The Warrior (The Hidden Realm)

by A. Giannetti

  Once they were on the far shore, Elerian looked longingly at the silver trout, some of them as long as his arm, that finned in the deep pool below the ford, but Ascilius, reluctant to linger out in the open, continued on without pause into an ancient forest that reminded Elerian of the Abercius of his youth.

  Elerian soon forgot his hunger, gazing instead with the greatest of interest at the enormous trees all around him. So absorbed was he that he almost bumped into Ascilius when the Dwarf stopped at the edge of one of those odd clearings that dotted this strange land. Narrowing his eyes against the bright sunlight that flooded the opening, Elerian saw that this clearing differed from the others they had seen. In the center of the opening, just visible above the tall grass that covered a large part of the clearing, Elerian saw gray, moss-covered fieldstones that were surely the remains of an old foundation. Around the foundation were lines of gray stone, remnants of stone walls, no doubt, erected to mark out the boundaries of fields.

  “Were there people living here at one time?” asked Elerian, wondering who had once called these ruins home.

  “When Fenius still ruled in Fimbria, there were Elves living in this land and Dwarves and Men, too, for this country was under the protection of the Elf King,” said Ascilius after a moment of silence. “These dwellings were left behind by men. They were a hardy folk, and the produce they raised on their farms found its way both to the Dwarf cities and to Fimbria.”

  “If this country was once inhabited, then where did the people go?” asked Elerian curiously.

  “Everything changed after Fimbria burned, and the Elves vanished from the Middle Realm,” said Ascilius heavily. “The Men and Dwarves who lived in this land felt a great deal of alarm, at first, at losing the protection of the Elf king, but the Goblins also seemed to have disappeared, tempering some of their fear. I was one of the few who suspected that there might still be Goblins gone to ground in Nefandus, but all my efforts to raise an army to root them out of the mountains failed, for my voice counted for little in those days. Torquatus was thought to have died in Fimbria, and without him, everyone believed that even if a few Goblins had survived, they would no longer be a threat.

  “A score of peaceful years went by, and I was often chided for my alarmist views. Then, suddenly, an army of Goblins marched out of Nefandus, laying siege to and eventually seizing all of our mines in the Murus. Torquatus, it turned out, was still alive. Under his leadership, the Goblins gradually conquered all the land between the Murus and Calenus, for Men and Dwarves are no match for Goblins in the forest. The people living in the Broken Lands either fled or were killed or captured and enslaved by the Goblins. Today, only ruins remain to show that they once lived here.”

  Abruptly, not caring to dwell any longer on sad memories, Ascilius resumed walking. Bearing to his left, he skirted the edge of the clearing. Elerian continued to stare at the ruins, thinking about the destruction the Goblins had wrought, first in Fimbria and Ancharia and then in the Broken Lands.

  “Do not lag behind,” said Ascilius brusquely over his right shoulder when he noticed that Elerian was still staring out into the clearing. “We have far to go yet.”

  Rousing himself, Elerian easily caught up to the Dwarf with a few lithe strides. Ascilius was not much inclined to talk after that, saddened, perhaps, by his recollections of the past. Unnoticed, Elerian finally left his side, climbing into a great oak and running lightly and sure-footedly due east over the great branches of the forest canopy until he had left the Dwarf far behind.

  When he came to the edge of a meadow with a small stream running through it, Elerian froze suddenly in place. Forty feet below him, near the middle of the forest glade, a spotted buck, his spiked antlers clad in velvet, was grazing on the lush growth of watercress that covered parts of the stream like a pale green carpet. It was the first game Elerian had seen since leaving the mountains.

  With thoughts of venison for dinner, he quietly strung his bow and knocked an arrow. Aiming carefully, for he was taking a long shot made difficult by the angle he was shooting from, he sent his arrow on its way. The buck leaped once, high into the air, before falling on its side, Elerian’s arrow piercing its heart.

  “Perhaps we have finally left the hunting grounds of the shape changer Ascilius killed last night,” thought Elerian hopefully to himself as he descended to the ground to claim his prize.

