The Gargoyle King

by Richard A. Knaak

  “So good to see so loyal a warrior,” Golgren whispered, also in Common.

  “Grand—” Wargroch’s voice halted as the point dug into him, causing a slight dribble of blood that descended onto the officer’s armored shoulder.

  “A single sound that I do not require will mean your death. Understood?”

  Wargroch silently nodded.

  Although his prisoner could not see his face, Golgren bared his teeth as he asked, “And Khleeg?”

  The Blödian swallowed hard before murmuring, “Dead.”

  “And it was Wargroch who slew him, yes?”

  To his credit, Golgren’s traitorous follower did not lie. “Yes.”

  “There is much blood on Wargroch’s hands, dishonored blood. I should slay Wargroch here and now, but there is value in your life … if you obey.”

  “Grand Khan—” Again, the heavier warrior broke off as the dagger dug a little deeper, adding to the tiny, crimson rivulet of blood.

  “A whisper only, good Wargroch.”

  “Grand Khan, I have no honor. I am a traitor, as you say. But I swear on my ancestors to serve you now.”

  Golgren let the dagger trace a line toward the back of the ogre’s neck. “So you did once before. Only one pact now is between us. Wargroch will take me where I wish and I will perhaps not execute him. Yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Safrag … he is here in the palace?”

  “No.”

  Pressing the dagger harder, Golgren repeated his question, only to receive the same answer. What Wargroch did not realize, though, was that the half-breed was reading the officer’s composure or lack thereof, a trick he had learned long before.

  So at least as to the question of Safrag’s whereabouts, he accepted that Wargroch was telling the truth. On the other hand, Wargroch’s oath to serve Golgren again had too much bad history behind it to make it trustworthy under any circumstance.

  “Where is Safrag?”

  “Don’t know. Morgada and Falstoch are here. They watch the city for Safrag. There is also Atolgus—”

  At mention of the former chieftain, Golgren touched the point to a different part of Wargroch’s neck. “Is Atolgus near?”

  “No. He waits for the female Titan in his chamber. He always waits.”

  Aware of the dark enchantments of the lone female sorcerer, Golgren was unsurprised. Atolgus was no more than a hound, then, willing to do whatever she commanded of him and, thus, whatever Safrag desired. Which made him yet another danger.

  But Safrag’s absence was something Golgren had not expected, and he had to decide what to do. “Morgada is here.” Golgren smiled to himself. “Lead us to her, then, good friend.”

  The Blödian stepped forward, but Golgren pulled him back.

  “Betray me and you will die even if I forfeit my own life, Wargroch. Your life is bound to mine.”

  “As you say,” the officer replied. “My sword?”

  Golgren had noted that Wargroch carried next to him a sheathed weapon. It was not the one the former Grand Khan had awarded him, but rather another that Golgren was familiar with. The markings on the hilt showed it had once belonged to Atolgus.

  “Leave it.”

  Wargroch said nothing. Golgren lowered the dagger to a place where it could be thrust through a slight separation between the front and back plates of the officer’s armor, while remaining hidden from the view of any approaching the pair. He then tapped Wargroch with the blade to let him know to move.

  Although shorter and wirier than Wargroch or most other ogres, Golgren had no fear that the other would turn on him. Wargroch knew his former lord well, especially the legendary agility and speed that had enabled the half-breed to bring down foes of even greater might than the Blödian.

  “Many guards?” Golgren asked as they walked slowly, close together.

  “Few. They are not comfortable here and not needed much.”

  “But Wargroch is very comfortable here, yes?”

  The Blödian dared turn his head slightly toward Golgren. “Grand Khan, you should not come here! You seek Safrag but Safrag also seeks you! We thought you dead, but Morgada told us that Safrag sensed you alive! Since then, he has waited! You and the Fire Rose, the two of you are all he thinks of!”

  Golgren’s expression remained masked. “This I am aware of. Lead.”

  With a defeated grunt, Wargroch continued walking. Golgren glanced at the signet. He counted on it to help him against Morgada or any of the other Titans. The risk was great, but Golgren had not risen to Grand Khan without great audacity.

