The Dwarf Kingdoms (Book 5)

by A. Giannetti

  “You are doing the best that you can, Anthea, given your circumstances,” Ascilius said reassuringly. “Besides, as you can see, I had no trouble dealing with these creatures on my own.”

  “Don’t believe him, Anthea. I had to save him from the most dangerous of the hounds,” said a weak, aggrieved voice from beneath the pelt draped over Ascilius.

  “He must be delirious again,” said Ascilius blandly to Anthea, at the same time driving his right elbow lightly, for him, into Elerian’s right side.

  Anthea could only guess at what had happened, but she heard Elerian’s rather breathless voice next.

  “How dare you elbow a wounded warrior? Take that!”

  As Anthea watched in dismay, the hide which disguised Ascilius and Elerian began to heave and swell, almost as if it had come to life again.

  “They will bring the whole Goblin army down on their heads,” she thought worriedly to herself as the hidden altercation and the low but intense conversation continued.

  “Let go of my beard!” said Ascilius’s irate voice.

  “Stop trying to remove my left ear then,” replied Elerian’s equally outraged voice.

  “I must end this,” thought Anthea to herself, equally torn between laughter and exasperation. A hard gleam suddenly brightened her deep blue eyes. Spying a branch on the ground nearby, she cast a calling spell, raising it off the ground and positioning it above the wildly thrashing hide. Raising her right hand, which was still connected by a slender golden thread to the spell animating the branch, she watched delightedly as, following the movement of her hand, it first rose up and then came down, thumping solidly against the wildly thrashing hide covering Ascilius and Elerian. Pleased with her new ability, she continued to bring the stick up and down, vigorously pummeling the two combatants beneath the shaggy pelt. The battle beneath the skin stopped immediately, the voices changing from argumentative to pleading.

  “Ow! Stop, Anthea!” begged Elerian’s and Ascilius’s voices together from beneath the hide.

  Anthea ceased beating the pelt which slipped to the ground, exposing Elerian perched on Ascilius’s back, laughing and unrepentant in spite of the drubbing that he had received. Ascilius, on the other hand, looked so outraged that Anthea began to laugh uncontrollably. Freed from her control, her branch fell lifelessly onto the slack hide.

  “You are both half-wits,” she said, after a moment when her laughter had died down to giggles.

  Elerian, who now stood on his own feet, looked back at her with unabashed gray eyes, but Ascilius looked so sheepish when he stood up that she began to laugh again.

  “I would give anything to remain here with them in my physical form,” was her silent, wistful thought when her laughter died away for a second time. “What adventures we would have together!” With an ethereal sigh, Anthea returned to the business at hand. “Quickly now, stand up beneath the hide, for I may be called back at any moment,” she ordered the two companions, her voice suddenly becoming serious and stern.

  Climbing onto Ascilius’s back, Elerian pulling the skinned out head of the licantrope over his face before arranging the pelt to cover himself and the Dwarf. His third eye opened of its own volition when Anthea raise her illusory right arm, revealing the golden orb that flew from her fingers to spread like golden cloak of light over the hide that covered him and Ascilius, linking itself to the Dwarf by a thin golden thread so that it could maintain itself. As if it had come to life, Elerian felt the skin of the licantrope shrink around him, gripping him so tightly that he no longer had to hold it. At once, he became uneasy, remembering his less than pleasant experience with another similar hide in his youth.

  “I have disguised you with an illusion so that anyone who sees you will believe an actual licantrope stands before them,” said Anthea, casting the thought into the minds of both Elerian and Ascilius. “Take yourselves somewhere safe,” she urged just before her illusory form suddenly vanished, drawn, unwilling, back through the golden thread that led to her body.

  “I wish that she could have stayed a bit longer,” said Elerian softly to Ascilius as the Dwarf began to walk north, trusting Anthea’s illusion spell to keep him and Elerian safe.

  “She will return when she can,” replied Ascilius reassuringly. “For now, let us concentrate on reaching and crossing the Caldus.”

  “I think we should discard this pelt and use my ring to conceal us instead,” said Elerian after a moment. “Skins, especially those from evil creatures, can be dangerous.”

