The Black Talon

by Richard A. Knaak

  She gave him a seductive smile as he steered her toward the door. At a later time, Hundjal would endeavor to find out how she had gained entrance to Dauroth’s rooms. For the moment, he was busy with more important matters. “As you like … a shame.”

  It was all Hundjal could do to keep himself contained until he was certain that the other Titan was gone. That time, the apprentice made certain that the seal on the door was intact. Only he and Dauroth could open it.

  Thinking of his mentor, Hundjal decided to act quickly, just in case the master might be coming to check on his progress.

  As the heir apparent to Dauroth’s secrets, Hundjal had taken it upon himself to learn and understand all of them, even those his master had not yet officially revealed to either him or Safrag. Both apprentices knew the legend that interested Hundjal; both knew that there must be some fact behind the legend. Both knew, even, that the master hid the only proof within his sanctum. But neither was supposed to know more than that.

  That was true, at least, for Safrag.

  It had taken Hundjal many months to decipher the master’s protective spells, but, as with all he hunted, the secrets of those spells had eventually fallen to him. He did not hesitate to summon the pathway to the hidden chamber, a place that he had visited only once before but could never, ever forget.

  Once the way was open, it took mere seconds to reach the Chamber of Ice, as Hundjal knew it would. Immediately, he noted the various mounds, recalling what was hidden inside of them. Utterly confident, the apprentice stepped inside the chamber.

  Barely had his foot touched the chill floor when the first of the skeletal warriors broke free of its prison. A second and a third followed.

  In a voice that was an exact replication of Dauroth’s, Hundjal sang the words. “Asymnopti isidiu.”

  He watched with impatience as the guardians stepped back and allowed ice and snow to bury them again. Although the entire encounter had taken but a mere handful of seconds, to Hundjal it felt as if dangerous years had passed.

  When the mounds were at last still, the Titan rushed to the ice-encrusted box. Anticipation and apprehension gnawed at him like starving meredrakes. Suddenly he wondered why he had waited so long to once more witness the glory of its contents.

  When the silver tendrils came at him, he used a spell of his own crafting to suspend them. The spell would last only for a hundred heartbeats, but by then Hundjal would be long gone.

  His breathing rapid, the apprentice opened the chest. He was prepared for the intense light and kept his eyes turned away until he felt able to adjust them accordingly.

  Within, floating trapped in the clear liquid that Hundjal knew Dauroth had created, the minute fragment awaited him.

  The fragment was out of legend.

  Hundjal snorted at the tale Dauroth had once told him, that even that piece called all those who had used it every time it was used again … and again … and again. After all, since the one time he had been there, months had passed. It had not even been his idea to use the fragment; that inspiration had sprung from Morgada’s mouth, when she had spoken of fire.

  And once Hundjal was done using the fragment for his vital task, he would never have to touch it again.

  Although … how fascinating it would be to hunt down the full truth, hunt to see if the rest of the artifact still existed.

  The Titan shook his head. Enough dreaming! Time is of the essence, fool!

  Hundjal thrust his hand into the liquid. A sense of warmth spread up his arm as he seized hold of his quarry. However, the apprentice did not remove the piece, but kept it submerged. That was the key to its use, Hundjal had determined, something he was certain even his illustrious mentor had not realized.

  With absolute care, Hundjal began mentally formulating his spell. The fragment would help him bypass and overcome the delicate magics involved in the tomb’s protections. All Hundjal had to do was absorb the magic power of the fragment, then hold those forces in reserve using thought control.

  Of course, he would have to depart immediately for the mountainside after that, for the fragment’s abilities were very powerful and had the potential to burn out his mind.

  It was done, done so easily. Hundjal beamed with pride at his own cleverness. It suddenly occurred to him that his prize could be utilized for other complex troubles plaguing the Black Talon, complex troubles such as the problem of the Grand Lord Golgren. The master had said that the mongrel’s usefulness was nearing its end, especially with the news discovered that not only did Golgren seek a pact with the humans—humans!—but he hoped to do so by freeing all the elves held by the ogres.

