by A. Giannetti
When Elerian saw the changelings approaching, roaring in their eagerness to spill blood, he knew his light would have no effect on these savage creatures. Remembering the tactics that the mutare had used so successfully in the last disastrous ambush Merula had launched, Elerian silently called to Enias to stop, before leaping lightly to the ground beside him. Ascilius followed him eagerly, for up to now, he had been unable to strike a single blow with his ax. Raising his voice above the din of the battle, Elerian shouted to the Tarsi behind him.
“Dismount! Form a shield ring or we are all lost.”
Ascilius took up the refrain with his great voice, as did Dacien and Merula, who were closest to Elerian. The Tarsi leapt speedily from their mounts to the ground. Standing shoulder to shoulder, they formed a great circle that bristled with bloody spear points.
Eager for blood, the hairy horde of mutare drove against them. Heedless of the spears leveled against them, many were impaled, but others clawed their way through the thin line of Tarsi into the center of the circle. They gained little advantage from breeching the line, however. Trained from a young age to bite and to strike at enemies with their hooves, the steeds of the Tarsi trampled any mutare who came within their reach.
With Ascilius at his right side and unknown Tarsi warrior on his left, Elerian fought at the point of the defensive line closest to the Goblin army. His leather armor was torn, and he was wounded from the claws and teeth of the changelings, but still his sword and the long knife in his left hand flickered like lightening, striking down any mutare who came within reach of his weapons. Behind him, Enias lashed out with flying hoofs, deadly as rapiers, at any of the enemy who came from behind. Beside him, Ascilius hewed mightily with his ax, but there seemed no end to the mutare. As soon as one of the savage creatures fell, another took his place, but there were none to take the place of the riders who fell. As the survivors closed ranks, the circle of Tarsi warriors shrank foot by foot.
Time lost its meaning for Elerian as he struck down one snarling mutare after another, each changeling trying to rend him with tooth and claw, for the beast men had thrown away their weapons to better indulge their bloodlust.
“This is the end,” thought Elerian to himself as he stabbed a mutare in its hairy throat with a sword that was growing heavier by the moment. “Even if we slay all the changelings, the Goblins will finish us with their arrows.”
Having recovered somewhat from their initial shock and surprise, the Goblins had fumbled on their black hoods, which helped dim Elerian’s light. Hundreds of Wood Goblins were now gathering behind the circle of mutare, bows in their hands.
Sparing a quick glance around him, Elerian saw that the Tarsi standing on either side of him had grown few. Off to his right, Dacien and Merula were still fighting valiantly, shoulder to shoulder.
A great black mutare suddenly reared up before Elerian, jaws agape and clawed hands raised to strike. As Elerian buried his sword point in its chest, the creature wrapped its powerful hands around the blade, ripping the weapon from his weakened grasp as it fell. To his right, Elerian saw Ascilius split the skull of a gray, wolf like creature. The end was approaching, but Elerian felt no fear, only regret that Ascilius would never reach his city, and that he would never meet the woman that he had seen in the orb. With his left hand, he plunged his knife into the throat of a squat, bearlike creature, fending off its claws with his right arm as it fell, blood spewing across its broad, furred chest. Another snarling, mutare immediately took its place. With a deadly hiss of steel through the air, Ascilius split the creature’s skull with his ax. After wrenching his weapon free, Ascilius turned to Elerian and said grimly, “Good bye my friend. It was a battle worthy of a ballad.”
Elerian made no reply, for he noticed, then, an odd trembling in the ground beneath his feet, and a heavy, rumbling sound filled the air as if a storm was gathering. All around Elerian, there was a pause in the fighting as the combatants looked for the source of the sound. The mutare pricked up their ears and raised their muzzles to the sky, questing for the source of the disturbance that they heard and felt with their keen sense. Behind them, the packed ranks of the Wood Goblins looked around in confusion, wondering what new threat they might now face. Agorix, who was still trying to approach close enough to extinguish Elerian’s mage light, stopped his advance and cursed as a long, mellow horn suddenly note rent the air, followed by many more. Then, running over the ground like a mighty flood of dark water, the host of the Tarsi appeared in the south, the rays of Elerian’s light glinting off their spear tips.
