“Oh, yes, my dear Morgada, I have.”
With a casual sweep of the hand that held the Fire Rose, Safrag seared the ground, obliterating with black fire the area where he had left Golgren to perish. The sorcerer’s eyes blazed as dangerously as the magical flames he had unleashed with the artifact’s might.
Then Safrag narrowed his eyes.
“I would speak to you,” he demanded.
Thinking Safrag meant her, Morgada opened her mouth to say something then shut it again as the flames darted high, swelling taller than either Titan, for Safrag was speaking to the very fire. The flames turned from black to brilliant red then formed a golden figure clad in long, sweeping robes of crimson: Sirrion.
The fiery deity smiled benevolently at the pair, but his gaze was directed at Safrag. Sirrion extended his own hand.
As if the entire region had been doused with oil, the flames suddenly coursed everywhere. They surrounded the two Titans, enveloping them. Morgada bit back an exclamation. For as far as the eye could see, fire devoured the land.
Sirrion’s smile widened. He patted his stomach.
The flames vanished, leaving nothing but charred ground. Anything that could burn, had.
“Your offering made for a tiny appetizer,” Sirrion remarked. “I made a better snack of it.”
Safrag went down on one knee, holding the Fire Rose toward its creator. “Lord of the Flames, I thank you for your appearance here.”
“You stirred my curiosity. You have my gift to Krynn; what more could you possibly want?”
“I have proven myself able to master the Fire Rose, but there are those who would still take it from me if they could.” Safrag tried to meet the god’s gaze but finally looked to one side. To stare into Sirrion’s eyes was akin to staring directly into the burning sun. There was only blindness to be gained by doing do.
Sirrion looked bored with Safrag’s statement. The god shrugged, his wild hair unleashing little flickers of fire that dropped on the blackened land and sizzled for a time. “This is not my concern. The one who proves himself most worthy is the one who in the end has triumphed over the rest. Only that one truly has the chance to master my gift.”
“But I have outwitted all of them! The only reason that any of them survive is through trickery, not of mortal means.”
“You refer to Kiri-Jolith.”
The simple naming of the other god made Safrag stiffen. Morgada, too, could not hide her surprise. “The bison warrior is a part of this?”
Waving her off, the lead Titan growled, “Help me defeat him, and I will raise monuments as high as mountains to you!”
“A pleasing offer,” replied Sirrion, “but one which has been made to me before. Others, too, promised to worship me then failed. Besides, I have no quarrel with Kiri-Jolith. We have even fought the dark ones side by side. He only makes the game more amusing.”
“‘Game’?” Unlike the god, Safrag did not look amused.
Sirrion spread his arms like a great cleric preaching to his acolytes. “But that is how the true victor will be decided! It’s always by the game, and this time, all of Krynn is in play!”
Safrag stood. “I don’t understand!”
Morgada watched both in wonder.
“Because you are mortal and you are not me!” Sirrion grinned. “But if it will ease your mind, if you are the victor, the Fire Rose will be yours to shape all with!”
“But Kiri-Jolith-?” persisted Safrag.
An abrupt fury spread over the god’s countenance. Morgada retreated. “You try my patience, and I am not known for having much, mortal!” As quickly as the fury rose, it settled. “In the end, Kiri-Jolith is only another player, and he must abide by my rules where this is concerned; that is the law between his and mine.”
“Kiri-Jolith must abide by the rules,” the lead Titan mused. He bowed his head to the god. “Great is Sirrion and great is his wisdom.”
“Yes, I am glorious, am I not?” Sirrion patted his stomach. “That was not nearly enough to even come close to satisfying me for a time.” He peered around at the ruined landscape. “There looks to be something left to eat here.”
Safrag raised his hand to cast a spell. Morgada, recognizing what was coming, seized hold of his arm.
Flames erupted around Sirrion. They spread from the god with ferocious appetite. Even though the area appeared bereft of anything left to burn, burn it did and well.
And burned also would have been the Titans, if not for their swift action. Safrag and Morgada returned to his lair, the scent of scorched ground following them.
Morgada took a deep breath. Safrag stepped away from her, shrugging as though his dramatic encounter with the deity were long forgotten. Once again, all that mattered was the Fire Rose.
“It is mine, Morgada. Did you hear him? He promised it would remain mine, for who else could be victor if even the other god must abide by the same demands as my rivals? It matters not who freed the mongrel or who the master of the gargoyles is. The Fire Rose will remain mine! I will be the winner, and Krynn will be my prize.”
“Great is my honor to have witnessed this,” Morgada wisely responded, “and greater is my honor to be in your presence.”
Safrag gave her words an absent nod as he fixed on the forces dancing within the crystalline structure. “You are dismissed, my dear Morgada.”
She did not hesitate. The female Titan bowed low then vanished.
But when she reappeared, it was neither in her chamber in the original sanctum nor in the one in the palace where she kept Golgren and his human companion. Rather, she appeared in the most unlikely place for a Titan.
You were not expected, the figure on the throne coldly rebuked her.
Around the sorceress, figures in the shadows shifted forward. Morgada ignored them, seeing the shambling forms as only extensions of Xiryn.
“I’ve just come from Safrag,” she answered defiantly. “And I think you might wish to listen to my report.”
XV
Wargroch had informed no one about Golgren’s presence. He prayed that his former lord’s wizard companion had had the sense enough to take the half-breed far, far away from Garantha. Only death awaited Golgren in the capital.
The Blodian was uncertain how to proceed. His own drive for vengeance had faded with the cold realization that the Titans represented a danger to his people. He had watched Atolgus become more and more monstrous even by ogre standards, and he understood that it was likely to be his fate as well. That went against the fearsome, independent spirit of his kind. Golgren, on the other hand, had always encouraged individual spirit, cultivating the best to become his officers. The Titans desired nothing but puppets, acting as extensions of their will.
If Golgren were slain, there would be no hope of preventing the Titans’ desires.
Wargroch owed the deposed Grand Khan a blood debt. That was how the ogre viewed things. For his many betrayals, Wargroch had to make amends, even at the cost of his own life.
There came shouts from one of the lower corridors. Wargroch drew his sword-Atolgus’s sword-and rushed toward the noise.
The ogre expected to find Golgren battling the guards, but he beheld a different sight, something he could not have imagined ripping into the hapless ogres trying to fend it off. It was almost an ogre, yet a creature also distinctly reptilian.
And it was quickly disposing of more than half a dozen warriors.
Wargroch plunged into the fray. He saw no reason not to. A beast such as that one could not be part of any ploy by Golgren; it had the stink of Titan spellcasting around it. Safrag was probably experimenting again without regard for his own people.
The fiendish monster had seized an already-wounded guard by the arm and was dragging him close. Great, toothy jaws already dripping with blood opened then snapped shut over the guard’s head. There was the gruesome sound of bone cracking and sinew tearing.