by A. Giannetti
Anthea paused in the doorway to the ruin, turning to face Dacien. Her eyes, black and mysterious as some deep forest pool under the moonlight, gleamed in the soft white glow emitted by her necklace.
“I am changing,” she said quietly as she ended the illusion spell that masked her appearance so that her brother might see her true form.
Dacien started visibly at what he saw.
“She looks the same but fairer than before,” he thought to himself. “No human maid ever possessed such perfection of face and form, and what is that light which shines in her eyes?”
“What has happened to you, Anthea?” he asked quietly.
“When Elerian brought me back to life after the battle with the shape changers, he woke something in me that has slowly overshadowed my human side,” explained Anthea. “It was unintended but irreversible, and the result is still uncertain. What I may finally become, I do not know? Does that trouble you brother?”
“No matter how you change, you shall always remain my sister,” said Dacien firmly to Anthea. “Have you told father?” he asked quietly.
“Not yet,” said Anthea, resuming her disguise. “I have held back, for I do not think it will sit well with him,” she said sadly. “That is a matter for another time, however. For now, follow me now into the ruin. It will be like old times,” she said with a fond smile at her brother as she recollected old adventures they had shared between them.
Turning around, Anthea entered the ruin, walking with the light, silent tread of a hunting cat. Dacien unenthusiastically followed behind her with his sword held ready in his right hand. “What other dangers will we encounter on this ill-fated night?” he wondered to himself uneasily as he passed through the doorway.
Once he was inside the ruin, Dacien started and involuntarily clenched the hilt of his sword, for the soft white light cast by Anthea’s necklace had illuminated a huge Troll lying on the stone floor of the chamber. Light and shadow played across the great creature as Anthea moved across the room so that it appeared to move. Almost, Dacien cried out a warning, but then, he realized that this must be the Troll slain by Elerian. Cautiously, sword held ready to strike, he drew nearer to the creature, leaning over and gingerly touching the bare flesh of its right arm with his left hand. It felt hard and cold, like stone that has lain in some dark place out of the light of the sun.
“Perhaps these creatures truly are made of stone as the old legends say,” Dacien said wonderingly to his sister. When Anthea did not reply, Dacien looked up and saw that she stood with her back to him in front an empty pedestal that stood in the center of the room, as still as if she, too, had turned to stone.
Anthea had not heard her Dacien speak. While her brother stooped to examine the Troll, she had approached the pedestal, opening her third eye in hopes of seeing some magical thing that she and Elerian might have missed on their first venture into the room. She noticed nothing of interest until her eyes happened upon the ring on her left hand. Beneath the illusion cloaking her ring, she saw the familiar ruby inset in the silver band pulsing in a steady rhythm. Springing from the ring, however, was a slender golden thread which she had never seen before, for this was the first time that she had looked at her ring with her magical third eye. The thread ran to the northwest, ending abruptly after only a few feet.
“This thread connects to Elerian’s ring,” Anthea thought excitedly to herself. “It must enter a small portal to span the gap between us. Would that I could follow it,” she thought, shaken by the intensity of her desire.
As if in response to her will, the necklace around Anthea’s slim throat suddenly warmed and brightened. An odd sensation came over her, as if she had flowed out of her body. The room around her vanished and everything in her sight turned to gold. Then, Anthea had the odd sensation that she was in two places at once, both in the ruined chamber which she saw with her normal sight and in a grove of trees, which, seen with her third eye, resembled columns of green light under the dark night sky. Beneath her feet was a shimmering emerald carpet which could only be the living stems of a thick green turf. When she looked down at herself, she saw a golden shade, instead of her body.
As if from a great distance, Anthea heard Dacien speak, but she did not attempt to respond. Instead, she touched the shimmering bole of a tree. Her fingers sank into the wood as if she possessed no more substance than starlight.
“I have become a wraith,” she thought to herself, “but somehow I am still joined to my physical form, hence I am in two places at once.”
