So did the Dark Beast appear to mortals for the first time. And what a fearsome and awesome vision it was.
***
Night came upon Thebel. There was still a scent of daylight in the air. But one could not say if this scent was real, or a distant memory. For there was now no trace of light, not even in the horizon. Carmel-sun had departed to the other side of the world. And a thick wall of clouds, as gray as Ophir’s outer walls, covered the firmaments, so that no moonlight or starlight could reach the surface of the earth.
It was the hour of darkness.
From the clouds, rain came down. Not much, but enough to soak anyone who dared go out. And after a while, a fissure appeared in this heavenly wall. The light of Ararat-moon stretched through this foggy portal, and the silvery orb became visible once again—though not completely, for Thebel’s shadow partially eclipsed Ararat, obscuring the night even more, and giving a scarlet hue to the moon.
Ararat was not the only thing that became visible. A terrible sight the sentinels could see, by the dim light of the moon. And a thunder was heard in the distance. No natural thunder it was: For there were no bolts, and the roar came from below, not from above. Nay, the thunder came not from the storm, but from nephilin war drums, marching towards the Gilded City. This was what the sentinels saw, and what awoke Ophir on that fateful night.
In the meantime, night gave way to dawn. A fog came from the ground, as thick as the mist from above the firmaments. And the fog from below blended with the mist from above, hiding the lunar eclipse from mortal eyes. The fog condensed, and became opaque, and darkened, and swirled. Everyone in Ophir could now see it, both the guards at the outer ramparts and the crizia from her balcony atop the Sym-Bolon Mountain.
It was the Dark Beast, in all manners similar to the last shadows of the night. As Ophir awoke, so did the Beast. It could not slumber again before its bloodthirst had been sated. Its igneous stare scoured the horizon, its eyesight surpassing that of the birds of prey. The Dark Beast set its eyes on the Sym-Bolon, and a forked tongue of fire licked its blazing lips. It would not rest till the flames in its interior should overflow towards the Gilded City and consume it.
The crizia came outside the palace, wearing her armour for the first time. As a small giant did she seem, with her bronze helm and cuirass. Mighty as a logizkal did her limbs look, with her bronze vambraces and graves. Strong as a titan did she appear, with her bronze shield and sword. And there was nothing distinguishing her from one of her soldiers, but her size and graciousness, and a scarlet, feathery crest running down her helmet. But, for some unknown reason, her armour seemed to shine more golden than anyone else’s, as if Ophir’s very essence had impregnated the metal.
“It seems like the day is upon us, my captain,” she said to Amizdel. “Bring me down, so I may command my troops to their death and mine.”
“Nay, my lady. You shall defend the palace, a stronghold also in need of your strong leadership, for it is the last barrier to be overcome. I shall be the one down, at the first line of defense. Remember, it is you whom they seek; it is you whose death will give them triumph, and us defeat: For Ophir shall not outlive you, my princess. Also, you must protect Amozia, as you promised the pontiff.”
The nephilin army stationed itself to the west. They were still uncertain on whether to storm the main gate, or the weak point by the river Ergon. But the Dark Beast would not be constrained by such strategies. As swift as storm clouds swept by a mighty wind, the Beast circled Ophir’s outer walls three times. Thrice did it circle the walls, gales blowing from its invisible wings, fire blowing from its breath, its eyes darting all around, searching for the point where it could climb over the wall. Thrice did the Beast place its claws over the battlements, trying to leap over them. Thrice did it pull its limbs back, overcome by a great pain: Faris-Romil’s magic protected the walls and hurt its fingers. To rid itself of the burning inflicted by the enchanted rock, the Beast brought its fingers to its fiery mouth, cooling them with its burning saliva. Thrice the Beast roared a fearsome roar, sharp as a bat’s screech, loud as a thunder. There was pain in its cry, but also frustration and anger.
The Sphinx of the Spear saw the Beast and was most frightened. Never, in her long existence, had anyone affrighted her so. The drawbridge was raised, and the Sphinx of the Sword awakened, set afire by zeal. The Sphinx of the Sword flew towards the Beast, wielding her own fire inside her—but she was swiftly swatted aside as if no more than a flea. The Dark Beast’s wrath burned more intensely than anything the Sphinx could muster.
