The Mage (The Hidden Realm)

by A. Giannetti

  “I am not running away into the South,” said Elerian with an air of finality in his voice. “If the Goblins come for me, I will retreat into the Abercius, drawing them after me,” he said, hoping to ease some of the concern Tullius felt.

  “You are as obstinate as Balbus,” said Tullius resignedly. “If you will not go into hiding, at least forget about making any more journeys. You will only stir up more trouble for yourself.”

  “I will think on it,” replied Elerian noncommittally. Despite his dangerous encounter with Torquatus, he realized now, after talking to Tullius, that his adventures had whetted his appetite for exploration. Even if he never discovered anything else about his past, who knew what else might he discover in the wide world? “I will stay close to home for a time, Tullius, if that will make you feel better,” he said as a concession to the mage’s worries. Elerian gave Tullius only a sketchy account of his meeting with the Ondredon and the anguis, making no mention of his shape-changing abilities, for the mage now fairly radiated disapproval. Soon after, Elerian set out for home, for he was anxious to see Balbus again.

  Tullius sat staring into his fire long after Elerian had left. “I should not have been so hard on the boy,” he thought to himself regretfully, “but there is no doubt in my mind that if he continues with these wild adventures, they will be his downfall and perhaps mine and Balbus’s also. It may already be too late. I fear there will be consequences for Elerian looking through the portal he found, none of them good,” he thought to himself uneasily.

  ESDRAS

  It was late when Elerian reached his home. He quietly let himself into the farmhouse only to find Carbo waiting for him behind the door again. Balbus was also awake and sitting in his chair by the fire. At Elerian’s look of surprise, Balbus smiled.

  “Carbo roused me,” he explained. “Somehow he senses when you are returning home.”

  “What a clever dog you are, Carbo,” said Elerian as he stroked the dog’s sleek head before crossing over to the fireplace and sitting on the hearthstone.

  “Are you hungry?” asked Balbus.

  “Tullius has already fed me,” said Elerian, “at the cost of another lecture.”

  Balbus smiled tolerantly. “His manner is harsh, Elerian, but underneath, he is genuinely concerned with keeping all of us safe. But that is enough about Tullius for now. If you are not too tired, I would rather hear about what you have been up to since you left home,” said Balbus, settling back into his chair.

  For the second time that night, Elerian related his adventures, this time without leaving out any details. Balbus listened with great interest to the story of the portal, the Ondredon, and finally, the wreck where Elerian had discovered the treasure. Unlike Tullius, he seemed properly appreciative of his share of the coins, but Elerian found out later that he gave most of it away.

  “Why did the Ondredon refer to you as a half blood?” wondered Balbus at the end of the account.

  “I have puzzled over that for days,” said Elerian. “Whatever it was that he knew about my parentage, he refused to reveal it to me. He must have passed the word along all through the forest. I hear it everywhere now whenever I listen to the trees.”

  “Still, it is a clue of sorts,” said Balbus.

  “It is a clue for some other time,” replied Elerian wearily. “I promised Tullius that I would lay low for a while. He thinks the Goblins may come for me because Torquatus saw my face in the portal.”

  “The time for hiding is almost done, I think,” said Balbus thoughtfully, “regardless of what Tullius thinks.

  “Have you learned to read the future, grandfather?” asked Elerian with a smile.

  Balbus smiled too. “It is not difficult to guess your future, Elerian. You and I were meant to walk the same path for a time, but that time is ending. You are almost grown now and will go on to reclaim your heritage, leaving me behind,” he said sadly.

  “Suppose I choose to remain here,” said Elerian rebelliously.

  “We always have the freedom to choose our actions,” said Balbus calmly, but who can say where our decisions will take us. You slew Drusus to help Tullius, but you also exposed yourself to Torquatus as a result of your choice.”

  “So I must leave you no matter how I feel about it,” said Elerian with a wry smile. “That is too deep for me, Balbus. Let us go to bed. The morning sun will make the world seem brighter and less complicated too.”

