Tides of Blood by Richard A. Knaak

Author:Richard A. Knaak [Knaak, Richard A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fantasy, Science Fiction, C, D, a, e, g, F, &, m, l, o, n, p, s, r, t, y, .
ISBN: 9780786932511
Google: C-2DAAAACAAJ
Amazon: 0786932511
Goodreads: 279586
Publisher: Wizards of the Coast
Published: 2003-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

THE MINoTAURWABS —+

+_TIDES oi’ BLOOD —.—f.

Up close, its plumage looked a deep, deep crimson, almost the color of blood. The fiery crest atop the bird looked like an explosion of molten earth.

The ogres called the bird Sargor Jeka—That Which Is the Winged Blood of Sargonnas. Other races called it the fire bird, the Sargas hawk, and other names. No one but the ogres would have ever dared to attempt to keep the ferocious predators in captivity.

No one but the ogres used the species for ripping the truth from their prisoners.

The dire bird stirred as its handler brought it nearer to the bound figure. Its wings spread, revealing feathers with hooks at their ends. It squawked eagerly, and if not for the leather tether around its wicked, taloned feet, it might have leaped into the air.

The handler looked to Golgren.

The Grand Lord nodded.

One of the ogres took a different powder, a coarse, deep brown substance that he slathered over several of the prisoner’s cuts. The half-delirious ogre guard moaned slightly, but clearly he was too far gone, and the powder could no longer bother him much.

Then the handler took the hood off the bird.

The Sargas hawk beat its wings, straining to reach the bound ogre. It shrieked and protested when it could not, scratching and clawing at its handler ... who then released the savage avian beast.

The bird eagerly pounced on the prisoner. The ogre registered its presence, notorious throughout the realm, and cried out. The Sargas hawk buried its beak in one ripe wound, tearing away flesh and sinew as if seeking some hidden prize.

“Ki ya i Univ Suurt ib h’rkara?” asked Belgroch of the victim.

Fresh words started to pour out of the stricken ogre. He shouted, writhed, twisted, but the Sargas hawk maintained its firm hold by digging deep with its needlelike talons, gouging the already-ravaged flesh.

Golgren listened intently. He listened again to the tale, hearing subtle changes, truthful changes. Thanks to the Sargas hawk he now had a far better idea of what had happened.

From wound to wound the bird moved, feasting. The brown powder evoked the scent of the predator’s favored prey, the baraki. Sargas hawks especially liked the reptile’s fleshy head, which they cracked open after the kill with the aid of their hard, horny beaks. So fond were they of the baraki that the powder sent them into a frenzy. In the case of the present victim, that frenzy might have lasted hours.., though the ogre would certainly be dead long before the feasting was done.

But Goigren had heard enough. The prisoner had provided a good description of the attackers. Ragged kilts. Scarred bodies. Weapons ranging from rusted swords and makeshift spears to mere rocks and even empty fists. Some rode thick, sturdy ogre horses, but most marched on foot. A motley group, indeed.

“Ah ke!” he snapped finally. “Ah ke!”

But alas, his order came too late. The bound ogre gave a terrible shiver then grew still. The Sargas hawk continued its grotesque feeding, flinging gobbets

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