by A. Giannetti
Elerian sprang lightly onto Enias’s back, pulling an unhappy Ascilius up behind him before the Dwarf could object.
“It is no use to complain,” said Elerian lightly to his discontented companion. “If you wish to use your new ax to hew Goblin necks, then you must ride.”
“I will do what I must,” said Ascilius gloomily, “but do not expect me to like it. Remember, too, I am behind you now. If you try any of your tricks, I shall rap you on the head with my fine, new ax handle.”
Ascilius sounded quite serious with his threat, and Elerian resolved to try no tricks as long as he was in such a vulnerable position.
Merula had already mounted the red stallion and was regarding the two companions and their mount doubtfully.
“I have had proper horses brought for you,” he said sternly to Elerian. “Send that crippled beast away for his own safety. He will never keep up with us.”
“Thank you for the offer of the horses, but I have chosen my mount,” said Elerian firmly. “He will bear both me and Ascilius.”
“As you wish,” said Merula scornfully, but do not expect us to wait when you fall behind.”
With that, he urged his stallion into a swift gallop, which he supposed would soon leave Enias far behind. Shaking his head at Elerian’s foolishness, the arms master urged his mount and the spare horses after Merula in a thunder of hooves.
His eyes gleaming brightly, Elerian smiled at Dacien who had lingered behind, although he was obviously anxious to be off. Ascilius, who known Elerian long enough now to know what was going through his mind, said worriedly, “Pay no attention to Merula, Elerian. Do not do anything foolish.”
Ignoring Ascilius and his resolve not to upset the Dwarf, Elerian extended a little of his shade into Enias, urging him on without words. With a great leap, the gray stallion suddenly shot forward at a terrifying speed that made Ascilius feel faint. Fortunately, he had already taken a firm hold of Elerian’s broad leather belt with his powerful left hand. After one horrified look at the blurred ground flying by, he closed his eyes and hung on for dear life. Behind him, Ascilius heard the thunder of Mylachen’s hooves as he tried to keep up with Enias. Despite his terror, Ascilius noted that Enias’s small, neat hooves made almost no sound as he flew across the plain.
“He is as light footed as his master,” thought Ascilius to himself.
Merula and the arms master both gaped in astonishment when Enias sped past them, silvery mane and tail streaming in the wind of his passage. He quickly left the other horses far behind, and Elerian reluctantly urged him to slow down.
“You can open your eyes now Ascilius,” he said lightly to the Dwarf.
Ascilius hastily opened his eyes, wondering for a moment if, in addition to all his other powers, Elerian could somehow see behind him.
“I had them open all the time,” he said indignantly. “It takes more than a little gallop on one of these great beasts to frighten a Dwarf.”
“Perhaps we should put Enias through his paces a second time then,” said Elerian with a bright gleam in his gray eyes.
“Some other time,” said Ascilius feigning indifference in his voice. “We should let the others catch up with us.”
Relief flooded through Ascilius when Elerian laughed and said, “Very well then. We will proceed at a more decorous pace.”
When Merula and the others caught up with them, Enias was cantering silently over the plain, making light of his double burden. Merula glared at Elerian for a moment and then rode on in silence. There was a new respect in the eyes of the arms master, however, that pleased Elerian. Slowing Mylachen to ride side by side with Elerian, Dacien cast an admiring glance at Enias.
“What speed he possesses,” he said to Elerian, “and carrying double in the bargain.”
“Do not encourage him, Dacien,” said Ascilius peevishly. “It was a foolish thing to do to race off like that. He has embarrassed Merula at a time when we all need to be unified against the Goblins.”
“He brought it on himself,” said Elerian in an unrepentant voice. “I have grown tired of his insults.”
“I have known Merula for my whole life,” said Dacien to Elerian. “He is a brave man, respected and admired by all who know him. You must be patient with him, for it is only lately that he has become somewhat blunt and careless in his speech at times, the result of a great disappointment in his life which has deeply affected him.”
