The Mage (The Hidden Realm)

by A. Giannetti

  “You will pay dearly for wounding me. I will devour your living flesh and crush your bones between my teeth before this night is over.”

  The words startled Elerian, who, up to now, had thought he was dealing with a beast. Before he could make any response, the venetor spat like a great cat. With his third eye, Elerian saw a small red orb issue from the creature’s mouth. As the orb flashed through the air toward him, Elerian instinctively cast a shield spell. A cloak of golden light covered him from head to toe an instant before the red sphere struck him. The two spells met, flared brightly for a moment, and then both faded away as their force was expended.

  The venetor’s pale, fierce eyes opened wide in surprise, and it spat another red orb at Elerian. Again, he countered with a shield spell, and the two spells met and died in a bright flare of red and gold light. Elerian saw uncertainty fill the creature’s eyes for the first time. When Elerian drew a second knife from his left boot and suddenly sprang forward, the venetor spun around and bounded away through the trees on all fours.

  THE LAIR

  His blood heated from the battle, Elerian threw caution to the winds and chased after his fleeing enemy, a knife in each hand. His bow and quiver of arrows remained forgotten on the ground, for Elerian’s chief concern now was keeping the venetor in sight. Having bested the creature in their first contest, he was certain he could make an end to it, if he could but catch it. The cunning look on his enemy’s face, however, might have given Elerian pause had he seen it. After suffering two wounds and having both of his spells defeated, Drusus had decided to lure Elerian into an ambush rather than face him openly.

  Deeper and deeper into the Abercius, Drusus fled, with Elerian close behind, one shadow chasing another through the dark. Miles passed beneath their flying feet, the distance between them always staying roughly the same, for Drusus was just as anxious not lose Elerian as Elerian was to keep him in sight. Gradually, the ground began to slope upward as Drusus led Elerian into the foothills of the Panteras, the small, solitary range that rose up out of the Abercius to the northwest of Balbus’s farm. Drusus had begun to tire, but he was not concerned, for he was near his destination now. Slowing a little to encourage Elerian to follow him, Drusus bounded up a slope covered with ancient oak trees of enormous girth.

  Behind him, Elerian’ eyes widened in surprise as he watched the powerful, sinuous form of the venetor leap head first at the trunk of one of the forest giants growing on the slope. An instant before the creature struck the bole of the tree and dashed his brains out, a large gap suddenly opened in the side of the tree, and the venetor vanished from Elerian’s sight.

  Uncertain as to what had just taken place; Elerian slowed to a walk and cautiously approached the tree. Before him, in the side of the tree, was an opening resembling an arched doorway. Not trusting his eyes, Elerian reached out and put his hand through the opening, meeting no resistance on the other side. There was a dark space beyond the doorway, but Elerian could not see very far into it. He listened for a moment, but only a deep silence came to his ears. Knives in hand, Elerian warily stepped through the archway, stopping just inside the tree. He started when the opening behind him closed with a loud thump, as if two great blocks of wood had slammed together. Reaching behind him with his left hand, Elerian felt only smooth, hard wood when he ran his fingers over the place where the opening had been. Absolute darkness, which his night sight failed to penetrate, surrounded him like a heavy black shroud, and no sound at all came to his ears.

  Elerian lit a small mage light no bigger than a small spark. It drifted through the air and took up a position directly above his head. By its dim yellow light, he saw that he was in a small entryway about four feet wide and six feet long. The walls and the arched ceiling overhead were made of dark, polished wood and reflected his dim mage light through the thick layer of grime and dust that covered them. Under his feet was a floor of smooth gray stone without any joints that he could detect. A series of stone steps at the end of the entryway led down into the earth. When Elerian cautiously descended the stairs, he noted that polished stone replaced the wood of the tree on the walls, but he could detect no seam between the two different materials.

