“A very dramatic display,” a voice next to Golgren quietly proclaimed in perfect Common.
Khleeg, Wargroch, and the other guards gave a start. Only Golgren and Idaria looked unsurprised at the sudden arrival of Dauroth, who sat in the tall seat looking very much at home, as if he had been there the entire time. The Titan was sipping from a goblet of his own, an elegant gold-and-silver chalice with a row of blood-red rubies lining the middle.
“A very dramatic display,” repeated the gigantic spellcaster. He took another sip of the clear liquid in his elegant goblet then glanced at Golgren and added, “One would hardly think you’d need to stage a coronation, however. Your exalted position is certainly secure among the race, isn’t it?”
“I will be named grand khan and lord chieftain,” Golgren returned just as confidently. “It will be so.”
“Then you are determined to follow through with all of it?”
The grand lord’s eyes narrowed slightly. “All of it … ”
The mastarks began swaying back and forth impatiently. The guard captain stood waiting for some sign from the grand lord.
At last Golgren nodded. The handlers urged the great beasts, and they began to lumber forward.
The chains tightened. The two prisoners fought furiously to free themselves, but their efforts were doomed.
The mastarks continued unhindered. The chains grew taut.
Guln’s shrieks lasted nearly twice as long as Wulfgarn’s. Even the cheers of the audience could not drown out their suffering. All in all, it took only two or three minutes for the beasts to finish their awful task. The arena floor was awash with blood and other bodily fluids, not to mention gobbets of flesh.
Golgren stood once more. A silence fell upon the Jaka Hwunar. All present, even the late-arrived Dauroth, rose to their feet.
The grand lord thrust out his hands toward his people, and they, in turn, began to shout a single word-or rather, a name.
“Golgren,” they cried, their voices growing louder, more emphatic, with each repetition. “Golgren … Golgren … ”
And as they continued to shout, the grand lord glanced over his shoulder at Dauroth, expressionless, as though unfazed by all the acclaim.
“It will be so,” the grand lord murmured.
Dauroth took another sip from his drink, his golden eyes revealing nothing of his thoughts. He bowed slightly to Golgren, then raised his goblet in a toast.
The smaller ogre lowered his arms, but the crowd continued shouting. Golgren looked to Khleeg, who, with a gesture to the arena, indicated the grand lord’s imminent departure. Horns blared and drums beat as Golgren and his retinue-Dauroth assuming a place on his left side-left the Jaka Hwunar.
Once Golgren was gone, the calls eventually died down. Stirred by the event, the ogres shambled out of the ancient arena. They grunted and growled among themselves, arguing over which part of the bloodbath had been the most entertaining.
When the Jaka Hwunar was empty of its audience, the handlers and guards began the cleanup. Slaves, both ogres and otherwise, began the messy task of loading up the rickety, two-wheeled carts with ruined corpses, tossing what remained of Wulfgarn and Guln among the others without thought or ceremony.
The tainted bodies would receive neither burial nor burning. The ogre race had many hungry pets such as the meredrakes and the baraki to feed. That day, the voracious reptiles would feast well.
And when all were gone, brownish red stains remained, spreading over the floor and marking a day when the Place of Glorious Blooding had more than lived up to its name.
A crowd as large as that inside the arena awaited the grand lord outside. Golgren raised his arms to acknowledge the crowd’s approbation as his name was roared over and over.
Dauroth suddenly edged toward Golgren and, with a quick bow, whispered, “With your august permission, oh Grand Lord, I shall take my leave. There are matters of great import-”
Without even glancing at the sorcerer, Golgren casually muttered, “No.”
The Titan’s handsome features twisted irritably but only for a moment. Only Idaria was close enough to notice. The elf involuntarily moved nearer to her master.
The Titan cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon?”
“No. Dauroth will come to the palace, yes?”
Dauroth bowed again. “Of course, oh Grand Lord. I am as ever at your beck and call.”
Golgren grinned toward the crowd pressing from all directions, but his smile was not for them. “Yes.”
The journey was a short one; the grand lord was in a hurry and did not pause to take the usual accolades from his people. Khleeg, Wargroch, and the guards matched Golgren’s determined pace as the entire party, including Dauroth, arrived at the former abode of the Great Dragon That Is-Was-Zharang.
Golgren did not proceed to his quarters, instead entering a vast balcony situated beyond the throne room. Patchwork had returned the balcony to close to its original glory but also made it safe and secure. The legs of the banisters had once been carved to resemble griffons and, under the reign of Zharang’s predecessor, some had been repaired. The floor, originally a marble mosaic forming the silhouette of the fabled beast, was in fair condition, save that the griffon was missing a leg and most of one wing. Its hide was also perforated with white squares, the outcome of inept restoration work.
Khleeg angrily ushered out the elf slaves who were engaged in repair work. Dauroth watched the chained figures scurry past, as if sizing up each one of them. It was ironic, he reflected, that the slaves toiled so hard to restore Garantha’s icon to its greatness. The royal family of Silvanost honored the same beast as their symbol; the elves believed it was their tradition from the beginning of time. Yet ogres believed the elves had stolen the legacy of the griffons from ogres. It was Golgren’s intention to restore the griffon as an emblem of his people’s might and a symbol of the elves’ downfall.
The grand lord paused at the rail of the balcony. The sight was breathtaking, for the city looked beautiful from that distance, and beyond Garantha the local mountain range offered an equally picturesque vista. But in reality Golgren cared little about the view. He had other things on his mind.
“Khleeg!” he abruptly declared, reverting to the Ogre tongue. “Falan du hach!”
“Falan du hach?”
“Ke!”
Puzzled, the officer began commanding the others to join them on the balcony. However, Golgren shook his head. “Bin iDaurothi!”
The warrior and the sorcerer exchanged a look; then Khleeg reluctantly nodded, following the others as they left. Only Idaria remained behind with Dauroth and the grand lord.
“You have a sudden fondness for the mongrel tongue with which most of our people bark?” the Titan asked in Common when the others were safely out of hearing.
“As much a sudden fondness as you have for my company, spellcaster.” When Dauroth chose not to remark on his peculiar comment, Golgren turned and glared at the giant. “We do not pretend here, yes?”
“We have never pretended, Grand Lord.”
Golgren’s hand grazed his chest. “No, good Dauroth, this one believes you have not.” The grand lord bared his teeth. “Our goals, they are both the same and completely different.”
“An astute way in which to state it.”
“But one thing must be agreed. The future of the ogre is for the ogre to decide.”
The Titan nodded. “There can be no other way, no thought of intrusion by another race.”
“Yes.” Golgren continued to bare his teeth. “Thus, the Titans first must see to the Uruv Suurt. They test the borders. They must be taught the borders are ours to define, ours to cross.”