“I feared that something had happened to you!” she blurted, rushing to his side.
The Titan smirked. Catching his look, the Solamnic tapped his own chest. “Remember the medallion and your oath.”
The smirk vanished. Somewhat sullen, the towering figure started down the corridor.
Idaria shot a look at Stefan then rushed to catch up with the Titan, daring to grab his arm. “Can you free them?”
He looked down at her with unconcealed contempt. “It seems I have no choice.”
Before she could explain to Stefan, they had stepped out into the immense chamber. At first, the Titan’s massive form blocked the knight’s view. As the sorcerer stepped aside, his face registered shock at the spectacle of the frozen elves.
“Kiri-Jolith protect us!” the knight growled. He brought the blade’s tip up to the Titan’s chest. “What’ve you done to them?”
“Preserved them healthier than you would have found them otherwise,” retorted the spellcaster.
“Undo this!”
“It will take some doing. There must be patience.”
Stefan frowned. “I’ll brook no delays, and the medallion will reveal any duplicity on your part.”
The Titan did not reply. Instead, he turned to the nearest of the figures. Stretching forth a finger, he let the tip of his talon touch the forehead of the frozen form.
A small, black spot appeared on the head of the elf, a female who likely looked more her true age than prior to her enslavement. Most of the elves had aged as none of their kind normally did until very old. They looked weathered, worn … almost human.
The black spot swelled then grew what seemed spidery legs that quickly spread over the elf’s still form.
But no sooner had that happened than the spot and its appendages faded away. The Titan swore.
“This will take more effort than I anticipated. Morgada had a hand in the original casting. For the last slave, Vradoc and I worked together to resurrect him. Vradoc is dead, thanks to you, human. I must do the work alone now.”
“That will take too long,” Idaria countered. “There is no telling what time we have before another Titan returns.”
“I can do nothing more than what I said.” The sorcerer indicated the medallion, which lay dormant. “And this proves my words true.”
Stefan frowned. “It would take days and days to free all of them.”
The Titan’s expression revealed nothing.
Idaria reached out to the frozen figure. Her hands gently touched the pained face. The transformation was so complete that the elf even cut her finger on the sharpened corner of the chin.
As she pulled the injured finger back, Idaria saw the blood absorbed into the figure. The frozen elf evinced a slightly different hue.
The knight, eyes flashing, stepped up beside her. “What did you do?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure. But there may be a way.” Idaria turned to the Titans’ last victim. She pointed at the sinister device above the corpse. “That is filled with elf blood.”
The sorcerer nodded. “Yes. Even though we have the Fire Rose, elf blood has … interesting, valuable properties.”
Idaria’s hands briefly tightened into fists. Her angry glare was such that even the spellcaster took a step back. “Let us pray those properties remain for a time, even after death.”
She exchanged a look with Stefan. Understanding, Stefan grimaced but nodded. The Titan cocked his head in clinical interest.
“Yes,” he murmured. “The blood could possibly do it.”
“If it does the job and we leave with the elves, you’ll have done your part,” the knight informed the blue-skinned spellcaster. “I will free you. Our agreement will be over.”
“Then let’s be done with this, human.” The Titan raised his hands, but instead of casting a spell, he removed the hoses from the body. Stefan mumbled a prayer for the dead. Idaria flinched as the sorcerer paid little mind to how his tugging caused the hooks to pull out with bits of flesh.
Twisting the device around, the Titan manipulated it so the appendages faced not the legions of petrified elves, but rather, himself.
Idaria protested. “You should let it pass over them.”
He looked at her with some slight contempt for her ignorance. “I know what I do. You want them all freed quickly. I must be the conduit.”
Without waiting for her or the knight to reply, the Titan adjusted the hoses. He then began speaking in the singing language.
“Do you understand him?” the elf quietly asked Stefan.
“No, he wears the medallion, and I dare not remove it. Trust in Kiri-Jolith that he’ll do as he says. Any subterfuge on his part will be turned back upon him. If he’s honest, though, he need fear nothing.”
