Richard Knaak - The Fire Rose

The officer described matters as best he could. Both his incomplete knowledge of Common and his confusion about the event forced him to take longer than he would have liked. He had just come on duty and had been setting the guards in place, he explained. The captives had been placid, more manageable than a herd of goats. They had been fed not all that long ago, and so the captain had not had to concern himself with that job.

Since being assigned to the great pen, the elves and their ogre guards had come to a silent understanding. The elves had realized their fates rested in the hands of the Grand Khan. No one wanted to offend Golgren. The elves were generally submissive because they preferred to nurture their faint hopes for freedom, and the ogre guards were generally tolerant, without anxiety about their captives’ welfare or escape. Neither side fully understood the intentions of the Grand Khan.

So the changing of the guards was ceremonial, almost tedious, usually. The officer made certain everyone was at their post, and proceeded to prepare for the next shift.

Barely an hour had passed when there came shouts from not just one guard, but several under his command. The officer had come running up the wooden walkway to the top of the stockade to see what had alarmed his guards, the captain reported, only to discover some of them were actually shivering.

He had reached for the nearest, intending to shake the story out of him, when his gaze had drifted down into the stockade’s interior.

An empty interior.

At that point, Wargroch angrily cut the captain off. “Gone? All elves are gone?”

“Ke -Yes! All! Much magic!” the guard officer hesitated before growling, “Titans, maybe.”

Mention of the sorcerers brought a hiss from the Grand Khan’s pet meredrake, which was curled up in its customary spot on one side of the chamber. Wargroch let out a similar hiss, and looked as if he were ready to strike the ogre officer giving his report. However, he finally lowered his hand, turning to the warriors behind the captain. “All true? No sign of escape?”

They shook their heads. One dared answer, “Gates bolted. Meredrakes all around.” Golgren had commanded that handlers with the giant reptiles should patrol the perimeter around the wooden structure at all hours. Not so much because he thought the elves might try to escape, but to stop his own people if they were tempted to show their hatred for the forest dwellers by rushing the stockade to burn it down. “And bows above to watch all,” the warrior added.

The archers were another precaution which Khleeg had suggested to the Grand Khan. More than two dozen archers stood atop the roofs of the nearest structures surrounding the stockade. Golgren had emphasized to Khleeg and Wargroch that the slaves were vital to his planned deal with the Solamnians.

Wargroch’s eyes narrowed imperceptibly.

“Magic,” he finally agreed with the stockade officer. “Titan magic, maybe.” He waved away the captain and the others. “Go!”

Surprised, but also pleased not to have been rewarded with their heads rolling around on the floor, the captain and his staff rose to bowing positions and backed out of the chamber. As they departed, Wargroch ground his yellowed teeth in thought.

“Safrag,” he finally muttered.

Safrag was on the minds of the Titans too, for their leader had been absent far longer than any of them had anticipated. Morgada urged the others to be patient, aware that more than one was already measuring their future against hers.

Their long-checked attitude toward her being only female couldn’t be tamped down for long. Even the pair who had assisted her with the spell transporting the elves to the sanctum acted as if she had been of little importance to the accomplishment; she had only been the conduit for Safrag’s magic.

But Morgada was used to the others belittling and underestimating her; so did Safrag himself. Safrag thought he was more clever than Dauroth, whom she had bewitched first. True, Safrag’s cunning coup over the master had caught Morgada by surprise. But the dim-witted Safrag had chosen her to be his apprentice, and all had gone as the female Titan had planned.

Morgada just needed a little time. And, if truth be told, she needed to know just what had happened to Safrag.

She entered the private quarters that her status as apprentice to the master granted her. To the unwary eye, the stone walls of the room were just that. Only she and Safrag knew where the doorway lay and how to find the entrance.

The temptress smiled. Safrag had opened the way almost as many times as she had since he had taken over as the Titans’ leader, but only because she had allowed him to. There were times unbeknownst to him that, had he sought entrance, he would have been blocked without her secret acquiescence to his spell.

Morgada drew her personal mark and another secret mark just for that purpose. Safrag knew of a third mark, the one between her and him, which he thought she used to keep others from entering. Actually, without her two marks, once sealed, the door would admit no one . Not even Safrag, should he return suddenly.

The wall rippled. The gray, rough stone became like water, yet retained its solid appearance to all ignorant of the spell.

The female Titan stepped into the watery stone. The wall wrapped around her like honey, yet it did not cling to her as she passed through. Her hands broke through first, followed by one foot and her beautiful face.

Once inside, Morgada turned and drew the second symbol again. The wall inside her quarters solidified as normal.

With a satisfied smile, she gazed upon her pleasant chamber. It was both home and workplace. There was a squat, wooden chest in which she stored mundane matters, and a bookshelf upon which scrolls and tomes were stacked. There was no window, but a slight current of air wafted across her face anyway. Magic, of course, kept all the inner chambers in the vast citadel from becoming too stifling.

A silver platter of fruit and raw amalok meat lay on a black, wooden table to her right. Next to the black table was the open space where one might have expected a bed of some sort. However, as a Titan, Morgada did not rest as lesser ogres, elves, or humans did. Instead, on the floor of that space was a pattern of stars surrounded by a circle through which four dagger strokes had been etched. It was a pattern that could be found in each of the chambers used by the Black Talon, a pattern that served both to restrengthen and refresh their bodies and minds.

As for the female Titan, it held one more secret use.

She summoned a thick cut of the raw amalok meat from the silver platter on the black table-the fare she really preferred was not available to her. With savage gusto, Morgada tore into the morsel. Her powerful teeth ripped through the flesh, blood splattering both her face and robes. Almost like an animal, she devoured the meat, leaving not a single trace.

When she was done, the sorceress slowly licked her fingers, tasting a bit of the blood that had lingered on her lips because she had allowed it to. Running her open hand over her face and garments, Morgada magically removed all other stains.

Once again immaculate, the temptress strode over to the patterned floor. The short meal had been for more than merely sustenance. She needed extra strength, for it was not rest she intended to seek from the pattern.

Turning her back to the black table, she crossed her arms over her chest and lay back toward the floor. Her body softly tilted as if were connected to puppet strings. Midway down in its sloping angle, her feet and legs rose into the air. Morgada lay floating over the pattern, her rigid body more than two feet above the floor.

As she stilled, the pattern below her flared a blazing blue. Its radiant light shone upward to bathe her.