With a hiss, the beast pulled back from its prey. The headless body quivered. The powerful jaws crunched down twice. Then, swallowing its grisly morsel, the creature released the body and turned toward the next foe. The headless corpse wobbled a few steps in what was almost a comical dance then collapsed.
Wargroch let out a roar and lunged under the monster’s paws. His blade sliced against the scaled torso, leaving a scratch from one side to the other but didn’t penetrate.
The reptilian fiend slashed at the ogre, but Wargroch had been expecting its attack. He literally slid on his belly past the reach of his horrific foe, letting momentum take him out of range of even its long, dangerous tail.
As Wargroch turned, he saw that, from the rear, the creature’s resemblance to a meredrake was unmistakable. That verified his suspicion that the sorcerers were to blame for the foul creation. Wargroch added that to his list of failures. More ogres were perishing because he had enabled it to happen.
The transformed meredrake climbed over a lifeless ogre as it lunged toward the remaining guards. As it did, the huge monster slipped on the mangled corpse, momentarily falling forward.
Seeing his chance, Wargroch charged. As he reached the beast, he jumped for its shoulders.
The brawny ogre landed atop the creature’s back. With a roar, the meredrake twisted around. Great talons raked the nearby, well-stained walls, but the monster could not quite grab Wargroch.
However, the ogre was faring poorly. Although Wargroch managed to hold on, he could not do much else. The meredrake slammed him against one wall then the other, trying to dislodge or crush him. It was all Wargroch could do to maintain a grip on his sword, much less wield it with any efficacy.
His daring attack had at least drawn attention away from the beleaguered guards. Some withdrew to bind their wounds while others regrouped. Two more guards arrived, axes at the ready.
The newcomers drew the meredrake’s attention. The monster ceased battering Wargroch.
The Blodian immediately slashed as best he could at the back of the meredrake’s neck. In the old days, before Golgren, it was likely that his sword would have been so rusty that it would have snapped in two upon striking such a hard surface. The meredrake’s scales were far thicker than before, however, another of Safrag’s “improvements.” The polished blade left only a shallow, red line that could not possibly have injured the lizard, but at least Wargroch had recaptured its focus.
The meredrake once more sought to grasp his burden or smash it against a wall. As that happened, the guards moved in again.
“The throat!” Wargroch shouted, staying with the Common tongue even in the midst of the struggle. Other than the inside of the mouth itself-an almost impossible target-the throat was surely the most vulnerable place to strike.
But the meredrake, although taller than the ogres, kept its head bent low as it snapped angrily at its adversaries.
Still, the guards did their best to stab at the creature’s face. One dived in eagerly, his axe grazing the lower part of the throat.
The meredrake let loose with a fierce roar. It slashed with its claws across the ogre’s chest. More blood splattered the combatants. The warrior’s innards spilled out, and the corpse tumbled into the monster, who almost casually shoved it aside.
Wargroch used the distraction to try to climb onto the creature’s shoulder. Just as he hoped, the meredrake twisted its head around in an attempt to better see what he was doing.
The ogre officer drove the point of his weapon into the creature’s eye. Blood and a yellowish fluid gushed from the ruined orb. A fetid smell filled the ogre’s nostrils.
The monster roared in pain. It threw itself against the wall, pinning Wargroch’s leg. The ogre let out a howl.
From somewhere beyond the meredrake, a voice boomed a command that, in his agony and struggles, Wargroch could not understand. The meredrake shifted, slamming against the other wall. The Blodian lost his grip. He slipped to the moist floor, his sword flying away.
Wargroch expected his death to come shortly, and he welcomed it. It would be an honorable if gruesome demise and would make some amends for his betrayals.
But the creature paid him no mind, instead focusing on someone ahead. Wargroch raised himself up enough to see.
His eyes widened as he beheld Atolgus. The warlord faced the meredrake alone. Atolgus wore a mad, gleeful expression, a berserker’s face that twisted his handsome, Titan features into something awful. He wielded only the sword that had once belonged to Golgren.
Despite Atolgus being nearly as tall as the meredrake, Wargroch still thought the Titans’ puppet must have gone insane to try and face such a threat alone. Yet Atolgus laughed as he attacked and feinted, attacked and feinted. It was as if the warlord saw the battle as a game, not a struggle to the death.
Then Atolgus lunged with swiftness that was beyond any ogre naturally born. The blade shimmered as he struck the monster on the chest, and where other weapons had failed to penetrate, his sword performed with only slight hesitation.
The meredrake shivered as Atolgus withdrew his wet blade, again laughing. The creature let out another pained roar as it sought to clamp its great, yellowed teeth on Atolgus’s forearm.
Again moving more swiftly than Wargroch thought possible, quicker than even Golgren, Atolgus not only avoided the bite, but turned the scaly monster’s lunge into a counterattack of his own. As the jaws sought him, the warlord thrust his sword into it again.
Propelled by a combination of sorcery and Atolgus’s enhanced strength, the blade bore through flesh, muscle, and even bone to burst out of the back of the meredrake’s skull. Hot ichor drenched Wargroch.
The creature let out a pitiful moan. Atolgus readily removed the blade. Eyes bright with pleasure, he stepped back to admire his handiwork.
The scaled monster dropped in a heap. Its tail swept toward Wargroch. Only a quick jump saved him from an embarrassing fall.
Raising his sword, which flashed one more time, Atolgus let loose with a wild war cry. The surviving guards quickly joined him. Wargroch wisely did the same.
Atolgus’s golden eyes fixed on the Blodian. In eloquent Common, Atolgus remarked, “A brave and clever assault, Wargroch! I commend you for softening him up for me!”
Atolgus had never spoken Common so well, not even the last time Wargroch had seen him. Safrag’s experiment was continuing even without the lead Titan to guide it.
“But the death blow belongs to Atolgus,” Wargroch replied, using his best Common in turn. With his weapon, he saluted the warlord.
However, rather than look pleased, the warlord’s face darkened. “He has infiltrated Dai Ushran.”
Although at first taken aback by that phrase, Wargroch was able to puzzle out what the sorcerers’ puppet was referring to. He hid his dismay, he hoped, at Atolgus’s discovery. “You think Golgren is in Gara-Dai Ushran?”
It was still difficult for most ogres to remember that the capital had been renamed.
“The meredrake was his pet!” Atolgus laughed, revealing teeth sharper than Wargroch remembered. “The great one set it as a trap should the mongrel return, which he, of course, dared!”
“Then the beast has killed Golgren?”
The altered ogre’s golden eyes blazed. “Do you think him that easily slain?” Before Wargroch could summon a response, Atolgus added, “The mongrel’s still here somewhere. Come, let us hunt him down.” He chuckled. “I’ll give her his head! She’ll reward me for that.”
Wargroch again hid his churning emotions. He glanced at the small band of guards following them. “We do not need these, Warlord.”
Atolgus turned and gave him a sinister grin. “True! We are the Titans’ greatest servants! We can do it by ourselves!” He dismissed the other ogres with a wave of his hand, saying, “Clear the corpses! Search the outer levels!”