The Quest (The Hidden Realm Book 5) (22 page)

“Whatever has come over them?” wondered Elerian to himself in dismay. “Why Triarus did not even stop for his pants!” Worried that his companions would either lose themselves in the forest, or even worse, overtake the fleeing Trolls, Elerian now sped after them. As he emerged from the cave entrance, Triarus looked back over his shoulder and seeing what he assumed was the Gargol rapidly gaining on him, gave one despairing shriek before tripping and falling. Looking back over their shoulders at the sound of his cry, Ascilius and Dacien saw their companion fall to the ground, and showing their true mettle, both of them stopped running at once. Setting aside thoughts of his own safety, Ascilius immediately stooped and grasped a large stone in his right hand, while Dacien picked up a stout branch that lay on the ground near his feet. Running back to Triarus, they stood shoulder to shoulder before their fallen comrade, faces pale but determined as they faced the horrible creature bearing down on them. Shaking with fear, Cordus and Cyricus also returned to stand with Ascilius and Dacien after arming themselves fallen branches.

Seeing the reaction of Triarus to his appearance had finally reminded Elerian that he was still disguised as the Gargol. At another time he would have undoubtedly taken advantage of the situation to have a bit of fun with his companions, but now, because of the danger they were in, he immediately stopped and ended his illusion. Relief mingled with doubt washed over the faces of his companions when he revealed himself in his true form.

“Is that really you Elerian?” asked Ascilius suspiciously.

“Yes it is,” replied Elerian, holding out his right hand so that Ascilius could see the silver ring on his finger. “We must go at once,” he continued urgently. “Once the Trolls recover their wits, they are certain to return.”

“First we must retrieve our weapons and gear,” replied Ascilius stubbornly. “I will not abandon Fulmen.” Returning to the cave, the six companions salvaged all they could of their packs and their contents, which had been spilled haphazardly onto the floor of the cave. Their clothes, blankets and other gear were pretty much intact, but most of their food had been destroyed by the trampling of the Trolls. When they had saved what they could and Triarus was properly dressed again, Elerian covered everyone with an illusion spell. Ascilius then led the company into the forest, traveling uphill and southwest, back toward the pass that led to the Broken Lands. When they came to a stream that flowed from out of the heights in front of them, Elerian spoke up.

“We should follow this stream for a time,” he suggested to his companions. “The Trolls are like keen nosed hounds when they have a fresh scent to follow.” Reluctantly, for the water was ice cold, his companions waded into the brook which washed away their scent when they went on. The hard stone and gravel bed of the watercourse left little sign of their passage, further hiding their trail.

As he followed along behind the others, Elerian filled his flask from the clear water flowing past him before quietly casting the complex spells that would renew his supply of aqua vitae. When the stream finally veered off to the north, Ascilius left it behind, following the ridge tops before him toward the pass which they could now see through gaps in the trees. He maintained a slow, cautious pace, which Elerian thought prudent, for it seemed to him as if every deep gully they passed had a worn path running down into it, and several times, he caught the rank smell that indicated there was a Troll dwelling nearby. Fortunately for Elerian and his companions, the Trolls seemed to prefer remaining in their homes while the sun was up. Through a combination of luck and the protection of Elerian’s illusion spell, they remained undiscovered, and despite their slow pace, they were not far from the pass when evening drew near and the light began to fail.

“We will need to search out a place to spend the night,” suggested Ascilius to Elerian as he came to a stop at the margin of a stony clearing perhaps one hundred feet across that was completely surrounded by trees, except for its northern side. “It will be too dangerous to travel over these steep slopes in the dark. Any Trolls that are about will also be stirring soon.”

 “There is a ledge up on there that might serve as a safe haven,” replied Elerian, pointing to the northern side of the clearing where a steep, rocky slope that was almost a cliff rose up high into the air.

“How are we to get up there short of flying?” asked Dacien who now stood behind Elerian and Ascilius.

“There are handholds for those who can see them,” replied Elerian cheerfully. Ending his illusion spell, for he deemed it too dangerous to maintain it in the gathering dark, he walked with a light step to the foot of the slope, followed closely by his companions. After shedding his pack and all his gear, Elerian reached into his knapsack and drew out a coil of thin strong rope which he draped around his neck and right shoulder. Springing lightly into the air, he reached out his right hand at the apex of his leap and thrust the long, strong fingers of his right hand into a crevice that he had seen from the ground with his sharp eyes. Already six feet above the ground, Elerian began drawing himself effortlessly up the cliff face with his sinewy arms, finding hand and foot holds where there appeared to be none to his companions watching from below.

