by A. Giannetti
With a thunder of hooves, Merula suddenly drove in from the left, his spear point lowered in an attempt to spear the lion in the side. At the last moment, the great cat abandoned the mare and shifted to its right, crouching low so that the long spear point tore a bloody furrow across the top of its right shoulder but did no serious damage. Merula desperately tried to turn his stallion to the right, away from the lion, but the huge beast reared up and broke his mount’s neck with a single heavy, downward blow of its right paw. Merula’s stallion stumbled, and then fell heavily onto its right side, trapping Merula’s right leg beneath its chest. As he struggled vainly to pull himself free, the lion planted its front paws on his stallion’s chest, glaring down at him with fierce green eyes.
Elerian raised his bow, but before he could release the string, the gazehounds surrounded the lion, leaping madly about and spoiling his shot. To his horror, Elerian saw Anthea suddenly rise and draw her knife. The lion caught the motion and spun around to face her, ignoring both Merula and the dogs that rushed in to fasten their jaws on its massive frame.
“As brave and heedless as Ascilius,” was Elerian’s frantic thought as he cast his bow onto the ground and urged Enias forward.
Like an arrow released from the string, Enias shot toward Anthea, even as the lion sprang into the air, mighty paws extended to strike her down. As the lion hurtled toward her, Elerian leaned over, seizing the back of Anthea’s leather shirt in his left hand and lifting her onto Enias’s withers in one smooth motion. For a brief moment he looked into the lion’s lambent, green eyes before Enias carried him out of reach of the furious beast and its reaching claws.
Enias’s last leap carried him up against the edge of the thicket. Stopping so abruptly that he reared up on his haunches, he spun nimbly around to his left, but the lion had already launched another attack. As the great beast bore down on them, Elerian raised his right hand and desperately cast a killing spell. With his third eye, he saw a pale golden orb fly from the fingertips of his right hand. His aim was true, for it struck the lion in the chest, penetrating its body and bursting its mighty heart, all in an instant of time. As the great cat stumbled in mid-stride, Enias sprang past it, on its left side. For a second time, Elerian looked down into its fearless, fierce green eyes before Enias carried him and Anthea to safety. Looking back over his shoulder at the lion’s still form, Elerian was torn between relief that that the lion was finally dead and admiration for its indomitable spirit.
When Elerian stopped Enias with a silent command, Anthea wrenched herself free of his hand and leaped nimbly to the ground. The dogs had surrounded the lion’s body, worrying it with their teeth, but Anthea ran up to them and fearlessly began to order them back.
“Away!” she shouted. “You shall not tear at the king’s body in death when he can no longer defend himself!”
The huge gazehounds and the smaller tracking hounds reluctantly backed away before her bold advance. A moment later, the hunt masters and the rest of the hunting party rode up to assist her in keeping order. They were loud in their praise of Anthea, for they all assumed that her spear point, which had remained buried in the lion’s chest, had brought about its death.
Elerian dismounted and stood next to Enias at a little distance from the rest of the hunting party. His heart was still pounding, and the image of the lion reaching for Anthea with its deadly claws remained graven in his mind. He watched Anthea closely, but except for a slight bruise on her forehead, she seemed unaffected by her experience, for she was already directing several of the men in the hunting party to attach ropes to Merula’s dead stallion. After tying the ropes to the saddles of their own horses, they dragged the poor beast off Merula’s leg. Rising slowly and painfully to his feet, Merula waved off all offers of help. Seeing that he was not badly injured, Anthea turned away from him and walked toward Elerian. Merula glared at Elerian for a moment over Anthea’s shoulder before limping off, obviously in a black mood.
“He is upset over the loss of his stallion,” Elerian heard one of the huntsmen say quietly to the others, but Elerian knew there were other reasons for Merula’s ill humor.
“He missed his chance to save Anthea’s life and have her in his debt,” thought Elerian to himself as Anthea walked toward him. “That will not sit well with him.”
