The Hidden Realm: Book 04 - Ennodius Read online

  By noontime of the following day, an endless flow of wagons and people was streaming east, herds of cattle, horses, and sheep following along on either side. To the left of the caravan were the tall peaks of the Nordaels, ahead and to the right stretched endless green pastures. A sense of excitement infused the Tarsi, for many had not seen their homes for too long a time. The bells on the wagons chimed pleasantly and songs sung in clear voices filled the air and glad laughter also. The only three who did not share in the mirth were Orianus, his daughter, and Merula, who rode not far behind Orianus and Anthea speaking to no one, his face pensive and his eyes shuttered.

  THE GOBLIN KING

  At the same moment that Orianus and his company crested the Nordaels, many days journey to the west in the windy heights of Ossarium, his dark stronghold in the bleak land of Nefandus, Torquatus paced restlessly back and forth in his throne room. As he measured its length with long, fluid strides, the blood red rubies in his iron crown burned like coals, reflecting the scarlet mage lights which dimly illuminated the room. His pale face, fair seeming on the surface, was contemplative, for his dark mind was deep in thought, troubled by the Hesperian who had foiled his plan to capture the daughter of Orianus.

  “Who is this creature who thwarts my wishes and designs at every turn?” he wondered to himself angrily. “I have no unequivocal evidence which might be looked at and examined to reveal that answer, but I may still draw conclusions from the events that are known to me.”

  Casting his thoughts back over the years since the fall of Fimbria, a number of troubling details began falling into place in Torquatus’s mind, like the pieces of some great puzzle.

  “It all begins with Indrawyn, the last living offspring of Fenius,” he thought to himself. “After escaping me in the beech wood, she must have become separated from Dymiter, making her way into the Abercius where she joined forces with a pair of creatures from some unknown breed. I know this because after Sarius raided the forest abode where Indrawyn hid herself, he reported to me that he and his Goblins slew two unknown warriors in the dwelling, members of a race that he had never encountered before, being neither Elves nor men. Of Dymiter, he found no sign.

  “Indrawyn was slain by Drusus, which should have ended the matter, but it appears that she mixed her blood with one of the warriors slain by Sarius, producing a half blood child, a child Sarius was later deceived into thinking was slain and devoured by his lupins.

  “Instead, this half blood creature, which I now supposed was dead, took on the guise of a Hesperian, growing up under the protection of the two old men eventually slain by Lurco in Hesperia. I finally became aware of him after he, twice, foolishly revealed himself to me through different portals, but then, he disappeared again, leading me to think that he had hidden himself in southern Hesperia.

  “I know now that he must have been captured and taken to my mines, still disguised as a Hesperian. All those years he was within my grasp if only I had known he was there,” thought Torquatus to himself, a sudden rush of rage lighting flickering red fires in the depths of his dark eyes. His features suddenly seemed to change under the ruddy lights of the chamber, becoming reminiscent of the snarling faces of the stone lentuluses which looked down on him with their flickering, crimson eyes.

  His face now a hideous mixture of beast and Goblin, Torquatus abruptly stopped his pacing. The transformation of his features and form abruptly arrested itself

  “Calm yourself,” he said softly, clearing his mind and banking the fires of his rage. His features flowed back into their natural form as he slowly regained control of his emotions.

  “There will be time later for blood,” he assured himself in his soft, evil voice. “The cries of my enemy will be a balm to my ears as I slowly strip the living flesh from his bones, burn him with hot irons, and subject him to every manner of torture that comes to my mind to assuage my thirst for vengeance. For now, though, I must follow this thread of thought to its conclusion to see what manner of cloth I might weave with it.”

  Torquatus began to pace again as he took up his interrupted musing.

  “Somehow this half blood creature finally escaped my mines with that cursed Ascilius’s help,” he thought to himself, frowning at the thought of the Dwarf who had been a thorn in his side for so many years. “Using his ability to change his shape, he then took on his native form but took the precaution of disguising himself as a man with a simple illusion spell. Accompanied by his misshapen Dwarf companion, he must have traveled through the Broken Lands, arriving at Calenus while I was there also. His life would have ended there in the dungeon except for that treacherous knife stroke, which sorely wounded me. Who wielded that blade I wonder? It could only have been Orianus’s whelp, for there was no one else in the chamber. I will make sure that he pays a hundred times over for his interference if he falls into my hands again.”

