The Foundling

Book One

of

The Hidden Realm

by

A. Giannetti

The Foundling

Copyright © 2011 A. Giannetti.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or retransmitted in any form or by any means without the written permission of the author.

International Standard Book Number 9781456530013

PROLOGUE

The Foundling begins with a chance encounter between an old man named Balbus and a small boy named Elerian. They meet in the depths of a dangerous forest, and believing Elerian to be an orphan; Balbus decides to take him home, a decision that turns his quiet life upside down. He discovers that Elerian is no ordinary child, and that he is being hunted by a number of enemies, all of whom are determined to slay him for reasons of their own. To keep Elerian alive, Balbus is forced to contend with shape shifters, Goblins, and other magical creatures. Balbus is often aided in his struggles to keep Elerian alive by his good friend Tullius who possesses mage powers. And sometimes, Elerian, who possesses magical powers of his own, is forced to step in and save both Balbus and Tullius.

Table of Contents

Title

Copyright

Prologue

Map

Chapters

Balbus

A Spell Goes Awry

A Chance Encounter

Talking Wolves

A Disturbing Discovery

The Farm

The Venetor

Tullius

Balbus Tells His Story

The Disguise

Watchers in the Dark

Drusus

Sarius is Deceived

Strangers and Silver

A Clever Trap

The Rescuers

Captured

The Hunt for Drusus

The Early Years

The Leopard

The Mutare

A Difficult Decision

A Timely Rescue

The Chase

The Woodcutters

The Black Wolf

An Alarming Development

The Third Eye

The Pool

First Lesson

An Unexpected Visit

Bumps and Bruises

A Difficult Time

Hidden Realms

A Rash of Mischief

The Shape Changer

One Spell Leads to Another

An Old Enemy

The Robbery

Loose Ends

BALBUS

One hot summer afternoon on the first day of August in the waning years of the Fourth Age, a Hesperian named Balbus was working industriously in his vineyard. He was bent over beneath a scorching midsummer sun as he patiently pruned the excess shoots from his vines, snapping off the brittle green stems with his powerful, sun-browned fingers. Like most of his countrymen, he was short and powerfully built, with skin tanned to a rich brown by constant exposure to the sun. Whenever he raised his head, the sun glinted off the white hairs which peppered his short brown beard, for Balbus was sixty-one, just past middle age for a Hesperian, many of whom lived to see their hundredth year. From a distance, he might have been mistaken for a Dwarf had he been wearing one of the hoods they favored.

Instead of a hood, Balbus wore a broad brimmed felt hat to protect his face and neck from the fierce August sun, but sweat still beaded his brow, and his brown tunic was stained with dark patches of perspiration because of his labors and the sweltering heat. Reaching the end of a long row of vines, he straightened up, stretching the aching muscles of his lower back before taking a moment to wipe away the moisture, which coursed freely down his face, with the loose sleeve covering his left arm. Stroking his beard thoughtfully for a moment with his right hand, he contemplated the acres of grapes left to thin with a marked lack of enthusiasm. He turned his warm brown eyes from the rows of grapes toward the forest of trees which covered the slopes below his farm. There would be shade beneath the thick green canopy formed by their branches and leaves, and cool, clear streams, where he could slake his thirst and cool his feet, flowed among their roots.

Looking away from the forest, Balbus turned to a large black dog that lay on the ground nearby, sheltering from the sun in the thin shade cast by the broad three pointed leaves of the grape vines. His erect ears and long muzzle gave him a wolfish look, and his red tongue lolled between sharp white teeth as he panted softly in the heat. As if anticipating that a change of scene was imminent, he was keenly watching Balbus’s every move.

“Carbo, I think it is time for cooler work,” said Balbus to the dog. Balbus was often alone, and he had gotten into the habit of speaking to Carbo as he would to another person. At Balbus’s words, Carbo’s hazel eyes took on an excited gleam. He was a clever animal and understood a great deal of what Balbus said to him. From past experience, he knew that they were about to leave the farm to go searching in the nearby forest for a bees’ nest and the golden honey it might contain. Carbo, of course, cared nothing for honey, but he found the forest to be an attractive place. It was always cool under the trees, even on the hottest days, and there were many inviting smells to investigate.

“We are in agreement then,” said Balbus with a smile as Carbo leaped to his feet, his sleek black coat glistening in the rays of the bright August sun as he stretched his powerful muscles.

“Come along then,” said Balbus, and he set off down the narrow grass covered path that ran between the rows of grape vines he had just finished pruning. Carbo followed eagerly at his heels.

At the end of the path, Balbus turned right onto a wide cart track covered with short turf browned by the heat and lack of rain. The cart track climbed steadily as Balbus and Carbo followed it, for Balbus’s farm lay on the rounded crest of a long ridge, a spur of the Galerius which rose up like a great brown and gray wall miles to the south on Balbus’s left.

When the track reached the summit of the ridge, it leveled off before coming to a small wooden gate set in a low fence. The fence was built of gray fieldstones of various sizes, taken from Balbus’s own fields. Balbus opened the gate, leaving the cart path which veered off to the right. He followed a gray flagstone walkway across a lawn of close cut turf that was still green, despite the heat. At the end of the walkway was a small farmhouse built of the same gray fieldstone as the fence, but with mortar added between the joints to give them strength. The farmhouse was roofed with brown clay tiles which overlapped each other to shed rain. The homey otherwise inviting look of the house was somewhat spoiled by a small window which pierced the wall to the left of the front door. Five iron bars as thick as a man’s thumb were set vertically in the window opening, and heavy wooden shutters closed off the window on the inside of the house. The door to the right of the window was equally formidable in appearance, being made of heavy oak planks which looked capable of resisting a small battering ram.

The forbidding bars and the heavy wooden door were necessary precautions. The open hilltop where Balbus lived was safe enough during the day, but nights were an altogether different matter. There were wolves and leopards in the forests which covered the lower slopes of the hill, and in the wild lands to the north, there were bears and lions. During the lean winter months, when the sun went down and night threw its dark cloak over the land, these four footed hunters sometimes left the forest to prowl around the farmhouse on the hilltop. When Balbus heard their hungry cries outside his walls or heard them scratching on his door, the bars over the window and the thickness of his stout front door were a comfort to him.

Attached to the right side of the house was a roofed stonewalled passageway that connected to a small barn, also built of gray fieldstone set with mortar. In front of the passageway and to the right of the path leading to the front door was a large garden, green and lush from frequent watering. To the right of the garden, covering the span of ground in front of the barn was a small orchard of fig, pear, and apple trees, all heavily laden with fruit. Both the garden and the orchard were enclosed by the same fence which bordered Balbus’s front yard. The cart track Balbus had followed up the hill passed through the portion of the fence in front of the barn through a second larger gate, running through the middle of the orchard and ending before a large, heavy door in the side of the barn. Tucked away in a corner of the orchard to the right of the cart track was a small stone building which contained a well filled with clear, cold spring water. Four great chestnut trees grew around the house and barn, one at either end and two behind in the middle of a second lawn of close cut turf. Their wide, leafy crowns threw a welcome shade across the roof of Balbus’s farmhouse when the sun traveled its great arc across the sky.

The lawn behind the house ended in front of a grass covered lane bordered on both sides by tall, regularly spaced ash trees whose long oval leaves cast a pleasant shade over the road. The lane ended in front of Balbus’s house, for he had no neighbors to the north. South of his farm, it ran along the crest of the hill on which he lived before taking a sharp bend to the southeast where it continued on over the foothills of the Galerius. Along its whole length, the road kept to the heights, dipping only briefly here and there to span some valley or hogback. Strung along the road on the hilltops were neat farmhouses, surrounded by fields, pastures, and small woodlots. To the left of the road, along the lower border of each farm, where the land sloped down to meet the forest below, grew a tall, wide, continuous hedge which afforded some protection from the forest and its wild inhabitants. To the right of the road rose the towering slopes of the Galerius. Their steep sides were covered with open meadows, browned and sere from the summer sun, but their tall gray peaks were bare of any cover.

With Carbo impatiently crowding against his legs, Balbus opened his front door and entered his house. The dim interior was cool, for the thick stone walls kept out the heat of the sun. Thin rays of golden sunlight shone through gaps in the shutters which closed off the small window, giving Balbus enough light to see by. Quickly, he exchanged his sandals for a pair of sturdy leather boots. Like Carbo, he was now filled with a rising sense of excitement, and his dark eyes gleamed with anticipation.

“After all these years of searching, perhaps today will be the day,” he thought to himself as he laced up his boots. A memory, still vivid despite the passage of time, suddenly played itself out in his mind. All alone, for this was long before Carbo had come along, a younger version of himself was plundering a bees’ nest located in a hollow log lying on the ground deep in the forest. As he pulled out golden honeycomb from the nest, he suddenly felt eyes on his back. Straightening up and whirling around, fearing some hungry beast was about to spring on him, he caught a brief glimpse of a thin goat like face with long, pointed ears and lustrous black eyes peering at him from around the trunk of an ancient oak tree. “A faun,” he thought to himself excitedly, and his fear instantly vanished. From the time he was a small child, Balbus had heard stories of older races that had lived in the land of Hesperia before the first men arrived there, and he had often fantasized about meeting one of the elder people in the forest. He opened his mouth to call out a greeting, but the strange creature abruptly vanished. Dropping the dripping golden combs that he held in his hands, he had rushed to the tree, but there was no sign of the strange being he had glimpsed a moment ago. “Come back, I am a friend,” he shouted repeatedly, but there was no response to his cries.

Balbus had never dared to tell anyone about what he had seen, for with the exception of himself and some very young children; no one actually believed that the legends about vanished races were true. “If I ever speak of this, everyone will think I imagined it,” he had thought ruefully to himself at the time. “I will never hear the end of it. Behind my back, people will call me a fool.”

Although he never spoke of it, Balbus had never forgotten the incident, and if anything, his desire to find and meet a member of the elder races had grown even stronger. Fortunately, the quest for honey gave him a convenient excuse to spend time in the forest without people suspecting the real object of his search.

After lacing up his boots, Balbus fastened a leather sheath containing a long, sharp knife to the wide leather belt that circled his waist. He then secured a wide, spiked leather collar around Carbo’s neck. Each spike was as long and thick as Balbus’s little finger and sharpened to a fine point. The collar, along with Carbo’s great size, made him a formidable guardian. The beasts of prey, which lived in the forest, gave him a wide berth when he was abroad with Balbus in their haunts.

Once Carbo’s collar was fastened to his satisfaction, Balbus shrugged his shoulders into the handles of a large wicker basket. The basket rode high on his shoulders and contained a large brown earthenware jar for carrying honeycomb. A long coil of rope hung from the back of the basket. Sometimes, Balbus had to climb into a tree to reach the nests that he found.

“Let’s be on our way then,” Balbus said cheerfully to Carbo, who was now waiting by the door, his paws dancing on the polished stone floor in his eagerness to be off. After opening the door for Carbo, Balbus reached with his left hand for a sturdy wooden staff that hung from a peg to the left of his front door. Shod with a steel cap at one end and pierced with a hole for a leather strap at the other end, the polished brown staff appeared to be an ordinary walking stick, but it had a hidden virtue. Concealed in its hard wood was a finding spell that made it invaluable to Balbus. He never went into the forests that lay below his farm without it.

After locking the door behind him, Balbus transferred the staff to his right hand and set off down the cart track. As he descended, Balbus was able to look out over a vast green wood that stretched north and east from the hill on which he lived, reaching with only an occasional break all the way to the distant horizon. On his right, rising like a great wall in the south, were the sharp peaks of the Galerius.

The cart path Balbus followed cut through his grape fields and ended before a tall, heavy gate of unpainted wood. It was set in a narrow opening which pierced a thick hedge covered with small, glossy, oval leaves of a dark green hue. The hedge was twice the height of a man and was a part of the barrier which protected all the hilltop farms, stretching unbroken, except for an occasional gate, all the way from Balbus’s farm to Sidonia, the nearest town. Its tough, interlaced branches formed only a partial barrier against the forest and its inhabitants, however. A determined animal could still force its way through the base of the hedge if it persevered long enough.

After passing through the gate, Balbus walked across a narrow swath of thick, ankle high grass that separated the hedge from the forest. A deep stillness lay over the trees which rose up like a green wall before him. Not a leaf fluttered in the oppressive heat of the afternoon sun.

Without hesitation, Balbus eagerly pushed his way through a screen of low hanging, leaf covered branches, followed closely by Carbo. At once, he felt as if he had entered another world. The rays of the fierce midsummer sun were filtered by the thick green canopy of leaves overhead, and only a dim, greenish light that was soothing to the eyes penetrated to the forest floor. The leaves also blocked the heat of the sun, and Balbus felt a welcome coolness flow over him. Almost of their own accord, for they had traveled it many times before, his feet found a faint  path that wound between the tall trees that reared up all around him. Despite being surrounded by trees, Balbus did not feel closed in. There was no underbrush because of the lack of sunlight, and the thick trunks of the trees were far enough apart that he could see for a good distance on all sides. Only a thick layer of brown leaves, broken in places by the twisting, knobby roots of the trees, covered the ground.

The path he was following soon led Balbus to a small, sun drenched meadow. He paused for a moment by its margin. The tall grass covering the clearing was browned by the summer sun, and the wild flowers of spring were long gone, but the small, round white flowers of clover plants were still scattered all across the meadow. Droning among the flowers, eagerly harvesting their sweet nectar, were hundreds of yellow and black bees. It was toward these industrious insects that Balbus directed his attention.

A SPELL GOES AWRY

Raising his staff, Balbus pointed it at the nearest member of the winged horde plundering the meadow flowers. As the bee busily gathered nectar from a clover blossom, Balbus pictured a hollow place filled with honeycomb in his mind. At once, his walking stick began pulling his right hand, gently but insistently, across the meadow as the finding spell within the wood sought to guide him toward the nest that belonged to the bee he had signaled out. For the rest of the afternoon, Balbus and Carbo traveled at a lazy pace in a northeasterly direction across the east face of the hill on which Balbus lived. Once, off in the distance behind him, Balbus heard the measured thud of a woodcutter’s ax, but other than that sound, there was nothing to indicate any human presence in the forest. A green silence, broken occasionally by liquid birdsong, prevailed under the trees which rose like brown and black pillars all around him. It was hard to imagine any danger in this peaceful setting, but Balbus kept his eyes and ears open as he walked, and he especially watched Carbo whose senses were so much keener than his own. As long as it was daylight, Balbus felt quite safe, especially with Carbo at his side, but it was always best to be cautious. The thought of becoming lost, one of the greatest fears of those who walk in the wild, never troubled him, for he had his staff to bring him safely home, no matter how far into the forest he traveled.

Balbus smiled wryly to himself as he thought of what his friends and neighbors would say if they were suddenly to appear by his side. The forest, they would be quick to tell him, was a dangerous place. Didn’t he know or care that almost every year there was at least one woodcutter or hunter who ventured into it and never returned? If Balbus wanted honey then he should get it in safety by keeping bees on his own farm. They never spoke of it openly, but Balbus knew that most of them considered it just a matter of time before he, too, vanished, and his name was added to the long list of those who had been swallowed up by the forest that lay below their small farms.

“What would they say if they knew I was searching for legends instead of honey?” wondered Balbus to himself, and he smiled again as he pictured the incredulous looks on their faces. “Truly, they would think that I have finally lost my mind.”

Occupied as he was with his thoughts, Balbus lost track of the time. He searched the spaces between the trees with his sharp brown eyes, on the alert for anything unusual, until he suddenly realized that he and Carbo had reached the end of the long ridge on which he lived. Despite the pull of his staff, Balbus came to an abrupt stop. Before him, the land leveled out. Both ahead of him and to his right, the forest was much the same as that which covered the hillside behind him, fairly open and not too threatening. He had entered it before without coming to any harm. To his left, however, still out of sight for now, was a vast wilderness that stretched endlessly to the north and west. Called the Wild Wood by the Dwarves and the Abercius by the Hesperians, this expanse of ancient trees was a far more dangerous place than the open hillside forests Balbus was accustomed to. Most of it had never been explored by Men or Dwarves. Strange creatures lived there, seldom seen by human eyes and never listed in any bestiary. The worst of them, the venetor, was thought to have its dark den somewhere in those trackless forests. It was straight toward this dangerous place that Balbus’s enchanted staff now insistently pulled his right hand.

“I think we should turn back Carbo,” Balbus said uneasily as he continued to resist the persistent pull of his walking stick. “We are only searching for honey, after all. It would be foolish to risk the dangers of the Abercius for something we can obtain at no risk from the hills behind us.”

Carbo gave voice to a sharp bark to signal his agreement. He waited expectantly for Balbus to turn back toward the safety of the hillside forests. Balbus tugged against the staff, meaning to turn around, but it resisted his efforts to pull it away from its goal. Balbus could not recall that it had ever pulled at him so strongly before. “Surely the nest must be nearby,” thought Balbus to himself. “Perhaps I will go just a little farther then.”

To Carbo’s dismay, instead of turning toward the safety of the slopes behind him, Balbus followed the firm pull of his staff and walked in a north westerly direction, straight toward the borders of the Abercius. Whining softly in distress, Carbo followed close behind him.

Before long, a wall of immense trees rose up before Balbus, dwarfing the younger trees behind him. As his walking stick pulled him firmly toward the green gloom that lay under the ancient trees before him, Balbus hesitated, for he had never ventured into the Abercius, even in the daytime.

“I will only go in a little ways,” he thought to himself finally. “If I do not find the bees’ nest quickly, I will turn around and go home.”

He allowed his staff to pull him into the forest. Colossal green towers, those trees seemed to him as he walked beneath them. Their thick trunks, some of them twenty or more feet in diameter, were buttressed by enormous, winding roots that burrowed through the thick layer of old, fallen leaves that covered the ground like a brown carpet. Although the trees grew well apart from each other, the light that filtered down to the forest floor was dim and muted; for each tree joined its branches, high overhead, to those of its neighbors to form an unbroken roof of green leaves over the forest floor. Despite the lack of undergrowth, Balbus could not see very far in the dim light, and there were dark shadows at the limits of his vision.

“Any sort of danger might be hiding in this gloomy place,” thought Balbus to himself. His steps slowed, but still he went on, following the insistent pull of his staff. Soon, the sheer size of the trees began to weigh on him. He felt insignificant, as if he were no more than a tiny insect toiling over and between their enormous roots. Thoughts of the Ondredon began to trouble him. According to the fireside tales Balbus had heard as a child, some of the great trees in the Abercius were more alive than the trees that lived in other places. They possessed the ability to move from place to place. It was perilous to approach them, for some had the power to cast spells, and they did not love men or their sharp axes.

Although Balbus had never believed in the existence of the Ondredon before, here in this lonely and mysterious place, he began to feel he might have been mistaken in his disbelief. At the edges of his vision, it seemed to him that the trees around him began to bend and sway in his direction in a threatening manner, but when he stared at them directly, they stood as still as if they were made of stone.

“I hate this gloomy place. Why haven’t I turned back already?” he wondered to himself. “I shall stop and turn around now,” he said firmly, but his staff continued to draw him deeper into the forest.

“What a fool I am,” thought Balbus to himself, suddenly. “I can end this right now.” He formed a picture in his mind of his own snug home and waited expectantly for his staff to change direction. When the moments stretched out and the staff continued to draw him on into the forest, Balbus felt a moment of real fear.

“This confounded staff has never behaved like this before. It must have been ensorcelled by the Ondredon,” thought Balbus to himself. He released the polished wood as if it had suddenly become hot to the touch, and the staff fell to the ground. Balbus breathed a sigh of relief to be free from its insistent pull. “I am turning back now, even if I have to leave the staff here,” he thought to himself. Raising his head, Balbus looked around at the endless vista of gray lichen covered tree trunks that surrounded him and suddenly realized that he had lost all sense of direction.

Despite the coolness of the air, he began to sweat. The many stories he had heard about the Abercius, none of them good, ran through his mind. From the corners of his eyes, he thought he saw awful shapes moving in the shadows. A wave of panic washed over him, urging him to run and leave this frightening place behind. Fortunately, Balbus’s common sense reasserted itself. He had enough woodcraft to know that he could not just go running blindly through the forest. “I will end up going in circles and never find my way out,” he thought to himself. Reluctantly, he picked up his staff again, for without it, he might never find his way out of this terrible place.

As Balbus’s fingers closed around his staff, it immediately began to pull against his hand, trying to draw him on again deeper into the forest. Reluctantly, Balbus followed it, trying to pick the easiest path through the network of huge roots covering the ground. Occasionally, he was forced to scramble over fallen branches, some of them as large as young trees.

So intent was he on the ground in front of him that Balbus was taken by surprise when the staff brought him into an open space. There was a hole in the canopy above him, and Balbus was momentarily blinded by the shafts of bright sunlight that pierced the opening. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw that the ground before him was heaved up, as if a great tree had been uprooted there. A sort of path, deeply rutted and furrowed, led away from the disturbed ground deeper into the gloom of the forest.

“One of the Ondredon has been here,” thought Balbus to himself in a sudden panic. “What else could have torn up the ground in such a fashion?” He looked wildly about him, expecting at any moment to see some great tree reaching for him with its gnarled branches, and all the while, the staff continued to surge against his hand. As it pulled him across the clearing, Balbus started violently when a wolf howled mournfully in the distance. The long hairs on Carbo’s neck rose up stiff and straight.

“It is just a wolf,” Balbus scolded himself nervously as he sought to slow his pounding heart. “Wolves are too well fed to bother with people during the summer months,” he reassured Carbo, but his voice was full of doubt. Who knew how the wolves in this terrible forest would act.

Driven by a sudden determination to stop the foolishness of his master, Carbo closed his white teeth on Balbus’s right pant leg, tugging vigorously backwards as if imploring Balbus to stop his unwise advance into the forest.

“Only a little farther old friend,” said Balbus to Carbo as he gently freed his leg. “We must follow the staff to wherever it is leading us. If I abandon it now, we will never find our way out of the forest.”

Despite Balbus’s and Carbo’s misgivings, nothing threatened them as they traveled deeper into the wood, but an odd stillness grew in the air. No bird or any other creature broke the thick silence, and it seemed as if the whole forest was waiting expectantly for something to happen. Again, a wolf howled, the sound definitely much closer now. Balbus did not start this time, but he slowed his steps, for the distant, eager yelps, which followed the howl, indicated that the creature was on the trail of prey and approaching in his direction. As if it had taken on a life of its own and was dissatisfied with his slower pace, the walking stick pulled so vigorously at his fingers that it threatened to slip from his grasp.

Convinced at last that he was being drawn into some sort of trap, Balbus decided that he would not take another step into the forest. Gripping his staff firmly with both hands, he dug in his heels, but the walking stick continued to drag him relentlessly forward past the furrowed bole of a great chestnut tree. Having taken him past the tree on its right side, the staff ceased to pull on his arms so abruptly that Balbus lost his balance and almost fell flat on his back. Luckily, his fall was stopped by the trunk of the chestnut as he stumbled backwards.

Breathing heavily from the struggle he had just endured, Balbus leaned against the tree, holding the now quiescent staff in his right hand. In the sudden silence, he heard the droning of bees high in the branches above his head. His fears abruptly vanished, and he began to laugh softly in relief.

“Fool,” he admonished himself. “It was only taking you to a bees’ nest after all. There must be a hollow limb somewhere on this chestnut tree at your back.” Still chuckling, he looked around him, at ease once more; but the laughter suddenly died on his lips. All thoughts of honey were driven from his mind by the sight of a small child standing in the space between two great oak trees only a score of feet away from him.

A CHANCE ENCOUNTER

For a long moment, Balbus remained motionless, staring in disbelief. A young child was the last thing he expected to see in this remote and lonely place. The boy, Balbus was sure it was a boy from his clothes and appearance, stared calmly back at him neither moving nor attempting to speak. There was a measuring look in his bright gray eyes as if he were trying to decide whether Balbus was a friend or an enemy.

Balbus’s fears of the Ondredon, so recently laid to rest, returned full force. He began to wonder if the boy was real. Perhaps he was only an illusion, part of some cunning trick intended by the Ondredon to entrap him, for it seemed impossible to him that a real child of such a young age could be here alone in this wild place.

Unexpectedly, Carbo walked up to the boy and solemnly licked his face with a wet tongue. The boy laughed, the sound of his high, clear voice dispelling Balbus’s fears and lifting his heart. Ducking his head, the boy laughed again as he pushed Carbo’s head away with both of his slender hands. “No spell could deceive Carbo’s nose,” Balbus reassured himself, shaking off his misgivings once more. “He must be real, although I cannot imagine how he got here.” Without moving any closer, Balbus carefully looked the boy over and guessed his age at five or six years. He had a shock of curly black hair and a face that, upon closer examination, made Balbus uneasy once more, for he could find no flaw in it. “Something is wrong here,” he thought to himself. “Surely no human child ever possessed such perfect features and such a flawless voice.” The boy’s clothes were unusual, too. His tunic and pants were made of a thin, finely woven gray fabric that was unfamiliar to Balbus. Although torn and stained, there was a richness about it which spoke of wealth. The supple, soft leather shoes on his small feet, worn almost through as if he had walked a great distance, looked fine enough to grace the feet of a young prince.

“Who are you boy, and where in the Middle Realm did you come from?” Balbus asked at last in a mystified voice. The boy made no answer, but his bright gaze remained fixed on Balbus’s face. He was calmly scratching Carbo behind the ears with the long, slender fingers of his left hand, but he looked ready to flee at the slightest sign of danger.

“Perhaps he is too frightened to talk,” thought Balbus to himself. He had little experience with children, for he had never married, and it put him at a disadvantage now. Slowly, he sank down on his heels so that his eyes and the boy’s eyes were almost on the same level. “Are you lost, boy?” he asked in a kindly tone, first in Hesperian and then in the common tongue.

The boy still made no answer, but something in Balbus’s voice seemed to reassure him, for his strangely bright eyes lost some of their wary look. The faintest shimmer of light seemed to play about his face and form, but Balbus was not sure he could trust his eyes in that regard.

“My name is Balbus,” he said pointing to himself. “Can you tell me your name at least?” he asked patiently.

Softly, in a clear voice, the boy said, “Elerian.”

“Is that your name?” asked Balbus, for the word was not one that was familiar to him. It was not Hesperian nor did it sound like any word of the common tongue or the language of the Dwarves, all of which Balbus spoke.

The boy spoke again, a string of words this time that fell pleasantly on Balbus’s ears, but which made no sense to him. If they were part of a language, it was one Balbus had never heard before. Slowly, trying not to alarm the boy, Balbus rose to his feet, wondering what he should do next.

“I should make some sort of search,” he said softly to himself. “Surely, someone must have brought this child here. Perhaps some hunter and his family have camped nearby, and he has wandered away from them,” he thought doubtfully, for although he was not yet ready to admit it, he suspected in the back of his mind that this was no ordinary child he had found.

Balbus slowly walked toward the boy, as if approaching some small wild creature that might bolt at the first threatening move, then bent over and picked him up with his left arm. The boy did not resist. He seemed to have accepted Balbus as well as Carbo as a friend, for he immediately put a small, surprisingly strong arm around Balbus’s neck and rested quietly against his left shoulder. He was lighter than he appeared, seeming almost weightless in Balbus’s strong arm; and again, although he could not be completely certain, it seemed to Balbus that a faint shimmer played about his fine features like starlight on running water.

For the first time, Balbus allowed himself to wonder if the boy was a human child at all. He thought back to the faun that he had seen in the forest years ago. There was no possibility that the boy belonged to the same race. “My first guess is the more likely one,” he thought to himself. “The boy must have wandered away from some hunter’s camp. The Ancharians sometimes venture into the Abercius in search of furs or game.”

“What hunter’s child was ever dressed in such rich stuff?” argued the part of his mind which wished to believe that the boy was no ordinary child. “A year’s worth of furs would not pay for the fabric he is dressed in.”

“Whoever he is, I must make a search,” said Balbus aloud, ending the debate with himself. “The answer to all my questions may lie nearby if I can only discover it.”

Carbo and Elerian both gave Balbus a quizzical look, as if wondering whom he was talking to, and Balbus laughed softly at their puzzled expressions. Carrying his walking stick with his right hand and the boy on his left arm, Balbus began to search the surrounding forest, but there was no one about, and there were no tracks; the drift of old leaves that covered the ground showed no signs of being disturbed.

“How strange!” muttered Balbus to himself as he finally ended his fruitless search. “Surely the boy did not just drop down out of the sky.”

Just then, a wolf yelped for the third time, and Carbo growled deep in his throat. Balbus noted nervously that the sound was closer than before. The beast definitely seemed to be moving in his direction. Was it a coincidence, or was the wolf hunting the boy? Balbus cast a quick glance at Elerian and saw that a wary, expectant look now filled his eyes. Beneath his thin tunic, Balbus could feel the tenseness in his wiry frame.

“Even if this wolf is hunting the boy, Carbo and I can deal with it,” thought Balbus grimly to himself, and he checked to make sure that his long knife was loose in its sheath. Putting thoughts of the wolf out of his mind, he made a last effort to discover where the boy had come from. Bending over, he let Carbo sniff Elerian’s clothes before encouraging him to cast about for a scent. Nose to the ground, Carbo appeared to find and follow a scent trail for a short distance to the north but soon lost it near the base of a great oak tree.

Balbus was mystified. It has not rained for days, and the boy’s scent trail should have been easy for Carbo to follow. He was not sure what to do next. Balbus considered shouting to see if there was anyone in hearing distance, but the anxiety in the boy’s eyes gave him pause.

“If not the wolf, then something else frightened him,” he thought to himself. “Walking about the Abercius and shouting at the top of my lungs is not a good idea at any time I suppose,” he said to Elerian with a smile, but the boy paid no attention. His head was tilted to one side, and he appeared to be listening intently.

“He is listening for the wolf,” thought Balbus sympathetically. “Perhaps it was pursuing him after all. In any case, I cannot stay here any longer,” he thought anxiously to himself as he noticed for the first time that the dim light under the trees was failing. “The day is waning and there are many miles to walk before I reach my home,” he thought to himself. “Better to take the boy there before the sun sets. There will be time enough to sort things out in the morning.”

He turned to Elerian, who was still resting quietly on his right arm. “Would you like to come home with old Balbus?” he asked gruffly. “You can stay with me just until we find your parents. I am sure they can’t be far away.” Balbus did not expect any answer from the boy and spoke only to reassure him, but Elerian paid no attention to his words. He still appeared to be listening intently.

“He is still worried about the wolf,” thought Balbus to himself. “The sooner I get him home the better for both of us.”

He was still lost, but he was not worried about finding his way back now that his staff appeared to be behaving normally again. Raising the walking stick in his right hand, he pictured his home in his mind and at once felt a reassuring tug on his fingers. Letting the staff pull him gently along, he set off through the forest at a brisk pace, for he had no idea how far he was from home. He was sure that he had traveled much deeper into the Abercius than was wise.

“I would not be at all surprised to learn that the boy’s parents have fallen victim to the Ondredon,” thought Balbus to himself as he strode along, for the mysterious creatures were still on his mind. “Somehow, the boy must have escaped their fate and run off on his own.”

Balbus sighed softly and pushed all the unanswered questions from his mind, setting himself instead to the business of reaching home as soon as possible. Carbo now ranged ahead as if he, too, was anxious to quit the forest as soon as possible. At that moment, a wolf yelped eagerly from no great distance behind them, and both Balbus and the boy started. Uneasily, Balbus looked at Carbo, for the dog was staring back over his shoulder and growling softly far back in his throat.

“It makes no sense for a wolf to be on our track,” he said softly in a puzzled voice, but he could no longer deny that they were being followed. From the apprehensive glances the boy was darting over Balbus’s shoulder, it seemed that he, too, expected the wolf to appear at any moment. His wiry body was tense, and he appeared ready to leap from Balbus’s arms at any moment.

Balbus hurried on, casting nervous glances all about him for some place where he might make a stand against the wolf if it appeared, but everywhere he looked, he saw nothing but tree trunks whose lower branches were all well out of his reach. Not a patch of sky was visible overhead, and an ominous silence filled all the air around Balbus. He wished that he could travel faster, but the going was even more difficult than before with the boy on his arm. Soon, he began to tire, and his arm ached from carrying the boy, light as he was.

Abruptly, Carbo, who was now following behind Balbus, stopped and turned, facing their back trail. All the long hairs on the back of his shaggy neck stood up into a stiff mane, and his thin black lips curled back to expose his long white fangs. A deep, bubbling growl welled up from his chest, startling Balbus and causing him to spin around just as two wolves, both of them fully as large as Carbo, came loping out from between the trees, barely ten yards away. Balbus’s heart sank at the sight of the second wolf. He and Carbo could have dealt with one animal, but two of them together presented a real threat. Worse yet, as Balbus got his first really good look at the approaching animals, he began to wonder if they were wolves at all. In the gloom under the trees, their eyes glowed like fiery coals, giving them an unearthly appearance, and their unusually long, coarse black fur stood stiffly on end, making them appear even larger than they actually were. They came to a stop about five yards away, and unexpectedly, the creature on the right opened its mouth and spoke in a deep, harsh voice.

“Give us the boy if you wish to leave the forest alive.”

TALKING WOLVES

Disbelief swept over Balbus. He felt as if he had risen from the depths of sleep to find himself still in the grip of some strange dream. He gaped at the wolf, unable to move or make any reply as his mind struggled to accept the fact that an animal had not only spoken to him but had also threatened his life. He would have been easy prey at that moment, as fear and consternation held him immobile; but even as the wolves prepared to spring on him, Carbo moved protectively in front of his master. Normally contemptuous of dogs, the wolves hesitated as they took in his great size and the spiked collar that guarded his neck. As they weighed their chances of bringing Carbo down without injury to themselves, Balbus suddenly stirred. The brief pause had given him enough time to recover his wits. He made no reply to the wolf’s command. Instead, in one quick motion, he set Elerian down behind him and straightening quickly, passed his staff to his left hand and drew his long knife with his right. Despite his age, he looked as tough as an old tree root, and there were knotted muscles in the hands which griped staff and knife. Growling in anger as the opportunity for an easy kill slipped away, the wolves glared at Balbus and Carbo with their flaming eyes. The looks they turned upon Carbo were especially filled with malice. In a coarse voice full of hard edges, the creature on the right suddenly spoke again.

“There is no need for us to fight. Give us the boy and you can walk away unharmed. You have my word that we will not pursue you.”

“Defy us and we will kill all three of you,” interjected the creature’s companion. It grinned horribly at Balbus, drawing back its thin black lips to expose an impressive set of ivory canines. Fear replaced Balbus’s initial shock at hearing the two wolves speak. A strong feeling swept over him that he was meddling in something that was far beyond his powers to deal with. He was uncertain as to whether it was a product of his own imagining or some sending from the frightening creature before him, but a vision of himself and Carbo, torn into red, bleeding pieces, suddenly filled his mind, the price of refusing the demand to surrender the boy.

“Leave the child and run!” whispered a shrill, panicked voice in the back of Balbus’s mind. “This is none of your affair! They will fall on the boy and you can escape with Carbo.”

Involuntarily, Balbus stole a look at Elerian standing behind him. His gray eyes were bright with fear, but he had not panicked and run away, despite the two fearsome beasts threatening them now. Resolutely, he stood just behind Balbus’s left leg, as if he, too, was awaiting Balbus’s answer. The sight of the boy’s courage banished some of Balbus’s fear, and he was suddenly able to think clearly again. He gave the coal black creatures in front of him a hard look, and it struck him that they seemed to exude wickedness and malice. Suddenly, he perceived their plan as plainly as if they had spoken it to him. “Even if I could sink so low as to give them the boy,” thought Balbus to himself, “I would not profit from it. Once they work their murderous will on the boy, they will follow me. In some lonely place where they have the advantage, they will kill me and Carbo.”

“Decide now,” growled the first creature impatiently, causing Balbus to start.

Balbus was still filled with a terrible fear, and his legs trembled beneath him, but he had made up his mind. “Return to whatever black pit you crawled from,” he replied, his voice sounding weak and unconvincing even to his own ears. “You shall not have the boy while I live.”

“Die then,” said the creature scornfully. He and his companion separated and began creeping toward Balbus at an angle from two sides, heads down, long guard hairs bristling so that they seemed twice as large as before. Their black lips were drawn back now, exposing their gleaming teeth and growls rumbled deep in their chests. Most unsettling of all to Balbus were their eyes which glowed with a baleful, red fire. Fear dried his mouth so that he could no longer swallow, but still Balbus refused to break and run. Carbo remained stubbornly crouched down before him, ready to spring at any moment.

“I smell your fear,” snarled the wolf on the left. “Run now or your screams will fill the forest as we slowly strip the living flesh from your bones.”

His eyes bright with fear, Balbus continued to stand firm, and the wolves growled in disappointment. Despite their fierce words, as Balbus had correctly guessed, they would have preferred to avoid a direct confrontation. Had Balbus panicked and run as they wished, they would have killed the boy first and then pulled down the man and his dog one at a time.

Seeing that there was nothing to be gained by delaying any longer, some unseen signal seemed to pass between the two wolves, and they lunged forward. Without hesitation, Carbo sprang to meet them. As they closed on him, he struck the animal on his left with his shoulder, his great weight thrusting the creature off its feet. Spinning lightly to the right on his hind legs, Carbo caught the second wolf by the right hind leg as it leaped past him in an effort to get at Balbus and the boy. Keeping a firm grip with his jaws, Carbo dragged it to the ground, but before he could follow up his advantage, the wolf he had swept off its feet regained its footing, and moving with an unnatural swiftness, attacked his unprotected right side. Carbo’s collar saved his life then, for when the wolf first tried to grip his throat where the great arteries carried his life’s blood close beneath the skin, the sharpened spikes embedded in Carbo’s collar tore bitter wounds in the soft flesh of its mouth, and black blood flowed from its torn jaws. Giving up the attack on Carbo’s throat, the wolf slashed his side instead, slicing deep with its long fangs an instant before Carbo spun around to confront it. Growling horribly, they rose up on their hind legs, their snapping jaws clashing together while they raked each other with the claws on their strong front paws.

Seeing Carbo’s flanks exposed and unprotected, the fallen wolf regained its feet and stealthily sought to attack Carbo from behind. With a great shout to draw its attention, Balbus bravely rushed at the creature. Foiled in its cowardly attack on Carbo, it turned and lunged at Balbus instead. As it sprang at his throat, Balbus thrust his walking stick crosswise between its gaping jaws with his left hand and stabbed it deep in the chest with the long knife he held in his right hand. Despite the wound, the wolf strained powerfully against the staff, grinding its sharp teeth deep into the hard wood in its rage. It finally succeeded in tearing the stick from Balbus’s hand, but Balbus struck again with his knife, and this time, the cold steel of his long blade pierced the animal’s heart. It fell dead at his feet, his walking stick still firmly clenched between its jaws.

Carbo, in the meantime, had succeeded in closing his powerful jaws on the other wolf’s throat and was squeezing the life out of it. It screamed desperately, in almost human tones, as Carbo gave a final shake of his powerful jaws, breaking its neck. Carbo released his hold, and the wolf dropped to the ground in a limp heap and did not stir again.

“Well done Carbo,” shouted Balbus joyfully, for he could scarcely believe that he and Carbo were both still alive. His joy was short lived, however, for Carbo suddenly fell heavily onto his right side. Balbus cried out and rushed to kneel by Carbo’s side. Turning the dog over, he saw for the first time that one of the wolves had torn him open from shoulder to paunch with its deadly fangs. The wound was deep and blood was flowing steadily from its entire length, staining Carbo’s black fur and soaking into the thick layer of brown leaves that covered the ground beneath him. Helplessly, Balbus stroked Carbo’s head, and the great dog stared up at him sadly, the light of life already starting to fade from his bright eyes.

A DISTURBING DISCOVERY

Tears stung Balbus’s eyes as he realized Carbo was dying and there was nothing he could do to prevent it. “I should never have come into the forest today,” thought Balbus in despair as he stroked Carbo’s sleek head, waiting for the inevitable moment when death claimed his brave companion. He barely noticed, at first, that Elerian was attempting to push him aside with his small hands. In the heat of the battle and the grief which followed, he had momentarily forgotten about the child he and Carbo had saved from the wolves.

Balbus finally moved a little to one side, thinking that perhaps the boy was also distressed by Carbo’s impending death. “There is nothing we can do for him, Elerian,” he said gruffly as the boy knelt beside him; and futilely, Balbus thought, pulled the edges of the wound together with his small, slender fingers. At first, red blood continued to well up between his fingers, but then, to Balbus’s astonishment, the crimson flow diminished and then ceased altogether as the torn edges of the wound began to knit together before his incredulous eyes. While the wound healed, Elerian remained motionless with his hands on Carbo’s side, a distant look in his gray eyes. At the sight of Carbo’s injury, without understanding why, he had felt impelled to push Balbus aside and grasp the edges of Carbo’s torn flesh. Something had flowed out of him then, in a warm rush that swept away his awareness. He remained lost in the healing process until all that remained of Carbo’s terrible injury was a long, pink trail of new skin, winding its way from shoulder to stomach through Carbo’s black, bloodstained fur. Then, still unaware of his surroundings, Elerian fell over onto his right side and lay without moving.

For a second time, Balbus felt his heart lurch. “The boy has harmed himself in saving Carbo,” was his first panicked thought. Quickly, he turned Elerian onto his back. The boy’s eyes were closed, but Balbus was heartily relieved to find that his breathing, though faint, was steady and regular. “Poor child,” thought Balbus to himself. “The effort of healing Carbo must have over taxed his strength and caused him to feint. He was likely already exhausted from his flight from the wolves.”

Rising to his feet, Balbus pulled off his tunic, and after folding it, set it under Elerian’s head like a pillow. After arranging the boy’s limbs in a comfortable position, he turned back to Carbo and was both pleased and surprised to find that his companion was already sitting up, weak but otherwise giving the appearance of being completely healed of his deadly wound.

Overwhelmed by his exertions and the strange events he had witnessed, Balbus sank down and sat on the ground next to Carbo. The odd behavior of his staff, finding Elerian in the middle of the forest, the encounter with the wolves, and now, this amazing display of healing, all left him feeling that he was caught in the middle of some strange dream from which he would awaken at any moment. Carefully, he pinched his right thigh hard between his powerful thumb and forefinger.

“Ouch!” Balbus exclaimed as real, honest pain shot through his leg. “Well, I am most certainly not dreaming,” he said to Carbo as he ruefully rubbed his leg. Carbo cocked his head to one side and gave Balbus an inquiring look, as if puzzled by the odd antics of his master. Aside from a great weakness, he felt quite himself again.

Satisfied that he was truly awake, Balbus turned once more toward the sleeping boy. He was accustomed to small magics like the spell residing in his staff, but the power Elerian had demonstrated in healing Carbo was frightening. Without any conscious effort on his part, old stories of men turned into beasts and worse by evil mages came to mind, and he began to fear the boy almost as much as he had the wolves.

“Leave him,” whispered that part of him which was frightened by the boy’s power. “His own people will come for him, and even if they do not, you have already done more than enough by risking your life to save him from the wolves. You have no guarantee of his goodwill, and by some sudden fit of anger or sheer carelessness, he may work some evil or even fatal spell on you if you take him with you.”

For a long moment, Balbus looked thoughtfully at the small form of the boy lying helpless and unaware on the ground. As the cautious, fearful part of his mind had suggested, he could slip away now, unseen, and his part in this disturbing affair would be ended. It was a tempting thought, for the danger presented by the boy’s power was very real. Then, like a ray of bright sunshine cutting through the dark clouds of his fears, Balbus recalled the boy’s direct gray eyes and heard an echo of his clear laughter.

