The marks of each Titan glowed blue, but never the same blue as any of the others in attendance. As one, the ten knelt around Safrag, who kept the body of Ulgrod at a point beyond life but not yet true death. Were it his desire, Safrag could still save the one whom he had grievously wounded.
Instead it was Ulgrod’s blood that Safrag sought to save-save and use. He had followed a clear line of thought over the past few days, and his thoughts were racing. So much magic existed in the elixir, enough to make of brutish ogres towering, flawless spellcasters like none ever seen on the face of Krynn.
Would not the very blood that flowed through them, the former apprentice reasoned, be capable of fantastic feats?
There had been only one way to find out and be certain, and the allure of the Fire Rose had been enough to sway the rest of the inner circle. After all, none of them would have to give up their blood.
Those who were not of the Black Talon would not learn Ulgrod’s true fate, only that he had made a great sacrifice in the search for the fabled artifact. Ulgrod’s death meant the meager supply of elixir would last that much longer.
The assembled sorcerers held their palms toward Safrag. They slowly thrust them forward, and as they did so, the glowing marks floated not to the lead Titan, but rather on an angle upward, toward the obsidian dagger.
As they willed it, the other Titans also began singing with one voice. There were no words to their song, only tones. The tones grew stronger the closer the magical symbols came to the blade.
And when the marks touched the bloodied tip of the blade, they seemed to be sucked within as if slipping into the middle of a vortex. The Titans groaned, and their wordless song took on a harsher, demanding tone.
Safrag murmured as the others sang. As he did, various symbols appeared around him, and faded away. Each was a tinier representation of the marks of the others, among them Ulgrod’s. Like miniature stars, they flared to life, glittered, and glided over Safrag and the frozen form before dying.
Safrag lowered the blade. The other sorcerers immediately quieted.
It had been his original intention next to bleed himself with the ensorcelled blade, mingling the power of sacrificed Titan blood with the magical essence of his own greatness. Through that technique, Safrag believed he could elevate his skills to a point where he could perhaps see beyond the ancient High Ogre wards hiding the Fire Rose in the wilderness. Were it to work, there would also be no more need of Golgren.
But Falstoch’s report suggested another, safer path to his goal. The signet had proven itself bound to the resting place of the Rose. That meant he could turn the smaller artifact into a guide for the spellcasters, not the half-breed.
Bringing down the dagger, Safrag touched its point to the symbols on the signet.
A great plume of flame burst from the signet. Startled, Safrag dropped the ring.
An ear-rending hiss filled the chamber. The flames burned such a bright orange-red that even the blue-skinned Titans took on its hue.
“No one moves!” commanded Safrag.
The flames rose above the signet, spun, and whirled. As they did, limbs-golden limbs-grew from the plume.
A figure of gleaming metal formed from the fire. The flames sank within, utterly disappearing.
The golden figure had no face, no other features. It did not turn to Safrag, but rather stared off in another direction.
It was Morgada who recognized what was indicated. “He stares in the direction of the vale! I am certain of it!”
“But we know that much already!” snapped another Titan. “For all that, for Ulgrod’s use, there must be more!”
“So there must.” Safrag, defying the nearby presence of the golden figure, stretched down to seize the signet.
The figure reshaped, the front facing the Titan leader. Safrag paused, but the figure did not otherwise move.
With more confidence, the Titan straightened. He dared put the ring on.
“Show me!” he demanded of the gleaming figure. “Show me where to seek the Fire Rose!”
The golden figure made a sudden cutting gesture that caused the other Titans to push back in surprise. In the wake of the movement of its arm, a trail of flames briefly flared across the air toward the Titan Leader.
Both Safrag and the golden figure vanished.
Morgada and the others leaped to their feet. As they did, Ulgrod’s body, no longer held by Safrag’s magic, finished collapsing into a bloody pile. The gruesome sight was all but ignored as the sorcerers stared at the place where their leader had last stood. All that remained to mark Safrag’s presence was the dagger, which Morgada finally picked up to show the others.
“It’s clean of blood,” she informed the others.
They all stared at it for a moment, the truth of her words obvious. The female Titan finally glanced down at Ulgrod himself, and gasped.
The others followed her gaze and repeated her exclamation.
Ulgrod’s robes were lying there, not in the least stained. Of the Titan himself there was nothing but a burnt outline.
XIV
Golgren ran his fingers over the carving in the wall, seeking to determine its meaning. With no light by which to see the High Ogres’ work, the Grand Khan tried to identify the various markings from memory of what he had seen before.
Golgren glanced into the dark behind him, whispering, “You are well, my Idaria?”
“I am, my lord. Thank you for binding the wound.”
“We may have need of your precious blood again.” Continuing his inspection of the wall, the Grand Khan remarked, “A fascinating idea that an elf’s blood could be so poisonous. The Titans are daring indeed.” Golgren did not ask Idaria how she had found the dagger. That was the least of his interests.
He sensed her step closer to him. “What may be poison to one may also give life, depending on how it is ministered.”
In the dark, the slave’s outline was barely discernible. “It is true that those monstrosities were of the Titans?” He had suspected that the creatures served the sorcerers, but something in what Idaria had said made him think perhaps they also had a blood relationship. “Like Donnag.”
“Like Donnag, yes.” But something in her tone lingered in the air like a question.
“And can elf blood help guide us out?” he asked Idaria.
“It cannot,” Idaria replied solemnly. “When I dared cut myself, I did so only because of some knowledge I had involving the use of blood and the transformation of the creatures who do the bidding of the Titans. I took a chance that it would work.”
She offered no other explanation. The Grand Khan did not care. He was concerned about getting out of that place alive.
They could have returned down the passage through which he had first traveled, but Golgren knew that he would find only another dead end. Perhaps Idaria knew a way. “How is it you were able to come to the tunnels? Did you follow me through?”
Idaria was silent for a moment before replying, “I searched for more than two hours to find a way in at the precise location where you vanished, my lord.”
“Two hours? So very long? And the creatures. You recall when you first saw them?”
“Barely a minute before I dared take a chance and drew the blood.”
“A curious shuffling of time,” he remarked, thinking. “It is not. Perhaps … Ah!”
They both stepped back as a golden glow erupted from the area Golgren had just touched. The half-breed and the elf watched as the glow spread like fire throughout the entire life-sized relief.
In the growing light, Golgren glanced at his hand. There were no traces of blood upon it, as he had thought there would be. The Grand Khan had been certain that some remnant of the elf’s blood was responsible for the flaring light.