Sirrion’s creation burned brighter than ever but so, too, suddenly, did the piece that Golgren wielded. A monstrous light erupted around both figures. Heat more scorching than the noonday sun beat down on the two adversaries, yet Golgren and Safrag refused to succumb. A battle of wills took place.
And between the duo materialized a third, terrible being:
Xiryn.
The High Ogre’s snowy eyes were wide with triumph.
My two cat’s paws, he spoke in their minds, each word taunting Golgren and Safrag. My perfect puppets.
Golgren struggled to move. It came as no comfort to him that Safrag, too, was finding it impossible.
Xiryn extended a bony hand toward each of them. The two could do nothing to prevent themselves from joining with the shrouded figure. Safrag was forced to his knees.
The end of the long waiting is at hand! Xiryn proclaimed, his words ringing harshly in their heads. The centuries upon centuries of striving, of being patient, are at last at end.
As his two captives closed with him, the gargoyle king placed a hand on each of their shoulders. Golgren and Safrag both shivered.
One we shall be: the master,—he indicated himself—the strength,—he nodded his cowled head to Safrag—and the impossible vessel—he gave a last nod to Golgren. The destiny of the High Ogres—of all ogres—has finally come.
XXIII
THE GARGOYLE KING ASCENDANT
Sarth sat just beyond the walls of Garantha, drawing images in the dirt. They were not like those of the past—reminders of what he needed to remember or necessarily veiled warnings to Golgren—but rather a final testament to what he had done and what he still needed to do.
“Welcome, Knight,” he said in perfect Common, his accent even hinting of Solamnic origins. Of course, Sarth could speak in whatever accent he needed. The spellcasting had taken centuries, but it had proven useful many times.
“Who are you?” Stefan Rennert demanded, coming around to confront the wizened figure. “You wear the guise of an aged ogre, but your voice indicates otherwise!”
Sarth did not look up. “It would have been better if your patron would have told you, but it does not really matter in the end. We face the same enemies, and we hope to save the same people. That is what you need to know.”
“Golgren and Idaria! You know where they are?”
Sarth cackled. “Where would Golgren be but in the worst of places seeking to make destiny his? He is inside the city, Knight. As for the elf …” Sarth drew a pair of ominous eyes then two long lines where the nose and mouth should have been. “Where do you think?”
“The fiend has her?” Stefan started toward the gates of the city, but Sarth snapped his fingers. The noise was so loud that the human had to look back.
“Think why Kiri-Jolith deposited you near me and not near them. I have considered that fact carefully since your arrival.”
“I’ve no time for your games!” the Solamnic retorted. Yet Stefan did not depart but rather stepped closer to Sarth.
“You have little time,” the aged figure agreed. “And I have had far too much of it. We are at opposite ends of the spectrum in that regard, which makes us need one another.”
“Make some sense.”
“As you wish.” Sarth stood and, in doing so, revealed to the knight that he was more than a head taller than the human, despite initial impressions. His fine, patrician features made the ogre look as handsome as an elf. He wore a rich, silken robe of blue, with black stars crossing diagonally over the chest.
Stefan steeled himself. “I know what you are.”
“Then you know to listen. You must be prepared to follow exactly as I suggest. Our part to play may be significant; it may be of little value. That depends on what the others do with what we give them to work with, good or ill. Are you prepared to listen, human?”
“I am.”
Sarth nodded. “We won’t survive this.”
The Solamnic’s expression did not waver. “I am past that concern.”
The High Ogre smiled sadly. “Yes, we both are, aren’t we?”
Sarth drew an image in the air between them. The image—a griffon’s wing—flared a bright gold.
The pair faded away.
Idaria struggled in the clutches of her monstrous captors. Xiryn’s horrific entourage stood as though frozen. They clearly were waiting for some silent summons from him, and the reason for that filled her with dread and apprehension, especially for Golgren.
“Set me free!” the elf demanded again. “This is not right! It goes against all aspects of nature! It is an abomination!”
