by A. Giannetti
“Get him Arturo,” said Falco to the cat while pointing at the pillar which concealed Herias. Fierce mouser that he was, Arturo promptly bounded toward the pillar. Seeing what approached him, Herias fled in a panic, keeping the column between himself and Ascilius and Falco to obstruct their view of him. Barely a score of yards from the pillar, however, a large paw armed with sickle claws swiped across his buttocks when Arturo finally closed the gap between them. As if branded with fire, Herias gave a tremendous bound which again carried him out of Arturo’s reach, at the same time emitting a loud yell which his illusion spell transformed into a high-pitched squeak. When his feet touched the ground again, Herias fled deeper into the stables, skimming over the floor in long, leaps with Arturo in hot pursuit.
“That rat will not trouble us again,” said Falco to Ascilius when he heard Herias squeak. He was wrong about that, but he had no way of knowing it at the time.
“I had best be on my way then,” said Ascilius before seating himself across from his two cousins. He felt a twinge of disappointment that Elerian was still avoiding him, choosing to sit in the other carriage with Dacien and Triarus, but he was no longer worried that Elerian would slip too deeply into the dream paths.
“He will not dare to sleep while I am around,” he thought to himself with a great deal of satisfaction that was tempered by sadness, for he had begun to think that their friendship might truly be over. “I do not think that he will readily forgive the promises that I forced him to make even though they were for his own good,” thought Ascilius unhappily to himself as he knocked on the wood behind his head to signal the driver to be off. Stoically, he closed his eyes, hoping to fall asleep, for the Black Gate was eighty miles away, a full day and night of travel if they only paused long enough to change teams every four hours at the king’s way stations. Across from Ascilius, Cordus and Cyricus remained awake, talking softly between themselves, for they were much too excited to sleep.
Following one behind the other, the two carriages climbed the main ramp to the first level of the city. When they exited the ramp, the two vehicles entered the street that led to the front gate of Iulius. There was already heavy traffic on the main thoroughfare, but no one remarked on the two carriages as they rolled smoothly over the stone road. In the second carriage, Elerian, who sat across from Dacien and Triarus, had closed his eyes to avoid conversation with his companions, but he was not asleep, for he did not think it wise to walk the dream paths again in his present unsettled state. Awake, the thought of the torture Anthea was enduring weighed heavily on his mind, filling him with frustrated anger and despair. An image of Torquatus suddenly appeared before his mind’s eye, his pale, cruel face twisted into a sneer.
“I have a gift for you,” he said with great good humor as he cast a heap of bloody, severed fingers, toes, hands, and feet at Elerian. Almost, he lost control of himself at the sight of the gory, horrifying image that filled his mind. Only by exerting all his self-control was he able to refrain from leaping out of the carriage and springing into the air in his hawk form so that he could speed to Anthea’s side.
“I must keep to Ascilius’s route,” he reminded himself, relaxing his tensed body and calming his thoughts as his carriage passed without incident through the front gates of the city before heading south. “The orb has already shown me the uselessness of straying from that path. The best that I can manage now is to urge the others to make haste in hopes of reducing Anthea’s time of torment.” Drawing back the curtain from the window on his right side, he brooded over the peaceful pastoral scenes that met his eyes, contrasting them with his own troubled thoughts and Anthea’s desperate situation.
In Iulius, after finally giving Arturo the slip, Herias was finally able to shed his illusion and return to his apartment. Out of breath, disheveled and smarting from a dozen deep scratches on his buttocks and thighs, he breathed a sigh of relief once he closed the heavy, wooden door which gave access to his apartment.
“I hope that miserable creature chokes on a hairball,” he thought sourly to himself, regarding the scratches he had sustained on his hands in his vain efforts to fend off his feline pursuer. His dark eyes glittering with hate as he tended to his wounds, cleaning them and then covering them with a healing ointment. After putting on a fresh pair of trousers, he limped restlessly about his parlor, not daring to test his injured posterior against even a soft cushion. His eye was caught then by an envelope on the floor next to the door, its flap sealed with black wax.
