The Warrior (The Hidden Realm)

by A. Giannetti

  “Stop,” said Ascilius weakly. “At this rate, you will break my back before I ever have a chance to choke. Now, tell me again what Anthea said to you.”

  When Elerian repeated Anthea’s words again, Ascilius’s face took on a peculiar look. Hastily he buried his face in what was left of the beer in his mug before turning to Elerian.

  “This is very bad,” he said severely. “You should know enough to be wary of kings and their offspring, for dealings with them can be perilous to those who do not move in their sphere. Now, you must either flee or be prepared to face the consequences of your actions when the king summons you.”

  “I will not run away,” said Elerian at once, for the idea of slinking away, even to save his life, was repugnant to him.

  Surprisingly, Ascilius made no attempt to change Elerian’s mind.

  “Eat then,” said the Dwarf resuming his meal with a hearty appetite. “After all, this may be your last meal.”

  Having made this grim statement, Ascilius attacked his own lunch with a gusto that surprised Elerian. Had he looked at his companion more closely, Elerian might have noted a bright gleam of anticipation in Ascilius’s dark eyes that was at odds with his gloomy prediction, but he kept his eyes on the table top, immersed in his own bleak thoughts. He finished his wine, but he still ate nothing, for he had no appetite.

  Ascilius’s words proved prophetic, for even as the Dwarf finished his meal, a messenger came to summon Elerian to appear before Orianus.

  “I will come too,” said Ascilius quickly. “Perhaps I can be of help in your last moments.”

  Ascilius’s voice was solemn, but his hooded eyes gleamed and unnoticed by Elerian, an odd shudder shook his sturdy frame. Eyes downcast, steeling himself to remain calm, Elerian followed the messenger with Ascilius trailing along behind.

  They returned to the same tent where Elerian had eaten breakfast that same morning. Two tall door wardens standing in front of the entrance allowed them to enter the tent without questioning them.

  After he passed through the entryway, Elerian saw that the look of the interior had changed. Ornate tapestries now hung from the wooden tent poles to create the semblance of a large, square room, and a number of mage lights fixed to tall iron stands lit the room with a warm yellow glow. Orianus sat in a polished wooden chair set against the tapestry on the far side of the room. Anthea sat in another chair on his left and Dacien sat on his right. A small table laden with refreshments was set against the wall on Elerian’s right. Otherwise, the room was quite empty.

  Elerian approached Orianus with a firm step and his head up. He thought the king had a rather grim look on his face, and even more ominous was the long, gleaming sword the lay across his knees.

  “Perhaps he means to slay me on the spot,” Elerian thought dismally to himself. The solemn looks on Dacien’s and Anthea’s faces did little to reassure him.

  “Do you know why I have called you here?” asked Orianus gravely as Elerian stopped a short distance from his chair.

  “It has to do with Anthea, I believe,” said Elerian keeping a wary eye on the king’s sword.

  “You have guessed correctly,” said Orianus. The King’s right hand closed on the hilt of his sword.

  “He means to do it now,” thought Elerian despairingly.

  A whirl of disparate thoughts flew through his mind. Should he defend himself, or should he attempt to flee. Before he could make any decision, Anthea suddenly covered her face with her hands and ran from her chair to stand before the tapestry on Elerian’s right. Her back was toward him, and he saw her shoulders heaving. Muffled, choking noises were coming through her slender hands, which she had placed over her mouth.

  “She must feel something for me to exhibit such sorrow,” thought Elerian hopefully to himself.

  Forgetting all else for the moment, he crossed over to Anthea and laid his left hand on her right shoulder, gently turning her away from the tapestry. Tears ran from her bright blue eyes, but after a moment of stunned silence, Elerian realized that they were tears of laughter and that the muffled sounds coming through her long fingers were peals of laughter. As he stared at her in confusion, a roar of laughter behind him caused him to spin wildly about. Ascilius, too, was laughing so hard that tears were running down his cheeks into his beard.

  Elerian looked from Ascilius to Anthea and then back again, wondering if they had taken leave of their senses.

