The Hidden Realm: Book 04 - Ennodius (11 page)

When Enias screamed in pain and attempted to draw back on three legs, the atrior lunged with its mouth agape, seeking to tear out the stallion’s throat with its long fangs. With desperate speed, Elerian swept his sword down, hewing off its head with one powerful blow as its fanged mouth closed on Enias’s sleek neck. As his headless mount collapsed beneath him, the Goblin cursed Elerian and leaped clear of his saddle. Immediately Elerian sprang from Enias’s back and rained a flurry of blows on the Uruc, all of which the Goblin deflected. He was proving to be the swiftest, most powerful swordsman Elerian had ever encountered.

“Had they all attacked us at once on the ground while we were unaware, Ascilius and I would have been overcome at once,” thought Elerian to himself as he and the Uruc locked swords again, straining against each other until their sinews creaked. Taking advantage of the brief respite, Elerian formed a spell in his mind. Opening his mouth, he suddenly propelled a small, golden orb at the Goblin’s face. The Uruc stiffened and then slumped to the ground, slain by the killing spell.

As Elerian wearily turned away from the dead Uruc, something struck him heavily on the back of his right shoulder, causing him to stagger. Spinning around on his right heel, he found himself facing the Uruc whose atrior Ascilius had hamstrung.

“What is wrong with him?” wondered Elerian. In that moment, the Goblin could easily have run him through with his sword, but strangely, the Uruc made no move to attack. Instead, his sword arm drooped, and he looked back like one who had taken a heavy blow on the helm from an ax.

Elerian raised his left arm, sending a killing spell at the Goblin’s chest. An instant before the small golden orb of light that flew from his hand struck the Uruc, the red glow of a shield spell covered the Goblin from head to toe, deflecting Elerian’s spell.

“This one is the mage,” though Elerian to himself.

Overcome by a sudden weariness, he tried to raise his right arm to assume a defensive position with his sword, for the Uruc seemed to be recovering his wits and strength. Elerian’s arm had barely stirred before a piercing pain suddenly shot through his right shoulder and down through his arm to his hand. When a second wave of agony, worse than the first, swept through his arm, Elerian’s sword hilt slipped away from his hand, falling to the ground. He would have fallen, too, had the Uruc not come forward to seize him around the throat with his long left hand, supporting him effortlessly with his sinewy wrist. As he stabbed at the Goblin’s throat with the knife in his left hand, Elerian felt the Uruc’s right hand seize his wrist in an iron grip. The Goblin’s dark eyes glittered with triumph as Elerian tried and failed to free his knife hand. The pain in his shoulder had leached away most of his considerable strength.

“You will not escape this time,” said the Goblin in a soft, evil voice as his dark eyes gloated over Elerian. “Unspeakable torments will be yours for opposing the Dark King, but great rewards will flow to me for capturing you.”

After releasing Elerian’s throat, the Uruc seized a ruby dangling from an iron chain around his neck. At the touch of his hand, a crimson glow suffused the ruby. With his third eye, Elerian saw a man high circle of red suddenly blossom to his left. Its center shimmered for a moment and then cleared. As if through a window, Elerian saw the tall form of Torquatus standing expectantly in a red-lit room. As the Uruc began to drag him effortlessly toward the portal by his left wrist, Elerian struggled to resist, but his fading strength was no match for that of the Goblin. He was pulled relentlessly toward the circle of red light where Torquatus waited eagerly to help drag him through the open portal.

Two short strides from the gate, the Goblin dragging Elerian suddenly staggered and fell to his knees as the flat of an ax rang solidly on his metal helm. Without the support of his arm, Elerian also fell, writhing in a red haze of pain as his injured shoulder struck the ground. He did not see Ascilius, fiery eyed and bleeding from many wounds on his left leg and side, standing over the fallen Uruc. After a desperate struggle, the Dwarf had finally succeeded in killing the atrior that had seized his leg, rejoining the battle just in time to save Elerian from being dragged through the portal.

“Do you remember me Malevolus,” asked Ascilius in a stern voice as the Uruc he had struck down twisted around onto his back to face him. “If not, I will remind you.”

