The Warrior (The Hidden Realm)

by A. Giannetti

  “Time to vanish,” thought Elerian to himself.

  He called his ring to his finger and disappeared when the ring spread its mantle of invisibility over his body. On silent feet, Elerian followed the road, only the tiny mage light hovering above his head giving away his position. He would have liked to extinguish it, but he could not follow the dusty trail at his feet with his third eye. He was forced to rely on his ordinary vision and so needed at least some light.

  Elerian began passing smaller side tunnels. After a brief look into each one, he passed them by, for the dust covering their floors was undisturbed. Before long, another obstacle to his attempt to rescue Ascilius presented itself. The dust on the floor thinned and then vanished entirely.

  “Evidently, there is quite a bit of foot traffic at this end of the tunnel,” thought Elerian to himself. “Perhaps the Goblins are still using this part of the mines. The cry the lentulus made when I wounded it may have drawn them to Ascilius.”

  He hesitated, at a loss as to which way to proceed now that he had no trail to follow. From where he stood, he could see the entrances to several smaller tunnels both on his left and on his right. Ascilius might be in any one of them.

  “If I choose the wrong one, it may cost Ascilius his life,” thought Elerian to himself in growing distress.

  Suddenly, a piercing shriek, full of pain and misery, rent the air, causing him to start. The sound came from a smaller tunnel on his right. Extinguishing his mage light, Elerian sprinted into the tunnel. Crimson mage lights contained in iron cages fastened to the tunnel’s arched ceiling soon appeared, filling the passageway with a dim, ruddy light. Elerian came to an abrupt stop when two Mordi suddenly emerged in front of him from a tunnel entrance on his right. The shambling figure of a mutare walked upright between them, an unusual grouping given that Wood Goblins and mutare hated each other.

  “This place is a maze,” thought Elerian despairingly to himself as he waited to see what the Wood Goblins would do next. “How will I ever find Ascilius in this warren?” he wondered to himself.

  Just then, the mutare stumbled, bringing a curse from one of the Mordi. It appeared weak and confused to Elerian’s eyes, not at all like the other mutare he had encountered in the past. Driving the changeling in front of them with the butts of the black whips they carried, the Mordi turned to their right, away from Elerian. They continued up the passageway, which appeared to slope up and to the right, until they disappeared from Elerian’s sight. Not knowing what else to do, Elerian slipped into the side tunnel from which they had just emerged.

  There were iron doors set in the walls at regular intervals on either side of the tunnel, but they were locked, and no light shone through the gaps between their lower edges and the floor of the tunnel. Elerian passed them by, drawn on by an open, lit doorway on the right wall almost at the end of the passageway. Another horrible scream suddenly filled the tunnel, causing him to start again. His heart racing, dreading what he might see, Elerian ran to the end of the tunnel and cautiously peered around the edge of the iron doorframe.

  The room beyond the doorway was large, perhaps thirty feet square, and was lit by the same red mage lights as the tunnel. There were five Goblins gathered in the center of the room around a stone table, standing so closely together that Elerian had no clear glimpse of what held their attention. Four of the Goblins were Mordi, ordinary soldiers judging from the black leather armor they wore, but the fifth was a tall Uruc, dressed in black velvet that gleamed softly in the red mage lights. An iron crown set with blood red rubies sat on his dark head, and his sable hair fell loose about his shoulders.

  “Torquatus,” thought Elerian to himself in alarm. “What is he doing here so far from Nefandus?”

  THE DARK KING

  Elerian’s gaze swept swiftly around the room. To the left of the table, against the left hand wall of the room, was a shallow stone pit in which a large, crackling fire had been kindled. Suspended over the fire on two stout iron supports was a thick iron grate with four manacles attached to it. A fiendish series of iron gears and a crank allowed the grate to be rotated to any angle the torturer desired. Midway between the table and the right hand wall of the room, stood a small stone pedestal. On its round top lay the other dagger Ascilius had taken from the treasure room, the gems set in its handle glowing with a sultry light from the red mage lights that illuminated the room. On the floor in front of the pedestal were Ascilius’s ax and Elerian’s sword, knife, and bow. Both their packs, the contents ransacked and strewn about, lay next to the weapons. Only the pouches filled with money and gems taken from the treasure room were missing. Elerian looked to his right and felt a surge of relief when he saw Ascilius chained hand and foot to the wall there. The Dwarf looked extremely angry and disheveled but appeared unhurt.