The figures remained silent. Yet in their hollow eyes, it was possible to read their hunger. That hunger had built up greatly over the many centuries, as they had surrendered to Xiryn’s cause.
A ragged figure only vaguely identifiable as once being female, judging by the strands of hair on her skull and the slighter shape of her rotting form, suddenly looked up with more animation than any of the other creatures had shown. The others followed suit. They pressed forward eagerly, eyeing the capital.
Yessss… came the wind that was not wind but the collective voice of those surrounding Idaria. Yesss…
She felt their powerful, ancient magic stir. Although what Xiryn intended was awful in and of itself, again all that came to the elf’s mind was a single name: “Golgren …”
Xiryn had told her what her part in his plan was to be, and that part was about to be played.
She would prove Golgren’s downfall, and there was nothing that Idaria could do about it.
The Titans did not stay idle upon Xiryn’s return. They knew who he must be, and Gadjul was the first to react. The sorcerer used the energies the Fire Rose had fed him through Safrag to strike at the shrouded figure.
But before the spell could be completed, a cold, flesh-less hand seized the Titan at the small of his back. A white, deathly aura passed over Gadjul, and although he remained conscious, his body slumped as though only invisible strings kept it from falling.
The ghastly figure behind him was one of Xiryn’s entourage. His appearance startled the other sorcerers, if only briefly. Some quickly recovered and moved to act against the new threat.
Then they, too, were seized from behind.
One of Xiryn’s creatures stood next to each Titan and, although they were only roughly half as tall, they clearly commanded the much-larger sorcerers through their hands. As one, they made the Titans straighten. The eyes of the giant sorcerers were filled with confusion and not a little fear.
Atop the surrounding buildings, others of the gargoyle king’s followers appeared. They stared not at their comrades, but at the ogres of Garantha, who still hung helpless in the air.
From where Golgren and Safrag also stood frozen, Xiryn chuckled once more. The rest will have their pick from the populace so neatly gathered by the Titans… once matters up here are settled, naturally.
Safrag found the will to speak, if briefly. “I … know you. I know your voice.”
Yes, the one in your dreams, the one urging you to take your “rightful” place over your master, he who found the strength to defy my will, even after the goddess Takhisis had abandoned him and his hopes. But you… you were so much easier to sway because you thought you knew everything.
Safrag managed a growl but no more.
Xiryn focused on Golgren. And you, child of my ambitions, your every defiance of my wishes only has served in the end to make you more as I hoped.
Golgren’s gaze was all the half-breed needed to communicate his desires where Xiryn was concerned. The gargoyle king laughed then murmured something.
Both Golgren and Safrag groaned from renewed pain. Each felt as if their skin was slowly being peeled from their body.
The Fire Rose blazed. Its energies surged from the trio to the other Titans and their horrific captors, utterly enveloping both groups.
The sorcerers’ bodies grew a translucent blue. The Titans began to shrink. They
dwindled to the size of the decaying fiends that kept them frozen. Their mouths gaped like those of fish left to suffocate on land.
And when the Titans were no taller than Xiryn’s followers, the ghoulish figures, their skeletal hands still pressing against the Titans’ backs, began to step into the ogres’ diaphanous forms. The Titans’ eyes were the only indication that the sorcerers struggled against the act, but they struggled in vain.
The skeletal figures fit into the Titans as one might a garment, letting the sheer outlines drape about their fleshless bodies. Titan and ghoul merged. In doing so, the sorcerers faded while their captors began to take on new sinew over their bones. Veins wrapped over their arms, legs, torsos. Beating organs swelled to life, and skin began to cover what it had not for ages.
Glorious, golden skin wrapped over the skulls, and white strands of hair became lush silver or other grand colors. Death’s-head grins became full-lipped smiles. Bodies filled out in both feminine and male fashion. Even the ragged garments mended, once more becoming opulent robes and gowns of black, gold, red, purple, and green.