Fear filled the Goblin's dark eyes, at the sound of that deep voice. He rallied his scattered wits to cast a killing spell, but the Dwarf was too quick for him. With his ax, Ascilius split the Uruc’s steel helm and head in two with one mighty stroke. With his third eye, Elerian, who had managed to raise his head by now, saw a flare of red light envelope Ascilius’s ax head, which then vanished in a puff of black smoke. At the same moment that his ax disappeared, Ascilius was thrown backwards onto the ground as if he had taken a powerful blow to his broad chest.

Elerian struggled to rise, for Torquatus was still nearby, standing behind the open portal. As he rose to his knees, Elerian’s third eye opened again. He saw a red shade emerge from the slumped body of the Uruc Ascilius had slain. A high, despairing cry echoed through his mind as the wraith leaped through the open portal. Elerian’s view of the portal was obscured when Enias suddenly limped up to stand between him and the gate. When the stallion reared to show Torquatus his defiance, Elerian saw the portal suddenly close. Torquatus was gone, but the sight of the Goblin King’s burning eyes lingered in Elerian's mind long after his image faded, for there was a look of anticipation and triumph in them that mystified him.

THE SEPTILIRE

“Why did he leave?” wondered Elerian to himself. “Enias could not have resisted him for long, and Ascilius is unconscious or more likely dead. I, myself, am powerless to defend myself due to this cursed weakness that has overtaken me.”

Ignoring the fiery pain emanating from his right shoulder, Elerian crawled slowly toward the Dwarf on hands and knees, fighting tenaciously to keep at bay the debilitating feebleness that was threatening to overcome him at any moment. When Elerian reached Ascilius’s side, he laboriously pushed himself up onto his knees, sadly looking down on the pale, still features of his companion of many years.

“How still he lies, not the slightest breathe stirring his mighty chest,” thought Elerian sorrowfully to himself as he gazed at Ascilius through pain-filled eyes. “Surely he has breathed his last this time. I wish now that I had not tormented him so when he was alive,” he thought guiltily to himself.

“Still, I will join him soon,” thought Elerian to himself. “There must be poison in my veins, but I lack the strength to fight it.” For a moment, his thoughts became confused as his weakness intensified. Then, a moment of clarity returned. “Before I lose consciousness, I should at least put Ascilius beyond the reach of the scavengers that will swarm over us before long, despoiling our bodies with tooth and claw,” thought Elerian grimly to himself.

Extending his unsteady right hand, he watched with his third eye as a minute orb of golden light, all that he could manage in his weakened state, shot toward Ascilius’s thick, flowing beard. 

Elerian had intended to light a mage fire, but due to the feebleness of the spell, no actual flame shot up; there was only a fleeting spot of red from which a plume of blue smoke curled up. As the acrid smell of burning hair filled the air, tickling Ascilius’s pale nostrils, an astonishing transformation came over the Dwarf. He suddenly sat up, a look of horror filling his dark eyes when he realized that his beloved beard was smoldering.

“I’m on fire,” roared Ascilius, beating furiously at his beard with his broad palms. Leaping to his feet, he rushed away into the willow wood before Elerian’s astonished eyes, his short legs moving at a furious pace.

 Fortunately for Ascilius, Elerian’s transitory mage fire was already out before he cast himself into the Catalus. When he emerged from the river, sopping wet, with small rivulets of water streaming from his hair and beard, Ascilius was happy to see that he was no longer on fire, but his relief was short lived for another danger came crowding back into his mind.

“Elerian!” he said aloud. “I must warn him of his danger.”

He sprinted out of the wood even faster than he had entered it. Elerian still knelt on the ground in the same place, his wits muddled by a fog of weariness and pain.

“Pull it out! Remove it before it is too late!” shouted Ascilius, urgently pointing to Elerian’s right shoulder with his left hand as he ran.

At the Dwarf’s words, Elerian turned his head to the right, noticing, for the first time, the slender black hilt of a small dagger sticking out of his thick leather armor high on his right shoulder. It was neither a serious weapon nor a serious wound, but it might be the source of the poison which he suspected was spreading through his veins.

“I can try to remove it, but it will do no good at this point,” thought Elerian to himself as he slowly reached behind his back for the hilt with his left hand. Before he could close his fingers on it, the hilt fell away to the ground. The pain in his shoulder continued and intensified, however. It now felt as if a white-hot claw was twisting and digging through the muscle and bone of his shoulder, traveling ever deeper into his body. 

