The Quest (The Hidden Realm Book 5)

by A. Giannetti

  “Anthea and I will die together in Tyranus and I can neither slow nor hurry that fate,” thought Elerian somberly to himself. He started then when, above the murmur of the nearby stream, his keen ears suddenly heard a faint booming sound from the west, like muted thunder.

  “Are those drums?” wondered Elerian to himself, a frown wrinkling his brow. Had he taken wing then and flown into the forested mountains that rose up in the west, he would have found the answer to his question in a small, steep sided valley that had been cleared of trees. Boulders were arranged in rows across its steep slopes, like seats in a primitive amphitheater. A goodly number of the stones were occupied Trolls, most of them being old, young, or female, for most of the males who were of an age to go to war had left the Trofim to serve in Torquatus’s wars.

  A huge bonfire burned in a pit in the center of the amphitheater, its yellow and red flames casting flickering shadows across the coarse, hairless features of the audience. Not far from the fire, three huge Trolls beat enormous, skin covered drums with their massive fists, sending out the sound which had troubled Elerian’s ears. From the dense forest surrounding the valley, other Trolls were still arriving, striding out from under the eaves of the wood to take their places on the slopes of the amphitheater.

  Sitting or lying by the fire near was a mixed pack of coal black lupins and canigrae, the hounds almost indistinguishable from their four footed masters. Their mouths were open, and their red tongues lolled over their keen white teeth as if they had run a great distance. When Trolls stopped arriving from the wood, and the noise of the drums abruptly ceased, one of the lupins, fully a third larger than his pack mates, stood up and stretched lazily before trotting over to a large boulder that stood by the fire. Leaping effortlessly to the top of it, he turned to face the assembled Trolls from his elevated perch. With his hairy black shape outlined by the leaping yellow flames of the fire, he began to address the Trolls in a harsh, growling voice that carried to the farthest reaches of the valley.

  “Greetings to the Trolls of the Trofim from the Dark King. He sends word through me that the wars go in our favor and any who wish to join him will be well rewarded, for he admires the Trolls above all the other peoples of the Middle Realm.” At this point in the lupin’s speech some of the older Trolls made rude noises and shouted unflattering comments at the Dark King's messenger. Many of the grandsires had served in the Goblin armies before, and the memories they carried of those times were not pleasant ones.

  “Liar!” they roared. “We have yet to see any reward. As for the Goblin King’s wars, they have served only to drive away our sweetest prey. The Elves are gone and even Dwarves and Men do not venture this way any longer.” The hair on his back bristling straight up, the lupin snarled in anger at the rude censure from his audience, but after a moment, he composed himself and continued with his address.

  “Things will change when the Dark King wins his wars. There will be sweet meat then for all who serve him. Do you think gold or silver keep me and my brethren in his service?” he asked showing white teeth and upper fangs that projected well past his black lower lip. “To show his good faith, Torquatus has sent you a gift. In return, he asks only that you keep a vigil on your borders for any travelers out of the east. These you may capture and slay as you wish. The Dark King asks only that you send him their heads and anything that they carry with them. He will reward you richly for this act.”

  The lupin now lifted up his head and howled. A moment later, several of his pack mates drove a large group of terrified men out of the forest at the outlet to the valley. They were castoffs from the mines, thin and weak from their long labors, but the Trolls did not seem to notice their pitiful condition. Starved for man flesh, they leaped off their seats with a bloodthirsty howl and rushed down the sides of the rude amphitheater, jostling each other in their haste to reach the men. Snarling and showing their teeth, the lupins and canigrae around the fire retreated into the forest to avoid being trampled by the unruly horde. When the Trolls reached the terrified men, the night was rendered horrible by the shrieks of the prisoners. They were torn apart alive as each Troll tried to procure some tender morsel for himself or herself. Fierce fights broke out everywhere over bits of bloody flesh, and the night was filled with shrieks and bellows as the Trolls attacked each other with fists, teeth, and claws. When the din finally died down, the lupin resumed his place on the boulder and spoke again to his savage audience.

