And under the staff’s magical light, a winged form took shape. At first it was no larger than a songbird. From Idaria there came a gasp she could not stifle, but fortunately the thing that Tyranos had summoned proved to be-not her pet-but such a creature that both the spellcaster and Golgren could have taken her exclamation for fright, not concern of discovery.
Within a single breath, the creature had grown to the size of a hound. In two breaths, it was already nearly the length of a human. Its wings were long, wide, and leathery-and at the moment bound tight by invisible bonds gripping its scaly body. Under a ridge of thick brows, red eyes both animal and intelligent glared ferociously at the three of them, and from the toothy, almost beaklike maw erupted a vicious snarl. Its body was as broad as that of an ogre and well muscled. The gray beast attempted to slash out at Tyranos with taloned hands but encountered an unseen barrier just inches beyond its body that sparked hotly where the tips of its talons touched.
The tall human grandly gestured at his prize. “I’ve been told that Garantha is the city of the griffon. Look what I found. Have you chosen to take the symbol of the gargoyle instead?”
Golgren, his hand resting on his chest, strode toward the creature. The gargoyle, in turn, tried to lunge at the grand lord but again ran afoul of Tyranos’s magical barrier.
“I’ve told the beast he’s just going to hurt himself, battering away like that, but you know how thick headed they are, especially the mountain varieties.”
“This was found in Garantha?”
“Found atop your palace,” the wizard replied with a chuckle. “Perched like a statue … a statue with long, acute ears, though.”
Gargoyles were not unknown in the ogre lands, especially the mountainous regions. Ogres sometimes hunted them for sport or simple extermination, for gargoyle meat was foul by even an ogre’s low standards of edibility. Of course, the winged creatures were not adverse to doing a little hunting of their own, and no ogre excursion ever returned without having suffered a few victims. They were legendarily ferocious creatures.
But gargoyles were not simple-minded animals. Their intelligence was said to be nearly as great as ogres, and there were rumors that some could even speak a crude form of Common.
That thought ran through Golgren’s mind. “You have questioned this beast?”
In response, Tyranos uttered a single, odd word. “Tivak!”
The crystal flared. The barrier around the gargoyle revealed itself in a savage crackle of silver energy. Within, the winged captive let out a mournful shriek. It dropped to the floor, writhing. Idaria’s eyes widened, evincing some sympathy for the gargoyle’s plight despite its ominous presence in the capital.
“Tivak!” The fearsome crackling died down. As the gargoyle lay there panting, the brown-robed mage nonchalantly replied, “As you can see, if he had anything to tell, he’d have told it gladly. I merely brought him along with me to ensure that you’d not think I was making it up when I told you live gargoyles are skulking around your palace.”
Golgren nodded, his interest darting from the creature to the wizard and back again. “This watched over the palace this very night?”
“I trust I have made that clear.”
“And good Tyranos happened to be nearby and noticed.”
The broad-shouldered human let out a gruff laugh. “I’ve a vested interest in your welfare, oh Grand Lord.”
“Yes, you do.” Golgren turned his back on both spell-caster and gargoyle. He stared pointedly at Idaria then, still facing the elf, commanded, “Release the winged one.”
“I beg your pardon?” asked Tyranos.
“I would have you release the voru tzyn,” the grand lord repeated, using the old ogre term for gargoyles. Golgren still faced Idaria. “Here. Now.”
Tyranos grunted with amusement. “As you like.”
From the direction of the gargoyle there came a flash. Golgren, though, didn’t turn around; he watched Idaria’s eyes, which opened wide.
The gargoyle screeched.
Golgren whirled around. In his hand there was a long, slim dagger. He hurled it at the gargoyle just as the creature was about to leap at the ogre with its three-inch-long talons.
The blade buried itself in one eye. With a howl, the gargoyle collapsed on the floor again. It twisted in agony for a moment and finally lay still.
With satisfaction, the grand lord retrieved the elegant dagger from his victim. He wiped the gargoyle’s life fluids off on its leathery wings.
“A very pretty and effective blade,” remarked Tyranos. “Another elven spoil for you to enjoy, I see.” Glancing down disinterestedly at the gargoyle’s corpse, the mage added, “Of course I could have done that for you with a lot less bother.”
Golgren returned the dagger to its hiding place. “Yes. You could have.” He gestured at the gargoyle. “You may still take that thing with you. Its blood may still be good.”
“I am not a Titan. I’ve no need for this filth.” The crystal flashed once more and the silver light enveloped the dead creature. A moment later, the corpse and all other traces of it vanished. “As to its reasons for having come here, I’ll investigate further … and inform you of my findings, naturally.”
The grand lord nodded his appreciation, but Tyranos did not depart. “You have some other reason for visiting, spellcaster?”
“Yes, there was one more thing. A minor thing. You’re to have a visitor in-oh, I’d say two days. Providing he does not die in the meantime.”
He had Golgren’s attention. “A visitor? Yes?”
The crystal dulled. At the same time, Tyranos’s voice grew less distinct. “A Solamnic … a sorry Solamnic, but still a Solamnic.”
That brought a sudden, wide grin from the wizard’s host. “Ah! One of the shelled ones? A true Solamnic? That would be a rare pleasure.”
The hooded figure grinned back. “I thought you’d be pleased.”
And with that, Tyranos faded into the shadows.
IX
The minotaur patrol stalked through the rising landscape, each soldier growing more wary as the forest gave way to the drier, hotter landscape north of Ambeon. Yet the seven-foot-tall, breastplated figures moved with a confidence borne of recent triumph, thanks to a leader whose command they respected.
High hills spread before the patrol, which consisted of five squads of ten soldiers, each led by an officer called a dekarian. Some distance to the east, another fifty-similarly divided into five squads-also marched north, deeper into what was the territory of their former allies, the ogres. That fifty were led by the overall commander of their expedition, a hekturion named Kulanthos, who once had served the emperor himself when the latter was an outcast from his native realm.
The hundred legionaries and their officers had been ordered by their general to probe the region for any evidence of ogre incursions. The minotaurs were not technically at war with their neighbors, but neither side would have shunned a fight.
Perhaps Boar Legion did not boast the reputation of Warhorse or Wyvern Legion, but neither was it without some storied accomplishments. The soldiers of Boar Legion considered themselves exemplary fighters loyal to whoever by right held the imperial throne, which was currently the former slave Faros Es-Kalin. The emperor’s recent ascension to power was a tale that stirred the blood of all minotaurs. His family had been slaughtered by enemies, he himself was thrown into captivity-first among fellow minotaurs and, later, exiled to ogre lands-but Faros had escaped his slavery and fought back, gaining followers and becoming a champion of all minotaurs in a time of upheaval.
Many believed he was the emperor of destiny, the one that legend said the god Sargonnas-known to older minotaurs as Sargas-had promised to deliver to his chosen people in their time of need. Certainly Faros had begun to unite the realm as it had not been since the earliest days of the reign of his late, unlamented uncle, Chot the Terrible. One policy of the past that Faros honored, pursuing it as zealously as his predecessors, was solidifying the minotaurs’ hold on the mainland.