“I cannot believe there is any harm in this child,” he suddenly said aloud. “He risked himself to heal Carbo without being asked. If I left him here to face the forest alone, his face and his fate would haunt me for the rest of my life.”

Carbo raised himself up then and laid his head on Balbus’s left knee. Minding the nails in his collar, some of them still stained with black blood, Balbus stroked his sleek head for a moment as he contemplated the unconscious boy.

“What are we to do now, Carbo?” Balbus asked wearily. “I cannot leave him here, but there may be more trouble to come if we take him with us. It may be more than I can deal with. I am just an old man, and already, in this one afternoon, I have had enough excitement and danger to last me for the rest of my life.” He looked at the dead wolves and shuddered. Balbus was certain their glowing red eyes would disturb his dreams for years to come.

Carbo looked up at Balbus with eyes that were full of life once more and gave one short, sharp bark.

“You say not to worry,” said Balbus with a sudden smile. “Well then, let us take him home. I do hope, though, that he does not turn us into badgers or worse in some fit of anger. If he does, it will be your fault,” he said shaking a finger in mock severity at Carbo.

Carbo barked again and wagged his tail, as if the possibility of being wrong about Elerian did not worry him at all. Balbus scratched Carbo’s ears and setting his misgivings aside, rose stiffly to his feet. He contemplated the bodies of the two wolves. Lying in the stillness of death, the creatures looked ordinary enough except for their coarse black fur and great size. Balbus still found it difficult to believe that they had spoken to him. He had heard fanciful stories about talking animals since he was a small child, but he had never expected to meet such a creature in real life. He fervently hoped that he would never meet another one

“Creatures such as these are better encountered in some tale that is being told in a snug house in front of a warm fireplace,” thought Balbus to himself. “It is quite another matter to meet them in a dark forest and to suddenly discover that they are planning on tearing you to pieces.”

Despite the deaths of the wolves, Balbus was not at all certain that he and Elerian were safe. The creatures might have been part of a larger pack. Even now, others of their kind might be drawing near, red-eyed shadows leaping through the gloom of the forest with murder on their minds. Balbus shuddered at the thought. Another attack would surely prove fatal to all of them, for he and Carbo were in no condition to repulse even one wolf let alone a whole pack of them.

“I need to return home as soon as I can,” he thought to himself. Behind the stout walls of his house, he could defy any number of wolves. He took a last look at the nearest wolf, wondering to himself where it might have come from. For the first time, he noticed something odd about the ruff of black fur which circled its neck. It was slightly raised as if something lay beneath the coarse hairs.

“If I am not mistaken, the creature is wearing a collar,” Balbus thought to himself in alarm. Parting the long hairs, which covered the wolf’s neck, with his thick fingers, Balbus exposed part of a slender collar that circled the animal’s neck. It appeared to be made of black iron, smooth surfaced but of a dull black color that gave out not the slightest gleam.

“These are not wild beasts,” he thought to himself with dismay as he spread the hairs for a better look at the collar. Inadvertently, one of his fingers brushed against it, and an odd, unpleasant sensation jumped the length of his right arm, as if something was being drawn out of him into the collar. Instinctively, he jerked his hand away, and the disagreeable feeling stopped at once.

“I hope I have not done something wrong,” Balbus reproached himself. “I should have guessed that the collar might be enchanted and better left alone.” He knew, all too well, that some spells, like the one which animated his staff, could be activated with just a touch of a hand. Anxiously, he waited to see if he had set in motion some evil spell which resided in the collar. When nothing happened, he let his breath out in a sigh of relief, and began to consider the implications of his unpleasant discovery.

“If these creatures have a master, then I need to hide their bodies and leave some sort of false trail in case someone comes searching for them,” he thought wearily to himself. He wracked his brain for some suitable plan, for the open forest was no easy place to hide something without suitable tools. Beneath its covering of leaves, the ground was filled with a multitude of tough roots. Even a sharp shovel would make little impression on it.

“I have no time to dig in any case,” thought Balbus to himself. “Whatever action I take must be done quickly. It will be dark all too soon.”

Without much hope, he looked all around him. For the first time, through the trees on his right, he saw a ray of sunshine which pierced the gloom like a bright sword. It illuminated the form of an old lightening blasted oak tree that had toppled during some great storm, leaving a hole in the leafy canopy above it. As he walked closer to it, Balbus saw that the thick trunk ended in a great ball of twisted roots which still tenaciously gripped the earth that had lain between them. This mass of roots and earth had kept the tree from settling completely to the ground. Between the trunk and the ground, there was a small space resembling a shallow cave.

“It may not be the best place,” thought Balbus to himself, “but I cannot risk a longer search. If I do not bring the boy out of these woods before it grows dark there will be more than wolves to worry about. All of the beasts of prey that dwell under these trees will emerge from their dens in search of a meal when the sun goes down.”

With his mind made up, Balbus left Carbo to guard Elerian, who still had not stirred even a little. Slowly and with great labor, Balbus dragged the first wolf over to the fallen tree. The creature was far heavier than he had expected, and he was forced to sit and rest for a moment on a large root to recover his strength once he reached the fallen tree. He stared irritably at the dead wolf lying limply at his feet.

“Even in death, this creature seeks to make my life difficult,” Balbus thought grumpily to himself. Having recovered somewhat, he pushed the heavy body of the wolf into the cavity under the tree, keeping well clear of the collar as he did so. With slow, tired steps, he walked back for the second body. He noted that the second beast also wore a collar. Balbus was careful to avoid touching it as he sought to free his walking stick which was still clenched tightly between the wolf’s jaws. Balbus was sweating freely and muttering all sorts of unkind things about the wolf and all its extended family by the time he managed to pry the staff loose from the stubborn jaws of the beast. During the struggle, it seemed to him that the wolf’s eyes glinted maliciously as if, even in death, it sought to hinder him. Regretfully, once he had the staff in his hand, Balbus saw that the wolf’s teeth had left deep punctures in the smooth brown wood of the staff.

“It could have been worse I suppose,” thought Balbus to himself. “The beast could have left the marks of its teeth in my leg or an arm instead of the staff, in which case I would not be standing here now I am sure.”

Laboriously, he dragged the second body over to the tree and pushed it underneath the trunk next to the first wolf. Carefully, he piled rocks, leaves, and broken branches across both sides of the opening, sealing it up and covering the bodies from view in a way that was as natural as possible. Finally, he painstakingly brushed out the carpet of leaves between the tree and the scene of the fight, using both his hands and a branch so that everything looked as undisturbed as possible.

Balbus then sat down on a thick, knotted oak root to catch his breath. “I am too old for this sort of thing,” he thought regretfully to himself. “The boy has found himself a poor champion to rescue him.” After a few moments, he reluctantly got up again, for he was as sweaty and fatigued as if he had labored the whole day long in his fields under a hot sun.

Unnoticed by Balbus, Elerian had regained consciousness. When Balbus walked over to his side, he was sitting quietly on the ground next to Carbo. Balbus had thought of a second ruse, involving the boy’s tunic, which might throw off their pursuers if they were followed. Carefully, he took off the garment, leaving Elerian clad only in the thin gray shirt he wore beneath it. Elerian did not object to the loss of his tunic, almost as if he had guessed at Balbus’s reason for taking it. Although stained and torn, the thin fabric of which the tunic was made felt wonderfully smooth to Balbus’s work hardened brown fingers. He tugged on the cloth with both hands and found it surprisingly difficult to tear.

“Come here Carbo,” said Balbus. “We must confuse the trail a little more. Tear this tunic with your teeth so that it will appear to have been torn by the wolves.”

Balbus handed Carbo one end of the tunic, and as if he understood what was expected of him, Carbo tugged vigorously at the cloth with his teeth until Balbus was satisfied with the damage they had inflicted on the garment. Taking the tattered tunic in his right hand, Balbus used it to wipe the blood from Carbo’s fur and then rubbed it vigorously into the blood which had pooled beneath Carbo when he collapsed from his wounds. When it was thoroughly stained, Balbus left it lying on the ground and erased all signs of the battle with the wolves as well as he could. When he was done, he surveyed his handiwork.

“It has taken me longer than it should, and I doubt it will fool anyone for long,” he thought to himself, “but at least there is a chance that if we are followed, those pursuing us will believe Elerian was killed and eaten by the wolves.”

He looked up at the green canopy of leaves overhead. “A little rain would help too, in case there are more wolves about,” he thought to himself, “but there is little chance of that.” It was midsummer, and it had not rained for a number of weeks now.

After picking up Elerian with left arm and his walking stick with his right hand, Balbus began walking wearily toward his home once more. Before long, the trees in front of him abruptly dwindled in size. He felt a sense of relief wash over him, for they had come to the end of the Abercius at last. He was amazed at how far into that dangerous forest he had traveled without realizing it.

“What a day I have had,” he said to the Elerian who still seemed tense and watchful. “I shall be glad to be inside my own snug house again,” he said cheerfully, for he was beginning to feel more at ease now that they were near the base of his own hill that was so familiar to him.

The ground began to rise. Balbus was now in a part of the forest that he knew well. He no longer bothered to follow his staff which tended to take the most direct but not necessarily the best route. As he trudged slowly along, a light evening breeze sprang up and began to gain strength. The air was suddenly filled with the rustle of leaves tossing in the wind and the creaking of swaying tree limbs. When Balbus skirted a small meadow, he was startled to see that puffy black clouds were blowing in from the east, bringing with them the damp smell of rain.

“Now that is an odd ending for a strange day,” thought Balbus wonderingly to himself as the wind whipped his hair about. “It rains so seldom at this time of year, and there was not a cloud in the sky this morning. One would almost think the storm was sent on purpose to cover our tracks,” he thought to himself with an uneasy glance at Elerian, but the boy was fast asleep and unlikely to be the responsible for the approaching storm.

The prospect of rain heartened Balbus, for it would foil any pursuit. Renewed strength flowed through him, and his flagging steps became longer and more vigorous as he hurried through the darkening forest. He walked quickly over familiar paths where he knew every twist and turn. When he finally stepped into the cleared space before the tall hedge that marked the boundary to his farm, the sun was already far down in the west, dipping behind the sharp, bare peaks of the Galerius. Its fading light turned the undersides of the gathering storm clouds red and orange, but the masses of cloud above the reach of the sun’s light were an ominous black. Jagged bolts of lightning gleamed suddenly on the peaks, and moments later, a great, rumbling crack thundered through the air above Balbus and Elerian, startling the boy awake. Bracing himself against the wind, which thrust itself against his back like a powerful hand, Balbus opened the gate which led through the hedge and stepped through with Carbo at his heels. Relief flooded through him as he pushed it closed against the wind, for he was almost home.

THE FARM

As Balbus followed the track that led up to his house, a loud rustling sound arose from the broad, three pointed grape leaves on either side of the path as they fluttered wildly in the stiffening wind. Moments later, rain began to fall in scattered, heavy drops that were blown violently about by the intensifying wind. Elerian buried his face in Balbus’s shoulder, and his black locks tossed wildly about in the wind as Balbus hurried his steps, anxious to reach his house before the storm broke in earnest.

Relief flooded through Balbus when he finally reached his front door. After unlocking it, he paused for a last look at the forest stretching away below him all the way to the limits of his vision. A bolt of lightening suddenly crackled among the clouds in the distance. Its stark white light briefly illuminated the wind tossed leaves of the trees in the distance. Balbus thought they looked like a dark sea rolling uneasily beneath the storm clouds gathered overhead.

A tremendous boom of thunder followed the lightening, and all at once, the rain began coming down in cold gray sheets, whipped furiously about by the storm. Carbo was already inside, and Balbus hurried through the open doorway after him, closing the heavy door behind him. The wind and rain were shut out; but the farmhouse was filled with the drumming sound of heavy raindrops on the roof.

After locking and barring the door, Balbus breathed a sigh of relief as he hung his walking stick on its accustomed peg to the left of the door. Safe at last behind the stout walls of his home, he felt that he could now resist any number of enemies if they showed up at his front door. Although it was dark inside the farmhouse, Balbus moved confidently across the familiar room in front of him until he reached a heavy wooden table in the center of the room. There was a lamp in the middle of the table, and although he could not see it, Balbus could picture its familiar shape clearly in his mind, a rounded ball of age-darkened bronze that was supported on three bent legs whimsically cast in the shape of clawed dragon’s legs. With sure fingers, Balbus reached for the top of the lamp. It was actually a hinged cover with a knob in its center, cast in the form of a snarling dragon’s head. Grasping the knob with the fingers of his right hand, Balbus lifted the cover, and the darkened room was suddenly flooded with a warm yellow light. The source of the light was a round glass ball about four inches in diameter that rested in the lamp’s hollow bottom half. Balbus had owned the lamp for many years, but its light never dimmed, and the glass never grew hot to the touch, for it was a magical lamp made by the Dwarves of Ennodius for sale in foreign lands.

The steady glow of the lamp was reflected by the dark, polished oak boards which covered the thick stone walls and ceiling. It raised a softer gleam from the large, smooth gray flagstones that formed the floor of the room. Beyond the table, set in the wall opposite the front door, was a stone fireplace with a polished oak mantel. Above the mantel, hung on two wooden pegs driven between the stones of the chimney, was a sword with a plain bronze hilt and up curving guards of unadorned steel. Two heavy, comfortable chairs of polished oak were pulled up in front of the fireplace. Along the wall to the left of the door was a wooden stairway which led to a snug loft beneath the peaked roof. Most of the right hand wall of the room was given over to shelves filled with books, for Balbus was fond of reading in the evenings. To the right of the fireplace was a wood trimmed doorway which led to a neat kitchen. The kitchen had a single window in its back wall that overlooked the road which ran behind the house. There were two doors. The door in the left wall led to a bathroom. The door on the right opened into the passageway which connected the house to the barn. An air of comfort and security filled the house and made a favorable impression on Elerian who was curiously examining everything in sight as he sat on Balbus’s arm.

Balbus set Elerian down on one of the chairs by the fireplace and stretched his weary left arm. Carbo had already shaken the rain off his fur and was waiting expectantly for Balbus to remove his spiked collar. As soon as the collar was gone, Carbo curled up on a thick gray wool rug that lay between the two chairs in front of the fireplace and fell at once into an exhausted sleep.

“You sit here for a moment and warm yourself while I make us something to eat,” Balbus told Elerian as he wrapped him in a heavy wool cloak he took from a second peg by the front door. Elerian did not understand Balbus’s words, but he sat quietly with his short legs dangling over the side of the chair and the cloak tented over his head like a hood. He felt safe in the comfortable farmhouse, and his bright eyes gleamed as he watched Balbus to see what he would do next.

Balbus set Carbo’s collar and his wicker basket off to the right of the fireplace on the floor. Then, with the ease of long practice, he stirred the thick bed of ashes in the fireplace with an iron poker, exposing several coals that glowed orange in the middle of the gray ash that covered the hearth. For a moment, they reminded Balbus of the flaming eyes of the wolves he had fought in the forest, and he shuddered a little at the unwelcome memory. He added dry kindling to the fire from a wooden box next to the fireplace, and as the kindling caught; he added larger pieces of wood until he had a bright fire crackling on the hearth. A welcome warmth spread across the room from the dancing, orange flames.

Leaving Elerian to warm himself by the fire, Balbus entered the kitchen and uncovered a second mage lamp that sat on a small table in the middle of the room. Immediately, a cheerful yellow light flooded the room. The ceiling, like that of the other room, was covered with gleaming oak boards, but the walls were bare, exposing the inner face of the gray stone which made up the walls of the farmhouse.

Balbus quickly stirred up the fire in the polished black iron stove that stood against the right hand wall. From a shelf above the stove, he took a small iron kettle and half filled it with water from a pump that sat on a stone counter under the window. After adding vegetables from his garden and some salt and dried meat, he set the kettle on the stove to boil.

Tiredly, Balbus turned away from the stove, then started and almost dropped the long wooden spoon he had used to stir the pot. He had thought he was alone in the kitchen, but Elerian was standing by the small table, wrapped in his cloak which was so long it trailed on the floor behind him. Balbus was unnerved by how quietly the boy had entered the room.

“You gave me a start there Elerian,” said Balbus in a shaky voice, for he was still on edge from his adventures in the forest. He sat Elerian in one of the two chairs pulled up under the table, and the boy watched with great interest as Balbus set the table with two polished wooden bowls and two spoons, also made of wood. He also set out two wooden cups and poured wine for himself and milk for the boy.

Bored with sitting on the chair, Elerian left his cloak behind and leaped off the chair in a single lithe move. He then wandered around the room, under Balbus’s watchful eye, examining everything within reach. Balbus noted with surprise how quick and sure his movements were, more like the movements of a wild thing than those of a young child, and he wondered, again, what the boy’s history might be. Most of all, he wished he knew why the two wolves had wanted the boy. If it was a case of simple murder to gain a meal, then the whole affair might now be over; but if they had some other purpose in pursuing the boy, there might be a great deal of trouble still to come.

“I must hope for the best, but the collars the beasts wore do not bode well,” thought Balbus to himself as he added flour to thicken the stew. The rain drumming steadily on the roof, and the wind which whined about the eaves helped to allay his fears a little, for they would present a great difficulty for anyone still pursuing the boy.

Wearily, Balbus sat in a chair and felt his eyes grow heavy as the fire in the stove crackled cheerfully, filling the room with its warmth. The stew began to boil, and a mouth-watering aroma filled the farmhouse. Carbo suddenly appeared at the entranceway to the kitchen and came to sit by Balbus’s side where he patiently awaited his share of the dinner.

“You have earned a double portion tonight, my friend,” said Balbus, rousing himself and stroking the dog’s sleek head. His eyelids soon drifted down again, and while he dozed in his chair, Carbo kept Elerian out of trouble, gently gripping him with his teeth by the back of his shirt when he attempted to climb onto the counter and shouldering him aside when he attempted to open the doors to the bathroom and the passageway which led to the barn. Eventually, the clatter of pots and pans woke Balbus, and he saw that Elerian was inside his lower cupboards, busily emptying them of all they contained while Carbo sat nearby and watched him with a tolerant look.

Balbus smiled at the pair, and rising from his chair, went over to the stove to sample the stew. It was ready, and Balbus filled the bowls on the table with a wooden ladle. He set a third bowl on the floor for Carbo. From a shelf, Balbus then took a round brown loaf of bread and tore it into crusty chunks which he set on the table in another bowl. By then, Elerian had emerged from the cupboards, and Balbus seated him again at the table. Balbus sat in the other chair and began to eat. He suddenly realized that he was famished, for up to now; the events of the day had banished hunger from his mind. Elerian watched Balbus for a moment and then began to eat also. Balbus suspected he had not had a meal in quite some time, for he finished two bowls of stew and a good portion of the bread.

After they had both eaten their fill, Balbus put the remainder of the soup and bread into an earthenware bowl for Carbo to finish. He then took Elerian up into the loft. The sound of the rain was louder here, directly under the roof. Like the lower level, the room was paneled with polished oak planks, as were the floor and ceiling. The only furniture was a dresser and a bed made of oak with a heavy wooden chest at its foot. There was a fireplace in one wall, and Balbus laid out an extra mattress in front of it after kindling a bright fire to take the chill from the room. Elerian did not object when Balbus put him on the mattress and covered him with a thick wool blanket. He fell asleep almost instantly, only his tangled black locks visible from under the gray blanket.

Balbus was weary too, but instead of seeking his own bed, he went back downstairs. After fixing a cup of mulled wine, he sat in one of the chairs by the fire. Sipping the warm, spiced drink, he sat and stared into the coals while Carbo slept at his feet, and the drumming of the rain on the roof continued unabated. Only yesterday, he would have sat and read one of his books without a care on his mind, but those peaceful days might now be lost to him forever. For years, he had unsuccessfully sought the hidden legends of the forest, blissfully overlooking the fact that meeting one of those legends might change his life forever.

“I may have finally found what I was looking for, if the boy proves to be more than human,” thought Balbus to himself, “but I may not enjoy my discovery for long if the rain and my poor attempt at hiding our trail do not hold back those who may still be following him.”

Eventually, he set his worries aside and got stiffly out of his chair to check the bars on the door and on the window shutters. The thought of the thick iron bars on the far side of the shutters was comforting. “They’ll not get in here so easily, if they do find us,” he comforted himself as he dimmed his magical lamp by replacing the cover. By the muted, orange light of the dying fire, he climbed the stairs to the loft and lay down on his bed. The violence of the storm had finally abated, but the rain continued to fall. Balbus fell asleep listening to the steady, reassuring beat of raindrops on the roof.

THE VENETOR

As Balbus and Elerian slept in their warm beds, the heavy rain continued. The roof of the forest was drenched, and one by one, the heavy raindrops found their way through the leaves of the canopy, falling to the forest floor where they soaked into the carpet of leaves beneath the trees, darkening and matting them down. Rivulets and streamlets coursed down the water-darkened trunks of the trees, spreading across the ground and creating shallow pools in the low places. Gradually, all signs and scents of Balbus’s passage through the forest were erased. Even the dark blood spilled by the wolves was washed away. Only Elerian’s torn, blood stained tunic remained visible above the rain-soaked leaves.

The storm should have comforted Balbus, but his sleep was restless, disturbed by dreams of fiery-eyed wolves that chased him through the darkened aisles of a trackless forest. Just before dawn, he awakened suddenly, roused by an unusual noise. He noticed at once that the hammering of the rain on the roof had ended, and in the deep silence that filled the farmhouse, he could clearly hear Carbo whining softly by the front door. This was the sound which had awakened him.

As quietly as he could, Balbus got out of bed and put on a pair of soft slippers. A quick glance told him that Elerian was still asleep in his bed near the cold fireplace. His flight from the wolves, the healing of Carbo, and the heavy meal he had eaten had all contributed to send him into a deep, exhausted slumber from which he would not easily be roused.

“Sleep on, boy,” said Balbus softly to himself. “Likely enough Carbo just wants to go out for a breath of air.”

Balbus went downstairs, his slippered feet making no noise on the wooden treads. It was dark in the room below, except for the faint light cast by a few dying embers in the fireplace. Carbo, who appeared as a dark shadow by the front door, whined again, sounding both uneasy and troubled. As Carbo fell silent, Balbus clearly heard a loud, snuffling sound as if some large creature on the other side of the thick oak door was trying to pick up a scent.

“Maybe it’s only a leopard,” thought Balbus to himself without conviction, for the sound did not resemble anything he had ever heard before. A soft, ominous creak from the crossbar across his front door caused him to start nervously. He listened in alarm as the thick oak planks of the door groaned, as if some powerful creature was using its weight and strength against them in an effort to force its way into the farmhouse. Filled with a sense of dread, Balbus rushed to the fireplace and took down his sword. Turning toward the door, he waited apprehensively with his sword in his right hand, uncertain as to whether the door would hold up under the assault of the unknown creature on the other side of it. Carbo growled softly and prepared to spring on anything that might force its way through the door.

Thoughts of the venetor forced themselves into Balbus’s mind. Since his grandfather’s time, it had ventured out at night onto the hilltops in search of victims. The morning sun would rise to illuminate some remote farmhouse or woodcutter’s cottage whose door was burst open, or even more frightening, was open and unlocked; but in each instance, the result was the same. The members of the families inside the homes were either found torn apart, as if they were the victims of some terrible anger, or missing entirely, never to be seen again. Sometimes, a few tracks were left behind, not quite human and not quite animal, but the trail always led down to the edge of the forest where it unfailingly disappeared. Every attempt to track the creature, even with dogs, had proved useless, and the many murders it had committed had never been avenged.

“Will my name and Elerian’s be added to the list of its victims?” wondered Balbus to himself. At any moment, he expected the tortured wood of the door to give way, but as abruptly as it had begun, the assault on it ended. Silence filled the room, and Balbus breathed a sigh of relief, hoping that whatever was outside his walls had given up trying to break in. His hopes were dashed when he heard scraping sounds, such as sharp claws might make if they were searching for some weak point in the thick walls of his house. The noises continued for some time, making a complete circuit of his house before they, too, died away. Balbus was certain the creature was still outside his walls, however, for Carbo remained by the door with his hackles raised.

Almost without Balbus becoming aware of it, an insidious impulse was born in his mind, urging him to walk over to the door and to open it. What its source was, he could not say; but common sense told him to resist it, and he remained where he was. He felt an undercurrent of anger, then, in his mind, and the desire to open the door grew into an overwhelming compulsion. Balbus watched in horror as his legs began to carry him against his will to the door. Unable to stop himself entirely, he made a last great effort of will and prevailed upon his legs to carry him over to the window instead of the door.

As he stood before the window, his right hand slowly opened, as if under the direction of another mind, and his sword rang softly as it fell to the floor. As if in a dream, Balbus watched the same hand that had dropped the sword lift the bar from the heavy shutters. Sweat beaded his brow, for he knew that something dreadful waited out in the darkness outside; but again, as if someone else controlled his limbs, he grasped a shutter in each hand and slowly opened them. It was pitch dark outside, but through the window glass, the faint light of the coals still glowing in the fireplace dimly illuminated a pair of powerful hands gripping the window bars at the level of Balbus’s chest. They were not human hands, for they were covered with sleek black hair, and the short, powerful fingers were tipped with curved, dark claws that gleamed dully in the dim light cast by the fire. Behind the hands, Balbus could see the indistinct outlines of a terrifying face dominated by pale, glittering eyes that seemed to shine with their own light. There was intelligence in those eyes, but Balbus thought there was a hint of madness, too, and a terrible rage. As if he were some dainty waiting to be eaten, the creature gloated over him for a moment, as he stood frozen before the open window.

Unable to stop himself, Balbus opened the window sash, and the cool night air rushed through the opening, bringing with it a rank, animal scent. Slowly the creature’s mouth opened, exposing sharp, yellowed fangs. Balbus was seized with a terrible premonition of danger. He groaned softly, and the veins throbbed in his neck from the effort of trying to move his paralyzed limbs away from the window.

Suddenly, he was thrust to one side as Carbo lunged past him, striking him heavily with his right shoulder. Fearlessly, Carbo bit down on the clawed hand on the left, and the creature standing outside the window squalled in anger as it tore free of Carbo’s teeth. The spell was broken, and Balbus found himself in control of his limbs once more. As Carbo dropped to the floor, growling deep in his chest, Balbus slammed the shutters closed and barred them before a terrible fear loosened his limbs and caused him to fall to the floor.

For a time after that there was silence, broken only by his own heavy, terrified breathing and Carbo’s soft growls. Balbus began to hope that the creature had finally gone away, but then, faint scraping sounds came to his ears as if hard claws were trying to find a grip on the smooth clay tiles which covered the roof. Having failed to compel Balbus to open the door, the creature was looking for another way into the house.

Seizing his sword again, Balbus ran up the stairs to the loft, followed by Carbo, and heard the clink of tiles being loosened, followed by scratching sounds as if the creature was digging at the thick roof boards with its claws. Elerian stirred restlessly in his bed, and Balbus began to despair at the creature’s persistence, for it seemed determined to break into his home in one way or another. Then, in the barn, a rooster crowed a greeting to the sunrise it could not see but which it sensed was gradually lightening the eastern sky. To Balbus’s relief, the scratching on the roof stopped, and a few moments later, Carbo’s raised hackles smoothed themselves, and he ceased to growl. Balbus guessed that the rising sun must have driven the creature back into the forest.

Elerian, amazingly, still slept on, and Balbus quietly returned to the lower level of the farmhouse. With trembling hands, he built up a roaring fire in the fireplace, and soon the room was flooded with light and heat. Although the sun was rising, he opened the mage light for good measure. When the sun rose entirely above the horizon, sending its golden rays through the cracks in the shutters, Balbus was still sitting on the hearthstone with Carbo at his feet. He remained badly shaken, for he could not escape the feeling that he, along with Carbo and Elerian, had narrowly escaped from an awful death.

TULLIUS

“Pull yourself together,” Balbus finally scolded himself softly. “You can’t sit here cowering all day.” Hesitantly, he rose and went over to the window. Steeling himself against the memory of the terrifying face that had confronted him during the night, he removed the crossbar and opened the shutters. Bright sunlight flooded into the room, dispelling his fears and raising his spirits. When Balbus looked out between the bars, there was nothing in sight except his own neat front yard.

After satisfying himself that the venetor was truly gone, he hung up his sword and went into the kitchen to prepare a breakfast of hot oatmeal with honey and fresh milk. Carbo lay down with his head on his front paws by the stove and watched, only his bright eyes moving as they followed Balbus around the room. More than anything else, the dog’s calm behavior finally convinced Balbus that the danger was past, at least for now.

He stooped to pat Carbo on the head, and then, started violently when he rose up again. Elerian had appeared silently and unexpectedly in the entrance to the kitchen.

“I think I will have to hang a bell around your neck, Elerian,” said Balbus with a wry smile as he tried to slow his pounding heart, for his nerves were still badly frayed from the events of the night before. Without a word, Elerian sat down at the table with what looked suspiciously like a gleam of laughter in his gray eyes.

“Does the young rascal enjoy frightening me?” wondered Balbus suddenly, but Elerian looked completely innocent as he watched with great interest as Balbus set out their breakfast.

After he and Elerian were done eating and the dishes cleared away, Balbus decided to try to disguise the boy as best he could by dressing him like a Hesperian. “There is no harm in taking precautions,” he thought to himself as he ripped the seams out of one of his old brown tunics. “If the master of the black wolves suddenly shows up on my doorstep searching for the boy, I had best be prepared. Later, I can try again to discover where the boy came from and who his parents might be.”

Living on his own and repairing his own clothes had taught Balbus to sew with a fine, neat stitch. He cut and sewed the heavy linen cloth from his old tunic into a pair of pants and a smaller tunic which fit Elerian fairly well. After the clothes were completed, he made Elerian a pair of rough sandals out of a scrap of soft leather. Elerian watched the whole process with bright, curious eyes. When the sandals were done, Balbus dressed Elerian in his new clothes. He threw the boy’s old clothes into the fire and watched carefully until they were burnt into gray ash. Balbus then surveyed Elerian with a critical eye. He was immediately disappointed by the results of his labors. “This won’t do,” he thought to himself worriedly. Despite the change in clothes, Elerian looked nothing like a Hesperian child. With his dark hair and gray eyes, he would stick out among other Hesperians like a beacon on a dark night.

“I will have to seek out Tullius and see what he can do to help me,” decided Balbus reluctantly. Tullius was an old friend of Balbus’s and a mage besides. It was he, who had laid the finding spell on Balbus’s walking stick, but he was a blunt, outspoken fellow, and Balbus was certain he would not approve of any part of his recent adventure. “If I can convince him to help me, I will gladly listen to any criticism he has to offer,” thought Balbus to himself. “Perhaps he will have some spell which he can use to disguise the boy.”

There were chores to be done first, however, and with Elerian following along behind him, Balbus entered the covered passageway that led to the barn. There was no ceiling overhead, and the darkened beams and planks supporting the roof were all exposed. Sacks of flour and beans, smoked hams, onions and a variety of other things were suspended from the beams on thick cords, for the area served Balbus as a sort of hanging pantry. A number of farm implements and other gear hung on the bare fieldstone walls. Gray close fitting flagstones covered the floor.

The passageway was cool, for the sun had not yet warmed the walls, but when Balbus opened a wooden door at the end of the corridor, warm air, scented with the sweet smell of fresh hay, swept over him and Elerian; for the heat given off by the larger animals in the barn was more than enough to keep it warm, even at night. Balbus let Elerian scatter wheat for the chickens and then showed him how to feed the sturdy brown plow horse and the half dozen gray sheep. He watched in surprise as the pugnacious ram with his great ribbed, curling horns came up to the edge of his stall to have Elerian scratch his ears. The powerful beast had an uncertain temper, even around Balbus and had chased him across a pasture more than once.

After feeding his one cow, Balbus pulled out a low wooden stool and a wooden bucket and proceeded to milk the animal. The two gray striped cats that lived in the barn came to watch. Balbus sent warm streams of milk into the air with a squeeze of his fingers, and the cats caught them with their open mouths, much to the Elerian’s delight. His clear voice pleased Balbus’s ears and gladdened his heart, but it troubled him too. Even if his appearance was somehow changed by Tullius, that remarkable voice would immediately draw attention to the boy.

“I wonder if even Tullius has the power to help me hide him?” wondered Balbus to himself as he watched Elerian stroke the cats, which purred loudly as they wound back and forth between his short legs.

Later that morning, after completing his chores, Balbus decided it was time to visit his old friend. He hung his knife on his belt and fastened Carbo’s nail studded collar around the dog’s neck, reminding himself as he did so to wash off the dark stains on the spikes, lingering evidence of the battle of the other day. Balbus put on a thick brown wool cloak and gathered Elerian up under it, seating him on his left arm so that only his bright eyes showed beneath its folds. He did not expect to meet anyone on the path to Tullius’s house, but it was best not to take chances.

After lifting his walking stick off its peg, Balbus opened the door and cautiously stepped outside for the first time that day. He saw at once that the closely mown grass that grew near the walls of the farmhouse was flattened down, but there were no clear footprints. A number of tiles had been ripped off the roof, exposing the thick oak planks underneath. They were strewn on the grass near the walls, and some had broken from the fall. Balbus reminded himself to repair the damage as soon as possible before rain got into the roof and ruined it. Carbo sniffed uneasily around the farmhouse, but clearly, the creature that had tried to break in during the night was gone.

“We should be safe enough while the sun is up,” thought Balbus to himself as he set off down the cart track that led between his fields. He let himself through the wooden gate in the boundary hedge, but at the edge of the forest, he hesitated for a moment, filled with an unfamiliar reluctance to venture under the trees. Balbus looked down at Carbo who was unconcernedly sniffing about and shook off his fears. If there was any sort of dangerous creature hiding nearby, Carbo would have scented it at once.

Plunging into the forest, Balbus followed the same path as the day before. At first, he remained cautious and fearful, in contrast to his lighthearted mood of the day before. Out of the corners of his eyes, it seemed to him that dark, menacing figures lurked behind every tree trunk, and red eyes winked hungrily in the shadows. Carbo, however, continued to walk ahead of Balbus, pausing to investigate any smell that interested him without giving the slightest indication that there was anything dangerous nearby. Gradually, Balbus’s fears began to melt away, and he started to pay more attention to his surroundings. For the first time, he noticed how fresh and clean the air smelled from the rain the night before. The melodious, varied calls of countless birds filled his ears as they went about their business in the trees. Balbus took a deep breath and was suddenly glad to be out in the forest again.

As he wound his way between the thick trunks of the trees which lined the path he followed, drops of water left over from last night’s rain fell to the ground with a soft patter whenever the wind ruffled the leaves of the trees. Soon, his cloak was spotted with clear drops that sparkled brightly in the shafts of golden sunlight that occasionally penetrated the roof of the forest. Drops of water also glistened on Elerian’s dark, curly hair like bright gems, for despite Balbus’s best efforts to keep him covered; Elerian kept poking his head out from beneath the cloak. His gray eyes gleamed as he looked curiously all about him, and he squirmed restlessly on Balbus’s arm, but Balbus refused to set him down where he might be exposed to prying eyes.

As he walked along, Balbus was pleased to see how damp the ground was from last night’s rain. There were clear puddles in the low places, and the drifts of leaves covering the forest floor were soaked and matted down. “There cannot be anything left to mark our passage through the forest yesterday,” thought Balbus hopefully to himself. He passed some of the same small meadows of the day before, and here, the bright morning sun had already dried last night’s rain off the tall grass. Several times Carbo startled one of the large brown hares that lived on the edges of the meadows, but he did not chase them far before he returned to Balbus’s side. He still walked a trifle stiffly this morning, although Balbus was happy to see that, otherwise, he seemed fully recovered from his injury.

As the winding path he followed gradually dropped toward the lowlands, Balbus was forced to switch Elerian from one side to the other as his arms tired. Elerian grew increasingly restless, shifting about and adding to Balbus’s difficulties so that he breathed a sigh of relief when the slope he was following ended and the path leveled out. Yesterday, his staff had drawn him to the left where the border to the Abercius lay, but today, Balbus followed a faint trace that led off to the northeast. The trees here were large, and their leafy crowns blocked out the bright sun and blue, cloudless sky, but they were not the giants that inhabited the Abercius. Balbus felt at ease here, but he wondered, as he often did when he visited his old friend, how Tullius managed to live so close to the edge of the Abercius without coming to grief. It was dangerous enough, at times, living on the hilltops, let alone on the doorstep of the Wild Wood. He had often begged his friend to move to a safer location; but the irascible mage would have none of it.

“He would never admit to it, but I am certain he uses his magic to keep himself safe,” thought Balbus to himself. He continued to follow the faint path he was on for almost a quarter mile, winding between tall trees that reared their canopies far overhead. Everywhere Balbus looked, birds flitted through their branches, and occasionally, one of the large brown squirrels that lived in the trees stopped to bark at the intruders below. The only other sound was made by Balbus’s own feet, rustling softly among the damp brown leaves that lay piled thickly under the trees.

The path ended abruptly at a weathered wooden gate set on posts between the trunks of two rowan trees. Each tree was almost two feet thick, and their interlaced branches formed a green arch over the gate. The gate was not locked, and Balbus swung it open on rusted iron hinges that squealed in protest at being disturbed. He stepped into a clearing covered with thick, ankle high grass and ringed all around by rowan trees planted by Tullius many years ago. They were all equal in size to those standing guard by the gate. Their branches, thickly covered with feathery, oval green leaves, reached almost to the ground all around the border of the clearing, giving them the appearance of a great hedge which completely screened out the surrounding forest. In the late summer and early fall, their heavy clusters of bright red berries were a delight to the eye and to the palates of the many birds that lived nearby.

In the center of the clearing was an old, shabby stone house with a battered wooden door in the front and a small window to the left of the door that was protected by badly rusted iron bars. The roof was missing tiles, and the weathered supporting planks underneath showed through, bleached to a silvery gray by sun and rain. The old house’s air of neglect was in sharp contrast to Balbus’s neat house and farm. Balbus shook his head at its condition, as he did each time he entered the clearing.

A low stone wall, visible on either side of the house, surrounded a large, orderly garden that lay behind the house. Balbus walked past the right corner of the house to where another rickety wooden gate gave access to the garden. Standing for a moment outside the gate, Balbus saw that Tullius, wearing a plain brown tunic and brown pants, was outside, chopping weeds with a hoe and turning over the rich, dark soil that lay between the dense green rows of herbs that covered the garden. Like Balbus, Tullius was short, but he wore his gray speckled hair and beard long. The two men had known each other since they were young children. They had gone their separate ways for a time in their youth; Balbus into the army and Tullius going north to serve an apprenticeship with a mage in Ancharia, but once they returned to their old homes, they became close friends again.

As Balbus opened the squeaky gate, Tullius looked up immediately and watched as Balbus approached along one of the paths that led between the rows of herbs.

“Your gates could do with a bit of oil,” said Balbus cheerfully.

“Oil would silence the warning they give me when they are opened,” said Tullius shortly. His sharp brown eyes were already inspecting Elerian whose dark head was visible again beneath the edge of Balbus’s cloak.

“How are things with you?” asked Balbus politely. He deliberately ignored Tullius’s inquisitive stare, hoping to whet the mage’s curiosity about Elerian.

“I’m fine,” said Tullius sharply. “What have you got there?” he asked abruptly, trying to get a better look at the child bundled up under Balbus’s cloak.

“Are you referring to the boy?” Balbus asked, as if he had only just noticed Elerian on his arm.

“Of course I was referring to the boy, you dolt,” said Tullius impatiently. From the gleam of amusement that suddenly appeared in Balbus’s eyes, Tullius knew that Balbus was baiting him, but his curiosity had already gotten the better of him.

“This is Elerian,” said Balbus. “I found him wandering alone in the forest yesterday and brought him home with me.” He tantalized Tullius for a moment with a short silence and then, abruptly, became serious. “Let us go inside Tullius. I have more to say, but not out here where the whole world can see and hear us.”

From Balbus’s changed tone, Tullius knew immediately that Balbus had some serious matter to discuss, and he put aside his curiosity for the moment. Putting down his hoe, he picked up a polished brown staff which had been lying on the path near his feet before setting off for the back door of his house. Balbus followed Tullius down the path and into the house with Carbo at his heels. Once they were all inside, Tullius closed and barred the door, shutting out the bright afternoon.

BALBUS TELLS HIS STORY

The inside of Tullius’s house was as disorganized as his garden was neat. Piles of scrolls and old books were stacked on every piece of furniture. More books were crammed on the shelves which lined the walls along with bits of stone, stuffed birds and animals, skins, skulls and anything else that had attracted Tullius’s interest over the years. Bundles of dried herbs hung everywhere from the bare beams supporting the roof planks, along with the occasional spider web. Wooden buckets, all full of clear water from last night’s rain, were set out on the stone floor to catch the drips from the roof, for it leaked every time it rained.

With the ease of long practice, Tullius threaded his way carelessly through the buckets on the floor to the battered wooden table in the center of the room. Balbus followed at a more cautious pace. While Tullius uncovered the mage lamp resting in the center of the table, Balbus removed a grinning leopard’s skull from one of the two chairs pulled up to the table. Although the chair he had cleared looked as if it might fall apart at any moment, Balbus cautiously sat down on it with Elerian on his lap. The chair creaked alarmingly, but it held his weight, and Balbus relaxed somewhat.

Tullius brought two bottles and three rough wooden cups to the table. After clearing a space among the piled up books and scrolls covering the table, he poured a rich red wine for himself and Balbus from one bottle. From the second bottle, Tullius poured milk sweetened with honey into the third cup for Elerian. Having discharged his duties as a host, Tullius then sat in the other chair across from Balbus and stared intently at Elerian from under long, bushy gray eyebrows which, combined with craggy features and a pair of sharp brown eyes, gave him a stern, almost menacing appearance. Elerian drank his milk and stared fearlessly back at Tullius over the rim of his cup, in no way daunted by his penetrating stare. When he finished the milk, he squirmed out of Balbus’s arms and set off to explore the room.

“He seems a hardened little rascal,” said Tullius with a hint of admiration in his voice. “Where did you find him, Balbus?”

“Deep in the Abercius,” said Balbus reluctantly, for he knew that Tullius would have something to say about his entering the old forest, none of it pleasant.

At the mention of the Abercius, Tullius frowned angrily. He had cautioned Balbus many times in no uncertain terms not to enter the Abercius for any reason. “That was a stupid thing to do,” he burst out angrily. “I have warned you before never to venture into that place. You are fortunate you got out safely even with the help of your staff and your overgrown hound.”

“I have always heeded your warning before,” said Balbus mildly. He was used to his old friend’s abrupt manner, and he ignored the irritation in Tullius’s voice, for he knew the mage was genuinely concerned about his safety. “Besides, you are partly at fault. It was your staff which forced me into the old forest yesterday.”

“How could my staff force you to do anything?” asked Tullius in disbelief.

“Listen to my story and you can judge for yourself,” said Balbus. Seeing that he had Tullius’s full attention, he began his tale. “I started out yesterday afternoon, as I often do, searching for a bees’ nest. At first, I followed my staff without paying much attention, but when I suddenly realized that it had brought me to the edge of the Abercius, I stopped. Bearing in mind the dangers of the place, I decided to return home. My walking stick, however, continued to pull strongly in the direction of the old forest, almost as if it had developed a will of its own. Deciding that the bees’ nest must be close by, I finally decided to go on a little farther. No nest appeared, and I made up my mind to turn back. By then, I was unsure of the direction I must travel to return home. I ordered my staff to lead me out of the forest, but to my surprise, it refused my command.”

