Richard Knaak - The Fire Rose

The gargoyles, which had been diving in relays, had to beat their wings hard and veer to extreme angles to compensate for the change. The gray beasts hissed as they swooped again, reaching with clawed paws for the Fire Rose and its wielders.

“It is between us, mongrel,” Safrag said, glancing around at the gargoyles without looking at Golgren. “We’ve fought for the precious artifact, not sent hounds to steal it afterward!”

Golgren said nothing, though his silence was agreement enough. The pair held onto the artifact as one.

“Think of what the House of Night truly honors. Think of the iSirriti Siroth , the Burning of Day!”

The Grand Khan understood and followed his rival’s lead.

The Fire Rose blazed brighter than ever. Both Golgren and the Titan cried out in pain, so white-hot was the artifact.

But if they found it hot, the gargoyles found it deadly. As if the sun itself had swallowed them, the aerial attackers were disintegrated to the last one by the sudden blast of heat. They barely had time to shriek their deaths. Their winged forms were suddenly outlined by the blinding light and they simply vanished. Not even a trace of ashes marked their passing.

Safrag’s hand immediately came around to the Grand Khan’s chest.

He gripped the obsidian dagger.

Golgren tried to twist away at the last moment, but the only way he could truly escape would have been to release the Fire Rose. Even threatened death could not make him do that.

The magical blade bore through all obstacles without hesitation, sinking between Golgren’s ribs up to the hilt.

The half-breed let out a rasping cough. He squeezed tight, trying to hold his grip as he struggled to overcome the mortal wound.

Safrag pulled the blade free and struck Golgren hard under the jaw with the hilt.

Golgren’s fingers slipped from the Fire Rose.

Idaria could not move. There was space around her, but only above her head and chest. Her legs and one arm were pinned. She was buried in a tiny gap under tons of rock and earth, the remains of what had once been the chamber of the altar.

She was going to die.

Elf notions of death had changed considerably since the fall of Silvanost. They were much starker, less transcendent due to all the tragedies falling upon the race. Idaria did not fear death, but neither could she peacefully embrace it.

The elf struggled to no avail. Her body was fairly intact but only served to mock her efforts with its impotence.

Her concern shifted to last minute thoughts about her people. There was no chance for them. Safrag said that the Titans had the slaves from the stockade, and she had no doubt he had spoken the truth. Whether their blood was presently being drained for the foul work of the sorcerers, or they would suffer some other heinous fate, all their deaths would be on her head.

She had erred grievously in trusting the Nerakan officer with whom she had made her pact. Idaria tried to recall either his name or face, but no longer could, such was her daze. All she could see was a vague figure in the hated ebony armor. The elf had only gone to Neraka when she had met no hope elsewhere. Indeed, the Nerakan had actually found her and offered the deal; information on the movements of the Grand Khan-known for his fondness for elf women-would be utilized for the advancement of Neraka. In return, the knights would free her people when they invaded the ogre lands, sending them on their way. Neraka had no use for the elves, the officer had said with enough conviction to persuade her despite her initial distrust; all the better to burden Solamnia and other neighboring areas with more refugees.

Idaria had not cared for the reasons why the Nerakan would help her, only the arrangement offered hope. The slaves were in that sorry a state. She agreed, and they had made their plans.

As she scraped at the rock above her, Idaria found herself repeatedly trying to recall other details about the Nerakan. Elves usually had exceptional memories, but although she could remember what they had said to one another, she had no luck picturing the human himself. As deadly as her predicament was, Idaria wondered why.

It grew harder to breathe. Somewhere in the back of her mind, the elf knew she was running out of air. Death was coming for her.

Sleep. Sleep and dream , her mind thought. Sleep and dream .

Sleep and dream. She did not have the strength to defy those two pleasant suggestions. Yet as Idaria began to drift off, a part of her protested that something wrong was happening. Something that had to do with the voice in her head.

It had not been her voice she had heard, not at all.

And as she finally blacked out, the last thing the elf thought was that she recognized the voice.

The voice of the very same Nerakan officer. A human whose face and name remained oddly and disturbingly vague as Idaria lost consciousness.

Dangling from Chasm’s mighty grip, Stefan could not see the other gargoyles, but he knew they must be near. The knight prayed to Kiri-Jolith for guidance. He had no doubt Chasm could carry him to safety, but that did nothing for Tyranos. Nor Golgren, assuming he was alive and in the vicinity. Stefan cared little for himself, only for those he intended to aid. It was his duty to follow through on his patron’s desire, and he was willing to do so even if his own life was sacrificed. But sacrifice meant nothing without victory. Failure was not an option.

His prayers were cut off by something astounding he glimpsed just beyond the mountains of the dark castle. The horizon blazed with fire, and there were more gargoyles there. They seemed obsessed with reaching one location just out of sight.

The cleric’s eyes widened, and he heard Chasm grunt in surprise. For a moment it had looked as though another peak had suddenly sprouted into existence.

But that was not possible … Was it?

The hisses and screeches of the gargoyles behind them reminded Stefan that he had more immediate concerns. “To the north!” he shouted, glancing up at his rescuer. Stefan pointed to his left. “Veer around the mountain!”

To Stefan’s relief, the gargoyle quickly obeyed. The great wings beat hard, thrusting them forward.

They reached the peak. Chasm banked. Stefan could not tell whether what he heard was the echo of Chasm’s wings, or the onrushing sound of the many attackers surely close behind them.

The gargoyle slowed, suddenly diving toward the mountain with such velocity that the human was certain they were going to die. At the last moment, Chasm turned toward the mouth of a cave, and the two dropped into it.

The moment that Chasm released his hold, Stefan rolled around and sprang up with his sword ready. He ran to the entrance and peered out.

Although he saw the gargoyles who had been trailing them, he was pleased to see they had lost track of their prey and were joining the others above in the fiery sky.

“We’re safe,” he said to Chasm, who grunted agreement. Stefan looked around at their surroundings. “Relatively safe. Thank you for helping me.”

“Must help master,” the gargoyle grunted.

“Of course I’ll help Tyranos.”

“Good!” Shambling on all fours, Chasm peeked out of the cave. “All gone.”

“Yes, there must be something their master wants elsewhere. It might even be Golgren. Perhaps we should follow them.”

His winged companion hissed. “Must help master!”

As Chasm was the only one who could fly, Stefan wasn’t about to go somewhere without him. But the Solamnian felt torn. His patron had sent him on a mission that involved the ogre leader, not the wizard. As fascinating as Tyranos was-at least from what little knowledge Kiri-Jolith had granted his new cleric-the safety of the spellcaster was secondary to that of Golgren and the Fire Rose.