The Fire Rose Page 7

  Hands protected by covers of thick meredrake skin carried orange-hot ladles of molten metal to the molds. The original molds had been stolen from the Uruv Suurt for just that purpose, stolen because even the late Emperor Hotak had not trusted his allies enough to do more than provide them with finished weapons. Of course, there were always those of any race willing to profit by theft, and so for Golgren, gaining what he needed to start the facility had not been difficult.

  Khleeg surveyed the many molds, trying to make a count. Twenty were still serviceable, but two more had cracked, rendering them worthless. In another area, ogres were attempting to duplicate the consistency of the Uruv Suurt’s molds, but with varying success. Still, the molds that were usable temporarily gave the Grand Khan’s swelling forces what they needed.

  Khleeg stepped back past workers freeing those blades cooled enough to finish upon the anvil. The clang of metal against metal was deafening, and more than a few who had labored in the forge for a few years were deaf to all but the loudest sounds.

  The officer finally located the overseer. He seized the other brute by the arm and roared, “How many? Enough?”

  The scarred and burned overseer—one eye had been seared shut months past after a chance encounter with a falling piece of burning metal—peered dumbly at Khleeg. Khleeg thought that the worker did not understand his Common speech, but the other ogre turned one fat ear toward him.

  “Enough?” the Blödian roared at the top of his lungs. His question ended in a choking cough due to the sulfur.

  The overseer waited until he had recovered before nodding vehemently. “All!” he roared back. “All!”

  Stifling another cough, Khleeg finally abandoned the building. Outside, as he inhaled the relatively cleaner air, the ogre looked up at the top of the facility. Smoke did rise steadily from the vents, but not nearly as much as was needed.

  A score of riders awaited his return, Golgren at the forefront. With one last cough, Khleeg reported, “All ready!”

  The Grand Khan dismounted, his guards following suit. Two in the rear ushered forth a prisoner: an Uruv Suurt legionary minus his armor. The horned warrior scowled despite his dire situation.

  Khleeg led his lord and the others to where several ogres were stacking new weapons in what seemed at first to be oddly arranged piles. Only as they drew closer did a pattern become visible. The stacks formed a sunburst, an homage to Sirrion, whose fire had allowed them to be cast.

  A space ten feet by ten feet filled the center of the pattern. Into the area stepped Golgren. He removed all but his kilt and his sandals, handing his possessions to Khleeg for safekeeping.

  The legionary was shoved into the empty space with the Grand Khan.

  Khleeg stepped up. “Uruv Suurt … would you like freedom?”

  The prisoner snorted. “I am to believe that?”

  Golgren’s second in command gave a warning grunt. “If the Grand Khan promises freedom, the promise is kept. But to win it, you must fight him … and slay him.”

  The horned soldier eyed Golgren up and down, especially the missing hand. He bared his teeth in the minotaur equivalent of a grin. “Give me but a sword!”

  In response, one of the guards handed him a weapon. The legionary studied it, testing its weight. He glanced at Golgren in surprise. “It is my very weapon.”

  “To be fair in all ways.” Golgren remarked quietly. The Grand Khan turned. However, rather than receive a blade from one of his followers, he picked out one of the newly crafted swords.

  As the Grand Khan turned back to him, the captive legionary went into a battle stance. Golgren waited a breath, and nodded to the minotaur.

  The two lunged at one another.

  Their blades clanged sharply as they met. The legionary bared his teeth, eager for the kill. The minotaur had no doubt slain more than one ogre in the past and certainly thought that he could handle the slighter, maimed Golgren.

  The legionary’s blade came under Golgren’s slash. Suddenly the ogre shoved the oncoming sword down with his own. The horned soldier quickly brought his weapon around in an arc, yet once again the Grand Khan’s was there to block it.

  Khleeg and the rest of the ogres remained oddly silent. Other warriors gathered. They watched expectantly.

  The pair traded several blows. The minotaur’s eyes were red with effort and fury, his nostrils constantly flaring. He had finally realized his adversary was far more skilled than most ogres.

