by A. Giannetti
“Tell me all that you can about Anthea, Dacien?”
“Four days ago, at the dawn shift change, the relief for the guards at the palace gate raised an alarm, for the sentries they were to replace were not at their posts,” replied Dacien in somber tones. “Their bodies were soon discovered hidden near the gate. Hounds were brought in to track their murderer, but they were unable to find a scent trail to follow. A search of the grounds and the palace eventually led the discovery that Anthea’s apartment was empty except for the body of her attendant. A trace of an unknown potion was found in her wine glass, leading us to believe that she had been abducted after being drugged. My father then searched for her with the basin you gifted him with, but she did not appear in its depths. Taking no chances, he ordered a search of every inch of Niveaus and the surrounding countryside. No sign of Anthea was found in Niveaus, but when the searchers left the city, they discovered a severed, bloody finger lying on a black satin pillow that had been left on the roadbed before the main gate. Next to the cushion was a note. The missive stated that Anthea was now a captive of the Goblins and that Orianus must accept Torquatus as his sovereign, or she would be returned to him one piece at a time, the finger on the pillow being the first part of her body to be severed and given back.”
Upon hearing of the grisly token left with the note, Elerian felt dismay and horror course through him. The image he had seen of a maimed finger when he stood by the back gate of Galenus rose up again before his mind’s eye.
“It was Anthea’s finger that I saw had I the wit to realize it,” thought Elerian bitterly to himself. He listened in grim silence while Dacien went on with his tale.
“Shortly after that a message arrived from Silanus, carried by one of my father’s hawks. The letter stated that a small group of Ancharians carrying a white flag had crossed the river asking whether Orianus would abide by the conditions of the ransom note. Setting aside his own grief, my father did what was best for the kingdom, sending back word back that he would never submit to Torquatus but that he would gladly pay a ransom or even exchange himself for Anthea. The next morning a reply came back in the form of a second finger, again left in some mysterious way by the city gate. My father was eaten up by grief at the sight of it,” continued Dacien in a grim voice. “At that point there seemed to be no doubt that Anthea had somehow been taken across the borders of Tarsius, therefore Merula, who was as much disturbed as my father by Anthea’s abduction, urged an invasion of Silanus on the hope that she was being held there. Judging that the venture had little chance of success, I determined, instead, to search you out in Iulius, hoping that by your magical arts you might discover where Anthea had been taken. Because of the still undiscovered traitor in our ranks, I decided to keep my decision to leave Tarsius a secret from everyone except my father. That same morning, traveling alone, I set out across the plains, following the northern route to Iulius. My chief concern was the dragon, but I saw no sign of Eboria on my journey or any other danger for that matter. Her predations must have either driven away the inhabitants of the northern plains or sent them into hiding. Changing between my four mounts and sleeping in the saddle, I did not set foot on the ground for more than an hour or two of the three days and nights my noble steeds carried me across the northern prairie. Tell me now that my journey was not in vain, Elerian, and that there is something you can do to discover my sister’s whereabouts.”
“There is only one way that I may learn where she has been taken,” replied Elerian raising his right hand. He heard Ascilius groan when his crystal orb appeared on his palm.
“Look not into that ill-omened device,” warned the Dwarf in grim tones.
“There is no other way for me to discover where Anthea is being held,” replied Elerian firmly as he cupped the orb in his long hands. Immediately a silvery glow visible only to his third eye engulfed the orb. Although the bond between his and Anthea’s ring was broken, Elerian reached out with his mind for her and found himself drawn to the west, influenced, perhaps, by the bond forged between himself and Anthea during that moment when he brought her back to life in the Troll Wood.
