Richard Knaak - The Fire Rose

The goats bleated and pushed to the opposite side from where the ogres marched. The amaloks, ever more defiant, pressed to the front and barked at the cheering warriors. A few made vicious snaps at the air. Most were females; males were hard to keep together in numbers. The striped beasts were notorious for their combative nature and durability under the worst conditions, which was why ogres imitated their call when cheering.

An older ogre warrior stood next to the pen, the wooden rod with which he kept the animals under control clutched in his right hand. Like Golgren, his other hand was missing. In fact, his arm up to his elbow had been severed-likely in battle-and cauterized. Even so, such a warrior would have had little hope for a future in the old days. But the Grand Khan’s ability to convince his people that they could not survive just on what they found, hunted, or stole had enabled the rehabilitation of that maimed fighter. His life still had meaning.

The ogre slapped his ruined limb against the side of his chest, the best he could do under the circumstances. Golgren lifted his own maimed arm and, even with the reins, saluted back. He made certain as many as possible observed his action.

Beyond the outskirts of Ben-ihm, they came across a number of ogres clad only in kilts gouging out a vast gap in the hard, harsh ground. The workers toiled with a number of tools: pick axes and flat-ended shovels, to be sure, but also a huge, iron wedge weighted at the back of its base that required four warriors to guide it and another atop a mastark to drag it forward. Under the handler’s guidance, the huge beast-a leather harness around its shoulders and iron chains stretching back from the harness to the sides of the wedge-would strain forward for several steps. That, with the help of those guiding the wedge, would be enough to tear up a good-sized section of rock and baked earth. Others would come in with shovels and axes to break up and carry the debris away.

The gap was already over four feet deep, indicating that the mastark team had made more than one pass over the area. The full gap ran over fifty yards and would stretch a great distance when completed. It would provide an extension of the water system on the other side of the settlement, enabling Ben-ihm itself to expand. The trench would be deep enough that the mastark-or another, if that one perished-would be up to its considerable shoulders when finished.

Seeing the great work made the Grand Khan think of Stefan Rennert and wish the knight could observe such progress and report back to his superiors. Ben-ihm’s rebirth would surely have shown the Solamnians how civilized Golthuu was becoming.

He caught sight of Idaria studying the scene.

“No slaves,” the Grand Khan murmured to her. “Is that what pleases you?”

“They are working so hard,” she returned. “Working and not warring.”

Golgren nodded. “But they will fight when they must. And they must.”

The last of Ben-ihm dwindled behind them. Barech’s force marched directly toward the eastern mountains. Ahead lay a path that the commander swore would take them to the Vale of Vipers, without too much struggle or detour along the way. Barech posted advance scouts to check the path for any signs of danger.

But the incessant heat was the enemy that day. iSirriti Siroth -Sirrion’s Burning-was doing its best against the hardened ogres, but it was failing. Golgren watched with grim satisfaction as not one of the warriors flagged, much less fell to the side. Unlike past rulers of both Kern and Blode, Golgren had made certain those who were willing to die in his name thrived under his rule until their time came.

There was no tent for the Grand Khan and his slave; Golgren preferred the night air on the journey. Barech assembled a trusted guard unit to maintain a watch around his lord’s camp. The commander took more precautions than one might have expected that deep in the ogre homeland, but with the odd vanishing of more than one force, complacency was a danger in itself.

“The mountains we will reach in two days,” the officer informed Golgren before taking his leave for the night. “I think the vale may be reached four after.”

It was what Golgren expected to hear. “The sooner, all the better.”

The outdoors suited the half-breed far more than Barech’s quarters would have. In contrast to the night before, he quickly fell asleep on his bedroll on the hard ground.

And to his surprise, he awoke the next day feeling refreshed. Not once during the night had he experienced any of the thousand nightmares and memories that usually assailed him in his sleep. Idaria’s eyes, staring at him, showed that she understood, for she was well familiar with his oft turbulent nights. Golgren would sometimes go from absolutely still to suddenly shaking violently or muttering in his sleep. The slave was used to awakening him at the most violent of times. It was a command that he had given her the very first night she had become his servant, and one that she had never failed to obey.

Much rested, Golgren pushed Barech to gather the warriors with the utmost haste. Golgren allowed them to eat and drink, but little else. Barech’s hand moved on even before the sun’s first light rose over the horizon. Their discipline was impressive.

The mountains loomed ahead like the jagged tusks of hundreds of gargantuan ogres. An outsider might have wondered why Golgren went north to send Khleeg to deal with the Nerakans and to bring himself to the vale, which lay far southeast of Garantha. Attempting to traverse the mountains by any other route than that which he had chosen would have taken weeks for a force so great. The same held true for where Khleeg was going. Unfortunately, the very mountains that helped protect Garantha could also hinder its Grand Khan at times.

“No one do I have who knows the vale itself,” Barech informed Golgren along the way. “But there are those of Ben-ihm who have heard tales. Vipers, f’hanos , winged shadows-”

“Winged shadows?” Golgren interrupted, his eyes attentive.

Barech shrugged. “Winged shadows, dragons, mastarks that eat flesh. Many tales, many fools.” Golgren said nothing.

Night arrived before they could reach the edge of the mountain chain. Golgren considered continuing on for several hours, but he knew the folly of entering mountains in the dark. Whether or not there were dragons or flesh-devouring mastarks, there were certainly treacherous passes and likely meredrakes. Even the rare but deadly hageed-araki could lurk around. And they were not the mountains of the vale yet.

The column halted enticingly close to the mountains, so much so that the Grand Khan did not retire immediately but stared at the peaks, contemplating their ancient might. Making certain he was not observed, he removed the signet from its macabre hiding place and touched the symbols on top.

Nothing happened.

Not certain what he had expected in the first place, Golgren put the signet back.

From within the encampment there came several shouts. The Grand Khan whirled.

Every campfire was blazing two, three times the height of an ogre and at least twice that in width. More than one warrior was rolling on the ground seeking to extinguish themselves. Some ran to aid them while others stood transfixed and confused.

A tendril of flame whipped out of one fire. Writhing, it scorched the ground and withdrew. From another campfire, a second tendril burst forth. The rest of the campfires quickly did the same, and although no one was very endangered by the tendrils, they nonetheless pushed some superstitious ogres to the edge of panic. Their own fires appeared to be attacking them.

Golgren felt a warmth on his chest. He pulled out the mummified hand and snatched the ring again. As he had expected, the symbols glowed a crimson-orange.