  Golgren nodded, as if he understood and pitied the minotaur’s revelation. He bared his teeth, and suddenly thrust under the legionary’s attack, driving his blade halfway into the other’s chest without striking the ribs.

  The legionary let out a choking sound. Blood erupted from his mouth. He dropped his sword and, as Golgren withdrew his own, crumpled to the ground dead.

  Those surrounding the two let out low, victorious grunts. Golgren silenced them with a dark glance and stretched forth the bloody sword as far as he could. The Grand Khan held the red tip over one stack of blades.

  Golgren spoke in both Common and Ogre. “Tuzun i kalys ifhani! The weapon is the death of the enemy! Tuzun if’han ikalysi! The weapon is the enemy of death!”

  A drop of blood fell from the sword to the stack of new blades, staining the top of the pile. As the drop touched, Golgren let out a triumphant grunt and shouted, “Mergos i dura tuzun holoc! Blood has been tasted by the weapon, and it hungers for more!” He moved the red blade over the next stack. “Holoc di sirri! Hungers like fire ever!” Another drop fell, staining the second stack. The blade went to the third. “Du otuzun ibarikis! Let those weapons feed!”

  The Grand Khan let a drop fall on each stack. When he was done, he set the blade, still soaked, atop the body of the legionary and stepped away from the center.

  Two warriors turned the corpse on its back, making certain that the blade remained on top of the body, and carried the Uruv Suurt to the building where the forge ever burned.

  Golgren signaled other warriors to gather up the stacks of blades. They did so eagerly.

  “The swords are blessed,” Golgren explained to Khleeg. “They will find their targets well.” The Grand Khan changed the subject. “The hand will be ready in three days, yes?”

  “Yes, my lord. They will march well and as you command.”

  Golgren started to nod, but Wargroch came riding up. The younger officer wore a troubled expression.

  With a nimble leap for one of his girth, the Blödian dismounted and made his way to his ruler. As was his way, Wargroch dropped down on one knee.

  “Speak,” Golgren quietly commanded.

  “Great one!” Wargroch visibly steeled himself should he be punished for the bad news that he was bringing. “No birds bring message from the hand of Vorag. Cragur sends word that he cannot find the warriors.”

  Another hand was missing.

  “Khleeg,” Golgren began slowly, his eyes narrowed slightly, but his expression otherwise emotionless. “The hand must march tomorrow.”

  His second in command was too wise to argue. “My lord.”

  Golgren eyed the weapons being handed out to the warriors around them. “And I will lead them.”

  All that Khleeg did was nod.

  V

  WARLORD

  The guards no longer actively watched Idaria. Indeed, in many respects, they treated her almost as though she were Golgren’s queen. The elf maiden made good use of their lax attitudes toward her. All Idaria’s arduous work, her suffering, seemed to have finally paid off. She could pursue her true task.

  She had given up her hard-fought freedom and cast herself into slavery. Idaria had done so in the hopes that she might somehow bring the freedom she had sacrificed to those of her people who had been enslaved by the ogres. With the help of other agents, she had maneuvered herself into the position of the Grand Lord’s favorite slave. It had meant dishonors that many others would have been unable to suffer and survive, but Idaria had managed to bury a part of herself deep in
side, so that there was always something those shames could never reach and poison.

  But she was also confident in those with whom she had made her bargain. True, they were not elves, but it behooved them to follow through on their promises. For by aiding her, they aided their own cause.

  The slave moved effortlessly through Golgren’s chambers, the heavy bracelets on her wrists and ankles hindering her little. She, who knew him best, had not been entirely startled when Golgren had refused to have the links reforged. She believed his promise that he would free her people and was certain that he still would do so … when it served him best.

  The silver-haired elf went to a window near the bed and softly sang. Yet it was no human or elf song that escaped her perfect lips, but rather the trill of a bird.

  Mere seconds later, a small, feathered form alighted on the sill. The bird sang a few notes of the same song. It was one of her messengers, her avian friends through whom she made regular contact beyond Garantha. With Golgren away, it was the perfect time to send one of her missives.

