Richard Knaak - The Fire Rose

Clutching his pendant, the knight contemplated his options. The answer became as obvious as it was insane.

“I think I may have some idea where we can find out about Tyranos.”

Chasm looked suspicious.

Undaunted, Stefan explained, “You saw the castle on the mountain. It must belong to the gargoyles’ lord. The thing that took Tyranos must be his work. I saw what happened. I do not think it likely that your master is dead. He must be a prisoner. And the best way to find and free him is to search the castle. The magic may have even brought Tyranos there!”

The winged behemoth grunted and gently flapped his wings, thinking. The gargoyle glanced at the cave mouth.

“Come,” he rumbled.

Sheathing his sword, Stefan joined Chasm at the entrance. He looked out and glanced at the gargoyle. Chasm shoved him out.

Stefan fell. He opened his mouth to scream, and Chasm’s thick paws seized him as they had before. The gargoyle carried him from the mountain.

The cleric recovered his breath just as the side of the mountain where the citadel stood came into view. Stefan could feel the ancient age of the place, not to mention the latent magical energies surrounding it. No one was supposed to find the mountain and especially not the castle.

But Stefan knew that Kiri-Jolith had intervened, partly to help his new cleric, but also because of Tyranos, who had lost the faith he had once had in that particular god.

Yes, Kiri-Jolith had intervened. That was clear. The rest was up to them, and especially to Stefan.

Chasm neared the sinister sanctum, a place that chilled the knight. Stefan had been on many dangerous missions for his homeland, but none of those missions had ever brought him to such a place. The rough-hewn walls almost reminded him of skin, as if the castle itself were a living, breathing thing.

The gargoyle let out an inquisitive grunt. Stefan understood what he wanted.

“That window there! The one in the right tower!” He had picked it mainly because it was the closest, but also because he had a hunch that it was the safest. The cleric prayed he was correct.

Banking again, Chasm flew directly for the window. The opening was large enough for either the gargoyle or the human, but not for both together at the same time. Stefan felt Chasm adjust his grip. The gargoyle intended to set him down first.

There were spells around the citadel, but thus far Stefan had not sensed anything active. Perhaps it had grown complacent.

Still. “Be wary, Chasm.”

The winged creature responded with a snort. A gargoyle did not survive very long in life if he did not remain wary.

They reached the window unimpeded. Chasm held Stefan before the opening while the knight maneuvered his legs inside. Grabbing the sides, Stefan slipped through.

He immediately drew his sword and crouched. As Stefan took a step farther inside, Chasm entered behind him. The gargoyle folded his wings and followed on his hind legs and four paws.

The cleric could see nothing. He held the medallion up in front of him and muttered a prayer.

A faint light shone from the medallion. Stefan would have liked to have had more illumination, but he didn’t want to alert anyone of their presence, and it was enough to light his way.

Shapes coalesced. Statues without faces, but clad in robes or armor or other garments. The style of carving varied from figure to figure, as if they had been done by a variety of artisans. Some looked older than others, even to the point where parts were cracked. All the statues lined marble walls bearing veins that Stefan associated with great age.

Chasm snuffled. Stefan had already stifled a few sneezes. There was a tremendous amount of dust in the room, as if no one had been in it for years. Peering closer at the statues, the Solamnian saw they were so covered with dust that he had not even realized they were also painted.

The other end of the chamber ended at a door that looked like iron but when cautiously opened turned out to be as light as wood. It was completely unadorned save for a handle.

With Chasm at his heels, Stefan stepped out to find himself at the top of a long flight of stairs. The dust covered stone steps wound down as far as he could see.

The knight and gargoyle descended. Chasm was especially uncomfortable during the descent, the winding steps giving him no room to spread his wings. Both showed visible relief when they reached the bottom.

A metal door identical to the previous one greeted them. Stefan took more caution opening it, but once more they were greeted by no menace.

Beyond the door, a heavy scent prompted Chasm to emit a low, warning growl. The Solamnian also knew the smell. It was a place where the great flock of gargoyles gathered.

In the limited light of the pendant, Stefan saw nothing. He looked to his companion, who sniffed the pungent air. After a moment, Chasm gave a grunt and moved forward. Stefan followed.

“Gods,” the cleric murmured. Even a few steps farther into the room brought a much, much heavier wave of the stench. It was not simply a matter of how many gargoyles nested in the room, but how many generations of them had done so.

The vast chamber had the look of once having been a ballroom perhaps, or at least a place for a gathering of beings other than gargoyles. There was a mosaic pattern on the marble floor, but between the darkness and the disarray of the creatures living in the room, Stefan could not make out what it was.

Large patches of dried shrubs, branches, and other vegetable matter had been gathered to make countless sleeping places for the flock. Bits of food-unidentifiable meat, pieces of fur, various plants-lay scattered. There were many bones, some quite large. Stefan peered at a skull, grateful to see it was not human or some other intelligent race.

“No young,” he muttered to Chasm.

“Hidden to keep alive.”

“Why?”

“Males fight,” the gargoyle replied with a tone that indicated Stefan should know that. “Young not quick.”

“You were raised by Tyranos. How do you know-”

“All know.”

“But-” The cleric hesitated. Amid the many smaller nests making up the huge one he spotted a single, dark form. The Solamnian gripped his sword tighter. Chasm, responding to his sudden tenseness, crouched in preparation for a leap.

The form remained still. Stefan closed on the nest. Unlike the gargoyles he had seen, the beast apparently had some whiteness or silver to it. He wondered if it had been dead a while.

At last, the light of the pendant washed over the unmoving figure.

The knight nearly dropped his weapon. Chasm let out a low rumble of nervousness. The gargoyle was as stunned as the human, for although they both recognized the unconscious figure, it was not anyone they had expected to find.

It was Idaria.

Setting down his sword, Stefan rushed to the elf slave’s side. She looked bruised, but otherwise whole. The cleric’s brow furrowed as he carefully raised her head up. The elf looked peaceful, as if she were just taking a nap.

Her eyes fluttered open. She shook her head. “Sir S-Stefan? No, you cannot be.” Idaria pulled away. “You-You must be him! You must be-”

The elf fell back, trying to swallow air. The cleric fumbled for a water sack he belatedly recalled he had lost long before.

“Lady Idaria, it is me! It is Stefan Rennert-”

“No!” Her eyes widening, she tried to scuttle away from him. “The Solamnian is dead. You cannot fool me with his semblance! You are no more him than you were the Nerakan!”

“Nerakan? Lady Idaria, what are you talking about?” The elf hesitated. In a small voice she asked, “Sir Stefan, is it you? Is it truly you?”

“I swear it.”