Idaria did not look persuaded. However, there was no real choice but to hope that the Titan would do as commanded.
The sorcerer sang louder. Idaria’s hair tingled as it would have if lightning had discharged nearby. The odor that she had associated with that elemental force grew more evident.
A black aura formed around the Titan as he stretched out his taloned hands. He bent his head up, staring at the foul device.
A second aura suddenly surrounded the container housing the elf blood. However, that aura was green, a green reminiscent of the forest of Silvanesti. Idaria felt a tear slip from one eye.
The Titan brought his taloned hands together. The two auras moved toward one another, melding. The black took on an emerald hue as the sorcerer gained control of his spell. The Titan’s expression was one of both exhilaration and astonishment.
“So much life! So much energy! Why did not Dauroth or Safrag ever tell us what it would mean to take it into ourselves in such a manner?” He grinned, his sharp teeth giving him a very hungry appearance.
“Recall your task!” Idaria shouted.
The sorcerer sniffed at her then turned to face the hundreds of dread statues. The device continued to feed the green aura into his black one.
He spread his hands toward the enchanted figures and once more sang the magic. Despite the beauty of his singing, there was something that both the human and the elf found ominous in it.
Then from his hands burst the green-black aura. It shot to the foremost of the statues, engulfing it. Almost instantly, twin, like-colored streams dispersed from the first figure to the two nearest. From each of those elves, two more streams shot forth to touch another pair.
Within seconds, the aura had spread through a hundred. From there, it even more quickly doubled its number then quadrupled it. On and on the aura spread until at last, within less than a minute, it had touched all of the imprisoned elves.
The Titan raised his hands to the ceiling. His singing reached a grand crescendo.
Great emerald flames rose up around each elf. Yet the flames did not burn the figures; rather, they melted away the enchantment. Hard stone dripped away, revealing flesh. Raised arms lowered and stifled screams erupted, only to die down as the screamers realized they were free. Moans arose everywhere as the slaves sought to recuperate from their horrific ordeals.
The flames rushed through the ranks, adding to the living. Some elves turned and clutched one another in relief. Others crouched in fear, thinking that perhaps some more dire fate awaited them. Most turned to stare at the Titan, expecting that he was lord of their futures.
Then a few noticed Idaria and Stefan—especially the Solamnic’s weapon—and the confusion spread. Not even a Titan was haughty enough to permit a prisoner to hold a sword.
Idaria raised her hands for silence. Elves in the front signaled to those in back to quiet.
The last of the slaves had been freed. The Titan finally dropped his own hands. The aura faded. The sorcerer looked exhausted but still exhilarated.
Seizing the moment, Idaria called out, “We are here to bring you to freedom!”
Some of the prisoners stared suspiciously at the Titan, who sneered back. The elves remained as frozen in plac
e as if they were still statues.
“She means what she says!” Stefan added, brandishing his weapon. “But you must quickly gather those who are weakest and help them follow! We must leave immediately, or we risk losing our chance!”
When, still, the Titan seemed more of interest to the slaves than their calls to freedom, Idaria finally shouted in frustration, “He can do nothing to you anymore! Come!”
With that, the surge of freedom began in earnest. Moving with far more animation than they had perhaps in ages, the slaves converged on the trio. The elves were still cautious enough to veer away from the Titan, who watched in amusement.
Idaria and Stefan were faced with a flood of living beings. The two turned to lead their charges out.
A belated concern touched Idaria. To the sorcerer, she asked, “Will they be able to pass through the wall?”
“The way is open in both directions now.”
Trusting to the medallion to keep the Titan true to his word, Idaria called out to the slaves, “Go no farther than the hall directly outside! I will join you once I have made certain that there are no delays here.”
“Yes, mistress,” replied more than one subserviently.
“I am not your mistress! You are no one’s thrall anymore!”
With tentative smiles, the elves moved on, a flow of humanity.
