by A. Giannetti
“I may lose this race,” he thought to himself anxiously. “If weariness causes me to slow or to stumble, the lupin running at my heels need only hold me until the rest of the pack arrives to tear me apart. Elerian racked his brain for some means by which he might still escape. He looked longingly at the trees that flashed by him, but there was no time for him to climb to safety with the lupin behind him so close that he could hear its hoarse panting. The ground began to rise steeply, further sapping Elerian’s dwindling reserves. The long race he had run had taken him as far as the range of mountains that rose up behind the Troll’s gully, although he was well to the north of that place. Bare rock began to show between the trees, and the footing became treacherous. Abruptly, the trees ended, and Elerian lost all hope when he saw a steep slope of bare rock rise up several hundred feet in front of him. “The lupin at my heels will have me before I climb a dozen feet,” he thought grimly to himself.
Determined to take at least one of his pursuers with him, Elerian drew on his last reserves of strength and sprinted forward. Feeling as if his heart was about to burst in his chest, he opened a small gap between himself and his pursuer. Drawing his knife with his right hand, he suddenly whirled around, burying his left hand in the lupin’s hairy thro at as it sprang on him, pushing him over backwards with its paws and its great weight. Keeping the lupin’s snapping jaws at bay with his stiffened left arm; Elerian buried his blade to the hilt in the creature’s chest, before flinging it to his right with more than human strength. Spent, trembling with weariness in every limb, he climbed back to his feet, expecting, at any moment, to be overwhelmed and torn to pieces by the rest of the lupins.
No attack came. Instead, Elerian saw that the pack, running with their red tongues hanging out, was still some distance away, back among the trees. The long race had taken its toll on them too, causing them to slowly lose ground to Elerian. Seizing on the precious, unexpected lead he had gained, Elerian turned and scrambled up the steep slope before him, forcing his leaden limbs to feel for cracks in the stone and projections that he could use for handholds. Totally spent, he finally pulled himself onto the top of the stony ridge. When he was finally able to sit up, Elerian saw that the pack was tenaciously climbing the rocky slope below him, drawing themselves up in the steeper places with the strong claws on their paws. There were five of them, red tongues lolling out over sharp white fangs and a red fire burning in their eyes. In spite of their fatigue, they were whining eagerly, for they sensed that the end of the chase was near.
“The race is over,” thought Elerian grimly to himself, “but not for me.” Without hurrying, he stood and calmly drew his bow from its leather case. Bracing the lower end against the front of his left ankle, he bent the bow across the back of his right leg, before placing the loops of his bowstring in its notched ends. Carefully, Elerian knelt down on his right knee and drew out a half dozen arrows from his quiver, laying five of them carefully on the ground in front of him. When he placed the sixth arrow on his bowstring, the first of his pursuers was barely twenty feet away; its fiery eyes alight with the desire to kill as it scrabbled with its paws to draw itself up the last few feet of the stony slope.
Calming his heaving chest for a moment, Elerian coolly released his first arrow. The lupin leaped into the air with a great cry before falling back to the ground with the arrow lodged in its throat. Even as it rolled down the slope, thrashing wildly in its death throes, Elerian shot a second and then a third arrow, bringing down two more of the pack. The two surviving lupins turned tail, rather than face Elerian’s deadly hail of arrows. Elerian drew on the nearest lupin and felled it with an arrow in the back of the neck. He drew and released on the last lupin, missing it by a heartbeat as it reached the forest at the bottom of the slope and flashed behind the wide trunk of an oak tree.
Setting his last arrow against his bowstring, Elerian carefully scanned the edge of the forest, but there was no sign of the last member of the pack. A mournful howl rose from the trees below, telling him it was still lurking nearby. He considered going after it, but in answer to the howl, horns began to blow harshly in the distance. Elerian frowned in disappointment. At least some of the Goblin forces were on his track. With one of the lupins still alive, the pursuit would go on.
Having recovered his breath somewhat, he gathered up the nearest of his spent arrows before running down the back of the slope he had just climbed. For the rest of the night and into the next day, the sound of Goblin horns pursued him as he climbed first the foothills and then the mountains that rose up before him. Elerian tried every trick he could think of to break his trail, including climbing into the treetops wherever he could, but his pursuers clung stubbornly to his trail. Despite his desperate situation, Elerian’s respect for the woodcraft of the Mordi grew.
By the time he left the mountains behind, Elerian was so weary that it was an effort to put one foot in front of another. Every time he heard a horn blow in the distance, he cursed the Goblins and the lupin that had escaped his arrow. “Will they never give up?” he wondered. A road, so overgrown that it was almost invisible, suddenly appeared before him. Without giving it much thought, for he was very weary, Elerian crossed it, continuing west through the forest. Running slowly on leaden feet, head down, Elerian covered another mile before stopping abruptly when the forest around him ended. Lifting his head, he saw a stony beach before him where small, endless waves broke softly on the shore with a rushing, slapping sound. Beyond the shore was a great expanse of blue water, and on the distant horizon, the orange sun had almost disappeared beneath the rim of the world.
