The Quest (The Hidden Realm Book 5) (30 page)

For the Dwarves and the men the journey was a tedious one as they trudged each day between endless rows of massive, to them identical, tree trunks that rose out of the ground like gray and black pillars. The Dwarves missed the smooth roadways of their underground cities as they scrambled over roots and stubbed their toes on hidden obstacles. Dacien, with his longer legs, found the walking easier, but used to the open plains of Tarsius, he found the forest an oppressive, closed in place. Triarus was the most uncomfortable with their route. He had a horror of any large wood, for in his homeland, forests were the abode of Wood Goblins and even worse creatures.

In contrast to their companions, Elerian and Forian felt at home amongst the wooded groves they traveled through. To them, no two trees looked alike, and they observed each one they saw with interest, noting its kind, shape, and age. Anthea remained in transition, remembering the plains of her birth but drawn now to the forests around her. She divided her time and attention between Dacien and Ascilius, ignoring Elerian entirely. For his part, he did not grudge her the time she spent with her brother, but it continued to irritate him to no end to see Anthea treating Ascilius like a favorite uncle as they walked side by side, carrying on quiet conversations that never quite reached Elerian’s curious ears.

“I wonder how much longer I can endure this torment?” Elerian wondered glumly to himself as he followed at the rear of the company, for Ascilius continued to send smug looks in his direction over his right shoulder whenever Anthea turned her attention away for a moment. “That short scoundrel is up to no good, but any obvious revenge I take on him will only further embed him in Anthea’s sympathies, for she seems determined to take his part at every turn. Some subtle plan is called for which will both open Anthea’s eyes to his devious nature and restore her affection for me.”

While Elerian plotted against Ascilius without success, Torquatus’s sending advanced steadily east through Nefandus, running by night and sleeping by day. Any living thing that was unlucky enough to cross their path was pulled down and torn apart to feed their lust for blood and killing. Goblins, mutare, and men all fell to their slashing fangs in the four nights it took them to reach Urkhut, the black fortress Elerian and Ascilius had passed during their escape from Torquatus’s mines. There, after crossing the Elvorix, they ravaged a line of prisoners and their guards, overtaking them before they could take refuge in the fortress. A mountain Troll turned to confront them at the head of the column, but they pulled him down with the rest, tearing his stony flesh to pieces with fangs and claws before moving on to the sound of horns braying from the walls of Urkhut, warning all the countryside to flee or lock themselves in some strong place. Hemmed in by the Elvorix on their left and rugged mountains on their right, the licantropes turned north, drawn by the invisible thread that joined them to Elerian, but soon took refuge in a dark wood as the first rays of the sun crept over the high, rugged peaks on their right.

To the north, a day’s journey from the Elvorix, the same golden rays shone on Elerian and his companions as he roused them from their leafy beds. Not one smile greeted him, for two days of walking and cold camps had followed the warm cheerful night the company had passed in the hollow tree Anthea had discovered. Unable to find shelter of any sort, everyone had slept out in the open with only ferns or dried leaves for a bed. Fish, game, majum, and mushrooms were all abundant in the untouched groves around them, but because they dared not light a fire in the open, Elerian and his companions had been forced to rely entirely on the dried sausages Ascilius had made from the boar that he had frightened to death.

“By my reckoning we have at least ten more days before we finally cross over the Murus into the western lands, but at best, we have only two days’ supply of food left,” said Ascilius worriedly to Elerian as he brushed bits of dried leaves from his hair and beard.

“I would almost rather eat my boots than down any more of these sausages,” remarked Dacien glumly as he unenthusiastically ate his bit of breakfast.

“You may get your wish,” replied Ascilius grimly. “There is food to be had all around us, but without a fire we might as well be in the midst of a desert.” Taking his customary place at the head of their column, he led his companions away from the cheerless place where they had spent the night. Everyone kept a sharp out for a protected campsite during the days march, but by nightfall, when the east bank of the Elvorix came into sight through the trees ahead of them, the best that they were able to manage was another cold camp by the side of a gray outcrop that thrust itself out of the ground near the river.

