by A. Giannetti
Turning to his left, Elerian saw that the road below him ascended through a barren, stony gorge, finally disappearing between two tall peaks through a gap that was barely sixty feet wide. Strung out across the crest of the pass, Elerian saw at least a score of mutare. Keeping an eye on the changelings were a half dozen Wood Goblins armed with whips to daunt and control their savage allies.
“There are mutare blocking the pass,” said Elerian accusingly to Ascilius.
“I had hoped that it would not be guarded,” replied the Dwarf, who was obviously disappointed to see the sentries. “No one has passed this way since Eboria descended on Ennodius.”
“Is there some hidden path which will take us around them?” Elerian asked hopefully.
“The foot path which we will follow reaches only to the base of this cliff,” replied Ascilius soberly. “Only a mountain goat could negotiate the heights to the east of us.” Elerian frowned at the Dwarf’s words.
“How are we to get past the sentries then?” he asked doubtfully. “Even if I use my ring to make us invisible, the mutare will scent us before we ever reach their line.”
“There are only a little more than a score of them,” replied Ascilius unconcernedly. “We can easily fight our way through them.” His fiery nature roused by the thought of spilling Goblin blood, Ascilius turned a predatory gaze on the Mordi stationed in the pass. Red motes appeared in the backs of his dark eyes, and he tightened his grip on Fulmen in anticipation of the coming conflict.
“I do not doubt that we can do as you say, but it will not be wise,” objected Elerian. “There are certain to be more Goblins nearby. If one of the sentries sounds an alarm, we will be pursued out onto the plains. I do not wish to lead a force of the enemy toward Anthea.”
“It will not matter if we are pursued,” replied Ascilius dismissively. “Anthea is certain to have spare horses with her, for that is how the Tarsi ride the plains when they make a long journey. Once we find her and mount her extra steeds, we will leave any pursuit far behind.”
“Unless they have atriors,” objected Elerian.
“On foot or mounted, the Goblins are unlikely to follow us very far because of the threat of the dragon,” replied Ascilius impatiently. “If that does not reassure you then we might as well turn back now! We cannot stand here all day dithering about what to do.”
“Lead on then,” said Elerian reluctantly. “It is only concern for Anthea that makes me irresolute.” Putting aside his doubts, he followed Ascilius down the cliff face, walking lightly over a narrow, well-hidden path that led to the east, its gradual decline taking them closer to the summit of the pass as it descended down toward the road below. Walls of rock interspersed with thickets of stunted spruce and fir trees rose up on the outside edge of the path, keeping the two companions hidden from any unfriendly eyes that might turn their way. The pathway finally ended at a small ledge about thirty feet above the road. Calling his silver ring to his left hand, Elerian cast a cloak of invisibility over himself and Ascilius before they stepped out into the open. Before him, he saw a sheer drop from the ledge to the highway below, a final barrier no doubt meant to preserve the secret of the path.
On his left, perhaps a hundred feet away, Elerian saw that the dark figures of the Goblins and mutare were now outlined by the first golden rays of the sun which had begun to rise over the eastern horizon, still out of sight on the far side of the pass. As the Mordi put on black hoods to protect themselves from the coming dawn, Elerian noted that the mutare, who were indifferent to sunlight, were now standing alertly, their weapons gripped firmly in their hairy hands. All of them were looking intently down the far side of the road which fell away before them toward the plains that began at the foot of the mountains.
“What do they see?” wondered Elerian uneasily to himself, for even from his vantage point on the ledge, he could not see over the crest of the pass. To his left, standing with his back to the sentries, Ascilius missed the change in attitude among the mutare, for he was occupied in drawing a sturdy rope from his invisible pack.
