The Quest (The Hidden Realm Book 5) (3 page)

“What a nuisance,” he thought to himself as he then struggled to secure the end of the invisible cord to a small fir growing from a deep crevice in the cliff face. When he finally tied a knot that satisfied him, he turned to where he thought Elerian was standing, blindly holding out the coils of the cord. As Elerian’s invisible hand took the rope from his fingers, there was a sudden cry from one of the mutare. Starting at the noise, which was half shout and half bestial roar, Elerian and Ascilius both looked toward the crest of the pass. Rising up before the sentries, outlined by golden sunshine, were the heads and shoulders of a lone Tarsian rider and four steeds, three of them bearing no burden on their backs. Sword drawn and shield raised, the rider bore down on the line of guards in a thunder of hooves.

“Anthea!” thought Elerian to himself in dismay, for who else could it be? “She must have ridden like a storm out of the east to reach the pass in so little time.” Consumed by a desire to come to her aid before it was too late, he hastily cast the rope over the rim of the ledge. Before the last coil of the cord struck the ground, he slipped off the ledge, both long hands wrapped around the thin line. His palms stung, heated by friction until, ten feet from the ground, he relaxed his grip, dropping the rest of the way.

As Elerian landed lightly on the stony floor of the gorge, the Tarsian reached the line of changelings, felling one of them with a mighty sword stroke that split the mutare’s wolf like head down to his long jaws. On either side of the rider the spare horses, well trained in the arts of war, reared and struck out with iron-shod hooves, but the snarling, howling pack of mutare who swarmed around them made difficult targets. Avoiding sword and hooves, they darted in and out, hoping to hamstring the horses so that they might bring down the rider.

“A brave effort, but the enemy are too many and too quick for her sword,” thought Elerian grimly to himself as he dropped his saddlebags, pack, and shield onto the ground. “It is only a matter of time before they pull her from her saddle and tear her to bits.”

Drawing Acris with his right hand and Rasor with his left, he raced up the road with long, swift strides, falling first upon the Mordi who thought to protect themselves by standing behind their changeling allies. His invisible knife and sword flicked right and left, each quick stroke taking a deadly toll on the Goblins. Before the last of their lifeless bodies touched the ground, Elerian fell fiercely on the hairy mutare massed in front of him. Preoccupied with their attack on the rider, they did not become aware of him until they began to fall like tall grass before a scythe. Confused and dismayed at being suddenly caught between an invisible enemy and the sword and horses of the Tarsi, they faltered, for none of them had tasted blood yet. With their fierce, bestial side still dormant, self-preservation became their primary concern. Seeing that the whips of their drivers were silent, the survivors of the melee suddenly broke off their attack. Casting aside their weapons, they fled down the road on all fours, bounding to either side of Elerian whom they could smell even if they could not see him.

The changelings did not get far, however, for consumed with anxiety lest Elerian and Anthea slay all of the enemy before he could even join the fray, Ascilius had also swarmed down the rope hanging from the ledge. Fierce as a lion, he leaped among the fleeing mutare, swinging Fulmen left and right, while thrusting with his shield to spill the enemy off their feet so that he could crush their helms and skulls with his hammer at his leisure. Only one mutare escaped him, avoiding Fulmen’s gleaming head by a whisker. Springing away in enormous bounds, he raced down the road as if dragon fire was licking at his heels.

When he saw that all of the sentries were slain or fled, Elerian sent away his ring. Visible once more, his gray eyes still alight with the glow engendered by the brief battle, he turned toward the rider, equal parts of anticipation and annoyance flooding through him. While delighted to have Anthea by his side again, he was also angry at her reckless behavior which would certainly have resulted in her death if he and Ascilius had not been nearby. Shading his eyes from the glare of the rising sun with his left hand, he was about to call out a greeting, but the words forming on his lips to greet his beloved died stillborn. For the first time, he noticed that the rider’s form was too robust to be that of Anthea.