  Miles to the west, Ascilius’s depressing recollections of the past had faded away, replaced by annoyance at Elerian. At first, when he noticed that his companion was gone, he did not worry overmuch.

  “Gone again,” he thought disgustedly to himself, “but what else can you expect from an Elf in a wood, I suppose.”

  Ax in his left hand and his new staff in his right hand, he continued on due east, certain his wayward companion would rejoin him eventually.

  “I will give him a piece of my mind when he returns,” he thought to himself. “This forest is a dangerous place. It is best that we stick together.”

  The real truth of the matter, of course, was that Ascilius missed having Elerian by his side. Traveling through Nefandus, Elerian had seldom left him alone, and the dark woodlands they had passed through had seemed less ominous because of that. Alone now in the vast wood that surrounded him, Ascilius felt increasingly ill at ease. His sense of direction, which never failed him below ground, even in the dark, was less reliable here under the trees, and to make matter worse, he was not familiar with the countryside. Whenever he had traveled through the Broken Lands in years gone by, he had always used the Dwarf road to the south, sleeping in comfortable inns each night.

  When the light began to fail as the sun dropped down into the west behind him, and Elerian still did not appear, Ascilius’s irritation was supplanted by worry that some disaster had befallen Elerian.

  “Where can that dratted Elf have gotten himself to?” he wondered to himself. “It will be just my luck if I have to spend the night searching for him,” he grumbled to himself under his breath, for the thought of looking for Elerian in a dark, unfamiliar forest with all the great predators out searching for their dinner was not an inviting one.

  Ascilius paused often now to make sure of his direction. Although he could still see well enough, even after the color drained away from the landscape with the setting of the sun, he found the gray and black forest landscape an uninviting place that was difficult to navigate. There was not the slightest chink in the canopy of leaves overhead through which he could get a glimpse of the night sky, and the great tree trunks around him all looked the same.

  A heavy silence filled the forest as the birds in the canopy sought their perches and sleep with the coming of night. Ascilius tried to be as quiet as possible as he crept along, taking note of every creak and rustle that came from the endless rows of massive tree trunks that surrounded him. When a twig snapped, loudly off to his left, he started badly and his heart began to race. Was some Troll, lately come down out of the Trofim, even now stalking him? Perhaps those rustling leaves off to his right were being stirred by stealthy Goblin feet. His nerves began to fray, and he began to cast increasingly nervous glances all around him. A loud crack behind him, magnified by the deep silence, suddenly shattered the peace of the forest like a thunderclap. At the sound, Ascilius, who was extremely agitated by now, leapt straight up into the air, his eyes staring wildly. His hair would likely have risen too were it free and not captured in a tight braid. When his feet struck the ground again, Ascilius whirled around, seeking the source of the sound he had heard. A great shadow loomed up between the trees in front of him, and he saw hungry green eyes like small lamps staring down at him. Ascilius’s eyes grew wide as small saucers, and a loud, startled shout of surprise escaped his bearded lips.

  Ascilius was brave to a fault, but courage is a quality of the mind. Had he remained in control of himself, he might have done something courageous but extremely foolish, such as striking the Troll with his ax, or at the least, attempting to poke it in the eye with
the end of his staff. Ascilius’s mind, however, was momentarily paralyzed by the sudden appearance of what he believed was an enormous Troll. His body, which was concerned solely with self preservation, took control.

  “Save our brave but foolish master,” it ordered his legs, which obeyed with alacrity. In a twinkling, they had turned Ascilius around, carrying him away in a series of enormous bounds. Ascilius’s feet seemed to spurn the earth as his legs, bent on saving his life, carried him lightly over roots, branches and other obstacles that lay in his path in a remarkable display of agility.

  Near the place where Ascilius had seen the shadow, hugging his chest to keep from laughing aloud, his gray eyes incandescent with mischief, Elerian watched in delight as Ascilius disappeared into the forest, bounding along in great leaps worthy of a spotted deer.

