by A. Giannetti
Calerus put down the body of Rufius, and the Goblins spread out in a thin line, running north to south. They began their search, sweeping in an arc that carried them west. Calerus, who had taken a position closest to the starting point of the arc, soon saw the fallen tree where Balbus had hidden the bodies of the lupins. As he walked toward the tree, he kept a close eye on the ground in front of him, and a pale gray shape, foreign to the forest floor, caught his eye. Eagerly, Calerus approached it, but he did not touch it or disturb the ground around it. Bending over it to examine it more closely, he guessed it to be the remnants of a small tunic, torn and stained but still able to reflect a faint gleam of starlight. Thoughts of the fallen tree were banished from his mind, and the final resting place of the lupins remained undiscovered. He blew a single, harsh note from the small, curved horn he carried. Moments later, the rest of the company appeared like shadows from between the trunks of the trees around him. When Sarius approached him, Calerus pointed triumphantly to the tunic that lay by his feet. “This has the look of Elven cloth,” observed Calerus.
Without touching anything, Sarius carefully examined the scraps of cloth and the ground on which it lay, but there was nothing else to be seen. Silently, he cursed the rain which had washed the leaves clean of footprints. Drawing his long black bladed knife, he carefully lifted the gray fabric off the ground with the point of the blade. Neither he nor Calerus made any attempt to touch the cloth. If it was truly woven by Elves, they both knew that any contact with the fabric would be repellent to their fingers.
Now that it hung suspended from the point of Sarius’s knife, both Urucs could see that they were looking at the remains of a small tunic. “This tunic must have come from the Elf who escaped us,” remarked Calerus. “It would seem that Rufius was right after all. Judging from the bloodstains and the marks of teeth on the cloth, the lupins killed the Elf and devoured him,” he said with satisfaction, for surely Sarius would now give the order to return home.
Sarius remained silent, a troubled look on his pale, lean face. Like Calerus, he was almost certain now that the Elf was dead, but the disappearance of the lupins still troubled him. “Where are they then?” he asked angrily. “Once they made their kill, they should have returned to me to make a report.”
“Their fate matters little as long as we have proof the Elf is dead,” said Calerus indifferently.
“It is not certain proof yet,” said Sarius abruptly as he carefully transferred the supple gray fabric dangling from the end of his knife into a small leather pouch that hung from his belt. As the captain of the troop, he would suffer the most if anything went wrong, and it was in his best interests to be cautious. Torquatus did not possess a forgiving nature.
“It does seem likely that the Elf is indeed dead,” he said grudgingly to Calerus and the other Goblins who had gathered around him. “Still, I must think on this before I elect to return home,” he said to his disappointed followers.
“What of a fire while we wait for your decision?” asked Calerus, trying to make the best of the situation. “We have meat to roast.”
“Not here,” said Sarius immediately. “We are too exposed here, and it is not safe to light a fire inside the Wild Wood.”
“Are you afraid of the Ondredon?” asked Calerus, not bothering to hide his disdain. He was younger by centuries than Sarius and had experienced far less of the Middle Realm. It was his belief that the dangers of the old forest were wildly exaggerated. After all, they had pursued the Elf for miles through the Abercius without coming to any harm. “They are only a legend, Sarius,” he said scornfully and giving in to the natural impulse of Goblins to hack and destroy, he pulled out his knife and thrust the slender black blade deep into the furrowed bark of a hoary, old chestnut tree that stood near his right shoulder.
As the razor sharp, poisoned blade slid easily through the tree’s thick bark and into the wood beneath, an expression of alarm crossed Sarius’s face. As he took an involuntary step backwards, Calerus smiled contemptuously. Sarius’s cautious ways were beginning to grate on him as they had on Rufius. He opened his mouth to laugh as Sarius continued to retreat, but then closed it abruptly as the ground began to tremble beneath his feet. There was a loud, tearing, snapping sound, and dark roots began to heave out of the ground, twisting like massive snakes. A branch ending in what appeared to be a great, leafy fist whipped down and seized Calerus around the chest before he could dart away.
