The Dwarf Kingdoms (Book 5) (22 page)

“The Goblins have gathered to the west of the clearing,” he thought to himself. “Fortune guided my steps tonight, for if I had continued walking farther north on my first arc through the forest, I would have stepped right into their midst.”

Using his long, strong fingers and feet, Elerian climbed lithely up the enormous trunk of a coarse barked chestnut, ascending easily to the canopy overhead. Stepping lightly over the broad branches in front of him, he slipped silently from tree to tree, confident and perfectly at ease even though he was many feet above the ground. As he traveled farther west, the sound of voices grew louder and more distinct.

Eventually, after he made his way around the trunk of a massive oak by leaping lightly from one wide branch to another, scores of canigrae appeared beneath him, sitting or standing restively on the leaf covered ground thirty feet below. All of them had their attention fixed on two of their pack mates who were standing almost nose to nose in the center of the gathering, arguing in low, snarly voices. Occasional low growls and muted barks mixed in with their words.

“Lupins,” thought Elerian to himself, keeping very still, for the slightest sound would give him away to the keen ears of the shape changers and the goblin hounds assembled around them. Fortunately, the night breeze was in his face, carrying his scent away from the pack.

“I am tired of waiting, Atrox?” snarled one of the lupins, a great black beast the size of a small pony with crimson eyes that glittered in the dark. “I want blood now!”

“That one is far down the wild path,” thought Elerian to himself. “His thoughts and desires are more like those of a wolf than a Goblin.”

“The attack must go as planned or it will fail,” growled the lupin named Atrox. “We must wait for the Mordi to attack the Dwarves from the east. Only when they run to defend the camp on that side can we attack them and their beasts with little danger to ourselves.”

Farther to the west, behind the pack of hounds, Elerian suddenly heard a rumbling, impatient growl, its depth and volume indicating that it came from a creature far larger than a canigrae. The sound distracted the first lupin that had spoken, causing him to wrinkle his snout in disgust.

“I do not like being this close to the man beasts,” he complained in a snarly, whiny voice. “Their stench fouls the night air.”

“I hate them, too, but they are necessary to the plan,” replied Atrox harshly. “Once they open a gap in the Dwarves’ defenses and the scent of blood fills the air, it will drive them to madness. They will kill until everything is dead or they themselves are slain. While the Dwarves deal with them, we will drive their ponies into the forest, raiding the wagons as we go and taking as many of the their females and young as we can carry back with us. Later, after we have feasted, we will hunt their ponies through the forest all night long,” concluded Atrox, licking his long, toothy chops. “It will be great sport.”

“Now I understand the purpose of the sentry that I slew,” thought Elerian to himself from his hiding place. “The horn that he carried was meant to sound the call that would signal the canigrae and the mutare to launch their attack on the Dwarf camp.” For a moment he considered returning to the meadow to warn Ascilius of the impending attack by the Wood Goblins hiding somewhere to the east of the Dwarf encampment but quickly discarded the idea.

“The assault on the east side of the camp is meant to be a feint, so I can safely leave the Dwarves to deal with it as long as I somehow disrupt the attack by the mutare and the canigrae,” he silently mused to himself. A wicked gleam suddenly lit Elerian’s gray eyes as a solution to his problem presented itself to his wily brain. Heedless of the danger of being discovered, he circled to the left of the pack of canigrae, moving quietly as a shadow over the branches above their shaggy heads. Once he reached the far side of the pack, he could see the hunched, hairy figures of mutare deeper in the wood on his left, their pale eyes gleaming like chips of ice in the shadows under the trees. Mordi armed with leather whips patrolled the gap between the changelings and the canigrae, charged with keeping the two groups of reluctant allies away from each other.

Silently, Elerian climbed to the ground. As he had planned, the canigrae suddenly caught his scent, wafted to their keen noses by the night wind. Forgetting their orders, most of the shaggy pack bounded in his direction, their sensitive noses telling them exactly where Elerian stood. Smiling in anticipation of the mischief he was about to cause, Elerian turned and ran toward the mutare who were hidden by the trees in front of him, the closest of the canigrae already snapping at his heels. When he saw the first bestial shape of a changeling slumped against a tree trunk in uneasy repose, Elerian suddenly stopped and whirled around. After nimbly avoiding the snapping jaws of the canigrae that lunged at his throat, he seized the creature by the scruff of its neck with both hands before effortlessly hurling the heavy beast at the sleeping mutare.

