by A. Giannetti
“My time as a shade takes a toll on my body like any other magic,” she thought to herself, for she felt unusually tired, as if she had performed some great exertion. “I would do well to rest a bit before I set out for Iulius,” she decided. “I am better served to leave late, in any case, when everyone is wrapped in the warm embrace of sleep.” Near her bed, on a small stand of ebony inlaid with silver, she saw the glass of ruby wine that Alypia placed there for her each night to help alleviate the restlessness which afflicted her when the sun went down. Taking up the glass with the strong, slender fingers of her right hand, Anthea drank a small portion of the ruby liquid before lying down on her bed. For a moment her eyes remained open, gleaming with excitement and anticipation as she pictured her reunion with Elerian when she met him on the plains near the eastern pass through the Nivalis. The journey, alone through hundreds of miles of dangerous, unpopulated lands which she must make to bring about that meeting, caused her not a moment of unrest. Then, weariness and the potion that she had unwittingly drunk dragged down her eyelids. Instead of the light, half-aware sleep she had become accustomed to lately, Anthea found her consciousness slipping into a state of oblivion where all thought ended. When Alypia quietly entered Anthea’s bedroom a short time later and saw her cousin sleeping, her heart was glad, but she was also puzzled when she noted that Anthea was still dressed leather hunting gear instead of nightclothes.
“She must have fallen asleep before she could change,” thought Alypia to herself. “At least she will rest for one night, thanks to Merula’s potion,” was her satisfied thought as she spread a coverlet over Anthea after taking off her soft leather boots. While she was thus occupied, a tall, grim figure slipped stealthily through the city, drawing closer and closer to Orianus’s palace.
When he reached a side entrance in the wall that surrounded Orianus’s residence, Merula knocked and said quietly, “Let me in. I am on the king’s business.” Recognizing Merula’s voice, the two guards on the other side of the entryway opened the heavy, wooden door at once, despite the lateness of the hour. Hardly had Merula crossed the threshold, however, than he turned to his left and struck down the door wardens with two quick, powerful thrusts of his dagger, each blow slipping easily through thick leather armor to find a beating heart. Without the slightest qualm of conscience, Merula stooped and held a strong hand over each dying man’s mouth to stifle any last sound that they might make.
“I need feel no regret for these deaths,” he assured himself as the men ceased to struggle and went limp. “They spend their lives worthily to advance my designs, no different from the soldiers who fall in combat executing my commands, so that the battle may be won.”
After quickly hiding the bodies in the small booth provided to shelter the door guards in inclement weather, Merula walked across the palace grounds and entered the king’s residence through another side door to which he had the key, for he and Orianus had met before at odd hours when some emergency threatened the kingdom. Walking softly through deserted hallways, he arrived, unchallenged, at the door to Anthea’s quarters. At his soft knock, Alypia eagerly opened it.
“She is asleep just as you promised,” she said with a glad smile on her lips when she saw Merula’s handsome face. Hardly had she spoken the words than he covered her mouth with his strong left hand while plunging his already bloody dagger through her heart with his right. Ignoring the stunned, pleading look in the woman’s wide-open gray eyes, Merula held his hand over Alypia’s mouth and chin with a grip of iron until he felt the life leave her body. Releasing her, he let her body slide free of his dagger and fall to the floor. Closing the door behind him, he then stepped impatiently over her still form, a preoccupied look in his fevered eyes. Striding into the next room, he found Anthea lying unmoving on her bed, fast asleep. Merula paused for a moment at her bedside, the bloody dagger clenched in his right hand dripping drops of red blood onto the polished stone floor of the bedroom. At the sight of her fair face regret briefly twisted his handsome features, but he thrust the emotion ruthlessly aside.
“The blame for my actions lies with her,” he thought bitterly to himself, “for she has brought me to this state. Had she acknowledged my worth, as she ought to have done, I would never have taken this path.” With this last thought, a mad light gleamed once more in Merula’s blue eyes. After wiping his bloody dagger on the bed sheets, he thrust it into its sheath. His right hand then reached for the chain around his neck, but fell away again at the last moment.”
