by A. Giannetti
Endless possibilities for changing things now presented themselves to Elerian, but he soon found that there were limits to his new spell. If two substances shared some of the same properties, it was indeed possible to transform one into another. Granite, for example, could be changed into a clear crystal. His attempts to make stone into gold or wood into stone were a failure, however, for the substances did not share enough similarities. Quite by accident, Elerian found that he could hold wood or stone in the first stages of the transformation spell he had crafted. As long as he maintained the golden glow of his new spell over the material he had selected, its substance remained pliable and amenable to change. In this state, using only his only his clever fingers and a few simple tools, Elerian found that he could alter a piece of wood or stone into any shape he desired.
The results of his efforts were so remarkable that Elerian was at last overcome by the need to show someone what he had accomplished. One evening, he woke Balbus as he was dozing in his chair in front of the warm fire burning in the fireplace.
“Look at what I have learned to do,” he told Balbus proudly. As Balbus watched in fascination, Elerian sat on the hearthstone and suspended a piece of dull quartz in the air at the level of his chest. Balbus’s eyes widened in surprise, but before he could say a word, the stone began to spin slowly in the air in front of Elerian. Before Balbus’s awestruck eyes, it turned into clear crystal veined with blue and green threads. The transparent depths of the stone flashed as they spun, reflecting the flames of the fire.
It was an impressive display of magic, and Balbus was about to congratulate Elerian when words suddenly deserted him. He watched in amazement as Elerian began to shape the crystal using only his deft fingers. As if it were only soft clay, the clear stone gradually took the shape of a graceful cup with a long stem and wide base. When he was done, Elerian held the splendid cup out for Balbus to inspect.
Balbus took the cup and gently held the gleaming crystal shape in his powerful, work hardened fingers. The way in which Elerian had made the cup both mystified him and delighted him, for lacking mage sight, he saw the results of Elerian’s spells, but he could not see the golden glow of the charm which enveloped the cup and enabled Elerian to shape it.
“It is wonderful work,” he said at last, and Elerian immediately felt a warm glow of pride in what he had accomplished. The warm glow was snuffed out like a candle flame, however, when Balbus said sadly, “You must destroy this cup, Elerian. There is no harm in showing it to me, but if anyone else saw it and found out how it was made, you would be the talk of the countryside. Such talk could reach the wrong ears. It is not worth taking the risk.”
Impatience and anger welled up in Elerian. He was tired of concealing his powers so that he could avoid drawing attention to himself. “At least tell me who these mysterious enemies are and why they are a danger to me,” he burst out impatiently.
“The time is drawing near, Elerian when I can tell you everything you wish to know, but you must be patient for a little while longer,” said Balbus avoiding his eyes as he handed the cup back to Elerian.
Elerian did not reply. “I am tired of being patient,” he thought to himself angrily. “It is all I have heard my whole life.” It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Balbus that he knew about the Goblins, but he said nothing, for he did not want to admit that he had eavesdropped that day in the barn. While Balbus watched sadly, Elerian angrily transformed the cup back into a lump of dull quartz.
The incident took away his pleasure in his new found skill, and he made nothing else for a time. Gradually, however, Elerian regained his good humor, for he discovered a new mystery to think about. He had wanted a new knife for some time, and thinking to use his new spells to shape one, he attempted his transformation spell on a piece of scrap steel. To his surprise, he found that no matter how he varied his spell, he could not alter the shape of the steel or any other metal object for that matter.
A growing frustration finally drove him to make careful inquiries of Tullius. “Is there any way to use magic to shape metal?” he asked casually one day when they were together.
Elerian had not played any tricks on Tullius since the prank with the hornet, and the ensuing period of peace and quiet had put Tullius into a tranquil mood. His good humor was also much enhanced by the bottle of excellent wine Elerian had brought him, so he answered Elerian’s question at once.