“I remember him as a fine, young man,” agreed Ascilius. “You are letting dislike cloud your sight, Elerian.”
“We shall see if I am mistaken or not,” thought Elerian to himself, but he kept his own counsel and rode in silence beside Dacien. Ahead of them, Merula and the arms master rode stirrup to stirrup at a fast canter that ate up the miles.
A NIGHT RIDE
While Dacien’s messengers rode south, Agorix, the Uruc commanding the Goblin army encamped by the Arvina, debated his next course of action. The shadows were lengthening as the sun set in the west, but the shape changer watching the Tarsi encampment had not returned to report on the movements of the Tarsi. Neither had the relief appeared for the sentries his Urucs had slain. The tall, dark- eyed Urucs who were his lieutenants stood silently by as he considered the significance of this.
“You are sure the Tarsi camp is still occupied, Stylorg?” Agorix asked softly of the Uruc standing before him.
“The scouts I sent out are not shape changers, so they were not able to approach the Tarsi encampment closely, but they have reported that the campfires are still lit and that men are moving about the camp,” replied Stylorg, respectfully.
“Where then is Gorfodi?” asked Agorix angrily. “Are you certain that we have not been discovered Stylorg?” he asked harshly.
The tall, black clad Uruc did not flinch from Agorix’s dark, penetrating eyes.
“It seems most unlikely; my lord that we have been found out,” asserted Stylorg in a self-assured voice. “Something must have befallen Gorfodi. He could have been taken by one of the many hawks that we have seen in the sky. The Urucs stationed across the Arvina are wood crafty Goblins. They have seen no men on their side of the river since this morning when they slew all the Tarsi sentries and took their places. The guards stationed along the river bank on our side of the Arvina also swear that they have seen nothing suspicious. An enemy spy would have needed to be invisible to elude their gaze,” he said with a confident smile.
“Do not joke about such things,” said Agorix harshly, for some strange rumors had reached his ears from Calenus that he had not shared with his subordinates. Torquatus, himself, had been wounded, and his assailants had escaped, according to one unbelievable rumor. The thought of the Goblin king hardened his resolve, and he put aside his doubts.
“Better to proceed as planned,” he thought to himself. “Torquatus will skin me alive and then roast me over a slow fire if I call off the invasion without a good reason.”
Turning to his gathered lieutenants, Agorix said firmly, “Begin the crossing!”
Immediately, they ran off to ready their troops. Along the riverbank, dozens of Mordi entered the water, their pale, sinewy bodies gleaming in the fading light, for they had greased themselves against the cold of the snow fed river. Swimming like supple otters, they swam across the Arvina. Emerging on the far bank near the outflow of the Tanicus, their water slicked black hair clinging close to their skulls; they gathered around one of their number who had carried a light cord between his pointed teeth as he swam across the swift river. Working together, they drew in the cord until; at last, a dripping rope thicker than a Goblin’s arm emerged from the cold waters of the river.
Dragging the rope ashore, the Wood goblins fastened its twisted cords to a veritable giant of a willow at least a dozen feet in thickness that grew near the riverbank. As they stepped back from the rope, it suddenly leaped into the air and thrummed along its length, as if suddenly subjected to a tremendous strain. On the far bank, one of the rafts had been launched into the river. Cr
ouched nervously in its center was the form of a great Troll. Bracing his body against a thick center post, he slowly dragged the raft across the river, drawing in the rope, which seemed little more than a thin cord in his huge, knotted fists. A second rope was fastened to the rear of the raft. It was paid out from shore by other Trolls standing on the bank, preventing the raft from being drawn downstream by the swift current in the center of the river.
As soon as the raft bumped against the east shore, the Troll leaped nimbly to the bank. Easily lifting the massive chains fastened to the prow of the raft, he passed them around the willow, securing the ends with a great iron clevis. A second raft was now drawn across the river at a much greater rate of speed as both the Troll on board and the Troll on the riverbank pulled together with great, corded muscles to bring it close to the stern of the first raft. Soon, all five pieces of the bridge were in the river, fastened together with heavy chains. The bridge bowed slightly at its midpoint and tossed uneasily against the current of the river, but it held together, providing a path a dozen feet wide for the Goblin army to cross the Arvina.