The Sphinx of the Lance was most afraid, and cowered at her tower. The drawbridge trembled and fell on its own, and the nephilin sang praises to the Dark Beast. They rushed to the city’s gate, before the drawbridge could be raised once again, as the Crizian Guard moved to defend the gate.
The Dark Beast was not content with such a puny victory. It swore vengeance on all the sphinxes protecting the walls which had hurt it so much. It flew towards the Sphinx of the Club and pummeled the bronze grid with its powerful fists. The sphinx strengthened the walls and grating with her magic, but the Beast’s strength seemed greater. The Dark One’s blows seemed to last for hours, as the nephilin battled the Crizian Guard by the gate. Time and time again, the Beast’s punches resounded through the grate, as thunder upon thunder.
At last a time came when the thunder acquired a new tone: more intense, and sharper, without ceasing to be guttural. It was the sound of rock cracking, the sound of age-old hardness turning to dust, the sound of ruin. The Sphinx of the Club fell, as did the tower upon it perched. The Beast ploughed through the remnants of the wall, throwing debris over its shoulders, panting from its burning jaws, till the wall had a breach big enough for the Beast’s full wingspan.
“Who can overcome such unfathomable strength?” the crizia murmured to herself, as she looked upon this ravenous assault. She had never felt so powerless in her entire life.
If before the nephilin sang the praises of the Dark Beast, now they remained silent in awe. Dirges and laments from Ophir were heard instead. Yet Amizdel rallied his troops, crying:
“What is our purpose here, but to defend the crizia with our very lives? Do you not see how our sweet lady fears for her life? Are we not going to rain war upon this Beast and this army, even if we die? Yea, better dead than to live as accomplices of murderers! To me, my comrades! To me! Today, we die for something greater than ourselves, standing for decency and honour!”
Few followed him, though. At that hour, fear was stronger than honour. Most of the Crizian Guard retreated, leaving the path open for the nephilin to plunder the city of Ophir. The pharaoh bit his lip with furious joy—victory lay within his grasp! The Dark Beast, as if one with him, also bit its lip with its knife-like teeth. It leapt over the city by the lakeside and flew over the lagoon. The world’s richest delicacy had just been served to it on a platter: The Beast now stood poised to devour the Crizian Palace atop the Sym-Bolon mountain.
Chapter
22
The Fall
Hurling itself forward on its mighty limbs, the Dark Beast sprang over the waves of the lake, and its paws brushed the sweet, fresh water of the lagoon. Where they touched its surface, the waters were dyed with a blackened hue, as with tar. The crizia’s court, atop the Sym-Bolon Mountain, saw the beast’s dark outline moving towards them. They heard its roar drawing nigh. And they feared for their lives. The crizia clasped her hands against her bosom, threw herself to the ground, and wept to Aigonz for clemency, for she could see her end before her eyes.
At that moment, by the bridge, the Golden Sphinxes awoke: The Sphinx of the Spyglass and the Sphinx of the Anchor, near the city; and the Sphinx of the Heart, on the far side of the bridge. Three pairs of eyes—sapphire, emerald, and ruby—gazed upon the Dark Beast crossing the lake alongside the bridge they guarded.
As they stared, beams of light issued from their eyes, peeling away the vapours of the Beast’s darkness, layer by layer. And th
ese blades of light slashed the Beast’s mighty limbs away. The Dark Beast’s head was sliced off, and swirled through the air, trailing fire from its gaping maw. Its torso vomited its burning contents through the hollow of its decapitated neck. And the enormous mass of the beast was halted and began to crumble apart.
There was a calamitous crash as the Beast’s massive body tumbled upon the waters of the lake. The watery casket entombed its corpse, with a choir of effervescent bubbles and foam singing dirges to it. As salt dissolves itself in pure water, so did the darkness composing the Beast dissolve into a fuming puddle of tar. And the fire within was doused in the freshness of the water and the breeze of the morn.
Ophir’s laments were quieted. Crizians and nephilin alike were struck silent in awe. Even the pharaoh himself was quiet for a few moments as well; but he was the first to break the silence. Beast or no Beast, Ophir’s walls had been breached and the lakeside city was theirs.
