by A. Giannetti
With enemies at last within their reach, Elerian and Ascilius struck down every Mordi within reach, the lines of argentum inlaid in Acris and Fulmen flashing silver white with each deadly stroke. Startled by the fury of the counterattack they had unleashed, the remaining Wood Goblins fled back into the forest. Behind him, Elerian heard screams and whirled around in time to see a group of dark clad Mordi running into the forest with several Dwarf women and children in their clawed hands. A tall Uruc, who stood head and shoulders above the Mordi around him, stood behind the overturned wagon, holding a screaming child suspended in the air by her hair which was grasped tightly in his left hand. Elerian was horrified when he recognized the lytling as the little girl who had watched his magic trick the other night.
Desperately, he raised his right hand and cast a spell, hoping to freeze the Goblin in his tracks, but the red shimmer of a protection spell suddenly covered the Uruc from head to foot, counteracting Elerian’s spell. The Goblin threw back his hood and grinned wickedly at Elerian who immediately recognized his pale, vulpine face.
“Zaleuc,” thought Elerian furiously to himself. “It is time to fulfill the promise I made to him.” Before he could take a single step, however, the Uruc suddenly turned and sprinted for the trees behind him, the screaming child clutched tightly under his left arm. Desperate to catch him, Elerian dropped his shield and raced after him, fear for the child lending wings to his feet. Just inside the wood, he drew within arm’s reach of the fleeing Goblin. Raising Acris in his right hand, he was on the point of cleaving Zaleuc’s skull when a shaggy, black canigrae leaped on him from his right, closing its powerful jaws on his wrist and bearing him over onto his left side. The sleeve of his mailed shirt saved his hand from being sheared off by the hound’s sharp teeth, but it did nothing to stave off the blinding pain inflicted by the pressure of the canigrae’s jaws. Feeling as if his wrist was caught in a vise, Elerian felt Acris’s handle slip from his numbed fingers. Instinctively, he reached up with his left hand, seizing and twisting the hound’s right ear with his long, powerful fingers. At once, the canigrae released Elerian’s wrist, throwing up its head and voicing an agonized shriek that was abruptly cut off when Fulmen descended on its head, crushing its skull.
Impatiently, Elerian pushed away the body of the canigrae and sprang to his feet. Zaleuc was gone, and the rain was falling again, drawing a gray curtain over the forest. A mocking voice suddenly called from the wood.
“I am here. Come take the child if you want her.”
As Zaleuc’s voice faded away, a sharp, high scream suddenly rent the air, filling Elerian with dismay and anger. Before he could rush into the forest, however, a hand suddenly grasped him in an iron grip, high up on his right arm.
“Do not follow him,” Ascilius shouted, holding tightly onto Elerian with his left hand. “He has laid a trap for you.”
“Let me go!” shouted Elerian angrily, trying to pull free. “He has one of the children.”
“I cannot afford to lose you and the child,” said Ascilius hoarsely, his eyes filled with the pain of his decision. “Not all your powers will save you or her if you follow that Uruc. He will lead you into a trap. Then, when you are helpless, he will slay the child in front of you.” Overcome by a feeling of hopelessness, Elerian suddenly ceased to struggle.
“Ascilius is right,” he thought despondently to himself. “In this rain, no matter what form I take, there will be no trail to follow. Even if I enter the canopy and use my third eye, it will do no good, for I will see only a silver curtain of rain. Zaleuc will call to me, leading me deeper into the forest where his Mordi will fall upon me in force and trap me when I am far from any help.” Then, another fear filled scream suddenly came from deeper in the forest, sweeping away reason and commonsense. “I must try to save her even if it means my death,” thought Elerian to himself as he renewed his struggle to break free of Ascilius’s mighty grip on his arm.
With a deft twist of his right wrist, Ascilius suddenly flipped Fulmen into the air, catching the hammer by the handle near the head with his right hand. Elerian felt a sudden blow to the back of his head as Ascilius struck him sharply with Fulmen’s handle. Cold raindrops washed over his face as he slipped into unconsciousness.