Startled out of its uneasy slumber by the canigrae thumping heavily into its body, the changeling immediately assumed that it was under attack. The night exploded into a chorus of horrible howls and snarls as it buried its fangs in the goblin hound’s hairy neck. Leaving the two creatures to battle each other, invisible and extraordinarily agile, Elerian evaded the snapping jaws of the canigrae who now swarmed around him, determined to tear him limb from limb.

“Join the party,” he thought sardonically to himself as he tossed several more of the hounds into the pack of mutare who had come to the aid of their savage companion. Then, leaping lightly high onto the trunk of a nearby oak tree, he climbed to the first wide branch that grew out at a right angle from the thick trunk. Seating himself, his heels dangling in the air, he watched with delight the chaos that he had created. Screams, roars, snarls, and growls shattered the quiet of the forest as the battle between the changelings and the mutare intensified. The Mordi drivers responsible for keeping order cracked their long whips as they rushed into the melee, but they were brushed aside or torn to pieces by their savage charges.

Through the din, Elerian heard horns blowing in the east and supposed that the Goblins had launched their attack, unaware that their allies were now tearing each other to pieces. The mutare were slowly gaining the advantage over their smaller, less powerful adversaries when a large group of Dwarves suddenly appeared under the trees to the east of the savage battle taking place beneath Elerian’s heels. Seeing their enemies close at hand, they rushed into the midst of the melee, swinging their hammers and axes to such good effect that the canigrae immediately retreated, melting into the surrounding forest. The mutare, however, refused to flee. Having tasted blood, their savage natures had totally overthrown their feeble minds. Driven by an irresistible desire to kill, they battled the Dwarves in the dark under the great trees, pitting fang and claw against Dwarf hammers and axes.

Climbing down to the forest floor, Rasor in his right hand and Acer in his left, Elerian joined the battle. The mutare scented him, but invisible and with room to move about, he slipped away from their reaching claws and teeth like an elusive shadow, making quick, precise thrusts with his knives that left a trail of hairy bodies behind him.

Some of the Dwarves were not so lucky or skillful. On his right, Elerian saw a mutare suddenly leap at a Dwarf, bearing him over onto his back before tearing his throat out with long canines that projected far down beyond its thin black lower lip. As he ran the creature through heart from behind with Acer, Elerian shuddered to think of these savage creatures running amuck among the Dwarf women and children.

Turning away from the dead changeling and its victim, Elerian sought around him for more mutare to kill but soon discovered that the last of the beast men had already been slain by the Dwarves. Outnumbered, their ranks already badly thinned by their battle with the canigrae, their resistance had been fierce but futile.

“Keep searching!” Elerian suddenly heard a familiar, deep voice shout. “He must be here somewhere!”

“Has he come to rescue me or thrash me,” wondered Elerian to himself, a smile quirking his lips as he walked stealthily between the Dwarves who stood between him and the author of the command. Where the fighting had been fiercest, he found Ascilius standing in the midst of a heap of hairy bodies, his chest still heaving from his warlike exertions. Fulmen and his shield were grasped tightly in his hands, as if he were ready to renew the conflict at a moment’s notice. Beneath his bushy brows, his dark eyes were both fierce and anxious.

“Here is an unlooked for opportunity for a bit of fun,” thought Elerian to himself as he noted the tenseness of Ascilius’s stocky body. His smile widening, he circled behind the Dwarf, an intense, eager look in his gray eyes that would not have looked out of place on the fierce face of one of the great stripped tygers that hunted the hot countries far to the south. Leaning over Ascilius’s left shoulder, he asked suddenly and rather loudly, “Who are we searching for?”

Ascilius, his nerves still on edge from the recent battle, started violently at the sound of Elerian’s voice. Nearly dropping both his shield and hammer, he glanced wildly about, the whites of his eyes gleaming in the darkness.

