by A. Giannetti
“She will likely roam the forest or fly the skies for the better part of the day searching for me,” thought Elerian to himself, feeling that fortune still favored him. “With Eboria prowling about, the Goblins will be afraid to gather in large groups until either she leaves or the sun sets. If I can convince Ascilius to hold to his original plan, we can be across the Catalus with his whole force before the Goblins are able to take up their pursuit again.”
Filled with hope that things would turn out well, Elerian continued following the stream north, keeping a wary eye out for both Eboria and the scattered Goblin army. He soon found out that the watercourse he was following ran parallel to the Dwarf road, flowing at no great distance from its western shoulder. This suited him exactly, for he was much less likely to encounter the Goblins or their allies near the road where they would be more visible to Eboria. Overhead, the clouds continued to break apart, pushed away from each other by a brisk wind blowing out of the northwest. Elerian welcomed the return of the sun, which would hinder the Goblins, but the breeze now blowing in his face caused him some concern lest Eboria or one of the canigrae that had fled into the forest catch his scent.
“Only a little farther now and I will be across the river,” he encouraged himself. “Even Ascilius will have to admit that I have done well today, routing the whole of the Goblin army by an exceedingly clever bit of subterfuge if I do say so myself.”
At that moment, a chorus of strange, high-pitched growls suddenly caused Elerian to stop and look over his left shoulder. Racing toward him through the trees were three sleek black creatures, eyes burning like red embers and long tongues lolling out between sharp white fangs. It took Elerian a moment to recognize them as atriors, for they were running freely without riders or saddles. Spare mounts that had burst their tethers in a panicked effort to escape from Eboria, they wore only black leather halters on their long, narrow heads. By chance they had fled north, keeping close to the road until the wind had brought them Elerian’s scent. Forgetting the panic instilled in them by the dragon, the three of them had immediately taken up the hunt. They could not see Elerian because of his ring, but they knew exactly where he stood, for their powers of scent were as keen as those of a canigrae.
As the three atriors bounded sinuously toward him, Elerian knew that they would have no trouble killing him, visible or not. Abandoning the stream, he leapt out onto dry ground where he could run faster. Calling on every bit of speed that he possessed, he raced through the forest, darting around trees, leaping lightly over fallen branches and roots, his long, light strides giving him the appearance of floating over the floor of the wood. He soon found, however, that he could neither shake his pursuers nor draw far enough away from them to climb a tree, for they were fresh and well rested and he had already been tired when the chase began. Traveling in tremendous leaps, their long, sinewy bodies stretched out close to the ground, the atriors stayed right on his heels, close enough that Elerian could hear their harsh panting behind him. At times it seemed to him that he could almost feel their hot breath on the back of his neck. As his breath began to burn in his lungs and an unfamiliar heaviness entered his legs, Elerian felt a sense of hopelessness clutch at him, for it was only a matter of time now before he slowed or stumbled from weariness.
“I will have to make a stand on the ground,” he thought grimly to himself. “I will not have them pull me down without a struggle, like a defenseless rabbit.”
A stream suddenly appeared before him, the same one that he had followed north, grown now to more than a dozen feet across and taking a sharp bend to the east. Clearing it in a long, lithe bound, Elerian drew his sword and spun around while still in the air so that when he touched ground on the far side of the watercourse, he was facing his pursuers. The first atrior was already flying through the air toward him, front feet with their eagle’s claws extended to pin him to the ground. A man would have died there beneath its talons, but Elerian stepped to the right, quick as thought, and struck off the atrior’s long, savage head even as the creature twisted its long snakelike neck to its left so that it might seize him with its fanged mouth. Spouting blood, the atrior collapsed and somersaulted past Elerian. By then a second of the beasts was already hurtling toward him. Reversing his sword with a swift, supple movement of his arms and shoulders, Elerian stepped lightly to the right to avoid the creature’s body, at the same time thrusting Acris up through the atrior’s throat at the point where its long head joined its neck.
