The Hidden Realm: Book 04 - Ennodius (29 page)

“She must have returned home safely after leading the second dragon away,” he thought to himself, feeling a sharp pang of disappointment that she had not returned to talk to him. His loneliness, the uninviting room so far underground, and his uncertain future suddenly all weighed in on him, plunging him into a melancholy mood. “I should take it off and free her,” he thought to himself morosely. “Without the treasure that Ascilius promised me, I cannot return to Tarsius even if I leave this city alive. It would be better for her to suffer a little pain now than to have her linger on, hoping that I will return.”

Elerian’s right hand hovered over the ring, but he found that he did not have the will to remove it, for he found that the thought that he might never see Anthea again was more than he could bear. Throwing caution to the wind, for he knew not what it would show him, he called his crystal his orb to his right hand. After it appeared, he willed the silvery glow that clouded its interior to fade.

“Show me her dear face,” he silently commanded the sphere.

The interior of the orb cleared, but instead of Anthea’s fair face, Elerian saw an alien land, a place of stones and emptiness where the lonely wind prowled beneath a dark sky filled with strange stars. His melancholy, strengthened by the influence of that deserted land, suddenly deepened to a despair that pieced his heart like a knife. Shaken to the core, for the orb never lied, Elerian sent away the globe, wondering what its revelation portended for him.

“Am I destined to someday wander that empty land alone and friendless?” he wondered to himself apprehensively. To distract himself from what he had seen, he finally thought to bring back Dymiter’s spell book as well as his own book.

“I am here in Ascilius’s workshop where I never expected to come,” he thought to himself. “Perhaps I should reconsider using the spells Dymiter gave me. It would be foolish to miss the opportunity to make a ring that might help me overcome the perils I may face in the future.”

Had Dymiter appeared in that moment to press his case, Elerian might easily have changed his mind, for he remained deeply suspicious of the wraith and his intentions, but no shade rose out of Dymiter’s spell book when it appeared in his hand. Opening the book to the section on ring making, Elerian began studying the spells in the Elven mage’s book.

“If I am to make this ring, then I must find a way to render it harmless,” he thought to himself, remembering Dymiter’s warnings. “There were futures that Dymiter would not tell me about, futures with no good outcomes. Perhaps I became like Torquatus in them,” he thought to himself with a shudder. “How can I avoid such a fate?”

Carefully, Elerian began to alter the copies of the charms that he had made in his own book, erasing the old letters with a touch of his right forefinger and writing new ones with the quill pen and ink that had appeared with his book. The only sounds in the room were Ascilius's heavy breathing from the next room, and an occasional, anxious whine from Tonare, who appeared to be experiencing some unhappy dream or memory as he slept.

Suddenly, Elerian stopped reading, becoming, instead, acutely aware of the great, empty city that surrounded him on all sides.

 “Outside, it is early summer,” he thought to himself regretfully. “The leaves are full, the forests are filled with life, and here I sit entombed in cold stone.”

Suddenly, Tonare raised his head, interrupting Elerian’s musings. He looked toward the windows with his small, fierce eyes, and his thin, black lips pulled back, exposing his sharp white teeth in a soundless snarl. Elerian watched apprehensively, wondering what had disturbed the dentire. Then, after a few moments, Tonare suddenly relaxed and turned his head to face Elerian.

“One of the small dragons passed by in the street in front of the shop, but it has gone,” he said quietly. Laying his head down, Tonare went back to sleep at once.

Since the room’s windows were well covered, and they had left no scent to attract a dragon in the boulevard, Elerian continued reading by the rays of the dim mage light which was positioned above his head, searching diligently for ways to make the ring Dymiter wanted him to fashion more amenable to his will. When Ascilius awoke hours later, he said nothing of his decision to make ring of power.

“He is sure to disapprove, so I had best keep my plan to myself for now,” Elerian thought to himself as he sent away his spell books.

