Richard Knaak - The Black Talon

Golgren did the same.

Then the entire world trembled. The ogre was tossed off his feet just as the gargoyle took hold of Tyranos.

A sound like raging thunder but a thousand times more ear splitting shook Golgren to his very core. He heard cracking and tearing, and realized that the ground just ahead of him was opening up, great chunks of rock collapsing into the huge gap. A f’hanos just closing to reach him stumbled and fell back into the swiftly widening crevasse, vanishing from sight.

All around Golgren, the land shook harder and harder. In every direction, huge pieces of earth and stone tore apart or shot up into the air. Ogres and undead alike were tossed about like playthings.

Tyranos and his pet gargoyle had vanished in the sky. Golgren fought to maintain his balance.

He fell to his knees, rose, then almost immediately fell down again. The one thing that the grand lord had accomplished was to achieve a low vantage from which he could see better what was happening all around him, but that view only left him cold.

The entire landscape from the edge of Garantha to far to the west was caught up in a quake of tremendous magnitude. The legions of f’hanos were perishing by the scores, most of them falling into horrific gaps, which opened and suddenly closed again. His own followers fared no better. Golgren witnessed a horse and rider simply sink beneath the land without even the chance for a scream, while other ogres fled in outright panic as relentless rock flows poured over them.

As for the city itself, its walls stood unperturbed, untouched. The towers did not tremble in the least nor were there any plumes of dust and smoke as filled the air about him. Garantha was safe and sound and, strangely, entirely untouched. The citizens surely knew what was going on outside the city, but for them it was merely a monstrous spectacle to watch in awe.

It was a spectacle courtesy of Dauroth.

“The land will be ravaged for mile upon mile!” Kallel declared. “Is this not dangerous?”

Dauroth stared down the other Titan. “It is justice.”

“But how long dare we keep this going? It will deplete our energies, risk pushing some of us to collapse. We need more elixir, and there is barely enough for one last round as it is!”

There was less than that, even, if truth be told, but Dauroth was not concerned. After the fight it would be simple enough to gather the elves that Golgren had put in the stone stockade and squeeze from them every drop of necessary blood. That would give the Titans an ample supply of that precious resource until the new sources of rejuvenation could be properly tested.

“We will keep this up until the f’hanos and the grand lord share a common grave from which neither shall ever rise again! From this vast destruction will emerge at last the golden age for which we have toiled so long! There will be no further question in the mind of the people that it is the Titans who are their hope, who are their saviors, their teachers.”

“But so many will be lost!” pointed out another Titan. “The blame for all of that-”

“The blame for all of that shall fall upon the half-breed, naturally.”

The other Titans could not argue. Among ogres, a failed ruler, a dead ruler, was an easy scapegoat for mistakes and catastrophes; such had been the course of things too often in ogre history.

Dauroth focused on the spell again. An exhilaration that he had not experienced in decades filled him. He was thrilled to be destroying Golgren, he finally realized. Until that very moment, the lead spellcaster had not understood just how much he had despised the grand lord.

What a joyous event it shall be! Dauroth thought merrily. I shall make the grand lord’s demise a day of celebration!

First he had to finish the task. Like most true vermin, the mongrel was proving adept at hanging on to life. The Black Talon would have to increase its magical efforts. If one or more of the inner circle should suffer fatal consequences from his action, so be it. Dauroth had always preached that to reach the golden age would require sacrifices from many.

With but a single sung word, Dauroth drew more magic from his cohorts. The others let out gasps as they felt the power draining away from them, but there was not even a feeble protest, not that any protest would have changed his decision.

You will be squashed, Grand Lord, the Titan promised. You will be squashed even if I have to rip apart all of Kern and Blode to do it.

It should have been Idaria’s chance to flee the ogre realm, but still she stayed loyal to Golgren, trying to find and help him, searching through the chaos. Although her thick iron chains yet bound her, she still moved with the grace and perfection for which her race was famous. Where ogres and fleshless undead toppled into chasms and were lost, the elf nimbly shifted from one momentarily stable place to the next.

It was because of the Titans that she was so determined to save Golgren. Only Golgren stood against them. Only Golgren would see that her enslaved people were not herded like cattle to the slaughter, providing more and more blood for the foul elixir of the vampiric spellcasters. She had believed him when he had said that he would release the slaves shortly after his coronation. If Golgren made such a promise, he would fulfill it. Her sacrifice of honor and freedom-of her own body-her spying for the Nerakans would finally be vindicated.

It had been simple to elude her guard, who had been more interested in saving his own hide than in chasing after some mad elf. From there, though, Idaria’s mission had proved far more difficult. Her mount she had abandoned far back because the animal was at far greater risk than she under such conditions. Idaria carried only a dagger; any other weapon would have been too unwieldy. The dagger was more for comfort, for it was useless against the undead. Fortunately, she eluded them; the quake was keeping them busy.

How long Dauroth and his followers would-or even could -keep up their monumental spell was the question. Even among the most advanced elf mages, such an effort would be highly taxing.

In the distance, she caught a glimpse of Khleeg. The ogre was no longer mounted either. Around him had gathered perhaps half a dozen other warriors. The ogres battled desperately against undead attackers. Yet there was no sign of Golgren, and Idaria moved on. She didn’t care about Khleeg’s fate.

She alighted on a rock, and that rock sank into the rupturing land with a suddenness for which even the elf could not adjust fast enough. Falling, Idaria got tangled in her chains. Her dagger went bouncing away, disappearing in a new chasm.

As she struggled to free herself, one of the f’hanos appeared. Twice it staggered and nearly fell over, thanks to the continuing tremors, but still it lumbered on toward the elf. The hollow areas where its eyes were missing somehow radiated malevolence and, although unarmed, the creature had nails and teeth more than capable of rending her soft flesh to bloody gobbets.

Unable to free herself, Idaria blindly groped for some weapon. Her fingers slipped over something metal and rounded on one side. Without hesitation, she threw it at the undead.

The piece of metal bounced off the skeleton without having any effect on it, and Idaria saw that it was part of a breastplate. The ornate design identified it as having belonged to the highest rank among the ogre army: none but Golgren himself. Despite the menace bearing down on her, her eyes followed the clattering armor, which looked banged and battered as though it had been ripped off the grand lord’s body by some terrible force.

Then she heard a labored grunt from the direction of the ghoul. She turned to see a figure in ravaged silver armor barreling into the creature from behind, smashing the f’hanos into a wall of rock.