  Then the sound of footsteps racing down the hall forced Golgren to drag Wargroch into a side corridor. The oversized, arrogant countenance of Safrag, decorating the wall, mocked the half-breed as he and Wargroch pressed against the opposing side.

  Half a dozen well-armed ogres trotted down the main hall. They wore murderous gazes, and Golgren felt certain they were hunting for him.

  “You must leave Garantha,” whispered Wargroch just after the small band passed.

  Golgren did not reply, for more warriors could be heard racing down the hall.

  There were nearly a dozen in that group. Unlike the last set, they slowed, as if seeking their quarry in a more methodical fashion. One paused, about to peer down the side corridor, when a harsh voice ordered him to move on ahead.

  The Grand Khan bared his teeth as Atolgus stalked past.

  The former chieftain was barely recognizable to him. His skin already had a blue tint to it, and his eyes were golden and without pupils. He was also much, much taller than the last time Golgren had seen him, at least two feet taller than the brawniest of his guards.

  Atolgus gestured to an unseen follower, revealing in the process that he also sported short but no-less-wicked talons like the Titans. Golgren, who was somewhat familiar with the process that turned an ogre into one of the towering sorcerers, was morbidly fascinated by the unique, gradual transition.

  The former chieftain drew his sword—the sword Golgren had originally presented to Wargroch—and followed after his warriors. The half-breed waited for several seconds before deciding that it was safe to continue.

  He had no special fear of Atolgus; but Golgren had to keep his concentration on finding Morgada. He felt that she was an essential part of his plan if he hoped to confront Safrag.

  “Lead on,” he murmured to Wargroch.

  The Blödian hesitated. “She may not be where I remember, Grand Khan.”

  “And it would be foolish for you to see her anyway,” remarked another, familiar voice.

  “Tyranos,” Golgren returned quietly in a low hiss. “Your coming was expected earlier.”

  Both turned to face the brawny wizard. Although like Golgren, Tyranos was much shorter than Wargroch, there was something in the spellcaster’s steely gaze that frightened the traitor.

  “Yes, of course you were expecting me,” Tyranos countered with more than a hint of sarcasm. “I’m ever at your beck and call.” He pointed the head of the staff at Wargroch. “Just like this one used to be.”

  Wargroch gave an unsettled grunt. “Do I know you, human?”

  “Excellent Common. No, but I know you, ogre. I am surprised you didn’t slit his throat as soon as you found him, oh great Grand Khan.”

  “Wargroch still has his uses, as do you.”

  Tyranos shook his head. “I think you mistake my reason for locating you. If you want the Fire Rose, the last place you should be looking is here in the palace! All you’ll end up with here is your hide decorating one of the walls”—the wizard sneered at the nearest relief of Safrag’s face—“with this creature forever leering at your fate.”

  They were interrupted by the sound of rushing feet and the clatter of weapons and armor; all were coming back from the direction that Atolgus and the guards had taken earlier.

  “I can promise you that doom is on the way,” the wizard growled low.

  “Take us from here,” Golgren decided.

&nb
sp; “Just like that? I planned for more argument and subterfuge on your part—” Tyranos broke off as the sound of the oncoming ogres neared. “Hold tight!”

  Golgren suddenly realized something. “Wargroch comes—”

  He and the wizard vanished, appearing elsewhere before the half-breed could finish. Paying attention to nothing else, Golgren immediately pressed his maimed limb to Tyranos’s throat.

  “Wargroch should have come with us. There was still possible need for him. The Titan Morgada—”

  “Welcomes you.”

  Both males turned. Tyranos scowled. “This was not where I intended us to be!”

  They stood in what was clearly some inner chamber in the transformed palace. Safrag’s countenance was everywhere, as if spying on them. The chamber was otherwise opulent, with golden walls and glittering crystal lamps and arched wings hovering above the pair. The lamps didn’t evidence any link to the ceiling or any other source of light. They resembled starbursts more than anything and burned within as if alive.

