“Donnag will be excused for his words, for all here know his mind is slowing, his understanding of his actions is regressing.” Then the spellcaster stood, a giant towering even among the other giants in the room. “There is a balance currently necessary to the goals and ideals of the Titans that goes far beyond the needs of one. Donnag will and must accept this.”
The fallen Titan’s grotesque features shifted back and forth luridly as he fought with all his mental faculties to comprehend Dauroth’s reply. Morgada, meanwhile, had moved away, so far away from the repellant creature that the Titaness had become lost in the shadows at the edge of the chamber.
Dauroth’s burning gaze touched every Titan present. “Donnag will not come here again unless I have summoned him.”
The dark flames erupted again. At first, Donnag did not seem to recognize their presence, but when he finally noticed the flames, beckoning him, he reached instead toward his former mentor and shouted, “No! Not-not send me b-back-”
The flames swelled to engulf Donnag … and he vanished.
“Morgada.”
At Dauroth’s summons, the lone Titaness swept back into the center of the chamber, her eyes meeting the leader’s. Her blank expression covered any resentment, much less fear she might be hiding.
Dispensing with Common as he switched to his own beloved tongue, Dauroth sang out his challenge, “Morgada, how is it that you, of all of us, dare to press Donnag’s cause despite the past?”
Also reverting to the Titan language, she replied without guilt, “Donnag was blood, and called blood in order to plead my aid.”
“You are one of us, and that is the only call you will answer. All past ties are gone and have never been, my Morgada.”
The dark temptress bowed her head. “You are correct as always, master.”
“Raise your eyes,” Dauroth commanded, looking kindly on her. “The fault is Donnag’s more than yours, I know. You will remember this incident well and, I suspect, repeat it not.”
“No, master.” Under the thick lashes, the golden eyes stared at the lead Titan as if no one else existed in the chamber.
“We will speak no more of this, yes?”
Morgada nodded, a slight smile crossing her perfect features. Then, at Dauroth’s gesture, the flames engulfed her too and, like Donnag, she vanished from the Talon’s sight.
“This will not end it for Donnag,” Hundjal murmured as his master sat back down in his tall chair.
“No.” Dauroth’s tone, which seemed more understanding when he was speaking with Morgada, suddenly grew cold, dangerous. That coldness frosted the words he sang. “No … as with so many things, I will likely have to act.”
Uncertain what the leader meant and not really wanting to know the details, Hundjal nodded vaguely. If he noticed that Dauroth turned his back slightly to him, the younger Titan gave no sign.
“And so,” began the Black Talon’s master, “we must now discuss just how the grand lord’s goals and ambitions for the border with Ambeon shall be fulfilled.”
Another night came and Golgren slept without experiencing the dream. It was a rare dreamless night for him, and he slept well. Sleep was rare enough for him since seizing power. The grand lord often went for two or three days without so much as a nap, during which he always contrived to appear to have one eye still open. That was one hazard of ruling; even in the safest of places, it was never safe enough to sleep truly.
Golgren lay sprawled on the array of elven pillows, his closed eyes toward the ceiling. That night his dutiful servant watched over him, and if there were anyone the ogre trusted to keep him alive and protected, it was Idaria.
Elves themselves had peculiar sleeping habits. Rarely did anyone see Idaria looking as if she needed rest; she was almost always present or nearby just when her master ordered some task.
And the elf slave did not look in the least weary ever, certainly not at that moment. Neither, it must be said, did she appear to be overly concerned with Golgren’s safety, for the silver-haired maiden stood expectantly at a high, arched window that overlooked a drop of several stories. She had stood there for more than half an hour, her sharp ears listening not only for noises outside the room, but alert to the ogre’s breathing. She counted on the steady breathing of sleep with no alteration.
Finally, there came a slight fluttering of wings, so light only the elf could hear it approach. A moment later, a small brown bird alighted on the sill.
Idaria cooed quietly as the bird flew to her hand. She petted the bird gently then glanced over her shoulder for reassurance. The grand lord remained lying on his back with his hand cupping the object that rested atop his chest.
Satisfied, the elf sought the bird’s left leg. There, she located a tiny leather pouch bound to its limb. From the pouch, Idaria pulled forth a piece of parchment. Unfolding it, she read the brief missive with eyes well accustomed to the dark.
The reading took but a few seconds. Whatever the contents of the message, Idaria’s expression betrayed nothing. Placing the note in a fold of her garment, she then withdrew from another fold a similar parchment and thrust it in the pouch.
Making certain that the missive was secure, Idaria brought the bird’s gaze to meet her own. The communication that passed between them was thought to be a folk tale by most other races, and such ability was rare even among her own kind. But the bird knew where it had to go and when it needed to return.
“Fly carefully,” Idaria whispered, a warning she always gave. The bird endangered itself for her out of love, and the elf regretted each time she had to exploit the creature.
Raising high the hand upon which the bird rested, the slave waved her messenger up and away. As quietly as it had arrived, with its light fluttering, the bird departed through the window.
Even as it vanished from her sight, from the pillows behind her Idaria heard a shifting. Her footfalls quieter than the shadows, the slave returned to her proper place near her master-without disturbing him-despite the chains she always wore.
Even then, Idaria had barely stretched out near Golgren before the ogre’s eyes flickered open. His hand closed, as if he sought to reassure himself that he still clutched what hung around his neck. That done, the grand lord’s eyes sought out Idaria.
“Master,” she murmured, lowering her gaze.
The ogre brushed her cheek. “My Idaria … always watching, always faithful, yes?”
“Yes, my master.”
“It pleases-” The grand lord tensed. Idaria likewise froze.
“Such a touching scene, a king and his concubine.”
Abruptly, from the shadows, materialized Tyranos. The towering mage tapped the floor once with his staff. The crystal’s silver light softly filtered through the darkness. “Perhaps you can find another elf slave to paint it.”
“You are concerned all of a sudden with the elves?” returned Golgren. “Perhaps Tyranos now hopes to plead their freedom?”
“What you do with them is of no concern to me, unless it happens to interest the Titans.” Glancing at Idaria, Tyranos performed a mock bow. “Oh dear, my words have made you shudder. Do forgive me.”
As a slave, Idaria did not-dared not-respond. Golgren rose from the pillows to face the wizard on equal footing.
“Tyranos must have something he wishes urgently to speak of to come to a place he has never been permitted to enter.” Golgren stared past the intruder to the doorway through which guards should have already been bursting. “And to spend precious magic to shield what goes on in here from all outside.”
“Indeed. I’ve brought something very interesting for you to see.” The leonine face cracked into a grim smile as the mage turned the crystal toward the floor. “Careful … he bites.”