The Warrior (The Hidden Realm)

by A. Giannetti

  Orianus smiled at Elerian and said, “An excellent match Elerian. I never thought to see Gram defeated.”

  “It was a narrow victory,” said Elerian modestly. “The man has sinews of iron.”

  As he spoke, Elerian could not help but look to his right. Merula sat with a scowl on his handsome features and an ugly look in his pale eyes. Turning away from Merula, Elerian cast his eyes on Anthea next. His heart jumped as her steady blue eyes regarded him with an unreadable look. Not knowing where to turn his eyes next, Elerian stared at the tabletop again.

  “Does she still think me a fool,” he wondered to himself.

  It surprised him how important the answer to that question was to him. To Elerian’s great relief, the feast ended soon after, for the hour was late and the guests tired. Orianus rose first and, after bidding good night to his guests, left with Dacien and Anthea at his side. As the other guests began to depart, Elerian helped Ascilius to his feet. The Dwarf hummed a drinking song and leaned heavily on Elerian’s right arm as they made their way back to their tent.

  “A rare good evening,” said Ascilius happily when they were inside and the tent flap was fastened behind them. “We are richer by a great deal, and you made a good impression on the King. You also made Dacien and Anthea richer by a good bit. They both backed you against Gram.”

  Still humming to himself, Ascilius made his way to his bed on unsteady feet. After collapsing onto the wooden cot with a cheerful jingle of the coins stuffed into his pockets, he immediately fell into a deep sleep. Elerian smiled to himself as he pulled off Ascilius’s boots and covered the Dwarf with a blanket. He envied Ascilius his deep, dreamless sleep, for tonight he was certain even the dream paths would be denied him. He sought his bed and lay with his eyes open, staring at the domed ceiling of the tent, but in his mind’s eye, he kept seeing a pair of unfathomable blue eyes and wondering what thoughts they concealed.

  “She all but called me a fool and yet she bet on me to win both times. How do I make sense of that?” he wondered to himself.

  THE LION

  When the first light of dawn crept through the opening in the ceiling of his tent, lightening the interior, Elerian rose from his bed and dressed, driven to action by the restiveness that had denied him both slumber and repose during the night. Not wishing to disturb Ascilius, who was sleeping heavily and peacefully in his blankets, he quietly left the tent.

  A deep silence hung over the encampment, for most of its inhabitants were still asleep. The first golden rays of dawn were gilding the eastern horizon, lightening the gray twilight that still lingered. A chill hung in the air from the night before, and the tent and the grass around it were damp from a heavy dew. White tenuous vapors rose from the river that flowed down the center of the valley.

  Enias was standing hipshot near the entrance in the semi-darkness, eyes half closed, thinking what thoughts Elerian could not guess, but there was no one else about.

  “How long have you been here, my friend?” Elerian asked softly of the gray stallion as he stroked his sleek neck. Enias’s silent response revealed that the stallion had waited patiently before the tent entrance for most of the night.

  “You should have stayed with your brethren,” said Elerian softly as he fetched the currycomb from the tent, but he was glad of the opportunity to groom the stallion.

  As he worked the brush with his right hand over Enias’s glossy hide in long, firm strokes, the familiar activity quieted the agitation that filled him. As the sun rose higher, the stallion gleamed like molten silver in the bright sunlight.

  Elerian had just finished his currying Enias and was wondering what to do next when a tall Tarsi dressed in brown leather armor walked up to the tent. His face had the bored expression of one who performs a necessary but unwelcome task. He offered neither his name nor any greeting as he handed Elerian a piece of heavy, white paper folded over twice and sealed with wax of a crimson hue. Impressed in the wax was the figure of a running horse, the same shape Elerian had observed stamped on the embossed leather armor worn by Orianus.

  “This note is from the lady Anthea,” said the messenger as Elerian broke the seal and opened the heavy paper. “I can read it for you if you wish. It is written in elvish, and few outside our land still use that language.”

  “I can read it myself, thank you,” said Elerian politely, grateful now that his old mentor, Tullius, had insisted he learn the language as a child.

