Karnag’s axe cut through his neck. Donnag’s head fell past the cousin, almost but not quite rolling out of the tent.
Idaria waited for more than an hour after Golgren had drifted off before daring to sneak away and write her latest missive. There was far more to tell than the tiny parchment allowed, so she kept to the key details. The grand lord had nearly been slain, and his authority had been undermined. A culprit had been named, and his arrest and execution would have repercussions. Whether or not that would play well into the hands of those for whom she spied, only they could answer.
The moment she was finished writing, Idaria rushed to the window. By then, there were birds who expected her summons, be it day or night, and one came quickly in response to her quiet call.
“Thank you, little one,” the slave murmured as she kissed the bird lightly on the beak. “You are so brave.”
She attached the message by a string. That one especially could be trusted to carry her messages far and beyond the ogre lands, if need be. The bird loved her that much.
“Fly safely now,” she ordered.
The bird fluttered from her hand and out through the window. Idaria watched as it vanished into the night then turned back toward the bed of her master, who lay sleeping.
She was startled by a tall shape that materialized between the bed and her, nearly causing the elf to gasp. Only a long-honed sense of survival kept the gasp smothered in her throat.
Within the shadows of his hood, Tyranos smiled. In an overly innocent tone, he whispered, “I see you admire the night fliers too.”
The dagger appeared in her hand as if by magic. She lunged for the wizard’s chest, but he moved quicker than any human should have been able, even a spell-caster. Tyranos evaded her attack and seized her wrist, twisting it upward. The dagger fell free, but before it could clatter on the floor, the wizard grabbed it in his other hand, which for once did not hold his precious staff.
“Careful,” he murmured. “Mustn’t wake the master.”
Her eyes darted to Golgren, who remained still. “You do not plan to alert-to tell him?”
“Are you certain he doesn’t already know?” Tyranos pulled her nearer. “You’re a puzzle, Lady Idaria. On the one hand, you volunteer for slavery after escaping Silvanost in order to spy for those whom you should loathe nearly as much as the ogres. On the other, you had the perfect opportunity to let events take their course and see the grand lord die, yet you went out of the way to divert the griffon so Golgren could survive.”
She lowered her eyes. “I did it to save myself. Without him, I would be taken away by the Titans. You know the fate awaiting me-awaiting all elves-in their lair.”
“Huh. You know very well you could escape at almost any time.”
He released her hand, then, unexpectedly, returned her dagger to her. The wizard turned his gaze back to the slumbering form.
“Fascinating,” Tyranos rumbled, eyes flickering back to the elf. “Very fascinating.” He reached out to hand something else to Idaria. “When he wakes, give this to him. He should know what it means, but tell him that he ought to show it to the leader of the Titans-show it but not surrender it.”
The slave eyed the dark object in her palm: a ring, a very old ring.
Idaria, from a race nearly as ancient as the High Ogres, had little trouble recognizing its origins or its potential. Her eyes widened. She looked to the human for explanation.
But Tyranos was already vanishing. The mage said but one last thing as he turned into shadow then empty air. “Oh. I meant to tell you also; I don’t think your message is going to make it through this time. There are more gargoyles about, you see.”
And with that, he left Idaria holding the signet and staring narrow-eyed at the still sleeping form in the bed.
XVI
Donnag’s death at the hands of his own kin did not sit well with Golgren, although on the surface he pretended to be satisfied with the news. The grand lord would have preferred to broadcast Donnag’s disgrace to all before he was executed. After the execution his corpse would be of no use, for the heat of the ogre lands would turn any dead body into something vile within a day or two. Much of Donnag’s transformation could be blamed on decay.
Golgren could not even punish the kin, for they had acted according to a tradition that dated back to the old days. There were traditions that he could and would change and traditions that he dared not. Worse, Donnag’s clan had bought its way into his good graces, whether he really endorsed their actions or not.
All that told him that he had to act as soon as possible with regard to the human. Golgren summoned Khleeg and Wargroch, giving them orders. He then had the Solamnic brought to him.
“We must talk,” Golgren bluntly informed Stefan. “But not here, not now. You have seen little of Garantha and all its surroundings! I would have you see its changes.”
“I’d be very interested, indeed,” Stefan admitted. “You are too kind-”
The grand lord waved off his gratitude. “It is my duty as host! Come.”
The mounts he ordered were ready within minutes, three instead of the two the Solamnic expected. In addition, some fifteen warriors also stood ready as the riders’ escort around the city.
Khleeg gave commands to the guards, but then, to the human’s surprise, the officer saluted them and departed.
“I am here,” Idaria’s voice softly called from behind the pair.
Stefan frowned. “She rides with us?”
“There is objection?”
“No, no.”
The elf solemnly mounted her horse as best as her shackles enabled her. Of necessity, the silver-tressed female rode sidesaddle.
Golgren grinned. “Like the females of a Solamnic court, is she not?”
“Only they are not chained, Grand Lord.”
The ogre shrugged. “Are they not?”
At his command, the sizable party entered the streets. Golgren set the pace, leisurely enough that the escort could keep up, but not so much that they grew lax.
Stefan had seen a good deal of Garantha from the gate to the palace, but Golgren led him toward the northeastern sector.
There the stone streets were cracked and worn from generations of neglect, but they were cleaner than under any previous grand khan. With the knowledge that he would eventually take the human on just such an excursion, Golgren had issued orders that that part of Garantha would be made as presentable as possible. At an intersection far ahead, he noted some of Khleeg’s officers urging a cadre of ogres to swifter and better cleaning. Using wooden brooms with bristles made from the stiff hair of sturdy Kernian horses, the workers attacked the street as though it were an enemy. The grand lord began to slow his pace and introduced the topic that most interested him.
“I have spoken of alliance but left you wondering about more, yes?”
“I’ve been curious, definitely,” the Solamnic cautiously replied. “I still find it hard to fathom what you might be suggesting.”
Golgren sensed that the human fathomed far more than he cared to let on. But he didn’t know as much about the ogres as Golgren knew about the knighthood and its goals. “It is simple,” he said, his hand retrieving a vial of scent from his belt pouch. “Solamnics and ogres, they have a common problem: the Uruv Suurt. They must be watched.”
“Uruv Suurt?”
Raising the vial to his nostrils, the grand lord bent open the stopper and inhaled. Memories of his childhood briefly drifted through his thoughts, although he gave no sign of his distraction to the human. “I think you understand a few of our simple phrases. I mean the minotaurs of course,” Golgren said. “The invaders of Ansalon … that is how Solamnia sees them, yes?”
Stefan Rennert nodded. If the knighthood had been blind to the empire’s slow but steady advance through Silvanost, then they could boast themselves greater fools than gully dwarves.