Richard Knaak - The Black Talon

Stefan, his helmet lost and his face scratched and bleeding, seized the half-shattered undead and flung it into the nearest widening hole. He bent down to help Idaria.

“My lady!” he gasped. “I saw the merest glimpse of silver hair, but I couldn’t believe that it was you in all this danger! You should be in the city … or in flight to some land beyond this one!”

“There is nothing in the capital for me if Golgren dies,” the slave retorted, “and there would be even less for my people, whom he has promised to free!” As the Solamnic helped her to her feet, she added, “If there is any chance he lives at all, I must find him. I found a fragment of his armor-”

“Stripped from him by some base mage-Tyrus-Tyron-the name-”

“Tyranos?” Idaria frowned. “What is that one doing here, and why would he choose to slay Golgren?”

“No more talk!” He pushed her against the most stable rock around them then raised his sword. Driven by fury, the blade smashed through the chains binding her wrists. Taking a deep breath, the knight repeated his maneuver on the shackles keeping the movement of her legs limited.

“Only Kiri-Jolith knows how you ever got this far so bound! My sword may never again be as sharp as before, but it was worth it to finally cut those dreadful chains! I’m only sorry I can do nothing to remove the pieces from your wrists and ankles, my lady!”

“It is all right.” She gasped. Then, suddenly, she looked beyond him, a strange light in her eyes. “Then Golgren is still alive?”

“When last I saw him, yes! For an ogre, he has a quick wit, but I can’t say how long that’ll help him!”

He started to pull her in the direction of the city, but Idaria resisted, pointing at the line of the quake quickly running toward them along the already heaving and buckling ground.

“Not that way!” Idaria warned, tugging at Stefan.

He tried heading in the opposite direction. No sooner had he turned than another roar like thunder erupted and the land in that direction also exploded into boils and rupturing cracks.

“There’s nowhere to go!” the Solamnic yelled.

Again, the elf pointed. “To your left! No! Here! Follow me!”

“But, my lady-” But the sure-footed elf had started off in a zigzagging path, and he allowed her to pull him along.

“Wait! Why do we not go there?” Stefan abruptly demanded, tugging at her to stop and pointing ahead. “Look! It could take us to Garantha! To continue in your direction leads us away-”

“I must find Golgren!” the slave insisted, tugging at him.

“There is nothing you can do for him, my lady! There is nothing even I can do! You think I’d abandon a comrade of any sort? I-”

His words cut off with a gasp that startled Idaria. She looked where the Solamnic was gaping and shaking his head.

She followed his gaze to see a pair of f’hanos converging on them. They even had bits of loose armor dangling from their bony bodies, but other than that, Idaria could not see that they were any different from the other undead that surrounded them.

Yet the knight muttered the same thing over and over as he stood, slack jawed, his sword hanging limply in his hand. Idaria finally made out his words, which only puzzled her more.

“Forgive me,” the Solamnic repeated. “Forgive me … I couldn’t do anything … forgive me … ”

The two horrors were nearly upon the bedraggled duo. Idaria did not want to abandon the human, but he stood there as if frozen in place. “Sir Stefan! Come! Sir Stefan! Why do you-?”

Then she realized that there was indeed something different about that pair of f’hanos . Not only were they shorter of stature than any of the others, but their skulls were differently shaped and lacked any hint of the tusks of ogres. The skulls of those two were much closer to those of elves.

Except they were human.

“Willum … Hector … please forgive me,” the Solamnic pleaded.

The slaughtered humans had once been Stefan’s comrades.

It was not how it should have gone. Tyranos had put together scenario after scenario, but none of them had accounted for that … nothing, unless …

He shook his head. All that mattered was salvaging the situation as best he could and preserving his relationship with the Grand Lord Golgren if that was still possible.

“Chasm!” he shouted, calling the broad-shouldered gargoyle’s name. “Find the ogre!”

Chasm did not have to ask which ogre his master meant. There was only one that concerned them both. The huge gargoyle banked, swooping down closer to the devastation. High above it, the winged creature was not overly concerned about the tremendous quake, save that it stank of foul magic. Gargoyles could smell the magic to a degree, but even if he didn’t have the nose for it, Chasm would have recognized spell work in the madness below.

Still gripped tightly by his servant, Tyranos, whose hood was off and whose hair was whipping about, pointed the tip of his staff toward the ground. Whether or not he could successfully locate Golgren was another question. The remarkable energies organized by the Titans made it difficult to ferret out anything amid the chaos and destruction, but the wizard thought he might have a chance. Golgren was unique; even he did not understand just how unique he was. That very uniqueness was in part why Tyranos had chosen him in the first place.

As they descended, a dust storm assailed the pair. Tyranos covered his face as best he could and prayed that his masking spell would hold. Of all of his spells, it was the most vital.

The staff detected something. “Bring me down over there! Quickly!”

Chasm did so, his massive, leathery wings beating hard against the air. The gargoyle could cover a mile in less than a minute, but still Tyranos felt he was moving too slowly. Whatever it was the staff had sensed, it was already fading away.

That might very well mean that Golgren had just died.

But suddenly the staff detected something else, and instantly the wizard discarded any concern for his “ally.”

“Up! Up! Hurry!”

Gritting his sharp teeth, the gargoyle strained as he abruptly shifted direction and flew up. His breath came in heaving gasps, and for the first time, he faltered slightly.

Tyranos eyed the turbulent scene below him, cursing the arrogance of all spellcasters, himself included.

“Those damned fools! Those damned Titans!”

The Black Talon sustained the spell, but the great effort was beginning to tell on many of them. Sweat covered most, causing the fine silken garments they wore to cling to their bodies unceremoniously. One Titan already was breathing raggedly and weaving back and forth, the pain distorting his usually handsome features. Others were holding on by sheer grit.

But Dauroth paid no mind to the strain on his followers. His glowing eyes still gazed triumphantly into the ether, and his mouth wore its widest, most predatory smile.

He imagined the wonderful era that would follow once the Black Talon reestablished the true course of ogre destiny. Dauroth relived the dream of the golden city. The lead Titan saw himself finally gaining entrance into the vision and viewing the wonders aplenty within those walls, wonders that he would make real and for which he would be immortalized.

But again Golgren refused to die. Somehow, the half-breed managed to scamper over the rising and falling earth, avoiding the huge ravines that opened up to swallow both living and dead by the scores. Dauroth’s optimism turned to frustration, and he ripped more power from the others for his awe-inspiring spell.

“G-great one!” sputtered Kallel, betraying his fear. “Surely this is enough! S-surely the f’hanos have been returned to their graves and the grand lord shamed beyond redemption!”