by A. Giannetti
“It worked,” he thought elatedly to himself as he swiftly drew Rasor from its sheath. Thrusting the blade of the knife through the opening, Elerian poked the Troll in the left buttock, the point of his knife sliding through the Troll’s skin kilt and into his stony flesh, deep enough to hurt but not deep enough to leave a serious wound. The Troll immediately backhanded the brother who stood on his left holding Dacien’s right arm and leg.
“I’ll teach you to pinch me!” he shouted indignantly.
“I never touched you!” shouted his brother furiously before letting go of Triarus and springing upon his sibling, bearing him over backwards. The iron skewer clattered to the cave floor, and in an instant, both brothers were rolling about on the stony floor of the chamber: biting, scratching, and pummeling each other for all they were worth, while the third brother, holding Triarus by the back of his neck with his right hand, laughed uproariously and egged the combatants on. Attracted by the din, Orgo stepped away from Ascilius, whom he was tormenting again, and roared an order at the pair on the floor to stop fighting.
Directing his portal to the wall behind Orgo, Elerian reached through it and slashed apart the ropes which bound the hands of Dacien and the three Dwarves. Then, swiftly moving his portal from one captive to the other, he cut the ropes tied around their ankles. One by one, they fell onto the stone floor of the cave, all of them breaking their fall, as best they could, with their hands and arms. Luckily, the din made by the fighting Trolls covering up the thumps and groans that each emitted upon striking the stony floor of the cave. Opening his portal even wider, Elerian stepped through it, appearing behind Orgo. After casting an illusion spell over himself that made him a twin to the Gargol so feared by the Trolls, he sent his invisibility ring away and closed his portal. Then, hoping for the best, he stabbed Orgo deeply in the right buttock. Clapping his huge hands over his injured backside, the Troll immediately uttered a truly terrible roar before spinning around, fangs bared and an ugly, angry expression on his coarse features.
When Orgo saw Elerian disguised as his old nemesis, however, his eyes opened wide, and his mouth gaped open, perhaps to issue a warning to his grandsons, but such was his panic that no sound came past his yellowed fangs. With a leap that would have done credit to a Troll centuries younger, he suddenly bounded toward the exit to the cave. Grasping the boulder blocking the doorway in both hands, he wrenched it to one side with a single tremendous effort. Without any further thought for his progeny, he leaped through the doorway to the cave, and fairly flying over the ground in prodigious bounds, disappeared into the forest without a single backward look.
By this time, the Troll holding Dacien had also caught sight of Elerian’s terrifying illusion. His eyes bulging in terror, he turned several shades lighter as Elerian leaped toward him. Howling in anguish when Elerian stabbed Rasor into the hand holding Triarus, he dropped the little man and bounded out of the cave after his grandsire, leaving his two brothers still fighting each other on the floor. Leaning over the pair, Elerian roared loudly almost into their large, pointed ears. When they turned his way, their eyes became wide as saucers when they saw what they thought was the Gargol bending over them. All their doubts about the legendary creature vanished instantly, and screaming in terror, they immediately broke apart and leaped to their feet. Running shoulder to shoulder, they stuck in the doorway to the cave for an instant before popping free, like corks from a bottle, after a furious struggle. Still screaming in terror, they too ran for the safety of the forest.
Elerian was pleased almost to the point of smugness as he watched them go. In just a few moments the clever plan he had concocted had opened the exit to the cave, gotten rid of the Trolls, and rescued his friends, all without injury to himself or his companions. His satisfaction quickly turned to confusion, however, for all five of his companions now ran from the cave without so much as a simple thank you or even a look back. Despite having been tightly tied, hung upside down, and pinched until they were black and blue, they were traveling at a remarkable speed, and even though he was not the youngest or the tallest, Ascilius was in the lead, covering the ground in great leaps that kept him ahead of the others. He was closely followed by Cyricus, Cordus, and Dacien, with Triarus, still entirely unclothed, bringing up the rear.