“What a nuisance,” he thought to himself as he then struggled to secure the end of the invisible cord to a small fir growing from a deep crevice in the cliff face. When he finally tied a knot that satisfied him, he turned to where he thought Elerian was standing, blindly holding out the coils of the cord. As Elerian’s invisible hand took the rope from his fingers, there was a sudden cry from one of the mutare. Starting at the noise, which was half shout and half bestial roar, Elerian and Ascilius both looked toward the crest of the pass. Rising up before the sentries, outlined by golden sunshine, were the heads and shoulders of a lone Tarsian rider and four steeds, three of them bearing no burden on their backs. Sword drawn and shield raised, the rider bore down on the line of guards in a thunder of hooves.
“Anthea!” thought Elerian to himself in dismay, for who else could it be? “She must have ridden like a storm out of the east to reach the pass in so little time.” Consumed by a desire to come to her aid before it was too late, he hastily cast the rope over the rim of the ledge. Before the last coil of the cord struck the ground, he slipped off the ledge, both long hands wrapped around the thin line. His palms stung, heated by friction until, ten feet from the ground, he relaxed his grip, dropping the rest of the way.
As Elerian landed lightly on the stony floor of the gorge, the Tarsian reached the line of changelings, felling one of them with a mighty sword stroke that split the mutare’s wolf like head down to his long jaws. On either side of the rider the spare horses, well trained in the arts of war, reared and struck out with iron-shod hooves, but the snarling, howling pack of mutare who swarmed around them made difficult targets. Avoiding sword and hooves, they darted in and out, hoping to hamstring the horses so that they might bring down the rider.
“A brave effort, but the enemy are too many and too quick for her sword,” thought Elerian grimly to himself as he dropped his saddlebags, pack, and shield onto the ground. “It is only a matter of time before they pull her from her saddle and tear her to bits.”
Drawing Acris with his right hand and Rasor with his left, he raced up the road with long, swift strides, falling first upon the Mordi who thought to protect themselves by standing behind their changeling allies. His invisible knife and sword flicked right and left, each quick stroke taking a deadly toll on the Goblins. Before the last of their lifeless bodies touched the ground, Elerian fell fiercely on the hairy mutare massed in front of him. Preoccupied with their attack on the rider, they did not become aware of him until they began to fall like tall grass before a scythe. Confused and dismayed at being suddenly caught between an invisible enemy and the sword and horses of the Tarsi, they faltered, for none of them had tasted blood yet. With their fierce, bestial side still dormant, self-preservation became their primary concern. Seeing that the whips of their drivers were silent, the survivors of the melee suddenly broke off their attack. Casting aside their weapons, they fled down the road on all fours, bounding to either side of Elerian whom they could smell even if they could not see him.
The changelings did not get far, however, for consumed with anxiety lest Elerian and Anthea slay all of the enemy before he could even join the fray, Ascilius had also swarmed down the rope hanging from the ledge. Fierce as a lion, he leaped among the fleeing mutare, swinging Fulmen left and right, while thrusting with his shield to spill the enemy off their feet so that he could crush their helms and skulls with his hammer at his leisure. Only one mutare escaped him, avoiding Fulmen’s gleaming head by a whisker. Springing away in enormous bounds, he raced down the road as if dragon fire was licking at his heels.
When he saw that all of the sentries were slain or fled, Elerian sent away his ring. Visible once more, his gray eyes still alight with the glow engendered by the brief battle, he turned toward the rider, equal parts of anticipation and annoyance flooding through him. While delighted to have Anthea by his side again, he was also angry at her reckless behavior which would certainly have
resulted in her death if he and Ascilius had not been nearby. Shading his eyes from the glare of the rising sun with his left hand, he was about to call out a greeting, but the words forming on his lips to greet his beloved died stillborn. For the first time, he noticed that the rider’s form was too robust to be that of Anthea.
“It is not her,” Elerian thought to himself, disappointment and confusion replacing his elation when the rider pulled off his helmet, exposing tousled black hair and a haggard, handsome face.
“Dacien!” thought Elerian to himself in surprise. “What sad turn of events put that melancholy look into his eyes? Has some misfortune overtaken Anthea?” he wondered apprehensively.
“Greetings Elerian,” said Dacien wearily. “Are you here in this place by chance or by design?”