  Yes, it was time to put an end to the grand lord, and with the fragment, the magic that protected him would count for nothing.

  Hundjal’s golden eyes reflected the fiery light from within the box. One more use of the fragment would be all that he required. But first, he had to prove himself trustworthy to his master by safely opening the tomb. Then … then Dauroth would see his genius and agree to the plan of his favored apprentice.

  One of the silver tendrils started to move. The Titan reluctantly pulled his hand free then shut the lid. Hundjal held the chest away from him. After a futile grab, the tendrils vanished. Eyes on the icy mounds, the apprentice left the chamber.

  Returning to Dauroth’s study, Hundjal exulted. He gathered up some random parchments and the two thickest tomes and left the chambers, singing out, “I have it! I have the key.”

  The Talon assembled on the edge of the chill peak within sight of the mountain tomb. Day had given way to night, but through their enhanced senses, they could see the entrance as well as any nocturnal creature might have. The spells disguising the tomb had been easy enough to rip away without danger to the interior, but the band awaited Hundjal’s promised efforts.

  And no one waited more eagerly than Dauroth.

  “You are very certain of the construction of your spell?” he asked his pupil, more than a hint of menace in his tone.

  A fierce gust of wind blew through the area, but none of the Titans were affected by something so mundane. Hair bound back and perfectly groomed, Hundjal answered, “I am, my master.”

  “Yet you have required no fresh blood nor any sacrifice for it.”

  “Nor did the ancients,” the senior apprentice immediately pointed out, as if he had expected that question and had the reply ready. “And that is part of the path to understanding.”

  Dauroth nodded his appreciation. “I would hear more on this subject at a more convenient time, good Hundjal.”

  “And I would be so honored to discuss my beliefs with you, my master.” He abruptly winced, one hand clutching the side of his head.

  “Something ails you, my pupil?”

  “Merely the result of much research. With your permission, shall I begin?”

  Dauroth eyed the tomb. “Do so. I shall order the others into position.”

  “There is no need, great one! For this, I do not require the rest of the Talon. I require only my own efforts. It will take but a few moments.”

  “Indeed? Most impressive. Proceed. I will have the others stand by should any assistance be required after all.”

  Already anxious to begin, Hundjal scarcely paid any mind to Dauroth’s last statement. He stood atop a rocky outcropping overlooking the tomb. Below was the stone entrance with its markings in the tongue of their ancestors over the archway.

  Hundjal looked proud, undaunted. He began to sing loudly, wondrously, as energies rose from within him and gathered from without.

  Kallel and Safrag were among those who looked to Dauroth for commands, for all had assumed that the Black Talon would act in concert, as one. However, the lead Titan ignored the others, continuing to watch Hundjal expectantly.

  The senior apprentice finished his chanting then drew the symbol of the Talon—raptor’s claws—in the air.

  From the glowing claws emanated a field of black light that swept over both the entrance of the tomb and a
good portion of the surrounding rock and earth. It settled onto the area then seeped through the ground, vanishing into the mountainside.

  There was a brief crackle of static energy in its wake, then silence.

  “That is it?” blurted one of the other Titans, already starting to drift toward the tomb. “All this expectation and nothing but another failure—”

  An explosion of magical forces shot out from the mountain without stirring a single pebble or disrupting a flake of snow. The presumptuous Titan was thrown back. He might have fallen down the mountain to his doom, but Dauroth, feeling magnanimous, forgave his arrogance and used a spell to push him back to safety.

  “Now it is done,” Hundjal proudly remarked. “The forces used by the ancients to both seal the entrance to the tomb and destroy its contents should someone manage to enter have been cast out and will dissipate in the emptiness of this land.”

  “Well done, my pupil,” Dauroth declared heartily. “For your reward, you may be the first to enter.”

  It also meant that Hundjal would be the first to possibly face any unexpected traps lying within, but the apprentice was more than confident in himself and pleased to take the lead. He bowed to his mentor, then leaped up into the air and let his power allow him to alight just before the stone barrier.

