Stefan sat back in his chair, exhaling. “Is he the winner?”
“Yes, the other has chosen to delay their fight, but fight they will another day.”
“But for a while they worked together as allies … ”
The grand lord beamed as though a lesson had been learned. “With amaloks and many creatures, the ally of before can be the enemy of later, and the enemy of before might, therefore, become an ally, yes?”
“It … has happened … ” Stefan admitted. He leaned forward again to better survey the scene. The ogre handlers were just then daring to approach the restless surviving creatures. “I’ve never seen such an animal fight! Do you ride them also?”
“Those who try are likely to die.”
The Solamnic’s expression did not change, but Golgren knew that the human had briefly considered that his escape might be aided by an amalok. What the ogre said was true; an amalok would have a tendency to either bite, kill, or spear anyone thinking to turn it into a horse, but it had been done once. That risky accomplishment had been the only thing that had kept Golgren alive once, long ago, when the black knights had turned his trap into one of their own. They had slain half his warriors that day, the worst defeat that he had suffered after taking the place of his father’s cousin as chieftain of the village.
And shortly after that, he had met the wizard, Tyranos.
Thinking of the mage, Golgren looked around the arena, but there was no evidence of the attendance of the mysterious wizard. Yet the grand lord’s hand suddenly gripped his armrest tautly.
No, Tyranos was nowhere to be seen, which did not necessarily preclude his presence, but something else caught his attention, something that stared back almost mockingly at Golgren from the very top wall of the Jaka Hwunar. It met his gaze for a moment before fluttering off without anyone else seeming to notice it.
Another gargoyle …
Dipping his finger in the silver bowl, Dauroth bent down to draw the symbols. The dark, thick liquid with which the Titan created the spellwork flared bright red and settled into a deep black.
The rest of the Black Talon-absent Hundjal-sang the words of power that would keep their spell going. They had no intention of faltering, for that would require another hour’s spellcasting and they might miss the propitious moment.
“It is strengthened again,” Dauroth sang. “We may continue.”
He repositioned himself in the circle that the giant spellcasters had formed, a circle surrounding a vast rip in the air. Within that rip, the Talon surveyed the Jaka Hwunar and its activities, each of its members experiencing the same viewpoint no matter to which side of the tear they stood.
Unlike the crowds or even those nearest Golgren, the Titans did not miss the momentary glimpse of the winged creature.
“That is not the same vermin seen a few days prior,” sang one of the Titans. “This is larger and more arrogant.”
“Certainly less cunning,” replied another, “to come out in the open so conspicuously.”
“Less cunning?” questioned Dauroth. “Nay, much, much more, I think.” The senior Titan drew a five-sided symbol in the air, and the image of the gargoyle’s departure was replayed. The Talon watched as the beast dwindled in the sky then winked out of existence. It had not simply flown so far away as to be no longer visible. It had vanished by what was surely magic. “Someone plays games with the grand lord.”
“Then of what interest is this to us?” sang the first Titan. “Unless the vermin so disrupts the mongrel’s plans as to allow us to finally be rid of his insipid presence!”
Dauroth stared down his nose at the speaker. “It is of interest, Kallel, because we do not know who it is the gargoyle serves. It is of interest to us because I have interest in the grand lord. It is too early for us to usurp him; we tried that once and failed. We overextended our resources. The result was that he was strengthened. Now we need him to remain in place for a time, drawing together the necessary elements for our future success.” He bared his teeth. “I trust I do not need to repeat myself over and over again in this regard!”
Chastened, Kallel bowed to Dauroth’s wisdom.
“Safrag, we will speak of this situation in private,” the lead Titan announced. After his second apprentice nodded, Dauroth looked to the rest of the Talon. “I will change the image. We have more important matters to review than the festival.”
The Talon collectively shifted its singing. Dauroth used the dark liquid to draw a second vision before the rip.
Like a blinking eye turned sideways, the gap shut and opened wide again. The scene within revealed a different land, a place of chilling, ice-topped peaks and turbulent skies. Dauroth gestured, and the scene refocused upon a small cavelike opening in one of the mountains, an opening marked by much-weathered symbols of a language recognizable to any Titan.
“I have found one,” Dauroth stated without obvious emotion. “I have found a burial chamber of the High Ogres.”
Among the rest of the Talon, there radiated excitement, but no one yet spoke, out of deference to their master.
“Yes,” replied their leader to the silent question. At last a hint of similar excitement illuminated his golden eyes. “The seal has not been breached. The chamber should be intact.”
“Intact!” breathed another Titan.
“The sacred works said to be buried with the dead,” murmured Kallel. “The scrolls and the signets … ” He grinned almost lasciviously. “The signets … ”
Among the Black Talon, that last remark struck home. The signets of the High Ogres were vital to the secrets of their vast power, power that even the Titans did not possess yet.
Power, they hoped, with which they might be able to achieve, in one fell swoop, their ideals and grandiose plans.
Twenty years Dauroth had searched for even a fragment of the legendary signets, all to no avail. He had begun to doubt, wondering why the ancestral spirit had left him knowledge of the signets if they were to be forever lost beyond his grasp. The High Ogres had appeared to have taken those particular secrets with them to the very grave.
But he had discovered one of those graves.
“There is hope, yes, that we have located some of the signets, and, if so, then the gods and our ancestors truly bless our great task,” the lead Titan intoned solemnly. “Our perseverance will have been rewarded a thousand times over.”
“Far more than that!” insisted Kallel.
“Far more than that, yes, if there are signets within.” Dauroth immediately silenced the protests rising at his caveat. “And if there are no signets, we must be grateful for an even more significant treasure that surely lies within, one that may make the holy signets pale by comparison.” He gestured at the mouth of the remote tomb. “At last, my brethren, we have the bones.”
XII
Stefan peered out of the tiny window in his room. It was obviously too dangerous for him to climb through and down. He did not want to escape anymore anyway, at least not yet. The information he had gathered thus far was invaluable, and the grand lord’s vague suggestion of alliance had the knight intrigued.
There was another factor explaining his reluctance to try to escape, and her name was Idaria. Stefan had never personally known an elf, and, in fact, had seen only a couple from a distance. Those had been males, seeking assistance from knightly councils-fairly unsuccessfully-for their dispossessed people. In fact, the various factions sprouting up among the long-lived race seemed to have spread throughout Ansalon, with many refugees seeking aid from nearly every bastion of power.
Stefan stepped back from the window. He remained armored out of habit more than necessity. The knight tested one of the joints of his armor, which squeaked, then searched among the leftover food on the small table by his bed. In the absence of oil, many other things could be used to lubricate his armor.