The Gargoyle King ot-3

by Richard A. Knaak

  The elf also turned to the sound. “What is it?”

  A muscular, winged beast threw itself at Chasm. Idaria jumped to the side as the pair collided. The gargoyle and his attacker rolled into the water, sending it splattering everywhere.

  Idaria stumbled back, wanting to help Chasm but not certain what she could do. Her hand clutched at her breast, as if seeking out the medallion she had returned to Stefan.

  To her surprise, she found her fingers gripped around something else. The elf glanced down at her hand.

  It was a pendant, one familiar to her. The sign of the griffon peered back at Idaria. Yet despite the fact that it hung around her neck and surely must have been there since Golgren placed it there, Idaria had utterly forgotten about it until that very moment.

  A familiar sensation flowed through her, the same sensation that she realized had flowed through her during the two “miracles” to which she had given credit to the medallion and, possibly, Habbakuk.

  But both Idaria and the Solamnic had been mistaken. Everything had been the result of the ancient artifact, a High Ogre relic that had shielded itself from even the gargoyle king.

  Her discovery of the pendant’s properties was momentarily thrust to the back of her mind by another startling revelation. Both Chasm and his foe pushed away from each other, the two creatures dripping from the water from which they had just risen. For the first time, Idaria could identify what had attacked her friend.

  It was Chasm.

  The two identical gargoyles hissed and spit at each other as they slashed at the air between them with their powerful claws. Their backs arched and their wings stretched wide in what was clearly an attempt by each to show dominance. Yet since both were, to all appearances, Chasm, such displays looked futile.

  The elf studied each in turn. Only one could truly be Tyranos’s servant. The other must be obeying the commands of the monstrous High Ogre.

  That the Chasm who had carried her was the false one was obvious, but with the struggle, Idaria could not identify which that was. The illusion was absolutely perfect.

  The Chasm on the right lunged. His twin started to rise up but not quickly enough. The first Chasm crashed into the second’s torso, and both went rolling out of the water.

  The pair fought with tooth and claw, seeking any soft area to rend. Both gargoyles evinced thick, scaled hides, so most of their strikes did little more than leave scratches. However, it was while observing that aspect of the fight that Idaria had her first inkling as to which Chasm might be the true one.

  One Chasm was virtually unmarred, greatly resembling how best the elf recalled him. At the moment, he had the advantage. He had forced the other Chasm on his back, pressing down so the latter could not make use of his wings to push himself up.

  In addition to his predicament, the second Chasm was far more scarred than his adversary. Those scars covered his body from head to foot. He also appeared more exhausted, as if he had just flown with the greatest of swiftness to catch up to Idaria and her companion.

  “You are the true Chasm!” she muttered. Her hand squeezed the pendant, which warmed even more.

  A gray energy enveloped the gargoyle that the elf had recognized as her true friend. At first, neither noticed it, but then the real Chasm suddenly shoved hard, tossing his false twin back. Moving as if rejuvenated, Tyranos’s servant jumped at his foe before the second one could recover. As he did, Chasm let loose with a cry of challenge-a cry that sounded part gargoyle, but also part another great beast, a griffon.

  The false Chasm met the true one head-on. Briefly, they became locked together with no advantage to either. However, the true Chasm slowly but surely started to bear down on his adversary. Again he let loose with the call that was part griffon.

  The impostor slashed uselessly with his claws across Chasm’s chest. Chasm returned the attack, and his claws tore through the hard scale surface as they had not earlier. Ribbons of skin flew from the other gargoyle; in their wake rivers of blood issued forth. The second Chasm stumbled.

  Giving no quarter, Tyranos’s servant flung himself atop his staggering enemy. He clawed the second gargoyle again and again. Each time, the previously thick hide gave way easily. Under the onslaught, the bleeding impostor fell to his knees.

  Chasm bent back one arm of his foe then bit into it. As the false Chasm shrieked, the true one ripped out a chunk of flesh from the arm and spit it away.