  Raising his left arm, Hundjal let his hand sweep across the symbols above the entrance. He sang each of them loudly, the musical tones causing the assembled Titans to listen in fascination.

  As Hundjal ceased his singing, the stone slid inward. The apprentice strode forward as if master of all within.

  Dauroth descended to the doorway then followed behind. The other Titans, Safrag at their rear, entered one by one.

  Inside the chamber, Hundjal and Dauroth paused to gaze at some of the illuminated images lining the stone walls. There were more than a score on both sides of the corridor.

  “It is as written,” the lead Titan remarked reverently. “The life of the dead is set out for the gods to see so they may know this one was worthy.” Dauroth placed his fingers on one illustration. Immediately, his eyes stared off into space.

  “A trap!” Kallel hissed, reaching for their master.

  Hundjal slapped his hand away. “Do not touch him!”

  Barely a breath later, Dauroth blinked. He stepped back, his expression almost childlike. “I was there! I was the one! A female! This was the burial of a personage of much power!”

  “There may be signets after all!” someone else murmured.

  Dauroth signaled for attention. “And if there are, then we shall find them. Lead on, Hundjal.”

  The apprentice walked slowly but confidently down the corridor, with Dauroth but a step behind. Near the image of two robed figures—one male and the other female—holding up what seemed to be a crescent moon, Hundjal came to a sudden halt.

  “A spell spawned from the magical essence of dragonfear,” he informed his master. “Old but still potent.” After a pause, he added, “It is dealt with.”

  As they proceeded, the illumination from the reliefs proved less and less sufficient, even for Titans.

  “There is a magic-dampening spell,” Dauroth explained. “Not enough to stop us. We shall have to make our own light from now on, though.”

  Hundjal created a small sphere of blue and white energy, which hovered over his palm. Some of the others followed suit.

  Then the corridor simply ended. Ahead lay a darkened chamber. Hundjal glanced at his master, who bade him to enter.

  The moment that the apprentice did so, however, the entire chamber blossomed with bright light. Dauroth immediately joined him inside and the two stared at the walls, which were of crystal and silver and reflected the low illumination of Hundjal’s sphere a thousand times stronger than the source.

  Kallel approached behind them. The chamber light suddenly grew brighter, glaring.

  “Kallel!” the lead Titan called. “You will keep your sphere active! Hundjal! The rest of you! Dismiss yours!”

  As the others swiftly obeyed, the light diminished to a tolerable level. Dauroth nodded with pleasure as he examined their find.

  “Intact! Utterly intact,” he declared triumphantly. “It is ours!” His gaze focused on the item most central to the chamber. “There! The sarcophagus! Nothing matters more!”

  Even Hundjal and the other members of the inner circle could not help but gape at the score of ivory pedestals encircling the pearl stand upon which a diamond coffin lay. Each of those platforms held artifacts with mysterious and valuable contents. There were scrolls, boxes, talismans, and other objects of arcane use. Each artifact alone was a precious treasure, but all together were nothing compared with the coffin.

  More pearls floated above the coffin structure, pearls three times the size of a head. They were just translucent enough to hint at other artifacts, other riches held within. They hovered in a five-sided arrangement and numbered more than two score, an astounding cache of High Ogre relics.

  Dauroth gestured Hundjal aside and took the lead. “Touch nothing. First the sarcophagus; then all else.”

  The Titans flowed as one toward the glorious coffin, cautiously bypassing the pedestals and their prizes. That did not mean that their eyes did not covetously survey the many artifacts as the spellcasters passed. More than one Titan marked items he desired later for himself … if Dauroth did not notice.

  Within a foot of the sarcophagus, Dauroth suddenly raised his hand. “Stand still!”

