The Quest (The Hidden Realm Book 5)

by A. Giannetti

  “Explain yourself,” shouted the Uruc in a furious voice. He could not see the shade that guarded the cell, so he directed his furious gaze at the statue that housed it. “The escape of the prisoner will mean your death.” The lips of the ruined lentulus twisted, animated by the shade, and a stony voice issued from them.

  “I have fulfilled my duties. I sounded the alarm and kept the intruder from escaping through the portal that he used to enter the cell for as long as my power lasted. You and those you lead will be held responsible for his escape.”

  “He would have been captured in this cell if you had contained his magical powers as you were charged,” replied the Uruc angrily. “You should have prevented him from unleashing the destruction spell that laid waste to my forces!”

  “I cannot be held accountable for Torquatus underestimating the power of his enemy,” replied the shade coldly. “I made the best use I could of the power that the master allowed me.”

  The Uruc suddenly narrowed his dark eyes and held back his retort, for through the heavy reek of the gore from the passageway behind him, another scent now found its way to his sensitive nostrils, the faint smell of blood that belonged to neither a human, a Goblin, or a mutare. Curiously he cast about and finally traced the scent to a small pool of red fluid that had collected on the floor next to the bier when the licantrope injured Elerian’s chest.

  “Here is the means to save my life, for this must be the blood of one of the intruders,” thought the Goblin to himself, a slow smile spreading across his lean face. Ordering one of his Mordi to fetch a small vial, he waited impatiently until the Goblin returned. Taking the container, he knelt and began to carefully scoop the precious liquid pooled on the floor into it, using a large shard of the crystal cover that had contained Anthea on the bier to scoop it up.

  “You and your companion may think that you have escaped,” thought the Uruc vengefully to himself, angrily recalling how the two intruders had slipped away from him, “but this vial in my master’s hands will spell your doom.” Holding the container tightly in his long, pale hands, he hurried from the cell.

  When Elerian cast his portal spell, his third eye opened of its own accord and was still open as he stepped through his gate. Unaware of the sword that failed to reach his back by a hair’s breadth when he closed his portal, Elerian happened to look down at the still form of Anthea cradled in his arms and felt a moment of stunned disbelief, for her motionless body was cloaked with a faint silver light.

  “She is alive!” thought Elerian joyfully to himself. “The shield spell which covers her body can only be animated by her life force!”

  Closing his third eye, Elerian pushed through his companions who had gathered solemnly around him and Dacien, the somber looks on their faces conveying more clearly than words their belief that he held a lifeless body. Without a word of explanation, Elerian ran to the back of the cave where he laid Anthea’s still form on the cave floor, pillowing her head on a knapsack. Kneeling by her right side, he took her long, slender right hand in his own right hand. Were it not for his third eye, he would have been certain that life had departed from her body, for her hand was lifeless and cold and not the slightest breath stirred from her lips that he could see. Opening his third eye again, he saw that the cloak of light that covered her had grown more tenuous, a frightening sign that her life force was almost exhausted.

  “The shield spell that covers her will be the death of her,” Elerian thought apprehensively to himself. “It must be ended before it drains the last of her power.” With both hands, he gently shook Anthea’s shoulders, hoping to wake her, but got no response. An attempt to reach her mind with his own also failed. “Her consciousness is locked away behind a barrier, leaving her unaware of her surroundings,” thought Elerian frantically to himself, “but whence comes the charm if not from her?” He thought then of the amulet. Brushing away her dark locks, he exposed its chain, the faint glow which suffused it confirming his suspicions. Determined to rip away the pendant, Elerian tried to grasp the chain with his right hand, but the film of silvery light that cloaked it prevented his fingers from closing over it.

  At that moment, Ascilius spoke in a concerned, somber voice from behind Elerian’s right shoulder. “Elerian, you must accept that she is gone.”

