by A. Giannetti
Ascilius began speaking in a slow, measured voice as he read the words of the spells, using a language that was strange and unfamiliar to Elerian. Each time Ascilius completed a spell, a golden orb flew from his right hand, striking the sword and briefly enveloping it in a golden film of light as the spell worked its changes on the steel. Despite the danger, Elerian felt no fear, only a great curiosity and wonder as he watched the Dwarf expertly ply his arcane craft. Long before Ascilius reached the last line of the scroll, his strong voice began to falter as his strength waned. Beads of sweat appeared on his broad brow, born of effort and apprehension, but each time he glanced at Elerian with dark anxious eyes, the Dwarf felt a firm grip on his right shoulder and a flood of power flowed through him, giving him the strength to complete the spells that were transforming Acris from an ordinary sword into a magical blade of unsurpassed power.
When Ascilius finally finished, he sat down for a moment on his bench to rest for a moment.
“Pick up the sword,” he said wearily to Elerian. “Test the balance.”
Elerian eagerly picked up Acris with his right hand, a faint silvery radiance suffusing the argentum inlaid in the steel as it contacted his fingers. He swung the blade, the ridges in the hilt digging into his palm, making for a secure grip. The point of the sword stayed up effortlessly, a testimony to the perfect balance between the weight of the hilt and the blade.
Having recovered somewhat, Ascilius stood up. Picking up, with his right hand, a bar of raw iron which he had leaned against the forge earlier, he held the thick piece of metal at arm’s length.
“Strike!” he commanded Elerian.
Elerian cringed inside at abusing a fine weapon in this manner, but he had learned to trust Ascilius and took a powerful swing at the bar. At the moment of contact, he felt a moment of weakness as power surged from him into Acris. He heard steel ring on iron and saw a flicker of white light from the argentum embedded in the sword. The bar Ascilius held in his hand flew into two pieces, cleanly cut. As the iron rang on the stone floor of the forge room, Elerian carefully examined Acris’s blade, but he could find no nick or blemish in its edge.
“Because of the spells that reside in the argentum, Acris will cleave stone, metal, and even dragon scales without harm to itself,” explained Ascilius. “There is a danger in using it, however. As with any magical object, it will draw power from whoever wields it, but because it is such a powerful artifact, it will kill anyone with weak mage powers who tries to use it. In the third age, the Dwarves forged a sword like this for a king of the Northlands in the West, for even then, Torquatus was troubling the world. The sword always gave Decian and his armies the victory but at the cost of the life of the warrior who wielded it, for it drained the life out of a mortal man after a single battle. You must use must use Acris with caution, Elerian. Even from you, it may draw more power than it is wise for you to give.”
“I will certainly be careful with it,” replied Elerian, returning the sword to the anvil. “What happened to the sword of Decian?” he asked curiously.
“Torquatus took it by treachery and had it destroyed,” said Ascilius, “for Goblins cannot use a weapon made for their destruction.”
With Acris completed, Ascilius began forging a war hammer for himself, first melding the greater part of the remaining bars of sky iron into the rough form of a heavy sledge, which he then began to shape with his magical hammer. As before, Elerian continued the work under Ascilius's direction whenever the Dwarf tired.
The head of the hammer that took shape under their combined efforts was double faced, square in the middle and round at the ends. The steel handle was all of one piece with the head and was long enough to be used in a two handed stroke.
“Can I have the scraps?” Elerian asked Ascilius, for there still remained one bar of sky iron after Ascilius formed his hammer. “I wish to make a pair of knives.”
“Use whatever you wish,” replied Ascilius. “When we are done here, I will be forced to abandon whatever is left in the shop. I do not think any Dwarf will ever set foot in Ennodius again while Eboria lives,” he said glumly.
