by A. Giannetti
THE QUEST
Book Five
of
The Hidden Realm
by
A. Giannetti
The Quest
Copyright ©2015 A. Giannetti
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or retransmitted in any form or by any means without the written permission of the author.
Prologue
The Quest continues the story of Elerian and Ascilius. Instead of traveling to Tarsius for Elerian’s wedding as they had planned, they find that they must undertake a seemingly hopeless quest that promises to lead them to the dungeons of the Goblin King.
Table of Contents
Title
Copyright
Prologue
Map
Chapters
The Journey South
The Pass
A Falling-Out
A Desperate Decision
In The Clutches of the Goblin King
The Sortie
The Council
The Departure
A Risky Alliance
The Passageway
The Stranger
The Gate
The Gargol
An Unexpected Guide
Timely Assistance
Unanticipated Treasures
The Valley
The Dwelling
Troll Country
Trapped
A Terrifying Encounter
The Pursuit
An Opportune Discovery
Tyranus
The Prisoner
Forian
The Cave
A Mystery Is Solved
The Sending
The Chase
The Valley
The Haven
THE JOURNEY SOUTH
As the covered carriage he rode in sped south through the Caldaria, Elerian, still wearing an illusion that gave him the appearance of a tall, dark haired man, sat at his ease facing the back of the vehicle. His gray eyes were open and aware of Ascilius sleeping on the seat across from him, but his mind was far away, reliving memories which seemed as real and vivid as his waking moments, for every aspect of his past life was fixed indelibly in his mind, a capacity he had inherited from his Elven mother. He walked the dream paths warily, observing the events that unfolded before him rather than reliving them, for his gift was a double-edged sword. It allowed him to once again be with those who were dear to him, but were he to allow himself to become too deeply immersed in his past, experiencing his life again, minute by minute, Elerian knew that he ran the risk of lingering on the dream paths until his body perished and his shade passed into the next realm, a fate which might have overtaken him during his captivity in Nefandus but for the intervention of Ascilius.
After gliding like a disembodied shade through the events that had brought him to Iulius, Elerian paused in his mental journey to marvel at the unforeseen and dangerous path that he had followed since leaving Hesperia as a captive of the Goblins. Recalling the instances where he had felt compelled to adopt some course of action contrary to his own desires, he wondered once again if some unknown will had directed his footsteps or if coincidence alone had brought him to this point in his life.
“Were he here, Balbus would have assured me that there is order and purpose to our lives,” thought Elerian to himself, fondly recalling his foster grandfather. “Ascilius, on the other hand, would contend that we are mere flotsam on the river of life, randomly directed this way and that by the current. Whichever of them has the right of it no longer matters to me,” he mused to himself. “Having fulfilled my duty to Ascilius and having gained Anthea’s bride price, I am free now to order my life as I will, subject no more to either the vagaries of chance or the whims of some unknown power if such exists.”
With his long left hand, Elerian stroked the supple leather of the bags of treasure that rested beside him on his left side, drawing comfort from their mass and weight. “When Anthea and I are finally wed, I will not cross the Ancharus again,” he thought resolutely to himself. “Instead, I will follow the example of Dymiter and lead a quiet existence in some remote Tarsian wood with Anthea by my side until the end of our days together.”
“What of your father whose race is still a mystery?” suddenly whispered that part of his mind which so often provided a counterpoint for his thoughts. “Your travels have taught you that only the Urucs, of all the races known to you, commonly possess the ability to shape shift. And what of your mad humor as Ascilius calls it? Is it actually a subtle inclination toward cruelty, passed down to you from some Goblin father? How long can you live with the troubling thought that the blood of that hated race may flow through your veins before you are driven to resume your search to discover the identity of your sire?”
“I know that I am Indrawyn’s son and that must suffice,” thought Elerian to himself in an attempt to quell the disturbing questions that had arisen in his mind. “My father must remain a mystery, for I will waste no more of my life indulging in what would ultimately be a fruitless search. My travels have taught me that all those who might have enlightened me about my past, friend or foe, no longer walk the Middle Realm.” With these reasoned assertions Elerian sought to regain the peace of mind that had been his only moments before, but he found that a question, once raised, was not easily banished without an answer. A shadow had been cast over the happy future that he had imagined for himself and Anthea, a shadow which might never be removed.
At that moment Ascilius suddenly stirred, interrupting Elerian’s troubled, internal debate. As he stretched his arms and became fully awake, the Dwarf’s craggy features fixed themselves into a sour expression, as if he had just now swallowed some bitter draught.
“It grates on me,” he said unhappily to Elerian, “that you should have to flee Iulius like a thief in the night, but you had best disguise yourself as a Dwarf again before we stop for a fresh team at the first way station. I think it best to conceal your departure from Iulius for as long as possible so as to delay any unrest that it might cause among those who would have traded you to Torquatus. It saddens me that some of my people would treat you so coldheartedly after all that you have done for them,” concluded Ascilius with a frown.
“Not everyone has treated me so,” Elerian reminded the Dwarf, seeking to cheer his companion. “I will carry fond memories of Dwarves like Dardanus and Falco as well as many others that I have met. As for the rest, no one is without flaw as you have so often stated.”
