by A. Giannetti
“We will not have to worry about the dragon today,” he said cheerfully. “She will not venture out in this wet weather.”
“I do not blame her a bit,” said Elerian glumly as he stared out into the pouring rain.
Ascilius had discovered two old, wool cloaks along with the packs. Elerian slipped one over his head and shoulders, thinking with regret of the fine wool cloak the dragon had destroyed. The cloak he wore now was wide enough, but short. Fashioned for a Dwarf, it left the backs of his legs exposed to the rain from the knees down. Ascilius flung his own cloak over his shoulders before stepping impatiently out into the rainstorm.
As he followed Ascilius through the doorway into the downpour, Elerian thought regretfully of the warm, dry beds and the good food they were leaving behind in the inn. Enias snorted as the cold rain struck his sleek hide, seeming to have the same regrets as Elerian at leaving his dry stall.
“Still,” thought Elerian to himself, “I must agree with Ascilius. The rain will keep Eboria from venturing out of her lair. Before the storm blows over, we may be able to approach and enter the city unseen. The sooner Ascilius accomplishes his mission, the sooner I can return to Anthea,” he reminded himself.
After Ascilius locked the door to the inn, they walked down to the main road. Ascilius stopped when he reached the pillars that marked the entrance to the inn road.
“Elerian,” he said hesitantly, “I do not think we should take Enias beyond this point. If we find our way into the city,” said the Dwarf regretfully, “we will be below ground and that is no proper place for a horse.”
“I can change his form to something smaller,” said Elerian quickly, for he was reluctant to be parted from the stallion who had become his fast friend.
“If something happens to you what will be his fate then?” asked the Dwarf sternly. “I have no power to change shapes as you do. He will be trapped in whatever form you give him.”
“First Balbus and Tullius, then Anthea, and now Enias,” thought Elerian angrily to himself. “It seems my fate to be parted from all that I hold dear.”
He shivered suddenly as he recalled the curse that Drusus had laid on him many years ago. The changeling had told him that he would lose everything that he valued. Elerian had always felt uneasy about the curse, but he had never put much stock in it until now.
“Curse or no curse, Ascilius is right,” Elerian thought to himself. “Ennodius is no place for a horse. Remember the dark ways beneath the Dwarf city of Calenus,” he reminded himself. “If he travels south under cover of the rain, Enias will be far out of Eboria’s reach before the sun shines again.”
“Return to your brethren on the plains, my friend,” he said softly as he fondly stroked the stallion’s sleek neck. “I hope we will meet again someday in happier times.”
Enias briefly nuzzled Elerian's face, as if he understood. Then, like a pale ghost, he slipped into falling rain, heading southeast toward the plains. Elerian watched him go with a heavy heart. When Enias finally vanished, hidden behind a gray curtain of rain, he turned and followed Ascilius, who was already walking northwest toward Ennodius.
As Ascilius and Elerian trudged along in single file, the rain continued to fall in steady gray sheets, dripping off the branches and leaves overhead in steady, clear streams that quickly soaked through the two companions’ cloaks. Their clothes were soon wet through as well, clinging clammily to their skin. Their wool cloaks still held in some of the warmth of their bodies even when they were wet, but it was a most uncomfortable day to be out and abroad.
In the early afternoon, they came to a point where the road forked. The main highway continued west. A smaller road, barely wide enough for two wagons to pass abreast, turned north into the foothills. Without hesitating, Ascilius took the right hand fork. Barely a quarter mile down the road, as they followed it across the side of a steep, thickly wooded hill, the hillside on their left suddenly fell away, forming a sharp cliff. Nothing grew along the stony margin of the cliff, leaving a gap in the trees that screened the road from view. As Ascilius and Elerian crossed this gap, the rain slackened momentarily. Glancing to his left, Elerian stopped when he unexpectedly found himself looking out over a wide valley.
