He was so close … so very close.
He started as he sensed an approaching presence. Identifying the newcomer, Dauroth nodded. In the next second, the door to the chamber swung open.
Safrag bowed low as he entered. In the tongue that Dauroth had created, he said, “Venerable One, may this humble apprentice approach you with words of possible import?”
To the lead Titan’s ears-which had just heard what he was certain was the pure language of the High Ogres-Safrag might as well have been speaking in the debased tongue used in Kern and Blode. Nothing else-absolutely nothing-was more than a befouled bastardization of the perfect music with which the golden guardian had assured him of his future.
Still, Dauroth forced himself to reply in the same debased tongue, reminding himself that someday soon all would change.
“You may speak, Safrag.”
The other Titan’s expression grew anxious, an unbecoming look for one of Dauroth’s proud chosen. If Safrag did not have a good reason for his uncertainty, Dauroth would have to reconsider his value as an apprentice.
“Master, I would not speak out of turn, naturally, and this is so delicate a matter-”
Dauroth’s stare cut him short. “Proceed, Safrag.”
The apprentice bowed his head low. His words sounded more strident than musical, evidence of his mounting distress. “Master, it concerns one who should be above reproach, one for whom my respect is second only to that which I have for you … I speak of none other than Hundjal.”
For Safrag to even suggest something amiss with Dauroth’s most promising convert worried the elder Titan. Dauroth had been grooming Hundjal to eventually take over all dealings with the others, so the lead Titan could delve completely into his research and further hasten the return of the Golden Age.
The Titan leader ushered his apprentice inside and sealed the door with a simple gesture of his hand. Eyes blazing as golden as the world in the teardrop, Dauroth demanded, “And what potential offense is it that good Hundjal has committed?”
Safrag winced, for even his angry master no longer sounded as if he sang his words. “Master-Master, I fear that Hundjal seeks the forbidden. I fear that Hundjal has delved into the legend of the Fire Rose.”
Dauroth couldn’t help it; he flinched. His expression must have been terrifying, for Safrag nearly flattened himself against the door. The lead Titan immediately took a calming breath, which, at least outwardly, appeared to work.
“It has been forbidden by those who know of it to even speak the name,” he reminded Safrag coldly.
The studious Safrag kept his head low. “And if I must be punished, Master, for speaking it, so be it.”
Dauroth stared past his second apprentice. “Yet the crime that is most heinous is to dare disturb even the memory of that foul artifact. Worse even is to hope to make the legend into truth.”
“Perhaps Hundjal does not understand the implications.”
That defense sounded weak, especially to Dauroth. Of all of them, Hundjal likely understood best-nearly as well as his mentor-the danger of resurrecting the dream of the Fire Rose. If Safrag was right … Well, there was no choice but to investigate.
“From this point on, Safrag, you will neither speak nor even think of the Fire Rose. I will study Hundjal and determine his innocence or guilt.”
“Yes, great Dauroth.” The door behind the younger Titan swung open without warning. Safrag needed no other hint to understand that he had been dismissed. He slipped into the hall and scurried away.
“Hundjal … ” Dauroth muttered. “Hundjal, if you have disobeyed me in this-you of all who should know better-you will envy Falstoch. Yes, you will.”
Baring his teeth, the sorcerer suddenly whirled from the doorway and rushed deeper into the recesses of his sanctum. A change came over Dauroth, one that would have set even the most powerful Titans-including the select few who were a part of the Black Talon-on fearful edge. They would have seen a Dauroth unfamiliar to them, a Dauroth in a cold sweat.
To those who observed the master spellcaster’s chamber from outside, it would have appeared a normal-sized room. But as with the rest of the edifice in which he dwelled, Dauroth’s domain did not follow physical laws, and in fact, there were rooms within rooms within rooms, all shifting according to his desires.
And one of those hidden rooms took form before the Titan, who flung open the iron door protecting it and stepped into an even larger and certainly more arcane place.
The vast room was covered in ice and filled with a coldness that even Dauroth felt with a shiver. Great mounds resembling snow-shrouded stalagmites dotted the bizarre inner chamber. More than twenty of those stood at intervals in the path between Dauroth and the other side of the room.
And there, half buried in ice, stood a black, metal chest chained with long, silver tendrils.
Dauroth took a step toward the chest, and the first of the mounds immediately shattered. A grotesque form shook free the last remnants of its prison and stepped forward to confront the sorcerer. It had the size and shape of an ogre, but one with only vestiges of skin and armor over its yellowed bones. Black, hollow eye sockets somehow glared murderously as the undead creature menaced the Titan leader with a huge, worn axe.
“Asymnopti isidiu,” sang Dauroth.
The grotesque guardian stumbled to a halt, then retreated to his original position. As if time were reversing itself, the skeleton’s icy shell swiftly reformed around it.
As Dauroth moved on, the rest of the mounds remained quiescent. His command to the first undead to return to his sleep also had affected all the others. However, the way to avoid his monstrous guardians was not merely a case of knowing the right magical phrases. The warriors-chosen from strong, living ogres whom Dauroth poisoned, then stripped of their flesh-were enchanted to obey only his voice, no other.
There were other, more subtle safeguards, but the Titan leader silently nullified those as he moved deeper inside. He had no patience for anything standing in his way.
As Dauroth approached the chest, the silver tendrils became fanged serpents that stretched for his wrist. He let the first one bite him, at which point it collapsed into a simple strand of rope. The other serpents likewise transformed harmlessly.
But with nothing between himself and the chest, Dauroth hesitated. A part of him wanted to rush from that dread magical place, while another longed to examine the chest’s contents. At last, a combination of both fear and desire forced him to open the sinister box.
Instantly, a fiery white light burst from the chest. Dauroth turned away for a moment then forced himself to look again.
And in the center of the chest, floating in a clear liquid that was not water, was a tiny, pointed fragment-no larger than a pea-that looked as if it were made of iridescent pearl. Within the fragment, a fiery force that occasionally tinted the piece bright orange-red shifted about like a caged animal. Dauroth was uncertain whether that force lived or not but preferred to err on the side of caution, so he didn’t intend to disturb it.
Yet the Titan already sensed the growing heat and, indeed, the first trickle of melting ice reached his ears a breath later. More important, he found his fingers reaching toward the fragment in spite of his efforts to resist.
Exerting tremendous willpower, Dauroth grasped the lid and shut the chest tightly. Only then did he exhale. Around him, the chamber quickly cooled.
Although the strain of the moment was still upon him, Dauroth felt some relief. Neither Hundjal nor anyone else had found their way into the chamber. The secret was safe, for the moment.
But as he retreated to the doorway, the Titan felt a growing heat within him that tempted him to return to the chest. Dauroth fought the temptation and finally managed to exit into the main chamber. Once there, he made a gesture, sending the icy chamber back into hiding from the mortal plane.