Richard Knaak - The Fire Rose

With Idaria in tow, the Grand Khan made his way among the mountains. He had no idea how far he had to travel, nor even exactly where he had to go. From his low vantage point, all Golgren could see were the tops of the mountains. He had to trust what Barech had said. The trail would lead him to the vale.

The high peaks kept the pair in shadows throughout the day, making it difficult to see much ahead. Golgren had both his sword and dagger, and could defend them against any strange animals who made the place their habitat. But they did not confront any unusual creatures, nor did they hear any. The wind continued to be the only sound rushing through the chain.

“No birds,” the elf commented solemnly late in their trek. Her gaze had often turned skyward, where the only hint of daylight could be glimpsed. “None.”

“No birds,” he agreed. They both knew how peculiar that was. The mountains should have been perfect nesting areas for some of the great birds: condors, blood hawks, and the like. And there were none of the predators that stalked the winged creatures.

No birds or animals meant less chance of food. For a day or two, that would not be a great problem. Idaria did not eat much, and Golgren was used to famine. Beyond that, though …

Near nightfall, the slave suddenly sniffed the air. Golgren thought he also smelled something, but the elf had an even sharper nose than him when it came to certain scents.

“There is water near,” she announced.

“How far?”

“Not very.” Idaria nimbly stepped along the uneven ground, her fleet footsteps making the ogre leader trail awkwardly. But Golgren kept up with Idaria as best he could. Only a few minutes later, the slave paused near a small crevasse. Idaria slipped into the gap to explore, emerging a moment later.

“There is a stream. A small one, but more than enough for our needs.”

The half-breed joined her inside the crevasse. The stream was as she described it, a little stream caused either by melting ice from above or a deep underground flow. The mountain chain had life after all; one merely had to be patient enough to find it.

Near the stream they found a small patch of mushrooms. Idaria plucked up one of the lumpy, gray spearheads.

“I cannot say whether it is poisonous or not-”

The half-breed quickly snatched up another and stuffed it into his mouth. After chewing and swallowing it, he said to her, “It is not poisoned.”

The slave stared at him for a moment before picking a few small ones for herself. The meal of mushrooms did not put an end to their hunger, but it did lessen it considerably.

They had nothing with which to carry water; their sacks had been buried under tons of rock. Both drank as much as they could.

Just as they finished, Golgren felt a warmth on his hand. Immediately, he held up the signet.

The symbols faintly glowed.

“Look,” the elf murmured, pointing.

He looked where she pointed, at where the stream gushed forth from the mountainside. There, a symbol etched in the rock also glowed faintly.

A curved line with two dots to its right.

As Golgren reached for the etching, both its glow and that of the signet faded. Despite that, he was able to trace the symbol and verify its astonishing existence.

Golgren ran his hands along the mountainside, but found no other etchings, no hidden gaps. It was as if someone else had paused to drink and decided to leave the mysterious symbol.

“It is old,” Idaria interjected. “Scratched by one of the High Ogres.”

Golgren continued to trace the markings. “Yes, it would be them. Not the Titans. The sorcerers, they would have no reason for doing that.”

“The vision …”

The Grand Khan glanced at her. “The vision?”

The slave’s eyes grew veiled. “The one in Ben-ihm.”

He bared his teeth slightly. “So, my Idaria was already present for the vision? You did not appear after?”

“No, my lord. I was there but a moment before you rose. I saw the vision of the casters, and the shadow that overtook them in the end.”

He showed no anger at her revelation. “The High Ogres were surely dead long ago. But their magic …” The half-breed grinned darkly. “Their magic maybe lives.”

He stroked the symbol and touched the signet to it. But if Golgren hoped for anything more to happen, he was sorely disappointed.

“We are done,” he finally said to Idaria.

Departing the stream, the pair continued on through the harsh mountain pass. Without horses, the journey was certain to take much longer, but there was nothing they could do about that.

Night fell upon them and once more they found what shelter they could. The dreams and nightmares that so often haunted Golgren returned with a vengeance. He saw visions of his mother slaughtered, and her body-which he had so painstakingly carried to safety-eaten by the scavenging ji-baraki . Whereas in the waking world the half-breed had avenged himself on the beasts, in his nightmares they kept dragging the corpse out of reach. All the while, the unblinking eyes of his elf mother condemned him for even being born.

The other nightmares were twisted versions of important events that had marked his life. In one he led the village of his youth into battle against the Nerakans, only to watch the villagers slaughtered as the knights turned into scorpion warriors with four arms-each wielding a sword or some wickedly-barbed club-and as many tails. Worse yet, the dead stumbled to their feet to join the warriors trying to drag him down into the bowels of Golthuu’s desolate landscape.

But through the nightmares there came at last a soft touch and soothing murmurs. The Grand Khan awoke to Idaria.

She said nothing more, and he did not thank her. It was her duty as his slave.

It was still dark, but Golgren had no immediate desire to return to his slumber. He rubbed his thick brow and stared at their murky surroundings. Vague rock formations took on more sinister aspects at night. Some resembled beasts, both real and mythic. There was the head of a roaring dragon. Beyond that he could see the wing and spine outline of a V’radu Ikn , a flying creature like a ji-baraki with feathered appendages. V’radu Ikn did not, fortunately, exist anywhere but in the imagination of ancient ogre storytellers. They were said to sneak up on a warrior the night before a significant battle in order to steal and eat his courage. Losing one’s courage was the worst thing that could befall an ogre.

Yet another rock formation took the shape of a hooded figure bent over as if carrying a heavy burden. If Golgren squinted, it almost looked as if another, identical figure loomed a little behind the first, no doubt assisting with the load.

He realized that the shapes were moving, albeit very, very slowly.

The pair trudged along as if hardly able to stand, much less carry whatever was their shared burden. Golgren started to rise, but hesitated when he noticed two more hooded shapes behind the first pair.

From his side, Idaria quietly asked, “My lord, what is it? Do you see something?”

That she asked the question clearly meant that the vision belonged to his eyes only. The Grand Khan suddenly looked to his hand. The warmth told him what his eyes verified a breath later-there was a faint glow emanating from the symbols.

“What do you see, my lord?” the elf inquired again.

Golgren did not answer her, and as he peered again at the figures, he saw two more . All moved with silence; all moved as though they carried the weight of the entire world on their backs.

The Grand Khan let out a slight hiss as he made a count of the figures. Eight in total.

There had been eight High Ogres in his vision.