Richard Knaak - The Gargoyle King

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.”