The Shards (7 page)

“As I walked, I could have sworn that the walls of the cavern were expanding and contracting. They seemed to be alive, as if the mountain was breathing,” Beolan remarked. “The air wreaked with the odor of death and decay. I could barely breathe it in. In addition, all the surfaces were coated with a vile slime that burned the skin upon contact. I even found it difficult to maintain my footing. Bones littered the area, some quite large in size, and all of them were picked perfectly clean as if the flesh had been boiled off of them.”

“Great temperatures can cause such things to occur,” Maringar said.

“Aye, they could at that. And I am sure that much of the destruction within the caves was caused by the fires and heat,” he agreed.

“I have witnessed a sundering of the bowels of the earth by quakes within my own land, and in some cases liquid fire has erupted from the cracks and crevices. It can be so intense that it melts the rock itself!” Maringar said.

“It is no mere quake that disturbs the foundation of Silandre,” Beolan said. “Quakes do not howl and quakes do not screech,” he said gravely. “Quakes do not leave a putrid residue behind. Whatever is threatening our land is alive, I am afraid. Something horrendous has taken up residence in the bowels of our beloved mountain!”

Bristar took a deep breath and expanded his chest. He raised his head high and cleared his throat, causing the other two to cease their conversation.

“He has awoken the beast!” Bristar whispered. The old King’s eyes were now focused and bright.

Both Beolan and Maringar stared at him keenly.

“The beast, father? What beast do you speak of?” Beolan asked incredulously. “Why have you never mentioned this to me before?”

“I dared not mention it. Those who are old enough would sleep ne’er more if they suspected. We have not spoken of it in tiels,” he replied, still in a hushed voice though no one except the two young men was near enough to overhear his words. “It can be none other than the beast of legend, the creature that was exiled from the underworld itself!” he said, wringing his hands unwittingly. “He has resurrected the Armadiel, the bane of life, the demon of demons. In the deepest chambers of my heart, I feared that such was the case. When the reports first began to reach me, I refused to accept the possibility. But now, I am certain,” he said forlornly. “Think back, Beolan. You will recall the tales from when you were a child, though you may have chosen to forget them.”

“The Snake of Recos?” Maringar asked astonished, recognizing the reference.

“The same!” the King replied. “And may the First protect us all!” he exclaimed.

Beolan had never seen his father so anguished. He seemed to be growing older right before their very eyes. Bristar’s demeanor grew more humbled and more circumspect with each word that he spoke, his head bowing slightly lower and his shoulders stooping deeper and deeper. The vibrant, healthy elf suddenly looked timeworn and frail.

“The great books speak of the archfiend,” the King said in a weaker voice than before. “There was a poem about this monster that as a child chilled me to the bone. It does so still. My father recited it to me in order to teach me a lesson one day,” he smiled an ironic smile as he remembered that moment so many ages ago. Immediately thereafter, his face became stem and troubled again. “To this very day, I can recall the effect it had upon me. Listen closely now,” he enjoined the two young men, and then began to recite in a subdued and serious voice.

“His body seethes, it does not breathe,

His soul is black and cruel

He sits upon his throne of tears,

and contemplates his rule.

No living things dare go too near,

Their fear is strong and true,

For he is the bane of life itself

All fear him but the fool.

The Armadiel has come to dance the dance,

To spread his hands and challenge chance,

To cleave the thread of happenstance,

To cast his net upon the sea,

To gather the souls of the brave and free,

Too blinded by the light to see,

Salvation’s secret silver key.

For those of you who think you know

What evil is, where hatred grows,

Where pain begins, when pity dies,

The transgression that you recognize,

The broken vow, a trust decried,

The anguish of loss, your love defied,

What suffering means when hope has died,

The difference between truth and lie,

Beware the beast!

He comes for you,

And all of those whose aim is true,

Your world to sunder,

Your heart to still,

To gather the cloth in his hideous hands,

To rend the weave ‘till nothing stands,

And all that is alive, to kill…

And all that is alive to kill!

When he finished, he bowed his head and did not gaze at either his son or Maringar. His breath was unsteady and he suddenly looked ancient, standing before them shriveled and small. Beolan was shaken by his father’s reaction, and although the words of the poem disturbed him too, his father’s transformation unsettled him even more.

He walked the few paces between them and placed his arm around Bristar’s shoulder. He spoke to him in a soothing and comforting tone, and as he did so, he sensed a subtle change in the fabric, a passage of sorts, from one phase to another, and it caused him to stumble upon his own words for an instant. He no longer felt like a child before this great man. The roles he had accepted since he was a young man had shifted in a matter of moments. Simultaneously, he felt a great burden descend upon him like a mantle of steel, but his body tensed and strengthened in response. His heart began to beat faster as he stood beside the King.

