The Mage (The Hidden Realm)

by A. Giannetti

  Once the Goblin and the mutare left, Elerian sat by himself and ate the dry slice of bread that had been flung his way. He ate slowly, unlike many of the prisoners around him, who wolfed their portions down and fought over the crumbs that were left. He barely had time to take a drink from the foul water in the trough before Wood Goblins with whips entered the pen and formed the prisoners up into a double line, flicking their lashes at anyone who did not move quickly enough to suit them. When Elerian’s leg shackles were removed, along with everyone else’s, he felt a surge of hope.

  “Let me got the slightest opportunity to run, and I will lead them on a chase they will not soon forget,” he thought to himself as he and the other prisoners were led out through the gate.

  A score of armed Mordi waited in the open space outside the gate. The leader of the company was a tall Uruc named Gramash. As the line of prisoners approached, he impatiently wheeled his fiery atrior toward the Via Magna and started off, heading north. The company of Mordi fell in behind him. A half dozen Wood Goblins, carrying long black whips, ran up and down the column of prisoners, driving them after Gramash. Their fierce curses and cracking whips kept the terrified prisoners moving smartly along. Behind the double column of prisoners followed a noisy group of mutare, carrying great packs containing all of the gear and food for the company. Some had pointed ears and a wolfish look about them, but others had rounded ears and a more bearish cast to their features. When they talked, they interspersed their words with barks and growls. The hungry looks they cast at the prisoners with their fierce yellow eyes kept the column moving even more effectively than the whips of the Wood Goblins, for none of the prisoners wished to be anywhere near the changelings.

  Behind the mutare, a pack of fiery-eyed lupins padded along on both sides of the road, slinking through the trees and maintaining a wide gap between themselves and the mutare, for there was a strong enmity between them and the changelings. Elerian’s heart sank at the sight of the lupins. Even with his leg shackles removed, he could not outrun the shape changers, nor could he climb out of their reach with his wrists manacled together.

  The company marched all night long, without any rest. When it reached the edge of the marsh where Elerian had encountered the anguis, Gramash called a halt. Most of the prisoners immediately cast themselves down on the grass-covered shoulders on either side of the road. Pretending to be as tired as the rest, Elerian glanced around alertly out of the corners of his eyes, but saw no opportunity for escape. The lupins formed a ring around the encampment, fanning out under the trees on either side of the road. Only their crimson eyes gave them away as they crouched in the shadows.

  Food and water were passed out to the prisoners by the Goblin drivers, who then ignored them as they too rested and ate a brief meal. Elerian looked at his fellow prisoners with sympathy. Tired, half starved, surrounded by fierce enemies who hungered for their flesh, most of them were sinking into a pitiable state. Eyes glazed by terror, they shivered and started at every sound and motion around them. Elerian did his best to imitate them so that he would blend in, but his wits remained clear and his spirit undaunted. He still meant to escape if he could.

  Before long, the sun rose. Elerian was surprised when the Goblins all donned black hoods with narrow eye slits. He was even more surprised when the prisoners were lashed to their feet, for he had always believed that Goblins avoided traveling in the open during the day. Led by Gramash on his sleek atrior, the whole company entered the swamp.

  “They can bear the sun when the hoods protect them,” thought Elerian to himself as he splashed along the road with the other prisoners, retracing the route he had followed on his first trip through Ancharia. “That is something worth remembering.”

  With the sun high in the sky, no water dragons rose from the depths of the pools to trouble the company. Elerian did not see a single ripple by the side of the road, which was in much better shape than when he had traveled it last. Some portions had been raised above the level of the swamp, and wooden stakes had been pounded into the ground to mark the road’s edges where water still covered it.

  By early evening, the last of the column of prisoners splashed into the drowned city of Arstis. They were led to the ruins of a large, roofless inn where their leg shackles were put on again, and they were given another brief meal of hard bread and water. Most of the exhausted prisoners lay down at once on the hard stone floor of the inn, falling asleep quickly, despite the roaring of the anguis all around the city.

