by A. Giannetti
“You will not need a weapon,” said an amused, familiar voice. Throwing back her hood, Anthea revealed her fair face.
“Your father will likely escort me out of the kingdom under guard if he discovers you are here,” replied Elerian in an exasperated voice. His store of patience was at an end after the events of the last two days.
“It would be no more than you deserve,” said Anthea, her voice suddenly cold as a winter wind. “I offered you my hand in marriage, but you prefer to go off on a hopeless adventure with Ascilius rather than marry me.”
Elerian was about to protest the injustice of her accusation when he caught the faintest gleam of laughter in her dark eyes.
“Is she truly angry or is that mischief I see there in her eyes,” he wondered to himself.
“I still have time to say no to Ascilius,” he suggested as he closely examined her eyes for that brief gleam which might betray her true mood.
“If you do then I will not have you,” said Anthea scornfully. “I will not wed someone who deserts his friends.”
Her voice was grave, but her eyes betrayed her, and Elerian suddenly laughed softly in a clear voice.
“It seems that no matter what course I choose, I will be wrong,” he said dryly.
“You must become used to that,” said Anthea archly. The secret laughter in her eyes was now plain to see. “After we are wed, you must always defer to me, for whenever we argue, I will always be right and you will always be wrong.”
Elerian laughed warmly, for he was certain now that she was not angry over his decision to accompany Ascilius.
“If I am to be subject to you in all things then perhaps I should reconsider this whole idea of marriage,” he threatened.
“Oh it is much too late now to change your mind now,” said Anthea cheerfully. “Father would never bear the insult if you broke your word after agreeing in public to marry me.”
“Somehow it has slipped my mind exactly when I asked for your hand in marriage,” said Elerian dryly.
“You asked me when I saw you for the first time at the feast,” said Anthea, moving closer to Elerian.
“I am sure we never spoke of marriage,” said Elerian gravely.
“There was no need for words,” said Anthea quietly. “When I first saw you enter the pavilion with Ascilius, I knew that you were the one I had waited for all these years. After our eyes met at the table, I knew from that moment that you would ask for my hand. You cannot now deny it,” she said firmly.
“I do not deny it,” said Elerian solemnly. “As I told your father, I was drawn to you from the moment that I first saw your face in my orb.”
“What is this orb that you and my father spoke of?” asked Anthea curiously.
“It is a device that I made long ago to show the present and the past,” said Elerian. “Sometimes it works and other times it does not. When I used it in the Broken Lands one night, it showed me your face. You were high in the air as if you were standing on a tower.”
“You saw me in Niveaus then, before I came to the war camp,” said Anthea. “May I see this orb?” she asked inquisitively.
Reluctantly, Elerian called the sphere to his right hand. He did not believe for a moment that the orb influenced the future, as Ascilius claimed, but its erratic nature made him uncomfortable.
“This may not be a good idea,” he said uneasily to Anthea.
Ignoring Elerian, Anthea took the crystal orb into both her slender hands, eagerly peering into its dark depths. The orb slowly took on a dim ruby glow as if lit from within. With a suddenness that elicited a sharp gasp from Anthea, a lupine head, its dark, coarse fur tinged with a bloody hue from the unseen light, appeared in the orb. Hungry green eyes gloated over her. The creature’s fanged mouth suddenly gaped wide, revealing long, blood stained teeth. Then, in an instant, it was gone, and the orb was dark once more.
“It was looking at me,” said Anthea in a shaky voice as she handed the orb back to Elerian with a trembling right hand.
“An impression only,” said Elerian reassuringly as he sent his sphere away again. “The creature only appeared to be looking at you.”
Anthea shook her head in denial. “I was there next to it,” she said firmly. “I could sense it. I was helpless and the creature was gloating over me. It felt as if I was looking at my own death.”
Like Ascilius, Elerian now silently cursed his creation, for Anthea was pale and shaken, as he had never seen her before.