“That is true enough, especially regarding yourself,” replied Ascilius immediately, his dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction at having scored a rare hit on his companion.
“Ha!” he thought to himself. “My quick wit has evened the tally between us at least a little.”
“So,” thought Elerian to himself, his gray eyes taking on a hard, eager light. “The old fox thinks to take advantage of my leniency toward his fellow Dwarves. Let us see what he thinks of my counter thrust.” Raising the fingers of his right hand slightly, Elerian altered the illusion that disguised him, taking on the appearance of an old, white haired Dwarf whose dark, deep-set eyes gleamed with amusement.
“Why is he laughing and why does it still seem to me that I have seen that face before?” wondered Ascilius to himself, his earlier satisfaction vanishing like smoke at the appearance of Elerian’s new disguise. He searched his memory, but identity of the illusory Dwarf sitting across from him continued to elude him, for the last time that he had seen it his senses had been dulled by the rather large volume of beer that he had consumed at the time.
“He still does not remember me,” thought Elerian delightedly to himself, struggling not to laugh aloud as he re
lived, in his mind, the memory of Ascilius fleeing from the frying pan wielding serving maid they had encountered on their journey to Iulius. He immediately arranged his features into a smug look calculated to raise Ascilius’s ire even more. His agitation fueled by the annoying look on his companion’s face, Ascilius’s unconsciously began to tug at his beard with his right hand. He was certain that Elerian had done something deserving of a good pummeling but was still unable to recall what it might be.
The raillery between the two companions came to an abrupt end when the carriage suddenly veered off to Ascilius’s left. Drawing aside the dark, heavy curtain on his right, Elerian saw that they had entered the stone courtyard of a way station built into the side of a tree-covered hillock. Muttering to himself, Ascilius exited the vehicle when it stopped a moment later. When Falco climbed through the open door, looking both weary and sleepy, Elerian heard the whinny of ponies and the jingle of harness as a fresh team was hitched to the carriage by the station’s hostler. Seating himself across from Elerian, Falco wrapped himself in his cloak and promptly fell asleep.
Left to his own devices once more, Elerian took to the dream paths again once the carriage resumed its journey with Ascilius at the reins, reliving his treasured days with Anthea in Tarsius. He had passed several hours in this happy state when the carriage suddenly stopped and a heavy thump sounded on the roof above his head. Across from Elerian, Falco started awake. Feeling the carriage turn to his right, Elerian drew aside the curtain by his right shoulder and saw that he had dreamt away the day, for evening had already spread its dark wings over the Caldaria. Having left the main highway the coach was now following a stone paved driveway bordered by tall maple trees, their gray trunks rising up like thick, furrowed columns on either side of the carriage. Overhead their lengthy, massive branches and broad lobed leaves formed a thick canopy that completely obscured the night sky.
When the coach stopped, Elerian followed Falco and Ascilius into a spacious inn built into the side of a hill in Dwarf fashion while, behind them, a hostler took their vehicle away. Taking a seat at a table in a remote corner of the tavern, the three companions ordered and consumed a hearty and excellent stew served in earthenware bowls and accompanied by loaves of fresh, crusty bread and flagons of beer. Elerian’s attempt at conversation during the meal bore little fruit, for both Dwarves were tired and hungry, more intent on satisfying their appetite and thirst than carrying on a conversation. When their repast was over, they returned to the carriage which was now hitched to a fresh team of ponies. Falco took the driver’s seat while Ascilius promptly fell asleep in the seat opposite Elerian. For a time, Elerian watched the Dwarf with a hopeful, predatory look that Ascilius would certainly have found disturbing if he was awake, but the Dwarf remained blissfully asleep, tired from hours of driving.
“This will be a boring journey if I have nothing to keep me company except slumbering Dwarves,” thought Elerian wryly to himself as he observed his sleeping companion. “Still, I am the one who insisted on speed, so I ought not to complain that Ascilius has taken me at my word.” Abandoning his hopes of annoying his companion, he ventured once more onto the dream paths, riding across the Tarsian plains on Enias with Anthea by his side.
Several uneventful hours passed before Elerian abruptly came back to himself when he saw Ascilius’s eyes open. When he saw that Elerian was aware of him, the Dwarf’s craggy face assumed a pitying look that was at odds with the sly glint in the depths of his dark eyes. The inconsistency between look and intent immediately put Elerian on his guard.
“Having rested, the old rogue is now intent on mischief,” thought Elerian to himself.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked suspiciously.
“I was just thinking of the awful fate that awaits you in Tarsius,” replied Ascilius solemnly.
“And what fate might that be?” asked Elerian in a baffled voice. He was certain that Ascilius was baiting him, but he could not resist playing along. “I will turn the tables on him as I always do,” he thought confidently to himself. “His wit is no match for mine.”
“Your marriage to Anthea is the doom that awaits you,” replied Ascilius, his voice now full of false sympathy. “Once she places your wedding ring through your nose, your whole life will change.”
“The ring goes on my finger as you well know,” replied Elerian warily, for he sensed that the Dwarf had laid some subtle trap for him.