  “Thank you for taking it,” she murmured to the bird as she placed a tiny note in a small container around the creature’s leg. What the avians did for her was done at great risk to themselves, and she very much appreciated their bravery. Idaria had always prided herself on her rapport with birds, hints that she was perhaps favored by Astarin—or, as humans called him, Branchala—the god of song and life, and thus also the god of the woods and the songbirds who thrived in forests.

  With loving care, Idaria gently raised her messenger back to the window. Setting it there, she sang a short note to bid it farewell.

  The bird flew up into the sky.

  A much larger, leathery, winged form suddenly burst from its hiding place atop a nearby tower. It dropped heavily upon the bird. Before Idaria’s messenger could even squawk, the gargoyle had caught it and crushed it in its grip. The creature quickly spiraled back to its hiding place.

  A horrified Idaria stumbled back, in part because of the death of her pet and also because that particular gargoyle was one that she had seen before.

  “You’re a dangerous little fish, you know that?” growled Tyranos.

  She spun on the wizard, striking him across the face. Or at least she attempted to do so. The tall human snagged her wrist and held it tight.

  “Why did you do that? How could you let that beast of yours kill—”

  “To save us both some trouble, elf! Your friends have learned enough. Let Neraka stumble in on its own.”

  Idaria stiffened. “I have no tie to the dark knights! They are enemies to elves. Or have you forgotten Mina and her army?”

  “Oh, I’ve not forgotten that fiery little madwoman. But we’re long past that time, Oakborn, and into another far more complex era when enemies are allies, allies are enemies, and those who should have no common cause with anyone stick their tridents into the mix just to make things more interesting and frustrating!”

  She pulled free, but only because he allowed her to. “And where do you fit into everything, wizard? Who—or perhaps what—are you really?”

  His eyes narrowed appreciatively. “You are wily. I’ll leave it to you to guess the answers to those questions. But let us speak of other things.” As she opened her mouth to protest angrily, he added, “The bird would’ve died a lot harsher death if it’d made its destination, elf! Your Nerakan friends are on the move, and apparently they don’t want you to know just what they’ve got planned. I can only hazard a guess that, for some odd reason, they think you might be sympathetic to the Grand Khan! I can’t imagine why.”

  “You lie! How do you know such things?”

  “Choose what you wish to believe. That is my warning to you—take it or leave it.”

  Idaria’s eyes flashed. “Why are you really in the palace, wizard? What do you want from me?”

  He laughed loudly, ever unafraid that the guards beyond would hear him. Magic cloaked his activities. “I want nothing from you, my dear Idaria. I want something from your loving master. If I read matters correctly, our good Golgren is about to embark on a hunt. I need you to thus relieve him of something I was foolish enough to have you give to him. You remember what I am talking about, don’t you?”

  “The signet.”

  “Clever elf!” Tyranos’s leonine face broke into another grin. “And mark me, he’s better off without it! In fact, keeping it is going to greatly raise the chances of him getting killed, just when we both need him the most!”

  The slave eyed him closely. “You speak in too many riddles. And why do you not simply take it yourself? Golgren is no wizard.”

  He looked disgruntled. “I’ve tried, damn it. But the signet seems to like him … warm to him. Or at least it wants to stick around the half-breed for some reason.”

  “You are making no sense.”

  “I know. It does not make sense.” The wizard turned to glare at Golgren’s bed. “That’s why I need your help. You can get physically closer. Maybe it won’t put up a fight.”

  The slave stepped closer, her beautiful face a cold mask. “You forget something. Why should I believe you enough to risk being discovered stealing the signet? We have never been allies, much less friends, Tyranos.”

  “I told you, that signet’s likely to get him killed. Isn’t that enough for you?”

  “Why don’t you go to him and simply explain that?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Do you honestly think he’d listen to me and give it back? After how it saved him during the quake?”