As soon as the bridge was in place, an endless flow of bodies clad in black leather armor issued from their hiding places under the trees growing on the west bank of the river. Streaming across the makeshift bridge, they crossed the Arvina, gathering on the far shore under cover of the trees growing near the river. Agorix was one of the last to cross, savagely forcing his uneasy atrior across the shifting log bridge. Halfway across, his mount balked. Hissing in anger, it attempted to bite Agorix’s right knee, but he struck it on its soft muzzle with a clenched right fist. Squealing in pain, the beast bowed sullenly to his will and resumed the crossing, its great claws scoring the bark of the logs under its feet.
When his atrior stepped lightly ashore, Agorix’s chest swelled with pride as his gaze swept over the great sable army gathered on the banks of the river, restlessly awaiting his commands. Years of planning and preparation had gone into this moment. If he was successful, his standing with his dark king would rise high indeed.
“Let it begin,” he said shortly to a tall Uruc named Grimlic, who was his second in command.
Grimlic and the other Urucs communicated Agorix’s orders to the forces gathered on the riverbank, and the great army split silently in half, with the mutare traveling east under cover of the trees along the bank of the Tanicus and the Goblins flowing out onto the empty plain. Packs of canigrae and lupins ran silently at the fringes of the company of mutare, their eyes glowing red in the starlight. Following the packs were a dozen Trolls, dressed in black mail and carrying great hammers in their hands.
“Still no sign of the relief for the sentries,” thought Agorix to himself as he led his Goblins across the darkened plain, “and yet the spies report that the camp is still occupied. The Tarsi and their horse herd will be trapped between the two halves of my army and slain, down to the last man and horse. He licked his thin lips at the thought of the bloody feast that would follow the battle.
“A few hours rest, and then I will lead my forces along the shaded banks of the Tanicus until we reach the Nordaels. Under cover of the forests which blanket the mountains, I will take my army south to Silanus and attack the Tarsi army camped there from behind while the Ancharians launch a second attack from across the river. The riders will be overwhelmed, and the path from Ancharia to the Nordaels will finally be open. Once we control the mountains, the days of the Tarsi kingdom are numbered,” thought Agorix to himself with grim pleasure, for he had already been promised the kingship of Tarsius by Torquatus if he succeeded in conquering the kingdom.
As the column of Goblins flowed over the plain like a great, dark snake, miles to the east Dacien paced restively on the crest of a low knoll from which the campfires of the abandoned camp were still visible as small sparks in the distance. Standing unmoving in the center of the knoll was Merula, his hands clasped behind his back and his gaze fixed on the distant camp. To Merula’s left stood Elerian, also watching the camp. At his feet sat Ascilius. The Dwarf was whetting the edge of his ax with a stone, creating a shrill, ominous sound in the still night air. Behind Merula, the horses grazed under the watchful eye of the arms master. The sound of their strong teeth tearing at the tender spring grass came clearly to Elerian’s ears as he looked for some sign of the Goblin army.
Seeking to distract himself from the tension building inside of him, Dacien stopped by Merula’s side and asked quietly, “How fare my father and sister, cousin?”
“The news of your capture was hard on your father,” said Merula without turning his gaze from the camp, “but he is well otherwise.”
“And my sister?” asked Dacien again.
“Your father has ordered her to remain in Niveaus, so I have not seen her in some time, but she never made it a habit to confide her feelings to me,” said Merula shortly. “She is hard and cold as a steel blade, cutting anyone who dares approach her too closely.”
“I have never found her so,” protested Dacien.
“Then you are luckier than I,” said Merula bitterly.
“You should not take it to heart, cousin, that she does not return your affection,” said Dacien awkwardly. “She has rejected all her suitors, not just you alone. Turn your attention to another. There are many fair maidens in our land who would vie for your attention.”