  “She is still alive, Ascilius, but she will die soon if I cannot rouse her,” replied Elerian distractedly. “What am I to do? A charm guards her body, and I fear her mind is ensorcelled.” For an answer, Elerian suddenly felt a sudden and completely unexpected slap on the back of his head delivered with a heavy hand. Dazed, he looked up in bewilderment at Ascilius. Right hand raised to deliver a second blow, the Dwarf was frowning down at him as if offended by his obtuseness.

  “Kiss her, you fool,” ordered Ascilius.

  “Has he taken leave of his sense?” wondered Elerian to himself, but desirous of avoiding another heavy buffet from the Dwarf’s knotted hand, he bent his head down and kissed Anthea’s still lips, expecting that the shield spell would prevent any real contact between them. He started when he felt smooth, firm flesh against his own, followed by a sudden light-headedness as power flowed away from him in a sudden rush. His magical third eye opened, revealing that the film of light which had enveloped Anthea had vanished. Somehow, his kiss, as Ascilius had rightly divined, had ended the spell which threatened her life. Closing his magical eye and restoring his natural sight, Elerian saw that Anthea’s eyes, strangely dark in her pale face, had opened. Behind him, his companions stared in wonder to see her suddenly come to life, for lacking mage sight, they had only observed the kiss which Elerian had given her, the sudden rush of golden light that had flowed from his lips into hers remaining invisible to their eyes.

  “Are you real or do I dream your presence?” Anthea asked then in a faint voice that Elerian could barely hear.

  “I am truly here,” replied Elerian joyfully as he reached for the silver flask of aqua vitae that he carried at his belt. With great care, he allowed Anthea a single swallow before setting the container aside. Her eyes closed then, but Elerian saw that she was breathing lightly but steadily now and that her ruby ring, though fainter than normal, pulsed with a steady rhythm beneath the illusion which concealed it. Elerian now took a sip of aqua vitae himself, for Anthea’s sudden revival and the loss of the power he had given her had left him both shaken and spent. Turning to Ascilius, he favored the Dwarf with a look of mingled exasperation and joy.

  “How did you know what to do?” he asked. Before Ascilius could reply, Elerian heard Anthea laugh softly. Turning his head he saw that she had opened her eyes again.

  “A kiss from one’s true love is old magic,” she said with an echo of her old mischief in her voice. “I wonder that Ascilius was romantic enough to remember and you were not.”

  “It is beyond amazing,” replied Elerian dryly. “I would have sworn that he did not possess a single ounce of sentiment in his entire body.”

  “As usual, you are entirely wrong in your assumptions about me,” replied Ascilius smugly. “I am no stranger to the art of love.”

  “Wait until I tell you about his last romantic episode,” said Elerian in an aside to Anthea, his gray eyes suddenly alight with mischief. Ascilius frowned then and was about to reply, but Dacien spoke up first.

  “Your presence has restored them to their normal state,” he said dryly to Anthea before sitting down on her left side, His gray eyes alight with happiness, he took her left hand gently in his own larger right hand, as if to reassure himself that she was truly there before him, alive and unharmed.

  “I would worry if they were not tweaking each other,” replied Anthea with a smile. “It is good to see you again brother. I would hear the tale of how you and Elerian rescued me.”

  “You may listen and talk till you heart’s content later,” interrupted Elerian, offering Anthea another greater swallow of aqua vitae. “For now, you should rest.”

  “I will do as I please,” protested Anthea, but the
re was only the ghost of her old spirit in her voice. Despite her efforts to keep them open, her eyes soon closed and she drifted off into sleep.

  “Rest now and food later will restore her,” Elerian assured Dacien, who still held Anthea’s hand. “She suffered no physical injury from her ordeal thanks to the shield spell which protected her. The potion which rendered her unconscious may also have unintentionally saved her life, slowing the rhythms of her body so that she was able to survive in her airless prison until we rescued her.”

  “What about this fellow?” Dacien asked Elerian, at the same time pointing to the prisoner whom they had rescued. The poor fellow lay without moving on a cloak nearby, where Dacien had set him down. “From the feel of him, he has more broken bones than whole ones and appears to have been both starved and tortured. I doubt that even your powers of healing will preserve his life for much longer.”