When he came to, Elerian found himself lying in a lightless wagon, bound hand and foot. With his night wise eyes, he saw Ascilius sitting cross-legged nearby with Fulmen in his right hand, the hammer’s handle reversed and ready to strike.
“Do you promise not to pursue the Goblin?” asked the Dwarf, ready to send Elerian into unconsciousness at the least sign that he was attempting to cast a spell.
“Let me go,” said Elerian angrily to Ascilius. With awful clarity, the little lytling’s screams echoed in his mind.
“Not until you promise,” replied Ascilius firmly. “Otherwise I will keep you tied up until we reach Iulius.”
“I must go, Ascilius,” pleaded Elerian. “Her voice will never fade from my memories. It will be a torment for me as long as I live.”
“Then you must bear it,” said Ascilius callously. “If you throw your life away, it will cost the lives of many more Dwarves to no good end.”
“You are hard as stone,” replied Elerian sullenly.
“Promise!” said Ascilius relentlessly, his craggy features set and grim.
“You have my word that I will not pursue Zaleuc,” said Elerian morosely, giving in at last to Ascilius’s demand.
Confident that Elerian would keep his word, Ascilius released his bonds. Without a word, Elerian left the wagon and entered the dripping forest to the west of the road, the Dwarf child’s screams still echoing in his mind.
“I must slay some of the enemy or go mad,” thought Elerian to himself. Calling his silver ring to his right hand, he vanished as the ring spread its cloak of invisibility over his slender form. Climbing into the canopy, he began to walk south along the shoulder of the road, stepping lightly and silently from one great branch to another through the gray rain. When he came upon a group of four Goblins preparing another attack, he dropped down into their midst with one of his knives in each hand, striking so swiftly right and left that the last Mordi died on his feet before the body of the first fell to the ground. The death of the Wood Goblins brought Elerian no relief, however, leaving him as cold and anguished as before. Taking to the trees again, he sought more victims for his knives, determined to wash away his guilt over the death of the lytling even if it took an ocean of Goblin blood.
As the long, bloody day slowly wore on, Elerian lost count of the number of Wood Goblins that he slew, but for each attack that he prevented, there were many more that he could do nothing about. Deaths and injuries among the Dwarves steadily increased and wrecked wagons continued to slow the progress of the caravan until it seemed to Elerian that night and the Goblin reinforcements that pursued the Dwarves must surely overtake the line of wagons before they ever left the forest.
Then, stepping lightly through the forest canopy a little ahead of the lead wagon, Elerian suddenly saw the forest in front of him end. As he walked to the end of long branch thick as a young tree, the gray, sheeting rain slowed to a light drizzle and then stopped entirely, leaving the air clear and damp. Before him, Elerian saw a large meadow almost a half mile wide and deep, its tall, thick turf covered with glistening drops of rain. Gleaming like molten silver in the twilight, a swift mountain river at least one hundred feet across ran along its northern edge, flowing west to east. Running down the center of the meadow to the river was the forest road. After crossing the river over a bridge constructed on three stone piers, it disappeared into the forest on the far side of the river.
“We have won through at last,” thought Elerian wearily to himself as the first of the wagons entered the meadow. “Surely that is the Caldus on the far side of the meadow.”
Turning back, he headed south along the road, finding that the fighting had become even fiercer as the Goblins sought to delay the Dwarf caravan from entering the me
adow. The increased visibility hampered them, however, revealing their ambushes, and as more and more Dwarves dropped back to help protect the last wagons, the Goblins began to suffer serious losses. The harsh blare of Goblin horns rang out, and the attacks against the Dwarf caravan abruptly ceased as the Goblins withdrew into the forest. The last of the wagons rolled into the meadow unmolested, guarded by a large company of Dwarves walking with linked shields.