  “Since when is my imminent execution the cause of so much merriment?” he demanded of Ascilius in a hurt voice.

  To Elerian’s amazement, Ascilius laughed even harder, and Orianus stared at him as if he had gone mad.

  “What is this talk of executions?” he demanded of Elerian. “I brought you here to honor you for saving my daughter from the lion. Has everyone in this room gone mad save Dacien and myself?”

  In one great flash of stunned comprehension, Elerian perceived the clever trap Anthea had laid for him, and which his supposed ally, Ascilius, had aided and abetted. A wave of uncharacteristic anger swept over him. Without a word, he stalked furiously out of the tent into the afternoon sunlight. Enias suddenly appeared before him, and Elerian vaulted onto his back. As if guessing Elerian’s needs, Enias threaded his way through the encampment out to the open meadows that lay beyond it. There, he began to run toward the open plains.

  Gradually, the wind blowing against his face cooled Elerian’s anger until he could think again. When Enias came to a low rise, he rode the stallion to the top and then dismounted, sitting in the shade of Enias’s shadow. With his anger cooled, he now felt ashamed.

  “It was a clever jest that they played on me, one I would have been proud to call my own,” he said regretfully to Enias. “I should have laughed with the others. Even Ascilius has never acted this badly with all the tricks that I have played on him.”

  “Why was I such a poor sport,” Elerian wondered silently to himself.

  The answer came to him immediately when an image of Anthea’s fair face appeared in his mind’s eye.

  “Ascilius was right,” thought Elerian sadly to himself. “I am caught fast, just as he warned me. Already, she has worked a change on me and not for the better. I begin to understand Merula better now, for he has suffered far longer than I have. What have his passion and distress done to his mind, I wonder?”

  Elerian did not have the answer to that question, but he knew that he did not wish to become like the Tarsi.

  “Better to move on to Ennodius with Ascilius,” he thought to himself as he stood and mounted Enias. “If I remain here, I may become like Merula, bitter and twisted by what I cannot have, for she has already made her opinion of me quite clear,” he thought to himself as he turned Enias toward the encampment.

  The shadows were already gathering when he reached the camp. Elerian attracted little attention as he rode to his tent, for people saw only a weathered stranger on a pale gray horse, neither one worthy of any special notice. Elerian took time to groom Enias before retiring inside. Ascilius was not there, and he wondered where the Dwarf had taken himself to at this late hour.

  To take his mind off his troubles, Elerian took out the stone that he had found that morning. After sitting down cross-legged on one of the thick, wool rugs that covered the floor of the tent, he stared at the stone resting on the rug in front of him for a moment, a half formed thought at the back of his mind. At the touch of the fingers of his right hand, a mantle of golden light, visible only to his third eye, covered the smooth granite. The stone slowly lifted away from his hand, a tenuous thread of gold tethering it to his fingers. Once it reached the level of his waist, it began to spin slowly in the air. With the transformation spell that he had perfected so long ago, Elerian loosened the bonds that held the stone in its present shape. His long, clever fingers began to work the rock like clay on a potter’s wheel, and his eyes took on a rapt look as he became immersed in shaping the granite so that it conformed to his desires. When he finally stopped, out of exhaustion, the stone had ta
ken the shape of an elegant, shallow bowl. Elerian examined his work for a moment before setting it aside. For the first time, he realized that he was not alone. Ascilius was sitting on his bed, watching him with dark, interested eyes that gleamed in the soft mage light that filled the tent.

  “How long have you been sitting there?” asked Elerian as he stretched his tired muscles.

  “Almost since you started,” said Ascilius. “After searching for you all afternoon, I returned here to find you immersed in your work.”

  “Well you have found me,” said Elerian dryly.

  “I am sorry for the trick we played on you,” said the Dwarf hesitantly. “I warned you that I would have my revenge on you and this seemed the perfect opportunity. I had heard the whole story before you came to the pavilion and knew the king meant to reward you for saving his daughter. I saw at once what Anthea was about and was more than happy to help with the deception.”

