The Quest (The Hidden Realm Book 5)
Page 35
“For a time our deception was quite successful,” replied Forian when he had assumed his native form once more. “When men began clearing the forests to make their farms and towns, however, the Niadds were forced to retreat before them, for we cannot live without our trees. My people finally took refuge in the depths of the forest that men named the Abercius, for in its heart was concealed the gate to our home world. Niadds continued to pass back and forth between our old home and the Abercius until, one day, to our dismay the gate suddenly disappeared. The Niadds who were trapped here in this realm have waited ever since for the day when the gate will open again and our exile will be over.”
As Forian concluded his tale, Elerian suddenly felt at peace as all of the questions and doubts that had troubled him over the years were finally laid to rest. Much of what Forian had told him he had already known, but it was reassuring to hear a firsthand account of his history by someone who had actually known Eliphas and Indrawyn.
“What can you tell me of my parents?” Elerian asked Forian eagerly. “I have no memory of either one of them.”
“Your father was steady and grave, a master of the forest,” replied Forian. “Indrawyn was beautiful beyond measure, dangerous to her enemies and mischievous to a fault. She played many a prank on Eliphas and me.”
“So my capriciousness, as Ascilius calls it, comes from my mother,” thought Elerian to himself in surprise. “My ability to change shape, on the other hand, comes from my father.” He would have questioned Forian further then, but the Niadd spoke first.
“I thought that all of the Elves had left the Middle Realm,” he said, addressing Anthea. “And yet your face and form are those of an Eirian.”
“I am only part Elf,” replied Anthea. Her reply appeared to trouble Forian, but before she could ask why, the arrival of the rest of the company ended their conversation. When the three companions descended quickly to the forest floor, Forian made no attempt to disguise his identity as Ascilius and the others approached. Emulating Elerian and Anthea, he had decided to dispense with his disguise. Ascilius and the rest of the company, for their part, cast a few curious looks at the Niadd, but, having become used to illusions and changed appearances, they all readily guessed his identity and made no comments about his changed appearance.
Throughout the rest of the day, hidden by Elerian’s illusion spell, the company traveled together in single file behind Ascilius. Applying the woodcraft that he had learned in Elerian’s company, the Dwarf did what he could to hide their trail. Avoiding the extensive beds of ferns that grew beneath the trees, Ascilius led his companions across deep drifts of packed leaves, along fallen logs, and over the great slabs of lichen encrusted stone that randomly broke through the surface of the earth.
“Not as good as walking through the canopy,” thought Elerian to himself when he examined their faint back trail, “but good enough to fool all but the most expert eye. I would commend Ascilius on his woodcraft, but it would only swell his head unnecessarily.”
When Elerian turned his gaze to the forefront of the company, a baffled look entered his clear gray eyes. Anthea continued to act cool and distant toward him, walking instead next to Ascilius. She and the Dwarf were engaged in a quiet conversation, too low even for Elerian’s keen ears to hear, but from the smirks that Ascilius cast over his right shoulder when Anthea’s attention was elsewhere, Elerian guessed that he was the subject of their discussion.
“He is up to no good,” thought Elerian gloomily to himself. When Ascilius turned his head again, Elerian glared at him and drew his right forefinger across his throat, but the Dwarf merely thumbed his nose in return, unimpressed by any threat Elerian might make as long as he was in Anthea’s company.
To distract himself, Elerian sought out the company of Forian all through the day’s march, learning all that he could of his parents from the Niadd while relating his own history in return. When evening began to turn into night, Ascilius selected a small depression surrounded by a circle of huge oaks for a cold camp. Elerian remained awake to keep watch while his weary companions slept, but his enjoyment of the night and the ancient trees that surrounded him was tempered by disappointment, for Anthea had sought out her blankets with the rest of the company.
