put a hand on her
shoulder, looking down on her. “Let’s get back to Golconda,” he
said. “There, we will decide what to do with his son.”
Aniah bowed her face and silently began to
cry. When a cry of pain overcame the wind and reached them, “WHAT
DID I BECOME?”
Hammoth turned in time to see the shadow of
a shapeless body crawl away into darkness.
“ WHAT DID I BECOME, HAMMOTH?
WHAT DID HE DO TO ME?”
Aniah stood up. “He’s still alive!” she
said, her voice broken. She started forward, but the Pendracon held
her by the arm and stared into her eyes.
“ Whatever he’s become now,
that’s no longer the man you loved!” he said. “Nor my warrior King!
Crowley is dead!”
Aniah looked at him helplessly, begging for
mercy with her eyes. She was caught in the middle of the desire to
escape once again behind her lost love, and the inevitability of
fate that kept on making fun of her. Hammoth raised his arm to
point at the way from which they had come, and brought it
down.
The Guardians remounted their Mogwarts,
giant cats with long ivory tusks and thick black hair, the only
animals able to face the desert’s wrath. They were soon on the
march; two rows of Guardians, under the silent gaze of Adramelech’s
ruins.
“ These walls have eyes to
see, I tell you,” one of his men muttered. Hammoth couldn’t find
the strength to answer.
* * * * *
The Pendracon took Aniah with him. He was
concerned about the possible reactions of his men. The Guardians
watched the woman suspiciously now, some with open contempt. Many
had known her for a long time – some had even trained with her as
children – but the sight of what she had done and what was now
forcing them to do had changed their attitude. It was no wonder.
The Guardians pledged their lives and deaths to Angra, the god of
equilibrium. It was irresponsible to ask them to accompany such a
creature, the son of his old enemy, Skyrgal, to the heart of their
stronghold. And even if everyone knew that this insanity was the
only sensible thing to do, Hammoth already felt his authority creak
under the weight of corruption.
“ I loved him,” Aniah
whispered, at some point of the long way home. “I swore him eternal
fidelity in front of Angra. But Crowley is now alone. Out
there.”
The Pendracon turned to her. “Do not talk,”
he ordered. “There’s still a long way to the Fortress.”
She kissed the sweet child on the forehead.
Hammoth found himself feeling pity for her, for all of them. He
wondered what he would do once back at Golconda. They left the
sacred mountain six days before in search of hope, and now were
bringing back ruin.
On the third day of the march they were
attacked by Tankars, the mighty wolf-men of the desert. They
managed to fight them off but lost two Guardians, pierced by the
sharp blades of their clawed gloves to defend Aniah and her burden,
the one the Tankars were trying to reach. It was not the hunger
brought by famine that moved them. In their bloodshot eyes, Hammoth
had seen a blind and murderous rage. They wanted the child; it was
the primal instinct to consider that baby the greatest threat.
Greater than the men, greater than the swords they wielded, an
incomprehensible blasphemy for their violent and pure souls. Now
that they had learned their lesson, the beasts kept following them
at a distance, watching warily among the tall rock formations,
eroded by wind.
The two companions’ death made mother and
son even more undesirable in the eyes of the Guardians. One of them
protested, screaming hysterically, and crying, that it was all
madness. Hammoth was forced to slap him in front of the others to
reassert his authority. He felt a deep shame. From that moment on,
he shunned the eyes of all. He feared the situation would soon get
out of hand. Back to the Fortress, for some of his men, a couple of
beers would have been enough to unleash their tongues and talk
about what they had seen. The word would spread quickly and
shoulder, looking down on her. “Let’s get back to Golconda,” he
said. “There, we will decide what to do with his son.”
Aniah bowed her face and silently began to
cry. When a cry of pain overcame the wind and reached them, “WHAT
DID I BECOME?”
Hammoth turned in time to see the shadow of
a shapeless body crawl away into darkness.
“ WHAT DID I BECOME, HAMMOTH?
WHAT DID HE DO TO ME?”
Aniah stood up. “He’s still alive!” she
said, her voice broken. She started forward, but the Pendracon held
her by the arm and stared into her eyes.
“ Whatever he’s become now,
that’s no longer the man you loved!” he said. “Nor my warrior King!
Crowley is dead!”
Aniah looked at him helplessly, begging for
mercy with her eyes. She was caught in the middle of the desire to
escape once again behind her lost love, and the inevitability of
fate that kept on making fun of her. Hammoth raised his arm to
point at the way from which they had come, and brought it
down.
The Guardians remounted their Mogwarts,
giant cats with long ivory tusks and thick black hair, the only
animals able to face the desert’s wrath. They were soon on the
march; two rows of Guardians, under the silent gaze of Adramelech’s
ruins.
“ These walls have eyes to
see, I tell you,” one of his men muttered. Hammoth couldn’t find
the strength to answer.
* * * * *
The Pendracon took Aniah with him. He was
concerned about the possible reactions of his men. The Guardians
watched the woman suspiciously now, some with open contempt. Many
had known her for a long time – some had even trained with her as
children – but the sight of what she had done and what was now
forcing them to do had changed their attitude. It was no wonder.
The Guardians pledged their lives and deaths to Angra, the god of
equilibrium. It was irresponsible to ask them to accompany such a
creature, the son of his old enemy, Skyrgal, to the heart of their
stronghold. And even if everyone knew that this insanity was the
only sensible thing to do, Hammoth already felt his authority creak
under the weight of corruption.
“ I loved him,” Aniah
whispered, at some point of the long way home. “I swore him eternal
fidelity in front of Angra. But Crowley is now alone. Out
there.”
The Pendracon turned to her. “Do not talk,”
he ordered. “There’s still a long way to the Fortress.”
She kissed the sweet child on the forehead.
Hammoth found himself feeling pity for her, for all of them. He
wondered what he would do once back at Golconda. They left the
sacred mountain six days before in search of hope, and now were
bringing back ruin.
On the third day of the march they were
attacked by Tankars, the mighty wolf-men of the desert. They
managed to fight them off but lost two Guardians, pierced by the
sharp blades of their clawed gloves to defend Aniah and her burden,
the one the Tankars were trying to reach. It was not the hunger
brought by famine that moved them. In their bloodshot eyes, Hammoth
had seen a blind and murderous rage. They wanted the child; it was
the primal instinct to consider that baby the greatest threat.
Greater than the men, greater than the swords they wielded, an
incomprehensible blasphemy for their violent and pure souls. Now
that they had learned their lesson, the beasts kept following them
at a distance, watching warily among the tall rock formations,
eroded by wind.
The two companions’ death made mother and
son even more undesirable in the eyes of the Guardians. One of them
protested, screaming hysterically, and crying, that it was all
madness. Hammoth was forced to slap him in front of the others to
reassert his authority. He felt a deep shame. From that moment on,
he shunned the eyes of all. He feared the situation would soon get
out of hand. Back to the Fortress, for some of his men, a couple of
beers would have been enough to unleash their tongues and talk
about what they had seen. The word would spread quickly and
Similar Books