“Show her to me,” he silently commanded the orb, guiding its search with that ethereal link. Closing his magical eye, he saw the interior of the sphere clear. Mountains, forests, lakes, and rivers flashed by until the eye of the orb suddenly fixed itself above a dark mountain, one of many that reared up like dark fangs tearing at the morning sky. An instant later, the mountain vanished, replaced by a dark room lit by lurid red lights. In the center of that chamber Elerian saw a large block of dark stone. Its sides were roughly chiseled, but its surface was flat and polished, the greater part of it covered by a clear crystal dome. Beneath this transparent cover lay a still form clothed in brown leather garments. Before Elerian could direct his orb to show him the face of the motionless figure an enormous, hairy shape leaped in front of the platform, obscuring his view. Rearing up on its hind legs, it thrust a hideous gray head lit by fiery green eyes toward him, its gaping, toothy jaws seeming to engulf both the orb and his hands. Starting back at the horrible apparition that had appeared so suddenly before him, Elerian lost control of the sphere which at once went dark.
“Show me the chamber again,” Elerian silently and angrily commanded his orb when he recovered his composure, but instead of the platform, a woman’s left hand suddenly appeared in the sphere, pressed against a block of scarred wood by a clawed Goblin hand. It was slender and shapely, but three of the long fingers were gone, severed at the first knuckle. Two of the wounds were blackened and crusted over, cauterized with fire, but the third injury was fresh and still oozed drops of blood red as rubies, indicating that the owner of the hand still lived. A wave of horror swept over Elerian, and the orb slipped from his fingers. It would have fallen to the floor of the tunnel had Dacien not reached out his right hand and deftly caught it. Setting aside his dismay and anger, Elerian tried to order his mind and will again.
“I may at last have an explanation for my darkened ring,” he thought grimly to himself. “If it was Anthea’s hand that I saw, the shortest of the three missing fingers would have carried her ruby ring.”
“What did you see?” asked Dacien, impatiently interrupting Elerian’s morbid thoughts. Because of the manner in which Elerian had held the sphere, neither he nor Ascilius had seen what transpired inside of it.
“When I directed the sphere to show me Anthea, it revealed a shape resting on a bier in a dungeon,” replied Elerian broodingly. “Before I could take a closer look, a licantrope suddenly obscured my vision. I think it may be the same creature Anthea saw when she looked into my orb in Tarsius. In its usual capricious fashion, the sphere revealed a bit of her future then, but not enough to prevent the sad fate that has overtaken her,” concluded Elerian bitterly.
“You do not know for certain then if it was Anthea that you saw?” asked Dacien, his voice suddenly bereft of hope.
“I did not see her face, but I believe in my heart that I saw Anthea and that she still lives,” replied Elerian grimly. He fell silent then, for he had not the heart to tell Dacien about the bloody hand that he had also seen in the sphere. “I will not add to his misery by describing her torment,” he thought to himself.
“Were you able to discover where she is imprisoned?” asked Dacien, some of his despair lifting at the news that Elerian thought his sister still drew breath.
“Her cell is inside a dark mountain rising among many other similar peaks, but where it is located I could not tell,” replied Elerian.
“Anthea must be in Tyranus,” said Ascilius soberly. “Deep in the stony bowels of the mountain that you saw are Torquatus’s most terrible and secure dungeons. Even if we could reach it today with all the might of the Dwarves and the Tarsi behind us, we could not hope to win our way inside there, for it is a mighty fortress filled with rank on rank of Torquatus’s servants and guarded by an impregnable gate built by Dwarf hands. Even the land around it conspires to defend it, for it is surrounded by sheer cl
iffs and bare, stony peaks. Nothing can approach it without being seen by the sleepless eyes which stand guard in the hidden places around it.”
“Can you not use your powers to open a path into Anthea’s cell, Elerian?” asked Dacien hopefully. “We might then rescue her before Torquatus is even aware of us.” Elerian made no reply for a moment as he considered Dacien’s question.
“You give me too much credit, Dacien,” he replied at last. “With time I might discover or craft the necessary spells, but I have not the power to use them to open a portal large enough for us to pass through it.”
“Had you made your ring of power as Dymiter instructed you, you would have had all the power you required,” an accusing voice in Elerian’s mind reminded him. Overcome with sudden regret for the choice that he had made in Ennodius to limit the power of his ring, he groaned silently to himself. “By weakening the ring to protect myself from its influence, I may have doomed Anthea to a horrible death,” he thought wretchedly to himself.
“If neither magic nor strength of arms will bring us into Tyranus then how are we to rescue my sister?” wondered Dacien aloud, despair creeping into his voice.