“Your words do not comfort me Dacien,” said Merula gloomily. “Cold reason alone cannot extinguish my feelings for her, or I would have turned away from her long ago. Almost,” he said unhappily, “I think it would be better to perish in the coming battle than to continue to endure her scorn.”
“Think not of death but rather of winning renown,” said Dacien encouragingly, “so that the bards will sing of our deeds in years to come.”
“The praise of bards or any other man, for that matter, means little to me,” said Merula arrogantly. “I am guided by the light of my own beliefs not the chatter of common men.”
“Think then of impressing Anthea,” said Dacien in an attempt to lighten the mood of his cousin. “She greatly admires bravery.”
“I could slay a dragon and lay its head at her feet and it would not change how she feels,” said Merula sourly. “She has told me so often enough.”
Dacien sighed and gave up the attempt to improve Merula’s mood. Things had evidently worsened between his sister and his cousin since his capture. The situation troubled him, for he wished the best for both of them.
Standing to one side, Elerian had inadvertently overhead the conversation between Merula and Dacien, even though they spoke softly. He found Merula’s words disturbing.
“This then is the disappointment of which Dacien spoke earlier,” thought Elerian to himself. “Merula was rejected by Dacien’s sister, but to my mind, he has not taken it well. He sounds full of bitterness and wounded pride,” thought Elerian to himself. “He will bear watching, I think, for he seems to me to have changed more than Dacien is willing to believe. Who knows what actions he might be driven to if his bitterness begins to fester and his wounded pride suddenly demands some sort of redress for the wrongs he imagines himself to have suffered at the hands of Dacien’s sister?”
“What are you thinking about Elerian?” asked Ascilius’s deep voice, interrupting Elerian’s musing.
“Only that your most bloodthirsty tendencies have surfaced once more,” said Elerian lightly. “You could shave with that ax, if you ever shaved that is.”
“It needs to be well honed,” said Ascilius as he continued to whet his ax. “Soon the Goblins will make another substantial payment on the debt they owe me for the time I spent in their mines.”
Elerian pretended to shudder. “Remind me never to ask you for a loan,” he said eying the razor edge of the ax. “If I ever missed a payment, you would be at my door demanding money or my head in place of it.”
Ascilius laughed softly. “You are not far from the truth Elerian,” he said seriously. “Never insult a Dwarf or try to cheat him out of
money, for we forget neither slurs nor debts, not though the years pass and the mountains turn to dust around us. One way or another we will have our payment, even if it needs to be collected by our sons or their sons after them.”
“I see that I must account for every penny as long as we are together,” said Elerian dryly. “It would certainly grow tiresome to be pursued by generations of bloodthirsty Dwarves seeking to balance their account books.”
“There will be no accounting of money between us,” said Ascilius quietly and unexpectedly. “When we come to my city, half of what I own will be yours.”
Ascilius’s surprising statement stunned Elerian into unaccustomed silence for a moment.
“Why would you do that?” he asked at last in a puzzled voice.
“Dwarves pay their debts as well as collect them,” said Ascilius gravely. “I will not soon forget all the times that you have saved my life since we escaped from the mines.”
“A simple thank you will have to suffice then,” said Elerian. “I could not possibly take your treasure.”
“And why not?” asked Ascilius in an exasperated voice.
“If I took your money, it would take the enjoyment out of any pranks I might want to play on you,” said Elerian seriously.
“You are a fool and an idiot as well,” said Ascilius, but he could not help laughing all the same.
Their banter was interrupted by the distant pounding of hooves. When Elerian looked up, he saw fires leaping into the sky in the distance where the campfires had burned as small sparks only moments before. Despite the darkness, Elerian saw the figures of a small group of horsemen approaching at a great pace through a gray and black world. Despite the distance and the lack of light, Elerian recognized Aetarch and behind him, a number of other white haired warriors like himself. Soon, they reined in their horses on the knoll where Elerian and the others awaited them.