“The blade is still in your shoulder,” shouted Ascilius frantically. He had reached Elerian by now and was hopping anxiously from one foot to the other, as if he stood in a bed of coals. “You must remove it now before it is too late!”

Elerian laboriously tried to recall the spell which would transport the hidden dagger blade out of his shoulder, but found he could not even begin it. His growing weakness and the agony caused by the slender blade, burrowing ever deeper through his flesh like a live thing, kept him from focusing his thoughts. Even worse was the small, insistent voice in his mind, distracting him as it whispered, “Submit!” over and over again.

 A stinging slap across his face suddenly sent a fierce anger surging through Elerian, momentarily clearing his mind. In that moment of clarity, he set aside his anger and quickly cast the spell that would transport the unseen blade from his shoulder. At once, a small orb of golden light sped from his right hand, sinking into his chest. A moment later, the sphere reappeared, but now it bore something dark inside of it, something that writhed like a thin black snake as it sought to escape the confines of the spell that held it captive.

The orb disappeared and the squirming thing inside it dropped onto the trampled grass by Elerian’s knees. To his horror; Elerian saw the slender needle of black steel begin to wriggle in his direction. With his third eye, he saw that a slender thread of red light connected his body to the blade. Although he had expelled it, the dagger blade was still using his life force to animate itself. Too spent to move, Elerian watched helplessly as the steel needle crept ever closer to his right knee. It was only inches away when Ascilius raised his right hand. With his third eye, Elerian saw a small golden orb fly from his fingertips, striking the ground near the advancing blade. Instantly, the red flames of a mage fire erupted from the grass, engulfing the wriggling steel. In the moment when the flames first touched it, Elerian saw small red script appear on its sides. Then, the sliver of squirming black metal was consumed utterly by the Dwarf fire, vanishing in a puff of black smoke.

Deeply shaken by his narrow escape and still weak from the effects of the magical dagger, Elerian made no attempt to rise as he watched the red flames of Ascilius’s fire vanish at the Dwarf’s command. With the Goblin blade removed from his shoulder, Elerian found that he could think again. Rallying his strength, he sent a healing spell into his wounds, stopping the bleeding and closing both injuries.

“I will finish healing them properly when I have tended to Ascilius,” thought Elerian to himself as he struggled to his feet without his usual lithe grace.

Ascilius had ceased his frantic gyrations and was now sitting down, his sturdy legs drawn up to his chest. His powerful hands were clenched around his left leg just below the knee. As he approached the Dwarf with slow, faltering footsteps, Elerian saw that Ascilius’s left pant leg was shredded as if by sharp teeth. The exposed flesh beneath the blood soaked cloth was badly ripped and torn, bright blood oozing from the jagged wounds.

Elerian knelt next to Ascilius. Laying his long right hand on the Dwarf’s injured calf, he watched with his third eye as a flow of golden light streamed from his fingertips, blanketing the Dwarf’s wounds. Beneath that golden cloak, the flesh began to heal and the blood ceased to flow.

Knowing that Elerian would not hear him when he was involved in healing his wound, Ascilius sat quietly, his chin drifting down to rest wearily on his broad chest. He roused himself when he heard Elerian’s voice.

“That is the best I can do for now,” said Elerian.

As Ascilius looked down at his calf, his glance fell on the newly acquired hole in his beard. “You tried to burn me alive,” he said indignantly as he fingered the hole in his prized beard with his right hand.

“I thought you were dead,” replied Elerian, trying to make his face and voice look and sound contrite. Now that the danger was past, he thought the whole incident quite amusing. “I was only trying to keep the scavengers from gnawing on your cantankerous carcass,” he continued, his features twitching as he struggled to control his inner laughter.

Ascilius glared at Elerian. As usual, he was not quite sure if his companion was sincere or not.

“You might at least have checked my pulse,” he growled. “It seems that I must appear lively at all times now, or you will roast me in an instant. As it is, you have destroyed the grandeur of my beard.”

“Your beard will look fine if you plait it,” Elerian said lightly. “The hole will hardly show at all. Besides, we are more than even. That buffet you gave me almost took my head off. Was it really necessary to hit me that hard?” he asked dryly.

“I had to get your attention quickly,” said Ascilius with a sly gleam in his dark eyes.

