With great dexterity, Golgren manipulated the ring onto his finger just as Tyranos reached for it.
“You’ve no need of that, anymore.”
Golgren nodded toward the female High Ogre. “She believes otherwise, wizard.”
Tyranos snorted. “That thing nearly cost you your life before!”
“And saved it many times over.” The half-breed pretended to admire the artifact’s beauty. “It is a gift I will accept.”
The two stood frozen at the edge of struggle. Tyranos had the staff pointed at his supposed ally. Golgren kept the signet facing the robed figure.
With another snort, Tyranos lowered his staff. “Who am I to argue with the ancient dead and a comrade as well?” He bared his teeth in what might have passed for a grin or possibly a grimace. “And so we seem to at least find why we were drawn to here.” He studied the chamber. “And while I would cheerfully spend some time investigating what else is here, I believe we are better off leaving for somewhere far, far away, just as I planned.”
Once again, though, they were at odds. Stepping away from the spellcaster, Golgren replied, “We part here, wizard. I am going back.”
The crystal glowed brightly. “We’ll just see about that.”
The signet also abruptly glowed, the runes ablaze.
“Oh, damn-” Tyranos began.
A great, fiery light surrounded both, and they vanished once more.
She was alone; alone save for a single gargoyle watching over her. The gray-scaled creature perched in front of her, more interested in scratching its long, toothy beak with one paw than in keeping an eye on a prisoner who had no way of escaping.
The shrouded figure and its horrific companions had departed soon after the other gargoyles. Where they had gone off to, Idaria would like to know, but more important was that it was her first opportunity to gain her freedom.
She had been released from her frozen position only to be carried off by her current guard to a chamber deeper in the mountain citadel. There she had been locked in a darkened place that, to her discerning eye, had possibly once been something so simple and yet so grand as a great bedchamber. A few shreds of what appeared to have been fine draperies still hung on the edges of the windows, but that was the only definitive clue. The blackened rubble that lay collapsed in one corner no longer resembled any identifiable piece of furniture, so long had been the passage of time.
The citadel’s shadowy lord had said nothing more to her, not even when banishing the elf to that place. Whether he had thought to make her more or less comfortable was a matter of debate. She had only a few rotting furs upon which to sit, and the only light came from a small, glowing, white stone set in the ceiling. The light was just strong enough to let Idaria see that, aside from the still-useful iron door, there was no other exit. The windows overlooked the mountain heights. Stone met her gaze everywhere else.
The gargoyle in charge of her captivity was not the most powerful of the vast flock. Indeed, it was one of the least, a sign of its master’s confidence that Idaria was at his mercy. The creature began gnawing on an old amalok bone-the fearsome herd animals being the winged creatures’ most common prey-and looked extremely bored. And why not? What hope could the prisoner have of escaping?
But there was hope. Dangling just out of sight under her garments was the pendant with the griffon symbol that Golgren had placed on her. At the time, Idaria had shown none of the deep revulsion she had felt instinctively, when Golgren had taken it from the ancient corpse and hung it around her neck.
Her hair hid the chain. There had been moments at the very beginning when she had feared that her captor might notice the upper edge of the pendant peeking out, but he had not.
Idaria might have given little thought to the pendant, if not for the gentle warmth radiating from it since her capture. She recalled some of Golgren’s experiences with the signet and wondered whether his chance decision to give the pendant to her had been mere chance after all.
With casual movements, she tried to draw the pendant out without the gargoyle noticing. But despite her attempts to do so, the winged creature noticed her activity almost immediately. With a warning grunt, it half hopped, half walked to her.
So close, the carnivore’s breath, enhanced by bits of rotting meat between its yellowed teeth, was potent. One paw grasped the hand holding the pendant. The artifact came loose, falling against her breast. As it touched her skin, the warmth increased, and to Idaria’s surprise, a faint, blue glow radiated from the griffon symbol.
However, instead of growing suspicious, the gargoyle cocked its head and stared in fascination at the pendant.
Idaria quickly seized on its reaction. “Is it not pretty? Do you like it?”
The gargoyle nodded.
“What is your name?”
The creature leaned back, looking not so much angry as frustrated. “No name.”
The voice was deep, definitely male. Often, because of their similar builds, it was impossible to tell if some gargoyles were male or female. The only sure way in such cases was to get much too close or listen to the timbre of the voice.
With the identification of the gargoyle’s gender, it became a he. That was to Idaria’s advantage.
“No name?” she innocently asked, aware of why a gargoyle would not have a name. It showed that one had a very low rank in the flock. Gargoyles were limited in their use of names. Only when one of the elder ones passed away was a name made available to those existing without one.“No name.”
She thought for a moment. Somewhere far in the past, the creatures had learned enough Common to take upon themselves names that reflected their primitive civilization. Chasm was an example, though in his case he had likely been named by Tyranos, who had raised him. Gargoyles that lived in the mountains most often chose names that indicated stone or geological features.
“I shall call you Stratum,” the elf slave finally decided. “It is what we call a layer of rock.” It was the first word that she could think of that might work for the gargoyle and that also was likely not to be already used among his kind.
“Sssstratumm … Stratum …”
She did not have to see how his eyes widened in pleasure, for his voice alone readily revealed how he felt about his christening. The gargoyle began to hop up and down, repeatedly calling out his new identity. Dust clouds rose with each hop as he crowed, “Stratum! Stratum is me! Me is Stratum!”
Before Idaria could prepare herself, the gargoyle wrapped her in his thick arms and hugged her. The elf struggled to breathe, pretending she felt no pain.
Stratum finally released her. Only then did Idaria realize that she had given him far more than she had even intended. It had been her hope that finding a name for the gargoyle would make him feel somewhat more friendly toward her. The elf saw that the thing almost felt like her slave, so grateful was he.
And all that for a single word, a marking of self, she thought.
Yet there was one threshold that Stratum might not cross. With as much delicacy as she could put into the question, Idaria asked, “Stratum, will you help me?”
His answer was without hesitation. The crooked beak bobbed up and down. “Stratum help friend!”
While his enthusiasm was encouraging, that did not necessarily mean he would betray his master for her. Idaria had to be cautious. She had always had an affinity for animals, even more so than many other elves. Some said she was favored by the Fisher King, known to the Solamnics as the god Habbakuk.
The pendant continued to glow slightly. She noted Stratum’s gaze constantly flicker back to it. “Would you like to touch it?”
Again, the beak bobbed up and down. There seemed no reason it would not be safe to let the gargoyle examine it closer. Idaria held it forth.