Argentum flashing silver white, Acris slew the atrior, but all the breath was suddenly driven out of Elerian’s body as the dying beast’s left shoulder delivered a glancing blow to his left side. The force of the impact wrenched Acris out of his hands and sent him flying back through the air. When he struck the ground, he was momentarily stunned by the impact, lying motionless on his back. A sudden, fiery pain burning down his left thigh brought Elerian back to his senses. Through blurred eyes, he saw that the third atrior, which had lagged a little behind the others, had laid open his leg with a single slash of the long, hooked claws on its left foot, crippling him so that he could no longer run.
As the atrior bent its head down to savage him with its teeth, Elerian seized the beast's black leather halter with his left hand, holding its deadly jaws away from him. Angrily tossing and shaking its head with powerful, sinuous movements of its snakelike neck, the atrior tried to break free of his grasp. Displaying an enormous strength, it raised its long head, lifting Elerian clean off the ground as he clung desperately to its halter with his left hand. Drawing Rasor from his belt with his right hand, Elerian thrust his knife point at the creature’s right eye but missed when the atrior tossed its long, narrow head, sinking his blade into its sinewy neck instead, just below its jaw line. With a squeal of pain the goblin mount lunged away, breaking free of his grip on its halter and wrenching his knife handle out of his weakening grip at the same time.
Elerian fell back to the ground and lay there, weakened to the point where he was unable to do more than raise his head and neck. A short distance from his feet, the atrior, with Rasor still buried in its throat, collapsed, but it was not dead. Its eyes blazing red with the desire to tear him into pieces, it was slowly and awkwardly, because of the length of its limbs, clawing itself toward him with its front feet, the sinuous movements of its long, spare body putting Elerian in mind of an enormous black serpent. Weaponless and lightheaded from the blood streaming from his right leg, Elerian raised his right hand as the long head of the atrior slowly advanced past his feet and legs, fanged jaws gaping wide.
Desperately gathering the last of his strength, he whispered, “Ruere,” in a soft, weary voice. With his third eye, he saw a small, tenuous orb of golden light leap from the fingertips of his right hand. The weak spell flew into the atrior’s open mouth, vanishing in its gullet. The creature’s eyes widened and its whole body stiffened as the spell shattered its spine. As the life left its body, the atrior’s narrow head fell heavily onto Elerian's chest. From a distance of inches, he watched the crimson fire in its eyes slowly fade, leaving them dark and lifeless.
“I have slain them all,” thought Elerian wonderingly to himself, “but it may do me no good.” Sending away his invisibility ring, he raised his head and looked at the great tear in left thigh. The wound felt as if it was on fire, and a stream of crimson blood spilled from its ugly, torn lips, running over his leg onto the ground.
“I will bleed to death soon,” thought Elerian to himself, but the observation carried no urgency in his weakened state. “How much easier it would be to drift down into oblivion rather than continue to struggle to stay alive,” he thought to himself languidly. He attempted to enter the dream paths in his mind where he could walk in peace until his shade departed, but slowly, inexorably, the iron will that had allowed him to become a mage reasserted itself, dragging him back to consciousness and forcing him to lay his left hand on the ugly wound that disfigured his thigh. Gathering the last dregs of power from the silver ri
ng on his right hand, Elerian sent a healing spell into the ruined flesh, losing awareness of his surroundings for a time as the charm did its work. When he returned to himself, he saw that his leg no longer bled, but the closed over wound felt tender, as if it was not completely healed.
“It will burst open if I am not careful,” thought Elerian to himself as he pushed aside, with both hands, the limp, heavy head and neck of the atrior which still lay on his chest. Carefully he rolled over to his left, onto his stomach. In front of him, at no great distance, he saw a fallen branch brought down by the recent rains and still covered with green leaves.
