The Warrior (The Hidden Realm) Read online

  “What do you plan to do with that?” asked Ascilius, who had impatiently watched as Elerian fashioned the staff. He thought Elerian the last person to need a staff, for he never seemed to lose his balance.

  “This will keep you from getting lost,” said Elerian with a smile.

  Extending his right hand, he called his spell book. With his third eye, he watched as a small orb of golden light flew from his fingertips and expanded into a small golden circle. A small brown book, with Elerian written in gold letters on its soft leather cover, shot through the circle and came to rest in the palm of Elerian’s right hand. To Ascilius, who lacked mage sight, it seemed as if the book had appeared out of nowhere.

  Leaning the staff against a nearby tree, Elerian opened the book and began turning the pages. They were blank at first, but at the touch of his fingers, words appeared on them, written in a fine hand. Although Elerian could remember far more spells than most mages, the finding spell he needed was a minor charm, and he had forgotten it long ago.

  It was only the work of a few moments for Elerian to find the spell he wanted. When he cast it, a small orb of golden light shot from the fingertips of his right hand, briefly enveloping the polished staff he had made. After the light faded away, Elerian handed the staff to Ascilius.

  “You have only to think of me, and the staff will take you to where I am,” he instructed the Dwarf.

  Ascilius took the staff with a skeptical look on his face. Lacking mage sight, he had only Elerian’s word that a spell had been cast over the wood.

  “Keep on to the east,” said Elerian, who was already climbing swiftly up the wrinkled bole of a nearby chestnut tree. “I will catch up with you later.” Running swiftly west along their back trail, he quickly disappeared into the leafy green canopy.

  “I don’t like this at all,” thought Ascilius to himself, giving his new walking stick a doubtful look. With a frown on his face, he resumed traveling east.

  Behind him, Elerian followed their back trail as far as the road, but he saw no sign of any Goblins or other enemies.

  “Perhaps Ascilius is right,” he thought to himself. “The road may have fallen into disuse among the Goblins, leaving us with nothing to worry about.”

  Satisfied that they were not being followed, Elerian turned east once more, running lightly and with perfect balance through the treetops. When he traveled through the forest canopy, Elerian always felt as if he were passing through a great hall made of living wood and thatched with green leaves, a friendly, inviting place that soothed his spirit as a home built of stone or dead wood could never do. He was enjoying himself immensely until he passed over the branches the branches of a particularly ancient oak. There, he suddenly stopped.

  “I wonder if the trees will finally talk to me after all this time?” he wondered to himself. “This old oak tree must be full of wisdom gained from its many years of life.”

  Opening his magical third eye, Elerian extend his right arm, touching the tree’s fissured bark with his right hand. Instead of his arm, he now saw his shade, pale gold against the enormous green shade of the tree. After extending a little of his shade into the tree, Elerian asked in the language of the trees, “Have you anything of interest to tell me ancient one?”

  “I do not speak with half bloods,” replied the tree contemptuously. An unfriendly silence followed. Disappointed, Elerian finally withdrew his shade.

  “All these years and they still refuse to talk to me,” he thought to himself in frustration. “I wish they would at least explain why they call me a half blood.”

  Elerian knew better than to ask, however. A stony silence would be his only answer. Shrugging his shoulders, he ran on.

  “I may as well accept the fact that my past may always remain a mystery,” he thought to himself resignedly.

  When he reached Ascilius, the Dwarf was dutifully trudging through a shallow stream that flowed east, effectively obliterating his tracks and scent, but only at the cost of great personal discomfort. He was wet to the knees, and Elerian knew his feet were no doubt numb from the icy water that swirled around his ankles. Instead of announcing himself, Elerian walked silently from branch to branch above Ascilius in perfect comfort, his gray eyes now alight with mischief.

  “That is far enough,” he said suddenly and rather more loudly than was necessary.

  Elerian shook with silent laughter when Ascilius started at the sound of his voice, lost his footing, and fell into the stream with a loud splash.

