The Hidden Realm: Book 04 - Ennodius (2 page)

“They seem quite anxious to try a taste of Dwarf,” observed Elerian cheerfully.

“They will have to wait for some other day then,” said Ascilius crossly as he encouraged his mare to seek safer surroundings with a twitch of his reins. He relapsed into his former silence, riding with his head down, a gloomy expression on his face.

Elerian sighed softly, his brief moment of good humor evaporating like dew under a strong sun. Given Ascilius’s uncertain temper and his own depressing thoughts, this was shaping up to be a most tedious journey.

Since Ascilius seemed determined to ignore his surroundings, Elerian resumed his careful observation of open pastures around them. An hour's ride north of the valley, Enias suddenly pricked up his ears, and Ascilius’s mare tossed her head, whickering softly. In the distance, off to his left, Elerian’s farsighted eyes picked out the tiny figures of a small band of running horses, the bright sun shining on their sleek, pale gray coats. They were running easily but with great speed, reminding Elerian of a flock of seabirds as they wheeled toward him and Enias, skimming lightly over a sea of undulating grass.

“It passes understanding how the Tarsi can fail to appreciate the beauty and strength inherent in these Merghi,” observed Elerian to Ascilius.

The Dwarf looked up and saw the approaching herd.

“Each race sees the world through different eyes, valuing different qualities,” he replied tonelessly. “During the reign of the last Ancharian king, Dwarves were exhibited in cages, tormented by mobs which regarded them as misshapen aberrations of nature worthy only of their scorn and ridicule.”

“I had not heard that before,” said Elerian, feeling both sad and repulsed. “In Hesperia, Dwarves are held in high esteem.”

He fell silent then, for the Merghi were now only a few hundred yards away.

“It is unheard of to see Merghi this close,” said Ascilius in a surprised voice.

“No doubt they recognize Enias as one of their own,” replied Elerian as the gray horses slowed and stopped, excitedly tossing their silky manes and stamping their long, slender legs as they examined the two companions and their mounts with curious amethyst eyes.

Enias and Ascilius’s mare also halted, both of them whickering softly and flaring their nostrils. The handsome gray stallion leading the herd and Enias began calling back and forth to each other in high, silvery voices, causing Elerian to wonder what speech was passing between them.

“Are they calling for him to join their herd?” he wondered to himself. “You may go with them my friend if that is your wish,” was his silent thought to Enias. “You have done more than enough for me.”

If the leader of the Merghi had indeed extended an invitation to Enias, he seemed disinclined to accept it, for he remained where he was, sending no thought to Elerian that he wished to rejoin his wild brethren.

The gray stallion gave a final clarion call, perhaps a last invitation to Enias or perhaps a blessing on one of his own who followed a different path for now. Then, like an arrow sped from a bow, he suddenly resumed his fleet journey south. His herd followed in his footsteps, their silvery manes and tails streaming out behind them in the wind of their passage, their neat hooves making almost no noise, as if they pressed only lightly against the green turf beneath them.

“The Merghi are wiser than we are,” said Ascilius sinking back into the gloomy frame of mind from which he had briefly emerged. “They flee from the dragon while we seek her out. Follow them Elerian,” he said forcefully. “It will lift a heavy burden from my heart. I fear this may be my last journey, and I would not have you perish with me. There is no longer any need for you to accompany me to Ennodius, for I have already taught you the secrets of the red mage fire. Anthea will not remember me with kindness if you do not return to her.”

“So,” thought Elerian to himself. “Here is the reason for his melancholy mood, revealed at last.” He was touched by Ascilius’s concern for his safety, but he was also surprised by it, for he had thought this matter settled between them.

“Even if her father allowed me to return without any treasure, Anthea would be the first to urge me not to leave your side if she were here to speak her mind,” Elerian reminded Ascilius. “If I returned to Tarsius now, leaving you to face the dragon alone, she would not welcome me and rightly so. Having been a false friend to you, how could she trust me to behave otherwise toward her?”

Although Ascilius could not argue the truth of Elerian’s words, he was not yet ready to abandon his argument.

“Wait for me at the border of Tarsius, then,” he urged. “If I am successful in my adventure, I will rejoin you later with treasure for your bride price.”

“I would die of boredom without your antics to amuse me,” observed Elerian, hoping that a bit of humor would restore Ascilius to himself and perhaps stir up a bit of an argument to enliven their journey.

