The Dwarf Kingdoms (Book 5) (20 page)

“The Goblins control all the country to the south,” Elerian warned the Ancharian. “You may have a difficult time avoiding them all.”

“The wood craftiness of my people far exceeds that of both the Tarsi and the Dwarves,” replied the Ancharian proudly. “It will more than suffice to guide us past any Goblins we encounter, for they will be intent on hunting your Dwarf allies and will pay little heed to anything else.”

“Even if you reach Ancharia, you may not be safe there,” cautioned Elerian, for he was not sure how long the Ancharians had been absent from their homeland. “Many of your people have renewed their old alliance with the Goblins.”

“There will still be remote places where my people still rule themselves,” replied the Ancharian arrogantly. “If you give us arms and a little food, we will have no trouble reaching one of these havens.”

“Wait here then while I will bring your request to the commander of the Dwarf host,” Elerian replied.

“I have done all that I can to apprise them of the dangers that lie in their path,” he thought to himself as he sought out Ascilius to arrange for supplies to be brought to the freed slaves. “Their fate now lies in their own hands.”

Elerian soon returned with Ascilius by his side as well as several wagonloads of provisions and arms. The two companions waited side by side as the freed slaves silently equipped themselves. Despite having been made free men, they all seemed subdued to Elerian, even the Ancharians. There was no laughter or talk among them or even a smile.

“Perhaps their wasted condition and the daunting journey that they face have both affected their mood, reducing them to a melancholy state,” thought Elerian to himself as they formed themselves into a column. Led by those Ancharians experienced in woodcraft, they disappeared into the forest to the west of the Goblin encampment. Elerian had not been apprised of the route that they would follow, but he guessed that they would travel west for a bit before turning south, a course which would take them around the western flank of Celsus and the Goblins who might be lurking there. The Ancharian who had first spoken to Elerian was the last in line.

“Good fortune to you,” said Elerian as he passed by.

“Save your well wishes for yourself,” advised the Ancharian with no hint of gratitude in his voice that Elerian could detect. “My company stands a better chance of returning to Ancharia than you do of ever seeing the walls of Iulius,” he said sardonically before walking away, his haughty bearing more suited to a prince of the realm than a freed slave.

“A pleasant day to you, too,” muttered Ascilius scathingly as the Ancharian disappeared into the forest.

“Not all Ancharians are as unappreciative as that one,” said Elerian to Ascilius, thinking back to his meeting with Tomas many years ago in far off Ancharia.

“Perhaps not, but every one of them that I have ever met has been stiff-necked and proud beyond all reason,” replied Ascilius heatedly as he turned to face Elerian

“Just like Dwarves,” suggested Elerian innocently.

“Exactly,” replied Ascilius. “Wait, I mean no, confound it,” he said indignantly when he noticed the laughter in Elerian’s gray eyes. “Dwarves are proud, with good reason I might add, but we never betrayed our allies to the Goblins in return for some vague promise of immortality. The Ancharians more than deserve all the enmity and misfortune that has befallen them since the Great War,” he concluded in a passionate voice entirely lacking in any sympathy for a race that he intensely disliked. Ascilius suddenly frowned when he realized that Elerian was only half listening.

“What shall we do with this fellow behind you, Ascilius?” asked Elerian suddenly, his bright gaze focused on a point behind the Dwarf’s left shoulder. “I have not met anyone like him before in all of my travels through the Middle Realm.”

THE AFTERMATH

 Ascilius immediately spun around on his left heel and saw that one prisoner had not followed the others. He was short like a Hesperian but had black hair and eyes like an Ancharian. Through the rips in his worn, dirty tunic, his lean body seemed reduced to skin and bones by hunger and toil. Seeing that he now had the attention of both Ascilius and Elerian, the freed slave began to speak in a voice that was both hesitant and apprehensive.

“My name is Triarus, great lords,” he said anxiously in the common tongue, a strange accent giving an odd inflection to his words. “I do not wish to accompany the others south, for my home lies far to the west, over the Murus and close to the great western sea.”

“You are from Tritica, then,” said Ascilius in a kindly voice.

“You know my country, Lord,” replied Triarus happily. “Perhaps you can help me return there.”

“Possibly,” said Ascilius gravely. “For now, you may accompany us on our journey to Iulius. If we reach there alive, I will see what can be done to return you to your homeland. How are things in the west of the world?”

“Not good,” replied Triarus somberly. “It has been years since I was enslaved, but even then the Goblins were growing ever more bold, raiding and killing almost at will. Who knows what things may be like now?”

“Who indeed?” said Ascilius sadly.

Followed by Triarus and Elerian, he walked back to the dike to see what progress had been made on the ramp. When they reached the summit, they found swarms of Dwarves frantically casting dirt and stones into the trench on the far side, intent on building up an incline as quickly as possible so that the Dwarf wagons which were already emerging from the back gate of the city could travel over the barrier. Durio labored among them, carrying stones with the rest.

“There is still much to be done,” said Ascilius worriedly to Elerian when he saw that the ramp had barely risen above the lip of the trench.