“It would be reckless on my part to allow an uncertain ally like Torquatus entry into the palace,” he thought to himself. “Despite the risk, I would be wise to carry her to some safer place before summoning the Goblin.”
After quickly wrapping Anthea's unresisting form in the blanket that covered her, Merula threw her over his left shoulder. Effortlessly, he carried Anthea’s slim form across the polished marble floor of the chamber, and after opening the outer door of the apartment, spirited her out of the palace through the same side entrance through which he had entered it. When Merula emerged out into the open after locking the door behind him, stars gleamed in the black sky overhead, and a warm breeze blew over the tall stone wall that circled the palace, carrying with it the scent of roses from the gardens. Intent only on his task, Merula ignored everything else as he made his way to the door through which he had entered the palace grounds, keeping to the shadows wherever possible. No one saw him leave, for the only watchmen were the door guards that he had slain.
Heart beating wildly, nerves stretched to the breaking point, Merula stole through the city, following the same path that he had taken before. When he reached his residence, he took Anthea to the tack room in his stables where he was less likely to be seen. His stallion nickered softly when he entered, but there was no one else about to observe him.
“It would be better to take her outside the walls of the city,” thought Merula uneasily to himself as he set Anthea on the floor at his feet. “Out of an abundance of caution, I would sooner not let the Goblin into my home.” He gave the matter deep thought before abandoning it. Unlike the palace, the walls of the city and its gates were well guarded. He could not exit Niveaus carrying Anthea’s bundled form without arousing suspicion.
“Even if they do not stop me, the guards will report my burden later when it is known that Anthea is missing,” he reasoned to himself. Reluctantly, he reached for his silver chain, exposing the ruby that depended from it. At the touch of his fingers, it gleamed briefly like a fiery coal. Moments later, an oval shaped portal opened up before him, and a tall Uruc dressed in black leather armor stepped out of it.
“She is not to be harmed,” commanded Merula sternly as the Goblin stooped to take Anthea‘s unconscious body into his arms.
“My master will keep his bargain,” replied the Uruc soothingly. “No hurt will come to her while she is in his charge.” Lifting Anthea effortlessly, he stepped lightly back through the portal with his burden.
“It is done then, for better or worse,” thought Merula uneasily to himself as the portal vanished. “I must trust that the Goblin will keep his bargain. If he does not, I will not rest until I see his life’s blood flow from his body,” he silently promised himself, his eyes glittering in the darkness from the intensity of his emotions.”
IN THE CLUTCHES OF THE GOBLIN KING
Torquatus sprang eagerly erect from his black chair when Valgus emerged from the portal into his throne room carrying Anthea. When the captain of his guard laid her at his feet and removed the blanket that covered her, his eyes glowed with a hungry light as he surveyed her still form.
“She has Dymiter’s talisman just as I suspected!” he thought exultantly to himself as an exposed bit of gleaming chain at her throat drew his gaze like a magnet, for foremost in his mind was the thought of frustrating the prophecy of Dymiter. A fierce frown spread across his pale features, however, when he opened his third eye, for it revealed a silvery film of light, invisible to Valgus, which co
vered Anthea’s body like a gleaming cloak.
“The shield spell must emanate from the amulet, triggered perhaps by her situation, for the woman sleeps too deeply to use magic herself,” he thought to himself. Beneath the translucent shroud that covered Anthea, Torquatus’s mage sight now revealed an illusion spell on her left hand which concealed something resembling a fiery coal that pulsed at regular intervals.
“A hidden charm,” thought Torquatus to himself, his eyes narrowing. “I will discover its purpose after I take Dymiter’s amulet.” Wary of the magical shield which covered Anthea, Torquatus made no effort to reach for the object he so desired. “I will let Valgus test its powers rather than endanger myself,” he thought to himself.
“Take her necklace and hand it to me,” he commanded the captain of his guard. Unaware of the shield spell which protected Anthea’s sleeping form, the Uruc reached at once with a long hand for the silver chain lying in the hollow of her throat, but his fingers were unable to close around it, instead scrabbling about as if they had encountered a slippery coating of ice.
