Richard Knaak - The Fire Rose

“Even better,” he murmured. To the air, the Titan sang, “Ulgrod, you are summoned before your master!”

Barely had he spoken than the Titan whom he had called-the last among their rank to be granted that status by the late Dauroth-appeared before Safrag and his fellows. Ulgrod’s nose wrinkled, and he glanced around seeking the source of the lingering stench.

Belatedly, he looked up at Safrag. “Master, you said you’d have need of me! Are we to be done with Golgren at last? Do I bear the honor of skinning the scrawny beast alive and presenting his still living flesh to you?”

“A dramatic notion, Ulgrod, but no, not that way. With your good aid, however, I do believe that we may be done with the half-breed.”

Ulgrod went down on one knee. “I’m yours to do with as you command, master.”

Safrag nodded gratefully. “Your sacrifice will be remembered by all.”

The other sorcerer frowned. “My-”

Safrag vanished and suddenly appeared standing next to the kneeling figure. In one hand he held the signet, and in the other he wielded a black blade made of obsidian and curved like a sickle moon.

The blade carved a slice through Ulgrod’s throat. The blood that flowed from the awful wound was anything but ordinary, for it glowed with a fiery heat and radiated a magical energy that made Safrag’s staring visage terrifying to behold.

None of the members of the inner circle so much as moved a finger, for they were not surprised at the shocking turn of events. They had been made aware of what Safrag intended, and although some had shown looks of horror, those had faded quickly at the promise of what the dire deed might bring them.

The Fire Rose.

Ulgrod managed no final word, not even a final sound. He slumped before Safrag, still positioned on one knee thanks to the slightest use of the other Titan’s power to keep him so.

“Blood is the power, blood is the might,” Safrag intoned.

The other members of the Black Talon materialized, creating a six-sided pattern within which Morgada and three others formed a square. Safrag and the late Ulgrod remained at the center.

The lead sorcerer held the blade high. “Blood is the power, blood is the might,” he repeated. “Blood binds, blood guides.”

Each of the other Titans drew a symbol before them, their personal mark. Dauroth had begun the tradition, and Safrag had continued it. The marks were tied to the very core of the Titans’ beings. By summoning them, they opened themselves to whatever Safrag chose to do with them. By such means Dauroth had had the power to condemn Falstoch and the like to the forms they suffered. Also by such means had Safrag earlier tricked Ulgrod into giving up his life force. Ulgrod had expected to rise to the Black Talon. In a sense that was exactly what he was destined to do, for he would forever be a part of them.

The marks of each Titan glowed blue, but never the same blue as any of the others in attendance. As one, the ten knelt around Safrag, who kept the body of Ulgrod at a point beyond life but not yet true death. Were it his desire, Safrag could still save the one whom he had grievously wounded.

Instead it was Ulgrod’s blood that Safrag sought to save-save and use. He had followed a clear line of thought over the past few days, and his thoughts were racing. So much magic existed in the elixir, enough to make of brutish ogres towering, flawless spellcasters like none ever seen on the face of Krynn.

Would not the very blood that flowed through them , the former apprentice reasoned, be capable of fantastic feats?

There had been only one way to find out and be certain, and the allure of the Fire Rose had been enough to sway the rest of the inner circle. After all, none of them would have to give up their blood.

Those who were not of the Black Talon would not learn Ulgrod’s true fate, only that he had made a great sacrifice in the search for the fabled artifact. Ulgrod’s death meant the meager supply of elixir would last that much longer.

The assembled sorcerers held their palms toward Safrag. They slowly thrust them forward, and as they did so, the glowing marks floated not to the lead Titan, but rather on an angle upward, toward the obsidian dagger.

As they willed it, the other Titans also began singing with one voice. There were no words to their song, only tones. The tones grew stronger the closer the magical symbols came to the blade.

And when the marks touched the bloodied tip of the blade, they seemed to be sucked within as if slipping into the middle of a vortex. The Titans groaned, and their wordless song took on a harsher, demanding tone.

Safrag murmured as the others sang. As he did, various symbols appeared around him, and faded away. Each was a tinier representation of the marks of the others, among them Ulgrod’s. Like miniature stars, they flared to life, glittered, and glided over Safrag and the frozen form before dying.

Safrag lowered the blade. The other sorcerers immediately quieted.

It had been his original intention next to bleed himself with the ensorcelled blade, mingling the power of sacrificed Titan blood with the magical essence of his own greatness. Through that technique, Safrag believed he could elevate his skills to a point where he could perhaps see beyond the ancient High Ogre wards hiding the Fire Rose in the wilderness. Were it to work, there would also be no more need of Golgren.

But Falstoch’s report suggested another, safer path to his goal. The signet had proven itself bound to the resting place of the Rose. That meant he could turn the smaller artifact into a guide for the spellcasters, not the half-breed.

Bringing down the dagger, Safrag touched its point to the symbols on the signet.

A great plume of flame burst from the signet. Startled, Safrag dropped the ring.

An ear-rending hiss filled the chamber. The flames burned such a bright orange-red that even the blue-skinned Titans took on its hue.

“No one moves!” commanded Safrag.

The flames rose above the signet, spun, and whirled. As they did, limbs-golden limbs-grew from the plume.

A figure of gleaming metal formed from the fire. The flames sank within, utterly disappearing.

The golden figure had no face, no other features. It did not turn to Safrag, but rather stared off in another direction.

It was Morgada who recognized what was indicated. “He stares in the direction of the vale! I am certain of it!”

“But we know that much already!” snapped another Titan. “For all that, for Ulgrod’s use, there must be more!”

“So there must.” Safrag, defying the nearby presence of the golden figure, stretched down to seize the signet.

The figure reshaped, the front facing the Titan leader. Safrag paused, but the figure did not otherwise move.

With more confidence, the Titan straightened. He dared put the ring on.

“Show me!” he demanded of the gleaming figure. “Show me where to seek the Fire Rose!”

The golden figure made a sudden cutting gesture that caused the other Titans to push back in surprise. In the wake of the movement of its arm, a trail of flames briefly flared across the air toward the Titan Leader.

Both Safrag and the golden figure vanished .

Morgada and the others leaped to their feet. As they did, Ulgrod’s body, no longer held by Safrag’s magic, finished collapsing into a bloody pile. The gruesome sight was all but ignored as the sorcerers stared at the place where their leader had last stood. All that remained to mark Safrag’s presence was the dagger, which Morgada finally picked up to show the others.

“It’s clean of blood,” she informed the others.

They all stared at it for a moment, the truth of her words obvious. The female Titan finally glanced down at Ulgrod himself, and gasped.