Looking into Anthea’s fair face, Elerian saw no trace of fear, as if her close brush with death had made no impression on her. He waited expectantly, for he thought she was coming to thank him for her rescue from the jaws of the lion, but in this he was sadly mistaken.
“How did you slay the lion?” asked Anthea bluntly, her eyes bright with anger.
“I heard the huntsmen say your spear point caused his death,” said Elerian evasively.
“They are wrong,” said Anthea contemptuously. “The wound I gave the beast was not immediately fatal. Answer my question truthfully,” she demanded.
Her imperious tone reminded Elerian that she was the daughter of a king and used to having her way.
“I used a killing spell to destroy its heart,” Elerian said quietly so that his voice would not carry to the group gathering around the slain lion.
“A coward’s weapon,” said Anthea contemptuously. “I thought as much.”
Elerian was stunned and angered by her words. “Would you have preferred death instead?” he asked angrily. “Our knives would have been useless against such an enormous beast.”
“Death comes to us all,” said Anthea indifferently and unreasonably to Elerian’s mind. “What does it matter when we die as long as our death is a noble one deserving of a place in some fireside tale of bravery.”
Before Elerian could make any reply, Anthea gave a sudden cry of distress as she noticed, for the first time, that he mare had been injured by the lion. Standing off to one side, with a huntsman holding her bridle, her sleek shoulders and chest appeared fearfully torn by the lion’s great claws. Steams of red blood ran from her wounds, staining the green grass near her trim hooves as she stood trembling with her head down. When Anthea ran up to the mare, Elerian followed unnoticed behind her.
Anthea gently stroked her mount’s neck, seeking to calm her with soft words. When the mare ceased to tremble, Anthea slowly raised the long knife she still held in her right hand. Before the gleaming blade could strike, Elerian seized her slim wrist with his left hand. With surprising strength, Anthea sought to break his grip. When she failed, she turned toward him. Her fair face was streaked with tears, but the fierce look in her eyes reminded Elerian of the lion. Out of the corners of his eyes, he saw knives appear in the hands of the huntsmen and the hunting party.
“What is the penalty for laying a violent hand on the princess of the realm?” wondered Elerian to himself, but he did not release Anthea’s wrist.
“Do not be so quick to deal out death,” he said firmly, refusing to release his hold, even as he was surrounded by a ring of drawn knives.
“Do not interfere,” said Anthea fiercely to Elerian. “Portia cannot survive her wounds. The claws of the great cats infect all injuries that they leave behind. I will not see her endure a painful, lingering death.”
Acutely aware of all the drawn knives surrounding him, Elerian released Anthea’s wrist, swiftly stepping between her and the mare.
“Step away stranger,” said one of the huntsmen angrily. “The slashes are deep. Even if they could be healed, the poor beast would be crippled for life.”
“Stand aside,” said Anthea, furiously, “or I will have you brought back to your tent in chains.”
“Give me a few moments,” said Elerian calmly as he laid his right hand on the mare’s right shoulder. “If I fail to heal her, you can do as you wish with the both of us.”
At the touch of his hand, the mare stood very still, shivering only now and then from the pain of her wounds. With his third eye, Elerian watched as a pale, golden light spread from his hand, covering all her terrible injuries. Immediately, her crimson blood stopped flowing from the deep gashe
s, and they began to close.
Lost in the healing spell, Elerian did not hear the sharp intake of breaths behind him as Anthea and the others watched the wounds mend before their eyes. They had all seen healers of their own people close small injuries before but never anything as extensive as what Elerian was attempting now. Much later, when Elerian finally withdrew his hand from the mare’s warm, sleek shoulder, Portia’s deep wounds were completely closed, leaving only faint pink tracks in her glossy hide that would fade with time.
Turning to Anthea, Elerian said wearily, “She will need to rest for a few days. I have healed her wounds, but they will remain tender and easily injured for a time.”
“You have interfered where you should not have,” said Anthea coldly, without any gratitude evident in her voice. “You have also disobeyed me and laid violent hands on my person. The penalty for your offenses is death!”