“Give my regards to Rufius,” shouted Sarius mockingly as Calerus was lifted screaming high into the air. The crunch of bones was clearly audible as Sarius and the remaining members of the troop sped away without a backward look. Calerus’s screams ended abruptly, and his broken body fell to the ground with a sodden thump.
Sarius felt the ground beneath his feet tremble again as he ran, and he knew that the Ondredon was trampling Calerus beneath its great feet. His thin lips curved into a smile, for he was glad to be so easily rid of Calerus and his insolence. His only regret was that he must abandon the body. “A waste of meat,” he thought to himself as he and his two companions ran back into the foothills where, by chance, they stumbled upon a dark, deep ravine overhung with tall trees.
The place appealed to Sarius at once, for Goblins like dark places where they can lie hidden during the daylight hours. A small stream of fresh water flowed through the ravine, and near its source at the head of the ravine, Sarius found a small cave. It was dry, well hidden, and deep, and there was a slight draft which indicated a second opening.
“Wait here,” said Sarius to the others. He was pleased to see that one of them carried the body of Rufius over his left shoulder. At least one of his lads had kept his head in the panic that ensued after the death of Calerus. He must have taken the time to seize Rufius’s body even while fleeing from the Ondredon.
Alone, Sarius followed the cave as it narrowed into a twisting passageway that finally ended at a narrow fissure. When Sarius slipped through, he found himself in a small grove of large fir trees. The opening was barely visible among their twisting roots, and their dense branches would screen any smoke that emerged from the hole if he and his companions lit a fire in the cave.
“Excellent,” he thought to himself as he entered the passageway again. “We have cover here and water.” He finally felt as if his luck might have taken a turn for the better. When Sarius returned to the main body of the cave, the Goblin who had rescued Rufius’s body asked, “Can we chance a fire?”
“Build it in the cave and keep it small,” said Sarius shortly, “but touch no living wood. We are no longer in the Abercius, but it is still best to be cautious for now. One day,” said Sarius with anticipation, “Torquatus will fell or burn all the trees in the Abercius and destroy the Ondredon as he destroyed the Elves in Fimbria. Until then, we must be patient, for the time is not yet ripe for a war here in the South.”
Stretching out his slender right hand, Sarius silently lit three red mage lights, one after the other and positioned them on the ceiling with a gesture of his hand. They remained suspended where he fixed them, casting a lurid, scarlet light that created stark black shadows in the corners of the cave where their light did not reach. Sarius moved away from the other Goblins, sitting on a rock a short distance inside the cave entrance, for he wished to think undisturbed. The uncertain fate of the lupins and the fact that Drusus was still missing troubled him, for he wished to have no loose ends to explain away when he stood before the Goblin King and reported on his mission.
While Sarius wrestled with his thoughts, Bruscius, the Goblin who had brought Rufius’s body, and his one companion, a Goblin named Hagar, hung a blanket over the entrance to the cave to mask the mage lights. After they started a small fire with fallen branches gathered from the ravine, the red mage lights illuminated a grisly scene as they coldly butchered their former comrade, taking all the choice parts from his body as if he were no more than ordinary game taken during the chase. They cheerfully roasted the ghastly meat over the fire until its smell filled the e
ntire cave, making their mouths water. As Sarius had anticipated, a slight draft carried away the smoke from the fire out through the rear entrance of the cave.
When the meat was done to their taste, fiery drink was brought out from the Goblins’ packs, and Sarius joined the other Urucs around the fire for his share of the feast. Goblin was a poor substitute for human flesh, but it would do until something better presented itself.
“What have you decided, Sarius?” asked Bruscius comfortably after the meal was finished. With full stomachs and warm drink coursing through their veins, he and Hagar were in better spirits, and their impatience to return home was somewhat tempered.
“We will return to Nefandus soon,” said Sarius, “but not yet. This cave will serve us as a hiding place while I go among the farmers on the hilltops to inquire for news. It seems probable that the Elf is dead, but I wish to be sure of his fate and that of the lupins before we return home. While I am gone, you and Hagar will search for Drusus. It seems odd to me that he has vanished along with the lupins.”
