by A. Giannetti
“They have all gone,” said Tamas resignedly. “You should turn back now, Elerian,” he said abruptly. “You have done all you can for me. The Goblins may already be riding toward us out of the north. You should be on your way while the road is still clear.”
Before Elerian could make any reply, a large number of men, armed with spears and bows, silently rushed out from hiding places inside the houses all around them.
THE ANCHARIANS
The men rushing from the huts surrounded Tamas and Elerian, cutting off all avenues of escape. They were all Ancharians, tall, with black hair and dark eyes. There was no welcome in their grim faces, only suspicion. Elerian put his right hand on his knife hilt, prepared to defend himself if he must, but he noted that Tamas stood at his ease, with an expectant look on his face. Walking with a firm step, an old man with a white beard and white hair stepped through the circle of Ancharians, stopping before Tamas.
“Is it really you Tamas?” he asked, putting his hands on the young man’s shoulders and searching his dark eyes with his own.
“It is I father,” said Tamas happily. “I am not some sham of the Goblins. I was released from the enchantment the Uruc placed on me by this stranger from the south. His name is Elerian.”
The old man looked at Elerian with a pair of sharp black eyes. “My name is Strabo,” he said in a proud voice. “I thank you for saving my son, but since these are suspicious times, I must say that although you look like a Hesperian, people of that country are not known to travel far from their own land; neither are they known for their prowess in mage craft.”
“My father was born in a foreign land, so I have always been a little different from my countrymen,” said Elerian easily. “I have more curiosity than most and perhaps a little more power. In any case, it was enough to change your son back into a man after I realized his plight. I only accompanied him this far to see him home safe, not to spy out your land.”
“I do not think you have told me everything,” said Strabo, giving Elerian a penetrating stare, but we will let that pass. Even if you were a Goblin spy, you could not harm us now. My people have already left, and later tonight, my men and I will also leave our village to go into hiding. You may join us for our last meal here, if you wish. It would be some small thanks for rescuing my younger son.”
“I would be happy to sup with you,” said Elerian quietly, “but then I must also be on my way. I do not think the Uruc and his Goblins will be far behind Tamas and me.”
“They are due to appear any day now,” said the old Ancharian in an unconcerned voice, “for the month they gave us has almost passed. There is nothing to fear, however. My sentries will warn us long before they arrive here, just as they warned me that you were approaching with my son.” Turning away from Elerian, he led the way toward the center of the town.
“That explains my feeling of being watched,” thought Elerian to himself as he followed Tamas’s father. Behind him, the other Ancharians now crowded around Tamas, all talking and asking questions at once. No one spoke to Elerian, however, and there was no warmth in their gazes when their dark eyes glanced his way.
“What an unfriendly crowd,” he thought to himself as he compared the dour Ancharians to the sunny Hesperians he had known all his life.
Elerian followed Strabo into a small, open square of hard packed, clean swept earth at the center of the town. On the far side of the square was a large log building, which Elerian took to be an inn or an uncommonly large home. Once they passed through the wide front door, they entered a large, open room set with trestle tables and benches. There were fresh rushes strewn on the plank floor and torches set in iron holders on the walls were soon lit, filling the place with a dim, smoky light. A great fireplace occupied the far wall, opposite the door. Several of the Ancharians kindled a roaring fire and began to prepare food while the rest sat at the tables or crowded around Tamas, listening to the story of his abduction and rescue.
Strabo motioned for Elerian to sit next to him at one of the tables. They sat in silence until the meal was set on the table. There was day old bread, cheese, dried fruit, and beef seared in the fire, still sizzling in its juices. For drink, there was clear well water. As Elerian ate, Strabo apologized for the rough fare. “We have neither the supplies nor the time to fix a proper meal,” he said by way of explanation.
After the meal, Strabo retired to a bench next to the fire. Tamas sat with him, along with another man who looked to be an older version of Tamas. Elerian guessed that they were brothers. Strabo waved Elerian toward a fourth, empty bench. After taking his wineskin from his pack, Elerian sat down on it. His seat placed him a few feet to the right of Tamas’s father. Out of the corners of his eyes, Elerian could see the profile of old man’s tanned face. The flickering light of the fire played over his proud, haughty features.