“I cannot touch the cursed thing or get any purchase on it,” complained Valgus in a frustrated voice to his Dark King.
“Force your dagger under it then,” said Torquatus impatiently. Drawing the weapon from his belt, Valgus attempted to slip its point under the silver chain, but no matter how strongly he thrust it down against Anthea’s neck, the point slipped away as if her skin was covered with a layer of clear crystal.
“I cannot penetrate whatever charm protects her, my lord,” said Valgus at last, his voice full of frustration.
“Strike off her head then,” commanded Torquatus impatiently. “You wear a charmed blade able to cut steel as easily as butter.” Valgus immediately drew out his sword, intricate, crimson lines of gleaming argentum twisting down the length of its curved black blade. Confidently, he raised it high in his right hand. Then, with all his considerable strength, he suddenly swung the razor sharp edge down at Anthea’s exposed white throat, intending to strike just to the right of the chain around her neck. At the moment of contact with Anthea’s still form, Valgus felt a numbing jolt to his hand and arm, and a flash of intense, scarlet light filled the chamber, momentarily blinding him and his master. As he was thrown onto his back by some powerful, unseen force, the ring of shattered steel falling to the stone floor of the chamber reached Valgus’s pointed ears. When Torquatus’s vision cleared, he saw his captain lying on his back, stunned and immobile, the hilt of his shattered sword still clutched in his right hand. Shifting his gaze to Anthea, he saw that both her throat and the chain draped around it were unharmed. His dark eyes flamed red at the unwelcome sight.
“Even in death, my enemy thwarts my desires,” he thought furiously to himself, for there was no doubt in his mind that the amulet followed some directive that Dymiter had embedded into it at its making. Lifting his right arm, Torquatus directed a crimson ray, visible only to his third eye, at the slumbering form of the princess, attempting to draw her life force into his silver ring, but the deadly beam flared harmlessly against the silvery cloak that enveloped her quiescent body. Eyes burning like coals, he swore a fearful oath at the top of his voice, for his ring had never failed him before. Calming himself with an effort, he ended the spell which had claimed so many lives in the past. As the shaft of crimson faded away, he instead called up a veritable bonfire of magical flames around Anthea. Vindictively, hoping that even in her unconscious state she would feel the sear of the fire, Torquatus watched as Orianus’s daughter disappeared, enveloped in a scarlet inferno. Valgus hastily stepped back when the floor beneath the flames melted and flowed like water as the heat from the magical fire sank into the stone.
“Nothing can survive the inferno I have created,” Torquatus thought confidently to himself. When he finally reduced the intensity of the flames, however, he ground his teeth in rage when he saw the untouched form of the Anthea, still wrapped in a cloak of white light, floating in a pool of orange, molten rock. Taking a deep breath, Torquatus calmed himself a second time.
“The woman cannot be harmed as long as the shield cast by the talisman covers her,” he admitted to himself. “I could, perhaps, break the charm with the expenditure of enough power, for the amulet draws from the life force of the woman to maintain its shield, but the outcome is not certain, for the device seems to magnify the power of the wearer. There is risk, too, that such a contest might rouse the woman from the charmed sleep that keeps her helpless. Awake and with the talisman at her command, she poses an unknown danger. A more subtle approach is called for here, one that will accomplish my purposes with no loss of power or hazard to myself.”
“You will speak to no one of what has happened here,” said Torquatus in a deadly soft voice to Valgus who was staring dumbfounded at Anthea sleeping peacefully in her fiery bed.
“As you wish lord,” the Uruc replied. “What of the woman? Perhaps a fall from the summit of Ossarium would end her life.”
“Nothing can harm her while the shield that protects her lasts, Valgus,” replied Torquatus moodily. Quenching the mage fire that burned harmlessly around her, Torquatus watched morosely as the molten stone beneath Anthea firmed and cooled instantly, resuming the same polished appearance as the ebony floor around her.
“If I cannot destroy her then I must at least keep her safe and contained,” he decided before summoning Malevolus from where he crouched by the dark throne in the center of the chamber, his eyes gleaming like yellow lamps in the dim, scarlet light that permeated the throne room.