“It is not her,” Elerian thought to himself, disappointment and confusion replacing his elation when the rider pulled off his helmet, exposing tousled black hair and a haggard, handsome face.

“Dacien!” thought Elerian to himself in surprise. “What sad turn of events put that melancholy look into his eyes? Has some misfortune overtaken Anthea?” he wondered apprehensively.

“Greetings Elerian,” said Dacien wearily. “Are you here in this place by chance or by design?”

“I am here by chance only, Dacien,” replied Elerian quietly. “Ascilius and I were planning to return to Tarsius today along the north road of the Dwarves.”

“You say coincidence brought you here, but I cannot help but wonder if it may be more than that,” said Dacien thoughtfully. “My purpose in coming to Iulius was to seek you out and here you are where I never thought to find you.”

“It is undeniably a fortunate meeting,” conceded Elerian. “Even if you had fought your way past the sentries, a Goblin army guards the gate to the Caldaria. You would never have reached the entrance to the valley.”

“However we all came to be here, we cannot linger in this place, for the Goblins will soon return in force, alerted by the mutare who escaped me,” interrupted Ascilius who now stood by Elerian’s right shoulder. “Let us mount your steeds, Dacien, and ride away while we can.”

“That I cannot do, Ascilius,” said Dacien sadly. “I did not come searching for Elerian to bring him back to Tarsius.” Upon hearing Dacien’s cryptic, melancholy reply a sense of foreboding gripped both Ascilius and Elerian

“What do you intend then now that you have found him?” asked Ascilius uneasily.

“That will depend on Elerian,” replied Dacien, his voice filled with mingled grief and despair. “I have come here to Iulius to seek his help in finding Anthea, for she was taken prisoner by the Goblins four days ago.”

As he listened to Dacien’s grim news the ground seemed to shift beneath Elerian’s feet, and he had the sense that all around him events were in motion that would render his own desires irrelevant once more. Opening his third eye, he turned his gaze on the ruby ring that he wore on his left hand. He was filled with dismay when he saw that, beneath the illusion which concealed it, the stone it bore was dark and lifeless. Feeling as if a great hand had suddenly wrapped itself around his heart and squeezed it, Elerian tried to calm himself as best he could, refusing to believe that the light in his ring had been extinguished by Anthea’s death.

“If we are not traveling to Tarsius then we must climb back up the cliff before the Goblins arrive,” said Ascilius urgently to Elerian, who stood stunned, as if struck by some great blow. “We can hear the rest of Dacien’s news when we are safe in the passageway.”

“I will not abandon my horses,” interrupted Dacien firmly when he heard Ascilius mention the word passageway. “They have run their hearts out to bring me here in so few days.”

“Fear not for your steeds,” said Elerian, rousing himself from the numbed state that he had fallen into. “I will put a spell of protection on them that will see them safely home.”

“As for Anthea,” he mused silently to himself, “I will not accept that she is dead until I see her lifeless body before me. It may only be that Torquatus, sensing its purpose, removed her ring, causing mine to darken.” After Dacien reluctantly stripped the saddle and bridle from his stallion, Elerian whispered into each of the four horses' ears, laying the spells of hiding and finding on them that he had used on Enias before venturing on to Ennodius.

“If he returned to Tarsius safely then they will too,” thought Elerian to himself. When he stepped back, Dacien threw his arms briefly about his stallion’s neck, his eyes glistening.

“We must trust that we will meet again in better times, Mylachen,” he said quietly. “Return home and wait for me.” His stallion immediately wheeled about and fled down the pass with upraised tail, followed by his three companions. Whether it was some trick of the rising sun or the spells Elerian had laid upon them, the horses quickly disappeared from sight.

“Follow us,” said Elerian gently to Dacien before running back to the rope that still dangled from the ledge. In the distance, he now heard horns and shouting. As he had suspected earlier, there was a Goblin encampment hidden nearby in the forest. The mutare who had escaped from Ascilius must have reached it and raised the alarm.