“Father?” he whispered. “It will be all right! We will conquer the beast!” he said to him confidently. “The dwarves know how to find it, and Maringar and I will journey at their head. Together, we will purge our land of the Armadiel!”

Bristar shook his head slightly as if to awaken himself from the nightmare he had become preoccupied with.

“Yes, my son. Yes,” he replied, and he lifted his bright blue eyes to meet those of the strong young man who stood before him. “I am certain that you will,” he said, though his mind was clearly elsewhere still.

“Come, father. Let us return to the palace. We have been standing here for far too long. You need to get some rest now,” he urged him. “We will discuss our plans later, after you have had an opportunity to lie down and refresh yourself.”

The young Lord briefly turned to the men waiting expectantly before the sheer slope of Silandre, and signaled for them to stand down. Facing Maringar next, his eyes bespoke all that needed to be said, and he merely saluted the stalwart dwarf.

“Shall I join you, Beolan?” Maringar asked, not wanting to intrude upon the moment yet anxious to assist in any way that he could.

“I would be honored if you would,” he replied, bowing his head slightly in his direction.

Maringar tersely whispered something in the ear of his aide before approaching the two elves.

“If I may?” the dwarf asked, as he placed his stout arm around Bristar’s hunched shoulders.

“Certainly,” Beolan responded warmly.

Together, the two fast friends supported Bristar and guided him away from the assemblage of warriors toward the city gates.

Chapter Seven

“Make haste now! We are almost there,” Robyn urged.

They could see the plains spreading out in the distance just beyond the trees as they spurred their horses anxiously ahead in the early morning hours. Calyx bounded out of the nearby hedge and joined Filaree, Robyn, Cairn and Davmiran. With the elder Chosen in the lead, they left the shelter of the forest and made their way cautiously across the open fields that led all the way to the gates of Parth.

After escaping the horrors in the forest beneath Seramour, Robyn dar Tamarand led his companions to an abandoned shrine midway between Seramour and Parth that had been their home for the past three weeks. Warded and vigilantly protected by Robyn, the crumbling building served their purposes well. Not a person had visited it in two tiels before they arrived. The Lalas to whom it had been dedicated had died quite some time ago, and the people in the surrounding towns and villages avoided the entire area due to the grievous memories that the place invoked, as well as the fear and anxiety that close proximity to the remains of one of the great trees caused.

The sadness at the passing of Adones, one of the first of the Lalas to depart the earth, was pervasive and exacting. After more than two tiels, anyone who knew the tree or even knew of it, was still overcome by melancholy whenever he or she neared its former abode. The air itself hung heavily with gloom, like the moss that drapes the weeping branches of the ferion trees in the southern marshes. It was so obvious that one could practically see it, and the effect it had on any passerby who unwittingly stumbled into the area was so profound that the entire vicinity was scrupulously circumvented.

The shrine itself was sundered and in ruins, but beneath it lay a small living area that was still completely intact. Robyn had visited this particular shrine a number of times in the past, and he was aware of the existence of the subterranean chamber. It was actually a small complex of rooms that had been constructed many tiels ago for the Chosen who came to pay their respects and spend a few days or weeks or months in contemplation. When the Lalas died and the shrine fell into disrepair, the rooms below remained undisturbed. Few travelers ventured near such unwholesome spaces as this one.

They departed the shelter of the shrine upon the rising of the sun a day ago, and they rode all day and all night long. As they neared the border of the woods, they made camp if only for a few hours. They all believed it would be better to approach their destination during the new morning hours, rather than under the cover of darkness. They waited until the light of the moon and the burning embers of their campfire ceased their competition, and finally surrendered to the supremacy of the rising sun.

“It will be wonderful to sleep in a bed once again,” Filaree sighed.

The group had been riding for only a few hours on this day, though they had been on the road for a long time. Already, the trees were thinning out and the ground beneath their horse’s hooves was becoming flatter and easier to traverse. What appeared to be a path, though not a well-worn one, meandered through the woods, and they followed it.

“And I was just getting used to my pallet,” Cairn replied sarcastically.

“Yes, I am sure you were,” Filaree quipped. “I could tell by how easily you rose each morning.”

“Was I that obvious?” he smiled.

“It was not the stretching and groaning as much as it was the stomping of your feet to begin the circulation that gave you away,” she said.

