The Hidden Realm: Book 04 - Ennodius (22 page)

“He has suffered enough,” Elerian reminded himself more than once, but his bent for mischief gradually overpowered his good intentions. As he followed Ascilius into yet another dark room, this one filled with what appeared to be ornate lampposts, Elerian casually leaned against a pyramidal stack of metal posts standing opportunely by his right elbow. The following clatter and banging of metal was magnified by the utter silence of the room until it resembled a clap of thunder. Elerian watched fascinated as Ascilius leaped straight up into the air as the discordant sounds smote his ears. When his feet touched the ground again, trembling in every limb, he whirled around. His eyes wide and white as small saucers, Ascilius stared wildly about. Every hair on his head and in his beard bristled, bearing witness to his extreme agitation. His ax was upraised in his right hand, ready to strike.

“What happened? Are you all right?” he asked Elerian, his chest heaving as if he had just run a long race.

“I brushed up against a stack of posts,” said Elerian innocently. His face looked guiltless, but his gray eyes were almost incandescent, lit by inner laughter.

Ascilius fixed unbelieving eyes on his companion. In all their time together, he could not recall a single instance where Elerian had made an awkward movement.

“You did it on purpose,” he said in a stunned voice.

With a frenzied light in his dark eyes, Ascilius suddenly dropped his ax and rushed at Elerian, arms upraised, his powerful hands twitching as if he were already throttling his companion with them. Like a wraith, Elerian and his mage light both suddenly vanished before the furious Dwarf could lay hands on him.

In a rage, Ascilius rushed about the room wildly grasping at the air, certain that Elerian was still in the room. In fact, Elerian was standing in the doorway, laughing silently to himself as he watched Ascilius stumble about.

Gradually, Ascilius calmed down. He retrieved his ax, but instead of carrying it, he pushed the handle through his belt. Picking up a stout broomstick from the litter on the floor, he broke off a three foot piece of the thick oak handle with a single twist of his powerful hands.

“I have never seen him so angry,” thought Elerian to himself as the sharp crack of breaking wood broke the deep silence of the room. “I think that it might be prudent for me to remain invisible for a while,” he decided, for it seemed to him that there was a rather demented gleam in Ascilius’s dark eyes as he looked wildly about the room, tapping his piece of broomstick suggestively on his left hand.

Ascilius finally gave up trying to lay hands on Elerian and left the room. Without a word, he resumed his exploration of the city, but he did not throw away his broomstick. As he searched, he started at every imagined sound and shadow. His left eyelid had begun to twitch badly, clear evidence of the sad state of his nerves.

“Bad enough that I have to watch out for Trolls and who knows what else,” thought Ascilius crossly to himself. “Now I also have to watch out for that demented Elf as well. I wonder where he is now?” Lovingly, Ascilius stroked his broomstick with his left hand, imagining the use he would put it too if he was able to lay hold of Elerian for even a few moments.

Elerian was, in fact, only a few feet behind Ascilius. Invisible and silent as a shadow, he continued to follow the Dwarf as he explored empty rooms and tunnels with only the dim rays of his mage light to dispel the darkness. From time to time, just to keep things interesting, Elerian made some slight noise just to see Ascilius jump. Finally, the Dwarf stopped in the middle of a dark service tunnel.

 “You may as well appear. I know you are still here,” he said, disgustedly throwing away his broomstick which rattled hollowly on the stone floor of the passageway.

“You must promise not to try and throttle me then,” said Elerian behind Ascilius’s back. He watched in amusement as the Dwarf started badly before turning around.

“Throttling is too simple,” grated Ascilius. “I will think of a more fitting revenge if it takes me a hundred years.”

Elerian suddenly reappeared, an unrepentant gleam in his eyes. “I cannot imagine why you are always talking of revenge,” he said mildly. “You would think I have wronged you somehow, instead of constantly saving your life from one horrific danger after another.”

“Next time I am in danger, let me die,” said Ascilius dryly. “It will be a kinder fate then having to remain in your company and suffer your torments. In the short time since we have left Tarsius, you have, at various times, tried to drown me, set me on fire, and you have come close to stopping my heart on more occasions than I can readily recall, all to satisfy your perverse sense of humor.”

“Such talk wounds me to the heart,” said Elerian, sadly.

“You have no heart,” Ascilius shot back morosely as he entered another workshop. It also proved to be empty, but it did have working doors. 

“We may as well stop here and rest,” said Ascilius to Elerian, who had followed him at a safe distance. It seemed to Elerian that Ascilius had calmed down, but he remained wary.