  “And I think you should avoid magic of any kind until your strength returns,” replied Ascilius firmly. “Now keep quiet. No one will think we are real if they hear us talking.”

  Elerian had barely fallen into an uneasy silence when a group of Mordi suddenly appeared before them. The Wood Goblins froze at the sight of Anthea’s illusion, taking it for a real licantrope.

  “Don’t move,” one of them warned the others. “These creatures have an uncertain temper. If it is hungry, it may attack one of us.”

  Deciding to give the Mordi a little encouragement to seek other surroundings, Elerian suddenly growled, the sound amplified by the illusion surrounding him into a rumbling, guttural sound, endlessly menacing. Falling into the spirit of things, Ascilius suddenly gave a great leap toward the Wood Goblins who promptly scattered like a flock of gallinae.

  “Chase them Ascilius,” whispered Elerian eagerly, his gray eyes suddenly gleaming with anticipation.

  “Only an idiot would chase Goblins through the forest with you on his back,” muttered Ascilius, but he began to run after the nearest Wood Goblin anyway, urged on by some primal desire to chase prey which had suddenly welled up in his mind.

  “Faster,” urged Elerian, giving voice to another ferocious growl. At the sound, the Wood Goblin they were chasing looked back over his shoulders, his eyes round and white as saucers. When he saw what he assumed was a licantrope his heels, he screamed in terror and fairly took flight, skimming over the ground as if he had grown wings on his feet. In the blink of an eye, Ascilius was left behind.

  “Let us find some more of them to chase,” said Elerian enthusiastically into the Dwarf’s left ear, urged on by his innate spirit of mischief as well as the more insidious, primal urge which had overcome Ascilius. For a moment Ascilius was actually tempted as the need to chase after prey intensified in his mind, but then he suddenly remembered Anthea and her habit of appearing unexpectedly.

  “I do not think that would be wise,” he whispered uneasily to Elerian. “Who knows what Anthea would do to us if she returned and found us chasing Goblins through the forest instead of crossing to safety on the far side of the river?”

  It was a sobering thought, even for Elerian. He had taken the brunt of the blows from Anthea’s stick and, due to his position on Ascilius’s back, was likely to suffer the same fate a second time if she suddenly reappeared.”

  “Perhaps you are right, Ascilius,” he agreed reluctantly, looking around him warily just to make sure Anthea had not suddenly appeared again. “Another beating like the last one will leave me sore for days. Let us be on our way again. Be sure to angle to the left, however, for we are approaching the meadow that lies before the Caldus.”

  At once, Ascilius began to travel north, but before long, he felt a series of peculiar tremors begin to wrack Elerian’s slender frame, as if he had caught a chill.

  “If you tell anyone about what just happened, I will strangle you,” whispered Ascilius grimly as he guessed the cause of the movements.

  “The story is too good to keep to myself,” replied Elerian softly, his voice choked with laughter as he recalled how Ascilius had bonded over roots and around trees as lightly as any deer in his pursuit of the Mordi. “Besides, it is your own fault. I warned you about the skin.”

  “You said it was dangerous, a warning which I discounted because of my fearless Dwarf nature,” grumbled Ascilius. “If you had also told me that this cursed pelt would make me act like a fool, I might have ta
ken your warning more seriously.”

  “Your weak arguments do not sway me in the least,” declared Elerian, his voice still brimming with laughter. “Having made your decision, you must live with its consequences.”

  “Make sport of me then if you must, but it is beyond my understanding how you can indulge in your mad humor after what we have been through the last few days,” remarked Ascilius in a rather grumpy voice.

  “Laughter dissipates sadness as the sun dispels darkness,” replied Elerian quietly. “Without it I would sink into a morass of grief from which I would never emerge.”

  “This philosophy you spout is a recipe for capriciousness, as you have often demonstrated by your own outrageous actions,” objected Ascilius. “The Dwarf way of thinking is far superior, for we follow the middle course between life’s extremes, maintaining a grave, dignified attitude and appearance at all times.”