“The complexities of the female mind eclipse the most complex spell that I have ever conjured,” thought Elerian ruefully to himself as he listened to a lonely wolf howl far to the south and the faint rumble of Troll drums to the northeast. To a man the surrounding forest, shrouded in impenetrable darkness, would have seemed a frightening, mysterious place, but Elerian felt entirely at ease as he sat on a great tree root at the perimeter of their camp, for his eyes saw clearly into the night, revealing in sharp focus a gray and black world around him where nothing could move without him seeing it. The mysterious rustles, cracks, and creaks common to the forest at night were likewise rendered ordinary by his keen hearing which identified and located the source of each of them. When he suddenly heard the soft pad of a pard approaching over the branches overhead, Elerian quickly and silently climbed the tree against which his back rested, meeting the spotted cat on a great limb overhead before it could approach his companions.
Stealthy, powerful, and fearless, with a distance of only twenty feet between them, the startled pard snarled softly, its luminous eyes drawn by Elerian’s fearless gray eyes, which gleamed as brightly as its own in the darkness. His right hand raised to cast a sleep spell, his left holding Rasor in case his spell failed to find its mark, Elerian waited to see what the spotted killer would do.
“Seek your dinner elsewhere, brother,” he softly warned the pard, which flattened its ears uneasily at the sound of his voice. With a single fluid movement, it suddenly turned away and slunk off into the canopy. As Elerian watched it disappear, he was unaware that a pair of blue eyes, black as night in the absence of the sun, watched him from the ground below, admiring and approving of both his courage and his tempered response to the threat he had just faced.
The next day was another cautious trek east for the company. In single file, they walked through ancient forests, traveling without pause until they reached the eastern bank of the Gavius at nightfall. The watercourse was only a swift mountain stream at this point, barely thirty feet across, but after a quiet discussion Elerian and Ascilius decided to wait until morning to cross to the far bank. While they conversed, still captivated by her newfound ability to see in the dark, Anthea explored the wood around her. Near the bank of the river, to the north of the company, she discovered that one of the immense old oaks growing there was hollow inside. Her companions praised her woodcraft when she brought her discovery to their attention, earning each of them, excepting only Elerian, a warm smile. Him, she continued to ignore, turning instead to Ascilius, who positively beamed at the attention Anthea was bestowing on him.
“We could have a fire and a warm meal in here,” she suggested to the Dwarf.
“Trout from the river would do nicely for supper,” replied Ascilius. “Dried sausages have begun to lose their appeal for me.”
“I will see what I can do,” replied Anthea. “Perhaps Forian will help me,” she added, before bestowing a winsome smile on the Niadd.
“Of course, my lady,” replied Forian quietly. Together he and Anthea set of for the river. Morosely, Elerian followed them through the gathering darkness, annoyed that Anthea had not turned to him instead of the Niadd but unable to stay away nonetheless. Walking silently a few feet behind them, he followed the pair to the bank of a deep, calm pool.
“I will fish the natural way,” said Forian to Anthea when they stopped by the water’s edge. At once, his form shifted, flowing into the shape of a large, sleek furred brown otter.
“Can you change me, also?” Anthea asked Forian wistfully.
“Alas, my powers extend only to my own form,” replied the Niadd regretfully in a throaty voice.
“Change me,” said Anthea turning to Elerian, her voice now cold and imperious. Stung by her ton
e, his pride urged him to refuse her or to at least play a prank on her, but Elerian found that he could do neither. The intensity of his attraction to the slim, Elf fair woman before him left him no choice.
“I have begun to think that the torments of love far exceed the benefits,” thought Elerian gloomily to himself, but he knew in his heart that if he was offered an opportunity to return to a point in time where Anthea still played no part in his life, he would refuse it. “The worst part is that she knows the hold that she has on my heart,” thought Elerian to himself, seeing the knowledge deep in her cool blue eyes. With a sigh, he changed her into a sleek furred otter, but he made no effort to join Anthea when she followed Forian into the river without a backward look.
