In doing so, he discovered that the Fire Rose had not left him untouched. Caught up in the chaos, the half-breed had not wondered how he had managed to do so much in his own defense.
Golgren had two hands again.
With the one he had never lost, he reached into his tunic and sought the severed appendage.
It was still there.
With a mixture of muted pleasure and heightened suspicion, Golgren turned his new hand over. It was strong and lean, and when he flexed it, he could feel the muscles tighten. It was identical to the lost one save there were no scars from years of struggle. The skin was pristine, the hair smooth. Even his fingernails were perfect, more akin to those of some elf lord before the fall of Silvanost, than those of an ogre leader.
The Fire Rose had restored him. There was no other answer. Golgren studied his fingers, turned his wrist, and clapped his hands.
Idaria stirred. The elf coughed and opened her eyes. Recalling her conspiracy with Safrag, the Grand Khan hesitated, pulling back the hand he had been about to offer her-the new one.
She saw the hand and gasped. Quickly recovering from her shock, the elf reached up to tentatively touch the new appendage.
“It is real,” she breathed. “Did the Fire Rose give it life?” Before he could answer, the elf, studying his hand intently, suddenly shook her head. “No, it is new.”
“Yes, it is.”
“I wonder … How did it happen?”
He waved off her question, instead asking his own. “You served the Titan. Explain.”
She did not attempt to divert him. “He has my people. All those you gathered in the stockade for eventual release. He came upon me just as I was about to descend. Immediately, he told me the other Titans were going to use my people for their ends — unless I obeyed. He warned that you had no life, no future with which to still save my people. But he thought that I might be of some service in the future, so he promised that a few would join me in freedom if I followed his dictates.”
“And so you betrayed me, my Idaria?” When she did not reply, he nodded. “Fair enough.”
He extended the new hand to her again. The silver-haired slave paused but finally accepted it, with downcast eyes.
Golgren gripped her hand tight and brought her up. He nodded in satisfaction at the strength he felt in the hand. “Very good. Very good.”
The elf surprised him by responding, “Is it?”
He started to ask her just what she meant, when the Fire Rose ominously stirred to life once more. Golgren had done nothing that should have awakened its power.
“Above the altar!” the elf warned.
The sunburst was no longer merely a carving on the wall; it had become a living, blazing thing that was swelling toward the pair. As it did so, the chamber grew so hot that the two fell to their knees oppressed. Idaria clutched Golgren by his new hand while the Grand Khan fought to keep his head from swimming.
It was nigh impossible to see. Golgren’s vision was a hazy mass of shapes, worse even than during his flight with his mother’s body after the savage attack on his settlement by the Nerakans. He could no longer see anything but heat blurs. The altar and all its surroundings were enveloped by the sunburst.
But in the midst of the sunburst the half-breed thought he made out a figure. Struggling to stay conscious, he peered at the murky form. At first, Golgren thought it the golden figure, for it certainly bore a similar shape But this one moved more freely, as if extremely conscious of what it was doing. Indeed, for some reason, Golgren thought that it moved as if it were curious about its surroundings.
Oh, I’m so very sorry! an almost amused voice suddenly bellowed in the half-breed’s head. Is it a little too hot for you? I always forget how fragile all of you are.
As Golgren clutched at his pounding skull, the figure raised a hand. Suddenly the sunburst seemed to shrink into its palm, and the heat rapidly receded.
Slowly, Golgren and Idaria regained the ability to breathe without their lungs burning. The heat haze dissipated. They could see again. It was still very warm, but no more than any ogre-or even an elf-could tolerate.
As the Grand Khan and his slave recovered, it was to see a fantastic figure standing before them, a figure in no manner mortal. His semblance was part ogre, perhaps part elf, perhaps part human, and yet not at all like any of those. His face was long, angular, and white like the ash left by a great fire. The mane of hair framing his face was wild and unkempt, and its crimson color made it look truly afire. In fact, Golgren was not certain it wasn’t on fire, for it constantly moved like dancing flames even when the tall figure stood still.
And the eyes …
They were long and narrow. Where the eyes of the Titans were gold, the figure’s eyes were golden orange, fiery red, hot blue and even white-all the colors of flame, shifting as rapidly as any dancing fire. They were disconcerting to stare into, but Golgren could not help doing so.
It was Idaria who managed to break his gaze by tugging hard on his new hand.
He immediately returned his gaze to the strange figure, but did not look directly into its eyes. Golgren noted the orange-red robes that covered a shape thin to the point of emaciation, as if the astounding being had not eaten in years.
Indeed, its smile looked hungrier than that of any meredrake, so hungry that the half-breed wondered if the newcomer saw the pair as its next meal. The Grand Khan shifted into a more defensive posture. In the process, he accidentally looked again into the blazing eyes, and was once more caught by them.
As before, Idaria turned his face away. “Never meet his gaze, for there is little that can fascinate any mortal creature more than what he is.”
Golgren did not have to ask just whom-or what-she meant. An uneasiness filled the Grand Khan, for of all the gods that ogres paid cautious homage to, that was the one most dreaded. Even though he didn’t wear Takhsis’s mantle of evil, his unpredictable indifference was in many ways more deadly.
Sirrion.
XVIII
Wake up, cleric! Damn you!” Tyranos snarled. “Will you wake up?”
Stefan finally stirred. The wizard exhaled. Despite the irritation with which he regarded the knight of Solamnia, he owed him much.
The bearded cleric’s eyes opened. He blinked. “Where … What happened?”
“You saved my life, and I got us away Although where I’ve gotten us to is a damned good question.”
“What do you mean-”
Stefan stared. Tyranos said nothing, sharing the knight’s astonishment.
They were still in the mountains, that much was evident, but certainly nowhere near where they had been before.
The sight before their eyes — high above their eyes, to be exact-could only have been sculpted with the aid of magic or sorcery, for even dwarves would have been reluctant to risk themselves working at such high, treacherous angles.
“A castle?” Stefan finally managed to blurt. “Or some sort of citadel?”
“Your patron doesn’t tell you very much sometimes, does he? I was hoping you’d recognize that landmark since I certainly don’t.”
“I know nothing of it, save that I have a feeling it must have something to do with all that is happening to us.”
“A brilliant although truly useless statement.” The wizard helped him up. “Perhaps instead you can tell me just how you survived what that creature threw at me. And thank you for that, by the way.”
Giving the spellcaster a rueful smile, Stefan said, “If you would think before you go charging in like a bull, I wouldn’t need to act as I did. And, incidentally, I had no idea I was going to survive.”