By the time Dacien and Ascilius reached the rope, Elerian, after retrieving his treasure bags and pack, had already ascended to the ledge, pulling himself up easily hand over hand despite the burden he carried. Ascilius scrambled onto the ledge next. Dacien, after making the end of the rope fast to his saddle and bridle, followed after him. As soon as the Tarsi climbed up onto the ledge, Elerian untied the rope end from the fir tree while Ascilius drew up Dacien’s saddle. The moment that the saddle reached the ledge, Elerian called his silver ring to his hand, rendering himself and his companions invisible. As Ascilius wrapped his rope into a tight coil prior to stowing it in his pack, the first Goblins and mutare noisily rushed past the ledge, running for the crest of the pass. Shouldering Dacien’s saddle, Ascilius now led the way up the path, walking slowly and carefully, for he could not see his feet. Dacien followed close at his heels, his right hand holding onto a stirrup. Elerian followed his two invisible companions easily, for his third eye revealed both the golden shades of his companions and the dark world that surrounded them.

When he came to a small thicket of stunted firs, Ascilius stopped. Hidden behind a wall of green, he and his companions watched anxiously as a black hooded Uruc mounted on a sleek atrior arrived at the summit of the pass. At once the Goblin captain set sharp-eyed Mordi skilled in tracking to examining the road and the ground on either side of it, but they found nothing of significance, for the stony surface of the pass and the flagstone paved road would have shown little sign even if a hundred mounted men had passed over them. The mutare had no better luck as they snuffled about on all fours, smelling the ground where the battle had taken place. Only weak scents, hard to unravel, clung to the dry, stony surface of the road. The changelings quickly became distracted from their task by the scent of fresh blood emanating from the bodies lying on the road. Snarls, growls, and the snap and crack of whips soon filled the air as the hooded Mordi overseers attempted to keep the mutare from pawing and devouring the dead.

Ignoring the confusion around him, Goblin captain shaded his eyes from the morning sun with his right hand as he carefully searched the cliff faces on both sides of the pass, but he saw nothing suspicious, for the footpath the three companions had followed was well hidden. Again the Uruc questioned the one survivor of the battle, but he had no better luck than before, for the mutare continued to give a confused account of what had taken place in the pass, mentioning the blinding sun and an invisible enemy as well as a number of fierce Dwarves and horsemen.

“I hate these stinking creatures,” thought the Goblin captain disgustedly to himself as he glared into the hairy, bestial face of the mutare. “They lose better than half of their wits when they make the change. The creature’s talk of Dwarves and an invisible enemy I can discount, for they are most likely the imaginings of this half-witted creature before me. It seems more reasonable to me to suppose that a small force of Tarsi attempted to come over the pass from the east, for some of the dead are marked by the hooves and teeth of horses. Finding the way guarded, they must have retreated back to the plains. If they manage to escape the dragon a second time and return home, the most that they will have accomplished is to carry the news south that the pass over the mountains is guarded.”

Having resolved the incident to his satisfaction, the Uruc ordered the guard on the pass to be doubled and Dwarf slaves brought up to construct a high, strong wall across the defile. In the unlikely event that the horse herders returned, they would find the last entrance into the Dwarf kingdoms sealed against them. The attention of the Uruc now turned to the dead Goblins and mutare who were still lying about the pass where they had fallen.

“Bring the bodies of the dead back to camp,” he ordered those around him.

Immediately a pack of mutare, watched over by Mordi overseers, cheerfully began carrying the bodies of the slain down the road toward the Goblin encampment. Whether it came from friend or foe, fresh meat was always welcome.

