by A. Giannetti
When Elerian stepped silently inside the Eonis’s sitting room, he saw that the Dwarf king and Herias were amicably drinking wine.
“These two are thick as thieves,” thought Elerian to himself as he laid the gold coin on the floor between the two Dwarves. It became visible as soon as he removed his fingers, shining with a soft, seductive glow in the light cast by the fire burning merrily in the hearth. Like two hunting dogs that scent game, the two Dwarves both came to attention.
“I say, Ascilius or his odd companion must have dropped a coin,” said Eonis studying the bright metal with rapt eyes.
“His loss is my gain,” replied Herias, setting down his wine glass and leaping out of his seat to retrieve the golden treasure. He took one step and then fell flat on his face as Eonis cunningly thrust his staff between his nephew’s legs.
Cackling with delight, Eonis leapt spryly out of his chair, but when he bent over to retrieve the coin, it skittered across the floor, coming to rest under an ornate plush chair.
“Must have kicked it,” Elerian heard Eonis mutter as he raced to the chair, falling to his knees before it. Reaching blindly beneath it, he closed his hand over the coin. When Eonis pulled his hand out from under the chair, Elerian raised his right hand and cast an illusion spell over the bright coin Eonis held between his thumb and first finger. He saw Eonis’s covetous smile turn to one of horror, for it now appeared to him that he held in his hand, by a jointed foreleg, an enormous, hairy spider with crimson, multi-faceted eyes and green, vile venom dripping from its long fangs.
The Dwarf king’s eyes grew large as saucers and a great shout escaped his bearded lips as he flung his hand backwards. With a wave of his right hand, Elerian guided the coin, which still wore the illusion of a spider, across the room, dropping it squarely in the middle of Herias’s back who, by now, was on all fours.
“Hold still nephew,” shouted Eonis when he saw where the illusory spider had come to rest. “Die foul fiend,” he roared as he leapt to his fet and rushed across the room with his staff upraised. Herias had time for one horrified look before Eonis’s staff thumped solidly across his shoulders, flattening him on to the floor again.
By now, Elerian was shaking with laughter, but he skillfully made his illusion spring back and forth on Herias’s back, avoiding each blow that Eonis rained down on it. Howling in dismay, Herias attempted to escape by crawling under a table set against the far wall of the room, but his legs and backside remained visible. Perching his illusion on Herias’s posterior, Elerian had it rear up and menace Eonis with its jointed front legs.
With the fire of battle burning in his dark eyes, Eonis aimed a tremendous two handed blow blow at the illusory spider, catching Herias solidly in the buttocks and propelling him with a solid clunk, headfirst into the wall behind the table. The coin, still disguised by Elerian’s spider illusion, fell to the floor. With another spell, Elerian lifted it off the floor and had it fly toward Eonis. Thinking himself under attack, the Dwarf king emitted a strangled cry and threw himself flat on the floor before rolling vigorously toward the fireplace in an attempt to escape.
“Time to go,” thought Elerian to himself, snatching up the gold coin just as the door porters flung open the doors and peered fearfully into the room. Placing the coin he had borrowed back into its owner’s pocket, Elerian slipped past the Dwarves into the passageway, but he did not go far, for he was forced to lean against the right hand wall to keep from collapsing from laughter. When he finally stole softly away, both the door porters and Herias were on their hands and knees searching reluctantly under the furniture for both the vanished spider and the gold coin under the watchful eye of the Eonis. Whenever the old king thought their efforts were not industrious enough, he poked them vigorously with his staff to encourage them to greater diligence.
Once was out of sight of the king’s chambers, Elerian sent his ring away. He had just become visible when Ascilius’s appeared in the passageway with a worried look on his face.
“There you are,” he said to Elerian in a relieved voice. “What happened to you?”
“I took my eyes off of you and became lost,” replied Elerian blandly. “I have been waiting here for you to return.”
“Pay closer attention, then,” said Ascilius impatiently, his relief turning to irritation in accordance with his his volatile nature. He turned and stamped away, leading Elerian out of the king’s quarters and into the city, finally ending up before a stairway that spiraled upward through a massive stone column, one of the smaller ramps that allowed foot traffic between the different levels of the city.