  “You did not look very dignified chasing after that Goblin,” pointed out Elerian slyly.

  “My unusual behavior was the result of the influence of this accursed hide and your own reckless promptings,” protested Ascilius. “The most steadfast Dwarf would not be proof against such an overwhelming union.”

  The sudden, sharp crack of a breaking twig brought an abrupt end to the bickering of the two companions. Both Elerian and Ascilius breathed a sigh of relief when a doe, dressed in the red brown of summer, quietly crossed their path. Reminded now of the danger around them, the two companions continued on their way, maintaining an alert silence. Whether by luck or because of their shaggy disguise, they eventually reached the south bank of the Caldus undetected by any of the enemy.

  “Now how am I to get you across?” Ascilius quietly wondered out loud. “You cannot swim with that injured leg, and I am not enough of a waterman to float us both over the river even if I were to find a log of the proper size.”

  “If you continue west along the riverbank, we may be able to walk across the river,” said Elerian mysteriously, a glint of laughter in his eyes.

  “What new torment does he have in store for me now?” wondered Ascilius suspiciously to himself as, mightily puzzled, he did as Elerian asked, keeping a wary out for any of the enemy who might be hiding in the wood in front of him.

  THE CATALUS

  Before long, Ascilius heard deep voices chanting, “Heave!” at measured intervals, making him wonder whom they belonged to and what they were about. Soon, as he crept quietly from one tree to another, he saw a sight that was both remarkable and disturbing. A half dozen naked Mordi, still dripping rivulets of water, stood on the bank of the river near four great Trolls clad only in leather kilts. Standing in the shade cast by the trees growing along the river, enormous muscles rolling and swelling beneath their hairless greenish skins, the Trolls were chanting as they pulled on a corded rope thick as a Dwarf’s upper arm.

  The dripping rope extended across the river, and after looping around the trunk of a great oak tree, returned halfway back across the watercourse, terminating in a great knot that fastened it to a hoop of iron driven into one of a pair of logs. The timbers, each about twenty feet long and flattened on top by an ax, were lashed together with heavy chains and were joined by more chains to five similar pairs of logs which were being inched toward the water, one pair at a time, by two Trolls. Once all the timbers were in the water, the creatures would have a temporary bridge about six feet wide across the river.

  “You knew they would be here,” whispered Ascilius to Elerian as he eased back behind a huge, rough barked chestnut.

  “I saw them this morning,” Elerian whispered back. “Hold yourself ready to run across the bridge as soon as the first pair of logs touches the far shore.”

  Tensely, Ascilius watched as the log bridge inched toward the far bank of the river, bowed into a great arc by the force of the swift current. Once all the logs were in the water, the two Trolls tasked with pushing them into the river joined their fellows in drawing in the hawser, which thrummed and vibrated with each pull of their great arms. Like a file, the rope’s rough surface cut a groove in the bark of the tree around which it was looped, producing a rasping sound which provided a harsh counterpoint to the chanting of the Trolls.

  When the first pair of logs touched the far shore, Ascilius leaped from his hiding place and dashed toward the Trolls. After one frightened look in his direction all of the Wood Goblins dove into the river, their slim bodies, greased against the cold, leaving scarcely a ripple as they disappeared beneath its surface. Ascilius and Elerian never saw any of them again, so it was likely that they swam downstream before retreating into the forest.

  The Trolls, unlike the Mordi, held their ground against the approaching illusion that disguised Ascilius and Elerian, for their stony flesh was proof even against a licantrope. Maintaining their hold on the rope lest the current sweep away their temporary bridge, they watched helplessly as Ascilius darted past them onto the first pair of timbers. Their shouts of alarm brought a tall Uruc, the same that Elerian had seen that morning, running from the forest, a black sword held in his lean right hand. Before Ascilius had measured the length of the first pair of logs, he leapt onto the bridge. Black eyes alight with suspicion, he pursued the illusion before him, his light footsteps barely disturbing the floating logs beneath his feet. Ascilius’s heavier footsteps caused him more difficulty, however, rocking the floating logs beneath his feet and slowing him down.

