Richard Knaak - The Fire Rose

Assuming that Golgren still even lived .

The Titans were without Safrag. But for the planned event their leader was not needed. He had set in motion a number of plans and left several events in the hands of his apprentice-Morgada-and various other members of the Black Talon.

No one had discussed the master’s abrupt departure as anything but temporary, although some of the Black Talon secretly contemplated what would happen if he never returned. Some assumed that, if Safrag disappeared, Morgada would take over the reins of leadership, at least for the time being. Others-the Titans still being ogres despite their exulted status-could not see a female as their leader. Thus they watched for any sign of weakness on her part, any failure that could be used against her, should a struggle for power take place.

Morgada knew the hostility well, and so she kept a sharp eye on everything as she prepared to launch Safrag’s great spell.

They gathered in the mystic forest surrounding their sanctum, for the nature of the spell demanded more room than even the most vast of the citadel’s chambers could offer. More than two score of Titans created the complex pattern that involved a star within a star, flanked by three sickle moons. The matrix of the spell involved a binding of powers rarely used by even the Titans, which was why so many had been summoned.

Some of them had not come without protest. The time was nearing when more than a few would be in dire need of the elixir. Those not of the inner circle had no idea that there was not enough remaining for all of them, or that the Black Talon would certainly make sure that they were the ones to imbibe first.

In the end, their need for the elixir overcame their dislike of the shadowy forest, where even in daytime it often seemed dark as night. They stood in a clearing that all knew had not been there before the ceremony, and yet looked as though it always had existed. The magic of the domain that Dauroth had created was such that the forest changed as willed-and occasionally as it seemed to desire.

The sky was shrouded by mist as the sorcerers went through a moment of meditation before beginning. Morgada guided the efforts, her form faintly glowing blue. The sorceress’s eyes were shut tight, and to all appearances her chest did not even rise and fall.

At the moment she sensed all were ready, the fatally beautiful spellcaster gazed upon those surrounding her and at two members of the Black Talon in particular. She slowly raised one hand to shoulder level, and the others opened their eyes in unison with the action.

Morgada turned her palm upward, and a black vial materialized in it. Only she and the other two from the inner circle knew that the blood contained therein had been taken from the sacrificed Ulgrod. The rest assumed that it belonged to the mythic stockpile of elf blood that Safrag supposedly kept in storage for creation of the elixir.

A stopper shaped like the head of a Titan popped off the squat vial and floated in the air. Tendrils of red and silver energy rose from within, seeming to dance above the opening.

Morgada sang a magical note. The tendrils wrapped around one another like intertwining serpents, and became a scarlet mist that rose up to join that of the forest. The Titans’ surroundings suddenly took on a crimson hue.

Morgada turned the vial over, letting the contents spill out. However, it did not simply form a puddle on the ground, but instead spread to every one of the sorcerers. Despite the vial’s relatively slight size, the magical blood had no trouble creating the entire required pattern. Deep red lines ran from one Titan to another, and each time one segment was completed, the blood flared to brighter life. The vial’s flow only ceased when the entire pattern had been recreated.

Morgada turned the bottle upright again, allowing the stopper to seal itself. She released the dread container, which vanished.

The female Titan sang another note. The others joined her, creating a sound both wondrous and terrible to hear. The treetops shivered even though there was no wind, and the mist turned more crimson as it settled down just above the spellcasters’ heads.

Slowly, the wordless song lowered in volume. As it did, Morgada began drawing a certain symbol according to Dauroth’s version of the High Ogre tongue. A bent tree with blazing marks was intended to represent poisoned fruit. At the base of the bent tree she drew two wavy lines that burned red.

It was the Titan symbol for the elf race as Dauroth had decided it should be drawn. The tree represented their long reign as the supposed guardians of Krynn, a guardianship that he regarded as built on the demise of the High Ogres, and the lies-hence the poisoned fruit-that the forest dwellers had spread about the ogre race’s past.

And the river that flowed beneath the foul tree was the blood with which the elves would repay the ogres for the centuries of degradation.

Once Morgada had finished the symbol, it drifted away, moving not to the center of the assembled Titans’ pattern, but rather to an area to the east of them. As the symbol neared, the mist-enshrouded trees closest to it faded back. Wherever it flew, the symbol cleared the area of any tree or bush, the expanse growing.

When at last she was satisfied, Morgada caused the mark of the elves to hover. A glance at the two other members of the Talon verified their approval. Smiling expectantly, she altered the song again.

The change was the signal for the others to raise their hands toward her and her two companions. From the fingertips of each Titan emanated blue streams of magical energy that touched the trio, before flowing through them into the scarlet pattern. The pattern became bone white.

“Children of the lie, we see your damning hearts, we see your foul lies,” Morgada sang in the Titans’ musical language. “We hear your words of deceit and the whispers you make in the ears of all others. We call you by the name we know you- Arys idu lokai! — the Speakers of the Curse!” She clenched her hands. “We call you, Arys idu lokai , call you that you may speak no more your untruths and instead pay with your blood for the resurrection of the First People!”

The Titans grunted as the arcane energies flowing between them flared a hundredfold more intensely. The forest took on a new, more macabre glow.

And where the symbol Morgada had drawn hovered, there began to take shape ghostly figures. They were slim and much shorter than the gargantuan sorcerers, albeit tall enough when compared to the races of men and dwarves. Their numbers grew from a handful to dozens, scores, hundreds. The sinister forest of the Titans expanded to make room for every addition.

And as the numbers grew, the ghosts also defined themselves more distinctly. Some were shorter, like children. Many had long, flowing hair. There were males and females. The figures clustered about one another.

They were elves. Frightened, drawn elves. Their garments were in most cases tattered, and many bore visible scars.

Morgada clamped her mouth shut. The spell ceased.

The Titans turned to the fearful newcomers.

One quicker-witted elf broke from the throng. He made it to the edge of the clearing … only to back up in fear.

Out from the trees marched a macabre army. Only shadows at first, they resembled ogre warriors. But in the light of the sorcerers’ magic, the horrific truth revealed them as skeletons, the bones of warriors who had come to serve the Titans. Dauroth had transformed them from living to dead, preferring the absolute obedience of the latter.

The lone elf stumbled, collided with the nearest skeleton, and bounced off. The unliving sentinel reached down and seized him by the throat, and raised a rusted but still usable axe.