The Hidden Realm: Book 04 - Ennodius (12 page)

“What would have happened to me then?” asked Elerian in an alarmed voice. 

“A septilire carries a possession spell,” said Ascilius. “Once that dark blade entered your heart, it would have destroyed your will and denied you the use of your magic. You would have become an unresisting slave for Torquatus to torment, aware of all that was done to you but powerless to prevent it.”

Elerian now understood the look of triumph he had seen on the Goblin king's face when he closed the portal. Torquatus had expected the septilire to overcome him, as it most certainly would have if Ascilius had not been on hand to help him.

“It would be much safer for Torquatus to destroy me and to have done with any threat I might pose to him,” said Elerian in a puzzled tone. “Why take the risk of trying to capture me?”

“You have thwarted his plans,” said Ascilius darkly. “For that, he will never forgive you or forget you. It would give him never-ending delight to subject you to endless and varied torments for the trouble you have caused him.”

“One of us must die then,” said Elerian grimly. “I will not spend the rest of my life hiding and running from him.”

“For now, that is the only course of action open to us,” said Ascilius glumly.

Elerian turned to the body of Malevolus. “How do you come to know this Uruc,” he asked Ascilius.

“Malevolus and I have been enemies for many years,” replied Ascilius. “He and I faced each other more than once during the siege of Calenus. Later, when I was a captive in the mines, he often came to mock me, but I have had my revenge on him at last. He is the second of the six great Goblin mages who serve Torquatus to meet his death at our hands. His loss and the death of four Urucs will whip Torquatus into a fine fury,” said Ascilius in a pleased voice.

Elerian stared thoughtfully at the shattered visage of the Goblin mage. “Malevolus may not be dead, Ascilius,” he said quietly. “After you struck him with your ax, I saw a red shade leave his body and leap through the portal Torquatus opened.”

“Are you certain, Elerian?” asked Ascilius doubtfully. “Perhaps the pain from the septilire made you imagine that you saw such a thing.”

“It was real,” said Elerian firmly. “I have seen something similar before,” he said with a shudder as he thought back to his struggle with the shade of Drusus, and the shades which had fed on his fellow prisoners during the long march across Fimbria many years ago.

“Well, we will have to worry about that another time, then,” said Ascilius. Turning away from the body of Malevolus, he began walking toward the wood where their packs and his mare awaited them. It was a measure of the Dwarf’s hatred for the Goblins that he left the gold and jewels they wore behind.

“Let it lie here until their bones become dust,” he thought to himself.

As Elerian followed Ascilius back to their camp, he felt strangely comforted despite the wounds he had suffered and the desperate battle he and Ascilius had just waged against the Urucs.

“Torquatus has missed another opportunity to kill or capture me,” he thought to himself. “I begin to think that it was more than chance alone that had me step out of the willow grove at the very moment that his servants arrived through the portal. It would be comforting to think that there is another power arrayed against the Goblin King, impeding his dark designs where it can.”

THE PURSUIT

When Torquatus saw Ascilius fly backward after striking Malevolus, he assumed that the Dwarf was dead or badly injured, for one did not strike down a mage of Malevolus’s caliber with impunity. He was also certain that Elerian was finished, for he had seen Malevolus dragging him toward the portal, which could only mean that the mage had succeeded in planting the septilire in the half Elf.

“Rather than risk injury to myself, I will return later to deal with the Merghi that guards the half blood,” thought Torquatus to himself as the shade of Malevolus slipped through the portal. “A poisoned arrow will suffice to eliminate the creature. By then his master will be under my control, for alone, he will never defeat the septilire that is even now undoubtedly boring through his flesh. May his torments be great,” thought Torquatus to himself,” with a cruel smile as he closed his portal.

Torquatus was not entirely unhappy with the outcome of the battle, for he considered the loss of four members of his personal guard a fair exchange for the destruction of his two chief enemies. As for Malevolus, the Goblin king took a wicked delight in his condition, for Malevolus had been transformed from a dangerous rival to a useful tool. Unless he received either a new body or infusions of power at regular intervals, the mage would fade and eventually perish. His continued survival now depended on staying within the good graces of his king.

The Goblin king turned to the crimson shade of Malevolus, which he could see quite clearly with his third eye. Because shades could not hear, Torquatus extended a thin, scarlet tendril from his own shade, lengthening it until it contacted the shade of Malevolus. Through this thread, he projected his thoughts into the newly formed wraith standing before him.

“Well Malevolus, what shall I do with you now that you have let the Dwarf get the better of you?” was Torquatus’s first amused thought. “Shall I set you to guard some hidden treasure of mine? Perhaps you would prefer to haunt one of the tombs of Men instead, venturing out at night to steal away the strength of the living when they are asleep.”