“Whatever has come over them?” wondered Elerian to himself in dismay. “Why Triarus did not even stop for his pants!” Worried that his companions would either lose themselves in the forest, or even worse, overtake the fleeing Trolls, Elerian now sped after them. As he emerged from the cave entrance, Triarus looked back over his shoulder and seeing what he assumed was the Gargol rapidly gaining on him, gave one despairing shriek before tripping and falling. Looking back over their shoulders at the sound of his cry, Ascilius and Dacien saw their companion fall to the ground, and showing their true mettle, both of them stopped running at once. Setting aside thoughts of his own safety, Ascilius immediately stooped and grasped a large stone in his right hand, while Dacien picked up a stout branch that lay on the ground near his feet. Running back to Triarus, they stood shoulder to shoulder before their fallen comrade, faces pale but determined as they faced the horrible creature bearing down on them. Shaking with fear, Cordus and Cyricus also returned to stand with Ascilius and Dacien after arming themselves fallen branches.
Seeing the reaction of Triarus to his appearance had finally reminded Elerian that he was still disguised as the Gargol. At another time he would have undoubtedly taken advantage of the situation to have a bit of fun with his companions, but now, because of the danger they were in, he immediately stopped and ended his illusion. Relief mingled with doubt washed over the faces of his companions when he revealed himself in his true form.
“Is that really you Elerian?” asked Ascilius suspiciously.
“Yes it is,” replied Elerian, holding out his right hand so that Ascilius could see the silver ring on his finger. “We must go at once,” he continued urgently. “Once the Trolls recover their wits, they are certain to return.”
“First we must retrieve our weapons and gear,” replied Ascilius stubbornly. “I will not abandon Fulmen.” Returning to the cave, the six companions salvaged all they could of their packs and their contents, which had been spilled haphazardly onto the floor of the cave. Their clothes, blankets and other gear were pretty much intact, but most of their food had been destroyed by the trampling of the Trolls. When they had saved what they could and Triarus was properly dressed again, Elerian covered everyone with an illusion spell. Ascilius then led the company into the forest, traveling uphill and southwest, back toward the pass that led to the Broken Lands. When they came to a stream that flowed from out of the heights in front of them, Elerian spoke up.
“We should follow this stream for a time,” he suggested to his companions. “The Trolls are like keen nosed hounds when they have a fresh scent to follow.” Reluctantly, for the water was ice cold, his companions waded into the brook which washed away their scent when they went on. The hard stone and gravel bed of the watercourse left little sign of their passage, further hiding their trail.
As he followed along behind the others, Elerian filled his flask from the clear water flowing past him before quietly casting the complex spells that would renew his supply of aqua vitae. When the stream finally veered off to the north, Ascilius left it behind, following the ridge tops before him toward the pass which they could now see through gaps in the trees. He maintained a slow, cautious pace, which Elerian thought prudent, for it seemed to him as if every deep gully they passed had a worn path running down into it, and several times, he caught the rank smell that indicated there was a Troll dwelling nearby. Fortunately for Elerian and his companions, the Trolls seemed to prefer remaining in their homes while the sun was up. Through a combination of luck and the protection of Elerian’s illusion spell, they remained undiscovered, and despite their slow pace, they were not far from the pass when evening drew near and the light began to fail.
“We will need to se
arch out a place to spend the night,” suggested Ascilius to Elerian as he came to a stop at the margin of a stony clearing perhaps one hundred feet across that was completely surrounded by trees, except for its northern side. “It will be too dangerous to travel over these steep slopes in the dark. Any Trolls that are about will also be stirring soon.”
“There is a ledge up on there that might serve as a safe haven,” replied Elerian, pointing to the northern side of the clearing where a steep, rocky slope that was almost a cliff rose up high into the air.
“How are we to get up there short of flying?” asked Dacien who now stood behind Elerian and Ascilius.