“We had best help then,” said Elerian setting aside his shield and helm. Together with Ascilius and Triarus, he labored under the hot sun until early afternoon carrying stones and dirt until the ramp was completed and roughly surfaced with hastily laid flagstones. Covered with grime and sweat, Ascilius paced impatiently back and forth before the back gate of the city until the last Dwarf and wagon emerged. Behind them came the rearguard.

“They are close behind us,” said their captain urgently to Ascilius. “It will not be long before they reach the gate.”

With his own hands, Ascilius closed the gate, sealing its doors with mighty closing spells. Other Dwarf mages sealed the door leading into the hidden tunnel so that it could not be used if the Goblins chanced to discover the hidden passageway. As hundreds of Dwarves began carrying stones from the dike and piling them before the gate, a great, hollow boom sounded from inside the mountain, and the great steel doors of the entryway trembled on their hinges.

“We have taken too long,” said Durio grimly to Ascilius. “The Goblins are already knocking on the gate with their ram. When they break through, we will be trapped between their two forces like a nut in a vise.”

“They will not break through,” said Elerian calmly to Durio before walking with a light, confident step to the nearly invisible crack that marked the point where the two doors of the entryway came together.

“You have taken company with a madman?” muttered Durio caustically to Ascilius. “Is he planning to hold back the enemy’s ram with just his two arms?”

“Watch and you will see,” said Ascilius confidently as Elerian sprang to the top of the low wall the Dwarves had raised up before the gate. Raising his right arm, Elerian pressed the silver ring on his hand up against the thick steel before him. There was another terrific boom from inside the mountain as the Goblin’s great ram crashed against the doors again, but this time, they did not tremble in the least under the terrific blow they had just received. With his third eye, Elerian saw a crimson glow briefly shadow the doors of the gate before flowing into his silver ring which grew warm on his finger as it absorbed the destruction spell.

“Hammer away,” thought Elerian serenely to himself. “Though every last member of your host lends his hand to your ram, you shall not pass these gates while I stand here.”

While continuing to press his ring against the gate, Elerian cast a shape-changing spell with his left hand, spreading a golden cloak over the boulders beneath his feet, the ground under them, and the sheer stone face on either side of the gate. As the spell loosened the physical bonds that held the stone under and around him in its present form, it began to flow like water under Elerian’s direction, forming a low wall about two feet thick that showed not a single seam in all its length. Drawing again on the power being absorbed by his ring from the ram, Elerian then used the hardening spell taught to him by Ascilius to transform the wall into an unbreakable barrier.

“Pile more stone on the wall,” roared Ascilius to the Dwarves around him, all of whom had paused in their labors to watch Elerian. None of them understood how it was being accomplished, but seeing the gate holding firm despite the thunderous impacts of the Goblin ram against the doors, they began to furiously lay more boulders on top of the barrier Elerian had fashioned, watching with mingled wonder and fear as he joined the stones to the glass smooth wall he had created with the power of his magic.

“Build a ramp,” ordered Ascilius as the impenetrable barrier before the gate grew higher. A wide incline of stone immediately began to grow behind Elerian, allowing the Dwarves to continue stacking stones on the magical wall he was constructing beneath his feet.

When the gate finally disappeared behind the barrier of hardened stone that Elerian had joined to the cliff face around the entryway, the pounding of the ram on the other side of the gates faded away. His task accomplished, Elerian walked lightly down the ramp which the Dwarves had constructed, feeling a bit embarrassed by the wild cheers that rose up all around him. His feet no sooner touched the ground than Ascilius ran up to him. After seizing Elerian’s left shoulder with his powerful left hand, he began to pound him exuberantly on his back with the flat of his right hand.

“Hold your thanks!” shouted Elerian as he slipped out of Ascilius’s grasp. “I am beginning to suspect that your congratulatory slaps on the back are no more than a cunning excuse to pummel me.”

“You exaggerate as usual,” said Ascilius cheerfully. “The taps I gave you were mere pats, hardly to be felt by any self respecting Dwarf.”

“In that case, I would hate to receive a blow that you delivered in anger,” replied Elerian dryly.

“Perilous is the fury of a Dwarf,” responded Ascilius complacently. “You would do well to remember that the next time you decide to play one of your pranks on me.”

“My superior wit will best your great muscles any day of the week as I shall prove at the first opportunity,” responded Elerian serenely.

“At it again, I see,” said a deep, sardonic voice.

Elerian looked to his right and found Durio standing there with Tonare sitting by his right knee. The Dwarf favored Elerian with a suspicious, probing look, as if he gazed upon an enemy instead of an ally.

“What do you think of Elerian now, Durio?” asked Ascilius merrily. “The gate behind us will stay closed though the Goblins pound on it with their ram until the snow flies.”

“Your companion has brought us safety but at what price, Ascilius?” replied Durio, refusing to quit his somber mood. “I see a ring on his finger of the kind that brought the Middle Realm to the perilous state that it now enjoys. Will he now set himself up over the Dwarves, emulating Torquatus who lords it over his dark hordes without opposition?”

