The Quest (The Hidden Realm Book 5)

by A. Giannetti

  “Not that the outcome would have been any different,” Elerian thought sardonically to himself. No matter how well armed, he was unlikely to prevail against a creature that had routed two armies in the passageway beneath the Nivalis.

  “Let us have a closer look then,” thought Elerian to himself at last. “This creature may have some unlooked for weakness that I can exploit.” Warily, he continued his cautious but steady advance. As he drew closer, the shape changer suddenly pulled back thin black lips into a horrible grimace, exposing long canines gleaming like polished obsidian. Behind them were rows of teeth pointed and edged like knives. The creature’s eyes, resembling orbs of black jet with no pupil that Elerian could see, gleamed coldly in the starlight, full of malice and a boundless cruelty. In a deep bass voice, replete with satisfaction and gloating, the creature suddenly spoke in Elvish.

  “You are mine now! Even were you to flee this instant, you would never find your way back to the gate no matter how long you search.”

  THE GARGOL

  Startled to hear the creature speak in the language of his mother, Elerian stopped his cautious advance. No more than twenty feet now separated him from Ascilius’s captor.

  “This is no beast despite its appearance,” Elerian thought to himself as he looked more closely at the creature in front of him, wondering where it had learned to speak Eirian. “Perhaps I can find out,” he thought to himself. From past experience, he knew that evil things seemed to enjoy talking about themselves. “A habit no doubt resulting from their marked lack of acquaintances,” he thought to himself with that grim humor that had so often driven Ascilius to distraction.

  “Who are you?” Elerian asked, seeking to buy time and satisfy his curiosity at the same time.

  “I am the Gargol, eater of shades,” replied the shape changer readily in its deep, resonant voice. Confident that Elerian was now in its power, the creature appeared more than willing to carry on a conversation. “I have consumed the beings of this world for uncounted years and troubled the sleep of countless others beyond the borders of this realm with my dark sendings.”

  “Can you travel to other realms besides mine?” asked Elerian, wondering now if he was mistaken about the nature of the portal that had brought him here. “Perhaps it is a construct of this creature and not a natural opening at all,” he thought worriedly to himself.

  “For now I am limited to your realm only,” admitted the Gargol somewhat reluctantly. “That will change when the gate finally yields its secrets to my inquiries as it must do soon. Once I can create my own portals, I will trouble more than the minds of those who live in other realms. I will ravage their bodies, too, feeding at will on both their suffering and their flesh.”

  “A truly terrifying prospect to contemplate,” said Elerian, pretending to shudder with fear. “Might I ask how you came to learn the language of the Elves?”

  “I have captured others of your kind before now,” replied the Gargol contemptuously. “Before I slew them, I learned their language so that I might better understand their lamentations as they died beneath my claws. You and your companion will experience the same fate once I carry you off to my abode. Look now and despair at what awaits you there.” With his mind’s eye, Elerian suddenly saw a dark opening in a cliff face, the ground before it haphazardly strewn with bones that gleamed pale white in the starlight. In that grim collection, he recognized massive Troll bones, and the smaller skeletons of Dwarves and Goblins. The remnants of Men were there, too, as well as long, slender bones that might have been Eirian. The larger bones were scored by teeth and claws and many were fractured, as if some fierce and powerful beast had shattered them with its jaws.

  The scene changed abruptly and Elerian now saw a dark polished hall supported by glassy pillars curiously carved with horrible images. It seemed to him that eyes gleamed in the dark places between the pillars and strange high-pitched cries came to his ears. His body, stripped of clothing, was secured by iron bands to a block of stone in the center of the chamber. Black flames sprang up around him, wringing screams from his throat that reached into the farthest recesses of that great hall as the dark fire that surrounded him seared his flesh without blackening or consuming it. Stepping out of the shadows, the Gargol bent over him and slowly began to tear his living flesh, a bit at a time, from his bones with clawed fingers, indifferent to the flames that tormented Elerian. Some of the bloody strips it tore free the Gargol devoured with relish, as if Elerian’s screams were a sauce that rendered them more pleasing to its palate, so that both its appetite and its pitiless nature were satisfied. Other pieces of flesh it tossed to some creature or creatures that Elerian could not see below the level of the bier. Although he was shaken by the grim scene shown him by the Gargol, Elerian collected himself and resolutely exerted all his will, creating a barrier that isolated his mind from the creature’s influence and abruptly ended the horrific vision the shape changer had planted there.