After lingering for a bit in the canopy at the edge of the meadow in hopes of finding a last Wood Goblin lurking about under the trees, Elerian finally dropped lightly to the ground, convinced that the Mordi had all retreated into the wood surrounding the meadow, awaiting no doubt, the reinforcements hastening up the Dwarf road. His light footsteps barely bent the stems of the wet turf beneath his feet as he walked near the left shoulder of the road, in sharp contrast to the heavy footsteps of the Dwarves which had flattened all the grass on both shoulders of the highway. As he neared the bridge over the Caldus, Elerian was surprised to see that not one wagon had crossed the river. Instead, they were drawn up into a great half circle around the bridgehead.
“They would be much safer on the far bank,” he thought to himself as, still invisible, he walked with a light, silent step through the half circle of wagons. Behind him, the Dwarves in the rearguard spread out to take up positions around the perimeter of the caravan.
Elerian found Ascilius walking near the inner line of wagons, directing anxious glances toward the meadow and the forest beyond it whenever he came to a gap in the half circle. He started badly when Elerian suddenly sent away his ring and appeared beside him, but Elerian found that he took no pleasure in making Ascilius jump. The cold, dead feeling in his heart made him wonder if he would ever laugh again.
“Where have you been?” asked Ascilius, worry and irritation sharpening his voice.
“Hunting Goblins,” replied Elerian grimly. “My knives have drunk deep this day, enough to weary me, but still not enough to satisfy me. Why are the wagons still on this side of the river? The Goblin reinforcements must be almost upon us by now.”
“They are not here by my choice,” replied Ascilius somberly. The bridge is damaged beyond use.”
Elerian followed Ascilius to the bridgehead and saw for the first time that the stones and the thick oak planking that should have covered the floor of the bridge, an area about twenty feet wide and over one hundred feet long, were missing, revealing a framework of supporting beams that were blackened and charred, as if someone had attempted to set fire to them. Dozens of Dwarves were working frantically to repair the damage to the roadbed, standing on the weakened timbers with the swollen waters of the river rushing by beneath their feet as they laid down fresh planking cut from trees they had felled across the river.
“The Goblin commander has been one step ahead of me ever since we left Galenus,” Ascilius berated himself aloud. “I never thought to send an advance force to keep his Mordi from damaging the bridge.”
“A small force would never have made it this far, while a larger force would have weakened you overmuch,” observed Elerian. “I think that you have done the best you could do given the circumstances.”
“Your words do not comfort me,” replied Ascilius morosely. “I had hoped to be across the Caldus tonight, with the bridge destroyed behind us. High as it is, the river would have been a serious obstacle for the Goblins. Now, we must make our stand on this side of the river where we are weaker, for it will be hours before we can make enough repairs to allow the wagons to cross over the bridge.”
“You ought to organize a defense then instead of wasting time grumbling,” said Elerian, a glint of his old mischief suddenly lighting his gray eyes.
“I see that you have become your annoying self again,” replied Ascilius. His voice was sharp, but secretly, he was relieved that Elerian’s fit of despondency appeared to have passed.
“Not entirely,” replied Elerian softly. “I have taken a wound to the spirit today which will never heal. Only an endless stream of Goblin blood will ease the sting of it.”
“Now you sound like a Dwarf,” said Ascilius approvingly. “Come with me while I organize my defenses.”
Like a second shadow, Elerian followed Ascilius as he walked about giving orders to his captains. Under their direction, hundreds of Dwarves exchanged their weapons for picks and shovels, quickly raising an earthen dike about four feet high around the outer ring of wagons. The trench in front of the dike, about five feet deep and almost six feet across, was then flooded with water from the river when the Dwarves opened the ends of the moat to the rain swollen waters of the Caldus. Once the fortification was complete, sentries took up positions behind the earthworks, watching the dark edge of the forest on the far side of the meadow with alert, anxious eyes.