A FALLING-OUT

On the cliff face above the pass Ascilius now felt that it was safe to move again, for the sentries that the Goblin captain had left behind were concentrating their attention on the road leading down to the plains. Even though they were invisible, he and his companions took full advantage of the cover along the outside edge of the footpath they were following as they cautiously made their way back to the ledge that stood before the tunnel entrance. Before stepping out onto the narrow stone shelf that led to the hidden door, Ascilius looked down at the road and pass to make certain that they were unobserved. Seeing that no unfriendly eyes were turned their way, he walked quickly to the hidden door, darting into the passageway behind it the moment that it swung open at his command. He was followed first by Dacien and then Elerian, who sent away his ring, rendering everyone visible again. After sealing the door shut, Ascilius lit a small mage light, which took up a position about a foot above his head. Turning at once to Dacien, Elerian addressed the Tarsian in a grim voice.

“Tell me all that you can about Anthea, Dacien?”

“Four days ago, at the dawn shift change, the relief for the guards at the palace gate raised an alarm, for the sentries they were to replace were not at their posts,” replied Dacien in somber tones. “Their bodies were soon discovered hidden near the gate. Hounds were brought in to track their murderer, but they were unable to find a scent trail to follow. A search of the grounds and the palace eventually led the discovery that Anthea’s apartment was empty except for the body of her attendant. A trace of an unknown potion was found in her wine glass, leading us to believe that she had been abducted after being drugged. My father then searched for her with the basin you gifted him with, but she did not appear in its depths. Taking no chances, he ordered a search of every inch of Niveaus and the surrounding countryside. No sign of Anthea was found in Niveaus, but when the searchers left the city, they discovered a severed, bloody finger lying on a black satin pillow that had been left on the roadbed before the main gate. Next to the cushion was a note. The missive stated that Anthea was now a captive of the Goblins and that Orianus must accept Torquatus as his sovereign, or she would be returned to him one piece at a time, the finger on the pillow being the first part of her body to be severed and given back.”

Upon hearing of the grisly token left with the note, Elerian felt dismay and horror course through him. The image he had seen of a maimed finger when he stood by the back gate of Galenus rose up again before his mind’s eye.

“It was Anthea’s finger that I saw had I the wit to realize it,” thought Elerian bitterly to himself. He listened in grim silence while Dacien went on with his tale.

“Shortly after that a message arrived from Silanus, carried by one of my father’s hawks. The letter stated that a small group of Ancharians carrying a white flag had crossed the river asking whether Orianus would abide by the conditions of the ransom note. Setting aside his own grief, my father did what was best for the kingdom, sending back word back that he would never submit to Torquatus but that he would gladly pay a ransom or even exchange himself for Anthea. The next morning a reply came back in the form of a second finger, again left in some mysterious way by the city gate. My father was eaten up by grief at the sight of it,” continued Dacien in a grim voice. “At that point there seemed to be no doubt that Anthea had somehow been taken across the borders of Tarsius, therefore Merula, who was as much disturbed as my father by Anthea’s abduction, urged an invasion of Silanus on the hope that she was being held there. Judging that the venture had little chance of success, I determined, instead, to search you out in Iulius, hoping that by your magical arts you might discover where Anthea had been taken. Because of the still undiscovered traitor in our ranks, I decided to keep my decision to leave Tarsius a secret from everyone except my father. That same morning, traveling alone, I set out across the plains, following the northern route to Iulius. My chief concern was the dragon, but I saw no sign of Eboria on my journey or any other danger for that matter. Her predations must have either driven away the inhabitants of the northern plains or sent them into hiding. Changing between my four mounts and sleeping in the saddle, I did not set foot on the ground for more than an hour or two of the three days and nights my noble steeds carried me across the northern prairie. Tell me now that my journey was not in vain, Elerian, and that there is something you can do to discover my sister’s whereabouts.”

“There is only one way that I may learn where she has been taken,” replied Elerian raising his right hand. He heard Ascilius groan when his crystal orb appeared on his palm.

“Look not into that ill-omened device,” warned the Dwarf in grim tones.