“What do you mean it refused?” asked Tullius incredulously. “The spell residing in the staff has no will of its own. It must do as it is ordered.”

“I am telling you, it refused to obey me,” said Balbus stubbornly. “It continued to draw me deeper into the forest, and I had no choice but to follow it, for I was sure that if I abandoned the staff, I would never find my way home. Finally, beneath a great chestnut tree, the staff ceased to pull on my hand so abruptly that I almost fell. I heard the droning of bees overhead and raised my head to look for the nest. It was then that I saw the boy standing in front of me all alone.”

Interrupting Balbus, Tullius said triumphantly, “Your own words show that my staff was not at fault, Balbus. The staff was seeking out the bee’s nest in the chestnut tree. Perhaps it drew you on a little more vigorously than usual,” he conceded, “but you should have resisted and forced it to lead you home.”

It was Balbus’s turn to frown now, for he clearly remembered how the staff had dragged him through the forest against his will. He was sure that nothing he could have done would have forced it to obey him.

“Has the boy told you how he came to be in the forest?” Tullius asked, interrupting Balbus’s thoughts and changing the subject, now that the matter of the errant staff was settled in his favor, in his mind at least.

“He does not speak the common tongue or Hesperian,” said Balbus. “He was able to tell me his name and nothing else.”

“An unusual name,” said Tullius, thoughtfully stroking his long beard. “You said he was alone when you found him?”

“He was all alone,” repeated Balbus. “From the state of his clothes and the fact that his shoes were worn nearly through, it seemed to me that he had come a long way, unlikely as that seems. Carbo and I searched all around, but we were only able to follow his back trail for a short distance before we lost it. We found nothing to indicate that anyone had accompanied the boy and no clue to tell us where he might have come from.”

“There must have been someone nearby even if you did not see them,” insisted Tullius. “No child his age could survive for more than a few hours on his own in that forest. He may be some hunter’s child whose camp was nearby but out of sight. Sometimes, a party of Ancharians will travel this far to the east. The boy has their dark hair.”

“There was no camp,” said Balbus positively. “If there were men nearby, Carbo would have sensed them. Besides, I have never seen an Ancharian whose eyes were not black as night.” They both turned toward Elerian who was now playing with the water in one of the buckets. Aware of their attention, he turned to regard them both with clear gray eyes that gleamed in the light of the mage lamp.

“He is not Ancharian,” conceded Tullius, “but I still think his people must have been nearby, whoever they were.”

“You may think differently when you have heard the next part of my story,” said Balbus.

“Well then tell me the rest of it,” said Tullius impatiently, for he had not expected that there would be more to Balbus’s tale. Balbus did not resume his narrative immediately. Instead, he pushed his empty wine cup across the table and waited until Tullius impatiently refilled it. He refused to rush through his story, for it was not often that he had Tullius hanging on his every word. He was already anticipating Tullius’s reaction to the strange events he was about to recount.

“The hour was growing late and having made a thorough search,” said Balbus, emphasizing the word thorough, “I decided to take Elerian home with me since I could not leave him there alone. I was growing uneasy, too, for I had heard the cry of a hunting wolf several times, and each time it seemed to be drawing closer.”

“Stop being dramatic,” said Tullius impatiently. “No one but a fool would fear a hunting wolf in midsummer when game is plentiful.”

“The story will take that much longer to tell if you keep interrupting me,” said Balbus severely. He paused to take a long, unhurried swallow of wine, and his eyes gleamed with pleasure as he saw impatience shoot from Tullius’s eyes like lightning bolts. The mage’s graying beard quivered as he struggled to hold in his annoyance.

“Go on then!” grumbled Tullius, who was growing bored with the whole affair. He was still angry that Balbus had gone into the Abercius against his advice and thought his friend was embellishing his story in an attempt to justify his foolish act.

At the sound of the mage’s irritated voice, Elerian stopped dripping water from his slender fingers into one of the buckets and curiously regarded Tullius for a moment before resuming his play.

Unimpressed with Tullius’s display of impatience, Balbus continued his story, still determined to tell it at his own pace. He knew he would recapture Tullius’s interest as the story unfolded. “As I was saying before I was interrupted,” continued Balbus, “I decided to return home with the boy. I was, of course, completely lost at that point, but the staff was acting normally again, and it began to lead me toward home. As I neared the edge of the Abercius, I began to breathe easier, but then, Carbo began to growl and a moment later, two strange beasts emerged from the trees behind us. Balbus paused for effect, and a long-suffering look crossed Tullius’s face. He was more certain than ever that Balbus was making a great deal of fuss over a fairly ordinary happening as a justification for entering the Abercius against his advice.

“At first,” continued Balbus, “I thought the creatures were wolves, even though they were unusually large, and their fur was coarse and black. Their eyes were strange, too, for they glowed like coals in the shadows under the trees.” Balbus paused again and saw with satisfaction that interest and even some alarm now showed on Tullius’s face.

Elerian’s clear laugh interrupted the story, and Tullius turned a startled look on the boy. “Surely that is no human voice,” he thought to himself in wonderment as he watched the boy dripping water into a bucket. Elerian had noticed that a golden film of light occasionally covered the bucket when a drop fell into it, and even more intriguing, the level of the water in the bucket slowly fell as long as he trickled water into it. He was now busily engaged in trying to discover where the water went, for the floor around the bucket remained dry.

The strange light which had caught Elerian’s interest was not visible to Tullius’s eyes. When Balbus resumed his story, he turned his attention back to his old friend.

“As I was saying,” continued Balbus, “two strange wolves emerged from the forest. I was concerned because there were two of the animals, but I was still determined to fight them if I must. Then, one of the beasts spoke to me.” Balbus paused for a moment to take in Tullius’s reaction to his statement.

“Are you sure?” asked Tullius gravely, as if hoping that Balbus was somehow mistaken about what he had seen and heard.

“The creature’s voice was rough and hoarse, but the meaning of its words was unmistakable,” insisted Balbus. “It told me it wanted the boy and that I could go free if I gave him up. I am not ashamed to admit that I was badly shaken, both by the strange request and the fact that the beast had spoken to me.”

Tullius did not comment, but his face took on a grim cast that alarmed Balbus. It was as if the mage had heard some very bad news and expected worse. Some of Balbus’s enjoyment in telling his unusual story vanished. Watching Tullius carefully, he continued his tale. “Fortunately for me, Carbo kept the creatures at bay until I collected my wits. Of course, I refused to give up Elerian, and the creatures promptly attacked us.”

“Obviously, you fended them off, or you would not be here now,” interrupted Tullius dryly.

“Carbo and I slew both of them,” continued Balbus, mildly upset that Tullius was making light of one of the most exciting parts of his story. “Unfortunately Carbo sustained a great wound. I thought he would die from it.” Here Balbus paused to show Tullius the length of the pink scar on Carbo’s side. The mage’s eyes widened, reflecting surprise and disbelief. Tullius recognized the severity of the wound at once, for he was no stranger to injuries. He was often called upon to act in the capacity of a healer, using both herbs and his mage powers to affect cures.

“How was this healed,” he asked impatiently as he examined the scar. “He should have died from such a severe injury.”

“Elerian healed it,” said Balbus dramatically.

Tullius’s bushy eyebrows shot up in astonishment. “No one can heal a wound of that size?” he stated positively.

“He touched the wound with his hands and it closed up,” said Balbus. “I watched the whole thing. When he was done, there was nothing left but the scar.”

For Tullius, this was the most difficult part of Balbus’s story to accept, but there was no denying the evidence of the fresh scar on Carbo’s side.

“This is most unusual,” said Tullius quietly. “Even a great mage could not have healed a wound of that size in time to save Carbo’s life.”

“There is more,” said Balbus, and he was gratified to see that Tullius was now hanging on his every word. “I thought it best to hide the bodies of the creatures,” said Balbus resuming his story. “While I was dragging them to a hiding place, I found that each of the wolves wore a thin iron collar. I accidentally touched one of them with my finger, and a strange sensation shot through me.”

“What happened then?” interrupted Tullius in a voice filled with apprehension. Balbus noted with alarm that he had gone pale under his tan, something Balbus had never seen him do before.

“I realized the collar must be enchanted, and I immediately pulled my hand away,” said Balbus. “Knowing that such things are better left alone, I took great care not to touch either collar again. After I hid the bodies as best I could, I had Carbo tear the boy’s tunic with his teeth. I left it among the leaves soaked by Carbo's blood. Then, I covered my trail and any signs of the struggle as best I could, before carrying the boy home in my arms. It rained heavily not long after that. Hopefully, any signs or scent leading to my house were washed away.”

Balbus paused in his story and looked at Tullius expectantly. He was relieved to see that the color had returned to Tullius’s face. The mage now sat sipping his wine and idly stoking the smooth brown wood of the staff he had leaned against the table by his left hand. Finally, he spoke. “You have done well,” he said grudgingly, although I would also say you have had more than your share of luck. The wolves you and Carbo fought were not animals at all. They were obviously shape shifters, for they could talk.”

Tullius smiled grimly at the shocked expression on Balbus’s face. Obviously, this was not a thought which had occurred to his friend before. “If we need more evidence of this, we need only look at the collars which they wore. Such devices confer the power to change one’s shape even to someone who has little native magic of his own. More worrisome to us, as you rightly guessed, Balbus, they also point to the creatures having a master. When you touched one of those collars, you were in the greatest peril of your life. If you had handled one of them even a little, its master would have seized control of your mind. He would have broken your will, and after learning all there is to know about you, he would have drawn you to him or come to you.”

Balbus shivered at the fate he might have suffered had curiosity led him to examine one of the collars. Tullius’s words had confirmed his worst fears, and added others he had not considered before. “Will the collars reveal the location of the bodies?” asked Balbus, suddenly seizing on a fresh worry.

“The spell residing in the collars only becomes active at the touch of a living creature,” said Tullius, reassuringly. “If you hid the bodies well enough, they may never be found. That clever bit with the boy’s tunic may even lead any pursuers to think the boy is dead.”

“There may still be a search for the boy to make certain of his fate,” said Balbus worriedly. “Such a search is bound to lead the master of the shape shifters to our own land. I have disguised Elerian as best I can in case someone shows up at my doorstep looking for him, but my disguise is not very good. Anyone who sees the boy up close will know he is not Hesperian.” Balbus fell silent and looked expectantly at Tullius, hoping the mage would suggest some solution to his problem.

THE DISGUISE

“Only a disguise crafted by magic can succeed in hiding the boy from the master of the collars,” said Tullius at last.

“Are you able to perform such magic?” asked Balbus eagerly. “Can you change Elerian’s appearance and his voice too?”

“Perhaps,” said Tullius as he looked thoughtfully at Elerian for a moment. “If I do succeed in changing the boy’s appearance, what will you do with him?” he asked abruptly as he turned back to Balbus.

The question came as a surprise to Balbus. He had no ready answer, for all his thoughts, up to now, were concerned with keeping Elerian safe. He had not considered the boy’s future at all. “What would you suggest I do with him?” he asked Tullius, stalling for time.

“You should send him away somewhere safe,” said Tullius immediately.

The suggestion was reasonable, but Balbus found himself objecting to it at once. “Who would take him, knowing that he is disguised and that danger might follow after him?”

“We need not tell anyone about his history,” countered Tullius. “If I can make him look like any other child of our land, I am sure some family in the south, beyond the Galerius, would be willing to take him in. There, in the heart of Hesperia, he will not easily be found if enemies come looking for him.”

“What if his parents return someday?” asked Balbus, still searching for some reason not to send Elerian away.

“The boy could be brought back easily enough if that happens,” replied Tullius immediately. “We could tell the people who take him in that his parents might still be found some day.”

Balbus could not think of any other objections, but for some reason, he was still reluctant to agree to the plan. He raised his wine cup to his lips, giving himself a few more moments to think. Tullius’s plan presented him with a way out of the dangerous situation he now found himself in, but his reluctance to accept his friend’s advice only increased the longer he thought about it. “I may as well face it,” he thought to himself. “Unless his parents come to claim him, I do not wish to give up the boy. I must have meant to keep him all along,” he thought to himself in surprise. “It just took Tullius’s question to make me realize it.”

Setting down his cup, he said firmly to Tullius, “It would not be fair to conceal the boy’s past from anyone who decided to foster him. Even if someone did accept him, knowing the danger he might bring down on his head by doing so, the boy should not grow up ignorant of his past. It would be wrong to deprive him of his heritage, whatever it may be, just to buy my own safety.”

“You wish to keep him,” said Tullius disapprovingly, for he saw what Balbus was leading up to.

“I think it would be the right thing to do,” said Balbus. “Now that I have had time to think about it, I believe that it was no accident that I entered the Abercius yesterday. I begin to feel that I was meant to find the boy, and that having found him, I was also meant to keep him.”

“You are speaking nonsense,” said Tullius harshly, for he still believed that it would be unwise and perhaps even dangerous for Balbus to keep Elerian. “It was nothing more than chance, or more likely, bad luck that led you to him. If you keep the boy, you will be meddling in something that is beyond your powers to deal with. Both you and Elerian may be killed if you refuse to follow my advice.”

“That is a chance I am willing to take,” replied Balbus stubbornly. The more Tullius argued against keeping the boy, the more determined he became not to give him up.

“You are a fool,” shouted Tullius, losing his temper for a moment, “and I am a greater fool for wanting to help you. I had hoped to spare you from this knowledge, for I did not wish to frighten you unnecessarily, but have you given any thought at all as to who this unknown master of the wolves might be?” he asked ominously.

The question startled Balbus, for to tell the truth, he had given it little thought up to now. “I have not thought about it at all,” he said honestly to Tullius. “I have been too concerned with simply staying alive. After I returned home last night, I received a visit from the venetor.”

“It never rains but it pours,” said Tullius, dourly shaking his head. “I am surprised that you are still alive,” he said bluntly.

“Carbo saved me,” admitted Balbus. “The creature failed to break into my house, but somehow it drew me to the window and compelled me to open the shutters. I think it was about to do something to me when Carbo suddenly thrust me out of the way and drove it off by slashing at its hands as they gripped the window bars. I managed to bar the shutters again, and not long after, the rising sun drove the creature away.”

“I have long suspected that the venetor possess some power which allows it to control its victims,” said Tullius nodding his head. A thoughtful look suddenly entered his eyes. “It seems an odd coincidence that the creature showed up on your doorstep on the same night you brought the boy home.”

“A moment ago, you were claiming that all the events connected with the boy’s appearance occurred by chance,” said Balbus, for he could not imagine any connection between the venetor and Elerian. “Now, will you help me or not?”

“First you must understand the danger you are in,” said Tullius sharply. “Let me ask you again. Who might the master of the shape shifters be?”

“I have no idea,” said Balbus who was beginning to feel irritated at Tullius’s attempts to frighten him.

“You must have forgotten, then, that Goblin shape shifters have always favored the wolf form,” said Tullius solemnly. “Because of the collars they were wearing, it is almost a certainty that the creatures you fought in the forest were lupins, Goblin shape shifters in wolf form. Their master is also undoubtedly a Goblin.”

“That is just a guess on your part,” objected Balbus weakly, for the thought of dealing with Goblins terrified him, as Tullius had no doubt intended it to. All the dark tales Balbus had ever heard about those creatures came flooding back into his mind, increasing his fear. “No Goblin has been seen near the borders of our land since the Great War,” he replied in an attempt to cast doubt on Tullius’s statement. “That was over one hundred years ago. Most people believe they all perished in the fighting.”

“Some of them survived, Balbus,” said Tullius grimly. “You should ask the next Dwarf you meet about the battle of Calenus which was fought only fifty years ago. He will almost certainly give you an earful about Goblins and whether they still exist.”

“Even supposing they were Goblins, why would they want to kill a young boy like Elerian?” asked Balbus in uneasy tones. “He is too young to be a danger to anyone.”

“I have no idea,” said Tullius in a troubled voice, and he studied Elerian once more as he dripped water into a bucket which was now almost empty. It disturbed him more and more that he could not determine the boy’s race.

“I thought at first he might be one of the sylvan people who lived in our land long ago,” said Balbus who seemed to have guessed Tullius’s thoughts, “but he does not really resemble the faun I saw years ago.”

Tullius shot Balbus a look of surprise. “You never mentioned seeing a faun before,” he said quietly.

“I was sure no one would believe me, so I never spoke of it before,” said Balbus.

“That was a wise decision,” said Tullius. “I would continue to keep quiet about it if I were you.” He fell silent for a moment and then spoke again in a low voice, almost as if he were talking to himself. “The Tarsi have dark hair and many of them have gray eyes. There are also those among them who are skilled in the use of magic.”

“The Tarsi live hundreds of miles to the east, and they do not walk the forest paths,” objected Balbus at once. “They are people of the open plains.”

“What is your enlightened guess, then, as to his parentage?” asked Tullius irritably. “The boy is certainly not a Dwarf.”

Balbus frowned in concentration. The mention of Dwarves recalled a long forgotten conversation from his youth to his mind. “There is another possibility,” said Balbus quietly. “Many years ago, I was stationed at the garrison in Marsala for a time. There, at an inn called the Flying Dolphin, I briefly made the acquaintance of a trader named Evodius. He was a Dwarf, and he claimed to be over three hundred years old at the time I met him. We talked for a long time as we sat and drank our beer, and he told me a little about the lands to the north.

“He mentioned nothing about Goblins, though?” asked Tullius sarcastically.

“I did not think to ask about them, for I had no interest in Goblins at the time,” replied Balbus defensively. “Evodius talked mostly about his trading expeditions. Before the country was destroyed by the Goblins during the Great War, he often visited Fimbria. The inhabitants were called Elves by the Dwarves. Evodius told me that dark hair and gray eyes were common among them, and that many of them possessed strong magical powers. He said, too, that their faces and forms were the fairest of all the races that walk the Middle Realm.”

“Are you saying you think Elerian is an Elven child?” asked Tullius in disbelief. “Did this Dwarf somehow fail to mention that the Elves vanished after Fimbria fell to the Goblins and their allies? If any survived, they passed over the sea into the west where, if you believe in legends, there lies a land which mortals cannot enter.”

“Suppose some of them did not leave the Middle Realm,” said Balbus stubbornly. “If Elerian is an Elf child, it would explain perfectly why the shape shifters and their master wanted him dead. Evodius told me that the Goblins and the Elves have been bitter enemies for countless years. The conflict between them began in the north lands, long before the Elves made their homes in Fimbria.”

“Supposing for a moment that you are right, Balbus,” said Tullius. “If the boy is indeed an Elf, the Goblins will continue to search for him until they are sure he is dead. Suppose they show up on your doorstep looking for him. What will you do then?" he asked in a harsh voice. “They are a more terrible enemy than even the venetor.”

“If you can disguise the boy properly, I can pass him off as my grandson,” said Balbus stoutly. “Anyone seeking him will be none the wiser.”

“You place too much confidence in me, Balbus,” said Tullius with a slight undertone of bitterness in his voice. “The only way to hide the boy effectively from a Goblin or a lupin is to change his shape, but shape changing spells require a great deal of power, more power than I possess. I can only perform a partial shape change on the boy. It may not be enough to keep him from being discovered. He may well die as a result, and we could perish with him.”

“I am willing to chance it if you are,” said Balbus firmly.

“Very well then, I will help you if I can,” said Tullius gruffly as he finally gave in. Taking up his staff, which was never far from his hand, he said, “Exsisto charta,” in a firm voice. Balbus started in alarm as a small book, bound in brown leather, appeared on the battered table in front of Tullius. The edges of its pages were covered with gold trim and written on its cover in  flowing golden letters was the word Tullius.

Tullius opened the book and slowly turned its well worn, white pages. At first, each page appeared blank, but at the touch of Tullius’s fingers, black letters written in a fine hand appeared, covering each page from top to bottom. Tullius finally found the page he wanted and after studying it for a moment, began to read from it aloud, carefully shaping each word. As he spoke the last word of the spell, Tullius pointed his staff at Elerian who, having emptied one bucket, was now playing in another, and said, “Commuto,” in a commanding voice.

The boy’s figure suddenly seemed to flow and reshape itself in a disquieting fashion before Balbus’s eyes. When its outlines firmed once more, Elerian’s face and figure had broadened and darkened. His black hair and gray eyes were now a deep brown, and to all appearances, he was indistinguishable from any other Hesperian child. Elerian seemed unaware of the change that had come over him, and continued to play with the water in the bucket before him. Its level, too, had begun to fall.

Impressed and pleased with the transformation, Balbus turned to thank Tullius, but the words froze on his lips. The mage’s face had a strained look as if he had performed some great labor, and he was white under his tan.

“All is well,” said Tullius weakly at the look of concern on Balbus’s face. “The spell appears to have worked without harming any of us in the process. My powers were heavily taxed, but I will recover. Be a good fellow and pour me some more wine.”

Balbus hastened to comply, but when Tullius lifted his cup, his hand shook so badly that he was in danger of spilling its contents. The wine steadied the mage, and after a moment, he surveyed Elerian critically and appeared satisfied with what he saw.

“I believe he will pass as a Hesperian now, even under the closest scrutiny,” he said wearily to Balbus. “He even looks a little like you, a nice touch if I say so myself,” said Tullius with a tired smile. “Even a lupin will not be able to discover the child’s true nature, for the boy’s scent will mark him as one of our own children. You must still exercise great caution, however, for I was only able to change the boy’s outer appearance. Beneath his guise as a Hesperian, he still retains all of the powers and abilities he possessed before. You must take care that he does not commit some act that will reveal his real nature. I think, as an added precaution, you should change his name too.”

“I will school him to be cautious as soon as he learns to understand me,” said Balbus quietly, “but I will not take his name from him. He must retain some link to his past.” In truth, although Balbus had suggested the idea of a disguise, his initial joy in the change had faded quickly. He felt uncomfortable about it now and a little sad. Elerian looked entirely plain and ordinary now, and Balbus felt a sense of loss that he could not put into words. He watched as Elerian turned over his nearly empty bucket to see if there was a hole in the bottom through which the water might have escaped. No hole was evident, and Elerian wondered, again, where the water had gone. He began to splash in a third bucket and laughed as the water leaped into the air when he struck it with his right hand. The sound of his laughter worsened Balbus’s guilt, for Elerian’s voice had also changed. It sounded human now and entirely unremarkable.

“Better for him,” thought Balbus, trying to banish the guilt from his mind. “Anyone hearing his real voice would have guessed at once that he was no human child.”

“Can you restore the boy to his original form?” he asked Tullius anxiously, for it had not occurred to him to ask before.

“I don’t know,” said Tullius honestly, for he did not wish to give Balbus any false hopes.

It was not a very satisfactory answer, but Balbus was forced to accept it for now. “The boy may be able to change himself back,” thought Balbus to himself hopefully. “Who knows what powers he will possess as he grows older?”

Balbus and Tullius talked for a little while longer over their wine as old friends will, and then Balbus rose to take Elerian home. Tullius silently stood in his doorway and watched them walk across his front yard and disappear through the gate. Despite his gruff manner, he was quite fond of Balbus, and he feared for his old friend's safety. “This affair is not over yet by any means, and I fear it will not come to a good end,” he thought to himself uneasily. “The safest course for everyone would have been to send the boy south.”

Later in the day, after Balbus returned home, he visited each of the five neighbors within easy walking distance of his farm. They were all short brown men like himself, hard working and cheerful for the most part and given to few words. When he introduced the boy as his grandson and told each of them that the boy’s parents had died in an accident in foreign parts, none of his neighbors thought to question his statement. Balbus was well liked, but no one knew very much about him. He kept to himself most of the time, and he had spent time traveling when he was a young man in the army. He might have had a family somewhere that no one knew about. Certainly, the boy’s name had a foreign sound, but there was no question that he resembled Balbus.

They all offered words of sympathy, and it seemed entirely right and natural when Balbus told them that the boy would now be staying with him. As casually as possible, Balbus also asked each of his neighbors if they had heard of anything unusual happening nearby in the last few days, but no one had seen or heard of anything out of the ordinary. They looked properly concerned when Balbus told them about the return of the venetor, and all of them took extra care when they barred their doors and windows that night.

WATCHERS IN THE DARK

It was late evening by the time Balbus had talked with the last of his neighbors and set off for home. “I have done all that I can to ensure Elerian’s safety,” he thought to himself as he walked down the grassy lane that led back to his house. “Only time will tell if I have done enough.”

The evening air was cooling after the heat of the day, and birds sang from the branches of the tall ash trees that grew along the edge of the road. On Balbus’s left, the sun was sinking below the high peaks of the Galerius in a blaze of red, sending shadows creeping across the open meadows of the heights. To his right, rich fields of wheat, oats, and grapes glowed in the fading light. At the lower margins of the fields, Balbus could make out the green line of the boundary hedge and the forest that lay beyond it. He wondered if the danger to Elerian was as great as Tullius seemed to think it was. It was hard to imagine that any danger could intrude on the peaceful scene around him.

By the time he reached his home, Balbus was feeling exceedingly tired from the long day. After a late supper, he and Elerian went up to the loft to sleep. To Balbus’s relief, Elerian fell asleep immediately, and he was not long in following his example, for tonight his mind was more at ease because of all the precautions he had taken to ensure Elerian’s safety. Carbo, too, fell into a peaceful slumber on his rug by the hearth, but shortly after midnight, he suddenly started awake and lifted his head alertly with his ears pricked up, staring intently to the east, as if he could see through the wall of the loft. Some faint sound no human ear could have detected had disturbed his slumber.

Outside the snug farmhouse, the sky was an inky black dome, cloudless and blazing with countless bright stars. A deep silence filled the night, disturbed only by the light breeze that softly rustled the leaves in the fields and forest. There was no moon, for it was in its dark phase. Beneath the trees that crowded up against the narrow strip of grass that separated the gate in the boundary hedge from the forest, the darkness was thick and impenetrable. It was from this point that the sound of unfamiliar voices had reached Carbo’s sensitive ears.

Five tall, slender figures were standing motionless beneath the eaves of the forest, talking amongst themselves. All five had lean, handsome faces, and they wore their long, jet-black hair tied tightly behind their heads with leather bands. They seemed human enough at first glance, until one noticed the tips of the pale, pointed ears thrusting through their dark hair. All five of the creatures possessed cold, black eyes that had red sparks burning faintly in their depths. Strong black nails, curved like claws, tipped their long, slender fingers, and behind thin, cruel lips, they sported sharp white teeth like beasts of prey. They were all clad from head to foot in leather, dyed black. The leather packs they bore on their backs were also black, and even their weapons were dark and dull surfaced so that no gleam of reflected starlight came from any member of the group. These five strangers were the last survivors of a band of Goblins who had come down out of the north from Nefandus, the Goblin kingdom, on a secret errand for their king.

“He is not there, Sarius,” said one of them, continuing the argument that had roused Carbo. He was a sly looking Goblin named Bruscius, and he made no effort to keep his voice down, despite the warning look he got from the leader of the group. There was both weariness and irritation in his voice, for they had traveled far and fast with little rest. “I saw the old man and the boy through the hedge earlier this evening,” he said in a voice that dripped with the contempt he felt for men in general. “There is no doubt they are both dull humans. The cub looks just like the old man: thick, slow moving, and stupid.”

“We should kill them anyway,” said another of the Goblins abruptly. His name was Rufius, and he was tired of skulking in the shadows. “We have had no man meat for too long, and the boy will be tender pickings.”

“There is to be no raiding yet,” said Sarius, the leader of the band, in a harsh voice. “We are Urucs, not simple Wood Goblins who forget their orders at the first sight of fresh meat.”

“We have already carried out our orders,” responded Rufius in an ugly tone. He was not in a reasonable mood, and as he spoke, the red sparks in his eyes flared up and spread so that his eyes took on an ominous, crimson hue in the dark. “The Elves are all dead. I say we kill these two humans for their flesh and then return to Nefandus! No one will ever know about their deaths unless you blabber to Torquatus and betray us.” The rasp of a knife being drawn out of its sheath immediately followed his words.

Rufius’s four companions eagerly stepped back and formed a circle around Rufius and Sarius, excitement coursing through them at the prospect of blood being spilled, for Sarius had drawn his own black bladed knife an instant after Rufius. He welcomed the fight, for he and Rufius hated each other, and each had long searched for an excuse to slay the other. With the swift, fluid grace of striking snakes, the two began to stab at one another with their keen knives. The grating, ringing sound of steel scraping over steel filled the air as their knives clashed together. Light and graceful seeming as the Goblins were in their movements, there was a terrible strength in their bodies. The blows they shrugged off would have broken bones on a man.

With blinding speed, Sarius suddenly switched his knife to his left hand and struck at Rufius. As the other Goblin desperately blocked the stroke with the hilt of the knife in his right hand, Sarius raked the left side of Rufius’s face with the strong black claws on his right hand, seeking to destroy his eye. Black blood coursed down over Rufius’s brow and cheek, and he involuntarily took a step back. The curse on his lips died abruptly as Sarius freed his blade and buried it in Rufius’s exposed throat in a single, swift motion.

Sarius withdrew his dark blade and sprang back as Rufius fell to the ground, choking on his own blood. As the fallen Goblin’s life’s blood seeped into the ground, Sarius delicately licked the warm blood off his blade with a long, pointed tongue, his handsome face horribly distorted with anger. He had become a fiend with burning red eyes who would have frozen the blood of the peaceful farmers sleeping in their hilltop homes if they could have seen him at that moment.

“Does anyone else wish to challenge me tonight?” he hissed softly as he turned his fiery eyes on the other members of his small troop. The uneasy silence that followed was finally broken by a Goblin named Calerus.

“No one else disputes your right to lead, Sarius,” he said soothingly. “Rufius was a fool to challenge you.”

The calming words did not deceive Sarius for a moment. There was no loyalty among Goblins. They followed the strongest among them. He knew the others would have followed Rufius without a second thought if he had won the fight.

“What are we to do now, Sarius?” asked Calerus, a faint whine in his voice. Like Rufius, he, too, wished to go home, but he was too clever to oppose Sarius openly. “We have not heard the lupins howling since before the storm yesterday. Drusus, too, has disappeared. We all know that he is mad. Supposing he only imagined a boy. There was no certainly no sign of any young Elf during the battle.”

“Something has led the lupins on a merry chase all these miles,” said Sarius sourly. “Before he left us, Drusus insisted that they were following a whelp of the accursed Elves we were sent to destroy.”

“Perhaps they are silent because they have already caught and slain the Elf,” suggested Bruscius.”

“If they made a kill, they would have come back to report it,” said Sarius sharply. “Except for that one, brief moment yesterday, I have had no contact with them since before the storm.”

A look of intense concentration suddenly swept over Sarius’s features as he sent out a silent call to the lupins. For long moments, the others waited while Sarius attempted to contact the missing shape changers. Finally, he gave up. “I will skin them both alive, if ever I get my hands on them again,” he said angrily, and his clawed fingers clenched together in anger.

“They do not think like us Sarius,” said Calerus soothingly. “If they killed the boy and some other game happened their way while the blood lust was on them, they would pursue it, collars, or no collars. They could easily be many miles away by now. It would not be the first time such a thing has happened.”

“Unless they have somehow removed their collars, I should be able to sense them no matter how far away they are,” said Sarius savagely.

“They may be dead, then,” said Calerus indifferently. “There are many dangers in these woods, even for a lupin.”

Sarius cursed softly, for things had not gone well since Drusus led them to the hidden home of the Elves they had come all the way from Nefandus to destroy. He had broken through the magical defenses which guarded the home, and they had slain the three inhabitants, but incredibly, it had cost the lives of three lupins and fifteen Goblins. Even now, he could scarcely believe it, for all the dead were seasoned fighters, immortal Urucs who were far stronger and quicker than the more numerous Wood Goblins.

With the fighting barely ended, Drusus had summoned them outside with the news that a young Elf had escaped over the garden wall behind the home. The hunt had resumed at once, leaving them no time to despoil the bodies of the slain or their home. Swift as they were, he and the remnants of his company had fallen far behind the two surviving lupins. Drusus also outran them. Eventually, the lupins had gone silent, and to add to their bad luck, it had started to rain, washing away all signs of the lupins’ faint trail. In a foul mood because events seemed to be conspiring against him, Sarius had led his small band on in a straight line into the foothills, but they had found no sign of either the lupins or the creature the lupins had pursued for all these miles.

This left Sarius in a difficult position. He dared not return home without discovering the fate of the lupins and their quarry, but despite their soft words, he knew that all the remaining members of his band were tired of the fruitless search. Like Rufius, they wished to return to Nefandus. They might not oppose him openly if he continued the search, but Sarius knew he must take care that one of them did not knife him in his sleep or poison his food.

“We will return to where we last heard the lupins and see if we missed some sign of them,” he said at last. “Failing in that, we must continue to search. If we return home without certain news of the fate of the last Elf, Torquatus will flay the skin off all of us an inch at a time.” His words were met with a stony silence, but no one dared to object.

“What about him?” asked Calerus, pointing to the body of Rufius.

Sarius gave an evil laugh. “Bring him along. We will have fresh meat for one meal at least.”

Calerus easily picked up the body of Rufius and slung it over his shoulder. The band of Urucs melted back into the forest, all of them in a slightly better frame of mind. Goblin was a poor substitute for human flesh, but it would do for now.

Inside the loft, Carbo listened for a little longer after the distant voices of the Goblins faded away. Satisfied that there was no longer any danger to Balbus and Elerian, he laid his head down on his outstretched paws and went back to sleep, unaware that an even greater threat than the Goblins lurked nearby in the forest.

DRUSUS

The Goblins had no sooner disappeared into the trees, than a dark figure dropped silently onto the ground from the branches of the large oak tree under which they had been standing just moments before. On all fours, the strange creature froze, his sleek black furred head cocked to one side, and his pointed ears pricked up as he listened to the soft, receding footfalls of the party of Urucs. Drusus was the creature’s name, the same Drusus the Goblins had discussed a few moments before, but the Hesperians knew him as the venetor, and he had haunted their nightmares for a hundred years.

Even as the Goblins had stood beneath the oak, wondering what had become of him, he had listened to all they said, hidden in the tree’s leafy crown far above their heads. Silent laughter shook his powerful frame at the ease with which he had deceived the Urucs, and he reveled in his own cunning. Soon, however, his mood changed, and his laughter turned into a barely audible growl of anger. “So, they think me mad, do they?” he muttered to himself in a harsh voice which twisted and coarsened his words so that they echoed the growls and snarls of a beast. “They would fare no better if my cruel fate were suddenly thrust upon them. I have spent almost five score years living as an animal, hiding from the light of the sun and gnawing cold bones in the dark until it is all I can do to remember my own name and the unjust command the Goblin king gave me so long ago.”

Anger at the dark king of the Goblins and resentment of his fate made his pale eyes gleam in the dark with a feral light. A red rage washed over him, banishing all thought for a moment, as the animal part of his nature became dominant. His thick, furred tail lashed his powerful flanks while his sharp, hook shaped claws sheathed and unsheathed themselves. Had any living thing appeared near him then, he would have torn it asunder without a thought and lapped its warm blood with his coarse red tongue.

Slowly, the haze lifted from his mind and intelligence returned. As he waited for the Goblins to distance themselves in the forest, he continued to mull over his past. “‘Find any Elves who may have survived the destruction of Fimbria,’ he commanded me as if I alone was responsible for their escape.”

“Only when you destroy them all, will I make you a man again and give you the immortality of the Urucs,’ he said to me before unjustly turning me out into the wilderness.” Drusus hissed softly for a moment like an angry cat at the injustice of it. Forced to obey the order of the Goblin king if he was to have any hope of regaining his lost humanity, Drusus had traveled far and wide across the Middle Realm. Many Men and Dwarves had become victims of his powers to mesmerize and command. Before killing his terrified, helpless victims, Drusus had questioned each of them closely, delighting in the fear and the pain he inflicted on them during his inquisitions. From the bits and pieces of information that he had wrung from his victims, he had learned that all the Elves who had survived the torching of their home- land had fled over the western sea except for two. Of these two, one, he knew for certain, was dead. He had followed the cold trail of the second Elf into the wilderness south of the Elvorix where his wood craft had finally failed him. He had lost her trail, but he had not abandoned the search except for the rare times when his malice and anger drove him to find men on whom he might vent his anger. Only the taste of warm, human blood cooled his rage at these times.

More by accident than design, he had finally discovered the hidden home of the Elf who had eluded him, deep in the Abercius. He had spied on the inhabitants, for she was no longer alone, hoping to slay them one at a time, but their woodcraft equaled his own. They became aware of him, and then the hunter became the hunted as they pursued him through the forest, even into the treetops along the upper pathways which had always saved him from pursuit before. He snarled softly in fear and anger as he recalled their glittering eyes and gleaming weapons.

It had taken all his skill to escape, and he had not dared to return alone. Instead, he had made the long journey north to Nefandus to seek help from the Goblin king. Traveling only under cover of darkness, for he hated the light of the sun and moon, he had journeyed through the wilds of Ancharia and across the bleak waste that was Fimbria until he finally reached the uninviting land of the Goblins. Despite his stealthy ways, he was captured long before he reached the gates of Ossarium, the dark fortress of Torquatus, and taken into the fortress in chains.

Once he revealed his news, however, he was readily ad-mitted into the presence of the king who flattered him and had tender, bloody meats set before him to satisfy his hunger. Cunningly, Drusus had concealed the anger he felt against Torquatus, acting instead the part of a loyal servant. Humbly, he had asked for help and had received it. When he returned to the South, he was accompanied by a pack of lupins and a strong troop of Urucs, his spirits buoyed by the renewed promise of his manhood and the boon of immortality if he succeeded in ridding the Middle Realm of the last Elf.

Traveling at night, for the Goblins also hated the light of the sun, he had swiftly led the troop of tall black clad Urucs to the hidden refuge in the Abercius. It was a strong place and well defended by magic, but Sarius, the captain of the troop and a powerful mage in his own right, had broken through the defenses, and the Urucs had destroyed two of the inhabitants at great cost to themselves. Drusus had slain the third, the female he had pursued for so many years, but a boy, whose existence he had not suspected before, had escaped him. Only Drusus had seen him flee, but Sarius had dared not question his word when he summoned the Urucs to begin a pursuit. The Goblin captain’s orders were clear. There must be no survivors, or all their lives were forfeit.

Sarius had set the two surviving lupins on the child’s track, and he and the four Urucs who had survived the battle followed, reluctantly abandoning the warm bodies of their enemies and any plunder they might have found inside the home. Running swiftly behind the lupins, Drusus and the Goblins followed the boy south, never quite catching up to either him or the lupins that pursued him. With an uncanny skill for one so young, he had broken his trail by wading in water and taking to the trees. It had taken every ounce of woodcraft the lupins possessed to follow him.

Driven by an intense desire to be in on the kill, Drusus had also eventually outstripped the Goblins and had managed to arrive at the scene of the fight between Balbus and the lupins well ahead of them. As the first drops of rain began to fall, his sensitive nose had told him immediately that, despite the bloody evidence on the ground, the boy was alive and in the company of a Hesperian who was known to Drusus, for he had crossed Balbus’s track in the forest before, and had once followed it as far as the boundary hedge which separated Balbus’s farm from the forest. The unexpected storm forced him to take refuge for a time in a shallow cave. Not bothering to wait for the Goblins, he had arrived at the farm after the storm broke, but the sun had forced him into hiding before he could force his way into the farmhouse.

Without bothering to summon his Goblin allies, he had returned tonight to kill the boy, a pleasure he did not mean to share with anyone. When the Urucs unexpectedly appeared under the very tree that was his hiding place, he had hovered over them anxiously, like an evil shadow, until they departed.

“Good riddance to them,” thought Drusus to himself when he was at last satisfied that there was no chance the Goblins would return. He glided over the ground on silent paws to the place where Rufius’s dark blood still stained the brown leaves which covered the ground under the trees. With a broad, rough, pink tongue, he tasted some of the fresh blood that had pooled on the leaves, and his eyes glittered in the starlight with a hard, cold light.

The blood only whetted his thirst for more, but more would soon be forthcoming. The sun had interrupted him yesterday, but now the whole night stretched out before him; he would not be denied again. Tonight, Elven blood would wash away all the suffering he had endured these many years. “I, alone, will have the pleasure of killing him and drinking his blood,” thought Drusus to himself, fairly shivering with pleasure at the thought. “When I return to Nefandus with the head of the last Elf in the Middle Realm, Torquatus will be forced to return me to my old shape as he promised so long ago. With my old powers restored and the immortality of the Urucs to keep death at bay, I may, in time, challenge Torquatus himself and revenge myself for all the suffering he has inflicted upon me,” he thought craftily to himself.

Standing on his hind legs, he eagerly lifted the gate latch with his short, powerful fingers. After opening the gate, he dropped once more onto all fours. On wide, silent paws, Drusus stole quietly up the track leading to the farmhouse, his pale, cold eyes gleaming in the darkness with reflected starlight. When he neared the farmhouse, some faint sound that he made was borne on the still night air to alert Carbo, or perhaps it was some sixth sense which roused the dog from sleep, for he lifted up his head and pricked up his sharp ears.

Drusus began to circle the farmhouse on all fours, a shadowy, unnatural figure in the darkness. From his face, there was a gleam now and then of pale light from his cold eyes. When he stopped and snuffled the ground softly, like a hound on a scent, the sound carried to Carbo, and the long hairs bristled up on the back of his neck, but as yet, he made no sound.

Outside the farmhouse, Drusus stopped and crouched on his haunches, a baffled look on his face and his twisted mind full of confusion. This was the house he had tried to break into yesterday, but his sensitive nose told him the boy was no longer here. From inside the farmhouse, he caught only the scent of the old man and that of a younger Hesperian. Drusus also scented the dog and knew that it was awake and aware of his presence, but he did not care about that.

A fit of rage swept through him at being denied his prey, rage that could only be quenched by blood, but he wasted no time in trying to break into the house tonight. From his last visit here the night before, he knew that its defenses were strong. Instead, he sent a silent call into the house, putting all the strength of his will and the intensity of his rage behind it.

Inside the stout walls of the farmhouse, Balbus awoke, roused from sleep by an insistent command to open his door. When the fog of sleep cleared, Balbus found he was already sitting up, and beads of sweat broke out on his forehead as he struggled to resist the silent command which assaulted his mind. Carbo whined and paced helplessly by the bedside as he saw Balbus’s distress. The command grew in strength, stoked to a greater intensity than the last time by Drusus’ rage and frustration. Balbus felt a great fear wash over him at the thought of what waited for him outside. He knew that tonight he would open the door, not the shutters on the window.

Outside the farmhouse, triumph flooded through Drusus as he felt Balbus’s will to resist crumble. In a few moments, the door would open. He would enter the farmhouse, then, and tear the inhabitants to bloody pieces. Drusus leaped expectantly toward the door and then stopped in confusion. A barrier to his will had suddenly sprung up inside the farmhouse. He found that he could no longer reach the mind of Balbus or any of the other inhabitants. Snarling softly in frustration, Drusus probed the barrier, looking for a weakness, but it was like a wall of smooth stone. He could neither breach it nor get any hold upon it. Hissing and spitting in anger, he reluctantly gave up his attempt to force his will on the inhabitants of the house.

Without any real hope of success, he tested his weight against the door. The wood creaked in protest but did not give way. Still searching for some sign or scent of the boy he wanted so badly, Drusus nosed about for a time. Finally, he gave that up, too. Reluctantly, he returned to the edge of the forest, climbing back into the tree he had occupied before. The fires of his rage still smoldered, but over the long years, he had learned patience. A few more days of waiting would make no difference. He would watch and wait for another opportunity. The Elf had been here once. He might appear here again.