Weary and hungry, for the last of their food had been consumed that morning, the company sat in somber silence. Warning everyone to take only a little, Elerian passed around his flask of Aqua vitae, which he had been saving for just such a moment as this. It warmed and strengthened his companions but did little to lessen the pangs of hunger they felt. Soon after that most of the company sought their blankets, excepting only Elerian and Anthea.

“You should rest too,” suggested Elerian quietly to Anthea.

“I am not tired,” she replied coolly, the first words that she had spoken to him since they left the Gavius. Then, unexpectedly, she spoke again. “Walk with me,” she commanded. Without waiting for a response, she stood in one lithe motion and silently left the camp.

THE CHASE

Irritated at Anthea’s abrupt manner, Elerian considered remaining where he was for a moment and then discarded the notion.

“The seas could sooner resist the pull of the moon,” he thought wryly to himself as he, too, rose and left the campsite. Walking a little behind Anthea, he followed her into the forest. Not yet asleep, Forian watched them from his blankets, noting how alike they were in their forms and graceful movements, but still unconvinced that a union between them would have a happy result.

As she stepped lightly and silently through the wood ahead of Elerian, Anthea remarked to herself how different her view of the world had become. Seen through human eyes, the nighttime forest would have seemed little more than an impenetrable wall of darkness full of frightening noises. To her altered senses all was now changed. Her eyes saw the black and grey world around her in minute detail, stripping away the mystery cast by night while her ears identified the sounds she heard as no more than the rustling of woodland creatures on the forest floor around her and the faint stirrings of the roosting birds in the branches above her.

When she reached the bank of the Elvorix, Anthea climbed up into an enormous oak whose branches extended out over the swift flowing waters of the river. Behind her, Elerian followed silently, effortlessly pulling and pushing himself up with sinewy arms and legs, his long, strong fingers finding plentiful handholds in the rough bark of the forest giant. When Anthea sat down on a great branch at least four feet across and rested her slim back against the tree’s broad trunk, he hesitantly sat down beside her, on her left. Suddenly and entirely unexpectedly, she pillowed her head on his chest, her thick, dark hair concealing her fair face.

Hardly daring to breathe, wondering if she had finally forgiven him, Elerian brushed back lustrous locks with his right hand. His eyes widened and he started violently when Anthea looked up at him, for instead of a fair elf maiden, he now cradled an old crone in his arms who bore an uncanny resemblance to the hag shape the Gargol had taken. As the wild thought shot through his mind that the creature still lived, his third eye opened, revealing a golden shade resting against him instead of a dark one.

“I thought so,” said Anthea’s voice coldly. “I see by your reaction that if my looks fade, you will want nothing to do with me, as Forian predicted.” Closing his magical eye Elerian felt the familiar sense of confusion that often seemed to plague him in Anthea’s presence.

“I drew away because you reminded me of someone I would rather forget,” he protested ruefully as Anthea resumed her own form, a frown on her fair brow.

“And who might this older woman be that you dallied with after you left me?” inquired Anthea, her eyes flashing as she drew away from him.

“She was a hag but we were not involved romantically!” stammered Elerian who felt as if he was sinking deeper into some watery marsh with each word, for Anthea now sat stiffly with her back to him.

“I had rather fight a whole gang of Goblins than engage in wordplay with her,” he thought to wryly himself. “My wits are always in turmoil, for I feel as if I hold something precious in my hand and must constantly guard against losing it.” Taking a deep breath, he began again.

“I was referring to the creature that abducted Ascilius beneath the mountains, not a real person. Your illusion reminded me of it. I care not at all if you age with the passage of years, for I can age with you.” Casting an illusion over himself, Elerian turned his hair white and wrinkled his skin.

“I will run away if you look like that,” asserted Anthea eying him critically for a moment before turning away again. Unable to think what to say next, Elerian suddenly noticed that Anthea was now quivering in an odd way and making soft muffled noises. Fearful that he had reduced her to tears, Elerian crept up beside her, but when he could see her face again, he saw the gleam of laughter in her eyes not the shine of tears.

“You are playing games with me again,” he accused indignantly.

