by A. Giannetti
When Elerian looked up for a moment, he could still see them outlined against the dim red light that illuminated the cavern. His hope of escape began to rise. At least now, he could use his mage powers if he needed to. The Goblins began throwing torches into the shaft. As they roared by, Elerian heard something hiss past his right cheek, before scraping painfully across the back of his bare right shoulder. A moment later, he felt the spidery touch of a thin cord on his right cheek. Bracing himself with his feet and left hand, Elerian seized the line in his right hand and gave a powerful tug. The cord was thin but strong, and a moment later, a screaming Goblin plunged past him, still clutching a bow in his left hand and the cord in his right.
“They are shooting arrows,” shouted Elerian to Ascilius. He dodged two more that came hissing down the side of the shaft. Off to his left, he heard Ascilius gasp with pain. Another torch flew by, and Elerian had a clear view of the arrow that had buried itself in Ascilius’s left shoulder. There was a great shout from the Goblins above, and three of them seized the line attached to the arrow and began to pull on it.
In the fading light of the torch, Elerian saw Ascilius reach up and give a powerful tug on the line with his right hand, the sinewy muscles in his arm and shoulder swelling beneath his skin. All three of the Goblins on the other end of the cord were pulled over the edge of the shaft, hurtling down toward the Dwarf in a screaming mass, their hands still holding on to the line attached to the arrow buried in Ascilius’s shoulder. By the light of another torch cast down from above, Elerian saw Ascilius calmly waiting for the line to drag him from his hold on the side of the shaft when the weight of the Goblins reached the end of it. Reaching back into memories, long disused, Elerian raised his left hand and sent a parting spell at the line just as the Goblins hurtled past Ascilius. The small golden orb that sped from his fingers sliced through the cord an instant before the weight of the Goblins reached the end of it.
When the line on his shoulder failed to tighten and drag him into the shaft, Ascilius was both relieved and mystified, for he had no idea that Elerian had severed the line. After a moment, he began to descend once more. More torches roared past, and a great outcry went up from around the edge of the shaft when the Goblins saw that Ascilius was still alive. Arrows began to rain down again, and Elerian knew it was only a matter of time before both of them were impaled and drawn back up to the cavern. Moving closer to Ascilius, he reached into his memory again. Silently, he cast a shield spell. With his third eye, he saw a flow golden light spill from the fingertips of his left hand, spreading and growing until both he and Ascilius were covered with a golden mantle of light. When they struck that gleaming barrier, the arrows falling from above glanced off, as if they had struck a wall of stone.
Staying as close to Ascilius as possible, Elerian climbed down the shaft as fast as the Dwarf’s injured shoulder would allow. When they had climbed down out of easy arrow range, Elerian let the shield spell fade, for it was a steady drain on his powers. Above them, the Goblins ceased to shoot arrows into the pit, and Elerian began to hope they had given up the pursuit. When he glanced up at the rim of the shaft, he saw that he had underestimated their cunning and inventiveness. Burly, misshapen figures were outlined around the rim of the shaft. They climbed over the edge and began to descend nimbly, growling like animals.
“They have sent down mutare after us,” said Ascilius in a tired voice. His breathing was labored, for the pain from the arrow wound was starting to take a toll on him. “I cannot go much farther, Elerian,” said Ascilius reluctantly.
Elerian could not see Ascilius’s face, for there was no light in the depths of the shaft, but he could imagine the pain the Dwarf was suffering from the arrow buried in his shoulder. Above him, he could hear the mutare scrambling down the sides of the shaft. Once again, it seemed that the chance to escape was slipping out of their reach.
“I must have light,” thought Elerian to himself, and he risked a tiny mage light. Once lit, it hovered above his head like a firefly, giving his night wise eyes more than enough light to see by. Elerian looked down and saw that there was a narrow ledge about two feet wide and ten feet long perhaps six feet below him.
“There is a ledge below us Ascilius,” said Elerian after he dropped lightly down on to the shelf of stone. “Climb down and rest for a moment.”
