The Warrior (The Hidden Realm)

by A. Giannetti

  “Hold your tongue Gwerth,” said the gray beard sternly. “Your luck is either very good or very bad today,” said the man thoughtfully to Dacien, “for we have the means at hand to prove or disprove your claim. Do wish to put it to the test?” he asked sternly.

  Dacien’s reply was interrupted by a wild neighing as a great black stallion suddenly broke away from the horse herd. As he approached the ring of horses, they shied away from him, for he would have overthrown any who stood in his way, such was his stature and strength. The fiery creature slid to a stop before Dacien and began to nuzzle his face and chest roughly, stamping his feet and neighing with joy the whole time. Dacien, for his part, threw his arms around the stallion’s sleek, corded neck.

  “Mylachen,” he shouted happily. “How do you come to be here now?”

  “The horse knows its rider,” said the gray beard, reciting an old Tarsi proverb to the other guards. “This is indeed Dacien, for no mage trick would deceive one of our steeds. Welcome home, my lord,” he said respectfully to Dacien. “Are these fellows companions of yours?” he asked doubtfully, pointing to Elerian and Ascilius. They seem a hard, lawless pair.”

  “I will vouch for both of them,” said Dacien hastily, for Ascilius’s face immediately darkened with anger at the comment even though, on the face of it, it was quite true.

  “Take care what you say to my companion,” Elerian could not resist adding. “He comes from a race of especially bloodthirsty Dwarves.”

  Ascilius turned red in the face and became momentarily speechless, for he could not decide whom to reply to first, Elerian or the rider.

  Hoping to defuse the tension, Dacien turned to the gray bearded rider and asked, “What is your name?”

  “I am called Heald, my lord.”

  “How did Mylachen come to be here today?” asked Dacien happily. “I last saw him in Silanus when I was captured.”

  “He arrived with the crippled Merghi this morning,” said Heald. “It seems a strange coincidence does it not?”

  Elerian did not hear Dacien’s reply, for his gaze was riveted on a second horse that had followed Mylachen and which he now noticed for the first time. The horse was a pale gray stallion, with a finely sculpted, wedge shaped head that was borne aloft on a proudly arched neck. His long, silvery mane and tail billowed in the light breeze blowing across the plain. With each movement he made, the sunlight gleamed on the silver highlights in his coat so that he seemed made of molten silver as he approached Elerian. In comparison to the powerful, robust steeds of the Tarsi, his lean body and long, slender legs seemed almost delicate.

  The stallion walked with a distinct limp in his left hind leg, and deep, parallel furrows ran down his left flank, as if great claws had torn through the sleek hide and then healed. The crippled stallion reminded Elerian of the silver horses that he had seen in his dreams of Fimbria.

  The horse came to a stop before Elerian. His dark, amethyst eyes regarded Elerian with a keen intelligence as his delicate nostrils flared to drink in his scent. Laying his right on the stallion’s soft neck, Elerian extended a little of his shade into its body, touching the stallion’s mind with his own. At once, he sensed joy and also hope. This beautiful creature knew what he was and expected something from him.

  “What can he want from me?” wondered Elerian to himself.

  His eyes were drawn to the scars on the stallion’s flank. When he pictured the long healed wounds in his mind, Elerian had a sudden vision of an enormous yellow beast with fiery green eyes and great scimitar claws. An attempt to inquire into the stallion’s history was less successful. He saw only images of the open plains and felt a sense of deep sorrow. The injury the stallion had received had isolated it from its own kind, forcing it to live among the lesser horses of the Tarsi. For reasons that it could not explain, the stallion had left Silanus, arriving here that very day accompanied by Mylachen.

  Elerian withdrew his shade and looked the stallion in the eyes.

  “I know what you want my friend, but it may be beyond me,” he said softly.

  With his shade, Elerian had sensed terrible damage under the stallion’s maimed hide. He was uncertain if he had the power to heal such an old, extensive injury, but he became determined to try. Laying his right hand across the stallion’s scars, he watched with his third eye as a golden light, visible only to himself, flowed from his fingers, covering the old injuries and penetrating deep into the stallion’s body.