“Not my best effort,” thought Elerian critically to himself, “but I certainly got his heart beating faster.” The Dwarves standing around Ascilius, already startled by the sound of Elerian’s disembodied voice, all took a step back, their eyes wide and alarmed as Elerian sent away his ring and appeared suddenly behind their captain.

THE SIOGAI

 “We are in the midst of a deadly battle and still you must indulge your capricious humor,” roared Ascilius in a voice that was both irritated and exasperated as he turned to face Elerian.

“The battle is over,” Elerian pointed out dryly as he stepped back out of Ascilius’s reach, ready to disappear again if the Dwarf showed any inclination to do him bodily harm. “You and your bloodthirsty followers have already slain everything in sight.”

“I have already told you more than once times that Dwarves are not bloodthirsty,” replied Ascilius in an annoyed voice.

“For some reason, I still find that difficult to believe,” said Elerian dryly. Behind Ascilius’s broad back, he could see Dwarves, glints of red in their dark eyes, impaling the dripping, severed heads of canigrae, mutare, and a few Mordi on stakes they had thrust into the ground. Other Dwarves were prowling the battlefield around them gathering up their few dead and wounded and making certain that all their enemies were deceased.

The momentary lapse in Elerian’s attention did not go unnoticed by Ascilius. With the speed of a panther and a gleeful look in his dark eyes, he dropped his hammer and shield before suddenly seizing Elerian’s right arm with his right hand, at the same time pounding him vigorously on the back with the broad palm of his left hand.

Elerian staggered for a moment under the barrage of heavy blows then slipped away, hard to hold as a shining orb of quicksilver. A disappointed look crossed Ascilius’s craggy face at Elerian’s escape. Clearly, he would have liked to land a few more thumps on his elusive companion.

“Have you taken leave of your senses?” shouted Elerian angrily from a safe distance.

“I have just saved your life, and this is the thanks that I get,” replied Ascilius with a hurt look on his face. “There was an enormous spider perched on your shoulders, ready to sink its fangs into your ungrateful neck. The forest seems thick with them lately.”

Elerian’s anger vanished in an instant, replaced by a desire to laugh at the clever manner in which Ascilius had gained his revenge for the beating he had suffered from Eonis’s staff.

“He has grown more cunning and will bear watching,” thought Elerian ruefully to himself as he noted the sly look in the Dwarf’s dark eyes. “If I deny the existence of his spider, then I am as good as admitting that the other spider he saw earlier was also not real.”

“I suppose that I must thank you then,” he said wryly. “In the future, however, I think a simple warning will suffice when I am in danger. I may be mistaken, but you seemed to derive an undue amount of satisfaction from pummeling my poor back. ”

“If you willingly thrust your hand into a fire then you should not complain when it gets burnt,” replied Ascilius cheerfully, his dark eyes now brimming with satisfaction.

“Now you have become obscure as well as dangerous,” replied Elerian, pretending not to understand what the Dwarf was referring to. “Are your people safe?” he asked abruptly, turning to a more serious topic.

“We were attacked by Mordi on the east side of the meadow, but we fought them off rather easily,” replied Ascilius. “When I heard the disturbance in the forest to the west of the meadow, I immediately and rightly, it seems, assumed that you might be involved. After leaving Durio to guard the wagons, I came here with a strong force to investigate.”

“All is well then,” said Elerian. “That attack by the Mordi was meant to be a feint, drawing your forces to the east side of the camp and giving the canigrae and the mutare waiting here an opportunity to attack from the west. Their intent was to stampede your ponies, setting all of your people afoot.”

“They would likely have succeeded, if you had not interfered,” said Ascilius grudgingly. “How did you discover the ambush? The canigrae and mutare were far from the road and well concealed.”

“I felt a sudden need to be in the forest and happened upon them by chance,” replied Elerian, laughter gleaming in his gray eyes.

“I have a good idea of the circumstances that supplied that need,” said Ascilius, smiling in spite of himself. “For once, however, your mad humor has accomplished a great deal of good. The Goblins’ failed raid puts us in a much stronger position, for with all his mutare and most of his canigrae slain, I do not think their commander will try another direct attack. He will seek to slow us down now by harassing us, hoping to delay us until the rest of the Goblin army arrives from Galenus.”