Why did you conceal your feelings from me when we first met?” he asked her, hoping to distract her from the awful image that she had seen in the orb. You tormented me at every opportunity, mocking my looks and calling me a fool.”
Anthea pushed aside the alarming image that she had seen in the orb.
“I needed to test you first before I spoke my mind,” she said gravely. “You were but the latest of a long line of suitors who have sought my hand. I wanted to see if you were truly the one I wished to wed. Besides, it was also a great deal of fun,” she said, suddenly mischievous again. “You were so easy and gullible that I almost felt sorry for you at times.”
“But not too sorry,” said Elerian dryly.
“No, not too sorry,” said Anthea with a roguish look in her eyes. Suddenly, she became serious again. “Do not expect softness from me Elerian. I warn you now; my hand has shown more aptitude for the sword than the loom.”
“You will frighten me away if you are not careful,” said Elerian lightly.
“I do not think anything could frighten you,” said Anthea solemnly, stepping even closer and leaving Elerian speechless for the moment, for this slender maid was constantly throwing him off balance, so mischievous one moment and so solemn the next.
“Why did you tell your father that I am a prince?” Elerian asked suddenly.
“Because you are,” said Anthea. “You are the last descendant of Fenius.”
“But how can you know that?” asked Elerian doubtfully.
“I have my ways,” said Anthea mysteriously. “I have mage powers, too, you know.”
Elerian stared at her in perplexity and Anthea laughed.
“When we were in the ruin, I heard the voice of Dymiter when we stood near the pedestal,” she explained. “He told me that you were the last survivor of the line of Fenius.”
“Are you certain Anthea?” asked Elerian doubtfully. “I certainly do not feel like royalty,” he thought to himself ruefully.
“Have both of you taken leave of your senses?” a deep voice suddenly demanded, startling both Elerian and Anthea.
THE RED FIRE
Guiltily, Elerian and Anthea stepped away from each other. They both breathed a sigh of relief when they realized that it was Ascilius who had spoken.
“What will your father say if he learns you came here to see Elerian alone?” he asked Anthea in an exasperated voice.
“I will tell him you were here with us,” said Anthea with a mischievous smile and laughing eyes that abated Ascilius’s anger in an instant, although he continued to frown in disapproval.
“Ascilius, I need to learn how to use your red fire,” said Elerian solemnly and unexpectedly. “I wish to make something out of metal before we leave for Ennodius.”
Ascilius’s frown deepened. “In spite of the jests that I made at your expense, I always intended to teach you how to control and use the red mage fire, Elerian, but I had hoped we could return to my city first. Such lessons would be taught in greater safety in my forge than here in this tent.”
“I would not ask this of you if I could use an ordinary forge or if it was not important to me,” said Elerian gravely. He lapsed into silence, wondering if the friendship between himself and Ascilius was strong enough to overcome the Dwarf’s desire to wait until he reached Ennodius before teaching his dangerous lessons.
“I still believe that it would be better to wait, but I will teach you the basics of the craft now if you wish,” said Ascilius at last. He glanced uneasily at Anthea. “You shoul
d leave us Anthea. This will be a dangerous undertaking in these surroundings.”
“Please let me watch Ascilius,” pleaded Anthea. “I will take care to stay out of the way.”
She looked down on Ascilius with such a beseeching look in her wide blue eyes that he felt his reluctance to let her stay melt away, like snow under bright sunlight.”
“Very well,” he said gruffly. “My common sense tells me that it is a mistake, but you may stay and watch. The one condition that I place on you is that you do not speak to anyone of what you will see here tonight. This condition also applies to you Elerian.”
Ascilius turned toward Elerian and promptly flushed a deep red; for Elerian had a delighted grin on his face brought on, no doubt, by the way Anthea had overcome Ascilius’s resistance to her staying in the tent.