“There is no other way for me to discover where Anthea is being held,” replied Elerian firmly as he cupped the orb in his long hands. Immediately a silvery glow visible only to his third eye engulfed the orb. Although the bond between his and Anthea’s ring was broken, Elerian reached out with his mind for her and found himself drawn to the west, influenced, perhaps, by the bond forged between himself and Anthea during that moment when he brought her back to life in the Troll Wood.

“Show her to me,” he silently commanded the orb, guiding its search with that ethereal link. Closing his magical eye, he saw the interior of the sphere clear. Mountains, forests, lakes, and rivers flashed by until the eye of the orb suddenly fixed itself above a dark mountain, one of many that reared up like dark fangs tearing at the morning sky. An instant later, the mountain vanished, replaced by a dark room lit by lurid red lights. In the center of that chamber Elerian saw a large block of dark stone. Its sides were roughly chiseled, but its surface was flat and polished, the greater part of it covered by a clear crystal dome. Beneath this transparent cover lay a still form clothed in brown leather garments. Before Elerian could direct his orb to show him the face of the motionless figure an enormous, hairy shape leaped in front of the platform, obscuring his view. Rearing up on its hind legs, it thrust a hideous gray head lit by fiery green eyes toward him, its gaping, toothy jaws seeming to engulf both the orb and his hands. Starting back at the horrible apparition that had appeared so suddenly before him, Elerian lost control of the sphere which at once went dark.

“Show me the chamber again,” Elerian silently and angrily commanded his orb when he recovered his composure, but instead of the platform, a woman’s left hand suddenly appeared in the sphere, pressed against a block of scarred wood by a clawed Goblin hand. It was slender and shapely, but three of the long fingers were gone, severed at the first knuckle. Two of the wounds were blackened and crusted over, cauterized with fire, but the third injury was fresh and still oozed drops of blood red as rubies, indicating that the owner of the hand still lived. A wave of horror swept over Elerian, and the orb slipped from his fingers. It would have fallen to the floor of the tunnel had Dacien not reached out his right hand and deftly caught it. Setting aside his dismay and anger, Elerian tried to order his mind and will again.

“I may at last have an explanation for my darkened ring,” he thought grimly to himself. “If it was Anthea’s hand that I saw, the shortest of the three missing fingers would have carried her ruby ring.”

“What did you see?” asked Dacien, impatiently interrupting Elerian’s morbid thoughts. Because of the manner in which Elerian had held the sphere, neither he nor Ascilius had seen what transpired inside of it.

“When I directed the sphere to show me Anthea, it revealed a shape resting on a bier in a dungeon,” replied Elerian broodingly. “Before I could take a closer look, a licantrope suddenly obscured my vision. I think it may be the same creature Anthea saw when she looked into my orb in Tarsius. In its usual capricious fashion, the sphere revealed a bit of her future then, but not enough to prevent the sad fate that has overtaken her,” concluded Elerian bitterly.

“You do not know for certain then if it was Anthea that you saw?” asked Dacien, his voice suddenly bereft of hope.

“I did not see her face, but I believe in my heart that I saw Anthea and that she still lives,” replied Elerian grimly. He fell silent then, for he had not the heart to tell Dacien about the bloody hand that he had also seen in the sphere. “I will not add to his misery by describing her torment,” he thought to himself.

“Were you able to discover where she is imprisoned?” asked Dacien, some of his despair lifting at the news that Elerian thought his sister still drew breath.

“Her cell is inside a dark mountain rising among many other similar peaks, but where it is located I could not tell,” replied Elerian.

“Anthea must be in Tyranus,” said Ascilius soberly. “Deep in the stony bowels of the mountain that you saw are Torquatus’s most terrible and secure dungeons. Even if we could reach it today with all the might of the Dwarves and the Tarsi behind us, we could not hope to win our way inside there, for it is a mighty fortress filled with rank on rank of Torquatus’s servants and guarded by an impregnable gate built by Dwarf hands. Even the land around it conspires to defend it, for it is surrounded by sheer cliffs and bare, stony peaks. Nothing can approach it without being seen by the sleepless eyes which stand guard in the hidden places around it.”

