The Shards

by Gary Alan Wassner

  As soon as the spinning matter came in to contact with the foreign substance that had enveloped Angeline, the buzzing sound increased exponentially, and Tamara squinted her eyes and scrunched up her face in the blackness, trying to shut her eardrums without the benefit of a muffler of any kind. The sound was deafening and she had no means of protecting her ears from it. But, her discomfort was soon mitigated by what was unfolding before her. Everywhere that this new matter encountered the old, a reddish glow resulted and the immediate area surrounding her captive friend began to gleam brightly. The enemy churned and seethed in response to her magic. For the first time, she could clearly see just how thoroughly encased in this abhorrent wrapper her friend was, but she also saw that Angeline was still breathing even though her entire body, from head to toe, was enveloped. Tamara looked on in relief as the gooey mass began to dissolve into great gelatinous gobs and fall in heavy, viscous drops from Angeline’s legs to the gloom below.

  She craned her neck in order to look upon her sister’s face once again, and she blinked her eyes quickly, certain that what loomed before her was merely an illusion. Even though what she had created was having a greater effect upon their attacker than she could have dreamed, she was shocked by what confronted her now.

  I should not be so surprised. Evil is as evil does, she thought quickly as the particles surrounding Angeline coagulated and reformed.

  The image of that odious woman whom she had encountered in the woods on the way to visit Liam and Oleander was staring down at her, imbedded in the web that encircled Angeline. It was three dimensional and as real as could be. This was no mere phantasm! Margot’s long black fingernails reached out menacingly toward her and the grimace upon her sharp features was one of sheer fury and unbridled rage. From her precarious position, the sister could do nothing but gape. Fortunately, the manifestation began to fade as quickly as it personified itself before her, succumbing to the power brought to bear against it. Tamara knew in her heart that this would not be the last she would see of the venomous Lady Margot. Twice thwarted, she would be deadlier the next time. Tamara could virtually feel the malevolence in the air as the smothering mass that Colton’s loathsome crony had unleashed upon them was quickly overcome by her own unseasoned efforts. Much to her relief, her friend’s body was almost completely cleansed of the abominable slime by this time.

  Tamara’s foot slipped, but she was reluctant to look down and risk losing her concentration. With her toe, she sought out a crevice in which to insert it once again, but the wall of the pit was swiftly becoming coated by the slippery liquid that showered down upon everything from above. She jabbed her foot into the wall repeatedly but to no avail, and then she felt herself losing her grip. At the same moment, a large droplet of slime fell upon her forehead and adhered to her skin. It immediately began to burn painfully. The feeling was so revolting to her that her hand went instinctively to her face in order to brush it off as quickly as she could. Unfortunately, having already lost her grip with one leg, the abrupt movement coupled with the slick coating caused her other toe to slide from its foothold as well, and she began to fall backward and away from the wall. She reached out for something to grasp, but alas there was nothing there to take hold of, and her descent accelerated.

  Angeline’s face was fully exposed now, and the last thing Tamara heard was her friend’s anguished gasp. Angeline’s features rapidly faded from view as Tamara careened uncontrollably down into the gaping jaws of the dark and forbidding pit.

  Chapter Six

  Four hundred dwarves stood solemnly, two by two, beside the steep wall of rock that abutted the forest of Crispen, led by Maringar, eldest son of Brimgar Daggerfall of the Thorndar Daggerfalls. Each one wore a jet black leather jerkin that covered him to the knees, crisscrossed with bold red stitching as was their style, and decorated everywhere there was a tiny bit of space with sharp silver studs. They carried upon their backs picks and axes, at right angles to one another, and secured by straps of red rawhide, the fringes of which hung down behind them at all different lengths, marking their age and experience. The tips of their picks glinted and sparkled in the morning sun, as each one had a finely cut diamond set into the point, the hardest of stones, capable of penetrating the dense rock of the Thorndar’s coupled with the skill and immense strength of these powerful men. No implements were better for mining than those forged by the dwarves in the furnaces in the depths of the mountains.

  Their skin was white as snow and their hair was pitch as coal, a fitting contrast for these multifaceted people. Each and every one squinted his small, black eyes in response to the assault of light upon them from the bright, cloudless sky above. The dwarves disliked the sunshine and they rarely spent any extended periods of time out in the open. They preferred the cool darkness of the caves and tunnels when they were not in their underground city. And they detested water! The dwarves of the Thorndars avoided the lakes and rivers like the plague, and they never, ever went near the ocean either to fish or for the purposes of travel. There was not a single dwarf known who could swim worth a darn. But their skills were second to none when it came to mining and stonework.

  Many of the men had long braids of thick hair that hung on either side of their rather large ears, in the front rather than the back, and secured with bands of intricately tooled leather sewn together by threads of the finest silver. Upon their broad heads they wore skullcaps of leather, studded too with silver and fearsome looking. Some had horns attached to them that looked as if they were growing through their helms straight out of their heads. Their feet were shod in heavy, thick soled boots laced to just below their jerkins. Their fingers were short and strong, and covered in calluses, as were their large hands which hung ape-like from long, stout arms.