“My lord, help me,” pleaded Malevolus, sending back his thoughts through the same channel Torquatus had used. “I have done all that you asked. The Hesperian will soon be in your power. Give me another body, and I will continue to serve you most faithfully.”

Seating himself on his throne, Torquatus stroked his chin thoughtfully with his right hand as he considered Malevolus’s anxious plea for help. A cruel smile twisted the Dark King’s thin lips as he considered the sport that might be had from the desperate situation Malevolus now found himself in. Calling for Valgus, Torquatus whispered some instructions into the ear of the captain of his guards. The Goblin left the chamber, returning a short time later.

Valgus now carried a crossbow and a quiver full of steel quarrels, their sharp tips smeared with a black, viscous poison. Behind him walked two prisoners bound in chains. One of the two captives was a tall, young Uruc who had displeased Torquatus and was awaiting his sentence. The other prisoner was a spadix from the western border of Nefandus, captured and brought to Torquatus for his amusement. Barely four feet tall, the creature stood on two legs but was equally able to go about on all fours. Brown, brindled fur covered it from its head to its short, stubby tail. Its head appeared a bit large for its body, with long, upstanding furry ears, pointed but drooping down at the tips. The yellow eyes in its rounded face had slit pupils like a cat, and when it snarled soundlessly at its captors, it revealed a mouthful of long, needle pointed teeth. For all that it looked like a beast; there was a feral intelligence in its eyes, which continually darted around the room looking for some avenue of escape.

 Hard on the heels of the prisoners walked six Urucs, all of them heavily armed and wearing the mark of a black goblin's skull on their left wrist.

“Look well on these two prisoners,” said Torquatus silently to Malevolus. “If, when I reopen my portal, I find that the Hesperian is now my slave, this fine new body will be yours,” he said, pointing to the terrified young Uruc. “If you have failed me, I will confine your shade in the body of the spadix!”

“I have not failed you,” Malevolus confidently assured Torquatus. “No one has ever escaped from a septilire fairly planted in their body.”

Judging that enough time had elapsed for the septilire to reach the half Elf’s heart, Torquatus drew on the power of the silver ring he wore on his right hand, sketching a fiery circle in the air before him with his right hand. The crimson outline of the portal, which was about three feet across, was visible only to Torquatus and Malevolus. Valgus, his crossbow now loaded with a quarrel, and three of the guards positioned themselves to the right of Torquatus. After the interior of the portal cleared, Torquatus looked expectantly through the opening. Strain as they might, his eager eyes saw only the still figures of his hunting party, slain by Elerian and Ascilius, lying on the darkened plain. The half blood and his companion Dwarf were nowhere to be seen. Somehow, the pair had escaped him again. His face black with anger, Torquatus closed his portal and turned to face Malevolus, who began to scream silently as he realized what his fate was to be.

By the time Torquatus closed his second portal, Elerian and Ascilius were already several miles away from the scene of their battle Torquatus’s minions, riding their horses at a rapid trot north through the willow wood growing along the banks of the Catalus. Far behind him, Elerian’s sharp ears suddenly heard the sound of howling.

“There are canigrae on our track,” he warned Ascilius before silently urging Enias into a smooth gallop, Ascilius’s mare following on the stallion’s heels without any urging from the Dwarf.

“Torquatus must have reopened his portal and set them on our track,” thought Elerian to himself. “I must think of a ruse soon to throw them off our trail or they will overtake us before long.”

No stratagem came to Elerian’s mind until, two miles farther north, the horses reached the banks of a small, unnamed stream that flowed out of the east, crossing their path before flowing into the Catalus.

“This will do splendidly,” thought Elerian to himself.

“Let us use this stream to lay down a false trail,” he said to Ascilius, who was listening nervously to the eager howls of their pursuers, trying to gage how far away they were now.

“We will squander our lead,” warned Ascilius worriedly, but he followed Elerian out of the willow wood without further argument. Staying to the right of the stream, they followed it east onto the plains until Elerian was satisfied they had gone far enough. Elerian then guided Enias into the shallow brook, Ascilius’s mare following close behind the stallion. Reversing course, the two companions followed the waterway back to the Catalus.

“This will be a near thing,” muttered Ascilius to himself as the horses trotted through the clear water, their hooves throwing up fountains of spray that soaked their riders to the waist. To the south, he could hear the canigrae clearly now.

“They cannot be more than a half mile away,” fretted Ascilius to himself. In front of him Elerian rode gracefully on Enias as if he had not a care in the world. “He has ice water in his veins,” thought Ascilius to himself. Casting his mind back over their previous adventures, he realized that he could not recall a single time where he had seen Elerian become flustered in a dangerous situation.