“It is possible to work metal with magic,” said Tullius in his best lecture voice, “but no human mage has ever learned how it is done. The Dwarves know the secret, but they do not share their knowledge with outsiders not of their own race. Does that answer your question?” asked Tullius.
“Yes, thank you,” said Elerian, hiding the disappointment he felt at Tullius’s words. He still wanted to make a knife of his own, however. When Elerian mentioned his ambition to Balbus, he had a more practical solution than using magic. The very next day, he took Elerian to the smithy in Sidonia. The stone building stood just inside the high wall that encircled the town. It had a brown tile roof but only three walls. The fourth side had two large wooden doors that were opened wide in all but the most inclement weather. Inside were a brick forge and several black anvils of different sizes. The left hand wall of the shop was hung with hammers, pincers, and the other tools the smith used in plying his trade. Coal and small ingots of copper, iron, and tin were piled against the back wall.
The smith was a short, thickset man with brawny arms and shoulders. When he saw Balbus and Elerian approach, he set aside the red-hot horseshoe that he was shaping on one of the anvils with a hammer and a long set of pincers.
“How goes it Balbus?” he asked in a deep voice. “I have not seen you in some time.”
“I have come to ask a favor Ancus,” said Balbus with a smile. “My grandson Elerian wishes to learn the ways of the forge.”
“It is no easy task,” said Ancus, glancing curiously at Elerian with his cheerful brown eyes. “Are you sure you want to attempt it boy?” he asked.
“I will work hard,” said Elerian earnestly, “if you will show me the secrets of working metal.”
Ancus laughed warmly. “There are few secrets other than hard work. Come back tomorrow and we will begin.”
Elerian returned the next day, and he and Ancus got along well together from the start. The smith was an old friend of Balbus’s, and his easygoing personality made him an agreeable teacher. He was, as Elerian soon discovered, something of a treasure. Although, at present, he spent his time doing common tasks such as shoeing horses, he had spent time in the army, like Balbus and had become skilled in making weapons during that time. Over a period of many months, he taught Elerian how to shape metal in the ordinary way, with sweat and skill instead of magic. As Elerian grew more adept, Ancus showed him how to shape the weapons and accoutrements of war, from knives to chain mail.
AN OLD ENEMY
Elerian’s trips to Ancus’s smithy brought him the metal working knowledge he desired, but they also had an unintended consequence, less favorable to him. When he returned home in the evenings from working with Ancus, he was unaware that unfriendly eyes sometimes watched him from the undergrowth which bordered an unkempt, isolated lane well outside the outskirts of the town. The overgrown lane led down into a wooded hollow where the woodcutter Granius had his home.
Although the woodcutter had not crossed paths with Elerian since being routed from the forest, the boy was often in his thoughts. The intense dislike Granius had conceived for Elerian from the moment he first laid eyes on him had grown into outright hatred, for his fortunes had taken a turn for the worse since the day that Elerian, disguised as a wolf, had chased him from the forest. Granius took to drinking heavily after the incident, and his companions gradually abandoned him. Alone, he was barely able to eke out a living. As his fortunes sank lower and lower, he came to blame Elerian for the sorry state of his life. Although he had laughed at the threat Elerian had made against him, the more Granius reflected over his
misfortunes, the more convinced he became that Elerian had somehow been responsible for the wolf that had attacked him and his companions, starting the chain of events which had brought him to his present ruinous state. Granius became determined to do Elerian an injury if the opportunity ever presented itself. As soon as he learned that Elerian was working with Ancus, he immediately began to spy on him.
Granius soon discovered that in the evenings when Elerian returned to his home, the lane he traveled on was often deserted. Determined to use this fact to his advantage, Granius soon formulated a plan. When Elerian passed his hiding place one evening, his anger fueled by strong drink, Granius sprang out behind him onto the deserted road. He was armed with a stout club and meant to strike Elerian down from behind. Once the boy was unconscious, he planned to drag Elerian into the woods where he could finish him off in a more satisfying way, without fear of interruption. Without witnesses, he knew that his chances of being caught and held responsible for the murder were slight.