  “I am sorry if I frightened you,” Elerian called down, as Ascilius emerged spluttering from the stream.

  “I was not frightened,” shouted Ascilius angrily. Being a serious fellow, he hated to have his courage questioned or his dignity compromised. “I slipped on a stone is all,” he said loftily.

  Ascilius tilted his head back and gave Elerian a suspicious look as he took off his cloak and shook the excess water from it. He knew all too well by now his companion’s proclivity for pranks and suspected that Elerian had startled him on purpose.

  Elerian returned his hard stare, an innocent expression on his face, but his gray eyes gleamed with laughter. Climbing down from his high perch, he dropped lightly to the ground beside Ascilius. Taking pity on his companion, he lifted his right hand, and a golden orb which only he could see, flew from his fingertips, striking Ascilius and his cloak and enveloping both of them in a golden mantle of light. An instant later, the spell had carried all of the water from the sopping cloak and Ascilius’s body back to the stream, leaving the Dwarf dry again. No thanks came from Ascilius, however, for he still strongly suspected that Elerian had caused his mishap on purpose.

  “There is no one following us as far as I can tell,” said Elerian, but Ascilius made no reply, for he was still put out over his unexpected, icy bath.

  “He is even grumpier than usual,” thought Elerian to himself. He was entirely unrepentant over the trick he had played on Ascilius and was already plotting his next prank.

  They walked on together in an uncomfortable silence until it grew dark, camping for the night between the wide trunks of three close growing oak trees. Ascilius’s grumpy mood deepened even more, for there was nothing available for their supper but water from a nearby stream. Elerian refused to change any of it into wine, since he did not think it wise for them to drink on an empty stomach.

  Hungry and sullen, Ascilius wrapped himself in his cloak before curling up between two thick roots. He did not trouble himself about keeping any watch, for he knew that Elerian seldom slept deeply, lapsing instead into a state where his body rested while his mind walked the dream paths, at the same time remaining aware of all that went on around it.

  While Ascilius slept, Elerian relived his memories of his foster grandfather, brought back to him by the finding staff he had made. He came suddenly awake from memories as real as his waking moments when he became aware that the night had grown ominously silent. A sense of danger came over him, so strong that he cast an illusion spell over himself and Ascilius without giving it any thought. With his magical third eye, he saw a small golden orb of light fly from the fingers of his right hand, expanding instantly to cover him and the sleeping Ascilius with a dome shaped mantle of golden light that would hide them from anything that did not possess mage sight. A gossamer thread of light tethered the mantle to Elerian’s right hand, feeding the illusion the power it needed to maintain itself.

  When Elerian closed his third eye, the light of the spell vanished, leaving him able to see again. Carefully, moving only his eyes, he looked around him. The world was drained of color, painted only in shades of gray and black now that the sun had set, but Elerian’s eyes saw as well by night as they did by day, down to the smallest wrinkle in the bark of the ancient trees around him. A faint rustle of leaves high overhead suddenly drew his attention. Gripping the cool haft of his knife with his right hand, Elerian slowly looked upward. Burning like fiery coals in the darkness, he saw a pair of glowing red eyes.

  AN UNE
XPECTED VISITOR

  A screen of leaves hid the outline of the creature above Elerian, but the distance between the eyes indicated a creature of substantial size. Through small gaps in the foliage, Elerian saw patches of sleek, dark fur that gleamed in the starlight.

  “Is it a lentulus, hunting away from Nefandus?” was his first thought upon seeing that fur.

  His heartbeat quickened at the thought, for he and Ascilius had barely survived their last confrontation with one of those monsters. As the eyes above him continued to stare down at him with a fierce, unblinking stare, Elerian forced himself to remain motionless, unsure whether the creature above him had penetrated the illusion that masked him and Ascilius. Time, measured by his wildly beating heart, slowly crept by, but the creature overhead remained as motionless as himself. More than anything Elerian wished that he could rouse Ascilius, but there was no way to wake the sleeping Dwarf without alerting the creature above them.

