A horn blared up ahead. Atolgus’s people clustered together, surrounding the human. Much shorter than they, Stefan could see nothing but the backs of heads and furry spines. Then a shifting among the bodies gave him a glimpse of armored forms that for a split second evoked the Knighthood.
Yet they were not Solamnic warriors; rather, to his astonishment, they were ogres who wore gleaming breastplates and helmets. They vanished from his view within moments, but by then the knight had witnessed enough to know that all the rumors were true. The new ogre leader had begun to whip together a fighting force on par with other races. Those ogres had order and discipline, the foundation for any successful army.
Atolgus again started forward with his band, only to be halted by a broad, armored figure whose origins clearly did not lie in Kern. Stefan had already seen several Blodian ogres, but that was the first who flaunted any position of authority.
“Isaga i ny Shok G’Ran?”
The Solamnic tensed at the pejorative words describing his kind.
The chieftain stepped aside. “Ny Shok G’Ran. Hodig i caru i Gestan uth Knophros… Gestan uth Knophros iGolgreni!”
The armored ogre loomed over Stefan. He was rotund and ugly even when compared with his comrades, sporting a broken tusk and one eye that stayed half hidden behind its lid. The knight had grown more or less accustomed to the odors of his captors, but the Blodian stank in an especially repulsive manner. At the same time, with each exhalation of breath, a second but equally nauseating stench assailed the human.
To his surprise, the armored ogre addressed him in Common. “You are Solamnic, yes?” he rumbled.
The question did not really need answering, but Stefan nevertheless nodded. Satisfied, the officer snarled something to Atolgus that the knight could not understand. The chieftain beamed. He made a dismissive gesture to the rest of his band-even his mate-then seized the bound knight by the arm.
Other ogres gave way before the armored ogre as he led Atolgus and Stefan away from the others. A half dozen or so steps away, the three were suddenly joined by six guards who took up positions on all sides of the small party.
They left the market area. Ahead lay a carriage pulled by a team of amaloks. The carriage itself was of obvious human design but had been redecorated in a rather gaudy manner with gold leaf and precious stones inlaid around the door frame.
The mark of the severed hand had been painted on the door, and the skill of the artist was such that the famous lost appendage looked monstrously real.
The armored ogre thrust a heavy, muscled arm in front of both Stefan and the suddenly trepidant Atolgus. The pair waited nervously while their companion trotted over to the carriage.
Stefan had not quite known what to expect, but certainly it was not the face, the vision, that peered out at him. It was no ogre. Rather, the female’s slim form and ethereal beauty marked her as naught but an elf … and one born of high station.
She peered almost ruefully at him then spoke in whispered tones with the officer. What they said, Stefan could not discern, but after they were finished, the elf woman surprised him further by extending a hand-a manacled hand-to the human.
“Please enter. As a guest.”
Blinking, the Solamnic merely stood there. Taking that as, at best, reluctance, or at worst, defiance, the ogre near the carriage reached for the heavy sword sheathed at his side.
“No, Khleeg,” murmured the elf, concerned eyes on Stefan. “Please,” she repeated. “As a guest of the grand lord.”
The knight rediscovered the mobility of his limbs. Atolgus did not wish to release him, but the ogre had no choice. As Stefan neared the carriage, the ogre named Khleeg reached for a dagger near his sword. He came around to the human’s back.
As the elf silently reassured Stefan with her pitying eyes, Khleeg sliced away his bonds. The knight tensed, ready for whatever injustice was next, but a look from the elf stilled him.
“Inside,” ordered Khleeg. The Blodian looked past the human knight to where Atolgus still stood, agape. “Follow.”
The chieftain did so obediently and without protest. Stefan, meanwhile, had climbed inside the carriage, where the elf indicated he should sit across from her. Despite her chains and weathered clothing, she sat like a regal lady of the court.
The pretty image of her was abruptly ruined by the intrusion of Khleeg, who sat at his side. The ogre took up more than half the seat, and his helmed head nearly poked the ceiling.
A strange spitting sound was heard from without; then the carriage started moving. Flexing stiff arms, Stefan asked, “Uh, the grand lord … how did he find out so fast that I am here?”
His question had been directed at the elf woman, but it was Khleeg who initially responded. “He is Golgren.”
Stefan understood such an answer coming from one of the grand lord’s minions but hoped for more enlightenment from his attractive companion. Instead, though, the elf merely nodded solemnly and repeated what the ogre had said. “He is Golgren.”
And for some reason, those same words, echoed in a drone from the elf woman, left the Solamnic most disturbed.
X
The meredrake hissed, the first hint that something was happening. The guards, stationed at evenly spaced intervals around the ancient chamber, were already standing at attention; they attempted to look even more wary. Golgren, seated upon the stone throne used by countless grand khans of the past, stirred from his dark reveries. Images of a burning village and a dead elf woman retreated but did not entirely vanish.
Nostrils flaring, the meredrake tried to move in the direction of the fresh scent, but the chain attached to its leather collar yanked the beast back toward the wall on Golgren’s right. Frustrated, the giant lizard continued to hiss until the grand lord signaled one of the guards to throw it a piece of fly-covered mastark meat from a clay pot near the great reptile. With savage gusto, the meredrake happily tore into the rank tidbit, the approaching intruder momentarily forgotten.
The doors swung open and four figures entered the audience of the grand lord. Two immediately went down on one knee, while the third-Idaria-silently strode over to her master, taking her place on his left. Behind her, the fourth visitor stood defiant.
Golgren hid his bemusement. Having met that kind of human before, he had expected nothing less from him. Solamnic Knights were nothing if not stubborn and proud. It was a trait-or fault-of theirs that he had exploited more than once in the past.
Khleeg had just noticed the human’s disrespect for the grand lord. With a growl, the other ogre rose. The meredrake, sensing a clash, grew alert and hopeful. It dropped the piece of mastark, for something fresher and bloodier might be imminent.
Though unarmed, the Solamnic stepped back into a fighting stance. Khleeg swiftly drew his sword.
Golgren deigned to interfere. “Such a fight this would be,” he said with a loud sigh, “but the human is guest, Khleeg.”
“Shows no respect!” Yet the armored ogre, obeying his lord, backed away, sheathing his sword as he glared at the knight.
That settled, Golgren gestured not to the knight, but rather at the chieftain who had brought him this prize. “Tahun ur?”
The young ogre slapped a meaty fist to his broad chest. “iAtolgusi! Ur nahm i fallo hucht!”
“Gefyn ol oKomeni?”
Atolgus beamed. “Yes, talk good Common!” He pointed at the knight. “Talk him!”
“So good.” Golgren leaned inquisitively toward the human. “I am the Grand Lord Golgren,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone that belied his vaunted prestige. “What name have you?”
Abandoning his fighting stance-although as a Solamnic Knight, he intended to stay vigilant-the bearded figure responded stoutly, “I am Sir Stefan Rennert, Knight of the Sword!”