  They were all quite short compared to the elves. Only Maringar stood out from the rest in stature, more because of his extraordinary musculature than for his height, though he was taller than the rest of his countrymen. His skullcap was entirely crafted of silver, though it was far simpler than those of his companions, and his clothing was unadorned aside from an insignia emblazoned across his broad chest. His axe hung from his hip rather than across his back and he carried no pick. Instead, a wide dagger protruded noticeably from his belt, sheathed in a scabbard of red, embossed leather.

  At the request of Baladar of Pardatha, Brimgar instructed these, the most skilled of his miners, to march from the safety of their homes northward, and to lend their knowledge and experience to the Mountain Elves in this time of crisis. He entrusted the leadership of this mission to his eldest son, and Maringar rose to the occasion. Though the dwarves had not actively allied themselves with the elves in thirty tiels, both peoples recognized need’s dire plea, and they rallied to the cause.

  Baladar’s entreaty required little persuasion. After the defeat of Colton dar Agonthea at the gates of Pardatha, in a large part due to the alliance that was struck between Brimgar’s son Preston, Prince Elion of Lormarion and the Chosen Tomas, the twin to the fabled heir, such cooperation was eagerly embraced. The dwarves departed their homes with no reluctance, and the elves of Crispen welcomed them with open arms.

  The elves lived high in the mountains in a city carved out of the bedrock of limestone and quartz, on a broad plateau at the southern base of Silandre, the tallest of Crispen’s peaks. Above the tree line, the air was naturally cool and fresh, and the water was among the purest in all the land. It ringed the city to the north creating a crescent shaped wall of liquid as it crashed down into the multitude of pools and lakes that abutted the fields and quarries of the city. These spectacular falls issued forth from great fissures in the mountain making it appear as if the mountainside itself was alive. The melting snows added to the great volume of the flow, which resulted in countless founts of blue-white water that pooled and gathered everywhere, manipulated and directed by the prodigious skills of the elves. It cascaded down from the heights above and ran through the streets of Crispen channeled by elaborately enginee
red canals, cleansing and revivifying the city continuously, in addition to providing the people with an endless source of fresh and pure water for all their needs. The rushing sound could be heard everywhere in the city, and for the elves, it was one of the most comforting ones they could hope to hear.

  Bristar stood beside Maringar, flanked by the elite of his troops; fifty of the best hunters and fighters in Crispen. The two leaders were a study in contrasts! With his long white beard, sharp features and blue eyes, the Elfin King was the exact opposite of his ally, yet they felt an immediate kinship under these trying circumstances, or perhaps due to them. The pure waters of Crispen were heating up alarmingly of late, and the efforts of the elves to cool them had been rebuffed completely so far. Though the liquid flow was still fresh and pure, it had risen many degrees in temperature, and that rise was accelerating!

  Maringar flipped his braids behind his shoulders, first the right one and then the left one, in a smooth, natural motion, where they finally hung almost to his thick waist, weighed down by silver beads woven throughout. His eyes were bright, though dark as night, and they sparkled beneath heavy brows of dense, black hair. He sniffed the air with his broad nose, which invoked an image of an animal carefully hunting its prey in Bristar’s mind, and that image was strangely comforting. Though young, Maringar exuded an attitude of confidence and purpose that rippled through the air and infected all of those who stood near him.

  “We should not linger too long here. The wind carries upon its wings the scent of evil,” Maringar said.

  “Is it the wind alone my son that brings the Dark Lord to our gates?” Bristar replied rhetorically. “I have felt his presence in our water for a few months now. And in the caverns as well. There is little in Crispen he has not touched,” he scowled.

  “The hearts of your people remain pure, my Lord,” Maringar said. “I sense that it will take much more than this to infect them.”

  “You sense well, young man. And I thank you for the observation. The people of Crispen are a seasoned lot. We have not lived here for a thousand tiels without challenges. But the waters of Silandre have always been a source of renewal for us. Water is like life itself. It has its identity which it maintains over time, yet it is never the same from moment to moment. It is within time, not outside of it, as are we.”

  “Does anything physical remain the same from instant to instant?” Maringar asked in his deep, resonant voice.

  “I suppose not,” Bristar answered, shaking his head. “Only good and evil never change. They manifest themselves in everything that lives, and for them, our world has stability.”

  “Colton’s evil brings stability?” Maringar asked, astounded by the thought.

  “Caeltin’s evil is outside of the world we know. He manipulates what exists to further his desires. His evil brings only death and destruction, as he wishes. He reanimates the evil out of the past and he generates new horrors from the loose threads that society sloughs off,” Bristar said, and a slight shiver coursed through his body. “It was a metaphorical stability that I was referring to,” he continued after a moment’s silence. “Good and evil are ideas, extremes, opposites perhaps. Even though we seem to feel their presence in things, the things themselves are neutral. Warm water may be a boon to a traveler stranded in the frozen north, though it is a fearful threat to us when we do not expect it. Death is death, yet when it is the enemy lying upon the cold earth with his blood spilled, we rejoice.”

