by A. Giannetti
Inside the house, Tullius had been dozing peacefully by the fire, but the sharp crack occasioned by the destruction of his gate had caused him to jump up in alarm and seize his staff with his right hand. When he heard the roar of the burning rowans and saw the flicker of flames through the cracks in his shutters, he turned pale. The hand holding his staff shook, for he knew the shield around his home had been breached.
“You old fool,” he thought to himself, bitterly. “You should never have involved yourself in this business. The day of reckoning has come at last.” Tullius started when he heard a heavy knock on his door.
“I seek one called Elerian,” said a soft voice from the other side of the door. “Send him out to me, and I will fill your hands with gold.”
“There is no one here by that name,” shouted Tullius. He was ashamed because his voice quavered.
“Let me in for a moment only,” urged the soothing voice. “If he is not here, I will trouble you no more.”
For a brief moment, Tullius tempted to give in, for he was afraid to die. Then, his common sense reasserted itself. “You are a dead man once you open that door, Tullius,” he said to himself, “and you can depend on it that your death will not be an easy one. They will torture you to wring out every drop of information you have about Elerian before they kill you.” He considered fleeing through the back door and then discarded that idea also. “The trees around the clearing are burning,” he thought grimly to himself. “Where would I run to?”
Quickly, before his courage failed him, Tullius thrust one of a small store of torches that he kept by the fireplace into the fire. It burst into yellow flame and without giving himself time to think about the consequences, Tullius walked over to the rows and rows of scrolls and books that were stored on one wall and set them on fire. The flames caught at once and leaped high into the air, setting fire to the wooden ceiling beams.
Outside the door, Lurco heard the rush of flames inside. Impatiently, he touched the door with his right hand. Responding to his opening spell, the door lock clicked open and the crossbar clattered to the floor. Lurco flung open the door, and, for the second time that night, was taken by surprise, for Tullius, who was standing behind the open door, immediately shouted, “Ruere!”, casting a destruction spell at Lurco’s heart. The Uruc cast his counter spell in time to save his life, but the distraction allowed Tullius enough time to thrust his burning torch into Lurco’s face.
Goaded by the searing pain of his burning flesh, Lurco’s savage temper leaped out of control again. Before he could stop himself, he blindly cast a destruction spell with his right hand, striking Tullius full in the chest. Tullius collapsed, lifeless, to the floor. When Lurco could see again, the slight smile on the mage’s face enraged him even more than the pain of his burnt flesh. He kicked Tullius several times in the face before retreating from the raging flames that were racing through the house, for he could not control ordinary fire.
At a safe distance from the conflagration, he took a moment to heal his face and gather his thoughts. He was in a rare temper when he finally approached the ring of Goblins standing outside the circle of burning rowans. Nothing had gone the way he had planned because of the obstinate courage of two old men. At his command, the flames burning in the rowans suddenly went out, leaving the ring of trees a smoldering ruin. Lurco then ordered two Goblins to guard the clearing in case Elerian returned to it. He set the rest of the company to searching the surrounding forest for any sign of Elerian that they could find.
By morning, there was still no sign of the Hesperian. Lurco returned to the upland farms alone, while his company continued to search the forest. Starting with Paetus, he worked his way east, toward Sidonia. Word of the fire at Balbus’s farm had already spread, but no one Lurco questioned had seen Elerian. Eventually, he arrived at Clodius’s farm, but he found the place deserted. Two days ago, when his daughter unexpectedly stepped out of the forest alone, Clodius, despite the pleas of Alfidia to wait for Elerian, had taken her south into the safety of southern Hesperia, where the rest of his family and belongings were already waiting for him. Since Elerian had not followed Alfidia as he had promised, Clodius was almost certain that he was dead, and such was his fear of the raiders that he left without saying a word to anyone, even Balbus. When he fled with his daughter, he took with him the only person who might have been able to tell Lurco Elerian’s whereabouts.
In the early evening, Lurco ended his fruitless search and returned to his camp in the lowlands in a foul mood.
