Richard Knaak - The Fire Rose

The spellcaster had a clever retort ready, but thought better of saying anything. It was true that when he had smelled the gathering of the winged creatures, it had turned out to be part of a trap set by their mysterious master-the “king,” as the cleric had referred to him. Perhaps, as Stefan had warned, next time there would be no hint of any danger.

“So, which way?” he asked.

Stefan looked left, where the mountains stood most imposing. “That way.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

The knight gave him a grim smile and moved on. The wizard glanced around, shrugged, and followed.

The howling wind accompanied them each step of the way, more than once making them think something was coming. Tyranos kept his staff ready, although whether to do battle or whisk himself away from the scene, he did not say. Nor did he know himself.

Tyranos gripped the staff tighter.

They were on the hunt for Golgren, which was as much as the wizard knew. Stefan swore he knew little more than that. Kiri-Jolith evidently was as tight-lipped a god as any of the others.

“Blasted deity,” Tyranos muttered. “Blast all of them.”

“You’ve little love for much in the world, don’t you? Life has made you that bitter?”

“There’s little to love, cleric, and that’s all I’ll say about it. Find the ogre, and let’s be done!”

His sword drawn, Stefan kept his eyes on the rocky path ahead. “And how do you want to be done with it? The Fire Rose in your hands, and the world at your command?”

He received a derisive snort in return. “Wouldn’t be the worse thing for Krynn, me calling the shots, cleric! I’ve lived, and I’ve suffered! I’ve been tricked! I’ve been led around by the nose and condemned for it! I am not my mentor, damn him!” Tyranos spat. “Would I make the worst master of the world? I think not!”

“Others have said the same before.”

Tyranos suddenly walked past him, the tall wizard’s strides well matched to the knight’s trained ones. “If we’re going to go somewhere, let us go there and quit babbling.”

Stefan watched his companion from the back, smiling sadly. He picked up his own pace and regained the lead. Tyranos said nothing, but fell a step back, aware he did not truly know their path.

They wended their way deeper and deeper into the mountains, never pausing. They made good time, which Stefan attributed to his patron.

To that observation, Tyranos remarked, “It’s only good time if we actually get to where we’re going. Do you know where we are headed?”

“There will be a sign.”

“Of course! There’s always a sign! Perhaps even right around that upcoming turn-”

The spellcaster swore. For right there, visible to them on the rocky base of the nearest mountain, was an ancient symbol etched into the rock. Tyranos could not read it, but he knew the writing of the High Ogres. A sign it was, indeed.

Stefan said nothing, but merely stepped up to the marking and studied it closely.

“Aren’t you going to praise your patron?” grunted Tyranos with a fierce look. “He led you straight to it, just as you thought that he would.”

“But I know nothing of that particular sign,” the knight murmured. He almost put his hand to the markings, a pair of arched lines like wings, with what looked like a line of mountains standing under them. “We’ve farther to go. I don’t know what it is.”

Tyranos suddenly looked around at their surroundings, noting that there were many shadows lurking in the vicinity. “I do believe you’re right, Solamnian. Unfortunately …”

The beating of wings filled the air.

The gargoyles dropped from every direction.

Stefan slid into a battle stance, and his blade sliced cleanly through the paw of the first creature to near him. Tyranos planted his back to the knight and battered another gargoyle with the crystal head of his staff. Despite the crystal’s fragile appearance, the gargoyle’s bones cracked loudly. The injured creature went tumbling to the ground and crawled away.

The knight pulled free a dagger, which he waved in tandem with his sword. He slashed through the wings of another attacker, causing it to collide with another one close by. The Solamnian moved with a speed and accuracy so startling that the wizard watched him with fascination.

“By the Kraken! How can you move like that?”

“I am the vessel of my patron,” Stefan quietly responded, piercing another gargoyle through the chest before its claws could scrape away his face. “My gifts are from him.”

The wizard snorted. He muttered a word, and his staff grew three sharp talons of steel where the crystal and the base met. With those sharp talons, he put an end to another beast. Yet for all those he and the Solamnian had slain or injured, the numbers seeking to reach them appeared to be endless.

Through the mass of wings and gray bodies, Tyranos spotted a figure that was not a gargoyle. The gray and black, shadowy form stared back at him with its icy, white eyes. Eyes that hinted, at least to Tyranos, of amusement.

With a thundering roar, the wizard broke from Stefan. He thrust the staff forward.

“Tyranos! Come back!”

“Tivak!” called the wizard.

As they had previously, strands of silver energy shot forth from the crystal. The gargoyles in Tyranos’s way scattered. He had a clear path to the sinister figure.

“No!” called Stefan. His hand seized the wizard by the cowl and, despite Tyranos’s mighty size, he threw the spell-caster to the side.

A fiery light surrounded the Solamnian, a light that exploded into true hot flames. Stefan cried out.

Tyranos pushed himself to his feet. He looked quickly not at the knight, but to where he had last seen the icy-eyed figure. As with the last time the two had met, the gargoyle’s master had again vanished.

“May the Maelstrom take you!” the spellcaster swore at his absent foe. He turned his attention back to the Solamnian, certain the human was dead. But Stefan was still alive. Indeed, although clearly in pain, the cleric-down on both knees-looked almost untouched by the fiery blast, even though the ground all around him was scorched black.

With a groan, the Solamnian fell face down.

The gargoyles had retreated the moment before their master’s attack, but they swooped down again. Tyranos tightened his hold on the staff and opened his mouth. With a curl of his lip, he dove toward the knight’s still figure. He wrapped one thick arm under Stefan’s breastplate.

The gargoyles fell upon them. Tyranos beat back the first few before concentrating on the staff.

He and Stefan vanished.

The moment the pair disappeared, the winged furies settled down. The vast flock perched upon the rocks, or simply alighted on the ground. They sat silent, not even beating their wings.

At the very place where Stefan had taken the brunt of the spell cast against Tyranos, the ghostly figure materialized. As one, the gargoyles lowered their heads and emitted low hisses with a respectful tone.

The icy-eyed form ignored the gargoyles, instead reaching down and thrusting out a thin, bony hand as starkly white as the orbs that gazed at the scorched area. With its index finger, the figure drew a circle around the area, a circle that momentarily burst into flames and became a band of gold light.

A slight laugh escaped the hidden mouth. As the figure straightened, the gold band faded away.

The gargoyles’ lord looked to the right, the east.

To the Vale of Vipers.

The horns from the quarry had been heard by sentries, who had reported them to their officers in Sadurak. Their commander had reported them to Jod’s officer in charge. The officer knew of no reason why anyone would be attacking Sadurak, but he was an ogre, and an ogre must always be ready for battle.