“No sense in taking any unnecessary chances,” he thought to himself as he helped Ascilius bar the doors.

They went upstairs and ate a brief meal after which Ascilius went to sleep, too tired to worry about whether Elerian would play some prank on him while he slumbered. Feeling no need to sleep, Elerian sat in a torn up armchair. He looked first at his ruby ring with his third eye and was reassured when he saw the stone still pulsed with a crimson light.

“Anthea still wears my ring,” he thought to himself. “I wonder that she has not come to visit me again.” He waited hopefully, trying to transmit his longing to see her again through the golden thread that bound their rings together, but Anthea’s wraith did not appear. “Some other night then,” thought Elerian to himself as he next turned his thoughts to Dymiter and the many questions he wished to ask the Elf mage.

Calling Dymiter’s spell book to his right hand, he wondered if the wraith would show himself again. The book opened of its own accord after it appeared on his palm, revealing two blank pages, but no wraith appeared before Elerian’s magical third eye. Resuming his normal sight, he saw that black letters had appeared on the pages in front of him. A now familiar voice whispered in Elerian’s mind.

“You will have need of this spell in the days to come, Elerian, for you face trying times.”

Again, Elerian used his mage sight, but there was still no sign of the wraith.

“He still seeks to bend me to his own purposes, revealing only what suits him,” thought Elerian suspiciously to himself as he closed his magical eye before silently reading the spell that had appeared before him. It had nothing to do with ring making, being concerned with creating a drink called aqua vitae. Never one to refuse a new spell, Elerian called his own book and transferred the charm to a blank page.

THE RAMP

As Elerian labored in the dark, the sun was two hours from setting in the outside world. Far to the southeast, six days after passing the Troll wood, Orianus and his company had finally reached the eastern end of the Nordaels. A wall had appeared on their left, fifteen feet in height and topped by a parapet with narrow arrow slots built into it at regular intervals. The wall ran for miles to the east, bridging a wide gap about ten miles across, the entrance to a valley that wound deep into the wall of mountains that rose up to the north.

By sunset, the van of the Tarsi company reached the midpoint of the wall. Here, between two stout, rounded towers, was a great double gate of steel worked with the designs of running horses. To the right of the gate, a small, bright river, fed by cold snowmelt from the Nordaels, passed through a barred culvert beneath the outer wall.

When Orianus rode up to the towers in the failing light, the king's heralds blew their horns, and immediately, the gates swung smoothly outward, revealing a valley about thirty miles long and fifteen wide that ran northwest between two lines of tall peaks which cradled it like outstretched arms. The valley was filled with rich farms and lush pastures already covered in shadow, for the sun had nearly disappeared behind the western horizon.

A smooth stone paved road ran the length of the valley. Along the road and across the length and breadth of the dale were hundreds of snug stone houses, pools of yellow light spilling out into the gathering darkness from their windows.

Tucked into the head of the valley and climbing into the foothills behind it was the city of Niveaus, the home of the Tarsi kings. Built by Dwarves of stone quarried in the nearby mountains, the walls and buildings of the city were all white marble, veined with green and black. When the sun rose in the east each morning, spreading its golden rays across the polished stone, the whole city appeared to glow, but now it was dark except for the golden lights which lit its many windows. In the highest level of the city was the palace of Orianus, a place filled with spacious rooms, green lawns, lush gardens, and white fountains.

Although Orianus’s company was much reduced in number, for many of the wagons in the caravan had split off days earlier, traveling toward the southern part of the kingdom, it still took hours for the line of wagons following the king to pass through the gates of the shield wall. Once through the gate, the company gathered in the open pastures behind the walls, for they would not travel any farther this night. In the morning, the company would split once more. Those who lived in the lands to the east, between the city and the Flumin, would continue on their way while the rest followed Orianus to Niveaus.

In her quarters in the king’s well-appointed pavilion, Anthea remained awake long after the great company around her had fallen asleep. The sense of peace she had gained in her ancestor’s ruined dwelling had greatly diminished, for despite her best efforts, she had been unable to follow the golden thread that led from her ring to Elerian for a second time. Disguised by the illusion spell which made her changed features appear to be to be those of a Tarsi maiden, she restlessly paced her sleeping quarters, supple and silent, each movement full of feline grace.