Elerian stared at her unbelievingly, but she seemed quite serious. Taking her mare’s reins, Anthea stalked silently away with Portia in tow, leaving Elerian to his own devices. He sighed and shook his head as Enias stepped close to him and nuzzled the back of his neck.
“It is my own fault Enias,” he said ruefully to the stallion. “I should never have accepted her invitation this morning.”
“But then she would be dead,” was his sudden thought, and he shuddered at the thought of the sorrow that would have brought to his heart.
Confused as to what he should do next, Elerian watched as Anthea led her mare toward the hunting party, which had gathered nearby while he healed Portia. They were already mounted on their horses, and to one side of the riders were the hounds, under the guidance of two hunt masters.
“They must have made ready to leave while I was tending to Portia,” thought Elerian to himself.
He turned away, assuming Anthea would ride back to camp with the hunting party. Despite Anthea’s threatening words, no one came to take him away, and Elerian found himself alone, except for the four huntsmen who were crouched over the lion, skinning it.
Aimlessly, he picked up his bow and the quiver of arrows that he had dropped earlier before walking over to the lion. The huntsmen were talking quietly among themselves as they worked quickly and skillfully, paying no special attention when Elerian approached them. As he marveled anew at the vast size of the lion, Elerian chanced to see the remnants of Anthea’s spear lying nearby. The huntsmen had cast the bloody spear point aside, next to the broken shaft. Idly, Elerian stirred the shaft with his right foot. The thick, polished wood ended in a long, jagged splinter where the weight of the lion had broken it in two, but Elerian’s sharp eyes noticed something odd about it. A flake of brown wax clung to the splintered wood, wax that had no business being there, unless someone had weakened the shaft beforehand and then disguised the break with the dark wax. Elerian immediately recalled how Merula had positioned himself perfectly to rescue Anthea, almost as if he had known her spear shaft was about to break.
“It does not seem possible that he would do such a thing,” thought Elerian to himself. “He would have to be mad to risk her life in this fashion, just to try and make a good impression on her.”
The sound of hooves drumming on the ground caused Elerian to look up just as Anthea galloped up on a bay mare.
“Ride with me,” she said imperiously. “The hunting party will walk my mare back to the encampment.”
At her words, the huntsmen all looked up in alarm. “My lady,” said one of them hesitantly, “you cannot ride with him alone. Your father will have our heads.”
“No one tells me what to do,” said Anthea sharply, “not even my father.”
When the huntsmen made to rise, she clapped her heels to the mare’s sides. Her mount leaped clean over the carcass of the lion, scattering the men in all directions. Turning her mare toward the three remaining horses, Anthea galloped up to them. Leaning far over to one side, she deftly snatched up their reins, which were trailing on the ground. As the huntsmen watched helplessly, she rode away with all three horses in tow behind her.
“Ride you fool,” she shouted harshly at Elerian over her shoulder.
Stung by her words, he leaped lightly onto Enias and sped after her, before the startled huntsmen thought to lay hands on him.
ASCILIUS’S REVENGE
Bending low over her mare’s neck, Anthea urged her on to greater and greater speed. She let go of the reins of the horses trailing her, but they continued to follow along, caught up in the spirit of the race. Enias neighed joyfully at the challenge and sped after the mare, his neat hooves seeming to spurn the earth beneath them. Snorting disdainfully, he sped past the mare at a furious pace that left her far behind in an instant. On his own, he slowed and then pranced in the lush spring grass that covered the plain, head and tail held high as he waited for Anthea and her mare to close the gap between them.
“Show off,” said Elerian fondly to the stallion as he stroked his neck.
Anthea slowed her mare as she drew even with Enias. She gave the stallion an admiring glance but spoke no word to Elerian before riding on, the three spare horses still trailing along behind her.
When Elerian drew up beside her on Enias, she turned to him and said sharply. “I am surprised that you are still hanging about. Did I not tell you your life was forfeit for what you have done?”
“Perhaps the king will grant me mercy,” said Elerian hopefully. “I did heal your mare.”
“He has no choice but to enforce the law,” said Anthea coldly. “You are a fool if you think otherwise.”
