Richard Knaak - The Fire Rose

“No, he told me what he wanted. And that is how it has always been.”

The toad-faced officer reached for his weapon. “Gerad ahn if’hani-”

Golgren stopped him with an unexpected glare. “No one shall touch Sarth, ever.” Almost as an afterthought, he added, “And remember, all officers are to speak Common.”

More befuddled than ever, Wargroch beat his fist against his breastplate. “I have dishonored my Grand Khan! I give my life-”

“Stop. We ride.” Without another word, Golgren took the reins of his horse and mounted. Wargroch hurried to climb atop his own.

As the Grand Khan began to turn his mount around, he suddenly heard Sarth chanting in Ogre.

“Zaru iVolantori igada tur iVolantori.”

“Hear the tale of Volantor, Volantor the Mighty,” was the closest translation. Like all ogres, Golgren knew the story of Volantor. It was told as a parable among his kind. Volantor had been a great warlord, with victories over the Uruv Suurt, humans, and dwarves. He had dispatched many a foe himself with his huge axe, called “Throat Eater” in legend. Volantor had become a khan in his own right and had gathered more wealth and power than most ogres could imagine.

Standing ever at Volantor’s side had been his friend and comrade, Jaro. Throughout Volantor’s rise to power, Jaro had guarded the warlord’s back just as Volantor guarded his friend’s. When Volantor became a khan, he made Jaro his second in command.

And it was as khan that Volantor achieved his greatest victory over a jealous rival. Volantor himself dispatched the other warlord, but not without receiving a wound to his chest. Fortunately, while the wound had been a large one, it had not been fatal. Volantor handed his axe to Jaro and began binding his chest.

At which point the patient Jaro took Volantor’s prized axe and removed his friend’s head. All that Volantor had built up became Jaro’s.

Whether or not the tale was true, the moral was clear to any ogre. One’s friends and allies were only such until it was no longer worth their while to be friends. It was more often those closest to power who dealt the killing blow.

Zharang had learned that lesson too late, using the ambition he saw in Golgren to further his own ambitions and thinking that he controlled the upstart. Golgren’s former lord had ended up with a sword through his chest, his body sprawled across the shattered table where the Grand Khan had been supping with guests.

Golgren had played the role of Jaro, but now he wore Volantor’s guise.

And if Sarth could be trusted to be right-as he generally was-one or more Jaros now awaited their turn, bearing some variation of Volantor’s treacherous Throat Eater .

One of whom might even be … Sir Stefan Rennert?

The meredrake hissed and spat, struggling to pull itself free from the heavy boulders linked to a chain around its thick neck. The dull green and sandy brown reptile was as long in body as an ogre and could easily drag the heaviest foe down if given the chance. The size of a horse, meredrakes were among the worst predators of the ogre lands. Their paws were clawed, and their teeth designed for two things: ripping flesh and crushing bone.

Slapping its heavy tail on the dusty ground, the meredrake opened its mouth and tasted the air with its long, red tongue. Its fiery eyes squinted, and the huge round nostrils at the end of its muzzle flared.

A small bit of rancid meat lay just beyond the meredrake’s reach. Driven by its basic instincts, the reptile tried again to reach the still tasty morsel. It never waited longer than several moments before attempting yet another futile lunge.

It was such determination to keep trying and fighting that was part of the reason the beast was kept prisoner.

The sun hung low on the horizon. The meredrake had been bound for some hours. The slavering beast’s claws had dug deep ravines into the harsh ground, and more than once it had defecated in its frustration.

The jaws again snapped at the tantalizing meat. The meredrake hissed … and its entire body froze as if some spell had turned it to stone.

Its nostrils flared. The meredrake forgot the morsel for which it had struggled so hard and so long. Suddenly the reptile turned and scrambled as best it could over the boulders holding it anchored in place. However, those who had secured the beast had done their job well, and no matter where the giant lizard skittered, its tether always allowed it to go only so far.

The ground to the west suddenly rumbled, as if provoked by a minor tremor. The meredrake strained to head east or south, where the rocks rose to hills and even mountains farther on. Yet, like the meat, the higher landscape was beyond its reach.

The tremor grew closer. The earth to the west rose and buckled.

The meredrake frothed at the mouth as it twisted around in an effort to gnaw on its chain. Marks on the iron links gave ample evidence to the lack of success it had achieved thus far. Yet the savage lizard could imagine no other means of escape.

The ground continued to buckle toward the meredrake. The tremor reached the boulder to which the chain had been bolted. With little effort, the tremor tumbled the huge boulder upside down. The full weight of the rock fell upon the bolts, which snapped.

Sensing its freedom, the meredrake started to flee.

From below ground burst a massive crocodilian head at the end of a sinewy neck several times the length of the meredrake. The abomination’s huge and oddly pointed jaws seized the hissing meredrake at the midsection, and raised the lizard high.

Its claws wildly scratching, the meredrake tried in vain to bite at its foe’s neck. More and more of the burrowing leviathan emerged, showing two small forelegs ending in thick, webbed claws perfectly designed for ripping through dirt and rock.

The meredrake’s tail wrapped around the upper neck of the other reptile. For a moment, there was a stalemate.

With the ease of biting into a piece of soft fruit, the serpentine giant bit through the meredrake’s muscular torso.

The meredrake’s hiss stopped. Parts of its tail and hind legs fell in one direction, the head and one foreleg another.

With great gusto, the burrower swallowed all that was left in its mouth. Down its great gullet went nearly a third of its prey.

Dropping its head down, the victor stuck its snout under the meredrake’s tail and hind legs, seeking the best morsel. Clamping its jagged teeth around part of a haunch, it raised its snout skyward, tossed the bloody gobbet up, and let it fall into its gullet.

The burrower’s head descended for more-

From behind the rocks charged a pack of stocky, muscular ogres. They were not clad so finely as those who lived in Garantha, for they were from one of the many nomadic groups that still populated much of the wilderness of old Blode. In such harsh regions, life was spent hunting or being hunted. Or hunting the hunter.

The burrower let out a croaking roar and backed toward the hole from which it had sprung. It snapped at the first of the kilted ogres, almost biting off the eager warrior’s head. Fortunately, quick reflexes sent the ogre scrambling just out of reach.

More than a dozen ogres materialized to confront the giant beast. It snapped again at one tusked attacker, tearing from his hand the spear that he was about to jab at its long neck. The weapon broke easily and, after being tasted, was spit out.

The full length of the reptile was exposed. The entire body was cylindrical, with another pair of vestigial limbs ending in digging claws at the rear of the body. The creature’s form ended in a short, pointed tail perhaps three feet in length.