“Perhaps we can also set a mantrap or two,” said Bruscius hopefully. “We may gain information, and we will certainly gain better fare than we had tonight,” he said with an evil smile.
“Set as many as you like but stay away from the hilltops,” said Sarius coldly. “No one must suspect we are here.”
“No one will see us,” Bruscius assured him. He and Hagar began to plan out how they would set their traps, but Sarius sat by himself, brooding over his future plans. When dawn approached, the three Goblins let the fire die. Wrapping themselves in their dark cloaks, they lay down to sleep, Sarius a little apart from the others. They planned to remain in the haven of the dark cave until sunset.
STRANGERS AND SILVER
Unaware that the Goblins were sleeping away the daylight hours in their cave, Balbus made a point of taking Elerian with him as he went about his chores on the farm that day. Trusting that Tullius’s disguise would deceive anyone who saw the boy, Balbus kept Elerian in plain view so that any hidden observers would know he had nothing to hide. Even to his critical eye, Elerian now looked exactly like any other young Hesperian. Only his name remained to link him to the remarkable child Balbus had found in the forest.
The sun reached its zenith without incident, and after a midday meal of bread and cheese, Balbus decided to pay another visit to Tullius. As he followed the path to Tullius’s house, he was unaware that he passed only a mile or two to the east of the cave where the Goblins were sheltering from the sun.
“Back so soon?” asked Tullius who was just sitting down to a late lunch when Balbus knocked on his door. Balbus joined him at his table and sat with Elerian on his lap. He refused the offer of food, accepting only mulled wine for himself and milk for Elerian. As Tullius ate his lunch, Balbus recounted last night’s events.
“It seems odd to me that the venetor has attacked you two nights in a row,” said Tullius when he heard that the creature had returned for a second time. “What will you do if it returns again tonight?”
“My house is too strong for the venetor to break into, and Elerian will protect me from the creature’s magical attacks,” said Balbus confidently. “I am more concerned about the footprints I found by the forest. Do you think they were made Goblins?” asked Balbus, half hoping that Tullius would tell him that he was letting his imagination run away from him.
“Who else would be lurking about your farm at that time of the night?” asked Tullius grimly as he munched on a piece of buttered bread. “Send Elerian south over the mountains while you still can.”
“It is too late for that now,” said Balbus unhappily. “All my neighbors know that I have him with me. If he suddenly disappeared, there would be talk which would surely rouse the Goblins’ suspicions if it reached their ears. I will have to trust to your disguise to keep the boy safe. It must be working so far, for they did not come up to the farmhouse last night.”
“Sooner or later, they will,” said Tullius sharply. “If you will not give the boy up, then go with him. Leave now, and I will tell anyone who asks that you have gone to visit relatives in the southern provinces.”
For a moment, Balbus was tempted to take Tullius’s advice. The thought that the Goblins might show up on his doorstep tonight or some other night was a frightening one. In the south, he might still find safety. Then, his conscience pricked him. “You might be safe,” he thought to himself, “but the Goblins’ wrath might fall on Tullius instead if you leave him behind to protect you.”
“I cannot let you risk your life like that,” said Balbus quietly. “It was my decision to keep the boy. If anyone is to suffer for that decision, it must be me.”
“You are a fool, Balbus,” said Tullius harshly, even though, deep down, he admired his old friend’s courage. Tullius glared at Balbus for a moment, but he gave no sign of changing his mind. It was Tullius who gave in first. “If you will not take my advice to flee, then we must hope for the best,” he said at last in a resigned voice. “Keep a close eye on Carbo when you are outside, and do not venture out after dark for any reason,” he warned. “Your enemies are strongest when the sun goes down.”
Balbus returned home filled with a strange sense of peace. “My choices are all made,” he thought to himself. “All I can do now is see what comes of them. The disguise will either work or it will not, but there is no longer any point in worrying about it.”