“If there is a next time, try to save me without pummeling me almost to death,” replied Elerian as he rose to his feet and approached Enias, noting that the stallion had suffered many wounds from the teeth and claws of the atriors. Enias stood unmoving, waiting patiently as Elerian healed his injuries, the worst of them the three great slashes given him by the atrior that had opened his right shoulder and lamed him.

“You have saved me again,” said Elerian, fondly stroking the stallion’s silky hide when he had finished closing Enias’s wounds. “Torquatus would have carried me off, I think, if you had not come between us, and the Urucs would surely have overcome us without your help.”

“They are terrible enemies,” agreed Ascilius, who had finally risen to his feet. “They are almost as strong as Dwarves and their speed rivals that of the Elves. Had they taken us by surprise, we would have stood little chance against the five of them.”

“That is my thought also,” said Elerian.

He paused for a moment to gaze at their fallen enemies. Now that he had time to look at them closely, he was struck by the rich armor of the fallen Goblins. The fine rings of their black chain mail were supple as water, and blood red rubies were set into their dark helms. They wore gold rings mounted with black diamonds on their slender fingers, and the clothing beneath their armor was thin and rich.

“Judging by their dress and fighting skills, these were not ordinary Goblins,” observed Elerian.

“They are members of Torquatus’s personal guard,” said Ascilius with a black look at the fallen Goblins. With his right foot, Ascilius exposed the left wrist of one of the fallen Goblins, revealing a black grinning Goblin’s skull tattooed on the Uruc’s pale flesh. “I’ll wager they all wear his mark on their wrist. Some of these Goblins may be hundreds of years old, the veterans of countless armed conflicts, for unlike the Mordi who age like men, Urucs do not grow old. You did well, Elerian, to hold your own against five of them.”

 “You give me too much credit, Ascilius,” replied Elerian wryly. “Without your help and that of Enias, I would be dead or a prisoner now.”

Before Ascilius could reply, a sudden bout of weakness caused Elerian’s head to spin. Abruptly, he sat down on the ground at Ascilius’s feet.

“Are you all right?” asked Ascilius anxiously, deep concern filling his dark eyes.

“I just need a little rest,” said Elerian. “It has been a long day,” he said with a tired smile.

“I have warned you before against overusing your mage powers,” said Ascilius severely.

“You worry too much,” said Elerian impatiently. “Do something useful and bring me my water bottle.”

 Grumbling to himself and walking with a pronounced limp, Ascilius went to fetch the water bottle from Elerian’s pack. As he vanished into the willows, Elerian started when he heard a voice whisper softly, “A master ring would provide you with a wealth of power.”

He looked all around him, but he was quite alone.

“This is the second time I have heard that voice,” he thought to himself. “Am I losing my mind I wonder?”

He was distracted by Ascilius returning through the trees. The Dwarf handed Elerian his water bottle, newly filled with clear, cold water from the river. Elerian transformed the water into a red wine. Several sips of the strong ruby liquid sent warmth coursing through his veins and cleared his head.

After handing the water bottle to Ascilius, Elerian watched as the Dwarf promptly did some serious damage to the level of its contents before passing it back.

“What happened to your leg?” asked Elerian curiously before taking another drink from his water bottle. “Those were savage wounds that you suffered.”

“One of the atriors seized my leg from behind,” said Ascilius angrily. “It threw me several times and savaged my leg before I was able to kill it with my ax. I hate the creatures with a passion. They remind me of snakes with four legs.”

Ascilius glared for a moment at the dead atriors and then spoke again.

“We should move on now if you are able, for we have already lingered here for too long a time. Torquatus is sure to return soon with reinforcements. When he finds that the septilire Malevolus placed in your shoulder has failed and that we have escaped him again, the hunt for us will resume in earnest.”

“What manner of foul weapon was that?” asked Elerian curiously as he rose slowly to his feet. “It seemed alive.”

“In a sense, it was,” replied the Dwarf. “It is a measure of the hatred Torquatus bears against you that it was used at all. A septilire is difficult to make and only a very powerful mage can activate the spell it carries.”

“That must be why the Uruc faltered after he planted the blade then,” said Elerian. “He looked as if he had been momentarily drained of strength. From that moment on, it felt to me as if the blade was trying to cut its way ever deeper into my back. If you had not roused me to remove it, I am sure it would have killed me.”

“You are mistaken there,” said Ascilius with a shudder. “A clean death would not have been your fate if the blade had reached your heart.”