“Perhaps the Hesperian was taken by a raiding party,” ventured one of his Goblins, seeking to raise his spirits. “That would explain why he vanished so abruptly. We may have crossed paths without knowing it, and the Hesperian may be on his way to Esdras even now.”
The suggestion cheered Lurco a little, for he knew that there was a constant stream of Hesperian slaves traveling toward Esdras. Leaving most of his Urucs to continue watching the area, he set out at once for Esdras with the two Ancharian guides. “With luck,” he thought to himself, “I may find the Hesperian waiting for me in the city.”
SOLD TO THE GOBLINS
Elerian, along with dozens of other prisoners, mostly Hesperians with a few tall Ancharians standing aloofly among them, advanced toward the bonfire. He found himself standing behind a woman and a young boy, the first he had seen, who were also Hesperian. By his right side, Ruso was sweating freely, keeping his right hand clenched around his knife hilt. The line advanced slowly, for the prisoners in front of Elerian were being called, one at a time along with their guards, to a rude table made of planks resting on trestles, that had been set up near the bonfire. A tall Uruc, with a lean, cruel face, was examining the prisoners as they arrived at the table and relaying information to an Ancharian scribe who sat at the table writing everything down in a large leather bound book.
When the woman and boy ahead of Elerian moved up to the table, he got his first good look at the Goblin over the woman’s shoulder. Dressed in black leather clothing, a bored look on his pale face bearing witness to the distaste he felt for the task he was carrying out, he stood at his ease by the table. In his right hand, he carried a rod of ebony chased with bright silver and capped at one end with the head of a troll holding a large ruby in its gaping mouth.
Elerian saw the Goblin’s bored look vanish as the woman and boy were pushed forward by their Ancharian captor. He gloated over them with greedy eyes and licked his white, pointed teeth with a red tongue. “Take them away and prepare them for my supper,” he said in the common tongue to a black clad Mordi who was standing close by. “After I have taken my fill, you and the others may have the leavings.”
The Mordi grinned, showing sharp fangs, before dragging away the terrified woman and her child. Elerian watched helplessly as the crying captives were taken away, the woman pleading for the life of the boy. The leader of the Ancharians, who had captured the woman and her child, received a small bag of silver from the scribe seated at the table. Smiling in satisfaction, he walked away with his two companions.
It was now Elerian’s turn to step up to the table. He kept his head down and drew his face into a look of abject fear, but his thoughts were anything but fearful. “If I am discovered, I will kill at least this one Goblin,” thought Elerian to himself.
The Uruc greeted Ruso in a soft, bored voice. “Well Ruso, what have you brought me this time?”
“A strong slave for the mines, Urzog,” said Ruso, trying to keep his voice from quavering.
The Goblin’s eyes narrowed, and in a voice suddenly filled with hidden menace, he asked, “Where are your companions and the Mordi who accompanied you?”
The beads of sweat on Ruso’s forehead gleamed in the light of the bonfire. “We had a difficult trip Urzog,” he said in a faltering voice. “The Mordi assigned to us was taken by a leopard, and on the return journey, an Ondredon killed my two other companions. A lupin accompanied me for a time on the return journey, but it disappeared one night and never re
turned.”
Urzog gave Ruso a hard look, for the number of casualties seemed excessive. Elerian raised his head slightly and saw red sparks burning in the back of the Goblin’s dark eyes. Ruso shivered under that cold, appraising look, but Urzog saw nothing unusual in that. He expected to inspire fear in his subordinates and would have been suspicious if the Ancharian had acted otherwise.
“Let me see this fine slave you have brought,” he said at last, turning from Ruso to Elerian. The Ancharian hastily pushed Elerian forward, but Elerian stumbled and almost fell as a sudden sense of loss swept over him like a black wave. Many miles to the east, Balbus had fallen before Lurco.
“Look at me slave,” said the Uruc behind the table coldly. He thought that fear had made Elerian stumble. Elerian, who had somewhat recovered, raised his head a little and tried to look terrified.