  “Faster,” urged Elerian when a quick glance behind him showed the Uruc closing the gap between him and Ascilius. “He will skewer the two of us in a moment.”

  For answer, Ascilius redoubled his speed, but the bridge commenced to pitch and rock so vigorously under his pounding feet that it threatened to fling him and Elerian into the river. Grasping the fury mask covering his face, Elerian yanked desperately at it with his right hand. It clung to him as if glued on until he ended the illusion which Anthea had cast over it. Then, all it once, it flew off, straight into the face of the Goblin who was now right behind him, sword raised to cleave Elerian’s head in two.

  “Enjoy your swim,” shouted Elerian cheerfully as the Uruc cursed loudly and stumbled when the skin of the licantrope covered his face. Blinded by the pelt, he lost his balance and fell into the river on the right side of the temporary bridge. Still entangled in the hide, he sank beneath the surface as the swift current swept him downstream. Elerian watched closely, but the Goblin never reappeared, even after Ascilius leapt onto the far shore, relieved to have solid earth beneath his feet once more.

  By now the Trolls had succeeded in fastening the end of their rope to a stout tree. Braving the sunlight, which was still intermittent, for the last few clouds from yesterday’s rainstorm were still scudding across the sky, three of them stepped gingerly onto the bridge. Setting Elerian down on the bank, Ascilius began to shout insults at them, describing their parentage, looks, and intelligence in the most infuriating terms until, beside themselves with anger, the remaining Trolls also edged gingerly onto the bridge which sank level with the river’s surface beneath their great weight. As the first of the Trolls approached the middle of the bridge, grinning ferociously at the Dwarf, Ascilius suddenly touched the taut hawser that anchored the log bridge with his left hand.

  “Time for a wash, you great, stinking creatures,” he bellowed, as red flames immediately blossomed beneath his fingers, hungrily devouring the twisted strands of the thick rope. With horrified looks on their faces, the Trolls spun around and attempted to retreat. The closest to the south shore was still twenty feet from the bank when the hawser suddenly parted with a tremendous twang, releasing the bridge into the watery grip of the current. One by one, all six Trolls lost their footing as the partially submerged, wildly pitching bridge tossed them into the Caldus.

  “Can Trolls swim?” asked Elerian curiously from where he sat on the bank.

  “About as well as Dwarves,” said Ascilius with a cheerful look on his face. “They will probably try to hold their breaths and crawl along the
bottom to shore, but with the sun addling their brains, they are unlikely to succeed. I would think that all of them will probably drown.” The prospect of the Trolls impending demise seemed to raise Ascilius spirits even more s that his face positively beamed.

  “I would never have guessed you were capable of such a brilliant trick,” observed Elerian. His voice was full of admiration, but his gray eyes were strangely bright.

  Ascilius frowned, his bushy brows scrunching together as he tried to work out whether he had received a complement or an insult. Judging by the gleam in Elerian’s eyes, he judged that it was a bit of both.

  “Keep my cleverness in mind the next time you decide to play one of your pranks on me,” he said sternly as he took Elerian up onto his back once more.

  A short time later, after an uneventful walk through the forest, the two companions arrived at the dike the Dwarves had raised up near the burned out bridge. Overhead, the sun shone brightly in a blue sky that was now free of clouds. Across the river, Elerian saw that the meadow was empty except for the smoldering remains of last night’s fires. Either the sun or the threat of Eboria had driven the Goblins into hiding. He carefully examined the sky to the south, but there was no sign of the dragon.

  “Even if she has returned to her bed, she has accomplished the task to which I set her,” thought Elerian to himself. “How strange it is that, however unwittingly, she has saved the Dwarves of both Ennodius and Galenus. If she had never flown south, the Goblins would have enslaved both cities by now after breaching their gates with their mighty ram.”

  Turning his eyes toward Ascilius’s company, Elerian saw that, in accordance with Ascilius’s instructions from the day before, they were already making preparations to retreat, for there was no longer any need to hold the Caldus against the Goblins. Even if the enemy were to cross the river now, the last wagon of the caravan would have crossed the Catalus into safety long before they approached the river.