“I have reached the Mare Caerulus,” thought Elerian to himself in dismay, staring out at the great expanse of open water. He started when, close behind him, he heard horns and the sound of harsh voices on the still evening air. “I have trapped myself,” he thought bitterly, realizing now that he should have turned north at the road he had crossed earlier. He had only one choice now. Somehow, he would have to escape into the lake, for there was no time to retreat into the forest, and if he went north or south along the shoreline, the Goblins would soon run him down.
A length of log on the sloping shore, the victim of some storm that had swept it into the lake, caught his attention. “Perhaps I can use the log to escape,” thought Elerian to himself. Twelve feet long and almost a foot thick, it was a heavy weight, but he rolled it into the water and then pushed it out beyond the waves that rolled steadily onto the graveled shore. Fastening his pack to a branch that still protruded from the log, Elerian pushed it out into cold, chest deep water and began to swim steadily, pushing the log in front of him. On the shore behind him, a frustrated howl rose into the air, and black arrows began to rain down around him, thudding into the log or hissing into the water.
Elerian risked a look over his shoulder. A company of Mordi was gathered on the shore, and all those with bows were launching a hail of arrows in his direction. The gathering darkness hindered them not at all, but Elerian had gained too great a lead on them and was already drawing out of range. Just when it seemed that he might finally escape his relentless pursuers, he saw three of them shed their gear and slip into the water with long black knives between their teeth. Swimming with an eel like grace, they began to close the distance between themselves and Elerian.
Elerian wearily considered how he might escape the Goblins without abandoning the log and especially his gear, which might make the difference between death and survival in the days ahead. Pushing himself away from the log, he dove beneath the surface and cast a shape-changing spell. At once, his form began to flow, changing into the sleek, scaled shape of an anguis, some sixteen feet in length. Propelling himself with his tail and great webbed feet, Elerian shot forward through the cold waters of the lake, toward his pursuers. Soon, he saw the supple figures of the Mordi slipping swiftly through the water. He rose to the surface and immediately heard their cries of alarm when they saw his horned head and scaled neck rise up out of the dark waters of the lake.
Elerian surged out of the water and a tremendous roar issued from his throat. The starlight glinted wetly on his dark scales and gleamed white on the hooked teeth in his long, narrow jaws.
Forgetting all thoughts of pursuit, the Mordi reversed course and raced wildly toward shore with Elerian in leisurely pursuit. He nipped at their heels and listened with gratification to their terrified cries. It was at least a small payment for their attempts to kill him. As they drew nearer to the shore, arrows began to whistle about his head, and Elerian turned away to his left, breeching above the surface of the lake in a tremendous explosion of water that left a welter of white foam on the surface, for he wanted those on the shore to see him clearly. Sinking beneath the surface, he returned to his log. It was drifting away from shore on its own now, caught in some current of the lake, and Elerian followed it until he was well out of sight of the Goblins on the shore.
He returned to his own shape then and climbed aboard the log. It supported his weight easily as he dangled his legs on either side of it. The current was slowly drawing him south, and Elerian decided the safest course was to let it carry him along. The Goblins might have decided the anguis had killed him, but they could also be traveling along the shoreline on the chance that he might make for shore if he was still alive.
Elerian drifted for hours under the stars, wondering uneasily what lurked in the deeps beneath his dangling feet, until he came to a small, stony island perhaps fifty feet across that sat low in the water. After pushing his log onto its rocky shore, he walked across it, stretching his legs. The island was devoid of life, plant or animal. Returning to his log, Elerian sat on it and ate a meal of cheese, venison, and bread, for his well-oiled pack had kept his supplies dry. For drink, he had wine and the cold clear water of the lake. As he sat, reflecting on how lucky he was to have escaped the Goblins, weariness wrapped itself around him like a blanket. Covering himself with his cloak, he fell into a deep sleep, the first he had had in days. He did not rise until the red sun broke over the horizon.
After a cold breakfast, Elerian examined his log, determined to make it more serviceable to his needs. Casting a shape-changing spell, he caused the log to enter a state of flux where it could be shaped by his clever fingers and the force of his will. Alternately resting and working, he shaped the log into a slender bark, shallow of draft and pointed at both ends. A gleaming finish made the wood impervious to water. From the branch that had supported his pack, Elerian fashioned a short handled, broad bladed paddle. The work tired him, and he rested until night fell before setting out once more.
The bark floated lightly in the water, and his strong, smooth strokes with the broad bladed paddle drove him south at a steady pace. As he skimmed along over the dark, choppy surface of the lake, Elerian kept a wary eye out for water dragons. None appeared, but once, as he cast his gaze over the side of his small boat, he saw strange, golden lights in the depths that almost drew him into the water to investigate, but he passed them by, for he was now in a hurry to return home.
All night and all day, he journeyed south over the deep blue waters of the Mare, paddling now and then to correct his course, the wind at his back steadily pushing his light bark toward the southern shore of the Mare. Evening was drawing on when he finally beached his small boat on the southern shore of the lake. Gratefully, Elerian disembarked, stretching his legs on the sandy beach where he had drawn up his boat. He was reluctant to abandon the small craft that had carried him so far, but finally, he weighted it down with stones and sank it in deep water near shore. There it would wait for him if he ever needed it again, out of sight of prying eyes.