“I was speaking figuratively not literally,” replied Ascilius sagely. “Like the farmer who imposes his will on a fierce bull, Anthea will use the ring she gives you to command you as she wishes, subjecting you continually to the arcane desires of the female sex.”
“You are speaking nonsense now,” replied Elerian disdainfully. “There is nothing mysterious about Anthea. She is as direct and clear-cut as a sword thrust.” Ascilius gravely shook his head to the negative.
“You speak from ignorance, Elerian,” he said sadly. “You will find that females change after marriage. Overnight, they gain a desire for a home, stability, and,” here Ascilius shuddered slightly, “offspring. Worst of all is their constant need for reassurances of your undying love.”
“Even if all you say is true, none of it dismays me,” asserted Elerian in an unconcerned voice. “I would gladly pledge my love to Anthea every day of her life.”
“Would you like to do it standing in the center of Niveaus, shouting it out to all who pass by?” asked Ascilius cunningly, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he sprang his trap. “That is the kind of request she is likely to make of you.”
“You are making this up,” replied Elerian. His voice dripped with scorn, but Ascilius gleefully noted a hint of uncertainty in his eyes.
“Am not,” replied Ascilius tartly. “Anthea and I will laugh together when it happens.”
The Dwarf’s last remark stung, for Elerian knew there was a hint of truth in it. “She would laugh if the treacherous, old fox to put her up to it,” he thought uncomfortably to himself. On the defensive now, he launched a counterattack.
“Why should I believe anything that you tell me?” he asked scathingly. “From what I have seen, you are hardly an expert on dealing with females. The only woman I have seen you address tried to brain you with a frying pan.”
It was now Ascilius’s turn to frown. Scowling at Elerian, he was about to make an angry reply, but no words came out of his mouth, for he was rendered speechless as he finally remembered where he had seen the Dwarf illusion that Elerian was wearing as a disguise.
“It was you!” he said in a horrified voice. “You set that heavy-handed wench on me!”
“This is not good,” thought Elerian immediately to himself, for the last thing that he wanted was to be in close quarters with an angry Ascilius. Quick as lightening, he reached over with both hands and pulled the Dwarf’s hood down over his eyes. With his third eye, he saw a flash of golden light spill from his fingers as he cast an immobility spell on the cloth, rendering it as rigid as iron. His vision obscured, Ascilius immediately began tugging and pushing in vain with both hands in an attempt to remove his hood which now stubbornly clung to his head like a helmet. It was the perfect moment for a strategic retreat, but Elerian remained in his seat, his gaze fixated on Ascilius’s substantial nose which stuck out well past the edge of his hood.
“Don’t do it,” Elerian cautioned himself, but as if it had a will of its own, his right hand lifted up and firmly tweaked the end of Ascilius’s nose between its two middle fingers. At this unexpected and painful attack on his most prominent facial feature Ascilius bellowed angrily. Abandoning his efforts to remove his hood, he clutched his injured nose with his left hand and, at the same moment, swung his right fist through the air in a mighty arc to the left. Passing over Elerian’s head when he ducked down, the Dwarf’s powerful hand punched a hole through the oak paneling of the carriage, shattering the thick wood as if it were no more than an eggshell.
An energetic game of hide and seek now e
nsued in the close confines of the carriage as Elerian desperately sought to stay out of Ascilius’s reach while the Dwarf, despite not being able to see, just as determinedly sought to lay hands on him. Sitting in the driver’s seat, Falco felt the whole vehicle shake beneath him to the accompaniment of various thumps, shouts, bellows, and the splintering of wood. Disturbed by the uproar, the ponies snorted nervously in their traces, prepared to bolt away at the slightest provocation.
“What on earth is going on in there?” wondered Falco in alarm as he reined in the team and set the brake. “It sounds as if a whole gang of Goblins has climbed in there with them.” Leaping from his seat, he pulled open the curbside door and then jumped nimbly aside as Ascilius, holding Elerian in a headlock with his left arm, tumbled out past him onto the ground. There the two combatants, neither of whom could now see, proceeded to blindly but vigorously pummel each other.
“Assassin!” roared Ascilius. “I will thrash you within an inch of your life before I am done.”
“You can try,” shouted Elerian in reply as he tried to slip free of Ascilius’s iron grip. Up to now most of his and the Dwarf’s blindly directed blows had missed their mark, but now, as he swung his right arm up, Elerian felt his clenched fist contact a soft, prominent object that could only be Ascilius’s nose. There was a roar of outrage from the Dwarf, and an instant later, all the air was driven from Elerian’s lungs as Ascilius landed a heavy blow on his ribs with his right hand.
“They will hurt each other in a moment,” thought Falco apprehensively to himself when he saw that the battle had escalated, but he was at a loss on how to stop the altercation. Well acquainted with the enormous strength of the two combatants, he judged that it would be extremely foolish on his part to come within range of their flying feet and fists. Because Ascilius had informed Falco before they left Iulius that Elerian intended to meet his future bride on the plains, he was inspired to suddenly shout loudly, “Anthea! Talk some sense into these two!”