“It’s happening!” Idaria breathed. “It’s happening! We’ve a chance to go home—”
“The only place you’re going is back to serving our needs!” she heard the Titan declare in a loud, gleeful voice.
There were screams near where the giant sorcerer stood. Black flames erupted around the Titan, flames with an emerald tint.
Pressed against the walls by the streaming, suddenly fearful bodies, both Stefan and Idaria could only watch in horror as the Titan betrayed them. With only his own powers, he had been unable to withstand the holy essence of the medallion. However, it was no longer his power alone that the dark sorcerer wielded. He was still linked to the blood-draining device.
The Titan was using an elf’s life force to overwhelm the medallion, and neither Idaria nor the Solamnic could stop him.
XVII
REDEMPTION
A very good time to die,” agreed Atolgus. “My ascension is nearly complete! I’m a true Titan now! Equal to her and, therefore, worthy of her!” He took a step closer to Golgren. “And with your head as a gift, worthy of her love.”
Golgren did not argue with the crazed warlord. Atolgus was too far gone and too much of a threat to the half-breed.
The deposed Grand Khan readied himself for a desperate leap at his adversary. The advantages all belonged to Atolgus.
As if reading Golgren’s mind, Atolgus laughed again. “Come to me, mongrel! Come to—”
Atolgus gasped. His back arched, the warlord bending so much that his face looked to the ceiling. The sword fell from his trembling hand, and he whirled in a half circle.
Another sword was buried in his spine.
The sword wielded by Wargroch.
“Flee, Grand Khan!” the Blödian shouted. “Hurry!”
Atolgus tried in vain to reach the blade lodged in his back. Meanwhile, Wargroch desperately fended off Atolgus’s other hand. Despite the tremendous wound, Atolgus was still very much alive, his stamina enhanced by the magic within him.
Indeed, Morgada’s puppet, with a furious roar, seized Wargroch by the throat with his other hand. The Blödian grappled with him, grabbing Atolgus around the waist and wrestling as best he could with the much larger figure.
But Wargroch had again underestimated the altered Atolgus. Wargroch’s powerful grip meant nothing to the larger ogre. Ignoring Wargroch, Atolgus added his sword hand to the Blödian’s throat.
With what was almost a casual twist, the warlord broke the other ogre’s neck. Wargroch let out a short gurgle then went limp in Atolgus’s grip.
But as that happened, Golgren barreled into his back, the half-breed using the force of his jump to shove the sword deeper.
Atolgus grunted. He fell to one knee but still fought. Shaking like a wet amalok, he dislodged his slighter foe. Golgren landed hard but managed to roll to his feet.
The transformed chieftain’s hands glowed darkly. The golden orbs burned with menace. “I will—will—”
The severity of his wound momentarily seized the gigantic warrior. He faltered.
As Wargroch had risked himself, so Golgren threw his smaller form into Atolgus’s arms. Unprepared, the warlord caught him in an awkward grip. The energies Atolgus had been summoning burned Golgren’s skin where his hands touched the other, but the half-breed clutched his larger foe’s neck.
A laugh escaped Atolgus. The Titans’ puppet seemed undaunted by his punier foe.
But Golgren had no intention of trying to choke Atolgus. He had only one attack, one attempt, left to him.
Opening his mouth as wide as he could, the half-breed bit into Atolgus’s throat.
Hot blood spurted over Golgren’s face, but he continued to sink his teeth in as far as he could. Ogres had much stronger jaws and harder teeth than elves or humans, and even Golgren’s mixed parentage had not moderated that one trait.
With effort, Atolgus finally pushed his smaller foe away. However, in doing so, he enabled Golgren to rip away a good portion of the flesh.
A river of blood gushed from the gaping wound. Even more than the sword in his back, the torn throat took a toll on the Titans’ puppet. Atolgus staggered. He tried to say something, but only a wheezing sound escaped from him.
The former chieftain fell first to one knee then both. His golden orbs lost their evil radiance. Atolgus fell dead.