  A high pitched scream caused Elerian to start, drawing his attention back to the Goblins gathered around the table. Several of them shifted their positions, allowing him to see past them for the first time. A human prisoner was chained to the table. Naked, he writhed on the table top, straining against his bonds. He screamed again as a change came over him. Horrified, Elerian watched as the man’s body thickened and his arms grew longer. His face became coarser, the brow becoming lower and the nose thickening while his teeth became those of an animal, long canines and shearing teeth behind. The nails on his thick fingers lengthened into black, curved claws and coarse, dark hair began to grow all over his entire body. Worst of all, Elerian saw the light of intelligence slowly fade from the man’s eyes to be replaced by a feral yellow glow. Although Elerian had never felt any discomfort when he changed his shape, the man screamed again in agony, and Elerian wondered if Torquatus had deliberately made the shape change painful to add to the poor creature’s torment.

  When the change from human to mutare was complete, a slender iron collar was fastened about the mutare’s neck by one of the Mordi. A line of fine, scarlet script burned for a moment against the background of the dark metal, before fading away. A second Goblin released the newly made mutare from his chains. The changeling was then dragged off of the table top by two of the Mordi who beat him with the butts of their black whips, driving him unresisting toward the entrance to the room. Elerian hastily stepped to one side, and they passed him unaware.

  Stepping silently back into the doorway, Elerian saw that Torquatus stood by the right hand side of the table facing the back wall of the room. Now that the table was clear, Elerian was able to see for the first time that a human prisoner was lying on his left side on the floor with his back against the far wall. He was tied hand and foot with stout cords and wore only the remains of a tattered pair of leather pants. His tangled hair and beard were black, and he was thin and starved looking, every bone in his chest visible beneath his dirty skin. Every exposed part of his body was crisscrossed by lash marks. Some were old and healed; some were fresh and still bleeding. His clear gray eyes, which were fixed on Torquatus, were filled with hate and revulsion.

  “Surely he is a Tarsi,” thought Elerian to himself in surprise, wondering how one of the riders came to be here so far from the plains.

  He could not help but notice that, except for the beard, he and the rider resembled each other closely. They were both about the same height, with the same coloring and the same lean face, although the Tarsi looked younger by many years.

  “They must plan to turn him into a mutare also,” thought Elerian to himself as the remaining pair of Mordi approached the prisoner together, their dark eyes gleaming in anticipation of the torment he was about to endure.

  Knowing the fate that was in store for him, the Tarsi began to struggle against his bonds, but Elerian saw no fear in his eyes, only a determination to resist his fate until the very end. Turning away from the Tarsi with a satisfied look on his pale face, Torquatus walked over to Ascilius, his booted feet making no noise on the stone floor. Elerian hid himself behind the right side of the doorframe, lest the Goblin king look his way. It was almost a certainty tha
t a powerful mage like Torquatus also possessed the third eye. A few moments later, Elerian heard Torquatus speak in a soft, yet penetrating voice that was filled with evil good humor.

  “One more prisoner to take care of, Ascilius,” he said cheerfully as if speaking to an old and dear friend. “Then I shall give you my undivided attention.”

  Elerian cautiously peered around the doorframe. Torquatus was standing in front of the Dwarf with his back to Elerian. With his left eye, Elerian could see most of Ascilius’s face past Torquatus’s right shoulder.

  “You will soon tell me where you found this,” said Torquatus to Ascilius, pointing with his left hand to the gleaming dagger lying on the pedestal. “You will also tell me where your companion is, or I will roast you over a slow fire for days if I must, until you beg me to kill you.”

  “The fool who was with me fell into the chasm,” said Ascilius coldly. “As for the dagger, I found it in a cave in the Broken Lands. I have no idea where it came from.”

  Ascilius’s craggy face was impassive as he spoke, as if carved from stone, but his dark eyes glittered with anger.