  Once Elerian reached the bottom of the stairs, he found himself in a wide passageway or hallway with an arched ceiling. Floor, walls, and ceiling were all made of varicolored granite, polished smooth as glass. Nowhere that he looked could Elerian detect a joint or a seam. It was as if the passageway had been carved from a single piece of stone. The hallway was empty, but Elerian’s mage light revealed that the thick dust covering the floor had been disturbed. With every nerve and muscle tense, he cautiously followed the passageway until he came to a heavy oak door hung from ornate iron hinges, now badly tarnished with time. The door was partially open, but Elerian was unable to see very far into the room behind it. It seemed a likely place for an ambush, and Elerian had a strong premonition of danger. Extinguishing his mage light, he opened his third eye. The walls of the hall and the door immediately became featureless, dead black expanses, which absorbed rather than reflected the golden light cast by his shade. In the narrow space between the bottom edge of the door and the floor, Elerian saw a tell tale red glow and caught his breath.

  “The venetor is waiting behind the door,” thought Elerian to himself. “The light from its shade gives it away.” For the first time, he began to suspect that he had been led into a trap. Hardly daring to breathe, lest he give himself away, Elerian considered how he might safely enter the room beyond the door. After a moment, he extended his right arm and cast a shield spell. A wave of golden light spilled from the fingers of his right hand, covering him from head to foot. He cast a second spell, and a golden orb flew from his fingertips, speeding toward the door. When it struck the thick wood, there a deafening crack, followed by the sound of rending wood, as the door exploded into a mass of wooden fragments. Elerian’s shield spell repelled the deadly splinters that went flying through the air all around him, but the noise deafened his ears, and the force of the explosion rocked him on his feet. He recovered quickly and leaped past the remains of the ruined door with a knife in each hand. At a distance of perhaps a dozen feet, he saw a red shade crumpled on the stone floor of the room. The force of the explosion had evidently thrown the venetor across the room that lay beyond the doorway. Elerian’s sudden hope that he had slain the creature was dashed when the venetor suddenly shook itself and sprang back onto its feet. It snarled deep in its chest and leaped at him, covering the distance between them in a single bound.

  Elerian stepped to his left in a swift, supple move, avoiding the rushing body of the venetor. As the creature hurtled past him, he struck at it with the knife in his right hand. A heavy jolt along his hand and wrist and a howl of pain from the creature told him the blow had scored. The venetor landed on all fours and, spinning round, reared up to slash at Elerian with its right paw. Elerian stepped back to avoid the blow, but this time he was too slow. He felt a strong tug on his linen tunic, followed by a searing pain across his chest and stomach, as the venetor’s razor sharp claws sliced into his flesh. For the first time, the thought crossed Elerian’s mind that he might not emerge the victor in this contest. A little deeper and the blow he had just avoided would have ripped him open.

  The shifting red shape that was the venetor’s face drew close to his own in the aftermath of the blow, and Elerian struck between the creature’s fiery red eyes with the steel ball on the end of the knife haft in his left hand. He felt the solid contact of steel on bone, and the venetor staggered backwards and fell to the floor. Elerian tried to close with it, but both its claw tipped hind feet lashed out at him. He was forced to retreat but not before the claws on one foot found their mark. Deeply slashed from his waist down to his right knee, Elerian felt the warm rush of blood across his skin, as his wounds bled freely. Ignoring the sting of the slashes, Elerian flipped the knife in his right hand end for end, caught it by the point, and flung it at the exposed right side of
the creature’s chest. Still half stunned by the blow from Elerian’s knife hilt, the venetor was slow to defend itself. Elerian’s knife buried itself to the hilt in its sleek, furred hide.