Inside the loft of the farmhouse, sensing that the danger was past, Elerian slipped his small hand from Balbus’s broad, weathered right hand. Tonight, Carbo’s uneasy whine had instantly roused him from sleep, for he had not been lost in any unnatural slumber like the night before. He had seen immediately that Balbus was acting strangely, and speeding silently across the wooden floor of the loft in his bare feet, he had gripped Balbus’s left hand in his own small right hand.

From the moment that Elerian’s hand had touched his own, Balbus had felt the compulsion to open the front door vanish. He had clung to Elerian’s hand like a drowning man who grasps a rock which suddenly and unexpectedly rears itself up in the midst of a raging river, watching as Elerian’s eyes gleamed in the darkness, lit with a hidden power as he struggled to deflect the will of the creature that waited out in the night.

After releasing Balbus’s hand, Elerian returned to his bed, acting as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Carbo settled down once more on his rug in front of the fire, for his ears told him that Drusus had returned to the forest.

Hardly able to believe that he had escaped a second attack from the venetor, Balbus wiped the sweat from his brow with the right sleeve of his nightshirt, and rising quietly from his bed, descended the stairs from the loft. Making his way to the kitchen, he opened the mage lamp on the table. Pouring himself a glass of mead by its yellow light, he downed the strong drink in two gulps.

“It is fortunate that Elerian retained his powers,” thought Balbus to himself as the heat of the drink ran through his veins and steadied his nerves. “Tonight there is no doubt that I would have opened the door for the creature. Why has it returned again?” he wondered. “Is it possible that the creature is bound up in the fate of Elerian as Tullius suspected? Two visits in two nights seems more than chance to me.”

No answer came to his questions, and Balbus eventually returned to the loft and lay down, but sleep eluded him. In his mind’s eye, he saw the cold, glittering eyes of the venetor each time he closed his heavy eyelids, and at any moment, he expected to feel another command to open his front door to the terrible creature. At the first hint of dawn through the cracks in the shutters, Balbus rose from his bed. At once, Carbo began to whine and pace restlessly about the room. Elerian came awake instantly in his bed by the fireplace, passing from sleep to full alertness like a wild thing. No hint of drowsiness dimmed his bright eyes as he stared questioningly at Balbus.

“Go back to sleep,” said Balbus reassuringly. “It is early yet.”

As Elerian snuggled back into his warm covers, Balbus went downstairs and lifted the bar on the door. Cautiously, he unlocked the door and opened it to let Carbo out; but instead of going through the open doorway, Carbo gently took Balbus’s right hand between his teeth and began tugging him out the door.

“All right Carbo,” said Balbus with a smile. “Let me get my walking stick first, and I will go with you. Sometimes I wish you could talk. It would save both of us a great deal of time.”

Carbo let go of Balbus’s hand and waited patiently for him to take his walking stick down from the peg by the door. As an afterthought, Balbus also thrust his knife through his belt. When Balbus followed Carbo out the door, he saw the marks of padded feet in the grass by the door, and guessed that the venetor had stood there as it attempted to call him out of his house.

“Was it after me or the boy?” he wondered again.

Carbo seemed to have no interest in the tracks, for he led Balbus straight to the tall gate that led through the boundary hedge. The gate was already open, and Carbo sprang through the gap in the hedge and walked about under the overhanging branches of the trees, nose to the ground as he investigated the scents on the ground. Balbus warily walked over to Carbo, wondering if the venetor was still about, but Drusus had vanished with the rising sun to seek some dark shelter in the forest.

Balbus examined the ground Carbo was sniffing and saw at once that the leaves under the trees had been scuffed and compressed by a number of booted feet. In the center of the disturbed area, a great deal of blood stained the leaves. Balbus stared thoughtfully at the blood and the tracks. It seemed that the venetor was not his only visitor last night. He suspected that the owners of those tracks had been watching his house through the gap in the hedge. It was not difficult to guess what they had been looking for.

“Do the owners of those boots know I have Elerian or did they come here by chance?” wondered Balbus in a sudden panic. “Do I dare wait and find out? What if they are Goblins as Tullius suspects?”

An unreasoning fear urged him to take Elerian and run as far and fast as he might, but gradually, Balbus’s common sense reasserted itself. The owners of the boots had not come up to the house so it was reasonable to assume that they did not know Elerian was hiding there. “Perhaps,” Balbus thought to himself, “the disguise Tullius gave the boy has thrown them off the track. Better to stand firm and wait, I think. If I bolt and run now, they will suspect something is wrong and follow me.”

He inspected the blood on the leaves again and wondered where it had come from. Was it possible that two of the watchers had gotten into an argument involving knives? “Perhaps they will finish each other off and solve all my problems for me,” thought Balbus hopefully to himself. He followed the boundary hedge to the right of the gate, looking for more tracks. The hedge described a gradual arc first to the north and then west as it skirted the border of Balbus’s fields. It finally ended at the edge of a sharp drop of more than a hundred feet. There were no other signs of any intruders, and with Carbo trailing along behind him, Balbus returned to the gate once more. He searched for a short distance along the hedge to the south, but neither he nor Carbo found anything to concern them.

Balbus returned to the gate for a second time. He stared into the forest for a long moment before going back through the gate. Carbo would have detected any strangers near the farm immediately, so he did not think he was being watched now. “More than likely, Elerian and I are safe enough while the sun is high in the sky,” Balbus thought to himself. “All of my unwelcome visitors seem to prefer the cover of darkness. Will they return again tonight when night falls?” he wondered uneasily to himself as he walked back toward his house.

SARIUS IS DECEIVED

After leaving Balbus’s farm, Sarius led his band through the forest, walking downhill along the same faint path Balbus often took when he wished to reach the lowland forests. Almost as woods crafty as Elves and able to see into the darkest shadows, the Urucs slipped silently through the trees, walking in single file as Sarius led them unerringly toward the  place where they had last heard the lupins howl. If Calerus, who was last in line, felt the burden of the body he carried, it did not show in his stride, for he moved along as easily as the rest.

They entered the Abercius, and when he judged they had traveled far enough, Sarius stopped. He was, had he only known it, not far from the place where Balbus had battled the two lupins. Turning to his small band, he said, “Search the forest for any sign of the lupins or the Elf but take care, for we are within the borders of the Wild Wood.”

Calerus put down the body of Rufius, and the Goblins spread out in a thin line, running north to south. They began their search, sweeping in an arc that carried them west. Calerus, who had taken a position closest to the starting point of the arc, soon saw the fallen tree where Balbus had hidden the bodies of the lupins. As he walked toward the tree, he kept a close eye on the ground in front of him, and a pale gray shape, foreign to the forest floor, caught his eye. Eagerly, Calerus approached it, but he did not touch it or disturb the ground around it. Bending over it to examine it more closely, he guessed it to be the remnants of a small tunic, torn and stained but still able to reflect a faint gleam of starlight. Thoughts of the fallen tree were banished from his mind, and the final resting place of the lupins remained undiscovered. He blew a single, harsh note from the small, curved horn he carried. Moments later, the rest of the company appeared like shadows from between the trunks of the trees around him. When Sarius approached him, Calerus pointed triumphantly to the tunic that lay by his feet. “This has the look of Elven cloth,” observed Calerus.

Without touching anything, Sarius carefully examined the scraps of cloth and the ground on which it lay, but there was nothing else to be seen. Silently, he cursed the rain which had washed the leaves clean of footprints. Drawing his long black bladed knife, he carefully lifted the gray fabric off the ground with the point of the blade. Neither he nor Calerus made any attempt to touch the cloth. If it was truly woven by Elves, they both knew that any contact with the fabric would be repellent to their fingers.

Now that it hung suspended from the point of Sarius’s knife, both Urucs could see that they were looking at the remains of a small tunic. “This tunic must have come from the Elf who escaped us,” remarked Calerus. “It would seem that Rufius was right after all. Judging from the bloodstains and the marks of teeth on the cloth, the lupins killed the Elf and devoured him,” he said with satisfaction, for surely Sarius would now give the order to return home.

Sarius remained silent, a troubled look on his pale, lean face. Like Calerus, he was almost certain now that the Elf was dead, but the disappearance of the lupins still troubled him. “Where are they then?” he asked angrily. “Once they made their kill, they should have returned to me to make a report.”

“Their fate matters little as long as we have proof the Elf is dead,” said Calerus indifferently.

“It is not certain proof yet,” said Sarius abruptly as he carefully transferred the supple gray fabric dangling from the end of his knife into a small leather pouch that hung from his belt. As the captain of the troop, he would suffer the most if anything went wrong, and it was in his best interests to be cautious. Torquatus did not possess a forgiving nature.

“It does seem likely that the Elf is indeed dead,” he said grudgingly to Calerus and the other Goblins who had gathered around him. “Still, I must think on this before I elect to return home,” he said to his disappointed followers.

“What of a fire while we wait for your decision?” asked Calerus, trying to make the best of the situation. “We have meat to roast.”

“Not here,” said Sarius immediately. “We are too exposed here, and it is not safe to light a fire inside the Wild Wood.”

“Are you afraid of the Ondredon?” asked Calerus, not bothering to hide his disdain. He was younger by centuries than Sarius and had experienced far less of the Middle Realm. It was his belief that the dangers of the old forest were wildly exaggerated. After all, they had pursued the Elf for miles through the Abercius without coming to any harm. “They are only a legend, Sarius,” he said scornfully and giving in to the natural impulse of Goblins to hack and destroy, he pulled out his knife and thrust the slender black blade deep into the furrowed bark of a hoary, old chestnut tree that stood near his right shoulder.

As the razor sharp, poisoned blade slid easily through the tree’s thick bark and into the wood beneath, an expression of alarm crossed Sarius’s face. As he took an involuntary step backwards, Calerus smiled contemptuously. Sarius’s cautious ways were beginning to grate on him as they had on Rufius. He opened his mouth to laugh as Sarius continued to retreat, but then closed it abruptly as the ground began to tremble beneath his feet. There was a loud, tearing, snapping sound, and dark roots began to heave out of the ground, twisting like massive snakes. A branch ending in what appeared to be a great, leafy fist whipped down and seized Calerus around the chest before he could dart away.

“Give my regards to Rufius,” shouted Sarius mockingly as Calerus was lifted screaming high into the air. The crunch of bones was clearly audible as Sarius and the remaining members of the troop sped away without a backward look. Calerus’s screams ended abruptly, and his broken body fell to the ground with a sodden thump.

Sarius felt the ground beneath his feet tremble again as he ran, and he knew that the Ondredon was trampling Calerus beneath its great feet. His thin lips curved into a smile, for he was glad to be so easily rid of Calerus and his insolence. His only regret was that he must abandon the body. “A waste of meat,” he thought to himself as he and his two companions ran back into the foothills where, by chance, they stumbled upon a dark, deep ravine overhung with tall trees.

The place appealed to Sarius at once, for Goblins like dark places where they can lie hidden during the daylight hours. A small stream of fresh water flowed through the ravine, and near its source at the head of the ravine, Sarius found a small cave. It was dry, well hidden, and deep, and there was a slight draft which indicated a second opening.

“Wait here,” said Sarius to the others. He was pleased to see that one of them carried the body of Rufius over his left shoulder. At least one of his lads had kept his head in the panic that ensued after the death of Calerus. He must have taken the time to seize Rufius’s body even while fleeing from the Ondredon.

Alone, Sarius followed the cave as it narrowed into a twisting passageway that finally ended at a narrow fissure. When Sarius slipped through, he found himself in a small grove of large fir trees. The opening was barely visible among their twisting roots, and their dense branches would screen any smoke that emerged from the hole if he and his companions lit a fire in the cave.

“Excellent,” he thought to himself as he entered the passageway again. “We have cover here and water.” He finally felt as if his luck might have taken a turn for the better. When Sarius returned to the main body of the cave, the Goblin who had rescued Rufius’s body asked, “Can we chance a fire?”

“Build it in the cave and keep it small,” said Sarius shortly, “but touch no living wood. We are no longer in the Abercius, but it is still best to be cautious for now. One day,” said Sarius with anticipation, “Torquatus will fell or burn all the trees in the Abercius and destroy the Ondredon as he destroyed the Elves in Fimbria. Until then, we must be patient, for the time is not yet ripe for a war here in the South.”

Stretching out his slender right hand, Sarius silently lit three red mage lights, one after the other and positioned them on the ceiling with a gesture of his hand. They remained suspended where he fixed them, casting a lurid, scarlet light that created stark black shadows in the corners of the cave where their light did not reach. Sarius moved away from the other Goblins, sitting on a rock a short distance inside the cave entrance, for he wished to think undisturbed. The uncertain fate of the lupins and the fact that Drusus was still missing troubled him, for he wished to have no loose ends to explain away when he stood before the Goblin King and reported on his mission.

While Sarius wrestled with his thoughts, Bruscius, the Goblin who had brought Rufius’s body, and his one companion, a Goblin named Hagar, hung a blanket over the entrance to the cave to mask the mage lights. After they started a small fire with fallen branches gathered from the ravine, the red mage lights illuminated a grisly scene as they coldly butchered their former comrade, taking all the choice parts from his body as if he were no more than ordinary game taken during the chase. They cheerfully roasted the ghastly meat over the fire until its smell filled the entire cave, making their mouths water. As Sarius had anticipated, a slight draft carried away the smoke from the fire out through the rear entrance of the cave.

When the meat was done to their taste, fiery drink was brought out from the Goblins’ packs, and Sarius joined the other Urucs around the fire for his share of the feast. Goblin was a poor substitute for human flesh, but it would do until something better presented itself.

“What have you decided, Sarius?” asked Bruscius comfortably after the meal was finished. With full stomachs and warm drink coursing through their veins, he and Hagar were in better spirits, and their impatience to return home was somewhat tempered.

“We will return to Nefandus soon,” said Sarius, “but not yet. This cave will serve us as a hiding place while I go among the farmers on the hilltops to inquire for news. It seems probable that the Elf is dead, but I wish to be sure of his fate and that of the lupins before we return home. While I am gone, you and Hagar will search for Drusus. It seems odd to me that he has vanished along with the lupins.”

“Perhaps we can also set a mantrap or two,” said Bruscius hopefully. “We may gain information, and we will certainly gain better fare than we had tonight,” he said with an evil smile.

“Set as many as you like but stay away from the hilltops,” said Sarius coldly. “No one must suspect we are here.”

“No one will see us,” Bruscius assured him. He and Hagar began to plan out how they would set their traps, but Sarius sat by himself, brooding over his future plans. When dawn approached, the three Goblins let the fire die. Wrapping themselves in their dark cloaks, they lay down to sleep, Sarius a little apart from the others. They planned to remain in the haven of the dark cave until sunset.

STRANGERS AND SILVER

Unaware that the Goblins were sleeping away the daylight hours in their cave, Balbus made a point of taking Elerian with him as he went about his chores on the farm that day. Trusting that Tullius’s disguise would deceive anyone who saw the boy, Balbus kept Elerian in plain view so that any hidden observers would know he had nothing to hide. Even to his critical eye, Elerian now looked exactly like any other young Hesperian. Only his name remained to link him to the remarkable child Balbus had found in the forest.

The sun reached its zenith without incident, and after a midday meal of bread and cheese, Balbus decided to pay another visit to Tullius. As he followed the path to Tullius’s house, he was unaware that he passed only a mile or two to the east of the cave where the Goblins were sheltering from the sun.

“Back so soon?” asked Tullius who was just sitting down to a late lunch when Balbus knocked on his door. Balbus joined him at his table and sat with Elerian on his lap. He refused the offer of food, accepting only mulled wine for himself and milk for Elerian. As Tullius ate his lunch, Balbus recounted last night’s events.

“It seems odd to me that the venetor has attacked you two nights in a row,” said Tullius when he heard that the creature had returned for a second time. “What will you do if it returns again tonight?”

“My house is too strong for the venetor to break into, and Elerian will protect me from the creature’s magical attacks,” said Balbus confidently. “I am more concerned about the footprints I found by the forest. Do you think they were made Goblins?” asked Balbus, half hoping that Tullius would tell him that he was letting his imagination run away from him.

“Who else would be lurking about your farm at that time of the night?” asked Tullius grimly as he munched on a piece of buttered bread. “Send Elerian south over the mountains while you still can.”

“It is too late for that now,” said Balbus unhappily. “All my neighbors know that I have him with me. If he suddenly disappeared, there would be talk which would surely rouse the Goblins’ suspicions if it reached their ears. I will have to trust to your disguise to keep the boy safe. It must be working so far, for they did not come up to the farmhouse last night.”

“Sooner or later, they will,” said Tullius sharply. “If you will not give the boy up, then go with him. Leave now, and I will tell anyone who asks that you have gone to visit relatives in the southern provinces.”

For a moment, Balbus was tempted to take Tullius’s advice. The thought that the Goblins might show up on his doorstep tonight or some other night was a frightening one. In the south, he might still find safety. Then, his conscience pricked him. “You might be safe,” he thought to himself, “but the Goblins’ wrath might fall on Tullius instead if you leave him behind to protect you.”

“I cannot let you risk your life like that,” said Balbus quietly. “It was my decision to keep the boy. If anyone is to suffer for that decision, it must be me.”

“You are a fool, Balbus,” said Tullius harshly, even though, deep down, he admired his old friend’s courage. Tullius glared at Balbus for a moment, but he gave no sign of changing his mind. It was Tullius who gave in first. “If you will not take my advice to flee, then we must hope for the best,” he said at last in a resigned voice. “Keep a close eye on Carbo when you are outside, and do not venture out after dark for any reason,” he warned. “Your enemies are strongest when the sun goes down.”

Balbus returned home filled with a strange sense of peace. “My choices are all made,” he thought to himself. “All I can do now is see what comes of them. The disguise will either work or it will not, but there is no longer any point in worrying about it.”

He worked outside around his farm for the rest of the day, keeping Elerian by his side so that anyone who happened by would be sure to see him. That night, he fell asleep in his chair in front of the fireplace with his sword across his knees. Hours later, he started awake. Pale moonlight showed through the cracks in the shutters. When Balbus rose and opened them, he saw that the moon was waxing again, showing as a silver crescent in the night sky. He returned to his chair, but no one knocked at his door that night, and the venetor did not return, leading him to wonder if the moonlight had driven the Goblins and the venetor into hiding. A second day passed without incident, and he began to breathe a little more easily.

“Perhaps things will turn out well after all,” he thought to himself as he stood by the sink washing the dishes after supper. The rattle of pans from under the counter told him that Elerian was in the cupboards again. A smile crossed his face and then vanished instantly when a heavy knock at his front door suddenly shattered the peaceful atmosphere that filled the farmhouse. Balbus started badly and almost dropped the large bowl he was washing in the sink. Carbo jumped guiltily up from his rug and began to bark loudly. Whoever was at the door had approached so silently that Carbo had heard nothing until he knocked.

Calming himself, Balbus walked over to the door. “Who knocks at my door at this late hour?” he demanded without opening it.

“I am a stranger in these parts,” said a soft voice that, for some reason, sent a chill down Balbus’s spine. “I am searching for a small boy who has wandered away from my camp. He is my sister’s child, and she is overcome with grief, fearing the worst for him. Have you seen any strange, young child in the last few days?” asked the unseen visitor. For some reason, the distress in his voice sounded contrived to Balbus. Beside him, Carbo had ceased to bark, but his hackles were all raised, and his lips were drawn back in a silent snarl.

“The only child I have seen in the last few days is my grandson,” said Balbus, striving to keep his voice from shaking. He already feared the worst, for the inquiry after a young child had set off alarms in his head. Who else but the Goblins would be searching for a missing child?

“Might I talk to you face to face for a moment before I go?” asked the voice with a pleading note that seemed unnatural to Balbus as if any kind of soft emotion was foreign to the owner of that voice. He was minded to refuse the request, but then, after second thoughts, he was afraid a refusal might arouse suspicion if the stranger on the other side of the door was really a Goblin.

“Are you alone?” Balbus asked, stalling for time.

“Yes,” replied the voice, “I am alone. You have nothing to fear from me. Open the door and let me talk to you face to face. I will not keep you long.”

“Wait one moment then,” said Balbus. He retrieved his sword from over the fireplace before removing the crossbar from the door and unlocking it with shaking hands. Holding the bare blade in his right hand, he opened the door and stepped to his left so the light from the Dwarf lamp fell across his visitor’s face. The yellow light revealed a tall figure wrapped in a dark cloak. His hood was thrown back, exposing his lean face, tanned a deep brown from exposure to the sun, and eyes and hair that were black as coal.

“Why he is an Ancharian,” thought Balbus to himself in surprise. Relief washed over him, followed by disappointment. “Can Elerian really be one of them?” he wondered silently to himself. He opened his mouth to tell the stranger that his lost child was here in the farmhouse, but then abruptly closed it when he heard a threatening growl from Carbo. Balbus buried his left hand in the ruff of Carbo’s neck, barely in time to stop him from lunging at the stranger. The Ancharian remained motionless, showing no sign of fear. He smiled, showing a set of very white teeth, and an amused look crossed his face as he regarded the struggling dog and the naked blade gripped in Balbus’s right hand.

“Do you always greet your visitors in this fashion?” he asked. The Ancharian’s voice remained agreeable, but it seemed to Balbus that, for a moment, red sparks floated in his eyes like tiny motes.

“Forgive the sword and the dog,” said Balbus. “These are uncertain times, and we do not get many visitors late at night.” He found it hard to keep a quaver out of his voice, for Carbo’s reaction to the Ancharian and those odd lights in the stranger’s eyes had resurrected his own suspicions once more. Even though the stranger resembled the Ancharians Balbus had met in the past, he felt a sudden need for caution. “Perhaps it would be better to say nothing about Elerian just yet,” he thought to himself.

“This must be your grandson,” said his visitor, interrupting his thoughts.

Balbus glanced down and was horrified to see that Elerian was standing quietly by his left side next to Carbo. He was staring warily up at the stranger. “What a fool I am,” he silently berated himself. “I should have sent him up to the loft.”

“How fortunate you are that he is not lost like my own dear nephew,” said the tall stranger as he swept his eyes carefully over Elerian. Hope flared up in Balbus, displacing some of his fear, for it seemed to him that disappointment tinged the stranger’s voice. Elerian’s disguise had held up under the Ancharian’s sharp scrutiny.

The stranger turned away from Elerian back to Balbus. There was no more interest in his eyes, only a cold blackness that was even more frightening to Balbus than the sparks he thought he had glimpsed earlier. “I must continue my search, while you go back to your warm hearth,” he said softly, “but before I go, I wish to tell you that I will pay a handsome reward for information about my nephew and even more for his return.” The Ancharian opened his right hand and showed Balbus a handful of bright silver coins before dropping them back into a small black change purse with a pleasant, jingling sound. “Enjoy the rest of your evening,” said the stranger as he turned away and vanished into the gathering dusk.

Balbus hastily closed the door and was finally able to release Carbo who still seemed determined to attack the stranger if he could only find a way out of the farmhouse. “It is unusual for him to take such a strong dislike to someone,” thought Balbus to himself as he locked and barred his front door. He put up his sword and then sat in his chair with his heart pounding and watched Elerian unconcernedly wrestling on the hearth rug with Carbo.

“If that Ancharian was not a Goblin in disguise, I will eat my boots,” he said softly to himself. “If Tullius can make Elerian look like a Hesperian, then there is no reason why a Goblin cannot look like an Ancharian.” Balbus shuddered as he remembered how close he had come to revealing Elerian’s identity before Carbo interrupted him. “I wonder if he suspected anything,” he wondered to himself. “I expect I shall find out soon enough.” A thrill of fear ran through him as he recalled the pitiless eyes of the stranger.

Balbus sat in his chair and kept watch all night, but the suspicious stranger did not return. After several days passed, Balbus began to hope that Tullius’s disguise had indeed deceived the Goblin. He learned from his neighbors that the tall stranger had visited all the nearby farms. He and his silver were the talk of the neighborhood. Search parties were organized to look for the missing child but turned up nothing. The stranger did not appear again, to the disappointment of Balbus’s neighbors, and soon, the excitement he and his silver had stirred up began to fade.

A full week passed and Balbus began to relax a little, but that very day, disturbingly close to his farm, had he only known it, Sarius and the two remaining members of his troop were feasting on the flesh of a woodcutter they had caught in one of their mantraps. The memory of how the fellow had gibbered in terror when he had found himself surrounded by tall, crimson-eyed Urucs filled Sarius with remembered pleasure. He sipped the wine which he had purchased in Sidonia and reviewed in his mind the fruitless search he had made over the last week.

Wearing the illusion of an Ancharian, he had walked freely among the hilltop folk, but despite a liberal show of silver, no one had recalled seeing any strange child in the neighborhood. Each child that he had inspected with his own eyes appeared ordinary enough, even to his magical senses which could pierce any illusion. He was almost certain now that the Elf had died under the teeth of the vanished lupins. The thought that Elerian might be disguised by a shape change had not entered his mind, for Tullius, living on his own in the forest, had escaped his notice. Sarius’s thoughts were interrupted by Bruscius who was picking his sharp teeth with a sliver of white bone.

“I wish we could get one of those brats we have seen so much of the last few days. They would provide us with more tender meat than the men we have taken in our traps.”

“I do not wish to alarm the farmers,” said Sarius coldly. “As matters stand now, there are a number of men who will gladly bring us information about the Elf in hopes of gaining the silver I have shown them. You will have to be satisfied with the men we have trapped for now.”

“The Elf is dead, Sarius,” said Bruscius positively. “Let us take a few of these tender morsels for one last feast after which we can return home.”

Sarius threw the bone he had picked clean with his sharp teeth into the fire. “Not yet,” he said quietly. “I will wait a few more days to see if anyone comes forward with information. I must deal with Drusus, in any case, before we leave. I believe he is still lurking about, and I mean to find out why he is avoiding us.”

“Waste of time,” grumbled Bruscius under his breath, but he took care that his voice did not carry to Sarius’s ears.

Sarius made one more circuit of the farms over the next several days, but he gained no new information. He talked to Balbus again, but did not give Elerian a second glance, much to Balbus’s relief. Finally, Sarius decided that it was time to forget about the Elf who was almost certainly dead and to turn his complete attention to Drusus. Despite an extensive search by Bruscius and Hagar, no sign of him had turned up, and Sarius cursed the missing lupins frequently, for they would have been invaluable in the search. With his mind made up, he stood up one evening in the cave and addressed his two remaining followers.

“It is time to start the hunt for Drusus,” he said to Bruscius and Hagar. “While I travel to Nefandus for help, I want the two of you to continue searching for Drusus and the boy as well as the missing lupins. Take as many of these dull hunters and woodcutters as you wish in your mantraps, but do not reveal yourselves in any way,” he said with a threatening look. From his black change purse, Sarius took a ring which appeared to be made of plain, unadorned silver. “This is a ring of illusion,” he said as he held it up before Bruscius and Hagar in the fingers of his right hand. “When you wear it, you need only picture in your mind how you wish to look and that is how you will be perceived by all around you. Use it to travel among the farmers on the hilltops in case any new information comes to light. Take turns so that neither of you will feel the full effects of the ring. It can be dangerous to those without mage powers.” Sarius offered the ring to his two followers and then frowned as neither of them made a move to take it.

“It is not Elven made, is it?” asked Hagar hesitantly.

“What of it?” asked Sarius impatiently. “You must bear the touch, unpleasant as it is, for you have no magic of your own to help disguise your shape.”

Gingerly, Bruscius took the ring, even though its touch was distasteful, and put it into his pocket.

“If any come forward with information, reward them with silver,” continued Sarius as he handed his change purse to Bruscius. The purse felt empty in Bruscius’s hands, but he said nothing to Sarius.

Sarius then extinguished the red mage lights on the ceiling. “You will have to make do with firelight,” he said to the two Goblins. “Both of you lack the power to extinguish the lights if there is need.” He then grasped, with his right hand, a large, many faceted ruby that hung from a thin iron chain around his neck. At the touch of his hand, the ruby took on a sullen, red glow, and Bruscius and Hagar saw a dark, elliptical shadow the height of a tall Goblin appear behind Sarius. Sarius turned and stepped through the opening without a backward look at his companions. He disappeared from sight, and a moment later, the portal also vanished.

“Makes my flesh creep when the higher ups do that,” said Bruscius with a shiver. “I don’t hold much with magic myself.”

“I feel the same way,” replied Hagar. “When do you think Sarius will return?” he asked thoughtfully.

“Might be a few days,” said Bruscius. “He will travel directly to Nefandus through the portal, but he will likely ride back with the reinforcements. They don’t like to send too many at a time through those portals because of the amount of power it takes to hold them open, or so I hear.”

“Time enough then for us to snag a few of those morsels you were talking about earlier,” said Hagar with a sly grin. “We have the ring to help us now.” He took it from Bruscius’s pocket and put it on a finger. Bruscius immediately saw him in the form of a tall Ancharian. “In this guise, I can scout out the hillsides for unguarded children,” said Hagar cunningly.

“If Sarius discovers what we have done, it will go hard with us when he returns,” Bruscius cautioned him.

“He said himself that we are leaving when he comes back,” said Hagar dismissively. “He will never be the wiser.” The two Goblins put their heads together and began to plan how they would trap their small victims.

A CLEVER TRAP

After the departure of Sarius, Bruscius and Hagar continued to search, with no luck, for Drusus and the missing lupins. They also took turns traveling the hilltops in the guise of Ancharians, inquiring among the residents after the missing Elf child as Sarius had ordered them. When they appeared, one at a time, on his doorstep on different days, Balbus greeted each of them courteously, but he felt a growing dismay, for he suspected at once that each of them was a Goblin in disguise.

“Will they never give up searching for Elerian?” he wondered to himself after the second visit. He began to wonder if they had begun to suspect that Elerian was not a real Hesperian, for both of the false Ancharians seemed unusually interested in the boy. Balbus passed several sleepless nights, consumed by worry, but neither of the Goblins returned for a second visit.

As Sarius had done before them, Hagar and Bruscius offered silver for information about the missing child they were searching for. A second wave of excitement swept through the hilltop farms, but despite the promise of silver, Hagar and Bruscius, as they had expected from the outset, obtained no new information about a missing child. They remained in good spirits, however, for their fruitless search had given them a chance to examine the children of the people they talked to without arousing anyone’s suspicions.

By the time the Goblins finished their circuit of all the nearby farms, they both felt drained of a good portion of their strength. Despite sharing the use of the silver ring Sarius had given them, it had taken a heavy toll of their strength, just as Sarius had warned them it might.

“I’ll not use that cursed ring again,” insisted Hagar when their search was finally complete. “I feel as feeble as a newborn.”

“Let us make our choice of the children then,” said Bruscius. “We have carried out Sarius’s orders, and learned nothing new. There is nothing to be gained by delaying any longer.”

After much deliberation, they decided to take a pair of particularly young and plump children, a boy of seven and a girl of six, who lived on a farm only a quarter mile to the south west of Balbus. “One for each of us,” observed Bruscius.

During their travels, the Goblins had several times observed the pair playing outside in their front yard which was only a few hundred feet from the boundary hedge which protected the farm. Careful inquiry of the neighbors revealed that the parents, out of necessity, often left the children alone during the day while they worked in their fields. They were evidently unaware that their offspring were disobeying their orders to stay in the house with the door locked.

The two Goblins could have easily snatched the children openly, but there was always the chance that they would be seen. Mindful of Sarius’s warning not to expose themselves to the Hesperians living nearby, they were forced to consider more subtle methods of obtaining their prize. This did not displease them. They were, after all, Goblins, and Goblins do not like to act openly if they have a choice. They prefer to act in a sly, crafty manner which, in their minds, demonstrates how much more clever and superior they are to all the other inhabitants of the Middle Realm. Since Hagar and Bruscius were also Urucs, who make up the nobility of the Goblin race, they felt it necessary to come up with an especially ingenious plan.

Eventually, they came up with a scheme which suited them. “We can take the pair of them, and no one will ever know we were responsible,” said Bruscius to Hagar, once they were done plotting. “Everything is in our favor since they will be alone and not too far from the forest’s edge.”

The next day, in the early evening while the sun was still fairly bright, the two Urucs prepared to venture out of the cave where they were staying. Goblins avoid the sun when they can, for it hurts their eyes and makes them feel lightheaded, but Bruscius and Hagar put on black leather hoods as a protection from the bright rays of the sun. They traveled quickly through the forest to the edge of the farm where the little victims they had selected lived. At this time of day, they knew that the parents were still working in a distant field. Swiftly, with little noise, they cut an opening with their knives in the boundary hedge, small enough that it would not be easily noticed but large enough for one of them to slip through. Reluctantly, for it was part of their plan, Hagar put on the ring Sarius had given them.

“We will need to use it only this last time,” Bruscius reassured him.

“Easy for you to say,” grumbled Hagar as he took the form of a large brown hare. Slipping through the hedge on his stomach, he rose up on the other side and carefully looked all around him. Seeing that there was no one about, he opened the small leather purse that Sarius had left behind. It appeared empty, but when Hagar reached inside it, he felt the cool, smooth shapes of silver coins. Anyone who happened by at that moment would have been astonished to see a large hare laying a trail of bright silver coins from the hedge to the front door of the farmhouse. There seemed no lack of coins in the purse, despite its apparent emptiness, and Hagar left a small, bright heap of coins on the doorstep before knocking firmly on the front door. He then ran to the left around the corner of the house and waited. Bruscius remained on the far side of the hedge, out of sight. From inside the house, Hagar heard voices. Through the hole in the hedge, Bruscius saw a window shutter open a crack.

“There is no one out there,” said a young girl’s voice.

“Well, who could have knocked then?” asked her brother. They argued together for a bit, and then, through the hole in the hedge, Bruscius finally saw the front door open a little. “Is anyone there?” asked the boy’s voice. A moment later, a cry of excitement filled the air. “Fabia, look at what is on the doorstep,” shouted the boy. He opened the door wide, and both children tumbled out. At once, they began picking up the coins on the doorstep and stuffing them into their pockets.

“Look, there are more,” shouted Fabia when she finally looked up and saw the shining trail leading to the boundary hedge. The children began racing each other from coin to coin, each of which they delightedly stuffed into their pockets. With dark, predatory eyes, Hagar watched them as they drew closer to the hedge, licking his lips in anticipation of the tender meat he and Bruscius would soon enjoy.

Suddenly, a dark look crossed his face. The children had picked up the last coins but made no movement to slip through the small hole before them. The sight of the hedge so close by had evidently brought them back to their senses, reminding them that the forest they had been warned against by their parents was on the far side of the barrier.

From the corner of the farmhouse, Hagar frowned angrily as he watched them. He and Bruscius might have to chance exposing themselves after all in order to seize the children, something he preferred not to do. Then, a sudden flash of inspiration wiped away his anger. Sprinting away from the house, he ran past the children, still disguised as a hare, and dived through the hole in the hedge, leaving behind another gleaming silver coin as he did so.

“Did you see that Fabia?” asked the boy excitedly. “The hare that just ran through the hedge dropped another silver coin.”

“Perhaps it is a magical hare,” replied his sister with shining eyes, for she was still of an age where she believed in such things. She got down on her hands and knees to look through the hole in the hedge and immediately spied a small pile of shining silver coins heaped on the short grass on the far side of the hedge.

“Look, Flavian,” she shouted excitedly, “he has left us more silver.” Overcome by excitement, Fabia crawled through the hedge, and her brother followed at her heels, determined to share in the treasure she had seen.

By then, Hagar had already removed his ring and retreated into the forest with Bruscius, but he had left behind more coins leading from the hedge into the trees. The children plundered the pile of bright coins they found by the hedge and then, heedlessly, followed the shining silver trail that led into the shadows under the trees. Just as Flavian picked up the last bright coin, Bruscius suddenly jumped out from behind a tree and dropped a large sack over Fabia, scooping her off her feet in an instant.

“Let her go,” shouted her brother as he bravely attempted to kick Bruscius in the shin, but a moment later, he, too, was scooped up into a sack by Hagar.

Cries for help came from the sacks as the laughing Goblins tied them off and threw them easily over their shoulders. When the cries continued, Hagar and Bruscius pinched the children unmercifully through the coarse sacks with their cruel claws. The shouting quickly turned to sobs.

“Quiet now, the pair of you, or you’ll be sorrier than you are now,” said Bruscius in an ugly voice, and the children lapsed into terrified silence. They still did not suspect that they had been captured by Goblins, for in the shadows under the trees with their dark hoods still disguising their faces, they had taken the pair for outlaws of the human kind. The Goblins began to walk back to their cave with the children dangling upside down in the sacks they carried slung over their shoulders. It was stuffy in the sacks, and both children were cramped and feeling dizzy from the blood rushing down to their heads. Even so, they could hear the Goblins laughing and congratulating themselves on their clever plan through the coarse cloth of the sacks. The blood suddenly froze in their veins as Bruscius and Hagar began to discuss how they were to be prepared for supper.

“We should boil them,” said Hagar.

“They are already tender enough,” objected Bruscius. “We’ll lose half the flavor of the meat boiling them. I say we spit them and give them a light roast over a fire.”

“Very well then,” said Hagar, “but first we must make them squeal a bit first, eh. It will make the meat tastier.” To emphasize his point, he pinched Flavian hard with his clawed fingers so that he gave a sharp cry of pain. Both the Goblins laughed at the noise he made. Inside the sacks, the children realized for the first time that their captors were not human, and they began to tremble as they realized the horrible fate which awaited them.

Once the Goblins reached their cave, they roughly pulled the children from the sacks. After relieving the pair of their silver, which the Goblins returned to their purse, Hagar and Bruscius tied them hand and foot before roughly dropping them against the wall to the left of the cave entrance.

“I am going out to check the mantraps,” said Bruscius to Hagar. “Don’t touch the two brats until I return.”

“Don’t be too long, then,” warned Hagar. After Bruscius left, he busied himself building up the fire. The two children watched with horrified eyes as he constructed a spit out of green wood. To frighten them even more, Hagar made a great show of measuring the sharpened spit against their bodies as if to make sure it was long enough. When all was in readiness, Hagar sat down next to them and began to whet his knife to a razor sharp edge. At each scrape of the blade across the stone, the children shivered in fear.

Bruscius returned then, empty handed but in a good mood in anticipation of the sport and fine meal he and Hagar were about to enjoy.

“What have you done to the little one?” he asked Hagar angrily, once he had a look at the children. Fabia was very still, her eyes glazed over with terror.

“I never touched her,” said Hagar in an injured tone. “I have been sitting here quietly sharpening my knife.”

Bruscius glared at him. “Whatever you did, it has ruined any sport we’ll have with her,” he said disgustedly. “I’ll warrant she won’t even squeak if I put a knife to her.” He drew his own black blade and leaned over Fabia. As his blade descended toward her tear streaked cheek, Flavian suddenly drew up his legs and kicked Bruscius in the face. The unexpected blow sent Bruscius into a towering rage. His eyes turned crimson, and seizing Flavian by the ankles, he dragged the boy over to the fire. “Hold him down,” he said to Hagar. “He’ll scream himself hoarse before I’m done with him.”

Hagar seized Flavian by the hair and ankles while Bruscius ripped open his tunic and shirt with a clawed hand. The boy went rigid with fear as Bruscius’s dark blade advanced slowly toward his chest.

THE RESCUERS

The sun was lowering in the western sky, casting long shadows across the ground, when the children’s parents returned from their day’s labor in the fields. Julian, their father, was the first to see the front door standing wide open. “The young scamps have disobeyed us and gone outside,” he said in an annoyed voice to his wife, Claudia.

“You cannot blame them overmuch,” she replied tolerantly. “It must be hard for them to stay inside all day with the weather so fine.”

They entered the house, intending to give the children a mild scolding, but there was no one inside. Still not overly concerned, they both went back outside and searched around the house and barn; calling out the children’s names, but there was no answer. “Where could they have gone?” asked Claudia who felt a wave of fear and panic welling up inside of her, for night was coming on.

“They can’t be far,” replied her husband reassuringly. “Remain here in case they come back. I’ll run down the road and ask Balbus to bring his dog. Carbo will soon track them down.”

“Hurry then Julian,” said his wife who was by now in an extreme state of anxiety. “We must find them before it grows dark.”

Julian sprinted down the lane to Balbus’s house and pounded urgently on the front door which was already locked against the coming night. Balbus had just sat down to supper with Elerian, and he started badly at the pounding on his door. After three visits from Ancharians whom he believed were Goblins or agents of the Goblins, Balbus’s nerves were badly frayed.

“Have they returned again?” he wondered fearfully as he leaped up and seized his sword. Cautiously, he opened the door. His relief at seeing Julian’s familiar face on his door step soon turned to concern as he listened to the farmer’s breathless story.

“I will come at once,” he said to Julian. After fastening Carbo’s collar around the dog’s neck and thrusting his knife into his belt, he took up his staff and knife and followed Julian, carrying Elerian in his arms. When they reached Julian’s home, there was still no sign of the children, and Claudia was in tears.

“Do you think it was the venetor?” she tearfully asked Balbus. “The front door was unlocked and open when we returned from the fields.”

“The venetor only comes out after dark,” said Balbus reassuringly. “It is more likely that your children have simply wandered off and have lost track of the time. Julian and I will search for them, but you must watch Elerian for me until we return,” he said, passing Elerian into the arms of Julian’s wife. Turning to Julian, he said, “We will need light, for the sun will set soon and also some article of clothing from your children so that Carbo will know their scent and be able to follow it.”

Julian disappeared inside his house and returned bearing a mage lamp and a tunic that belonged to his son. He had also armed himself with a stout staff and a long knife. It was growing dark by this time, and Julian held the mage lamp uncovered in his right hand as Balbus took the tunic and held it in front of Carbo’s nose.

“Find them Carbo,” said Balbus. “Find the children.”

Carbo sniffed deeply of the tunic and after putting his nose close to the ground, quickly picked up a scent trail by the front door. With growing concern, Balbus and Julian followed Carbo as he led them toward the boundary hedge. They soon discovered the hole that led through it.

“This opening was made with a sharp knife,” said Balbus to Julian after he had gotten down on his hands and knees to examine the ends of the branches around the hole.

“It was not there this morning,” said Julian worriedly. “Because it is so near the house, I check the hedge often to make sure it has not been breached. The hole could have been made by my children, I suppose. They could have taken it into their heads to enter the forest, despite all my warnings. Fabia, especially, is fond of tales of magic and is always talking about what wonderful things might exist in the forest.”

“Let us hope it is nothing worse then,” said Balbus, trying to keep the concern out of his voice. Carbo was already waiting on the far side of the hedge, and Balbus followed him with difficulty, for the opening through the hedge was a tight fit for his sturdy frame. Julian anxiously forced his way through after him.

Claudia remained standing on the doorstep with Elerian in her arms, watching with a sinking heart as Balbus and her husband disappeared from view. If her children were in the forest with night coming on, she might never see them again. The glow of the mage lamp shining through the opening in the hedge faded away as Balbus and her husband walked into the forest.

“My poor children,” lamented Claudia softly. “Will I ever see them again?” she asked, turning sadly to Elerian for comfort. Elerian made no answer. All his attention was focused on the hole in the hedge through which Balbus had disappeared. Elerian did know what had brought Balbus out to this strange farm with night coming on, but from the worried tone of the words spoken by the men and the woman, he was certain that there was trouble of some sort. When the crunch and rustle of leaves came to his sharp ears, telling him that Balbus had entered the forest, he decided to follow him in case Balbus needed his help. Wriggling suddenly like an eel, he slipped from Claudia’s arms and leaped to the ground. Before Claudia could do more than gasp, he landed lightly on his feet, ran swiftly to the hedge, and dived through it as easily as a rabbit bolting into its own familiar burrow. The loss of another child was too much for Julian’s overwrought wife. Already faint from uncertainty and grief over the disappearance of her own children, she took one faltering step toward the hedge before fainting and falling unconscious on the thick turf near the doorstep.