“You brought it on yourself,” replied Anthea, still laughing softly. “Poor Ascilius related in great detail all that he has suffered at your hands since the two of you left Tarsius. I thought it only fitting to administer a bit of your own medicine in return, especially since you spoiled Ascilius’s chance at true love at that inn where he met the serving maid.” The depth of Ascilius’s treachery took Elerian’s breath away, leaving him unable to respond for a moment.

“I knew he was up to no good!” he thought to himself, torn between admiration for Ascilius’s craftiness and a desire for revenge on the Dwarf.

“I would have ended my prank days ago, if you had not started acting as skittish as a young colt that sees a bridle for the first time when I mentioned my desire for a home and children,” continued Anthea when Elerian remained silent.

“I was not skittish only startled,” protested Elerian, finding his voice at last. “I have never heard you take an interest in things of a domestic nature before.”

“There is still much about me that you still do not know,” replied Anthea coolly. “If that frightens you, then you had best take yourself off now as Forian suggested.”

“I cannot do that,” replied Elerian resignedly. “You have me under a spell which I cannot break. I will have to remain by your side even though I fear that you will eventually drive me mad.”

“Expect no sympathy from me,” replied Anthea sharply. “Ascilius is your closest friend and yet you torment him constantly.”

“Indeed I do,” replied Elerian, a gleam laughter suddenly appearing in his eyes as he took pleasure in both the pranks that he had played on the Dwarf and the warm bond of friendship that existed between them. “If he can be a good sport about my tricks then I suppose I can be no less accepting of yours,” he replied resignedly before tentatively placing his right arm around Anthea again. When she made no resistance, he gathered her close against him. Feeling her warm, firm form against him, their soft breaths coming in tandem, Elerian suddenly felt that all was right with the world again.

“I wish that we could remain like this forever,” he thought to himself as Anthea drifted off into sleep. He remained awake and watchful the rest of the night, wondering at what the future held for the two of them. “An early death more likely than not,” suggested that part of his mind given to pessimism.

When dawn lightened the sky, Elerian roused Anthea, who came instantly awake like a wild thing. Together, they returned to their camp where they woke the rest of the company. With hunger gnawing at their bellies, they forded the Elvorix and continued west along the fringes of the foothills on their right, unaware that their path was leading them directly toward Torquatus’s licantropes, who were now sleeping away the day in a shallow cave that was only twenty miles away.

By noon, the weather turned damp with intermittent showers of cold rain that further depressed the mood of the company. Towards evening, cold, hungry, and tired the six companions approached the mouth of a narrow valley that ran through a gap in the mountains that now ran south across their path. A little used road ran down the center of the valley.

“The highway before us leads to the valley of the Alba, but we dare not use it lest we be seen,” said Ascilius to his companions before leading the company into the mountains that rose up on their right. Keeping to the ridge tops, the Dwarf led the company west through a forest of oak, ash, and chestnuts until they reached a place where the slope before them flattened and widened, becoming a stony meadow that was bare of trees. To the right of the clearing a sheer cliff rose up several hundred feet into the air. At its base grew two great oaks.

“We will not find a better place to pass the night than under those two trees,” observed Ascilius to his companions. When no one objected, he led the company to the cliff where he and his companions settled themselves between the huge roots of the trees, the leaves covering the massive branches spreading above them giving partial protection from the sporadic rain. Ending his illusion spell, Elerian then passed around his flask of aqua vitae. After each of them took a small quantity, his companions wrapped themselves in their blankets and cloaks, glumly preparing to endure a cold, wet, hungry night.

Taking refuge between two great roots that encircled him like great, bark covered arms, Elerian sat contentedly with Anthea in his arms, her warm firm body pressed up against his chest and only her tousled, dark locks and bright eyes showing above the cloaks and blankets he wrapped around her. Of all the company, the two of them were the least affected by their hardships, for they were less troubled by cold than the others were, and the aqua vitae still satisfied most of their hunger.

“We had best search for a cave tomorrow where we can have a fire,” suggested Elerian quietly to Anthea. “I think it will be safe enough now to rest and hunt for a day or two before we attempt to cross the Murus.”

