Golgren’s hand began to pull away. With a groan, the half-breed made one final effort.
The fragment slipped through his fingers. He made a halfhearted try to retrieve it but was moving too slowly. Instead, his hand slapped against his waist, but without the valuable prize.
The fragment flew to a victorious Safrag.
XXV
Eyes gleaming, Safrag reached for the floating shard. With the swiftness of a ji-baraki, Golgren rolled onto his feet. His hand left his waist, but he held a dagger identical to the one that he had earlier tossed at the Titan.
It was the second dagger, which he had located in his mother’s tomb.
The half-breed lunged.
Safrag didn’t notice until the last moment, surprise vying with contempt. “You cannot-”
Golgren seized the fragment with his teeth before the Titan could grasp it. The piece flared as he thrust the dagger toward the sorcerer’s stomach.
The Fire Rose glowed, but the abrupt shock in Safrag’s face revealed that he was no longer the one wielding its power.
“No!” the Titan began. “I hold it! I hold-”
The dagger, with the energies of the Fire Rose surrounding it, sank deep.
“But I control it,” Golgren returned through clenched teeth.
Safrag howled. No blood spilled from the wound, only the same fiery energy as that which had embraced the dagger. Safrag had no more blood; he had long become like the second hand that Golgren had gained through the artifact: a shell of what was real, a false miracle, the truth of Sirrion’s gift.
Keeping his teeth clenched and ignoring the shard’s own powerful energies, Golgren twisted the dagger. His will flowed into the Fire Rose and, therefore, into the blade. As he turned the weapon, Safrag, still howling, turned with it.
The half-breed gave the dagger a final twist back.
Like a puzzle, Safrag tore into jagged pieces that went flying in all directions. His desperate cry continued for a moment after his dissolution. The still-living shreds flew beyond the walls of Garantha before they at last burned to ash then scattered.
The Fire Rose floated by itself for a few seconds then dropped. Golgren released the dagger before deftly catching Sirrion’s creation.
The blade clattered harmlessly, the energies fading. The ancient weapon was blackened from hilt to point, and the smell of melting metal was everywhere.
Breathing raggedly, Golgren stared at the Fire Rose. The blazing forces within churned wildly, enticingly.
“You do me proud!” declared a maddeningly cheerful voice that made the half-breed grit his teeth. “I expected it to be you, but there were enough variables that made the game so very interesting!”
Golgren spit the fragment out. It paused in the air then flew unerringly to the artifact. Like a child clinging to its mother, the piece adhered to the Fire Rose, the two melding together.
The half-breed looked up. Sirrion smiled benevolently at him. Bright flickers of flame constantly escaped his wild mane of hair.
“You expected it to be me?” Golgren rasped.
“Oh, yes, although the others would have made for some interesting outcomes should they have succeeded!” He waved the thought off. “But enough of that! You have earned the honor of gaining my great gift! You will be the herald, the catalyst, of the new age, during which the ogres will look to me as their chief patron!”
Straightening, Golgren looked up at the lord of fire and alchemy. “You … our god?”
Sirrion spread his hands. “And what better herald could I ask? The impossible child! You truly are what the Fire Rose-and thus, I-am about! How droll! How very appropriate this is! You will create a most fitting kingdom to honor me, oh yes.”
Golgren wordlessly stepped past the god. He went to the edge of the roof. Midway there, the half-breed took note of the still-floating populace.
Expressionless, Golgren held forth the artifact. The Fire Rose flared.
The ogres began drifting safely to the ground.
With a curt nod, Golgren reached the edge, leaned over, and peered down.
Idaria lay sprawled on the stone walkway below. Her arms and legs were bent at angles that made it seem as though the elf were boneless. Her face was turned skyward and she looked as if she were sleeping … if one did not immediately notice the pool of blood that was staining her long, silver hair and shredded gown.
A clink of armor foreshadowed the appearance of Stefan Rennert next to her body. Panting from exertion, the human bent over her. He muttered something that sounded like a prayer.
Golgren suddenly looked over his shoulder at Sirrion, who stood smiling at the outcome. “Can this bring her back to life?”
The smile not in the least fading, the deity casually remarked, “The elf has already moved on. No matter, though. You can use the Fire Rose to give another her semblance if you like!”
“It will not be her.”
The smile faltered, a hint of impatience arising in Sirrion. “No, her spirit is gone! I’ve told you that already! What does that matter? You can create a better Idaria.”
Turning to face him, Golgren flatly replied, “Yes, if I chose to keep this thing.” He stretched the Fire Rose toward its maker. “I want nothing of it. To restore her life is the only use I have for it. If that is beyond its feeble powers, you may take it back and then leave and never return.”
“Take… it… back?” Sirrion burst into flames. He was a living elemental, pure fire. “Take it back?” he repeated, his voice growing more strident, more painful to hear.
YOU REFUSE THE GREATEST GIFT EVER GRANTED A MORTAL?
His voice was as Golgren and Idaria had first heard it, a terrible thundering in one’s head that made Xiryn’s a pale whisper by comparison. Yet Golgren did not press his hand to his head, nor did he stagger under the mental onslaught. He calmly stood there, the Fire Rose still extended to Sirrion.
Intense heat washed over the half-breed; then it enveloped the entire city. Below, cries of panic ensued as many ogres who had witnessed the arrival of the god no doubt assumed that he was about to raze Garantha. Sirrion stalked toward Golgren; the deity was taller and more menacing than any Titan.
AND YOU REFUSE TO WORSHIP ME? ME?
Sweat poured down Golgren’s body, but none of it due to fright, only the searing heat. Golgren cocked his head. “I do.”
More than four times the mortal’s height, the being of flame transformed into the faceless golden sentinel.
YOU CANNOT! NOT WITH ALL I OFFER, ALL THAT YOU FEAR I CAN DO.
A circle of flames surrounded Golgren. It would have been simple to deal with them using the Fire Rose, but he was aware that was what Sirrion desired of him. The more the artifact was used, the more the Fire Rose’s ability to seduce increased. Even Golgren, molded-not created-to wield it would eventually succumb to its power. Like a moth drawn to flame, he would immerse himself in the Fire Rose until it burned him out.
WITH MY GIFT, YOU CAN RULE ALL.
“No.” Golgren took a step toward the ring. As he suspected, the flames shrank from him regardless of whether he was using the Fire Rose. Sirrion desired his servitude too much.
“No,” Golgren repeated as he closed on the elemental giant. “This is not how I desire to rule, for, in truth, it would be the Rose that rules, not me.” He paused just within reach of Sirrion. “The ogres will always honor and fear you, Lord of Fire, but I–I, Golgren-will foist no god upon my people. Not you. Not Sargonnas. Not Kiri-Jolith. When we fell, no god smiled upon us then. Through centuries, we were used and used again, and no god came to truly help us. We survived without any of you, and therefore, we do not need you now.”