“I am trying to save your life, and all you can do is play the fool,” shouted Ascilius angrily in response to the quip.

“I am not leaving, no matter what you say,” replied Elerian, a flash of anger heating his blood. A hard gleam, which Ascilius had come to regard as a warning sign of trouble to come, appeared in his clear gray eyes. “Furthermore, if you shout at me again, I will turn you into a boar and drop you into the next pride of lions that I come across.”

The two companions glared at each other for a moment in silence, but it was the Dwarf who turned away first. Elerian might be joking or he might be entirely serious. One never knew. Having been turned unwillingly into a boar during their escape from Nefandus, Ascilius had no wish to repeat the experience a second time, especially with a pack of lions snapping at his heels.

“I wash my hands of you then,” he growled. “When you are roasting in the dragon’s fire, remember that it was your own doing, not mine.”

“I have no intention of roasting in any fire,” said Elerian calmly. “Have you lost all confidence in me? Were you being dishonest when you told Orianus that I was a crafty fellow who would help you reach Ennodius in spite of the dragon?”

“That was spoken in a moment of bluster fueled by too much drink,” said Ascilius awkwardly. “I have had time to reflect since then, and I now agree with Orianus. This is a fool’s errand. I cannot abandon it because I must discover what happened in Ennodius, even if I lose my life in the process, but there is no need for you to die with me. Find your treasure in some other safer place.”

Ascilius lapsed once more into a somber, stubborn silence.

“I should know better than to argue with a Dwarf,” thought Elerian to himself. Now that he knew the source of Ascilius’s dark mood, he ignored his surly companion, thinking instead of Anthea. Before long, he began to sing softly to himself, in a clear voice, the last song that he and Anthea had sung together. Without slackening their pace, the two horses swiveled their neat, oval ears back to take in the sound of his voice. Ascilius listened, too, feeling some of his dark mood lift with the notes of the light air that Elerian sang.

A SOMBER RETURN

Far to the south of Ascilius and Elerian, Orianus and his company had already reached the crest of the pass over the Nordaels. Only the southern slopes of the mountains now separated them from their war camp. In the van of the company, the King and his daughter rode alone, side by side. Orianus swept his restless gaze over the company behind him and frowned, for Merula, the captain of his personal guard, was nowhere to be seen.

“Perhaps he had some business to attend to,” thought Orianus to himself as he cast a sidelong glance at Anthea.

He looked away again, disappointed, for her fair face still wore the same reserved and distant expression that had troubled Elerian when they had parted that morning. Anthea’s calm demeanor was only a pretense, however, to hide her inner turmoil. Only by acting withdrawn and remote that morning had she kept herself from riding off with Elerian in defiance of her father’s wish that she wait for him to return to Tarsius with the treasure that he needed for her bride price. An embrace, a kiss, even a touch of the hand would have shattered her resolve to obey her father. Even now, used to doing as she wished since a young age, Anthea had to exert all her will to avoid giving into the urge to turn her mare around, following Elerian north into whatever destiny awaited him in Ennodius.

“You must be sensible,” her mind argued as she rode effortlessly by her father’s side. “Wait for him as you promised. At most, he will be gone only a few weeks, for Ennodius is not far from the northern border. It would wound father to the heart if you left against his wishes, making a poor start to the life that you would make for yourself and Elerian.”

“What if he does not return?” whispered Anthea’s heart, giving voice to her most secret fear. “Father has made it plain that he does not expect Elerian and Ascilius to survive this adventure. If he is right then it would be better to join Elerian now, spending what time we have left, together. Better to perish with him than to live on in a world that will seem dull and dark without him.”

Despite the bright afternoon sunshine and the fair company riding behind her, the world suddenly seemed a drab, bleak place to Anthea, riding with downcast eyes so that no one might know her tumultuous thoughts.

Riding beside his silent daughter, Orianus was equally troubled. He was certain that he had looked upon Ascilius and Elerian for the last time that morning and felt saddened by the impending loss of two worthy companions who had played an important part in saving his kingdom and children from the Goblins.

“Ascilius would have done better to leave the dragon undisturbed,” he thought sadly to himself.

During the last year, the hardy scouts he had sent north to spy on his dangerous neighbor had returned with many firsthand reports of the dragon's enormous strength and ferocity. They had assured him that even an army of warriors would not be sufficient to overcome the beast. Orianus was certain in his mind that Ascilius and Elerian would be discovered and consumed long before they even came within sight of Ennodius.