Golgren wiped his mouth as clean as he could. His gaze strayed to Wargroch. He gave a grunt of satisfaction at the Blödian’s final honorable actions then turned to Tyranos.
Once again, the wizard had reverted to his true form. Golgren leaned down to check on the minotaur.
Tyranos opened his eyes. Immediately, he saw his own hands. He snorted in anger.
“I won’t let this be!” the mage growled.
“What matter is it?” Golgren responded dismissively.
“My kind turned their back on me for my crimes of ‘magic,’ and so I turned my back on them! Humans are far more adaptable; I will be one of them, and the Fire Rose will see to it.”
Their argument went no further, for the sounds of battle had drawn guards to their vicinity. The ogres, obviously fearful of intruding wherever Titans were concerned, tentatively peered inside.
Several gaped at the sight of Wargroch then doubly so upon sighting Atolgus. There was no one to tell them that the former had sacrificed himself to wound the latter, so to their minds came the logical conclusion: Both had perished at the hands of Golgren.
Then they saw Tyranos, and the discovery of an Uruv Suurt in their midst made them forget all else. The first of the guards charged through the hole.
“Can you transform yourself quickly?” Golgren hissed to the wizard.
“Yes.” And with that one word, Tyranos became a human again.
Golgren nodded and stepped forward to confront the guards. He did not strike a battle stance; instead he simply stared.
The ogres faltered then stopped.
“Lower your weapons,” the half-breed commanded as if still Grand Khan.
The guards hesitated.
Golgren frowned. His eyes narrowed in anger.
One guard obeyed. That was enough to make the rest follow suit.
A light flared behind Golgren. Without glancing back, he said to the guards, “This is no Uruv Suurt. This is a human. A curse made him appear to wear the wretched skin of an Uruv Suurt.”
The guards looked perplexed. It was not that they did not understand Common—and Common was what Golgren had chosen to speak to them because it reminded the ogres just who he was—but they were obviously uncertain whether a human in their midst was any better than one of the horned ones.
“I sug
gest that now is a good time to leave this place,” Tyranos whispered in his ear. “If that isn’t asking too much, oh Grand Khan.”
Giving him a slight nod, Golgren said to the guards, “I leave you now, but I will return shortly to bring order back to Golthuu.”
Tyranos cast his spell. The pair vanished before the awestruck eyes of the ogres.
Idaria prepared for the worst, but then the Titan’s laugh became a howl of rage. He doubled over, stricken.
Despite the elf blood at his command, the Titan had underestimated the power of the medallion … or rather, of Kiri-Jolith. The sorcerer clutched his throat and chest as if unable to breathe.
“Reject your evil intention!” Stefan shouted to the Titan. “Reject it and your pain will pass!”
However, either the spellcaster did not hear Stefan’s offer or he refused it, still thinking he could overwhelm the medallion. The Titan gritted his teeth and raised one hand as if to cast a spell.
Instead, he let loose with a new, more terrible roar. Unable to endure, the sorcerer collapsed into the frightened and confused throng.
Fearful for her people, Idaria pressed toward where the Titan had fallen. However, she had taken no more than a step when she noticed a sudden and ominous change over the elves gathered ahead. The fear and confusion had vanished, replaced by an emotion it took her a moment to recognize.
Fury.
Instead of moving toward the entrance, many of the elves suddenly reversed direction. A muffled shout arose. Several slaves raised fists then swung them down.
“No!” Stefan called from the other side. “Don’t fall to his level!”
The mass of elves paid him no mind. More and more swarmed to the spot where the Titan had fallen. The sorcerer, already stricken helpless by his own treachery, howled as the slaves pummeled him.
The cleric turned to Idaria. “My lady, make them stop! This isn’t right!”
But Idaria instead watched grimly as her people struck out at one of their great tormentors. A part of her—a small part of her—urged her to do as Stefan pleaded, but the rest of Idaria had witnessed too much of the atrocities of slavery.
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