Hastily, Agorix ordered his lieutenants to deploy the long spears meant to repel horsemen around the perimeter of his forces, but time and the confused state of his forces worked against him. Only a few spears had been deployed when the mass of horsemen struck the eastern edge of the Goblin army with a sound like a thunderclap, overrunning all before them. The Mordi vanished beneath the hooves of the horses as the weight of those behind pushed on those in front, forming an irresistible wave that broke over the hapless enemy troops, trampling them beyond recognition as wave after wave of sharp hooves passed over them. Faced with certain death, the courage of the Wood Goblins failed them, and they broke before the Tarsi advance.
As the Tarsi cavalry approached, the ranks of mutare in front of Elerian turned and threw themselves fiercely against the advancing horsemen, but there were no openings in the packed ranks opposing them to take advantage of. Unable to run under the horses, they were speared or trampled until they, too, broke and ran. As a wall of horses and riders swept by, Elerian leaped onto Enias’s back, pulling Ascilius up behind him. From his vantage point on Enias’s back, Elerian saw that the Goblin army was being split in two by Orianus’s forces. Those on his right fled toward the pass, trying to reach the safety of the forests beyond the Scissura. The rest of the Goblin army, Agorix and the remnants of his cavalry among them, were fleeing east into the darkness beyond Elerian’s light, toward the Arvina and safety.
Ignoring the Goblins who had fled into the east, the Tarsi pursued those who had retreated into the Scissura. The riders who had survived the shield ring around Elerian began mounting their horses, joining in the pursuit of the Goblins. Elerian saw Merula among them, but he did not see Dacien.
Judging that the enemy forces fleeing toward the pass presented the greater danger, Elerian urged Enias in that direction, lighting the way for the Tarsi. Bottled between the steep walls of the valley, revealed to their enemies by Elerian’s mage light, the last few Goblins and mutare were finally slain only a few hundred feet from the safety of the foothills and the forests that covered them.
Rallying to the melodious call of the horns echoing near the entrance of the canyon, the Tarsi then rode back up the valley to pursue the enemy forces which had fled east. Elerian saw hundreds of horsemen gallop by him, grim faced men with long dark hair and eyes that gleamed in the rays of his mage light. They cast looks of amazement at Elerian and Ascilius as they rode by, shielding their eyes from the light burning overhead.
“Shall we join them in their hunt Ascilius?” asked Elerian wearily of the Dwarf.
“No, I have had enough of battle for one night,” said Ascilius, sounding equally tired. “The Tarsi no longer need any help from us. I would judge that half the enemy forces are dead already. Orianus will pursue those who still live through the night. If they stand against him, he will maintain his distance while the night lasts, but when the sun rises, the battle will be joined again. I think few of the enemy will see the eastern shore of the Arvina again.”
“Let us see how Dacien fared then,” said Elerian as he stretched out his right hand and extinguished the mage light overhead.
After waiting for a moment until his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Elerian dismounted. Ascilius landed heavily beside him and waited patiently as Elerian examined Enias for wounds. Elerian was pleased to see that the stallion had escaped the battle with only light wounds that were easily healed.
After tending t
o his own injuries and those of Ascilius, all of which proved to be shallow cuts and slashes inflicted by the claws of the mutare, Elerian, with Ascilius and Enias following behind him, began to retrace his steps toward the place where the shield ring had formed near the mouth of the Scissura. The three of them passed many Tarsi on foot, carrying mage lights and torches as they searched through the wreckage of the battlefield for survivors. Without realizing it, Elerian had resumed his subtle disguise so that, once more, he appeared to be an ordinary man. He and Ascilius drew many curious looks, but no one questioned them.
Most of the dead they saw lying on the ground were Mordi or mutare, all broken and battered from the pounding hooves of the horses that had overridden them, but here and there they saw the body of some fair faced warrior and his steed. One of those they found was Gwerth, lying on his back with his eyes open, his broken sword still clenched in his right hand.
