Tyranos had discovered its magic by error, as an exhausted outcast collapsed into sleep at the base of the pattern, after cursing his existence and wishing to change not only his life, but his very appearance too. He had awakened the next day to discover that his wish had come true … or so he had thought. The moment that Tyranos had started to leave the cave, he had reverted to his original state and his original form.
But upon reentering, the transformation had renewed itself. The wizard had been wily enough to understand the source and had, with magical effort, taken from the kraken symbol a living piece of it. Sure enough, combined with his own spellcasting, that had been enough to maintain the illusion that he was Tyranos, even hundreds of miles from that source. If he truly could not be as he desired, then at least he could seem to be.
The wizard touched his chest, and a glow appeared there. It matched the glow of the kraken. Tyranos had discovered long before that the piece he had taken slowly lost its power, but that by returning to that place, he could recharge it. He would need its fullest power if he hoped to succeed with his plans.
Reaching his other hand forward, Tyranos touched the kraken at the center of its “body.”
He let out a groan of surprise as his strength drained away from him. His body lurched. Gasping, Tyranos fell face-first against the pattern. He felt the warmth of it against his cheek.
Then the wizard felt nothing but cold rock.
Confused and anxious, a weary Tyranos pulled back.
The pattern seemed as dead as the rock in which it had been set.
“That can’t be.” Tyranos pressed his hand against the kraken, but there was no transfusion. “You can’t do this.”
The kraken did not respond.
The wizard banged his fist against it. Still nothing happened.
He finally touched his chest. There, he could feel the familiar warmth. At least the original spell cast upon him was still intact. However, that meant there was no coming back … ever. Tyranos either had to work out a new spell that did not rely on the secret source or had to find some other manner by which to make his transformation true and forever.
The Fire Rose could accomplish that, he reminded himself. That was in great part why you wanted it, wasn’t it?
The matter was settled then. Tyranos knew what he had to do, and to do it, he had to help Golgren in whatever way possible. Curiously, the wizard did not find the alternative as unpalatable as before. Golgren, he realized, offered a far better a fate for the ogres-and other races-than the Titans.
And other than Chasm, the half-breed was the nearest thing he had to a trusted friend, the wizard realized.
That last realization, though, made him snort loudly as he reached the mouth of the cave. Golgren … a trusted friend. It would have made his people laugh.
At the edge of the cave, Tyranos went down on one knee. He held the staff tightly and concentrated. What he had never informed Golgren of in the past was that if he exerted his will on the crystal, it was possible to send him directly to a person, not a place. It was how Tyranos had, in the past, come to stand before the half-breed no matter where he was. It was more troublesome than choosing a destination-why that was, the wizard did not exactly know-so the wizard always contrived to conceal the fact that he was slightly exhausted at first.
But as Tyranos imagined Golgren, he found the half-breed’s whereabouts harder to sense than they should have been. It was as if either Golgren were in more than one place at the same time or that his location kept changing very rapidly.
“The damned fool!” Tyranos growled, finally suspecting just where the deposed Grand Khan had to be. “The damned-”
The crystal flared, even though the spellcaster had not commanded it to do so.
Mouth agape, Tyranos disappeared.
From just a few steps behind where the wizard had knelt, an obviously pleased Sirrion chuckled. The god then burst into flames, which not only swiftly enveloped him, but spread rapidly into the cave. The entire interior was scorched black, all traces of ancient habitation and-especially-the kraken, banished.
As quickly as they had arisen, the flames died completely. Of Sirrion, naturally, there was no longer any trace.
The three robed Titans peered down at the approaching legionaries with nothing but contempt in their expressions for the empire’s haughty incursion. As far as they were concerned, the matter could have been finished up very quickly, save for settling the question of blame. One way or another, they looked forward to taking out their frustration over their leader’s recent decisions on the bull warriors. None of them said anything about it out loud, but all three, watching, understood.
The seniormost, Voran by name, began the groundwork for the next spell. As Faros had surmised, they were pooling their forces as much as possible to avoid draining themselves to the point where they would need to rejuvenate. A few of the other Titans near the southern border were already nearing the point of weakness, though none had dared mention that yet to Safrag. True, it was assumed he would help any in need, but everyone wanted someone else to be the first to make that petition.
“No assassination attempt this time,” Voran informed the others. “We sweep across their ranks where their fool emperor marches and take him out with hundreds of others quickly and simply.”
“The other spell should’ve worked,” sang that plan’s creator. “It should’ve …”
Voran and the third Titan present sneered at him. Unable to back up his claim and obviously weaker than the pair, the protester clamped his mouth shut and joined in the spellcasting.
There was a loud crack, like thunder, but it did not come from any spell that they or other Titans in the region had cast. The sound was already familiar to the blue-skinned sorcerers.
A moment later, a heavy, flaming boulder struck a ridge a quarter of a mile from where Voran and his two companions stood. The boulder cracked off a large chunk of rock that spilled back over the ridge.
Voran laughed harshly. “Hezroch and his band are going to have to move again. If anyone needs to beg Safrag for elixir, it’ll be them.”
“The damned Uruv Suurt have a good eye,” the third Titan muttered.
“Which is why we should finish our spell.”
The three stood facing one another. At Voran’s signal, they clasped hands together. It made for the better melding of their power and enabled Voran to better control the direction and outcome.
Voran sang the words of the spell. To the Titans, singing the spells sounded even more glorious than speaking in the Titan tongue. Perhaps it was because, in addition to their richness, the singing words were also filled with magic.
A tremendous cloud of blue energy formed over the trio. Voran uttered the final phrase of the spell.
With a crackle akin to a bolt of lightning, the cloud poured down over the legionaries and their emperor … and dissipated.
“What-?” was the only word Voran got out of his mouth before another familiar cracking sound echoed in the ears of all three.
The other two Titans instinctively vanished. Voran, as the focal point of the spellcasting, was still caught up in both the magic and its startling failure for a fatal breath longer.
Clearing his head, he finally noticed the flaming boulder just as it filled the sky above him.
Then he saw nothing more.
His warriors cheered as the latest boulder reached its mark with perfection that only minotaurs could achieve with their great wooden catapults. However, Faros-again on foot after having lost yet another steed-was not entirely pleased. First, the strike probably hadn’t even dusted the sorcerers’ elegant robes. The catapults probably had done little except buy the advancing force a few more steps toward their prize.