“We have a few moments now to rest,” said Strabo. His voice was courteous, but there was no real warmth it, and he did not introduce his other son.
“Perhaps the wine will warm him a little and loosen his tongue,” thought Elerian to himself. Silently, he offered the wineskin to Strabo, who took a long drink once he realized that the skin held wine. “We do not often get wine from the south,” said the old man, his voice full of regret laced with bitterness. “We have become a poor, rustic people, the last remnants of a once great race. Even in the south, along the coast, times are hard.”
Although he had learned a little of the history of Ancharia from Tullius, Elerian thought it might be interesting to hear Strabo’s version of that same history. “What happened in this land?” he asked. “I have passed nothing but ruins in my travels.”
For a moment, Strabo remained silent, his natural reserve holding sway. Then, perhaps warmed by the wine as Elerian had intended, he slowly began to speak. “Many years ago, when my people first came to this country, we lived as simple hunters and farmers. Then, the Dwarves built Calenus along our northern border. Eventually, they asked our permission to build a road south through our country to what is now Hesperia, for they wished to trade there. Once the road was built, it was soon filled with traffic, and our nation prospered as a result. We became closely allied with the Dwarves and later with the Elves who dwelt along our western border. We learned much from both races, especially in the arts of magic, and our mages became learned and powerful.
“All was well until the Goblins began to occupy the lands to the west of Fimbria. As their numbers grew, they began to seek allies among men for their war against the Elves. The tall Urucs who appeared as emissaries for the Goblin King appeared as fair to our eyes as any Elf, and they were well received, for we had no experience of the Goblins in those days. They spoke pleasant words, praising our cleverness and wealth, but they also asked a troubling question. Why did the Elves withhold their most precious gift from us, the secret of their long life? What use are power and riches, they asked, if we must still grow old and die like other men. These questions eventually poisoned the minds of many among us against the Elves.
“When he deemed the time was right, Torquatus promised what the Elves were thought to have unjustly withheld, the promise of immortality to all who would aid him in a war against the Elves and Dwarves, for the Urucs do not age like the Mordi, the lesser Goblins. Many Ancharians swore allegiance to him. Great armies were raised with mages and lords at their head. A great army of Goblins, Trolls, and lupins, led by an Uruc named Lurco, sailed down the Elvorix and across the Mare to join them.
“Is this the same Lurco who changed Tamas into a badger,” wondered Elerian to himself, but he remained silent, not wishing to interrupt Strabo’s tale.
“The first assault was against Calenus in the north,” continued the old Ancharian. “Things went ill for the Dwarves. The Tarsi, their allies to the east, sent aid, but their combined armies fell before the might of our arms and magic. With Calenus about to fall, the Dwarves sent emissaries to the Elves begging for aid. Their king led his armies across the Arvina, and we were now fac
ed enemies on three sides. Lurco and his forces vanished, and the tides of war turned against us. Mile by mile, we were driven south, back into our own country. A desperate war ensued where no quarter was asked or given. No more aid came from the Goblins, and in the end, our land was destroyed, and our cities and strong places were thrown down by force or destroyed by the powers unleashed by our mages. Then, in the last days of our defeat, the Goblins revealed the true extent of their treachery.
“In those days, the borders of Fimbria were protected by a spell of great potency. Anyone who entered that land uninvited lost their way, and those with evil intent never found their way out. The others, if they were lucky, would be rescued by the Elves and sent back to where they had come from. When the armies of Fenius were far from Fimbria, waging war on our southern cities, the Goblin King, with the help of one of our mages, broke through the magical shield that guarded Fimbria. While my people were left to fend for themselves, the Goblin armies poured across the Elvorix into Fimbria. It is said in our tales of the war that the smoke from the burning trees could be seen all the way across the waters of the Mare.
