by A. Giannetti
Elerian ignored the Dwarf, positioning Enias barely a dozen feet from the edge of the track. A tall, gray haired Tarsi rode out onto the track and blew a silver horn. As the melodious notes faded away, silence fell over the field.
“Start at my signal,” shouted the rider in a deep, clear voice. “The first rider to cross the finish line will be declared the winner.”
Riding to the inside edge of the course, the starter took a position there. Rising high in his stirrups, he raised his right hand. Abruptly, he dropped his arm, and the air with filled with the thunder of hooves as the race began.
Most of the riders immediately bunched into a tight pack near the left side of the course. Ascilius glanced into their midst and shuddered at the sight of the powerful steeds jostling for position, sharp hooves tearing up the turf covering the ground. Even as Ascilius watched, a bay stallion near the center of the pack screamed. Struck in the chest by a flying hoof, it went down, tripping several other horses behind it. Ascilius turned his head away from the tangle of thrashing bodies, realizing the wisdom of Elerian’s choice of position. Enias was running easily by himself well away from the other horses. Despite his double burden, his long, slender legs covered the ground in great bounds that kept him even with the middle of the crowd of jostling horses to his left.
Elerian was stretched out low over Enias’s neck so that stallion and rider seemed joined together. Forgetting about his dignity, Ascilius wrapped both arms tightly around Elerian’s waist and wished fervently that his legs were longer. Brave though he was, he felt that his heart would burst with fear, for he expected to fly off at any moment. Another horse screamed on his left, and Ascilius shut his eyes to blot out the sight of more horses falling.
Time seemed to stretch endlessly as the wind tore at Ascilius’s braided hair and beard. He expected to die at any moment, but when he opened his eyes, he was heartened to see that they were rounding the spear that marked the halfway point. Enias had drifted to the center of the course, and the sight of the flying hooves and straining bodies ahead of and around them chilled Ascilius’s blood.
Suddenly, his worst fears were realized. A straining black stallion in front of Enias bumped into a powerful gray on his right. Both horses went down directly in front of Enias in a tangle of legs and hooves.
Stoically, Ascilius waited for the end, feeling only regret that he had gotten Elerian and Enias into this terrible situation. Then, in the moment before Enias reached the thrashing bodies ahead of him, Ascilius felt the gray stallion launch himself into the air. For a moment, he was sure they had taken flight, for when he looked down, he saw the fallen horses and their riders pass beneath Enias’s tucked in legs. When Enias landed lightly in the clear, Ascilius gave a great shout, his fear suddenly forgotten and a loud roar went up from the spectators on the edge of the track. Men swore later that at the high point of that impossible leap, Enias had suddenly gleamed for a moment like burnished silver, and his dark eyes had burned with an inner fire.
Those horses with the greatest endurance and speed now began to leave the others behind. With only a half mile of the race left to be run, Elerian now urged Enias to greater speed. The gray stallion seemed to float over the course as his slender legs covered the ground in long fluid bounds that took him past one flagging horse after another. After they shot through one narrow opening between the straining horses ahead of them, Ascilius turned around and shouted some rather rude things at one of the riders, a man who had laughed at him earlier.
With a quarter mile to go, Elerian was now behind the leaders. Merula’s bay was first, followed by a powerful black stallion and two bays. Despite the double load he was carrying, Elerian was relieved that Enias was running easily. His deep breaths were steady, and his delicate nostrils were spread wide, drinking in the wind.
“It is time Enias,” was Elerian’s silent thought.
Responding at once, the gray stallion lengthened his stride, covering the ground in impossible leaps that took him past all the leaders except Merula’s bay. Elerian and Ascilius both gave a great shout of joy, glorying in Enias’s speed. At the sound of their voices, Merula turned his head, and Elerian saw shock on his face and then anger. Yanking savagely on the reins with his right hand, Merula forced his red stallion to swerve directly at Enias.