Ascilius climbed down slowly, favoring his right shoulder. When he reached the ledge, Elerian saw that his face was drawn tight with pain. Dark blood flowed down his back, streaming from the arrow that was still buried deep in the thick muscles of his shoulder and cutting a dark groove through the thick layer of rock dust covering his back. The Dwarf stared for a moment at the dim spark burning above Elerian’s head, but he did not comment on it. Instead, he said tiredly, “I cannot go any farther with this arrow in my shoulder. You should go on alone. I can hold the mutare off while you climb down out of their reach.”
“I am beginning to think that you don’t like my company,” said Elerian dryly.
“Don’t be a fool,” said Ascilius sharply. “I am trying to save your life.”
“It is you that has needed saving every time I turn around,” Elerian pointed out.
Ascilius began to sputter angrily and then suddenly laughed when he saw the gleam of humor in Elerian’s eyes. “There is some truth to that,” he admitted. He was interrupted by the scrabbling of hard claws on stone not far above their heads. Ascilius and Elerian both looked up and, by the faint illumination cast by the mage light, saw five mutare climbing rapidly down the side of the shaft with an animal like agility. None of the creatures carried any weapons, but each of them was wearing a harness with a rope attached to the back through an iron ring. The ropes snaked up to the top of the shaft.
“Three for me and two for you,” said Ascilius grimly. “They mean to leap on us and imprison us in their arms. It will then be a simple matter for the Goblins to draw us up to the top of the shaft. We might as well leap into the pit and end our lives now,” he said gloomily.
“If every Dwarf is as eager to kill himself as you are, it is a wonder your race has survived,” said Elerian as he aimed a sleep spell at the closest mutare. The changeling went limp and fell from the face of the shaft to dangle limply in his leather harness. The Goblins at the top of the shaft immediately began to draw him up as they felt weight on the rope. A second mutare soon followed the first, but all too soon, the last three mutare dropped onto the ledge. Two of them immediately pounced on Ascilius. The third sprang on Elerian, wrapping its long, hairy arms around his arms and chest.
The changeling was enormously strong. He crushed Elerian’s face and upper body against his hairy chest as he tried to drag him off the ledge. Elerian was almost overpowered by the rank smell of the creature flooding his nostrils, but he braced himself as well as he could and, tipping his head back, opened his mouth, casting a sleep spell into the mutare’s face. The changeling immediately went limp. Releasing Elerian, he slipped off the ledge to dangle from his harness. When Elerian turned to his right, he saw that Ascilius had planted his back against the rock wall of the shaft and was straining mightily to avoid being pulled off the ledge by the last two mutare.
Rushing to Ascilius’s aid, Elerian placed his right hand under the chin of the nearest mutare and his left hand around the back of its head. He gave a sharp wrench to the right with muscles hardened by years of hard labor in the mines. There was a sharp snap of breaking bone, and the changeling went limp, falling off the ledge to dangle motionless from its harness. The rope attached to the last mutare began to tighten, slowly dragging the changeling and Ascilius off the ledge. Elerian quickly severed it with a parting spell where it joined the harness. Seizing the loose end of the rope with both hands, he gave a mighty tug on it. From far above, he heard the satisfying screams of the two Goblins he had just pulled over the lip of the shaft. A moment later, the shrieking Goblins hurtled past the ledge. Meanwhile, Ascilius spread his arms wide with irresistible strength, breaking the last
mutare’s hold on his arms and chest. Striking the changeling a mighty blow in the face with his closed right fist, Ascilius sent him reeling backward off the ledge and into the pit. He fell without uttering a sound.
Extinguishing his mage light, Elerian sank down exhausted on to the ledge, as did Ascilius. Above them, the Goblins had already hauled up the last mutare. Their cries of rage floated down the shaft when they saw that he was unconscious and empty handed.
The Goblins quickly revived the changelings, for the sleep spell Elerian had used was one of short duration. They were unable to explain what had happened to them, however, and the captain of the guard never suspected magic had put them to sleep. He was convinced that Ascilius, using his great strength, had knocked them unconscious. Abandoning their attempts to take the prisoners alive, the enraged Goblins began to throw more torches, along with rocks and boulders down the sides of the shaft. The torches revealed nothing, and eventually, the Goblins tired of throwing rocks.
