There was only one other, Sargonnas’s rival for the minotaurs, Kiri-Jolith.
But one rescue did not mean that Faros was immune to death. Whatever god or circumstance had saved him, it was up to the emperor to prove that he was worthy of living.
The catapults were near but not ready for firing. Faros peered around, squinting as the polished armor of his followers at times blinded him.
He snorted.
Seizing one of the officers, the emperor growled an order. The other minotaur nodded and passed on the word.
Within seconds, legionaries turned to present a frontal angle that at first glance appeared crazy, for it made them more open to the rain of deadly missiles. Yet the deaths of some might be necessary to save the expedition as a whole.
Indeed, more than one soldier slumped as missiles penetrated breastplates and helmets.
Then …
The last of the missiles faded in midair. The area stilled; the only sounds were the moans of the grievously wounded.
Faros had judged the light of the sun and the position from which the attack had come and made a desperate play. The many legionaries who had received his orders had turned in such a manner as to shine the light of the sun at the source of the threat. His soldiers had blinded the sorcerers with their combined armor.
The reprieve would not last. Still, Faros understood something of spellcasters and had ordered spies to research the Titans for just such a possible confrontation. The spell that had been cast had been a powerful one and indicated more than a single foe. More important, such a spell must be taxing, which meant that the legions had a brief time to prepare for whatever came next.
“Get the catapults ready!” he ordered other officers. “All ballistae too! We don’t wait! I want the oil wraps prepared for the catapults! We bombard the high territory!”
As the officers moved to relay his orders, Faros rose. He saw with pride that the legionaries around him quickly were reforming ranks as others helped with the dead and dying.
The first strike of the battle was over. Faros knew the next would follow soon. He had to trust to Golgren’s certainty that the Titan leader, one Safrag, would be too caught up in the Fire Rose to reckon the danger of a bunch of minotaurs.
The minotaurs had to survive and trust the deposed Grand Khan. Well aware that Golgren was a hardy survivor, Faros had hope. However, in the end, it did not matter. The empire would have had to invade the ogre realm regardless, sooner or later. If they had waited, the Titans would have been the invaders, and it was always better to take the battle to the enemy.
Faros again surveyed the damage done by the single spell and snorted angrily.
Yes, the emperor thought as he turned to the catapults. It was always best to take the battle to the enemy, even if that meant death and defeat in the end.
XI
Golgren sensed the arrival of the messenger moments before the rider reached Sir Augustus’s tent. The half-breed sat up, certain that a moment of importance was upon him. The clatter of hooves made him briefly bare his teeth, although fortunately there was no one in the tent to see that instinctual reaction.
The voices without muttered too quietly for him to make out what they said. The tone was neutral, which gave him no clue as to the decision of Sir Augustus’s superiors. Golgren stepped from the bedroll, taking up a place at the table. He poured himself a slight bit of wine and held the mug close to his lips. He did not drink, though, until he heard the clink of metal and the movement of the flap, marking the commander’s presence.
“A reply’s arrived, though I expect you know that already, Grand Khan.”
Golgren slowly swallowed the sip then turned toward Stefan’s uncle. “I had some inkling, yes.”
Augustus chuckled darkly. “You’re everything I’ve heard, especially from my nephew.”
Golgren smothered the slight frown that wanted to burst forth at mention of the last. “Your nephew is all I have heard a Knight of Solamnia should be.”
“I believe you actually mean that,” the elder fighter returned. “Thank you. I think so, too.”
“The reply. You have it with you?”
“As you can see.” The knight held up his right hand, which gripped a small, leather pouch. Sir Augustus joined Golgren at the table, where he set down the pouch while he poured himself some wine.
Golgren’s eyes grazed the pouch. It was of fine, strong leather and had been bound with thin, metal string that would prove much harder to cut quickly than any rope. In addition, there was a great wax seal across the flap. That the seal remained unbroken indicated that the commander had chosen to find out what his superiors had decided, together with Golgren. The pouch had been sent with such haste that the half-breed’s sharp nose could still smell a hint of recently melted wax.
“I made a vow of what I would do if they rejected your pact,” Augustus reminded him. “I stand by that vow on the life of my nephew.”
Golgren said nothing. Taking that as a tacit acknowledgment, the knight broke the seal and removed the contents, a small slip of parchment.
Sir Augustus frowned. “I expected a much longer missive. You’ll likely not find this to your taste.”
“Please read.”
Unfolding it, the commander looked over the answer. He grunted.
“Well, it seems we’ve got an agreement after all.”
He handed the brown parchment over to Golgren, who read the response of the high command. The answer was simple enough. The pact was accepted on a temporary basis. Augustus’s superiors believed that because of the threat of the Titans, Golgren should be assisted by a military advance into the ogre realm.
That was essentially it. There were some marks at the bottom-scribbles to the uninformed eye-that the knight had not commented on but that the half-breed knew was a coded addendum to what the main message relayed. Augustus had other orders beyond those to which Golgren was to be privy. Like the Uruv Suurt, the Solamnics undoubtedly had plans to expand their interests in Golthuu whether or not Golgren succeeded.
But all that was as he had expected. Not for a minute had Golgren believed the threat of Safrag and the Fire Rose would be enough for either the humans or Faros to endorse the pact. Both sides wanted to deter any potential ogre uprising in the future.
He handed the parchment back to Sir Augustus. With a hint of a smile that emphasized the elf side of his features, Golgren said, “I am very pleased.”
“News of the minotaurs’ advance in the southern regions was surely a deciding factor,” the Solamnic added. “I believe it helped to speed the reply and influenced the outcome.”
That was no surprise to Golgren; indeed, he had counted on it. The Uruv Suurt and the knights of Solamnia were longtime rivals on the continent of Ansalon. When one was on the move, the other felt nervous and paid special attention.
Then the commander added something that could only have been cited from part of the missive in code. “My superiors also agree to the free movement of all elf slaves from the ogre lands, though we will not permanently care for them. We’ll grant them a short respite, resupply them, and send them on to their exiled brethren, who can care for them more appropriately.”
“Of course.” No one wanted the added burden of the refugees; in truth, not even some of the exiled elves. That would mean too many extra mouths to feed in an already-turbulent time. Still, the knights would not choose to leave the elves in ogre hands.
Nor in the hands of the Titans.
Augustus put the missive back in the pouch then thrust it into the belt that held his sheath. Finishing the last of his drink, the knight rose. Golgren rose also.