WEAPONS AND SPELLS

Alternately working and resting over the next four days, Ascilius flattened and shaped the raw iron of the sword he had begun. Since this part of the forging process produced few sparks, he and Elerian both stripped off their leather armor and shirts, wearing only their leather caps, aprons, and pants, for the heat of the red-hot iron kept the temperature high in the forge room even though there were shafts to bring in fresh air.

After the first day, Ascilius allowed Elerian to take his place at the anvil when he tired, for Elerian was eager to help in the making of his sword. With each stroke of Ascilius’s magical hammer, he saw the lines of argentum inlaid in the tool flash white and felt a corresponding drain on his power. Despite the toll it took on his strength, the sledge felt wonderfully light in his hand, allowing him a wonderful precision as he shaped the soft iron of his sword on the anvil.

Ascilius watched Elerian closely at first, but he could find no flaw in companion’s work or in his mastery of the mage fire. Sitting on a rough wooden bench, he watched the half-Elf’s skillful strokes in silence, only now and then giving a bit of advice or guidance.

“Take a few inches off of you and you would make a fair Dwarf,” Ascilius joked one day as Elerian worked, his long muscles twisting and contracting beneath his pale, sweat slicked skin as he swung Ascilius’s hammer.

“I would look and act out of place without a long beard and a grumpy temperament,” replied Elerian at once without looking up from his work. A half smile formed on his lips when he cast a sidelong look out of the corners of his eyes at Ascilius and saw the Dwarf frowning as he tried to think up a suitable reply.

Under the combined efforts of the two companions, the double-edged sword took on the appearance of a long, slender ash leaf. After the blade took its final form, Ascilius welded slender, up curving cross guards between blade and hilt. At the end of the round bar that was to be the foundation of the hilt, he shaped a steel ball. When all was done to his satisfaction, Ascilius melted some of the argentum, molding it around the steel between the cross guards and pommel. With one of his tools, he then carved a series of thin, rounded ridges on its smooth surface.

After heating the blade once more in the mage fire, Ascilius used another of his sharp instruments like a pen, scribing long, flowing lines into the surface of the blade. He demonstrated a wonderful precision and artistry as he cut the complex shapes without the use of any guide or template. After he wrote the name Acris on the blade in Elvish, using a thin graceful script, Ascilius flowed hot argentum into the deep lines that he had engraved, binding the silvery metal to the steel with a joining spell. He then heated the blade, but not the argentum, red-hot before plunging it into a tub of water to temper it. A sharp hissing sound filled the air, and a dense white steam rose up from the tub as Ascilius did this seven times in rapid succession, filling the forge room with a pale fog by the time he was done. Last of all, Ascilius sharpened the blade on a grinding wheel that spun by itself before polishing the entire sword on a soft wheel until it shone like a diamond.

 “Now comes the dangerous part,” said the Dwarf to Elerian on their fourth day in his shop as he laid Acris down in front of him on the anvil. “The argentum inlaid in the steel is now ready to receive the spells which will give the sword its power. Your task will be to hold the scroll I will use where I can read it. As I speak the spells, stand ready to help me if I falter. If I fail to complete any of them, the released magical power will destroy this room and everything in it.”

Having witnessed firsthand the effects of an uncompleted minor spell during his apprenticeship as a mage, Elerian knew that Ascilius was not exaggerating their danger in the slightest, but he held up the scroll with steady hands, holding himself ready to give aid if Ascilius should need it.

Ascilius began speaking in a slow, measured voice as he read the words of the spells, using a language that was strange and unfamiliar to Elerian. Each time Ascilius completed a spell, a golden orb flew from his right hand, striking the sword and briefly enveloping it in a golden film of light as the spell worked its changes on the steel. Despite the danger, Elerian felt no fear, only a great curiosity and wonder as he watched the Dwarf expertly ply his arcane craft. Long before Ascilius reached the last line of the scroll, his strong voice began to falter as his strength waned. Beads of sweat appeared on his broad brow, born of effort and apprehension, but each time he glanced at Elerian with dark anxious eyes, the Dwarf felt a firm grip on his right shoulder and a flood of power flowed through him, giving him the strength to complete the spells that were transforming Acris from an ordinary sword into a magical blade of unsurpassed power.