Thereafter, whenever Ascilius slept, Elerian shaped the remaining iron into two identical, long bladed knives patterned after Acris, for a knife remained his favorite weapon. He named them Rasor and Acer, inscribing their names on their blades in flowing Elven script. When the time came to engrave the grooves for the argentum, Ascilius stood by Elerian’s side offering guidance and explaining the purpose and reason for each intricate channel that he had Elerian cut into the blades of his knives. When they knives were complete, with Ascilius standing by to give his help if needed, Elerian cast the same spells on them that Ascilius had cast on Acris, reading the charms from his spell book where Ascilius had allowed him to copy each spell they used. There were still a few scraps of iron left once the knives were complete, and rather than waste them, Elerian made a dozen arrowheads inlaid with argentum. Into the threads, he placed a parting spell. From several pieces of well seasoned rowan wood that he found in the work shop, he made arrow shafts which he fletched with gray goose feathers.”
By the time the two knives and the arrowheads were complete, Ascilius’s hammer had taken on its final form. The lower two thirds of the handle were now covered with the same silver ridges Ascilius had formed around Acris’s hilt. Both the head and the upper part of the handle were engraved with complex, flowing lines that Ascilius had filled with silvery argentum. Scribed on one side of the head in bold, flowing letters, Ascilius had engraved the name Fulmen in Corach.
On their eighth day in the forge room, after Fulmen was polished, Ascilius had Elerian hold up a different scroll when it came time to cast the spells on the argentum inlaid in the sledge.
“We must use spells which match the weapon,” he explained to Elerian, “for a sword and hammer are not wielded in the same way.”
Again, Elerian lent the Dwarf power whenever he faltered in the spells he cast, but this time sweat broke out on both their brows, and both their knees grew weak from the charms invoked by Ascilius.
“What sort of spells is he casting on this thing,” Elerian silently asked himself as they neared the end of the scroll, wondering if he and Ascilius would have the strength to cast the last few spells.
“I do not think I will attempt a similar work again in my lifetime,” said Ascilius wearily to Elerian when they were done. Between them, the two companions had barely dredged up enough power to finally finish their task.
After resting a bit on his bench, Ascilius suddenly stood up. Taking the handle of Fulmen in both hands, he dealt the anvil a powerful two-handed blow with the hammer. There was a flash of white light from the argentum when the hammer struck the anvil with a mighty clang. As the heavy block of steel broke into pieces, the floor of the shop trembled. Deep within the city, Eboria stirred restlessly on her bed of gold, her dreams of treasure suddenly troubled by a vague unease.
“No matter how heavy the stroke, this hammer will not break or dent,” said Ascilius in a satisfied voice to Elerian. “We have wrought well, my friend. We have weapons now that are the equal of the enemies that we face.”
“Before we leave this room, there is one more thing I wish to make,” said Elerian hesitantly. He wanted to make Dymiter’s ring, but he was not sure how to convince Ascilius to help him.
“You have a sword, knives, and arrows. What else do you need?” asked Ascilius in a puzzled voice.
“I mean to make another ring,” Elerian replied slowly, “a ring of power, not a minor effort into the craft like the two I wear on my fingers now. I cannot do it alone, however, for I may require your help to complete the spells.”
“Where did you find the spells to make such a ring,” asked Ascilius after a long, drawn-out silence, his inner uneasiness plainly mirrored in his face. The Dwarves had never taken to ring lore, retaining a deep distrust of the art and its practitioners.
“They were written in Dymiter’s spell book,” admitted Eleri
an reluctantly.
“How were you able to open the book?” asked Ascilius, wrinkling his brow as his face took on a puzzled expression.
“The shade of Dymiter appeared out of the book while I was looking at it. After urging me to make a ring of power, he gave me permission to read the passages in his book containing ring lore,” replied Elerian. “He said there would be many advantages to making such a ring.”
Ascilius now looked thoroughly alarmed. “You took the advice of a wraith?” he asked in amazement. “I thought you had more sense. How do you know that this shade is not plotting to take over your body? This ring may be something that will aid him in the attempt.”
