by A. Giannetti
“I will not leave you behind. If you will not run, then we will find a way to defeat this creature together,” said Elerian resolutely, but his words sounded hollow, even to his own ears.
Anthea suddenly laughed softly, the sound of her clear voice out of place in that forbidding room.
“With my stick and your bare hands, how can we lose?”
“The hands of a mage can do much,” said Elerian softly as he brought a large mage light into existence before the Troll’s face. The Troll extinguished it in the blink of an eye.
“It has mage powers, too,” was Elerian’s disappointed thought.
He considered using his invisibility ring but discarded the idea. With its keen sense of smell and sensitive ears, the Troll would still be able to find them. Also, there were many hazards on the floor. It would be too easy to trip and fall if he and Anthea could not see their feet and legs. With no real hope of success, Elerian raised his right hand and cast a killing spell at the Troll’s chest. His third eye opened, and he saw his spell flare uselessly against the shield spell the Troll immediately cast to protect himself.
The Troll laughed scornfully.
“Leave off your tricks,” he commanded in an annoyed voice. “They will not help you, for my mage powers are equal to your own.”
With his third eye, Elerian saw that a constantly shifting, shimmering film of red light continued to cover the Troll’s body. The creature was maintaining its shield spell in case Elerian tried another magical attack.
“Let us move apart,” said Anthea coolly. “It will have to direct its attention to two different places and may buy us a little time until we find something to kill it with.”
Lacking mage sight, Anthea had not seen the spells cast by Elerian, but from the Troll’s words, she guessed that a battle of magic had just taken place. The Troll directed an amused look toward Anthea.
“I am old and harder than stone,” he rumbled. “Even if you were armed with swords and had a hundred armed men at your back, still you would not defeat me. Surrender to me now and I will kill both of you quickly. Fight me and I will roast you both alive over the same fire,” he threatened.
Without waiting for a reply or giving any warning, the Troll suddenly bounded toward them. As Elerian had predicted, it was amazingly fast and agile for such a large creature. Attacking Elerian first, it swung its club down on his head, but he instantly sprang back in a supple leap. The club fell short, but the wind from its passage through the air fanned Elerian’s face like a strong breeze before striking the pavement in front of his feet. With a mighty crack, the club splintered into two pieces from the force of the blow. By then, Anthea had darted in behind the Troll, striking it across the back of the head with her staff. A sharp snap rent the air as the force of the blow broke the staff in half without doing any damage at all to the Troll’s stony flesh.
With a roar of anger, the Troll sent a backhanded blow at Anthea with its left hand that would have broken her in two had it landed, but Anthea crouched down, and the Troll’s massive hand passed over her.
The Troll was off balance now, half turned away from Elerian. Remembering his battle with Drusus, Elerian desperately examined the floor at his feet, hoping to find some weapon there, but he saw nothing that would aid him.
“Tullius warned you that you would not find a weapon under your feet every time you faced danger,” Elerian chided himself. His heart stumbled then as Anthea rose to her feet and slipped on a remnant of rotting hide as she attempted to run from the Troll. She went down on her right knee, hands against the floor to save herself from a fall. With a roar of triumph, the Troll, who had recovered his balance, reached to seize her with a taloned right hand.
“All or nothing,” thought Elerian to himself.
Gathering all his strength, he cast another killing spell at the back of the Troll’s head, infinitely more powerful than the first spell he had cast. It was a gamble, for if it failed to break through the Troll’s shield spell, then he and Anthea were both as good as dead, for the drain on his powers would leave him to weak to run or perform any more magic.
“Or perhaps the intensity of the spell itself will kill me,” thought Elerian to himself as the world turned black around him. He lost consciousness and fell lifelessly to the floor.