  “There is no need to apologize,” said Elerian ruefully. “It was a masterful trick, the product of a cunning mind. I should have laughed with you and Anthea instead of becoming angry. I shall have to apologize to Orianus for storming out of his tent. He must think me a fool and rude in the bargain.”

  “Actually, he took your part,” said Ascilius. “He did not think Anthea’s jest was amusing in the least. They had a terrible row, and I thought it best to take myself somewhere else before it involved me too.”

  “I must have that on my conscience, too, then,” said Elerian glumly. “Had I taken the jest properly, all would have been well.”

  “I am still surprised that you became angry,” said Ascilius. “You have always been a good sport before.”

  “Things have changed Ascilius,” said Elerian sadly. “It was a mistake to come here. I think the sooner we leave the better it will be for all concerned.”

  “I am anxious to return to my own city, but it would be a poor return on Orianus’s hospitality to leave suddenly over a harmless jest. You are still taking this badly.”

  “You do not understand, Ascilius,” said Elerian softly. “Anthea is the maiden I saw in the orb.”

  “I thought you said that her eyes were black,” said Ascilius in a confused voice.”

  “It was night when I saw her,” replied Elerian. “Her eyes appeared black under the starlight.”

  “This is not good news,” said Ascilius, his confusion turning to concern. “If I had known beforehand whom it was that you saw in that cursed globe, I would never have agreed to Orianus’s invitation to travel to his war camp. Orianus is a fine fellow, but his daughter is dear to him. He may feel differently about you if he discovers that you are attracted to Anthea.”

  “Do not berate yourself over it, Ascilius,” said Elerian gloomily. “Orianus is in little danger of losing his daughter to me. She has already made quite clear her low opinion of me,” said Elerian, trying without success to keep the disappointment out of his voice as he shuttered the mage light and wearily sought his blankets. “As I said, the sooner we leave here, the better.”

  “Very well,” said Ascilius, as he too sought his blankets. “I will begin making preparations to leave tomorrow.”

  Ascilius was soon asleep, but rest of any sort eluded Elerian. Each time he closed his eyes, he saw a fair face with mocking blue eyes that disturbed his attempts at repose.

  A SURPRISING INVITATION

  Well before dawn, Elerian gave up his futile attempts to rest and left his blankets. Stepping outside into the predawn coolness, he found Enias sleeping on the ground near the tent entrance. To someone without night sight, he would have appeared only as a shadow, for his eyes were dark in the starlight, as was his sleek hide.

  The stallion leapt lightly to his feet, coming over to nuzzle Elerian with his soft muzzle. After stroking Enias, Elerian paced restlessly back and forth in front of the tent, his mind still unsettled. Anthea obviously thought he was an unattractive fool, but he found himself unable to stop thinking about her.

  “The sooner Ascilius and I leave for Ennodius, the better it will be for me,” Elerian thought grimly to himself. I shall go mad here in another day or two.”

  Abruptly, he stopped his pacing, for he heard the soft, clopping sound of a horse approaching.

  “Who would be up and about at this hour,” wondered Elerian to himself as he turned toward the sound. A few moments later, he was astonished to see Anthea ride up on a dappled gray mare. She wore the same leather clothes that she had worn on the hunt the day before, but today her long hair was tied back with a soft leather strap instead of being braided. A silver fillet adorned her fair brow, the single sapphire set in its center, dull in the twilight. A long knife in a brown sheath hung from the left side of her belt, and a sword hilt was visible over her right shoulder. Tied to the back of her saddle was a large leather pack.

  “Come with me,” she said imperiously when she saw Elerian. She did not appear at all surprised to find him up and awake so early in the morning.

  “Say no,” Elerian’s commonsense immediately advised him. He opened his mouth to refuse her invitation, but seeing her sitting so straight and slim in her saddle, he began to waver in his decision.

  “Why should I ride with you after the way you have treated me,” he asked, stalling for time.

  “Because I have commanded it,” said Anthea imperiously. Her eyes, dark in the starlight, gleamed with amusement.