  The note was written in a neat, firm hand and extended an invitation to a hunt that was to take place that very morning. Drawn by an irresistible desire to see Anthea again, Elerian had no thought of refusing the invitation.

  “Where and when do I go if I wish to accept this invitation?” Elerian asked the messenger, trying to keep his eagerness from showing in his voice.

  “I am charged with bringing you to the meeting place, but you must hurry,” replied the Tarsi.

  “Give me a moment to fetch my gear,” said Elerian to the messenger before disappearing through the tent flap. Once inside, he pulled on his heavy leather shirt. As an afterthought, he thrust a long knife through his belt and took up his bow and a quiver of arrows. He saw then that Ascilius’s bright eyes were watching him from under the blanket that he had drawn over his head during the night.

  “And where are you off to this early in the morning,” asked the Dwarf curiously.

  “Go back to sleep,” Elerian told Ascilius good-naturedly. “I will tell you about it later, when I return.”

  Quickly, before Ascilius could ask any more questions, Elerian left the tent. The messenger was eyeing Enias doubtfully.

  “Would you like me to bring you another mount?” he asked Elerian. “This gray seems lacking in bone and muscle.”

  “I will keep the mount I have,” said Elerian. “Enias will be equal to any task that is set for him.”

  “As you wish,” said the messenger indifferently.

  He turned and led Elerian and Enias to another tent, which was no great distance away. It was blue in color and much like the tent where Ascilius and Elerian resided, except for its greater size. The messenger disappeared inside, and Elerian followed him after instructing Enias to wait.

  Near the entrance to the tent an ample breakfast, served up on silver plates, was laid out on a small table of ebony whose border was decorated with intricate designs of inlaid silver.

  “The lady Anthea suggests that you eat before you join her,” said the messenger. “The hunt may take the greater part of the day.”

  The messenger left the tent, leaving Elerian alone. Ignoring the hearty meal spread out on the table, Elerian took only a glass of red wine and a slice of soft, white bread spread with yellow butter, for he did not want to dull his senses and reflexes with a heavy meal. After he finished his brief meal, Elerian left the tent. His guide was already mounted on a bay stallion that was shifting restlessly beneath him, eager to be off.

  Elerian sprang onto Enias’s back, and the Tarsi led him on a circuitous route through the encampment. The sun was now completely up over the horizon, and people were beginning to stir inside the tents. Elerian saw the blue-gray plumes of cook fires wafting up through the vent holes. The air was full of the toothsome smell of breakfasts being cooked.

  Elerian’s guide led him to a place on the plain a short distance east of the war camp. Twenty mounted men and women, all dressed in soft brown leather, were gathered there in a tight group. Their clear voices filled the air with animated conversation and laughter, while their powerful steeds snorted impatiently and shifted restlessly beneath them. Men and women alike, they had tied their long hair back with soft leather thongs. Their eyes, varying in shade from gray to blue, flashed with excitement.

  Elerian saw that each of the riders, both men and women, held a long spear in his or her right hand. The spearheads had crossbars welded to them at the place where they joined their wooden shafts. Although not so long, they reminded Elerian of the spears that the Goblins had carried to ward off the T
arsi cavalry. To support the spears more easily, the riders rested the ends of the shafts in leather pockets sewn onto their right stirrup. Each rider also sported a quiver of shorter spears fastened to the backs of their saddles on their left side.

  Milling about between the horses was a large pack of dogs. Half of them were tall, bulky gazehounds, whose task it was to hold game at bay when it was cornered. They were hairy as bears and possessed broad, powerful muzzles. The rest of the pack was composed of smaller, long eared scent hounds with short, sleek tan coats. Emitting sharp, eager whines, they paced nervously among the calmer gazehounds. At a little distance from the main group of hunters were six mounted Tarsi, each of whom carried a silver horn on a strap over his left shoulder as well as a spear. They were stern faced men, with keen eyes and skin well browned by the sun. Elerian guessed that it would be their task to attend the hounds and to keep order during the hunt.