  Remembering the wraiths that he had seen in Arstis on his last trip, Elerian was afraid to close his eyes. The Goblins also remained awake, clustered nervously around a bonfire near the entrance into the inn. The mutare, too, and even the lupins sat inside the pool of light cast by the fire, glancing fearfully into the darkness around them.

  “The Goblins must know about the wraiths, even if they cannot see them. That is why they remain awake by the fire,” thought Elerian to himself.

  The hours crept by. Elerian remained awake, surrounded by sleeping prisoners. The deep silence of the night was broken only by the crackling of the Goblins’ bonfire and the soft sounds of the prisoners’ breathing, punctuated by an occasional snore or groan. In the distance, the anguis had ceased to call to one another. The Goblins remained clustered around their fire, their heads jerking as they started in and out of sleep. A white mist rose from the shallow pools of water surrounding the inn, and Elerian, who was usually indifferent to cold, felt a dank chill seep into his bones. Opening his third eye, as he had done off and on all night, he suddenly observed a horrifying scene. Crouching over the golden shades of some of the sleeping prisoners were other shades of a fiery red color. The red shades pulsated, growing steadily brighter, for the wraiths were feeding on the prisoners while they slept, slowly draining away their life energy.

  A feeling of revulsion and helplessness swept over Elerian, for any warning he gave would immediately attract the Goblins’ attention to him without helping the prisoners at all. The Goblins obviously did not care if the wraiths fed on their charges.

  For the rest of the night, he remained awake, watching the wraiths feed like great leeches. Somehow, they seemed to know he was not asleep, for they seemed to avoid him although, several times, they fed on prisoners who were close to him. As soon as the sun lightened the eastern horizon, the wraiths vanished. At ease once more, the Goblins, the mutare, and the lupins moved away from their fire. They ate a cold breakfast from their packs before rousing the prisoners, many of whom appeared tired, despite their night’s sleep. They seemed to have suffered no other ill effects, however, from the wraiths feeding on them all night.

  “It must take more than one feeding for a wraith to drain the life force from a man,” thought Elerian to himself with relief.

  Once the prisoners were fed and their leg shackles removed, Gramash led them through Arstis and into the swamp once more. Another uneventful day followed, and they emerged unharmed on the far side of the swamp at sunset. The Goblins took off their masks, which they had donned as soon as the sun rose. When a large, open meadow appeared to the right of the road, the column of prisoners was herded into its center. While the prisoners were shacked and fed, the Mordi started a large bonfire to one side of the clearing. Back in the trees, a small black tent was pitched for Gramash. After their scant supper, many of the prisoners went to sleep, exhausted by the long march. Elerian, too, lay down, pretending to sleep, but he kept watch from beneath narrowed eyelids.

  When the fire was burning well, a Wood Goblin approached the prisoners. He woke up a young man who seemed better fleshed than the others around him. With a look of terrible fear on his face, the young Hesperian reluctantly rose and followed the Mordi toward the edge of the woods to the right of the bonfire, the rattling of his chains rousing other prisoners who watched him go with looks of terror, as if they had already guessed his fate. A second Mordi came up to the young man and removed his shackles before suddenly seizing his wrists from behind. The firs
t Goblin seized the Hesperian by the hair on the top of his head with his left hand, forcing him to bend over a wooden bucket. Callously, the Mordi slit the screaming Hesperian’s throat, deftly catching the blood, which flowed out from the wound, in the empty bucket. Elerian clenched his fists until the knuckles whitened as he listened to the young man’s strangled cries, then watched in horror as the Mordi flung the still twitching body onto the ground and began butchering it. The screams had roused the rest of the prisoners, and they huddled together, watching the Goblins with staring, terrified eyes.

  Soon, the smell of roasting meat filled the night air, and the Goblins all gathered around the fire, dipping into the bucket with cups for a taste of the blood. Gramash sat to one side at a small folding table, a single black clad Mordi standing nearby to wait on him. His atrior prowled unfettered behind him, its eyes glowing like red coals as they reflected the light of the bonfire. When his meal arrived, Gramash fed it meat from his plate, which it ate greedily from his hand as if it were a favored pet. The rest of the young Hesperian was divided among the Mordi.