The weather will aid him today,” replied Elerian somberly. “I do not think that the sun will show his face today.”

“Sun or no sun, we must reach the Caldus tonight,” said Ascilius firmly “There is another meadow on the far side of the river where we can circle the wagons again for the night.”

“Let us return to the caravan then and rest while we can,” replied Elerian as Ascilius stooped to retrieve Fulmen and his shield. Side by side, he and Ascilius walked east through the forest toward the meadow which held the Dwarf wagons. Behind them followed Ascilius’s company bearing their few wounded and even fewer dead. Fresh from their victory and confident in their numbers, they walked with firm strides, rustling leaves and snapping twigs with their heavy boots.

“I could find them in the dark with my eyes closed,” thought Elerian critically to himself. He began to worry seriously about the possibility of a second ambush, but the forest around him remained empty and silent. When they finally reached the meadow, Elerian was relieved to see that the Dwarf wagons were now arranged in a wide circle six deep around the edge of the extensive meadow that lay to the right and behind the ruined inn. There were no fires or lights in the camp, for they would have blinded the Dwarves to the night around them while at the same time making them easy targets for Goblin arrows.

Behind the wagons, the ponies were grazing under a heavy guard of armed Dwarves. More armed Dwarves and a few dentire were stationed behind the first row of wagons, all of them alert and peering intently into the trees around the camp, for the sound of the battle to the west had carried clearly to their ears.

After walking through a gap in the wagons, Ascilius turned to his left, Elerian following by his right side. The camp around them was quiet, for after the Goblin attack from the west was repulsed, most of the Dwarves had sought out their blankets, the warriors sleeping under the wagons with their weapons close at hand, the women and children sleeping in greater safety inside them. The few Dwarves who were still awake were sitting quietly in the dark. Elerian saw apprehension and uneasiness in their dark eyes when they looked his way. Used to the feel of solid stone around them, they were ill at ease at being out in the open in the midst of their enemies. Eonis was one of those who was still awake, sitting on a folding chair near his wagon. His sons sat nearby, the starlight gleaming in their dark eyes as they talked softly with their father.

“What news nephew?” asked Eonis anxiously when he saw Ascilius approach.

“The Dwarves that I led into the forest have repulsed another ambush thanks to Elerian’s help,” replied Ascilius. “We destroyed the remainder of the mutare and a goodly number of the canigrae that followed the Goblins. I do not think that we will be menaced again tonight.”

“I hope that you are right, Ascilius,” said Eonis fretfully. “It goes against the grain for Dwarves to fight out in the open. Would that we had solid rock at our backs and over our heads.”

“We will have stone around us in plenty when we reach Iulius,” Ascilius reassured his uncle.

“If we reach Iulius,” Eonis corrected Ascilius, his voice peevish, for his age combined with the insecurity of his situation and that of his people had put him in an uncertain temper. “Where on earth did you spring from young fellow?” he asked abruptly, his gaze falling on Elerian. “I have not seen you since I fought off the sending of the Umbrae by the side of the road.”

“I left to scout the forest for signs of the enemy,” explained Elerian smoothly, “but not before I witnessed the battle between you and the creature of the Goblins. You fought with the vigor of a Dwarf half your age,” concluded Elerian in an admiring voice.

“Old as I am, I still have the quick reflexes of the Dwarf race,” boasted Eonis.

“Yes, I have seen those reflexes in action before,” said Elerian, his eyes filled with silent laughter as he cast a sidelong look at Ascilius.

The Dwarf frowned darkly in return, no doubt reliving some of the pranks Elerian had played on him in the past. Before Ascilius could make any reply, a band of small children approached, first surrounding Elerian, then staring up at him with wide, dark eyes. Dressed in hooded tunics, they looked like smaller versions of the parents who were standing behind them.

“Please sir,” said one in a piping voice to Elerian. “Are you a magician?”

Elerian laughed, a sudden clear sound that lifted the hearts of those standing nearby. “I am a mage small sir,” he said gravely. “That is not quite the same thing.”