“Let not your spirits be crushed, oh mighty League of Nephil!” Skillotz cried, raising his invincible blade as a flag. “Do you not see victory is at hand? Behold! We have stormed the walls! Were they not what kept us outside, bewitched with foul magic as they were? Lies any other hurdle between us and the crizia? What is crossing a lake compared with what you already surmounted? Lo! There is the bridge! Let us cross it, for the might of the lake will not be greater than the might of the magic we overcame! It is Aigonz’s might you have vanquished, whence flows Faris-Romil’s magic! Let us tame lake and mountain as we tamed the walls! Go forth, my gryphons! Go forth and cross lake and mountain alike! Good riders, bring me the crizia’s head!”
Moruzio jumped on a gryphon with a squadron of warriors and set off to do his king’s bidding. But as they came near the lake, they saw that the three golden sphinxes were staring at them, and they feared they would be struck by their beams as the Dark Beast had been. So Moruzio called off the attack and retreated back ashore.
Skillotz was most displeased. He would not be denied! No, not when they were so close! If they could not cross the lake by air, then on foot they would cross the bridge!
The nephilin legions gathered themselves by the beach and funneled towards the bridge. The golden sphinxes looked upon them, and their eyes sparkled, but they did nothing. And the pharaoh’s armies began crossing the bridge. But Prince Sanquivio came to his father and said:
“It is not wise that you, in your eagerness to claim your rightful prize, turn your back on your enemies. Remind yourself, oh great king, that the Crizian Guards lay hidden in the alleys and basements of the city. There is also a breach in the wall from whence the Republic’s armies may enter and take us by surprise! You and Lamech should go ahead, as I and the Five Cities under my command protect you from the rear!”
Skillotz placed his fatherly arm upon Sanquivio’s filial shoulder, and answered unto him:
“I hear you, my son! Let it be done as you said.” And turning to his hordes, he commanded “Behold this bridge, for it is no mere bridge! It is your road to victory! Charge!”
The army marched as one by the pace set by the war drums. As they reached the middle of the bridge, their enthusiasm grew and grew. They could taste victory already! From marching, they broke into a run! In their passion, they paid no mind to the rumblings beneath their feet.
From the clouds, a downpour broke. So vigorous was the rain, it formed a curtain of water veiling each soldier from the comrades running right in front. Again, they heeded it not and kept running: Their fates were about to be fulfilled!
Soon all their laughter, and singing, and stride, gave way to a new sound—a sound which, though subtle, silenced laughter, singing, and stride alike. It was like unto to the creaking of a boat, flogged by the storm, soon to be shipwrecked. They knew that sound: They had heard it when the Dark Beast collapsed Ophir’s outer walls.
The bridge was crumbling under its own weight!
As they perceived calamity falling upon them, panic overtook them. Many turned back, and they clashed with the ones running right behind them. And the more they clashed, the more the bridge trembled, till there remained no solid ground on which to set their feet. The ground beneath them opened up and swallowed them. As they fell into the lake, their precious iron armours dragged them to the depths, and they drowned.
The pharaoh watched all of this from the shore. A great swathe of the Bar-Kain soldiers perished that day, devoured by the waters. Also, many from Tubal-Kain, and Iabal. Kings Garazim and Virzunz died, alongside most of their subjects. Only a fraction of Lamech remained, the ones who stayed behind at the nearest end of the bridge—and the soldiers from the Five Cities, since Sanquivio had ordered them not to cross. Moruzio had stayed with the soldiers of Bera, one of the Five Cities, for he was its vizier; so he too was spared. And Sanquivio survived, as he had requested his father to stay behind.
As if from a great distance, the prince heard Nod’s voice. Nod was not with him, but he seemed to hear the echo of her words which she had uttered a couple of nights before, for they had stuck in his mind: “I have read thy soul with these sylphic eyes of mine. Thou shouldst do as thine heart proposeth.”
The time he had so eagerly awaited for so many years had finally come! Sanquivio saw the low morale of his hosts, and tried to ride this low wave for his own purposes:
“Behold, behold wherefore Skillotz’s ineptitude has led us!” the prince cried.“Who needs ophalin for enemies, when we have this knave for a king? Who needs a head which leads the body towards destruction? Behold how your brethren tragically ended! Do you wish to perish so? Then follow the crown! As for me, have I not been a prince for all of you? Was my rule not favourable to the Five Cities? You know me, and know it to be true! You know my strength, you know my sceptre! All I lack is the crown, but does it not belong to a more rightful head? And to whom shall you give the crown, comrades? Only I have words of life within me; only I can save you!”