  As the Goblins ate their meal, the mutare and the lupins gathered around them in separate groups. When the bones were finally tossed to them, a frightful commotion broke out as they fought over the scraps. Many of the prisoners around Elerian blanched at the horrific snarls and roars, which filled clearing. Several vicious fights broke out, which the Mordi were forced to quell with their whips. It was well past midnight, before silence finally fell on the clearing.

  Only two Mordi remained awake to guard the clearing, for the lupins had dispersed around the edge of the meadow. Any prisoner foolish enough to attempt an escape would be pulled down as soon as he entered the forest. Elerian suspected the only reason Mordi guards had been posted at all was to keep the mutare in line. Most of the changelings were asleep, but a few remained awake, casting many a hungry glance at the prisoners with eyes that gleamed coldly in the darkness.

  The company remained in the clearing all the next day, the prisoners dozing uneasily in the bright spring sunshine, fearfully wondering if they were to be eaten next. The Goblins ignored them, however, sleeping in the shadows under the trees. In the evening, the prisoners were fed again, and their leg shackles were removed once more. After they were formed into their line, they were forced into a brisk walk by the whip wielding Mordi. The company traveled north on the road all night, stopping only at sunrise to sleep and rest through the daylight hours, a routine that was repeated for the next two days. When the third night of travel ended, the Goblins put on their hoods at sunrise and kept the weary column moving.

  “We are nearing the Troll’s ravine,” thought Elerian to himself as Gramash led the company away from the road and into the forest. “Gramash evidently means to swing around it, traveling by daylight to avoid the Troll.”

  Gramash’s strategy appeared to be working, for they passed far to the right of the Troll’s gully without incident and began to bear left towards the road again. The Goblins, who had been visibly nervous all morning, began to relax somewhat. Elerian, who was in the middle of the line of prisoners, suddenly started as the Troll, up to now cunningly concealed behind an illusion, burst suddenly into the line of prisoners with a roar like a thunderclap, not ten paces ahead of him. The prisoners near the Troll scattered in a panic but not before he had snatched up a screaming man in each hand and retreated back into the forest, leaving a scene of chaos behind him as panicked prisoners milled about, snarling mutare threw down their packs, and lupins ran howling after the Troll. Seizing on the confusion, Elerian turned to run off into the forest but came face to face with a snarling lupin that had not run off. He remained where he was, eye to eye with the lupin, cursing his luck. Behind him, Gramash blew furiously on the horn he carried. Order was slowly restored, and the scattered prisoners were rounded up and beaten back into line.

  Once the line was formed up, Gramash quickly brought the company back to the road where he set a faster pace. It was not hard for Elerian to guess that Gramash was trying to put as much distance as possible between them and the Troll’s haunts before night fell. Resignedly, he let his mind drift, keeping his place in line without much trouble, for despite the lack of food and water, he did not feel the same weariness that troubled his fellow prisoners. The sun rose high in the sky, but the Goblins gave no sign of stopping, donning their black hoods as they walked. Elerian heard the constant pop and crack of whips, both in front and behind him, as some of the weary prisoners tried to slow their steps.

  “No slacking off you maggots,” shouted one of the Mordi in the common tongue. “We’ll not rest until tonight! Any who fall behind will end up roasting over a fire.”

  Mile after mile fell away beneath the feet of the column. Many of the prisoners began to stagger, and their heads lolled from side to side with weariness. The drivers cracked their whips freely as they ran up and down the column, looking for any laggards. Toward evening, despite their great strength and endurance, even the mutare began to grumble, for the heavy packs they carried had begun to weigh heavily on them.

  Just when it seemed that many of the prisoners must collapse from exhaustion, the column finally arrived at the fork in the Via Magna and the deserted inn where Elerian had passed the night on his last trip. At the head of the column, Gramash rode his atrior off the road, into a large meadow that opened up on their right. The exhausted prisoners were herded after him into the center of the clearing where they threw themselves down on the tall meadow grass.