“A message from Cordux!” he thought to himself as he stooped and seized the envelope with his right hand. “I wonder what news he has for me.” Eagerly Herias opened the envelope and read the first few lines of the letter from his confederate.
“This part is old news,” he thought to himself, a frown creasing his pale brow. “He tells me that Orianus’s daughter has been taken by the Goblins, but I had word of that yesterday from the Dwarves released by Torquatus. This part, though, is new. Dacien, the son of Orianus is in Iulius in the company of Ascilius. All becomes clear now,” thought Herias to himself, rubbing his soft, pale hands together with satisfaction. “I will wager my fortune that the stranger Dwarves who accompanied Ascilius were none other than Dacien and the outlander disguised by an illusion spell. Ascilius and the fools who accompany him must plan to rescue Orianus’s daughter. They must have gotten permission from Dardanus to open the Black Gate, for all other exits to the valley are sealed.” Herias had not thought of the passageway under the western Nivalis in many years, but he knew the history of that dark place well as did every other Dwarf in Iulius.
“Ascilius is a greater fool than even I imagined,” thought Herias contemptuously to himself. “If the old tales are true, he and his wretched companions will never emerge from that passageway. Only my uncles and Falco will then stand between me and the kingship of the Dwarves.”
With the sallow fingers of his left hand, Herias thoughtfully stroked his thick black beard. “Still, I must anticipate every calamity that might thwart my ambitions. The southerner has proved to be a slippery sort, wriggling out of every catastrophe. I must make certain that I am rid of him and Ascilius both lest they frustrate my plans again. Despite the risk it is time, I think, to speak directly with Torquatus since I am no longer able to use an intermediary. He hates Ascilius almost as much as I do. If my uncle and his companions somehow win their way through the passageway, I am sure that he will prepare a fitting reception for them.”
Seating himself in a leather chair, Herias brooded over an ornate ring of silver that he was forced to wear on the smallest finger of his right hand, for it had been made to fit fingers more slender than his. The ring sported an enormous, faceted red ruby and had come out of Fimbria in the old days, after that kingdom was destroyed by Torquatus. He had come across it by chance many years ago in an unauthorized inventory of Fundanus’s treasure room in Ennodius. Already a powerful mage, he had recognized the magical aura of the ring at once. After stealing it from his uncle’s treasury, he had finally ferreted out its secret. The spells embedded in the argentum which made up the band opened a small portal when they were properly activated. This portal, an opening the size of his face which hovered above the ring, skimmed, at his command, above the ground like a bird in flight, revealing to Herias’s eyes all that was behind it. Consumed by ambition, he had used the ring to discover Ascilius’s location in Tarsius many years ago, passing the information to an Ancharian of dubious reputation who was an acquaintance of his. He suspected that the Ancharian was a confidant of the Goblins and when news came that Ascilius was presumed dead, killed in a Goblin ambush, he was ecstatic. His hopes of gaining the throne of Ennodius were dashed, however, when his plan to let Eboria into the city went awry. His eyes had then turned to the kingship of Iulius. Suspecting that the emissary of Torquatus was more than he seemed, he had brought the false Ancharian into the king’s presence and then contrived a way to make himself scarce. His plan would have worked flawlessly if not for the meddlin
g of Ascilius’s foreign companion.
“Who would have thought that he would have the power to defeat a lentulus,” thought Herias to himself as he brooded over his ring. Coming to a decision at last, he donned a dark cloak and picked up an ornate cane made of polished rowan shod head and foot with gleaming argentum. With his left hand, he pulled his hood far down over his face before walking down to the stables. After casting an illusion which changed his face and figure, he hired a carriage to take him out of the city. Following his directions, the driver, a stolid Dwarf well known to Herias, left the main road to follow a grass-covered track that led through a game park near the city. Cursing every bump that further pained his wounded posterior, Herias waited impatiently until the carriage reached the end of the track.
