Richard Knaak - The Fire Rose

The terrain turned hillier in that part of southern Golthuu-the former province of Blode-slowing the hand’s advance. Soon enough they would meet up with the other force. Vorag had fresh supplies for them. With the Uruv Suurt constantly testing the borders, and the ogres doing the same, keeping warriors strong and rested in the field was a priority.

The ogre squinted as two riders came into sight-the scouts he had sent ahead almost a day ago. Another of the Grand Khan’s new rules.

Saluting his commander, the first scout hesitated As best he could, he growled in Common, “Hand ahead!”

Vorag frowned. The ones they were meeting were supposed to be some days ahead, still. He started to reply, but the blare of a horn suddenly echoed from beyond the hills. The notes were exactly those he had expected to hear upon reaching the other hand.

The commander shrugged. The sooner the better. “Horn!” he shouted to his own trumpeter. The other ogre raised a goat horn and blew the replying notes. From the hills ahead came another series of notes.

Vorag urged his warriors on. Several moments passed, but at last the outriders of the other hand revealed themselves. A number rode under the banner of the Grand Khan to meet Vorag’s band.

A young, tall warrior led the riders. Vorag recognized him as one of the five officers who served below Zhulom, a commander of one of the hand’s fingers.

“Atolgus,” Vorag rumbled, greeting the newcomer by name. “Zhulom near?”

“You will see him soon,” Atolgus replied, his command of Common better than Vorag had expected. Golgren had encouraged his officers to use their extra time out in the field and learn Common. It kept the minds of the warriors active when there was nothing else with which to concern themselves.

Atolgus turned his mount around and, with the rest of his comrades, began guiding Vorag’s force through the hills. The passage quickly grew narrow, but they slowly wended their way along. Atolgus set his pace to ride next to the commander.

“You bring all the supplies?” he asked Vorag.

“All.”

Atolgus nodded, straightened, and looked over his shoulder at the force. Vorag responded with a questioning grunt.

“Gar ihg,” Atolgus said to Vorag’s trumpeter. Without waiting for his commander to acknowledge Atolgus’s order, the trumpeter raised his horn and repeated the signal he had been given earlier to identify Vorag’s forces.

“Stop!” Vorag growled. “My command-”

Atolgus abruptly struck him along the jaw, sending Vorag tumbling from his mount.

Even as the trumpeter’s call faded, another consisting of three rapid staccato bursts sounded from the hills to the column’s right. No sooner had it begun, than ogres began pouring toward them from that direction.

And ranks of the Uruv Suurt flowed down from the opposite side.

Snarling, Vorag drew his shining new sword. In his excitement, he had forgotten the Common word for ambush and instead repeated, “Bakiin! Bakiin!”

As the ogre commander registered the scene around him, he realized that not only was his column under assault from the hills, but that it was also fighting among itself.

One of his officers had unsheathed his blade and run through another. The lead mastark handler-the very same handler from whose beast the cage with the messenger birds had slipped-urged his mount into a knot of screaming warriors. The round, flat feet of the huge tusked creature crushed a pair moving too slowly. At the same time, the huge prehensile nose seized another warrior and threw him into the rocky hillside.

The trumpeter drew his axe and tried to ride down his commander. Vorag ducked the blow and ran the edge of his blade along the rider’s leg. The other ogre growled as blood poured from the long, tapering wound. He hesitated. That was all Vorag needed to finish the betrayer with a quick thrust.

Vorag tried to seize the reins of the ogre’s horse, but the horse bolted. In the animal’s wake, another foe pressed him. The Uruv Suurt was shorter, but skilled and wily. He traded blows with the commander, pressing Vorag back.

But the ogre, having been trained in part by one of the renegades working for the Grand Khan, anticipated many of his moves. Every time the legionary mounted an attack, the ogre countered.

His blade opened a river in the Uruv Suurt’s throat. The legionary looked astounded-perhaps recognizing the training of his foe-before collapsing.

Another horn sounded. Vorag peered behind and saw a large band of riders racing toward him from the rear of his own force. A relieved grin spread across his ugly features. The traitors and their horned allies were in for a beating shellacking.

“Regroup!” Vorag roared at the top of his lungs. Several warriors loyal to him moved to obey. They gathered near the commander, awaiting the reinforcements.

The riders plowed into them, axes and swords slaughtering most of those joining Vorag.

The commander gaped in disbelief and spotted the treacherous Atolgus venturing near again. Vorag lunged at the traitor. Atolgus suddenly veered his horse around, forcing Golgren’s officer to stumble back as the horse snapped and kicked at him.

As Vorag backed up, a sharp pain struck his spine. His fingers lost all sense of touch, and his weapon dropped. He felt a hot moistness cover his back.

The commander fell on his face, already dead before he hit the hard ground.

One of Vorag’s own warriors grinned fiercely as he raised his bloody axe in salute to Atolgus. “Ki ef’hanfiri iZhulomi!”

“Common we speak,” Atolgus corrected. “Like all good ogres.” The former chieftain shrugged, “But yes, He joins Zhulom in death.”

The other ogre’s grin widened, and he raced off to assist his comrades. Around them, the last of Vorag’s loyal followers lay either dead or dying. There was no goodwill for prisoners. Roughly half of the hand had been slaughtered quickly.

The plumed and cloaked general of the Uruv Suurt came riding up. He saluted Atolgus with his weapon, his teeth bared in the grin of his race.

“All executed as planned! I commend you, warlord!”

Atolgus grunted both in acknowledgment of the success and the title the minotaur had used. “The Uruv Suurt did their part well. Our numbers swell.”

“And those of the mongrel dwindle. My emperor will be pleased. I’ll send word to him.” The general said, saluting. “We shall speak later.”

The young warlord nodded.

The Uruv Suurt signaled his legionaries, who quickly fell into ranks and followed their commander off.

Atolgus looked to one of his own followers. “All the dead must be stripped. The bodies are to be dragged to the caves east.”

The other ogre grunted, “All will be done, warlord.”

As the warrior departed, Atolgus looked around the area for anything amiss. When he was satisfied that his followers had all in hand, the young warlord urged his mount away. A few of his guards attempted to follow, but a look from Atolgus made them pull up on the reins. The great warlord was riding away to commune with the spirit warriors who guided him. It was forbidden to be anywhere near him at such times The punishment was death.

Atolgus rode between two hills, and over a low ridge. He squinted as dust rose from a sudden wind. Rather than turn from that wind, the warlord forced his animal to race into it.

Pulling up near an arching formation resembling a vulture’s beak, Atolgus found a smaller outcropping to which he could bind his horse’s reins, and left the creature to climb over the rocky soil beneath the beak.

In the shadows just beyond the outcropping, the warlord suddenly drew his sword and planted the point in the ground. He went down on one knee, his hands still gripping the sword’s hilt.