  The scent of oleander filled the room, the scent of the flower of a plant that was itself very poisonous. A vast, round bed of down with lush cushions and long, silken sheets—all some variation of the same colors as the walls—was the centerpiece of the chamber. Its occupant had an arresting presence. Gracefully sweeping back her long, dark hair, the towering female smiled at the newcomers. Yet her teeth could barely be glimpsed between the full lips, her way of obscuring their sharpness.

  “The Grand Khan Golgren,” Morgada cooed, “and an unexpected but certainly interesting friend.”

  Tyranos wielded the staff upright, like a sword or axe. “How you seized control of my spell, I don’t know, but you’ll find that’s the end of your good fortune, Titan!”

  “Why, I don’t know what you mean. I didn’t seize your spell, human.”

  The wizard snorted but Golgren sensed that, as incredible as it might seem, Morgada sounded as though she spoke the truth. With that surprise in mind, the half-breed recalled the signet.

  “No, it was not her; it was this.”

  “That damned thing plays too many games! It’s as bad as that ghoul controlling the gargoyles!”

  Golgren eyed the markings. “Small wonder, as both have pasts that intertwine, I think.”

  “High Ogres, you mean.” The spellcaster, his fierce gaze not for a moment leaving the sorceress, shrugged. “I thought as much, but in this case a High Ogre still alive.”

  Morgada chuckled lightly. “Alive in some sense, at least.”

  The eyes of both males widened in understanding.

  “Yes, I know exactly of whom you speak.” Morgada suddenly spun, whirling so fast that she immediately became a blue blur. As she spun, she also shrank in size, quickly becoming less than half her height, slightly smaller than they.

  “So much better,” the female Titan commented. She stepped up to Golgren and the wizard, her every movement enticing.

  Tyranos let out a low growl and backed slightly away. Golgren did not budge, not even when Morgada stretched forth a hand that almost but not quite stroked his cheek.

  “Watch those delicate nails,” the spellcaster murmured, although whether he spoke to her or to the half-breed was not clear.

  “I find this height far more to my liking. What about you?” Morgada asked. Despite the fact that she spoke Common instead of the tongue created by Dauroth, her voice was musical. Seductive, deadly music. “He prefers it too. High Ogres were not so tall as Dauroth once led us to believe. In fact, they were about your height, Grand Khan. Certainly, he is.”

  “You know him very well,” Golgren stated bluntly.

  “Xiryn? Yes, I know him, and I know what he wishes of both of us.”

  “Xiryn.” Tyranos’s eyes narrowed. “I know that name. I read it somewhere … in one of the tombs.”

  “Xiryn is the lord of the gargoyles,” Golgren said, staring directly, fiercely, into Morgada’s eyes.

  Though she still smiled beguilingly, it was she who looked away. “Yes, and so much more. He knows the Fire Rose better than any of us, for it was he who first accepted it as a gift from the god Sirrion.”

  “How can that be?” Tyranos demanded. “That was long, long ago! Centuries upon centuries! The only things left of the High Ogre race are their tombs and their decadent descendants! No High Ogre could live so long, save perhaps if he wielded the Fire Rose all that time, which he hasn’t, it appears.”

  The temptress laughed at him. “Xiryn is very clever and so very, very determined. Even death fears him.”

  Golgren suddenly realized something. “He made you. He is why you are a Titan.”

  “Oh, yes. He manipulated the fool who was already one and used him to gain access for me to Dauroth, who found the notion of finally creating a female Titan intriguing, of course. Dauroth had not done so before because he did not want nature to take its course; all Titans were to be his creation, not the cause of a union. That would have lessened his grip on them if they discovered their children would gain from them.” She gestured impatiently. “But what really matters is that he accepted me, just as Xiryn intended! Xiryn works to ensure that nothing will keep him from the Fire Rose!”

  The deposed Grand Khan bared his teeth. “But he and you are mistaken if you think I will let him have it.”

  His remark only made Morgada laugh again, louder, but still seductively. “Oh, but you are the one mistaken! I’ve no intention of letting Xiryn have it … not at all!” The sorceress placed one soft palm against Golgren’s chest, her talons grazing him so lightly that they almost tickled. “I want to help you.”