“Why does my necklace no longer serve me?” Anthea wondered to herself, gripping the silver beech leaf that lay on her breast with a long, slender hand, grown steely strong since Elerian had saved her life in the Troll wood. “Who knows what adventures Elerian has already experienced without me?” she thought to herself, her frustration growing by the minute. He has certainly reached Ennodius by now. Surrounded by the mysteries and splendor of the Dwarf city, will he forget me? With gold in his hands and a handsome face that would set any maid’s heart fluttering, will he still want me, a simple maiden of the open plains?” she wondered sadly to herself.

Suddenly, Anthea stood stock still, eyes flashing. “Are Dwarf maidens comely?” she wondered to herself. “I never thought to ask Ascilius that question.”

An image of Elerian surrounded by beautiful, grateful Dwarf women suddenly appeared in her mind. “I should be there by his side to protect him from such perils,” she thought to herself, her blue eyes flashing like distant lightening. “He is such a fool,” she thought to herself, her fair face suddenly softening. “If I cannot open the portal again soon, I will follow him no matter what the consequences,” she decided abruptly. Immediately, she felt more at ease now that she had an alternate plan to follow. The thought of crossing hundreds of miles of wild, dangerous country by herself, straight into the dragon’s lair gave her no pause at all.

“In the meantime, I will try again,” Anthea thought determinedly to herself. Lying down on her bed, she grasped her silver pendant and opened her third eye. With all her heart, she tried again to will her shade to follow the golden thread that led away from her ring.

In far off Ennodius, Elerian finally tired and slept for a short time. He woke refreshed and alert when he heard Ascilius stirring about preparing breakfast.

“We will try to reach the third level of the city today,” said Ascilius when Elerian joined him. “There are small ramps in the city which lead from one level to another. We will try them first, rather than attempt the main ramp, which is large enough to admit Eboria.”

After they had eaten and packed their gear, the two companions left the shop through the back door. Turning left, Ascilius led Elerian about a quarter of a mile down the dark service tunnel, his mage light illuminating their way. When he came to a doorless opening on his right, Ascilius entered it at once. After Elerian followed him, he saw by the faint illumination of Ascilius’s mage light that they had entered a tunnel, not a room. The passageway before them was about twelve feet wide and ten feet high, large enough to admit a Dwarf wagon, but far too small for Eboria to enter. The arched ceiling, walls, and floor were smooth but not polished. Iron brackets were fastened to the ceiling, but the mage lights they must have contained at one time were all dark.

As Elerian followed Ascilius into the passageway, he noted that the floor of the tunnel rose gradually as it curved to the left in a gradual spiral. Elerian guessed that they had traveled almost a quarter mile when they suddenly came to two massive steel doors. Ascilius tugged on the door handle of the right hand door, but it did not stir the least bit. In a deep voice, he cast an opening spell. The doors groaned softly, but they still did not open.

“Why did they lock the doors?” asked Ascilius aloud in a puzzled voice. “This ramp is much too small for Eboria to travel through,” he said half to himself as he tugged at his beard in frustration with his right hand.

“Perhaps they were trying to keep out the creature that left the claw marks on the doors,” suggested Elerian.

“They were trying to keep something out,” agreed Ascilius, “but I cannot imagine what it was. It would take a ram to open those doors now that they are sealed.”

“Well we have not got a ram,” said Elerian. “What do we do now?”

“Try another ramp, of course,” said Ascilius in an irritated voice as he turned away from the door and stomped away back down the passageway. Behind him, Elerian sighed and followed his irritable companion. They tried two more ramps after that, finding each of them locked in the same way.

“I am guessing that all of the smaller ramps are sealed off, so it appears that we must try the main ramp after all,” Ascilius said reluctantly as they left the third blocked passageway. “It will be a risky business with the dragon prowling about, for the main ramp has no doors on this level. Only the exits on the other levels have doors, and they may be locked. If I cannot get someone to open them for us, we will have no way to escape if Eboria unexpectedly comes up behind us.”

“If that is the only way left open to us, then we must try it,” replied Elerian, although he did not relish the prospect of becoming trapped between Eboria and cold steel. “Do dragons prefer the taste of Dwarves or Elves?” he asked Ascilius as they walked toward the center of the city, traveling down one of the smaller service tunnels that ran between the main avenues of the Dwarf city.

“Dwarves I suppose,” said Ascilius absently. “We are far superior to Elves in every other quality, so we probably taste better too,” he said loftily. “Why do you ask?” he said, suddenly suspicious.

“Well, I was thinking that if we encounter Eboria I might have a chance to escape if she eats you first,” replied Elerian. His voice was entirely serious, but his eyes, which he carefully concealed from Ascilius, sparkled with mischief in the rays of the dim mage light which shone above Ascilius’s head.