  Overwhelmed by his concern for Anthea, Elerian had forgotten the prisoner whom he had forced Dacien to rescue. Guiltily tearing himself away from Anthea, he stood up and walked over to the still form of the freed captive, observing that his breathing was shallow and uneven with sudden gaps in between the breaths. Through the rags which covered him, Elerian saw burns, cuts, and bones lying at odd angles, their misalignment indicating that they had been broken and never set properly.

  “An Ancharian,” thought Elerian to himself as he took in the prisoner’s dark, gray shot hair and tall lean body. I fear Dacien is right in that he will not live for long, but at least he will not die alone in the dark.” Gently Elerian lifted the rescued captive’s head before giving him a swallow of the aqua vitae from his flask. As the restorative liquid coursed through the Ancharian, he opened his dark eyes and from their blank stare, Elerian knew that he was blind. Feebly, he lifted his emaciated right arm and ran the bony, filthy fingers of his right hand across Elerian’s face. Elerian suffered the examination, feeling only pity for the broken and abused Ancharian.

  “Who are you?” asked the former prisoner in a harsh croaking voice that sounded as if it had not been used in a long time. “This is no Goblin face beneath my fingers.”

  “I am a friend,” replied Elerian. “Rest now while I tend to your injuries.”

  “Alas, I fear I am beyond help were you the greatest healer in the Middle Realm,” replied the Ancharian weakly.

  Elerian did not dispute the prisoner’s hopeless assessment of his condition, but was still determined to do what he could to ease the fellow’s plight no matter how much of his store of power the effort might consume. Laying his right hand on the Ancharian’s chest, he watched with his third eye as a flow of golden light issued from his fingers and enveloped the broken body of the rescued prisoner. He and the Ancharian remained joined together for a long time, Ascilius watching over them while the rest of the company kept their distance. In truth, there was little for them to see, for the golden light which flowed from Elerian's fingers to envelop and heal the body of the Ancharian was invisible to their eyes.

  When, at last, Elerian took his hands wearily away and came back to himself, he saw that the broken bones, cuts, and bruises inflicted by the Goblins on the Ancharian were all healed, and that his dark eyes were filled with wonder, for their power of sight was restored. The remarkable transformation in the former prisoner surprised even Elerian, for he had not thought that his powers of healing had grown so much.

  “This fellow may survive after all,” Elerian thought wonderingly to himself.

  “Who are you, and why were you imprisoned?” asked Ascilius then, his voice cold. Like all Dwarves, he did not look kindly on Ancharians.

  “Forian is my name,” replied the Ancharian. “I will gladly tell you my story, but I warn you, it is a long tale overflowing with sadness.”

  “We will have time to listen when you are stronger,” said Elerian, surprised at the Ancharian’s courtesy, for it was not typical of his race. “We cannot stir from this place until we are certain that we have eluded any pursuers who may come looking for us.”

  Feeling at ease now, for the rain falling heavily outside the cave would continue to keep them safe and hidden, Elerian took a long swallow from his silver flask before beginning the task of healing his own wounds, drawing heavily on the small store of power left in his master ring, for his own strength was almost gone. Afterwards, he carried Forian outside into the pouring rain and helped him wash away the filth of the dungeon in the nearby creek. Back inside the cave again, he gave Forian some of his spare clothes to wear for they were of a similar size. After giving him more aqua vitae, Elerian then bade Forian to sleep and regain his strength. Waking Anthea, Elerian administered another draught of the restorative liquid from his flask, and then waited by her side until she slept peacefully once more, Dacien still holding her hand. Rising wearily, Elerian saw that all his other companions had lain down to rest except Ascilius who sat in front of the red flames of the small mage fire that burned in the center of the cave.

  “The rain will end tonight, I think,” said Ascilius when Elerian sat down on his left side.

