The first hints of other races appeared also, the elves first and foremost. Compared to the High Ogres, the elves were portrayed as pale shadows, bland as compared to beautiful. Contrary to what many modern ogres thought of the elves, the relief gave no hint as to animosity between the races.
Golgren peered above, where the acts of the gods were recounted and portrayed. The ceiling was the sky, while the left and right walls reflected different aspects of High Ogre life. On one side was the physical aspect-the striving for perfection in both appearance and society. The other side showed the growth of magic as an essential part of the race.
“They believed there were no limits to their greatness,” Idaria murmured through veiled eyes, observing the depiction of a High Ogre who was busy creating a vast castle from dust.
Golgren found his gaze returning to the ceiling, to the gods. While some of them entered and exited randomly from affairs involving the race, a handful appeared to take long and definite interest in whatever the High Ogres were doing. Golgren recognized the mark of Takhisis growing more and more prevalent. She was not the only one, for there was her consort, the Uruv Suurt’s main god, Sargonnas. He was perpetually confronted by the other patron of the horned ones, the bison-headed Kiri-Jolith. The head of the bison was set against that of a fierce condor, Sargonnas’s emblem.
But there was another god always behind the other three, a god whose symbol kept changing but in a manner that was ever recognizable.
“Sirrion.” Golgren whispered to himself.
A sudden intake of breath from Idaria, followed by an unintelligible oath from Safrag, made the half-breed look ahead.
As ever, the golden figure hovered a few paces ahead, patiently waiting. But the other travelers stood frozen, eyeing the new and horrific tableau presented to them along their path.
The walls, floor, and ceiling before them were all scorched black.
Whatever burning force had struck in the cave had done so with a thoroughness most frightening. The rock had been melted smoothly away. All traces of the relief ended abruptly.
After contemplating the sight for a moment, Safrag muttered, “Move on.”
As they continued, so did their ethereal guide. Golgren rubbed his maimed wrist as he watched his animated hand, the signet thrust forward, act as part of the golden figure.
“Patience,” mocked the Titan. “The two of you shall be reunited soon enough.”
Golgren evinced no emotion. He was aware of the diabolical implication of Safrag’s promise. The Grand Khan could imagine a hundred monstrous ways in which the sorcerer might keep his word.
The gleaming form moved on and on, revealing the passage as a black, burnt place. Golgren sniffed the air, and even though he was certain that the scorching had transpired many, many lifetimes ago, there was still a hint of fresh ash, of bitter smoke.
“We are deep, deep in the mountain,” Idaria abruptly murmured to him.
The Grand Khan nodded. Someone had wanted the sanctum well hidden from everyone.
“Hold!” Safrag suddenly ordered. They paused, as did the golden figure.
The reason for the Titan’s command was barely visible ahead. For the first time in quite a while, they saw something besides a continuation of the burnt passage. Just noticeable at the edge of the darkness was a pale rock.
“Grand Khan.”
Golgren understood what Safrag wanted. The Titan was worried that the pale, green rock augured some kind of threat. Why jeopardize his own safety when there were others around to take the risk? Golgren would prove himself of value, or not.
As Golgren moved ahead of Safrag, their guide did too. What had only been glimpsed gradually revealed itself.
It was an arch. An arch carved to resemble hundreds and hundreds of fanged serpents wrapped around one another, rising up and around until they met those curling toward them from the opposite side. The entire arch was of the same faint green cast of color, although whether that had been the original hue, or if it had faded with the ages was impossible to tell.
As with the vast relief, the detail contained in the arch was phenomenal. Each serpent had individual scales, and all appeared to have closed eyes. Their sharp fangs bit into the serpent above, or their tails touched. Some were only a few inches long, others more than two feet. All were identical.
All were vipers.
“So,” mused Safrag. “The Vale of Vipers perhaps reveals the source of its name.”
Their guide stood just beyond the great arch, which was several feet in depth. Not bothering to wait for the Titan’s command, Golgren stepped toward the guide, into the arch.
Nothing happened. He turned and gazed expectantly at Safrag.
“Go,” the sorcerer ordered Idaria.
She solemnly traced Golgren’s footsteps. The Grand Khan watched her closely, but like him, she passed through untouched.
Safrag smiled. As he started to follow them, he said to their waiting guide, “Proceed.”
The golden figure moved on. Safrag stepped through-
A vast chorus of hisses echoed through the underworld, the sound so piercing that all three were forced to cover their ears.
The hissing was accompanied by a tremendous scraping sound. Golgren peered around, but could not detect the source.
Idaria found it. “Look there.”
Golgren and the Titan followed her outthrust finger.
The top of the arch was breaking apart. No, it was slithering apart.
The serpents were moving.
Golgren dragged the elf toward him. Safrag moved after the pair, only to have several of the vipers fall upon him.
As they landed, their bodies shimmered a deep emerald. The Titan roared with pain.
“Come!” the Grand Khan ordered Idaria. He stared ahead, turning away from Safrag’s predicament, not caring whether the sorcerer lived or perished.
The vipers coiled around the Titan’s limbs, torso, and throat. With a growl, Safrag seized the one around his throat and with hands that blazed blue, tore the creature in half. As he flung the two pieces away, they reverted to the pale, green stone again and cracked in pieces when they hit the ground.
But even as the gargantuan spellcaster quickly destroyed three of his tormentors, twice that number replaced them, the vipers dropping on him from various parts of the arch. Others squirmed and slid and slithered, seeking to break free so they could add their dark power to that of their brethren.
One clamped its fangs down on Safrag’s wrist. As he shrieked, another planted its fangs in his shoulder.
The Titan’s cries were music to Golgren’s ears, but he was looking ahead. The golden figure quietly turned its head toward the half-breed, as though beckoning him onward, but did not otherwise budge.
Golgren stretched his hand forward. The figure did the same, using the arm that ended with Golgren’s severed appendage. The Grand Khan did not hesitate. Seizing the hand and the signet, he tore them free.
The faceless figure reverted to a plume of flame, and faded away. However, the symbols on the signet still glowed, and when Golgren held the signet forward, their glow magnified.
Without another word, he led Idaria on. The sounds of Safrag’s struggle faded behind them, whether due to some end to the struggle or the acoustics of the passage, Golgren did not know.
As they raced along, Golgren paid little mind to the fantastic carvings and columns that lined the walls. The wonders of the High Ogres meant little to him, he who had an empire to lose. The Grand Khan had no doubt that events were taking place that threatened his reign. He needed to find the artifact and claim it for his own. At last he would have the chance to be rid of the Titans and his other foes.