“A poor shelter,” thought Elerian wryly to himself, “but perhaps it will hide me until I regain some of my strength. Calling his silver ring to his right hand, Elerian became invisible once more. With painful slowness, he retrieved first his knife and then his sword from the atriors that he had slain. Then he began to drag himself with his arms toward the fallen branch.
“Give up,” his battered body whispered in his mind as he stubbornly pulled himself forward inch by inch with his hands and arms. At some point, the world went black for a moment as he slipped into unconsciousness. When he woke again, he found that he had come to the end of his strength. Worse yet, his ring of invisibility was slowly draining away his remaining life force to maintain its spell.
“I must send it away or it will kill me,” thought Elerian to himself but he found that even that small task was beyond him now. “This is the end, then,” he thought to himself. “Even if the Goblins do not find me lying here in the open, the ring which saved me so many times will now be the death of me.” Resignedly Elerian closed his eyes and consciousness fled once more.
At that moment in far off Tarsius, high in one of the towers of the king's palace, Anthea paced restlessly in her bedroom. All morning, she had felt that something was wrong. Around her fair white neck, its power awakened, the silver beech leaf she had taken from Dymiter’s ancient home in the Troll Wood blazed like a small star. Earlier that morning she had tried and failed to pass through the portal separating her from Elerian, but now something called for her to try again. Lying down on her canopied bed, she closed her eyes and almost immediately, her golden shade rose up above her recumbent body, a fine thread of gleaming golden light tethering her to her sleeping form, feeding power to her ethereal shade. A second shining thread stretched from the ruby ring on her left hand toward the west, disappearing after a few feet into a tiny circle of golden light.
Driven by a powerful sense of urgency, Anthea willed her shade to follow the thread that flowed from her ring. A sense of triumph filled her as her world suddenly turned golden. There was no sense of motion, but in an instant, she passed through the portal that lay at the end of the thread, emerging on the far side of it. Looking about her with her magical third eye, Anthea saw that she stood in a forest, for she was surrounded by immense, tall green columns. The slender golden thread that had led her through the portal led to a pale golden haze lying on the ground by her feet.
“The haze must be a spell of some sort and Elerian must lie beneath it,” thought Anthea anxiously to herself as she bent over and examined the shimmering golden cloak of light by her feet. From its opaqueness, she guessed that Elerian was wearing his invisibility ring, for an illusion spell would have been more transparent, allowing her to see his shade beneath it. Even though the charm blocked her sight, it was no barrier to her shade. Reaching through it with her right hand, she felt Elerian’s shade come into contact with her fingers. Reaching into his mind, she encountered only darkness.
“Wake up Elerian!” she commanded anxiously, but received no response. Mindful of how he had saved her life in the Troll Wood, Anthea began to feed some of her own power into Elerian’s shade, at the same time calling insistently for him to wake up.
As if from a great distance, Elerian suddenly heard Anthea’s voice and assumed that he had slipped into the dream paths in his mind. Then, he heard other voices, too, harsh evil ones, and he knew that he was awake.
“Goblins,” he thought to himself. “It will do no good, but I must at least try to reach the branch.” Wearily, he began to drag himself forward again. When he was finally concealed beneath the still green leaves of the fallen limb, Elerian looked back toward the stream.
“A useless effort,” he thought bleakly to himself, for he had left a clear track in the carpet of fallen leaves that covered the forest floor. “The keen eyes of the approaching Mordi will see the marks of my passage the moment they pass this way. They will have no trouble finding me, invisible or not.” As Elerian formed this last, hopeless thought in his mind, his head drooped to the ground, the right side of his face sinking into the brown carpet of leaves that covered the forest floor so that only his left eye took in the view before him.
Behind Elerian’s hiding place, her shade still joined to his with a thin, golden tendril of light, Anthea took in the scene before her through Elerian’s eyes. Through his ears, she heard the voices of the approaching Goblins.
“I must do something to conceal him,” she thought desperately to herself.