Granius’s plan was well thought out, but he had failed to take into account Elerian’s sharp ears. The slight rustle of leaves that accompanied the woodcutter’s rush from his hiding place alerted Elerian, and he whirled around just as Granius was in the act of bringing down the club he held in his right hand. For an instant, Elerian stood frozen in surprise at the sight of Granius’s face, for it was twisted into horrible, inhuman lines by his hatred, and there was murder in his dark eyes. For someone who believed he had no enemies, it was a shocking sight.
At the last moment, Elerian overcame his momentary paralysis, and seized Granius’s right wrist with his left hand, arresting the club in the middle of its deadly arc. With his right hand, Elerian seized the club and easily wrenched it free of Granius’s grip before flinging it to the ground. The woodcutter gaped in surprise for a moment. He was a powerful man, but Elerian had disarmed him as easily as he would a small child. Unable to free his right wrist from Elerian’s iron grip, Granius fumbled wildly with his left hand for the knife he carried in his belt, but Elerian plucked it away first. With a quick movement of his left arm, Elerian pulled Granius forward, off balance. Releasing his hold on the woodcutter’s wrist, Elerian slipped behind Granius and passed his arms beneath his shoulders. Locking his hands together behind the woodcutter’s thick neck, Elerian forced Granius down onto his knees. Granius struggled furiously to free himself, but despite his great strength, all of his efforts to break free of Elerian’s grasp came to nothing. Elerian remained bent over the kneeling woodcutter, easily maintaining his hold.
“Why did you attack me?” asked Elerian quietly as Granius paused in his struggles for a moment, breathing heavily. He had no real desire to hurt the woodcutter. He did, however, wish to know the cause of the hate he had seen distorting the man’s face.
“You ruined my life,” said Granius savagely. “I will make you pay for that if I can. I know what you are.”
The woodcutter’s last statement caused Elerian to start a little. “What am I then?” he asked curiously,” wondering what Granius knew about him.
“You are not like the rest of us,” said Granius cunningly. “I knew from the first time I saw you that you were different.”
Elerian felt disappointed. The man had told him nothing he did not know already. “Listen to me Granius,” he said softly. “I will let you go this one time, but if you come near me again, I will not be so kind.” Without warning, Elerian bore down on Granius with arms and hands that seemed more like iron than flesh. Fear swept through the woodcutter, for he was suddenly certain that Elerian meant to break his neck. Then, even as his sinews creaked and fiery pain lanced down his spine, Granius felt Elerian slacken his hold. With a careless display of strength, Elerian flung Granius away from him as if the sturdy woodcutter possessed no weight of any consequence. Granius tumbled helplessly over the ground into the middle of the lane. Slowly, he climbed to his feet, rubbing the back of his neck with his left hand as he faced Elerian. He shot Elerian a deadly look from hate filled eyes, but he made no attempt to pick up his weapons before fleeing noisily into the woods on his left. The woodcutter was too clever to attack Elerian openly again, now that he had the measure of the boy’s strength.
Elerian watched him go with regret. He felt an instinctive dislike for the woodcutter, but it disturbed him that he might have had a hand in bringing Granius to this low estate. Then, recalling the living trees the man had felled for no good reason, he sighed. “I am sorry for the man,” he thought to himself, “but I do not regret stopping the destruction he was wreaking on the forest. If his enmity is the price I must pay, then I will bear it. Hopefully, he will take my warning to heart and stay far away from me.”
Putting the thought of the woodcutter out of his mind, Elerian turned toward home once more. His frequent trips to Sidonia were done, for Ancus had nothing more to teach him and two fine, new knives hung from his belt, completed that very day. He was unlikely to encounter Granius again unless the woodcutter deliberately sought him out.