  A cry of pain and rage erupted from the creature and rose to a shriek that stabbed through Elerian’s ears like a knife. Moving with startling speed, the venetor leapt to its feet and sprang at Elerian, seizing both his shoulders with its front paws and sinking long claws, like red-hot needles, deep into his flesh. Elerian felt the creature’s warm, fetid breath blow across his face, as its jaws gaped wide to rend and tear at his face and throat. Unable to tear himself free from the venetor’s iron grip, Elerian instead brought up the knife in his left hand and, with a single, powerful surge, thrust it through the creature’s lower jaw and into the roof of its mouth, pinning its jaws shut. In a frenzy of rage and pain, the venetor wrenched the knife from Elerian’s hand with a twist of its thick neck, even as Elerian struggled to tear himself free of the claws sunk deep into his shoulders. Suddenly, the venetor released Elerian’s left shoulder and raised its right paw, intending to strike Elerian in the face. The sound of tearing cloth filled the air as Elerian twisted away to his left, ripping his shoulder free of the venetor’s remaining paw an instant before the blow fell, missing its intended target by a hair’s breadth.

  Ignoring the burning pain of his new wounds, Elerian backed away from the venetor. Closing his third eye and narrowing his eyelids to thin slits, Elerian silently cast the spell that would bring a mage light into existence. A bright yellow orb the size of his fist suddenly appeared above his head. Its intense rays chased the darkness from the room, striking the venetor squarely in the face, as the creature stood on its hind legs, barely one long stride away from Elerian. When the powerful radiance of the mage light assaulted his sensitive eyes, Drusus howled in pain, turning his head away to the right and throwing up his thick, left forearm to protect his eyes. Elerian saw that his first knife was still lodged in the venetor’s chest. A steady flow of dark blood ran down from the knife through its sleek fur. A second shallow wound in its right side also leaked dark blood, as did the wound in its jaw, but the venetor seemed unaffected by its injuries.

  “Why is it still alive?” wondered Elerian desperately to himself. Tullius’s words suddenly echoed in his head.

  “This creature is an enemy that is still beyond your powers,” the old mage had warned him, a warning that now seemed all too likely to come true. A red orb flashed from the venetor’s right paw, enveloping and extinguishing Elerian’s mage light; replacing it with a dim red sphere that remained suspended near the ceiling, filling all the room with a ghastly crimson light that cast ominous, dark shadows on the walls of the room. Drusus dropped his left arm, revealing his pale, gleaming eyes once more. Glaring fiercely at Elerian, he wrapped the stubby, powerful fingers of both front paws around the hilt of the knife protruding from his lower jaw. With one powerful tug, he pulled the blade free. Black blood gushed from the wound and dripped to the floor in heavy drops. There was a hissing sound and steam rose from the stone wherever the drops of blood fell. Contemptuously, Drusus threw aside Elerian’s knife. With a second tug from his paws, he removed the knife from his chest. Throwing the smoking blade aside, he began to stalk slowly toward Elerian. The promise of a bloody death illuminated Drusus’ pale eyes as Elerian backed away from him.

  “Your best efforts to defeat him have failed,” whispered a voice in the back of Elerian’s mind. “His vitality has overcome what should have been mortal wounds. Weaponless and wounded, you are no match for his powerful claws and teeth. Run while you can.”

  Elerian was unsure whether the thoughts were his own or some sending of the venetor, but he rejected them immediately. He flung a spell at the venetor that should have shattered his heart, but his spell flared harmlessly against the shield spell that he instantly cast to protect himself.

  “Now you will finally die, but not too quickly,” grated Drusus, twisting his bloody jaws into a horrible grimace that might have been a smile. “Your screams of pain will act as payment for the injuries you have given me.”

  Despite its savage words, the venetor seemed in no hurry to close with him; preferring, perhaps, to savor his impending death. As Elerian continued to back away, he looked desperately around him for some way to save himself. If he tried to run, the creature would have him in an instant, but if he continued to retreat, he would be trapped, in a moment, with his back against a wall of the chamber. Suddenly, Elerian’s right foot slipped on a thick, rounded piece of wood, and he fell backwards against solid rock. Trapped against a wall of the chamber, Elerian bent down and snatched up the wood that had caused him to stumble, desperately hoping that it was something he could use as a weapon. Afraid to take his eyes off the approaching venetor, he brought the stick up to the level of his chest and saw that he was holding a broken spear. A long, jagged splinter marked the place where the lower third of the shaft had broken off, but the broad leaf shaped spear point at the head of the shaft was still intact, although it was badly tarnished, and the intricate silver lines embedded in its surface were dulled.

