The signet continued to glow, so Golgren believed that it still hid him to some degree from the master of the citadel. However, whether or not that was the case, the half-breed was determined to make his decisions as was necessary. No matter what the lord of the gargoyles had told Idaria, Golgren was no one’s puppet.
“I can’t take all of us, not for such a distance,” Tyranos muttered, the first sign that he might give in to Golgren’s demand. “It must be you and me alone. Chasm can take her to safety. He’ll do that.”
The gargoyle nodded eagerly. Idaria, on the other hand, did not like the suggestion in the least. “I won’t leave you!”
“You will,” Golgren stated simply. “You have a journey of importance yourself.” He told her what he desired.
Both Idaria and Tyranos shook their heads upon hearing his plan, the wizard with a grin.
“You are audacious, oh Grand Khan.”
Golgren did not wait for Idaria to accept or refuse his command. To the wizard, he said, “She goes now.”
Tyranos gestured to his servant. “Chasm.”
Idaria reached for Golgren, but the gargoyle caught her first. She let out a gasp of protest, but to her credit, she did not cry out. Chasm spread his wings and carried her aloft.
Her eyes met the half-breed’s as she ascended. Golgren turned away.
“Such a touching scene,” Tyranos commented once Idaria was merely a speck in the sky.
“Take me there,” Golgren coldly commanded, not needing to explain just exactly where he had decided to go.
“Now that we’re alone, I’d like to suggest again what a dangerous folly you are tempting.” The half-ogre waited.
Tyranos glared. “Oh, very well! On your head be it, then. Grab my arm and hold tight! This will take much effort.” With a last growl, the wizard added, “Picture the one you want to reach; it’ll help.”
Golgren nodded.
The two vanished from the mountains-
And a moment later, they materialized in a great, marble chamber worthy of any Grand Khan. However, in contrast to Golgren’s palace in Garantha, there were no signs of patching or half-hearted reconstruction there. Everything was pristine. The floor was of the finest white marble, and great, fluted columns with elaborate crowns lined the walls on each side of the pair. A massive banner hung above an artfully carved throne, made to resemble two warriors raising their axes above the head of the current occupant. Another, almost identical throne stood next to the first; it, too, was occupied.
The symbol on the banner immediately evoked a low epithet from Tyranos. That sound, as slight as it was, alerted the armored guards standing at attention against the walls to the sudden and improbable presence of the two intruders materializing in the far corner. Axes and swords raised, they leaped to cut off the pair from those seated on the thrones. With perfect precision, they advanced on the intruders. Their shining breastplates bore the same menacing design as the great banner: a stylized condor.
Never one to cringe before his enemies, Golgren stepped away from the more-cautious Tyranos and presented himself with arms open. Although he was clearly without weapons-and missing one hand-the guards were scarcely reassured.
One of the two seated figures, the male, rose up and reached for a long sword at his side. However, rather than draw it, the figure stepped down from the stone dais upon which the thrones stood. The guards parted before him. It was easy for him to meet the half-breed’s gaze levelly, for Uruv Suurt-minotaurs-were generally the same size and height as the deposed Grand Khan, though much broader of shoulder.
“Golgren,” the figure snarled, his eyes darting from the half-ogre’s face to his missing hand and then back again.
Golgren bowed, a diplomatic smile spreading. “Emperor Faros.”
Chasm flew toward the direction of Garantha, but that was not his and Idaria’s destination. The gargoyle followed a ragged route to avoid those of his kind that served other masters. Chasm was determined to carry the elf where he had been commanded, even at the cost of his own life.
Idaria hung helplessly, still bitter over being sent away. Yet there was that part of her that was aware that Tyranos had spoken some truth, that her flight from the citadel had been too simple. Try as she might deny that, the slave could not.
Therefore, Idaria slowly reconciled herself to the role that had been handed to her by Golgren. If there was any way that she might help his mad plan succeed, she would do it.
But would they, of all people, listen to her? Idaria eyed the fast-changing landscape below and wondered if she would even get the chance to ask them what Golgren hoped. Chasm had to carry her far past the capital, beyond the very borders of the ogre realm. It was not merely a question of whether or not he had the strength; she felt comfortable on that score. The question was whether there would be any obstacles in their path.
Assuming they did reach their destination, Idaria knew that it would be hard to convince those whose assistance she sought to join the cause of the deposed Grand Khan. They had no love for him, although one among them had come to respect the half-breed.
But while Stefan Rennert had been willing to sacrifice himself for Golgren, could she convince his leaders, his fellow Solamnics, to possibly risk doing the same?
VI
The angry throng carried few weapons-a handful of clubs, a sword here and there-but ogres by themselves were a threat, even to their own kind. The mob looked unkempt and even more ragged and wild of hair than usual, as if they had poured out into the streets of Dai Ushran from their slumber.
Indeed, they had done just that. Barely an hour before Golgren and his companions had risen, the capital had been shaken by what most initially had believed was an earthquake. Only when their very homes had begun to change form did they understand they were once again at the mercy of Safrag’s whims.
By then, Dai Ushran had become a city of giant spherical structures. Even the towers were topped with rounded crowns. And though it was by mainly torchlight that the mob was able to see, the visibility was sufficient to reveal that the one constant with each transformation was the placing of the lead Titan’s visage everywhere.
As the furious crowd reached the outskirts of the palace grounds, from within burst forth a ready force of armored figures. With spears, axes, and swords, they charged out to meet the mob. At their head, astride one of the rare and massive ogre horses, rode Atolgus. In the darkness, he looked as if he were a full Titan himself. However, it was not sorcery he wielded, but a sharp blade and a savage intent.
Matters had been building up to that confrontation for another reason. Many in the throng shouted anger at being continually shaken by the unexpected changes, but they also complained that they themselves had not yet become like the Titans, as promised.
And though Atolgus heard and understood the angry cries, he paid the complaints no heed. He had one intention: to keep order for her and her master. If the ogres could not be grateful for their current conditions, they were undeserving.
The armored ranks crashed into the disorganized mob with deadly force. A line of spears at the front slew more than two dozen protesters and kept others at bay. Warriors wielding swords then cut into the second line of protesters, quickly butchering them as well. The smell of fresh blood further stirred the warriors, and they pressed forward without mercy.
The mob did not retreat immediately; ogres were always stubborn, even in the face of certain doom. Thus, Atolgus’s forces slaughtered more and more, with only the occasional careless warrior cut down by the disorganized mob.
Atolgus raised his sword, signaling for a new assault. From behind his foot soldiers, archers fired into the air. They did not need even their best aim and limited proficiency for their arrows to find many marks among their targets. Scores fell wounded or dead, many of the former then either trampled by their fellows or subsequently cut down by the advancing warriors.