  As they neared the party of hunters, Elerian’s sulky guide rode away without a word, leaving him to approach the gathered hunters on his own. A trim, black mare separated from the group and galloped to meet him. With a leap of his heart, Elerian recognized Anthea on her back.

  She sat her saddle slim and straight as a sword blade. Like her companions, she was wearing soft brown leathers, but her long black hair was done in a thick braid down her back. A circlet of braided silver set with a single, dark blue sapphire was wrapped around her brow. In her right hand, she held a long spear like the other members of her hunting party, and a long knife with a silver handle was thrust through her belt.

  When her mare thundered to a stop and reared up in front of Enias, Elerian saw that Anthea’s blue eyes were alive with excitement.

  “A lion had been raiding our herds for days,” she said in a clear voice to Elerian after her fiery mare settled to earth once more. “Last night he injured a guard and killed one of the oxen. A hunt has been organized to bring an end to him. It will be a dangerous undertaking, but I thought you might like to join us.”

  Anthea gave him a measuring look as she waited for him to reply. Elerian had a feeling that she half expected him to refuse her invitation after her mention of the lion.

  “Of course I would like to come,” said Elerian firmly. “I have hunted many dangerous beasts in my life.”

  Anthea smiled. There was a hard gleam in her eyes, as if she was secretly amused by what Elerian had said.

  “Today, your conception of dangerous may change somewhat,” she said lightly and mysteriously. “Would you like a spear,” she asked, looking questioningly at his bow.

  “I will keep my bow, thank you,” said Elerian politely. Enias had no saddle, and a spear would have been awkward for him to carry.

  “As you wish,” said Anthea, sounding amused again.

  Turning away, she waved to one of the masters of the hounds. Immediately, he put his horn to his lips and blew a sweet, haunting note that lingered in the still morning air. With eager barks and whines, the whole pack of hounds surged forward, closely followed by the six huntsmen.

  The men and women taking part in the hunt followed the hounds eagerly. Anthea whirled her mare away from Elerian and galloped after them, threading her way skillfully through the straining horses and their riders until she led the company. To one side of her, Elerian saw a familiar red stallion and was not surprised to find that Merula was one of the hunters. Doubtless, he missed no opportunities to be near Anthea.

  Elerian was content to follow along a little to the rear of the shifting pack of horses, where Enias was in the clear and had room to run. He enjoyed the cool air streaming past his face and soon became infected with the same excitement that filled the others.

  They rode out of the valley that held the war camp before turning east toward the herds out on the plain. A quarter mile out, the hounds stopped at the edge of a herd of tan oxen. The cattle were still frightened and restless. The whites of their eyes showed, and their bellows filled the air as they tossed their long white horns nervously.

  On the ground at the edge of the herd lay the source of their agitation, a dead, partially devoured ox. The hounds circled it eagerly, snuffling deeply in the turf that had been torn up in the struggle between the ox and the lion that had killed it. One of them began to bark excitedly as he picked up the scent of the lion and soon the other hounds joined in. Noses to the ground, the tracking dogs, followed by the gazehounds, began to follow the scent trail across the plain, filling the air with their melodious baying. The huntsmen sounded their silver horns, and the horses broke eagerly after the hounds, nostrils flaring and eyes flashing.

  The hunters vied with each other to take the lead, but Anthea’s trim, black mare remained in the forefront of the hunt. Closely followed by Merula’s red stallion, she quickly drew away from the others. Elerian now kept behind and to one side of the two leaders, restraining Enias with difficulty, for the stallion did not like running behind other horses.

  Barely a half mile east of the dead ox, the hounds arrived at a small stream, flowing north to south. Its banks were covered with dense thickets of small willows and alders about the same height as a mounted man. The pack of dogs followed the lion’s trail into the brush growing along the east bank of the stream. Although the hounds were hidden by the leaves and branches of the small trees, the melodious baying of the tracking hounds indicated to the hunters that the pack was following the lion’s trail upstream. Led by the masters of the hounds, the company of riders thundered after them, but Anthea reined in her mare and urged her into the thickets. Ignoring the branches that whipped her arms and legs, she rode her mare across the stream, the cold, fast running waters reaching as high as her stirrups. Without hesitation, Merula followed her with Elerian close behind.