“No one surpasses an Elf when it comes to climbing,” said Ascilius dryly to Dacien as Elerian swiftly ascended the wall of stone above them. When he reached the ledge, which proved to be about five feet wide and twelve feet long, Elerian used a transformation spell to form a rigid hook in the end of the rope which he carried. After placing his magical crook around the gnarled trunk of a small pine that had sunk its roots deeply into the dirt-filled crevices that fractured the surface of the ledge, he cast the rope end down to his companions.

“I shall be sore for a month,” groaned Ascilius to Elerian, when all of the company had climbed up to the narrow refuge and had sat down. As the main object of Orgo’s interest, he had suffered the most at the hands of the Trolls. Besides being black and blue all over from being pinched, he also had a nice lump on his head besides, as did Cordus, Cyricus, and Dacien, the results of their fall to the cave floor after Elerian cut their bonds. Feeling gingerly of the crown of his head, Ascilius looked reproachfully at Elerian.

“You might have warned us when you cut us down, or at least caught us when we fell.”

“I was unable to do either,” Elerian replied innocently. “I was standing on the other side of the cave when I freed the four of you.” Ascilius looked at Elerian suspiciously, for there was a gleam in his clear gray eyes that might have been laughter.

“And how did you manage that?” he asked skeptically.

“Like this,” replied Elerian. Raising his right hand, he cast his portal spell, using the experience he had gained in the Trolls’ cave to determine the proper amount of power he needed to draw from his ring. With his third eye, Elerian saw a small golden orb fly from his fingertips. Hovering in the air about a foot from his waist, the magical sphere expanded into a golden circle about six inches across. Taking his silver flask from his belt with his right hand, Elerian thrust it through the portal. His five companions, who were unable to see the shining rim of the portal, saw his hand move and then seemingly disappear. Dacien, who was sitting a good six feet away from Elerian, started in surprise when Elerian’s hand, still holding the flask, appeared a foot in front of his chest. Overcoming his astonishment at the sight, Dacien closely examined Elerian’s disembodied hand, discerning for the first time the clear space that lay within the invisible bounds of the portal.

“You have mastered the art of opening magical doors then,” said Dacien to Elerian, favoring him with a thoughtful look as he took the flask.

“I think mastered is too strong a word,” replied Elerian modestly as Dacien took a sip of the aqua vitae. “I have begun an essay into the craft, but I still have much to learn.”

“I fear you will be doubly annoying now that you can work your mischief from a distance,” grumbled Ascilius as he snagged the flask from Dacien with his left hand. Elerian made no reply, but his eyes gleamed as if he was considering the possibilities afforded him by his new ability.

After everyone in the company had drunk a little of the clear, fragrant aqua vitae and its warmth had spread through their bodies and eased their hurts, they wrapped their blankets and cloaks around them and made a sketchy meal from what was left of their food.

“Wherever did you get the inspiration for the horrific shape you used to chase away the Trolls?” asked Dacien of Elerian as they ate biscuits and cheese. “My heart almost stopped when you appeared suddenly in that hideous form.”

“I took the appearance of the Gargol, the creature that abducted Ascilius in the passageway,” replied Elerian. “It is the enemy that the Trolls fear the most.”

“It certainly frightened me,” replied Dacien firmly. “When I saw all those teeth and horns and claws, I found myself flying out the door of the cave without giving the matter any thought whatsoever.” 

“Did any of you not wonder who freed you?” Elerian asked curiously. 

“With a horrible monster in such close proximity, it did not seem an important consideration at the time,” replied Dacien dryly.

“I would have spared you and the others the fright you suffered, but in the excitement of the moment, I forgot that I was wearing a disguise,” apologized Elerian in a contrite voice, but Dacien marked a gleam of his old mischief in his eyes. Ascilius now spoke up, a frown on his bearded face.

“I cannot speak for the others, but in my own case it was merely prudence not fright that dictated that I leave the cave as soon as possible.”

Triarus spoke up next. “The lord Ascilius speaks truly,” he asserted haltingly to Elerian as if it made him nervous to contradict him. “When I fell, he and Dacien came back to defend me. They could not have done that if they were afraid.”