“I was unaware that I had an audience. Should I be flattered or mortified?” he questioned.

Calyx growled affectionately at Cairn, and the scholar leaned over and kneaded the Moulant’s thick fur with his fist.

“So you agree with Lady Filaree, I suppose?” he asked his massive friend. “Have you won him over too, my Lady, as you have the rest of us?”

Before Filaree could respond, Davmiran abruptly stood high in his stirrups and pointed to the vague outline of a tower far in the distance.

“I have seen this place in my dreams,” he said quizzically.

“Could it be that I have described it to you so clearly that you think you saw it whilst you slept?” Robyn asked as they continued to walk.

“No. It is too perfect a resemblance. Though I do not question your prowess as a teacher, no one could have planted such a complete image in my mind without reverting to magic,” the boy answered.

“I would have told you if that had been the case. Besides, there was no reason for me to do so,” Robyn said.

“There may have been a reason for another to have done it, though,” Cairn interrupted. “Had Mira ever been to Parth?” he asked.

“I do not know,” Davmiran replied.

“I do!” Robyn said. “Of course she was. It was a long time ago when she was a young woman, but I remember the sisters mentioning it once. She visited the Tower with a contingent from Gwendolen who were on their way to a gathering of the Lords.”

“A gathering of the Lords?” Filaree questioned.

“Tiels ago, when the network of Lalas was strong and unbroken, the leaders from all of the lands got together once a year to discuss matters of state, to solidify alliances, and primarily, to reiterate and confirm their commitment to all that is good, and to the wisdom of the First as disseminated by the Lalas. It was a joyous day, and people traveled to it gladly. It was an honor to be chosen to attend along with your Liege Lord. All of the races were represented, and it was also an opportunity for them to spend some time with one another.”

“When did this stop?” Filaree asked. “I do not remember it at all.”

“Before you were born, my Lady,” Cairn replied. “Surely your father attended a number of times, though.”

“The last gathering was just before the great Lalas Ishdomar departed the earth,” Robyn replied.

“Was he the first to go?” Filaree questioned.

“No. He was the third. But at his demise, people began to realize that something was seriously wrong with the balance,” Robyn said.

“And after Ishdomar was gone, the network was significantly weaker. For the first time, the chain was broken,” Cairn continued. “The city folk and townspeople began to withdraw and become frightened. The great depressions began, and everything was unsettled.”

“Why is it that I have never heard of these meetings?” Filaree asked, surprised.

“Your mother and father must have decided to withhold this part of history from you. Perhaps they thought to protect you from the sadness of it all,” Cairn guessed. “I was studying government at Thermascon when I first learned of them. They were really more pageantry than politics, but a number of memorable pacts and covenants did ultimately result from them over the span of time.”

“Few people discuss the gatherings any longer. They were part of a time gone by, a time when people felt safer and more comfortable. It is hard to remember. Even for me,” Robyn replied with a far away look in his eyes. “Things seemed so certain then.”

“How old are you, Robyn?” Filaree suddenly asked.

“Older than you may have suspected,” he replied. “Though not so old as you might now be imagining. My father used to tell people that I must have Elfin blood flowing through my veins, since I seem not to age like the rest of his line,” Robyn laughed.

“You did not answer me,” Filaree repeated.

“No?” Robyn said again. “I thought I had,” He smiled.

“Look! Over there!” Davmiran interrupted. “I can see the silhouette of the tower now quite clearly in the distance.”

They all turned their attention in the direction Davmiran pointed. Sure enough, high in the northern sky rose the Tower of Parth, an important piece of history by anyone’s reckoning. What they all saw was an unadorned spire that rose, practically windowless, straight and true. Despite its simplicity of structure, it was like a beacon, and it drew all the wayward travelers who inadvertently stumbled upon it. They would be welcomed to a one by the sisters, fed, given a warm bed for the night and then sent on their way. For those visitors who had no particular destinations and arrived in Parth nonetheless, but were merely like seeds cast upon the winds of fate, the sisters tried to offer them guidance of a more spiritual type. These visitors were also sent upon their way hastily though. No one remained long in the Tower without having come by specific invitation, and those invitations were dispensed quite infrequently and extremely selectively.

No one except the sisters themselves was really sure what went on in the Tower. Rumors spread across the land from the day the Tower was constructed, but the certainty of purpose lay solely within the Tower itself. Built upon a convergence of power, a crossroad so to speak of the roots of the great trees, Parth was protected, and when one approached its lands, one clearly felt the energy that emanated from the soil itself. It coursed through the bodies and souls of everyone who neared it, and for those who advanced upon it with ill intentions they were quickly persuaded that they were entering the wrong domain.