By then, Elerian had already run into the forest where he began to search at once for Balbus. The twilight was already deepening into darkness under the trees, and the color was fast fading from the landscape, leaving it in shades of gray and black, but the gathering darkness did not hinder Elerian at all. He saw as well in the dark as he did under the warm yellow light of the sun. After listening carefully for a moment, he heard the men moving in an easterly direction not far ahead of him. Slipping quietly through the trees, he quickly gained on them. Before long, he saw the yellow light of their mage lamp bobbing through the trees.

“I wonder why they brought the light?” he wondered to himself, for he did not realize then that the men could not see in the dark. Quietly, he closed the gap between himself and the two men, taking care never to glance directly at their light lest it spoil his night sight. When he was scarcely a dozen yards behind them, Elerian slowed his pace to match theirs. He took every precaution not reveal himself, knowing that Balbus would probably return him to the arms of the farmer’s wife if he were discovered. Out of sight in the wall of darkness that lay at the edge of the pool of yellow light cast by the mage lamp, he followed after the two men like a small shadow, his light steps making so little noise that not even Carbo was aware of his presence.

Nose to the ground, Carbo was following the scent trail of Hagar and Bruscius downhill toward the lower forest. His sensitive nose told him that they carried the two missing children Balbus wanted him to find. Behind him, the two men were forced to run to keep him in sight. As he followed Carbo, Julian thought of little but his missing children, but with each step he took, Balbus grew more uneasy. He began to question how the children could have come so far and so quickly through the dark forest. Even more disturbing was the change that had come over Carbo. His hackles were raised, and occasionally, he growled softly, telling Balbus, as clearly as if he had spoken, that something was amiss.

“I hope they have not been taken by Goblins,” Balbus thought to himself. Without being aware of it, he tightened his grip on his staff and touched the handle of his long knife with his left hand. He said nothing to Julian about his suspicions, for as yet, there was no real proof that the children had been kidnapped. The fear of Goblins preyed on his mind, however, and he began to fancy that he could see dark shapes slipping through the trees on either side of them. He started badly when pale eyes suddenly gleamed in the darkness to his left before vanishing as quickly as they had appeared. Balbus became so absorbed in keeping watch on their surroundings that, for a moment, he failed to notice that Carbo had stopped at the bank of a swift mountain stream.

“Why has he stopped, Balbus?” asked Julian worriedly. “Has he lost the trail?”

Shaking off his fears, Balbus watched as Carbo waded to the far side of the shallow stream, cast about for a moment, and then came back. He whined uneasily, for he was at a loss as to what he should do next. His keen nose told him that the Goblins had entered the stream, but they had not crossed to the far side, leaving him uncertain as to which way they had gone, upstream or downstream. He sat down by the side of the stream and looked to Balbus for guidance.

Balbus felt his heart sink, for he was now certain that the children had been kidnapped. It seemed unlikely to him that they would enter the swift stream on their own. The water was cold, for it was spring fed, and the far bank was almost twelve feet away. His fears were confirmed when he searched the ground and found a booted footprint in a patch of soft earth near the bank of the stream. Wading to the far bank with Carbo at his side, he and the dog made another search, but there was no sign that anyone had left the stream. Filled with uncertainty, Balbus waded back to where Julian waited on the far bank.

“Do you think someone carried them off?” asked Julian. He had also seen the footprint and was entertaining suspicions of his own.

“It is hard to tell from a single boot print, but it would seem so,” said Balbus. “There are no signs of any children’s footprints, which leads me to think that they are being carried. Their abductors must have waded either up or downstream to hide their trail.

“What do we do now?” asked Julian hopelessly.

Balbus knew that he could discover the direction taken by the kidnappers by using the finding spell in his walking stick, but he had begun to regret not bringing more men to help them with the search. If the children were in the hands of a number of Goblins, there was little that he and Julian could do to rescue them. Despite traveling through the forest in the dark, Balbus knew that Tullius’s house was not far away, for he and Julian had reached almost to the end of the hill on which Balbus lived. Notwithstanding the need to move swiftly, it suddenly seemed like a good idea to enlist the help of the mage.

“Tullius does not live far from here,” he said to Julian. “If you are willing to wait here to mark the trail, then I believe I can fetch him in a short time. It will be better to confront these outlaws with three men instead of two, and an extra pair of eyes will help in the search.”

“Hurry then,” said Julian anxiously. “Even now my children are no doubt being carried farther and farther away.”

Balbus feared the same thing, and hoping he was not making a mistake, he set off into the darkness, leaving the mage lamp and Carbo with Julian. Angling to his right, he raised his staff when he was out of sight of Julian and pictured Tullius’s home in his mind. At once, his staff began to pull on his right hand. Balbus followed the tug of his staff at a cautious pace, for the moon was dark, and the starlight did not penetrate under the trees. He never suspected that Elerian was following along behind him like a small shadow. Elerian, for his part, could have followed Balbus with his eyes closed now, for he was constantly tripping and saying things like, “A curse on these roots,” under his breath.

“One would think he cannot see at all in the dark,” thought Elerian to himself as Balbus stumbled over another raised root. Breathless and sweating, Balbus finally arrived at Tullius’s clearing. The mage cautiously opened his front door after Balbus banged on it with his staff and identified himself.

“What are you doing here at my door at this hour,” Tullius asked querulously, for he had just awakened out of a sound sleep and was still wearing a baggy nightcap.

“Julian’s children have been abducted,” said Balbus anxiously. “The trail brought us near your house, and I decided to ask if you would join us in rescuing them.”

Tullius narrowed his eyes. “I have felt that something was amiss in the forest, lately. Two woodcutters and a hunter have recently disappeared without a trace”

This was the first Balbus had heard of the disappearances, and it seemed to confirm that his fears for the children’s safety was well justified. “Will you come then?” he asked anxiously.

“It seems I must, before you get yourself into trouble of the worst sort,” said Tullius grumpily, but he hastily dressed himself and pulled on a cloak. He took no weapon but his staff as he followed Balbus out the door. After locking his front door, Tullius said, “Lumen,” and a small mage light about the size of an acorn appeared above his head, casting a small pool of yellow light about him. It was something that Balbus had never seen him do before, and he was exceedingly glad of the light. Off in the shadows, Elerian watched the light with fascinated eyes and wished that he could create one himself.

With the aid of the mage light, which always stayed in the same place above his head as he walked along, Tullius and Balbus made good time. Balbus’s staff soon led them back to the stream where Julian waited. When Tullius saw Julian’s light in the distance, he extinguished his own. “No use in causing talk,” he said softly to Balbus. Mages were generally viewed with suspicion, and Tullius was careful to conceal his powers when he could.

When they rejoined Julian, he was impatient to resume the chase. Although Balbus had been gone only a short time, it had seemed like hours to the distraught father. “How are we to find the trail?” he asked Tullius at once.

“Carbo lost the track here by the side of the stream,” said Balbus to Tullius by way of explanation. “Perhaps if we both search, we will have better luck.”

Keeping in mind that Tullius had asked him long ago to keep the powers of his staff a secret, Balbus motioned toward his walking stick with his eyes, and Tullius nodded slightly, to show that he understood that Balbus was about to use the finding spell contained in the staff.

Balbus pictured the missing children in his mind, and his walking stick immediately pulled him upstream. Keeping his eyes on the ground as if he were searching for tracks, Balbus followed its gentle tugging. Carbo ranged slightly ahead of him, nose to the ground, aiding him in the deception. Tullius remained on his left side, also pretending to search for tracks. Julian followed impatiently after them.

After he had followed the stream for several hundred feet, Balbus said suddenly, “I think Carbo has found a scent.” He continued to follow the staff, but Julian assumed Balbus was following Carbo and never suspected that magic was now involved in the search. With Julian’s mage lamp illuminating their way, they hurried along in single file. Balbus now feared the worst if they delayed much longer in finding the children.

The staff led them along the bank of the stream which began to narrow as it climbed back into the foothills. Its banks began to rise steeply, forming the beginnings of a ravine. Carbo suddenly stopped, growling softly, and the men bunched up behind him. The children must be nearby,” said Balbus softly to the others. “We should put out the light so that it does not give us away.”

“The noise we will make, thrashing about in the dark with no light, will give us away too,” Tullius objected, but Julian agreed with Balbus and closed the cover of the mage lamp, plunging them into darkness. They continued on at a slower pace, tripping over roots and bumping into trees, as Tullius had feared they would, for the sudden absence of light had left them nearly blind. The walls of the ravine continued to rise, and the trees that grew on its sides completely blocked out the faint light of the stars so that they seemed to be walking through a black tunnel.

Carbo suddenly growled softly. “From the way Carbo is acting, we must be close to the kidnappers,” whispered Balbus.

“We should go for more help,” said Tullius worriedly. “Who knows how many of them are laired up here in this dark place.”

“There is no time,” said Balbus determinedly, for he was afraid the Goblins would not keep the children alive for long. “Let us quietly slip up on them and then rush out all together. With the element of surprise on our side and Carbo to help us, we may succeed in chasing them off.” Balbus did not mention it out loud, but he also hoped that Tullius might aid them with a few potent spells if they were needed.

Julian also wished to attempt a rescue immediately, and outvoted two to one, Tullius followed reluctantly along as they continued to follow the bank of the stream. They went slowly so as to avoid making noise, but still they stubbed their toes on rocks, and Julian almost had a tree branch put out his right eye. To Elerian, following along behind them, they seemed to be making a hideous racket, and he grew increasingly nervous, for he had also seen the booted footprints by the stream bank. Carbo grew increasingly agitated, but Balbus, who was in the lead with his left hand tucked under Carbo’s collar to prevent him running off, still saw no sign of the Goblins or any camp. A sudden, loud crack caused the rescuers to freeze in their tracks. Julian had inadvertently stepped on a dry stick. The men unconsciously held their breaths as they waited in the dark, wondering if the sound had given them away.

Inside the cave, Bruscius froze when he heard the stick break, his knife blade a hair’s breadth from Flavian’s shrinking flesh. Without a word, he and Hagar gagged both of the children and arming themselves with their knives, slipped silently out of the cave.

The three men heard nothing to alarm them and resumed their slow advance. Suddenly, something moved under their feet, and thin, strong cords whipped into the air, writhing around them like snakes and drawing them together and binding them even as they struggled to escape. Pressed tightly together, the three men, with Carbo between them, finally lost their balance and toppled over all together, falling heavily to the ground even as wicked laughter rang out on either side of them.

CAPTURED

Julian was knocked unconscious when he struck a rock with the back of his head, but Balbus, Tullius, and Carbo fared better, for Julian cushioned their fall. They fought wildly to escape the net, but the more they struggled, the more the strands of the net tightened around them. Soon, the cruel cords pressing against their chests scarcely allowed them to breathe.

“Stop moving,” shouted Tullius in a panicked voice to Balbus, “else we shall be strangled by the cords. This is no ordinary net.” The two men immediately froze, and Carbo, who was trapped between them, whined softly.

“Caught them all, like fish in a net,” said Bruscius gleefully from out of the darkness surrounding the men. “I set the net when I returned from checking the mantraps,” he said to Hagar. “I thought a trap set here by the entrance to the cave might prove useful.”

“And so it has,” said Hagar. “You have made a fine catch.”

A moment later, the two Goblins appeared next to the net, and together, they leaned over their captives to gloat. Because of the darkness, Balbus and Tullius saw the Goblins only as shadowy figures, but their eyes shone in the darkness like burning embers, giving them a nightmarish appearance. Frightened, bewildered, and barely able to breath, Balbus and Tullius stared up at the indistinct figures of the Goblins, desperately racking their brains to come up with some way to escape the net. Carbo responded to the presence of the Goblins with a fierce growl and struggled to reach them until Bruscius kicked him heavily in the face, wringing a painful yelp from the brave animal.

“I will teach you to behave properly soon enough, you nasty creature,” said Bruscius angrily, for Goblins despised dogs. At that moment, Hagar, who was still bent over the captives, recognized Balbus.

“We have caught the farmer who lives at the end of the lane, Bruscius. Perhaps we should go back for his brat too,” he said with a laugh that sent a chill through Balbus as he imagined Elerian in the clutches of these awful creatures.

“Perhaps later,” said Bruscius absently, for his attention was focused on Tullius. “The other one has the look of a mage, Hagar,” he said after a moment.

“He cannot harm us as long as his staff is out of his reach,” said Hagar indifferently, for the net, either by chance or by design, had wrenched Tullius’s staff from his hand. No matter how the mage strained, he could not get even a finger on it. Hagar laughed at his struggles. “These human mages are helpless without their wooden props,” he said to Bruscius contemptuously.

Tullius knew that he and his friends were in desperate straits, but his anger got the better of his fear at that point. “If I once get out of this net, I will show you how helpless I am,” he shouted angrily, but the Goblins laughed in his face. They knew his threat was a hollow one unless he could somehow reach his staff. Amused by Tullius’s anger, Hagar reached out and gave Tullius’s beard a sharp tug through the cords of the net, then laughed again at the mage’s roar of anger.

Occupied with tormenting Tullius, neither of the Goblins saw a small, shadowy figure slip by behind their backs. Because Elerian had kept well back from Balbus and the others, he had not fallen victim to the net. From behind a tree, he had watched angrily as Bruscius struck Carbo and Hagar baited Tullius, but young as he was, he knew enough not to rush out at the Goblins empty handed. Instead, Elerian decided to steal past the Goblins. If they had a camp nearby, he could search it for a weapon to help him rescue Balbus and Tullius.

Once he was safely past the Goblins, Elerian quickly discovered the blanket the Urucs had hung over the cave entrance. After a quick glance to make sure the Goblins were not looking his way, he slipped noiselessly past the blanket. Once inside the cave, Elerian’s eyes were immediately drawn to the two children lying against the left hand wall of the cave. They watched him with frightened eyes as he put a finger over his lips to indicate that they should remain quiet. He then turned his attention to the fire burning in the center of the cave. Seizing two burning branches from out of the fire, one in each of his small hands, Elerian pushed boldly past the blanket with a grim look in his bright eyes.

Bruscius was now squatting down in front of Tullius, and Hagar was bent over next to him on his right side with a knife in his hand. Strangled cries were coming from the mage. Bruscius was trying to pry open his mouth through the cords of the net so that Hagar could cut out Tullius’s tongue with his knife. They had tired of Tullius’s threats and meant to silence him permanently.

While the Goblins were occupied with Tullius, Elerian ran toward them on silent feet. Before they became aware of him, he set one torch on the ground and lifting the back of Bruscius’s leather shirt; firmly thrust the smaller brand into the back of his trousers. When the fiery end of the branch scorched his flesh and set his pants to smoldering, Bruscius let go of Tullius’s beard and sprang high into the air with a terrifying screech. With a swift, sure movement, Elerian snatched up the second torch. When Hagar turned toward him, still bent over, Elerian struck the Goblin heavily in the face with the flaming branch.

Stunned by the heavy blow and quite blinded for a moment from the flames which had singed his eyebrows and scorched his face and cheeks, Hagar dropped his knife and staggered back. Before the Goblin could recover, Elerian swung the stout branch a second time with all his strength, striking Hagar painfully on his left shin. Hagar howled in pain and losing his balance completely, fell heavily onto his back.

Without giving him a chance to recover, Elerian began beating him on the head and chest with the burning branch until Hagar, his shirt and hair both smoldering by now, was overcome with pain and panic. Partially blinded by the flames of the torch, he had no idea who his attacker was, and thinking only of escape, he scrambled to his feet and ran up the side of the ravine, caroming heavily off of trees he could barely see. By this time, Bruscius had succeeded in pulling the still burning brand from his pants, but not before they and the back of his shirt caught fire. He swatted frantically at the flames for a moment with his hands, then ran and sat with a great splash in a pool formed by the small stream which flowed through the ravine. The cold water put out his burning pants and soothed his scorched flesh, but his relief was short lived. As soon as Hagar disappeared, Elerian ran up behind Bruscius and commenced to strike him on the head and shoulders with his flaming branch. His strength far exceeded that of a human child the same age, and the blows that landed on the Goblin’s head stunned Bruscius and addled his wits.

Unaware of the diminutive size of his attacker, Bruscius shot out of the water with a loud yell and fled up the side of the ravine in the same direction taken by Hagar. Elerian followed in hot pursuit, determined not to let a second Goblin escape him. As he ran, he felt something stir inside of him. The power which he had used to heal Carbo came to life once more. When the fleeing Bruscius paused to look back over his shoulder to get a glimpse of his attacker, he did not see a small child who did not even stand as high as his waist. Instead, he saw a great, burly, bearded fellow with flashing eyes and a tremendous burning brand in his right hand right at his heels. With a startled yell, Bruscius turned away, stumbling slightly in his panic. Before the Goblin could regain his footing, Elerian thrust his flaming torch into the hole he had already burned through Bruscius’s trousers. With a howl of pain, the Goblin scrambled over the lip of the ravine. Once he reached level ground, Bruscius made a tremendous leap away from Elerian and increasing his speed so that he fairly flew over the ground, fled into the forest, leaving Elerian far behind.

Disappointed that both Goblins had escaped him, Elerian stopped and had one quick glimpse of the illusion covering him before it vanished. Confused by the brief change wrought by his power but feeling quite proud of himself for chasing off the Goblins, Elerian returned to where the net still held Tullius and Balbus prisoners in its magical cords. A gleam that could have been laughter filled his bright eyes at the sight of Balbus and Tullius trussed closely together in the net with Carbo’s head sticking out from between the two of them. The two men were only able to move their eyes at this point. Both their faces registered surprise as they got their first look at their rescuer.

Forgetting for a moment that Elerian could not understand him, Balbus said sharply, “Elerian, you should not be here!”

Before he could say anymore, he was interrupted by Tullius. “You can reprimand the boy later,” said Tullius hastily. “See if you can free us from this net, my boy,” he said anxiously to Elerian.

Elerian did not understand the words of either man, but it was easy enough for him guess what Tullius wanted. Setting his burning stick on the ground, he picked up the knife Hagar had dropped when he fled and raised his right hand to cut the net. A corded section immediately shot out like a live thing and missed encircling his hand by a whisker as Elerian leaped back just in time. The net tightened even more around its four captives, and they groaned in pain.

Elerian felt his power stir again and suddenly saw each strand of the net suffused with a red glow. Instinctively, he raised his left hand. A small golden orb left his fingertips and shot toward the net, enveloping each strand in a film of golden light that concealed the red glow. None of this was visible to the men trapped in the net, but suddenly, they felt the strands holding them relax a little. Balbus and Tullius both sucked their breath in with fear as Elerian slashed the strands of the net with several quick, sure strokes of his knife that brought the keen blade uncomfortably close to their faces and limbs. As the severed cords fell away from the captives, Carbo sprang away first. A moment later, Balbus and Tullius scrambled free, dragging Julian with them. Elerian quickly set fire to the remnants of the net which twisted and curled like live things as the fire burned them to harmless ash.

“Well done Elerian, you have saved us all,” said Balbus, his earlier anger forgotten. He scooped up Elerian and gave him a fierce hug. Meanwhile, Tullius helped Julian, who had finally revived from the blow he had suffered to his head, back to his feet. Julian was amazed to see Elerian, and Balbus hastily explained that the boy had followed them, keeping just out of their sight.

Before Julian could ask any more questions, Elerian wriggled free of Balbus’s arms and then pulled him insistently toward the cave, which the men still could not see on account of the blanket hung over the entrance. When Elerian pulled aside the concealing blanket, all three men rushed inside and quickly freed the two children. At first they feared the worst, for Fabia and Flavian made no sound or movement when they were freed from their restraints, but it was fear that held them motionless not death. A moment later, they were both swept up into the arms of their delighted father. Once they understood that they were safe once more, they related to the three men how they had come to be captured.

“When we reached the cave,” said Flavian in a frightened voice, “they pulled us from the sacks and took our silver. Luckily, one of them set out to check some traps they had set; otherwise, I think they would have killed us at once. They were going to eat us after they killed us,” he said in a horrified voice.

The men listened in sympathetic silence to the children’s story. “I would not be too hard on them,” said Balbus to Julian when they were done talking. “The Goblins used enchantments on them that might have deceived those far older than themselves.”

While Julian stood watch with his children by his side, Balbus and Tullius burned all of the Goblins’ possessions in the fire, except for two knives which Balbus broke into pieces with a large rock. He then threw the handles and shattered blades into the fire.

“Hopefully we are leaving them unarmed and without any possessions other than the clothes on their backs,” he said to Tullius. “We can return with men and dogs at first light to hunt them down.”

“I will have something to say to those two if we succeed in laying our hands on them,” said Tullius grimly.

While the two men were engaged in throwing the Goblins’ belongings into the fire, Elerian saw something small fall out of one of the Goblins’ packs onto the cave floor, unnoticed by the men or the two children. Curiously, he picked up the object and saw that it was a small black leather purse with an intricate silver clasp. It appeared empty, but he opened the silver clasp and thrust his small hand inside anyway. At the bottom of the purse, Elerian felt his fingers touch something cool and round. His fingers emerged from the purse clutching a bright silver ring. Delighted with the shining thing, he set it on the third finger of his left hand and watched, curiously, as it shrank to fit his finger. He felt an odd, not unpleasant tingle in his hand, but promptly forgot the ring when he reached into the purse again and brought out several gleaming silver coins. When Balbus finally took notice of Elerian, sitting by himself in a corner of the cave, Julian’s mage lamp showed him with a bright pile of silver coins heaped up at his feet. As the three men and Julian’s children watched in amazement, Elerian continued to pull coins from the purse, adding them to the pile.

“This must be the source of the silver that was used to lure the children,” said Balbus. Even after watching Elerian pull out the coins, he found it difficult to accept that the purse could have held such a large pile of silver. Elerian cheerfully surrendered the purse when Balbus asked for it. Balbus looked inside, but it appeared empty. When his fingers probed around the bottom, however, they came up with another silver coin.

“Enough Balbus,” said Tullius abruptly. “You are obviously holding a magic purse, and there may be a mountain of coins inside. Take it and use the money for the boy as he grows up. He has more than earned it tonight.”

“Yes, keep it Balbus,” chimed in Julian. “If I had them, I would give you ten such purses as a reward for saving my children.” Julian, of course, had no idea that it was Elerian who had saved them all, and Tullius and Balbus thought it best not to enlighten him since they did not want to draw attention to the boy and the remarkable way in which he had driven off the Goblins.

Balbus refilled the purse with the coins Elerian had heaped onto the floor, watching the bright silver vanish as if dropped into a deep hole. When he was done, Balbus uneasily put the seemingly empty change purse into a pocket. He had never felt any desire to be wealthy, and the purse had belonged to Goblins, something he was not entirely comfortable with. None of the men noticed the ring Elerian now wore, and Elerian did not mention it for fear of having to give it up along with the purse.

As they prepared to leave, Carbo’s whining led them to the side of the ravine where the dog had made a grim discovery. Heaped carelessly near the base of a large tree was a pile of clean picked bones and ragged clothing.

“These are the remains of the three men who disappeared over the last few days, I will warrant,” said Tullius.

“Should we pursue the Goblins now?” Balbus asked angrily. “There are only two of them, and Carbo can track them even in the dark.”

“No,” said Tullius positively. “They may be unarmed and wounded but remember, Goblins can see in the dark whereas we cannot. If we follow them into the forest, they may still turn the tables on us. We are better off returning in the morning with more men and dogs to track them as you suggested before.”

Guided by Julian’s mage lamp, they set off for the hilltops, Balbus leading the way. Tullius wanted to return to his own home, but Balbus would not hear of it. “It is not safe for you to return home in the dark with those creatures wandering about. Stay with me for the night,” he insisted.

The crusty mage did not argue for once, and guided by his staff, Balbus soon led everyone to Julian’s farm. After Julian and his wife, who had recovered by now from the fright Elerian had given her, expressed their gratitude for all they had done, Balbus and Tullius bid them goodnight and set out for Balbus’s own farm. There, they had a large, late supper before a crackling fire before retiring for the night.

In the morning, Tullius and Balbus led a large company of men with their dogs in an attempt to track down the Goblins, but they were unsuccessful in finding them. Despite a thorough search of the area where they had disappeared, there was no sign of them.

“Perhaps they died of their wounds or fled back to their own country,” said Balbus at last to Tullius when it grew dark, and the search was at last called off.

THE HUNT FOR DRUSUS

After stepping through the portal, Sarius found himself in the throne room of the Goblin king. It was large and circular in shape, but there were no windows, for Torquatus, like every other Goblin, hated the warm yellow light of the sun. The black basalt walls, floor, and domed ceiling were all polished to a mirror like finish through the long labor of captive Dwarves. At regular intervals along the walls, gleaming stone pillars reached toward the arched ceiling. Each pillar was topped by the crouching figure of a troll, a lupin, or a lentulus. The nightmarish stone heads of the figures were hollow, and a clear glass ball containing a red mage light burned inside each one so that a lurid red light shone through their vacant eyes and open mouths. Whether through some trick of the mage lights or some enchantment placed on the figures themselves, the eyes seemed to move, while the mouths gaped and leered.

Between each set of pillars were stone panels, deeply carved with fantastic creatures and scenes. The polished black stone gleamed like oil where the scarlet mage lights illuminated the figures of lupins and lentulae rending Elves, Dwarves, and Men with tooth and claw. Goblins mounted on fierce atriors pursued human game in the Dark Hunt while other panels depicted battles in which the Goblins overran all their enemies.

Sarius ignored the violent and fantastical furnishings of the room, for he had seen them many times before. All his attention was focused on the raised platform in the center of the room. It was reached by three low steps in the front, and in its center stood a curiously carved black basalt throne, the only furniture in the room. Sitting on the throne was a slender Goblin, very like Sarius in appearance save for the black crown he wore on his head. Faceted rubies, evenly spaced around the circumference of the crown, gleamed like red coals when they reflected the mage lights.

“What news Sarius?” asked Torquatus, eagerly leaning forward on the throne as Sarius knelt before him on his right knee.

“The Elf home is destroyed along with its inhabitants, my Lord,” said Sarius, rising to his feet, “but we encountered a complication.”

A frown twisted Torquatus’s pale features, and the red motes in his eyes grew to sparks. “What sort of complication, Sarius?” he asked in a voice that made the Uruc tremble.

Carefully, Sarius related the events of the last few weeks to the Goblin King. “We never found the body of the one who escaped us, but we did find this,” he concluded as he displayed the torn shreds of Elerian’s tunic, holding them with a black gloved hand.

At the sight of the tunic, Torquatus relaxed somewhat on his throne, and the red receded from his eyes. “It would seem that the lupins have finally rid us of the last of our sworn enemies,” said Torquatus. “I find the disappearance of Drusus troubling, however. With the last Elf dead, he should have come to me for the reward I promised him. Take what forces you need, Sarius and find him,” he commanded. “If he is still alive when you capture him, question him closely until you discover all he knows.”

“What then my lord?” asked Sarius.

“Kill him,” said Torquatus with an evil smile. “Death was the only reward I planned for him once his usefulness was at an end. Even though he sought to conceal them from me, I know the treacherous thoughts the miserable creature harbored in his mind.”

Once he was dismissed from the king’s presence, Sarius made his preparations and rode from Nefandus at once at the head of a score of tall Urucs dressed in black leather armor. The Goblins rode atriors, which resembled sleek, fine boned black horses. Instead of hooves, however, they had three toed feet armed with great hooked claws resembling those of birds of prey, and they snapped irritably at each other and their riders with the fangs of hunting beasts. Sixty slender Wood Goblins, or Mordi as they called themselves in their own language, followed the Urucs on foot. The Mordi were short, barely taller than Dwarves, but they were fierce fighters. Like the Urucs, they were dressed in black leather. Behind and around the Mordi swirled a pack made up of dozens of coal black lupins. There were other four footed hunters, too, besides the lupins. Leopardi, Goblins in the form of black, catlike creatures with red eyes and saber fangs the length of a long hand, padded aloofly at the margins of the company.

The whole force took ship at Mordfyn, a Goblin city built on the shores of the Elvorix. They sailed south and then east, down the length of the river, until they reached the Mare Caerulus. Sailing south in their slim black galley, the Goblins hugged the western shoreline of the lake to avoid the water dragons that haunted the deep blue waters of the Mare. When the ship reached the Ancharus, at the outflow of the Mare, it sailed south down the main channel of the river, finally making port at Esdras, a dead city of the Ancharians. Sarius and his company disembarked and, crossing the Ancharus over the old bridge that still spanned the river, traveled east for four days through an empty land covered with trackless forests until they arrived once more at the cave where Sarius had left Bruscius and Hagar. It was now two days since the pair had fled into the forest to escape from Elerian.

Sarius was puzzled when he found no recent signs of the two Goblins at the cave. After he saw the burnt remains of their gear, he concluded that a battle had taken place in the ravine during his absence. “What mischief have those two been up to, I wonder?” he thought to himself angrily. On the chance that they were still alive, he directed the lupins to search for the missing Urucs. They were eventually found hiding nearby on a small island in the midst of a swamp. When they were brought before Sarius, he looked with surprise but no sympathy at their scorched and battered features. Their injuries and burnt clothing seemed to support his guess that they had taken part in some fierce battle.

“How did you two fools come to be in this state?” Sarius demanded coldly.

Bruscius and Hagar gave each other sidelong looks. Except for one short trip to the cave, they had remained hidden in a hollow tree for the past two days, too injured and afraid to come out even to search for food. They had passed the time by discussing at great length between the two of them how they would explain their present sorry condition to Sarius when he finally returned. They knew better than to tell Sarius that they had brought trouble down on their heads by disobeying his orders, so they had concocted a story to explain the disaster which had befallen them. It was decided the Bruscius, being the cleverer of the two, would tell the tale.

Twisting his scorched features into as honest an expression as he could manage, Bruscius began to speak. “After you left us, Sarius, we faithfully questioned the hill farmers as you ordered us, but we gained no new information. Careful as we were, we were discovered somehow, for a great party of Hesperians and their dogs launched an attack against us during the middle of the day. We fought valiantly, but the sunlight and their numbers forced us to flee at last with only the clothes on our backs. Their dogs pursued us deep into the forest. We were fortunate to escape with our lives.”

Bruscius did not quite meet Sarius’s eyes as he told his story, and the Goblin captain did not doubt that he was hearing only a part of the events that had occurred.

“What of the purse and the ring?” he asked angrily.

“The men burnt up all our belongings,” said Bruscius reluctantly. “They must have been destroyed or carried away, for they were in my pack.”

Sarius’s face darkened with anger, for both the purse and ring were of Elven make and could not be replaced. If he had been in less of a hurry, he might have questioned the pair more closely with the point of a heated knife to discover the details they had left out, but he decided to put the matter aside for another time. Both purse and ring were minor matters compared to the Goblin king’s command to find Drusus.

“Arm yourselves and mount up,” Sarius ordered coldly. Bruscius and Hagar breathed sighs of relief and ran to do his bidding. Mounts had been brought for them, and they armed and clothed themselves from the store of spare gear which the Goblins carried with them. The sun was already dropping below the peaks of the Galerius by now, and the shadows were lengthening under the trees. At Sarius’s signal, several of the Urucs raised polished horns bound in hoops of dark iron and blew a series of harsh blasts that echoed through the forest and drifted up even to the hilltops on the still evening air. With a strong force at his command and the need for concealment gone, Sarius no longer cared who knew he was in the forest. A holiday air swept through the entire troop at the prospect of a hunt in the darkness. Eager to begin the chase, the lupins commenced to howl and yelp in anticipation, and the saber fanged leopardi roared thunderously and nervously twitched their thick tails. The frightening sounds carried faintly to the heights, and those still out of doors hurried inside and barred their doors, uncertain and fearful as to what was taking place in the lower forest.

The lupins fanned out through the trees and soon struck a warm track, for now that the moon was dark once more, Drusus had emerged from his hiding place deep in the Abercius. He was on his way to Balbus’s farm when the crimson-eyed pack found his scent. As the lupins swept toward him, Drusus suddenly realized he was the prey and fled west, bypassing Balbus’s farm. Following Drusus’ trail, the hunt surged uphill toward Balbus’s farm with a great clamor of horns, shouts, and excited baying from the lupins.

From his front doorstep, Balbus listened to the commotion for a moment before locking his door and arming himself with his sword. As he waited with his heart pounding in his chest, he wondered if the moment of reckoning was at hand. At any moment, he expected the Goblins to break down his front door, and he prepared to sell his life as dearly as possible to defend himself and Elerian. He shot a quick glance at the boy and was surprised to see that Elerian did not seem at all frightened. The boy’s keen ears had already told him that the hunt had turned north, away from the farm. Balbus, too, soon realized that the clamor was moving away, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

Back in the forest, Drusus was not unduly frightened, for he had escaped many pursuits in his long life. He ran easily ahead of the lupins on all fours in great fluid bounds, traveling toward the safety of the Abercius. When he reached the border of the ancient forest, he clawed his way up a great tree trunk, agile as any squirrel. By traveling the upper pathways of the forest where they could not follow, he expected to escape from his pursuers as he had done so many times in the past. He had reckoned, however, without the leopardi that followed the pack of lupins. When the lupins swirled in frustration around the base of the tree Drusus had climbed to escape them, these creatures easily followed him into the branches. Although their powers of scent were less keen than those of the lupins, they had no difficulty in following Drusus through the treetops.

North he fled now, his lungs on fire and panic in his heart as his pursuers followed him across the broad, twisting branches of the forest canopy. Whenever he cast a brief glance over his shoulder, he saw their red, fiery eyes close behind him. On the ground, the sounds of the hunt continued as the Goblins followed the hunters and their prey through the treetops. The Mordi had fallen far behind, but the Urucs kept pace, for their sleek atriors slipped through the trees in long, agile bounds rivaling those of the great beasts pursuing Drusus through the treetops.

For the first time, Drusus began to lose hope. Heart beating wildly, he raced through the treetops until each labored breath scorched his lungs like fire. Exhausted and shaking with fear, he came suddenly to the stony banks of a dark, swift flowing river. He ran out on an overhanging branch, but the distance to the far bank was still too great for him to leap across. There was no time to hesitate. Barely escaping the claws of his pursuers, Drusus gave voice to a last despairing shriek as he leaped from the branch and plunged into the cold, dark waters many feet below him. With a strangled cry, he vanished below the surface as his pursuers descended from the trees and hesitated on the shoreline, snarling in disappointment and lashing their thick tails in anger at being denied their prey.

When the lupins emerged from the forest followed by the swiftest of the atriors, Drusus’ head and shoulders suddenly broke the surface of the river. Sarius, who had led the hunt, saw him struggle for a moment and then vanish beneath the black waters of the river. At once, he sent the lupins along with the greater part of the mounted Urucs downstream to scour the banks of the river for any sign of Drusus. Sarius, himself, remained where he was, keeping a close eye on the far shore, but nothing broke the surface of the river again or emerged on the northern shore. When the Mordi finally arrived, he sent them west and waited alone with the leopardi. Hours later, both groups returned without finding any sign of Drusus.

“The old fool must have drowned in the river or was taken by an anguis,” said Bruscius. “What orders now?”

“It is time to return to Esdras and sail home again,” said Sarius reluctantly. His disappointment was evident in his voice, for he had hoped to carry Drusus’ black hide with him when he returned north. “I would have preferred to spill Drusus’ blood myself, but his death is the main thing. It concludes our business here in the southland for now.” Sarius ordered the horns to be sounded again, and after everyone had gathered together, led his party east toward Esdras and the black ship that waited to take them north.

THE EARLY YEARS

Balbus remained close to home for several weeks after hearing the Goblin horns in the forest. He remained fearful that the Goblins might suddenly appear on his doorstep and slept at night in his chair by the fireplace with his sword resting on his knees. Finally, with his nerves stretched to the breaking point, he decided to make an exploratory day time trip into the forest. He reluctantly took Elerian with him, rather than risk the boy secretly following him. For good measure, he also convinced Tullius to accompany them. They searched the forest as far west as the edge of the Abercius without finding any evidence of any Goblins in the forest other than the old tracks left behind by Sarius’s company. On their way back home, they stopped at the ravine where they had been held captive. The cave was deserted, so the two men sat by the entrance to rest while Carbo nosed about nearby for interesting scents. Elerian was attracted to the clear stream that flowed through the gully and was soon splashing in pursuit of the small trout that lived in the pools. It was a peaceful scene far removed from the desperate situation Balbus and Tullius had found themselves in when they were captured by the Goblins’ net. Tullius shuddered a little when he thought of how close he had come to having his tongue forcibly removed.

“The Goblins appear to have left the forest for good this time,” said Balbus, interrupting Tullius’s thoughts. “The tracks we found led north, but there was no sign of any returning south.”

“Your trick with the tunic must have finally convinced them that Elerian is dead,” said Tullius. “They appear to have returned one last time to hunt down something in the forest before leaving the country. I wonder what sort of creature it was and whether it had any connection to Elerian.”

“I don’t care what they were chasing as long as they have all left, hopefully forever,” said Balbus who now wished to put the Goblins and all their doings out of his mind. Certain now, for the first time in weeks, that Elerian was safe, he wanted only to return to his normal routine of farming interspersed with trips into the forest.

“Do not think the danger is over,” warned Tullius, as if he had some hint of Balbus’s thoughts. “You must watch over Elerian carefully so that he does nothing that will set the countryside talking. The Ancharians’ offer of silver will linger in men’s minds. If some spy of the Goblins passes this way again, there are those who will not hesitate to pass on information about Elerian in hopes of gaining a reward.”

“I will do my best to keep him from being noticed,” said Balbus, unconcerned. He watched Elerian playing in the stream and was comforted by the fact that there was nothing in his appearance to set him apart from any other Hesperian child his age. “It should not be too difficult to conceal the boy,” he thought to himself. The two friends rose to their feet then, and after saying goodbye, returned to their homes: Balbus up into the hills and Tullius east into the forest.

Convinced that the Goblins were finally gone, Balbus was able to resume his old life as he had hoped. He taught Elerian to speak Hesperian and also the common tongue that was spoken in all the countries of the Middle Realm; but when he was finally able to question the boy, he found that Elerian remembered running through the forest and being pursued by the lupins but nothing before that. Either Tullius’s spell or some terrible event had wiped his earlier memories away.

Each year, Balbus celebrated Elerian’s birthday on August first, the day on which Elerian had first come into his life. On each birthday, Balbus presented Elerian with some special gift purchased with the silver from his magic purse. Other than that, he used his new found wealth sparingly, continuing to lead the same simple life he had lived before finding Elerian. When Balbus finally took notice of the silver ring on Elerian’s finger, he assumed that the boy had possessed it all along and soon forgot about it. Elerian gradually forgot about it, too. Neither Balbus nor Elerian ever thought to wonder how the ring continued to fit Elerian’s finger perfectly as he grew older and larger.

Driven by a need to discover what he could of Elerian’s past, Balbus braved the dangers of the Abercius several times in order to search the area where he had first found Elerian, but he discovered nothing new. Over time, he became convinced that Elerian had come down out of the north, from the depths of Abercius, but he never dared to venture any farther into the forest, resigning himself, instead, to the idea that Elerian’s past might remain a mystery forever.

Elerian was little concerned with his own history. Before long, it seemed to him that he had always lived with Balbus and that he had always been a Hesperian. With time, even his memories of his flight from the lupins faded so that it seemed more nightmare than remembrance. When Elerian grew old enough to wonder why he had no parents, Balbus told him that they had died when he was young and that he had been taken in by Balbus, his grandfather. Elerian accepted the story without question. As for Balbus, he felt guilty about deceiving Elerian, but he comforted himself with the thought that the story was, in substance, true except for the relationship between himself and Elerian.

As he grew, Elerian remained short and sturdy with his skin burned a nut brown from constant exposure to the sun. Balbus sometimes forgot that he was not his real grandson, until Elerian abruptly reminded him of how different he was beneath his unremarkable exterior. His bright eyes gleamed constantly with thoughts of mischief, and more than once in his early years, he drove Balbus almost to the end of both his wits and patience, for Elerian loved to hide and possessed an uncanny ability for making himself disappear. He was so quiet in his movements, in the house, on the farm, or in the forest, that one moment he was at Balbus’s side and the next he was gone; hiding somewhere nearby and laughing silently to himself while Balbus panicked and rushed about with his heart pounding, calling for Elerian to come out. In the end, Elerian would appear suddenly, his face all innocence. Balbus would shake his head and mutter to himself, torn between relief and anger, but he never had the heart to say even a harsh word. Instead, he would hug the small rascal that had come into his life and think to himself, “He is only a poor orphan after all,” and all was forgiven until the next time.

Even more terrifying for Balbus than Elerian’s penchant for disappearing was the boy’s fondness for climbing. Elerian was completely fearless of heights, and occasionally during their walks in the forest, he would quietly disappear only to reappear on a limb fifty feet above the ground, proudly calling for Balbus’s attention. Balbus would feel his heart thudding in his chest as Elerian ran lightly along the branch, ignoring the frantic calls for him to come down. Instead, Elerian would hang upside down by his heels from some small limb, laughing delightedly while Balbus ran in frantic circles beneath him, convinced the boy was about to fall at any moment.

“Leave him home or put a rope on him,” said Tullius unsympathetically when Balbus poured out his troubles, but Balbus could never bring himself to do any such thing. Fortunately for his peace of mind, Elerian ceased to play tricks of this sort as he grew older and instead became an enjoyable companion, for he loved being in the forest as much as Balbus did. From the first, he displayed an unfailing sense of direction so that he never had any thought of becoming lost. Balbus came to depend on him as much as he did on his staff.

Balbus gave up his long search for the elusive forest people. Instead, he was content to spend his time with Elerian. They spent a great deal of time in the forest, gathering mushrooms in the spring and honey during the summer. On hot days, Balbus often set aside his basket, preferring to sit and watch as Elerian swam in the deep forest pools or to sit side by side with him as they fished for the silver trout that lived in the clear waters of the streams. In the fall, they gathered sacks of glossy, russet chestnuts to roast over the fire during the winter months.

For years, Balbus’s life with Elerian ran smooth as a placid meadow stream. Even the venetor appeared to have vanished. It was not seen again after the summer in which Balbus first found Elerian. Try as he might, however, Balbus could not banish occasional thoughts about the Goblins from his mind. Finally, when Elerian turned ten, he decided that it might be a good thing if he taught the boy how to defend himself, even though the chances of his enemies returning now seemed remote.

Balbus had not done much fighting when he had served in the army long ago, for peace had prevailed for many years, but through long practice, he had become skilled in the use of a soldier’s weapons. Those skills were rusty now from long disuse, but he decided that he would teach Elerian as much as he could remember.

After fashioning a pair of blunt wooden knives, Balbus took Elerian into the front yard where they could practice in the shade of the great chestnut trees that grew there. After Balbus showed Elerian a few simple moves of offense and defense, they began to spar. At once, Balbus was amazed at the boy’s quickness and the sureness of all his movements. There was none of the awkwardness of a young child about him, and Balbus was caught by surprise when Elerian, in the blink of an eye, smoothly passed his wooden knife to his left hand and slipped through his guard to tap him lightly on the chest over his heart. Elerian then laughed delightedly and danced about, stabbing at the air.