  “And it saves him from the Titans too, as you might also recall.” Idaria shook her head, sending her long tresses flying back and forth. “You will have to find another way to get it from him.”

  The tall human snorted. “Bah!” He raised his staff and paused. Stretching forth one clenched fist, he muttered, “I was going to give you this when you agreed to help me, but I’ve no use for it, anyway. So take it.”

  Tyranos opened his hand and revealed the songbird that Idaria had seen destroyed. It fluttered out of his hand to her.

  “But I saw Chasm crush him!” she blurted out, speaking the name of the wizard’s pet gargoyle.

  The robed figure chuckled. “Elf, you of all people should understand that appearances are often merely illusions.” He started to fade into shadow. “Just like the faint hope that your Grand Khan will still free your kind …”

  “What—” But Idaria got no further before Tyranos vanished.

  She examined the bird, looking for the message she had tried to send. Its leg was bare. Idaria started to write another message, but hesitated. After a moment, the slave brought the bird over to the window. She paused again, and murmuring sweet encouragement to the avian, set it free.

  The bird soared up into the sky.

  Chasm’s head suddenly thrust out of his hiding place. The burly gargoyle—his muzzle thicker and more squat than those of the ones spying on Golgren—peered closely at the bird. The winged beast tensed before, with a brief glance at Idaria, settling back into his hiding place behind the stonework.

  He had let the bird go because the small winged creature had not been carrying any note. Tyranos wanted no further contact between her and her conspirators. Whatever she chose to do in the future was to be her decision alone.

  The elf looked over her shoulder at the bed.

  They had been out of communication for the past few days, but Vorag was not concerned. The Grand Khan had instituted the use of messenger birds with all his hands, but Vorag’s birdcage had accidentally slipped from its secured place atop the lead mastark, and he no longer had any birds to command. However, the ogre commander expected they would be in contact with another hand before long, and they could send word to Garantha.

  The terrain turned hillier in that part of southern Golthuu—the former province of Blöde—slowing the hand’s advance. Soon enough they would meet up with the other force. Vorag had fresh supplies for them. With the Uruv Suurt constantly testing the borders, and t
he ogres doing the same, keeping warriors strong and rested in the field was a priority.

  The ogre squinted as two riders came into sight—the scouts he had sent ahead almost a day ago. Another of the Grand Khan’s new rules.

  Saluting his commander, the first scout hesitated As best he could, he growled in Common, “Hand ahead!”

  Vorag frowned. The ones they were meeting were supposed to be some days ahead, still. He started to reply, but the blare of a horn suddenly echoed from beyond the hills. The notes were exactly those he had expected to hear upon reaching the other hand.

  The commander shrugged. The sooner the better. “Horn!” he shouted to his own trumpeter. The other ogre raised a goat horn and blew the replying notes. From the hills ahead came another series of notes.

  Vorag urged his warriors on. Several moments passed, but at last the outriders of the other hand revealed themselves. A number rode under the banner of the Grand Khan to meet Vorag’s band.

  A young, tall warrior led the riders. Vorag recognized him as one of the five officers who served below Zhulom, a commander of one of the hand’s fingers.

  “Atolgus,” Vorag rumbled, greeting the newcomer by name. “Zhulom near?”

  “You will see him soon,” Atolgus replied, his command of Common better than Vorag had expected. Golgren had encouraged his officers to use their extra time out in the field and learn Common. It kept the minds of the warriors active when there was nothing else with which to concern themselves.

  Atolgus turned his mount around and, with the rest of his comrades, began guiding Vorag’s force through the hills. The passage quickly grew narrow, but they slowly wended their way along. Atolgus set his pace to ride next to the commander.

  “You bring all the supplies?” he asked Vorag.

  “All.”

  Atolgus nodded, straightened, and looked over his shoulder at the force. Vorag responded with a questioning grunt.

  “Gar ihg,” Atolgus said to Vorag’s trumpeter. Without waiting for his commander to acknowledge Atolgus’s order, the trumpeter raised his horn and repeated the signal he had been given earlier to identify Vorag’s forces.