The other Abominations had been condemned for similar transgressions, all seeking to circumvent Dauroth’s will.
Safrag extended his palm toward Falstoch. The tiny fragment of the Fire Rose materialized in it.
The Abomination’s reaction was immediate. Leeeeggeendd! Rrrrrroooossssseeee!
“Speak truly, Falstoch. Did Dauroth use it when he cast you into your hellish state?”
Nooooooo!
That surprised the former apprentice. He had spent many hours of many days perusing Dauroth’s secrets, determined that none would be lost to him. Yet he had failed in that particular one. Even in death, Dauroth could still surprise his treacherous servant.
None of that truly mattered given that Safrag had the fragment. He knew that of all the Abominations, Falstoch had always had the most knowledge of the artifact’s legends.
However, speaking with such a disgusting blob did not suit Safrag.
“Sera issura alayva etoi,” the Titan sang in words that were as close to that of the ancient High Ogre language as anything else Dauroth had created. As he uttered the spell, Safrag also drew a triangular pattern over the piece.
The tiny fragment of the Fire Rose blazed crimson and orange. Tendrils of fiery smoke wafted up from the fragment. Yet Safrag felt only a very comforting warmth on his palm.
The tendrils twisted around one another. As the lead Titan continued to sing, they began to create a shape that made Safrag’s eyebrow arch in surprise. It was a dancing shape with arms and legs. The moment it formed, it moved with excited abandon.
And before Safrag’s eyes, it leapt into Falstoch.
A shuddering cry erupted from more than a dozen spontaneously created mouths. As they sank into the body, a dozen more formed, joining the cry. After them came only one, but that actually formed where a mouth should be.
Indeed, above the mouth was a nose not that different from Safrag’s. Above that nose and to each side of it, eyes of gold emerged from flesh that had taken on a slight azure hue.
Falstoch’s cry altered. It was no longer agonized, but full of primal pleasure. In great globs, the putrid flesh fell away and burned to nothingness. Behind was left a more defined and growing shape, one as tall as the observing Titan. Two distinct legs suddenly appeared, followed swiftly by a pair of sleek, muscular arms that developed sharp hooks at the elbows, and hands with long, tapering fingers ending in deadly, black nails.
Falstoch’s ecstatic cry echoed throughout the library, although Safrag’s magic had assured that it would not be heard. A satisfied smile revealing both rows of sharp teeth grazed the Titan leader’s face as the last vestiges of Falstoch’s torture faded away and a handsome Titan stood with arms outstretched to the ceiling.
“I am whole again!” Falstoch roared, flexing his fingers. He was naked, but in wonder at the transformation. “I am whole again …” He fell down on one knee before Safrag. Falstoch had a distinctive arch to his nose and his chin was narrower, but otherwise his face could have been the other sorcerer’s twin.
“Safrag! My life is yours! Command me, and I obey!” he sang.
Safrag’s smile did not fade, but in cold tones, he replied, “I would not be of such great cheer, Falstoch. It seems as if your redemption is to be short-lived. Observe your right hand.”
Falstoch glanced down at his hand. Where before there had been perfect, blue skin, a small area of deathly white had began to spread. “No!”
“Be not so disturbed by the briefness of it,” Safrag went on, as Falstoch discovered the same blemish stretching over the back of his other hand and on his chest. “It shows that the potential is there. Dauroth’s spell was incredible and likely the work of the High Ogres-”
“Safrag! I beg of you-do something!” Falstoch’s fine mane of hair-only recently sprouted-began to fall off. His form was bloating.
“You know the Fire Rose as well as Dauroth did. Quickly! Did you ever come across a reference to the Vale of Vipers?”
The other Titan’s body began to quiver as if ready to explode. One leg began to tremble, as if the bones within had turned to jelly.
“Vale … Vale … Yesss!”
The last traces of Falstoch the Titan dwindled away, replaced by the nightmarish thing that had first emerged from the wall.
Safrag eyed the Abomination without pity. “Thank you, Falstoch. What would you do for the chance to be whole again? For that, the Fire Rose itself must be mine.”
Aaannnnything. The voice that came from all around pleaded.
“And your fellow sufferers? Them too?”
Yyyyessss.
The Titan smiled, displaying his teeth. “Let us speak with them. I will tell all of you what you must do to redeem yourselves.”
VII
The hand reached Ben-ihm without interruption. The settlement had been an important way station during the height of the High Ogre civilization, but had since been virtually abandoned. Only when Golgren had become Grand Lord had the territory been repopulated at his command and resumed some importance.
Ben-ihm was surrounded by a gray stone wall built by the first of those sent by the Grand Lord to settle the region. Mountains to the west protected it from the worst of the winds, but the river that had flowed centuries ago had long ago dried up. Water had to come from the mountains, originally an arduous daily job until Golgren had borrowed from the engineering ingenuity of the minotaurs to bring water to the faraway settlement. Channels dug over the years-first by ogres, slaves, and later by ogres again-enabled the water that gathered in the cold heights to run down to where one stream would meet with another and another, until they formed a river that met another river, until all rushed along one of the greater channels that finally reached Ben-ihm.
The diversion of the valuable water supply from the mountaintops was one of the Grand Khan’s most under-appreciated successes. True, the inhabitants of Ben-ihm knew they could not live as well as they did without those channels, but the rest of the ogre realm considered such engineering feats as nothing compared to victories over a strong enemy.
Even Khleeg shifted impatiently atop his mount as his lord halted the column for a moment to admire the handiwork that had taken so much effort and more than a few lives to accomplish. Even his ancestors, Golgren felt, would have appreciated that kind of victory-at least more than those around him did.
Barech met them on the outskirts of the settlement, a stalwart contingent from his force peeling away to form an honor guard for the Grand Khan. Ben-ihm was not a vast place, and no building rose higher than four stories, but all the warriors and locals had turned out for what was for them an extremely momentous event.
“Grand Khan honors us,” Barech declared, proud of both the occasion and the excuse to show off his grasp of Common. Like many ogres of Kern descent, he had even tried to emulate Golgren’s appearance. Not only were his tusks filed down, but he had had his thick, brown hair oiled so that it bore a reasonable similarity to his lord’s own well-groomed locks. Unfortunately, Barech had a very ogre countenance, with a thick brow and so flat a nose that he almost looked as if he had none. His jaw was wider than average and thrust out as well.
Golgren acknowledged the fanfare. Right at the moment when they reached the rounded, clay-topped buildings that housed the warriors of the hand, he asked Barech, “Your fighters. They will be able to march tomorrow?”