The forest was still wrong there. Stefan could sense that it desired to strike out at the refugees, but something held it back.
The path grew narrower, more treacherous. Although the forest did not attack him, it tried to hinder his progress. Stefan impatiently chopped away at tangling branches and roots. All the while, the medallion indicated he was on the right path.
“May she be unharmed,” he prayed. “I’m already fallen; at least let her be unharmed, my lord.”
A shape in the darkness caught his searching eyes. At first, it looked as if it were pressed against a tree, but as Stefan neared, it became evident the figure was snared, branches wrapped around the body so tightly that only the outline could be discerned. If not for the medallion, the knight would not have noticed it.
“Have no fear, my lady!” The Solamnic moved in, expertly slashing at the branches, thinking of nothing but freeing the elf.
The tangling branches fell in pieces; a moment later, their captive, finally released, also fell. Ragged breathing informed Stefan that he had found the tree’s prisoner still in time.
But the one that the knight had rescued was not Idaria.
It was a badly beaten and scratched Chasm.
XVIII
Day had become night, and night began to give way to day, and the battle had not ceased. An exhausted Faros had no idea at all of the struggle of Sir Augustus and the Solamnics, although he would have admired their determination and battle skills just as they would have respected his legionaries.
But such mattered little against the foe both fought. Magic was anathema to the Solamnics and the minotaurs. Faros especially resented that he needed a god’s assistance again, yet without it, even his best soldiers would soon all be dead.
Slowly but surely, the minotaurs were being defeated. There was no talk of retreat; it was not the minotaur way, especially against ogres of any kind. Kiri-Jolith had granted them what aid he could offer, but the onus was upon Faros’s people, and they fell short despite their best efforts.
There were bodies everywhere. The smell of death dominated the senses. A legionary lay sprawled to the side of Faros, his eyes staring blankly and with a terrible, ragged hole in his breastplate and chest. His heart had literally exploded from within. He was just one of many to have perished so.
We will not live out this new day at this rate, the emperor thought. Yet he continued to push his fighters forward. At that point, they did not fight for Golgren-no honorable legionary would-but rather because it was evident to all that such power as the Titans possessed must be confronted, or indeed, sooner rather than later, it would crash down on the empire.
And there seemed little that the minotaurs could do about that eventuality save die. Without warning, the ground to Faros’s right opened up. At least a dozen legionaries toppled into the newly created ravine. Some might have survived to climb out, but the gap closed as quickly as it had opened.
“Fight like warriors, not cowards!” the emperor growled at his enemies.
But the Titans would fight as they pleased.
An explosion rocked the vicinity, tossing Faros forward. He was not the target; the sound of splintering wood was immediate verification that one of the remaining catapults had been struck. Fragments rained down, some of them from the decimated machine, others, more grisly, from the unfortunate crew. The sharp tingling of the fur that accompanied the aftermath of lightning informed Faros what spell had been used.
The last of their heavy machines was gone. They had no more weapons that could reach the distant sorcerers. Faros grimly corrected his earlier assessment. We’ll not live to see midday, much less sunset.
An ominous shadow fell across the emperor. He looked up, but what he saw was no new spell by the minotaurs’ foes.
A vast swarm of winged creatures was heading toward the Titans.
They were gargoyles, more than any minotaur had ever seen. Faros tried to estimate their numbers but failed. That they were no allies of the Titans was quickly made evident by the beasts’ fierce cries as they dived toward the area where the sorcerers awaited. However, such primitive creatures couldn’t defeat spellcasters, Faros knew. They might buy a momentary reprieve for the legionaries, which Faros would use as best he could, but no more than that.
A blue haze materialized before the gargoyles’ initial ranks. The winged attackers dived straight into it.
Faros snorted. The beasts did not even have sense enough to avoid certain death.
But only two of the gargoyles-the ones farthest to each side-fell dead. The rest were suddenly covered with individual golden auras that seemed to protect them.
The emperor’s brow wrinkled. Gargoyles with magic?
The flock continued to descend. A few more of their number perished from other spells, but most of the gargoyles were actually going to reach the hidden Titans.
Faros raised his sword and shouted for attention. Legionaries in the area looked to their emperor.
“Regroup!” he commanded. “Form ranks! Let no one lag behind! Sound the call to advance!”
As his soldiers gathered, Faros bared his teeth in a grim smile. He and his army might still die that day, but they had just been given a chance to take a few of their enemies with them, and that was all a minotaur ever asked.
The minotaurs were not the only ones to discover an aerial army coming to their aid. Sir Augustus also witnessed the coming of countless gargoyles, creatures he assumed had to be some part of Golgren’s plan. Like Faros, the knight took immediate advantage, coordinating with his subordinates a renewed strike. At the back of his mind, though, he wondered at the power of the half-breed, that he could summon such beasts.
And if he could, why did he really need the Solamnics and the minotaurs anyway?
With a shrunken Morgada at his side, the true master of the flocks observed all from his sanctum.
The distractions are in place, the gargoyle king said approvingly. He will now act.
“But he’s suspicious. He knows of you.”
Xiryn gazed at her with his frosty eyes. And that is why he will act. Because of his suspicions and the belief that since he holds the Fire Rose, he holds all.
That made Morgada smile. “And like Dauroth, confidence will gain him only death.”
You know your part, the ghostly figure continued with a gesture of dismissal. For you, it should be simple.
The female Titan bowed. “Yes. It’ll be very simple.”
She vanished in a bloom of black flames.
The gargoyles’ lord chuckled. Yes, simple and not at all what you think, my treacherous puppet.
Rising from the throne, Xiryn summoned his monstrous followers. The ghastly figures surrounded him.
We are ready. Your reward is due.
He raised his left hand, and both he and the sinister throng disappeared, leaving only the wind to haunt the ancient citadel.
The place in which Golgren and Tyranos materialized was not the one that the wizard had chosen. That was made clear to the half-breed by the colorful expletives unleashed by the hooded figure the moment their location came into focus.
Yet if it were not the place of Tyranos’s choosing, the question as to why they had appeared there was one that Golgren found intriguing enough to ask his companion.
“Why ask me?” Tyranos snapped back. He gestured. “Ask them since they seem to like your company so much! They probably know better.”