The armies heard him, and their hearts were set afire. They burned with passion for Sanquivio, with anger towards Skillotz. Warriors of all Five Cities placed their swords at Sanquivio’s disposal, and charged at his command against their brethren on the beach, seeking to push them against the lake.
“To me, my faithful, to me!” the pharaoh yelled, though he could not fully comprehend everything happening around him. “May my eyes deceive me, for I wish not to believe what I see! Resist! Be this betrayal or foul illusion, resist! Victory shall be by our side! Behold, Lauz-Ispariz, sword invincible! As long as it remains in my hand, I shall not know defeat!”
So he spake, and pointed his blade towards his new foes. Moruzio, with the forces of Bera, was one of the first to lay eyes on the sword. Remembering its prophecy, the captain scurried to the pharaoh’s side. The loyalists could boast of Lauz-Ispariz and Rubizioliz both. Fear lifted from their hearts. Skillotz saw this, and was filled with pride and courage. And for the first time, the pharaoh headed his own army, as he charged against the traitors before his warriors.
Never did Skillotz shine more than at that hour! There was no trace of cowardice in his brow! No second thoughts distracted him! One purpose alone animated his limbs: to lead his hosts to victory against those who sought to rain violence on them! To save the logizkal did he fight, and never again did he hide behind the might of his army! At that time, and that time alone, he was truly a king! Carmel peered behind the clouds, and Skillotz’s crown fulgurated, as oft happens with the ephemeral splendour of a dying star.
Both sides crossed swords for the first time. A dry clang echoed through shields and armour, like unto the ringing of funerary bells. Iron and flesh alike cracked and opened. And in the midst of the pharaoh’s struggle, his hands were stained with the blood of those he put to the sword.
The blood… At that moment, the blood’s lukewarmness running through his sword’s hilt reminded him of tasting that very same sensation many years before, when he murdered Kolinzio, whose blood ran through a dagger. But Pharaoh extinguished those memories: He w
as on the battlefield! This was not the time for dwelling in such thoughts!
As his mind returned to the heat of the battle, and he regained control over his limbs—which had been moving as automatons—Skillotz found himself near his son, the leader of the rebellion. Truly, that was no coincidence: Sanquivio was striding in his direction out of his own volition, for he desired to conquer his father by his own hands. But Skillotz could not yet face his son, or accept this most heinous treason:
“Do not draw near, Sanquivio!” the king yelled at him, and his voice cracked. “Behold Lauz-Ispariz in my hand! No mortal being can defeat me as long as she is in my possession, for she has so been blessed by Nod herself! If you come against me, you shall die!”
“I shall not die!” the prince replied. “That blade shall never hinder me!” And he spoke to Skillotz no more. Turning instead to his father’s sword, as if she had ears on her guard, he cried, “Oh Lauz-Ispariz, Thebel’s greatest sword! You surpass Aigonz’s very sword, the legendary Ziv-Ispariz! Hear my plea! For lo! Your blade has tasted blood for the first time, as a tongue dipping in a most sweet and tepid nectar! Your celestial iron delights itself on this most exquisite delicacy! This feast sating your thirst, oh splendid blade: When shall you know it again? Do you think this fool will feed you again once he sits on a most comfortable throne? Here you are served a bloody banquet, yea; but what of the fast you are doomed to endure afterwards? Can I not offer you better repasts? Think for yourself, and answer me, oh Lauz-Ispariz, the magnificent, you who have been forged with iron from the very heavens! Who do you reckon to be better suited to be your cupbearer? Who shall give you Ophir’s blood to drink? Crizia’s blood? Him or I?”
Skillotz thought to himself: My son has been taken by the madness! But then the pharaoh felt the steel of his blade trembling as a febrile maiden taken by lovesickness. With each of Sanquivio’s words, the sword weighed more and more in the pharaoh’s hand. Then both Skillotz and Sanquivio heard a voice, much alike Nod’s:
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