The killing spell Elerian had cast struck the Troll squarely between its pointed ears, as Elerian had intended. Looking back helplessly over her left shoulder, Anthea saw the creature’s head tremble. Then its body stiffened, the blackened talons of its right hand stopping only inches from her face. Eyes wide and staring, the Troll began to topple toward her. Anthea scrambled madly across the floor on all fours to get out of its way. There was a muffled thump behind her, and she felt the floor shake under her hands and knees. Scrambling to her feet, Anthea turned toward the Troll, ready to resume the fight bare handed if necessary, but there was no need. The great Troll lay still as stone on the floor, obviously quite dead, for a thick, viscous stream of black blood was leaking slowly from its nose, forming a small, steaming pool on the stone floor near the Troll’s face.
Anthea’s first thought was for Elerian. When she saw him on the floor, she raced to his side, a panicked look on her face. There was no mark on him that she could see, but like the Troll, he was still and unmoving. Wishing desperately that she had healing powers, Anthea stoked his brow with her long, slender right hand, the features of her face softening in way that would have surprised Elerian had his eyes been open to see it.
Suddenly, Elerian stirred. Anthea pulled her hand back as if it had suddenly been burned, and the tender look on her face vanished.
“You are alive,” Anthea said, trying to hide the relief in her voice as Elerian opened his eyes.
“Barely,” said Elerian weakly. “The last spell I cast was nearly the death of me.”
“It was worth the cost,” Anthea assured him. “The Troll is dead.”
Elerian raised his head and was relieved to see the still, unmoving body of the Troll across the room.
“Are you sure it is dead?” he asked Anthea. In his present state, there was no way that he could flee if the Troll suddenly came back to life.
“I am quite certain,” said Anthea positively. Suddenly, to one side of Elerian, she spied the gleam of metal from under the debris on the floor. Reaching down into the litter, she pulled out a long, slender sword. The gray steel of its blade was rusted but its edge was still sharp.
“I wish I had found this sooner,” said Anthea to Elerian as she rose lithely to her feet.
Elerian watched nervously as Anthea walked over to the Troll and vigorously poked its side with her new found sword. The point sank only a little way into its stony flesh. Black blood began to seep from the wound, and steam rose into the air as the sword’s point melted away, dissolved by the Troll’s corrosive blood. The Troll did not stir, and Elerian let out the breath he had unconsciously held.
“Must you keep doing things like that?” he asked Anthea, half in anger and half-in admiration of her fearlessness. “What if the creature was still alive?”
Anthea turned to regard Elerian with a steady gaze. A mischievous gleam appeared in her eyes.
“Why should you care so much what happens to me?” she asked.
Elerian felt himself flush. Feeling like a fool, he remained silent, unable to think of any reply.
Ignoring Elerian, Anthea turned to her sword again. The point was completely gone, eaten away by the Troll’s hot blood.
“I had heard that the blood of these creatures would consume steel,” she said as she thrust the end of her sword into a pool of blood that had collected by the Troll’s head. Instantly, the steel began to melt as the blood hissed and bubbled around it.
Hoping to distract her from such dangerous pursuits, Elerian struggled to his feet. He almost fell as the room spun around him, but Anthea was by his side in an instant, displaying a surprising strength as she held him up with her slim left arm. Elerian thought it pleasant to h
ave her so close to him and suddenly felt well rewarded for having risked his life.
“Help me over to the pedestal,” he said to Anthea. “We may as well see what is hidden there now that the Troll is dead.”
Together, they walked over to the place where the pedestal had stood, Elerian leaning on Anthea rather more heavily than he needed to, for his strength was slowly returning. Reaching out blindly with his right hand, Elerian touched a smooth, cool surface, but the pedestal did not reappear. Beside him, Anthea set down her sword and reached out her right hand. The stone column appeared instantly when she touched it. Letting go of Elerian, Anthea pressed her face against the crystal cover with a hand on either side of her face in a way that reminded Elerian of a curious child. He was disappointed that Anthea had moved away from him, but found that he was now strong enough to stand by himself. Elerian noticed for the first time that a soft white light, almost like a mist, filled the interior of the dome, obscuring its contents. Unable to see through the cover, Anthea stood back and impatiently ran her hands over it, seeking some way to lift the dome.