A movement between two nearby tree trunks suddenly caught her eye as another golden shade emerged from between the trees. When the shade passed near her, she touched its left shoulder with her right hand and knew at once that that it was Elerian. He was singing softly to himself, each clear note echoing in her mind like a silver chime. His mind was dreaming, but Anthea knew she was in his thoughts and that pleased her a great deal. Drawing on the power of the pendant that she wore, she caused a sudden rush of wind to ruffle his hair, at the same time sending an image of herself into his mind.
Roused from his dreaming by the unnatural wind, Elerian stopped, his eyes widening in astonishment when he saw Anthea standing on his left, her right hand on his shoulder. She smiled mischievously, and for a moment, they stood motionless, joined together in a joyous reunion. When Elerian finally made as if to speak, however, Anthea abruptly found herself back in the central chamber of Dymiter's ruined dwelling with Dacien’s right hand gently shaking her left arm.
“Are you all right sister?” Dacien asked, his voice filled with concern. “I was loath to disturb you, but you were so still that for a moment I thought some sort of enchantment had befallen you.”
For a moment, Anthea tried desperately to return to the place where she had seen Elerian, but her magical eye had closed, and it seemed that the power of the necklace was no longer at her command, for it remained inert despite all her striving, emitting feeble rays that barely illuminated her face and that of Dacien standing beside her. Anger at her brother, for breaking the spell which had carried her to Elerian’s side, flashed through Anthea, but she immediately pushed it aside. Dacien, after all, had disturbed her out of concern for her well-being, not from any sense of malice.
“It was an enchantment of sorts,” she said regretfully, “but it is ended now.”
“We should leave this place, then, while we still can,” Dacien implored her.
“There is nothing for us to fear here, Dacien,” Anthea reassured him, “but we can leave now, for I have found what I came for.”
“What may that be?” asked Dacien in confusion. “I see nothing around us but ruins and an empty pedestal.”
“You see only with mortal eyes, Dacien,” said Anthea gently. “I know now that Elerian is still alive and there is hope that we may meet again someday,” she said happily.
“How can you know that?” asked Dacien, his confusion growing by the minute.
“I have seen him,” said Anthea cryptically as she led the way back to their restive mounts. She would say no more than that about her experience on the ride back to the encampment no matter how much Dacien pressed her to reveal more.
“I must sort this out in my own mind first,” she thought to herself. It was difficult enough for her to accept the notion that she had traveled across the land as a shade until she reached Elerian’s side let alone explain it to anyone else. Side by side, she and Dacien rode swiftly and silently back to the encampment to the south, managing to return to the king’s tent undetected.
“Say nothing to anyone about tonight,” whispered Anthea before they separated to return to their beds. Dacien reluctantly agreed to keep their adventure a secret.
When the Tarsi resumed their journey that morning, Orianus noticed at once that a change had come over Anthea. Her eyes were composed as she rode beside him and even contained a measure of contentment. When it came to discerning the reason for the change, however, the king’s clear sight failed him, clouded
as it was by his own hopes.
“Perhaps I chose better than I knew when I decided to return to Niveaus,” Orianus thought hopefully to himself as he rode next to Anthea that morning. “Already, she has begun to forget Elerian.”
Had he questioned his daughter, he would have quickly discovered his error, for the opposite of what he surmised was true. Elerian was still very much in Anthea’s thoughts. Having seen that he was safe, she was content, at least for now, to wait and hope for his speedy return.
“Even if I cannot see him in the portal that he gave my father, it no longer matters,” thought Anthea happily to herself. “My pendant gives me the power to return to his side whenever I wish. He will have me close to him whether he wishes it or not,” she thought to herself, a determined look lighting up her dark blue eyes.
THE DOLMEN
After Anthea suddenly vanished before his eyes, Elerian looked around in confusion, bewildered by her sudden disappearance.
“Was she truly there or did I see some dream image born of my desire to see her again?” wondered Elerian to himself. Unsure of the answer, he bent over, carefully searching the place where she had stood. The blades of grass growing there, gray and colorless under the starlight, were neither broken nor bent, giving no indication that Anthea had stood there moments ago.
