Khleeg glanced at the three warriors, all born of old Kern, not old Blode, as he was. To his mind, those of old Kern did not have the sharp sense of smell he and their other cousins had, which might be the reason they showed no apparent concern at the moment.
“Beware-” he started to mutter.
Their attackers came at them from all sides. They caught the three warriors behind Khleeg entirely unaware. Swords at their throats forced the trio to surrender their weapons.
But the pair that thought to take Khleeg found themselves with their hands full. He had no doubt his companions would be given the chance to swear fealty oaths in the name of Atolgus, but there would be only one fate for him: death.
Worse, Rauth would no doubt take pleasure in drawing out that death with whatever tortures he thought would force secrets from Khleeg’s mouth.
The two scouts from the larger force-they could be nothing less-tried to force him back against a large rock. One of their companions broke away from guarding the other prisoners to join their efforts. Slowly, they maneuvered Golgren’s second in common into a precarious position.
“Surrender!” one growled in passable Common.
“Surrender?” he snarled back, gasping for breath. If not for the lack of water and food, he would not be so hard pressed. “I am Khleeg! I do not surrender!”
The one who had spoken faltered. He pulled back from the fight. “Khleeg?”
The Blodian took the opportunity to lunge at one of his remaining adversaries. He stabbed the scout in the arm, forcing the other ogre to drop his sword.
“Stop!” roared the first scout, dragging the others back. “Stop!” Once the pair had withdrawn behind him, he eyed the Grand Khan’s officer. “You are-Khleeg? The Hand of the Grand Khan?”
Khleeg had heard others refer to him as such, although never within the hearing of Golgren. His weapon held before him, he retorted, “I am his hand, that will slay all enemies.”
The scouts exchanged odd looks, and the speaker suddenly went down on one knee. “Great Khleeg, my neck is bare!”
The scout bent his head down so that Khleeg could easily have chopped it off. The other pair followed suit.
His mind racing, Golgren’s second in command demanded, “Your commander! His name!”
“Syln.”
Khleeg knew Syln well. He was a loyal follower of Golgren.
He was also one of the commanders of the forces protecting Garantha. “Why is Syln in the region? Does he hunt Rauth?”
The scouts looked up, their expressions perplexed.
“Why is Syln in the region?” Khleeg repeated impatiently.
“We are ordered. Wargroch sends us to Varuus Sha.”
“Varuus Sha is not that way! You lie!”
The lead scout shook his shaggy head. “Wargroch sends us there! But Syln commands we march elsewhere. The others, they are marching to Varuus Sha, but Syln insists that way. Says we must find the Grand Khan. He must return to Garantha.”
Khleeg halted his explanation. He understood Syln’s dedication to Golgren, but something he heard astonished him. “Others? Syln’s hand is not the only one to march from Garantha?”
Again, the scout shook his head.
“How many?” the officer roared, growing frustrated with having to peel each bit of information from the warrior. “Two? Three?”
“All four! All four march are ordered to Varuus Sha!”
“All-” Khleeg growled furiously. Wargroch could not be that naive! He wouldn’t have gone against Khleeg’s command! He could not have emptied the capital.
“Fool!” Khleeg muttered, thinking of Wargroch. The young officer had been ambitious, determined to rise to the level of respect that his brothers had earned from Golgren.
Sheathing his weapon, he roared, “You! You lead me to Syln!”
Wargroch still had the city’s guard. Protected by the high walls, that guard could keep any traitorous force temporarily at bay. Khleeg had to turn Syln and his troops around, and get them back to the capital as soon as possible. Garantha would be safe again and ready for its beloved Grand Khan’s return.
Assuming that Golgren still even lived.
XVI
The Titans were without Safrag. But for the planned event their leader was not needed. He had set in motion a number of plans and left several events in the hands of his apprentice-Morgada-and various other members of the Black Talon.
No one had discussed the master’s abrupt departure as anything but temporary, although some of the Black Talon secretly contemplated what would happen if he never returned. Some assumed that, if Safrag disappeared, Morgada would take over the reins of leadership, at least for the time being. Others-the Titans still being ogres despite their exulted status-could not see a female as their leader. Thus they watched for any sign of weakness on her part, any failure that could be used against her, should a struggle for power take place.
Morgada knew the hostility well, and so she kept a sharp eye on everything as she prepared to launch Safrag’s great spell.
They gathered in the mystic forest surrounding their sanctum, for the nature of the spell demanded more room than even the most vast of the citadel’s chambers could offer. More than two score of Titans created the complex pattern that involved a star within a star, flanked by three sickle moons. The matrix of the spell involved a binding of powers rarely used by even the Titans, which was why so many had been summoned.
Some of them had not come without protest. The time was nearing when more than a few would be in dire need of the elixir. Those not of the inner circle had no idea that there was not enough remaining for all of them, or that the Black Talon would certainly make sure that they were the ones to imbibe first.
In the end, their need for the elixir overcame their dislike of the shadowy forest, where even in daytime it often seemed dark as night. They stood in a clearing that all knew had not been there before the ceremony, and yet looked as though it always had existed. The magic of the domain that Dauroth had created was such that the forest changed as willed-and occasionally as it seemed to desire.
The sky was shrouded by mist as the sorcerers went through a moment of meditation before beginning. Morgada guided the efforts, her form faintly glowing blue. The sorceress’s eyes were shut tight, and to all appearances her chest did not even rise and fall.
At the moment she sensed all were ready, the fatally beautiful spellcaster gazed upon those surrounding her and at two members of the Black Talon in particular. She slowly raised one hand to shoulder level, and the others opened their eyes in unison with the action.
Morgada turned her palm upward, and a black vial materialized in it. Only she and the other two from the inner circle knew that the blood contained therein had been taken from the sacrificed Ulgrod. The rest assumed that it belonged to the mythic stockpile of elf blood that Safrag supposedly kept in storage for creation of the elixir.
A stopper shaped like the head of a Titan popped off the squat vial and floated in the air. Tendrils of red and silver energy rose from within, seeming to dance above the opening.
Morgada sang a magical note. The tendrils wrapped around one another like intertwining serpents, and became a scarlet mist that rose up to join that of the forest. The Titans’ surroundings suddenly took on a crimson hue.
Morgada turned the vial over, letting the contents spill out. However, it did not simply form a puddle on the ground, but instead spread to every one of the sorcerers. Despite the vial’s relatively slight size, the magical blood had no trouble creating the entire required pattern. Deep red lines ran from one Titan to another, and each time one segment was completed, the blood flared to brighter life. The vial’s flow only ceased when the entire pattern had been recreated.