Stiffly, favoring his injuries, he exited the vehicle. After instructing the incurious driver to wait, Herias proceeded deeper into the wood on foot, feeling again the discomfort which plagued him when he was surrounded by growing things instead of honest stone. In a remote grove, after pulling his hood down low over his face, he cast the spell that brought his ring to life. He did not possess mage sight, so he did not see the silvery glow which suffused the talisman, but he did see a round opening, perhaps six inches across and resembling a clear window, appear at the level of his eyes. Through the portal, Herias saw a solitary, dark tower whose summit was carved into the shape of a Goblin skull, baleful red fires burning in its eye sockets. Cautious as a fly which treads at the very edge of a spider’s web, wary of the least tremor in its threads which might signal the approach of the spider, Herias directed his portal into the tower, moving from room to room through open doors until he came to a black walled chamber lit with crimson mage lights. A tall, slender Uruc dressed all in black sat silently on a dark throne in the center of the room, the rubies set in his iron crown gleaming like drops of blood. Anger welled up in Herias at the sight of Torquatus.
“Two kingships this Goblin has cost me,” he thought bitterly to himself. “I would have ruled in Ennodius had he slain Ascilius as he ought to have. Again, I might have been ruler in Iulius if his miserable emissary had disposed of the royal family when I left them alone and weaponless before him.” As Herias silently lamented over lost opportunities, Torquatus turned his pale, lean face toward the Dwarf’s portal, looking through it with dark, penetrating eyes.
“You stand before me at last,” he said to Herias, speaking in a soft, amused voice which, nonetheless, carried clearly through the magical aperture. “But why do you hide your face? Have we not been allies for many years? It was you, Herias, was it not, who betrayed Ascilius into my hands and led my agent into the presence of your king?” At the mention of his name, Herias started and Torquatus laughed softly at his obvious discomfort. He had learned the Dwarf’s identity from Sarius before he was slain by Elerian. “Let there be no more obfuscation between us,” he said mockingly. “Tell me plainly why you are here?”
“I have come with information,” replied Herias sullenly. “Ascilius has left Iulius. He plans to leave the Caldaria through an ancient passageway which leads west, under the Nivalis.”
“And why would Ascilius’s future plans interest me?” asked Torquatus in an amused voice.
“Do not dissemble with me,” replied Herias heatedly. “I know that you hate him as much as I do.”
“I do have a certain dislike for him,” admitted Torquatus, red motes appearing briefly in the dark depths of his eyes. “This passageway, however, has I guardian as I recall, a creature powerful enough to destroy armies. Ascilius is unlikely to emerge alive from its lair.”
“It would be wise to leave nothing to chance,” urged Herias. “Ascilius has proved unexpectedly adept at extricating himself from dangerous situations. Station guards by the exit to the passageway so that they may slay him if he somehow emerges alive from the tunnel. We will both better off when he is dead.”
“If I kill him I will be rid of an enemy, but how will his death benefit you?” asked Torquatus sardonically.
“I will be rid of someone I have always hated,” replied Herias vehemently. “He is a buffoon not worthy to be a member of the royal family.”
“He is clearly your inferior,” replied Torquatus in a flattering voice. “I will do as you say, but you must first tell me where to find the western exit to this passageway.”
“I know only that it is somewhere in the Trofim,” replied Herias. “The Trolls will know where it lies if the old stories are to be believed.”
“I will send messengers to them,” agreed Torquatus. “Is the Hesperian traveling with Ascilius?” he asked casually, as if the question had just occurred to him.
“I suspect that he is, disguised as a Dwarf, for he is a mage of sorts adept at casting illusions,” replied Herias. “He is, in fact, an Eirian not a man as he pretends to be.” Torquatus narrowed his eyes at this last bit of information.
“You know this for certain?” he asked Herias in a careless voice.
“I have seen him in his true form with my own eyes,” replied Herias. “Dardanus believes that he is the son of Indrawyn who fled from Fimbria with Dymiter.”
“I know Indrawyn’s fate, but I have often wondered what became of Dymiter,” said Torquatus, carefully concealing his intense interest in any information Herias might possess about the Elf mage.
