The Shards (24 page)

“Do you know which paths to follow to Odelot?” Dalloway asked.

“Yes, I do, my boy,” he replied. “I shan’t have too much difficulty finding the place, I suspect. I also suspect that the medallion that Sidra gave you, which has already proven to be more than an ornament, will help us again.”

“You amaze me, father!” Caroline said once more, and she leaned over and kissed him on his scruffy cheek. “If we are to leave at first light, then I do indeed have much to do! I cannot sit here and chat with you two any longer,” she said as if they were all old friends. “But please, feel free to continue yourselves,” she smiled, happy and surprised that her father seemed to have finally accepted Dalloway’s presence so completely. It even appeared to her as if he was growing to like the elf. “I will return shortly and we can confer then on what we will need to bring with us.”

As Caroline left the room, she glanced back and saw the two men with their heads bent, sitting next to one another and staring intently at the medallion on the floor before them while Conrad drew symbols in the dust all around it.

Chapter Twenty-six

Beolan led the ranks of strident and anxious men out of Crispen and across the narrow bridge that spanned the water surrounding it. Without looking back again, he continued on until he reached the road that would take them to the pathway that wound its way up to Silandre’s mouth. The cheering and shouting had ended a while ago and a sober hush had descended upon them all. They rode in silence from that point on, side by side, the elf and the dwarf, with their troops also marching as if they all hailed from one nation with one common goal. The sight of elves and dwarves marching together into battle, armed and ready, unhampered by discord or disagreement was one not often seen, and it too was an episode that would remain forever in the minds of those left behind.

As the two physically disparate armies drew closer to the mountain, the sound of the cascading water grew louder and it calmed them all with its unceasing melody as it had done for the inhabitants of Crispen for countless tiels. Even the dwarves who naturally feared the clear blue liquid, derived solace and comfort from the falling waters of Silandre, and they marched toward it with no trepidation in their hearts.

The sun was high in the morning sky by the time they reached the plateau beneath the final ascent to the entrance that they would be using to gain access to the caves. The armies of both nations fanned out quickly and filled the entire space after Beolan and Maringar turned to face them. Far below them now lay the city of Crispen, and the polished quartz facades of its buildings gleamed brilliantly in the daylight. The maze of canals and waterways that crisscrossed it appeared like an intricately designed spider web from this vantage point, sparkling blue amidst the pure white lambency of the towers. It was truly a magnificent sight to behold.

Behind and above the heads of the two young leaders was a gaping hole in the slope of the stone. Flanking it on either side coursed two azure streams of water that originated high overhead and crashed into churning pools of white froth far below, and then ran in countless rivulets toward the city. One narrow path led up to the opening, and from where they stood it appeared like a curved and painted, brown stripe drawn upon the lush green foliage that grew voluminously upon the cliffs.

The two warriors had planned their strategy the evening before, and they were determined and unflinching in their desire to begin the crusade. A group of the strongest of the dwarves would enter the caves first, led of course by Maringar. It was their responsibility and great honor to clear the opening of all debris and to enlarge it so that ampler numbers of warriors could enter together thereafter. One of Beolan’s fears was that the Armadiel would be able to dispatch small groups of them easily and continually, and they therefore decided it would be most prudent to assault it with numbers initially, hopefully forcing it to remain preoccupied, and thus pressuring it into a defensive position. In order to do so, they required a larger space within which to maneuver than now existed just inside the entrance. The elfin bowmen would take up positions within the entryway as soon as possible and provoke the Armadiel, thus giving the skilled dwarves of the Thorndars, accustomed as they were to the harder granite of their more southern mountains, the opportunity to tunnel through this softer limestone in a number of directions at once. If they were able to progress more quickly than their enemy expected, they could hopefully encircle it before it realized what had happened.

They needed to be able to attack it continuously and forcefully, and to bombard it with all the weapons at their disposal. It was imperative that the dwarves and elves together inflict as much damage upon the beast as quickly as they could. If they were successful in their efforts to cut off its ability to retreat, they could pound away at it from all vantage points. That was the only way they could hope to force it to undergo the transformation whilst it was still in their presence. Beolan and Maringar planned to wait for that precious moment to attack; that one instant when it would be vulnerable to their assault. If the affliction was great enough, it would need to shed its damaged outer skin regardless of its circumstances, and they would thus be there to strike when that happened.

