The Mage (The Hidden Realm)

by A. Giannetti

  THE BRIDGE

  “Do you know where we are?” asked Elerian, setting his knife down and looking around him with his shortsighted eyes. He and Ascilius had emerged onto an outcrop of bare rock. All around the base of the outcrop was a forest of dark, twisted trees.

  “We are somewhere on the edge of the valley that we saw from the saddle,” replied Ascilius, taking in the forest that surrounded them on all sides. “The tunnel we followed through the Goblin stronghold must have brought us down toward the foot of the mountain. Change us back so that we can see how far we are from the bridge.”

  Elerian restored Ascilius and himself to their natural shapes. Able to see into the distance again, they found that they had an unobstructed view of all the countryside around them. As Ascilius had suspected, they were only a quarter mile or so above the valley that they had seen from the saddle at the top of the mountain. Crouching down in front of a large boulder, so as not to show themselves, they looked first to the north. Only a few miles away in that direction was the bridge over the Alba.

  “We must have angled to the north when we made our escape,” thought Elerian to himself as he examined the bridge with his sharp eyes. Stationed at both ends of it were large companies of Wood Goblins and mutare, drawn up into defensive lines, as if to prevent anyone from crossing the bridge. The road that ran south from the bridge, along the west bank of the Alba, was full of movement. Elerian saw long caravans of wagons, red lanterns hanging from their sides, rolling down the center of the wide road, some traveling north, and some traveling south. Columns of dark clad Mordi and mutare marched on foot along the western margin of the road.

  “If that is the bridge you would have taken us across,” said Elerian, pointing to the north, “it is closed to us now. I see companies of soldiers stationed on both sides in defensive formations. Other companies appear to be guarding the road.”

  “They must know that we escaped from the monster in the cavern, then,” said Ascilius in a disappointed voice. “There is no other reason for them to guard the bridge, for they have no enemies in this part of the world. We will have to try and cross the river farther to the south, where they will not expect us.”

  “I am going to get us something to eat then, before the sun comes up,” said Elerian to Ascilius.

  “You cannot go wandering about now,” objected Ascilius. “We are still close to the Goblins’ stronghold, and there may be any number of Goblins and mutare in the forest.”

  “I will be safe enough, I think,” said Elerian. Despite the disapproval on Ascilius’s face, he cast a shape-changing spell. His form wavered and flowed, taking on the form of a great cat with sable fur and eyes that burned like embers. Long fangs protruded well past his lower jaw.

  “Do I look enough like a leopardi to deceive a Goblin?” Elerian asked Ascilius in a deep, rough voice.

  Even though he knew it was Elerian inside the cat’s body, Ascilius shuddered slightly. The leopardi’s ribs showed through its dark fur, mute testimony to the many missed or inadequate meals Elerian had endured, and there was a hungry look in the great cat’s glowing eyes that made Ascilius uneasy.

  “Don’t look at me as if I were a roast on a spit,” said Ascilius nervously as Elerian continued to stare at him unblinkingly with his smoldering eyes. When Elerian’s thick tail began to twitch nervously, Ascilius felt his muscles tense involuntarily. He had heard stories of shape changers being overmastered by their new forms. “Is he about to try and make a meal out of me?” wondered Ascilius as he prepared to run, just in case.

  Abruptly, Elerian laughed, a strange rumbling, coughing sound that caused the hairs on the back of Ascilius’s head to stand up. Still laughing softly to himself, Elerian turned and padded away into the forest. Behind him, Ascilius wiped the sweat from his brow, questioning again the wisdom of taking up company with an Elf.

  “Any Dwarf will tell you that Elves make uncertain companions,” he thought to himself, shaking his head in exasperation. “You can never tell with certainty if they are serious or not. I am sure he was trying to frighten me because it exactly suits his capricious humor, but I swear I did not like that look in his eye. If he fails to find any prey, might he might not take it into his head to try a bite of Dwarf?” he wondered uncertainly.