“The Elves sped back to their homeland like the wind, outstripping all their allies. When the Dwarves and the Tarsi finally crossed the bridge over the Gavius, nothing was left but ashes. What transpired between the armies of the Goblins and the Elves, we never learned, but no Elves have been seen in the Middle Realm since that day. The Goblins also disappeared for a time and did not trouble the world for many years. Then, fifty years later, they marched from Nefandus once more and took all of the Broken Lands and the city of Calenus from the Dwarves. The Middle Realm has been quiet since then, but now the Goblin King is gathering allies for another war against the Dwarves and the Tarsi. It is likely that this time, the whole of the Middle Realm will come under his rule; but even so, I will never become his ally. No one who has allied himself with Torquatus has ever received much beyond promises and fair words,” he said bitterly. With this, Strabo fell silent, his dark eyes gleaming in the light of the flickering fire.
“Do you recall the name of the mage who helped Torquatus,” asked Elerian.
“Drusus was his name,” said Strabo without turning his head. “He was never seen again after the destruction of Fimbria.” Abruptly, Strabo rose from his bench, leaving Elerian disappointed, for he would like to have asked more questions of the old man.
“We must leave you now,” said Strabo to Elerian, as his sons and his followers also rose and began gathering their gear. “My people have already fled to a safe place, and we must follow them.”
“I will be on my way also, then” said Elerian, rising from his bench.
“Be wary as you travel through our land,” warned Tamas’s father. “My people are suspicious of strangers, and they have little tolerance for magic and those who practice it. Our mages were once among the most powerful in the world, but they brought great misery down upon us by allying themselves with the Goblins.
“Thank you for the warning,” said Elerian. “What will you do if war comes again?”
“I will hide with my people and hope for better days,” said the old man grimly, but he made no mention of where he intended to conceal himself and his people.
“He does not trust me,” thought Elerian to himself, “or perhaps he is afraid the Goblins will capture me and try to gain information from me.” Elerian watched in silence as Tamas’s father ordered one of his men to fill his pack with cheese, bread, and dried fruit. Dried meat he still had in plenty from the buck he had taken. Then, the fire in the hall was extinguished, and everyone filed out to gather on the old road, north of the village.
“I think we will not meet again,” said Strabo to Elerian, “but I wish you luck. You have a dangerous road ahead of you.” Turning away without another word, he led his men north, toward the forests that lay beyond the farms. Tamas, one of the last in line, turned to wave goodbye before joining the others. Elerian stood for a time on the road, watching the company of tall, grim men as they dwindled in the distance.
“Judging by Strabo and his men, the Ancharians are not the evil people I expected,” thought Elerian to himself. “Their pride, I think, was their downfall. I wonder where they will go now?” he wondered to himself, for he was sure Tamas’s father was laying a false trail in case he was followed.
“Another unanswered question to add to my growing list,” thought Elerian to himself with a wry smile on his lips. He turned to the east and began walking at a swift pace, for he wished to be far down the southward road before the Goblins arrived from the north. As he stepped lightly along, Elerian sifted through the story told to him by Tamas’s father. It agreed in all its main points with what Tullius had told him about the Ancharians and Drusus, but it offered him no new information.
“All the distance I covered and the dangers I endured have been for nothing,” thought Elerian to himself dispiritedly. He became more determined than ever to leave Ancharia behind and not return.
A DESPERATE RACE
Elerian traveled all night, retracing the path he and Tamas had followed over the old road. After covering almost a third of the distance to the grove where he had rescued Tamas, Elerian stopped to rest just before dawn in a thicket some distance off the road. A few hours later, he was on his way again, running easily with light, silent steps all through the day and far into the night until he was within a mile or two of the place where he had slain the Goblins before rescuing Tamas. His spirits were high, for soon, he expected to be on the southward road and heading for home, leaving the dangerous land of the Ancharians behind him.
The sound of voices ahead of him interrupted his thoughts and stopped him in his tracks. An instant later, he fled from the road, deep into the trees on his left, taking refuge behind a thick chestnut tree. He had barely hidden himself before a large company suddenly swept into view on the road. In the lead was a tall Goblin dressed entirely in black and mounted on a fine boned, black atrior that hissed and snapped in an ill-tempered way at anyone who came near it. Its rider also appeared to be in a black mood, for a scowl twisted his thin lips.
