Yet if Golgren led his army into battle against the dead without the benefit of the Titans’ magic, it was highly probable that the greater part of his forces would be routed and the remainder would perish with him in ignoble defeat.
Dauroth folded his arms. “Now our little talk is done. It is time for me to deal with another who thinks himself higher than he is. Then … then at last, I can go back to my holy tasks without any more interruptions!” His eyes suddenly glowed. “But first, something to remember me by! You shall wear it to your bitter end.”
Golgren bent over in horrific pain. He managed to keep from uttering more than a slight moan. His chest burned.
The agony eased. As the grand lord straightened, he heard a slight clatter on the floor and saw the chain that had held the vial lying there. However, the vial itself was nowhere to be seen.
He shoved aside the mummified hand.
Embedded in his chest was the vial. A thin layer of skin shrouded the sinister container.
“Think of me as you fail, oh Grand Lord.”
The Titan vanished amid a swirl of black, smoky tendrils.
Golgren threw himself at where Dauroth had stood but far too late. Panting, the grand lord clawed at the vial, but to touch the area sent spasms of pain coursing through him.
Wargroch called from without, begging permission to enter with some news. Grabbing another tunic, Golgren gave his permission, trying not to gasp as the pain gradually subsided.
The younger ogre was quick with his report. “A scout from a patrol. Says that there are f’hanos-many, many f’hanos-near Kubli!”
Kubli was a small, forgettable settlement save for one thing: it was barely more than a day’s march from Garantha. What little time Golgren had left had shrunk just like that.
“Khleeg has orders! All must be ready to fight! We ride before the Burning! Make this known to him!”
With a slap to his breastplate, Wargroch fled the chamber.
Golgren’s expression shifted to one that was almost passive. He had made his decision. He would face the undead horde and he would defeat it or, at the very least, the ogre race would sing of the legend of the grand lord’s great stand.
That was supposing, of course, that there would be anyone left alive to sing it.
Idaria was with Stefan when the news began to spread of some great threat to the city looming on the horizon. The knight, true to his nature, demanded details from the nearest guard, which nearly got him into a fight with the ogre.
The elf managed to calm the situation then took the Solamnic aside. “Let me find out the truth.”
“I will follow,” he insisted. “If there is a real threat, I must know what it is and how I might play a part against it.”
With a shrug, Idaria led him toward Golgren’s chambers. On their way, though, they crossed paths with Wargroch. “What is it?” she asked of the officer, forcing him to pause and speak to her despite his obvious haste. “What causes such turmoil?”
At first he shook his head, but then, perhaps because he was uncertain as to her influence on the grand lord, he finally rumbled, “F’hanos, slave! Army of f’hanos marches to Garantha!”
Wargroch said no more, barging past the pair and all but running down the corridor.
“F’hanos?” Stefan muttered, looking perplexed. “What does he mean? I’ve heard f’han, but that means ‘death,’ doesn’t it?”
“In a hundred variations. This is not a word I am familiar with. Golgren will know.”
They reached the chambers. Idaria had no trouble gaining entrance, but the guards blocked the knight’s path.
“Haroth!” Golgren shouted from within, momentarily lapsing into the tongue of his birth.
“Master,” Idaria immediately answered, “forgive me for not being here to attend you.”
He glanced past her to the Solamnic. “Sir Stefan Rennert! It is good you came. But it is a shame no alliance yet exists. It is a shame that I must face this threat alone.”
The human bowed. “Grand Lord, what trouble threatens this city? An army, I know, but if it is one that is also an enemy of Solamnia, then perhaps I can offer my arm-”
To that, Golgren abruptly laughed. Idaria stared, realizing the desperation behind that laugh. “They are f’hanos! I think such as they are enemies of all that live!”
“But what are f’hanos, if I may ask?”
The grand lord snarled, as he started walking around, grabbing things that he would need, half talking to himself. “The dead who walk. It is the dead you and your comrades discovered! They are risen and seek vengeance against me, it seems.”
His declaration left both the elf and human gaping. There were such stories even among Idaria’s people, stories of necromancy.
The knight at last found his voice. “If what you say is true, Grand Lord, then I do indeed offer my assistance! I will not stand by while such abominations walk the mortal plane, for it is true they can mean no good purpose for my people either.”
Golgren turned, his face brightening. He grinned. “Good! We shall grind their bones into dust, yes? Or die together!”
Stefan only nodded, his countenance as grim as the ogre’s.
The two of them left Idaria in their wake. The slave watched them vanish down the hall, her expression changing from shock to thoughtful calculation. She glanced at the nearest window, then seemed to dismiss that idea. Instead, her hand went to her gown and something she had kept secreted in the folds.
The signet seemed to burn briefly as she pulled it free. Idaria had not given it to Golgren as Tyranos had commanded, for the elf had sensed its latent magic power and had herself sought to probe its secrets … sought the secrets and failed.
Idaria glanced again in the direction Golgren had gone.
She replaced the signet in her gown and followed.
XX
The Black Talon had gathered for several reasons, the least of which was to welcome the Titan who would replace the unfortunate Varnin. Dauroth extended his hand into the darkness beyond the ten, singing, “Come forth, chosen one.”
It was not entirely a surprise that Morgada entered the light. She bowed deep and sang, “I shall seek to ever prove myself worthy of my place in the Talon.”
“You will have sufficient opportunity for that very shortly,” replied the lead Titan. “Take your seat next to Safrag.”
No one in the inner circle showed any jealousy that Morgada had been rewarded with a place so near Dauroth, but he was aware that envy existed. However, Dauroth looked with indifference on such petty emotions; after all, both the Titans and the Black Talon were his creations. Did he not, then, have the absolute right to do with its members as he pleased?
The second item of business was the disappointing example of Hundjal.
The athletic apprentice sat proudly at his master’s side, bathing in the favor of his master. He had opened the tomb so that all its treasures, especially the precious bones, had remained intact. Hundjal had every reason to be pleased with himself save that, in solving that puzzle-and delving into yet another mystery-he had secretly and without regret broken one of his master’s cardinal laws. That Dauroth had manipulated the matter so his senior apprentice would do such a thing was beside the point. Hundjal should have known better.
Then the sudden rise of f’hanos-whose origins perplexed Dauroth-presented a perfect opportunity for the leader of the Titans to attack not only Golgren, but also Hundjal.
It was a perfect time to begin.
“Hundjal, summon for us the image of what faces Garantha and the grand lord.”
With a cocky smile, the apprentice rose and gestured toward the seated members. A green, spiraling sphere burst into existence then expanded until it was greater than the height of the tallest Titan.