“Soon … and sooner than you might think, Sir Stefan Rennert.” Golgren also rose. He rubbed his chin. “But we must speak first, yes? Of a-a partnership-between our peoples.”
As he had expected, the knight looked utterly amazed. There had not been any contact between the ogre and human races for many years, not since Solamnia had stopped sending men to train ogres to fight against the Nerakans. Even that had been done “unofficially” on both sides, and the grand khan knew little about it.
“A partnership?” Stefan blurted, brow furrowing.
The grand lord shook his head, pretending he was rummaging for the proper word. “Nay!” His face lit up and he grinned. Extending his good hand toward the human, Golgren declared, “Not partnership, but alliance, an alliance between the humans and ogres.”
It was fortunate that Golgren stood with his back to Idaria and that the Solamnic’s attention was focused on the ogre. Neither of them noticed the fleeting expression of dismay and disbelief that crossed the elf slave’s usually placid features.
Stefan also looked incredulous, and at first he couldn’t imagine that ogres and knights shared any common interests … that was, until he thought about Neraka and Silvanost.
It was true they might find common ground on those two subjects.
“An alliance?” the human repeated, involuntarily shaking his head, as though to clear it of musty ideas of the past.
“Yes.” Golgren stepped down to approach the knight, trying to put them on even ground, eye-to-eye level, as much as possible. Idaria had watched the grand lord brilliantly manipulate many who had come before him with their hopes and entreaties, including many who thought they were manipulating the grand lord. But if Golgren desired some sort of pact with Solamnia, he had his work cut out for him, she thought.
That was not the urgent thought in her mind, however. She had to warn her own partners, her confederates. But that would require some maneuvering of her own; another message dispatched so soon after the last one was risky; Idaria feared discovery.
Yet she would risk all for the freeing of her homeland from the minotaurs; she would do anything to save her people from not only the pitiable slavery to which they were subjected, but from the foul arts of the Titans. Compared to the Titans, Golgren was almost a benevolent despot. Certainly because of him, scores of elves had been saved from the terrible fate that had been prepared for them in the hidden sanctum of Dauroth.
Of course, Golgren had kept the slaves from the Titans’ grasp largely to satisfy his own ambitions; Idaria’s influence on him was subtle, and what little she had accomplished had cost her heavily. There was a part of her that buried the painful experience of the months of her captivity, and what she herself had elected to do: become a slave-then the concubine-of the ogre half-breed. She had strived hard to sneak to his notice, and she had succeeded. Idaria had willingly done what few other elf women could imagine.
She, who had been safely ferried out of the ancient home of her people at the expense of her parents’ lives, had returned with the aid of her friends and comrades in order to contrive her capture by the personal guard of the grand lord himself. If Idaria somehow helped her people regain their freedom, the cost of all that would be worth her life … and her tainted honor.
“The two races have many concerns in common,” Golgren was saying smoothly to the human. “The black-shelled ones are a bane on both Solamnics and ogres. They have long been so. Yet they are not what troubles us most now, yes? There is also Ambeon, from where the minotaurs eye more lands west and north.”
Stefan nodded agreement, even as he reflected that it had been Golgren and his followers who had aided the horned warriors in gaining a foothold on the continent in the first instance.
“But come!” continued Golgren companionably, all but throwing his arm around the human’s shoulder. “You have eaten; you are tired now. Of course, tired. All talk of grand things we do will come after Sir Stefan Rennert has slept, yes?”
The Solamnic indeed felt near to exhaustion, but it was not entirely natural. At Golgren’s earlier bidding, Idaria had put a sleeping herb in the human’s food. Stefan would slumber peacefully for hours, giving the grand lord ample time to set in motion his scheme to win over the man.
Golgren himself helped the Solamnic in walking, but when Idaria also came to assist-as was her duty-the ogre bared his teeth. Startled, the slave retreated. The grand lord led the sleepy human out of the chamber and toward the large rooms once inhabited by Zharang’s favored concubines.
Idaria followed at a safe distance, her eyes on her master’s back. Had he trusted her less, Golgren would have been granting the elf slave an easy target. He knew that she would not strike him down for any reason, though. She dared not, and not merely for her own sake. If Golgren perished, whoever succeeded him would revenge his death on her enslaved brethren.
“Idaria,” Golgren abruptly hissed.
The elf scurried forward. Her chains, as much a part of her now as a second skin, made as little noise as she did.
She shoved the ancient wooden door open for her “master” and his burden, revealing a room filled with red, yellow, and green tapestries and a massive pile of colorful pillows. Although once they had been breathtaking, the dark, dull crimson stains spotting many of the tapestries and pillows remained as sober reminders as to their recent history. Idaria passed tapestries with symbols marking elf families that she had formerly known, some of them related to her by blood. Once, the mere sight of those precious relics of the glorious elf past would have nearly caused her to break down in tears but no more.
“I’m very … grateful … my lord,” Stefan mumbled as he lurched along. “The journey … was a long one.”
“Yes, very long, I have made it on foot also,” the grand lord replied evenly as he lowered the human onto pillows.
Idaria waited patiently as the ogre assisted Stefan. Golgren did everything himself with the same care that any of the knight’s comrades would have taken with him. Only when her master called for water did she hasten to oblige, bringing a goblet and a dented metal decanter to the nearly unconscious human.
The human stared up at her, his round eyes so young and innocent compared to her own. Both ogres and humans lived scant moments in time compared to the long-lived elves, but whenever Idaria looked into Golgren’s eyes, by comparison, she saw an old, wily intelligence beyond the ogre’s actual age. In Stefan’s case, the vibrancy of youth was still fresh and appealing.
The slave poured him a drink. He fumbled with the cup, so much so that, despite Golgren’s evident displeasure, the elf held Stefan’s hand as she guided the goblet to his lips.
After he had taken a sip, the knight managed a courteous nod. “My lady.” Almost as an afterthought, he looked again at his host. “My lord.” Then he drifted off.
Immediately, Golgren straightened. Idaria, all too familiar with the ogre’s body language, quickly but smoothly retreated to the ledge from which she had taken the cup and decanter.
The grand lord peered at her for a moment then asked, “You will tend to him, yes?”
Surprised, Idaria managed a nod.
Golgren scowled at the sleeping figure. “Be there when he wakes. Let his eyes first cast upon you.”
“Yes, my master.”
The ogre leader surveyed the chamber. Walls built from stone blocks larger than his own body hid behind the tapestries. Should the knight think to seek escape, he would discover that his room also passed as an excellent cell. The only ways out were through the door-which would be guarded for the human’s safety-and the small, arched window at the opposite end.
Even unarmored, the human could just barely fit through that window, and his descent would be ill advised. Below the window was a drop of several stories and, assuming he survived that long fall, Sir Stefan would land in a pen where the palace’s meredrakes were let loose for exercise.