Maringar motioned to the group of dwarves he had selected to accompany him on the initial foray, and they immediately stepped forward in unison, with their picks and axes strapped tightly across their backs and their studded leather helms drawn halfway down over their protruding foreheads. The heavy boots they wore pounded the hard surface in unison as they marched toward their leader. The first line of men carried tall posts swathed in hemp and saturated with polong oil. Maringar saluted Beolan before turning his horse toward the gaping hole in the rock. He walked slowly into the darkness and quickly disappeared from view while his men followed closely behind him. A small contingent of elves with particularly long bows fell in right after with Beolan at their head, and they too were soon gobbled up by the darkness.

Once inside, they set their posts deep into the soft soil of the entryway and ignited them, thus drenching the space in light. Maringar scanned the surfaces closely and then led his teams to the perimeters where they immediately set to work. They fanned out in all directions in teams of two, and the first in each line began to chip away at the stone. Great piles of rubble were quickly forming behind each of the stone cutters, and these piles were gathered up in nets of tight mesh by their partners and then dragged back to the opening where the larger less pliable pieces were carted away. The remainder was dumped upon the stone floor in piles equidistant from one another and left there for a purpose yet to become apparent.

Strangely and surprisingly, they encountered no resistance, though the noise they made was loud and persistent, and they made great progress in a matter of hours. The strength of the dwarves was formidable and their efforts were unceasing. The cacophonous melody of picks against rock filled the entire space. The chamber was almost double in size by the time the second group of elfin warriors took up their positions.

The tunnel that led deeper into the mountain had been circumvented up until this point. The majority of the dwarves concentrated on the areas to its left and to its right, seeking only to widen the chamber at first. A pair of them though, on either side, tunneled deep and straight, and they began to create a passage wide enough for two soldiers to walk side by side down. It was through these passages that they eventually hoped to encircle the Armadiel when they finally encountered it. As more room was cleared, more warriors entered, and they assembled in neat and precise rows behind the laboring dwarves, whose numbers too grew as the surface space upon which they could work was expanded.

Beolan had anticipated having to keep the beast at bay while the dwarves tunneled, but his concerns were for naught. They saw and heard neither hide nor hair of the Armadiel. Even the odor which had been so strong and obvious when he had been here only a day ago seemed to have abated. The air that they breathed today was not impure as expected, and the rock itself was as inanimate as it had always been in the past. It yielded to the labors of the dwarves as easily as they could have hoped.

Maringar walked back from the front line in search of his Elfin friend. He was as surprised as Beolan at how easy it had been to enter and to begin the task that they both assumed would be costly at the least. He found him standing with a group of bowmen behind a pile of rock and pebbles that a pair of dwarves were quickly shaping into a protective barrier which sat atop an almost translucent tarpaulin that they had placed upon the surface earlier. The bottom of this covering was studded with countless polished rocks that looked like tiny marbles imbedded in it. These makeshift walls were being erected throughout the rapidly widening space behind which the elfin bowmen took up their positions.

As Maringar approached, he smiled to himself as he watched his men instruct the elves as to how to maneuver their newly created shelters. They seemed surprised when the now daunting pile of rubble about six feet thick and just as high slid forward so easily when pushed upon from the back. It glided before them with very little exertion on their part despite the great weight of the debris. Furthermore, they could move it from left to right just as effortlessly. It required only a slight touch in order to shift its position.

“How is it that such weight does not hinder the movement?” Beolan asked with wonder as Maringar approached.

“The cloth upon which the walls sit has been meticulously created. The bearing balls distribute the weight so evenly that it remains a fraction above the surface, and therefore nothing hampers its movement,” he replied.

Beolan pressed slightly upon the compacted rubble before him, and the entire wall moved in response.

“Ingenious! You are masters at this art,” he said, impressed.

“We understand the composition of our environment, as you do yours,” he explained. “Such an understanding allows us to work with the elements rather than against them.”

“You think much as we do,” Beolan said.