  For several weeks after his return, Elerian did his best not to attract attention to himself, as he has promised Tullius he would. Despite the old mage’s misgivings, however, all remained quiet. Elerian finally decided that Torquatus had been unable to find him or else had forgotten all about him. “After all,” he thought to himself, “how important could one nameless Hesperian be to the king of the Goblins”

  Autumn turned into winter. Although snow was rare this far south, except in the heights, the temperature dropped and heavy frosts became common in the mornings. Elerian still had not seen any sign of Goblins in the forest, reinforcing his belief that Torquatus had not launched any search for him. Balbus seldom ventured out now, but Elerian traveled through the frozen woodlands alone. This was the season of the chase, and buck and boar fell to his deadly arrows. When he was not in the forest, Elerian used his mage powers to form objects of fantastical shape from stone and wood, which he destroyed as soon as they were complete. He gave little thought to resuming his search for clues to his past until one morning in May when the scent of green growing things filled the air. On the trees, new leaves had sprouted and fresh grass shoots covered the meadows. The fine weather reawakened Elerian’s urge to travel again and perhaps resume his search for clues to his past.

  Further searching in Tullius’s old maps had revealed to Elerian that a bridge once existed over the Ancharus, leading from Esdras into northern Hesperia. “If the people I am searching for came down from the north, then perhaps they traveled through Ancharia and over the bridge,” thought Elerian to himself. “That would have been the safest route at the end of the Great War. Drusus, too, came from Ancharia. Perhaps in that country, I will find the answers I seek.” Elerian decided to travel at least as far as Esdras to see if the old bridge still existed. Several days later, Balbus found his gathering his gear into his old leather pack.

  “Off again, I see,” he said quietly.

  “There has been no sign of any Goblins all winter and spring,” said Elerian awkwardly, for he felt uncomfortable, leaving Balbus alone again. “I think it is safe to make another journey.”

  “Go then,” said Balbus in an approving voice. “I still have some of the gold you gave me. If I need help, I will hire one of Dioges’ sons to help with the farm. Where will you travel to now?” he asked curiously.

  “I will go east this time, to Ancharia,” replied Elerian. “That country seems entwined with my history. If I can find a way over the Ancharus, I will search for any clues to my past that I may find there.”

  “Take care then,” said Balbus, and he fondly clasped forearms with Elerian. He remained in his doorway, watching until Elerian reached the hedge that bordered his fields. Elerian turned once to wave before opening the hedge gate. Balbus waved back, and Elerian walked through the gate, closing it behind him before disappearing into the forest. By Balbus’s left side, Carbo whined uneasily and Balbus stroked his head.

  “All we can do is wait and see if he returns once more Carbo,” said Balbus softly. “Even if he does come back, I fear that the day when he will leave us forever is fast approaching.” The thought of losing Elerian saddened Balbus, but he felt no regret. He had known that day would come and had long prepared for it.

  In the forest, Elerian’s mind was already occupied with what he might discover on this journey. He stopped briefly at Tullius’s house when he entered the lower forest, but the mage’s door was locked, and Tullius was nowhere to be found. “Perhaps he is out on a healing errand,” thought Elerian to himself with regret. Tullius was certain to disapprove of his
plan to travel to Ancharia, but Elerian missed talking to the crusty old mage just the same.

  Setting out through the forest in a northeasterly direction, he walked tirelessly through the spring woods, delighting in the new leaves and the smell of fresh growth. Everywhere he looked there was new life, and birdsong filled the air. For four days, sleeping and resting only a few hours each day, he retraced his steps to the rapids where he had discovered the sunken galley the year before.