The last of each Titan melded into their captors, their eyes pleading until the very end. In their place and that of Xiryn’s sinister horde stood a legion of handsome and beautiful figures the likes of whom had not been seen in such numbers since the fall of their race all those centuries past.
The assembled High Ogres preened. They touched their perfect faces and graceful bodies, as if seeking to reassure themselves that they were truly, fully restored. Laughter broke among them, moving from one to another, laughter that was filled not only with triumph, but also with a little madness.
The Titans have provided worthy vessels. I thank you for that, Xiryn joked to Safrag. Just as you two shall provide me with the ultimate vessel.
He brought them closer yet, so Golgren and Safrag, though they were of different heights even on their knees, stared into one another’s eyes. Golgren floated in the air, but Safrag was no less imprisoned than he. The hate the two shared became secondary to that which they felt for the gargoyle king.
The hate feeds me, so continue to dwell on it, the shrouded figure informed them. To Golgren, he added, You are strong, so very strong, but just strong enough, even in your hate. You have the will needed to resist the temptation that the Titan could not but not enough will to resist me.
The other High Ogres gathered around the trio. Their beauty was marred by the hunger their eyes still wielded. Their grins were as vicious as those of the sorcerers, even though the High Ogres’ mouths did not evidence the same savage shark teeth. The ugliness that marred Xiryn’s followers was due to the fact that, like the Titans, they were obsessed with the Fire Rose. They wanted it, needed it.
Above, the surviving gargoyles alighted onto whatever buildings suited their fancy. Once there, they hissed and shrieked their joy at their master’s victory. At that moment, there seemed little difference between the savage creatures and their master’s people.
My foolish enemies made certain that even if I found their hiding placefor it, I could not wield the Fire Rose and that no natural creature of Krynn could do so for me! Xiryn said gleefully. But in their overconfidence, they provided me with the clue I needed. You, who should not exist, have given me at last my prize!
Safrag could only stare in bitterness, but Golgren, pressing, finally felt his fingers begin to move. Feeling hope, he threw all his will into his remaining appendage.
It, too, moved. Motion was his again, but for how long was a question. Golgren let the fragment from the Fire Rose slip to the last two fingers then shoved his entire hand up.
His remaining fingers sought Xiryn’s throat, but instead he grabbed the gargoyle king by the cloth covering the bottom half of his face.
Startled, Xiryn pulled back. For his effort, Golgren ended up with the cloth itself. He nearly lost his precarious hold on the fragment. Only with the best effort—and the smallest of his fingers—did he manage to keep the piece pressed against his palm.
The desiccated face of the lead High Ogre stood revealed to his followers. His skin was withered and crisp. Although they had seen him like that in the past, some of his restored followers instinctively gasped.
Xiryn glared at them, his white eyes silencing all. He could not physically speak, his jaws barely held together by a few dried, ancient tendons, but his thoughts roared in Golgren’s head like a raging thundercloud. The melding could have been accomplished with little relative agony, a reward for faithful if ignorant service, but I think I will savor every last scream of yours, every last pleading.
“I … do not … plead!” Golgren tipped forward, managing to seize Xiryn’s robe at the chest.
The gargoyle king did not move back, for to do so would have meant releasing his hold on the pair. He also did not strike out immediately at Golgren, which was what the half-breed had counted on. Xiryn did not dare chance that in his fury he might slay the one being who would give him his precious Fire Rose.
The other High Ogres converged on the trio, hands grasping at he who dared touch their leader. Golgren gritted his teeth, trying not to let them separate him from Xiryn.
The Fire Rose and the fragment flared brightly.
Xiryn’s followers were flung far in every direction by an invisible force. A few fell with screams from the palace rooftop, while others had to use their renewed powers to save themselves from a similar fate.
The reaction made Golgren grin darkly at his captor. “The Fire Rose is not all yours yet, Xiryn.”
Oh, but it shall be, my child, the phantasm replied with equal confidence. He no longer tried to pull back from Golgren. Have you not wondered at the wizard’s pet being close enough to come to his aid? Do you not recall what last task you gave him and who was with him? He was of no more concern to me, and so when he tried to escape—without his companion—I permitted him. I knew he would come back to die, and she was all that was important … to the two of us.