The disturbed leaves that led to Elerian’s hiding place commanded her attention first. As if some secret knowledge had suddenly flowed into her consciousness from the gleaming pendant lying around the throat of her sleeping body, she softly blew across her right palm. Beneath his leafy cover, it seemed to Elerian that a sudden wind swept across the forest floor. Through his left eye, he wondered to see the leaves that he had disturbed suddenly rearranging themselves into their original positions, leaving the forest floor unmarked.
At that moment, three Mordi clad in black leather armor emerged like shadows from the trees across the stream. Through Elerian’s eye, Anthea watched anxiously as they leaped lightly over the brook before gathering around the bodies of the atriors. Through Elerian’s ears, she heard them discussing what they saw in harsh, evil voices, plainly suspicious about the manner in which the atriors had met their end. If they decided to search the area, they were almost certain to find Elerian in his hiding place.
“Would that I could wield a sword,” Anthea thought fiercely to herself as she stood behind Elerian’s hiding place. “Still, if I cannot slay them, perhaps I can at least lead them away.”
Distancing herself a little from Elerian, she called on the power of her necklace, casting an illusion over her shade that closely resembled Elerian when he was disguised as a man. The Mordi started at her sudden appearance amongst the trees.
“It is him, the one who led the dragon into our midst,” shouted one of them. With drawn swords, all three Mordi ran toward Anthea.
“I am done for,” thought Elerian hopelessly to himself, assuming that the Wood Goblins had somehow discovered him. The last thing that he saw as he slipped into unconsciousness once more was their pale faces and dark, eager eyes as they approached his hiding place.
The moment the Mordi saw her, Anthea darted into the forest on her left, drawing the Wood Goblins after her. Following her running illusion, they chased her deeper and deeper into the wood. When she had led them as far as she dared, Anthea suddenly distanced herself from her pursuers, ending her illusion as soon as they were out of her sight.
Invisible once more, gliding over the ground more swiftly than even Elerian could run, Anthea returned to his side. There she was forced to wait, for each time she touched him and reached into his mind, she found only darkness which she could not dispel. As she looked anxiously about her after her last failed attempt to rouse Elerian, she saw that a golden shade had suddenly appeared between the trees to the north of where she stood. From its short, sturdy outline, she guessed that it belonged to a Dwarf.
“That is almost certainly Ascilius searching for Elerian,” thought Anthea warmly to herself. “Where you find one of these two, the other cannot be far away.” Drifting forward like a golden shadow, she touched Ascilius’s left shoulder with her right hand. The Dwarf started and his eyes widened as her illusory form, dre
ssed in brown leather riding gear, appeared before his eyes and her voice spoke in his mind.
“Ascilius,” said Anthea urgently. “Elerian lies invisible and injured beneath the fallen branch that you see before you. Take him to safety, for I cannot help him. It is only my shade that you see before you.”
When Anthea’s illusory form bent and kissed him on his wide brow, Ascilius felt a breath of soft wind on his face. He started then as a Goblin horn winded in the forest to the west, sounded by the three Mordi that Anthea had led astray. Having found no sign of Elerian, they were summoning others of their kind to help in their search.
“Hurry, Ascilius,” said Anthea urgently. “You do not have much time.”
Running to the branch Anthea had pointed out, Ascilius bent over and groped beneath it with his right hand. His fingers closed on an invisible shoulder which he commenced to shake vigorously.
Feeling himself griped by a strong hand, Elerian awoke suddenly. Assuming that he had been found by the Wood Goblins that he had seen earlier, he blindly swung his left arm, impacting Ascilius’s rather prominent nose with his left fist. Due to his weakened state, it was only a light tap, but it made Ascilius’s eyes water and irritated him to no end.
“Leave off, you half wit,” he whispered angrily. “Is this any way to treat a rescuer?”
Opening his eyes, Elerian saw Ascilius’s angry, bearded visage above his own instead of a pale Goblin face.
“I must be dreaming or delirious,” thought Elerian to himself.
