“Very well,” she said. “We go together but not to merely fulfill our enemy’s intent. We have power of our own, Chasm.” The elf indicated the pendant.
That finally brought some cheer to Chasm. He had felt the pendant’s power. “Make Chasm so strong, all fall to him!”
“That’s right.” Idaria let her companion believe that for the moment. “We will defeat them and save Golgren and Tyranos.”
The gargoyle let his tongue run over his muzzle as he anticipated their victory. “Chasm thirsty. We go after Chasm drinks.”
“Drink your fill.” Idaria watched him move off to the water. Her confident expression changed to one more doubtful. She looked down at the pendant. While it had clearly been of much help, it would hardly be sufficient to face the threat of the Titans or the gargoyles’ master.
“But it may save Golgren,” the elf whispered. “It may save him.”
Her eyes widened as what she said-and what she meant by it-became clear to her.
The minotaurs had made inroads thanks to the gargoyles’ arrival. They had as yet to actually confront any Titans, but the fact that the sorcerers were still being successfully hampered and harassed by the winged creatures was a good sign that the tide had, at least for the moment, turned.
Faros kept to the forefront. He did not trust himself entirely to Kiri-Jolith’s medallion, though. In the emperor’s experience, a god’s protection had a way of disappearing at the most inopportune moments, and according to Golgren, there was more than one god involved.
The sacrifices had been many, and every legionary there expected countless more to come. They also expected one more enemy, so when the last finally revealed itself, the minotaurs reacted not with concern, but with roars of pleasure. They had something upon which to test their swords.
The ogres came rushing down at them in far more order than in generations past. The officers had for months been warning their soldiers of the new generation of foes, but even still, the first row of legionaries suffered greatly as a flight of arrows assailed them.
Faros was among the fortunate few, but he did not thank the bison-headed god for that fact. The emperor gritted his teeth and met the first ogre warrior he came upon. The ogres were clad in the breastplates of Golgren’s elite hands. Perhaps once they had been loyal to the half-breed, but to the minotaurs they were only ogres, and as such, they were to be slain on sight.
The ogre he faced was more skilled than any Faros had previously fought, save Golgren himself. It took nearly half a minute to finally slay the larger fighter. Some of the techniques used by the ogre indicated influences from the minotaur race.
“Outcasts,” the emperor growled as he dueled with a second warrior. Golgren had employed minotaur traitors to retrain his people.
A legionary near Faros fell prey to an ogre sword. The soldiers were having a more difficult time than most of them had expected. Ogres were half beast and without skill; that was the common belief.
But Golgren had succeeded in changing that.
Faros dodged a clever strike by his adversary then used a trick that he had made up himself. The ogre hesitated. That was all the minotaur needed to run him through a seam in his armor.
Given a moment to catch his breath, Faros glared at what Golgren had wrought and the Titans had subverted.
“We survive this and we shall keep coming, Grand Khan,” the emperor muttered. “I’ll not fight sorcerers just to someday be ruled by you. The banner of the empire’ll fly over Garantha, not yours over Nethosak.”
Another ogre came at Faros. The minotaur’s blade met the ogre’s, and the latest duel commenced. Yet as Faros battled the ogre, he pictured a foe more his own size …
And with one hand.
XX
Sarth had imparted much information of relevance to Golgren, but before departing, he had failed to say something singularly important.
“The staff still can’t transport us from this place,” Tyranos explained. “There’s some force blocking our way.”
Golgren studied the mummified High Ogres. None of them revealed any reason the pair was trapped there, yet there was no other immediate explanation.
At last, the half-breed decided, “Then we will find another way.”
“We’ve looked in either direction and both are-if you’ll pardon me for saying so-dead ends.”
It was true; the other paths ended in suspicious collapses. Sarth had made no mention of that, and the wizard and Golgren had agreed it was unlikely that he had been the perpetrator.
Yet if not Sarth, who?
Golgren abandoned the uncommunicative mummies and strode over to a wall that he had not ever studied thoroughly.
The half-breed frowned. “This is different. This has changed.”
Tyranos joined him. “What was on it before?”
The deposed Grand Khan shrugged. It had not been important then. “Not this.”
This was a vast panorama that filled their view. It was the picture of a glorious city that gleamed gold despite being carved from only rock. The architecture was reminiscent of Garantha, yet more fabulous, perhaps Garantha as it had first looked.
An urge to touch it filled Golgren, yet when he raised his hand toward the wall, the signet fought him for control.
“Look out!” Tyranos roared.
A blinding glare burst from the image, enveloping them.
Instantly the two found themselves standing in the midst of the great city itself.
Everything was made of gold, gold the color of the sun. High, spiraling towers rose around them. A vast, segmented walkway led up to a rounded temple with winged arches.
The half-breed did not have to ask who it was who had brought them there. Only one being could be so audacious.
To the empty air, Golgren said, “Sirrion desires us for something. Will he tell us what it is?”
At the top of the temple’s glittering steps, two massive bowls that had themselves not existed a moment prior shot forth high streams of golden flame. The flames arched toward one another, entwining as if vines. The ends descended to a spot exactly between the bowls.
The fire formed into Sirrion.
“Welcome to your kingdom, if you’d have it,” the deity proclaimed with a grin.
Shielding their eyes, both stepped back from the fiery god. Yet instead, their actions brought them closer.
“Come now! Don’t be shy! All of this is yours, elf-ogre, if only you’ve got the resolve! The moment is coming and the choice could be yours unless you make it theirs.”
There was no need for Sirrion to say whom he meant, either the Titans or the gargoyle king. It mattered not to Sirrion who seized the Fire Rose. All that mattered was that someone used it.
Tyranos stepped in front of the half-breed. “There’s another choice! Let me have your gift! I’ll use it as it should be used!”
Sirrion shook his head. The grin was replaced by an angry frown. “If you can take it, it becomes yours, but your fate belongs to another’s control.”
That brought a curse from the wizard. “Neither Sargonnas nor Kiri-Jolith are masters of my fate!”
“Did I say it was them?” Sirrion blazed with fury. “Are you correcting me?”
“He is impetuous,” Golgren interjected. “None would ever correct you.”
The grin returned. “No, not if they’re wise.” The flames subsided to a point. “Will you have my gift, then, elf-ogre?”
Glancing at his severed limb, the half-breed calmly replied. “No. I must leave it to chance.”
Sirrion appeared torn between frustration and a temptation to concur. The god rubbed his chin, sending sparks flying. Finally, he grinned again. “Interesting … and so very right!”
“What by the Kraken’s gotten into you?” muttered an angry Tyranos.
Golgren did not reply. He bowed his head to Sirrion, who accepted his obeisance.