“They will die for no good reason,” he thought to himself. “If any Dwarves survived the dragon’s sack of Ennodius, they will have already have fled to Galenus. Their treasure will have become the creature’s golden bed, forever beyond the reach of any Dwarf’s hands. It would have been better for Ascilius to acknowledge this, leaving the dragon undisturbed. Its stolen treasure will eventually exert a soporific effect upon the great wyrm. Left alone, it will trouble no one, instead falling asleep for longer and longer periods of time that will eventually stretch into centuries.”

Orianus looked again at his daughter riding so straight and slim beside him on his right. Anthea’s composed, distant face still gave him no clue to her thoughts.

“How will Elerian’s death affect her, I wonder?” he silently asked himself. “Will she hold me responsible? The charge I laid upon Elerian was fair,” he reassured himself. “He might have sought for treasure elsewhere rather than accompany Ascilius on this ill-fated journey.”

“Forget him, Anthea,” Orianus suddenly implored his daughter, his voice muted so that it would only carry to her ears. “You must accept that Elerian will never return from this mad adventure, for the dragon is an enemy beyond his power to deal with. Choose some other from among my worthy warriors and live the life that you were born into. I would not see you forever sad and alone.”

“I can never forget him,” said Anthea softly without turning her head or lifting up her eyes. “If for some reason he does not return, then I will leave Tarsius, for I feel I no longer have any part in the world of men.”

Anthea’s words sent a chill through Orianus’s heart. Because of the illusion which disguised her, he was still unaware of the changes which had occurred in his daughter, making her more Elf than human.

“Your place is here with your people, Anthea,” he said sternly, but he got no answer. For him, too, the bright afternoon was filtered through the lens of somber emotions as he rode next to his silent daughter toward the war camp below. Turning his restless gaze behind him again, Orianus saw that Merula had reappeared again, the captain of his guard signaling with a wave of his right hand that all was well.

Through the evening hours, the small company led by Orianus continued to descend the steep slopes before them, maintaining a steady pace on the winding, turf-covered road that led down the mountainside, for Orianus was anxious to return to his war camp in the valley below. Slowed by the deliberate pace of the oxen, the supply wagons, which followed the company, fell farther and farther behind, but Orianus paid them no mind. They would arrive at the camp in their own good time.

Behind the king and his daughter, the fair company of men and women who followed them was mostly silent. The singing and good humor which had marked the journey north were absent now, as if the sober mood of the king and his daughter had spread to the rest of the troupe. The only sounds were the distant chime of the silver bells on the harnesses of the oxen and the muffled clop of the horses’ hooves on the turf covered road.

The shadows were lengthening when the company finally rode into the war camp. Anthea ignored the crowds that gathered to greet Orianus. Leaving his side, she took a less crowded route through the camp, arriving by herself at the royal pavilion in the center of the encampment. Throwing her mare’s reins to a startled attendant, she fled inside the tent with the crystal bowl Elerian had given her father as a parting gift.

Taking the bowl from its soft leather bag with eager hands, she set it on the small table of polished ebony that stood by the entrance. Carefully, she filled the basin with clear water from a silver pitcher that sat on the table. At the touch of the long, slender fingers of her right hand, the water in the bowl turned an opaque silver color. Leaning over the basin, Anthea silently commanded the portal to show her the northern plains where Elerian and Ascilius would be riding now.

The liquid in the basin cleared. As if she was standing on a great height looking down, Anthea saw an endless vista of green, rippling grass in the depths of the bowl. Anxiously, she examined the empty landscape for any sign of Elerian or Ascilius. Seeing no evidence of their presence, she cast her thoughts farther north. In response to her command, miles of open plains streamed by under the portal, as if it had taken flight. Still, no riders appeared nor was there any mark in the verdant pastures below to indicate that anyone on horseback had passed that way. Apprehension and surprise darkened Anthea’s blue eyes until they were almost black.

“They cannot have ridden so far yet,” she thought to herself uneasily. “What can have happened to them?”

Involuntarily, her slender fingers trembled violently against the side of the bowl. Ripples blurred the surface of the portal, and some of the clear liquid inside spilled over the rim, running over her hand in heavy, gleaming drops. Stepping away from the basin, Anthea stripped the illusion spell from the silver ring on her left hand and was reassured when she saw that the ruby mounted on it still pulsed with a deep crimson light.