  “Can it see me or is it only tormenting me?” wondered Elerian, recalling the penchant for cruelty revealed by the last lentulus he and Ascilius had encountered. With every muscle tensed and his heart pounding in his chest, he continued to wait, expecting the creature to leap down on him at any moment.

  Suddenly, the eyes overhead winked out. Elerian heard the faint scrape of claws on bark and then a stealthy rustling of leaves and ferns. The creature had left the treetops.

  “Is it going to attack us on the ground?” he wondered.

  It took all Elerian’s willpower to remain motionless, straining his ears for the slightest sound. His right hand remained clenched around the haft of his knife.

  “How effective will it be against the stony hide of a lentulus?” he wondered, remembering how their steel weapons had barely wounded the lentulus in the mines.

  From behind him, he heard another stealthy rustle, and almost, he leapt to his feet.

  “Trust your spell,” he warned himself, suddenly convinced that the creature could not see them. With his heart racing, Elerian continued to sit without moving. His greatest fear now was that Ascilius would stir in his bed and give them away.

  The slow, endless minutes and hours passed until the first gray light of dawn thinned the shadows under the trees.

  “Is it gone or is it only waiting out of sight,” Elerian wondered to himself.

  A profound silence still filled the wood around him. Elerian considered it an ominous sign that the birds in the canopy were not singing to greet the rising sun, but his patience was exhausted. Rising noiselessly to his feet, he drew out his knife before ending his illusion spell.

  “If it is a lentulus, it will not bear the sun,” he thought hopefully to himself.

  Silent as a shadow, Elerian circled the campsite, expecting a black, monstrous form to leap out at him at any moment from behind one of the great trees around him. He found only a few faint prints on the ground, however, some of them disturbingly close to where he had been sitting all night.

  “Whatever manner of creature it was, it walked softly, but its powers of scent were poor,” he thought to himself as he bent over the tracks he had found.

  As Elerian straightened up, a thunderous roar suddenly rent the stillness, and a massive form struck him in the chest, knocking him off his feet and flat onto the ground on his back. The impact drove the breath from Elerian’s lungs and dislodged his knife from his hand. Out of the right corners of his eyes, Elerian saw Ascilius shoot out from under his cloak, a wild look in his eyes. Then, all his attention turned to the muscular form of the leopardi crouched over him, its sleek, dark fur dead black in the absence of starlight and its glaring eyes red as coals in the gray, predawn light.

  Instinctively, Elerian wrapped his legs around the small of the creature’s back, so that it could not disembowel him with the long, scimitar claws on its hind feet. His long, powerful hands wrapped themselves around the leopardi’s sinewy throat, straining to hold the wide, snarling head away from him.

  As the leaopardi’s saber fangs inched closer to his throat, Elerian saw Ascilius run up and swing his stone ax. There was a ring of steel and an explosion of fiery sparks as the blade struck the leopardi’s thick neck. Ascilius’s ax described a glittering arc as it flew from his hand into the air. The Dwarf flew backwards, landing in a crumpled heap on the ground.

  “You are next,” snarled the leopardi in a hoarse, menacing voice, its fetid breath washing over Elerian’s face. His arms slowly bent under the inexorable pressure exerted by creature’s powerful neck. Desperately Elerian cast a killing spell into the leopardi’s gaping mouth. With his third eye, he saw his spell flare harmlessly against the shield spell that covered the creature like a film of red light.

  “I am done for this time,” thought Elerian hopelessly to himself as the leopardi’s jaws gaped wide to tear out his throat.

  The creature suddenly lunged at Elerian; finally overcoming the last resistance of his sinewy arms, but the great jaws fell short of their intended target, for a large, powerful hand suddenly fastened itself under the leopardi’s broad chin. A second hand seized the leopardi behind the head, and arms, with muscles like granite, began to twist the great head to one side. For a long moment, the leopardi struggled desperately to free itself. Then, a strangled snarl issued from its throat as a sharp crack rent the night air.