“They are both surely dead,” said one to another, “but if by some chance they have survived, the lentulus will kill them.” The same sentiment was echoed amongst the whole group, for no one had ever escaped the guardian that lived in the pit. The captain of the guards posted a number of Goblins around the lip of the pit to keep watch while everyone else returned to their duties.
A CHANGE OF SHAPE
When the Goblins had sent their last barrage of stones thundering and crashing down the sides of the shaft, Elerian had cast his shield spell again, deflecting more than one missile that might have swept both him and Ascilius off the ledge into the pit. Backs pressed against the wall of the shaft, they had waited in complete darkness until the onslaught ended. When the last echo of the Goblins’ missiles had finally died in the depths of the shaft, Elerian had ended his shield spell. While the Goblin captain posted sentries around the lip of the shaft, he and Ascilius sat side by side in the dark on their small ledge, quietly resting from their ordeal. An inky blackness filled the shaft at this level, and even with his night sight, Elerian found that he could not see his hand when he held it in front of his face. For the first time, he heard a distant, low murmur rising through the thick silence that filled the depths of the shaft. The draught of fresh air rising from below also seemed more pronounced.
Turning to Ascilius, Elerian asked softly, so that his voice would not carry to the top of the shaft, “What do you think is making the noise in the depths of the shaft, Ascilius? It sounds to me like running water.”
“I do not hear anything,” replied Ascilius, whose ears were less keen than those of Elerian. The Dwarf’s voice was strained, and he spoke through gritted teeth, for the pain from the arrow in his shoulder had intensified while he was resting.
“Let me have a look at your shoulder,” said Elerian at once. He had almost forgotten that Ascilius was wounded. The firefly glow of a mage light suddenly appeared above his head. The dim light provided more than enough illumination for both Elerian and Ascilius to see by, for Dwarves also possessed eyes well adapted to penetrating the dark. They could now make out rocks and crevices on the other side of the shaft, a distance of about thirty feet, and were able to see up and down the walls of the shaft for about the same distance.
“We would encase these lights in glass and sell them by the hundreds,” said Ascilius sadly, as he stared at Elerian’s mage light.
“My foster father had one,” said Elerian absently as he leaned over and examined Dwarf’s shoulder. Most of the wooden arrow shaft had broken off when Ascilius fought with the mutare, but a short, splintered piece still stuck out from his shoulder. Blood seeped out steadily from around its base. A length of bloody, strong cord disappeared into the wound, still attached to the iron arrowhead that was buried in the thick muscle of Ascilius’s shoulder.
“You could draw the arrowhead out with the cord,” said Ascilius unenthusiastically.
“There are better ways,” said Elerian. He cast a silent spell, and with his third eye, saw a gleaming, golden orb leave his right hand and disappear into Ascilius’s wound. An instant later, Ascilius blinked in surprise when the arrowhead, wrapped in a golden cloak of light that he could not see, appeared in the palm of Elerian’s right hand, still attached to its bloody cord. The ugly device testified to the Goblins’ cruelty. Made of black iron, it had three razor edges formed into backward curving barbs. The cord was fastened to a small ring that was a part of the arrowhead.
“I doubt that even a plow horse could have pulled this out of your shoulder,” said Elerian as he showed the barbs to Ascilius. “Luckily, it is not poisoned since they wanted us alive.”
Fearful of making any noise that might attract the Goblins attention, Elerian laid the arrowhead down on the ledge, instead of casting it into the pit. Placing his right hand over Ascilius’s wound, he sent a healing spell into the injury, watching with satisfaction as the blood stopped flowing, and the wound began to heal rapidly from the bottom up.
Ascilius sat in silence until Elerian finally took his hand away. He flexed his shoulder, expecting to feel pain, but except for a dull ache deep within the wound, it seemed good as new. “What is your real shape, Elerian?” he asked unexpectedly. “How is it that you have both the strength to strike down a Dwarf with one blow and the power to heal with your hands?”
Elerian hesitated for a moment, but he saw no reason to continue to maintain his disguise in front of Ascilius. After delving deep into his memory for his shape-changing spell, he silently worked it on himself. As Ascilius watched, Elerian’s shape blurred and flowed into a new form. His face became leaner, and his body taller. The long, tangled beard disappeared, and Elerian’s brown hair darkened to black under the layer of gray rock dust that covered it. His dark brown eyes lightened to gray.