Giving Elerian a stern glance, Ascilius said gravely, “You must first learn to call up and control the red fire, Elerian. Be warned that even for a Dwarf who possesses strong mage powers, this can take years of practice under the careful guidance of a master, for if the apprentice ever falters and loses control of the fire he has raised, it can rage out of control and consume him utterly. More than one Dwarf has lost his life in this way. Knowing the danger you face, do you still wish to attempt control of the red fire?” Ascilius asked Elerian in his deep voice.
“Yes,” said Elerian, his voice firm and unafraid.
“Very well then, let us begin,” replied Ascilius.
Shaking his head as if still doubting the wisdom of his actions, he fetched a small iron brazier full of unlit coals from where it sat near a wall of the tent, as well as a pair of coal tongs that sat on the floor beneath it. To Anthea’s surprise, Ascilius dumped the coals outside the tent, returning with only the empty brazier and the tongs.
“First,” said Ascilius to Elerian, “you must learn the fire spell.”
Anthea started a little as Elerian’s spell book suddenly appeared in his right hand. While Ascilius slowly repeated the fire spell several times in the common tongue, Elerian wrote it in his book. Then, frowning with concentration, he committed the spell to memory before sending his book away again.
“Before you call up the fire, you must learn to control it,” said Ascilius quietly when he saw that Elerian had memorized the fire spell. The Dwarf raised his right hand, and at once, red flames began to flicker in the middle of the empty brazier. They were strangely animated as if they had a life and will of their own.
“Try to take control of the flames,” said Ascilius to Elerian. The Dwarf’s voice was steady, but both Elerian and Anthea noted that there was apprehension in his dark eyes and a tenseness about his body.
Ignoring Ascilius’s nervousness, Elerian raised his right hand, opening his third eye at the same time. With his magical sight, he saw that a thin thread of Ascilius’s shade extended into the brazier, covering and containing the shifting flames with a cloak of golden light. When Ascilius suddenly withdrew his shade from the flames, Elerian immediately extended his own shade into the brazier, covering the flames with a film of golden light as he attempted to control them as Ascilius had just a moment ago. He was immediately surprised at how difficult it was to command the fire, for the flames fought him as if they had a life and purpose of their own. Beads of sweat broke out on Elerian’s forehead as the flames struggled to break free of the golden cage that he had wrapped around them. He knew without being told that if they escaped, they would burn down not only his own tent but also the entire encampment.
Slowly, the red fire, hot as dragon’s breath, began to creep up the sides of the brazier. As the flames inched closer to the rim, threatening to spill out onto the floor of the tent, Ascilius suddenly extended his right hand, advancing his shade into the brazier again. Wresting control of the fire from Elerian, he brought the flames under control again, confining them to the bottom of the brazier.
Effortlessly maintaining his control of the fire, Ascilius carefully examined Elerian’s face with his wise, brown eyes, looking for any signs of fear that the red flames might have inspired, but he saw only frustration in Elerian’s gray eyes.
“Let me try again,” said Elerian, his voice filled with determination.
Over and over, he continued to practice controlling the flames with his shade until the moment arrived when he could hold them in an unbreakable grip, like Ascilius, no matter how they raged against the golden veil he wrapped around them.
“You have done well,” said Ascilius, impressed at the progress Elerian had made. “You have mastered the first step far more quickly than I would have ever believed possible. Do you wish to rest?”
“No,” said Elerian at once. “Let us continue, for our time here grows short.”
“Very well then, the next thing you must learn is to control the heat generated by the flames,” instructed Ascilius.
Anthea took a sharp, audible breath as Ascilius suddenly thrust his right hand deep into the flames burning in the brazier, but Elerian remained calm, for he had seen Ascilius do this before. The flames crawled over Ascilius’s hand but did not blacken or consume it, nor did Ascilius seem to feel the heat of the fire in any way. The Dwarf withdrew his hand, picking up the pair of iron tongs that he had placed on the floor near the brazier. He thrust them into the fire, withdrawing them after a few moments.
“Touch them,” he said to Elerian as he offered him the tip of the tongs.