  The Gargol frowned when Elerian rejected his sending, but he recovered quickly, eagerly seeking in Elerian’s face and eyes the fear that the vision should have aroused. Disappointment filled the shape changer’s dark eyes at what it saw in Elerian’s visage, for his opponent’s clear gray eyes looked back fearlessly into his own dark orbs.

  “You will need more than visions to daunt me,” Elerian said in a steady voice. “Remember that you have twice felt the bite of my steel. Return my companion to me unharmed or you will feel it again.”

  “I do not fear your weak weapons in this form,” replied the Gargol scornfully. “If you were wise, you would run and hide now, garnering a few more moments of life before I take you into my underground realm.”

  “You will not take me without grave injury to yourself,” threatened Elerian, but the Gargol appeared in no wise intimidated by his threat. The creature waited, its strange features displaying equal parts of eagerness and cruelty, as Elerian began to advance again, the lines of argentum inlaid into the blades of the knives he held in his hands gleaming with a hard, cold light under the dim starlight. Two long strides from the shape changer, Elerian stopped, standing lightly on the balls of his feet, ready to attack or retreat in an instant. Without much hope of success, he cast a spell that would create a large mage light, hoping to drive the creature away from Ascilius, but the Gargol smothered his charm immediately with a powerful counter spell. Opening its fanged jaws, the shape changer suddenly sent a tongue of black flame licking toward Elerian's legs in an attempt to cripple him, but before the strange fire enveloped his limbs, Elerian took control of it, holding the heat away from his body until the Gargol allowed the flames to die away.

  “You have more power than I am used to in one of your kind,” said the Gargol grudgingly, “but it will not be enough to save your life. My mage powers are powerful beyond your comprehension.” Opening its fearsome jaws again, the monstrous creature standing before Elerian spat out a small, gleaming black sphere, intending to immobilize Elerian with the charm. As the spell shot toward him, however, Elerian instantly lifted his right hand, and the dark, shimmering orb that sped toward him was at once drawn to and absorbed by the silver ring he wore on his second finger. Anger showing in its bestial features for the first time, the Gargol hurled another, more powerful charm at Elerian. Observing its spell closely with its third eye, the shape changer saw it flow into Elerian’s ring where it was rendered harmless like the first charm. The Gargol snarled its displeasure as it comprehended, at last, that its spells were being absorbed by the silver band on Elerian’s finger, rendering its vast magical powers useless.

  Elerian raised his right hand and cast a spell of his own then, seeking to burst his opponent’s heart, but the golden orb he directed at the Gargol’s broad breast flared impotently against the creature's instantly cast shield spell which covered it like a dark cloak. Disappointed but not surprised that his spell had failed, Elerian was quick to note how the Gargol briefly averted its horned head when his spell flared brightly but ineffectuall
y against its shield spell.

  “It sees the magical energies of the spells as well as I do,” thought Elerian to himself, “but its third eye does not seem to care for the light from my charm!” Determined to exploit this perceived weakness, he leaped forward, quick as thought, at the same time calling his invisibility ring to his right hand. Uncertain whether his ring would travel across the gulf that now separated it from him, Elerian was heartened when he felt its cool touch on his finger. As he vanished, mere feet from his enemy, Elerian was grimly amused at the look of incredulity on the face of the Gargol which had already spread its arms wide to seize him. The creature immediately opened its third eye, as Elerian had hoped it would, but was forced to avert its fearsome head a second time when the golden radiance of Elerian’s shade, made doubly bright by the invisibility spell that covered it, stabbed painfully at its magical eye.

  In that moment, as he lightly touched his feet to the ground only inches from the shape changer, Elerian, drew on the power stored in his ring and the considerable strength of his right arm as he thrust Rasor upward with his right hand into the left side of the creature's broad upper body, the tip of the knife slipping easily between two ribs hard as granite. From that point on, however, Elerian felt Rasor’s blade slow on its path through the dark, stony flesh of the Gargol. A brief glimpse through his third eye revealed a dark shield spell covering his opponent from horn tip to cloven hooves.

