left
behind, nor what lay ahead.
At the top of the sacred mountain of
Golconda, the Titan of Skyrgal stood high. The body of Kam Karkenos
petrified, locked into place, as it was when Angra deprived him of
his soul. Hammoth marched more slowly, watching with fear and
reverence. The mighty right arm, the only one remaining, seemed
today to shade his eyes from the merciless sunlight, in what was in
truth Skyrgal’s last desperate act of defense in the presence of
his destiny. Everything about him was the specter of the ancient
terror. The four horns twisted, deformed, along the evil goat’s
face. The gaping jaws. The large and empty eye sockets. The flames
that were once his body now became thin stone blades, sharp as the
nightmare he continued to embody in those born at his feet.
Hammoth clenched his fists
and looked away. You won’t break
me! He thought. You won’t take me! I’ll fight you under blood red
skies!
That colossal body was waiting since and
for eternity. Around it, walls were constructed on walls. Wars
fought after wars. Each page of their bloody history had been
written before his twisted horns. But now everything was changed
again. He looked down on the tender infant in the woman’s arms and
shuddered. Everything had changed and he was afraid.
Sweet nauseating pain. Is death the only
release?
With their faces obscured by their hoods,
they advanced through the walls of Agalloch, the city built at the
feet of Golconda. Entirely erected in the hard, yellowish granite
obtained by the dismantling of Adramelech’s colossal ruins,
Agalloch was a huge, perfect circle traced at the feet of the
sacred mountain. Every rock seemed to remember the desert it came
from. Often, in the buildings’ facades, it was possible to see the
eye, or the fang, or the claws of the sculptures they were part of.
Its straight and closing-in alleys, its improbable architectures,
the long faces of its inhabitants never failed to disquiet him.
That was the city that first absorbed the attack of the desert and
its foul creatures, their first defense. No one could count the
times it was sieged in its tormented history, invaded but never
destroyed, its people kidnapped, raped, tortured, dismembered but
never defeated. That stone, filled with blood, could not die, as
the gods it once portrayed. That city, that perfect circle, was
eternal.
Halfway between heaven and earth, on a
natural step on the high mountain, the Guardians had erected their
impregnable Fortress, its soaring towers overlooking the desert; to
be again in the sight of his impenetrable defenses gave him a
precarious sense of security, immediately swept away when a dog
appeared out of nowhere to attack them. It tried to jump against
the woman and her son, but the owner rushed to stop it. The beast
then turned against him, sinking its jaws in his neck and not
letting go until he had died. A passerby came with a hammer and
smashed the skull of the ferocious beast, and the dog and its owner
lay dead on the ground. All those who had witnessed the scene
looked at them suspiciously while they continued to ascend the
sacred slopes of Golconda, looking indifferent to the death that
surrounded and followed them.
When they got through the gate of the
Fortress, two children ran to meet them with big smiles on their
face. “Dad! Daddy!” they screamed. The Pendracon forced himself to
watch the smile disappear from their faces, as the gate was closed
behind him without any following. Children understood things
quickly, especially the worst. They didn’t weep and he envied them
for their courage.
My fault. The pain and
solitude that are going to accompany you forever, from now on. Even
when you will take a wife and have your own children, not even
those will fill the emptiness of a denied childhood. My fault. All
my fault.
When, at last, he got in the room at the
top of his tower, finally alone and sure that no one could see him
or judge him, Hammoth gave himself over to a long, desperate
behind, nor what lay ahead.
At the top of the sacred mountain of
Golconda, the Titan of Skyrgal stood high. The body of Kam Karkenos
petrified, locked into place, as it was when Angra deprived him of
his soul. Hammoth marched more slowly, watching with fear and
reverence. The mighty right arm, the only one remaining, seemed
today to shade his eyes from the merciless sunlight, in what was in
truth Skyrgal’s last desperate act of defense in the presence of
his destiny. Everything about him was the specter of the ancient
terror. The four horns twisted, deformed, along the evil goat’s
face. The gaping jaws. The large and empty eye sockets. The flames
that were once his body now became thin stone blades, sharp as the
nightmare he continued to embody in those born at his feet.
Hammoth clenched his fists
and looked away. You won’t break
me! He thought. You won’t take me! I’ll fight you under blood red
skies!
That colossal body was waiting since and
for eternity. Around it, walls were constructed on walls. Wars
fought after wars. Each page of their bloody history had been
written before his twisted horns. But now everything was changed
again. He looked down on the tender infant in the woman’s arms and
shuddered. Everything had changed and he was afraid.
Sweet nauseating pain. Is death the only
release?
With their faces obscured by their hoods,
they advanced through the walls of Agalloch, the city built at the
feet of Golconda. Entirely erected in the hard, yellowish granite
obtained by the dismantling of Adramelech’s colossal ruins,
Agalloch was a huge, perfect circle traced at the feet of the
sacred mountain. Every rock seemed to remember the desert it came
from. Often, in the buildings’ facades, it was possible to see the
eye, or the fang, or the claws of the sculptures they were part of.
Its straight and closing-in alleys, its improbable architectures,
the long faces of its inhabitants never failed to disquiet him.
That was the city that first absorbed the attack of the desert and
its foul creatures, their first defense. No one could count the
times it was sieged in its tormented history, invaded but never
destroyed, its people kidnapped, raped, tortured, dismembered but
never defeated. That stone, filled with blood, could not die, as
the gods it once portrayed. That city, that perfect circle, was
eternal.
Halfway between heaven and earth, on a
natural step on the high mountain, the Guardians had erected their
impregnable Fortress, its soaring towers overlooking the desert; to
be again in the sight of his impenetrable defenses gave him a
precarious sense of security, immediately swept away when a dog
appeared out of nowhere to attack them. It tried to jump against
the woman and her son, but the owner rushed to stop it. The beast
then turned against him, sinking its jaws in his neck and not
letting go until he had died. A passerby came with a hammer and
smashed the skull of the ferocious beast, and the dog and its owner
lay dead on the ground. All those who had witnessed the scene
looked at them suspiciously while they continued to ascend the
sacred slopes of Golconda, looking indifferent to the death that
surrounded and followed them.
When they got through the gate of the
Fortress, two children ran to meet them with big smiles on their
face. “Dad! Daddy!” they screamed. The Pendracon forced himself to
watch the smile disappear from their faces, as the gate was closed
behind him without any following. Children understood things
quickly, especially the worst. They didn’t weep and he envied them
for their courage.
My fault. The pain and
solitude that are going to accompany you forever, from now on. Even
when you will take a wife and have your own children, not even
those will fill the emptiness of a denied childhood. My fault. All
my fault.
When, at last, he got in the room at the
top of his tower, finally alone and sure that no one could see him
or judge him, Hammoth gave himself over to a long, desperate
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