Instead of responding to his words, Anthea suddenly sat upright. When she turned to Elerian, he saw her blue eyes were almost black in the absence of sunlight and that the silver beech leaf resting below her throat shone with a pale light.

“Something evil approaches,” she said quietly, her voice troubled. At that moment a long drawn out howl rose eerily from the valley below.

“It may be only a pack of wolves hunting a stag,” replied Elerian reassuringly.

“We should think about making some sort of defense just in case you are mistaken,” suggested Anthea uneasily.

Another howl now rose from the valley below, undeniably closer than the first. Triarus, who had chosen to sleep near the cliff face, started out of sleep at the sound, involuntarily pressing himself against the wall of stone behind him. When he gave out a panicked cry, Elerian and Anthea looked his way, both of them starting when the little man suddenly disappeared. Of their own accord, their third eyes opened at the same moment, revealing a shifting wall of green about the size of a large door hanging in the air where Triarus had disappeared. As they sprang to their feet, the rest of the company, awakened by Triarus’s cry also leapt from their blankets. Rushing to the cliff face, they were greatly startled when the little man’s disembodied head suddenly popped out of the cliff face, seemingly hanging unsupported in the air two feet above the ground.

“You will grow used to strange happenings if you remain in our company,” remarked Dacien dryly to Forian, when he noticed the Niadd’s amazement at the unusual sight before him.

“There is a tunnel here,” said Triarus excitedly before withdrawing his head again.

“An illusion is hiding the entrance,” explained Anthea to her companions as she made her way past them. Taking a step toward the cliff face, she, too, disappeared into what appeared to be solid stone. Elerian immediately followed her, as did the rest of the company after first satisfying themselves with a touch of their fingers that there was truly empty space before them.

 The six companions now found themselves in a man-high tunnel whose rough walls were illuminated by a small mage light that now floated above Anthea’s head. Wondering what she would find at the end of it, Anthea now set off down the passageway before her, closely followed by Elerian and Ascilius. The tunnel, which appeared to be an entirely natural formation as evidenced by the unworked stone of its walls, proved to be barely thirty feet long, ending in a small cave less than a dozen feet across.

“Why would someone hide an ordinary cave entrance?” wondered Anthea aloud to Elerian when they stood before the back wall of the chamber.

“Perhaps to hide what is happening in the cave,” suggested Elerian as he ran his right hand over the rough, stone wall in front of him. A fine line of gleaming silver immediately appeared in the rock beneath his long fingers, forming an arch that was man high and about four feet wide.

“A magical door!” exclaimed Anthea excitedly to Elerian when she saw the gleaming line of argentum. “Can you open it?”

“Let me try!” suggested Ascilius as he squeezed between Elerian and Anthea. “Magical doors are best left to Dwarves.” Raising his right hand, he began to cast one opening spell after another, but his initial confidence was soon replaced by frustration when the door before him remained stubbornly closed.

“Perhaps it is an Elf door,” suggested Anthea gently. “Dwarves would be unlikely to use trees in their magic.”

“How are we to open it then?” asked Ascilius with a frown. “I am entirely unfamiliar with Elven spells.”

“Perhaps I can find the answer,” suggested Elerian. When Ascilius and Anthea turned his way, they saw that he held a spell book in his left hand. Written in gold letters on its soft brown cover was the name Dymiter. As Elerian began to riffle through the pages searching for opening spells, everyone on the company heard another chorus of howls, closer than before.

“You would do well to hurry a bit,” suggested Ascilius nervously to Elerian. “We will have a grim time of it if we are trapped in this small space.”

“It will take me even longer if you keep distracting me,” replied Elerian abstractedly. “There is an enormous amount of material here to search through. Long, tense moments, punctuated by more howls, passed before he suddenly paused in his search. Reading from a list of spells that he had found, Elerian began to cast opening charms, watching with his third eye as a golden orb flew from his right hand toward the door at the completion of each spell. Three times the sphere that he cast flared uselessly against the dark stone, but the fourth elicited a loud click from a hidden lock. Closing his third eye, Elerian saw a stone door swing inward to reveal another tunnel, the walls of this one bearing the marks of digging tools. The floor, however, was smooth and level throughout.