  Away in the forest, Elerian was still laughing silently to himself. “He is such an easy mark,” he thought to himself, wondering if it might be too much for the Ascilius’s heart if, on his return, he suddenly rushed up to the Dwarf with a loud roar. After a moment, however, he put away such pleasant thoughts. He and Ascilius needed to eat soon, or they would both grow too weak to travel much farther. His last meal already seemed a distant memory. Accordingly, he began to immerse himself in his new form. His vision was inferior compared to that of his natural form, but his sense of smell was far better, as was his hearing. He was almost overwhelmed by the wealth of sounds that now intruded on his ears. He could hear mice moving in the leaves under his feet and a rabbit slipping through the bushes fifty feet away, but he was after bigger prey tonight. He stole onto a game trail with no more noise than a shadow would have made and hurried silently down the track, deeper into the valley below.

  Before long, off in the distance, Elerian heard the faintest of grunting sounds. Slipping silently through the forest, he was eventually drawn by the sounds to the edge of a grove of dark chestnuts. Cautiously, for he had the greatest respect for the slashing tusks of his prey, he crept through the trees up to the edge of a herd of the ubiquitous, fierce black pigs that seemed to thrive throughout the valleys of Nefandus. They were hairy as bears, and the long tusks of the boars gleamed white in the starlight. Most of them were bedded down, comfortably full after scavenging for last year’s chestnuts, but a few remained on their feet as sentries. It was dangerous in the extreme to approach a herd with so many adults, but hunger made Elerian desperate. Crouching belly to the ground, he glided slowly forward.

  His fiery eyes focused on an incautious young boar that had lain down a little farther from the others than it should have. Elerian tensed all his muscles and then shot forward in a crouching run. He seized the pig by the back of the neck, giving it a single powerful shake to kill it, and then turned tail and ran as fast as he could, carrying his limp prize with him between his jaws.

  The suddenness of his attack and the quickness of the kill gave the herd little time to react. By the time the sentries sounded the alarm and the rest of the herd jumped to their feet, Elerian was already bounding through the forest, barely slowed down by the weight of the pig clamped in his jaws. Once he was safely away, the animal part of his mind wanted to stop and feed, but Elerian enforced his will on the cat mind, continuing to travel at a rapid jog toward the place where he had left Ascilius. He briefly considered trying to frighten Ascilius once more, but decided against it, for he was too tired and hungry for pranks. His decision turned out to be a wise one, for when he reached Ascilius, the Dwarf was sitting with his back to a large tree with a huge club in his right hand that he must have fashioned from a fallen branch.

  Ascilius sprang to his feet at the sight of him, an alarmed look on his face. Elerian eyed his massive weapon. Barely containing his laughter, he set his prize down on the ground. “What is the club for?” he asked Ascilius.

  “A mere precaution,” said Ascilius. He was embarrassed to admit that he was afraid of Elerian in his present form, but he did not put the club away either.

  “You were afraid I was going to try and eat you,” rumbled Elerian, and a delighted smile spread across his thin lips, exposing all his sharp teeth and making him look even more terrifying.

  “I was afraid of no such thing,” said Ascilius, pretending to be offended. “It takes a great deal to frighten a Dwarf,” he said haughtily. “I merely wanted to be prepared in case the Goblins stumbled across me while you were gone.”

  Despite Ascilius’s denial of being afraid, Elerian noticed that he still continued to hold his club, but he was too tired to continue ne
edling the Dwarf. Resuming his native shape, he sank wearily down to the ground.

  “You have overtaxed yourself again,” scolded Ascilius, at his ease once more. “One of these times, you will stretch your powers too far and there will be no recovery for you.”

  Elerian smiled halfheartedly. “Stop nagging me and go fix our dinner. I seem to be indisposed for the moment.”

  “Come with me then,” said Ascilius, picking up the pig. “I have found a place where we can hide for a while.”