At one time, it must have been full of rich farms that fed the Dwarf city to the north, but now, only a burnt and scorched landscape met Elerian’s eyes. Blackened crops covered the ground, and dead trees lifted skeleton arms up to the gray sky. Even the forests on the lower slopes of the mountains ringing the valley were burned and blackened. Running north to south through the middle of the devastation was the Catalus, which first emerged from a gap in the mountains about ten miles to the North. A stone paved road ran along the west bank of the river to the head of the valley, ending at the foot of a mountain with a double peak.
Elerian glanced at Ascilius, who had stopped beside him on his right, a stunned look on his face. Clearly, the extent of the devastation was far worse than what he had expected. The rain picked up suddenly, obscuring their view again.
“We must continue on,” said Ascilius, shaking off his dismay at the sight of the desolate waste that was once his home. “The road we are on will take us to a bridge over the Catalus at the north end of the valley. Once we cross the bridge, the highway will take us up onto Geminus, the mountain with the double peak. There are several secret entrances on the upper slopes of the mountain which lead down to Ennodius, which lies at the roots of Geminus. Once inside the city, we can begin our search for survivors.”
“If there are any survivors,” thought Elerian as he followed Ascilius back into the thick green forests that still covered the upper slopes on the eastern side of the valley, shielding the road from unfriendly eyes.
It was late evening when Ascilius and Elerian drew close to Geminus. The rain was still falling, and the weather had turned unseasonably cool besides. Under their clothes, small rivulets of cold water coursed over their skin before dripping to the ground. Even though the surface of the road was cleverly pitched to drain off the rain, their boots were soaked and full of water.
“We are close to the end of the road,” said Ascilius to Elerian, who was walking by his side on his left. “Hopefully, if the rain continues, we will enter the city without Eboria ever becoming aware of us.”
The road swung around to the west, and before long, they reached the edge of the deep gorge through which the Catalus flowed south. The light was failing, but they had a clear view of the landscape before them, for the rain had slowed again. Beyond the edge of the sharp cliff before them was only empty air. The bridge on which Ascilius had planned to cross the Catalus was gone. Down in the gorge in front of them, only the blackened remnants of the stone piers which had supported it remained. The burnt and shattered remains of the roadbed lay at the bottom of the gorge where the green waters of the Catalus foamed white where they flowed over and around them. On the far side of the gorge, scorched paving stones ran up the side of the mountain between the charred remnants of what had once been a mighty forest, burned away by the dragon’s fire, which had left behind only blackened stumps and fallen trunks. High up on the mountain, where the road ended, were the remains of towers, walls, and terraces, all of them thrown down and blackened by fire.
Ascilius's face sagged as he looked at the destruction. “Centuries of work all gone,” he said softly, as if speaking to himself. “Many a fair garden grew on those terraces, and there were tall towers that reached to the sky. When one tired of the stonework of the city beneath the mountain, it was possible to walk out here under the blue sky amidst flowers and ancient trees and clear streams. It would have been better to have died in the mines than to witness the destruction before me.” The Dwarf bowed his head as if a great weight sat upon his shoulders.
“All my plans have fallen into ruin,” he said dispiritedly to Elerian without lifting his head. “Even if we found a way across the river, the secret entrances I hoped to use are buried beneath tons of rubble. The only way left into the city
on this side of the mountain is through the main gate, which will lead us right into the dragon's jaws.”
Elerian looked out over the gorge. Even if they could somehow cross the Catalus, there was still almost a mile of open ground between the river and the south face of Geminus where the gates to the city must lie.
“What about the back gate?” asked Elerian, refusing to become discouraged until they had explored every other possibility of entering the city.
“We would have to travel for miles in the open to reach it,” said Ascilius despondently. “Even if we arrived there alive, it is certain to be blocked, for Eboria has likely sealed every entrance into the city except the main gate. There was a secret entrance into the castella which guards the back gate into the city, but who knows if it is still open.”
“Where are the main gates?” asked Elerian, still determined to find a way into the city.
“Almost a mile away, around the flanks of the mountain,” said Ascilius, pointing off to the left with his right hand. You cannot see them from here.”