  The others obeyed instantly. Dauroth alone circled the sarcophagus, studying the figure within. She was beautiful, so very beautiful that against all other females—even Morgada—there were no comparisons. Clad in shimmering silver-and-black robes, the High Ogre lay in perfect repose. Her blue skin wore a sheen that his own lacked, and her long tresses draped a face that seemed shaped by the gods. Her lips and eyelids had been painted gold, and to gaze at her was to think she was no more than twenty summers old and dead only that very day. Yet Dauroth knew that she had likely lived three to four times longer than he and had gained far more wisdom in the arts.

  That she was much shorter and lacking the talons and barbed elbows of a Titan did not in the least disturb Dauroth or the others. Through the knowledge originally granted him by the ancestral spirit, Dauroth understood that only the most skilled among the High Ogres actually achieved the mighty likenesses worn by him and his followers. That they had been given that gift reflected the hopes their forebears had invested in them.

  Dauroth glanced down to where the female’s hands lay, studying her long, slim fingers, naked of any adornment.

  Frowning, Dauroth eyed the glittering case in which she lay then glanced at Hundjal. “You are certain that the spell of decay on the tomb’s other contents has been removed, my pupil?”

  “I stake my life on it.”

  Dauroth raised his hands and sang a single word. Thunder boomed so loud that the other Titans had to clutch their ears.

  The sarcophagus exploded, shards flying everywhere. Dauroth sang another word, however, and the shards abruptly slowed as if whirling through honey. They then stopped completely and fell with a harsh clatter to the floor.

  And as they did, the beautiful figure they had once shielded shriveled and aged. The unmarred skin wrinkled, dried, and peeled off. The perfect face became that of a horrific ghoul, with the aged flesh continuing to rapidly turn to dust until there remained nothing but the white skull beneath.

  Immediately, Dauroth gestured. A blue haze fell over the skeleton and its shredded finery.

  The decay ceased with the bones still intact.

  “Safrag! Kallel! I leave it to you to remove the bones cautiously. The spell will keep them from turning to dust, but I wish them unmarred.”

  “Yes, great one,” Safrag quickly replied.

  “Hundjal, attend me.”

  The senior apprentice stepped next to Dauroth, observing with him, for the moment, the fastidious efforts of the other two Titans in following the lead
er’s orders. “These are perfect, my master. Bones untouched, the magic in them still fresh.”

  “Yes, a pity about the lack of signets upon her, but the remains will prove invaluable once they are prepared.” Dauroth gazed around at the other treasures. “And there may yet be a signet among the other relics. I want to know that before we leave the chamber.”

  “You distrust some of the rest of the Talon?”

  Dauroth pursed his lips. “I trust no one but myself … and you, naturally, my favored pupil.”

  Hundjal bowed his head ever so slightly at that great compliment. “There may be a few individual traps among these riches. I did not dare perform a sweeping spell for fear that I would damage the casket’s power and let time reduce the body to complete dust. I knew the value of the bones, after all.”

  “The brethren will just have to be extra cautious.” Dauroth turned to the rest. “The signets are the prime objective now. However, if you find anything so unidentifiable that you deem it may be of interest to me, summon me.”

  The seven other Titans moved to various pedestals to begin their cautious inspections. Dauroth watched Safrag and Kallel at work then, satisfied by their meticulous labors, indicated that Hundjal and he should begin their own searches.

  It did not take long to verify that the female buried there had indeed been a personage of high esteem. There were intricately created talismans among the artifacts, whose purpose promised years of intriguing research for Dauroth. There were parchments that could be gingerly opened that suggested spells that could be altered to fit the more modern arts of the Titans. Other writings revealed details of High Ogre life that Dauroth looked forward to studying and implementing into his future plans.

  One of the other Titans used his power to open a small, emerald-tinted box. He peered inside just as Dauroth glanced in his direction.

  The lead Titan frowned. “Beware such, Varnin! That has the look of a soul trap there—”

  “I sense nothing within, great one! Absolutely—”

  His reply turned into a chilling howl that froze the other Titans in the midst of their tasks. Dauroth, however, did not even bother to raise his hand and cast a spell, for it was already too late for Varnin. Instead, he watched and waited—with clinical interest—while the soul trap played itself out.