  Elerian felt the body of the leopardi sag lifelessly onto his chest. He pushed the creature’s heavy body to one side and saw Ascilius standing over him, a grim look on his face. Before Elerian could say a word, the Dwarf collapsed onto the ground in a sitting position before falling flat onto his back.

  Alarmed, Elerian sprang to his feet and bent over Ascilius. He was relieved to see that the Dwarf had his eyes open and appeared to be breathing normally if somewhat wearily.

  “Are you all right?” asked Elerian worriedly.

  “I think I need a drink,” said Ascilius weakly.

  “And I think you are taking advantage of the situation,” laughed Elerian, for there was a cunning look in the Dwarf’s dark eyes.

  “Only a little,” said Ascilius, sitting up again. “I really do need a drink. When my ax struck that creature’s neck, I felt as if a Troll had hit me between the eyes with a club. My ears are still ringing.”

  Elerian hastened to make a mug of wine for Ascilius. After casting the spell that brought back their mugs from the place where he kept his spell book, he ran to the nearby stream and filled both of them with cold, clear water from a shallow pool. Holding both mugs in his right hand by the handles, Elerian cast a transformation spell over the water they held, watching with his magical third eye as a film of golden light spread from his fingers, completely covering both containers. When the light faded away, both mugs were filled with strong red wine.

  Elerian carried the mugs back to Ascilius, who was now sitting on a great tree root. Showing uncharacteristic restraint, Ascilius sipped the strong red vintage in the mug Elerian handed him. Elerian drank from his own cup as he examined the body of the leopardi.

  “Take his hide,” suggested Ascilius. “It will look good in my study when I return to Ennodius.”

  “Let us first see if this is a true beast first,” replied Elerian.

  Raising his right hand, he cast a transformation spell to restore the body before him to its native form. With his third eye, he watched as a small orb of golden light flew from his fingertips. After striking the dark body of the leopardi, it spread to envelope the creature in a cloak of golden light. Beneath that golden film, Elerian saw the leopardi’s body begin to shift and change as it flowed into a different form. He closed his third eye and saw the shape of a naked Uruc lying on the ground before him, a slender collar of dark iron fastened around his neck.

  “This is what repelled your ax,” said Elerian to Ascilius, pointing to the collar with his right hand but being extremely careful not to touch it.

  “He was a shape changer then,” said Ascilius in a disappointed voice.

  “A rogue who most likely succum
bed to the animal side of nature despite the enchanted collar that he wore,” said Elerian.

  In the canopy above him, the many birds that lived in the trees suddenly began to sing, heralding the rising sun and the death of a forest tyrant whose bloodletting had terrified all the inhabitants of the wood. Elerian felt all the tension drain from his body.

  “We are safe for now,” he thought to himself. Using one of his spells, he carried away enough dirt to make a large hole in the forest floor. After casting the body of the Uruc into the hole, he used another spell to return the dirt to the opening, finally covering the fresh dirt with dried leaves to conceal the grave.

  After Ascilius finished his drink, he retrieved his ax. The Dwarf was pleased to see that its cutting edge was unmarred by the Goblin’s collar.

  Elerian sent away their mugs again, and he and Ascilius set out in an easterly direction. They were both famished now, neither of them having eaten in a full day and a night, but the ancient forest they traveled through continued to be empty of any game, and they crossed no streams which might have contained fish. At midday, they heard the murmur of running water. Before long, they arrived at the banks of a boisterous, mountain stream, about thirty feet wide. Its clear waters splashed noisily over the water-blackened boulders in its rocky bed before tumbling over a small waterfall into a deep, clear pool.

  “This is the Elvorix, the first of the rivers we must cross,” said Ascilius to Elerian. “The water is shallow enough to wade through here above the pool.”

  With Ascilius in the lead, they stepped into the river. The strong current pushed against their legs, but the water was shallow, reaching only to mid-thigh on Ascilius. They were both glad to set foot on the farther shore, for the water was icy cold, being born in the snowfields of the Trofim; the mountain range whose snow capped peaks loomed like a dark wall to the north.