“Is that such a surprise to you?” Maringar asked, and he smiled at his friend questioningly.

“No longer a surprise. Now, it is more of a confirmation,” the elf replied.

“I see it as an affirmation of our common purpose,” Maringar said, and the elf nodded in agreement.

“We have much to teach one another,” he responded.

“And we shall have the opportunity sooner than we ever imagined,” Maringar said.

The elves had quickly learned how to maneuver their protective barricades, and they advanced as fast as the dwarves were able to dig. They had their long bows ready and strung, prepared to defend their burrowing friends, though no enemy had yet shown itself before them. The sharp eyes of the elfin warriors missed nothing, even in the dim and flickering light of the cavern.

“It is just a matter of time before he attacks. The beast will not wait forever. Neither will he run from us. He thinks himself invulnerable,” Beolan explained.

“And well he might have been for all we knew had we not read that passage as closely as we had,” Maringar commented.

“I only pray that we are correct in our interpretation. Should we be wrong, it will cost us dearly,” Beolan warned. “The great books are not manuals. We can only be hopeful that what we read into the words is what was intended. There is no certainty when it comes to what is yet to be.”

“We would attempt to defeat him nonetheless, would we not, regardless of what the books have revealed to us? At the least, we will do so with hope in our hearts now. What better motivator could urge us forward?”

“You are wiser than your years, Maringar, and you seem always to know the right words to say. I am fortunate to have met you,” Beolan replied earnestly. “Now let us find this monster before he finds us. When I was here last, everything seemed different. It was so hot that I could barely stand it. And there were other things so wrong that it pains me to recall them all. Perhaps he has retreated deeper into the mountain.”

“That will only make the job of surrounding him more difficult. We must draw him back out then,” Maringar replied.

“My thoughts exactly!” Beolan concurred. “He did not reveal himself to me the last time, but I was stealthy and cautious.”

“He must be aware of our presence here now. The sound of the picks and axes upon the stone could not be more obvious.”

“I doubt not that the beast knows we have come. He is no dolt for sure, and certainly not easily fooled into complacency,” Beolan said.

“Then let us take the initiative whilst we still can. The more time we afford my men to dig and yours to advance, the better our chances will be later,” Maringar replied. “It would be best if we were the attackers rather than the attacked. If we do not challenge his presence, he will choose the where and when of his approach, and our plan to encircle him will be for naught.”

The two young leaders were of one mind once again. They each gave brief instructions to their men and then joined one another before the opening to the main tunnel. Beolan had already drawn his blade and he held it loosely in his left hand. Maringar too had unsheathed his dagger and he brandished it before him in the semi darkness.

“What shall we use to light our way? Though my vision is good at close range, it is not good enough to navigate this tunnel in the dark,” Maringar said, not wishing to have to sacrifice the use of his free hand to a torch.

“My sight is quite sharp even at a distance, but I agree completely. It would only handicap us if we could not both see equally as well. We are the seekers in this foray, not the sought,” he said. “I am no wizard, but my race is blessed with some natural talents,” Beolan replied, and he removed what looked like a small cloth sack from his pocket and hung it over his neck by the strings that were attached to it. “I did not come unprepared,” he smiled, and then effortlessly conjured a modest orb of light within it that burned blue and bright. “This should suffice.”

“More than adequate,” Maringar readily concurred.

They walked side by side with still a slight bit of room between each of them and the walls. The height of the tunnel was considerable despite the narrowness of it, and the floor was smooth and free of debris. It wound downward slightly, and then after a short while, it began to widen. All the evidence of the Armadiel that Beolan witnessed before was gone. Silandre was as he remembered it from days long past. The rock was cold and hard and the only odor was that of the mountain; natural and organic. There was nothing threatening in the air and no manifestation of the beast’s presence anywhere.

“It has erased all signs of itself. A ploy, do you think?” Beolan asked.

“It must not want us to know where it hides, though that is no surprise. It is not as bold as I would have expected though,” Maringar replied.

“Guileful, I would surmise. I had hoped it would have been less attentive to such things, and thus less careful. A beast with as much power as legend attributes to this one seems not to be taking it for granted,” Beolan said worriedly.