  Elerian rose and tiredly followed Ascilius a short distance through the trees to a rocky outcrop that thrust itself out of the ground. Ascilius parted the thorn bushes that grew around its base, revealing the entrance to a small cave. Elerian had to crouch down to pass beneath the low entrance. The cave was narrow and sloped uphill at a slight angle. Near the back wall, it widened into a small chamber, with a ceiling so low that even Ascilius could not stand erect under it. The cave was empty except for a pile of old, dried leaves in a corner.

  “We could do worse,” said Elerian. He promptly lay down on the bed of leaves, falling, at once, into a true sleep, the lines of his face drawn into a guileless expression.

  “Look at him,” thought Ascilius to himself, an exasperated look on his rugged features. “Anyone looking at him now would never guess at the mischief he is capable of! Well, I will have to take the good with the bad, I guess. He has been a stout comrade except for that queer streak of humor that runs through him. He could easily have left me behind more than once during our escape,” he thought to himself as he recalled all the times when Elerian had rescued him from dangerous situations.

  Taking Elerian’s knife, which he had left with Ascilius, the Dwarf shifted his attention to the pig. He took it a good distance from the cave and, after expertly cleaning it, brought it back inside and spitted it over one of his small red magical fires. The cave was soon filled with the mouth-watering aroma of roasting pork. Famished, Ascilius waited impatiently for the meat to cook through. When it was finally done to his satisfaction, Ascilius extinguished his fire and woke Elerian with a gentleness that was at odds with his rugged face and figure.

  Before Elerian opened his eyes, Ascilius hastily rearranged his features into a stern expression. “Come now,” he said brusquely, “the food is ready.”

  Elerian felt better for the rest. Calling back the drinking cups he had made earlier, he filled them with water from a stream that Ascilius had discovered nearby, changing the water to a pale, golden wine. They both gave their full attention to the succulent roast for some time, and to Ascilius’s great satisfaction, Elerian refilled their cups several times.

  “That was a fine meal,” said Ascilius at last, “better even than the grouse.” He was now in a mellow, expansive mood and insisted that Elerian sleep again. “I will keep watch,” he said. “When the sun rises, we will travel south through the forest until we reach the next bridge over the Alba.”

  Elerian was sleepy again from the wine, and he lay down again without any argument. Sometime later, he awoke with a start. It was a measure of his exhaustion that he had slept again, instead of entering his dream state where he remained aware of all that went on around him. He sprang lithely to his feet, feeling refreshed and strong.

  There was no sign of the Ascilius in the cave. Elerian smiled when he found him sleeping peacefully by the entrance, with his club across his lap. Almost as if he sensed Elerian’s presence, Ascilius’s eyes sprang open and an alarmed look crossed his face.

  “What new mischief are you planning now?” he asked suspiciously.

  “No mischief,” said Elerian. “I was just observing the way you keep watch,” he said dryly.

  “Ha!” said Ascilius springing to his feet. “I only closed my eyes for a moment. I would have heard if anything approached.” A sudden wary look crossed his face. “You have not already played some trick on me have you?”

  “You just said you would have heard if someone crept up on you,” said Elerian innocently, unable to resist the chance to tweak the Dwarf. While Ascilius covertly made sure that Elerian had not played any tricks while he slept, Elerian packed up the remains of their cooked meat in the boar’s hide, for the sun was already high in the sky, and it was time they were on their way. Under cover of his ring, taking care to stay well to the west of the road, they made their way south through the dark forest that covered the valley, secure in the knowledge that no one could see them. The forest was more open than they were used to, for very little sunlight penetrated the dense canopy of leaves overhead, preventing the growth of the thorn bushes that were so common in Nefandus. They saw no sign of any Goblins, but the forest was alive with dark birds of various kinds. Elerian was glad they were invisible, for he suspected that some of them might be spies for the Goblins.

  When the sun went down, they hid themselves in a dense thorn thicket, keeping watch in turn. All night long, the forest was alive with furtive noises. On their watches, Elerian and Ascilius both heard the rustling of leaves and occasional twigs snapping, as if a large company was stealthily creeping through the forest, but nothing disturbed them in their thicket. When the sun rose, they had a breakfast of cold pork and planned their next move.

