Richard Knaak - The Fire Rose

Slowly, Golgren and Idaria regained the ability to breathe without their lungs burning. The heat haze dissipated. They could see again. It was still very warm, but no more than any ogre-or even an elf-could tolerate.

As the Grand Khan and his slave recovered, it was to see a fantastic figure standing before them, a figure in no manner mortal. His semblance was part ogre, perhaps part elf, perhaps part human, and yet not at all like any of those. His face was long, angular, and white like the ash left by a great fire. The mane of hair framing his face was wild and unkempt, and its crimson color made it look truly afire. In fact, Golgren was not certain it wasn’t on fire, for it constantly moved like dancing flames even when the tall figure stood still.

And the eyes …

They were long and narrow. Where the eyes of the Titans were gold, the figure’s eyes were golden orange, fiery red, hot blue and even white-all the colors of flame, shifting as rapidly as any dancing fire. They were disconcerting to stare into, but Golgren could not help doing so.

It was Idaria who managed to break his gaze by tugging hard on his new hand.

He immediately returned his gaze to the strange figure, but did not look directly into its eyes. Golgren noted the orange-red robes that covered a shape thin to the point of emaciation, as if the astounding being had not eaten in years.

Indeed, its smile looked hungrier than that of any meredrake, so hungry that the half-breed wondered if the newcomer saw the pair as its next meal. The Grand Khan shifted into a more defensive posture. In the process, he accidentally looked again into the blazing eyes, and was once more caught by them.

As before, Idaria turned his face away. “Never meet his gaze, for there is little that can fascinate any mortal creature more than what he is.”

Golgren did not have to ask just whom-or what-she meant. An uneasiness filled the Grand Khan, for of all the gods that ogres paid cautious homage to, that was the one most dreaded. Even though he didn’t wear Takhsis’s mantle of evil, his unpredictable indifference was in many ways more deadly.

Sirrion .

Wake up, cleric! Damn you!” Tyranos snarled. “Will you wake up?”

Stefan finally stirred. The wizard exhaled. Despite the irritation with which he regarded the knight of Solamnia, he owed him much.

The bearded cleric’s eyes opened. He blinked. “Where … What happened?”

“You saved my life, and I got us away Although where I’ve gotten us to is a damned good question.”

“What do you mean-”

Stefan stared. Tyranos said nothing, sharing the knight’s astonishment.

They were still in the mountains, that much was evident, but certainly nowhere near where they had been before.

The sight before their eyes — high above their eyes, to be exact-could only have been sculpted with the aid of magic or sorcery, for even dwarves would have been reluctant to risk themselves working at such high, treacherous angles.

“A castle?” Stefan finally managed to blurt. “Or some sort of citadel?”

“Your patron doesn’t tell you very much sometimes, does he? I was hoping you’d recognize that landmark since I certainly don’t.”

“I know nothing of it, save that I have a feeling it must have something to do with all that is happening to us.”

“A brilliant although truly useless statement.” The wizard helped him up. “Perhaps instead you can tell me just how you survived what that creature threw at me. And thank you for that, by the way.”

Giving the spellcaster a rueful smile, Stefan said, “If you would think before you go charging in like a bull, I wouldn’t need to act as I did. And, incidentally, I had no idea I was going to survive.”

“You didn’t?” Tyranos was disconcerted.

“I only knew you were in danger, and I had to try and help.”

“You’re a fool!”

Stefan shook his head. “No. That is what you refuse to understand. I am a Knight of the Sword and the servant of Kiri-Jolith.”

With a grunt of disbelief at his companion’s simple manner of explaining his near-sacrifice, the wizard turned his attention to the uniquely sinister sight above them. The citadel which loomed above them had two oddly narrow towers flanking its narrow main body. All was topped by long, carved points of stone so sharp Tyranos could imagine dragons impaling themselves on them. Each tower had one black, triangular window while the main part of the citadel boasted two windows side-by-side. There seemed no entrance to the massive building, although, perched as it was on the side of a mountain, it was possible some tunnel or cave provided a hidden way inside.

The outer appearance of the structure was perhaps its oddest aspect, for whoever had created the citadel had left the walls unpolished, indeed resembling unhewn rock. There was no doubt its design helped make the place difficult to spot from a distance, as the citadel blended into the surrounding rock.

“Really, you have no idea where we are?” Stefan asked.

“I only concentrated as best I could on getting us away from the gargoyles. I didn’t expect to end up wherever we are.”

The cleric rubbed his chin. “I have one theory, which bodes both good and ill for us.”

“What is your theory, cleric?”

“The citadel is the domain of the gargoyle’s master.”

Tyranos snorted. “The ill I understand, but what is the good?”

“We are still near where Golgren must be.”

“Ah. Of course.” Gripping his staff, the lion-maned spell-caster considered the citadel. “So you think he’s up there?”

“No, I think he’s far, far below.”

“Below?”

Stefan started walking. “If the Fire Rose was hidden up high, the gargoyle’s lord would likely have it, I’d guess.”

“And he wouldn’t find it as easily if it was below?”

The cleric touched his pendant. “You’re the wizard. Haven’t you noticed what surrounds us?”

His brow furrowed, Tyranos studied the craggy, hard, inhospitable landscape. After a moment, he closed his eyes in concentration. Barely a moment later, his eyes flashed open.

“I can’t sense anything . No, that’s not right. It’s as if the entire area doesn’t even exist!”

“In a sense, you’re right. And something that doesn’t even exist would hardly be noticed by anyone beyond that part of the valley.”

Tyranos pondered long and hard as he followed the knight’s train of thought. After reflecting long and hard he ended up with an idea that left a bad taste in his mouth.

“Cleric, If the citadel isn’t supposed to exist to anyone who isn’t granted the ability to recognize its existence, I don’t like the notion that I somehow brought us right to it!”

“Yes, I’ve thought about that too. And it worries me also.”

“It bodes ill, you mean,” retorted the burly wizard.

Stefan did not respond. Tyranos paused for a moment, eyeing the Solamnian’s back as he walked ahead of him on a narrow trail leading up. After a moment, he resumed following the human.

As he walked Stefan held the medallion of his order ahead of him. He continually looked left and right, as though seeking a marker.

“What’re you looking for?”

“The same thing you are.”

The hooded figure paused again. Holding the staff against his chest, Tyranos rumbled, “Hmm. A place where the sense of nothing is at its greatest.”

“Exactly so. The one glaring fault in that type of deception, but only if you can tell the subtle difference. And that requires skill or, in my case, the gifts of my patron.”

“Well my skills aren’t having any luck. Are your gifts doing better?”