“As I said, a common problem. We, too, inhabit the mainland, and so the minotaurs also crowd our nation.” Golgren returned the stoppered vial to the pouch before adding, “But would not Solamnia enjoy to know that ogres will not march west? Ogres would certainly be pleased if Shok G’Ran did not try to seize ogre lands.”
“You speak of a nonaggression pact,” the bearded knight declared. “Peace between your kind and ours because of the minotaurs. But we have no designs on ogre lands!”
“And I can assure you we have no desire for knightly lands. But if the Uruv Suurt attack either, the other comes to the aid.”
Despite what Sir Stefan said, Golgren knew that the Solamnics would willingly enter the ogre lands if it suited their purpose. They might even establish a “permanent” presence. That didn’t really worry him, although a pact would definitely forestall such a possibility. Buying time was part of his plan.
Stefan brooded over Golgren’s words, tantalized by the idea of-what did he call it? — a nonaggression pact. The grand lord’s emerald eyes hid his pleasure at having read the knight so well.
“Such a pact might indeed be of interest to my superiors,” Stefan finally admitted. Yet, like the ogre, he didn’t want to say too much. “I need to consider this proposal longer, though.”
“This is understood.”
The knight met the ogre leader’s gaze. “I must tell you truthfully, as you have treated me so graciously as your guest, that I fear an acceptance is hardly likely. The knights have too long regarded ogres as, uh, dire enemies.”
Golgren grinned like a human. “Of course, we will have to overcome the past and prejudices. But we must try, yes? Think of it! Ogres and knights, they have been allies before, in times of necessity; they can be so again. Even more so. Solamnia and Golthuu can be brothers in all things.”
The knight’s hands tightened on the reins. “Golthuu?”
“The ogres of Kern and those of Blode, they are the same under the skin. Each has khans and chieftains, both make two lands. I intend to remake the two lands into one, as it was in the beginning.”
From beside the human, Idaria quietly explained, “Golthuu means the dream of Golgren.”
“My loyal followers, they will insist on such a name.” The grand lord tried to look modest. “I could not deny them.”
Stefan nodded but stayed silent. The human suddenly found his surroundings of great interest. They were passing ogres on the city streets; many of those citizens glowered at him, though their hostility always vanished quickly under Golgren’s scrutiny. Younger ogres stared more wide eyed, more openly curious, never likely having seen one of Stefan’s kind-at least not alive-in their city and in the company of the grand lord at that.
Most of the males were clad in brown, cloth kilts and sandals of newer make than those available beyond the capital. Various crude symbols sewn into the kilts marked the clan of each onlooker. Females wore simple cloth dresses that covered everything from the neck down to the knees, a style that the grand lord thought was more civilized than the ragged skins that often did not hide their breasts. Golgren was proud to point out to the Solamnic that all the garments were of ogre make.
“I’ve seen other ogres dressed in finery like those of elves,” Stefan pointed out with a quick glance at Idaria. “Ogres dressed even more grandly than yourself.”
“All will someday be dressed so, as we learn the skills. Perhaps Solamnia can help teach us these? That, too, can be part of our alliance. I have seen such good clothes on humans.”
“Aren’t your slaves proficient enough?”
The question-its accusing tone-might have caused a crude ruler such as Zharang to order the knight flayed alive over a pit of hungry meredrakes, but Golgren did not blink. “Ogres must learn to rely on themselves alone, as humans most of the time do, yes?”
He did not care to remind Stefan that there were many areas of so-called human civilization where other races were enslaved, even fellow men. The Knighthood, Golgren knew, was choosy about what races it befriended and what slaves it freed. Therefore, Stefan could say anything he wanted, and Golgren found it amusing. After all, he sought a pact with these choosy knights.
The grand lord signaled the escort to turn further east, which caused Idaria, at least, to glance up briefly in surprise. The Solamnic did not appear to have noticed her reaction.
Then, ahead of them, came a sight that forced the party to grind to a halt. Stefan stood in the saddle to get a better look, staring at the huge, lumbering beasts. Under the guidance of several handlers, the three mastarks-collars around their thick throats and massive chains attached to the backs of those collars-strained together as they headed to the north. Their chains rose several stories in the air behind them and looped over a series of wheels, creating pulleys.
The object of their labor was a gigantic piece of newly cut marble on which had been carved a relief of Garantha’s powerful patron spirit. The griffon image was shown leaping into the air, its tremendous wings so detailed in their craftsmanship that one could note the individual feathers. The work was very skilled, Stefan had to admit. At the moment, the block was being lifted up to enable several ogres high above to maneuver it into place on a new tower being constructed.
The half-built tower appeared to be another marvel. Oval in shape, its newness alone made it stand out among the many ancient, often decrepit structures in the vicinity. Immediately striking were the several massive, almond-shaped openings on one side of the tower-openings resembling nothing less than the grand lord’s eyes. The other side of the tower had been left utterly blank with no windows and not even a door in sight.
“The House of Night,” answered Golgren to the Solamnic’s silent question. “To mark the passing of the iSirriti Siroth, Sirrion’s Burning. The wall with no opening, it faces the morning, when the Burning comes. The other side, with many windows, counts the final fall of the sun. Twelve intervals of growing shadow, twelve windows. It is a ritual of many ages ago, after the High Ones fell and Kern and Blode suffered more and more heat. It is a ritual with special meaning to this humble servant.”
Stefan continued to watch the mastarks toil at their herculean task. The shoulder muscles of the great beasts strained as they pulled tons of stone higher and higher.
The pulley framework creaked and shook as the block rose, but somehow it held. Already, the block was some five stories up, with maybe two yet to go.
“How tall will it be when the tower is finished?”
“Five levels upon five, as the first was. Two windows at the bottom, two at top. The old tower, it was destroyed many generations ago from the earthquakes.” Kern, especially, was a land prone to tremors and quakes, some of them exceedingly violent. “This one,” the grand lord went on proudly. “This one will stand stronger. It is built … it is built more clever.”
Indeed, within the half-open structure, thick oaken beams-as valuable as gold in Kern-could be seen crisscrossing the length of the temple. The crossbeams would give Golgren’s new project more solidity and stability during tremors.
“Garantha cannot live only on the old,” the ogre leader went on. “To grow, Garantha must also have the new.” To stir his people to the glory of old, so they would be worthy of him, Golgren needed to remake his chosen city into a jewel.
“Impressive.” Stefan admitted. “It will be a great accomplishment when it is done.”
“Perhaps you will return to see it then.”
The knight said nothing. The handlers urged on the mastarks. Only a few more feet remained before the block would rise to a level even with the workers. For the last steps, the beasts had to be led cautiously; if they did not work precisely, the framework might lean to one side, leading to catastrophe and, worse, the grand lord’s displeasure.