Urzog inspected Elerian carefully. “Where did you get this one?” he asked Ruso in his soft voice, as he reached out a hand tipped with long, sharp nails, almost like talons, and grasped Elerian firmly by the chin. Elerian felt the blood begin to flow down his chin as the nails sank into his skin, but he kept his eyes lowered and tried his best to act frightened. Urzog seemed to sense something amiss, for he turned Elerian’s face first to the left and then the right, but he saw nothing to set this prisoner apart from the dozens of others that he had already examined. He had strong mage powers, but unlike Lurco, his commander, he lacked the mage sight that would have allowed him to see through Elerian’s disguise.
“He is from the western part of the province,” said Ruso nervously. Before he could say anymore, a loud altercation broke out behind Urzog, where a number of Mordi and mutare were gathered about the bonfire in separate groups. The Mordi hated their bestial allies, and a fight had broken out between a mutare and a Goblin.
Elerian was relieved when Urzog abruptly let go of his face and turned away from him. The fight that had broken out was a serious one, and by the time Urzog arrived, both combatants had drawn knives and set upon each other. In a rage, Urzog fearlessly waded into the fray, striking the combatants about the head and shoulders with the staff he held in his left hand. The Mordi paled and drew back at once when he recognized Urzog, but the mutare was beyond reason. In a frenzy of rage, it leaped at Urzog, fangs bared and his knife upraised to strike. Swiftly, the Goblin twisted the troll’s head at the end of his staff, pulling a long, slender black blade from inside the dark wood. With frightening speed, he blocked the mutare’s upraised knife with the staff in his left hand, stabbing the changeling once in each eye with his slender blade before casually stepping back. The mutare fell dead at his booted feet.
Urzog then turned to the terrified Mordi who had also been involved in the fight. With the speed of a striking snake, Urzog stabbed the Wood Goblin through the heart. A clamor of snarls and growls rose up behind Urzog as the rest of the mutare gathered around their fallen comrade, carving him up into bloody pieces that they took to roast over the fire. Urzog turned away in disgust from the fallen Mordi, who was dragged away by his Goblin comrades, bound for fate similar to the mutare’s.
“There is no love lost between these creatures,” thought Elerian to himself as he watched in revulsion as Urzog licked the blade of his rapier clean with his tongue before returning it to the hidden compartment in his staff. The fight appeared to have driven away his concerns about Elerian, for he waved Ruso away and turned to the next prisoner.
Ruso took his payment from the scribe before escorting Elerian across the square to a large stone building whose walls were still standing, although its roof had long since collapsed. Elerian noticed fresh stonework in the walls where damage, inflicted long ago, had been repaired.
“Remember, keep your mouth shut,” whispered Ruso before shoving Elerian through a heavy wooden door guarded by two black clad Mordi. With a last threatening look at Elerian, Ruso walked away, eager to leave the encampment and be on his way to Marsala, where he could sell his pilfered shirt and ring in safety.
Within the stone walls of the prison, Elerian saw the sleeping forms of dozens of prisoners. He was suddenly overcome by a feeling of helplessness and despair. He still had no idea how to escape from his shackles, and until he did, there was nothing he could do to help himself or any of the people around him. He slumped against a wall, not far from the doorway, cradling his head in his hands. Through the silence that filled the prison, he clearly heard the low voices of the two Mordi guarding the door to the slave pen.
“This business of taking a few men at a time is a tedious affair,” said one. “The higher ups get their share of man’s flesh, but the rest of us go hungry, for the rest of the slaves all go north to Nefandus. I have not had a proper feed of meat in weeks.”
“Patience, Surag,” said the other guard. “Rumor has it that a certain Hesperian is wanted by the higher ups, but they don’t want to frighten him into hiding by making an obvious search. That is why the raiding parties take only take a few prisoners at a time.”
At the guards’ words, Elerian started guiltily. He thought back to how Urzog had examined each new prisoner, the majority of whom were young men. As Tullius had feared, Torquatus had finally sent his minions to search for him after twice seeing his face in a portal.