“In that case, let us travel south along the lip of the gorge until we can see them,” suggested Elerian. “Eboria will have to hunt some time or other. When she leaves, we may be able to cross the river and reach the gates before she returns.”
“A risky plan,” said Ascilius pessimistically, “but I cannot think of a better one. You should leave Elerian,” he said suddenly. “The situation here has become hopeless. I must try and enter the city even if I die in the attempt, but there is no need for you to die with me.”
“Let us see what transpires,” said Elerian lightly. “Things may not be as bad as you think.”
Taking the lead for the first time, Elerian set off in a southerly direction, staying close to the lip of the gorge, Ascilius following dispiritedly behind him. As if to add to their discomfort, the rain began to fall more heavily again.
When the southern face of Geminus came into view through the gray curtain on their right, Ascilius stopped suddenly. “Hold up, Elerian,” he said, pointing with his right hand at Geminus when Elerian turned to face him. “The gates are at the base of that cliff where the valley road ends. You cannot see them from here, but if she were to fly out, Eboria would be clearly visible.”
“Let us wait here then,” said Elerian. “I will take the first watch. I am not tired, and my night sight is sharper than yours.”
Slipping off his pack, Elerian sat down with his back to a great, water blackened oak tree, pulling his hood low down over his face. From here, he could watch the cliff face Ascilius had pointed out without being readily seen, for his cloak blended well into the bark of the tree. Shouldering Elerian’s pack, Ascilius silently withdrew under the trees where he took shelter under an overhang of rock.
Ascilius found that it was not much better under the outcropping of rock than it was out in the open, for the cavity under the overhang was shallow, and the gusting wind constantly blew sheets of rain into it. Too discouraged to care about his personal comfort, he sat listlessly against the cold rock at the back of the shallow cave. Pulling his wet cloak tight around him, he fell into a restless sleep.
Under the oak, Elerian passed a miserable night as he kept a close watch on the cliff face. The rain continued all night, and by morning, there was not a square inch of him that was not cold and wet.
Ascilius appeared at first light. Sleeping on cold stone with rain blowing over him all night had not improved the Dwarf's disposition. His face was now as hard and unyielding as stone. Without speaking, he took Elerian’s place under the oak after Elerian stood up. Wrapping himself in his cloak, Ascilius fixed his eyes on the side of the mountain, fixing a burning, unwavering look on the cliff face where the gates were located.
“What a warm welcome,” thought Elerian wryly to himself. “Not a word of thanks for keeping watch all night long in this miserable weather.”
Retreating into the forest, he soon found the same overhang where Ascilius had spent the night. Opening his pack, he found that the well-oiled leather had kept its contents dry. A biscuit washed down with wine from his water bottle served for his breakfast. Closing his pack, he stowed it out of the wet as best he could before settling down to get what rest he could. The wet, gray weather and Ascilius’s sour mood had begun to weigh on him, but it did not weaken his resolve to help the Dwarf.
Huddling under his wet cloak, Elerian tried to rest. Beyond the overhang, the rain continued to fall in steady sheets from the gray sky, making a steady pattering sound as it splashed on the leaf covered ground under the trees. Retreating to the dream paths in his mind, Elerian walked through the vanished beech forest of Fimbria, gaining some relief from the unhappy situation he now found himself in. When the dim light of the gray day finally began to fail, he roused himself.
“Still raining,” he thought to himself, looking out at the downpour falling past the lip of the overhang. “I am not looking forward to another wet night under that oak,” he thought to himself as he ate a light, cold meal. Closing up his knapsack when he was done, he left the inadequate shelter of his shallow cave to relieve Ascilius.
Still in a surly mood, the Dwarf left his post under the oak without a word.
“Good evening to you too,” thought Elerian to himself as he watched Ascilius retreat into the trees. A hard gleam suddenly shone in his gray eyes as he watched Ascilius stamp through a deep puddle that had collected in a depression that lay across his path. Because of Ascilius’s heavy footsteps and the falling rain, there was a great deal of magical energy in the puddle, which looked like a pool of molten silver to Elerian’s third eye. Acting on impulse, he suddenly raised his left hand. A small golden orb, tethered to his hand by a slender golden thread, suddenly flew from his fingers, striking the puddle near Ascilius’s feet.