  “Intent determines the action, and a thing that is used for evil purpose is not necessarily evil in and of itself,” Maringar agreed.

  “Yea. As I said, only good and evil do not change. What bodies they inhabit and the actions those bodies take are the things that change.”

  As they spoke, a rider approached from the cliffs above. His long auburn hair flew out behind him as he rode down the hill. His horse was a magnificent creature with an auburn coat and mane too, like his rider. It was hard to distinguish where the warrior’s braid ended and his horse’s tail began. As he approached, one could see that he rode without the benefit of a saddle or a bridle, yet his horse ran straight and true. His left hand clasped the thick mane of his mount, while his right was raised high in the air over his head. In his fingers, he clenched a long, delicate bow.

  Bristar lifted his head when the movement caught his eye, and the expression of pride and admiration upon his weathered features was unmistakable. He abruptly broke off his conversation with Maringar and strode out to meet his son.

  “Hail, father!” Beolan shouted enthusiastically. “I see our guests have arrived,” he said, pointing to the assembled dwarves.

  He leapt from his horse and onto the ground while the animal was still in motion. His voice was youthful, unburdened by the weariness of life’s responsibilities, though it rang with a tone of soothing confidence rather than with the arrogance of youth. Bristar moved quickly to embrace him. The affection between them was obvious. Maringar stood respectfully in the background and did not move to interrupt this reunion between father and son.

  “Let me introduce you to Maringar, son of Brimgar,” the elf said with his arm still around the shoulders of the young man. “He and his noble men are prepared to enter the mountain on our behalf.”

  Beolan thrust his right hand out to the visitor and they clasped each other’s palms tightly. The elf appeared to be much younger than the dwarf he now stood beside. Beolan barely had a whisker upon his smooth face, while Maringar’s beard hung low before him, emanating from his stark, weathered skin. But both of them were young men in the reckoning of their own people, and their eyes sparkled with the light of youth. They bonded instantly as their gazes locked upon one another.

  “Welcome, brother!” Beolan said, honoring Maringar with that appellation.

  Rarely did an elf welcome a dwarf with such a greeting.

  “You ennoble me with your salutation,” he replied graciously while bowing his head. “My men and I are proud to offer what help we can.”

  “And it is well appreciated! Whatever has infiltrated the heart of Silandre is beyond our knowledge. It has begun to infect the waters that flow throughout Crispen, and we cannot locate its source. It is good of you to offer your assistance,” he said, and he bowed low to the dwarf leader.

  “The battle we fight, we fight together. The time has passed when what happens in Crispen is of no consequence to the events in the Thorndars. If our enemy has done nothing else, he has solidified his opponents,” Maringar replied.

  “Well said,” Bristar interjected.

  “Aye!” Beolan concurred. “It is unfortunate though that we could not have met under more favorable circumstances.”

  “Need has reached out to us all. That we can recognize her calling gives us all hope,” Bristar said. “What did you find within the cave, my son?” he asked, eyebrows arched high.

  Beolan dropped his chin to his chest and shook his handsome head back and forth slowly. When he raised it once again, he stared deeply into his father’s eyes.

  “It is as we suspected, father. I could barely proceed more than a hundred yards before the heat overwhelmed me.”

  Bristar tried to mask his concern, but it was obvious that he was deeply disturbed by the news his son brought him.

  “It is fortuitous then that our friends have arrived more quickly than we had expected,” he replied.

  “What is it you suspect is causing the temperature to rise so?” Maringar asked. “The waters flow from both within and without Silandre. Are all the well springs affected?” he asked, as he squinted his black eyes and gazed upward toward the towering peak.

  “What comes to us from the melting snow is still cool and fresh. But, once it merges with the floes from the heart of the mountain, it quickly rises in temperature. Clearly, the warm water is the stronger of the two,” Bristar commented.

  Maringar turned wide eyes to Beolan. A concerned look overcame the Elfin Prince’s features, causing him to appear tiels older than he did just m
oments before. He took a deep breath and began to speak.

  “I entered the cavern just above the falls over there,” he said, pointing to a massive spout of water that seemed to burst straight out of the side of the cliff before it crashed into a large pool of blue liquid about two hundred yards beneath it. “You can see the small opening if you look closely,” Beolan continued.

  Maringar’s eyes were not nearly as sharp as Beolan’s in the daylight, and he squinted and strained them in an effort to locate the area that the elf was referring to.

  “At first, I thought it was the earth itself that was preparing to erupt as I ventured deeper, even though Silandre was never alive in that way before. But now I have other suspicions. The heat is not constant. There were moments when it seemed not to be in evidence, but as I walked further into the cave entrance, it reached me in vapid spurts that cascaded outward. I had to take shelter behind whatever outcropping of rock I could find in order not to be overwhelmed. But, just as quickly, the bursts of heat passed and I was able to proceed, though not very far. Then the noise began…”

  Bristar gasped audibly as Beolan spoke, but his voice remained silent.

  “We know that Colton’s hand is upon this activity. We just do not know what manner of abomination he has unleashed against your city. He is capable of manipulating the physical world as easily as he does the spirit world,” Maringar replied.