  After cleaning his buck and hiding it in a tree, Elerian had run back through the canopy to check on the Dwarf. He had found Ascilius without much trouble, for the Dwarf had traveled pretty much due east from the point where Elerian had left him. Standing silently on a great winding tree limb, high above Ascilius, Elerian had smiled to himself as he watched the Dwarf walking cautiously across the forest floor below, a frown on his rough-hewn features.

  “He is annoyed that I left, that is certain,” Elerian had thought to himself. A mischievous light had entered his gray eyes then. “Perhaps I should distract him a bit,” he had decided.

  Elerian knew that Ascilius had the courage of a lion, but here in this dark wood, clearly out of his element and facing unknown dangers, he seemed on edge, for he kept casting apprehensive glances all around him. The opportunity was too good to waste. Silent as a shadow, Elerian had glided down the rough barked trunk of the ancient chestnut tree until he was standing behind Ascilius. From the ground, he had picked up a dry branch the thickness of two fingers. With a sudden downward movement of his strong wrists, he had snapped the branch, at the same time casting an illusion spell over himself that gave him the semblance of a Troll. The results had far exceeded his expectations, for Ascilius had achieved a marvelous height when he leaped into the air.

  “Who would have thought such a sturdy fellow as Ascilius could jump so far into the air,” thought Elerian to himself, tears of laughter running from his eyes. “Why if I could break a large enough branch, he might exceed even my best jump.”

  Still laughing, he climbed back into the canopy, following the distant sound of running feet until he found Ascilius. Breathing heavily, the Dwarf had had slowed to a walk. In control of himself once more, Ascilius’s first thought was for his dignity.

  “I am glad Elerian was not nearby,” he thought to himself, shuddering as he thought of the endless comments he would have had to suffer through if Elerian had witnessed his precipitous retreat. “He would certainly have gotten the wrong impression. I was only startled after all. If I meet that Troll again, it will be a different story,” he thought to himself as he cut the air viciously with his ax.

  After such fierce thoughts, one might have expected Ascilius to turn right around to seek out the Troll, but he did no such thing. Instead, he continued on his way, exhibiting twice as much caution as before. He heard no sound of any pursuit, but his mind now peopled the dark spaces between the great trees around him with the massive outlines of great Trolls; immense, shaggy bears; and savage lions. Even a small dragon might lurk behind some of the great tree trunks that surrounded him.

  Looking down on his companion from the canopy, Elerian judged him so agitated that a second branch breaking might be too much for his heart.

  “Best not chance it,” thought Elerian regretfully to himself. “If I kill him, I will have no one to play tricks on. Besides, it is growing dark, and I have things to do. First, however, I must remind him about the staff I gave him or he will never find me.”

  Elerian did not intend to reveal himself if he could help it. At the sight of him, Ascilius would immediately become suspicious. Half of Elerian’s enjoyment of the pranks that he played on Ascilius came from the fact that the Dwarf was never quite able to prove he was responsible for them.

  Below him, as if he had heard Elerian’s thought, Ascilius suddenly raised the staff that he still held in his left hand.

  “He has finally remembered the staff,” thought Elerian to himself, smiling in satisfaction. Certain now that the Dwarf would eventually find him, Elerian returned through the canopy to where he had cached his venison, running silently and swiftly down the length of one great branch after another.

  After Ascilius raised his staff and pictured Elerian’s face in his mind, he felt an immediate tug on his right hand. Heart pounding, starting at the least sound, he let the staff pull him along through the trees, hoping it would take him to Elerian. The darkness deepened, and from the corners of his eyes, Ascilius was certain he saw flickers of movement between the tree trunks that rose like great, dark columns around him. At times, the trees themselves seemed to move, and he heard ominous creaking sounds even though there was no wind.

  “I hope there are no Ondredon in these woods,” Ascilius thought nervously to himself.

  An endless time passed, and he became certain in his mind that his staff was leading him astray. He was just about to cast it aside when he became aware for the first time of a most delectable scent wafting to his nostrils. Ascilius stopped in his tracks and began vigorously sniffing the air.

  “That is the smell of roasting venison or I am a Goblin,” he thought to himself in amazement.

