Richard Knaak - The Fire Rose

“Not thus far. I-”

The cleric stiffened. Tyranos almost spoke, but waited as flapping wings echoed through the mountains. The wizard silently swore. Readying the staff, he murmured, “Stand near me, cleric, and hope that I can get us out.”

“I don’t-”

At that very moment a gargoyle swooped down before them, a muscular beast with an eager cast to his brutish countenance. Stefan readied his sword as the creature dove upon them.

Tyranos forced the knight’s arm down. At the same time, the gargoyle suddenly landed before the duo.

“Master,” the creature rumbled.

“Chasm,” Tyranos returned. “A pleasant surprise.”

The cleric frowned, his eyes shifting between Tyranos and the waiting gargoyle. “The gargoyle serves you?”

“Since he was born. Isn’t that right, Chasm?”

The gargoyle dipped his massive head. “Master is my father, and my father is master!”

“He was an orphan, his parents slain by a rival flock. I was … investigating a lead … and came upon him.”

“So you raised him? And how did he find you?”

The tall mage masked his emotions from Stefan’s penetrating stare. “We are tied together by many things, Solamnian. Chasm can find me no matter how far apart we are from one another.”

Chasm eagerly nodded agreement. Stefan looked with fresh eyes upon the tall mage. “You are more and more surprising to me,” he said to Tyranos, adding, “For one of your kind to take on-”

The staff was suddenly thrust under the Solamnian’s nose. From where he squatted, Chasm gave a threatening hiss at the knight as the mage spoke between clenched teeth.

“I am my own. I do what I do. We’ll speak no more of ‘my kind,’ right?”

“Not until you wish to speak of it, no.”

With some frustration, Tyranos snapped, “I’ll never wish to speak about it with you, damned cleric-” He broke off, staring past Stefan at the gargoyle. “What the devil’s the matter with you?”

Chasm was shaking his head as if trying to rid it of some inner noise or pain. The winged creature snorted, leaned forward, and all but rubbed his forehead against the ground.

“Stop that!” commanded the wizard. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Head hurts! Feels … Feels strange …”

Thrusting his staff forward, Tyranos studied the area just beyond and surrounding the gargoyle. A grin spread across his face. He tapped the crystal tip on Chasm’s head. The gargoyle flashed bright for a moment, and the creature’s face calmed.

“What is it, Tyranos?”

“As you already know, gargoyles can often sense the presence of magic. Not all flocks, but some. Trust me, I’ve made a very thorough study. Chasm is more sensitive than most. And I do believe he’s found the area we’ve been seeking.”

The cleric looked around at the nearby landscape. “So we just have to find a passage.” Stefan added, “Odd that the master of so many gargoyles couldn’t also find it so readily.”

“As I said, Chasm is more sensitive. Unique, actually. That’s why I was forced to shield his mind a little.”

The Solamnian said nothing further, but continued to look around intently as the trio slowly moved along, deeper into the mysterious mountain terrain. Chasm hopped ahead, sometimes on all fours, other times just on his legs. The gargoyle sniffed the air, whether for the presence of more magic or others of his ilk, Stefan had no idea; the mage did not deign to illuminate him.

“You’ve been following the trail for a long time,” the cleric said to the mage in a low voice, as they climbed steadily.

“I thought we’d already agreed on that. What of it?”

The knight shrugged. “I was merely curious what you hoped to do with the Fire Rose.”

“And you’ll remain that way: curious. Your patron chose to have you help me. As a cleric, you shouldn’t need to ask more.”

The answer did not aggravate Stefan, but rather made him chuckle. That, in turn, caused Tyranos to glance at his companion in irritation.

Suddenly Chasm stopped. The gargoyle hissed and began running in a circle.

Tyranos ordered him to stop, and stepped into the center of what had been his servant’s circle of running. To his right began the gradual rise of another peak. To the left and ahead, a narrowing path led to a jagged gap between high rocks.

“You see or sense anything, cleric?”

“Nothing.”

The wizard snorted. “By our reasoning, we should almost be on top of whatever is supposed to lead us to the Grand Khan and the artifact.” He held the staff forward. “Tivak!”

The strands of silver energy crackled above them and about the area. Tyranos quickly whirled, scanning the vicinity with the aid of his staff.

A moment later, he dismissed the magic, however. Turning to Stefan, he growled, “As you say, nothing! Absolutely-”

A golden bubble swept up out of the ground, passing through the hard earth like a phantom. It rose high, swelling in volume at the same time.

It also swallowed up Tyranos.

“No!” Stefan shouted, reaching to grab for the wizard. But the cleric had been too slow to react. As fast as the bubble materialized, it sank back down into the ground and vanished, taking the unsuspecting spellcaster wherever it went.

And leaving Stefan and Chasm.

The gargoyle immediately pounced on the spot, scrabbling desperately, trying to dig through the hard rock with his thick claws. The cleric stepped up next to him, thinking furiously.

From the direction of the shadowed castle came the sound of flapping wings. Many flapping wings.

The knight turned in that direction. He readied his sword.

Powerful paws grabbed him under his arms. Before Stefan knew what was happening, Chasm had lifted him up and was carrying the fully armored human through the air. Tyranos’s winged servant veered away from the rising sound of a monstrous flock.

And as the gargoyle bore him away, all Stefan could do was stare at the ground below, where the spellcaster had disappeared.

Stare and pray to his patron.

The guards wasted no time rushing to the palace, with fear as much as duty pressing them urgently. At their head ran the captain on duty, an ogre warrior certain that he was about to lose his head, or worse.

They arrived to find an oddly contemplative Wargroch peering out over Garantha from one of the many balconies that were favored by Golgren. The bulky ogre did not even turn around when his own guards presented the four warriors to him, instead seeming to find something of interest far, far away.

The captain gestured his underlings down on their knees and waited. When Wargroch finally turned to acknowledge them, the kneeling officer banged his fist on his breastplate and waited for permission to speak.

“You I know,” Wargroch muttered. “You are assigned to the stockades.”

The other ogre swallowed. On the one hand, it was good for those most favored by the Grand Khan to know their subordinates. However, under the present circumstances, the stockade officer would have preferred Wargroch’s complete ignorance. If the Grand Khan’s chief aide knew him, that meant he had marked him-perhaps as one having potential, perhaps for another, more dubious reason. What the captain had come to tell Wargroch would almost certainly endanger his standing, as well as his life.

“I am in charge of the stockades, yes, Khan Wargroch,” the captain answered in his best Common.

“I am no khan,” Nagroch’s brother corrected him brusquely. “Commander, yes, but no khan.”

“Commander,” the captain acknowledged crisply. “Great commander, there has been terrible- Skee anoch -magic!”

“What magic?”

“The forest dwellers gone! All gone!”