  “We are past the danger point,” thought Elerian to himself, sitting down with the rest. “The Troll is not likely to follow us this far north.” He watched as the Goblins took off their hoods. The darkness seemed to refresh them, and some of them moved among the prisoners, putting on their leg shackles and passing out food and water. Two Mordi took up guard duty, and under the trees growing all round the clearing, Elerian could already see the glowing eyes of the lupins. There was no fire that night. Even the Goblins were weary and soon cast themselves down to sleep. Elerian alone remained awake; patiently watching the Mordi guards and the lupins under the trees, hoping some opportunity to escape would present itself.

  The guard on the prisoners was changed once during the night and again when the sun came up, but the majority of the Goblins and mutare slept late the next day. From the relaxed way they started a fire and gathered for their first meal of the day, Elerian guessed they would not resume their journey until nightfall. After the prisoners were fed, the Goblins lazed about in the shade under the trees, but the mutare remained in the clearing. Elerian noticed that, unlike the Goblins, they were not much bothered by sunlight.

  There was little to do but wait and sleep. After the evening meal, Elerian felt almost a sense of relief as the prisoners were organized into a column once more, and the march began again. At the fork in the road by the inn, the column turned west. Unlike the Via Magna, no repairs had been done to this tributary road beyond clearing a path about ten feet wide down its center. The column of prisoners narrowed and lengthened, and the pace was slower than that of the last few days. The Mordi patrolling the line with their whips paid little attention to the prisoners as long as they moved along, but despite their relaxed vigilance, Elerian saw no opportunity to escape. Under the trees bordering the road, the red glitter of the lupins’ eyes shadowed the column. Any prisoner who was foolish enough to leave the road would not get far.

  For the next six nights, the company followed the same road. A dense forest grew on both sides of it, the branches of the trees meeting overhead to form a green tunnel. Elerian saw few birds and no animals. The larger inhabitants of the forest had all fled at the approach of the pack of lupins. The road swung gradually to the north as they drew close to the shores of the Mare. To the east, the distant mountains and their foothills drew steadily closer. At irregular intervals, the forest retreated, and the column passed through the ruins of deserted towns, but the Goblins neither stopped nor paid them any attention.


  To the accompaniment of the constant rattle of chains, the cracks of the Goblins’ whips, and the occasional scream of some hapless prisoner, the endless miles fell away beneath Elerian’s feet. With each passing day, his hate for the Goblins grew, as he saw at first hand their capricious and cruel nature. They bickered constantly among themselves and had an especial hatred for the mutare, whom they baited mercilessly. Their cruelest treatment was reserved for the prisoners, however. The Wood Goblins who followed Gramash often dropped back alongside the line of prisoners, amusing themselves by jabbing the hapless men with their spear points just to see them jump and scream. Other times, they unexpectedly thrust their spear shafts between a prisoner’s ankles, so that he tripped and fell, earning himself strokes of the lash across his back while the Goblins laughed uproariously. Gramash seemed indifferent to all this cruel play as long as it did not seriously injure a prisoner or slow the tempo of the march excessively.

  On the sixth night, the lupins, which shadowed the column, seemed strangely restive to Elerian. The other prisoners did not notice them, but Elerian could see them flitting between the trees, and from time to time, the starlight would reflect briefly in their fiery eyes. Finally, Elerian saw Gramash go into the woods and converse with one of the shape changers. Elerian could hear the guttural replies of the wolfish creature, but he could not make out what he was saying to Gramash. Each exchange seemed to grow more heated than the last, and Elerian felt tension building in the air.

  Midway through the night, the road wound past a rocky outcropping of the foothills on their right, which had crept down right to the margin of the road. A number of large gray boulders lay among the tall, broad-leafed maples that covered the steep sides of the hill. Sitting on one of these man high boulders, Elerian saw one of the shaggy black lupins that had been shadowing them all through the night. As Gramash approached on his atrior, he rose and stretched. A red tongue lolled out between sharp, white teeth and there was a wicked look in the lupin’s crimson eyes. His shape began to blur and change. A moment later, a tall, naked Goblin stood on the rock where the lupin had been sitting a moment before. This was the first time Elerian had seen one of the lupins make the change from animal to Goblin, for the lure of the wild life ensnared these creatures to the point where they preferred their beast shape to all others.