Richard Knaak - The Fire Rose

A lean, young ogre male suddenly came up on the edge of the ravine and sounded three notes on his goat horn. Two workers finished hammering in a nail and rushed away, tools in hand.

Above, the ropes tightened. Eight there were in all, the ends of some ropes stretching far enough back over the top that Jod could not see their lifters. He could spy four other ogres diligently setting spikes at intervals along the top. The overseer estimated their locations and again nodded.

When the spikes were in place, the trumpeter sounded one long note. The four who had set the spikes immediately swung at them with their hammers. They struck in unison before halting.

The horn repeated the same note. The workers struck. The pattern was repeated.

After the fifth repetition, a slow groan briefly rose above the sounds of work. Jod guided his horse a bit farther back, just to be safe. The ropes strained as those at the end increased their effort. The block was nearly free.

A cloud of dust arose from the south. Jod steered his mount around, curious.

A sea of warriors coalesced from the cloud. At the head rode scores of riders, ranks of unmounted fighters behind them.

Jod was aware of all the forces under his command, and so he knew the warriors were not any who served in Sadurak. He recalled there had been some missives sent to him, questioning the absence of one force led by an eager young warrior whom Jod had met and knew was favored by the Grand Khan himself: Atolgus. Jod assumed Atolgus had marched his force into the wild and either gotten lost or been killed by a subordinate. That was how bad leaders were dealt with in the old days too.

But seeing the newcomers, the commander wondered how they had chanced upon Sadurak. Certainly, there were no other hands expected in the area; Golgren would have informed his loyal officers if any were coming. The newcomers-

Jod suddenly bared his teeth. A surprise. The veteran warrior had fought too many battles to think any surprise was a happy one. Either the warriors were fleeing from something, or they were something with which he should be wary.

“Varkol! Varkol!” he shouted to the figure holding the horn.

The trumpeter paid him no mind, for renewed groaning warned everyone that the block was breaking away. Jod shouted again, waving his arms to get the trumpeter’s attention.

Varkol finally looked his way, but misunderstood the gesture. He blew the next series of notes, the ones that gave warning to the rope wielders that they were about to contend with tons of falling marble.

An arrow suddenly pierced Varkol’s chest. The younger ogre, just finished with his sounding, toppled off the edge of the ravine.

Ogres were not known as the most proficient archers. Although the Grand Khan had worked hard to change that, such a shot as had killed the trumpeter took exceptional skill. Jod quickly peered at the direction from which the arrow had come.

There were Uruv Suurt behind the first two ranks.

Legionaries and ogres fighting side-by-side and against the Grand Khan’s own troops!

The commander turned his horse about, trying to decide what would be best to do. He was an ogre leader-and no leader left his warriors behind-yet he also felt obliged to warn the city.

Jod looked back over his shoulder to where Varkol’s broken body lay. He urged his mount in that direction, even though that would put him in the shadow of the precipitous block of marble.

Some of the warriors working the quarry had sensed something was wrong, while others merely looked around as though they thought perhaps replacements had come. A few of the former began racing for their weapons, which had been set with their breastplates at a nearby hut. No one had imagined a need for defense, and the only armed fighters were the guards on the perimeter.

As Jod leaped down to seize the lost horn, he wondered exactly where those guards were. Ogres did not abandon positions; indeed, they were more likely than even the most stubborn Uruv Suurt to stand their ground until slain.

Jod brought the horn to his mouth. He saw that many of his warriors were still unaware that something was amiss. The racket raised by the work in the quarry kept many from hearing the oncoming force.

Jod blew hard on the horn, sounding the notes that any warrior trained since Golgren’s takeover would recognize as the call to arms. Jod repeated the signal three times, forcing all the air from his lungs each time. By the end of the third signal, the ogre was hacking from the dust he had inhaled.

But his warning appeared to have an effect. No one was working anymore. Ogres were rushing to their weapons, and the only problem the commander noticed was that many still did not realize that the threat came from the newcomers. Most in the quarry could not yet make out the horned figures approaching.

A flight of arrows shot over Jod’s head just as he finished blowing the horn. The arrows flew so high that the veteran warrior, more concerned with what to do next, ignored them.

But a moment later, a terrible thundering warned him that he had made a foolish mistake.

Jod raced desperately even as the shadow swept over him. The thundering was accompanied by a familiar groaning sound, as if a giant was gasping out his last moments of life.

He grabbed for his horse’s reins, but the animal was quicker than him. It sprinted away, fast outpacing both its master and the huge block of marble descending upon the ogre. The deadly flight of arrows wasn’t meant for him, but for those still commanding the ropes above. There was nothing to keep the marble from falling and wreaking havoc among the defenders.

It also threatened to bury Jod beneath its massive weight.

The shadow swept ahead of him. The commander had no choice but to leap.

The ground shook as he landed. He was tossed up several feet and battered to the ground again.

A massive weight crushed his left foot. The ogre leader screamed.

Jod glanced back to see that although the main block of stone had missed him, a fragment as huge as his body had broken free and smashed his left foot to a pulp. That he was still breathing was little consolation; the gory mass that had been his appendage was bleeding profusely, and threatened his life.

He dragged himself forward, looking for something with which to bind the wound.

A second, smaller shadow fell over him. Jod gazed up to see the menacing form of an Uruv Suurt officer whose long cloak and plumed helm marked him as either a general or something close to it.

The horned legionary raised his sword.

An ogre stepped up behind the minotaur. Jod briefly took heart in the appearance of a member of his own race, until he realized the ogre seemed unconcerned over the legionary’s pose.

“Jod,” the ogre, a younger male, rumbled.

Through a pain-wracked eye, Jod peered at the other. “A-Atolgus? Kyzari ut-”

Atolgus shook his head. “You must speak Common, Jod! It is what your Grand Khan commands.”

The Uruv Suurt general snorted derisively at the comment. “Golgren will command nothing but the lance upon which his head will sit and stare at the surrounding crows.”

The bleeding commander snatched futilely at Atolgus’s leg.

“Why do we waste time with that one?” demanded the legionary. “I must report to my emperor and assure him that all is going well, even if not quite as he might expect.”

Atolgus did not answer the Uruv Suurt, but instead kneeled down to look Jod directly in the eyes. There was something different about the young chieftain that the older ogre could not put his finger on, something that compelled the attention of the overseer.

“You command Sadurak,” Atolgus whispered, grabbing him, sounding more like the Uruv Suurt than an ogre who had not grown up speaking Common. Jod wanted to pull away, but could not. All he could do was stare at the dark eyes tinted with gold, gold like the sun.