Balbus looked nervously all around him to see if anyone had observed their mock duel, berating himself for his foolishness in training the boy out in the open. “If anyone had walked down the lane just now and seen us, the boy would have been the talk of the countryside tomorrow,” he thought to himself.

Fortunately, there was no one about, for Balbus seldom had visitors to his isolated farm, but he decided to continue with the lessons in a less conspicuous place. He cleared out a space in the barn where he and Elerian could practice without being observed, and there, watched by an audience of amazed farm animals, he began to train Elerian for several hours each day.

A long knife became Elerian’s favorite weapon, but at Balbus’s insistence, he became proficient with a sword and learned to use a shield both for protection and as a weapon. In turn, he also learned how to use a spear, quarterstaff, and ax. Balbus was an indifferent bowman, but he taught Elerian what he knew of that skill also, and Elerian soon surpassed his teacher with that weapon. He also learned to use a crossbow, which was one of Balbus’s favorite weapons. As he grew up, to hone his skills, Elerian spent countless hours throwing a knife, ax, or spear at a wooden target Balbus set up inside the barn.

From their first practice, Balbus constantly reminded Elerian that he must keep his new skills a secret, but he would not explain why. The need for secrecy made Elerian feel uncomfortable, and he began to feel, for the first time, that Balbus was hiding something from him. Highly pleased with Elerian’s progress in weapons training, Balbus decided he would also teach Elerian the skills of unarmed combat. “You will not always have a weapon to hand,” he told Elerian.

Because of his great strength and skill, Balbus had been a formidable wrestler in his youth, winning many matches against the champions of other troops when he was in the army. As he began to pass on his knowledge of wrestling to Elerian, Balbus was amazed at how strong the boy had grown. At age twelve, Elerian was almost a match for Balbus in strength, and he was far quicker. Only Balbus’s greater experience kept the contests between them even remotely even. “He will have at least twice the strength of a strong man when he is grown,” thought Balbus to himself after one session. “With such strength and his natural quickness, no enemy will be able to stand against him,” he thought with satisfaction.

To pass the time in the evenings and to develop the boy’s mind, Balbus taught Elerian to read. He also began to give him lessons on the harp, for Balbus was a fair harper and had a deep, pleasing voice. “If he is ever restored to his family, he may have need of such skills when he is older,” thought Balbus to himself, remembering the boy’s rich clothing.

Elerian learned to read easily enough, and his clever fingers soon learned the harp strings, but he could not sing a note. Remembering the voice the boy had possessed before his shape change added to the guilt Balbus still felt over what Tullius had done to Elerian to save his life. Even after all these years, he could still remember how pleasing and wonderfully clear Elerian’s voice had been before Tullius changed him. “We took a great deal away from him to keep him safe,” he thought sadly to himself. “I hope in the end, it will be worth it.”

As Elerian’s skills and abilities grew, they became a source of both pride and constant worry for Balbus. His frequent warnings to Elerian about concealing his new skills began to puzzle Elerian more and more.

“Why should it matter if anyone knows how strong I am?” he asked Balbus. “The strong, swift boys are admired by everyone.”

“I cannot explain now,” Balbus replied uncomfortably, “but it would mark you as different from the other boys your age. Your strength and quickness are so remarkable that it might cause talk. Something very bad could happen to both of us if such talk reached the wrong ears.”

“Who would wish to harm us if they found out about me?” Elerian asked at once, for this was the first time Balbus had mentioned that they might be in danger. No matter how much he pleaded, however, Balbus would not say any more. He and Tullius had never come to any agreement on the subject of Elerian’s past, but for now, they both agreed that it was still too dangerous to say anything at all to Elerian, lest he give himself away somehow. In the face of Elerian’s questions, Balbus could only maintain a guilty silence that added to Elerian’s unease.

“Did my parents commit some terrible crime?” he began to wonder to himself when he was alone. “Is that why I must remain hidden?” These thoughts began to disturb him a great deal, although he said nothing to Balbus. Elerian was not afraid for himself, but the thought that that a single misstep on his part might put Balbus in some sort of danger worried him. A dark cloud now seemed to hover over the easy, carefree life he had lived before. He became reserved and wary, for he felt that he must be continually on the alert, lest he make some misstep which might give him away to his mysterious enemies. His reserve gained him the reputation of being cold and aloof, which only added to his growing sense of isolation.

During one of their hunts for honey, Elerian suddenly received a distraction from his worries. He had never questioned how Balbus found the bees’ nests they raided, but one day at the edge of a meadow, he briefly saw a golden film of light cover Balbus’s staff.

“What is that light that covered your staff for a moment,” Elerian asked Balbus as they walked along.

Balbus, of course, had not seen any light, for he lacked Elerian’s gift of seeing spells. “I did not see any light,” he said in a puzzled voice.

“I saw it clearly,” insisted Elerian. “When you raised your staff, it was covered with a golden light for a moment.” Although the memory had faded over the years, Elerian suddenly remembered seeing the same light covering the buckets in Tullius’s house when he had played with them as a young child. “I saw the same light in Tullius’s house, years ago,” he said excitedly. As if a veil was lifted from his mind, Elerian suddenly remembered the magic light Tullius had lit on the night Julian’s children were captured by Goblins. “Is Tullius a mage, grandfather?” he asked abruptly.

The question brought Balbus to a stop. “Now, what do I do?” thought Balbus to himself, torn between a need to protect Tullius and an unwillingness to tell an outright lie. “Yes Elerian,” he said after a moment, “Tullius is a mage. He placed a finding spell on my staff long ago, but you must not tell anyone about either of these things. Tullius wishes his powers to remain a secret. There are many people who are suspicious of mages.”

“I will not tell anyone,” promised Elerian immediately. He lapsed into silence as they resumed walking. Balbus hoped the matter was closed, but the news that Tullius was a mage brought back other memories to Elerian. He suddenly remembered healing Carbo and chasing the Goblins under the guise of a woodcutter. “How could I have forgotten that I performed magic of my own?” he wondered, and a sudden desire to learn more about the magical arts took hold of him. “I will need to talk to Tullius,” thought Elerian to himself. “Now that I know he is a mage, he may be willing to teach me his craft.”

THE LEOPARD

Elerian did not have to wait long to inform Tullius about his desire to become a mage. Balbus had recently begun to allow him to travel to Tullius’s house several times a week at the mage’s request. “The boy needs to begin a proper education,” was how Tullius had phrased it to Balbus.

The day after he discovered the hidden power of Balbus’s staff, Elerian bid Balbus goodbye after their noon meal and set out for Tullius’s house. Despite some initial doubts, Balbus allowed him to walk to Tullius’s by himself, for despite his young age, Elerian’s woodcraft was already exceptional, and he was unlikely to come to any harm in the forest during the daylight hours.

Usually, Elerian took his time walking to Tullius’s house, for he was never in any great hurry to begin his lessons. Elerian liked Tullius, despite his brusque ways, but up to now, he had found his education to be a dull business. He and Tullius spent most of their time reading from the old scrolls and books that filled Tullius’s disorderly shelves, both to improve Elerian’s reading skills and to instruct him in the history of the Middle Realm. Most of the events talked about in the books had happened long ago and held little interest for Elerian. Even worse than the reading lessons were the essays Tullius made Elerian write about what he had learned. Then, as if the task of writing in the common tongue was not tedious enough, Tullius made Elerian translate his compositions into Hesperian, Corach, the Dwarf tongue, and an obscure language called Eirian that no one spoke anymore.

Today, however, driven by excitement, Elerian ran most of the way to Tullius’s home, his light footfalls carrying him silently through the forest. When he arrived at Tullius’s clearing, he placed his left hand on the gate and cleared it in a single, supple leap. Running up to Tullius’s front door, he knocked vigorously on the weathered gray wood.

“Will you teach me to be a mage?” he asked breathlessly when Tullius opened the door. “I know that you put a finding spell on Balbus’s staff.”

Tullius frowned, wondering where Elerian had come by his information about Balbus’s staff. “Come inside,” he ordered with more than his usual brusqueness.

Some of Elerian’s excitement leaked away. He could see that Tullius was upset and regretted blurting out his request. “I promised Balbus that I would keep your secret,” he said to placate the mage as he followed Tullius inside.

“If Balbus told you about the staff, then it was most unwise of him,” Tullius said sharply as soon as the door was closed.

“I guessed most of it,” said Elerian at once, for he did not want any of Tullius’s anger directed at Balbus.

Some of the frown lifted from Tullius’s face. “I suppose you were bound to find out sooner or later,” he said after a moment. “As for your desire to be a mage, someday, when you are older, I may decide to train you, but until then you must be patient.” Disappointment swept over Elerian’s face at Tullius’s announcement, but he consoled himself with Tullius’s half promise.

Tullius was immediately angry with himself for making even this vague promise to Elerian. “You softhearted fool,” he thought to himself scornfully. “You should not build up his expectations. He has not shown any evidence of mage powers since healing Carbo years ago. It would be kinder to tell him now that it is unlikely that he will ever become a mage,” he thought to himself, but he found that he could not bring himself to dash Elerian’s hopes entirely and remained silent.

Tullius led the way over to his battered table where a thick, dusty book was already open for the day’s lesson. Elerian followed him in such a dispirited fashion that Tullius suddenly took pity on him and changed his plans for the afternoon.

“Enough of reading,” he said briskly. “It is too fine a day to be inside. How would you like to go for a walk Elerian?”

“I would like that very much,” said Elerian, cheering up at once at the thought of leaving behind the dusty book on the table. Together, they left the house and walked out through the gate that led through the ring of rowan trees growing around Tullius’s clearing. Walking in a westerly direction, toward the border of the Abercius, they traveled at a leisurely pace, examining everything in their path. In four languages, Tullius began to teach Elerian the names of the trees they passed, but even this did not dim Elerian’s enjoyment at being outside. Only half listening to Tullius, for Balbus had already taught him a great deal about the forest, Elerian immersed himself in his surroundings, and the time passed quickly and pleasantly for him.

Suddenly, Tullius stopped walking. “It is time to go back,” he said abruptly. “We are close to the edge of the Abercius.”

Elerian’s curiosity was instantly aroused, for he had heard stories about the dangers of the old forest from Balbus. He thought at once of the Ondredon.

“Do the Ondredon really exist?” asked Elerian of Tullius. “Balbus says they look like trees, but they can move about and perform magic.”

“The Ondredon are quite real,” said Tullius as he turned around and began walking in the direction of his home. “There are many stories about them, but most are false or wild exaggerations. Very few people know that the Ondredon did not begin life as trees. In the beginning, they were men who became powerful mages. To escape death when they grew older, they changed themselves into trees, thinking to extend their lives, but over the long years, their memories of being human faded. That is a danger all shape changers face. The new form they assume constantly seeks to overwhelm the old form the shape changer was born with. Those who practice the art must be possessed of an iron will, but time will wear away even iron. The Ondredon think and act like trees now, but they still retain their mage powers. It is these powers that allow them to move about when they wish and which make them so dangerous.”

“How is it that you know about them if no one else does?” asked Elerian inquisitively.

“One day I will show you how I gained my knowledge,” said Tullius with a mysterious smile, “but for now it is enough for you to know that the Ondredon are real and that you must avoid them.”

“How can I avoid them if they look just like trees?” asked Elerian in a puzzled voice.

“The best way is to stay out of the Abercius, for they do not normally leave its boundaries,” replied Tullius at once.

“I wish that I could meet one, even if they are dangerous,” said Elerian, wondering what it must be like to see a tree actually walking.

“Perhaps you will when you are older,” said Tullius with a half smile, but he did not say any more about the Ondredon after that. Instead, he began to move at a faster pace, both because the afternoon was waning and to forestall any more questions from Elerian. His sharp eyes still took in all that went on around him, however. Abruptly, he stopped short and silently directed Elerian’s attention with his right hand to a low hanging limb about thirty feet ahead of them.

Elerian’s keen eyes immediately picked out the mottled shape of a large leopard flattened out on the limb, about fifteen feet above the ground. He was surprised to see the spotted hunter, for leopards usually preferred to hunt after dark. “This beast must be unusually hungry to venture out during the day,” he thought to himself. The sight of the leopard put Elerian on his guard, but he was more curious than anything else to see how Tullius dealt with the cat.

The leopard seemed to sense that its ambush was exposed, for it abruptly stood up and leaped lightly to the ground. Heavier than a grown man and enormously powerful, it began to advance stealthily toward them on large, padded paws, a hungry light in its green eyes. Elerian prepared to run, but without any sense of panic or haste, Tullius raised his staff and said, “Congelo,” in a commanding voice.

The strange ability that occasionally allowed Elerian to see spells suddenly became active. He saw a small golden orb of light speed away from the end of Tullius’s staff. It struck the leopard, and the great cat was instantly covered with a golden film of light. To Elerian’s amazement, it immediately froze in its tracks.

Tullius walked up to the leopard, completely unconcerned. Elerian, whose sight had returned to normal, followed a little more warily at the mage’s heels. With wide eyes, he studied the leopard, fascinated by the effects of the spell Tullius had cast. A snarl was frozen on the cat’s face, exposing its worn, yellowed canines. From the age and condition of its teeth, the tip had broken away from the left hand fang; Elerian knew this was an old animal, driven by hunger to hunt during the day. He saw now that underneath the thick pelt, its sides were thin and its belly slack. He was startled to see that its chest was still moving slightly as it continued to breathe.

“Will the leopard remain frozen until it dies?” he asked Tullius.

“Of course not,” said the mage, obviously disapproving of the notion. “That would not be a proper use of magic although, sadly, such things have been done before by unscrupulous mages. In hunting us, the leopard was only attempting to satisfy his hunger. I bear him no ill will for that, but since I do not care to become his next meal, I froze him with a spell that will wear off in a few moments. If we keep walking, we will be out of his sight when he can finally move again. He cannot track us by scent, so we can continue our walk in perfect safety.”

Tullius began walking away from the leopard, and Elerian followed him with many a backward look at the motionless cat which was now facing away from him. As the trees began to close in around them, partially obscuring his vision, he suddenly saw the leopard shake itself and stretch. With a lithe move, it spun around, and its hungry green eyes met Elerian’s. Some flaw in Tullius’s spell had released the beast too soon.

“Run Tullius,” shouted Elerian in warning.

The mage threw a startled look over his shoulder, and wildly cast a second spell at the leopard which was now bounding toward them in great leaps, seemingly determined not to let a fine meal escape so easily. Elerian briefly saw the small golden orb which flew from the end of Tullius’s staff. It missed the leopard and harmlessly struck the ground to one side of it.

“You missed,” shouted Elerian, and as there was not enough time to attempt a second spell, Tullius turned and sprinted away with Elerian at his heels. Elerian cast a look over his left shoulder, and at once began to fear for Tullius’s safety. The leopard was still bounding toward them and would overtake them in a moment. Elerian knew he could increase his own speed and easily outrun it, but Tullius, despite the surprising fleetness he was displaying, was as good as caught.

Without a second thought, Elerian drew his knife and turned to face the advancing leopard. Its hungry, green eyes locked on his as it drew within striking distance. Determined to give Tullius time to escape, Elerian held his ground, even though he knew the leopard would make short work of him. Then, in the final moments before the leopard leaped on him, something stirred inside him that he had not felt for years. Before his eyes, a wave of golden light spilled out of the silver ring he had worn on his left hand for so long that he had forgotten it. On the verge of making the final leap which would bring Elerian under its claws, the leopard come to a sudden, panicked stop, staring at Elerian with startled green eyes. In place of Elerian’s small, determined form, an enormous tawny shape had sprung up before the leopard’s unbelieving eyes. Elerian’s random power had given him the illusion of a lion, the leopard’s deadliest enemy.

As the leopard hesitated, Elerian looked down at himself. The golden glow vanished, revealing his new shape to his eyes. Without stopping to question what had happened, Elerian shouted at the leopard, hoping to frighten it even more and was startled when the shout came out as a bass roar that shook the ground and made the leaves overhead tremble. It was all too much for the leopard. He had no understanding of magic and could not comprehend where his tasty supper had vanished to or where this terrifying monster with fangs the size of small knives had suddenly sprung from. Too old to engage in a fight that he had no hope of winning, he promptly turned tail and ran lest the great beast that had suddenly appeared make a meal of him instead.

Tullius heard the same roar as the leopard and suddenly realized, to his dismay, that Elerian was no longer by his side. Disregarding his own safety, he immediately slid to a stop and turned to search for the boy. Elerian turned to face him, and the old mage’s eyes abruptly widened as he saw the same terrifying illusion which had frightened the leopard. With a trembling hand, Tullius raised his staff to cast another immobility spell.

Delighted with the effect his appearance on Tullius, Elerian was unable to resist another roar, despite the threat of being frozen by a spell. The terrifying sound which issued from the illusion caused Tullius’s heart to miss a beat, and the spell he was about to utter was driven clean out of his mind in the horror of the moment. As he stood paralyzed, unable to speak or run, the fearsome beast before him vanished, and only Elerian remained in its place, his eyes bright as diamonds from mischief and suppressed laughter.

“You young scamp!” shouted Tullius when he could speak again. He was so angry for a moment that his beard stuck straight out from his chin and quivered with rage. Then, like a dark storm cloud that briefly obscures the face of the sun, his anger suddenly passed. “He did save your life even if he almost frightened you to death,” he thought to himself resignedly.

“When did you learn that trick, you young rogue?” he asked Elerian.

“It just happened,” said Elerian, holding the hand wearing his ring behind his back. “When the leopard sprang at me, I suddenly felt something stir inside me. I realized then that I had taken on the appearance of a lion, and the next moment, the leopard ran away as fast as ever it could.” Elerian left out the part about the golden light that had sprung from his ring, for he had a sudden notion that Tullius might not approve of him having it.

“Somehow you succeeded in casting an illusion spell,” said Tullius thoughtfully. Secretly, he was quite pleased that Elerian had finally demonstrated that he still possessed magical powers. “I must say, though, that you took a year off my life when I turned and saw you in that awful shape.”

“The leopard was badly frightened too,” said Elerian innocently. “I am sure he is still running.”

“I did not say I was frightened,” said Tullius, sternly correcting his small charge. “I was merely startled. It is not every day that one sees a lion in the forest.” Without another word, he turned and started walking in dignified silence. Behind Tullius’s back, Elerian smiled and shook with silent laughter, as he recalled Tullius’s reaction to his illusion. As he followed Tullius, Elerian began to speculate on the endless possibilities for mischief that his ring presented if he could make it work again.

THE MUTARE

Despite his high hopes for performing more magic with his ring, Elerian soon discovered, to his great disappointment, that he was unable to use it again after the encounter with the leopard. All his attempts to perform magic without it also failed. He voiced his frustration to Tullius, but the old mage was able to offer him little in the way of comfort.

“You must be patient,” he advised. “Your powers will continue to develop at their own pace no matter how much you wish to hurry them along. In the meantime, I would avoid trying to perform any more magic if I were you. The practice of magic can be highly dangerous for those who are not trained in it.”

Reluctantly, since he had no other choice, Elerian took Tullius’s advice and turned his attention to other things. A year passed quietly, and then, unexpectedly, Tullius stopped by early one morning as Elerian and Balbus were feeding the animals in the barn. A visit from the mage was a rare occurrence, and Elerian watched with great interest as Tullius drew Balbus aside. He continued his chores, but his keen ears strained to hear the quiet conversation between the two men.

“Something is wrong,” said Tullius softly, unaware that Elerian could hear his every word in spite of the distance between them. “Several woodcutters have disappeared without a trace in the last few weeks. I came to warn you to stay out of the forest and to be on your guard.”

Balbus felt a stab of concern at the unpleasant news. Men disappeared in the forest every year, but usually, not so many in such a short period of time. The last time this many men had vanished, they were taken by Goblins in their mantraps.

“Do you think they have returned?” Balbus asked Tullius uneasily, they, of course, referring to the Goblins. “It has been almost eight years now since we saw the last of them. I had begun to hope the boy was finally out of danger.”

“I am not sure who or what is responsible for the disappearances,” replied Tullius. “I simply want you to be on your guard until we find out whether there are Goblins in the forest again.”

At the mention of Goblins, Elerian nearly dropped the bag of feed he was spreading for the chickens. At last, it seemed that he might learn something about the mysterious enemies Balbus was always warning him about. Straining his ears as he spread the feed, he continued to listen as Tullius spoke.

“If you are willing, I thought we might search the forest today. I would especially like to visit the cave in the hills which the Goblins used as a hiding place last time.”

“Do you think that’s wise?” asked Balbus as he recalled in vivid detail their disastrous attempt to rescue Julian’s children from the Goblins.

“It is daytime and we will not approach the ravine directly,” said Tullius reassuringly. “We should be safe enough if we are careful and quiet. We are only going out to see what we can see. If there is fighting to be done, we can come back later in greater strength.”

“I will get my things then,” said Balbus reluctantly. He did not share Tullius’s confidence and would have felt more comfortable leading a large group of armed men into the forest. Balbus stole a quick glance at Elerian, who was now occupied with searching the barn for the eggs laid by the chickens since yesterday. “I will have to make sure that he does not follow us again,” he thought to himself. Leaving Tullius to wait in the barn, Balbus went into the house to retrieve his knife and walking stick.

After Balbus left, Elerian industriously continued to gather eggs, but his mind was racing as he reflected on the conversation he had overheard. He had not thought about Goblins since the rescue of Julian’s children years ago. “Why would Goblins be interested in me?” he wondered to himself. “It must have something to do with my parents,” he decided at last, and he was filled with a sudden desire to learn more.

By then, Balbus had returned to the barn with his staff in his right hand and his knife hanging from his belt. “I must go somewhere with Tullius,” he said to Elerian. His voice was calm enough, but Elerian could see the worry in his brown eyes. “You are not to leave the farm for any reason,” he said sternly, giving Elerian an uncharacteristically severe look.

Elerian did his best to look obedient, but he neither nodded his head nor made any answer, for he had no intention of remaining on the farm. He planned to follow Tullius and Balbus as soon as they were out of sight. As if guessing his thoughts, Tullius suddenly spoke.

“You are to do as Balbus says,” he said sternly, staring hard at Elerian as if searching for any signs of disobedience. “I will never take on an apprentice who cannot follow instructions.”

The announcement that Tullius was considering taking him on as an apprentice sent a wave of excitement through Elerian. “I will wait here until you and Balbus return,” he said reluctantly, for he knew Tullius meant what he said. He dared not disobey if he wished to have any hope of becoming a mage someday. Both frustrated and disappointed, he watched from the barn door as Tullius and Balbus set off for the forest. Carbo sat by Elerian’s side, sharing in his disappointment at being left behind. Balbus had decided it too risky to take the dog, lest he give them away with a bark or a growl at some dangerous moment.

Balbus continued to have second thoughts as they passed through the hedge gate and entered the forest. “We really should not go alone,” he said to Tullius. “Remember what happened the last time we came face to face with Goblins.”

“More men will make more noise,” said Tullius sharply, for the memory of their capture by the Goblins still irritated him. “The quieter we are, the more we will see, and you may be certain that this time I shall be on the lookout for traps.”

Somehow, Balbus was not reassured, but he followed quietly after Tullius without further argument, both of them keeping a careful watch for anything out of the ordinary. It took them some time to reach the ravine where the cave was located, for Tullius made many side excursions to places where Goblins were likely to pass by if they were in the area. Other than a few indistinct tracks from some large creature, most likely a bear, they saw nothing unusual, and both men began to feel more at ease.

“If we find nothing at the cave, we may as well return home,” whispered Tullius as they neared the ravine. “It is growing late, and there does not seem to be any creature out of the ordinary in the forest.” In single file, he and Balbus approached the ravine from the side, for it was Tullius’s intention to look down into the ravine rather than to enter it. If there was any sign the cave was being used, he planned to retreat at once and to go back for reinforcements as he had promised Balbus.

As quietly as possible, the two men crept on hands and knees to the stony lip of the ravine, and looked down between the tree trunks. They could just make out the dark entrance to the cave in the dim light that filled the ravine. Relief flooded through them, for there were no signs to indicate that it was occupied. There was no blanket over the cave entrance and no sight or smell of any wood smoke that would indicate a fire.

“It does not appear that the Goblins have returned,” said Tullius, whispering out of habit. At that moment, an errant breeze brought a hint of a rank, animal like odor to their noses from the depths of the ravine.

“What is that smell?” asked Balbus nervously in a whisper. “I did not smell anything like that when the Goblins were here.”

Tullius at once thought of the tracks they had found earlier. “Perhaps a bear has come out of the Abercius and has taken up residence in the cave,” he whispered back. “A large bear could have taken the missing men.”

“No bear ever smelled like that,” whispered Balbus wrinkling his nose in disgust. “Let us leave while we can and return with men and dogs in the morning. If there is something in the cave that has been killing men, we will soon put an end to it.”

Tullius did not reply. Instead, he turned to Balbus with a finger over his lips, indicating that they should be silent. Balbus heard the mage say, “Tego uter,” in a whisper that was barely audible. Scarcely a moment later, two strange creatures appeared out of the gloom under the trees, creeping slowly and silently up the side of the ravine toward Balbus and Tullius. They seemed a curious mix of animal and human to Balbus, for at times, they walked on their short, thick hind legs like men, but at other times, they dropped to all fours, supporting themselves with their long, heavily muscled arms and the knuckles of their powerful hands. Their faces were vaguely human, but their brows were low, and their noses were flattened with wide, flaring nostrils. Massive jaws projected slightly from their faces, and they had pointed, hairy ears that poked out through the long, coarse black hair that covered their heads and the parts of their bodies not concealed by the tattered remnants of tunics and pants. Their hairy feet were bare, and they looked to be unarmed except for the long, wicked looking knives that were thrust through their leather belts. The noisome smell that had troubled Balbus and Tullius earlier became stronger as the creatures drew nearer.

They stopped no more than ten feet away, putting their heads up and flaring their nostrils as if they were testing the air for some scent. Balbus found himself staring directly down at the creatures, and his heart began pounding like a drum. He felt horribly exposed and wanted only to run away as quickly as possible, but he forced himself to remain calm and unmoving next to Tullius.

“I see nothing, Gratus,” said one of the creatures in a harsh, deep voice. The words were hard to understand as if speech did not come easily to the creature’s throat.

“I heard two men, Fagus,” insisted Gratus in an equally coarse voice. “They are here nearby, hidden perhaps.” Without moving, the two creatures continued to look around. Twice, Balbus found himself looking directly into their cold yellow eyes. As far as the creatures were concerned, however, he and Tullius seemed to be invisible. Fortunately, the breeze which had brought them the creatures’ scent continued to blow out of the gully, and their own scent was not carried down to their questing nostrils.

“Nothing,” said the creature named Gratus. “Maybe I imagined the voices. Better to return to the cave until the light fades.” Balbus had a clear view of Gratus’s face as he spoke, and it seemed to him that there was a cunning glint in his yellow eyes. The pair moved off at once, however, descending noisily down the side of the gully toward the cave entrance. They seemed to have abandoned their stealth now that they were sure no one was about.

Tullius remained motionless for a long time, even after the creatures entered the cave, until even their smell had mostly faded away. Balbus patiently remained next to him without moving. Finally, the mage stirred. “I think they have gone back to sleep,” he whispered.

“Are you sure?” asked Balbus worriedly. “It seemed to me that the one named Gratus was planning some sort of trickery.”

“We are quite safe as long as we do not make any noise,” insisted Tullius. “I cast an illusion spell over us that makes us look like a part of the forest surrounding us. Even if they come back out of the cave, they cannot see us, and the breeze is blowing the wrong way for them to catch our scent. Let us return home now, as you suggested, and gather help. It is almost certain that these are the creatures that are responsible for the disappearances of the missing men.”

“Are you certain it is safe to move?” asked Balbus uneasily. The crafty glint in Gratus’s eyes still troubled him.

“Just be quiet and follow me,” whispered Tullius confidently. “We will not end up on anyone’s dinner table today if I can help it.” Carefully, he rose to his feet and walked away from the ravine. Moving as quietly as possible, Balbus followed him.

“What manner of creature were those things?” whispered Balbus.

“They are mutare,” said Tullius softly. “They were allies of the Goblins during their last war against the Dwarves. Some of them escaped from their Goblin masters and took refuge in the wild places of Ancharia. It has not happened in a very long time, but occasionally some of them cross the Ancharus over the old bridge at Esdras and travel into our lands, although they usually do not come this far west. Fortunately for us, they are not very clever, but they are dangerous, for like Goblins, they will eat a man when they can catch one. We will have quite a surprise for them in the morning when we return,” he said with satisfaction.

Just then, in the space of a heartbeat, a grinning Fagus leaped out from behind a large oak tree and promptly swept Tullius up into his knotted, hairy arms before Tullius could take another step. The impact of the creature’s massive chest against his own sent Tullius’s staff spinning away, and the illusion concealing the men immediately vanished. Balbus raised his staff, but before he could bring it down across Fagus’s thick skull, Gratus leaped out from behind another tree and felled him to the ground with a single, heavy blow of his right fist to the side of his head, leaving Balbus only half conscious. Tullius struggled furiously but uselessly. His captor was so powerful that Tullius’s resistance had no effect upon the mutare at all except to amuse him. Tullius and Balbus were both quickly stripped of their knives and had their hands and feet tied cruelly tight with leather straps.

“Got them both,” said Gratus exultantly as he tied the last knot.

“Men are not clever at all,” laughed Fagus, and Tullius winced at his words, realizing that he had badly underestimated the intelligence of these brutish looking creatures. As Balbus had   feared, Gratus had suspected that someone was hiding nearby and had concocted a cunning plan. After returning to the cave, he and Fagus had left through the back entrance which Tullius and Balbus had never discovered when Elerian routed the Goblins from the ravine. Creeping quietly through the forest with Fagus at his side, Gratus had circled around behind the men he suspected were hiding near the ravine. He finally caught the scent of Balbus and Tullius on the breeze which now blew in his face. Although he could not see either of the men, the sound of Tullius’s voice and his scent had guided Gratus to him. After he blindly seized Tullius in his arms, Gratus was not surprised to see two men suddenly appear when Tullius’s staff fell to the ground. Familiar with the ways of mages, he had suspected some sort of magic from the beginning.

Balbus and Tullius were now unceremoniously thrown across the mutares’ broad shoulders. With their hands and feet crushed by clawed, iron fingers, and their faces buried in the creatures’ shaggy, malodorous fur, Balbus and Tullius were carried like spoils of the hunt. Their staffs were left behind where they had fallen.

When the mutare entered the cave which they had made into their den, the two men were dumped on the floor near the left hand wall. Gratus then roughly pulled them up, lifting them easily with his powerful arms and clawed fingers so that they were sitting back to back. He bound a rope tightly around both their necks so that if they tried to move apart, they would strangle themselves. A second rope was bound securely around their chests and arms.

“These two can remain here while we check the traps before it becomes dark,” said Gratus to Fagus when he was done.

“I say we eat them now,” replied Fagus with an evil glint in his yellow eyes. He drew a black bladed knife of Goblin make from his belt, and Tullius and Balbus began to struggle uselessly against their bonds.

“We will eat them later,” said Gratus firmly. “There may be more men in the traps. If we wait too long, they might escape.”

“You go then,” said Fagus with a crafty look in his eyes. “I will watch these two and make sure they don’t escape.”

“We will go together,” said Gratus firmly. He knew he would find only scraps and clean picked bones when he returned if he left Fagus alone with the men. The two mutare glared at each other and growls rumbled in their powerful chests. Balbus and Tullius suddenly became hopeful that the two creatures might do away with each other, for a fight seemed imminent, but eventually, Fagus dropped his eyes and sullenly gave in. He was not as large or powerful as Gratus and even with a knife in his hand, evidently feared his companion. Grumbling to himself, Fagus shuffled out of the cave first, and Gratus followed behind. He was wise enough not to let Fagus get behind his back.

Balbus and Tullius were left sitting alone in the cave. As soon as he was sure the mutare were gone, Balbus tried to slip his bonds, but the straps binding his hands and ankles were cleverly tied and cruelly tight. Already, his hands and feet were going numb, and his head ached abominably from the blow he had received earlier. Tullius also tested his bonds with no better luck. Desperately, the two men searched around for some other means of escape. They saw at once that the mutare were not as neat as the Goblins who had once occupied the cave. Gnawed bones littered the floor, and the air was filled with the rancid smell of past meals. In the center of the cave were the remains of a fire that had gone out, for no smoke drifted up from the ashes.

“Do you see any way in which we might get free?” Tullius asked Balbus

“No,” said Balbus in a discouraged voice, for he saw nothing within their reach which might help them escape. “Can you free us with your magic?” he asked hopefully.

“I need my staff,” said Tullius miserably. His tightly bound wrists and ankles pained him intolerably, and he felt terribly foolish for letting the mutare outsmart him. Worse yet, he had allowed Balbus to be captured by enemies for a second time and was almost certain that this time there would be no escape. Before long, it would grow dark. Even if Elerian became alarmed about their absence, it was unlikely that he would be able to convince any of Balbus’s neighbors to venture out at night. They would have no idea where to look and would most likely wait until morning before venturing into the forest. Well before then, Tullius was certain that his gnawed bones and those of Balbus would join the others that already littered the cave floor.

“It seems this is the end, Balbus,” said Tullius. “I am sorry I failed you a second time.”

“It was not your fault,” insisted Balbus, stoutly refusing to blame his friend for the hopeless situation they found themselves in. “By the cunning look in his eyes, I should have guessed that Gratus was up to some trick.”

They fell into a glum silence, unconsciously straining their ears for the sound of returning footfalls which would signal that the mutare were returning at last to have their supper.

A DIFFICULT DECISION

Elerian spent a good part of the time Balbus was gone sitting on the front step with Carbo by his side, glumly watching the gate through the boundary hedge. At first, he was mostly concerned with his own feelings. “I hate being left behind,” he thought to himself more than once. “I wish Balbus would stop treating me like a child and tell me what this is all about.”

As the hour grew late and the sun drifted down behind him toward the sharp peaks of the Galerius, however, Elerian forgot about himself and began to worry about Balbus and Tullius. “They should have returned by now,” he thought to himself. “Grandfather would never willingly spend the night in the forest.” As the light of the sun dimmed and the evening shadows lengthened, Elerian began to have a strong feeling that something had gone wrong, and that he ought to do something.

“Tullius will refuse to train me, if he discovers that I left the farm to follow them,” he reminded himself, but the threat was no longer enough to hold him back. “I need to make sure they are not in any trouble,” he said firmly to himself. “Their safety is more important than my becoming a mage. Besides,” he thought to himself hopefully, “even if they are not in trouble, they should understand that I followed them out of concern, not because I wished to disobey them.”

Taking only his knife, Elerian left an unhappy Carbo behind to guard the house. When he reached the gate in the boundary hedge, the light was already gone under the trees, but he barely noticed as his eyes adjusted to the gloom. Even on the darkest nights, Elerian was able to see every detail of the twisting roots that covered the forest floor and each individual leaf growing on the branches overhead.

As he followed the faint marks Balbus and Tullius had left behind on the forest floor, Elerian thought back to the time when he had first discovered that his ability to see in the dark was peculiar to himself. He was no more than seven then, hurrying back in the late evening from a bee hunting expedition with Balbus.

“Is something wrong grandfather,” he had asked when he noticed Balbus’s growing agitation.

“It is almost dark, Elerian,” Balbus had replied. “We have stayed out overlong, and it is time we were inside for the night.” Even as he spoke, Balbus had stumbled over a tree root which the growing darkness had concealed from his eyes.

Elerian had supported his right arm so that he did not fall, and had cautioned, “You must watch the tree roots grandfather, or you will hurt yourself.”

“That is not easily done in the dark, Elerian,” Balbus had replied.

“But what has the dark to do with your stumble over the tree root?” Elerian had asked in confusion.

“I tripped because I cannot see in the dark, Elerian,” Balbus had answered in a preoccupied tone, for he was concerned with finding his way through the trees and staying alert to any danger that might be about.

“Did some injury take away your night sight?” Elerian had asked curiously.

“No man can see well at night,” Balbus had replied, only half listening to Elerian, for they had finally arrived at the gate which led through the boundary hedge, and the relief flooding through him drove out other thoughts.

Aware for the first time that there was something which set him apart from Balbus, Elerian began to notice other differences in himself. He discovered that his sight and hearing were more acute than those of his grandfather. Often, when they were in the forest, he saw and heard things that Balbus was never aware of at all. At first, he had felt pride in his abilities, but after Balbus began warning him that he must try not to stand out, they were often a source of discomfort for him, for they made him different from everyone else.

Tonight, however, he was very glad to have his night sight. With little trouble, he followed the faint trail left by Balbus and Tullius, often marked by no more than a few scuffed leaves or a small hole which Tullius’s staff had poked through the carpet of leaves covering the forest floor. Although most of his attention was focused on the ground before him, Elerian still kept a careful watch all around him as he stole like a shadow through the forest. Once, he caught the gleam of a leopard’s eyes from where it crouched on a branch high overhead, and he quietly detoured around it. Another time, he stopped to let a small group of softly grunting, hairy forest pigs cross his path, their razor tusks gleaming white in the starlight.

As he neared the lowlands, Elerian became more and more worried. He kept hoping he would meet Balbus and Tullius on their way home, but the woods in front of him remained empty. Abruptly, he froze in place. From behind him and to his left, the sound of hard, unpleasant voices speaking softly had reached his ears.

Removing his light boots, Elerian quickly climbed a nearby chestnut tree by thrusting his strong fingers and toes into the gaps in its deeply fissured bark. Moments later, he pulled himself onto a broad branch thirty feet above the ground. As easily as a man might stroll down a wide, level path, Elerian ran lightly along the branch and dropped down flat on his stomach in the middle of a cluster of smaller branches thickly covered with leaves. Peering cautiously over the edge of the branch, he waited without moving; alert for the appearance of the owners of the voices he had heard.

A few moments later, two strange creatures appeared below him, walking at a leisurely pace on their short, thick legs as they followed approximately the same path Balbus and Tullius had taken. Their faces and figures were a strange blend of human and animal. One of them, the larger of the two, carried the limp form of a young forest pig across his broad shoulders.

“A waste of time Gratus,” grumbled one of the creatures. “There were no men in the traps. The boar could have waited until morning.”

“Better to be sure there were no men,” replied Gratus, unconcerned at his companion’s grumbling. “Now that we know the traps are empty, we can feast on the two men in the cave and sleep late.” Gratus was in good spirits despite the fact that their traps had produced only a young pig instead of a hunter or a woodcutter. It pleased him that this new country was yielding plentiful supplies of meat, even man’s flesh which they had rarely tasted in the desolate land where they had lived before. Best of all there were no Goblins here or even the rumor of them. Gratus had no good memories of his old masters and had no desire to come under their control again.

At the strange creatures’ words, Elerian felt his heart skip a beat. He had no doubt that the men Gratus referred to were none other than Balbus and Tullius, for it was unlikely that anyone else would be abroad this deep in the forest.

“I hope I am not too late to save them,” he thought to himself, for there was a strong possibility that the two men were already dead. He racked his brain for a moment, trying to decide how he might delay the two creatures below him so that he might have time to reach the men they were holding captive. A daring plan came to mind, but it depended heavily upon using the magical power which so often failed to obey him when he sought to control it. Closing his eyes, Elerian concentrated on rousing his mage power, every muscle in his body rigid with the effort. The urgency he felt aided him, and gradually, Elerian felt the welcome sensation of power moving into left arm as it had when he had given himself the illusion of a lion. He opened his eyes and saw a flow of golden light spill from the ring on his left hand, spreading over his body until it covered him from head to foot. A moment later, his mage sight faded and the glow vanished. The illusion that covered him was now visible to Elerian’s eyes and disappointment flooded through him. His unpredictable power had given him the form of a spotted leopard instead of the terrifying form of a lion as he had hoped.

Knowing that the illusion might vanish at any moment, Elerian decided to make the best use he could of the unsatisfactory shape his unpredictable power had given him. Heart pounding in excitement, he left his branch and descended down the trunk of the tree, dropping silently to the ground behind the two mutare who had already walked past his hiding place. He rushed up silently behind the creatures and giving voice to the snarl of an attacking leopard, slashed the mutare on the right across the back of his thick calf with his knife, mimicking the strike of a leopard’s claws. The bright steel sliced through the tattered cloth covering the mutare’s leg and into the hairy skin beneath, leaving a shallow cut that bled freely.

The mutare Elerian had cut gave a sharp cry, but to his disappointment, both of the creatures whirled around to confront him instead of running away. The cry Elerian had uttered had startled the mutare, but the sight of him, in the guise of a crouching leopard barely an arm’s length away, failed to frighten either one of them. Heavy, muscular, and armed with long, yellowed fangs and sharp claws, either of them was more than a match for even a big leopard. Showing no sign of fear, Gratus flung the pig he was carrying at Elerian with such speed and quickness that he was hard put to dodge the carcass. Snarling like beasts themselves, the mutare drew their knives and rushed at Elerian.

Desperately twisting and turning to evade their sharp blades, Elerian retreated before them. Before he could decide what to do next, his illusion suddenly vanished, and instead of a huge spotted leopard baring its long fangs, the mutare now saw only a small boy with a knife standing before them. A moment later, their keen noses brought them the man scent, a young and tender one at that, confirming that the image before them was real.

“Grab him,” shouted Gratus to Fagus, determined not to let this delectable prize get away. He and Fagus sprang on Elerian with a speed that seemed improbable in such ungainly looking creatures. Fortunately for Elerian, they got in each other’s way, but even so, he barely had time to scramble up a nearby tree trunk ahead of their reaching claws. The tree provided no safe haven, however. With their knives between their yellowed teeth, the two mutare followed him, their long claws digging deep into the tree’s thick bark.

Elerian now found himself in a race for his life as the mutare pursued him through the treetops at a breakneck pace. Determined to capture the tasty meal that Elerian represented to them, they followed him on all fours, fearlessly leaping across any gaps that appeared between the ends of the branches over which they pursued him. Their eager snarls and harsh breathing filled Elerian’s ears. Several times, as he gathered his strength to make some difficult leap, he felt their claws tug at the back of his tunic or pant legs as they sought to seize him or send him plunging to the ground.

Even with the extreme danger he was in, Elerian managed to keep his wits about him. As he avoided the reaching claws of the mutare, he continually drew them in the opposite direction from that which Balbus and Tullius had traveled; eventually leading them back into the upper forest. Because the trees on the hillsides were more scattered than those in the lowlands, Elerian inevitably came to a gap he could not jump across. As he turned and leaped for the upper branches of the tree he was in to escape his pursuers, one of the mutare grabbed at his right ankle, but luckily, the creature’s paw failed to get a firm grip. Its sharp claws left four deep furrows in Elerian’s skin that burned and bled freely as he climbed high into the tree where the limbs were so thin they bent and swayed ominously, even under his light weight. Ignoring the pain from the slashes on his ankle, Elerian paused a moment to regain his breath. He looked for another escape route, and his heart sank in his chest as he suddenly realized that there was none. He had trapped himself. The only way to reach another tree was to descend to the thicker, lower branches below, where the mutare were now standing. Certain that they had their elusive prey cornered at last, both of the hairy creatures licked their thin black lips in anticipation of a rare feast.

“Come down little one,” rumbled Fagus. “You have nowhere else to run. Come down now and we will kill you quickly. If you don’t, I will make you pay many times over for the cut you gave me.”