  “The creature must have cast it at the first prick of my knife,” was Elerian’s dismayed thought an instant before the Gargol bent its fearsome head down, jaws agape, toward his invisible face, its strange features distorted by rage and hatred.

  “The unlooked for sluggishness of my thrust has undone my attack,” thought Elerian grimly to himself as he reluctantly released Rasor. In the instant before he darted back, he had a brief glimpse of black flames flickering in the Gargol’s broad nostrils and noted that a black, viscous fluid dripped copiously from its upper fangs as its jaws rushed down at him. The speed of his reaction allowed Elerian to escape the Gargol’s bite, its teeth clashing together only inches from his face, but not before some of the fluid he had observed dripped onto his left cheek. Immediately, a searing pain spread across his face, as the venom ate through his flesh wherever it touched, inflicting an excruciating agony that burned through Elerian’s mind and cast a red haze before his eyes.

  Mastering the agony he felt as best he could, Elerian blindly continued to retreat until, a dozen feet from the Gargol, he stumbled and fell to his knees. Through pain-filled eyes, he saw the shape changer pull Rasor from its broad chest with its right hand, the motion eliciting an agonized roar from its mouth.

  “A few inches more and the creature would have measured its length on the ground, stone dead,” Elerian thought regretfully to himself as the Gargol violently cast Rasor on the ground by its feet. Raising its horned head, it snuffled the air with its wide nostrils as black blood welled steadily from the wound on its chest, spilling onto the ground between its hooves where it bubbled and steamed on the stony plain. When the shape changer caught Elerian’s scent, it glared balefully, but blindly in his direction. Mindful of Elerian’s last trick, it was not using its third eye to find his shade.

  “The wound I inflicted may not be mortal, but if it is not staunched, it will eventually weaken the creature,” thought Elerian to himself through a fog of pain as he stood up once more. “Not that it will do me any good,” he thought wryly to himself. “Having caught my scent, it will spring on me in a moment and either tear me apart or carry me off to its dark abode.” Despite the doom that awaited him, Elerian faced his fearsome opponent with a steady courage, and after a moment, a plan came to him despite the agony that lanced through his injured nerves into his mind.

  “I cannot slay the creature with Acer alone because of its shield spell, but I may still do it an injury if I can trick it one more time, overcoming its brawn and mage powers with my wits,” thought Elerian to himself with grim humor.

  “Come closer and I will prick you again,” he taunted loudly, his voice giving away his exact location to the keen ears of the Gargol. Its bestial features drawn into murderous, vengeful lines the shape changer immediately sprang at the place where it had heard Elerian’s voice, reaching for him with clawed fingers. At the last moment, Elerian darted silently to his left, standing to one side and a little behind the Gargol’s right side as it groped for his invisible form with frantic, mad swipes of its clawed hands, its fingers leaving deep grooves in the stony floor of the plain where Elerian had stood just seconds before.

  “I have you now,” thought Elerian triumphantly to himself as he reached up with his right hand and seized the right ear of the monster crouched before him. It was the work of a moment to slide Acer’s keen edge across the base of the appendage, for once the blade overcame the shape changer’s shield spell, the thin flesh of the ear provided little resistance to the magical blade. With the appendage in his right hand, Elerian leaped back as the Gargol clapped its huge right hand to the bloody stump of its ear. The shape changer bellowed in agony as blood welled up through its clenched fingers, and wave after wave of excruciating pain radiated out into its body and mind from the great nerves Elerian had severed. Had he studied the Gargol’s anatomy for a month, he could not have picked a more painful wound to inflict on the creature.

  Fearful of another injury from its invisible opponent, and still completely unaware of the harm that its poison had done to Elerian, the Gargol suddenly turned and fled, leaving behind a steaming, bubbling trail of dark blood that gleamed oddly in the starlight. Leaping lightly over the uncertain terrain before it with a weird grace, it fled across the plain, finally disappearing behind a large boulder. Blinking in disbelief, Elerian continued to watch the place where his enemy had vanished. Long moments passed, but when the Gargol did not reappear, Elerian began to laugh softly to himself.

  “Had the creature been able to see me and realize my injured state, it might have crushed me with a hoof with no more effort than I would crush some annoying insect,” he thought to himself. Dropping the Gargol’s ear, Elerian reverentially kissed his invisibility ring. “Bless you and Dymiter, your maker, for you have both saved me again,” he thought to himself. He saw then, to his horror, that the ear he had cut from the Gargol was squirming, and twitching like a small serpent on the ground where it had fallen near his feet. Reflexively, Elerian kicked it away with his right foot, finding it to be as hard and heavy as stone.