Certain in his mind that the powerful, red stallion would sweep the lighter Enias off his feet, Merula braced himself for the collision, a look of triumph on his face. Then, an instant before the red stallion’s sweat slicked hide touched his own, Enias leaped into the clear. Meeting no resistance, Merula’s stallion stumbled and almost went down. The next three riders thundered past, urging their horses after Enias. When the gray stallion crossed the finish line far ahead of them, Ascilius turned and thumbed his nose at them, eliciting a roar of laughter from the Tarsi who stood nearby. Elerian immediately began to slow Enias down. He did not see Merula cross the finish line in fifth place, his face dark with anger.
The roaring of the spectators beat at his ears as Elerian turned Enias and rode back toward the finish line. When the gray stallion stopped before Orianus and the other judges, Ascilius jumped down and, in front of hundreds of Tarsi warriors, planted a kiss on Enias’s soft gray muzzle.
“Prince of horses,” shouted the Dwarf. “When I return home you shall have a harness from me made of spun silver studded with precious jewels.”
“He would not wear it, Ascilius,” said Elerian jumping down and hugging the gray stallion’s graceful neck.
Anxiously, he listened for any sound of labored breathing, but Enias stood at his ease, his sleek hide barely lathered with sweat and his nostrils clear of blood.
“Prince of horses indeed,” said Orianus admiringly from behind Elerian. “Speed I expected from him but never such strength.”
Elerian turned to face Orianus, filled with sudden misgivings. What if the king decided that he wanted the stallion for himself?
Orianus smiled, guessing some of Elerian’s thought. “You need not fear my admiration, Elerian. If this stallion belonged to me, I would give him to you now.”
“Who then does he belong to?” asked Elerian dreading the answer.
“Before today, no one,” said Orianus. “No one has ever claimed him since he took up with our herds, deeming him not worth the effort. Now, I would say he is yours or perhaps you are his.”
The king’s words filled Elerian with relief, for he had already formed a strong bond with the gray stallion. He was distracted then by the crowd of admirers who had gathered to look at the Enias and to congratulate Elerian, for it turned out that many men who had known Ascilius from the old days had also bet on Enias, Dacien among them.
“Ascilius is a wonderful fellow,” said Dacien to Elerian when he came up to congratulate him, but like all Dwarves, he keeps a firm hand on his purse. “When I heard he was backing Enias, I could not resist doing the same.”
Elerian looked around to see how Ascilius would react to Dacien’s words, but the Dwarf had already disappeared, no doubt to collect his winnings. After a decent interval, Elerian led Enias away. In a quiet place by the wagons, he brushed the stallion with a borrowed currycomb, until his sleek gray hide gleamed in the warm light of the evening sun. By then, inside the circle of wagons, the trestle tables were being loaded with food again. Elerian helped himself to a light dinner and brought back a plateful of the biscuits that Enias liked. He laughed in a clear voice as the stallion greedily ate them all and then looked for more.
“You will spoil him,” said Ascilius’s deep voice as the Dwarf appeared unexpectedly. He wore a cheerful expression and carried two large leather bags that jingled merrily when he shook them at Elerian. His hair was loose now and his long beard was brushed out so that it fell down in waves over his broad leather belt.
“One of these is yours,” he said to Elerian.
“Keep it,” said Elerian disinterestedly. “I have no use for it.”
Ascilius looked horrified at Elerian’s words. “Money is always us
eful,” he said impatiently. “I will hold your share for you and increase it if I can if you will not take it.”
“If it pleases you,” said Elerian cheerfully, for he had quite forgotten his anger at the Dwarf for involving Enias in the race. “In the meantime, you had best take a bite to eat. The tables are being cleared and the wagons packed.”
“I have already eaten,” said Ascilius as he climbed onto a nearby wagon seat. After stowing his precious sacks and his ax under the seat, he stretched out comfortably and promptly fell asleep. Before long, the driver of the wagon led up his two pairs of oxen and hitched them to the wagon tongue. Ignoring Ascilius, he climbed onto the wagon seat and took up the broad leather reins. Horns began to blow all through the camp, and as their long, mellow notes faded away, the driver urged his oxen into motion with a slap of his reins, joining the rest of the wagons that were forming into a long line.
