Richard Knaak - The Fire Rose

“That way,” Golgren’s second in command finally ordered, indicating a path to the right.

They had gone no more than a few steps when the sound of someone approaching sent Khleeg and his warriors behind the nearest column.

But to his surprise, it was Wargroch and two guards, who came rushing down the corridor to where they hid.

Khleeg leaped out. “Wargroch!”

The other officer stopped, surprised. “Khleeg?”

“Ha!” Golgren’s second in command slapped Wargroch on the shoulder. The four warriors with him stepped out of their place of concealment. “The palace! It is secure?”

“Secure? Yes. How have you come?”

Khleeg quickly spoke of the secret passage. Wargroch’s eyes widened.

“Enough!” Khleeg said. “Syln waits at the gate! Must open the way for him!”

“Syln expects that?” Wargroch rubbed his thick jaw. “Syln will enter, yes.”

At that moment, more guards appeared. Wargroch gestured for them to lower their weapons. He started to lead Khleeg on.

“Atolgus is in Garantha, Wargroch.”

“Yes. That I know.”

The senior officer paused to stare at his counterpart. “You know?”

“I have seen Atolgus.”

Khleeg grunted. “There must be magic at work. Atolgus cannot be in Garantha without magic. It is”-he searched for the Common word, but could not find it- “ba’gharuc!”

“Unarguable. The word is ‘unarguable,’” Wargroch answered. “It is a hard word for ogre mouths.”

“Unargu-Yes. It is Titan magic.”

Wargroch gestured, continuing with leading Khleeg. Behind the duo, the guards and the four warriors followed.

“Titan magic, yes,” agreed the younger officer. “They have taken the elves too.”

The senior officer’s eyes blazed. Matters were worse than he thought. “Atolgus must be stopped. After that, the Titans.”

“No.”

Khleeg stumbled. He stared at Wargroch. “No?”

“They must win.” Wargroch leaned close to the other ogre, his face close to Khleeg’s. “They will win.”

Khleeg felt a sudden pain in his side. Wargroch stepped back, revealing a dagger in his hand.

Blood dripped from the point, spotting the marble floor Golgren had always ordered so meticulously polished.

There was also blood dripping from Khleeg’s side, just where the front and back plates of his armor came together.

His warriors tried to rush to his aid, but Wargroch’s guards suddenly turned their weapons on the four. An axe cut down one of them. The other three dropped their weapons.

With a roar partly fueled by his pain, Khleeg swung wildly at Wargroch. The other officer jumped back, drawing his own sword. He parried Khleeg’s attack, but instead of counterattacking, simply stood back, keeping away from Khleeg.

Khleeg tried to carry the fight to him, only to have one of his legs give way. He fell to his knees.

His hand could no longer clutch his sword. The weapon dropped to the floor with a loud crash. Golgren’s second in command grabbed for it, but his fingers would not work.

He stared at the only wound he had. It hurt, but it was not so bad a wound to have hurt him so quickly and terribly.

“Ta’ki’agrur,” Wargroch rumbled, carefully sheathing the dagger. “The word in Common, it is ‘vengeance.’ Vengeance . It is a Common word that I like.”

“Ta’ki’agrur?” The dazed and confused Khleeg was finding it hard to concentrate. “Vengeance?”

“The mongrel, he must pay with blood. For my brothers. For the blood of Nagroch. The blood of Belgroch. The mongrel will pay for their blood. With you. With his dream.”

Struggling to rise, Khleeg rasped, “N-Nagroch … But he served the Grand Khan-”

“His life Golgren claimed with a dagger.”

Khleeg knew the story. Nagroch had failed in a duel with the future warrior-mate of the Uruv Suurt emperor. Golgren had taken Nagroch’s life when she had refused to kill him. “It was n-n-”

“Necessary?” Wargroch snorted. “That also. Die, Khleeg. The mongrel will be with you soon enough.”

Golgren’s loyal officer could no longer speak. His vision was fading. He made an awkward grab at his wound.

In the process he lost his balance. Khleeg sprawled on the floor and lay still.

Wargroch bent down and turned Khleeg over. He looked closely. After a moment, he stood.

“The meredrakes are hungry. The poison will not kill them.”

Two of Wargroch’s guards sheathed their weapons and picked up the body. He watched as they carried Khleeg’s body away. As that happened, another guard approached.

“The battle is over?” Wargroch asked before the other could speak.

The guard nodded. “Hand commander dead. Warriors surrender.” He took a breath and added, “Atolgus comes.”

His task done, the treacherous officer hurried to the front hall of the palace. Barely had he arrived than a large, armed party met him coming through the great outer doors.

At their head strode Atolgus. He was taller than when Wargroch had seen him last, taller and mesmerizing. Unlike most, Wargroch knew something about why Atolgus looked different, and why someone who had only been a minor chieftain and loyal follower of the half-breed would suddenly become Golgren’s great nemesis. Wargroch knew Morgada, and understood her tremendous powers, both magical and otherwise.

But Wargroch himself had no need for such temptations. He had desired Golgren’s blood ever since learning of his older brothers’ deaths. Khleeg’s death was one step of that plan.

Atolgus acknowledged him. “Khleeg?”

“The meredrakes feast.”

The new warlord grinned wildly. “Good. She will be pleased.”

Displaying his sword, Wargroch abruptly knelt before Atolgus. “Garantha is secure.”

Atolgus accepted the great blade. “Golgren’s …”

It had been presented early on to Wargroch as a sign of favor from the Grand Khan. “No, Atolgus’s.”

The warlord grinned again. He sheathed it and presented Wargroch with his own sword. “Yours.”

Beating his fist on his breastplate, Wargroch stood and embraced the offering. “Great is Atolgus! Great is his power!”

But Atolgus shook his head. Still grinning, he replied, “No. Great is the power of the Titans.”

Morgada and the Black Talon had observed the entire tableau from their safe sanctum far, far away. They and every other Titan were exhausted; the tasks given to them by the absent Safrag had been so monumental that more than one sorcerer was in danger of needing elixir to restore themselves. However, Morgada had refused all pleas. Safrag had ordered that no one be given any elixir until word came that he had been successful in his quest for the Fire Rose.

“Garantha is at last free of the mongrel,” Draug gasped. “The puppet did his job well.”

“Which puppet?” jested another Titan, despite his exhaustion. “The one full of hate or Morgada’s adoring pet?”

“Choose one and dispense with both! Neither are needed any longer! Garantha bows to us!”

“But Garantha is only the beginning,” breathed Morgada with a smile. “Only the beginning …”

Kulgrath did not share in the good spirits spreading among his comrades. The Titan looked from one side to another before flatly stating, “But it’s no beginning without that for which we’ve hunted! Safrag’s not returned! For all we know the mongrel has the artifact! Imagine the Fire Rose in Golgren’s hands!”

“Imagine that if you will,” interrupted another, familiar voice. “But you would be indulging in flights of fantasy.”

Safrag stood in the center of the chamber, exactly upon the symbol of the Black Talon. His once immaculate garments were torn and stained; there were bruises and cuts on his arms, torso, and face.