Elerian’s confidence proved justified, for he and Ascilius reached the Catalus ahead of the canigrae. Without leaving the water, they rode into the river before turning the horses north, riding through the shallow water near the eastern bank. Elerian was certain the false trail they had left behind would lead the canigrae astray, at least for a little while.

“By the time they and their masters puzzle things out, Ascilius and I will have gone to ground in some safe place where we can wait for sunrise,” he thought confidently to himself.

As he rode, Elerian followed the sounds of the pursuit behind them with his sharp ears. The Goblins appeared to have forgone any attempt at stealth, for he now heard the harsh bray of a Goblin horn as well as the excited baying of the canigrae. As he had expected, the Goblin hounds left the Catalus, traveling east to follow the false trail he and Ascilius had laid down along the bank of the stream. Eventually, there came a period of time when the baying became stationary as the canigrae milled around on the plain when they came to the end of the trail. Eventually, Elerian heard the horns bray again. The baying and howling of the canigrae became louder again as the pack swept back toward the Catalus.

“The Goblins must have decided to look along the Catalus,” thought Elerian to himself, disappointed that his ploy had not bought them more time. Suddenly, there was nothing but silence behind them. “They have reached the river,” thought Elerian to himself. “Will they decide to follow it north, I wonder?”

By now, he and Ascilius had reached a stretch of the river where the current was not so swift. As an added precaution, Elerian decided to cross over to the far bank. After a bit of argument, he finally convinced Ascilius to follow him. Elerian slipped smoothly through the water beside Enias as the stallion swam across the river, but Ascilius clung desperately to his mare’s saddle with both hands, letting her drag him along.

“I hope the results of your ruse justify the soaking we have received,” grumbled the Dwarf when they emerged from the river into the shallows along the west bank. Rivulets of water ran down his beard and mustache, and his leather armor was black and sopping wet from the water it had absorbed.

“Swimming the river will set anyone following us a fine puzzle,” replied Elerian, “but it would still be prudent to put more distance between us and our pursuers.” Behind them, along the east bank of the river, he still heard only silence, but he was not reassured. The canigrae and their masters might still be following them, the Goblin hounds running silent now that they had no scent trail to follow.

In single file, with the Elerian leading, the two companions rode north along the west bank of the Catalus, the horses wading through the shallow stretches and swimming the deeper places. An hour had passed when Ascilius suddenly reined in his mare.

“We should go to ground in some safe place here on the west bank,” he said wearily to Elerian. “Even if Torquatus himself is on our track, I must still rest.”

Soaked to the skin and shivering from the constant spray of cold river water thrown up by the horses’ hooves, Ascilius felt as if he had come to the end of his strength. His calf ached where the atrior had savaged it, and his head felt as if it had taken a blow from a hammer, the result of his ax stroke against Malevolus.

“Let us stop then,” agreed Elerian who was also weary.

Turning their horse to their left, the two companions distanced themselves from the bank of the river, finally seeking refuge under the drooping branches of a large willow. In this space, resembling a large green cave, they wrapped themselves in their cloaks and ate a late dinner of bread and cheese, holding themselves ready to run if they were discovered. The horses grazed nearby while they ate. Enias roamed free, but Ascilius had tethered the mare.

After their meal was done, Elerian took the time to heal everyone’s wounds more completely, but the effort left him visibly exhausted.

“There is still no sound of any pursuit,” said Ascilius when Elerian was done. “Since neither of us is in any shape to go on, we may as well spend the night here. I will take the first watch,” he concluded firmly, judging that Elerian was in the greatest need of sleep.

Completely exhausted, Elerian wrapped himself in his cloak and blankets without argument, lying down on the soft grass at the base of the willow which sheltered them. He fell at once into an uncharacteristic deep sleep.

Wrapped in his hooded cloak, Ascilius walked to the edge of the river. He wondered if Elerian's woodcraft would continue to foil the Goblins who were surely hunting for them on the far side of the Catalus.

“The problem is that Torquatus knows we are bound for Ennodius,” he thought dourly to himself. “Our pursuers will know that they need only continue north until they find us again.”

With a tired sigh, Ascilius sat down with his back against the rough bark of one of the willows growing on the bank of the river, his dark cloak blending into its trunk and making him nearly invisible in the darkness. He settled himself to wait, keeping close watch on the east bank through a gap in the drooping willow branches in front of him, listening intently for any sound or sign that the canigrae and their masters were drawing near. Time passed slowly, but the night remained still and empty except for the gentle plashing of the smooth running waters of the river. Weighed down by fatigue and lack of sleep, Ascilius’s eyelids grew heavier and heavier, slowly drooping down until they were closed. His bearded chin sank down onto his broad chest and his breathing grew deeper as he sank deep into an exhausted slumber.