Richard Knaak: The Black Talon

But as elegant as their garments were, they paled in comparison to the faces of the ones gathering before the grand lord. No, perfection was not a word that adequately described the countenances of the newcomers. Their flawless features made the most beautiful elves look dull and drab in comparison. Several of Golgren’s warriors stared, awed by what their eyes beheld and suddenly ashamed that they were lesser beings. It was hard for any among them to believe that those godlike creatures were kin, were also ogres.

The giants’ skin was bluer than the open sky and without blemish. Their upswept, golden eyes seemed to glow from within. Their ears were long and pointed but in a graceful manner. Most wore their midnight-black hair bound in a thick tail.

Their leader, the one who had spoken in the cultured voice, gave Golgren a low bow. His lips parted, and suddenly the perfection gave way to something monstrous. The giant evidenced twin rows of savage, pointed teeth, reminiscent of a shark.

“The day is yours, oh Grand Lord,” the figure pronounced in his almost musical voice, loudly and in succinct Common. “We give our congratulations to you on this great victory.”

He bowed low again, the others behind him following suit. With the exception of a few personal touches to their garments, the members of the astounding group-all male-looked nearly identical to one another. Their leader showed a few peculiarities; his face was a touch older, wizened. A streak of silver-not gray-rose from the hairline on his back.

“Your words are most gracious, Dauroth,” Golgren returned with equal ease of the tongue. He took another sniff from the bottle then returned it to the pouch. “And thus accepted by myself.”

The grand lord noted a slight stirring among Dauroth’s followers. They did not approve of his grandiose airs, he knew.

Golgren’s hand casually grazed his chest, where a pair of chains around his neck indicated that more than one thing hung hidden inside his garments. “The Titans performed their duties adequately,” he continued, ignoring the sudden darkening expression among those in the back at his careful choice of words. “Even though not all went in a manner so timely as might be desired.”

One of the Titans emitted a low, angry mutter. Dauroth’s head tipped slightly to the side, and the offending sound ceased. The lead Titan straightened to his full height. Even on horseback, Golgren was shorter and had to look up to meet his eyes.

Nonetheless, Dauroth showed nothing but subservience to the smaller ogre. “I must apologize for our missteps, oh Grand Lord. I promise that we shall endeavor to be of greater efficiency and value to you when next our services are needed.”

“The tremor was a most amusing touch,” Golgren commented offhandedly.

Dauroth smiled, displaying his sinister teeth. “I will personally see that we strive to enhance its effect in the future. This entire scenario was a first trial for us in such spell work, as you no doubt recall.”

Golgren nodded once then pretended to lose interest. “We are done here, Dauroth. You and your Titans have my permission to depart.”

“You have but to summon us again at your leisure, oh Grand Lord,” the senior spellcaster intoned, golden eyes suddenly flaring bright with magic. “And we shall stand before you, ready to do your bidding, in the blink of an eye.”

A whirlwind abruptly sprang to life around the Titans. Even though its reach did not extend beyond the magnificent giants, the nearby guards backed away. Only Golgren, his loose mane just slightly rustled by the wind, did not budge. The grand lord looked bored at their latest magical marvel.

Although they stood within the whirlwind’s center, the Titans, too, were barely grazed by the magical wind. They huddled closer together, gleaming eyes narrowed in concentration. Dauroth raised his hands to the sides, revealing in that moment two other jarring discrepancies in the Titans’ overall beauty. First were the bony, hooked spurs that sprouted from their elbows, almost five inches long. Yet more unnerving were their hands themselves. They were strong and sleek, true, but they ended in fierce, ebony nails-much like the claws of raptors-that stretched at least three inches.

As the wind rose, Dauroth looked to the sky and uttered certain words in a musical language. As one, the Titans vanished.

The wind died down as soon as they were gone. Golgren let out a grunt that marked for all around him his lack of amazement at Dauroth’s act. The other ogres quickly tried to copy his facial expression, wary of possibly letting the grand lord think that anything frightened them that didn’t frighten him.

Golgren turned his mount around and headed to his tent. The rounded structure was formed from tanned hides and bone slats with a thick piece of mastark fur draping the entrance. Two guards stood near the entrance-one a typical Kern ogre like so many that comprised Golgren’s following, the second a rounder, squatter figure in armor who hailed from the other ogre realm of Blode. The two saluted him with equal fervor, their meaty fists banging hard against their breastplates. There still remained a grand khan in Kern and a ruling chieftain in Blode, but Golgren was master of both regions in all but title.

And even that would soon change.

One of the guards took the reins but did not offer to assist Golgren down. The grand lord rarely ever accepted help from his own kind. An ogre who did not fend for himself was a fool.

Ignoring the guards, Golgren slipped into his tent. Inside was shade and warmth. The floor was covered by a wide mastark hide and softer skins, mostly from young amaloks, scattered here and there. There were also many colorful yet elegant pillows with intricate embroidery whose craftsmanship marked them as spoils from the conquest of elven Silvanost.

And even more important, another souvenir from that ravaged land, was the female who awaited the grand lord, a silver-tressed figure with eyes of crystalline blue and skin of ivory. Her form was slim yet appreciably curved in the ways Golgren liked; she appeared just a few short years into adulthood, even though she was a lifetime or two older than the ogre. Her hair was parted down the middle and flowed past her shoulders, down to nearly the crook of her back. Her somewhat narrow face bore features that were both delicate and yet toughened.

She wore the remnants of a once-grand gown whose color, green, almost matched the tint of Golgren’s eyes. The bottom of her gown was in tattered shreds, while the bodice had been revamped and lowered-at Golgren’s demand-to best display her charms. She wore only well-used, crude sandals of ogre make, sandals originally for a child of that race.

Her ankles and wrists were shackled in iron, providing her just enough mobility to perform her tasks but not enough to make an escape. In the past the elf woman-like her two predecessors- had tried to escape and failed miserably.

“Idaria,” he rumbled.

She lowered her head. “My lord Golgren.”

Assuring himself that the tent flap completely covered the entrance, the grand lord seated himself on the cushions. Idaria maneuvered herself around to her appointed place at his right. Without looking at her, Golgren held up the covered stump of his arm.

With practiced care, the elf undid what remained of the fastenings for his metal talons. Some of the stronger ones had dug into his flesh, causing bleeding that became apparent only when the wrappings had been completely removed.

“The weapon, it did not work to my satisfaction,” the ogre commented more to the air than to the elf woman. “The device’s making, it was crude. Not as I envisioned it. It shall need to be redone.”

Idaria said nothing. If and when Golgren wanted her to respond, he would give her a clear indication. She continued to remove everything from his arm so she could see to cleaning the injured stump. Once, the thought of performing such a task would have affronted the elf woman, but Idaria had discovered that she was capable of enduring many worse affronts; she was a survivor willing to do whatever she must. That alone set her apart from those who came before her.