It was dark now, but Elerian settled his pack on his shoulders and set out at once. After kneeling in his boat for so long, it felt good to stretch his legs again. Several hours later, he reached the banks of the Avius and swam across, pushing his pack and clothes ahead of him on a small log. On the far bank, he built a small fire to dry himself off and cooked a warm meal, his first in days. He spent several hours curled in his cloak in the branches of a large oak tree before rising once more, refreshed and eager to resume his journey home. He saw that there would be no sunrise today. Dark, lowering clouds were sweeping across the night sky, covering the stars, and a stiff breeze rustled the leaves and branches over his head, carrying with it the damp smell of rain. Before long, heavy drops began to fall in a steady downpour. Ignoring the rain, his cloak wrapped closely around him, Elerian walked through the rain for the rest of the night and all of the next day, reaching Balbus’s familiar farmhouse after dark.
HOME AGAIN
With eager steps, Elerian approached the front door. The lock clicked open at the touch of his fingers. When he swung the door open, Elerian smiled to find Carbo already waiting for him behind the door. As he accepted Carbo’s enthusiastic greeting, Elerian glanced across the room and saw that, despite the lateness of the hour, Balbus was sitting in his chair before a crackling fire. To Elerian’s surprise, Tullius was there too, sitting in another chair. Both men had their faces turned toward him.
“Here he is,” said Tullius shaking his head in disbelief, “just as you predicted. Have you learned to foretell the future in your old age Balbus?”
“Carbo is my oracle,” said Balbus with a smile. “He has been restless since this morning, so I knew that Elerian must be on his way home.”
“Where have you been?” demanded Tullius sternly, as Elerian hung up his dripping cloak before walking over to the fire to warm himself. “We had begun to think something had happened to you.”
“Hold your questions for now,” said Balbus, already rising from his chair. “The boy needs to eat and dry himself off first.”
“He needs to grow some common sense,” grumbled Tullius, but he also rose and began helping Balbus bring food to the table.
After changing into dry clothes and consuming half a loaf of fresh bread and several bowls of a warm, savory stew, Elerian made himself comfortable on a corner of the hearthstone of the fireplace, a cup of mulled wine in his right hand. Balbus and Tullius settled into their chairs, holding their own cups of wine, and Carbo curled himself up on his rug at Balbus’s feet. With the snapping of the fire as a backdrop, Elerian began to speak.
“In answer to your question, Tullius, I traveled to Ancharia. I have been delayed several times, or I would have been home days ago.” Elerian went on to describe his encounter with the mutare in Esdras.
“It is terrible to think these creatures were men once,” exclaimed Balbus.
“I always suspected that the Goblins had something to do with them,” said Tullius, “but I never suspected that they were changelings. There is no end, it would seem, to the Goblins’ wickedness.”
Both men fell silent again, and Elerian told how he had traveled to the strange city of Arstis and his near fatal encounter with the anguis. He also described the orb he had discovered in the tower and the first two scenes that it had revealed to him.
Balbus then wished to examine the hide of the anguis and exclaimed in wonder when Elerian took the skin from his backpack and held it up before the fire, the scales glittering like black and green gems in the shifting light. Tullius ignored the gleaming hide, however. He was more interested in the tower and the orb that Elerian had discovered there.
“When I studied with Urbanus, I lived along the southern coast where most Ancharians now reside,” he said as Elerian returned the hide to his pack. “There were still stories circulating about the city of Arstis, however. Long ago, the mages of Ancharia ruled there, but after the Great War, it was said to have become an evil place, haunted by the ghosts of the past. The wraiths you saw in the city may have been the shades of the mages who once lived there. If so, you were fortunate to avoid them. The globe that you discovered in the tower, however, is something that is new to me. It must have been made as a window into the past, for the scenes it showed you took place before the Great War.
“I do not think the globe was solely a portal into the past,” said Elerian re
luctantly, for he had not yet described the third scene the orb had shown him. When the images of Drusus and Torquatus faded away, Torquatus himself appeared in the orb, looking almost exactly as he did when I saw him in the basin, so I am certain I was looking at him in the present. His sudden appearance startled me, and I immediately pulled away from the globe. His image vanished, but some instinct made me take cover under the table that the globe sat on. A moment, the globe exploded, destroying everything in the room.”
A grim, disapproving look had settled over Tullius’s stern features. “Torquatus must have sensed your use of the portal. He destroyed it, hoping to kill you in the explosion. I warned you that these foolish adventures would land you into more trouble. That is twice now that Torquatus has seen your face. What happened then?”
“I crawled out of the room and spent the night at the top of the tower. In the morning, I left the city without incident,” said Elerian. “Hopefully, Torquatus now thinks I am dead, slain by the globe.” He went on to relate his adventure with the Troll, his rescue of Tamas, and his escape from the Goblins. “So,” he concluded, speaking more to Balbus than Tullius, “despite all the dangers I endured and the many miles I traveled, I have learned nothing new about my history. In fact the only useful thing I learned is that the Goblins are now active in Ancharia.”