“Why did you ask me to ride with you, if you have such a low opinion of me?” asked Elerian in an exasperated voice.
“You amuse me,” said Anthea. “I heard that your eyes were as big as saucers when you first laid eyes on Gram,” she said with a wicked gleam in her eyes.
“I expected to wrestle Merula not some half giant,” protested Elerian weakly.
“What about the lion then?” asked Anthea innocently. “I was afraid your heart might stop when he first appeared out of the thicket.”
This last comment was so outrageously untrue that Elerian was momentarily tongue- tied.
“I will not be able to accompany you again before the king cuts off your head,” continued Anthea. “The other women have already abused me severely for inviting such an ill favored hero to the hunt. Have you ever considered using your mage powers to make yourself more pleasing to the eye?” she asked ingenuously.
Elerian felt as if his normally quick wits had slowed to a snail’s pace. Frantically, he tried to think of something he might say to defend himself. Instead, he found himself gazing foolishly into Anthea’s enigmatic blue eyes.
Anthea threw him a scornful look and turned away. “Have you nothing to say?” she asked scathingly. “You must be a simpleton as well as a fool.”
For the life of him, Elerian could not think of a single fitting response. Each time he looked at Anthea’s face, he felt as if someone had cast a spell on his brain that froze all his thoughts. Looking straight ahead, he tried desperately to settle himself and recover his composure as they rode on in an uneasy silence.
The creek they had crossed earlier soon appeared in their path. Anthea followed it south and the brush suddenly disappeared as the ground turned stony and hard. Ignoring Elerian, she led the way across the ford, trailed by the three spare horses. As Enias splashed through the stream, which had now spread out and shallowed, Elerian’s eye was suddenly caught by a large piece of granite lying on the far shore. He had the sudden feeling that the stone might prove useful to him. Sensing his thought, Enias stopped on the far bank, and Elerian leaped lightly to the ground. Picking up the stone, which was about the size of a man’s head, he looked admiringly at its smooth gray surface, which was marked with red and green flecks.
“Have you taken to collecting rocks now?” asked an amused voice as Elerian admired his find. He looked up and saw that Anthea, too, had stopped and was looking back over him over her left shoul
der, a quizzical expression on her face.
“Only this one,” said Elerian with a smile. “I think I may have a use for it.”
Holding his prize, he leaped back onto Enias. His mind was suddenly clear, and he was pleased to see a gleam of curiosity in Anthea’s eyes, but she was too proud to ask questions, and he offered no answers as they resumed their interrupted ride toward the War Camp. Once they entered the outskirts of the encampment, they went their separate ways. Anthea disappeared between the tents without a word or backward look.
“She never thanked me once for saving her life or the life of her mare,” said Elerian glumly to Enias as he rode to his own tent. “Perhaps she really is as cold as Merula claims she is.”
Enias snorted in response, but Elerian could not tell if he was expressing sympathy or amusement at the situation that Elerian found himself in.
When he reached his tent, Elerian brushed Enias before retiring inside. There was no sign of Ascilius, so he went searching for the Dwarf. After making inquiries of several people that he met during his search, he was directed to a pavilion used as an outdoor cooking area for the king and his retainers. Elerian found Ascilius seated by himself on a bench pulled up to a trestle table, with a substantial lunch spread out in front of him.
“Sit down and eat,” he said cheerfully to Elerian.
Elerian did not feel hungry. Sitting down on Ascilius’s right, he poured a glass of wine before gloomily recounting what had happened on the morning’s hunt, leaving out only his suspicions about who was responsible for the broken spear shaft, for he had no real proof that Merula was involved.
“Anthea insists that her father will remove my head for touching her,” he told Ascilius dejectedly at the end of the story.
Ascilius, who was in the middle of a deep pull from his mug of beer during this last statement, immediately began to choke so violently that half his cup of beer ended up in his beard. He began to make odd strangled sounds and turned such a deep shade of red that Elerian became alarmed and began pounding the Dwarf on his broad back with his left hand.