  Lacking mage sight, Ascilius and the riders saw nothing happening at first. Then, one of the Tarsi exclaimed in surprise, “Look! The scars are disappearing!”

  When Elerian took his hand away at last, the riders crowded around the stallion and saw that his gleaming hide was unblemished once more. Placing his left hand on the gray stallion’s left shoulder, Elerian vaulted into the air, landing lightly on the stallion’s back with his legs clamped lightly round its chest. The stallion stood quietly beneath him while the riders drew back, shaking their heads and talking quietly among themselves. Not all of them seemed pleased by what had occurred.

  “It seems that you have made a friend,” said Dacien, who was not as surprised as the riders around him at this latest manifestation of Elerian’s power. “He has never let anyone lay so much as a finger on him before.”

  “He seems of a different breed from your own horses,” said Elerian.

  “A few small bands of his kind roam wild on the plains,” said Dacien. “We call them Merghi. They run like the wind, but they lack the strength and stature required of a proper warhorse, so we leave them alone. This stallion appeared among our herds ten years ago. He was a yearling then, badly crippled from the injuries you have now healed. We let him stay out of pity, but it is a wonder that he has survived this long.”

  Elerian smiled at Dacien’s words. The gray stallion lacked the bulk of Dacien’s powerful black charger, but there were steely muscles beneath his silky hide. Elerian was confident that he was more than a match for the horses of the riders in strength.

  “If no one else claims him, then I will take him for my own,” said Elerian to Dacien. “I will call him Enias.”

  Although Elerian had only ridden the heavy plow horses used by the Hesperians in his youth, he felt completely at home on Enias. Gripping the stallion’s sleek sides with his strong legs and holding on to his mane with his left hand, he urged the stallion through the circle of mounted Tarsi. Riding in a circle, he adjusted easily to the stallion’s smooth gait, as if he had ridden all of his life.

  When Elerian guided Enias back toward Dacien, the Tarsi exclaimed in surprise, “I see you have cured his limp as well as his scars. The men have already named you Harelian, which means healer in our own tongue.”

  The name given him by the riders startled Elerian, for its resemblance to his own name seemed a curious coincidence.

  “This is a day for strange happenings,” he thought to himself. “First Enias appears with Mylachen, and now this name that they have bestowed on me.”

  Dacien turned to Heald. “We have delayed long enough. Will you now escort my companions and myself to Merula?”

  “If that is what you wish,” said Heald. “You must first find a mount for the Dwarf, however. The encampment is nearly three miles to the south.”

  “Nothing could persuade me to ride one of these great beasts,” said Ascilius at once to Heald. “My two feet will carry me wherever I need to go.”

  Like all Dwarves, Ascilius had no liking or use for horses. When his people traveled, they preferred to walk or ride in wagons pulled by the small, sturdy ponies they favored.

  “You can ride with me, Ascilius. Enias will carry us both,” said Elerian. A bright gleam of mischief that thoroughly alarmed the Dwarf had appeared in his gray eyes.

  “I said I would walk,” insisted Ascilius stubbornly. His eyes widened with apprehension as Elerian suddenly urged Enias in his direction. As if divining his intent, Ascilius turned and darted to his right, but Elerian bent low over Enias’s r
ight side. In a surprising display of strength, he grasped the sturdy Dwarf by the back of his tunic with his right hand, swinging him up onto Enias’s withers in front of him as easily as if he were lifting a small child.

  THE ENCAMPMENT

  Ignoring Ascilius’s loud protests, Elerian guided Enias toward Dacien. In a panic, Ascilius grasped the stallion’s mane in both hands but soon saw that he was in little danger of falling off, for the Enias’s gait was so smooth that Ascilius had little trouble keeping his seat, even with his short legs.