He worked outside around his farm for the rest of the day, keeping Elerian by his side so that anyone who happened by would be sure to see him. That night, he fell asleep in his chair in front of the fireplace with his sword across his knees. Hours later, he started awake. Pale moonlight showed through the cracks in the shutters. When Balbus rose and opened them, he saw that the moon was waxing again, showing as a silver crescent in the night sky. He returned to his chair, but no one knocked at his door that night, and the venetor did not return, leading him to wonder if the moonlight had driven the Goblins and the venetor into hiding. A second day passed without incident, and he began to breathe a little more easily.
“Perhaps things will turn out well after all,” he thought to himself as he stood by the sink washing the dishes after supper. The rattle of pans from under the counter told him that Elerian was in the cupboards again. A smile crossed his face and then vanished instantly when a heavy knock at his front door suddenly shattered the peaceful atmosphere that filled the farmhouse. Balbus started badly and almost dropped the large bowl he was washing in the sink. Carbo jumped guiltily up from his rug and began to bark loudly. Whoever was at the door had approached so silently that Carbo had heard nothing until he knocked.
Calming himself, Balbus walked over to the door. “Who knocks at my door at this late hour?” he demanded without opening it.
“I am a stranger in these parts,” said a soft voice that, for some reason, sent a chill down Balbus’s spine. “I am searching for a small boy who has wandered away from my camp. He is my sister’s child, and she is overcome with grief, fearing the worst for him. Have you seen any strange, young child in the last few days?” asked the unseen visitor. For some reason, the distress in his voice sounded contrived to Balbus. Beside him, Carbo had ceased to bark, but his hackles were all raised, and his lips were drawn back in a silent snarl.
“The only child I have seen in the last few days is my grandson,” said Balbus, striving to keep his voice from shaking. He already feared the worst, for the inquiry after a young child had set off alarms in his head. Who else but the Goblins would be searching for a missing child?
“Might I talk to you face to face for a moment before I go?” asked the voice with a pleading note that seemed unnatural to Balbus as if any kind of soft emotion was foreign to the owner of that voice. He was minded to refuse the request, but then, after second thoughts, he was afraid a refusal might arouse suspicion if the stranger on the other side of the door was really a Goblin.
“Are you alone?” Balbus asked, stalling for time.
“Yes,” replied the voice, “I am alone. You have nothing to fear from me. Open the door and let me talk to you face to face. I will not keep you long.”
“Wait one moment then,” said Balbus. He retrieved his sword from over the fireplace before removing the crossbar from the door and unlocking it with shaking hands. Holding the bare blade in his right hand, he opened the door and stepped to his left so the light from the Dwarf lamp fell across his visitor’s face. The yellow light revealed a tall figure wrapped in a dark cloak. His hood was thrown back, exposing his lean face, tanned a deep brown from exposure to the sun, and eyes and hair that were black as coal.
“Why he is an Ancharian,” thought Balbus to himself in surprise. Relief washed over him, followed by disappointment. “Can Elerian really be one of them?” he wondered silently to himself. He opened his mouth to tell the stranger that his lost child was here in the farmhouse, but then abruptly closed it when he heard a threatening growl from Carbo. Balbus buried his left hand in the ruff of Carbo’s neck, barely in time to stop him from lunging at the stranger. The Ancharian remained motionless, showing no sign of fear. He smiled, showing a set of very white teeth, and an amused look crossed his face as he regarded the struggling dog and the naked blade gripped in Balbus’s right hand.
“Do you always greet your visitors in this fashion?” he asked. The Ancharian’s voice remained agreeable, but it seemed to Balbus that, for a moment, red sparks floated in his eyes like tiny motes.
“Forgive the sword and the dog,” said Balbus. “These are uncertain times, and we do not get many visitors late at night.” He found it hard to keep a quaver out of his voice, for Carbo’s reaction to the Ancharian and those odd lights in the stranger’s eyes had resurrected his own suspicions once more. Even though the stranger resembled the Ancharians Balbus had met in the past, he felt a sudden need for caution. “Perhaps it would be better to say nothing about Elerian just yet,” he thought to himself.