“You are right, Triarus,” agreed Elerian gravely. “Perhaps startled would have been a better word to use. I know that Ascilius, especially, is prone to starts,” he added, a wicked gleam appearing in his gray eyes. Ascilius’ frown deepened even more, but he was too tired to match wits with Elerian any longer.

“Let us sleep while we can,” he advised the others. “Elerian can keep watch in recompense for startling us in the Trolls’ cave,” he added comfortably.

“A fair bargain,” replied Elerian with a smile. While his companions did their best to sleep sitting up, for there was not enough room on the narrow shelf of stone to allow any of them to lie down, he remained awake, still as one of the rocks around him with all of his keen senses attuned to the gray and black world around him.

THE PURSUIT

Sitting alone in the dark, Elerian felt his earlier cheerfulness slowly turn to melancholy as thoughts of Anthea and her plight returned to cast a shadow over his heart. When four Trolls silently emerged from the forest on the far side of the clearing, on all fours and noses to the ground like great hunting dogs, he almost welcomed the distraction.

“So, they have found us, despite the obstacles we placed in their path,” thought Elerian grimly to himself as they crept up to the rock face which sheltered him and his companions, their keen noses following the scent trail of the company as well as any hound could. “At least the greedy fellows appear to have kept our presence secret, no doubt hoping to keep all the reward for us to themselves,” was Elerian’s relieved thought when no other Trolls emerged from the forest.

After calling his invisibility ring to his right hand so that he could observe the Trolls below him without revealing himself, Elerian leaned over the edge of the stone shelf on which he sat. Far below him, having come to the end of the scent trail they were following, the four Trolls all stood up and tipped their bald heads back in order to examine the difficult slope before them. The darkness did not hinder their eyes, but Elerian’s companions were not visible to them, concealed as they were by the ledge they sat on.

Suspiciously, Orgo snuffled the wall of stone before him. With a look of satisfaction on his face, he silently pointed with his right index finger to the rock face high above. Just as silently his three grandsons nodded their understanding, their green eyes glittering in heavy, coarse faces that reflected the anger and desire for revenge that burned in their cruel hearts.

“The younger ones are agile and light enough to climb the cliff,” thought Elerian worriedly to himself when he saw that their hiding place was discovered. “I had best try to deal with them and their grandsire before they attempt to reach the ledge.” Nudging Ascilius awake, Elerian leaned over him and whispered, “Wake the others and hold yourself ready to help me if I call for you.” Then, before the Dwarf could object, he slipped over the edge of the ledge, taking only his two knives, for they were better suited for close work than Acris.

Quickly and quietly, Elerian descended the cliff face while the younger Trolls examined the wall of stone before them, seeking the best path to the ledge which they could see high above them. His mind clear now of all thoughts except the dangerous task at hand, Elerian leaped into the air when he was just above the heads of the Troll brothers, landing lightly on the ground behind them, gray eyes gleaming with the light of battle as he faced Orgo. The huge Troll, who towered over Elerian, immediately put his head up and sniffed the cool evening air in through his wide nostrils. Although he could not see Elerian, his keen senses of smell and hearing told him exactly where his enemy stood.

Before Orgo could react to his presence, Elerian extended his right arm and cast a destruction spell. His third eye opened at once, revealing a cloak of crimson light that covered the massive Troll from crown to feet. When the golden orb Elerian had launched from his fingers reached Orgo’s huge chest, the destruction spell flared brightly and then vanished, deflected by the shield spell that protected the Troll.

“He does not appear to have mage sight but is still closely enough attuned to the magical energies to detect my spells whether I am visible or not,” was Elerian’s disappointed thought as he closed his third eye and drew out both of his knives.

“We can’t see you, Elf, but we can still find you easily enough,” Orgo rumbled softy to Elerian. “Grab him and crush the life from his body,” he ordered his grandsons who had turned around at the sound of their grandsire’s voice. “He'll not trick us and get away a second time.”

The young Trolls saw no one before them, but their noses told them exactly where Elerian stood. Along with their grandsire, they rushed forward, groping with great taloned fingers to seize Elerian, but they might as easily have tried to grasp the wind, for he evaded their massive hands with quick, fluid movements of his lithe body. Twisting, turning, and weaving about, he slashed left and right with his knives, inflicting shallow wounds that made only small demands on his power and slowed him not at all. As he gashed thighs, calves, and buttocks, black blood began to drip down the Trolls’ greenish, stony hides, but they refused to retreat, remaining grimly silent despite their injuries lest their cries attract other Trolls to the conflict.