After a long walk up the spiraling ramp, Elerian felt fresh air on his face. Not long after that, he followed Ascilius through an exit into bright sunshine. Looking around him, Elerian saw that they were on the highest floor of a tall tower that stood on the north slope of Celsus, the mountain that reared up above Galenus. Around him in the distance, he saw other towers and terraces on the more inaccessible ridges.
Ascilius crossed the to the north side of the flagstone covered terrace, leaning his elbows on one of the notches in the low crenellated wall that ran around the perimeter of the tower. Elerian followed him, stopping by his right side. He remained silent, giving Ascilius the opportunity to speak first.
“Despite the many years that have passed, nothing has changed,” said Ascilius gloomily. “My uncle always favored my brother Plemin, for he and I never saw eye to eye. I know that, privately, he was one of those who felt that I would come to a bad end. It must be hard for him to accept the fact that Plemin died but I survived.”
“It is not my place to criticize your family,” Ascilius,” said Elerian sympathetically, “but I think that your uncle is being unfair. He ought to have treated you with more respect, for a fool could never have survived the many dangers we have faced since escaping from Nefandus.”
Ascilius immediately felt some of his gloom dissipate at this show of support from Elerian. “He is a true friend grown closer to me than my own blood,” thought Ascilius warmly to himself.
“Your uncle is correct about one thing, however,” continued Elerian slyly. “I quite agree that you are lacking in common sense. I have observed that it is quite a common deficiency in the Dwarf race.”
Ascilius frowned until he caught the gleam of laughter in Elerian’s gray eyes.
“And you are lacking in seriousness as are all of your race,” he replied tartly. “No Elf was ever a fit companion for a sober Dwarf.”
“You are only sober when there are no spirits at hand,” pointed out Elerian dryly.
Ascilius sputtered and then suddenly laughed. “I wish I had some spirits now,” he admitted. “Now that I have had time to think, I must admit that my uncle may be right, however. As long as we have food and the defenses hold up, I suppose it makes sense to sit tight and safe here in the city, at least for a while longer.”
“What if the gates fail?” asked Elerian. “The door into the castella was forced open twice by the Goblins.”
“The gates to the city are stronger and protected by more powerful spells,” replied Ascilius dismissively. “Even the ram that burst open the gates of Calenus could not force them open.”
Elerian made no reply, for he was now examining the landscape to the north. Between two arms of the mountain, he saw the beginnings of a wide valley with a stone road running down its center. He assumed the north gate lay at the head of the valley, but it was screened from his sight by cliffs and ridges. With his farsighted eyes, however, he could clearly see the massive wall of earth and rock the Goblins had constructed across the road. The dike reached from one arm of the mountain to the other. All of the trees which had covered the hills near the ends of the dike had been felled and dragged away, leaving them bare of any cover. Elerian saw the tiny figures of mutare and Goblins lined up across the level summit of the dike, standing behind a palisade formed of thick, outward leaning, pointed stakes twice the height of a man that had been planted along the edge of the dike, facing the back
gate of the city. Below the palisade, the steep face of the barrier was reinforced with boulders and smaller stones. A trench, both wide and deep, had been dug in front of the dike to further defend it. On the far side of the barrier an extensive camp of black tents had been pitched on both sides of the road.
“How near is the hidden door to the dike?” Elerian suddenly asked of Ascilius.
“It is near the top of the right hand ridge, almost directly in line with the end of the dike,” replied the Dwarf morosely. “As Eonis said, anyone emerging from the tunnel behind it would be seen at once by the sentries on the dike.”
“Not if they wore a magic ring that made them invisible,” pointed out Elerian. “Once through the door, it would be a simple matter for me to slip over the ridge behind it and into the forest beyond it.”
“You are thinking of abandoning me then,” said Ascilius grumpily.