  “She knows I cannot refuse her,” thought Elerian hopelessly to himself. “Still, what can it hurt,” he reasoned with himself. “Even if she makes sport of me, at least I can look upon her one last time before Ascilius and I leave for Ennodius.”

  “Give me a moment,” said Elerian at last.

  As he entered the tent, he silently berated himself for giving in. Who knew what torments she had in store for him today?

  Ascilius was still asleep, and knowing that the Dwarf would disapprove of what he was doing, Elerian took care not to wake him as he thrust his knife through his belt and slung his sword over his back. He stepped outside again; quietly letting the tent flap fall closed behind him before mounting Enias. Anthea immediately rode off without a backward look, seemingly secure in the knowledge that Elerian would follow.

  As they threaded their way through the encampment, lights began to appear inside the tents they passed. People were just beginning to stir, preparing to start the new day, but no one came outside, and no one saw them ride out of the war camp.

  Anthea rode south along the river until the valley ended and the plains began. At that point, she turned east, riding close to the foothills on their left so that they passed to the north of the grazing herds and the country where they had hunted the lion the day before. The land looked deceptively level to the eye, but there were many shallow valleys running between low knolls. Anthea cleverly evaded the watchful eyes of the herdsmen by keeping to low ground where they would not be observed.

  Elerian paid little attention to where they were going. His mind was strangely vacant, and he found it hard to take his eyes off Anthea’s slender figure as she rode her trim mare with an easy grace.

  After the flocks and herds on their right vanished into the distance, Anthea suddenly urged her long legged mare into a gallop. Enias leaped after her, and they raced side by side over the lush, ankle high spring grass covering the ground. Each time they crested a low hillock, Elerian saw miles of empty pasturage all around them, gilded by red gold sun rising in the east. He and Anthea were alone under a cloudless blue sky, and Elerian would have been content to ride on and on to the ends of the plains, wherever that might be, as long as she remained near him.

  Abruptly, Anthea slowed her mare, which had begun to tire from the long race. She turned to Elerian, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling.

  “Does he never tire?” she asked, giving Enias an admiring glance.

  There was no trace of sweat on the stallion’s sleek coat, and he carried his head and tail high.

  “He has endurance and strength far bey
ond that of ordinary horses,” said Elerian abstractedly, for he was trying to memorize her features so that he might carry them with him always.

  “You have even less to say than usual,” said Anthea. “Are you still angry about the trick I played on you?”

  Elerian suddenly felt his mind clear and his power of speech return.

  “At first I was,” he said quietly, “but it was wrong of me. It was a crafty jest, one I would have been proud to call my own. I should have laughed along with you and Ascilius.”

  “You should have seen your face when my father gripped his sword,” laughed Anthea with a mischievous look in her eyes. “I am sure you expected him to strike off your head on the spot. I cannot remember the last time I laughed so hard.”

  “I am glad I was able to amuse you,” said Elerian dryly.

  “You always amuse me,” said Anthea with a gleam in her eyes. “You are so easily duped, I cannot help myself.”

  Elerian winced at her words, for he had often applied them to Ascilius. Suddenly, he laughed in a clear voice.

  “This is my punishment for all the tricks I have heaped on poor Ascilius. It seems I have finally met my match.”

  “More than your match, I think,” said Anthea loftily.

  A sound, half bellow, half roar suddenly interrupted their word play and drew their attention to the south. In the distance, they saw a herd of the wild oxen that roamed the plains. Shadowing the cattle was a pack comprised of a dozen great gray wolves. The bulls in the herd were bellowing and tossing their heavy, incurving horns in a threatening manner, warning the predators to keep their distance.

  Closer at hand were small groups of tan antelopes with long, black spiral horns, also nervously watching the gray hunters with their sharp eyes. As Elerian and Anthea rode on, flocks of heavy brown partridges rose out of the grass on thundering wings, disturbed by the feet of their horses. When they crossed the same brush lined creek they had forded the day before, Elerian saw sleek brown deer slip away through the thickets. The horns of the bucks were clad in skin resembling soft velvet.