Shrinking inside, even though he knew that the tongs would be cool to his touch, Elerian took hold of them with the fingers of his right hand. Anthea’s long, slender fingers suddenly brushed against his own as she also tested the metal. Seeing her surprise at finding the metal cold, Ascilius explained.
“Even though the tongs were in the fire, Anthea, I kept the heat of the flames from entering into them. You must try to do the same Elerian,” he said, handing the tongs to Elerian.
After Ascilius handed him the tongs, handle first, Elerian took control of the red flames from Ascilius before confidently thrusting the end of the pincers deep into the flames. He immediately dropped them into the brazier with a clatter of steel as scorching heat raced up the handles and seared his fingers. Only by strength of will did he keep from crying out.
“You were too slow,” said Ascilius critically. Secretly, he was pleased at the mishap, for it would test Elerian’s resolve. Ascilius had no desire to have his beard singed off or worse if Elerian’s nerve suddenly broke at a critical point in the dangerous lessons he was attempting to master. He retrieved the tongs from the brazier, holding them in his right hand while Elerian healed his blistered fingers.
“Are you certain you wish to continue?” Ascilius asked Elerian when he had repaired the damage to his fingers. “You could easily burn a hand beyond any hope of restoring it.”
“Give me the tongs,” said Elerian resolutely as he flexed his newly healed fingers.
“You have courage enough,” said Ascilius approvingly.
“I think you may be confusing courage with a lack of common sense,” said Anthea sharply to Ascilius. “Why do you need to learn this dangerous magic now?” she demanded of Elerian, for she had become concerned for his safety after he burned his fingers.
“I cannot tell you that just now,” said Elerian enigmatically as he took the tongs once more from Ascilius.
Without hesitation, he took control of the fire again before thrusting the tongs deep into the heart of the flames. This time, he obtained better results. The tongs grew uncomfortably warm in his right hand, but the heat was not severe enough to injure him. After several more attempts, Elerian found that he could keep the tongs cool in the midst of the flames as well as Ascilius could. Ascilius then had Elerian heat a part of the tongs while the rest remained cool.
When Elerian had also mastered this technique, Ascilius said quietly, “You have exceeded all my expectations, Elerian. What you have learned today normally takes an apprentice years of study and practice. Now that you have learned to control the fire and its heat,
the rest is a matter of skill and practice. The last thing I must show you is how to extinguish the flames.”
Elerian brought back his spell book for a second time, recording the second spell that Ascilius gave him. He then memorized it, but only after a great deal of effort, for he found that he had grown very tired. He sent his book away before casting the spell to extinguish the flames. The red fire in the brazier died immediately, and Ascilius declared Elerian’s training complete.
“Enough of such heavy matters,” he said wearily to Elerian and Anthea. “Judging by the appetite that I have developed, I am certain it is well past midday. Let us see what we can find to eat.”
When the three of them stepped outside the tent, they found that Ascilius was correct in his surmise about the time. It was late evening, and they had missed dinner as well as lunch. Together, the three of them made their way to the large, open-air tent that served the king and those in his service. Anthea and Elerian drew many looks, as they walked together, none of them favorable.
“Wait until they find out that we are to be wed,” said Anthea with a smile to Ascilius. “Most of my friends think I have already taken leave of my senses because of the time I have spent with Elerian. They say he is much too old and ill favored to be in my company,” she said with a sidelong look at Elerian.
“They might think better of your choice of companions if I ended my disguise,” suggested Elerian with a smile.
“No,” said Anthea firmly. “I told you before that I prefer you to be ugly. If you show your true self, all the young maids in the kingdom will try to steal you away from me.”
Elerian was about tease her further until he saw that Anthea’s eyes had gone dark, a sure sign of an approaching storm. Wisely, he held his tongue.
“Better listen to her,” said Ascilius slyly to Elerian. “Remember, she is the king’s daughter. I would hate to have her do away with you for disobeying her before we leave for Ennodius.”
“I would not kill him immediately,” said Anthea sweetly. “I would rather make him suffer endless torments first.”