  “You are lying, of course,” said Torquatus, sounding almost bored. “You will sing a different tune when you are on the rack and the flames bite your stubborn flesh,” he said in a voice suddenly turned cold and evil.

  Ascilius made no answer, but Elerian saw him deliberately spit up into Torquatus’s face. Cursing violently, Torquatus raked his right hand across Ascilius’s left brow and cheek, his curved, black painted nails leaving four deep, bloody furrows in the Dwarf’s flesh.

  While he was thus distracted, Elerian sprang into the room with a lithe bound, his eyes on the dagger which lay on the pedestal. It was the only weapon in the room which might conceivably harm the Goblin king. Circling silently around to the left of the table, so as not to pass too closely behind Torquatus, Elerian saw that the two remaining Mordi were leaning over the human prisoner. They were amusing themselves by tormenting him with the points of their knives until such time as their king was done with Ascilius. The Tarsi made no outcry as they cut him with their knives, but his eyes were bright with pain and blood ran from his lips where he had bitten them.

  “Deal with the master first,” Elerian advised himself, but he found himself turning toward the trio on his left just the same.

  “Your soft heart will ruin everything,” he berated himself as he seized the nearest Mordi by the chin with his left hand and the back of his head with his right. Elerian gave a powerful twist of his arms and wrists. There was a dull snap. His neck broken, the Mordi slumped to the floor when Elerian released him. The second Goblin gaped for a moment at his dead companion, trying to comprehend what had caused his death. Before he could recover from his surprise, Elerian seized the Goblin’s right hand with his own, effortlessly twisting the Mordi’s slim wrist upwards, plunging the black bladed knife up through his jaw and deep into his brain before he could make a sound.

  The first Goblin still clenched his knife in his right hand. Elerian tore it loose with from his dead fingers with his own right hand, using the keen blade to slash apart the ropes binding the Tarsi.

  “Run,” he whispered into the rider’s left ear.

  The plainsman’s eyes grew wide at the sound of Elerian’s voice, but he made no sound that would give away his invisible benefactor. Elerian straightened up and turned to his right to face Torquatus, who was so incensed with Ascilius that he had yet to notice what had taken place on the far side of the room behind his back. Bloody furrows now scored both of Ascilius’s cheeks.

  “Act now before he turns your way,” thought Elerian urgently to himself as he sprang toward the pedestal.

  Torquatus chose that moment to turn around. He stiffened, a surprised look on his pale face.

  “He can see me!” thought Elerian despairingly to himself, for Torquatus was looking at him, not at the two Mordi lying dead on the floor behind him. Elerian’s left hand was only inches from the jewel encrusted handle of the knife lying on the pedestal when he saw Torquatus raise his right hand. With his third eye, Elerian saw a lance of red light leap from the Goblin King’s hand, striking him in the chest with the force of a hammer stroke and felling him to the floor before he could close his fingers on Ascilius’s knife.

  As he lay on his back, facing Torquatus, Elerian felt as if he had been impaled by a spear. The gleaming shaft of light had entered deep into his chest, but instead of fading away, it flared brightly, linking him to the silver ring that Torquatus wore upon the second finger of his right hand. With his mage sight, Elerian saw that ring as a circle of red fire, pulsating brightly as it absorbed his strength like a great scarlet leech. Elerian found that he could do nothing to stop or even slow that drain on his power, nor was he able to stir so much as a finger in his defense. He became visible, for he no longer had the strength to maintain his ring’s invisibility spell.

  Taking his time, Torquatus walked over to Elerian, his booted feet seeming to glide over the floor. When he leaned forward over Elerian, in order to have a closer look, the Goblin’s fiery, gloating eyes seemed to fill all of Elerian’s sight. Behind Torquatus, Ascilius began to shout threats and insults at the Goblin king. A look of annoyance crossed the dark King’s face, and he turned away from Elerian to glare at the Dwarf.

  “When I roast you over the fire that tongue of yours will be better employed,” he said viciously to Ascilius. “First, however, I will deal with your companion, who it seems, did not fall into the chasm after all.”