On either side of the caravan, the host was once more in motion. The light of the fading sun lit up the burnished coats of their sleek, powerful mounts so that they glowed, red, brown, black, dun, dapple gray and white. The spear tips of the riders flashed and glittered with the motion of their steeds, and the sight of so many tall, strong men sitting so easily in their saddles was a stirring one for Elerian. Someone started a song, and soon the air was filled with the sound of hundreds of clear voices singing a song of the old days, when Duvianus rode east with a great army behind him to aid the Dwarves against the Ancharians before the fall of Fimbria. It comforted Elerian to see and hear them, for here was might enough to resist Torquatus and his armies.
“No wonder he seeks to destroy this nation,” thought Elerian to himself as he rode beside the sleeping Ascilius.
THE WAR CAMP
As the sun sank in the west, darkness crept over the plains. The mage lights on the wagons were uncovered, each one casting a circle of warm yellow light that illuminated the front and back of each wagon. The creak of leather harnesses and the rumble of the wagon wheels filled the air, overlaid by the constant, sweet chime of the silver harness bells. Elerian rode easily on Enias, walking the dream paths of his mind until, off in the distance; a lion’s roar brought him back to full alertness. When the sound faded away, he heard the distant howl of hunting wolves and wondered if they were natural wolves or creatures of the Goblins that had escaped the spears of the Tarsi. Despite the threatening voices of the night hunters, nothing approached the great host around him, and Elerian soon fell back to dreaming of his youth, walking and talking again with Balbus and Tullius, both as real as if they stood by his side.
After sunrise, the wagons stopped once more and the cooks prepared breakfast. Elerian ate with Ascilius, but despite having dozed most of the night, the Dwarf borrowed a set of blankets from one of the supply wagons immediately after eating and lay down to sleep again, leaving Elerian to his own devices. Most of the Tarsi followed Ascilius’s example, and the host slept through the morning. Early into the afternoon, horns summoned the Tarsi to a meal and soon after, the host was in motion once more. As before, Elerian rode at Ascilius’s side on Enias. Two hours of steady travel brought them to the forest covered foothills of the Nordaels, which ran east to west across their path.
Orianus, who rode in the van of his forces with Dacien and Merula by his side, led his riders onto a wide, turf-covered road that cut through the thick forests that covered the steep mountain slopes ahead of them. Great trees rose up on either side of the road, their mighty branches meeting overhead. When Enias stepped lightly onto the road, Elerian felt as if he was traveling through a great, leafy tunnel.
The road did not follow a straight path, for wherever the grade was too steep or some cliff raised an obstacle too great to overcome, it wound left or right, rising steadily up to a saddle between two peaks. When Elerian crested the saddle, he saw that, the road swung left, hugging the side of a steep cliff. Its outside edge was bordered by a low stone curb. Beyond the curb, was a sharp drop- off, allowing a clear view of a deep, narrow valley thousands of feet below, covered with dense forests. Through its center ran a dark, swift river. On the far side of the valley were more rugged mountains. It was a wild, difficult landscape that seemed completely uninhabited to Elerian as he rode next to the curb to the right of the wagon carrying Ascilius, looking down curiously on the scene below.
Eventually, the road left the cliff face, winding snakelike over slopes that were less steep. The forest closed in around it again on both sides, and Elerian looked with great interest at the ancient forests of oak, chestnut, and pine that grew right up to the edge of the road.
“This is no country for horsemen,” he thought to himself. For the first time, he understood fully the threat the Goblins would pose to the Tarsi if they took control of these mountain fastnesses where the riders could not pursue them, for the Wood Goblins were masters of the forest.
When the host reached the valley floor, the road brought them to a wide stone bridge that spanned the river running through the valley, the only work of human hands Elerian had seen since entering these mountains. The light was dim here, for the branches of great trees met overhead to form a leafy roof over the bridge and the narrow river. A light mist dampened the moss-covered stones of the bridge, and a muted roar filled the air, varying in intensity, now louder, now softer but remaining constant. From the sound, Elerian guessed that there were rapids or a waterfall downstream from the bridge.