“Can you not use your powers to open a path into Anthea’s cell, Elerian?” asked Dacien hopefully. “We might then rescue her before Torquatus is even aware of us.” Elerian made no reply for a moment as he considered Dacien’s question.

“You give me too much credit, Dacien,” he replied at last. “With time I might discover or craft the necessary spells, but I have not the power to use them to open a portal large enough for us to pass through it.”

“Had you made your ring of power as Dymiter instructed you, you would have had all the power you required,” an accusing voice in Elerian’s mind reminded him. Overcome with sudden regret for the choice that he had made in Ennodius to limit the power of his ring, he groaned silently to himself. “By weakening the ring to protect myself from its influence, I may have doomed Anthea to a horrible death,” he thought wretchedly to himself.

“If neither magic nor strength of arms will bring us into Tyranus then how are we to rescue my sister?” wondered Dacien aloud, despair creeping into his voice.

“There are other forms of magic besides portals which can accomplish that task,” Elerian assured Dacien. “If Ascilius is able to tell me where Tyranus rears its ugly peak, I will fly there in my hawk form as soon as we quit this passageway, hoping to find some way to rescue Anthea when I arrive.”

“I will not say one word about Tyranus unless you give up this reckless plan at once,” replied Ascilius, his voice full of alarm. “Even if you managed to reach the prison without being killed or captured, you would arrive there alone and weaponless. I can assure you now that your spells alone will not suffice to extract Anthea from that place. The more likely outcome is that you would fall into Torquatus’s clutches yourself. Endless torments would be your lot then and Anthea’s, too, for it would add to his delight to torture the two of you in sight of each other.”

“At least we would die together,” replied Elerian morosely.

“That is no rational answer to my objections,” retorted Ascilius impatiently.

“What would you advise then?” asked Elerian angrily. “I cannot stand by and do nothing.”

“I am not advising you to do naught,” replied Ascilius impatiently. “My point is that a reasoned, careful effort to rescue Anthea will serve her better than some impetuous attempt that will come to nothing. Travel to Tyranus on foot carrying the weapons that you made in Ennodius. With those in your hands and a few stout companions to guard your back, you will have the best chance of finding some way to rescue Anthea.”

“Your plan would involve a journey of many days,” objected Elerian, his voice rising and his eyes becoming over bright from anger and desperation. “I would go mad thinking about what was happening to Anthea in the mean time!”

“The deceits of the Goblin King are many, Elerian,” cautioned Ascilius, trying to keep his voice measured and reasonable. “Torquatus’s threat to dismember Anthea may by nothing more than a falsehood intended to impair Orianus’s judgment and to prompt him to act impulsively, rushing from Niveaus to wage a rash war.”

“My orb tells me that her torment is real!” insisted Elerian wildly.

“Your orb is untrustworthy as you, yourself, have admitted,” replied Ascilius patiently. “If, however, you still insist on believing that Anthea is being tortured then consider this. The wounds she receives will not threaten her life for many days yet. We will have more than enough time to reach Tyranus and to mount some sort of rescue attempt before she receives a mortal wound.”

“How can you be so cold and indifferent to her suffering?” responded Elerian incredulously at the Dwarf’s words. “Anthea showed you nothing but kindness and in return you would callously condemn her to days of unnecessary torment.”

“Do not mistake my logic for a lack of sympathy,” replied Ascilius grimly. “I care more for Anthea than you can imagine, but I know better than to let my love for her cloud my judgment as you have done.”

“Then let each of us make a separate attempt at a rescue,” suggested Elerian impatiently. “Tell me the way to Tyranus and I will fly there. You and Dacien can follow on foot with as many companions as you wish to bring.” As Elerian waited for Ascilius’s response to his suggestion the maimed hand that he had seen in his orb appeared again before his mind’s eye. His desire to be off at once intensified as he imagined the searing pain that Anthea must have endured from each wound and the cauterizing fire that followed it.