Large brown eyes gleaming with excitement, she followed Forian’s sleek form deeper into the clear waters of the pool. Reveling in the liquid medium that now surrounded her, she alternately darted about, propelled by her webbed paws, or hung suspended and motionless, enjoying the sensation of being weightless. Beneath her, Forian pursued silvery trout as long as a man’s arm, finally seizing one of them in his jaws. Looking up through the clear water above her, Anthea saw Elerian standing by the edge of the pool. A gleam that might have been laughter or perhaps only reflected starlight lit her eyes before she darted down into the depths of the pool and closed her mouth on a second trout, feeling the unfamiliar sensation of smooth skin and cold flesh on her tongue as she did so. After she and Forian had caught six fish and dragged them onto the bank where Elerian waited morosely, they finally quit the pool, water streaming from their sleek fur. They saw then that, alongside the trout resting on the bank like bright bars of polished silver, Elerian had added an armful of watercress and several handfuls of large mushrooms with honeycombed caps.
While Forian resumed his natural form, Elerian restored Anthea to her own shape, carefully schooling his features to conceal his amusement at the annoyed look on her face when she discovered that she was wet and dripping beneath her clothes. Fortunately, Forian was just as wet, giving credence to the innocent look Elerian assumed when Anthea turned a suspicious glance his way. Ignoring both his damp state and Elerian, Forian sat down on the root of a great oak tree, his leaf green eyes fixed on Anthea.
“How much of you is Eirian?” asked the Niadd abruptly.
“Very little,” admitted Anthea, sitting down beside Forian. “I am mostly human.”
“Then, at the risk of offending you, I must tell you that the path you follow will lead you into grief,” said Forian somberly. “The same sad fate that waited for Eliphas will fall on you if you wed Elerian.”
“Our wedding is no longer a foregone conclusion,” said Anthea coolly, at the same time casting a sidelong glance at Elerian who stood nearby listening. “I am, however, curious to know what the fate is that you speak of.”
“It is the doom that falls on every mortal who falls in love with one of the elder races. You, Anthea, will grow old and die, but Elerian will remain unchanged for centuries or perhaps forever if he has inherited Indrawyn’s immortality.”
“Anthea and I have discussed this before,” interrupted Elerian impatiently. “We will happily take whatever time we are allowed.”
“If we are wed,” said Anthea coldly. “When I promised myself to you, I had no idea that you had such an aversion to home and family.”
Elerian was dumbfounded at her words, for it seemed incomprehensible to him that after all that had passed between them she could turn away from him so easily, but he detected no gleam of humor in her cool blue eyes. Before he could issue any protest, Anthea leaped lightly to her feet and stalked off toward the oak sheltering the rest of the company. In silence, Elerian and Forian cleaned the fish lying on the bank before gathering up the bounty they had collected.
“Believe me, it is better this way, Elerian,” said Forian as they, too, returned to the oak where their companions waited for them. “It will be better for both of you if you make a clean break now.”
“There are things that are still hidden from you, Forian,” replied Elerian impatiently. “After a battle in which she defeated three Goblin mages, Anthea was left drifting towards death. I brought her back, but in doing so, I awoke the elvish blood which runs almost true in her veins. With each day that passes, she becomes less human.”
“I see now where your hope lies,” said Forian doubtfully, “but what if you are wrong?”
“In that case, I will take to the dream paths when Anthea leaves me and not return,” replied Elerian grimly.
“You are like your mother then,” replied Forian sadly. “She intended the same fate for herself when Eliphas came to the end of his days.”
After Elerian and Forian arrived at the oak, they found a blanket hung over the entrance. Stepping past it, they discovered the whole company inside, sitting on a thick cushion of decayed wood and leaves. Taking the fish, Ascilius grilled it over a mage fire which he had already lit in the center of the cavity. Beside him Anthea chopped the peppery watercress before placing it into a bowl. The mushrooms she cooked in a skillet along with bits of bacon after slicing them thin. Elerian frowned to see the two of them thick as thieves while he was ignored again. Feeling that he had no part in the warmth and cheer that pervaded the hollow, he lifted the blanket that concealed the entrance and stepped outside. Climbing lithely into the upper branches of the oak, he sat on a wide limb with his back propped against the rough barked bole of the ancient tree, brooding in silence as night fell around him.
