“You do his bidding and you do not even know it!” Beolan continued, inciting it and coaxing it all the while.
His tactics were working, as the ego of the snake was even bigger than he had imagined. As he suspected, the great power of the beast was matched in intensity by its pride and arrogance.
“Your destiny is to serve Caeltin d’Are Agenathea as is the case for all of those who ally with him. Did you think that you and he were partners? Did you presume that you were his equal?”
“I have my purposes, he has his!” the beast replied, still unconvinced.
“Ha!” Beolan snickered. “You do only what he wants you to do and no more. Do not flatter yourself,” he taunted. “Has he not even told you of the key?” he asked as ambiguously as possible while seeking to gather any information that he could from the unsuspecting monster.
“The key to what? The key to power no one need advise me of,” it replied, misconstruing Beolan’s question. “If it is a key to conquering this mountain, then I know more than he could about such subjects, and there are no doors in Crispen that I require a key to open, little one!” he boasted.
At least Beolan now knew that the Dark Lord did not inform it of his true purpose in resurrecting it. And thus, he could safely obviate the prospect that the key was in the Armadiel’s possession. He smiled inwardly, as the image of his father’s face passed across his mind’s eye. Relieved, he tucked the new information into the back of his mind for the present and focused once again on more pressing matters.
The cracks in the walls were becoming more numerous, and Beolan was quickly growing concerned that the sides of the passage would soon cave in on them if the rock continued to deteriorate in this manner. He needed to carefully weigh how far to push the beast before its anger brought the entire mountain down upon them. He was trying to lure the monster back down the passage way in the direction that they had come from originally, hoping that the dwarves had burrowed fast enough so that they could come upon him from behind and surround him as planned, and in that he was succeeding. He jumped from his stony perch to another and then to another, and each time Maringar’s possessed body slowly followed him.
“Silandre will not surrender to you, usurper,” he chided him. “This mountain has a soul of its own. It is elfin too, just like me!”
“It has already given itself up,” he replied confidently. “The resistance has practically ceased.”
“Never! You are wrong. Just as you let the Dark Lord delude you, so have you allowed your arrogance to blind you to the truth. Silandre is still alive,” Beolan said. “She is older than you, Armadiel. She is as old as time itself. Be on your guard.”
An inhuman growl roared from Maringar’s mouth. The beast was growing frustrated by the baiting, and the elf recognized that.
“You will be crushed like an insect in the dwarf’s body. Has your master not warned you? Silandre will collapse upon you before she surrenders!”
“I cannot die like that, little one. Let the entire mountain come down upon me. I am not afraid,” it responded. “I am not afraid of anything!”
“If his body dies, then you will suffer with it. Caeltin knows that. He sent another to do his dirty work once before. Silandre will trap you, like it trapped him,” he warned. “Take your chances if you are foolish enough not to heed my warning.”
“And why then would you tell me this? To assist me? Do you think that I am so simple?” it asked, but Beolan thought he sensed a note of doubt in the response.
“Because I would rather have you as an ally than an enemy!” he said, as he leapt out of the way of another falling stalactite. “Because I feel sorry for you. I have witnessed the fate of those who give of themselves to Caeltin. Though you have come here to kill me, I can still show mercy.”
“I am your enemy!” he bellowed. “Your kind and mine cannot live together! I will consume your soul and the souls of all others like you. We are opposites. Death to you is life to me!”
“And what of your master? Has he not told you what he wants of you? We are more alike than you and he are,” Beolan said with as sincere a tone as he could muster while cringing privately at the thought.
“He is not my master, little one!” the monster hissed. “He released me. That is all.”
“Do you wish to die then? Is death better than captivity?” Beolan asked, as he continued to retreat down the corridor. “Death is life, you say? Do you not know what death means to him? It is not what you think, Armadiel!”
“What I think, little one, is that you are trying to confuse me. She who imprisoned me is dead. He killed her. Your great trees are dying! That much I know. And your mountain will die too. I shall become the potency that guides it! It will be my instrument and it will resound with my tune!”
“You do not know what the Dark Lord seeks, then,” he said, as if some great secret had been kept from him. “Has your ally not told you of his deepest desires? Has he not shared the truth with you, since he is such a friend?” he continued to mock it.
“Power! We both seek power! I attain it by consuming the lives of those like you,” the Armadiel snickered.
“He seeks only death and dissolution! Dissolution, beast! Dissolution!” Beolan shouted. “Know you not what that means for you?” he asked, feigning disbelief.
“What is this word you speak of to me?” he replied. He had become curious now.
Maringar’s possessed figure was slowly and stiffly walking down the path, steadily following Beolan all the while as he spoke.
“Caeltin d’Are Agenathea has no interest in you. He is using you. If you hinder us here we cannot fight against him elsewhere. What bargain did you make with the Dark One? He did not respect you enough to tell you of his deepest desires? We cannot help to prevent him from destroying the world if we must fight you as well.”
“Why should I care what he wishes? Let him enjoy his power in his realm, and I will savor mine. He offered me Crispen.”
“And yet, it was not his to give. What did he really do for you? Or are you doing it all for him?” Beolan asked. “If he wins, you will perish too! Just like all the rest of us! Dissolution spares no one and no thing!”