“Bring Lepida to me,” Torquatus commanded Malevolus, “and make haste.” The miserable creature who had once been a Goblin mage scuttled away on four legs, his claws clicking on the polished stone of the throne room. In his absence, Torquatus continued to glare silently at Anthea, a silence Valgus dared not interrupt. In a short time, a slender female Goblin dressed in a sleek gown of black satin glided into the chamber behind the brindled form of Malevolus. Pale and flawless was her skin and dark as night her brilliant eyes. Thick ebony tresses hung to her shoulders covering all but the tips of her pointed ears. Subtle and cruel even for a Goblin, she had, among her other duties, the command of Tyranus, Torquatus’s chief prison.
“My lord, I have come at your summons,” she said in a velvety voice.
“Here I have the substitute I need for Orianus’s daughter,” thought Torquatus to himself as he observed Lepida with a critical eye, but he kept the thought to himself for now.
“Take this woman to Tyranus,” he commanded. “Carry her to the most remote dungeon and have the most skilled of my Dwarf slaves seal her in a coffin made of imperishable crystal. When their task is done, create a guardian more fearsome than any we have yet made and confine it in the woman’s cell. After sealing the door with powerful spells, assign guards to keep a sleepless watch on the passage leading to the chamber where she is confined.”
“I will not fail you lord,” replied Lepida boldly. She then took up Anthea’s body as easily as Valgus had earlier. When Torquatus opened a portal before her, she stepped through it at once, vanishing from sight as Torquatus closed the magical gate behind her.
“I will have my way in the end,” thought Torquatus to himself after Lepida had departed. “Sealed in her coffin, Orianus’s daughter must eventually die, either from the lack of sustenance and air or from the talisman which protects her, for the spell cast by the amulet will continually leach away her life force until nothing is left. Once she has perished, I can safely take the necklace and destroy it with no risk to myself. In the meantime, to while away the hours while I await her death, I may as well amuse myself by tormenting Orianus and his arrogant captain as well as the Hesperian who has thwarted my plans in both Tarsius and the Dwarf Kingdoms.”
Turning to Valgus, Torquatus ordered him thus. “Select a woman from among the Tarsi prisoners, Valgus. Have the smallest finger of her left hand severed and laid before the gates of Niveaus before dawn along with a missive dema
nding the submission of Orianus. After you have accomplished this, select twenty Dwarves at random and have them delivered to the gate of the Caldaria in the morning. Give each of them treasure which my mages have ensorcelled to engender greed in whoever handles it. Tell them that in return for their freedom, I require them to bring word to Dardanus that I have captured Orianus’s daughter and that she suffers great torments at my hands.” As Valgus departed to carry out Torquatus’s commands, the Goblin King smiled to himself as he imagined the effects of his clever deception.
“Men are subject to the corrupting influence of the weaker emotions that do not trouble Goblin kind,” he thought contemptuously to himself. “Orianus will be driven to despair by the thought that I intend to daily maim his daughter. Merula will think that I have betrayed him and will suffer accordingly. As for the Hesperian, his attachment to Orianus’s daughter will certainly impel him to attempt her immediate rescue, rushing blindly into the trap I have prepared for him.”
While Torquatus gloated over the misery he intended to inflect inflict on his enemies, Lepida was occupied in carrying out his orders concerning Anthea. It was three days travel on foot from Ossarium to Tyranus, but she had spanned the distance instantly through her master’s portal, arriving before the gate of black steel that marked the entrance to the fortress well before dawn. When the gates swung open, she carried Anthea deep into the mountain, making light of her burden, for her strength far exceeded that of a mortal man. In a remote cell, she laid Anthea on a block of black basalt that occupied the center of the chamber. There were old, dark stains on that stone and iron manacles were attached to it, for Torquatus had used this room before for his dark purposes. Anthea’s face, fair beyond measure in repose, excited no pity in the Gobliness. Instead it had the opposite effect, for beauty and helplessness roused the desire to mar and torment in her dark heart.