“If she was here, then she came in the form of a wraith,” he thought to himself, a feeling of dread lancing through him, for the only other wraiths that he had seen in his life were the shades of the dead. Hastily, Elerian looked at the ring on his left hand with his magical third eye. To his relief, the ruby still pulsed under the golden veil of the illusion which hid it from view.
“She is still alive,” he thought to himself. “Somehow she found a way to bring her shade to my side, although how she found me, I cannot guess. Perhaps Dymiter’s amulet has given her new, unlooked for powers. If that is the case, she will never cease to crow about it,” thought Elerian ruefully to himself as he recalled the mischief in her eyes.
Turning to the south, where Anthea waited for his return, Elerian wished that he could open a portal as Torquatus had done so that he could see her face to face. Sadly, he lacked the power to open a magical door of a useful size and to hold it open. He considered using his crystal orb but quickly discarded the notion of using a device that had proved so unreliable in the past. It was as likely to alert Torquatus to his presence as it was to show him Anthea. Sighing in discontent, he resumed his silent pacing under the trees, starting at every sound and whisper of wind, hopeful that Anthea had returned once more, but she did not appear again that night.
While Elerian kept his uneasy watch, Ascilius slept, but his slumber was restless and disturbed by dark dreams. Eventually, he awoke, remaining motionless beneath his warm blankets. Moving only his eyes, he watched Elerian’s gray and black shape pacing restively under the trees with light steps that made no sound that Ascilius could hear. When Elerian drew closer, Ascilius saw that his features were drawn into a frown of dissatisfaction.
“What has disturbed him I wonder?” Ascilius wondered to himself.
“You should rest,” he said quietly when Elerian walked by him.
The troubled look instantly left Elerian's face as he stopped and smiled down at his companion.
“If you are ready to keep watch, I will attempt to sleep for a bit.”
“I am more than ready, for sleep is not my friend this night,” said Ascilius regretfully. “I feel no more rested than when I first lay down. I may as well keep watch as toss under my blankets all night.”
Throwing aside his covers, Ascilius stood up, stretching to loosen muscles made sore by the unfamiliar act of riding.
“I wish that I could see what the future holds for us,” he said wistfully. “I have felt a sense of doom hanging over us ever since we bade farewell to Orianus,” said the Dwarf unhappily. “I fear that we may never reach Ennodius.”
“You seemed much more confident of success when you were discussing our adventure with Orianus,” Elerian gently reminded him.
“I told you before that it was the drink and my pride speaking,” replied the Dwarf gloomily. “It was easy to feel that we might succeed when the dragon was far away. Now that we are almost in its hunting grounds, I feel certain that the beast will discover us from the heights with her eagle-eyed gaze long before we reach my city. The shield cast by your ring will present no barrier to her third eye.
“We could look into my orb,” suggested Elerian reluctantly. “It might show us where the dragon is now and how we might avoid it. The orb might even show us what is happening in your city.”
“No!” said Ascilius firmly, his voice almost a shout. “On no account will I look into that crystal of ill omens. Who knows what it will show to torment me!”
“Well then, you must hope for the best,” said Elerian, noting with concern the haggard look in Ascilius's eyes. “The dragon has not caught us yet,” he said in a lighter tone.
“You have been a true friend to me, Elerian,” said Ascilius gratefully. “I know it has been a trial for you to be with me these last few days because of the dark mood which has plagued me,” he concluded awkwardly.
“I have hardly noticed any difference, to tell you the truth” said Elerian solemnly, his gray eyes gleaming with laughter.
“You are hopeless,” said Ascilius shaking his head. “Like all of your race, you would joke at your own execution,” he said severely, but his eyes smiled too, and the weight of the worries he carried suddenly became lighter.