“Can you do any magic for us?” asked another of the children. She hid her face in her hood out of shyness when Elerian turned to look at her. Elerian looked at Ascilius in amusement.

“Shall I order them away?” asked Ascilius. “The little rascals ought to be in bed, not wandering about the camp.” His voice was stern but his eyes were twinkling.

“Please,” said another clear, high voice, “just one trick!”  

“Just one then,” said Elerian gravely, “but afterwards you must be off to bed.” He thought for a moment and then turned to Ascilius. “Have you any coins?” he asked.

“No,” said Ascilius regretfully, “but perhaps my uncle has some.”

“I have a few,” said Eonis, reaching with obvious reluctance for a leather purse which hung from his belt. Elerian would not have been surprised to see a few moths flutter out when Eonis slowly opened it. The old king paused for a moment, no doubt trying to decide how few coins would satisfy Elerian’s request. He finally handed Elerian a dozen thin silver coins that gleamed softly in the starlight.

Laying the coins in the palm of his right hand, Elerian held them out for all the children to see. They gasped in wonder as one of the shining coins suddenly took flight, followed by another and then another until they chased each other in a silvery circle a little over a foot in diameter above Elerian's open palm. Then, one by one, they disappeared until none was left. The gasps of the children suddenly turned to subdued squeals of delight when he opened his left hand and cast the heap of silver coins that lay there into their midst. Out of the right corner of his eyes, Elerian saw a startled look cross Eonis’s face as his coins flew through the air. The old king sprang out of his chair, and for a moment, Elerian was almost certain that he was about to be treated to the sight of the old fellow scrambling for his coins among the lytlings, but with an agonized look on his face he sat down again.

“They are making too much noise,” complained Eonis to Ascilius as the children noisily jostled each other in their efforts to gather up the old king’s coins.

“Let them enjoy themselves, uncle,” replied Ascilius. “Who knows when the lytlings will have an opportunity to laugh again?” He watched tolerantly as the youngsters were finally taken off to bed by their parents.

Turning to Elerian, Eonis said in an irritated voice, “That was a good trick young man, but it would have been better if it had not cost me a dozen silver pennies. Consider them full payment for the aid you have given my people.” Glancing from Eonis to Ascilius, Elerian saw the Dwarf’s face darken at his uncle’s discourteous display of parsimony.

“Let us off to bed, Ascilius,” he said quickly. “Morning will come all too soon.”

“Yes, it is late,” said Ascilius, swallowing his anger. “Goodnight uncle,” he said shortly before walking off. Elerian hastened to follow him.

“Your hands will overflow with gold if ever I recover my treasure,” muttered Ascilius apologetically when Elerian reached his side. “My uncle had no right to treat you so shabbily.”

“Were he to insult me every day for a week, he still would not even the balance sheet between us,” said Elerian with a gleam of mirth in his eyes.

Ascilius suddenly laughed softly. “You are hard hearted as a Goblin to practice your trickery on an ancient like Eonis.”

“I take my opportunities where I find them,” replied Elerian serenely. “You would not say to a hungry panther, ‘Do not strike for the stag you wish to eat is old and deserves peace.’”

“I dare say that I would not, knowing that it would be a waste of breath,” replied Ascilius, with a smile. “Have something to eat with me,” he said after a moment. “We have both missed out supper today, I think.”

Leading the way to a supply wagon, Ascilius procured bread, cheese, dried fruit, and a bottle of red wine. The camp was quiet, but conscious of the many ears about, Ascilius selected an expanse of thick turf near the pony herd as a place to eat their meal. Surrounded by warm bodies, the air filled with the stamp of hooves and the tearing sounds made by the ponies as they cropped grass, the two companions had a modicum of privacy. Seated cross-legged on the ground, they ate and drank in friendly silence. Ascilius did serious damage to their food, but Elerian ate and drank lightly as was his custom.

 “We have made a good beginning,” said the Dwarf when he had blunted his fierce appetite. “The caravan only needs to maintain its lead over the main army of the Goblins in order for my people to reach the safety of Iulius.”