  Torquatus paused for a moment in his deliberations, reflecting on the torments he would heap on the Tarsi. Soothed by the thought of the suffering his enemy would endure someday, he resumed his pondering.

  “Here now is a puzzle I cannot solve with all my logic and reasoned thinking. When my ring stripped away the half blood’s illusion spell as it drank in his life force, he was revealed as an Elf. I could not mistake those hated features. And yet, the Eirians were not shape changers. What mix of blood gives this creature his power I wonder? It was most unfortunate that Sarius was unable to bring me the body of one of the strange warriors that he slew, or I might have the answer to this mystery. Some beast of the forest must have entered the dwelling while he pursued Indrawyn’s whelp, dragging all the bodies away to feast on their flesh, for he found the dwelling empty when he returned.”

  Torquatus paused for a moment to reflect on the mystery of Elerian’s heritage, but no answer presented itself to his dark mind.

  “No matter,” he decided at last. “I will have the answer someday, even if I have to strip the half blood to his very bones to discover it. For now, let me take up the thread of this odd tale once more, for it draws near to its conclusion.

  “After escaping from my dungeon, Ascilius must have guided this half Elf and the Tarsi through Calenus. Once they emerged into the open air, they made their way to Tarsius where the three of them meddled in my plans to overthrow the horse king.”

  Again Torquatus felt anger heat his blood, but this time, his rage was tempered by an undercurrent of disquiet. He cast his dark mind back over the long years to his last meeting with the Elven mage, Dymiter. With his forces hard pressed by the returning Elven army, he had loosed the red mage fire which he controlled as well as any Dwarf, but the crimson flames had raged out of control, destroying his own forces as well as those of the enemy. Fleeing the inferno that he had loosed, all unexpected and accompanied by only a few of his followers, Torquatus had found himself face to face with Dymiter and Indrawyn. He had exhausted his mage powers in the breaking of the shield around Fimbria, but he still had his sword. In the struggle that followed beneath the burning trees, all of his followers were slain by Dymiter and Indrawyn, but he had wounded Dymiter with a poisoned blade before being forced to withdraw a little distance away by Indrawyn and her bright sword.

  Battling fatigue and the virulent poison which had entered his veins, Dymiter had spoken to him. The words had never faded from Torquatus’s memory. He heard them again in his mind, spoken in the clear voice of the Elf mage.

  “You have won today Torquatus but not for all time. I knew this day would come, and I have prepared three talismans for your destruction. When all three are found; leaf, book, and band, by an heir of Fenius and a descendent of my own body, the trees of Fimbria shall be renewed and your reign ended for all time.”

  "You are dead where you stand," Torquatus had answered Dymiter coldly. “When my poison has done its work, I shall destroy your trinkets. First, however, I will slay Indrawyn before your eyes.”

  As he had moved forward to finish off the Elf maid, a great burning branch had sudde
nly roared to the ground between them like a bolt from the heavens, sending up a great sheet of flame and smoke. When he could see again, Dymiter and Indrawyn had vanished into the smoke and flames that surrounded him. He was left alone to ponder his enemy’s words.

  After escaping from the flames around him, uncertain as to the fate of the Elf mage and Indrawyn, he had set Drusus to pursuing them. No word ever came to him of Dymiter, but he was certain that the Elf mage had met his end from the poison flowing through his veins, which was of an extremely potent variety. He had never discovered the talismans Dymiter claimed to have made, but with the death of Indrawyn and her child, he had assumed that the prophecy would never come to pass and his fears had slumbered.

  It seems that I was mistaken again,” thought Torquatus to himself. “Dymiter must have fled to Tarsius, surviving long enough to produce an heir and to hide his talismans. After the half blood helped Orianus’s daughter escape from my minions, he must have discovered at least one of the objects prepared for my destruction, for the necklace Orianus’s daughter used to defeat my mages was surely the same mentioned by Dymiter. She, herself, must be descended from the line of Dymiter. Since her half blood companion springs from the line of Fenius, the two of them undoubtedly comprise the pair that Dymiter foretold would end my reign,” thought Torquatus uneasily to himself. “Have they also discovered the book and the band? If so, what damage might they do to my plans so carefully laid and executed over these many years?”