  The sorely wounded creature dropped facedown on the ground as weakness and blood loss took its toll. Chasm raised his claws and tore out the back of his twin’s neck. For good measure, he also twisted the head nearly to the back, the snapping so loud, it made Idaria shiver. She released the pendant, which dropped back onto her breast.

  Chasm paused as if suddenly exhausted again. As he settled back, the dead gargoyle was transformed. Although he retained his general shape, most of his resemblance to Chasm vanished. His muzzle became more pronounced, and his color also altered, turning mud brown.

  The dead gargoyle looked much more like those that served the High Ogre.

  Panting heavily, Chasm made his way to Idaria. She saw that while he had not suffered much due to the fallen gargoyle, there were indeed many scars on him from an earlier danger. Even though the pendant had clearly aided him, part of its effect had apparently been temporary. Chasm was better than when he had arrived but still diminished from his previous trial.

  “Where did you come from?” the elf asked as she tried to help ease his pain. “How did you find me?”

  “Came from forest,” the winged creature grunted. “Fought skeletons. They fall to Chasm!” He said that last with some pride. “Then hear voice. Elf’s voice. Follow you into forest. Lose way.”

  “You endangered yourself for me?” Chasm belonged to the wizard; he should not have worried himself over her.

  “Friend needed me,” he reminded Idaria. “Trees attack. Not like first time. Someone waits.” He hissed. “Too late, smell my kind.”

  The story began to make sense. The presence of other gargoyles had meant the presence of their master as well. He had used his power to manipulate the already dark forest to seize Chasm and make him a prisoner.

  “But why keep you alive?” Idaria asked, the answer coming to her but a breath later. “Of course. For such a strong illusion spell, he likely had it draw off your life. That kept you weaker, but it also saved you.” Something else came to mind. “You did not free yourself, did you? Was it Stefan who did?”

  Chasm’s head bobbed up and down. In his short, primitive sentences, he conveyed to her what he had learned from the Solamnic about her sudden vanishing. There had been immediate agreement that Chasm was best suited to give chase. Stefan had to remain with the refugees. Chasm, meanwhile, could follow her scent.

  “You … followed my scent this far?”

  Again, he bobbed his head. “Know your scent like master’s.”

  The gargoyle had to push himself to his limits to catch up as quickly as possible. Both he and Stefan had feared the worst.

  But what was more upsetting to Idaria was the fact that she had played into the dark one’s plots, as though she were a willing accomplice. All it had taken was the fear that Golgren was dying and only she could somehow save him.

  “I was a fool!”

  Chasm snorted. “No fool.”

  “Yes, I was and, worse, I may be about to become an even bigger one.”

  The gargoyle cocked his head in concern.

  Idaria’s fingers grazed the pendant. It was the true reason for her “miracles” and it had also helped save Chasm. And it had been given to her by Golgren and perhaps also by someone who had been dead for many centuries but still fought against the gargoyle king.

  “We continue on, Chasm. We go as this foul creature’s even more foul lord intended.”

  Chasm shook his head, but Idaria remained determined. She stared into the gargoyle’s gaze until at last Chasm reluctantly nodded.

  “As mistress says.
”

  “As I ask, Chasm. You leave me the moment we reach there. This is my choice, not yours.”

  “Where mistress goes, Chasm goes and fights for her.”

  He stared right back at her with determination. Idaria at last reached out and stroked his cheek. The gargoyle almost purred.

  “Very well,” she said. “We go together but not to merely fulfill our enemy’s intent. We have power of our own, Chasm.” The elf indicated the pendant.

  That finally brought some cheer to Chasm. He had felt the pendant’s power. “Make Chasm so strong, all fall to him!”

  “That’s right.” Idaria let her companion believe that for the moment. “We will defeat them and save Golgren and Tyranos.”

  The gargoyle let his tongue run over his muzzle as he anticipated their victory. “Chasm thirsty. We go after Chasm drinks.”

  “Drink your fill.” Idaria watched him move off to the water. Her confident expression changed to one more doubtful. She looked down at the pendant. While it had clearly been of much help, it would hardly be sufficient to face the threat of the Titans or the gargoyles’ master.