  “Do the Dark King’s bidding and he will deliver tenfold the number of men you have consumed tonight into your hands,” he promised before leaping down from his perch and leading his followers into the forest at the egress to the valley. Behind him the Trolls also exited the amphitheater, bound for their caves with their bloody booty. Later when their man flesh was cooked and eaten and the bones gnawed and split for their marrow, each Troll resolved to watch every pathway through their land for signs of the strangers wanted by Torquatus so that they might earn a second toothsome feast.

  Miles to the east, Elerian continued his vigil through the night, unaware of the reception that awaited him and his companions in the west. He saw and heard no sign of the nightwalker that had disturbed the company on their first night in the valley. The only living things that passed near the camp were hares, and a sleek, bushy tailed fox hunting its dinner. When he roused everyone at first light, Elerian mentioned the sounds that he had heard to Ascilius, but the Dwarf scoffed at his notion that he had heard drums.

  “It was most likely thunder in the distance,” he reassured Elerian. “There may have been a storm to the west, beyond the mountains.”

  For the next two days Ascilius continued to lead the company down the valley at a steady jog, all of them hidden from sight by Elerian’s illusion spell. By evening of the second day, they reached the junction of the cheerful mountain stream that flowed on their left and the Arvina, which flowed southwest across their line of march, running through a great forested valley which it had carved between the mountains. The company now found their progress blocked, for the Arvina was already a swift, deep river in this place, swollen by mountain streams which added their turbulent waters to its flow in the heights of the Trofim.

  “Should we look north or south for a ford?” Elerian asked Ascilius after examining the green, turbulent flow of the river.

  “It would not be wise to go south,” replied Ascilius. “The river only gains in volume and eventually enters a great gorge with steep cliffs on both sides. We would have to travel almost to Calenus before we could climb out. To the north, the flow of the river will lessen, affording us a better chance to find a ford.”

  “That route will take us deeper into the Trofim,” objected Elerian. “We might do better to try and skirt Calenus than travel through Troll country.”

  “I will not go near Calenus,” replied Ascilius, firmly. “That way is too well guarded. The Trolls have no reason to suspect that we are here. With a little luck, we will slip past them before they are even aware of us.”

  “Lead on then,” agreed Elerian in a resigned voice after further argument failed to dissuade Ascilius from his desire to travel north. With a route decided, the Dwarf led his companions along the stony east bank of the river, keeping close to the eaves of the forest where thick, leaf covered branches blocked out the sky. Impeded by the boulders which littered the riverbank and the great humped roots of the trees which snaked across the ground, Ascilius slowed his pace to a walk. Behind him, his companions spread out as they traveled around and over the obstacles in their path. Before long, they were so scattered that it became impossible for Elerian to maintain his illusion spell.

  “If I cannot hide them, I can at least make sure the way ahead of my companions is free of danger,” thought Elerian to himself as he took to the canopy overhead. After a quick glance at his companions toiling over the ground below, he began running over the great lateral branches of the oaks and beeches ahead of him, reveling in the freedom of movement offered by the upper pathway
s of the forest.

  “The woody pathways and green walls of this forest are finer than any city carved from cold stone,” thought Elerian to himself as his quick, sure steps carried him through the canopy. “If only Anthea were here beside me, I would want for nothing else,” he thought sadly to himself.

  The somber thought marred Elerian’s enjoyment of the wood around him. Returning his mind to his original purpose, he began keeping a close eye on the Arvina, which he could see through occasional breaks in the leafy green wall on his left. When he came to a place where the river widened and became shallower, he descended nimbly to the forest floor and walked down to the riverbank to survey the potential crossing. Before him, wide, flat stones and long gravel bars protruded above the surface of the river, providing a way across. The current between them was still swift, however, the cold green waters of the Arvina foaming white around the obstacles in its bed and emitting a muted, rushing sound that bespoke the strength of its flow.