“Never fear, she will eat you too if she traps us in the ramp,” Ascilius assured him gloomily. He fell silent, refusing to be drawn into a battle of wits with Elerian, walking away with steps that seemed unnaturally loud in the deep silence that surrounded them.

“I think that I will die of boredom long before I meet Eboria,” thought Elerian dryly to himself, his own light footsteps making no sound on the stony floor of the passageway as he followed his unresponsive companion. “Ascilius is a stout fellow, but his moods have begun to wear on me at times. Has he changed or have I?” Elerian wondered to himself.

An image of Anthea suddenly appeared in his mind, blue eyes alight with mischief. “Therein lies my answer,” thought Elerian wryly to himself. “I am no longer the same carefree Elerian who entered Tarsius in the company of Ascilius and Dacien. I have fallen under Anthea’s spell, my heart bound to hers with chains stronger than steel. “What would I not dare to have her?” he wondered to himself, thinking of Merula, likewise a captive of Anthea’s beauty.

Elerian finally turned his mind away from the contemplation of the pitfalls presented by true love to concentrate on his surroundings. Ascilius’s mage light revealed smooth walls on both sides unrelieved by any doors or other features, for they were following one of the straight tunnels that led directly to the main ramp in the center of the city. Iron brackets were suspended overhead from the ceiling at regular intervals, but their lights were all dark.

Elerian quickly found the journey through the tunnel wearisome except for the times they came to an intersection. These occurred at regular intervals as the tunnel the two companions were following crossed other service tunnels and main highways at alternating intervals. Ascilius took little note of the smaller intersections, but whenever they came to one of the main Dwarf boulevards, he stopped, looking carefully in both directions to make sure that nothing had set an ambush for him and Elerian. Eventually, nerves on edge, he and Elerian would dash across the dangerous crossroads, never knowing if something was preparing to spring out at them from one of the empty shops that lined the boulevard on either side of the intersection.

Suddenly, Ascilius stopped short. Elerian realized that they had come to the end of the tunnel, for the Dwarf’s mage light now illuminated a part of a great chamber that had opened up before them. Looking over Ascilius’s right shoulder, Elerian saw that the portion of the floor revealed by the mage light was filled with the wreckage of small wagons, their contents spilled on the floor. As in the workrooms, there were weapons and some armor scattered about but no sign of any Dwarves, living or dead.

The two companions waited for an endless time in the entryway, listening for any sound of the dragon, but not the least noise came to their ears. Elerian swept the inky blackness that lay beyond the pool of light cast by the mage light with his magical third eye, but there was no telltale glow such as would come from the shade of any living creature. As far as he could determine, the great hall was empty.

“I think it is safe to continue,” whispered Ascilius.

The Dwarf let his mage light flare up for a moment. Elerian now saw they were standing at the edge of an enormous, round hall whose ceiling was at least thirty feet high. In the curving wall of the chamber, Elerian could see dark openings at regular intervals, some large and some small. These were the streets that led out into the Dwarf city, like the spokes of a great wheel. In the center of the hall was an enormous pillar of polished stone, which rose all the way to the ceiling, partially blocking their view of the other half of the chamber. Elerian was reminded at once of a similar that pillar he had seen in the stables below Calenus.

 Ascilius let his light die down to a minute spark again before leading the way to the pillar in the center of the chamber. He and Elerian slowly threaded their way through the wreckage on the floor, being careful not to make the slightest noise. Both of them kept a nervous watch on the dark reaches around them, for they both had the uncomfortable feeling that Eboria might suddenly spring out at them from the cover of one of the larger tunnels that pierced the outer wall of the chamber.

The ramp itself has only one entrance,” whispered Ascilius to Elerian over his right shoulder. “It is farther to the right.”

As they rounded the shoulder of the great column, Ascilius suddenly groaned, a terrible wrenching sound that tore at Elerian’s heart. The Dwarf dropped his ax, which clattered loudly on the floor at his feet. Sinking to his knees, he pulled at his beard with both hands, as if he would tug it out by the roots.

“So many,” he said in a heartbroken voice.

Beyond the kneeling Dwarf, Elerian saw that a portion of the floor had been cleared of debris, but it was not empty. Bones of all sizes gleamed whitely in the rays of Ascilius’s mage light. Skulls with empty staring eyes, rib cages, leg bones shattered for their marrow, they lay in heaps that were waist high on Elerian. There was no doubt in his mind that he and Ascilius had found the missing residents of Ennodius, for the short, thick boned skeletons could only have belonged to Dwarves of all ages and sizes.