  “But it may save Golgren,” the elf whispered. “It may save him.”

  Her eyes widened as what she said-and what she meant by it-became clear to her.

  The minotaurs had made inroads thanks to the gargoyles’ arrival. They had as yet to actually confront any Titans, but the fact that the sorcerers were still being successfully hampered and harassed by the winged creatures was a good sign that the tide had, at least for the moment, turned.

  Faros kept to the forefront. He did not trust himself entirely to Kiri-Jolith’s medallion, though. In the emperor’s experience, a god’s protection had a way of disappearing at the most inopportune moments, and according to Golgren, there was more than one god involved.

  The sacrifices had been many, and every legionary there expected countless more to come. They also expected one more enemy, so when the last finally revealed itself, the minotaurs reacted not with concern, but with roars of pleasure. They had something upon which to test their swords.

  The ogres came rushing down at them in far more order than in generations past. The officers had for months been warning their soldiers of the new generation of foes, but even still, the first row of legionaries suffered greatly as a flight of arrows assailed them.

  Faros was among the fortunate few, but he did not thank the bison-headed god for that fact. The emperor gritted his teeth and met the first ogre warrior he came upon. The ogres were clad in the breastplates of Golgren’s elite hands. Perhaps once they had been loyal to the half-breed, but to the minotaurs they were only ogres, and as such, they were to be slain on sight.

  The ogre he faced was more skilled than any Faros had previously fought, save Golgren himself. It took nearly half a minute to finally slay the larger fighter. Some of the techniques used by the ogre indicated influences from the minotaur race.

  “Outcasts,” the emperor growled as he dueled with a second warrior. Golgren had employed minotaur traitors to retrain his people.

  A legionary near Faros fell prey to an ogre sword. The soldiers were having a more difficult time than most of them had expected. Ogres were half beast and without skill; that was the common belief.

  But Golgren had succeeded in changing that.

  Faros dodged a clever strike by his adversary then used a trick that he had made up himself. The ogre hesitated. That was all the minotaur needed to run him through a seam in his armor.

  Given a moment to catch his breath, Faros glared at what Golgren had wrought and the Titans had subverted.

  “We survive this and we shall keep coming, Grand Khan,” the emperor muttered. “I’ll not fight sorcerers just to someday be ruled by you. The banner of the empire’ll fly over Garantha, not yours over Nethosak.”

  Another ogre came at Faros. The minotaur’s blade met the ogre’s, and the latest duel commenced. Yet as Faros battled the ogre, he pictured a foe more his own size …

  And with one hand.

  XX

  THE TEMPLE

  Sarth had imparted much information of relevance to Golgren, but before departing, he had failed to say something singularly important.

  “The staff still can’t transport us from this place,” Tyranos explained. “There’s some force blocking our way.”

  Golgren studied the mummified High Ogres. None of them revealed any reason the pair was trapped there, yet there was no other immediate explanation.

  At last, the half-breed decided, “Then we will find another way.”

  “We’ve looked in either direction and both are-if you’ll pardon me for saying so-dead ends.”

  It was true; the other paths ended in suspicious collapses. Sarth had made no mention of that, and the wizard and Golgren had agreed it was unlikely that he had been the perpetrator.

  Yet if not Sarth, who?

  Golgren abandoned the uncommunicative mummies and strode over to a wall that he had not ever studied thoroughly.

  The half-breed frowned. “This is different. This has changed.”

  Tyranos joined him. “What was on it before?”

  The deposed Grand Khan shrugged. It had not been important then. “Not this.”

  This was a vast panorama that filled their view. It was the picture of a glorious city that gleamed gold despite being carved from only rock. The architecture was reminiscent of Garantha, yet more fabulous, perhaps Garantha as it had first looked.

  An urge to touch it filled Golgren, yet when he raised his hand toward the wall, the signet fought him for control.

  “Look out!” Tyranos roared.

  A blinding glare burst from the image, enveloping them.