When Ascilius finally finished, he sat down for a moment on his bench to rest for a moment.

“Pick up the sword,” he said wearily to Elerian. “Test the balance.”

Elerian eagerly picked up Acris with his right hand, a faint silvery radiance suffusing the argentum inlaid in the steel as it contacted his fingers. He swung the blade, the ridges in the hilt digging into his palm, making for a secure grip. The point of the sword stayed up effortlessly, a testimony to the perfect balance between the weight of the hilt and the blade.

Having recovered somewhat, Ascilius stood up. Picking up, with his right hand, a bar of raw iron which he had leaned against the forge earlier, he held the thick piece of metal at arm’s length.

“Strike!” he commanded Elerian.

Elerian cringed inside at abusing a fine weapon in this manner, but he had learned to trust Ascilius and took a powerful swing at the bar. At the moment of contact, he felt a moment of weakness as power surged from him into Acris. He heard steel ring on iron and saw a flicker of white light from the argentum embedded in the sword. The bar Ascilius held in his hand flew into two pieces, cleanly cut. As the iron rang on the stone floor of the forge room, Elerian carefully examined Acris’s blade, but he could find no nick or blemish in its edge.

“Because of the spells that reside in the argentum, Acris will cleave stone, metal, and even dragon scales without harm to itself,” explained Ascilius. “There is a danger in using it, however. As with any magical object, it will draw power from whoever wields it, but because it is such a powerful artifact, it will kill anyone with weak mage powers who tries to use it. In the third age, the Dwarves forged a sword like this for a king of the Northlands in the West, for even then, Torquatus was troubling the world. The sword always gave Decian and his armies the victory but at the cost of the life of the warrior who wielded it, for it drained the life out of a mortal man after a single battle. You must use must use Acris with caution, Elerian. Even from you, it may draw more power than it is wise for you to give.” 

“I will certainly be careful with it,” replied Elerian, returning the sword to the anvil. “What happened to the sword of Decian?” he asked curiously.

“Torquatus took it by treachery and had it destroyed,” said Ascilius, “for Goblins cannot use a weapon made for their destruction.”

With Acris completed, Ascilius began forging a war hammer for himself, first melding the greater part of the remaining bars of sky iron into the rough form of a heavy sledge, which he then began to shape with his magical hammer. As before, Elerian continued the work under Ascilius's direction whenever the Dwarf tired.

The head of the hammer that took shape under their combined efforts was double faced, square in the middle and round at the ends. The steel handle was all of one piece with the head and was long enough to be used in a two handed stroke.

“Can I have the scraps?” Elerian asked Ascilius, for there still remained one bar of sky iron after Ascilius formed his hammer. “I wish to make a pair of knives.”

“Use whatever you wish,” replied Ascilius. “When we are done here, I will be forced to abandon whatever is left in the shop. I do not think any Dwarf will ever set foot in Ennodius again while Eboria lives,” he said glumly.

Thereafter, whenever Ascilius slept, Elerian shaped the remaining iron into two identical, long bladed knives patterned after Acris, for a knife remained his favorite weapon. He named them Rasor and Acer, inscribing their names on their blades in flowing Elven script. When the time came to engrave the grooves for the argentum, Ascilius stood by Elerian’s side offering guidance and explaining the purpose and reason for each intricate channel that he had Elerian cut into the blades of his knives. When they knives were complete, with Ascilius standing by to give his help if needed, Elerian cast the same spells on them that Ascilius had cast on Acris, reading the charms from his spell book where Ascilius had allowed him to copy each spell they used. There were still a few scraps of iron left once the knives were complete, and rather than waste them, Elerian made a dozen arrowheads inlaid with argentum. Into the threads, he placed a parting spell. From several pieces of well seasoned rowan wood that he found in the work shop, he made arrow shafts which he fletched with gray goose feathers.”