“I have brought down the wrath of the Goblins on the whole province,” he thought miserably to himself. “I should give myself up now to spare others the same fate as the wretched captives around me.” Before Elerian could act, however, the guards began speaking again.
“It may be months before they capture this Hesperian,” said Surag sourly.
“You should keep your ears open,” said the other guard. “Word came in from two Ancharians that he was seen in the western part of the province. I hear Lurco, himself, has gone hunting for him. Once this they bring him in, it will be open season on the southerners. Many slaves are needed for the mines, and with so many prisoners coming in, we will have our fill of man’s flesh every day.”
“He’s as good as caught then,” said Surag with satisfaction. Lurco will ferret him out no matter how well he has hidden himself.”
The guards’ conversation changed Elerian’s mind about giving himself up. If what he had overheard was true, then his capture would only make things worse in Hesperia.
“This invasion of Hesperia must have been planned long ago,” thought Elerian to himself, remembering the repaired roads he had seen in northern Ancharia. “My capture is only an afterthought for Torquatus. For now, I can do more good by remaining hidden. Somehow, however, I must escape and carry a warning back to Balbus and Tullius. This Lurco is sure to seek them out if he is searching for me.”
Suddenly, a shadow seemed to pass over Elerian for the second time that night. He felt a moment of profound grief, unaware that Tullius had fallen dead before Lurco at that moment.
“What is wrong with me?” wondered Elerian to himself. The sadness that had overcome him for a moment faded, and he rose to his feet, beginning a quiet search for a way over or through the walls. A complete circuit of the prison revealed only one weak spot in the prison walls. In a remote corner, far from the gate, there was a place where the wall was barely ten feet high. A quick look around revealed that no one was sleeping nearby. Springing lightly into the air, with only the faintest rattle of his chains, Elerian’s strong fingers grasped the rough edges at the top of the wall. For several long moments, he hung there motionless, listening carefully, but the night remained quiet except for the heavy breathing of the prisoners and the occasional rattle of their chains when one of them stirred restlessly in his sleep.
Satisfied that he had not attracted any unwanted attention, Elerian drew himself up effortlessly with his arms until he could look warily over the edge of the wall. To his intense disappointment, he saw of half a dozen black furred, four-footed figures gathered beneath him, their crimson eyes gleaming hungrily in the starlight, as they waited eagerly for him to drop over the wall onto the ground.
“I would not last
more than a few moments against a pack of that size,” thought Elerian to himself. He dropped quietly back into the prison. On the far side of the wall, he heard the lupins whining in disappointment. Two of them scratched furiously but ineffectually at the base of the wall, trying to find a way in. Dejectedly, Elerian slumped down, his back against the wall.
THE ROAD TO NEFANDUS
When the sun rose above the prison walls, Elerian was still awake. He heard the gates hinges creak, and several Mordi entered the prison. They threw pieces of hard black bread at the prisoners, indifferent as to whether the food ended up in their hands or on the ground. Tepid, stale water was already available from a large stone trough in the center of the prison.
After the bread was passed out, the Goblins left the prisoners to their own devices. Trying to remain inconspicuous, Elerian waited with the rest. He counted nearly one hundred captives in all, mainly Hesperians with a few isolated groups of Ancharians among them. During the course of the day, he spoke to several Hesperians who approached him. Like him, they were from Lascar, and without exception, they were all too frightened to entertain any thoughts of escape. What the Ancharians thought, Elerian did not know, for they kept to themselves, refusing to talk to anyone not of their race.
The sun slowly crossed the sky and sank into the west, ending one of the longest days in Elerian’s life. As the light began to fail, a pair of mutare and a Wood Goblin entered the enclosure. The mutare tossed out more pieces of hard black bread to the prisoners and then filled the stone trough in the center of the building with water. They stared hungrily at the prisoners with their cold yellow eyes the whole time. Without the presence of the Mordi and his coiled whip, Elerian was certain they would have attacked and eaten at least one of the terrified prisoners.