  A sense that time was growing short suddenly gripped Torquatus as he pondered his next course of action. If he was to finally bring all of the Middle Realm under his sway and order the world as he wished, he must make certain that the old prophecy of Dymiter did not come true, thwarting all his ambitions forever. From his own delving into the mysteries of the future, he knew that events to come were not set in stone. There was often more than one path forward, and all paths did not have the same outcome.

  “Measures that I take today may yet alter the future,” he thought to himself. “If I destroy this half Elf and Orianus’s daughter, it will yield an entirely different outcome than that foreseen by Dymiter. The artifacts he left behind must also be accounted for. Only then can I rest easy, secure in the knowledge that the world will fall into my outstretched hand like a ripe fruit. Once I am master of the Middle Realm, I will reach out beyond the gates. Using the power of my ring, I will search Outside, realm by realm, until I find the Eirians who escaped me. I will exterminate their race entirely before I am done, finally soothing my ancient enmity against them.”

  Ending his restless pacing, Torquatus sat on his throne, impatiently tapping the right armrest with the cruel, black painted nails that tipped his long, strong fingers. Before he could take any action, he must first locate Elerian and Ascilius. He began considering various stratagems and devious plans to accomplish this goal, but his dark thoughts were interrupted when his magical third eye suddenly opened, revealing a small ring of red, shimmering light that had appeared in the air before him at the height of his chest. As the dark center of the portal cleared, Torquatus closed his third eye and as if through a window of clear glass, he beheld an arrogant face framed with dark, thick hair. Haughty gray eyes regarded him fearlessly. The contempt in those eyes goaded the Goblin king’s mercurial temper, igniting a firestorm of fury in his mind which he carefully concealed, for he did not wish to offend the Tarsi in the portal, not yet.

  The haughty Tarsi was a traitor he had sought to entice to his cause with lies and the promise of rich rewards. Composing his face into placid lines, Torquatus spoke to the Tarsi in a soft, melodious voice.

  “Welcome my friend, what is it that you wish of me this time?”

  “The same that I asked before,” replied the Tarsi mockingly. “Rid me of Dacien and the outlander who accompanied him out of Calenus. Capture Orianus’s daughter and hold her for me unharmed until the day that I am ready to cement my claim to the throne of Tarsius.”

  “I know not why I should aid you,” replied Torquatus in an aggrieved voice. “I moved my forces into Orianus’s kingdom to give you the throne, and you repaid me by aiding in their defeat.”

  “I think had you won, your own minion would have sat the throne in my stead,” said the Tarsi sarcastically. “I extended no invitation to invade my land, only made a few inquiries, what ifs. You were to rid me of Dacien after I made sure he fell into your hands and yet he has returned with two companions: that insufferable Dwarf, Ascilius, and a meddling outlander. Rid me of these three, and the throne will come to me by my own efforts, for I have won much renown by helping to defeat your armies. Your forces will never enter Tarsius while I live, but if you help me to gain the throne; I will pay tribute to you: gold, men, whatever you wish.”

  “Before I can help you, I must know where your enemies are,” said Torquatus in an obsequious voice which masked his true feelings.

  “Dacien is out of your reach for now,” replied the Tarsi curtly, “but the Dwarf and his companion are riding to Ennodius. They should be somewhere north of the Nordaels, exposed to view on the open plains.”

  The excitement Torquatus felt at receiving this news dampened some of the anger engendered by the Tarsi's lack of respect, but he was careful not to let any emotion show in his face. He played a subtle game with this human, and any look or inflection of voice which revealed his true intentions might alarm the Tarsi, rendering useless the months of flattery and encouragement he had expended in an attempt to bring this traitor over to his cause.

  Careful to demonstrate only a mild interest in the news, Torquatus asked, “Did the princess accompany them?”