High up on the ledge, Ascilius and the rest of the company watched the strange battle below them with anxious eyes. They could not see Elerian under the cloak of invisibility cast by his ring, but they were able to surmise his presence as the Troll’s pursued his invisible form. All of them were ready to fly down the rope which was still fastened to the pine growing out of the ledge the moment that Elerian called.

When a claw suddenly tugged lightly on his tied back hair, Elerian slipped away from the Trolls and retreated toward the forest on the far side of the clearing, afraid of pressing his luck further. Using their keen noses to track him, the Trolls subjected him to a barrage of stones as he retreated, obtaining their stony missiles from the plentiful supply of fist sized rocks scattered across the clearing. Despite not being able to see Elerian, they flung their stones so shrewdly that he would have gone down in an instant had he been visible. As it was, more than one stone whizzed uncomfortably close to his head and body before he finally slipped behind a massive oak tree.

“What stubborn creatures,” Elerian thought to himself as he advanced his right eye around the edge of the tree trunk protecting him from the Trolls’ missiles to survey his bleeding but undaunted adversaries. “If they will not retreat, then perhaps I can lead them away.” He began to taunt Orgo and his grandsons, hoping they would follow him into the forest so that Ascilius and the rest of his companions could escape from the ledge, but they made no move to pursue him.

“Stay here,” Orgo growled at his grandsons when they began to grow restive from Elerian’s insults, for no Troll likes to be called slow, fat, and dull. “He will either have to come to us to rescue his friends trapped on the ledge, or he can watch us pick them off when hunger and thirst force them down the cliff.”

“The old fellow is too crafty by far,” thought Elerian ruefully to himself as his keen ears caught Orgo’s words to his restive offspring. “He knows that he needs only to remain where he is to maintain his advantage over me. He has left me only one choice. I need to slay him and his grandsons, too, if they will not retreat after his death.”

Elerian considered hurling one of his knives at Orgo, but the distance combined with the quick reflexes of the Troll made a knife throw risky. He next thought of his new spell and how it might offer a way to bridge the gap between himself and the patriarch.

“I must be quick though,” he cautioned himself, “for Orgo knows about portals.”

Raising his right arm, Elerian drew on the power stored in his silver ring. His third eye opened as a small golden orb flew from his fingertips to take up a position in the air at the level of his eyes. There, it expanded into a gleaming circle the size of his head. A thin golden thread tethered the portal to Elerian’s right hand, feeding the charm the power it needed to maintain itself. Closing his magical eye, Elerian saw the ugly, cruel visage of Orgo on the other side of the portal, his green eyes widened by mingled surprise and consternation. The Troll could not see Elerian through the magical opening in front of his face, but as Elerian had feared, he had immediately recognized the odd, clear space before his eyes as a magical opening of some kind.

Before Orgo could react to the threat that had appeared so suddenly before him, Elerian thrust the knife in his left hand through portal, sinking Rasor into Orgo’s right eye, the twisting threads of argentum inlaid in its bright sides gleaming brightly as they drew power from his hand. As Rasor’s cross guard fetched up hard against Orgo’s bony eye socket, Elerian felt as if a hammer had struck him between the eyes. Involuntarily releasing Rasor’s hilt, he fell backwards, his portal vanishing as it slipped from his control. As from a great distance Elerian heard a thunderous roar, but a black curtain before his eyes obscured his vision. Too weak to move and unable to see, he remained where he had fallen.

“I hope that Ascilius and the rest of the company are able to drive off for the smaller Trolls,” thought Elerian hazily to himself. “If not, I will be easy prey for them if they come seeking revenge for the death of their grandsire.” On the edge of unconsciousness, he waited stoically to see what would happen next.  