Beside him, Gratus suddenly flung his knife in a lightning throw. Elerian twisted to one side and deftly caught the knife handle in his left hand as it sped by him. With a flick of his wrist, he threw it back at Gratus, neatly slicing off the pointed tip of Gratus’s right ear as the mutare ducked his head to one side to avoid the knife. Gratus cursed loudly as blood streamed down his hairy ear, and Fagus roared with laughter to see Elerian get the best of him.

“Watch out Gratus,” he said wickedly. “He almost put your eye out that time.”

“I’ll put out his eyes and more,” rumbled Gratus furiously. With his powerful hands, he broke off a nearby limb as thick as his wrist and nearly fifteen feet long. Handling the heavy branch as if it weighed no more than a twig, he quickly stripped off the smaller limbs and leaves before carefully adding a sharp point to the end of the branch with Fagus’s knife, for his own had fallen to the ground. He then began to climb higher into the tree.

Elerian watched him apprehensively, for the makeshift spear the mutare gripped in his right hand might reach his perch if Gratus climbed high enough. In that case, Gratus could either skewer him with it or use it to knock him free of the slender branches which precariously supported his weight. Under Elerian’s worried gaze, Gratus carefully climbed as high as he dared before slowly advancing his pointed limb. The whole time, he glared spitefully up at Elerian with his cruel yellow eyes, determined to make him suffer as much as possible for the thrown knife which had almost taken his life. With anxious eyes, Elerian watched as the pointed tip of the branch advanced higher and higher.

A TIMELY RESCUE

As Gratus made a sudden thrust with his branch, Elerian desperately twisted away from the point, which tore through his tunic and shirt. A searing pain from his right side told him that the point had found his flesh. From below, he heard Gratus snarling in disappointment, for the mutare had intended to impale Elerian through his stomach instead of his side. With a sudden, powerful, sideways tug, Gratus sought to dislodge Elerian from the branches which held him aloft. Elerian swayed wildly on his unsteady perch, holding on desperately as the mutare yanked forcefully at his tunic with his improvised lance. He heard the crack of overstressed wood and the ripping of cloth as the branch suddenly tore free of his clothing. Below him, Gratus cursed as he almost lost his balance and fell from the branch he was standing on, but he kept hold of his improvised spear. After he regained his footing, Gratus repositioned his branch. Elerian saw that the sharp tip was red with blood, and he was suddenly aware of a warm trickle running down his side from the wound Gratus had inflicted on him. At the sight of the blood staining the side of Elerian’s tunic, Gratus licked his lips, and his yellow eyes gleamed with enjoyment. After examining his makeshift lance to assure himself that it was still sound, he readied it for another thrust.

Bleakly, Elerian watched the pointed tip of the branch advance toward him. He could not escape, and if Gratus succeeded in capturing him alive, he knew his death would be long and painful. “Better to leap to the ground and make a quick end,” he thought to himself, but he made no move to let go his hold. Something inside him stubbornly refused to give up, despite the hopelessness of his situation.

Gratus suddenly made his next thrust, his yellow eyes glowing in anticipation. As the deadly point darted toward him, Elerian again twisted desperately to one side. The end of Gratus’s stick ripped through his tunic and tore a second, painful gash, this time along the left side of his chest. Elerian felt an odd, unfamiliar feeling run through him, as if his body had suddenly become fluid and was flowing like water. Out of the corner of his left eye, he saw that a wave of golden light had spilled from his ring and enveloped his body. His desperate plight had finally roused his unpredictable mage powers.

Gratus again tugged viciously at Elerian’s tunic with his improvised lance, a triumphant smile on his brutal face. The smile turned to a look of disbelief as Elerian suddenly vanished. A small, sleek brown form darted from the left sleeve of the tunic, leaving it hanging empty and limp from the point of the spear. Before the astonished eyes of the mutare, Elerian’s boots fell past them, followed by Elerian’s empty pants with his knife still hanging from his belt. By then, the squirrel which had leaped out of Elerian’s tunic was already in the branches of a neighboring tree. From there, it vanished into the leaves of the forest canopy in the blink of an eye. Neither of the mutare noticed that the squirrel wore a small, silver ring on one of the fingers of its left paw.

“A shape changer,” said Gratus to Fagus as he disgustedly tossed his now useless branch aside. Cursing loudly, he began to climb down out of the tree, for he and Fagus had no hope of following such a small creature as Elerian had become through the treetops. In an evil mood, with only the loss of a part of Gratus’s ear to show for their efforts, they retrieved the small boar Gratus had thrown at Elerian and set out once more for their den.

Elerian was already far ahead of them. He had quickly realized that he had somehow changed into one of the large brown squirrels he had observed so often in the forest. Had he been on his own, he would have stopped to explore the new shape he wore, but his one thought now was to rescue Balbus and Tullius before the mutare reached them. As he ran, Elerian quickly adjusted to his new form. With his eyes now set on the sides of his head, he found that he could see both in front and behind, but his night vision had lessened, for the squirrel he had become was a creature of the daylight hours. His sense of smell was more acute now, but his hearing only equaled what he had possessed before the change. When he suddenly ran to the end of a thin branch and leaped across a ten-foot gap to the next tree, a long, bushy tail unfolded behind him to slow and guide his fall.

Elerian was just becoming comfortable in his new form when, suddenly, as he ran along a narrow branch high above the ground, his body began to change in mid jump. As his body flowed and reshaped itself, Elerian tumbled helplessly off the branch, striking other limbs that became progressively thicker as he fell toward the ground far below. Luckily, he fetched up heavily against a branch substantial enough to hold his weight. Even though the wind was knocked out of his chest, he managed to wrap both arms around it and stop his fall. Bruised and shaken, Elerian slowly climbed down to a thicker branch and stood for a moment, taking stock of his situation. He found that none of his bones had broken in the fall. The wounds in his sides were still bleeding, but neither was as deep as he had feared.

“Well,” he thought to himself, “I am still alive and I have gained a lead on those creatures. All it cost me was my clothes and a couple of shallow wounds. It could have been worse,” he thought to himself philosophically. “Now I must make use of the lead I have gained.” As he descended to the ground, Elerian noticed that his ring was still on his finger. “It seems to grow and shrink to accommodate the size of my finger,” he thought to himself. “I am fortunate I did not lose it along with my clothes.”

Ignoring the bruises and still bleeding wounds he had suffered, Elerian ran through the forest until he found the tracks of the missing men again. Knowing the mutare would not be far behind him, Elerian darted many a nervous glance over his shoulder as he followed the trail Balbus and Tullius had left behind. When he drew near to the ravine, he recognized the woods around him and realized that he was approaching the cave the Goblins had used so many years ago. His sharp eyes immediately spied Tullius’s staff where it lay on the ground. The sight of the staff alarmed him, for Elerian knew that Tullius would never have left it there willingly.

“I hope I am not too late to save them,” he thought anxiously as he bent to pick up the staff. It tingled strangely in his right hand when he closed his fingers around it, but he ignored the feeling and ran quietly to the edge of the ravine. Elerian remembered the place at once although he had not seen it in years. He stopped for a moment to make sure that there was no one about before climbing down to the bottom and cautiously making his way to the nearby entrance of the cave. Elerian cautiously looked past the entrance, for he was not sure if there were more of the strange creatures he had encountered in the forest concealed in the cave.

It was dark inside the cave, but Elerian’s eyes had no difficulty in penetrating the gloom. He saw at once that the cave was empty except for two men sitting back to back near the left hand wall. Elerian recognized Balbus and Tullius immediately, but his first thought was that they were already dead, for they were not moving.

“I am too late,” he thought to himself. Grief flooded over him, but it was shot with threads of bright anger as he considered how he might take revenge on the creatures who had slain his grandfather and his friend.

Suddenly, a low moan filled the cave, and Balbus began to struggle weakly against his bonds. Elerian ran to his side at once and saw that both men were still alive, although they were in a miserable state. They were not aware of him yet, for their eyes could not penetrate the thick darkness which filled the cave.

With no time to waste, Elerian dropped Tullius’s staff and ran to a pile of discarded clothing and gear which was piled haphazardly against the wall in a corner of the cave. As he searched through it, he discovered a broken knife that the mutare had discarded. Elerian eagerly seized the knife and ran back to Balbus and Tullius.

“Who is there?” asked Balbus as he sensed someone beside him.

“It is Elerian. I have come to set you and Tullius free,” said Elerian as he sawed with the broken blade of the knife at the ropes binding Balbus and Tullius together.

“Run and get help before you are caught too, Elerian,” said Balbus urgently, more concerned with Elerian’s safety than his own. “There is a pair of terrible creatures about, and they may return at any moment.”

Ignoring his grandfather’s command, Elerian continued cutting with his broken knife. When he was able to pull the two men apart, he cut through the straps binding Balbus’s wrists together. Balbus groaned in pain as they parted, and his stiffened arms fell free. Elerian next severed the leather straps wrapped around Balbus’s ankles before turning his attention to Tullius. Soon, both men were free of their bonds, but they were in a pitiable state, groaning in pain as the circulation was slowly restored to their hands and feet. Elerian vigorously chafed their limbs, heedless of their groans and protests, driven by the fear that the mutare would appear at any moment. Balbus continued to urge Elerian to run away and seek help before the mutare returned.

As the pain in his hands slowly abated, Tullius’s first thought was for his staff. “Elerian,” he said anxiously, “I dropped my staff outside. Can you find it for me?” Tullius could not see any more in the dark cave than Balbus, but a few moments later, he felt the smooth wood of his staff against the fingers of his right hand.

“Good boy,” he said gratefully. As soon as he was able to work some feeling back into his right hand, Tullius closed it firmly on his staff. A moment later, a bright mage light blossomed into existence a foot above Tullius’s head, chasing the darkness from the cave. For a moment, the two men were speechless when they saw Elerian standing before them naked as the day he was born, bright blood dripping down both sides of his chest. Then, at the sound of an angry growl, all three of them started and turned their eyes toward the entrance of the cave.

The thick bodies of the two mutare blocked the opening, and a hopeless feeling filled Elerian at the sight of their angry faces. At that moment, he was certain that none of them would escape from the cave alive. Determined to fight to the last, he stepped in front of Balbus and Tullius with the broken knife held threateningly in his right hand. His defiance provoked cruel laughter from the mutare.

“Stay here,” Gratus commanded Fagus. While Fagus blocked the entrance, Gratus planned to circle around the two men and the boy. He was fairly certain they did not know about the back entrance to the cave, but he did not want to risk any of them escaping. The men looked as if they were barely able to walk, but the boy seemed capable of running, despite his injuries. Gratus had plans for the boy. He meant to take a special revenge for the sliced ear Elerian had inflicted on him. “I’ll slice his ears off and more besides,” he thought spitefully to himself as he began to ease away from the cave entrance.

As the mutare began to sidle away from the cave entrance, Tullius suddenly raised his staff. With a terrible anger burning in his dark eyes, he shouted, “Ruere!” in a loud voice.

A look of fear flashed across both mutares’ faces at the sight of the staff, and they tried desperately to back out of the cave entrance. Elerian saw a small golden sphere flash by over his head. Anger and haste spoiled Tullius’s aim, however, and the sphere struck the right side of the cave entrance instead of hitting the mutare. To Elerian’s delight, there was a tremendous cracking sound that deafened the ears of everyone in the cave, and splinters of rock flew in all directions, most of them striking the mutare who howled in pain. Bleeding from the splinters of rock, stunned and deafened by the blast caused by the destruction spell, the mutare watched in horror as Tullius raised his staff for a second time. Without a backward look, they forced themselves through the cave entrance and vanished into the night, howling in fear.

In a towering rage, heedless of the cries of warning from Balbus, Tullius forgot his bruises and ran past Elerian, determined to inflict more damage on his captors. The mutare were almost at the limits of Tullius’s mage light when he reached the entrance to the cave, but the furious mage managed to send a second spell after them as they bounded up the side of the ravine. Again, he scored a clean miss. The spell struck a tree to the right of the mutare with an earsplitting crack, and a hail of splinters exploded from the tree trunk. They whizzed through the air, many of them sticking fast into the mutare who shrieked in pain before disappearing over the edge of the ravine.

Now it was Tullius’s turn to shout, “Stop!” as the naked figure of Elerian suddenly sped by him. While Tullius watched helplessly, Elerian disappeared over the edge of the ravine, following the same path the mutare had taken.

THE CHASE

The sight of the retreating mutare proved irresistible to Elerian. Now that Balbus and Tullius were safe, he was not about to let an opportunity for mischief slip away. Ignoring Tullius’s call to stop and undeterred by his lack of clothes or weapons, he followed the mutare through the forest, led on by the sound of their pounding feet. Without any real notion of how he would use it, Elerian snatched up a stout branch that had fallen to the forest floor. As his left hand closed around it, he felt his unpredictable power stir, and a familiar flow of golden light spilled from his silver ring. He felt no physical change so he guessed that the ring had cloaked him in an illusion. What that illusion might be, he had no idea, for his eyes were unable to see what lay beneath the golden film of light that now covered him from head to foot.

The mutare slowed their first panic-stricken rush and began to debate between the two of them whether they should return to the gully and attack the men through the back entrance of the cave. Fagus kept casting nervous glances over his shoulder while talking to Gratus. A horrified look suddenly spread over his face when he saw Tullius, armed with a gleaming staff, running toward him through the trees.

Fagus had no way of knowing that what he saw was Elerian disguised by an illusion. With a choked cry of fear, he bolted again, leaving Gratus behind. Pleased with Fagus’s reaction, Elerian pointed his stick at Gratus as the second mutare turned to see what had frightened his companion. The mutare froze in panic when he, too, saw the illusion of Tullius with his stick raised up to cast a spell. As Gratus spun around to flee, Elerian felt something flow through his left arm, and he cried out in delight when a golden orb of light unexpectedly shot from the end of his stick. His aim was no better than Tullius’s, however, and he missed Gratus entirely, striking a tree trunk to the left of the mutare. There was a tremendous crack, which Elerian found most satisfactory, and a gaping hole appeared in the tree’s trunk as a shower of long, jagged splinters leaped into the air, some of them striking Gratus in the back and hindquarters.

Roaring in pain, all thoughts of returning to the gully wiped from his mind by fear, Gratus dropped to all fours, traveling over the ground in long bounds that quickly brought him even with the fleeing Fagus. The two mutare were now traveling at a speed which Elerian would not have believed them capable of a moment before. Despite his best efforts, they began to pull away from him, but not before he caused another explosion that sprayed them with more splinters. When they finally disappeared from Elerian’s sight, he thought they bore a satisfying resemblance to a pair of hedgehogs from all the splinters embedded into their tough hides.

Panting and disappointed, Elerian finally stopped when the mutare vanished into the trees ahead of him, running straight east. “I wish I were faster,” he thought to himself, banging his stick against the ground in frustration. “First the Goblins escaped me, and now these creatures.” As Elerian debated what to do next, the golden glow of his illusion vanished, and for the first time, he saw that he had taken on the form of Tullius. A moment later, the illusion ended as his power became dormant once more, and Elerian saw himself in his own form. Forgetting his disappointment at letting the mutare escape, Elerian suddenly felt quite pleased with himself again. In one night, he had managed to change his shape, rescue Balbus and Tullius, cast an illusion, and launch some of the same deadly spells as Tullius had. He suddenly felt very much like a mage, and in high spirits, he set out for the place where he had lost his clothes. His unfailing sense of direction brought him there directly. After retrieving his clothes, he turned his steps toward the cave where he had left Balbus and Tullius. As he stepped lightly along in high spirits, Elerian thought about his errant power.

“It would seem that only excitement or danger brings my power under my control,” he thought to himself as he cast his mind back to the times when it had manifested itself. “Somehow my ring is also involved,” he decided, recalling the golden light that spilled from the ring when his magical power became active. He began to consider different ways in which he might bring the ring and his power under his control, but as he neared the edge of the ravine, Elerian’s thoughts turned away from magic. His steps slowed as he began to think about what Tullius and Balbus might have to say to him. They were sure to be angry with him for running off after the mutare. Tullius would be even more upset if he found out that Elerian had disregarded his warning to avoid using magic.

“What if Tullius decides not to train me as he threatened?” Elerian asked himself uneasily. He hesitated, standing motionless at the lip of the ravine. At that moment, he would have preferred to face the mutare again rather than enter the cave where Tullius and Balbus were sure to be waiting for him. Suddenly, a most delectable scent tickled his nose, wafting out of the depths of the gully and setting his mouth to watering, for he had been too upset to prepare any dinner for himself after Balbus and Tullius left him alone on the farm. Through the trees, he saw the shifting light of a fire playing across the cave entrance.

Elerian suddenly realized that he was starved. He stole silently down the side of the ravine, following the tantalizing odor to the entrance of the cave. Taking care not to expose more than part of his face and one gleaming eye, he peered into the cave and saw a cheerful, crackling fire burning in its center. Seated on small boulders, set on opposite sides of the fire, were Balbus and Tullius. The red and yellow flames played over them, illuminating their faces and casting shifting shadows on the cave walls behind them. They were passing a wineskin, now much depleted, back and forth between the two of them. It must have been among the spoils the mutare had left behind in the cave. The young pig dropped by Gratus was roasting over the fire, spitted on a green branch that resisted the heat of the flames. This was the source of the enticing smell that had tickled Elerian’s nose and appetite.

Elerian paused in the darkness outside the cave entrance to listen for a moment, for the two men were talking. “I still say we should search for him,” Balbus was insisting as he turned his makeshift spit.

“And I say we should wait here,” said Tullius. “Neither one of us is woodsman enough to track the lad in the dark, even with the aid of your staff, if we could find it first in the dark. We are more likely to lose ourselves than to help him. Better to wait here until morning in case he comes back on his own. If he has not returned by then, we will begin our search for him in the daylight.”

“If he does return, I don’t know if I want to hug him for saving us or thrash him for disobeying me and then running off,” said Balbus in a frustrated voice.

“I will be glad to assist you in any thrashing you might decide to administer,” said Tullius immediately. “It would do the boy’s character a world of good.”

“I prefer the hug if I have a choice,” said Elerian, stepping suddenly into the light of the fire. The two men started to see Elerian abruptly appear fully clothed in the cave entrance, but a moment later, they both rushed up to see if he was all right. Despite Balbus’s threat of a thrashing, Elerian got only a mild scolding, even from Tullius, for both men were more anxious about Elerian’s safety than anything else.

After Balbus and Tullius had satisfied themselves that Elerian was unharmed, the three of them gathered around the fire. Elerian sat cross-legged on the cave floor next to Balbus. Making a good story out of it, he explained how he had become worried when Balbus and Tullius failed to return when it grew dark. He described his encounter with the mutare, although he left out the part about transforming himself into a squirrel, for he thought it best not to draw attention to his magic ring. He was quite certain that the two men would not approve of his having it if they knew its true powers.

“The rest you know,” he said as he concluded his story.

“Not all,” said Tullius sternly. “Why did you run off after the mutare? I am sure you heard me call for you to stop.”

“I wanted to make sure that they did not return,” said Elerian easily, for it was true enough. “I lost them after a time, and as far as I know, they are still running even now.” Again, Elerian told the truth, but he carefully omitted the part about the spells of destruction he had cast. “After I was certain they were not coming back, I retrieved my clothes and returned to the cave.”

“We will organize a pursuit in the morning,” said Balbus, interrupting Tullius who was now asking Elerian how he had lost his clothes.

“Of course we will,” said Tullius. “We must be certain that the creatures are gone for good.” The old mage started to repeat his question again, and not wanting to reveal that he had become a squirrel, Elerian suddenly asked, “How did you come to be captured again, Tullius?”

Tullius frowned and Balbus choked slightly and lowered the wineskin he was drinking from. Hastily, before Tullius could reply, he told Elerian how the mutare had captured them, primarily through trickery. He spared Tullius’s feelings as best he could, blaming himself, like the good fellow he was, for not suspecting Gratus of treachery, and some of the frown left Tullius’s face.

“Why didn’t you immobilize the mutare when you first saw them as you did the leopard, or blast them both as you almost did here at the cave?” asked Elerian curiously of Tullius when Balbus was done.

“I was being cautious,” said Tullius. “That is a good quality for a mage to have, for magic has its limits,” he said, giving Elerian a pointed look. “There were two of the creatures, and as you saw tonight, spells can miss their target. Even if I had managed to immobilize them both, there might have been others back in the trees, ready to spring on us as soon as we revealed ourselves.”

“Caution did not prevent you from being captured,” objected Elerian, who knew that Tullius thought him reckless at times.

“It was underestimating the cleverness of the mutare, not being overly cautious, that got us captured,” said Tullius sternly. “The creatures had discovered a back entrance to this cave and were crafty enough to use it to lay a clever trap. Even with your help, we were very lucky to escape them tonight. If my first spell had not shattered the rock of the cave entrance and wounded them, we might be roasting over this fire instead of sitting around it at our ease.”

Elerian let the crusty mage have the last word, for he did not seem inclined to ask any more questions that Elerian would prefer not to answer. With his ring safe for the moment, Elerian gratefully accepted the succulent slice of meat Balbus cut from the well-browned roast suspended over the fire. All conversation ended until everyone was feeling comfortably full.

“We may as well spend the night here,” said Balbus to Tullius when they were done. “If those creatures return, I would rather not face them in the dark out in the forest. It will be easier to defend the cave against them now that we are armed.” Besides discovering the back entrance, he and Tullius had found a sharp woodsman’s ax, several long knives, and a bow with a full quiver of arrows in their search of the cave.

“We must keep watch then,” said Tullius who was too full and tired to wish to attempt a long walk through the forest at night. “It will not do to be taken by surprise again.”

“Let me keep watch first,” said Elerian eagerly. “I am not tired at all.”

Tullius gave him an uncertain look, but Balbus smiled. “Very well then Elerian, keep watch. You have played a man’s part tonight, and I trust you to keep a good look out. Wake one of us when you are tired.”

Balbus wrapped himself in one of the cloaks that they had found in the cave, and a moment later, Tullius followed suit. The two men promptly fell asleep, and Elerian proudly kept watch. With the strung bow on his lap and the quiver of arrows by his right knee, he sat on a stony outcrop outside the cave entrance so that the light of the fire would not dull his night sight. For the rest of the night, however, nothing disturbed the deep silence that filled the gully except for the murmur of the water that flowed through the nearby streambed.

When dawn lightened the eastern sky, Elerian was still not sleepy. “I seem to require less sleep lately,” he thought to himself as he built up the fire and reheated the remains of last night’s meal. He woke the two men, and after a hearty breakfast, the three of them searched until they found Balbus’s walking stick before returning to Balbus’s farm.

Balbus immediately set out alone down the lane behind his house, leaving Elerian and Tullius to wait at the farm. When he returned, he was accompanied by a large crowd of his neighbors, armed to the teeth and accompanied by a large pack of dogs. Tullius and Carbo joined them, and after a little pleading, Elerian was allowed to accompany them, too. They returned to the ravine, and with a great deal of howling and barking, the dogs, with Carbo in the lead, followed the cold trail east through the forest, the men running along behind, shouting and blowing horns to encourage the dogs and to keep track of each other. They carried provisions as well as torches and mage lamps, and were prepared to follow the mutare a long way if necessary.

The line of the mutares’ flight continued straight east, without a break, toward the wild lands that lay in that direction. As evening drew near, the dogs were finally called in, and the hunt was called off, for the mutare had shown no sign of slackening their pace.

“Something seems to have given the creatures a terrible scare,” said one of Balbus’s neighbors to Balbus. “They appear to have run all night and all day without slowing down at all.” Neither Balbus nor Tullius made any comment, but the mage’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction at the fright he had put into the mutare.

On their way home, the men in the hunting party stopped at the Goblins’ cave to rest and eat. They also gathered up the bones of those slain by the mutare, intending to give them a proper burial later. They took with them the clothes and other personal effects they found lying about in hopes of identifying the dead. A close watch was kept on the forest for several weeks after. Whether the mutare returned to the lands they first hailed from or whether they died of their injuries was never found out, but they were never seen in those parts again.

The adventure whetted Elerian’s appetite for magic, but to his disappointment, he found that his power remained elusive, slipping out of his grasp like water running through his fingers whenever he sought to control it. He was unable even to heal the injuries the mutare had inflicted on him. Thinking that training might help, he began to badger Tullius again to take him on as an apprentice. Tullius was sympathetic, for he remembered his own desire to be a mage at the same age, but he still refused to give in to Elerian’s pleading.

“Even if you were not still too young, you have not shown me the steadiness of character an apprentice must possess before beginning his training as a mage,” he sternly told Elerian. Although Tullius did not bring up Elerian’s pursuit of the mutare, Elerian knew his impulsive act still troubled the mage.

THE WOODCUTTERS

Despite Tullius’s admonition that he was still too young and hasty to train as a mage, Elerian found that, after his adventure with the mutare, magic was constantly in his thoughts. “Maybe I can learn to be a mage on my own,” he thought to himself hopefully. “I have used my powers a number of times now without any ill effects. Perhaps Tullius was just trying to frighten me when he said to avoid using magic before I received any training.”

Disregarding Tullius’s warning, Elerian took every opportunity to try to perform more magic, but all his efforts ended in failure. Summer passed into winter and winter into spring. Still, his powers remained elusive, and the magic ring he wore on his left hand remained stubbornly dormant. Elerian began to despair. He was nearing his fourteenth birthday, and he still had not learned to master his powers.

“Somehow, I must find a way to produce the strong emotions that seem to break down the barrier that keeps me from using my power,” thought Elerian to himself as he cast his mind back to the times when he had succeeded in performing magic. Each time his mage powers had come alive, he had felt some powerful emotion such as fear, anger, or sadness. He began to consider what he might do to create the heightened feelings that would enable him to use his powers again. Elerian’s mind turned, immediately, to thoughts of mischief. A good prank always brought many strong feelings into play, especially if there was a chance of being caught. Elerian had suppressed his urge for mischief for some now time in order not to draw unwanted attention to himself or Balbus, but, “If I can use my ring to cast an illusion,” he thought to himself, “then there will be little danger of anyone discovering who I am.” With his mind made up, he began to search for a likely victim for his first prank.

It was not long before he thought of the woodcutters who gathered wood from the forest. Elerian understood the necessity of their work, for people must have wood to burn, but he had no great fondness for anyone who routinely cut down trees. The dislike he felt for their trade and the fact that they worked alone or in small groups in isolated places in the forest made them perfect targets for his first act of mischief.

In the evenings on the days when he returned home from his lessons with Tullius, Elerian began to search out the places where the woodcutters were working. Stealthily, without ever revealing himself, he sought to frighten the men with growls or wolf howls made from some cover out of their sight, but the results were not very satisfactory. The men were armed with sharp axes, and they were not the fearful sort. Although they looked about them with heightened alertness, they were not in any way frightened by Elerian’s efforts, and there was never enough risk involved to awaken his powers.

When Balbus suggested a bee hunting expedition a few days after his last unsuccessful attempt to frighten a group of woodcutters, Elerian agreed without any great enthusiasm. He followed rather despondently behind Balbus and Carbo as they walked into the forest, keeping his eyes on the ground and not paying much attention to where they were going, for he was wondering, bleakly, if he would ever become a mage. Suddenly, Balbus stopped short. “This is as bad as Goblin work,” he said angrily.

Elerian looked up to see what had upset him and saw a freshly cut ash tree lying on the forest floor, stripped of its limbs and left to rot. Elerian immediately became as angry as Balbus. Most of the men who followed the woodcutters’ trade cut fallen branches and trees that had come down from natural causes such as storms or age. If they felled a live tree, they used every part of it. The tree before them, however, had been chopped down just for its branches which were of a convenient size and could be cut to length without the added effort of splitting any wood.

“Who would cut wood in such a lazy and wasteful way?” Elerian asked Balbus indignantly. As if in reply to his question, the thud of axes came from nearby. Balbus immediately set off to investigate, with Carbo and Elerian following close behind him. Soon, they came to the source of the sounds, and Elerian was horrified to see three men lopping the limbs from a tall gray-skinned beech they had felled. From the green leaves on the branches, he could see that it was a live tree they had chopped down.

“Shame on the three of you!” shouted Balbus when he saw what they were about. “There is more than enough wood lying about on the forest floor. There is no need to cut live trees!”

“Mind your own business Balbus,” said one of the men, harshly. He was a hard faced, bearded fellow who was so broad, he looked almost like a Dwarf. His name was Granius, and he and Balbus knew each other, but Elerian had never seen him before. “This is free land, and we’ll cut what we wish,” said the man arrogantly.

“You will be sorry if you do not change your ways,” said Elerian suddenly. His voice was still a child’s voice, but it was cold as a winter wind, and he stared at the three men with a hard gleam in his eyes.

The three men laughed uproariously at the threat. When he was done laughing, Granius spoke again. “Be off with you Balbus and your brat with you,” he said meanly. “If he threatens me again, I will teach him respect at the end of a switch.”

At the threat in Granius’s voice, Carbo growled and lifted his hackles. In response, all three woodcutters tightened their grips on their ax handles and held themselves ready to defend themselves. The situation was becoming ugly, and Balbus began to worry it would spiral out of control. He knew from experience that Granius was a hard man, given to fits of temper, and his two companions were just as bad. If attacked, the three woodcutters would kill Carbo without a second thought.

“Let us go Elerian,” he said, taking the boy firmly by the shoulder. “There is nothing to be gained by arguing with these men.” Keeping a firm grip on Elerian’s shoulder, Balbus half led, half-dragged him away. Carbo followed after them, casting several angry looks over his shoulder at the three woodcutters. The men’s callous laughter followed them.

“What they are doing is not right,” said Elerian angrily when they were out of sight of the woodcutters, and the thudding of the axes had resumed.

“There is much in the world that is not right Elerian,” said Balbus with a sigh. “We cannot correct every wrong that we see. I do not like what those men are doing, but we have no right to stop them. No one owns this land, and they can do what they like in this part of the forest, no matter how wasteful it is,” he said resignedly. That ended the matter for Balbus, but wisely, he did not release his firm grip on Elerian’s shoulder. He was all too familiar with the boy’s impetuous nature and was afraid that Elerian might run off to confront the men on his own.

Elerian said no more and gradually the frown left his face. Thinking that the boy had gotten over his anger, Balbus released his shoulder, and they continued on their way. Elerian actually appeared to become cheerful again, and by the time they returned home with a load of golden honeycomb, Balbus was certain the boy had forgotten the incident and Granius’s hard words. In this he was mistaken, however, for beneath his carefree exterior, a hard core of anger continued to burn inside Elerian. The woodcutters might be within their rights to chop down trees and leave them to rot, but that still did not make their actions acceptable to him. By evening, Elerian had formed a plan to interrupt their destruction.

The next day, when he set off for his lesson with Tullius, he took with him an old wolf skin that had hung in the barn for years. He could not depend on his unreliable powers to frighten the woodcutters, but the skin might do the trick instead. He left it in the forest near Tullius’s home, returning for it after his lesson. Unerringly, with the wolf skin rolled up under his arm, Elerian returned to the place where he and Balbus had encountered Granius and his companions the day before. He heard the chopping of their axes long before he reached them. As he had hoped, they were still at work, despite the shadows that were gathering under the trees. The men were confident that their strength and their sharp axes would protect them from the dangers of the forest no matter what time of day it was.

Wrapping the wolf skin around him, Elerian approached the men, darting unseen from one tree to another. The sight of another smooth skinned beech with half its limbs lopped off fanned the coals of his anger again, and suddenly, he felt his power stir. With growing excitement, he watched as a flow of golden light spilled from his silver ring. As it covered the wolf skin he had already wrapped around him, Elerian was momentarily startled when the hide shifted and seemed to tighten around him like a live thing. The light that had spilled from his ring vanished, and he saw only the black wolf hide now, covering him snugly from head to toe. Feeling very much like a real wolf, bent over and moving on all fours, Elerian crept out of the shadows gathering under the trees.

Approaching the woodcutters from behind, Elerian gave a deep, guttural growl whose fierceness and volume was startling even to himself. The effect on the woodcutters was even more pronounced. Raising their heads from their work, they left off their chopping and turned, with startled eyes, to seek the source of the frightening sound.

Barely twenty feet away from them was Elerian, crouched down on all fours, but the three men did not see a small boy wrapped in a tattered wolf skin. Instead, they saw a great black beast, larger than any normal wolf. The creature’s eyes were like burning embers, and its long fangs gleamed white. Behind the woodcutters, the four horses they used to haul their wood neighed wildly and broke their tethers. As they raced away through the trees, Elerian suddenly spoke in a rumbling voice, much to the men’s consternation.

“The Ondredon have sent me to punish you,” thundered Elerian in a voice that shook the leaves on the trees. “For the crime of cutting live trees, I am ordered to devour the three of you alive.” Snarling ferociously, Elerian bounded toward the woodcutters. The mention of the Ondredon and the spectral quality of the enormous beast rushing toward them badly frightened two of the men. Dropping their axes, they gave out wild yells and bolted away after the horses as fast as their feet would take them.

Only Granius remained behind to face Elerian. As Elerian rushed toward him, Granius’s feet remained firmly planted on the ground, and he held his sharp ax ready in his hands. Elerian reluctantly found himself admiring Granius’s courage as he stood his ground, alone.

When Elerian was barely ten feet away, Granius unexpectedly threw his ax. Barely in time, Elerian shifted to his right, and the razor sharp ax took off the tip of the wolf skin’s left ear instead of splitting his skull. To his surprise, Elerian felt a burning pain as if his own ear had been sliced off, and red anger replaced his grudging admiration for Granius who was even now resolutely drawing his knife from his belt. An irresistible urge to tear the woodcutter to pieces suddenly overwhelmed Elerian. As he reared up to lunge at Granius, it seemed to the woodcutter that the creature before him swelled in size. Its eyes grew enormous, burning red as coals, and its foul, hot breath fanned his face as it opened his jaws to seize him. The appalling sight was too much for even Granius’s stout courage. He stabbed the wolf with his knife and then took to his heels, following after his rapidly vanishing companions.

Granius’s blade remained lodged in Elerian’s left shoulder, very likely saving the woodcutter’s life. The waves of pain radiating from the sharp blade distracted Elerian, spoiling his aim so that his jaws closed on empty air instead of Granius’s throat. The excruciating injury also had the effect of bringing Elerian back to himself. He was badly shaken as he realized that he had intended to kill Granius. His ring had not only given him the appearance of a wolf but also some of its fierce nature.

Pulling the knife from his shoulder with his teeth, for his hands seemed to have actually become paws, Elerian healed the wound. He was in control of himself again and no longer felt any desire to hurt the fleeing woodcutters, even Granius.

“There is no harm in teaching them a good lesson, though,” thought Elerian to himself, and a wicked gleam came into his eyes. If he had really become like a wolf, then the opportunity was too good to waste. Trailing the woodcutters by scent, he soon caught up with them. They had slowed to a walk, but at Elerian’s first growl, they sprinted away as if they had grown wings on their feet, leaping and bounding over the fallen limbs and other obstacles on the forest floor in a way that was wonderful to watch.

Joyfully, Elerian chased after them, nipping at their heels and legs. Each nip he doled out resulted in a satisfying scream or shout of fear, for the men were sure they were being torn to pieces. Every now and then one of them would look over his shoulder with fearful eyes resembling small white saucers. The sight eventually proved too much for Elerian. He was forced to give up the chase, for he was laughing so hard that he could no longer run fast enough to keep up with the fleeing men. As he lay on the ground, shaking with laughter, the wolf skin slipped away from him of its own accord. When he regained control of himself, Elerian found that, once more, he was only a young boy.

Eventually, the woodcutters realized that they had left their fearsome pursuer behind and slowed to a walk again, but they did not stop until they reached the Black Boar at Sidonia. There, over large mugs of strong beer to steady their nerves, they regaled the large party gathered at the inn with a slightly altered version of their adventure. An enormous black wolf had attacked them in the forest. Despite their brave attempts to fend off its attacks with their axes and knives, they had been forced to run from it to save their lives, for the spectral beast was immune to the injuries they inflicted on it. To demonstrate the narrowness of their escape, they showed the rents in their pant legs. The wounds beneath their torn clothes were mere scratches, of course, for Elerian had not wanted to injure the men seriously, but this did not seem to detract from the fear and horror their tale roused in their audience.

The next day, the story got back to Balbus from one of his neighbors. “Is it possible that Elerian is involved?” wondered Balbus to himself as he recalled the boy’s anger toward the woodcutters. When he passed the old wolf hide hanging in the barn, Balbus looked it over carefully. “I don’t recall that missing ear,” he thought to himself. He favored Elerian with several long, thoughtful looks as they did their morning chores, but aside from an odd gleam in his brown eyes, the boy looked completely innocent. “He certainly is not injured in any way,” thought Balbus to himself, but of course, that proves nothing. He could have healed himself.”

Without saying anything to Elerian, Balbus made a trip into the forest that afternoon and retrieved the axes of the three men as well as Granius’s bloody knife. Their horses had already come home on their own. Balbus carefully searched the ground where he found the axes, but he found no sign of a severed ear, for Elerian had already returned and buried it. Balbus returned the axes and the knife, but got no thanks from the sullen woodcutters. When he questioned them, they swore that it was a real wolf that had attacked them, not someone dressed in a skin.

“Elerian could not have been involved, for he is certainly no shape changer,” thought Balbus to himself as he returned home. He put the matter out of his mind and never mentioned his earlier suspicions to Elerian. Granius and his two companions returned to their trade after a few days, but from that day on, much to Elerian’s satisfaction, they confined their woodcutting to the edge of the forest, and they cut no more live trees.

THE BLACK WOLF

Delighted by the results of his trick on Granius and his companions and lured on by the hope of being able to perform more magic, Elerian was encouraged to involve himself in more mischief. It was early summer now, and people were working outside again. Whenever he could slip away from the farm unnoticed, Elerian took note of which of his neighbors were in the habit of working late in their fields. Then, in the evenings after his lessons with Tullius, he began to show himself at the edges of their fields, wrapped snugly in the old wolf skin. Each time, the excitement generated by the escapade roused his magical powers. At first, Elerian was uneasy, remembering how close he had come to slaying Granius, but to his relief, the wolf skin never became a part of him as it had before. It did, however, appear to aid his ring in recreating the illusion of the great black wolf that had frightened the woodcutters. When the staid farmers of the hilltops caught sight of Elerian lurking near the edges of their fields with his flaming eyes glowing like coals, they fled at the sight of him. They expected to be eaten alive if they were caught, for by now, everyone had heard the tale told by Granius and his crew.

No one was actually hurt, and Elerian shook with laughter each time he watched grown men and women sprinting across their fields with a speed they had not displayed since their youth. Each successful prank stoked the fires of mischief inside Elerian, and he saw the golden light he craved spill regularly from the magic ring he wore on his left hand. He began to hope that the invisible barrier, which normally kept him from using his powers, was gradually being weakened or worn away.

Eventually, Elerian became a victim of his own success. By midsummer, his reign of terror caused all the nearby fields to become deserted well before the light of the sun faded. He was now forced to become bolder in his search for new victims. Heart pounding in his chest, he began to creep up to farmhouses where the shutters were left open so that he could show himself through the bars of the windows. The sight of his great, shaggy head and fiery eyes caused a glorious panic each time the people inside saw his frightening form appear briefly at their windows.

Before long, however, it became impossible to find a window after dark that was not shuttered, and Elerian was left without a target for his mischief, for he was limited to the area that was in easy walking distance of Balbus’s farm. He dared not return home too late after leaving Tullius’s lest Balbus become suspicious. Elerian did not feel altogether comfortable with the idea of frightening Balbus, so it was not long before his attention became focused on Tullius. Elerian decided the irascible, old mage would be his next victim.

The thought of playing a prank on Tullius sent a satisfying thrill of excitement through Elerian, for there would be a very real element of danger present. He could still vividly recall in his mind the powerful spells which Tullius had used to rout the mutare. Undeterred by the risk, Elerian carefully laid his plans. One evening, after leaving Tullius’s home, he retrieved his wolf skin from where he had hidden it in a hollow log. Noiselessly, he crept back through the forest toward the mage’s house. Filled with a delicious sense of danger that quickly roused his dormant power, Elerian leaped lightly over Tullius’s front gate and ran to the right of the house. There, he crouched out of sight behind the stone fence and peered stealthily between the weathered pickets of the gate that led through the garden wall. Luck was with him, for Tullius was outside, taking advantage of the last few hours of daylight to work in his garden. He did not appear to be paying much attention to his surroundings, but Elerian knew better. The slightest sound or flicker of motion was sure to alert the wary mage.

The moment Tullius turned his back, Elerian set his left hand on the top of the garden wall to the left of the gate and cleared the low wall in a single, lithe bound. Landing noiselessly on his feet, he stealthily made his way up the path to Tullius’s back door, his heart pounding in his chest with excitement. If Tullius turned his head now, the mage would see him at once, and the game would be over. Elerian shuddered at the consequences if he were caught. The old mage continued with his work, however, and Elerian reached the doorway to the house without being discovered. There was a tall, bushy cedar growing on each side of the doorway, and Elerian silently slipped behind the bush on his left. Trembling with excitement and nervousness, he gathered the old wolf skin tightly around him and settled down behind the fragrant branches of the cedar. His unpredictable mage sight showed him a flow of golden light spilling from the silver ring on his left hand. Augmented by his heightened emotions, he felt his control over his power grow to a new level. The wolf skin tightened around him, and for the second time, Elerian felt that he was truly becoming a wolf as he had on the evening when he had frightened Granius and his fellow woodcutters. Impatiently, he waited for Tullius to stop working and approach the back door.

The sun inched down into the west, and Tullius suddenly seemed to realize the lateness of the hour. With his hoe in one hand and his staff in the other, he came walking up the path toward the back door, blissfully unaware of what awaited him behind one of his cedars. When he was barely ten feet away, Elerian suddenly sprang out on all fours from behind the bush with a cavernous growl echoing in his chest.

To his delight, Elerian saw Tullius stop as if turned to stone. The whites of his eyes showed, and the hairs on his head rose like a gray halo around his shocked face. Like the woodcutters, Tullius saw not a small boy in an old skin, but a great, slavering black beast with fierce, flaming eyes whose head reached to the level of his chest. He gave a great shout of alarm and flung his hoe at Elerian before turning and sprinting for the far side of the garden. Fear lent wings to his feet, and he covered the ground in great bounds that sent his sandals flying off his feet and caused his long gray beard to flutter like a banner over his right shoulder.

Having won the first skirmish, a wiser Elerian would now have retreated in safety, but the sight of Tullius racing across the garden with his beard and hair flying in the wind of his passage was too much to resist. Howling like an entire pack of wolves, Elerian gleefully set off along the flagstone path in pursuit of the fleeing mage. Ahead of him, in an astonishing display of agility for a man his age, Tullius cleared the back wall of the garden in a single leap and disappeared from sight.

Increasing his speed lest his prey escape him, Elerian rushed toward the wall, but before he could reach it, Tullius suddenly popped up again from behind the fence. It was Elerian’s turn to be frightened now, for the mage had his staff extended, and his dark eyes were flashing like thunderbolts. Knowing what was coming, Elerian desperately threw himself backwards, and the spell which Tullius cast at him struck the paving stone on which his front paws had stood a moment before, causing it to explode with a thunderous crack. Some of the jagged stones which flew into the air struck Elerian painfully in the chest and face, but he ignored the pain, for he knew he was still in mortal danger. Sprinting desperately across the garden, he made for the far wall, but even in his panic, he was careful not to run in a straight line, for that would have made him an easier target for the furious mage.

“You will not escape me now, evil hound,” shouted Tullius angrily, and even as Elerian cleared the garden wall in one great leap, the top of course of stone to his right exploded with an ear splitting crack. Fragments of stone whizzed by his ears with an ugly whine, one of them striking him painfully in the ribs and wringing a yelp of pain from his throat.