  At the mention of Orianus’s daughter, a spasm of anger that delighted the Goblin king passed over the Tarsi's face.

  “He is infatuated with this woman,” thought Torquatus to himself, a cruel, predatory light flickering momentarily in his cold, dark eyes. “I thought ambition his overriding concern, a desire to assume the kingship of Tarsius, but I see now that lust for this woman is the true impetus for his overtures to me, which I may now use against him.”

  A strange glitter now lit the Tarsi’s eyes.

  “The Dwarf and the outlander ride alone,” he replied tersely. “Anthea is with Orianus.”

  “The gleam of madness shines in his eyes, already,” thought Torquatus exultantly to himself. “Desire and jealousy have almost overthrown his mind. He is near the precipice, and soon, the least push will suffice send him over the edge, making him ripe to do my bidding.”

  “I will send my servants at once to dispose of the two of them,” said Torquatus in a languid voice, as if the matter held little importance for him. “I trust you will remember in the future that I have served your interests.”

  “I will look more kindly on your efforts to help me if they achieve greater success,” said the Tarsi contemptuously. “I hope these servants of yours will have better luck than the others you sent against the outlander.”

  Again, Torquatus felt the red heat of anger flare up inside of him, fueled by the Tarsi’s insolent tone. It was only with great effort on his part that his handsome features remained composed and friendly.

  “I seek only to help you and yet you mock me,” he said in a wounded voice.

  “Rid me of this outlander and perhaps I will believe that you are truly my friend,” said the Tarsi coldly. His image faded away, and the portal winked out of existence, ending the ethereal meeting.

  As soon as the arrogant face of the Tarsi vanished, a mighty oath suddenly twisted the thin lips of the Goblin King. His eyes flamed, suddenly red as coals, and around him, his throne room trembled, as if the earth had moved beneath it.

  “There will be a reckoning for you arrogance, someday, my friend,” Torquatus hissed softly to himself, “but first I will deal with the half blood and his misshapen Dwarf companion.”

  Impetuously rising from his cold black throne, Torquatus turned his face to the east. Raising his right hand, he stared for a moment with pleasure
at the heavy silver ring that circled his second finger. Seen with his mage sight, it was a swirling band of mingled red and gold energies, huge and bloated with the life forces of the countless mages that it had drained and consumed.

  Opening his magical third eye and drawing on the power of his ring, Torquatus sketched the outline of a circle roughly three feet across in the air in front of him with the index finger of his right hand. A gleaming ring of shimmering red light now hung in the air before him, tethered to his silver ring by a slender red thread, which fed the portal the power it needed to maintain itself. When the space within the fiery circle cleared, Torquatus closed his third eye. As if through a clear pane of glass, his dark eyes beheld a green, rolling plain lit by warm, golden sunlight.

  The Goblin king narrowed his dark eyes, for the sun’s rays pained them and made him feel lightheaded. Rather than wait for the soothing darkness that was still hours away, Torquatus impatiently began his search. Under his direction, the scene in the confines of the portal changed rapidly as it skimmed across the empty plain. He was familiar with the road that his enemies must follow through Tarsius if they were bound for Ennodius, and after a long search, his persistence was rewarded by the sight of two tiny figures on horseback riding north across the plains.

  Torquatus’s dark, cruel eyes filled with a hungry light. Impatience, fueled by a desire to be rid of his chief enemy, swept away his normal caution.

  “This time, I will not fail,” he thought to himself triumphantly as he deftly guided the portal closer and closer until it hovered only a few feet above the heads of the two unsuspecting travelers. “I will destroy both of them while I have them within my grasp.”

  Torquatus centered his attention on Elerian, for the Dwarf could be dealt with later. He had only to enlarge the portal now before reaching out to grasp his unsuspecting enemy. With one pull of his powerful right arm, he could draw the half Elf through the portal and into his throne room. Once he and Eirian occupied the same space, his enemy would be vulnerable to the magic of his ring, which would drain him of his life force until he was too weak to resist. There would be time then for the most exquisite tortures. Filled with cruel anticipation, Torquatus raised his slender but immensely strong right hand to seize his enemy.