Xiryn’s white eyes looked to the left. Despite himself, Golgren looked that direction. At first, all he saw were some of Xiryn’s followers who awaited restoration from the populace. Then they parted, letting others edge to the forefront.
Held tight in the grip of two was Idaria.
A strong vessel I sought, Xiryn said. But one that could also be managed, just in case he thought himselfbetter than he was, a weakness that could be exploited, a weakness tested and retested.
“Then you should have tested further. This elf is nothing to me. I have had a hundred like her.”
A hundred like her? Truly? After all the trouble I went to in order to find just the right one? The one that touched the lonely spirit, the one that would in turn be touched despite her revulsion? The shrouded fiend laughed, his jaws shaking.
Golgren said nothing. His eyes went from Idaria to Xiryn and back to the elf again. He opened his mouth to speak.
Then a voice familiar to him quite calmly said, “A weakness can also become a very powerful strength, Xiryn.”
For the first time, Xiryn looked at a loss. The white eyes stared past Golgren and Safrag at a figure that the gargoyles’ master seemed to know as well as the half-breed did, even though the newcomer was not exactly as Golgren had last seen him.
I know you, Xiryn finally answered. I know you … and your foul mother.
Sarth nodded sadly. He stood revealed as another of the handsome High Ogres, save that his face was lined with bitter experience. “Yes, Xiryn. We have known each other for far too long.”
In the shaman’s hands materialized a long, pointed staff, made of what appeared to be shining ivory. He raised the point toward Xiryn.
The gargoyle king reacted instinctively, his hands pulling back in a spellcasting gesture. In doing so, he released both of his captives.
Golgren and Safrag both turned on the ancient High Ogre. As they did, however, Xiryn struck out at what he evidently considered the greater threat: Sarth.
The shaman made no move to avoid certain d
eath. Indeed, he did not even cast the spell that he had appeared ready to hurl at his rival. Instead, Sarth did nothing but smile with satisfaction as Xiryn’s attack overtook him.
There was no subtlety to the shrouded sorcerer’s spell. It struck Sarth hard. Pure energy of a gray hue spread over him. Sarth dropped his burning staff as his skin blackened. The shaman made no cry as he died, his burned body collapsing where he had stood.
Yet the distraction aided Golgren. Through the fragment, he used the Fire Rose against the gargoyle king. Xiryn could make no audible sound, but his sudden pain echoed in the heads of all.
However, Safrag also still held the full artifact and, in his own obsession, refused to yield his link to it. Against all reason, the Titan fought Golgren’s will. The half-breed’s attack faltered as he found himself battling on two mental fronts.
The unexpected opposition bought Xiryn the chance that he needed. Recovering enough to speak, he warned, Recall your elf, my child! Recall what will happen to her! Accept your fate, and she will live! Do not, and my servants will ensure her death will be one that will give nightmares to you, or the Titan—
But from the direction where Idaria was being held captive, there came a powerful battle cry. One of the ghouls went plummeting as an armored figure shoved him from the rooftop. A keen blade cut through the torso of another. An armored hand seized a startled Idaria and dragged her from the macabre throng.
Stefan Rennert had come to the rescue.
XXIV
SACRIFICE
We have lost, Idaria had thought as she had watched the spectacle unfold. Golgren was strong of will and wily, but he could not hope to defeat such odds. The evil that wielded the Fire Rose would eventually sweep all the lands, taking with it even her rescued people. No one would be able to escape it, no one.
That was before the strange figure had materialized near Golgren and the others. Idaria had not recognized him, but she, like the rest, had heard in her head the gargoyle king’s recognition of him, recognition and uncertainty. The elf’s hopes had been revived only to come crashing down a moment later when the would-be rescuer had perished so easily and without even actually doing anything. It almost seemed as if he had known all along that he would die.
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