“I don’t understand.”
“Now you know what it is like to be a god of Krynn.”
Kiri-Jolith gestured. Ahead of the column, a figure appeared. He was a perfect likeness of Stefan.
“The conjuration will suffice for them at this point,” the deity remarked. “The Titans are paying no mind to their sanctum. Their leader has other interests at the moment.”
Stefan went down on one knee in homage. “I’m grateful for this last boon, my lord!”
“Do not be. This is the only help that I can grant you, just as I have been able to give the Grand Khan one last hope. From here, you and he must find the path to victory. I already have overstepped my bounds. Because of that, for Sirrion and I, there must be a reckoning of sorts, whatever the outcome.”
“I don’t understand.”
Kiri-Jolith frowned, though it was obvious that his frustration was not with Stefan. “This is the Age of Mortals, Sir Stefan Rennert. However much we gods still interfere and desire to interfere, it is you and yours that ultimately will tip the balance. How you do that will help determine which of us-Sirrion or I-is at the disadvantage when we make our case to the others.”
The Solamnic rose, suddenly troubled. “My lord, I fear to ask … but Chasm had to fly after Idaria after the medallion would not work to send me to her, and-”
“Because you were needed where you were.” The bison-headed god’s deep brown eyes stared into Stefan’s. “Do you think I would raise up this conjuration of you only to leave you without the means?” When Stefan hesitated, the god chuckled. “Yes, you are wise not to trust even me. My kind has a habit of leaving mortals caught in the midst of things!”
Kiri-Jolith gestured and Stefan vanished. Still invisible to the elf refugees, the god of just cause surveyed the conjuration for a moment longer as it led the refugee column forward. There was an immense exhaustion in Kiri-Jolith’s face that had not been evident when he had spoken with the human. The deity had done his best to hide his weary condition.
“May you fare well,” he whispered, speaking not merely to the column or the departed Stefan. “May you all fare well … if it is still possible.”
Chasm’s powerful wings bore Idaria along at a dizzying pace, but still Garantha looked distant. The elf grew impatient.
“Can we go any faster?” she asked him, feeling guilty for asking.
The gargoyle grunted and exerted himself all the more. Every muscle showed strain. Idaria flushed, a sign of her guilt at making such a demand. Chasm obviously was weary. The gargoyle’s breathing was rapid, and sweat dripped from him.
“It is beginning,” the elf muttered to herself. She had whispered the same words more than once over the past several minutes. Somehow, Idaria sensed that the confrontation between Golgren, Safrag, and the gargoyles’ lord was already starting.
She felt a warmth on her chest: the griffon pendant.
Idaria finally understood. “You are what tells me that? You?”
As if in response, the pendant grew warmer. Clutching the High Ogre artifact, she stared at the landscape ahead. “If only you could do something to help me get there swifter.”
Nothing happened. No wind suddenly rose up to carry Chasm and her faster toward the capital, nor was the gargoyle’s strength rejuvenated.
With some disappointment, Idaria let the warm pendant again settle upon her breast. She stared ahead, trying to draw the distant horizon toward her.
Then a hole opened in the sky ahead. A gold radiance framed it. Its width and breadth were just enough to encompass both the gargoyle and his charge.
Chasm instinctively veered. Idaria let out a belated protest.
“No!” she called. “We want to head towards it!”
The gargoyle issued a questioning grunt.
The elf held up the still-warm pendant. “I called it into being with this! It’s our path to the capital!”
“Smells not right.” Chasm growled.
“What did you say?”
“Smells not right!” The gargoyle veered more to the north, seeking to go around the hole’s side.
The magical gap swelled to more than ten times its original proportions. Only barely did Chasm avoid soaring headlong into it.
Despite her companion’s wariness, Idaria thought the gargoyle was wrong and struggled in his grip. The abrupt imbalance caused the gargoyle to involuntarily change direction again.
They swung toward the hole. Chasm growled, attempting to regain his balance. He turned from the edge of the astounding gap.
The hole swelled again. This time it grew to too great a size for the gargoyle to avoid.
Idaria smiled but a sudden coldness on her chest made the smile falter. She touched the pendant and found that it was the cause of the chill.
And the nearer the pair got to the hole, the colder the pendant became.
“No!” she cried. “No! Turn back!”
It was too late. Chasm and the elf plunged into the magical gap. Instantly, they were tossed around by powerful energies. The elf’s hair rose as if electrified. Idaria bit back a cry of pain as Chasm squeezed tighter to maintain his grip on her. They were surrounded by nothing but the swirling energy of a thousand different and constantly changing colors.
“Bad!” the winged creature roared. “Bad!”
Their surroundings crackled, and once more they were in the air.
But they were not alone.
The moment it became clear where they were, Chasm attempted to veer around and head back into the hole. However, before he could do that, the portal simply dissipated.
Undaunted, the gargoyle tried to rise higher into the air. As he did, however, a wide net fell upon him. Chasm twisted to escape the new danger, but in doing so, the gargoyle lost part of his grip on Idaria. The elf tried to grab onto him yet only succeeded in making Chasm lose the rest of his hold.
Idaria slipped free. She screamed as she plummeted.
A powerful paw grabbed her left wrist while another seized her right ankle. The halt was jarring; for a moment, Idaria lost consciousness.
Recovering, she tried to look around for Chasm. Instead, another gargoyle face, that of a dusky, beaked male, leered down at her.
“Master has need of you,” the new gargoyle rumbled.
She struggled, though to no avail. There was no sign of Chasm.
The gargoyle who had spoken took charge of her. He descended with her toward a place among the high rocks. As they neared, Idaria made out Garantha, not all that far away to the west. There was a strange and unsettling orange-red aura rising from the city and, more obviously, a vast swarm of creatures like her captor circling above the capital. The swarm was clearly attacking something within the city.
“Golgren,” she murmured.
The gargoyle made a warning sound. Around them, scores of his kind perched on whatever outcroppings were available. Even with so many attacking, their master still had more in reserve.
I have waited long, so very long. And gargoyles breed so quickly. the familiar voice murmured in her head.
The shrouded figure materialized before Idaria just as her guard set her down on the ground. Although she could not see the face behind the cloth, the pale eyes evinced pleasure.
Pleasure was an emotion that Idaria herself knew she would never feel again. “Why?” she all but spit at the horrific spellcaster. “Why bother letting me think I escaped only to play this game?”
She heard his laughter in her head. My puppet had to hear your earnestness! Even though he knew that you could not have escaped on your own, he still would like to recognize in you a desperate need to help him at all costs! You proved yourself! You proved that he could trust you in the end.
“And he can!”
And that is what we are counting on. As the gargoyle king spoke, around them formed the ghastly entourage from the citadel. That is what will restore us to the glorious forms we once wore, as well.