Granius was not able to forget Elerian quite so easily. Despite the fact that the boy had spared his life, Granius’s hatred remained undiminished after his defeat at Elerian’s hands. No other good opportunity to injure the boy presented itself, however, and nothing further might have come of his hatred except for a chance occurrence.
One evening, as Granius sat brooding and drinking at his table, a knock came at his door. When he cautiously opened it an inch or two, he was rudely shoved aside, and three tall, bearded men with a wild and savage air about them burst into his home. Two of the men seized Granius by the arms while the third grasped the woodcutter’s beard in his left hand, lifting it to expose Granius’s throat. As he raised the sharp knife in his right hand to cut Granius’s throat, the woodcutter shouted, “Wait. Don’t kill me. I have nothing worth stealing.”
At Granius’s desperate plea, the man with the knife smiled coldly. “You are wrong my friend, for you do have one thing we can take. We are outlaws in search of new hunting grounds, and we have decided that your home will make a fine hiding place for us once we have done away with you.”
“Take my home then, but let me live,” said Granius frantically. “I can be of help to you alive.”
The tall black bearded robber with the knife hesitated for a moment. “How can you help us?” he asked contemptuously.
“If you kill me, you will soon be discovered and driven out,” said Granius, the cold steel at his throat spurring his tongue. “Let me live and I will protect you from discovery while you pursue your trade. All I wish is a small share of the profits.”
The tall robber gave Granius a penetrating stare and decided that he had found a kindred spirit in the woodcutter. After a short discussion, a most amicable agreement was reached. Granius continued to ply his trade as a woodcutter to avoid suspicion, but he passed information about the movements of his neighbors to his confederates. With the information supplied to them by Granius, they carried out their thefts in broad daylight. They knew when homes were unoccupied, and no one could travel the roads with money in their pockets without the three robbers springing out from behind some hedge to rob them.
At Granius’s suggestion, the robbers were careful not to injure anyone seriously in the course of their thefts. It went against their cruel nature, but they saw the wisdom of Granius’s words. The robberies caused a storm of anger, but their victims did not band together to hunt down the robbers as they would have with a murder to avenge.
Things might have gone on like this for some time, but the leader of the band quickly became dissatisfied with the arrangement. Although Granius’s home was filled with plunder, the robber chief chafed at the need to hide and to restrain himself from committing any murders. He had a cruel and bloody nature, and one night, as he sat drinking with Granius and his two companions, he slammed his empty cup on the table.
“If I only had more silver, I would bring a great crowd of rascals from the east,” he said angrily. “We could set ourse
lves up as kings in this land and do as we wished instead of skulking about, afraid to so much as scratch one of these dull farmers and townsmen.”
The idea pleased Granius at once. He was tired of cutting wood to keep up appearances for the robbers. “If he succeeds in his plan, I can take my ease in a great house with many slaves,” he thought to himself. Then, it suddenly occurred to him that he could achieve this state and have his revenge against Elerian at the same time. Over the years, Balbus had given silver to many who were down on their luck, and with his own eyes, Granius had seen him reach into an old black purse at the inn in Sidonia and pull out silver coins. If he could convince his new friends to rob Balbus, he might be able to do away with the old farmer and Elerian too.
“There is a farmer I know of who is rumored to have a store of silver hidden on his farm,” said Granius quietly.
The robber chief’s face immediately darkened with anger. “Why have you not spoken of this before?” he asked suspiciously.
“It is a rumor only,” said Granius hastily. “I do not know if it is true or not?”
“We will find out soon enough,” said the robber. “Where does this fellow live?”
Granius described the remote location of Balbus’s farm, and soon the four of them were deeply involved in constructing a wicked plot. This was to be no simple robbery this time. At Granius’s own insistence, murder would follow the robbery so that there would be no witnesses. It was decided that they would strike after midnight the next day, for the moon was dark, and they could move about with confidence that no one would see them.