Elerian had no good answer for Ascilius, for some of the same suspicions had crossed his own mind. “I will take that into consideration when I make the ring, Ascilius, for I, too, am suspicious of this shade and his motives. There is no denying, however, that a ring of power would be useful. You have seen with your own eyes how Torquatus can slay his enemies with his ring. If I face him again someday, I will need a weapon which will equal his own, a ring which will draw into itself the power of any spell that is directed against me,” said Elerian firmly.
“With such a ring on your finger, I should fear to be your friend,” observed Ascilius in a harsh voice.
Elerian looked closely at Ascilius's face and saw that his companion was deadly serious. “Why would you be afraid of me, Ascilius?” he asked in surprise. “We have come through every kind of danger together. You have saved my life more than once and I yours.”
“You are young yet, Elerian,” cautioned Ascilius, “and you have much to learn. Great power and great pride can lead even those of upright character to follow a dark path. This has been proven many times down through the ages of the world.”
“I have already received the same warning from Dymiter, Ascilius,” said Elerian gravely. “I know the dangers inherent in the ring that I wish to make, but I also know that I have no desire for dominion over others. A peaceful world and wide forests all around me to share with Anthea are what I desire most.”
“That may change once this thing is on your finger,” said Ascilius darkly.
“If you still have doubts, then I do not ask that you help me, only that you do not hinder me,” said Elerian as Ascilius continued to hesitate. The Dwarf’s words had only increased his determination to make his ring.
“There is an opportunity here that will never come again,” thought Elerian to himself. “I had best make this thing now or put it out of my mind forever.”
Ascilius remained standing where he was, leaning with both hands on the handle end of his bright hammer. “Will you be able to draw on the forces the ring takes in?” asked Ascilius finally.
“Yes,” said Elerian. “I will be able to draw on its power as I wish, but you need not be afraid, Ascilius. I have no desire to follow in the footsteps of Torquatus. I have found a way to alter Dymiter’s spells so that the ring will only be able to accept power that is freely offered, not take it by force as Torquatus’s ring does.”
“That seems a small difference,” said Ascilius doubtfully.
“It will be a weapon for our defense like the hammer you hold in your hands, nothing more,” Elerian insisted.
Ascilius still looked unconvinced.
“My hammer will not put the whole of the Middle realm under my heel, for its power is limited by the forces in my body. This ring could set you in the place of the Goblin King,” said the Dwarf softly, almost as if he was talking to himself. “How will you fill the ring if not by stealing power from others?” he suddenly asked with a penetrating look in his dark eyes.
Elerian frowned and a triumphant look crossed Ascilius’s face. “You had not thought of that, I see.”
“A way will present itself,” said Elerian confidently.
“So, I must I must trust you in this, whether I will or no,” replied Ascilius.
“Your trust will not be misplaced,” replied Elerian. Sensing that Ascilius’s opposition was weakening, he drew out a small leather pouch which contained some small scraps of argentum left over from making his knife handles. “Let us dare the great spells one more time together,” Elerian said solemnly.
THE RING
As Ascilius watched, his disapproval plainly written on his blunt features, Elerian emptied the argentum in the pouch into the forge. Raising his right hand, he started a small red mage fire. At his command, the flames engulfed the argentum, softening it so that the pieces of bright metal ran together to form a small, gleaming pool in the center of the forge. Casting a charm with his right hand, Elerian lifted the shining metal out of the forge and spun it slowly in the air, just above the flickering red flames of the mage fire, the silvery argentum reflecting the ruddy flames below it. Keeping the heat of the magical fire contained in the metal so that it did not scorch his flesh, Elerian used his long, clever fingers to form a ring of argentum, like a potter forming wet clay on a wheel. When he was done, he surveyed handiwork with a critical eye, but he could find no fault in his work. A small circle of silvery metal hung now hung in the air above the forge, its smooth, rounded sides taking on a ruddy cast from the flames of the mage fire burning beneath it. A sudden urge to discard his altered spells suddenly swept through Elerian.