  Raising his eyes, Elerian uneasily examined the tall, forested mountains that rose up on the far side of the river, wondering if Trolls still lived in their rugged heights. Prowling restlessly along the stony riverbank, he began searching for the best ford across the river, finding instead a great track in some soft ground by the water’s edge. It looked much like a human footprint except for its size and the claw marks at the end of the toes.

  “That is a Troll print or I am sadly mistaken,” thought Elerian to himself, again casting an apprehensive look at the dark wood on the far side of the Arvina. Retreating to the cover of the forest behind him, he waited for his companions to arrive, determined to resume his argument with Ascilius over their route to the Broken Lands.

  “I saw a Troll track by the river,” he said worriedly to the Dwarf when Ascilius and the rest of the company finally appeared. “I think we should reconsider the path you have chosen.”

  “This print is days old,” observed Ascilius impatiently after he examined the track that Elerian had found. “You have insisted on a speedy journey since the moment we began this quest and yet you balk now at taking the shortest, most direct route to the only pass leading to the Broken Lands. It will take something more threatening than this print to deter me from the route that I have chosen. In the morning when the sun is up, we will cross the river and you will see that there is nothing to fear on the other side. Now, let us find a safe place to eat and sleep.”

  Seeing by their faces that the rest of the company agreed with Ascilius, Elerian held his tongue and followed his companions north along the riverbank until they came to two great boulders that lay within the border of the ancient wood that grew on their right. There was a space between the stones large enough to hold the entire company, and a roof of green leaves overhead to shelter them from prying eyes. Here they made a cold camp as they had the night before. After his companions had eaten and rolled themselves into their blankets, Elerian kept a sleepless, worried watch from a branch high above their heads, his eyes constantly on the shadowed banks across the river, which ran silver-gray under the starlight. As he wondered what might be hidden there, he thought suddenly of his orb.

  “It ought to be safe enough to use it to explore the land across the river,” he assured himself. “I used it in that way to good effect before the Goblin invasion into Tarsius.” Calling the sphere to his right hand, Elerian directed its gaze across the river, watching closely as, gliding through the air like a small, round window, the interior of the sphere revealed what lay behind the trees that grew there. Pausing a moment in his explorations to resume his sentry duty, Elerian looked across the river and saw a small golden ring of shimmering light hanging well above the ground between two great tree trunks when his third eye suddenly opened. A sudden suspicion swept through him. Moving the eye of his orb, he was horrified to see a corresponding movement in the ring across the river. When he sent the sphere away, the light vanished.

  “Fool that I am,” Elerian berated himself. “How could I not have realized this before? The eye of the sphere is nothing more than a portal, easily visible to anyone with mage sight. That is how I was revealed to Torquatus in the Abercius and again in Esdras. By sending it to Tyranus, I may have already revealed how I plan to enter Anthea’s cell!” Resolving not to use the sphere again for any reason lest it betray his presence, Elerian resumed his vigil, but the thought of portals remained in his mind, for only a magical gate would allow him to reach Anthea’s side. He thought then of the simple spell that sent his spell book away and also called it when he required it.

  “Can the answer to my problem really be so simple?” he wondered to himself, for he knew from his investigations as a child that the charm created a small portal to transport his book. Examining the spell with his mind’s eye, for it was one of the first that he had committed to memory at the beginning of his training, he quickly discerned how the charm might be modified to suit his purposes. “I need only increase the size of the opening and cover it inside and out with shield spells to render its dangerous edges harmless,” thought Elerian excitedly to himself. “But how to direct it to where I wish it to go?” Recalling how the eye of his sphere followed his commands, he called his spell book to his right hand. When the leather covered book appeared on his right palm, he turned to the pages on which he had recorded the complex spells which he had used to create his orb. Examining them line by line, for the pages before him were clearly visible to his eyes even in the darkness which surrounded him, he soon found the charms that he needed. On a blank page, he then blended and modified all of the spells he had selected, crafting a charm that should open a large portal that could be directed to different places like the eye of his sphere. Looking up, after writing and memorizing the last word of the spell, Elerian was surprised to see that dawn was breaking and night was already fading around him.