“I have no choice, Ascilius,” said Elerian regretfully. “If you are certain that your people are safe here, then there is no longer any reason for me to stay. Anthea will not wait patiently in Niveaus while I sit here for months behind the walls of Galenus. I must go to her before she tries to reach me, for that is what she will do if I do not return to her soon.”
“I will go with you, then,” said Ascilius suddenly. “I will travel with you as far as Iulius at least. My uncle Dardanus and I get along very well. With his help, I may be able to come up with a plan to break the blockade on Galenus. At the least, he will loan me the treasure that you need for your wedding. Let us go and make our preparations,” he said in a voice suddenly grown cheerful.
With a vigorous step, Ascilius led the way back to their room in his uncle’s home. There, they found bread, cheese, cold sliced meats, and wine laid out for them on a small table set with two chairs.
“At least my uncle does not mean to starve us to death, “said Ascilius as he attacked the food and wine with gusto. Elerian drank a glass of wine and sampled only a little of the food, for he found that he did not have much appetite.
“I will not rest easy until Anthea and I are reunited once more,” he thought to himself. “Who knows what may happen to her if she takes the road to Iulius alone?”
When their meal was done, Ascilius lay down to rest in one of the beds, for except for his brief nap in the passageway leading to the stables, he had not slept at all the night before. Elerian lay down, too, but he did not sleep, letting his mind drift down the paths of memory instead. He was reliving his time with Anthea when, suddenly, the door to the room burst open, banging loudly into the stone wall to one side of it. As light from the hallway flooded the room, illuminating the distraught features of Falco who stood in the doorway, Elerian leaped to his feet. Behind him, a startled Ascilius also tried to leap out of bed but became entangled in his blankets and promptly fell to the floor. It was a perfect opportunity for a prank, but the look on Falco’s face precluded any mischief.
“The Goblins are attacking the city,” he said urgently. “The outer gate has already been forced open, and I fear that the inner gate will give way soon.”
THE FALL OF GALENUS
“Why were we not called earlier?” demanded Ascilius.
“Your uncle did not want you interfering with Gavros,” replied Falco reluctantly. “I came on my own to summon you, risking the king’s wrath if he were to find out.”
“I wish that my uncle had let reason guide him instead of mistrust,” said Ascilius grimly as he and Elerian armed themselves. “Now I must rush off into battle without even time to braid my hair and beard properly.”
“The Goblins will not care if your hair is braided or not when they try and cut your head off,” Elerian could not help commenting, but neither Ascilius nor Falco smiled.
“The situation must be very serious,” thought Elerian to himself, for the features of both Dwarves were grim to look upon.
When they were both properly dressed, Ascilius and Elerian ran to the main ramp behind Falco, fighting their way through crowds of panicked Dwarves. The ramp was also crowded, filled with Dwarves fleeing to the upper levels of the city, for word that the outer gate had failed had already spread among them. When Falco reached the second level, he ran down the center of the passageway that led to the south gate. As they followed him, Ascilius and Elerian were joined by hundreds of other Dwarves, all hastily armed and rushing to the defense of the city.
When they reached entrance to the great hall before the main gate, Elerian saw that it was already filled with armed Dwarves, all of them standing with their eyes fixed apprehensively on the inner gate. As he followed Falco and Elerian into the chamber, a tremendous boom suddenly echoed throughout the great hall, breaking like a clap of thunder on the ears of those gathered there.
“It sounds like the end of the world,” thought Elerian grimly to himself.
Over the heads of the Dwarves in front of him, he saw the doors of the inner gate shiver on their hinges. More heavy blows followed the first at regular intervals. White-faced, holding their collective breath, the Dwarves assembled in the hall kept their eyes riveted on the trembling doors before them as Falco pushed his way through their ranks with Ascilius and Elerian following close behind.
When they reached the gate, they found Gavros standing near it.
“How did they break through?” Ascilius shouted in Gavros' ear.
The Dwarf turned with a grim, troubled look on his rough-hewn face. He began to shout to make himself heard over the thunderous assault on the gate.