By this time the Dwarves working to repair the bridge had succeed in making a temporary road bed ten feet wide down its center. Ascilius immediately sent another company under the command of Durio across the partially repaired bridge to dig a second dike along the far bank of the Catalus. Following this company came the first of the wagons, rumbling across the bridge with their lanterns lit to illuminate their way through the dark. After passing through a gap in the second dike, they continued north on the road, under orders from Ascilius to continue on through the night until the ponies became too weary to pull the wagons any farther. As Ascilius and Elerian watched the Dwarf caravan rumble over the bridge, Eonis and his two sons, Cordus and Cyricus, approached them, bringing a frown to Ascilius’s face.
“You should be traveling north with the caravan, uncle,” he said sharply.
“After the last of the wagons crosses over, a rearguard will be needed to delay the Umbrae,” replied Eonis firmly. “I have decided to remain behind with a company of volunteers to man the dike on the far side of the river. Once we destroy the bridge, we can hold back the enemy for a long time.”
“Your plan is a good one uncle, but I must be the one to stay,” Ascilius insisted.
“I am old and my death will be no loss,” replied Eonis stubbornly. “I should be the one to stay.”
“Who will lead the caravan if you remain here?” asked Ascilius in a last attempt to dissuade his uncle. “I know without asking that Durio will also choose to remain behind.”
“Herias has volunteered to travel north with the wagons,” replied Eonis. “He will send runners to apprise Dardanus of our situation so that the bridge over the Catalus will be well defended when our people reach it.”
“This nephew of Ascilius has the cunning of a fox,” thought Elerian to himself when he heard Herias’s name mentioned. “He has managed to make himself appear to be a hero while at the same time distancing himself from the coming battle. Would he mourn at all I wonder if all of his relatives fell here beneath the weapons of the enemy?”
“If I cannot persuade you to leave, then let us rest and have somewhat to eat,” said Ascilius, giving in to Eonis at last, and at the same time, interrupting Elerian’s thoughts concerning Herias.
“Join me at my fire, then,” suggested Eonis. “Quincius should have supper prepared by now.
A BRIEF RESPITE
Elerian noticed then that the sharp smell of wood smoke filled the air and that small fires had sprung up in the space between the dike and the riverbank. The light from their flickering, red orange flames played across the faces of the Dwarves cooking their evening meals, one moment illuminating their stern, craggy features and the next casting them into shadow.
After following Eonis to his cook fire, Ascilius and Elerian sat with the king and his two sons on folding chairs that Eonis’s steward had set up around his campfire. Behind them, the Dwarf caravan continued to rumble steadily across the plank bridge. Without much talk, Eonis, his two sons, and Ascilius made a hearty meal of bread, cheese, dried meat, and dried fruit washed down with copious amounts of wine and beer, but Elerian ate only a little bread and cheese while sipping occasionally from a cup filled with red wine.
/> “The Dwarves may have abandoned their treasures, but they certainly managed to save a goodly amount of their spirits,” he thought dryly to himself as he quietly observed his fireside companions.
“You ought not to drink so heavily,” he advised Ascilius softly. “By now the advance force that I saw this morning has most likely joined the Goblins concealed in the forest. They are likely to attack soon, before the last of the wagons crosses the bridge.”
“It will take more than the small amount of spirits we have drunk to slow the hands or wits of a Dwarf, young Elerian,” said Eonis before Ascilius could make any reply. “In my own case, it is all that I have to renew the fire in my blood and to blunt the aches and pains of my elderly limbs. Old age is a bitter draught even for the Dwarves,” he concluded sadly.
“Drink some of this,” said Elerian, offering Eonis his water bottle which still contained a quantity of aqua vitae. “It will accomplish the same end without clouding your wits.”
“How long will it last?” asked Eonis, sniffing the contents of the bottle after removing the stopper.
“Several hours at least,” replied Elerian.
“It is not a cure for old age then,” said Eonis in a disappointed voice.
“I know of no spell that will reverse the decay brought on by the passage of time,” said Elerian regretfully. “Take only a small amount,” he warned Eonis as the old Dwarf raised the water bottle to his bearded lips with his right hand.