  “I will have to wait to put my spell to the test,” he thought to himself as he stood up and stretched stiff muscles after sending away his spell book. Descending lithely to the ground, he roused Ascilius and the rest of his companions, joining them in a cold breakfast before following them down to the bank of the Arvina.

  “We will have to cross one at a time,” said Ascilius to his companions after he had chosen a place to cross. “Be swift, for you will be exposed to any unfriendly eyes that are about until you reach the far bank. Try not to worry so much,” he advised Elerian after pulling him aside. “Trolls are not the brightest creatures. Even if we find some in our path, we will slip by them without any trouble with the help of your woodcraft and illusions.”

  Still full of misgivings about their route in spite of Ascilius’s reassurances, Elerian waited restlessly while the others made their way across the river, some quickly and others more slowly. Only in one or two places, where the stones protruding above the surface of the river were far apart, were they actually forced to wade through the swift, cold waters of the Arvina which was only waist deep on the Dwarves in this place. Once everyone reached the far bank, Elerian settled his pack on his shoulders and, under the envious eyes of his companions, ran lightly across the ford, leaping sure footedly from stone to stone. Without much effort, he cleared the gaps that had forced his companions into the river, arriving on the far shore without wetting even the soles of his light boots.

  After casting an illusion spell over the company, Elerian followed his companions into the primordial forest growing on the far side of the river. The huge trees that composed the wood were spaced well apart with no undergrowth between them other than clumps of knee-high ferns growing between drifts of old, compacted leaves which crunched softly under the feet of all the company except Elerian.

  “Do his feet touch the ground at all?” wondered Triarus to himself, but his sidelong glances were unable to discover the answer to his question because the great, humped roots that snaked everywhere demanded most of his attention. Dacien was tall enough to step over most of them while Elerian either leaped lightly from one to another or walked their lengt
hs as easily as a man might walk down a broad path, but the shorter legged Dwarves and Triarus had a more difficult time, for they were forced to scramble over the larger roots and often stumbled over the smaller ones because of the shorter steps they took.

  In spite of their slow pace, the six companions reached the first foothills of the Trofim by midday. On a ridge top, where they could look through the trees, they paused to rest for a few moments. Before them a wall of rugged, forested mountains reached high into a blue cloudless sky that reminded Elerian painfully of Anthea’s eyes.

  “How far must we travel through this dratted forest, cousin?” asked Cordus wearily of Ascilius. “I have already barked my shins and stubbed my toes on these confounded roots in our path more times than I can easily count.”

  “It is barely fifteen miles across the mountains in front of us to the border of the Broken Lands,” replied Ascilius, seeking to lift the spirits of his cousins and Triarus. “We should leave the mountains behind tonight or early tomorrow at the latest.”

  “By then my toes will be swollen to the size of sausages,” grumbled Cyricus to his brother as Ascilius set out once more.

  Elerian remained behind his companions as they set out after Ascilius, doing his best to cover them with his illusion spell. Despite Ascilius’s reassurances, he still felt reluctant to enter the mountains ahead, for he was certain that they harbored Trolls and was none so certain that his illusion spell would suffice to keep the company safe from the cunning creatures. Keeping his doubts to himself and hoping for the best, he followed Ascilius and the others higher into the mountains where the ground became steeper and boulders and ridges of gray rock thrust themselves out of the ground between the trees. The groves of tall chestnuts, ashes, and oaks that had covered the lower slopes gave way to immense fir trees whose needles lent a sharp, resinous tang to the air. Ferns and leaves gave way to a thick carpet of brown needles, but walking was still a problem for the shorter members of the company, for the tree roots they encountered were just as large as those of the lower forest were. Nowhere in the groves that they passed through did Elerian or any other member of the company see any animal larger than a squirrel or partridge, an indication that they had been hunted hard by some large predator.