“I am here by chance only, Dacien,” replied Elerian quietly. “Ascilius and I were planning to return to Tarsius today along the north road of the Dwarves.”
“You say coincidence brought you here, but I cannot help but wonder if it may be more than that,” said Dacien thoughtfully. “My purpose in coming to Iulius was to seek you out and here you are where I never thought to find you.”
“It is undeniably a fortunate meeting,” conceded Elerian. “Even if you had fought your way past the sentries, a Goblin army guards the gate to the Caldaria. You would never have reached the entrance to the valley.”
“However we all came to be here, we cannot linger in this place, for the Goblins will soon return in force, alerted by the mutare who escaped me,” interrupted Ascilius who now stood by Elerian’s right shoulder. “Let us mount your steeds, Dacien, and ride away while we can.”
“That I cannot do, Ascilius,” said Dacien sadly. “I did not come searching for Elerian to bring him back to Tarsius.” Upon hearing Dacien’s cryptic, melancholy reply a sense of foreboding gripped both Ascilius and Elerian
“What do you intend then now that you have found him?” asked Ascilius uneasily.
“That will depend on Elerian,” replied Dacien, his voice filled with mingled grief and despair. “I have come here to Iulius to seek his help in finding Anthea, for she was taken prisoner by the Goblins four days ago.”
As he listened to Dacien’s grim news the ground seemed to shift beneath Elerian’s feet, and he had the sense that all around him events were in motion that would render his own desires irrelevant once more. Opening his third eye, he turned his gaze on the ruby ring that he wore on his left hand. He was filled with dismay when he saw that, beneath the illusion which concealed it, the stone it bore was dark and lifeless. Feeling as if a great hand had suddenly wrapped itself around his heart and squeezed it, Elerian tried to calm himself as best he could, refusing to believe that the light in his ring had been extinguished by Anthea’s death.
“If we are not traveling to Tarsius then we must climb back up the cliff before the Goblins arrive,” said Ascilius urgently to Elerian, who stood stunned, as if struck by some great blow. “We can hear the rest of Dacien’s news when we are safe in the passageway.”
“I will not abandon my horses,” interrupted Dacien firmly when he heard Ascilius mention the word passageway. “They have run their hearts out to bring me here in so few days.”
“Fear not for your steeds,” said Elerian, rousing himself from the numbed state that he had fallen into. “I will put a spell of protection on them that will see them safely home.”
“As for Anthea,” he mused silently to himself, “I will not accept that she is dead until I see her lifeless body before me. It may only be that Torquatus, sensing its purpose, removed her ring, causing mine to darken.” After Dacien reluctantly stripped the saddle and bridle from his stallion, Elerian whispered into each of the four horses' ears, laying the spells of hiding and finding on them that he had used on Enias before venturing on to Ennodius.
“If he returned to Tarsius safely then they will too,” thought Elerian to himself. When he stepped back, Dacien threw his arms briefly about his stallion’s neck, his eyes glistening.
“We must trust that we will meet again in better times, Mylachen,” he said quietly. “Return home and wait for me.” His stallion immediately wheeled about and fled down the pass with upraised tail, followed by his three companions. Whether it was some trick of the rising sun or the spells Elerian had laid upon them, the horses quickly disappeared from sight.
“Follow us,” said Elerian gently to Dacien before running back to the rope that still dangled from the ledge. In the distance, he now heard horns and shouting. As he had suspected earlier, there was a Goblin encampment hidden nearby in the forest. The mutare who had escaped from Ascilius must have reached it and raised the alarm.
