“He is well in the thrall of the Fire Rose,” Idaria muttered to Stefan.
The knight nodded. “Which means that he is more of a threat than ever to all Krynn.”
They strode up the shadowy steps toward the doors. The elf glanced up at the columns. The two Titans that formed columns looked as if they were observing the intruders. Even when she and Stefan reached the doors unhindered, the slave had to peer back at the columns to make certain the figures were not moving.
The Solamnic held the medallion to the doors. With a low creak, they swung inward.
“Don’t tread less than an arm’s length from me,” suggested the cleric. He eyed the arm bone that she still wielded. “We need a better weapon for you. Let me see if he can help us.”
Stefan held the side of the medallion that bore Kiri-Jolith’s face toward the bone. Momentarily sheathing his sword, the Solamnic then ran his hand along the edge of Idaria’s makeshift weapon.
As he did so, the bone glowed lightly and reshaped itself. It became a long, tapering blade, thinner than the knight’s sword and with an elegance that was elven in style.
Stepping back to study the results, Stefan suddenly frowned. “I should’ve asked you first whether a sword was to your liking or even if you can wield one very well.”
In response, Idaria tested the sword with a few expert lunges and slashes.
A smile briefly lit the knight’s face. “You could train our novices with skill like that.”
“Thank you for the blade.”
“I was only the conduit. Kiri-Jolith provided the power.”
“What does he hope to gain out of all this? What can he do for us?” Idaria asked.
“What he can do for us is as much as what we can do for ourselves. His assistance is limited, though the hope he can give us is not. Krynn is changing and the gods are changing with it … and not necessarily of their own volition. My patron’s greatest desire, as I see it, is to keep all that change-embodied by the menace of Sirrion more than anything else at the moment-from destroying everything Kiri-Jolith loves.”
That said, the Solamnic moved ahead stealthily. Idaria, digesting his words, silently followed.
The corridors were immense; that was no surprise as the chief inhabitants were more than twice Stefan’s height. The sanctum was so imbued with magical forces and the elf felt her long hair slightly rise. There was also a tingle in the air, as if lightning had just struck. The same silver pearl material glossed the floor for as far as their eyes could make out.
“Do you know where to look?” she whispered to her companion.
“I’ve some guidance, but it’s limited here. Still, logic would suggest that the slaves would be somewhere down below, assuming …”
He trailed off. Neither dared voice their worst fears; it was possible they were already too late to help her people.
There were no torches or oil lamps, but the corridors seemed perpetually lit. The reddish glow radiated from the crimson walls themselves, which bespoke the tremendous power of the Fire Rose.
“It could restore all Silvanost,” Idaria absently murmured.
“Or turn it into something like the forest from which we just emerged,” the cleric reminded her. “Sirrion’s creation is not for mortal hands; few, if any, of us have the will to keep its power in check.” After a moment’s silence, he added, “And that also includes some gods, I suspect.”
The elf nodded thoughtfully. Silvanost, if it were ever retaken, would have to be restored through the magic of her people or some other avenue. It was too great of a risk to allow even her ancient race to try to wield the artifact; for all their vaunted glory and superior power, the High Ogres had proven that they were not strong enough. Idaria could only imagine the terrible things that might happen to the elves.
Stefan inspected each side passage as they passed. The Titans appeared not to have laid any traps within their own abode or at least, not so far. There were more than a few wide, massive pearl stairways that led up, but as yet they couldn’t find any that led below. Idaria eyed the walls, seeking any hints of a hidden path. Stefan also held the medallion up to the walls, but with as little result as the elf’s scrutiny.
Voices arose before them, the first sounds they had heard since entering.
Stefan steered Idaria into a shadowy side passage. The voices grew louder but were unintelligible. From her vantage point, Idaria looked around for the speakers but could not see them.
Without warning, part of the wall to the far left glowed brighter. The twin shapes of two towering figures formed on it.
A pair of Titans melted through the unsettling stone as if it did not exist. They were caught up in preoccupied conversation, a few words of which only then could be understood.
“Hargren has not returned! That leaves only the two of us!” said the first.
“Morgada must’ve summoned him like the rest! We’ll be called before long, mark me!” argued the second. “Sent off to do his bidding like lackeys!”
“What care should we have about a herd of cows tromping through the south or some clanking humans coming from another direction? They are nothing to us! The Fire Rose can sweep them all aside-”
“If Safrag ever decides to act!” the second countered angrily. Then, as if he had just committed some terrible sin, the Titan quickly and anxiously amended, “As I’m sure he will, should he deem it necessary.”
“Fool,” muttered the other. “Clamp your mouth shut, and let’s be done with our task.”
Still obviously apprehensive, the two gargantuan spellcasters continued, eventually vanishing down the corridor. Not until they were well out of sight did Stefan and Idaria step out from the shadows. They had escaped notice.
Only then did something strange occur to the slave. “I thought at first they were speaking in that tongue of theirs, but now I realize that I understood everything they said. Why would they be speaking Common here in their sanctum?”
The cleric displayed the medallion for her. “It wasn’t that they were speaking Common. Through Kiri-Jolith, we were able to understand whatever language they spoke.” He frowned. “Their conversation was interesting. It sounds as if Golgren has managed to get matters moving, as he hoped.”
“But they said nothing about my people … nothing at all,” the elf muttered.
“That may mean very little. Come, let’s try the wall from which they emerged.”
The knight gingerly stretched his sword to the stone. Rather than sink through, the tip struck the stone with a low clang.
Holding up the medallion, Stefan whispered. The medallion glowed.
Again, the stone did not yield.
Stefan tapped the wall with the sword, frustration mounting in his expression.
“I don’t know what else to do, my lady! I expected that the medallion would surely help, but the way is well blocked. I’d need Kiri-Jolith himself to open it, and that is beyond me.”
Idaria placed her open palm against the stone. “Perhaps there is a secret switch or-”
The elf toppled through. Behind her, she heard Stefan calling after her.
On the other side, darkness welcomed Idaria.
XIV
A new world existed for Safrag, a world that stretched his imagination beyond mortal bounds. A world where all was possible, merely at his whim …
A world where he was a god.
Seated in his otherwise darkened sanctum, his eyes seeing only what lay within the Fire Rose, Safrag thought, What a blind fool you were, Dauroth! Such power as even you could not dream! Such fear you had of it. Such fear of such a beautiful, wonderful thing.
Within the artifact, what the treacherous former apprentice imagined were spirits of flame dancing about. In their wild movements, Safrag imagined they danced for the pleasure of he who wielded the Fire Rose, he alone. The whole mortal world would soon dance for Safrag.