Safrag gestured. With his eyes still on Morgada, Atolgus rose.
“False trails, false friends, false glories,” Safrag continued. “All for the benefit of a false ruler. The mongrel thinks that he controls the hunt, that he pursues traitors and the trail of the Fire Rose as he sees fit. All the while his false empire is eaten away on all sides.” The lead Titan smiled like a cat. “Ah, if only Dauroth could have been seen it!”
Morgada draped an arm over his shoulder. “But he surely looks with pride on what you’ve achieved, master. And surely his blessing is upon us and upon the hunt for the artifact.”
The lead Titan smiled. He held forth his hand, and in it appeared a tiny vial.
Atolgus’s gaze at last turned from Morgada. He eyed the vial with avarice.
“One drop, one word,” Safrag sang. “One promise …”
With two nails, he removed the stopper. There was an almost living sigh, and a small tendril of wispy smoke emerged.
The warlord leaned his head back. Safrag drew a three-sided pattern over Atolgus: a gaunt triangle with the sun on one side and stars on the other two. The pattern flared to life as he completed the spell, and it descended. As it reached Atolgus’s forehead, the pattern shrank, growing small enough to fit there.
There was a slight searing sound, as if the ogre’s flesh were burning. Safrag tipped the vial over just enough to let one drop of its crimson contents fall down.
As the drop struck the center of the pattern, the latter shone bright before fading away.
“So precious,” Morgada whispered, referring to the vial’s contents.
“For the glory of the Titan cause, the sacrifice is necessary. A drop of elixir here, a drop there, to ensure that our warlord is the able champion we desire. The spell enhances the qualities that will draw others to his cause.”
“But how will that help us to find the Fire Rose?”
Safrag replaced the vial. “Because when the half-breed finds the walls of his citadel crumbling all around him, he will have no recourse but to seek that which we seek, and to find it fast.” The lead Titan shrugged. “But do not fear! Golgren will not survive the finding of the Fire Rose.”
He gestured for Atolgus to rise. The puppet warlord silently obeyed. There were subtle changes from the Atolgus of before. He looked slightly taller and broader, and what scars he had received from the battle were all but faded. There was also a slight, golden tint to his eyes.
“Go, my champion! Let the blood of the mongrel’s followers quench the dry lands.”
Atolgus saluted Safrag and Morgada with his weapon and rushed to his mount. The two Titans watched with satisfaction as he rode away.
“An interesting choice, my master,” Morgada cooed.
“Not nearly as interesting as the ji-baraki among the Grand Khan’s own trusted circle. It shall be a pleasure to see how that piece plays in the game. Very much a pleasure, indeed.”
Safrag gestured. Black flames enveloped the pair.
The Titans vanished.
VI
Golgren’s departure was delayed by news that was dire but hardly unexpected. Neraka had begun pushing across the border in northern Golthuu. The dark knights had moved in earnest and had easily overwhelmed the lone hand there. The force the Grand Khan intended to lead to the Vale of Vipers had originally been set to strengthen the warriors located by the overrun border.
Coincidence is the blind’s defiance of truth, Sarth had once intoned to a much younger Golgren, albeit in a more crude, ogre fashion. That was before an older Grand Lord had discovered the shaman knew the Common tongue better than him.
Golgren did not believe in coincidence. The Black Shells would not happen to push into northern Golthuu at the same time as rumors placed the Uruv Suurt in the south, and while elements of his new army were suddenly disappearing. Indeed, for Neraka to intrude upon the former Kern meant someone had gone out of their way to devise that strategy. Old Blode was a much easier target, lying just south of the black knights’ base of operations.
The Grand Khan had no choice but to follow the trail leading to the Vale of Vipers. But his realm could not be left to fend for itself. Golthuu was at a fragile juncture. If Golgren did not maintain a show of strength and keep the borders secure, his domain would quickly return to two splintered lands, scraps of which loose alliances would fight over while the other races moved in to take what spoils they desired.
Armored and ready to march, he summoned Khleeg and Wargroch.
“Khleeg, you were supposed to guard Garantha. That is no longer necessary.”
Golgren’s second in command looked concerned. “My lord?”
“Neraka must be challenged. Take the new hand to join with Khemu’s hand. Khemu and you and your hand will march to the settlement of Angthuul. Another hand will meet you there. That will give you three hands. You know Angthuul?”
“Aye, my lord. A day south of Styx. I have been to it.” Khleeg frowned. “And Garantha?”
As ranks of ogres marched past in preparation for their imminent departure, the Grand Khan put his hand on Wargroch’s shoulder. “The brother of Nagroch and Belgroch must bear the responsibility of watching Garantha. But I will always be near.”
The proclamation caught the other by surprise, not only because of the responsibility being placed on the younger officer’s shoulders, but because Golgren had said that somehow he would be close by to assist him. Khleeg nodded his acceptance, but asked, “The Grand Khan will need more messenger birds?”
In reply, Golgren drew from a pouch a tiny, round crystal that was light silver in color. He handed it to Wargroch, who handled it gingerly, for he and Khleeg both understood it possessed magic.
Even as the pair studied the mysterious bauble, the Grand Khan removed a second crystal from the pouch. “And Khleeg will also have the voice of Golgren to guide him.”
“My lord …” the senior warrior responded. As he turned his crystal over to inspect it, he asked, “Great one … They are Titan magic?”
Wargroch looked pained, as though the crystal in his palm had suddenly turned into a festering wound.
Golgren eased their concerns. “No, the magic owes nothing to the Titans.”
Indeed, he had only an hour past twisted them out of the hands of Tyranos. A wizard as wily as the leonine one surely knows how to arrange some manner of communication for Golgren to keep in close touch with his most trusted warriors. That was how the Grand Khan had phrased the suggestion to the human, appealing both to Tyranos’s pride and the wizard’s own stake in the ogre’s success.
Tyranos had protested, slamming the end of his staff into the marble floor of Golgren’s bed chamber. Yet in the end, the human provided had him with the three crystals-one each for Golgren, Wargroch, and Khleeg.
Hold the stone before your left eye and picture which of them you wish to speak with, the spellcaster had instructed. When Golgren had wondered at such simplistic instructions, Tyranos had shrugged and, in typical manner, asked the ogre if he wanted them to be made more complex and confusing.
The Grand Khan did not speak of Tyranos to either warrior, but he did repeat the instructions. Wargroch nodded, while Khleeg peered at the stone as if still wary that it would turn into something nasty.
Finally seeming to accept the necessity of the communication stone, Khleeg growled, “My lord, you must not ride alone-”
“I will ride with you as far as Ben-ihm, there to lead the hand of Barech to the Vale.”
His second in command grunted in satisfaction. “Barech is very loyal. Good.”
Wargroch was suddenly disconcerted. “Grand Khan! Let Barech guard Garantha! Let Wargroch ride with you to the Vale!”