“Sleep well,” thought Elerian to himself sadly as he stopped to close the youth’s eyes.
Ascilius, hardened by sight of countless deaths over the long years, paid little attention. When they approached the place where the shield ring had faced the mutare, they found no one sign of Dacien among the dead.
“I saw Merula ride off, but I did not see Dacien with him,” said Elerian worriedly to Ascilius.
“I did not see him either,” said Ascilius, “but that does not mean that he did not ride off with the others who survived the shield ring.”
“Let us continue our search just to be sure,” said Elerian.
He and Ascilius separated and began searching around the site of the shield ring. A sudden shout from Ascilius caused Elerian to start suddenly. He whirled around and saw that Ascilius was standing in front of a Mordi foot soldier, his powerful left hand wrapped around the Goblin’s right wrist. The Mordi held a long black bladed knife in his right hand. His left hand clawing futilely at Ascilius’s right arm, for the Dwarf had wrapped his powerful hand around the Goblin’s slender throat. Eyes bulging from Ascilius’s relentless throttling, the Mordi struggled wildly for a few moments before suddenly going limp. Ascilius cast his body aside and turned toward Elerian. His dark eyes glittered and pinpoints of red burned in their depths.
“Watch yourself,” he said to Elerian in a voice thick with anger. “There may be others who are still alive. The one I throttled nearly planted a knife in my back when I bent over a Tarsi warrior to see if any life remained in him.”
They moved on more cautiously after that, but no more Goblins came to life under their feet, and they found no sign of Dacien.
“Perhaps he did ride off,” thought Elerian to himself at last.
He looked to the east where the remnants of the Goblin army had fled. Standing patiently in the midst of the ruin of the battle were a few Tarsi horses that were standing guard over their dead riders. With a sudden lurch of his heart, Elerian recognized Dacien’s black stallion standing with his head down in the midst of a tangle of men, Goblins, and horses.
“That is certainly Mylachen,” said Elerian to Ascilius, pointing to the stallion with his right arm.
With Ascilius and Enias following behind, Elerian ran lightly through the wreckage of the battle until he stood by Mylachen. Beneath his feet, he found Dacien lying motionless on the ground. After gently pushing aside Dacien’s devoted steed, Elerian checked for a sign of life at the Dacien’s throat. He felt a faint flutter, but Dacien’s flesh burned like fire under his fingers, and his breathing was shallow and labored. He seemed untouched, but when Elerian turned him over, he found a black bladed Goblin knife half buried in his left shoulder. The Troll’s head cast into the pommel leered at Elerian with tiny green eyes, as if mocking him. The goblin knife appeared to have missed Dacien’s lungs, but when Elerian pulled it out, he saw the black gleam of poison staining the edges of the blade.
“An ugly wound,” thought Elerian to himself, “and I am so tired.”
Putting aside his exhaustion, he cast the knife far away from him before kneeling down next to Dacien and laying his right hand over the wound, which was now spouting thick red blood. Pale gold light, visible only to his third eye, spread from his fingertips and into the wound, penetrating deeply and stemming the flow of blood, but there was a darkness lurking inside Dacien that resisted the healing magic. Forgetting his surroundings, Elerian knit his brows in concentration as he fought to overcome the potent poison. It squirmed away from him like a live thing, but his healing spell pursued it until the last bit was destroyed, and the wound began to knit together. When Elerian came back to himself, he saw that Dacien’s breathing was light but steady. His skin, under Elerian’s hand, now felt cool to the touch. Looking up, Elerian saw that Ascilius was standing over him, a worried expression on his face.
“Will he recover?” Ascilius asked, with no great hope, for Goblin wounds were deadly, and this one had gone untended longer than it should have.
“The poison was already deep within him, but I think he will survive,” said Elerian wearily.
“We must get him to somewhere safer then,” said Ascilius. “I can carry him if you take my ax.”
“Let us wait a moment,” said Elerian.