  “The vitality of its flesh does not bode well for the creature’s eventual death from the wounds that I gave it,” thought Elerian to himself as he consumed the ear with red mage fire. He imagined that even now the Gargol was watching him with malevolent eyes from behind the boulder which shielded it from his view, injured but still plotting his destruction. “I had best be on my way before it finds its courage and attacks me again,” he decided wearily. Fatigued beyond imagining, he sheathed Acer in his boot before walking over to Ascilius who still lay unmoving on the ground. When he bent low over the Dwarf, Elerian was relieved to find that Ascilius was breathing lightly but strongly. All of his efforts to wake his companion by magic were unsuccessful, however, and he concluded at last that it was not a sleep spell which was keeping the Dwarf insensible. A careful examination of his companion quickly revealed four small tears in the fine chainmail protecting Ascilius’s left shoulder. When Elerian pulled off the armor and the leather shirt and tunic beneath it, he found four wide spaced puncture wounds in Ascilius’s shoulder, two of them surrounded by large, dark bruises. At the sight of the wounds, Elerian thought at once of the long upper fangs of the Gargol and the venom they had splashed onto his cheek. “It may have used a les virulent form of poison on Ascilius,” he thought to himself, “something that paralyzed rather than killed him, keeping him immobile until such time as it chose to wake him for its cruel sport.”

  Because a healing trance of any length would have left him vulnerable to the Gargol if still lurk
ed nearby, Elerian decided it would be best to try to carry Ascilius back to the gate before attempting to rouse him. He thought now of the flask of aqua vitae that he carried and took a good draught. New strength flowed through his veins, and the pain from his ravaged face was lessened to a dull ache. After fetching Rasor from where the knife lay on the ground, Elerian lifted the limp, sturdy form of Ascilius onto his shoulders. His ring immediately rendered the Dwarf invisible.

  Examining the dark plain around him, Elerian waited for his inner sense of direction to tell him where the portal lay, but that inner sense remained quiescent and unresponsive, leaving him with no idea of how to proceed across a landscape that appeared the same everywhere he looked: flat, barren of life and water, and littered with boulders and stony outcropping.

  “The Gargol spoke truly then,” thought Elerian grimly to himself. “Either because of the renewal of its interference or because of the influence of this strange world, my sense of direction is all awry again as it was in the passageway under the Nivalis. I have no idea in which direction I must travel to reach the portal,” he concluded wryly to himself. For a long moment, Elerian stood with bowed head, feeling overwhelmed by the hopelessness of his situation. He was tempted to sink to the ground and struggle no more, but the stubbornness that was as much a part of his nature as his capricious humor refused to allow it.

  “What I would not give for a bit of rowan,” Elerian thought to himself and then suddenly gave a shout of joy in his clear voice. Opening his right hand, he called the wooden coin given to him by the Siogai from the place where he kept his small treasures. When it appeared on his palm, he cast a transformation spell over it, flowing the wood into the form of a smooth, polished wooden ring which he set on the index finger of his right hand. He then cast a finding spell on it, watching with his third eye as a flow of golden light sprang from his fingertip and enveloped the small circle of rowan. Picturing in his mind the dark portal that led back to his own world, Elerian at once felt the wooden ring on his finger draw his hand to his right. With a renewed sense of determination and hope, he began to walk, following the pull of the wooden coin. As he made his way across the desolate plain before him, he carefully skirted the larger boulders and rocky outcroppings that rose up in his path even though it added steps he could ill afford to his journey. Such places were large enough to conceal any number of dangerous creatures and were best avoided. Silence reigned around him as he walked except for an eerie whistling that afflicted his ears from time to time, caused by the icy wind that now prowled among the stones around him. Normally indifferent to cold, Elerian felt chilled in a way that he had never experienced before, as if the loneliness of this place had seeped into his bones. Each breath became a torment, for in the course of his exertions, the acrid air of the plain had drawn all the moisture from his throat and mouth. Only the small, infrequent sips of aqua vitae that he took from his flask sustained him as his weary legs carried him across miles of stony ground.