Book 7: Chapter 32: Beneath the pillars
The company of six looked at each other and the sundered earth before them. None seemed particularly pleased about having reached their destination. “This is good,” Halfrid declared, though Martel wondered if she was trying to convince them or herself. “Better than venturing into the mountain and fight the beast in its lair. In the open, we can find it more easily and surround it.”
True enough, Martel considered, though he felt a lump of anxiety gathering in his stomach. Despite his knowledge of battle, his earlier experiences could not compare with fighting such a monster. Then again, he and Eleanor had survived the labyrinth in the Archean ruins, and this seemed a more favourable situation. They were many, with a berserker added to their number, and fighting above ground would let them use their numbers. “Let’s follow the tracks, then,” he mumbled.
Nobody else spoke, whether for or against. The dour mood weighing upon their group since leaving Svartheim had become oppressive, and words amounted to nothing. Now, only the deed awaited.
Even the worst of hunters could follow the trail; slithering over the ground, the wyrm wrought destruction by its mere movement through the land. It made Martel wonder how big the snake was to cause this; Rolf had not exaggerated, it seemed.
They did not have to go far. As they cleared a ridge, they saw it. Halfrid did as the first, raising her hand to command the others to stop before she gripped her great axe with all ten fingers. Martel squinted, as he all noticed were grass-covered rocks, until he realised the truth. The green stone formation ahead was in fact a living, breathing creature, partly curled up on the mountainside.
It appeared to be sleeping. Looking at its head, where Martel presumed the eyes to be, they were closed. Just an adder lying in the sun, taking in the warmth.
The sight did nothing to dispel the anxious knot in his stomach, on the contrary. It seemed as tall as a house and much longer; he would estimate forty to fifty feet, at least. Otherwise, it looked to be a snake, just of gargantuan size. Venomous with fangs, if Rolf were to be believed. Though if the creature moved fast, it could simply crush them under its weight.
“We spread out,” Halfrid whispered, speaking a few more words in Tyrian. “Rolf behind me, you Asterians on the other flank.” She added further commands to her followers, who nodded at whatever order she had given.
While the berserker and skáld moved to approach the snake from its left side, the mageknight and battlemage moved in a circle to do the same from the right. The magic-less warriors approached head on, apparently meant to be a distraction while the spellcasters moved in for the kill. His heart pounding, Martel felt ambivalent watching Eleanor tread softly ahead of him. Pulses of fear that she would be hurt, mixed with the belief that it was always best to be by her side, no matter what they faced.
Martel extended his sense of magic but felt nothing. The wyrm was cold-blooded; his ability with heat would not help him. Though he could hardly miss his spells, given the size of the target.
He wondered if the creature possessed magic of its own. To grow to such a size seemed unnatural. Martel’s mind flashes back to the jinni he had fought in the catacombs of Morcaster. A spirit of fire and air from the desert, magical in nature. This wyrm was a being of earth first and foremost, he surmised. Perhaps air magic would be particularly useful against it, even more than fire. Lightning, one of his strongest spells, combined both; he would use that first. While the hide of the beast might be strong as armour against steel, Martel had cooked plenty of mageknights wearing full mail, and he trusted that his spellcraft would prove strong enough.
For some strange reason, another thought from the past came to Martel. Fighting Flora, the earthmage, in the Undercroft. She had wielded the magic of that element and been able to sense his very footsteps, making it impossible for him to sneak up on her. It could be instinct that summoned the memory; Martel’s experience in combat telling him what his conscious mind had missed.
If the wyrm had powers associated with earth, maybe it would know that six humans right now tried to sneak up on it. While perhaps not as intelligent as them, it most likely possessed the cunning that any predator would, and why interrupt its prey making their approach? Sometimes, dinner served itself.
Martel took another step forward swiftly and placed a hand on Eleanor’s shoulder – their silent signal for danger and to stay back. She turned her head to glance back at him, though she trusted him enough to immediately stand still. Martel looked at the others; how to warn them without alerting the beast?
Too late. Two scales slid open to show yellow eyes with black slits underneath. Using swiftness that belied its great size, the wyrm raised its head and opened its mouth, revealing a pair of fangs the size of swords that glistened with venom in the afternoon sun.
One of the Tyrian warriors screamed, and perhaps attracting the attention of the creature sealed his fate; perhaps it was inevitable. Before he had the wherewithal to flee or simply jump out of the way, the wyrm leapt forward, if a limbless body could be said to do such a thing, and swallowed him whole. Martel watched what might be described as the throat of the wyrm bulge outward before the warrior descended further down to be digested.
Eleanor, her Archean sword already in hand, activated the enchantment, and flames engulfed the blade. “Attack!” Magic filled the air with a sizzling sound as combat erupted and the would-be dragon slayers made their assault upon the wyrm of the deep earth. Beyond, the Pillars of the World watched the battle unfold.