For all their numbers, the Tarsi drew closer together as they crossed the bridge, casting uneasy glances into the gloom on either side of them as they filed across to the road on the far side. When the wagon he was riding on rumbled over the bridge, Ascilius shivered and woke up. The thick mist had already collected in minute drops on his beard, which was now loose and combed out over his broad chest.
“This is a Troll hole if ever I saw one,” he said as he peered apprehensively into the gloom beyond the curb that ran along the edge of the bridge.
Remembering Anferth’s ravine, Elerian thought so too, for there were many similarities between that place and this one.
“Do Trolls really live under bridges as the old stories claim?” he wondered to himself as he looked over the side of the bridge at the dark river slipping swiftly by. The thought of a great Troll hiding beneath the mossy stones was a disquieting one, and once they crossed the bridge, Elerian cast wary glances into the deep shadows under the trees. He saw nothing crouched between their mighty boles that might threaten them, but he wondered what might lie concealed in the depths of these ancient groves.
“Does no one live in these mountains?” Elerian asked Ascilius.
“The Tarsi are not woodsmen,” said Ascilius, who was also peering suspiciously into the shadows under the trees lining the road. “Only wild things such as wolves, panthers, and bears live in these mountains, although a Troll will sometimes wander down out of the north and take up residence in one of the many caves that lie hidden in the forest. It is certainly not safe to leave the road if that is what you are thinking,” said Ascilius severely.
“Despite the danger, I could happily explore this forest for days on end, had we more time,” said Elerian with a smile.
“You are daft like all of your kind,” said Ascilius with a slight shudder. “I will never understand your fascination with trees.
“And I will never understand your preference for shutting yourself underground in walls of stone,” said Elerian with a soft laugh.
“Tunnels are better than this dark wood around us. Nothing could make me willingly enter it. Whenever I traveled south through Tarsius in the past, I always took the longer route through Silanus, which avoids the mountains completely.”
When the road finally began climbing out of the dark valley, Ascilius relaxed and closed his eyes again. The mountains on the far side of the valley were higher than the first that the host had climbed. It was early evening, and the sun had begun to drop into the west when Elerian and Ascilius reached a wide, barren pass between two tall crags whose s
ides were fractured and roughened by the action of rain and snow into sheer precipices. Because of the lateness of the hour, the right hand peak threw a long, cold shadow across the pass.
When Elerian, still riding next to Ascilius on his wagon seat, emerged from this shadow into the sunlight on the far side of the pass, he saw a wide, grass covered valley spread out far below him at the foot of the mountains. Forested foothills rose up on either side of it, and a river, like a thread of shining silver from this height, ran down its center.
“The same river we crossed in the mountains behind us,” thought Elerian to himself.
Although the valley was still miles away, Elerian’s farsighted eyes picked out thousands of wagons and brightly colored tents covering the valley floor on both sides of the river. Far out on the plain beyond the valley, Elerian could see enormous herds of horses grazing on the rich green grass. Feeding beside them were great flocks of white and black sheep and herds of placid, brown oxen. The minute figures of the Tarsi were everywhere in the tent city, from small children to grown men.
“There are many thousands of people gathered in the valley below,” said Elerian to Ascilius, who was awake again. “I never thought to see so many in one place at the same time.”
“Those that you see below are only a part of the Tarsi nation,” said Ascilius dismissively from his seat on the wagon. “You should see the harvest festival hosted by the king each year during autumn. Families from all over the kingdom gather before the city of Niveaus with their herds and flocks to take part in the celebration. Their encampments cover the plains for miles around the city.”
Elerian shook his head in disbelief, trying to imagine the gathering Ascilius had described. As they began the steep descent toward the valley below, the road, wide enough for two wagons to travel abreast, wound back and forth across the side of the mountain, cut into the living rock so that they traveled with a sheer wall of stone on one side and a sharp drop on the other. When Elerian looked up, he saw a line of riders and wagons stretching all the way up to the pass.