“What a pleasant life that would be, ordering about cheerful fellows like yourself from dawn to dusk,” Elerian replied sarcastically, his tolerance for the crusty old Dwarf coming to an abrupt end. His gray eyes gleaming with a cold, dangerous light, he looked fearlessly into Durio’s dark, mistrustful eyes. The Dwarf’s face became flushed with anger, but he was interrupted by Tonare before he could make any reply.

“This is not the time for this conversation,” said the dentire in his rough voice. “There are eyes and ears all around us.”

Unnoticed by Durio or Elerian, the Dwarves around them were listening keenly to their exchange while ostensibly reinforcing, with more boulders, the wall of hardened stone that Elerian had created.

“We will talk later in some private place,” said Ascilius brusquely to Durio as he grasped Elerian’s left elbow with his powerful right hand. Leaving the glowering Dwarf to oversee the completion of the barrier before the gate, Ascilius dragged Elerian away, heading for the newly built ramp that led to the summit of the dike.

“You should ignore Durio,” advised Ascilius, letting go of Elerian’s arm when they were out of earshot of the other Dwarves. “Your ring has alarmed him just as it troubled me when you first proposed making it.”

“His reaction to my ring is only the latest annoyance that he has offered me. He is as prickly and irritating as the spines on a chestnut burr, as are most of your countrymen,” said Elerian dryly as he and Ascilius walked up the ramp. A sudden gleam lit his gray eyes. “Are you certain that you are really a Dwarf, Ascilius?” Elerian asked gravely. “You are so unlike most of your brethren that I think you must have some Elf blood in your veins.”

“What a horrible thought,” replied Ascilius, pretending to shudder at the very idea. “It is bad enough that I must associate with you. Sharing your blood line would be unbearable.”

Elerian smiled to himself, basking for a moment in the warm glow of friendship that enveloped him and Ascilius as they walked together. By the time they reached the summit of the ramp, the resentment raised up in his breast by Durio had faded away. Together, he and Ascilius stopped to watch the line of wagons streaming north along the forest road that led to Iulius.

“Strung out like that, the wagons are vulnerable to the Goblins who withdrew into the forest,” commented Elerian to Ascilius.

“That cannot be helped,” replied the Dwarf grimly. “We must run and fight at the same time, for the Goblins inside Galenus will march over the western flank of Celsus once they discover that they cannot breach the back gate. My people will be in dire straits if we do not reach Iulius ahead of them.”

Suddenly, from deep within the forest to the north, Elerian and Ascilius both heard the doleful howls of Goblin hounds.

“What will the night bring?” wondered Elerian to himself, thinking of all the Dwarf wagons traveling through the forest with only a thin line of warriors to keep them safe.

“I am going to scout the forest for a bit,” he said abruptly to Ascilius. “Perhaps I can discover what the Goblins are up to.”

“Do not go far,” warned Ascilius, but Elerian was already racing lightly down the side of the dike. Under Ascilius’s disapproving eyes, he slipped away into the forest to the west of the Goblin camp.

Surprisingly, Elerian found the wood deserted. The great trees were still and brooding, as if waiting to see what the final outcome would be of the battle between the Goblins and the Dwarves. Walking lightly through one ancient grove after another, Elerian eventually came to a small, clear stream where he paused to drink, wondering that he had not noticed his great thirst before this. Then, as he was washing off the stains of battle in a shallow pool with a gravel bottom, he suddenly heard an almost inaudible footfall, warning him that something was approaching from out of the west. Calling his silver ring to his hand, he instantly disappeared. Retreating into the branches of a nearby oak, he waited to see what came his way.

A coal black canigrae appeared first, its eyes gleaming crimson in the dim light under the trees as it snuffled at the leaf covered ground with wet nostrils. It was followed by a tall Uruc dressed in black mail. His eyes took on a scarlet glow like those of his hound when it whined eagerly after catching Elerian’s scent on the far bank of the stream. The canigrae raised its shaggy head, staring alertly at the branch overhead where Elerian stood, every sense alert for danger.

“I know you are there,” said the Uruc in a soft, cruel voice as he, too, looked up into the tree. “Come down. I have come alone for I wish to talk not fight.”

“Who are you and what do you want with me?” asked Elerian warily.

“My name is Zaleuc, and I command all of the Goblin forces on this side of Celsus,” replied the Uruc cordially. “You saw me before on the hillock when you repelled my destruction spell. When my spies informed me that you had entered the forest, I came at once to parley with you.”

“Why would you wish to talk to me?” asked Elerian suspiciously. “I have no authority among the Dwarves.”

“You have aroused my curiosity,” replied the Uruc languidly, “for I know that you are not the human you pretend to be.”

“You are mistaken in your conjecture,” replied Elerian, determined not to give away any information to the Goblin. “I am only a man with modest mage powers.”

“A human cannot use magic without a staff to assist him,” replied Zaleuc in an amused voice. “Why not show yourself to me. I have come alone and mean you no harm.”

Common sense warned Elerian that he ought not to treat with Zaleuc, but curiosity kept him where he was. Sending away his ring, he appeared before the Uruc in his illusory human form.

He does not have the gift of mage sight,” thought Elerian to himself as disappointment raised a frown on the Goblin’s narrow, pale face.