“Do I disturb you?”
Stefan turned to the doorway, visibly fighting to keep from showing that she had startled him with her sudden appearance. For someone chained both hand and feet, Idaria moved like a ghost, rattling her links only when she cared to, it seemed.
“No. What is it?”
“The festival which honors Garantha’s patron beast ends shortly at the ancient temple. The grand lord hopes that you will wish to attend and observe the closing ceremony.”
“I would. I am bored in my room.” The knight seized his helmet and sword, which lay on his bed, then followed her out.
As with so much of the palace, the walls were lined with worn and obviously ancient reliefs of beings that Idaria explained to Stefan were depictions of the builders of the capital. Their quality and detail amazed him. Shown in positions of repose, of study, and of creative endeavor, the figures hinted at a society once richer in beauty and culture than he possibly could have imagined. He had to look quickly and closely, for the reliefs were shadowed by dim light cast by the insufficient windows and torches illuminating the corridors.
“Such a tremendous contrast these ancient figures are to our present captors,” Stefan commented, his gaze shifting from one to the next. The guards they passed indeed seemed the opposite, for they were ugly monsters who eyed the Solamnic with malice. However, none dared give in to their baser instincts and harm him. Every one of the armored behemoths clearly feared and respected their master, Stefan knew, ironically, as he was slighter and surely weaker than the least of them.
As they passed another guard, Stefan finally asked a question burning in his mind. “My Lady Idaria, how is it you can so calmly walk the halls of your enslaver? And why do you not have any attending guards when you are alone on this errand?”
“The Grand Lord Golgren is your host, Sir Stefan,” she calmly reproached him. “Everything is according to his dictate.” Her blue, crystalline eyes remained on the hall ahead.
“My host and my jailer … and yours too.” His expression grew grim. “He is the lord of a people who’ve slaughtered hundreds of your kind and keeps hundreds more in chains.” He seized the chains between her wrists. “Although you wear yours almost as if they were bracelets of gold from your paramour-”
He stopped dead in his tracks as Idaria whirled on him. Her eyes betrayed a deep disdain for Stefan. “Perceptions are always colored by beliefs, and there are worse evils that could and have befallen the Silvanesti than the grand lord.”
Idaria strode on brusquely. Stefan started after her and nearly collided with her as the elf halted suddenly again.
Her eyes widening, Idaria quickly stepped to the side. The human, taking his cue from her, just as quickly followed suit.
At first there seemed no reason for her apprehension, but then a shadow swept across the floor ahead of them, where the corridor intersected another. The shadow grew to incredible length before at last a gigantic form hove into sight.
It was all the Solamnic could do to restrain himself from uttering an oath of exclamation. A blue-skinned figure, who made the towering guards seem dwarves by comparison, appeared, gliding down the hall in the very direction the elf slave had been leading him. Although Stefan was a fairly tall man, the gowned behemoth stood more than twice his height. Even with the palace’s high ceilings, there was scarcely any space between it and the top of the strange being’s head. The momentary glimpse he had of the immense figure’s features left an impression of perfection marred by something dark festering inside. The giant was clad in elegant garments that made the grand lord’s appear shabby.
The enormous figure vanished down the corridor, but Idaria remained where she was, breathing fearfully, for more than a minute after he was gone. Finally, the elf, her expression composed again, resumed walking ahead without a word to Stefan.
“Who-what was that?” the knight felt compelled to ask.
“It is one of the Titans,” she answered reluctantly, gaze ahead.
“ ‘Titans’? I’ve heard the name, I think, yes, but … I’ve never seen such a creature! What’s it doing here? What is it exactly?”
A sigh of exasperation escaped Idaria. She turned on the human, her eyes blazing again. “You recall but a moment ago, Sir Stefan Rennert, when I said that there are worse evils that could and have befallen the Silvanesti than that of your host?”
“Yes.”
“Pray to your patron gods, then, that this is the closest you will ever come to the company of any of the Titans, and then pray to those gods for the well-being of my lord Golgren, the only one who stands between them and rule of the ogres, the only one, I dare say, of whom the Titans themselves are afraid.”
And with that uncharacteristically lengthy speech, the elf slave started off again. Stefan hesitated, still reeling from the vision of the giant, then hurried to catch up.
Golgren had ordered the Titans to stay away from the Festival of the Griffon despite its significance to the populace. He had informed Dauroth of his wishes, and the lead Titan, through his lowly apprentice Safrag, had acquiesced.
Thus, Golgren was surprised and displeased when, before the final ceremony, Safrag came bowing and scraping through the halls of the palace to relay a message from his master.
“Great and glorious Grand Lord Golgren,” the Titan intoned in Common, bending so low that he came to eye level with the smaller ogre. Golgren was unimpressed; of all the Titans, Golgren found Safrag the least impressive. He hadn’t known him before Safrag was chosen to join the spellcasters’ ranks and could not understand what it was about the ogre that appealed to Dauroth-why he was chosen not only to be a Titan, but as Dauroth’s second apprentice. “My master begs your leave that he sends me with what he feels is news of import to you.”
Golgren, already clad in his sandals and elegant green and brown robes, bared his sharp teeth and filed-down tusks to show he was irritated at the interruption. He waved his hand impatiently at the Titan. “Speak what it is you must say and begone!”
Safrag somehow managed to bow even lower. “My master wishes to warn the grand lord of a winged sentinel noticed around the palace more than once. There may be a connection to this human. We are naturally seeking the answers-”
“This one knows of the creature. The Titans, they are commended for doing their duty, but there is no need for concern. You may leave me if that is all Dauroth wishes you to say-”
“There is more. My master would wish you to reconsider our absence at the honoring of the griffon, especially with this human attending unchained and, most worriedly, armed.”
The grand lord shrugged off the warning. “The human is a guest and will be of no threat. This audience is done.”
Straightening, the Titan nodded to Golgren then, without further ado, turned and started to leave the chamber.
“No!” At Golgren’s cry, Safrag froze. “Since you are a Titan,” the smaller ogre growled, “I would prefer that you leave from here by your magic, not simply wander the halls as you did earlier, showing your presence to any and all, yes?”
The apprentice did not protest. “As you wish.”
Black smoke curled around Safrag’s feet, winding quickly around the Titan until he was obscured. The smoke thickened, then dissipated, leaving in its wake no trace of the azure giant.
Snapping his fingers, Golgren beckoned his other slaves, who had been sent out of the room upon Safrag’s arrival. They went back to work finishing his appearance. As some dressed him, one brushed his thick, dark hair; the grand lord’s scowl gradually relaxed. Golgren could not fault Dauroth for wanting to warn him about the winged creature, but had it merely been an excuse for Safrag to skulk around and spy on the human?