“The cover is no doubt spell locked,” said Elerian in an amused voice. “You will never open it by trying to force it.”
Elerian’s amusement vanished when Anthea suddenly and unexpectedly lifted the cover clean off the table. It slipped from her hands and emitted a clear, high-pitched chime as it struck the floor, but it did not shatter. Anthea threw Elerian a triumphant look before turning back to the column, which now remained visible even though she was no longer touching it. The light had vanished, revealing a book, a torque, and a necklace lying closely together on the marble top of the pedestal.
“These things must have belonged to my great grandfather,” said Anthea excitedly. “He must have hidden them here without telling anyone, for there was never any mention of them by anyone in my family. I wonder what caused them to appear now”
“Your touch must have ended the concealment spell which kept the pedestal hidden,” said Elerian, “but why it responded to you and no one else I cannot guess.”
His attention was drawn to the book. It was bound in soft brown leather, and the edges of its pages were gilded with gold. Written on the cover of the book in flowing, golden, elvish letters was the name Dymiter, seeming to confirm Anthea’s guess that her great grandfather had left the pedestal here.
“Dymiter’s spell book,” thought Elerian to himself. “I wonder what secrets are written on its pages.”
Cautiously, he picked up the book in his right hand. When he tried to open the cover, he was disappointed but not surprised to find that it resisted his long fingers, as if carved from a single piece of stone.
“Only the rightful owner may open a mage’s spell book,” he said regretfully to Anthea.
Looking up from the spell book, he saw that she was paying no attention to him. The necklace held all her interest. It seemed made for a woman, for the chain was of delicately wrought silver links from which hung a silver beech leaf encrusted with small white diamonds.
When Anthea picked up the necklace, a soft white light emanated from both the leaf and the chain at the touch of her fingers,
“Take care Anthea,” advised Elerian anxiously. “The necklace is made of Argentum. Who knows what powers it may have?”
Paying no attention, as usual, to Elerian, Anthea undid the clasp to the chain and fastened it around her slender neck. The soft white light that emanated from it dimmed to a faint, barely noticeable glimmer.
“It suits me does it not,” she said, turning to Elerian. Her eyes flashed as if daring him to contradict her.
“It looks as if it was made for you,” agreed Elerian, “but objects made of argentum can be dangerous as I said before.”
“You see danger everywhere,” said Anthea in an amused voice. “It is a wonder that you are not afraid to leave your bed each day.”
Ignoring Elerian, she reached for the torque. It seemed made for a man, for it was fashioned from gleaming strands of silver, plaited into a wide band. Woven into the strands were a number of leaf green emeralds. A frown crossed Anthea’s face when her slender hand closed on the gleaming arm band, for no matter how she twisted and pulled, she was unable to remove it from the pedestal.
Elerian smiled at her efforts, pleased to see her at a disadvantage for once.
“I am glad to see you so entertained,” said Anthea in a dangerous voice when she happened to glance Elerian’s way.
Knowing he was on dangerous ground, Elerian immediately hid his smile.
Turning back to the pedestal, Anthea started, for it seemed to her that she suddenly heard a clear voice speaking.
“Only the necklace is for you, Anthea. The book and the torque are for Elerian, the last of the house of Fenius.”
Anthea frowned and looked at Elerian suspiciously, immediately suspecting him of playing tricks on her.
“If this is some jest, I do not find it amusing,” she said with narrowed, flashing eyes.
It was Elerian’s turn to frown now. He had not heard the voice that had spoken to Anthea, but from her reaction suspected that something had taken place.
“I have played no tricks,” he said. “If there is magic at work here, it is none of my doing.”
“I heard a voice,” said Anthea. “It said the necklace is mine but the book and the torque are for you.”
Slowly, almost as if someone else directed his actions, Elerian reached for the torque with his right hand, easily lifting it off the table. At the touch of his fingers, it began to glow with a soft white light.
“This is also made of argentum,” said Elerian to Anthea.