  He followed the wide Ancharus east and then south, through endless forests empty of any sign of human habitation. Elerian kept within eyesight of the river so that he would not miss the bridge, if it still existed. He remained constantly alert in case one of the water dragons that lived in the river decided to leap out of its dark waters to make a meal of him. After a day and a half of travel, he rounded a bend in the river and saw an ancient stone bridge before him. Breaking into a run, he soon arrived at its entrance. An overgrown stone paved road ran south from the bridge, quickly disappearing into the forest. From his study of Tullius’s maps, Elerian was certain that the road could only be the Via Magna, built by the Dwarves over two hundred years ago to carry their goods from Calenus in the north to Marsala, which lay many miles to the south of where he stood now. After the fall of Calenus, the Dwarves had gradually abandoned the road, sending their goods south by barges down the Arvina to the bay of Haterius. Their trade goods were then transferred to ships and taken to Marsala.

  Having no interest in Marsala or any part of southern Hesperia, Elerian turned his eyes to the bridge. Across the river was Ancharia, the home of Drusus and possibly the route the people who built the hidden home had taken when they traveled south. It was there he must go. He surveyed the old bridge with a critical eye. Its appearance did not inspire confidence. The many stone piers and arches that supported the bridge were still intact, but the ancient roadbed had given way in places, falling into the deep waters of the river below and leaving gaping openings behind. Stepping as lightly as possible, Elerian cautiously picked a path over the decayed bridge, carefully avoiding the yawning holes through which he could see the green, swift flowing waters of the river far below. He glimpsed shadowy forms in the water, but whether they were anguis or some other watery creature, Elerian could not tell. Breathing a sigh of relief, he finally stepped onto the north bank of the river.

  On his right, he saw many old stone piers jutting out into the river, causing him to wonder if the sunken galley he had discovered farther north had once called this port home. Beyond the docks was a great wall, full of gaps around which great stones were scattered and tumbled about, as if they had been torn away by some violent force. The road from the bridge passed beneath a great arch in the wall, where a pair of steel gates lay on the ground, violently twisted off their massive hinges. Elerian was certain this was the city of Esdras, which was destroyed during the Great War.

  He entered the city warily, uncertain if it was still occupied after all this time. He saw that few buildings remained standing, as if the winds of war had blown powerfully here, tumbling them violently from their foundations. Brush and tall trees grew in the roadways, and a deep, ominous silence hung over the city. Cautiously, feeling as if he was entering a graveyard, Elerian followed the Via Magna north into the city. Tall grass grew between the great, flat stones that made up the surface of the road, and in many places, trees had covered the pavement with drifts of brown, dry leaves and broken branches. Their questing, knotty roots had heaved up many of the great paving stones, but for the most part, the road was still serviceable to someone on foot. Elerian entered a few buildings, but they contained nothing of value, and he was certain they had been plundered many times in the long years since the final destruction of Esdras.

  In the center of the city, Elerian came upon a huge, empty square paved with enormous flat stones. It was a desolate place, and Elerian was reluctant to venture out into it. Despite the scattered trees, it was too open to suit him. If there were any unfriendly eyes about, they would spot him easily out there. He skirted around the right side of the square, taking advantage of the cover provided by the ruined buildings and the brush and trees that grew between them. Once he left the square behind, Elerian continued north along the great road. Night began to deepen the shadows between the shattered buildings. He continued to stop now and then to examine some ruin that drew his interest, but each building proved to be an empty disappointment. The whole city seemed deserted, and Elerian became less vigilant, for it seemed to him that there was little to fear within its ruined walls except the ghosts of the past.

  The sun had almost set when he suddenly came upon the remnants of a recent campfire in a small opening by right side of the road. Elerian stared at it in surprise, for it was completely unexpected after the desolation he had encountered thus far. There were charred bones mixed in with the ashes of the fire. When Elerian curiously stirred them with his right foot, he was revolted to see that they were human bones. They had been gnawed by sharp teeth and then split open to obtain the marrow inside them.

  “Who or what made this fire?” he wondered to himself, glancing around him warily. “I have not seen any signs of Goblins.”