“The Goblins brought up a new ram that I have not seen before, Ascilius. Despite our best efforts to repel them, the Trolls wielding it overcame the lock spells on the outer gate and burst it open. They are before the inner gate now, notwithstanding the darts we have rained down on them through the grates in the ceiling of the passageway between the gates. I do not think the inner gates will hold for much longer. When they open, it will be the end of the city,” he said in a bleak voice.
Looking over Gavros’s right shoulder, Elerian saw the thick steel doors of the inner gate slowly buckle and spread apart in the center. Through the growing gap, Elerian discerned a red flare with his magical third eye each time the ram on the other side struck the doors.
“There is a powerful destruction spell at work here as well as cold steel and brute strength,” thought Elerian to himself. Before Ascilius or Gavros could object, Elerian slipped past them and ran to stand before the spreading gap between the two doors.
“Stand away from there, you fool,” he heard Gavros shout. “The doors will crush you if they spring open.” Ignoring the Dwarf commander, Elerian raised his right hand, holding the silver ring of power on his right hand against the steel of the gate.
“Now comes the moment of truth,” he thought to himself as the ram struck the gate with another hollow boom. The massive steel doors in front of Elerian trembled under the impact, but this time, they held firm, for the destruction spell that leaped from the ram flew through the opening between them and was immediately drawn into the silver band wrapped around the second finger of Elerian’s right hand. With his third eye, Elerian now saw a circle of crimson light swirling around his ring, layered with the golden energy from his own body that he had stored in it before. The ring felt warm on his finger from the powerful spell that it had taken in, but Elerian discerned no other ill effects.
“The ring accomplishes its purpose even against this great outflow of power,” thought Elerian triumphantly to himself as the ram struck the gate three more times without causing any further damage. Then, displaying the speed and agility of a cat, Elerian suddenly sprang back from the gates when a huge clawed hand suddenly thrust itself through the gap between the doors. Powerful, taloned fingers swept down, barely missing his face, and he heard the ring of steel as iron hard claws scraped harshly across the rings of his mail shirt. A moment later, a huge head suddenly thrust itself through the gap between the two doors. A steel helmet with a nose guard covered the Troll’s bald head, but most
of his coarse, greenish colored face was clearly visible. He grinned ferociously at Elerian, exposing long, yellowed fangs for a moment before withdrawing his head. The thunderous assault on the doors began again, but Elerian dared not approach the gate a second time with the Troll standing guard behind the opening.
“I might have stood here all day, rendering the assault of the Trolls useless if only someone had called Ascilius and me sooner, before the gates buckled,” he thought regretfully to himself as, before his eyes, the gap in the center of the doors began to widen again. The three great shot pins that held the doors closed, each as thick as a man’s leg, slowly bent inwards. Then, with a sharp crack that echoed through the hall, they suddenly broke in half. Elerian sprang back for a second time as the doors flew apart, the spells holding them closed failing at last. The opened doors revealed an iron ram thick as a great tree and hung by massive chains from an iron frame, the end of it shaped like the head of an enormous lentulus. Red eyes glared above its wrinkled snout and widespread nostrils, and thick lines of argentum, shining with a fiery crimson light, were inlaid in the black steel of which it was forged. A dozen enormous Trolls, clad in black mail and more than twice as tall as a Dwarf, stood on either side of the ram, holding great shields of steel over the heads to deflect the darts that were raining down on them from above. Lying on the floor of the passageway, Elerian saw the lifeless bodies of at least ten more Trolls. All of them, both the living and dead, wore plain iron collars around their corded necks.
“They are no more than slaves to the Dark King, spending their lives at his will,” thought Elerian to himself when he saw the collars. “The fallen ones were not slain by darts. It was the ram which killed them, its destruction spell draining them dry of their life forces.”
Gavros rushed by Elerian then on his right side, fearlessly swinging his ax at the great tendon on the left side of the nearest Troll’s knee in an attempt to sever it and bring the creature down, but his sharp blade made only a light cut in the Troll's stony flesh. Roaring with anger, the Troll struck Gavros on the head with his clenched left fist, caving in the Dwarf’s steel helm as if it were paper and crushing his powerful body to the floor like some enormous hammer.