  Suddenly, a shriek rent the air, high and terrible. Elerian was filled with confusion when he realized that the sound had come from Torquatus. Immediately, he felt the drain on his power stop. With his third eye, he saw that the fiery link between his chest and Torquatus’s ring had vanished. Still too weak to move, Elerian looked up and saw Torquatus waver and almost fall.

  Unnoticed by either Torquatus or Elerian, his bare feet making no noise on the stone floor, the prisoner Elerian had freed had crawled unnoticed to the pedestal. While the Dark King’s attention was focused on Ascilius, he risen to his feet and had taken the knife on the pedestal into his right hand. Gathering the last of his strength, he had leaned over the pedestal, thrusting the blade of his knife into the Goblin’s back, over his heart. The lines of argentum had gleamed like molten silver as the gray steel sank into the Goblin’s flesh, but in an instant, the blade had withered. As Elerian watched, unable to help him, the prisoner collapsed insensible to the floor behind the pedestal, the jeweled hilt of Ascilius’s knife clutched in his right hand. The remnants of the blade were still smoking from Torquatus’s blood.

  When Torquatus turned toward Elerian, his eyes were dark once more; their fires extinguished by excruciating pain. Fear and confusion were plain to see on his face. Dreadfully weakened by the bitter wound he had received, he obviously had no idea what enemy had crept up on him unawares to strike him down from behind.

  With his third eye, Elerian saw a small, red orb fly from the fingertips of Torquatus’s right hand, blossoming into a man high circle of shimmering red light that hung in the air in front of him, masking most of his body from Elerian’s sight. When the center of the circle cleared, Elerian saw Torquatus half leap, half stagger into it, but he did not emerge on Elerian’s side of the circle. Before Elerian’s startled eyes, Torquatus vanished as did the red circle an instant later.

  Hardly able to believe that he was still alive and that Torquatus had fled so precipitously, Elerian sent away his ring, for he had become invisible again as soon as the drain on his life force had ceased.

  “Run!” shouted Ascilius as soon as he saw Elerian lying on the floor. “Torquatus will heal himself and return with reinforcements at any moment.”

  “The wound he received was deep and deadly,” said Elerian doubtfully as he slowly sat up. “He may already be dead.”

  “Even in proper hands, that knife would not have killed Torquatus,” said Ascilius scornfully. “Wielded by a human, it could
only wound him. Run while you can. The chains that bind me are enchanted. They bite into my flesh like wolves if I but stir, and they will resist any opening spell you cast on them.” Ascilius looked at Elerian calmly, with no sign of fear in his dark eyes. “Leave,” he said again. “There is nothing you can do for me except to plunge one of the Goblins’ knives into my heart before you go. I would as soon not endure the trial by fire that Torquatus promised me,” said Ascilius in a calm, unruffled voice.

  “You talk too much,” said Elerian, trying to make his voice sound confident. “Be quiet for a moment and let me think!”

  The idea of abandoning Ascilius to the tender mercies of the Goblins never entered Elerian’s mind, although his heart had sunk upon hearing that Ascilius’s bonds were ensorcelled. He remembered all too well how he had failed to open manacles of this type in the past. If he tried to break them open, they would bite his fingers cruelly like a live thing, all the while sapping all his strength and paralyzing his magical powers. If he tried to force them open with a spell, they would use Ascilius’s mage power to resist him. The Dwarf would die before the cold steel binding him gave way.

  “I must try, no matter how hopeless it seems,” thought Elerian to himself. “If I fail, then I will die by his side.”

  Without any great hope of success, Elerian opened his third eye. The wall behind Ascilius was now a dead black expanse, the Dwarf’s golden shade spread-eagled across it. Thick, scarlet chains of red light bound Ascilius to the wall, the visible manifestations of the spell which held the Dwarf captive. Elerian raised his right hand, holding it near the chain that restrained Ascilius’s left arm. Cautiously, he extended a little of his shade across the slight gap that separated his fingers from the cold steel. Encouraged by the fact that he felt no ill effects, Elerian used the slender thread of gold that he had extended into the chain to explore the Goblin spell that animated it. He found that it was the same spell that had baffled him when he was taken by Ancharian raiders in Lascar, but now he was able to explore the intricacies of the spell which had resisted him before.