By the time the two knives and the arrowheads were complete, Ascilius’s hammer had taken on its final form. The lower two thirds of the handle were now covered with the same silver ridges Ascilius had formed around Acris’s hilt. Both the head and the upper part of the handle were engraved with complex, flowing lines that Ascilius had filled with silvery argentum. Scribed on one side of the head in bold, flowing letters, Ascilius had engraved the name Fulmen in Corach.

On their eighth day in the forge room, after Fulmen was polished, Ascilius had Elerian hold up a different scroll when it came time to cast the spells on the argentum inlaid in the sledge.

“We must use spells which match the weapon,” he explained to Elerian, “for a sword and hammer are not wielded in the same way.”

 Again, Elerian lent the Dwarf power whenever he faltered in the spells he cast, but this time sweat broke out on both their brows, and both their knees grew weak from the charms invoked by Ascilius.

“What sort of spells is he casting on this thing,” Elerian silently asked himself as they neared the end of the scroll, wondering if he and Ascilius would have the strength to cast the last few spells.

“I do not think I will attempt a similar work again in my lifetime,” said Ascilius wearily to Elerian when they were done. Between them, the two companions had barely dredged up enough power to finally finish their task.

After resting a bit on his bench, Ascilius suddenly stood up. Taking the handle of Fulmen in both hands, he dealt the anvil a powerful two-handed blow with the hammer. There was a flash of white light from the argentum when the hammer struck the anvil with a mighty clang. As the heavy block of steel broke into pieces, the floor of the shop trembled. Deep within the city, Eboria stirred restlessly on her bed of gold, her dreams of treasure suddenly troubled by a vague unease.

 “No matter how heavy the stroke, this hammer will not break or dent,” said Ascilius in a satisfied voice to Elerian. “We have wrought well, my friend. We have weapons now that are the equal of the enemies that we face.”

“Before we leave this room, there is one more thing I wish to make,” said Elerian hesitantly. He wanted to make Dymiter’s ring, but he was not sure how to convince Ascilius to help him.

“You have a sword, knives, and arrows. What else do you need?” asked Ascilius in a puzzled voice.

“I mean to make another ring,” Elerian replied slowly, “a ring of power, not a minor effort into the craft like the two I wear on my fingers now. I cannot do it alone, however, for I may require your help to complete the spells.”

“Where did you find the spells to make such a ring,” asked Ascilius after a long, drawn-out silence, his inner uneasiness plainly mirrored in his face. The Dwarves had never taken to ring lore, retaining a deep distrust of the art and its practitioners.

“They were written in Dymiter’s spell book,” admitted Elerian reluctantly.

“How were you able to open the book?” asked Ascilius, wrinkling his brow as his face took on a puzzled expression.

“The shade of Dymiter appeared out of the book while I was looking at it. After urging me to make a ring of power, he gave me permission to read the passages in his book containing ring lore,” replied Elerian. “He said there would be many advantages to making such a ring.”

Ascilius now looked thoroughly alarmed. “You took the advice of a wraith?” he asked in amazement. “I thought you had more sense. How do you know that this shade is not plotting to take over your body? This ring may be something that will aid him in the attempt.”

Elerian had no good answer for Ascilius, for some of the same suspicions had crossed his own mind. “I will take that into consideration when I make the ring, Ascilius, for I, too, am suspicious of this shade and his motives. There is no denying, however, that a ring of power would be useful. You have seen with your own eyes how Torquatus can slay his enemies with his ring. If I face him again someday, I will need a weapon which will equal his own, a ring which will draw into itself the power of any spell that is directed against me,” said Elerian firmly.

“With such a ring on your finger, I should fear to be your friend,” observed Ascilius in a harsh voice.

Elerian looked closely at Ascilius's face and saw that his companion was deadly serious. “Why would you be afraid of me, Ascilius?” he asked in surprise. “We have come through every kind of danger together. You have saved my life more than once and I yours.”