“That must be Lurco,” thought Elerian, examining the Goblin curiously. “If this is the same Uruc who had led the Goblin forces in Ancharia a century ago, he shows no signs of his age,” thought Elerian to himself, for the Uruc’s pale face was unlined and his slender body exuded vigor and power. “Judging by his face, he must know by now that Tamas has escaped and that two of his Mordi are dead,” thought Elerian to himself with grim satisfaction as he watched the Uruc ride past him.
Following behind the Uruc was a large company of black clad Mordi on foot. As they came marching past him, traveling two and three abreast, Elerian guessed the number of Wood Goblins at over one hundred. Behind the Mordi came a jostling, snarling company of mutare. Horrible as they were to look at, Elerian regarded them with pity, for he knew that once they had been men.
“I hope Tamas and his people are far away,” thought Elerian to himself. “From the size of his force, it is obvious that the Uruc is bent on carrying out his threat to punish and enslave Tamas’s people.” Elerian was not overly worried about his own safety. He was well hidden, and the last of the mutare was already shambling past him. What little breeze there was blew in his face, carrying his scent away from the changelings. Once the company was out of sight, he would be able to resume his journey south, escaping the notice of the Goblins entirely.
As the last of the mutare disappeared, a low, eager whine suddenly drew Elerian’s attention behind him. Crouching low to the ground, he saw a creature that was new to him creeping stealthily in his direction. It was very like a wolf, but half again as large, covered in coarse, dead black fur. Its fiery eyes burned like coals in the starlight. Once it saw that it had betrayed its presence, the creature leaped at him, striking him in the chest with its front paws. As he fell backwards, Elerian clamped his strong hands around the creature’s straining throat, seeking to hold at bay the powerful jaws that sought
to tear out his throat. His thumbs slipped under a slender metal collar hidden in the creature’s thick fur, before burying themselves in the creature’s sinewy neck. “A lupin,” Elerian thought to himself in dismay as the animal’s hot, fetid breath washed over his face. Balbus had described to him more than once the iron collars worn by the two lupins he and Carbo had slain long ago.
Avoiding the collar as best he could, Elerian tightened his grip, slowly crushing the lupin’s windpipe. As its lust to kill turned to panic, the lupin gave a frantic, strangled bark that echoed sharply through the night. Elerian was alarmed when he heard answering barks at once. With his hopes of quietly fading into the south rapidly vanishing, Elerian now thought only of escaping before he was overwhelmed by his enemies. With a sudden powerful surge of his hands and arms, he threw the lupin crouching over him to one side. Thrown off its feet, it struck a nearby tree and then sagged to the ground. Without waiting to see if it was alive or dead, Elerian sprang to his feet and sprinted west through the forest. Slipping like dark shadows through the trees, a pack of howling lupins gathered behind him. At first, Elerian was certain that he would be able to outrun the creatures, but despite his best efforts, he found that he was unable to widen the gap between the pack and himself, nor was he able to escape into the treetops with the pack nipping at his heels.
“These creatures seem more than flesh and blood,” he thought to himself as he grimly prepared to run a long race, wondering who would tire first, himself, or the lupins pursuing him.
Before long, he sped past the southern outskirts of the ruined city near which he had rescued Tamas. Rather than lead his pursuers south, in the direction of his home, Elerian crossed the Via Magna when he came to it and continued on in a westerly direction toward the mountains. The pack pursuing him began a new strategy now, one well suited to bringing down fleet game. While the pack hung back and hoarded its strength, one of their number sprinted forward, pushing Elerian to run even faster. When the lupin felt itself tiring, it dropped back and another member of the pack took its place, forcing Elerian to run at his swiftest without any sort of relief. As the miles flashed by beneath his flying feet, night faded and the sun rose, but in the shadowed aisles of the forest, the chase continued all day long, until Elerian began to feel his breath burning in his lungs and his limbs growing heavier.