He pointed out onto the battlefield with his right hand, and Ascilius saw a group of men bearing torches approaching on foot. They paused now and then as they gathered up the Tarsi who had fallen in battle, carrying them away in litters. When Elerian and Ascilius came within range of the light of their torches, they were quickly surrounded. Elerian saw that these were older men, white haired but still hale and well armed.
Swords were drawn as one of the Tarsi asked sternly, “Who are you strange folk? Are you allies of the Goblins?”
“We are friends of Dacien and his father Orianus,” replied Ascilius wearily. “If Orianus is here tell him that his old friend Ascilius has returned to see him again. His son is here also. He is wounded, but will recover, I think, thanks to the healing powers of my friend Elerian. We were just about to move him to a safer place.”
“You are snared by your own falsehood, stranger,” said the old warrior, suspiciously examining Ascilius in the flickering light of his torch. “Ascilius the Dwarf died many years ago, and Dacien was captured or killed by the Goblins weeks ago.”
“He must not have heard the news Merula’s messenger carried with him,” thought Elerian to himself as the Tarsi turned to his companions and said, “Bind them. We will hold them until Orianus returns to judge them in the morning.”
At the mention of binding, Ascilius’s face flushed with anger and he raised his ax. With a quick rasp of steel on leather, Elerian drew his knife, and the Tarsi backed away.
“I will suffer no more ropes or chains ever again while I draw breath,” said Ascilius angrily. “Bring some person of authority to speak with me before I separate your foolish, old head from your shoulders.”
The group of white haired warriors began to mutter angrily among themselves and bloodshed seemed imminent when a voice said weakly, “They speak the truth. I am indeed Dacien, and I command you to do as Ascilius says.”
“I know that voice,” said one of the old men excitedly.
Putting down his sword, he rushed to Dacien’s side and knelt down. Dacien had lost consciousness again, but the old man recognized his face, and he and his companions lost no time in loading him onto a litter.
“My apologies,” said the old Tarsi who had first confronted Ascilius. “These are difficult times for strangers. Dacien will be taken to the healers. You may accompany him or wait in some other place. There will be a battle in the morning, and it is uncertain when Orianus will return.”
“We will stay by Dacien,” said Ascilius, who was mollified by the apology.
Four of the old warriors carried Dacien away on the litter toward the Scissura, picking their way slowly and carefully through the wrack of the battlefield. Ascilius and Elerian followed them, trailed by Enias and Dacien’s black stallion.
THE AFTERMATH
A line o
f mounted Tarsi now guarded the entrance to the Scissura. They allowed the litter to pass, but they closed ranks in front of Elerian and Ascilius, forcing them to stop.
“You cannot bring horses into the pass,” said one of the riders sternly. “Only the wounded are allowed in here.”
Elerian turned to Enias and stroked his neck. “You must remain here Enias,” he said to the stallion. “I will come for you later.”
Enias tossed his head as if to say that he understood. Followed closely by Mylachen, he galloped away, running south to where a great herd of spare horses was grazing on the plain. Elerian watched admiringly as he ran, seeming to float over the darkened land.
“Forget your horse for a moment, Elerian,” said Ascilius impatiently. “Let us see where they have taken Dacien. After that, I will ask if we can get somewhat to eat and drink. I am parched from the battle.”
One of the mounted guards overheard Ascilius. “Little you will find besides water, my good Dwarf. We rode fast and light from the south, taking only our water bottles and weapons. You will need to wait until the supply wagons arrive sometime tomorrow night to break your fast.”
“Sad news indeed,” grumbled Ascilius to Elerian. “We will have to make do with what remains in our packs until then, if I can find them.”
Together, they walked past the guards, staying near the left bank of the Tanicus. To their disappointment, they found that their packs and their contents had been destroyed, trampled beyond recognition. Even the mugs Elerian had made were gone, fallen into the nearby Tanicus perhaps. Only the dagger handles from the magic blades Ascilius had taken from his treasure trove remained behind, half buried in the gravel of the stream bank a few feet apart from each other. Elerian pocketed both of them; for it still seemed to him that he might have a use for them some day.