Elerian spread his blankets on the ground. After covering himself with his cloak, he closed his eyes, weariness causing him to fall into one of those brief periods of true sleep that were becoming increasingly rare for him. Meanwhile, Ascilius stretched again in an attempt to drive the stiffness from his muscles. When he looked at the river flowing on his right, he saw white mists rising from its dark, gleaming surface. Shivering from the damp night air, Ascilius took his hooded cloak, made of heavy wool and dyed a woodland green, from his bed. Draping it over his broad shoulders and pulling the hood over his head, he walked to the outer edge of the wood, sitting down with his back against the rough trunk of a willow. Motionless, he stared at the empty lands to the east and south until the bright orange rim of the sun climbed above the eastern horizon.
As the sun’s golden rays crept over the plains, driving away the shadows of the night, Elerian silently walked out from under the trees and stood next to Ascilius. Overhead, the stars were fading in the blue-black sky, and color was returning to the grass that rolled away in waves to the horizon north, east, and south. Suddenly aware of Elerian’s presence, Ascilius rose stiffly to stand beside him.
“The land is empty,” said Elerian. “It is as if we and the horses are the only creatures left alive in all this country.”
“The rumor of the dragon has caused all of the larger animals to flee,” said Ascilius gloomily. “I wish we dared risk a fire and have a warm breakfast. I am already tired of cold fare,” he said discontentedly as he stamped his feet to restore the circulation in his legs.
“We will have a hot meal tonight if I can knock down a brace of grass hens today,” Elerian assured the Dwarf. “A mage fire will make no smoke and will not give us away if we light it before darkness falls.”
The thought of a warm meal seemed to cheer Ascilius. His mood improved a little as they ate a cold breakfast of hard biscuits, cheese, and dried beef. When they were done, they packed their gear and mounted the horses once more, riding them through the clear, knee-deep water of the Tanicus. Before they rode out from under the trees on the far bank, Elerian called his silver ring to his hand. He and Ascilius, along with their mounts, vanished from sight, cloaked once again by the invisibility spell cast by the ring. When they set off, Elerian rode behind Ascilius so that he could keep an eye on the Dwarf with his magical third eye.
The two companions were now farther north than at any other time since they had entered Tarsius, traveling th
rough country that Elerian had never seen before, although Ascilius seemed to know his way. The Dwarf angled their line of travel to the northwest, and within a half mile, they crossed the old Dwarf road that led to Ennodius. Several hours later, long after the road had vanished into the distance behind them, Elerian saw a peculiar mound: long, low, and unnaturally rounded, on their left.
“Surely that mound was raised by the hands of men,” said Elerian to Ascilius.
The Dwarf looked up, observing the mound without much interest.
“After a battle, the Tarsi bury their dead beneath barrows such as the one you see before you. This one is old, for the turf that covers it is well established.”
“How many men sleep beneath the earth here and how many more will join them before the reign of Torquatus is ended?” wondered Elerian to himself as he and Ascilius rode past the ancient gravesite. “If it is ever ended,” whispered a small, pessimistic voice in the back of his head.
Not long after passing the barrow, a second mound reared itself up on their left, this one low and round in shape. Gray, lichen-covered stones reared up out of the turf growing over it, the taller ones resembling gnarled gray fingers.
“This one is no barrow,” observed Elerian to Ascilius whose head was sunk onto his broad breast, for he was deep in thought. At the sound of Elerian’s voice, Ascilius looked up and started so badly that he almost lost his seat on the mare.
“We have come too far west,” he said in an agitated voice. “This is a place of ill omen.”
“But surely they are just ruins,” said Elerian. After a quick glance around to make sure there were no enemies about, he sent away his ring and signaled Enias to stop, for he wished to examine the mound more closely.
“This is a place to be avoided,” insisted Ascilius, reining in his mare when he and Elerian suddenly became visible. “These ruins were here long before the Tarsi ever came to the plains, before the Dwarves ever came east over the Murus. Legend has it that this cromlech was built by the Ancharians before they crossed over the Arvina into Ancharia, a place where their mages practiced their dark arts. More than one person has disappeared near these ruins over the years.”