The orb lengthened and grew, trapping a long cylinder of clear water within its boundaries. The elemental immediately took on the shape of a glistening serpent the length of a man’s leg. Under Elerian’s guidance, the gleaming water snake whipped up Ascilius’s right pant leg with supple speed. Ascilius promptly underwent another of his remarkable transformations. As Elerian’s elemental wrapped its cold, sleek form around his leg, he shot high up into the air.
“Help, a serpent,” he bellowed in a horrified voice, for Ascilius disliked snakes intensely. Before Elerian’s delighted eyes, the Dwarf began to perform a sort of odd dance, vigorously shaking his right leg, while hopping around on his left, all the while vigorously pummeling his right thigh with his knotty fists. As the elemental crept higher and higher up his leg under Elerian’s direction, threatening his most intimate parts, Ascilius’s gyrations increased tenfold so that he became a veritable dynamo of activity. By now, Elerian had tears of laughter starting from his eyes, but he was not done yet. Tearing off a thick limb from a fallen branch that lay on the ground nearby, he ran up to Ascilius and commenced to beat him on the legs and buttocks with his stout branch.
“Hold still, old friend. I will save you,” he shouted as he vigorously plied his branch.
“Ouch! Stop!” roared Ascilius, who had now taken a death’s grip around his upper right thigh with both his powerful hands, desperate to stop his unseen assailant from climbing any higher.
Afraid that he would dissolve into helpless laughter and give himself away, Elerian called his elemental away from Ascilius’s leg. Too quickly for the eye to follow, it slid out of Ascilius’s pant leg and darted off across the forest floor, disappearing into the rain. Elerian broke the magical thread that connected him to the water snake, which reverted back to its liquid form.
Breathing heavily, Ascilius let go of his leg. He had a wild, strained look in his dark eyes, and his left eyelid had begun to twitch wildly.
“Stay away from me, you assassin,” he suddenly roared at Elerian before rushing off into the forest.
“You can thank me later, for saving you from the snake,” Elerian called after the retreating Dwarf. Heedless of the wet, he sat on the ground, h
olding himself with both arms in an attempt to stifle the laughter that racked his chest.
When he had regained control of himself, Elerian stood and walked back to the same oak under which Ascilius had maintained his vigil. The prank he had just played on the Dwarf was now a part of his treasured memories, his to enjoy whenever he wished, for it would remain forever fresh and clear in his indelible memory.
Sitting with his back against the rough bark of the tree, Elerian laughed quietly from time to time, despite the steady shower of raindrops that dripped down from the leaves above his head, soaking into his cloak and running down his neck and back in steady, cold trickles. He felt the cold, but he was not as troubled by it as a man would have been. His cloak also helped a little, for the heavy wool of which it was made held in his body heat even though it was soaked through.
“I wonder how often dragon’s eat?” wondered Elerian to himself when he finally settled himself into a more serious frame of mind. A disturbing picture of him sitting under the tree for months appeared to trouble his mind. “Well, there is no help for it,” he thought to himself determinedly. “I will sit here until the seasons change if I must.”
Patiently ignoring the rain, he kept a close watch on the cliff where the faraway gates of the city were located. The gathering darkness did not trouble his night wise eyes, but the rain partially masked his view.
“I doubt that Eboria will emerge into this wet,” he reassured himself.
From time to time, he briefly took his eyes off the cliff, opening his third eye and staring intently at the silver ring on his left hand. The ring’s single blood red ruby still throbbed with a deep crimson light in its depths, regular as a heartbeat.
“At least she still wears my ring,” he thought to himself, wondering how Anthea was faring in far off Tarsius and whether she still thought of him. Concentrating on the golden thread which led from the ring, he cautiously tried to extend some of his shade into it and through the portal at its end.