  The staff continued to tug at his left hand. Ascilius cautiously let it lead him on, toward several great oaks that were growing closely together in a loose circle.

  “If the dratted thing is working properly, Elerian must be nearby,” thought Ascilius to himself.

  Eagerly, he looked between two great trunks. The pull on his arm ceased, but the space ahead of him was empty, except for drifts of brown leaves and great humped roots that wound across the ground. The smell of roasting meat, however, was stronger than ever. Suddenly, Ascilius heard a clear laugh from the center of the empty space. The look of puzzlement on his face was immediately replaced by one of irritation.

  “Confound you! Show yourself,” he said sharply. “I’m in no mood for your peculiar humor tonight.”

  Again, Ascilius heard that clear laugh and then, as if a blindfold had suddenly been whisked away from his eyes, the opening in front of him took on an entirely different appearance. Green and gold lights were fixed to the sides of the tree trunks all around the opening, mingling their rays to fill the tiny clearing with a light reminiscent of sunlight filtered through new leaves. The boles of the trees now resembled wooden pillars, and their leaves, a green roof overhead. In the center of the opening burned a bright fire, and over it, spitted a green branch, was the buck Elerian had taken earlier that day, already brown and crisp from the flames. On a tree root near the fire sat Elerian, his gray eyes shining with mischief.

  Ascilius opened his mouth to scold Elerian for the prank and the dangerous fire, but found he could not say a word, for he was suddenly transported back through the long years of his life to other feasts in forested halls that were filled with fair folk who were now gone from the Middle Realm forever. The feelings of sadness and loss that swept over him vanished immediately when he saw the clear, crystal mug that Elerian held in his long right hand.

  “You’re drinking,” said Ascilius in a voice full of outrage. “You left me alone in this desolate, dangerous forest and here you sit warm, well fed and drinking without me.”

  “I have only just started drinking,” said Elerian in an unrepentant voice, “and your own glass awaits you,” he said, pointing to a second mug perched on the deeply fissured bark of a nearby root. “As for eating without you, the roast is just now done. I knew that sooner or later, the staff would lead you to me.”

  Ascilius was torn between the desire to castigate Elerian further, and the mug of wine perched invitingly on the tree root. Muttering under his breath, he finally
chose the mug of wine. Once Ascilius had quenched his thirst, Elerian immediately offered him a succulent piece of venison. Ascilius swallowed his annoyance at Elerian along with the venison. Silence reigned in the clearing as he and Elerian broke their long fast, feasting on tender venison and drinking red wine from their mugs.

  When they had both eaten their fill, Elerian used his transformation spell to change the considerable meat that was left over from the buck into tasty, dried strips that would keep for days. After stowing them in the small boar skin pouch that he had made in Nefandus, Elerian cured the deer’s hide with a transformation spell. While Ascilius sipped his wine and watched, he cut pieces from the hide with his knife, attaching them seamlessly together with joining spells to make light shoes for himself and Ascilius, the first pair either of them had worn for many years.

  By the time Elerian finished the shoes, Ascilius felt his eyelids dragging down as if they had weights attached to them. He was no longer angry, but he could not resist having the last word when he finally rolled himself up in his cloak to sleep.

  “You should put the fire and the lights out so that you can end your illusion spell,” he advised Elerian. “In the dark, it is a beacon for anyone or anything possessing mage sight. Keep a sharp watch,” he advised from the depths of his warm cloak. “I am sure I saw a Troll in the forest earlier this evening.”

  Elerian almost choked on the last of his wine at this final warning, for the image of Ascilius bounding lightly through the forest suddenly appeared before his mind’s eye. When he could breathe again, he rose lithely to his feet. After rinsing the mugs in a small, clear stream that flowed nearby, he set them down on a stone and cast a sending spell over them. With his third eye, he saw two small golden orbs fly from the fingers of his right hand. One covered the drinking mugs with a golden film of light. The second hovered in the air and transformed itself into a small circle of light with a dark center. In the blink of an eye, the mugs lifted from the stone and flew through the small portal, which immediately vanished. To anyone without mage sight, they would have appeared to have vanished into thin air.