By the time Dacien and Ascilius reached the rope, Elerian, after retrieving his treasure bags and pack, had already ascended to the ledge, pulling himself up easily hand over hand despite the burden he carried. Ascilius scrambled onto the ledge next. Dacien, after making the end of the rope fast to his saddle and bridle, followed after him. As soon as the Tarsi climbed up onto the ledge, Elerian untied the rope end from the fir tree while Ascilius drew up Dacien’s saddle. The moment that the saddle reached the ledge, Elerian called his silver ring to his hand, rendering himself and his companions invisible. As Ascilius wrapped his rope into a tight coil prior to stowing it in his pack, the first Goblins and mutare noisily rushed past the ledge, running for the crest of the pass. Shouldering Dacien’s saddle, Ascilius now led the way up the path, walking slowly and carefully, for he could not see his feet. Dacien followed close at his heels, his right hand holding onto a stirrup. Elerian followed his two invisible companions easily, for his third eye revealed both the golden shades of his companions and the dark world that surrounded them.
When he came to a small thicket of stunted firs, Ascilius stopped. Hidden behind a wall of green, he and his companions watched anxiously as a black hooded Uruc mounted on a sleek atrior arrived at the summit of the pass. At once the Goblin captain set sharp-eyed Mordi skilled in tracking to examining the road and the ground on either side of it, but they found nothing of significance, for the stony surface of the pass and the flagstone paved road would have shown little sign even if a hundred mounted men had passed over them. The mutare had no better luck as they snuffled about on all fours, smelling the ground where the battle had taken place. Only weak scents, hard to unravel, clung to the dry, stony surface of the road. The changelings quickly became distracted from their task by the scent of fresh blood emanating from the bodies lying on the road. Snarls, growls, and the snap and crack of whips soon filled the air as the hooded Mordi overseers attempted to keep the mutare from pawing and devouring the dead.
Ignoring the confusion around him, Goblin captain shaded his eyes from the morning sun with his right hand as he carefully searched the cliff faces on both sides of the pass, but he saw nothing suspicious, for the footpath the three companions had followed was well hidden. Again the Uruc questioned the one survivor of the battle, but he had no better luck than before, for the mutare continued to give a confused account of what had taken place in the pass, mentioning the blinding sun and an invisible enemy as well as a number of fierce Dwarves and horsemen.
“I hate these stinking creatures,” thought the Goblin captain disgustedly to himself as he glared into the hairy, bestial face of the mutare. “They lose better than half of their wits when they make the change. The creature’s talk of Dwarves and an invisible enemy I can discount, for they are most likely the imaginings of this half-witted creature before me. It seems more reasonable to me to suppose that a small force of Tarsi attempted to come over the pass from the east, for some of the dead are marked by the hooves and teeth of horses. Finding the way guarded, they must have retreated back to the plains. If they manage to escape the dragon a second time and return home, the most that they will have accomplished is to carry the news south that the pass over the mountains is guarded.”
Having resolved the incident to his satisfaction, the Uruc ordered the guard
on the pass to be doubled and Dwarf slaves brought up to construct a high, strong wall across the defile. In the unlikely event that the horse herders returned, they would find the last entrance into the Dwarf kingdoms sealed against them. The attention of the Uruc now turned to the dead Goblins and mutare who were still lying about the pass where they had fallen.
“Bring the bodies of the dead back to camp,” he ordered those around him.
Immediately a pack of mutare, watched over by Mordi overseers, cheerfully began carrying the bodies of the slain down the road toward the Goblin encampment. Whether it came from friend or foe, fresh meat was always welcome.
A FALLING-OUT
On the cliff face above the pass Ascilius now felt that it was safe to move again, for the sentries that the Goblin captain had left behind were concentrating their attention on the road leading down to the plains. Even though they were invisible, he and his companions took full advantage of the cover along the outside edge of the footpath they were following as they cautiously made their way back to the ledge that stood before the tunnel entrance. Before stepping out onto the narrow stone shelf that led to the hidden door, Ascilius looked down at the road and pass to make certain that they were unobserved. Seeing that no unfriendly eyes were turned their way, he walked quickly to the hidden door, darting into the passageway behind it the moment that it swung open at his command. He was followed first by Dacien and then Elerian, who sent away his ring, rendering everyone visible again. After sealing the door shut, Ascilius lit a small mage light, which took up a position about a foot above his head. Turning at once to Dacien, Elerian addressed the Tarsian in a grim voice.