“He cannot kill me. And neither can you, little one,” the Armadiel said.
“You truly are a fool, beast!” Beolan scoffed at it. “I can hear him laughing at you all the way from Sedahar!” he teased. “Listen and you will hear it too!”
“No one laughs at me!” it replied, and its ire was growing steadily.
“He is laughing. And so am I! He deceived you so easily! “ Beolan jeered.
“I said, no one laughs at me!” it roared and the chamber shook all around them. “Even you, little one,” it hissed.
Long arms of rock shot out from the walls and the floor menacingly in all directions, though they did not touch Beolan. The beast now sought only to impress the crafty young elf with his might. His pride compelled him unwittingly to seek Beolan’s respect.
“Are you dumb then?” he pressed him. “You do not know what dissolution really means? Go back to school, beast, if you know what’s good for you. Quit this mountain and learn what your fate will be. Dissolution means the end for us all, you included! That is what he craves. That is all that he desires. Power is a means. Dissolution is the end.”
The Armadiel was growing tired in Maringar’s body. It was feeling the fatigue of its host, and it knew that the dwarfs body could not sustain his presence much longer. And, it was also growing confused by Beolan’s constant questions and persistent jibing. It contemplated resuming its own shape and showing this brazen young elf the true and fearsome form of the Armadiel, and then putting an end to him.
“Your friend is dying, little one,” the monster warned him.
“Only cowards kill the unsuspecting, beast. Let him live. Show me that you have courage after all,” Beolan said.
“Show you my courage? To what purpose?”
“Because I doubt that you possess it. Because I
think you are scared and you could not bear watching me die whilst I still believed that!”
“You doubt my courage?” it bellowed. “Behold!” it said, as Maringar’s exhausted body collapsed heavily to the floor of the cavern.
Right before Beolan’s eyes, an enormous being sprang to life. It rose from the rock as if it was growing out of the stone itself. Countless black scales covered it from the top of its head to the tip of its tail, and each one gleamed and glinted even in the semi- darkness of the cavern. Though it was referred to as the Snake of Recos by some, it looked more like an animal than a serpent. It had two arms and two legs that terminated in long, sharp, menacing claws instead of benign fingers and toes, and it stood erect at least twelve feet in the air. Its head was huge and sat precariously atop a muscular neck that seemed to elongate and contract with each of the heavy breaths it took. The nose was broad and the nostrils were wide. Its eyes were almond shaped and very large, and when it blinked, the eyelids seemed transparent. The black pupils stared at Beolan even from behind the lids. Its mouth was well formed and human looking, and it seemed oddly out of place on its face. Behind its thin lips were two rows of pointed teeth, though none were large enough to appear dangerous. The tail was the only other characteristic that looked to be reptilian aside from the scales, and it moved back and forth threateningly across the floor, as it slowly swept from left to right. It was quite long and it reached nearly to Beolan’s feet as it arced across the surface, causing him to step back cautiously in order to remain out of its reach.
Beolan found it difficult to breathe for the stench of the beast was almost unbearable. Its body seethed with a menacing power, and the rock walls of the cavern mimicked it, sucking the air out with each compression and filling the chamber with the most putrid and suffocating smell Beolan had ever inhaled. He covered his mouth and nose with a scarf that he pulled from his pocket, but it did nothing to prevent the odor from reaching his nostrils. He saw that his friend was still breathing, and thanking the First, he bent down and placed his gloveless hand on the dwarfs burning forehead.
You are on fire, my friend. I am not a practiced healer, but I know l can help you somewhat, he reflected quickly.
Beolan sent what healing energy he could to his friend, and he felt him stir if only slightly. He helped him to his feet and put his arm around his shoulder.
“He will not die! I left him soon enough,” the Armadiel said, as he easily read the elf’s thoughts. “Courage, you say I lack? Observe then how I let my enemies live,” it boasted. “I can kill you both later if I choose to. I have no fear of you, little one,” it said, as tentacles of stone danced around Beolan, skimming his ankles and causing him to cringe at the touch.
“You are truly magnanimous, beast,” Beolan said, though he was completely repulsed by the appalling feeling of violation. “It is a shame that you were not strong enough to defend yourself against Caeltin’s domination.”
The Armadiel roared again, only this time it was his own lungs that generated the sound, and it was so loud that it almost burst Beolan’s eardrums.
“I am led by no man!” it howled.
“Then why are you here? What do you want with Silandre and Crispen?” he asked.
“The water, little one. I want the water,” it replied. “I crave it. It is among the purest in all the land. That was the deal that I made.”
“There are other well springs in other places where no one resides. Surely one must be just as good. Why must you destroy my land?”
“What do I care for you and your people?” it replied. “The source here is limitless.”
“It is not limitless. It freezes in the winter. The falls turn to glistening icicles, and the lakes become so hard and thick you can build upon them. You are one who covets the warmth, are you not? The legends speak of you so,” Beolan said.
“Your legends speak of me?” it asked. Its black eyes opened wider than before and rolled upward in satisfaction.