  Now that the problem presented by Ascilius was solved, Dacien sprang happily onto Mylachen’s broad back. Riding easily without saddle or reins, he followed Heald south, toward the encampment of the Tarsi. Enias trotted close behind Dacien, easily carrying both Elerian and Ascilius. Behind them, the sentries returned to their posts, deep in discussion of the strange events they had just witnessed. Gwerth, riding a little apart from the others, breathed a sigh of relief. He had expected to be punished for his treatment of Dacien, but now it appeared that he had been given an unexpected reprieve. He fervently resolved to stay out of Dacien’s sight for the remainder of his stay in the encampment.

  Despite having lost some of his fear of tumbling off Enias’s back, Ascilius could not resist grumbling to Elerian about being forced to ride.

  “Confound it, Elerian, I told you that I would rather run on my own two feet than risk life and limb on this great beast. Put me down and I will run the rest of the way.”

  “You would cut a sad figure if you came huffing and puffing into the camp of the Tarsi long after everyone else had arrived,” said Elerian unsympathetically.

  “I hardly cut a dashing figure now,” complained Ascilius. “I feel like a sack of potatoes.”

  “You certainly ride like one,” said Elerian with a laugh. “Try not to be so stiff.”

  “Easy for you to say with your long shanks,” retorted Ascilius. “I cannot get a proper grip on this beast with my short legs. Let me down and I will run,” he insisted again.

  “Do they go on like that all of the time?” asked Heald of Dacien who was now riding next to him on his right. He was looking back at the odd pair behind him, trying hard not to laugh.

  “Constantly,” said Dacien with a smile. “At first, I took them for bitter enemies, but then I realized that only fast friends could abuse each other in such a manner.”

  Ascilius complained the whole way to the encampment at being forced to ride. Each time he started to feel at his ease, Enias made a sudden start as if the stallion had seen something in the grass that frightened him, setting Ascilius’s heart to pounding. The Dwarf soon became convinced that Elerian and the gray stallion were somehow in league against him, almost as if they could talk to each other, and he could not wait to set his feet onto the ground once more.

  The shadows were beginning to lengthen when the four riders crested a low knoll, and a long, shallow valley suddenly spread out before them, covered with dozens of dome shaped tents made of heavy linen and arranged in no particular order. The tents were dyed blue or green and many of them had pennants with different emblems sewn onto them planted in front of their entrances. The flags fluttered and snapped in the light breeze blowing across the plains. Moving throughout the camp on various errands were tall, dark haired men in leather armor. The neighing of the horses tethered between the tents or penned in rope corrals on the outskirts of the camp blended with the crack of the pennants and the shouts of the men to create a lively atmosphere.

  Heald led the three companions down the knoll and into the center of the busy encampment. Attracted by the sight of the unusual visitors who accompanied him, many men gathered around them, following along behind and shouting questions at Heald, who shook his head, refusing to say anything until he had delivered his charges to his captain. He finally stopped before a large, sky blue tent that had a blue pennant displaying a white, running horse firmly fixed in the ground by its entrance. Standing before the tent was a tall sentry with a long spear in his right hand. He had watched them curiously as they approached.

  “Audens, summon Merula,” said Heald to the guard standing in front of the tent. “Tell him that I have Dacien, son of Orianus with me.”

  Audens cast a startled glance at Dacien before quickly disappearing into the large tent behind him.

  “All will be well now,” said Dacien reassuringly to Elerian and Ascilius as they dismounted from their horses. “Dacien is my second cousin on my mother’s side. Even though he is older than I, we were like brothers growing up.”

  Dacien had barely finished speaking before Audens returned with Merula, the commander of the company. When Merula stepped past the tent flap, Elerian saw that he looked like the other men in the camp, tall and strong with dark hair and light blue eyes that were startling in his tanned, handsome face. He looked to be in his mid thirties and was dressed in soft brown leather pants, a loose shirt of white linen and leather boots. There was an air of confidence about him as if he was well used to the ways of command.

  Merula smiled in welcome when he saw Dacien, but Elerian thought the warmth of his smile did extend to his eyes, which had a cold, calculating look about them. Ignoring everyone else for the moment, Merula spoke to Dacien first.

  “Welcome back cousin,” he said with what seemed like genuine pleasure in his deep, strong voice. “We had given you up for lost after you were taken by the Goblins at Silanus.”