Without thinking, he slid the torque over his left hand and up under his loose shirt sleeve until it rested over his bicep. As the silver band warmed, it changed shape to fit his arm more snugly. A little alarmed that he had put the thing on, Elerian tried to remove the torque but found that he could not, no matter how hard he tugged on it. He tried to send it away to where he kept his spell book and magic ring, but it stubbornly refused to disappear. Finally, he decided to ignore it for now. When he looked up, he was startled when he noticed that it was dark outside the windows.
“We have lingered here far too long,” Elerian said to Anthea in a worried voice. “If there are lupins among the canigrae pursuing us, they will gain strength in the darkness. It is best that we go now.”
Anthea was reluctant to leave just yet.
“There may be other secrets hidden here waiting to be discovered,” she said casting an eager glance at the room from which the Troll had emerged.
“We can return later, in the daylight,” Elerian assured her. “Once the canigrae have been dealt with, we can explore the ruins at our leisure.”
Elerian sent Dymiter’s spell book to join his own. Unlike the torque, it vanished immediately. Then, stepping cautiously through the trash on the floor, he began walking toward the door. With a rebellious look on her face, Anthea picked up her damaged sword from the floor and reluctantly followed him, common sense finally vanquishing her curiosity.
THE SHAPE CHANGERS
Anthea almost trod on Elerian’s heels when he stopped abruptly in the doorway.
“Did you change your mind?” she asked in an annoyed voice.
“We have stayed here too long,” replied Elerian softly.
Questioningly, Anthea looked over Elerian’s right shoulder and saw eyes glowing like red coals under the trees growing on the south side of the clearing.
“Try to find another weapon,” she said, coolly gripping her damaged sword. “We can hold them off in this doorway where they cannot get around behind us.”
At the edge of the clearing, two of the canigrae suddenly stepped into the open. Their outlines began to flow and change, and moments later, two nightmare shapes, all too familiar to Elerian, stood in the clearing.
“Why do you stand there gaping?” asked Anthea impatiently from behind Elerian. “Find a weapon while there is still time.” To her night-bl
ind eyes, the shape changers were only indistinct outlines. She had not seen them take on a new form as Elerian had.
“There is no weapon here which can help us,” said Elerian grimly. “These creatures are shape changers, not canigrae. They have changed into a pair of lentuluses. Ascilius and I had all we could do to defeat one of those monsters in Nefandus. You and I stand no chance at all against a pair of them.”
Their situation became even worse as a pack of canigrae emerged from behind the lentuluses, their eyes glowing like embers in the darkness. They kept their distance from the shape changers and seemed cowed by them, for they kept their tales tucked between their hind legs and their heads down.
“Try to escape out the back while hold them off,” whispered Elerian.
“I told you before that I will not run away,” said Anthea angrily.
Groaning inwardly at her stubborn bravery, Elerian felt despair creep over him when one of the shape changers said to the canigrae in a harsh, snarly voice, “Guard the back and sides of the building.”
The pack melted away quickly at the creature’s order, seemingly eager to distance themselves from it. Turning to Elerian, the lentulus spoke to him, its cruel voice filled malicious pleasure.
“You have led us a long chase tonight, my friend, but we have run you to ground at last. Give us the woman, and I promise that we will let you go unharmed.”
“Your promises are worthless, servant of Torquatus. Leave this place unless you wish to meet your own death, like the Troll inside the ruin behind us,” threatened Elerian, his voice firm and unafraid even though he had no way to carry out his threat, for he knew only too well the physical power of the two creatures before him. As if that were not enough, Elerian saw with his third eye that the crimson shades of the shape changers burned brightly in the darkness. Both of them were powerful mages. Their combined power far exceeded any magical attack or defense that he could have mounted against them, even if he was not already weakened from fighting the Troll.
“Run out the back,” he whispered again over his shoulder to Anthea, his voice low and urgent. “Maybe you can fight your way past the canigrae with your sword. If you stay here, we will both die.”