Richard Knaak - The Black Talon

His view filled with the toothy maw of another attacking lizard. Stefan reacted instinctively, thrusting under the creature’s jaw. He ran the lizard through the top of its throat, the sword’s momentum shoving it through the other side.

Rid of that foe, Stefan once more looked around for his companions. His gaze at first alighted onto the lone horse, but no longer was there any rider. Worse, he saw only two other knights standing; one of them was Willum. The other knight’s armor was drenched in blood; he hoped it was that of the reptiles. Although he breathed heavily, Willum still was swinging his sword with impressive strength.

Encouraged, Stefan started toward him. Unfortunately, he got no more than a few steps before another lizard popped up in front of him. For the first time, Stefan understood how the knights could have missed seeing the creatures. Their backs were sleek and dark, blending into the shadows of night. Despite their large back legs, they could also bend down almost flat against the uneven ground, crouching while running.

The lizard’s claws raked his breastplate. Growling, Stefan lunged at the beast. It dodged his attack and went for his arm.

Strong teeth clamped down on his elbow. The human screamed as some of those teeth managed to slip in between the pieces of his metal armor. Stefan felt warm blood seeping out of his wound.

Somehow, though, he found the strength to react, bringing the sword down hard along the side of the lizard’s head. The blade easily cut through the creature’s scaly hide. The monster began to convulse but did not release Stefan’s limb.

In desperation, the knight turned the hilt of his sword around and smashed it against the beast’s head. The lizard’s jaws finally opened. Stefan pounded away until at last the lizard balked, its long, sinewy tail nearly bowling over the human as the creature whipped around and fled away.

But as that monster retreated, Stefan saw Willum go down under the onslaught of two more of the vicious reptiles. The other knight struggled to rise up off the ground, but he was swarmed by claws and teeth and could do little to defend himself.

With a roar, Stefan leaped toward his comrade. He slashed the nearest lizard through the back. As it struggled to turn and face him, the bearded fighter ran it through the chest.

Letting the first monster fall, Stefan kicked at the second, who was still bent over Willum, ravaging him. Slavering, the two-legged reptile spun and snapped at him, catching Stefan’s blade in his mouth. There ensued another tug of war, made the worse by the aching in the human’s wounded arm.

Stefan reached for the dagger in his belt. Forcing himself to wield the sword with his damaged limb, he drew the smaller weapon and immediately stabbed at the creature’s eye.

The tip of the blade sank in with a squishing sound, which was quickly followed by an enraged hiss from the reptile. When the lizard released his sword, Stefan finished it off.

“Willum!” he called, leaning over his comrade. “Give me your hand!”

But Willum could not reach up to him, for one hand was bent underneath him and the other … the other was gone. So was his throat and much of his face; the elaborate, jovial smile Willum wore was in fact the curve of jaw bones laid bare by his wounds.

It was all Stefan could do to keep from losing the contents of his stomach. Quickly looking around, he realized that he was alone save for at least seven of the lizards. They slowly encircled him, each one looking poised to leap upon him at any moment.

“As you wish, then,” snarled the knight. Stefan had no hope of escape. The lizards were excellent stalkers. Stefan did not fear death, though he would have preferred to die in battle sword against sword, not perish as food for some ravenous beast.

But that was apparently the fate the gods had in mind for him. He gripped both of his weapons tightly, determined to take at least one more creature with him before he breathed his last.

Two of the savage reptiles lunged forward.

An echoing hiss from far to the north caused all of Stefan’s monstrous adversaries to suddenly freeze, listening. Another urgent hiss quickly followed the first.

One of the beasts surrounding him hissed a reply. The rest-even the pair that had been moving in on him-immediately retreated from the knight. Stefan remained perfectly still. One false action could return their attention to him.

Moving like graceful runners, the lizards suddenly turned and raced off to the hills in the northwest. Stefan did not move until the last of the creatures was several yards off, moving away from him. Then he cautiously backed away, at the same time looking to see if any of the knights’ mounts had survived.

Suddenly, he sensed something. Again, the hair on his neck stood on end. Stefan prayed to the god Kiri-Jolith as he spun around to confront the new, unknown horror.

Something heavy struck him hard on the side of the head; his helmet offered little protection to such a blow. The knight twisted and bent as he lost his balance and, in that brief moment, he caught the outline of a hulking, shaggy-maned figure looming next to him. In one hand the brute held a huge club.

As he collapsed, Stefan’s last coherent thought was to wonder if the lizards would be coming back to eat him.

The corpse of the Grand Khan Zharang was unceremoniously burned, and the ashes were brought to Golgren as he sat on the throne of Kern before an assembly of representatives of the highest castes. Elite guards flanked the gathering, with the warriors, wielding keenly honed swords and axes, clad in newly polished breastplates. Golgren’s banner hung by the scores from the rafters.

Before the properly respectful throng, the grand lord hefted the round bronze container brought to him by Khleeg then dumped its contents on the steps and the floor before him.

The crowd anxiously stepped back as he stood and, without ceremony, trod harshly over the remains of his former sponsor. Then, with Khleeg’s warriors cleaving a path through the onlookers, Golgren strode the length of the long, columned chamber, leaving in his wake a trail of ash gray footprints. Reaching the opposite end of the room, he inspected his handiwork then marched back to the throne, in the process spreading the remnants of Zharang over much of the chamber.

He sat down on the throne, grinning broadly.

By thus treading upon Zharang, literally, Golgren had marked his predecessor as a shamed figure. Any who would associate themselves with the former grand khan’s memory would risk the same fate that had befallen the deceased. Zharang’s legacy and spirit would be officially shunned from that moment on.

As Golgren sat on the throne, Idaria-silently rushing from the shadows-immediately bent and brushed clean the soles of his sandals. At the same time, the elegantly clad ogres in attendance knelt and placed their faces to the floor. They tried to avoid touching or inhaling the former grand khan.

A gesture from Golgren signaled one warrior to blow a horn. The harsh blare gave permission for the assembled ogres to rise and depart, which they did at a slow, respectful pace.

When the audience had departed, two other slaves entered and began sweeping away the dust and ashes. No more would the name of Zharang be spoken aloud there, and within days every memory of him would be eradicated. His household would be sent into exile. Zharang had no offspring and, therefore, no one else the grand lord needed to execute with dispatch. His key followers were already in custody. The ceremony that day was thus short, although its meaning had been well understood by those in attendance. Golgren leaned back idly as the sweepers worked, ruminating as he waited for Idaria to finish her task.