  Instantly the two found themselves standing in the midst of the great city itself.

  Everything was made of gold, gold the color of the sun. High, spiraling towers rose around them. A vast, segmented walkway led up to a rounded temple with winged arches.

  The half-breed did not have to ask who it was who had brought them there. Only one being could be so audacious.

  To the empty air, Golgren said, “Sirrion desires us for something. Will he tell us what it is?”

  At the top of the temple’s glittering steps, two massive bowls that had themselves not existed a moment prior shot forth high streams of golden flame. The flames arched toward one another, entwining as if vines. The ends descended to a spot exactly between the bowls.

  The fire formed into Sirrion.

  “Welcome to your kingdom, if you’d have it,” the deity proclaimed with a grin.

  Shielding their eyes, both stepped back from the fiery god. Yet instead, their actions brought them closer.

  “Come now! Don’t be shy! All of this is yours, elf-ogre, if only you’ve got the resolve! The moment is coming and the choice could be yours unless you make it theirs.”

  There was no need for Sirrion to say whom he meant, either the Titans or the gargoyle king. It mattered not to Sirrion who seized the Fire Rose. All that mattered was that someone used it.

  Tyranos stepped in front of the half-breed. “There’s another choice! Let me have your gift! I’ll use it as it should be used!”

  Sirrion shook his head. The grin was replaced by an angry frown. “If you can take it, it becomes yours, but your fate belongs to another’s control.”

  That brought a curse from the wizard. “Neither Sargonnas nor Kiri-Jolith are masters of my fate!”

  “Did I say it was them?” Sirrion blazed with fury. “Are you correcting me?”

  “He is impetuous,” Golgren interjected. “None would ever correct you.”

  The grin returned. “No, not if they’re wise.” The flames subsided to a point. “Will you have my gift, then, elf-ogre?”

  Glancing at his severed limb, the half-breed calmly replied. “No. I must leave it to chance.”

  Sirrion appeared torn between frustration and a temptation to concur. The god rubbed his chin, sending sparks flying. Finally, he g
rinned again. “Interesting … and so very right!”

  “What by the Kraken’s gotten into you?” muttered an angry Tyranos.

  Golgren did not reply. He bowed his head to Sirrion, who accepted his obeisance.

  “Chance, as always, is the most fascinating course!” the god cheerfully remarked. “Yes, I was right about you.”

  Sirrion exploded into flames. Golgren and Tyranos fought for balance as the entire city turned on its head.

  The pair reappeared but not back in the chamber of the mummies.

  Instead, they stood in an empty area that at first glance to most would have seemed just one more worthless piece of untillable land. There was little life save a few hardy and ugly shrubs with sharp stickers for leaves. The landscape itself consisted of tall, dirt-brown hills and little else.

  Tyranos eyed their surroundings with contempt. “Now what backward part of Krynn have we dropped into?”

  The half-breed did not answer, for he was racing away from the wizard at breakneck speed, seeking a place that he had not seen since his youth. That it would still exist was a definite possibility, for who would care to seek it out? That would mean risking life and limb, not to mention starvation.

  And for what? There was nothing of value there unless you were a half-breed, who had been given at birth the name Guyvir, the Unborn, the mongrel who should not exist.

  He found the crevasse looking exactly as memory recorded. Golgren pressed against it, discovering that reality was different than memory. He had been slighter, shorter as a youth, so had easier slipped inside. As an adult, he had to squeeze himself against the rock. Golgren ignored the scraping of his flesh and the dust in his lungs. All that mattered was to gain entrance.

  At last he did. The cool cave air soothed some of the sting from where his skin had been removed. Still, the half-breed paid little attention to his injuries. All that mattered was her.

  There was just enough light to see the crumbling temple. The shattered relief of the two battling mastarks remained, the gleam of one creature’s furious orb-carved from some brilliant, orange-red stone-greeting him as if welcoming back an old friend … or an old adversary. Beyond, other cracked walls and small alcoves stirred other memories, not all of them pleasant.