Not daring to slow down for a moment, Elerian streaked across the front yard, lancets of pain shooting through his right side at each stride from the rib the stone had broken. He leaped over the gate which led through the rowan trees, and once he was out of sight of the pursuing mage, tugged desperately with his teeth at the skin which covered him. For one frightening moment, it resisted like real skin before suddenly coming off all at once. Throwing the hide over his shoulders, Elerian climbed into a large oak with a speed that would have shamed one of the brown squirrels that lived in the forest.

He had barely settled himself high in its leafy crown, when a sharp creaking sound announced that Tullius had come through the gate which led through the rowans. A moment later, breathing heavily, he stopped directly beneath the tree where Elerian had hidden himself. His hair and brows bristled, and there was a fire in his dark eyes that would have given even a Goblin pause as he cast back and forth for his assailant, his staff upraised and ready to launch the next deadly spell.

Thirty feet in the air above Tullius, Elerian lay full length on his stomach along a wide branch, still as stone despite the stab of pain which shot through his chest with each breath. He knew that as long as he remained still, he was invisible to the mage’s searching eyes even if Tullius chanced to look up into the tree.

Tullius lit a mage light, for the light was fading under the trees and stamped around for a long time before finally giving up the search for tracks and returning to his house. By then, Elerian’s racing heart had slowed, and the fear born of his narrow escape had faded away. Despite the pain of his broken rib, silent laughter caused him to shake violently as if he had suddenly caught a chill as he recalled the look on Tullius’s face when he had sprung out from behind the bush in the shape of a wolf. Elerian considered the pain of his broken rib more than worth the price of that look. It was a moment he would treasure for the rest of his life.

When his laughter finally subsided a little, Elerian drew on his power and was pleased when it responded at once. After healing his painful injury, he quickly returned home. It was still light on the hilltops, and he managed to return the hide to its place in the barn before Balbus returned from the fields.

Tullius arrived unexpectedly at the farm the next morning while Balbus and Elerian were still eating breakfast. He had come to warn Balbus about the creature that had attacked him last night, for as soon as it was light outside, he had examined his garden and had found the tracks of what appeared to be an exceptionally large wolf in the soft dirt. He drew Balbus aside and gave him an account of his adventure the night before. “It may be the same creature that has been skulking about the nearby farms,” concluded Tullius. “What puzzles me is how the creature penetrated the magical defenses around my home. It must have strong mage powers of its own.”

Balbus was surprised to hear Tullius finally admit that magic kept his home safe, but he kept his own counsel about the nature of the beast Tullius had seen. He recalled now that Elerian had returned home later than usual several times in the last few weeks. After Tullius departed, Balbus said nothing to Elerian, but later that same day, when Elerian went into the barn, he found that the peg which normally supported the wolf skin was bare.

“What happened to the old skin that was hanging in the barn?” he casually asked Balbus at dinner.

“It was becoming quite worn and tattered so I burned it,” said Balbus calmly. He gave Elerian a searching look, but Elerian’s face betrayed only casual interest although, deep inside, he was quite disappointed at the fate of the skin. From that day on, the black wolf of the Abercius, as it came to be called, never appeared again although it lived on in legend for many years. Mothers used the threat of it to frighten disobedient children, and the possibility that it might attack them kept the woodcutters close to the edges of the forest which pleased Elerian a great deal and comforted him somewhat for the loss of the wolf skin.

AN ALARMING DEVELOPMENT

Without the wolf skin and the excitement generated by his escapades, Elerian quickly discovered that his power had slipped beyond his control again. He felt it inside of him, maddeningly close but just out of his reach. With or without his ring, he was unable to raise even a simple illusion.

Despite his inability to perform any more magic, the thought of it was constantly on Elerian’s mind, even at night. Although his need to sleep had diminished markedly, Elerian, out of habit, still went to bed at night when Balbus did. After just a few hours, his need to sleep satisfied, he would awake and remain awake the rest of the night. While Balbus and Carbo slept peacefully, his mind wrestled endlessly with his inability to control his mage powers. “Will I ever become a true mage?” he often wondered. Even when he was able to turn his thoughts away from magic, there were other questions which surfaced to torment him. Why was he so different from everyone else around him? Why were the Goblins his enemies? What had his parents done to deserve their enmity?” No solutions or answers ever presented themselves, and Elerian began to dread the night time hours which had become a time of torment instead of rest.

One night, as he lay sleepless in bed wrestling with his troubled thoughts, Elerian idly watched as the moon rose and cast its shafts of silver light through the cracks in the wooden shutters that covered the bedroom windows. Impulsively, he decided to escape his mental turmoil by leaving the safety of the snug farmhouse and venturing out into the night. A rising sense of excitement battled with a sense of guilt as he rose quietly from his bed, for he knew Balbus would not approve of what he was doing. Sensible Hesperians stayed inside at night, safe behind four walls and a locked door. They only ventured out after sundown in cases of dire need. Besides putting himself in danger, Elerian knew he was also taking on another risk by venturing out after dark. There was a chance, however slim, that he would be seen. If he was, people would immediately begin to speculate on what had brought him out at such a late hour. Human nature being what it was, Elerian knew that such talk had a way of running out of control. It was exactly the sort of thing Balbus and Tullius had warned him against.

Tonight, however, Elerian found that he was tired of being sensible. Excitement won out over caution, and as Carbo watched with puzzled eyes, he quietly dressed and then, after motioning for Carbo to remain where he was, soundlessly left the loft. The dog listened uneasily as Elerian quietly opened the door to the farmhouse, but, heeding Elerian’s silent command, he did not stir, for he and Elerian were fast friends. The lock and hinges of the door were well oiled and made no sound. Tired from the day’s labors, Balbus slept on undisturbed. Once the door closed, Carbo lay back down, but his sleep for the rest of the night was restless as he kept one ear pricked for Elerian’s return.

Elerian stepped outside into the moonlight, and to his eyes, the night was bright as day. Even muted colors were present under the moonlight so that his surroundings were not the stark gray and black of moonless nights. He quietly walked down to the gate in the boundary hedge, breathing deeply of the soft night air and left the farm behind. Once he entered the forest, he found that it had taken on a magical, mysterious quality that was not present under the light of the sun. Owls hooted in the distance, and mice stirred the leaves underfoot as he walked beneath the trees, silent as the pale ground fog rising from the low spots along his way.

Without any fear of becoming lost, he wandered freely over the hillsides. In a small mountain meadow, he saw a herd of red deer and another of spotted deer grazing on the silvery grass, but they were not aware of him. Occasionally, as he walked, the long, lonely howl of a wolf drifted up from the lower forest below the foothills, and he heard the soft pad of the elusive hunting cats, both great and small, in the thickets.

When he tired of walking on the ground, Elerian took to the upper pathways of the forest. Running lightly from one great branch to another, he gave no thought to the forest floor far below his flying feet and made great leaps across the gaps between the trees with unconscious ease. He traveled almost to the borders of the Abercius before turning around. Well before the first, faint blush of dawn broke in the east, he was in his bed, resting peacefully for the first time in many days. After only a little sleep, he rose feeling refreshed and in better spirits as he sat down to breakfast with Balbus.

After that first night, Elerian began to leave the farmhouse regularly when it grew dark. He now found it unendurable to lay in his bed, awake the whole nightlong, when he could be out walking the forest paths instead. He never met anyone else in his travels, which was not surprising, and he enjoyed the feeling of not having to guard his every thought and action. Safe under the concealing shroud of darkness, which others could not penetrate without some sort of light, he boldly stretched his legs into forbidden speed as he traveled familiar trails through the forest, his feet touching the ground so lightly they barely disturbed the grass and leaves.

For sport, he raced the fleet red deer across the meadows and thought it great fun when he sprang out at the hunting cats from some hiding place where they were not aware of him. His sudden yell, as he unexpectedly appeared before them, drove them hissing and snarling into startled fits of impotent rage, for Elerian was long gone into the treetops before they could gather their wits about them again and pursue him. Only once did Elerian prowl among the hilltop farms. The thought of the families sleeping comfortably behind their thick walls soon awoke uncomfortable feelings of isolation inside of him, and he fled back to the forest. “What would they think of me,” he wondered to himself, “if they could see me prowling about in the dark?” The imagined answer was not a pleasant one, and after that, Elerian kept to the forest where he was not troubled by such thoughts. He happily continued his nighttime adventures until one night, two weeks after his fourteenth birthday, when his world was suddenly turned upside down.

While walking through a grove of smooth skinned beeches under the dark of the moon, Elerian suddenly felt an unaccustomed dizziness, and his vision abruptly blurred in midstride. So sudden was the change that he almost fell, and unable to see clearly or even stand unsupported, Elerian wrapped his arms around a tall beech. Pressing his cheek against its smooth, cool bark, he stood on trembling legs, frightened and unsure of what to do next, for he had never been sick a day in his life before this. Even if his magical powers were to respond to him, he had no idea how to cure this sudden bout of sickness.

Suddenly, it became worse. His surroundings faded completely, and he found himself overwhelmed by strange lights and dark shadows which his eyes could make no sense of at all. The color of the lights resembled the gold of the spells which his errant mage sight revealed to him at times, but this was no brief flash that revealed the appearance of spells to him. Instead, he saw a confusing blend of indistinct, shifting lights and shadows that made his dizziness even more severe. With his head swimming, Elerian fell to his hands and knees, terrified that his vision was permanently damaged. Unable to see or move, he knew he would be easy prey for the first hunting beast that crossed his path.

Then, as suddenly as the maelstrom of lights and shadows had appeared, they faded, leaving Elerian able to see once more, but too frightened to move lest he set off another attack. Only after his sight had maintained itself for several long moments did he rise to his feet and turn his footsteps toward home, dreading, at every step, the return of the dizziness and the lights and shadows which would leave him helpless and unable to move.

Elerian was able to return home, but after that frightening incident, he avoided going out at night for several days. There were no more intervals of sickness, however, and he began to hope that he had made a full recovery. “Should I tell Balbus?” he wondered to himself one evening as he sat in front of the flickering fire burning in the fireplace. He would have liked to discuss the matter with his grandfather, but he did not want to reveal that he had been leaving the farmhouse at night. Basking in the comfortable glow of the fire, he stroked Carbo’s sleek head as the dog slept on the old rug in front of the hearth. When he turned his head to cast a fond glance on his four footed companion, Elerian received a terrible shock, for he saw an indistinct golden shape lying next to him instead of the familiar black form of Carbo. He caught his breath as he suddenly saw the golden image and Carbo’s dark form at the same time, one overlaying the other. His head began to whirl again until he blinked. Immediately, the golden image vanished, and only the black form of Carbo remained behind.

Trembling in distress, Elerian turned his face to the fire. It looked much the same as it always did, but when he turned away from the flames, the walls and floor of the room suddenly took on a dead black color, and he saw a golden shade where Balbus sat in his chair by the fire, breathing heavily in a deep sleep. Abruptly, his normal vision again returned, leaving Elerian frightened and afraid to move.

“It is time to talk to Tullius,” Elerian shakily thought to himself, grasping at the hope that the old mage might be able to help him. “I will not tell him that I first experienced this change outside at night, and hopefully, he and Balbus will not find out about my nighttime jaunts. If he cannot help me, I do not know what I will do next,” he thought hopelessly. “At this rate, I shall be confined to this house for the rest of my life, living in fear of the next attack that might leave me blind and helpless. I might even lose my sight permanently,” he thought despondently.

THE THIRD EYE

The next day, in a state of high anxiety lest he suffer another attack that would leave him helpless, Elerian went to visit Tullius in the afternoon. Relief flooded through him when he arrived at the old mage’s home without suffering another attack. Eyes suddenly bright with mischief, he bypassed the squeaky front gate and slipped silently through the rowan trees to the left of the gate, carefully parting the branches which made a green wall around the inside of the clearing. Soundlessly, he made his way across the thick front lawn. Crouching down behind the cover of the garden wall, he crept, out of sight of the garden, toward the gate. Stealthily, he peered through the wooden slats and saw that Tullius was out tending his herb garden in the warm afternoon sunshine as he usually did in good weather. He seemed possessed by an unaccustomed nervousness, however, for at times, he would suddenly stop working and cast a wary glance all around him as if in search of some hidden danger. Evidently, the attack by the black wolf was still fresh in his mind, even though almost six weeks had passed since the incident.

A smile crossed Elerian’s face at this opportunity for fresh mischief, and forgetting for a moment the reason for his visit, he leaped silently over the fence during a moment when Tullius had his back turned. Running silently along the flagstone path through the garden, Elerian approached the mage from behind, intending to startle him by speaking from nearby without warning. At the last moment, however, Tullius suddenly dropped his hoe, and with a surprising speed and agility, stooped and seized the staff lying near his feet before spinning around with the staff upraised and a fire burning in his dark eyes. The anger in his face was immediately replaced by surprise when he saw Elerian. Clearly, he had expected to find something much more dangerous than a small boy standing behind him. A relieved look spread across his face.

Elerian looked up at the old mage with an innocent expression on his face, but his eyes were bright with hidden laughter, for he knew what Tullius had expected to see in his garden. “Are you feeling well, Tullius?” Elerian asked innocently. “You seem awfully nervous today.”

A frown replaced the relief on Tullius’s face. As always, he was not quite sure if Elerian was as innocent as he appeared. “Someday, I will catch the young rascal red handed in the middle of his mischief,” he thought to himself.

“What are you up to you young pup?” he asked crossly. “I did not hear you come through the gates.”

“I came through the trees and over the fence,” said Elerian. “It was more fun than opening your squeaky gates.”

Despite the innocent explanation, the frown remained on Tullius’s face. He had not said a word to Elerian about the beast in his garden, but he would have bet his staff that Elerian knew about the attack. “It seems impossible, but was he somehow involved?” Tullius wondered to himself.

“I was attacked by a strange black creature in this very garden a few weeks ago,” said Tullius abruptly. “You would not know anything about it would you?”

“What sort of creature?” asked Elerian, artfully dodging the mage’s question with one of his own and discreetly putting his left hand behind his back so that his ring would not catch Tullius’s eye.

“It appeared to be a wolf, but I have my doubts,” said Tullius giving Elerian a searching look.

“Were you badly frightened,” Elerian asked casually, his eyes bright with mischief again. “Is that why you are so nervous?”

Tullius slammed the end of his staff onto the stone walk, and there was a sharp crack that made Elerian jump. The flagstone beneath the staff had broken into pieces. “I was not frightened,” shouted Tullius angrily, and his beard bristled like a pincushion. “I was rather startled is all,” he said more calmly. “I chased the beast off, but I was unable to follow it. Somehow it was clever enough not to leave any tracks once it left my clearing.” He regarded Elerian with a probing look, searching for any signs that the boy knew more about the incident than he was admitting to. Elerian stared innocently back, but he could not hide the merry lights burning in the back of his eyes as he recalled Tullius’s amazing leap over the back wall of the garden.

Tullius saw the gleam and again suspected that Elerian was not telling all he knew. “Even if the boy knows something about the incident, it cannot have been him,” he thought doubtfully to himself. “He could not have made the tracks in the garden. I know a real wolf track when I see it.” The feeling still lingered, however, that Elerian was somehow involved with the appearance of the black creature that had chased him out of his own garden, and it made Tullius irritable again.

“Why are you here?” he asked Elerian abruptly. “Your next lesson is not until tomorrow.”

“There is something I wish to discuss with you, if you have time,” said Elerian, suddenly becoming serious as he remembered the reason for his visit.

“Well, why didn’t you say so before,” said Tullius gruffly, for Elerian’s voice reflected the worry he felt. Suddenly, Tullius’s head snapped up as if he had just remembered where he was, and he looked nervously around him for a moment. “Come inside then,” he said, resuming his usual brusque manner. “This is not the proper place for us to have a talk.” Tapping the end of his staff on the broken stone, he muttered a word and at once, it became whole again. Ignoring the avid interest plainly visible on Elerian’s face at this second display of magic, Tullius turned and walked down the gray flagstone path leading to his back door.

Elerian followed Tullius into the house and seated himself at his accustomed place at the old wooden table in the center of the room while the mage barred the door. The action brought another smile to Elerian’s face which he quickly hid when Tullius brought two cups to the table and poured out a red wine from a glazed jug. Tullius then seated himself across from Elerian.

When Tullius had settled himself, Elerian hesitantly told the mage about the frightening and devastating change in his vision. If Tullius was surprised at what he heard, he hid it well. While Elerian spoke, he calmly sipped his cup of rich red wine, all the while regarding Elerian with his sharp brown eyes as if he were some new species of herb to be carefully studied. When he was done talking, Elerian waited anxiously for Tullius to speak, uncertain whether the mage would be able to help him or not.

“I do not understand how or why it happened,” said Tullius thoughtfully, “but it appears that you have somehow acquired the ability to see magical forces.”

A puzzled expression appeared on Elerian’s face, and Tullius elaborated on his answer. “The force that is the source of magic resides to some degree in all living things and also in some nonliving things such as wind, fire, and water. This force normally cannot be seen with the naked eye. I have heard, however, that if a mage becomes accomplished enough in his craft, he becomes so attuned to the magical energies that they become visible to him. This ability is called mage sight by some and the third eye by others.”

“That makes no sense,” objected Elerian immediately. “You say that only powerful mages develop this ability. My power rarely obeys my wishes.”

Tullius shrugged. “Whether it makes sense or not, you have acquired this ability and will have to learn to deal with it. You will gain more control over it with time, I think, but until then you must exercise some caution. Do not go into the forest unless either Balbus or Carbo is by your side.”

A look of obvious dismay crossed Elerian’s face. Tullius smiled sympathetically and spoke again. “I had planned to wait a little longer, but perhaps it would be better to begin your apprenticeship as a mage now. A bit of training may help you to deal with the confusion caused by this new sight you have gained.”

The gloom vanished from Elerian’s face. “Can we begin immediately?” he asked, so overcome with excitement at the announcement that he was ready to leap out of his chair. He had not expected to receive any sort of good news today.

“We may not begin at all,” said Tullius severely, “unless you can satisfy me on two important points. If I train you to become a mage,” continued Tullius gravely, “you may gain great power. Over the years, I have noticed a certain, let us say, capriciousness in your nature, and it troubles me. I would not like to see you use your new powers to hurt others for your own amusement,” said Tullius sternly.

“I would never use my powers to hurt anyone,” said Elerian with a frown, surprised that Tullius would even consider him capable of such a thing.

“What about using your powers to frighten people half to death?” asked Tullius suddenly. “Would you consider that acceptable?”

Elerian felt uncomfortable under Tullius’s penetrating look, and once more, he moved his ring out of sight. He could not see how his practical jokes had done any real injury to anyone, even Granius and his companions. “It would be a dull world if there were no surprises,” he said at last as he tried to explain his fondness for mischief.

“There is room for argument on that point,” said Tullius. “Not everyone likes surprises. It is the sort of behavior that has led many people to distrust mages, for there have been those in the past who have used their powers in petty, malicious ways.”

“I still do not see the harm in an occasional prank,” said Elerian stubbornly, for to give in on this point seemed to be a denial of something that was a part of his nature. “It was certainly better that I frightened the woodcutters instead of killing them as I could easily have done that day,” thought Elerian to himself.

Tullius frowned, but he knew that he was unlikely to win a victory on this point. “It is in the boy’s nature to be light hearted,” he thought resignedly to himself, and he pondered silently whether it would be safe to train Elerian, for being a mage was a serious business. “Still, it might be more dangerous to let him grow up without any guidance,” thought Tullius to himself. “The development of the third eye at such a young age seems an indication that he will have strong mage powers when he grows up.”

As he waited in anxious silence for Tullius to say something, Elerian could almost see the doubts in Tullius’s mind. He wondered what decision the mage would make.

“Very well,” said Tullius at last. “We will leave this first point undecided for now. I will watch you constantly, however, to see if you demonstrate the right temperament to be a mage.”

Elerian let out a sigh of relief. He was past the first hurdle.

“On the second point, there can be no argument,” continued Tullius sternly. “You must promise me that you will not draw attention to yourself with your new knowledge.” He stared hard at Elerian as he said these last words.

“I have always tried to pretend I am like everyone else,” said Elerian in a slightly bitter voice. “It is all that I have ever heard from you and Balbus.”

“There is a reason for what we have asked of you as you will   learn someday,” said Tullius, refusing to be affected by the discontent in the boy’s voice. Suddenly, his expression softened a little. “Return in a week and we will begin your lessons.”

With a light heart, Elerian rose from the table. As he ran out the front door, Tullius shouted, “Use the gate next time.”

Elerian, whose back was safely turned, smiled once more. Tullius was a worthy adversary, and it pleased him that the mage suspected but could not prove his connection to the Black Wolf, for it left the door open to even better pranks in the future.

THE POOL

As he impatiently waited out the week before his apprenticeship was to begin, Elerian took Tullius’s advice and remained within the confines of the farm. When the next change in his vision occurred, he was sitting in the shade with his back against one of the great chestnut trees that grew by the farmhouse. Drawing comfort and support from the tree trunk at his back and the knowledge that nothing would threaten him on the farm, Elerian did not panic as before. Instead, with all the calmness he could muster, he applied himself to making sense of what his third eye showed him.

Based on his previous experiences, he had already come to think of the lights he saw with his mage sight as shadows cast by the things he saw with his normal vision. Unlike real shadows, however, their outlines were not fixed. Instead, they shifted and wavered constantly so that the world, seen through his third eye, appeared to be in constant motion. Ignoring this fluctuation as he would ignore the shifting outlines of the flames of a fire, Elerian concentrated on the shades instead. His vertigo gradually vanished, and although they lacked details like real shadows, he was gradually able to make sense of the shapes he saw around him.

His own form had taken on the appearance of a wavering, golden shade. The three chestnut trees were now tall columns of flickering green that reached into the sky. When he looked overhead, Elerian saw a tracery of green lines and masses of solid green instead of branches and leaves, all of them in constant motion due to subtle changes in their outlines. The thick turf he sat on was a shifting carpet of green, but when Elerian parted the grass blades with his fingers, the ground in which they were rooted was a dead black color.

Hesitantly, Elerian rose to his feet and began to walk, gaining confidence with each step. When he finally stepped out from beneath the crown of the tree, he found that the shades around him faded, becoming almost translucent under the light of the sun. The sky was colored gold instead of blue, and the rays of the sun and the light breeze that was blowing took on the forms of pale sheets and banners of rippling, shifting, barely visible golden light. Even the sun was a pale shadow of itself although its intensity still kept Elerian from looking at it directly. Then, as suddenly as it had opened, Elerian’s third eye closed, bringing him back to a world that suddenly seemed drab and ordinary compared to the world of light and motion he had just glimpsed.

Elerian’s third eye continued to open at unexpected times over the next few days. As he became accustomed to viewing the world through its lens, Elerian lost his fear of his new power. He began to venture out at night again and found that the shades he saw were brighter and more intense in the dark. The moon and the stars flooded the air with silver streams of light, giving the night a magical quality. With each step, new wonders appeared. Beneath his feet, he saw the golden spark and flash of the tiny creatures which lived on the ground, and when he came to a stream, it appeared as a flow of gleaming silver, with a surface and shape that were in constant flux.

As he became accustomed to finding his way about with his third eye open, Elerian resumed his nocturnal wanderings, but he did not go far, staying on the farm mostly or along the edge of the forest. The week of waiting passed quickly, and one morning he rose and found that the appointed time for the beginning of his lessons had arrived. Almost bursting with excitement, Elerian said goodbye to Balbus after his chores were done and set off down the path that led to Tullius’s house with Carbo by his side to watch over him.

It was a fine day and still very warm. The sky was a deep, cloudless blue, and the sun shone brightly overhead as Elerian stepped lightly down the path which led to Tullius’s house. He paid little attention to the path, for he had been this way many times before, and he had Carbo along to warn him of any danger. With his mind occupied in thinking about the spells he would soon be learning, Elerian’s feet, almost of their own accord, traveled northeast as they followed the side of the wooded hill on which he lived. As Elerian neared the end of the hill and began to descend the slope in front of him, the border of the Abercius drew near on his left. In that direction lay the ravine that concealed the cave once used by the Goblins and the mutare.

In middle of a stride and without any warning, Elerian’s third eye suddenly opened. He stumbled a little in surprise, but he did not fall or even stop completely, only slowing his stride a little, for he was becoming more used to the strange world of lights and shadows which his mage sight showed him. Without any panic, Elerian continued to follow the dark line of the path beneath his feet as it led between the glowing columns of the tree trunks. The tree roots in his path, he avoided easily enough, for he saw them as lines of green that snaked across the dark surface of the path. Dips and rises in the ground gave him more trouble, but he was learning to distinguish between the subtle variations of black which indicated rocks or changes in the height of the ground.

As he concentrated on the path, Elerian almost missed a green light that wavered between the shades of the trees on his left like a rippling emerald curtain. It rose all the way to the canopies of the trees without any break, and Elerian was reminded at once of a barrier or a wall. Curiously, he approached the curtain of light where it touched on the shades of two trees which stood quite close together. Seen up close, the veil of light appeared to have currents in various shades of green, some dark and some light, flowing and swirling through it.

Elerian was unsure if the light presented any danger to him, so he thrust the blade of his knife through it to test it. The blade appeared unharmed when he withdrew it. Knowing that he was demonstrating some of the recklessness Tullius disapproved of, Elerian, nonetheless, cautiously thrust his right hand into the light. He felt nothing alarming, and when he withdrew his hand, he was relieved to see that it had taken no harm that he could detect. Reassured by the fact that his hand had emerged unscathed, Elerian warily stepped into the green curtain of light before him.

At first, he saw only a green haze all around him, and a dark path beneath his feet. As he walked down the path, the haze and the world of shades vanished. A translucent green tinted light now filled the air, and motes of a faint, greenish gold color danced and drifted randomly all around him. Through the motes and the faint light, Elerian could see the actual shapes of the things around him again. He was confused for a moment until he recalled the time he had seen Carbo’s shade and the dog’s everyday form at the same time, one overlaying the other. “I am seeing things with my eyes again,” he thought to himself excitedly, “but my third eye is also showing me the concealment spell which must cover everything in this ravine.”

Now that he could see again, Elerian realized that he was standing in the beginnings of a ravine he had never seen before, despite the numerous times he had followed the path which led past its entrance.

Anxious as he was to begin his lessons, Elerian found himself unable to resist the lure of the unknown path that continued on before him, leading down into the depths of the ravine. “I may never find it again after today,” he thought to himself. He began to follow the faint track, and Carbo, who had followed him through the barrier of light, whined uneasily. Carbo did not like this strange place, and he trailed reluctantly after Elerian who ignored Carbo’s misgivings. “There is magic at work here,” he thought to himself. “Who knows what I may find at the end of this path.”

Before long, the walls of the ravine began to rise and were soon above the level of Elerian’s head. Moisture dripped down their sides, and a lush growth of moss and green ferns covered both walls of the ravine. Elerian heard the cheerful splash of water on stone, and a few steps later, saw a clear spring flowing out of the wall to his right. Leaping from stone to stone, it ran down the center of the ravine and formed the beginnings of a stream which flowed away downhill.

Elerian continued down the path as it followed the left bank of the stream which flowed smoothly over its stony bed, purling noisily around and over the larger rocks in its path. The steep walls of the ravine grew farther apart from each other, and the ferns and mosses gave way to tall beech, oak, and ash trees whose trunks were covered with gray-green lichens. A translucent green light continued to cover everything like a constantly shifting cloak with green gold specks drifting and swirling through it.

The branches of the trees met overhead now to form a green roof, giving Elerian the sense that he had entered a great cave. The light under the trees became dimmer, and the green gold motes that floated in the air were more visible. No sound broke the stillness except the murmur of the stream and an occasional liquid birdcall from the canopy overhead. As he approached the base of the hill and the end of the ravine, Elerian heard the loud rush of water and came to a place where the stream cascaded noisily over slick, water blackened rocks to fall twenty feet as a silvery waterfall into a rocky pool about thirty feet wide. The water from the falls entered the pool in a welter of white foam, and a light mist filled the air, coating the dark rocks at the margin of the pool with a gleaming film of water. A golden ray of sunshine shone through a gap in the green leaves of the beeches and oaks that overhung the pool and struck the falls, turning the rising mist silver. Downstream from the falls, the surface of the pool was smooth, and the water had a sea green tint which obscured the depths below. Stepping lightly and surely, Elerian descended a natural stairway of flat stones along the left side of the falls and skirted the margin of the pool. Carbo continued to follow him, a disapproving look on his face. Elerian glanced eagerly about, wondering what he might see in this secret and obviously magical place.

His gaze was drawn to the left of the pool where, between the edge of the water and the steeply rising side of the ravine, grew an enormous gray beech tree whose unblemished trunk soared high into the air, dwarfing the other trees around it. Its long, straight, pale branches were covered with bright, oval shaped leaves of a dark green hue, and its crooked, humped roots spread out around its trunk, reaching as far as the stony bank of the pool. Overlaying every part of the tree was the faint green light which filled the air, and green gold motes danced around its trunk and beneath its overarching crown.

Elerian looked at the tree in admiration, for it seemed grander than any beech he had ever seen before. He suddenly longed to climb it and walk on those pale branches so far overhead, but a sharp bark from Carbo drew his attention away from the tree. Out of the corner of his right eye, Elerian saw something break the surface of the pool at the deeper end. As Elerian turned to look, a series of concentric ripples spread out smoothly across the surface of the pool. In the center of those perfect rings, Elerian caught a glimpse of a sleek head covered with long, pale water slicked hair. Startled green eyes met Elerian’s own for an instant before suddenly sinking beneath the surface of the pool. There was a glint of what looked like silver scales beneath the surface of the pool, but Elerian was able to see little else, for the deep green tint of the water obscured the depths below.

The surface of the pool was suddenly broken again, but to his intense disappointment, Elerian saw the sleek, round head of a large brown otter appear above the water. The beast studied him for a moment with soft brown eyes, demonstrating an unusual curiosity before it dived in a smooth, sinuous roll that barely disturbed the surface of the water. Without a backward glance, the otter darted downstream and disappeared at the outflow of the pool. Elerian ran quickly around the margin of the pool, but the swift flowing stream that formed the outflow was empty when he reached it. He turned and examined the pool carefully, but there were no other signs of life in its waters. “Did I really see someone in the water, or was it only the otter all along?” wondered Elerian to himself. It had all happened so quickly that he was no longer sure what he had seen.

Still searching the pool with his eyes, he retraced his steps as far as the gray beech growing by the pool. Carbo was sitting there, patiently waiting for him, the silver drops from the mist raised by the falls beaded on his dark fur. It immediately struck Elerian as odd that Carbo had not chased after the otter. “Did he see it?” he wondered to himself, “or did I imagine the otter, too?”

Next to Carbo was a moss covered hollow formed by two of the beech’s great roots. It made an inviting chair, and Elerian sat down there to think about what he had seen. He leaned back against the tree’s smooth trunk and stared at the shifting waterfall and the silvery mist rising off the rocks. In his mind’s eye, he saw the emerald eyed face in the water once more. He became certain that he had not imagined it.

A sudden splash caused him to start and brought his attention back to the pool, but it was only one of the large trout that made its home there, breaking the surface as it made a savage strike at some floating prey. Elerian leaned back against the tree once more and received his second surprise since entering the ravine. He had always felt a certain affinity for trees, especially the gray-skinned beech trees of the forest, but now, through the thick cloth of his tunic, he felt, for the first time, the life force underneath the smooth gray bark of the tree, as if it were some great animal crouched behind him. His startled mind briefly touched a consciousness that was like the pool of deep, clear water before him, serene on the surface but with unknown depths.

There was awareness in that consciousness, but he saw that it perceived the world in a way that was far different from his own. It did not understand sight, but through the vibrations felt through the ground with its fine network of roots, the tree was aware of all that went on around it, including Elerian’s presence. Through its roots, the tree could also communicate with other trees, and Elerian heard strange whispers echo in his mind as the trees around him talked to each other in an unknown language. A shiver suddenly passed up the tree’s trunk, and overhead, its leaves fluttered wildly although there was no wind. The whispers ceased, as if the trees had suddenly realized that Elerian was eavesdropping on their thoughts. He was left with an unspoken sense of disapproval and suspicion echoing in his mind, as if he were being rebuked for listening in on a conversation he was not meant to hear.

Carbo suddenly rose, drawing Elerian’s attention. The dog lapped water from the pool before turning toward Elerian. There was a questioning look in his warm brown eyes. Carbo had little interest in trees and clearly thought it was time to move on. Elerian rose reluctantly to his feet. It was time to leave. He had a feeling that he would see or feel nothing else that was unusual no matter how much longer he remained in the ravine. Followed by an approving Carbo, he climbed back out of the ravine. When he reached the end of the path and stepped back out on the hillside, he looked back between the two trees that marked the entrance to the ravine. The path leading to the gully had vanished, and there was no sign of the green barrier of light. His unpredictable third eye had closed once more.

Elerian fixed the position of the two sentry trees in his mind. Then, certain he could find the ravine again whenever he wished, Elerian turned his footsteps toward Tullius’s house once more.

“I wonder what Tullius will say when I tell him about what I saw in the pool,” he wondered to himself and began to run so that he would not draw the mage’s ire by being late.

FIRST LESSON

When Elerian arrived at Tullius’s house, the mage was already waiting impatiently in his open doorway. “Where have you been?” he asked with a frown. “I expected you an hour ago.”

“I stopped to explore,” said Elerian, entering the house and seating himself at the mage’s rickety table. Carbo lay down at his feet.

“You should save your explorations for days when you have no lessons,” said Tullius irritably. “I have better things to do than spend my time waiting for you to decide to show up.”

“This was something that could not wait,” said Elerian. Excitedly, he told Tullius about the hidden path he had discovered and the pool which lay at the end of it.

“There were people in this land before the Hesperians,” said Tullius with what Elerian considered a strange lack of interest when his story was all told. “You may have discovered one of the places they inhabited long ago, protected from all eyes up to now by a concealment spell.”

“What about the girl I saw in the pool?” asked Elerian. “If the people who cast the spell on that ravine have all vanished, why was she there? She was unlike anyone I have ever seen before.”

“Perhaps,” said Tullius, “she was just a part of the spell that was placed on the ravine. It may have been just an otter that you saw from the beginning.” There was an air of finality in Tullius’s voice, as if he had no further interest in discussing the enchanted ravine.

“Maybe,” said Elerian doubtfully. He was not entirely certain of what he had seen in that magical place, but there was a hooded look in Tullius’s dark eyes that troubled him. It was as if Tullius had thoughts he wished to conceal, and Elerian began to wonder if the lack of interest the mage had displayed was only a ploy to avoid revealing what he knew about the ravine. He resolved to return there at the first opportunity. Perhaps he could discover on his own what Tullius was concealing from him.

Tullius interrupted his thoughts, turning now to the business of Elerian’s first lesson in magic. “In your desire to become a mage, Elerian,” he said in a solemn voice, “you have chosen a difficult, dangerous path for yourself that contains many obstacles.”

Elerian groaned inwardly when he realized that Tullius was beginning another lecture. He wondered with irritation how long he would have to wait for Tullius to actually teach him how to perform magic.

“Do you still wish to be a mage?” asked Tullius, giving Elerian a searching look, almost as if he was aware that his pupil’s thoughts were already wandering.

“I have wanted nothing else for years,” replied Elerian impatiently.

“We will see then if that desire is enough to carry you through your training,” said Tullius, giving Elerian a measuring look. He fell silent for a moment, as if trying to decide where to begin. In fact, Tullius had never trained an apprentice before, and was uncertain of how he should proceed.

“For a human,” he said finally, “magic begins with a staff or a wand. The other races of the Middle Realm and even some animals are able to use their powers directly, but men need a bridge to their power.” Here Tullius paused and took up his own staff from where it leaned against the table by his right hand. Elerian was quite familiar with Tullius’s staff, for it was never far from the mage’s hand. It was a crooked piece of rowan about five feet long and nearly two inches thick. The smooth, gleaming surface of the staff was unmarked by any carvings or other adornment.

“For an old man such as myself, a staff is best, since it also serves as a support,” said Tullius with a smile. “Younger mages often prefer a short wand. Of all the wood one can use to make a staff, rowan wood is the best, for the wood from this tree seems to make the best medium for the magical forces.”

“If all you say is true, why have I been able to perform magic without the use of a staff then?” asked Elerian in a puzzled voice.

Instead of answering the question, Tullius gave him a stern look. “You will pay attention and not interrupt,” he said quietly, “or you may go home now!”

For the second time that day, Elerian felt as if Tullius was concealing something from him, but he immediately fell silent. Tullius was quite capable of carrying out his threat to send him home. The unanswered question remained in Elerian’s mind, however. Although he had used a stick to shoot spells of destruction at the mutare, there were other times when he had performed magic without the aid of any staff or wand.

“He will explain it all in his own good time,” thought Elerian resignedly. He promptly forgot his question when Tullius raised his staff and pointed it at an earthenware plate that stood up on its edge on a shelf hanging on the far wall of the room.

In a firm voice, Tullius said, “Ruere.” Elerian’s unpredictable third eye opened, and he watched in fascination as a small sphere of golden light flew from the end of Tullius’s staff. The sphere flashed across the room, striking the center of the plate. With a single, loud crack, the plate burst into fragments that flew all about the room and rattled to the floor. Carbo immediately jumped out from under the table and began barking loudly, until Elerian spoke softly to him and stroked his head.

“This spell is the same one which I used against the mutare,” said Tullius. “Did you see anything with your third eye?” he asked with a light of eager curiosity in his dark eyes.

“I saw a small golden ball of light leave the end of your staff,” said Elerian happily, for he was pleased that Tullius had finally decided to show him some actual magic. “It flew across the room and struck the plate which then burst into pieces.”

“I have often wondered what shape or form, if any, spells might take,” said Tullius thoughtfully. “You see Elerian; most mages apply their art blindly, for they do not have your gift. We see the results of our spells, if they are successful, but we cannot see the forces which achieve those results. I, for instance, saw the plate burst and nothing else.”

Tullius did not seem to expect any reply from Elerian, for he pointed his staff at the fragments of the plate that were scattered across the worn stone floor of the room and said, “Reddere!” Again, Elerian saw a flash of light, and a moment later, all of the fragments of the plate flew back together. Eagerly, without being asked, Elerian sprang out of his chair and ran over to the remade plate that was now lying on the floor. Curiously, he picked it up and turned it round and round in his hands, but there were no missing pieces or cracks to indicate that it had ever been broken. Elerian thought it was an impressive display of magic, and his eyes shone at the thought of having such power for his own.

Elerian replaced the plate on its shelf and returned to the table, a renewed determination to learn Tullius’s art driving all other questions from his mind for the moment. Tullius began to speak again as soon as Elerian had seated himself once more.

“When performing magic, most mages, human and nonhuman, use the spoken word to direct their spells,” said the mage in his best lecture voice.

“I can perform magic without saying a word,” objected Elerian at once. He quieted immediately and hung his head as Tullius frowned fiercely at him from under bushy gray brows.

“The common belief,” continued Tullius as if he had never been interrupted, “is that the power resides in the words themselves, but mages know this is not true. A person without mage powers can learn the words to a spell, but he will never be able to cast it. If you were listening carefully to what I said,” here he looked pointedly at Elerian for a moment, “you will recall that I said the words only direct the spell.”

“Then why use words at all?” asked Elerian, unable to stop himself from interrupting once more.

Tullius glared at Elerian for a moment, and Elerian knew he was very close to being sent home. He sighed with relief when Tullius began to speak again.

“Words direct the spell so that it does exactly what the mage wishes and nothing more. This is important because an improperly formed spell can cause great harm. In extreme cases, it can even cause the death of the mage. There have been apprentices who did not live out even the first year of their training.” Tullius ceased speaking and looked closely at Elerian, a searching look in his dark eyes.

The idea that his new craft might be dangerous had not occurred to Elerian before. He was pleased to find that the thought did not frighten him. He still felt only a desire to learn.

“He is not afraid,” thought Tullius approvingly to himself, as he observed Elerian’s undiminished enthusiasm. “He must, however, learn some caution to temper that fearlessness. I can assist him there,” he thought to himself, and a half smile almost hidden by his beard and mustache quirked his lips.

Tullius inclined his staff toward the battered surface of the table before him and said, “Lumen.” Elerian saw a small, golden sphere flash from the end of the staff and stop a few inches above the center of the table. As it hovered there, it blossomed into a small yellow ball about three inches in diameter which gave off a steady light.

“You know what this is, of course,” said Tullius to Elerian.

“It is a Dwarf light,” said Elerian. “Everyone has at least one in their home. They are made by Dwarves in their northern cities.”

“And sold at a handsome profit the length and breadth of the Middle Realm,” finished Tullius. “The spell which creates a mage light is a simple one and makes a good first lesson for an apprentice. Before you begin to learn it, however, I have something to give you.” Placing his right hand flat on the table, Tullius said, “Existere charta,” and a thick book appeared under his hand. It was about twice the size of Tullius’s hand and was bound in soft brown leather. The edges of the pages were gilded with yellow gold, and Elerian’s name was written on the cover in elegant, golden letters. Next, Tullius pointed his staff at a small bottle of dark ink and a gray goose quill that were both sitting near each other on a shelf across the room. Tullius spoke a single word, and both articles appeared on the table next to the book. Elerian’s third eye had closed of its own accord, so he did not see the spell which brought the articles to the table, but he did not mind.

“Finally, I am seeing some real magic instead of listening to boring lectures,” he thought excitedly to himself as Tullius pushed the book under his hand across the table. Without being asked, Elerian picked it up and held it in his hands, enjoying the feel of the soft leather against his fingers.

“Open it,” said Tullius.

Elerian immediately opened the book and leafed through the pages. To his disappointment, he discovered that that they were all blank. Tullius smiled at the look of surprise on his face.

“The book you hold in your hand is a spell book of the type possessed by every mage,” he said good-naturedly. “Because spells can be forgotten, the only way to keep them safe is to write them down. The pages of your book are blank now, but they will fill up as you record each new spell that you learn.” Tullius pushed the ink and quill toward Elerian. “Write down the spells which I will now recite for you.”

He leaned back in his chair, and a second book, a twin to Elerian’s except that it had Tullius’s name on the cover, appeared in his right hand. When Tullius opened the book, the pages at first appeared blank, but at the touch of his fingers, words written in a neat hand appeared on the pages.

Noting Elerian’s curiosity, Tullius explained. “The concealment spell placed on the book hides what is written on its pages. The words only appear at the touch of the mage’s fingers. No one can read a spell book without the owner’s permission.” Tullius closed his own book and pushed it across the table to Elerian. As Tullius had warned him, the pages remained blank when Elerian opened the book and turned the pages.

Tullius retrieved his book and began to read the words of two different spells out loud. The first brought a mage light into existence, and the second spell extinguished it. With fingers that shook slightly from excitement, Elerian carefully wrote both spells on the first page of his book.

“Memorize the spells,” Tullius ordered after Elerian was done writing.

Elerian eagerly read over the words he had written until he had memorized them. Once Elerian proved to Tullius that he could recall the words of the spells from memory, Tullius said “Extinguo,” and the small mage light floating above the table went out instantly. “Now, try casting the first spell,” said Tullius to Elerian.

“I have no staff or wand,” objected Elerian at once. “You said I would need one to cast a spell.”

“As I recall, you said you have performed magic before without a staff,” said Tullius carelessly. “Try and cast the spell unaided.”

Confused, