Dark Fall (3rd Book)

Chapter 15: Secrets, Wisdom, Jests, and Saerenya

"Is it so hard to forget, dragon?" The rugged voice of Fendrel asked as he looked over this dank cave, seeing the dark grey walls tinged with the gleam of shining gems, hidden treasures ripe for the taking. He looked behind him, where it stretched outwards to the unknown, where the darkness was at her worst, and creatures prowled in their own free will, unbound and dangerous. He continued in a broken voice,"Is it so hard to forget the deaths of my beloved friends? To have solace?"

The dragon was slumped beside him, the hands of lethargy gripping his limbs with iron wills, forcing him back to the ground when his blood burned with the tainting vengeance, to rend the flesh of those who dared harm Seraith, and who dared to harm Fendrel more. His huge bulk was but a medium size compared to the vastness of this cavern, sure to stretch many more miles, but curiosity had long faded from their consciousness, and to him, hope.

A small fire had been sprung to life with magic long before, made with saplings, twigs, and one word in the arcane, and a young girl with flowing auburn hair slept beside a young man, both in cots and both as innocent as a demon is sinful. Their even breaths were a contrast to the old man and the dragon's pants, testifying their tired limbs and beating hearts; deprived lungs.

Miasmador's red eyes seemingly had turned back to their normal golden ones as if a form of defeat or weariness, with the black spots that was so very unique of him as he opened his jaws in a yawn, eyes drooping to a shut. "I know not." Came forth his answer, and a moment of silence passed before he added,"Can you take comfort that th..."

"But how can I?" He pleaded, so unbecoming of a wise, old man such as him, assassin or not. He backed against Miasmador's side, sharing the warmth the dragon's body offered, a hot feeling that took away the chill that resided in his body, giving him shivers and sleepless nights full of melancholic brooding, a frost that not even this magical fire cannot cure in the least. "Tell me, Miasmador, for it eludes me. How can I take comfort that sooner or later, I would face them as foes, not as friends, and they will cease to know me?"

"That this world may be doomed for destruction? Magnus, maybe, is destined to die, and perhaps a new world born with it." He told the dragon in a straight voice, when earlier it was all but that. "Is that not possible? Why prolong this existence when there is absolutely no hope?"

Small wisps of black smoke rose out of his nostrils as he raised his head, craning his neck to look at the man, fire blazing in his golden eyes. Fendrel's sword was thrown somewhere, and his outfit was barely one, torn and shredded that his bare skin too was colored red and brown, black and blue, bruised, bloodied and dirtied. "Say something like that again and I will tear you to pieces!"

Miasmador snarled, showing blades that were teeth and poison-filled daggers that were eyes, but Fendrel fired back with those now dull blue eyes, bereft of any more feelings, nothing but the grief that took over him. "There is still hope! There is always! If you cannot think it, then I shall," He boomed out with the tones of a true proud dragon of the skies. "I swear to you that I will kill him, I will shut that snivelling madman up for good, and if I can't, then Laertiz damn me!"

Fendrel looked over to the dragon, a raised brow and a skeptical smile that was all but humorous. "Is that so, Miasmador? Can you tell that when he lies broken and bloodied before you? Can you tell that when he is the one to kill us?" He laughed, and again, the hack and the cackles were of a bitterness few feel. "Are you blind? He's a demon, one of the onl..."

"Do you doubt me?" Miasmador growled, eyes to slits now as his right front claw tapped the stone with impatience, annoyance and vexation. "Is it not what you imply, human? That I cannot kill a bastard who hides behind his Lord?"

"Hides behind his Lord?" Fendrel retorted, standing up and facing the dragon with a scowl. "Have you seen the way he moves? It's not enough that he's the Champion, he's the summoner! And if that doesn't make matters even worse, which it does, he's a demon! A demon, Miasmador, think about that. His powers reach to Merec's own."