  XIII

  DARK GUARDIANS

  Why do I have difficulty believing you?” Tyranos snarled. “Watch her carefully, oh Grand Khan! Those pretty nails may only be resting on your chest, but you might find them ripping out your heart in the next and last breath!”

  “I mean what I say,” Morgada insisted, not letting her face show any displeasure. “Safrag is enthralled by the Fire Rose.” She looked at Golgren again. “Other than your life, he cares for nothing greater than to use it to remake … everything! He even intends to remold the Titans to his own grand dream.” The temptress shuddered. “But Safrag constantly changes his mind as to what that grand dream should be, and so I fear that with each fancy of his we will be transformed over and over.”

  The wizard chuckled darkly. “Now that, on the other hand, is a fear that I can believe you have got! Granted, it takes a powerful mind to keep Sirrion’s gift under control.”

  “A mind more powerful than yours, spellcaster,” she replied with a bit of a smirk. “A mind such as the Grand Khan Golgren’s.”

  “So instead of Xiryn’s pawn, he’ll be your adoring pet! What say you to that, Golgren?”

  “That is not what I offer—”

  Golgren cut them both off. “And what do you wish from this bargain, Titaness?”

  “Without the elixir, Xiryn, or Safrag, there is nothing to keep me from reverting as my power fails. With the Fire Rose, you can make it so that I’ll always be alive, like this.” Morgada gave him another beguiling smile. “Or you can shape me in some manner that pleases you more … even an elf.”

  “You should turn her into a viper, a much more natural shape for her.”

  Morgada gave no retort but showed a brief flash of anger.

  It was anger that Golgren could exploit. “Keep your word,” the half-ogre said to her, “and I will keep mine.”

  “Splendid!” She was on her feet and almost pressing against him without actually having risen. One moment Morgada was kneeling; the next she was standing.

  To the side and out of her view, Tyranos shook his head at Golgren. The half-breed did not acknowledge him; he was more interested in something else. “Where is Safrag?” he asked Morgada. “Can you take me to him now?”

  Some of her confidence faded. “To take you to him now would be a mistake. We would all end up like Kulgrath.” Morgada paused but did not
explain what she meant by that. “He is studying the Fire Rose as we speak. However, even he eventually tires enough that he must sleep. We will wait until then. That was Xiryn’s plan, and I believe it to be a good one, Grand Khan.”

  “There is merit.”

  Tyranos was not as easily satisfied. “And so what do we do in the meantime? Wait for him to alter this place again?” He grimaced as he studied one of the reliefs. “You sure these wall really don’t have ears, sorceress?”

  “Xiryn showed me how to shield myself from Safrag without him knowing about it. You may trust that we are safe—” But as she spoke, Morgada’s eyes suddenly shifted to the ceiling as if hearing something. “Safrag desires my presence! You two must stay here! It’s the only truly secure place in the palace!”

  Before either could respond, the female Titan vanished.

  The wizard did not take her departure well. “I don’t plan to wait here and hope that she doesn’t bring Safrag back!”

  He called upon the staff, but the crystal only dimmed. “This should work!” Tyranos shook the magical item.

  “It should!”

  Golgren remained quiet, for he had noticed the signet grow warmer. Some force desired them to stay there for the time being, which also suited the half-breed. Morgada could be of more use to Golgren than he had originally intended.

  But he was nagged by one concern. There was one other who knew for a fact that the deposed Grand Khan had infiltrated the palace.

  “Tyranos, can you summon someone to us?”

  “Not Safrag, I assume. You can’t be that insane.”

  “Wargroch.”

  The spellcaster studied the staff. “No. Not so long as it’s behaving like this.”

  The signet remained warm, which told Golgren that there was nothing else they could do, at least not for the moment. The half-breed surveyed the chamber. “No door in this place.”

  “Yes, I noticed.” Tyranos briefly touched something under his chest, a habit Golgren recognized because he often did the same thing himself. Instinctively, the half-ogre let his hand graze where his mummified appendage hung over his heart.