“There are other forms of magic besides portals which can accomplish that task,” Elerian assured Dacien. “If Ascilius is able to tell me where Tyranus rears its ugly peak, I will fly there in my hawk form as soon as we quit this passageway, hoping to find some way to rescue Anthea when I arrive.”
“I will not say one word about Tyranus unless you give up this reckless plan at once,” replied Ascilius, his voice full of alarm. “Even if you managed to reach the prison without being killed or captured, you would arrive there alone and weaponless. I can assure you now that your spells alone will not suffice to extract Anthea from that place. The more likely outcome is that you would fall into Torquatus’s clutches yourself. Endless torments would be your lot then and Anthea’s, too, for it would add to his delight to torture the two of you in sight of each other.”
“At least we would die together,” replied Elerian morosely.
“That is no rational answer to my objections,” retorted Ascilius impatiently.
“What would you advise then?” asked Elerian angrily. “I cannot stand by and do nothing.”
“I am not advising you to do naught,” replied Ascilius impatiently. “My point is that a reasoned, careful effort to rescue Anthea will serve her better than some impetuous attempt that will come to nothing. Travel to Tyranus on foot carrying the weapons that you made in Ennodius. With those in your hands and a few stout companions to guard your back, you will have the best chance of finding some way to rescue Anthea.”
“Your plan would involve a journey of many days,” objected Elerian, his voice rising and his eyes becoming over bright from anger and desperation. “I would go mad thinking about what was happening to Anthea in the mean time!”
“The deceits of the Goblin King are many, Elerian,” cautioned Ascilius, trying to keep his voice measured and reasonable. “Torquatus’s threat to dismember Anthea may by nothing more than a falsehood intended to impair Orianus’s judgment and to prompt him to act impulsively, rushing from Niveaus to wage a rash war.”
“My orb tells me that her torment is real!” insisted Elerian wildly.
“Your orb is untrustworthy as you, yourself, have admitted,” replied Ascilius patiently. “If, however, you still insist on believing that Anthea is being tortured then consider this. The wounds she receives will not threaten her life for many days yet. We will have more than enough time to reach Tyranus and to mount some sort of rescue attempt before she receives a mortal wound.”
“How can you be so cold and indifferent to her suffering?” responded Elerian incredulously at the Dwarf’s words. “Anthea showed you nothing but kindness and in return you would callously condemn her to days of unnecessary torment.”
“Do not mistake my logic for a lack of sympathy,” replied Ascilius grimly. “I care more for Anthea than you can imagine, but I know better than to let my love for her cloud my judgment as you have done.”
“Then let each of us make a separate attempt at a rescue,” suggested Elerian impatiently. “Tell me the way to Tyranus and I will fly there. You and Dacien can follow on foot with as many companions as you wish to bring.” As Elerian waited for Ascilius’s response to his suggestion the maimed hand that he had seen in his orb appeared again before his mind’s eye. His desire to be off at once intensified as he imagined the searing pain that Anthea must have endured from each wound and the cauterizing fire that followed it.
“We have the best chance of success if we stay together,” Ascilius replied, interrupting his grim vision. Taken aback by the Dwarf’s rejection of his plan, Elerian suddenly lost control of his temper.
“Enough of the cold logic of your stony hearted race!” he shouted angrily. “Tell me the way to Tyranus!” Ascilius’s face darkened with anger at Elerian’s insult, but he made no answer to his demand, maintaining, instead, a flinty silence. Engendered by Ascilius’s stubborn and, to his mind, unreasonable refusal to divulge the location of Anthea’s prison, a hot, unreasoning fury suddenly blossomed in Elerian’s mind, and his gray eyes took on a dangerous, frantic gleam better suited for an enemy than a friend.
“Tell me the way, you miserable, obstinate creature, or I will force the information from your stubborn lips!” he threatened furiously
“Until your commonsense is restored, I will say nothing more to you,” replied Ascilius angrily, red motes floating in their depths of his dark eyes.
“Where was your commonsense when you blew the horn in the vigilarum of Ennodius,” demanded Elerian sarcastically, his voice still raised, and his gray eyes growing brighter, as if a fever burned within him. Without warning, he suddenly lunged at Ascilius with the speed of a panther.