When Orgo unexpectedly fell backward, full-length on the ground, his grandsons stood in a stunned group around their prone grandsire, trying to comprehend how a knife had suddenly appeared in his right eye. Given a moment to recover, they might have sought Elerian out to revenge Orgo’s death, but when Ascilius saw the great Troll fall, he immediately decided that he had waited long enough on the ledge. Determined to get his fair share of the fighting, he cast the rope end off the ledge and immediately leaped after it, his left hand holding firmly to a bit of leather that he had already wrapped around the rope. As he flew down the cord, his speed and friction caused the pad in his left hand to hiss and heat up in his calloused palm, but he did not slow his descent. Above him, Dacien prepared to follow him but was delayed when Cordus and Cyricus unexpectedly began jostling each other to be next down the rope and ended up scuffling with each other. Both of them would have rolled off the ledge had Dacien and Triarus not got ahold of them and pulled them back. By then, Ascilius had thumped down on the ground behind the Troll brothers. Uttering a battle cry, red sparks flaring in the back of his dark eyes, he raised Fulmen in his right hand, determined to slay all three of the Trolls before him.

Upon hearing his war cry, the three young Trolls started badly before turning to confront this new threat. Faced with a fierce, bloodthirsty Dwarf in front, more enemies descending down from above, for Dacien was now flying down the rope after sorting out Cordus and Cyricus, and an invisible, dangerous opponent lurking nearby in the forest, the brothers took an entirely unexpected course of action. Wheeling about as one, they bolted across the clearing toward the forest.

“Stop you cowards,” roared Ascilius indignantly before setting out in furious pursuit, for he was determined to make someone pay for the many injuries he had suffered at the hands of Orgo. Trolls, however, are much faster than Dwarves are, especially young, terrified Trolls who fear for their lives. Flying across the clearing in great leaps, the three brothers left the Dwarf far behind and vanished into the forest, one of them passing within a few feet of Elerian, who had recovered enough to sit up against a nearby tree. Still unable to stand, he felt a twinge of guilt as he listened to the frightened voices of the brothers fading into the forest, even though he had fully intended to slay all them if he could.

“They are orphans now, like myself, on their own in the world,” he thought to himself, feeling a reluctant sympathy for their plight, for with enemies like Horca about, he doubted that they would survive for long. Ascilius now attracted his eye, for he had stopped at the edge of the forest, cursing and swinging his hammer angrily through the air.

“Let them go, Ascilius,” advised Elerian, fearful that the furious Dwarf might actually follow the Trolls into the wood. His disembodied voice rising up from a point only a few feet to Ascilius’s right, caused the Dwarf to start nervously.

“I am neither angry enough nor foolish enough to follow three Trolls into the forest at night,” Ascilius grumbled in an irritated voice. “Now show yourself, confound you. I feel as if I am talking to a ghost.” A moment later, after he sent away his silver ring, Elerian appeared, still sitting on the ground.

“This is a poor time to be lying about,” said Ascilius with a frown. “You ought to have stopped those Trolls before they escaped into the forest. If they blab about us, every Troll in the mountains around us will be on our track in a few hours.”

“I am recovering from slaying Orgo, not resting,” replied Elerian somewhat testily as he rose to his feet.

“How could a knife throw, even across such a great distance, be so tiring?” inquired Dacien who had now arrived next to Ascilius. Like the rest of his companions, he thought that Elerian had hurled Rasor from the edge of the forest. Elerian did not reply at once, for across the clearing he saw that Cordus and Cyricus were just now touching their feet to the ground while Triarus was preparing to descend the rope.

“Stay there, Triarus!” he shouted. “Send down our gear before you come down.” Turning to Dacien, Elerian said wryly, “I did not throw my knife, Dacien. I stabbed Orgo through a portal, but I badly underestimated the amount of power that it would take to slay him. The blow rendered me helpless so that I was not able to slay the others as I had planned.”

“We should have attacked them together,” grumbled Ascilius, who was still upset at being balked of his revenge on the Trolls. “Then none of them would have escaped.”

“The younger ones escaped because you could not hold your tongue,” replied Elerian dryly. “If you had kept quiet, you could have brained the three of them before they ever turned around when you descended the rope.”

“A war cry is entirely proper before a battle,” replied Ascilius loftily. “At three to one odds, I expected them to fight me, not run off like frightened rabbits.”

“There is no point in quarrelling about what happened,” said Dacien reasonably before Elerian could continue the argument. “We ought to be on our way as soon as possible.” As if to emphasize the danger they were in, drums began to boom deep in the valleys to the east. Falling silent, but still casting contentious looks at each other, Elerian and Ascilius joined the others in taking up their packs, which Triarus had already sent down from the ledge. When the little man climbed down after lowering the last of their gear, Elerian raised his right arm, the line cascading down around his feet as he sheered to rope with a parting spell at the point where it hung over the lip of the ledge.