“Perhaps I am mistaken,” Beolan said. “When our books refer to the Armadiel, they describe it as one who thrives in the water, not upon it. They speak of a beast who moves gracefully beneath the surface.”
“That is me, little one. I prefer the water to the land,” it replied. “The legends describe me correctly,” it said, and it puffed its chest out and elongated its neck proudly. “But the water here runs deep.”
“I see,” Beolan nodded. “He did he not tell you then of the extent of our weather changes here, I should have guessed. For half of our year, the water does not flow and the snow falls without a break.”
“Snow?” it asked as if the word were unfamiliar.
“Yes, snow. It is like frozen rain that falls heavily from the sky, though it accumulates everywhere upon the surface and does not melt away until the spring. The higher up the mountain we climb, the deeper it gets and the colder the air remains.”
A shiver ran down the spine of the beast and it shook the entire chamber.
“Here within the caves, the air gets so cold that when I breathe, the moisture in my breath freezes as I exhale. I cannot even come up here in the depths of winter. I would die. Are you accustomed to the cold?” he asked innocently, knowing that the Armadiel was born in the molten depths of the earth.
“Cold?” the Armadiel repeated as if this word too was unknown to it.
“Sedahar is warm. It is in the south. Perhaps Caeltin forgot how different the weather is here,” Beolan replied innocently.
The beast snorted his derision and everything shook once again. Maringar lifted his head weakly and looked at Beolan. He nodded to indicate that he was alright, and the elf acknowledged him with relief.
“You did not lie to me, beast. My friend lives,” he said to the Armadiel.
“Why need I lie to you, little one? I told you that my courage is great and that I have no fear of you. Have I not proven that?” it asked, and it seemed as if it was almost seeking Beolan’s approval. “There will be time enough later to dispose of you both if I so choose.”
“The legends depict you accurately. Your courage may indeed match your wisdom,” Beolan replied.
The beast appeared to be almost smiling to itself, childishly flattered by the elf’s praise, and distracted enough not to realize that he was leading him further and further down the path. It was so preoccupied by the praise that it paid scant attention to what was happening around it. Beolan could hear a different sound now resounding throughout the passageway, that of picks striking stone, and he knew that he was getting closer to the others, but the demon was deaf to all but Beolan’s flattery.
“Are you courageous enough to leave us be? Could you walk away from Crispen now? Do you fear the wrath of the Dark Lord?” he asked.
“I told you, little one, I fear no one,” it replied. “But why should I leave? I am enjoying this. And I will enjoy it even more when I destroy you and your city as well. I can depart later if what you tell me proves to be true.”
“You will ne’er be allowed to leave. You made a bargain with him; Crispen for your freedom. If you do not destroy us, he will send you back to whence you came. And if you do, he will never let you leave here. You will die once again in this mountain, only this time it will be for all eternity. He wishes to rend the whole cloth, and put an end to the weave forever.”
“He is not so powerful as that. You give him more credit than he is due,” the Armadiel replied. “Your fear should be of me, little one. You and yours will not live to contend with the Dark Lord. I will see to that. You have captured my attention but your words cannot change what I must do. ‘Tis a shame that your scribes will ne’er have the opportunity to write the legend of the Armadiel and the mountain it conquered in your books.”
Maringar and Beolan had finally retreated to the point where they had overtaken the burrowing dwarves. They could practically hear them behind the walls. As planned, the tunnels had been dug around and behind the main passage that Beolan, Maringar and the Armadiel had been walking do
wn. With the cooperation of Silandre, the rock and soil responded to the picks and axes willingly and practically fell away at their touch, thus allowing them to progress at greater speeds than even they anticipated.
As the elf and the dwarf emerged into the larger chamber where they had planned to converge, they came to a halt. There was now only a thin wall of rock on either side of the cavern that kept their fellow dwarves and elfin bowmen separated from them and the beast. The barricades of rubble had been rolled into place right up against it and the men waited anxiously behind the last row of dwarves. The timing was as perfect as they could have hoped. Once the stone was breached, they could begin their attack.
“The fabric weaves of its own will, Maringar,” Beolan whispered to his friend. “We have come far enough now.”
“Just in time, it seems. The demon grows restless,” he replied weakly.
“I have enjoyed our little talk immensely, but all things must come to an end at some point,” the beast hissed. “He has given me life once again. I am afraid that what you have to offer cannot match what he has already done, and what he can yet do. We are too different, you and I. Sadly, I am more akin to the Dark One, and that is why, although it is truly a pity little one, I must kill you.”
Beolan stood with his back against the wall and pressed the palm of his hand to the surface. He could feel the vibrations behind it, and he knew that the men had accomplished their task. He signaled to Maringar to assume the same stance on the opposite wall. The Armadiel had been so distracted by the conversation and it was so enamored of the moments of flattery that it never even sensed the presence of the others in the adjacent passages.
“I can offer you one final opportunity to renounce him and to leave Crispen,” Beolan said. “This will be your only chance to prevent the sundering and save your own life.”
“Or you will shoot one of your arrows at me? Or perhaps your friend will hit me with his axe?” the beast snorted derisively. “Though it pains me, the time has come, little one.…”
The Shards Page 34