Richard Knaak - The Fire Rose

Thrusting the severed appendage away, the Grand Khan put the signet on, holding it toward the closest of the campfires gone wild.

The writhing tendrils shriveled to smoke. Suddenly from each fire stepped a figure of flame. They gathered together as they converged on the half-breed. Each stood as tall as a Titan, and each wore a crown of spiking tongues of fire.

“No!” Unexpectedly, a delicate hand covered over the signet. Golgren felt the artifact instantly cool.

The army of flame vanished in mid-step. The campfires shrank to normal.

With a snarl, Golgren struck Idaria on the jaw with the bound end of his maimed arm. The elf went tumbling back. She dropped to the ground, stunned.

Golgren found himself dropping down on one knee to seize Idaria. He looked to her injury. With a slight moan, the slave opened her eyes. She showed no fear of Golgren despite what he had done. It was the first time he had ever struck her.

“The signet,” she breathed. “The signet was drawing … was drawing you and those flame creatures together … You would have been devoured.”

“Devoured” was an odd choice of word, the half-breed thought, but he ignored it, more interested in something else. “And you know that how , my Idaria?”

“Tyranos.”

A sharp intake of breath escaped Golgren as he drew her to her feet. “Yes, Tyranos. He spoke of just that happening? He spoke to you, did he?”

“No, he spoke of the signet bringing your death.” She glanced at the campfires, where hardened warriors were only just daring to step close again, curious about what the two were saying but edging back, keeping a respectful, wary distance. “When I saw them, I was certain that it was what he meant.”

“But the wizard did not say exactly that.”

“No.”

At that moment, Barech rushed up. “My lord! You are safe!”

“Yes, commander.”

“Your guards will be whipped! The fires, they-”

Golgren shook his head. “No whipping.”

The officer grunted. “The Grand Khan commands. I obey.”

Something near one of the campfires made Golgren forget Barech’s presence. Three warriors stood peering and pointing at one of the scorched areas. The trio seemed to be arguing among themselves about something they spotted in the burned patch.

Striding past the hand’s commander, Golgren confronted the three. The warriors quickly struck their fists against their breastplates and retreated several steps so that the Grand Khan could have an unhindered view of what had so interested them.

There was writing in the burnt area. To be precise, it was clear that the tendril had drawn a symbol in the ground. It was a curved line with two tiny dots on the right side of it.

His brow furrowed, Golgren moved to one of the other campfires. As he came around to the scorched area there, he saw that, as with the first fire, there was a symbol carved in the earth.

But not the same symbol. That one was either a triangle missing one side, or perhaps a symbol representing a mountain, such as those looming nearby. In the gap where the missing side of a triangle would have been, an arched pattern that reminded Golgren of a wing had been artfully sketched.

“They are all different,” whispered Idaria, suddenly at his side again. “It is a message, I think.”

He saw immediately what she meant.

Golgren hurried over to the first campfire to have emitted a tendril. There, yet another drawn symbol awaited him. The Grand Khan went to the second campfire, where, from the angle of that drawing, he had a fair idea where to find the next symbol.

In all, there were twelve of them, each distinct. They had been etched very clearly and in an obvious sequence, so there would be no mistaking their meaning. There was only one trouble.

It was no language that Golgren could read.

He looked to Idaria, who had followed in his steps. On her face there was a look as unreadable as the symbols.

“What does it say?” he quietly asked. “Do you know?”

The elf frowned. “I do not know what it says. It is an older language than mine.”

“An older language?”

“Yes.” Not at all to his surprise, she added, “I think … I think it is a variation of High Ogre.”

A message. A message in High Ogre surely meant for him. But Golgren had no idea how to read it. He bared his teeth in a humorless grin and turned to one of the nearby warriors.

“Bury it. Bury all of them.”

The warrior grunted. He and several others began covering over the symbols.

“My lord,” began Idaria. “Should you do that?”

“I cannot read that message. I will not leave it for my enemies.” He did not mention those enemies by name, but she surely knew that chief among them were the Titans, who likely could read the symbols.

Idaria said nothing. Golgren’s decision was always final. As Barech joined them, the Grand Khan hid the signet in his fist.

“My lord, I-”

A fierce, steaming wind rose up, tearing through the encampment near where the Grand Khan and his companions stood. There was no question in Golgren’s mind that the gale was as unnatural as what had happened with the flames.

With that in mind, he suddenly glanced back at the campfires. There, where most of the symbols had been covered over with dirt and, in some cases, heavy stones, the wind struck hardest. The dirt was flung into the air, blinding several ogres.

A moment later, the rocks went flying too. Two warriors were struck hard, one in the head. That ogre fell to his knees. The rest fled.

Golgren stepped into the furious wind. His eyes slitted, his mane whipping back, he went to the nearest campfire.

Swept perfectly clean, the symbol there pulsated like a red-hot coal. Golgren looked to the next one and saw that it was clear and burning bright too.

Whoever or whatever had sent the message wanted it to be seen, regardless whether the one for whom it had been meant could even understand it. And regardless whether leaving it visible might prove even more dangerous for him.

The half-breed’s eyes narrowed again. Unless the last was exactly what the message intended.

As Golgren marched in one direction, Khleeg marched in another. Despite his trepidation at being far from the lord that he had sworn to protect, the ogre officer was also eager to reach the area where the Nerakans were said to have crossed the border. There would be much fighting, much bloodshed, but he was very confident in the combined might of the ogre hands that would stand against the humans. The Black Shells would be crushed, their females wailing their deaths for years.

Behind him, the hand marched with all the precision of a Solamnic army. Khleeg beamed, for the Grand Khan had presented him with the finest warriors yet trained. He could only imagine that they were as fine, indeed, as the armies of the High Ogres.

It was three days before he would reach his counterpart, Khemu. From there it would take another three, maybe four days to Angthuul. Fortunately, the Nerakans had chosen a place not all that far from Garantha, perhaps because they had the misguided notion they would be able to easily conquer the capital without the ogres rallying to prevent them.

Already, Khleeg could see the crushed and bloody corpses of Skolax G’Ran littering the battlefield. It would be a glorious ogre victory, one that would, in many ways, bring honor to his master. Khleeg was aware of Golgren’s background, of the slaughter by the Nerakans of the village where the half-breed had been born. And the death of his mother. Each Nerakan the officer managed himself to slay he would dedicate to the Grand Khan.

One of the subcommanders rode up beside him. The other ogre was not quite as adept with Common as Khleeg, but he spoke it well enough to exclaim, “Dust! Many riders approaching!”