THE SENDING
At the same moment that Elerian sat in his tree, far to the west, Torquatus also sat alone with his thoughts which were none so pleased and confident as they had been only four days ago. Once again his enemy had thwarted his plans. Elerian’s rescue of Orianus’s daughter from the most secure cell in his kingdom had sent a tremor through the foundations of his reign, for the Dark King sensed doubts now in his servants that had not been present before. Behind the subservient features which masked their true thoughts, he knew that the strongest of them were observing him closely now, searching for any weakness that they could exploit.
Opening a small portal with a wave of his right hand, Torquatus sent it out over the face of the Middle Realm. Far to the south, through its magical eye, he saw that the gates of Marsala, the key to Hesperia, were under assault by his dark forces. West of the city, smoke rose from burning homes and farms the length and breadth of Lascar, forming a dark pall over Hesperia’s northernmost province. In the shadows of its forests, lupins and mutare snapped and quarreled over their grim feasts.
In the east, more of his forces were gathering in Silanus, armies of Wood Goblins, lupins, mutare, and Trolls as well as tall, grim Ancharians. When the time was right, Lepida would open the way for them, and they would storm over the Arvina, bringing Tarsius under his rule. Sending his eye south, he saw ships with black hulls and sails manned by grim Ancharians harrying the coast of Tarsius, distracting Orianus and his armies from his western borders. Speeding north, his eye perused another of his dark armies camped before the gates of Iulius, waiting for the moment when Herias would unwittingly allow them into the Caldaria. Sending his eye west across the Murus, he beheld a land already firmly in his grip, for his surrogates and servants held all of the fortresses, overseeing the miserable men who labored endlessly to do his bidding. Surrounded by the dark forests which had invaded their countries, they crouched shivering around their fires at night, sheltering in rude huts and miserable towns while Mordi prowled through the forests and lupins howled in their depths.
“The Middle Realm trembles before my power, but I am still not able to contain the actions of one Elf,” thought Torquatus grimly to himself. “Four days now and there has still been no sign of him. He vanished from Tyranus through a gate, but my spies tell me that he has not appeared in Tarsius or any other kingdom east, west, or south of the Broken Lands. Reasoned thought tells me that his second gate exhausted his power, and that he is now concealed in some wild place in t
he Broken Lands, waiting either for his power to wax again or for an opportunity to cross on foot into safer lands.”
A small but growing sense of uneasiness pricked at Torquatus’s mind then, for once again, all the elements of Dymiter’s prophecy were beyond his control and free to act against him. Of its own accord, an image suddenly appeared in his mind of a great hourglass, sand pouring slowly but surely from the upper chamber. Like the sand, his own life and kingdom might end if he did not slay the two agents of Dymiter's foretelling, or at least destroy the talismans that they carried. Opening his long right hand, Torquatus thoughtfully regarded the small vial of Elerian's blood which he held in his palm. The contents of the vial had pleased him enough that he had given the Uruc who brought it to him a quick death instead of a long, painful one.
A pleading, mewling cry drew his gaze then to a small iron cage set on a black table of polished basalt that stood to the left of his throne. Confined inside of it was a black rat with red eyes grown thin from hunger and thirst. Trapped inside the beast was the shade charged with guarding Anthea’s cell. Besides sharing in the misery of its host, it suffered further torments when Torquatus siphoned off a little more of its power each day.
“Have mercy master,” it begged mind to mind, but its pleading only added to Torquatus’s cruel enjoyment of its plight. Turning his attention back to the vial in his hand, he weighed again whether he ought to use its contents.
“Once loosed, the creatures which I create will not easily be contained again,” he thought to himself, “but what does it matter if first they manage to rid me of this Eirian and his companion?” Resolved at last to act, Torquatus kicked with his booted right foot the small, furred form that crouched miserably at his feet, feeling a surge of pleasure from the act of inflicting pain on Malevolus.
“Fetch Valgus,” he said harshly to his servant, who now crouched just out of range of his feet, awaiting his orders. At once, the Goblin turned spadix scurried away, returning a few moments later with the captain of the Dark King’s personal guard.