  Dacien replied as one speaking to a close friend.

  “I would have been lost indeed, Merula, were it not for my two brave companions. They helped me to escape from a terrible fate in the dungeons of Calenus.”

  Merula favored Ascilius and Elerian with a piercing look from his pale eyes. Search as he might, it seemed to Elerian that he could find no gratitude in those eyes.

  “This is Ascilius, son of Fundanus,” continued Dacien pointing to Ascilius. “You may remember him, for he is and old and trusted friend of my father. His companion is named Elerian. He hails from the southern land of Hesperia.”

  “You are much changed if you are indeed Ascilius, son of Fundanus,” said Merula, giving Ascilius a doubtful look. “I fear you will find little joy in your homecoming. Ennodius lies beneath the claws of the dragon, and no word have we had from its people in many months.”

  The voice that spoke these words was warm and sympathetic, but Elerian thought Merula’s eyes showed a flicker of enjoyment at the misery that spread across Ascilius’s face.

  “We must deal with what life sends us, both the good and the bad,” said Ascilius heavily and the fire seemed to go out of his eyes. “I thank you for your concern Merula. It is good to be back in the land of the Tarsi once more,” he concluded politely.

  Merula turned his hard, penetrating eyes on Elerian, putting him in mind of a swordsman searching for a weakness.

  “He seeks to wound me also, but he does not know how,” thought Elerian to himself.

  “You do not look like a Southerner,” said Merula, doubtfully. “Perhaps when there is time, you will tell us your story.”

  “There is little to tell,” said Elerian, who had already decided to reveal as little as possible to Merula until he learned more about the Tarsian.

  “There are strange currents flowing beneath the surface of his mind,” he thought to himself. “It is odd that no one else seems to notice them.”

  “We will talk at length later if any of us survive this day,” said Dacien grimly. “I bring news of great import and danger.”

  “Let us go inside then,” said Merula politely. “I do not wish to discuss such matters before the whole camp.”

  He disappeared through the entrance to the tent, followed by the three companions and Heald. The door guard, Audens, remained at his post by the entrance.

  Inside the tent was a round, open space about fifteen feet across and ten feet high covered with thick carpets. The heavy blue linen walls and ceiling of the tent were supported by brown, polished poles that curved over
head to meet at a small ring of black iron in the center of the ceiling, where they were securely fastened into iron sockets. The area inside the ring was open, and a small circle of bright blue sky was visible through it.

  Yellow mage lights were hung on the tent poles to illuminate the interior of the tent. A small folding table and four chairs, all made of polished oak, were set up to the left of the entrance. Along the far wall of the tent, a few chests and a folding bed piled high with fur blankets completed the furnishings of the room. A white haired Tarsi, stooped a little with age, stood by the table and regarded the three companions with sharp gray eyes undimmed by age.

  “We have discovered that the Goblins have assembled a large force across the Arvina,” said Dacien impatiently, as Merula sat down at the table. “They have already slain all of the sentries stationed by the river. You must not send out any relief tonight or they will also be slain. I believe the Goblin commander means to cross the Arvina tonight. He will try to destroy your force before marching on to the Nordaels. You must send a warning to Silanus at once.”

  A skeptical look played across Merula’s face as he listened to Dacien’s outburst.

  “How can this be?” he asked doubtfully. “My scouts have reported no unusual activity across the river.”

  “The Goblins have hidden themselves in the forest,” said Dacien impatiently. “We discovered them by chance when we approached them from the west, where they have not bothered to hide themselves from view.”

  “What exactly did you see?” asked Merula, still sounding unconvinced.

  “Elerian was the only one of us who actually saw their camp,” said Dacien. He flushed slightly as an amused, questioning look crossed Merula’s face.

  “What did you see that so alarmed you?” he asked Elerian sardonically.

  “I saw hundreds of Goblins and mutare hidden not far from the banks of the river. There were also rafts that could be assembled into a bridge hidden under the trees,” said Elerian, trying to hide his growing dislike for the Tarsian commander.