“My real name is Elerian, not Balbus,” said Elerian when his change was complete. “I am sorry not to have trusted you from the beginning, but I have been hunted by the Goblins for most of my life. Concealment has become second nature to me. As to who or what I am, beyond my name, I cannot say for certain,” said Elerian in a resigned voice. “I told you the truth before. My past is a mystery and is likely to remain so. I really am a foundling and have never discovered any certain information about my parents or people.”
“Unless my eyes deceive me, you are surely Eirian, a gray Elf,” said Ascilius with a thoughtful look in his dark eyes.
“I have been told that before, but I have also been called a half blood,” replied Elerian, “so I remain in doubt about my parentage.”
“Even if you are only half an Elf, it was wise of you to hide your appearance all this time,” said Ascilius. “The Goblins would have slain you on sight if they had seen you in the form you wear now.” He lapsed into silence, looking oddly reserved, as if he was troubled in some way now that he knew Elerian’s true nature.
“Are the Eirians enemies of the Dwarves?” asked Elerian, for this sudden tension between him and Ascilius was unsettling.
Ascilius remained silent for a moment, as if he wished to choose his words carefully. “I do not wish to offend you, for you have saved my life several times, but I will not lie to you. Although I dealt peaceably with the gray Elves many times before they vanished from the Middle Realm, I would never have chosen one for a traveling companion. Their odd humor and capricious nature are hard for a Dwarf to endure, for we are a serious people.”
Thinking back over some of his past exploits, Elerian found little to say in his own defense. At this moment, Ascilius reminded him strongly of Tullius. “They would have gotten along famously,” thought Elerian to himself as he imagined Ascilius and Tullius discussing and criticizing his fondness for pranks.
“We could go our own separate ways if you wish,” Elerian said to Ascilius, without any rancor in his voice.
“Perhaps later, if we manage to escape,” said Ascilius after a moment. “For now, we must join forces if we are to survive,” he said resignedly. “In the meantime, it might be wise to maintain you
r disguise for a little longer. The Goblins will never give up pursuing you if they discover that you are an Elf.”
Elerian considered Ascilius’s advice and, surprising himself, rejected it. “I will remain as I am,” he thought to himself. “Balbus always wanted me to assume my true form some day. If he and Tullius are dead, as I suspect they are, then I no longer have any reason to hide.” Aloud, he said to Ascilius, “I think the time has come for me to shed my disguise. If I should die during this bid for freedom, it will be in the form I was born with.”
“We may both die,” said Ascilius in a voice that was suddenly grim. “The worst danger is still in front of us.”
Elerian knew Ascilius was talking about of the guardian of the shaft. “Perhaps the creature that guards this pit has left it,” he said optimistically. “There has been no sign of it so far. If we can reach the bottom, we may yet find a way out of this place. I can still feel fresh air blowing in my face even now.”
“I would feel more confident if I had a stout ax or hammer in my hand,” said Ascilius. “Our bare hands will be of no use against the guardian.”
“I have mage powers that will aid us,” said Elerian. “We will have light, too, if we need it. It may be our strongest weapon, for the creatures of the dark fear it above all else.”
“Your words hearten me, Elerian,” said Ascilius. “To tell the truth, I never expected to get even this far.” Buoyed up by Elerian’s words, he stood up, and a small light that was twin to the one perched above Elerian’s head appeared above his own. He smiled at the look of surprise on Elerian’s face.
“I have mage powers of my own,” said Ascilius quietly. “They differ from yours, but may also aid us in our escape.” He carefully climbed over the lip of the ledge and began to descend once more. Elerian followed close behind him, ready to aid the Dwarf if he faltered. Although Ascilius was healed of his wound, it was still sore, and he moved slowly from one handhold to the next. Even so, Elerian fell behind. He felt strangely awkward in his new body, for it was of a different size and shape than the body he was used to. His experience as a shape changer stood him in good stead now, helping him to adjust to his new height and reach and all the other changes that had occurred. As his old grace and sureness of movement returned, he caught up with Ascilius and paced himself to the Dwarf’s slow progress.