  Elerian started when the thin lines in the rusted steel began to shine as if lit from within. He realized then that, without his having initiated it, a rush of power was flowing from his right hand into the broken shaft he held.

  The sight of the broken spear and its gleaming lines of power seemed to ignite a terrible anger in the venetor. With a cry of rage, he leaped madly toward Elerian. As the creature hurtled toward him, Elerian tightened both his hands around the broken spear shaft and braced it against the wall at his back, aiming the spear point toward the left side of the venetor’s chest. He felt a heavy impact and watched as the spear point slid deep into the creature’s black furred chest, piercing his heart. An unfamiliar weakness washed over Elerian, and it seemed to him that all of his strength was suddenly flowing into the shaft of the spear. The parts of the silver lines embedded into the head of the spear that were still visible burned with a fierce light, like white fire.

  Even with the spearhead embedded in his chest, Drusus still tried to reach Elerian with his claws, and it was only with the greatest difficulty that Elerian kept the snarling, spitting creature at arm’s length with the spear shaft. Drusus’ attempts to reach Elerian grew feebler, but Elerian was also weakening as the drain on his strength continued.

  “Will his life force fade first or will mine?” wondered Elerian as he desperately held on to the spear shaft with trembling hands.

  The light of reason returned to the venetor’s eyes. Sensing his impending death, he gave up his attempts to reach Elerian, pawing instead at the wooden shaft protruding from his chest in an attempt to save his life. Somehow, his thick fingers seemed unable to grasp the wood. His hands fell limply to his sides, and a moment later, he collapsed onto his knees. The end was near for the creature, but still Elerian dared not let go of the spear that was killing him as surely as it was destroying the venetor.

  A horrible rusty laughter erupted from the dying creature’s throat, causing Elerian to start.

  “You may kill me, but you cannot bring them back,” rasped the venetor in a harsh labored voice.

  Elerian looked into the cold, pale eyes of the venetor and saw the light of madness there. Had the creature had mistaken him for someone else, some ghost from his past perhaps. The dreadful laughter continued for a moment before turning into a terrible groan as the venetor struggled uselessly to pull the spear from its chest.

  “Who are you and who is it that you killed?” asked Elerian weakly as he struggled to keep his shaking hands from slipping from the spear shaft. The glittering eyes of the venetor regarded him with a look of pure hatred. At first, Elerian was certain he would get no reply to his question. Then, the venetor suddenly spoke again.

  “My name is Drusus,” he said slowly, in a voice that grew weaker by the moment. “Mark that name well! You have doomed me to die in this accursed form and kept me from my promised reward
! In return, I lay my curse on you. You will lose all that you have gained since that day you escaped me!” With eyes suddenly turned dull and lifeless, Drusus fell over dead onto the floor, pulling the spear shaft from Elerian’s hands. At once, the drain on his strength ended. Elerian shivered, not liking the creature’s curse and sank down next to him on the floor, exhausted.

  “I proved to be the stronger one after all,” he thought to himself, “but it was a near thing. I chanced upon a dangerous weapon to save myself. It would have killed me as surely as the venetor if the contest had gone on much longer.”

  Elerian’s respite was short lived. Of its own volition, his third eye opened, and he felt the hair prickle on the back of his neck when his mage sight revealed a red shade rising slowly from the still form of the venetor. Suddenly, it flew at him. A scream of insane rage overwhelmed his mind as the flaming eyes and flickering face of the shade drew even with his own, until he saw nothing else. Insubstantial fingers seemed to claw at him, as if they sought to tear his own shade away from his body.