“The opportunity to form another ring will never come again,” he thought to himself as he stared at the gleaming circle of argentum spinning in front of him, awaiting his spells. “Why not use Dymiter’s original spells? I can give this ring the ability to take in power until it rivals the lightning in strength, a weapon that will destroy or scatter all of my enemies. With this ring on my finger, I can order the Middle Realm as I wish, bowing to no one.” Calling his spell book to his right hand, Elerian hesitated, deliberating for a long moment on which set of spells to use.
“Hold fast to your original plan, Elerian,” whispered his common sense. “If you use the mage’s original spells, you may be taking the first steps toward one of the evil futures Dymiter refused to reveal. You must have a ring which you can control, or in the end, it will alter your nature in ways that you cannot yet imagine.”
“Hold yourself ready Ascilius,” Elerian said suddenly, “for I may require your help.”
His choice made, Elerian opened his spell book. In a clear voice, he began to recite the spells on ring making which he had carefully altered, untried spells which might well cause his death and that of Ascilius, too. Each time he completed a spell, he raised his right hand, and a shining golden orb, visible only to his third eye, struck the ring as it spun slowly in the air above the crimson flames of the mage fire, briefly enveloping it in a golden film of light as the spell worked its purpose on the silvery argentum. The charms came easily at first, but gradually, a great fatigue began to well up inside of Elerian. The words in his book suddenly blurred, and his voice faltered. Inside him, he felt the energies of the uncompleted spell testing the limits of his control. He tried to continue the charm, but he lacked the strength to shape the words.
“We are done,” Elerian thought wearily to himself as, a few heartbeats from death, he struggled to control the powerful energies he had released but not bound. “I have caused my destruction and Ascilius’s too.”
Sensing trouble, Ascilius suddenly stepped forward and clasped Elerian’s left arm firmly with his powerful right hand. At once, Elerian felt new strength flooding through him, helping him to contain his uncompleted spell. Carefully, he spoke the last words he had written, casting the final charm that would change the fabric of the warm argentum spinning in the forge, altering it to suit his desires. Exhausted by the effort, Elerian extinguished the mage fire and released the ring, which fell into the forge with a clear chime of metal on stone.
Elerian felt a wave of weakness wash over him and would have fallen had Ascilius not grasped him by the shoulders, holding him up as if he weighed nothing at all.
“We should have waited one more day,” grumbled the Dwarf as he carried Elerian up
the stairs and laid him in a bed. “It was too much to attempt another set of spells on the same day.”
“At least it is done,” said Elerian weakly. “A cup of water if you please, Ascilius,” he said with a wry smile. “I feel a bit faint.”
Quickly, Ascilius brought Elerian water in a stone cup filled from the spigot in the bathroom. After he took the cup in his left hand, Elerian passed his right hand over it while whispering the spell Dymiter had given him for aqua vitae. The amount of power needed to work the change surprised him.
“This is surely a potent substance,” thought Elerian to himself as the water in the cup became brighter, as if lit from below, and took on a wonderful clarity. He brought the cup to his lips with both hands and drank a small amount of the unknown liquid. It had no taste that Elerian could detect, but new strength coursed through his veins at once, driving away the weakness that had sapped his vigor. Elerian offered the cup to Ascilius who sipped suspiciously before eagerly quaffing the rest of the aqua vitae in one draught. The Dwarf immediately dropped the empty cup on the floor. Beads of sweat appeared on his wide brow as he sat down in a chair, fanning his face with both his broad hands.
“Ascilius are you all right?” asked Elerian, his voice filled with concern. “That drink is meant to be taken in small quantities.”
“Warn me first, next time,” gasped Ascilius. “I was almost certain for a moment that I would burst into flame!”
Rising from his chair, he returned to the bathroom, plunging his head into the cold water of the basin several times in succession, before toweling himself off. When he returned to Elerian’s side, he looked himself again, except that his eyes had more than their usual sparkle, and there was an added spring to his step.
“I feel strong enough to take on Eboria with my bare hands,” he said in his deep voice.