“There are handholds for those who can see them,” replied Elerian cheerfully. Ending his illusion spell, for he deemed it too dangerous to maintain it in the gathering dark, he walked with a light step to the foot of the slope, followed closely by his companions. After shedding his pack and all his gear, Elerian reached into his knapsack and drew out a coil of thin strong rope which he draped around his neck and right shoulder. Springing lightly into the air, he reached out his right hand at the apex of his leap and thrust the long, strong fingers of his right hand into a crevice that he had seen from the ground with his sharp eyes. Already six feet above the ground, Elerian began drawing himself effortlessly up the cliff face with his sinewy arms, finding hand and foot holds where there appeared to be none to his companions watching from below.
“No one surpasses an Elf when it comes to climbing,” said Ascilius dryly to Dacien as Elerian swiftly ascended the wall of stone above them. When he reached the ledge, which proved to be about five feet wide and twelve feet long, Elerian used a transformation spell to form a rigid hook in the end of the rope which he carried. After placing his magical crook around the gnarled trunk of a small pine that had sunk its roots deeply into the dirt-filled crevices that fractured the surface of the ledge, he cast the rope end down to his companions.
“I shall be sore for a month,” groaned Ascilius to Elerian, when all of the company had climbed up to the narrow refuge and had sat down. As the main object of Orgo’s interest, he had suffered the most at the hands of the Trolls. Besides being black and blue all over from being pinched, he also had a nice lump on his head besides, as did Cordus, Cyricus, and Dacien, the results of their fall to the cave floor after Elerian cut their bonds. Feeling gingerly of the crown of his head, Ascilius looked reproachfully at Elerian.
“You might have warned us when you cut us down, or at least caught us when we fell.”
“I was unable to do either,” Elerian replied innocently. “I was standing on the other side of the cave when I freed the four of you.” Ascilius looked at Elerian suspiciously, for there was a gleam in his clear gray eyes that might have been laughter.
“And how did you manage that?” he asked skeptically.
“Like this,” replied Elerian. Raising his right hand, he cast his portal spell, using the experience he had gained in the Trolls’ cave to determine the proper amount of power he needed to draw from his ring. With his third eye, Elerian saw a small golden orb fly from his fingertips. Hovering in the air about a foot from his waist, the magical sphere expanded into a golden circle about six inches across. Taking his silver flask from his belt with his right hand, Elerian thrust it through the portal. His five companions, who were unable to see the shining rim of the portal, saw his hand move and then seemingly disappear. Dacien, who was sitting a good six feet away from Elerian, started in surprise when Elerian’s hand, still holding the flask, appeared a foot in front of his chest. Overcoming his astonishment at the sight, Dacien closely examined Elerian’s disembodied hand, discerning for the first time the clear space that lay within the invisible bounds of the portal.
“You have mastered the art of opening magical doors then,” said Dacien to Elerian, favoring him with a thoughtful look as he took the flask.
“I think mastered is too strong a word,” replied Elerian modestly as Dacien took a sip of the aqua vitae. “I have begun an essay into the craft, but I still have much to learn.”
“I fear you will be doubly annoying now that you can work your mischief from a distance,” grumbled Ascilius as he snagged the flask from Dacien with his left hand. Elerian made no reply, but his eyes gleamed as if he was considering the possibilities afforded him by his new ability.
After everyone in the company had drunk a little of the clear, fragrant aqua vitae and its warmth had spread through their bodies and eased their hurts, they wrapped their blankets and cloaks around them and made a sketchy meal from what was left of their food.
“Wherever did you get the inspiration for the horrific shape you used to chase away the Trolls?” asked Dacien of Elerian as they ate biscuits and cheese. “My heart almost stopped when you appeared suddenly in that hideous form.”
“I took the appearance of the Gargol, the creature that abducted Ascilius in the passageway,” replied Elerian. “It is the enemy that the Trolls fear the most.”
“It certainly frightened me,” replied Dacien firmly. “When I saw all those teeth and horns and claws, I found myself flying out the door of the cave without giving the matter any thought whatsoever.”