“Ascilius spoke of him at the same meeting,” replied Herias without much interest. “He claimed that Dymiter made his way to Tarsius where he died of some wound. Orianus springs from his line, if my uncle is to be believed,” concluded Herias contemptuously.
“My suppositions are all true then,” thought Torquatus to himself, outwardly pretending boredom to disguise the excitement he felt at hearing Herias’s news. “It is certain now that Orianus’s daughter and the Eirian are the two who are to carry out Dymiter’s foretelling. I have only to follow through with the cunning plan that I have already put into motion to ensure both their deaths in order to rid myself of the greatest threat to my ambitions.” Torquatus now turned his dark eyed gaze on Herias. He felt no gratitude for the valuable information he had gained and was, instead, determined to use the Dwarf to advance his own plans.
“You deserve some reward for your information, Herias,” he said in a genial voice. “You are already a member of the royal family. Open the gates to the Caldaria and I will have my army set you on the throne of Iulius.”
“I am not so foolish as to let you enter the Caldaria,” replied Herias sardonically. “You have rightly guessed my ambition, however. I wish to rule in Iulius. If you can help me achieve this by disposing of those who stand in my way, I will gladly give you treasure, slaves, fealty, whatever you wish in return for your help.”
“I will refuse none of those things,” said Torquatus amiably. “I have already promised that Ascilius and those who travel with him will trouble you no more. I can also give you something that will rid you of your two uncles if you have the wit and resolve to use it.” Opening the cupboard where he kept his potions, Torquatus selected a small vial filled with a clear liquid. “This is filled with poison drawn from the tail of a mantichor,” he explained to Herias “Taken all at once it is immediately fatal. Administered one drop at a time over a period of many days, however, it will cause a wasting away which, in an ancient Dwarf, might be mistaken for the natural aging process. You will be rid of your uncles and none will suspect you if you can administer this poison to them without arousing suspicion.”
“That is easily accomplished,” said Herias. He waited expectantly, but Torquatus made no move to give him the potion, appearing instead to be lost in thought.
“Fate now aligns itself with my interests at every turn,” thought Torquatus elatedly to himself. “The Dwarves and the treasure that I wisely sent to Iulius will turn the little people away from Dardanus, making them more amenable to accepting Herias when he ascends to the throne. Once he is sovereign there, I will hold the murders he is about to commit over his head, forcing him to rule as
I wish or risk exposure. Iulius will fall under my control without fighting a single battle.” For a long moment, Torquatus reveled in the feeling that he was being carried inexorably by the tides of the world toward the moment when he would rule all of the Middle Realm. Then, reluctantly tearing himself away from his grand vision, he turned his attention back to Herias who was waiting anxiously for the vial of poison.
“There is only one more task to accomplish before I send this ambitious and ruthless little fellow on his way,” thought Torquatus to himself.
“Are you able to magically harden stone?” he asked Herias, his voice melodious and friendly.
“Of course,” Herias replied impatiently. “That is a simple task for a mage of my ability.”
“I will need you to come with me then, for I have one small task which I would like you to accomplish for me before you depart,” said Torquatus, suddenly seizing control of Herias’s small portal and expanding it until it was large enough to accommodate a Dwarf. His eyes gleamed with amusement when Herias started and involuntarily took a step backwards.
“Come now, I have nothing to gain by playing you false” said Torquatus soothingly. “It will serve me better to have you crowned king in Iulius than to have you as a prisoner.” With his right hand, he held out the philter which he had taken from his cupboard. Herias regarded with a mixture of greed and trepidation. It was one thing to talk to Torquatus through the safety of a portal and quite another to step through it, thereby placing himself in the Goblin King’s power.
“I must have that potion,” thought Herias desperately to himself. Hiding his misgivings, his cane clutched tightly in his right hand, he stepped through the portal which instantly disappeared. A sudden change now came over Torquatus. A subdued red glow burned in the dark depths of his eyes, like a banked fire, and a ferocious smile, all sharp teeth and fangs, appeared on his pale lean face, transforming it from handsome to terrible in an instant. Feeling as if he might feint at any moment, Herias felt himself grow short of breath as his heart raced from fear.