Of course, none of that mattered until he was able to return to the sanctum. He could hardly accomplish anything while still essentially exiled to that foul wilderness.
Hundjal spun about, a gleaming dagger of gold suddenly in his hand. The point of the magical blade paused at the very flesh of the one who had materialized behind him.
“Safrag,” the senior apprentice greeted the newcomer, sharp teeth bared in a smile. “You come to visit me?”
“I come bearing word,” replied the other, eyes poised on the weapon at his throat, “and surely I am not mistaken for the Uruv Suurt.”
Hundjal laughed harshly. “One of them might someday think to take up the arts, crude as the effort would be.” He dismissed the weapon to oblivion. “And what word do you bring me, menial one? Does the mongrel command that Dauroth now send us to Nethosak itself to deal with the Uruv Suurt’s emperor?”
“Nay, and your tone should be more grateful. The master desires you back at his side, for there is work that must be done to safely open the magical seals of a tomb of the ancients.”
“Is that so?” Indeed Hundjal’s new tone sung his gratitude at Dauroth’s decision. “It is all intact, then?”
“It is and it shall stay so until the Talon can find the manner in which to not destroy what we seek.”
“And thus I am needed. Praise Dauroth for his wisdom! If he had only summoned me back earlier, we could already be enjoying the fruits of success!”
The junior apprentice grimaced. “Promise not too much to the master; he may expect everything from you.”
“He shall have it!” Hundjal spit again at his surroundings with the same sizzling results. “But come, Safrag! I would already be gone from this wretched place!”
The second Titan concurred. As the two prepared to combine their efforts to ease the teleport to the sanctum, Safrag murmured, “Between us, Hundjal, the master is so insistent that this tomb be breached quickly that he will certainly grant you-and only you, I say with some envy-access to his innermost secrets and research!”
That happy revelation nearly made Hundjal forfeit his concentration. “I am truly his favored again!” The air around the Titans shimmered. “Make no mistake about it, Safrag, I’ll delve deep into everything, leave nothing untouched.”
As was his way, Hundjal took guidance of the spell they were casting. Safrag lent his power but otherwise was passive. As the pair vanished from the borderlands, he murmured to his companion, “And that is what the master hopes, good Hundjal. That is exactly what the master hopes you will do.”
XVII
Golgren’s promise had thrown Stefan off guard. Up to that point, Stefan’s true interest had been in analyzing the ogre’s character and his stronghold, then, if at all possible, escaping to report everything he had learned to his superiors.
Yet the half-breed had again proven himself a surprising leader, much different from what the Solamnic had assumed. His vow to release the elf slaves was significant, and it was true that the Knighthood was very anxious about the minotaurs’ spread west.
Although he dined with Golgren that same evening, the grand lord said nothing more about the elves. His conversation concerned only the knight’s impressions of the capital, which were as favorable as the ogre had hoped. All the while stern guards kept watch over the dinner. Idaria joined them while two other elves took care of serving the meal, the centerpiece of which was a wonderfully seasoned, roasted side of amalok. For such an ill-tempered beast, the amalok proved quite tender and savory on the palate, one of the finest meats upon which the Solamnic had ever dined. Turmeric and rosemary added to the unique flavor.
“This is superb, Grand Lord,” Stefan remarked as he swallowed another bite. “I think that any of the great houses of Solamnia would serve it with pride to their most illustrious guests. Perhaps you might offer a small herd as a token during negotiations-”
“The amalok is good eating, yes,” interjected Golgren casually. “I have raised them myself in the past.” The ogre then went into some detail concerning the care of the creatures, including how sometimes they had to be tethered during feeding time so the handlers would not be injured by a frenzied bite or kick.
The slaves tending to the meal acted like ghosts, silent and almost invisible with their tasks. With ample opportunity for the slaves-or the cooks, for that matter, for they also were elves-to poison the fare, Golgren had insisted that all the food be tasted before he and the human ate. The casual manner in which Idaria had tasted not only her master’s meal, but the knight’s as well, left Sir Stefan frowning.
“They will not poison her, who they so love,” the grand lord remarked upon noticing the knight’s tense expression. “And thus, she and we are all in no danger, but it is better to always make certain they know she will do some tasting first.”
Near the end of their repast, Khleeg marched into the chamber. Slapping his breastplate, he muttered in the grand lord’s ear. Golgren’s face revealed nothing of his reaction, but he did rise immediately from the table.
“Please to forgive my need for departure, Sir Stefan Rennert! My Idaria will certainly be much better company, yes?”
Stefan, who had risen politely at the same time as his host, bowed deeply. “I hope to speak with you tomorrow.”
“We shall, we shall … ”
As the ogre leader-Khleeg at his side and several guards surrounding both of them-stalked out, Idaria’s hand reached to gently touch the Solamnic’s arm. Again, she had walked up so silently behind the veteran warrior that he hadn’t noticed. “Your meal is unfinished, Sir Stefan. Please, be seated.”
He obeyed her request, but he was frowning again, that time at her. “I don’t understand you. I don’t understand this entire affair.” He surveyed the chamber. Every guard had left with the grand lord. They were alone. “You seem like more than a slave, Lady Idaria. You seem almost … at home.”
“Your food is getting cold, Sir Stefan. Amalok is delicious when freshly cooked, but its taste will sour if left untouched too long.”
He shoved the plate forward. “Well, I’m full.”
The elf gave a slight nod. Another hand suddenly materialized next to the Solamnic, one of the other slaves sneaking up on him to remove his plate. Again the knight started, not having noticed when the other had entered.
“There is more wine, if you like,” Idaria said when they were alone again. She poured him another glass.
He swirled the aromatic, rose-colored liquid in his goblet. “The wine is excellent, better than I’ve ever tasted. Elven, too, like the meal, am I right?”
“The grand lord procured a heavy stock of wine and other items during the invasion.” She made the statement blandly, as if speaking of the weather.
He leaped to his feet suddenly, his eyes challenging her. “Lady Idaria! You knew nothing about the ogre’s offer of freeing your people before I did, isn’t that true?”
Something flickered in her eyes. “I knew nothing of it.”
“Yet you’re hardly filled with relief, exuberance, gratefulness, as far as I can tell!” He pounded his fist on the table, an artfully crafted mahogany piece of elven craftsmanship. Oddly, it was blood-red in color. The table shook furiously, and the goblet-which he had just drained-fell over and clattered across its etched surface. “Is there no emotion left inside of you? Has he beaten it all out?” Stefan angrily rubbed his bearded chin. “Or do you suspect that he makes a hollow promise simply to get me to act as his messenger?”
“The grand lord promised you he would free all elves. He will stand by that promise, Sir Stefan.”
The certainty in her tone soothed his anger. “Will he?”
Her eyes bored deep into his own. “He will. It means that much to him.” Idaria came around the table again, standing close to the knight. “Since you are done, Sir Stefan, might I suggest that, as it is growing dark, we walk to your quarters?”