  The rattle of a dislodged pebble alerted him to danger, and he spun to his left just as three misshapen figures leaped from behind a ruined wall. Although they were manlike in shape and wore ragged clothes, they ran slightly hunched over, their long arms almost brushing the ground. Growling like animals, they rushed at Elerian. The creature in the lead reared up and swung a thick, dark club in a sideways blow at Elerian’s head. Elerian ducked under the club, catching a brief glimpse of a brutal face behind it. It was mostly covered with black, coarse hair and the hairy ears were pointed, like those of a wolf. The creature’s thin, black lips were pulled back, exposing long fangs, and its yellow eyes glowed with a hungry light. The frightening visage brought back a name from out of Elerian’s childhood.

  “A mutare,” he thought to himself as the creature’s club passed over his head in a clean miss. Even though there were three of the creatures, Elerian was not unduly worried. He had survived an encounter with two mutare as a child and considered them brutish, almost clownish adversaries. Straightening up, he drew his long belt knife with his right hand, thrusting it between the mutare’s ribs to the hilt and back out again, all in one fluid motion, before stepping back out of the creature’s reach. Out of the corner of his right eye, Elerian saw a second mutare swing a rusty broadsword at his head in an overhand stroke. Stepping back, he heard the hiss of the blade as it flashed by his face. At that moment, the third member of the pack, attacked from his left, trying to skewer him in the side with a short spear. Elerian stepped back again, and the edge of the spear point sliced through his tunic, grazing his chest.

  The force of its missed spear thrust overbalanced the mutare. As it stumbled past him, Elerian seized the creature with his left hand by the collar of its torn tunic and pulled it in front of him, just in time for the mutare on his right to run it through the chest with its sword, as it attempted to stab Elerian. With one strong thrust of his left arm, Elerian threw the mortally wounded mutare he held with his left hand to one side, the sword still sticking out of its broad chest, its hilt wrenched from the sword wielder’s hands. Elerian struck the now unarmed mutare a powerful blow in the face with his fist, which was still wrapped around his knife hilt, sending it reeling backwards. The mutare quickly recovered, pulling a long black bladed knife from a sheath hanging from its leather belt. Knife clenched in its right hand, it crouched in front of him, its short, powerful legs bent and ready to spring at the first opening in Elerian’s defenses. Quick as a striking snake, it suddenly thrust its knife at him, and for the next few moments, the air was filled with the ring of steel on steel, as Elerian and his attacker traded quick, heavy blows. With his attention on the creature’s knife, Elerian forgot the dangers presented by the mutare’s claws. In an unguarded moment, the mutare struck with its left hand at right side of his face.
Elerian turned his head away from the blow, but the mutare’s long black claws cut deeply into his cheek and brow, narrowly missing his right eye, which was blinded by a sudden flow of blood. Before the mutare could follow up its advantage, Elerian pointed his left hand at the creature’s chest and cast a destruction spell. With his third eye, he saw a small golden orb leap from his fingertips. Flashing across the small gap between him and the mutare, it struck the creature on the left side of its chest in the same instant that it sprang toward him, knife raised and yellow fangs bared.

  The mutare struck Elerian heavily, and he was born over backwards by its great weight. Seizing the creature’s right wrist with his left hand, he stopped the mutare’s long knife in mid stroke. Dropping his knife and wrapping his right hand around its hairy throat, Elerian strained mightily to keep the mutare’s snapping jaws away from his face and throat. The mutare growled like a beast, and Elerian felt warm spittle fly into his face. Its warm, rancid breath stifled him even as he felt the powerful, clawed fingers of its left hand groping for his throat. He felt the prick of its claws on his flesh and waited helplessly for the creature to tear out his throat. When the mutare’s fingers suddenly went limp, relief flooded through Elerian, and he pushed the creature’s now lifeless body away from him, marveling at its vitality. Even with its heart destroyed by his spell, the mutare had still had come within a few seconds of taking his life.

  Scarcely able to believe he was still alive, Elerian rose to his feet, keeping a wary eye on the other two mutare who were lying on the ground. He first approached the mutare that had carried the club. The creature was stone dead, for Elerian’s knife blade had pierced its heart. Elerian turned to the last mutare. This one was still alive, lying on the ground on its back and coughing up red, frothy blood with each labored breath. The sword, which still pierced its chest, had found one of its lungs.