  “What is she about?” wondered Elerian to himself, for the sounds of the hunt were receding in the distance to the north.

  When Enias emerged from the brush on the far side of the stream, Elerian saw that Anthea, followed by Merula, was galloping her mare northeast across the plain, toward a wide bend in the stream, where it looped around to the east before turning north again. Inside the bend, the thickets lining the stream became quite extensive, forming a dense copse.

  Without any urging from Elerian, Enias shot after the other two horses, skimming lightly over the plain. On his left, Elerian heard the baying of the hounds as they followed the lion’s trail along the streambed. When they reached the bend in the stream, their barking reached a crescendo in the middle of the copse, indicating that the hounds had also crossed the stream. Bass roars suddenly rose up above the thicket, making the leaves tremble on their branches. The hounds had jumped the lion in his bed.

  “Clever girl,” thought Elerian to himself approvingly. An accomplished hunter himself, he admired the way Anthea had anticipated where the lion might be found.

  Anthea reached the copse first, reining in her mare barely thirty feet from the edge of the thicket, her spear already out of its stirrup cup and held ready in her right hand.

  “Stay back, she yelled fiercely at Elerian and Merula over her right shoulder, her deep blue eyes alive with excitement.

  Heeding her warning, Merula took up a position a short distance behind her to her left. Elerian unobtrusively positioned himself behind Anthea and to her right where his field of vision was clear, waiting tensely with his left hand gripped around his bow, an arrow already knocked on the string.

  From within the copse, a hound shrieked and a deep roar shook the ground. To his left, on the far side of the stream, Elerian heard horns and shouts as the rest of the hunting party fought their way through the thickets that lined the streambed.

  “They will never arrive in time,” thought Elerian to himself.

  The small trees in front of Anthea suddenly shivered, as if caught in the grip of a strong wind. A moment later, a vast yellow shape that dwarfed the gazehounds clinging impotently to its rear legs and tail burst out of the thicket. Swarming around the lion were the rest of the dogs, the gazehounds b
ravely looking for an opportunity to set their teeth in the great beast’s tawny hide, the smaller tracking hounds keeping to the edges of the fray, lending only the support of their voices to the battle being waged in front of them by their larger brethren.

  Elerian was momentarily stunned by the size of the tremendous beast being worried by the dogs. Its green eyes flashed with a deadly fire, and the air seemed to tremble from the deep rumble of its roars as it lunged wildly about in its efforts to pin the dogs with enormous paws the size of dinner plates. A lightning stroke of the sickle like claws of the lion’s right front paw suddenly reduced one of the gazehounds to a bloody ruin. Fangs the length of Elerian’s long hand closed on a second hound, ending his life in an instant, but still, the remaining gazehounds fearlessly attacked and retreated, keeping the lion at bay.

  Elerian’s heart skipped a beat as Anthea suddenly lowered the tip of her spear. Bracing the shaft between her waist and right arm, she fearlessly urged her mare directly at the lion. The fiery mare, trembling in every muscle, leaped forward just as the lion suddenly turned away from the dogs to face Anthea. Recognizing Anthea as the greater threat, the lion launched its massive form directly at her mare. Anthea’s spear sank into its broad chest, missing its mighty heart but piercing one of its lungs. When the lion’s immense body met the crossbar, the wooden spear shaft suddenly snapped in two with a sharp, ominous crack. With all resistance gone from the spear, Anthea, who was straining mightily to hold back the weight of the enormous lion, suddenly fell forward, striking her forehead heavily against her mare’s neck. With nothing to hold it back, the great lion struck Anthea’s mount heavily with its broad chest, the collision forcing the mare back on her haunches. Anthea, still half stunned, was thrown backward by the unexpected impact, striking the ground heavily as her mare screamed and strove desperately to tear herself away from the lion that gripped her chest with its claws, seeking to fasten its long fangs into her throat.