The Fire Rose

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The leathery gargoyle fluttered unnoticed onto the top of the high, dusty ridge. It folded its wings tight behind it and, thrusting its beaklike snout just over the rocks, peered down at the sweeping tableau far beneath it.

Armored minotaurs ascended the ridge below in perfect martial order, their shields creating a wall before them that few weapons could readily penetrate. The seven-foot-tall, horned soldiers were clad in shining breastplates, sleek kilts and helmets designed to fit around their two-foot-long horns and their twitching, alert ears. On their silver breastplates and shields blazed the symbol of Sargonnas-the dominant god of their race-a stylized crimson condor with its wings spread as though in flight.

The gargoyle quietly hissed. Its blunt ears flattened. Even though it served a far greater power than the soldiers did, it was impossible not to be impressed by an army of thousands of such fearsome fighters.

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