  “It does not matter now,” replied Elerian comfortably. “There is no longer any scent or sign left to lead an enemy here. We can remain concealed in this cave until Anthea and Forian have regained their strength, and then we can be on our way again.” When Elerian fell silent, he and Ascilius sat in companionable silence for a moment, the flames and heat of the fire transforming the small cave into a warm and homey place. Staring languorously into the shifting flames before him, Elerian felt content as he had not been in a long time despite the precariousness of their situation.

  “For the first time since I left Anthea behind in Tarsius, I feel complete again, as if some missing part of me has been restored,” he thought to himself. He turned then and looked at Ascilius, a pained expression appearing on his face, as if he had some onerous task to perform.

  “You were right Ascilius,” Elerian said reluctantly and quietly, as if he did not wish his other companions to hear his words.

  “What about?” asked the Dwarf, a puzzled look on his face.

  “Everything,” replied Elerian wryly. “Had I rushed off alone to Nefandus as I first intended, I would not be sitting here now with Anthea safe and sound nearby. Your plan to take the land route, which I so strongly resisted, is what brought the means to rescue Anthea into my hands. Can you forgive the harsh words and treatment that I directed your way after we rescued Dacien?”

  As Elerian had feared, a smug expression now spread across Ascilius’s craggy face. With an inward sigh, he prepared himself for the abuse which he was certain was about to come his way.

  “Think nothing of it,” replied Ascilius. His voice was magnanimous, but there was a sly look in his dark eyes.

  “Here it comes,” thought Elerian resignedly to himself.

  “Admit that I was right before the whole company, and I will put the past behind us,” continued Ascilius solemnly.

  “You would be insufferable then,” replied Elerian with a shake of his head. “Perhaps all the beer you can drink will suffice instead.”

  “You are insulting my noble character by offering a bribe,” replied Ascilius in an offended voice.

  “What would satisfy you then besides a public apology?” asked Elerian dryly.

  “All the beer I can drink in a year,” replied Ascilius blandly.

  “You would cause a drought in this part of the world if I agreed to that,” suggested Elerian sardonically.

  “A month then,” bargained Ascilius.

  “All the beer you can drink tonight is the most that I will agree to,” replied Elerian firmly.

  “You are as stingy with your spirits as a Dwarf is with his gold,” observed Ascilius in an aggrieved voice, “but I suppose I must take what is offered.” He looked expectantly at Elerian, but his companion remained both silent and motionless. An impatient look now took hold of Ascilius’s features, as if he was both surprised and disappointed that Elerian had not sprung up at on
ce to commence his beer making activities.

  “The night is wasting away,” hinted the Dwarf to Elerian. “You ought to begin your beer making now if you are to keep your end of our bargain.”

  “Was all that occurred since we left Iulius part of some plan beyond the scope of our understanding, Ascilius?” asked Elerian pensively, as if he had not heard any part of the Dwarf’s words. “When we began our quest to save Anthea, I was distraught, for it seemed a hopeless task had been set before me, one with no hope of success. Then, one by one, all the elements that I needed to accomplish her rescue came to my hands during our journey.”

  “You mistake coincidence for purpose,” replied Ascilius skeptically. “I think your own skill combined with a good bit of luck is what saved Anthea. You simply made the most of the opportunities that came your way.”

  “But some of my decisions had entirely unexpected and beneficial consequences that I never planned,” mused Elerian. “I made the rings that we wear solely as a means to sway you into releasing me from the promise that I made to you in the eastern passageway, for the locations of Anthea’s cell and this cave were already fixed in my mind. And yet, these two devices, which I never intended to use, brought Anthea, Dacien, and me safely out of Tyranus.”

  “You left me behind on purpose then, for I would have cheerfully given my permission if you had allowed me to accompany you to Tyranus!” exclaimed Ascilius indignantly.

  “You would have been in the way, charging randomly about to indulge in your thirst for blood,” replied Elerian lightly, but his attempt to provoke the Dwarf and change the direction of the conversation failed.