Safrag imagined another figure within. He pictured Dauroth alive and privy to all that had been accomplished by Safrag’s use of Sirrion’s creation. The dream-Dauroth wept for his own ignorance, for all that he might have accomplished had he been as wise or crafty as Safrag.
A voice abruptly broke into his glorious reverie. The Titan leader angrily focused on finding out just who had dared disturb him.
Great Teacher! The intruder was Falstoch, trying by spell to penetrate Safrag’s mind. Great Teacher.
Only because it was Falstoch-Falstoch who was still new to his role as a Titan and utterly subservient to Safrag-did the master sorcerer forgive him. Even so, it was a tremendous temptation to use the excuse to experiment on Falstoch.
But instead of doing so, Safrag satisfied himself with merely reaching out and communicating with the other Titan. I hear you, loyal Falstoch. What would you have of your lord?
The lesser spellcaster was not bothered by Safrag’s use of the title. Falstoch knew his place. My lord, Falstoch immediately responded. The Uruv Suurt press harder upon the south, and the Knights of Solamnia have encroached elsewhere! You asked to be informed when either crossed beyond the designated locations and both have, nearly simultaneously!
Although Falstoch found that upsetting, Safrag did not; it only proved to him that the Fire Rose had granted its wielder infinite wisdom. So good of them, he said back to the other Titan. I will reward their timeliness, but I am less pleased with my children! I expected them to give more of themselves.
They’re growing weak, my lord. Falstoch made it clear that he was not like the rest of them. But they try. Morgada holds them together as best as any other than your august self could, my lord.
The flattery was shameless, but Safrag accepted it as also being the absolute truth. And the skies? They’re clear?
Of all save our own spells, my lord! There are no storms on the horizon.
Falstoch did not understand what Safrag was waiting for. It was not some mundane augury of weather that interested the lead Titan. No, he was anticipating the third invasion.
He was waiting for the gargoyles.
The palace remains yours to watch, my loyal Falstoch. I know I can entrust it into your hands.
The distant Falstoch radiated gratitude and pleasure.
Safrag cut the spell linking the two. Even that minor of a distraction had left him yearning for the seductive warmth of the Fire Rose.
Command me; use me; let my power be unleashed. Safrag thought the artifact was saying to him repeatedly. They were one, he and the Fire Rose. It amazed him to realize just how incomplete he had been in his previous life, first as an ambitious ogre of a minor but still powerful clan, then as a supplicant seeking the eye of the powerful Dauroth, and last, as the one who removed the Titans’ faulty creator from supremacy and took his place. All that time, Safrag had been incomplete.
But no more.
I will remake Krynn as it should be, Safrag eagerly thought. And I will do so with the bodies of all my enemies cast as monuments to my victory.
The Titan leader laughed aloud. In the Fire Rose, he saw many winged shapes, the symbol of the last of those foes. Although they were creations of his own imagination, he was certain the beasts were on their way by then. Their master would be compelled to strike and strike soon.
Safrag stroked the Fire Rose.
But whatever he or the half-breed hope to do, it will not be enough to separate us. No, it will not be enough.
The artifact flared brightly as if in agreement.
The vast flock descended from the skies, alighting among the gray mountains. They had not settled to rest, however, rather because it was where they had been told to wait. Garantha was not far away, and they waited where the power of their lord could keep them hidden from even the one who wielded the Fire Rose.
The winged furies perched on high precipices, outcroppings, cave mouths; they were everywhere. They stretched long, leathery wings and groomed themselves. Despite their numbers and obvious eagerness, they made little noise as they waited.
After several minutes, a small group of gargoyles rose from their perches and flew off to the south.
Moments later, another batch of the winged beasts rose to the air, but that group headed northwest.
Bred to be swift, neither of the flocks would be long in reaching their goals. The master’s plan was taking shape. When the signal came, the main flock would continue to Garantha.
The Fire Rose would again belong to Xiryn.
Morgada materialized before Safrag, her neutral demeanor revealing nothing of her duplicity. As was the case the last time she had come to the Titan leader-and the time before that-Safrag remained engrossed in the Fire Rose. Behind her facade of loyalty, the sorceress laughed to herself. Safrag acted just as Xiryn had predicted; everyone reacted as the High Ogre predicted.
She went down on one knee. “My master, you summoned me?”
Safrag forced his gaze away from the Fire Rose. “Yes, I wished to speak with you about the half-breed.”
It was all Morgada could do to keep from showing a flicker of surprise. Of course, Safrag could not know that, at that very moment, Golgren was in the very palace the lead Titan had reconstructed in his own honor. Or could he?
“What of that mongrel, great one?”
Safrag rose and reluctantly turned from the artifact, which bespoke more willpower than Morgada would have expected of him at that point. “I think I should look into his escape from the tomb which I created for him, and I can trust no one more than you to accompany me.”
“I am honored.”
“As you should be.” Without looking at the artifact, Safrag reached for the Fire Rose. It slid across the marble table to his beckoning hand; whether at his command or of its own choice, it was impossible for Morgada to say. “Step to me, my loyal apprentice.”
Despite some hidden reservations, Morgada joined Safrag. He gestured.
Their surroundings changed, transforming into the chill, mountainous area where Safrag had said that he had banished Golgren to die. The wind shrieked as they appeared, almost as if decrying their appearance. A dust storm blew. Yet neither disturbed the Titans, who were protected by their magic and stood as if on a calm day.
They peered around, but of the shell that Safrag had described to his fellow Titans, there was no sign, save for a few, half-buried fragments. The rest had either vanished or been destroyed in the mongrel’s mysterious escape.
Clutching the Fire Rose close, Safrag bent to examine the area. A black glow radiated from his hand as he ran it over the dry ground.
Symbols briefly reappeared, symbols that Golgren had angrily swept away. They were those that Sarth had inscribed for his reading.
“Tell me, my dear Morgada, do these markings mean anything at all to you?”
She leaned over, curious. “Nothing. What are they?”
“Not drawn by the remaining hand of the mongrel,” the Titan leader commented. “And the emanations …”
He straightened with such abruptness that Morgada stumbled back in surprise. Safrag looked to the mountains, next at his companion, then once more at where the images were just fading to oblivion again.
“A fourth will not matter,” he murmured as though to himself, holding up the Fire Rose to admire. “A thousand enemies may come, but only one matters; only the half-breed matters.”
Behind him, Morgada frowned. She quickly erased the frown then, in calm, confident tones, asked, “Have you finished here, great one?”