Richard Knaak - The Fire Rose

And suddenly, a black and gray figure that was as much shadow as it was something more raised Golgren up effortlessly with one white, bone-thin finger. Eyes of ice studied the half-breed with far more interest than Sirrion’s had.

So long a wait, but so delicious a victory! You are everything I promised myself, everything you could be .

Golgren tried to strike at the black-gray figure, but his hand came up far short. The veiled figure chuckled.

My impossibility, my enigma. You do me proud .

The finger bent. The Grand Khan suddenly fell face down on the ground.

And you are no longer needed .

As the last statement echoed in Golgren’s head, gargoyles descended by the score. They let out eager hisses, and even when settled on the ground they beat their wings with anticipation.

“No,” Golgren croaked, baring his teeth. “You will not …”

The shadowy form bent down. But you have no choice with me. You would not even be without me .

Golgren’s body did not move of its own volition. His legs bent to kneel, and his arms stretched to do for the phantasm what even Safrag could not demand of him.

A second ghastly hand joined the first to take the Fire Rose away from him. As if recognizing a long lost master, the artifact glowed bright.

What happened next seemed a dream to the half-dead Golgren. A terrible wind arose, one that whipped through the area with a ferocity that enabled it to tear small rocks free and send them flinging into the air. The gargoyles were lifted up with the stones, their wings seeming to catch the wind despite their best efforts. They flew up and whirled away, all the while trying in vain to control their mad flight.

But it was his tormentor who was the most oddly affected. The wind literally tore through him. Still reaching for the Fire Rose, he disintegrated as though he had become air himself.

When the other gargoyles had been burned to ash by the Fire Rose, Golgren had assumed that the magic had been drawn from both Safrag and him. But he had managed by himself to do the impossible. He, who had no knowledge or mastery of magic.

The triumphant smile on his face lasted as long as it took him to collapse.

He lay there on the brink of death. The cold that had earlier filled him returned with a hundred times more intensity. Golgren shivered. His body refused his efforts.

How long he lay there, Golgren did not know. He lost consciousness, regained it, and lost it again. The sense that someone new was nearby stirred him just enough to feel the Fire Rose being tugged from his fingers. What he had struggled so much to defend was taken from him with the utmost ease.

His body suddenly shot up, rising more than a foot above the ground. Golgren tried to discern what was happening, but his eyes would not focus. What felt like ice enshrouded him, but if it was ice, it was ice with a dire blue tint. Like a fly caught in amber, the Grand Khan of all ogres stood fixed in a pose of death that surely presaged the inevitable.

Beyond his macabre prison, someone chuckled. There is your legacy. There is your monument to nothing, mongrel .

Safrag’s chuckle echoed through Golgren’s prison long after the sorcerer had left.

Garantha was near. It had taken Khleeg the greatest of efforts to lead the hand back to the capital so quickly. The warriors were weary beyond belief, and they had lost a few of the animals in their haste, but the effort had been worth it.

Khleeg looked for some sign of military activity, some hint that Wargroch had set other elements of ogre strength into action. True, Wargroch commanded the city guard, but Garantha needed more of a defense than that, much more. Khleeg had commanded Syln to send messengers to the other hands ordered out by the younger officer, but he could not feel confident that they would return before Rauth’s forces reached the capital. Fortunately, Atolgus and the rest of the betrayers were still far to the south, or else the situation would have been even more dire.

Still, as they came within sight of the capital, Khleeg feared for Garantha. There were hardly any guards visible on the walls. For one of the few times since swearing an oath to the Grand Khan, he questioned Golgren’s decisions. Wargroch had proven himself a fine warrior and clever of mind, but he was obviously incapable of overseeing such an important part of the empire.

Syln, a Kernian ogre whose extended belly made it look as though he sought to pretend-badly-to be one of his stouter cousins from the south, echoed his concern. “Need more guards. The city of the griffon should be stronger.”

“Wargroch will learn. No matter. We are home. We will make Garantha strong, eh, Syln?”

“Yes, Khleeg!” Despite his girth, Syln was a skilled fighter and a respected commander. His warriors were worth twice that of most other hands.

A horn sounded as they approached. Some of the sentries raised their weapons in salute. Khleeg relaxed, but only slightly. He would not be satisfied until he knew all that had gone on in his absence.

With a grinding sound, the gates slowly opened. Khleeg led the hand into the capital. In contrast to so many previous times when he had ridden with his lord at the head of a victorious army, the welcome he received was subdued and nearly silent. Warriors of the city guard stood at attention, and those who gathered to watch saluted with fists and weapons. All knew that the Grand Khan was not with the warriors; Khleeg’s swift return without their ruler was not a sign they took well.

“Wargroch must tell them,” he rumbled to Syln. “They must know the Grand Khan watches over Garantha, over all Golthuu.”

The gates shut behind the last of the ranks. Khleeg looked for the younger officer. Wargroch should have met them.

What he saw instead was an ogre who could not have been able to be in the city. He should have been arrested and executed on the spot.

“Atolgus!” he roared, thrusting a meaty finger in the direction where he glimpsed the betrayer.

A puzzled Syln straightened, trying to see.

From somewhere, a horn blew the call to battle. Khleeg started, realizing too late what that horn meant.

The guards flanking the column let out fierce roars and lunged at Khleeg’s warriors. The fighters in the ranks hesitated, confused by their own comrades attacking them in the very capital. They reacted in confusion, and several perished without even raising their weapons in defense.

“Traitors!” the hand commander shouted. “Krehgu u athu -defend lines! Defend!”

The warriors deeper in the column rushed to aid their embattled comrades. Khleeg surveyed the chaos. As with the earlier attack by Rauth, it was impossible to tell from his vantage point whether many in his vision were loyal or were betrayers. The actual line of struggle fluctuated madly, and as he watched, some of those caught up in the fighting broke into individual struggles that splintered off.

Khleeg hunted for a glimpse of Atolgus again. Kill the leader, and the other betrayers would lose heart. “Syln!”

The commander understood. Syln tapped two other mounted officers with the flat of his sword. “Follow him!”

They rode behind Khleeg as the Blodian forced his heavy steed through the packed fighters to where he had last observed the former chieftain. His mind still reeled at discovering Atolgus in the city. Atolgus should have been far south. It would have taken many days with the swiftest steed and the greatest of good fortune for him to ride to Garantha-longer with a column of warriors. Atolgus could not be in there!

Unless …

Two traitors tried to sideswipe Khleeg. He dispatched one with a bloody stroke across the throat. One of the officers who rode with him did battle with the second while Khleeg and the other continued on.