  “We need to get close to the river,” said Ascilius, “so that we can keep an eye out for the next bridge.”

  It would be a risk to cross the road, but Elerian agreed with Ascilius. Under the protection of his ring’s invisibility spell, they turned to the east, walking cautiously through the forest until they reached the road that ran next to the Alba. Looking out from the edge of the forest, they saw a grass covered culvert before them. Beyond the culvert was a grassy shoulder, perhaps twenty feet wide. Beyond the shoulder was the hard surfaced roadbed, also about twenty feet wide and beyond that, a second shoulder and culvert. The road was deserted, in stark contrast to the night before.

  “Let us go, then,” said Elerian at last, and side by side, they ran across the road, plunging into the dark forest on the far side. They waited motionless for a while under the eaves of the trees but heard nothing but birds singing in the branches above them. Walking east, they came to the banks of the river after a mile or two. Staying hidden in the forest, they followed the river south, keeping a sharp eye out for another bridge. In the late afternoon, they came to the banks of a small river flowing down into the Alba. It was too wide to wade across, and they followed it west, back to the road, which crossed the tributary over a wide stone bridge.

  “The search for us must be concentrated to the north of us,” whispered Ascilius as he and Elerian crouched in a thorn thicket growing at the edge of the forest. “I do not see a guard anywhere.”

  “Let us chance a crossing then,” whispered Elerian. “Go first and I will follow.”

  Together, they left the painful embrace of the thorn thickets they were hiding in and rushed across the bridge, Ascilius in the lead. Once across the bridge, they disappeared into the forest on their left, waiting quietly undercover for many rapid heartbeats in case they had somehow been seen, but everything remained still. When they were finally certain it was safe to go on, they continued east through the forest until they reached the banks of the Alba again, before continuing south within sight of the river. The afternoon slowly waned, and the sun sank into the west as they walked through the dark forest that grew alongside the river. Elerian began to wonder if they would ever come to a bridge and began to consider whether they might not be able to build some sort of raft to help them cross the river. Just then, through a gap in the trees on his left, Elerian saw a familiar dark fortress standing on a high ridge on the far side of the river. The setting sun gleamed redly on its tall towers, built of polished black basalt.

  “I know that place,” said Elerian in alarm to Ascilius. “I stayed there for a day when I was brought to Nefandus. The fortress guards a bridge over the river, but surely that is not the bridge you wish us to cross.”

  “There was no fortress on that ridge when I last passed this w
ay,” said Ascilius in a disappointed voice. “It must have been built since then to keep enemies from entering Nefandus.”

  “That fortress looks to have occupied that ridge for many years,” said Elerian. “Just how long has it been since you passed this way last?”

  “Well that is hard to say,” said Ascilius thoughtfully. “I do not know how long I was a captive of the Goblins. I would guess that it has been a hundred years at least.”

  “A hundred years!” said Elerian in amazement. “Just how old are you?”

  “Again, I am not sure because of my captivity,” replied Ascilius. “I would guess that I am now a little over three hundred years old.”

  Elerian stared at Ascilius in astonishment. “You are ancient,” he said wonderingly.

  “Hardly ancient,” said Ascilius. “Three hundred years is not old for a Dwarf. It is not even middle age, for Dwarves live for many lifetimes of men. I have centuries of life ahead of me yet, if I return home safely, which does not seem too likely at the moment.”

  “Perhaps we can make a raft and float across the river instead of trying to cross the bridge,” suggested Elerian. “We are not far from the western bank. Let us go down and look.”

  Ascilius reluctantly agreed, for he would rather have fought a whole troop of Goblins rather than set foot in deep water again. At the edge of the forest, they carefully parted the branches in front of them, until they could see the river. During the day, its dark waters had seemed ordinary enough, but now, as the sun’s light faded, a white mist rose from its surface, as if the water had been set to boil. Elerian looked at it with his third eye, and saw a shimmering film of red light covering the entire surface of the river.

  “The river is enchanted Ascilius,” he said softly. “Without knowing what sort of spell is on it, I would fear even to touch that water.”