“My ring tells me that he is still alive,” thought Anthea to herself. “I can only wait now and hope that it conveys a true message that will not cheat my hopes.”

With a sigh, she restored the illusion which normally masked the ring. Thus far, she had kept its existence secret, even from her father. At that moment, Orianus walked in through the entranceway to the pavilion. Seeing his daughter standing at the ebony table with the crystal basin before her, he guessed at once what she had been about.

“What did you see in the portal, daughter?” he asked quietly.

“I saw nothing but empty plains,” replied Anthea, her face giving no hint of her thoughts as she stared into the opaque liquid that now filled the basin. “I have searched everywhere, but Elerian and Ascilius are nowhere to be found. It may be, however, that they have only vanished from the sight of men by means of Elerian’s ring. Enias treads lightly on the earth, and the mare Ascilius rides is neat footed. Neither one of the pair would leave much sign on the thick turf that covers the plains at this time of year.”

“Ascilius should never have attempted this adventure,” said Orianus sadly as Anthea drained the water from the bowl back into the silver pitcher before returning the basin to its leather covering. “It cannot end well for him or Elerian.”

“Ascilius did what he was bound to do,” said Anthea, turning to face her father with an unwavering look in her blue eyes. “A king does not abandon his people, and a true friend does not abandon his companions. Elerian would have accompanied Ascilius even if you had not charged him with bringing you a bride price.” Her eyes glowed suddenly with a mixture of pride and sadness. “If he returns to me, I will have a brave, steadfast companion who will stand by my side though the world come tumbling down around us.”

“He will not return,” said Orianus, frustration tingeing his voice with anger, as if by the force of his words alone, he could make his daughter accept that reality.

Almost, Anthea was tempted to reveal her ring to her father, but something held her back. It was the wellspring of her hope, and for now, she preferred to keep it private.

“I will hold on to my belief that he will return,” said Anthea firmly.

Unaware of the magic ring Anthea wore on her left hand, Orianus was baffled by his daughter’s stubborn refusal to accept that Elerian was most likely already dead. Now that she faced him directly, he noticed for the first time that her eyes had gained an endless depth. There was a remoteness in them now that disturbed him. It suddenly seemed to him that a gulf, which he could not bridge, had opened up between him and his daughter.

“I may have lost her forever whether Elerian returns or not,” he thought to himself, his spirit suddenly overcome by a deep melancholy, for she was the image of her mother, now long dead but still dear to his heart.

“Now, more than ever, I think it best that we return to the safety of Niveaus,” he said quietly to Anthea, his voice full of yearning which gave witness to his longing to see the white towers of his city once more. “Safe behind her walls, we can enjoy the peace we have won with the strength of our arms.”

Orianus left unspoken his hope that, once in Niveaus, Anthea’s thoughts might still turn away from Elerian.

“With time, she may forget him,” he thought to himself. “There are many young lords among my men, fair of face and valiant in arms. They will flock to her side once we return to Niveaus. One of them could still win her heart and make her forget the Eirian. I hold no grudge against him, but I must do what is best for my daughter.”

Anthea's clear voice suddenly broke into his thoughts. Her eyes had taken on a distant look, as if she gazed on a scene visible only to her eyes, and on her breast, the silver beech leaf she wore blazed with a light of its own.

“It will be a temporary peace,” she said quietly. “A storm is coming, and no strong place will keep it out for ever, not even the walls of Niveaus. It will spill out of the West like a dark storm, sweeping away all that stands before it!”

“You are overwrought, Anthea!” said Orianus, alarmed at his daughter’s mood. “Take a glass of wine and retire for the night, for we will depart from this place at sunrise tomorrow.”

Anthea seemed to come back to herself from some far place. The weariness and concern in her father’s voice touched her deeply, but she felt strangely isolated from him.

“The change that Elerian wrought in me continues,” she thought to herself.

Turning away from her father without speaking, she passed silently through the curtains which divided her quarters from the rest of the tent, leaving her father in a mood to quit the war camp as soon as possible. Calling an attendant, he gave the order to strike the tents at dawn, for Anthea's words had only increased his determination to return to Niveaus as soon as possible. A strong force would remain behind to guard Silanus and the western border, but he no longer felt it necessary to remain here with so great a force as before now that the Goblins and the Ancharians were scattered or destroyed. He was certain, too, that the crystal bowl given to him by Elerian would give him sufficient warning if Torquatus were to gather another army on his borders.

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.