The sisters of Parth built no protective walls around the Tower. They had no physical defenses aside from those possessed by the few women who had arrived with particularly good combat skills before their initiation into the sisterhood. No one had ever attacked Parth, and even the idea of such an assault was hard for most people to imagine. Besides, there never seemed really to be a reason to invade the area. The sisters provided succor and support to anyone who required it, regardless of their political orientation. They showed no favoritism. They neither asked for nor expected any compensation for their efforts, and they made no attempts to persuade their guests to change whatever perspectives and affiliations they arrived there with, no matter how disagreeable or contrary to their own they may have been.

“Do you see the sunlight reflecting off of those windows?” Davmiran asked the others. “It is so intense that it seems like it is originating from within the Tower as opposed to from without.”

“It is like a beacon, even during the daylight,” Filaree said.

“An apt description,” Robyn commented. “Though the sisters would probably disagree with that portrayal. They have never wanted to draw attention to themselves or their work.”

“Yet the power in this place is so strong, how could they not expect it to attract whatever enters this realm?” Cairn asked.

“My skin is tingling,” Filaree observed, shrugging.

“Mine too,” Davmiran said. “What an incredible feeling!”

They all dismounted and let the horses graze momentarily without taking their eyes off of the tower in the distance. The sensations they all were experiencing distracted them and disrupted their equilibrium for just a few seconds.

“Is everyone alright?” Cairn asked, concerned now that the feeling had passed.

“I am fine. Just a bit dizzy,” Filaree responded.

“Yes, I am okay too. I just feel a little weak, but it is nothing to be worried about,” Davmiran answered, though his voice was unsteady.

Robyn did not seem to be paying much attention to his companion’s words. One of his arms was raised above his shoulder, and he extended his long, slim fingers until the tips were arched and curved like the supple bows of the elves. A ripple of power surged through the air around them all. Filaree gasped. Calyx hovered protectively over Cairn and Davmiran who was standing beside him. He stood high upon his hind feet and bellowed in the air. Robyn remained perfectly still.

“The image of the Tower has grown blurry. Do you see it too?” Filaree asked.

“Yes. I can barely make the spire out any longer,” Cairn responded, squinting his eyes in the direction of Parth.

“What do you suppose it is? Only a moment ago, it was as clear as could be,” Filaree asked.

“What do you think that was that rushed by us?” Cairn asked, more concerned at the moment for their own safety and security.

“Robyn?” Davmiran called. “What do you see?”

“There is a shield of sorts around the Tower. I cannot decipher its origins. It feels like nothing I have ever experienced before,” he replied to the boy with his eyes still closed. “Join me here,” he beckoned to him. “Take my hand, Dav,” Robyn said, and reached backward with his free hand outstretched.

Davmiran walked over to him and clasped his strong hand in his own.

“Close your eyes, son. Tell me what you feel.”

The boy shut his eyes tightly and concentrated while the others joined them, standing in a semicircle facing Parth.

“It comes from the Tower, whatever it is,” the boy said after a moment, his voice having regained its strength.

“Yes, I know,” Robyn replied quietly.

“It is almost solid in feeling. I cannot penetrate it very far.”

“Odd, is it not? “ Robyn said as if to himself. “It is full of the earth power, organic in nature, but no Lalas has placed this barrier here. I know of no Chosen who would barricade Parth. I wonder…”

“It seems to come from within the Tower, not without,” Dav said.

Calyx growled, and another rush of power cascaded by them, causing each one of the group to sway slightly and seek out each other for support.

“What was that?” Cairn asked after they all regained their footing.

“Something powerful is probing the Tower, and we just happen to be in its path,” Robyn said.

“Probing? Who would ever do such a thing? To what purpose?” Filaree asked. “Does Colton’s reach extend this far north? What of the convergence here? I thought this area was protected.”

“It is. Or it was,” he said, his eyes dark. “But protection need not stem from the trees themselves in all cases,” Robyn replied thoughtfully. “The taint of evil is unmistakable, though it is well concealed,” he continued, as he opened up his senses to the passing currents of power that continued to wash over them.

“If we are not the target of this delving, I hope we do not become its victims,” Filaree warned.

“Should we conceal ourselves?” Cairn asked. “We are quite exposed here, standing and talking like this.”

“We are safe for now,” Robyn assured them. “Our problem will be how to penetrate the barrier around Parth, not how to avoid this reconnoitering.”