“Tell me what I want to know, or I will part you from the beard that you prize so highly,” he shouted as, seizing a braid of the Dwarf’s long beard in each hand, he began to tug vigorously on them, as if he intended to tear them out by the roots. Bellowing in pain, Ascilius promptly dropped Fulmen and grasped Elerian by each of his wrists with his powerful hands. A furious contest punctuated by shouts and threats now ensued as he and Elerian strained against each other: pushing, tugging, and whirling violently about as each sought to master the other with strength that would have broken bones on a man.
“Unhand my beard, you fiend!” Ascilius roared.
“Not until you tell me the way to Tyranus,” Elerian shouted back. Despite Ascilius’s iron grip on his wrists, he gave a firm tug on the Dwarf’s captive braids that elicited another pained roar from Ascilius. Standing helplessly at a little distance from the two combatants, Dacien observed with dismay the violent argument that had erupted between Elerian and Ascilius.
“This is no friendly contest such as I have witnessed between them in the past,” he thought to himself as he watched them struggle. “Elerian is overwrought as I have never seen him, and Ascilius is growing angrier by the moment. I must end this now before someone is hurt.” Taking out his dagger, Dacien held it in his right hand point up and pommel pointed down.
“Whose side should I take?” he wondered uneasily to himself. In his heart he sympathized with Elerian’s desire to attempt the rescue of his sister immediately, but reason urged him to take Ascilius’s side, for the Dwarf’s plan to rescue Anthea seemed to have the best chance of success. When Elerian suddenly presented his back, Dacien impulsively struck him on the head with the heavy ball fixed to the end of his dagger handle.
“Now I have you,” shouted Ascilius triumphantly as Elerian went limp. He promptly froze when Dacien suddenly seized the right braid of his beard in his left hand and rested the keen edge of his dagger against it.
“You will stop this mad battle now, Ascilius, or lose half your beard,” said Dacien firmly. The threat coupled with the stern look in Dacien’s gray eyes calmed the Dwarf at once.
“We must act quickly then,” Ascilius replied i
n a more staid voice. “It is imperative that we bind this fool before he wakes, for in his fey mood, he may decide to use magic against us.” Taking a cord from his pack, Ascilius, with Dacien’s help, quickly bound Elerian’s wrists and ankles, taking extra care to secure his long fingers. When Elerian stirred in the midst of their efforts, Ascilius promptly rapped him on the head with Fulmen’s handle. As Elerian sank back into unconsciousness, the Dwarf’s dark eyes gleamed with pleasure, as if he had derived a great deal of enjoyment from the action that he had just taken.
“Have a care Ascilius!” warned Dacien in an alarmed voice. “Your strength is such that you could easily slay him or scramble his wits with your heavy handed blows! We will need his help if we are to have any chance of recuing my sister.”
“He is in no danger from my love taps,” replied Ascilius in an unconcerned voice. “You have seen for yourself the thickness of his skull.”
After a wad of cloth and a gag ensured that no spell would pass Elerian’s lips, Ascilius sat him down with his back to one of the walls of the passageway. Before long, Elerian regained consciousness again and at once began struggling furiously until another tap from Fulmen, lighter than the last, caused him to see stars.
“Before I release you, you will promise not to harm either Dacien or me,” said Ascilius in a stern voice. “You will also agree to travel with Dacien and me on foot and in your own form when we set off to rescue Anthea.”
Eyes incandescent with fury Elerian glared at the Dwarf who still held Fulmen’s handle in his right hand, ready to deliver another blow if it was needed. Realizing that, for now, he was in Ascilius’s power Elerian struggled to bring his rage under control. He was not able to vanquish it completely, but his mind cleared to the point where thought was once more possible.
“Pretend to agree with him,” prompted that part of his mind that was still subject to his anger. “When you are free, you can strike him down and do as you will.” As he considered that suggestion, through the red haze that permeated his mind like a crimson fog, Elerian suddenly saw Anthea’s fair face, a measuring look in her cool blue eyes.