“Did any of you not wonder who freed you?” Elerian asked curiously.
“With a horrible monster in such close proximity, it did not seem an important consideration at the time,” replied Dacien dryly.
“I would have spared you and the others the fright you suffered, but in the excitement of the moment, I forgot that I was wearing a disguise,” apologized Elerian in a contrite voice, but Dacien marked a gleam of his old mischief in his eyes. Ascilius now spoke up, a frown on his bearded face.
“I cannot speak for the others, but in my own case it was merely prudence not fright that dictated that I leave the cave as soon as possible.”
Triarus spoke up next. “The lord Ascilius speaks truly,” he asserted haltingly to Elerian as if it made him nervous to contradict him. “When I fell, he and Dacien came back to defend me. They could not have done that if they were afraid.”
“You are right, Triarus,” agreed Elerian gravely. “Perhaps startled would have been a better word to use. I know that Ascilius, especially, is prone to starts,” he added, a wicked gleam appearing in his gray eyes. Ascilius’ frown deepened even more, but he was too tired to match wits with Elerian any longer.
“Let us sleep while we can,” he advised the others. “Elerian can keep watch in recompense for startling us in the Trolls’ cave,” he added comfortably.
“A fair bargain,” replied Elerian with a smile. While his companions did their best to sleep sitting up, for there was not enough room on the narrow shelf of stone to allow any of them to lie down, he remained awake, still as one of the rocks around him with all of his keen senses attuned to the gray and black world around him.
THE PURSUIT
Sitting alone in the dark, Elerian felt his earlier cheerfulness slowly turn to melancholy as thoughts of Anthea and her plight returned to cast a shadow over his heart. When four Trolls silently emerged from the forest on the far side of the clearing, on all fours and noses to the ground like great hunting dogs, he almost welcomed the distraction.
“So, they have found us, despite the obstacles we placed in their path,” thought Elerian grimly to himself as they crept up to the rock face which sheltered him and his companions, their keen noses following the scent trail of the company as well as any hound could. “At least the greedy fellows appear to have kept our presence secret, no doubt hoping to keep all the reward for us to themselves,” was Elerian’s relieved thought when no other Trolls emerged from the forest.
After calling his invisibility ring to his right hand so that he could observe the Trolls below him without revealing himself, Elerian leaned over the edge of the stone shelf on which he sat. Far below him, having come to the end of the scent trail they were following, the four Trolls all stood up and tipped their bald heads back in order to examine the difficult slope before them. The d
arkness did not hinder their eyes, but Elerian’s companions were not visible to them, concealed as they were by the ledge they sat on.
Suspiciously, Orgo snuffled the wall of stone before him. With a look of satisfaction on his face, he silently pointed with his right index finger to the rock face high above. Just as silently his three grandsons nodded their understanding, their green eyes glittering in heavy, coarse faces that reflected the anger and desire for revenge that burned in their cruel hearts.
“The younger ones are agile and light enough to climb the cliff,” thought Elerian worriedly to himself when he saw that their hiding place was discovered. “I had best try to deal with them and their grandsire before they attempt to reach the ledge.” Nudging Ascilius awake, Elerian leaned over him and whispered, “Wake the others and hold yourself ready to help me if I call for you.” Then, before the Dwarf could object, he slipped over the edge of the ledge, taking only his two knives, for they were better suited for close work than Acris.
Quickly and quietly, Elerian descended the cliff face while the younger Trolls examined the wall of stone before them, seeking the best path to the ledge which they could see high above them. His mind clear now of all thoughts except the dangerous task at hand, Elerian leaped into the air when he was just above the heads of the Troll brothers, landing lightly on the ground behind them, gray eyes gleaming with the light of battle as he faced Orgo. The huge Troll, who towered over Elerian, immediately put his head up and sniffed the cool evening air in through his wide nostrils. Although he could not see Elerian, his keen senses of smell and hearing told him exactly where his enemy stood.
