apprentice to the Titans’ founder, Dauroth. He spoke of his visit to the Blodian as part of Dauroth’s campaign to see justice done-and justice in ogre terms meant the death of the guilty party. Wargroch had easily fallen into line and, being clever for an ogre, had proven himself in the eventual downfall of the half-breed.

Looking back, Wargroch was not so certain that had been the right course.

The grim ogre marched through the palace with anxiety. He was concerned that Safrag might follow another whim and transform the great edifice yet again. Such wholesale alterations strained the courage of even the most hardy warriors.

With a toadlike face and a round, stocky form, Wargroch did not resemble the Kernian ogre guards, who were taller by a few inches, had flatter features, and were more gaunt. For generation upon generation, the two realms had been at war, but the larger guards stood at attention as though Wargroch were Grand Khan himself. Indeed, for a short time, he had been master of Garantha-or rather Dai Ushran-in the name of the Titans and their puppet warlord, Atolgus.

Wargroch could not hold back a disturbed grunt. Like him, Atolgus-once a young nomadic chieftain who had been an ardent supporter of Golgren’s-had participated in the half-breed’s downfall. However, where Wargroch had harbored a desire for vengeance from the beginning, Atolgus had been seduced into his traitorousness by the female Titan, Morgada. She could make him do anything she desired, including slaughter his unsuspecting family and followers in their sleep as proof of his adoration for her.

For his reward, Atolgus not only served as the sorcerers’ hound, but he had already become kindred to them. He did not wield spells yet, but he had grown taller and more handsome in the manner of the Titans. His skin even had a hint of blue to it. All that was part of a gradual change that Safrag appeared to be causing as part of a personal experiment meant more to amuse the Titan leader than because it bore any ultimate purpose.

Such a transformation should not have bothered Wargroch since the Titans had promised that all ogres would become part of the new, beautiful, and powerful race, yet seeing Atolgus and what he was becoming made the Blodian question whether such a future was desirable. Atolgus was a fanatical servant of those who considered themselves above the rest of their kind. Not for a moment did Wargroch believe that would change, ever. The Titans would always be the supreme masters, and with the artifact they wielded, those like Wargroch would exist only to obey.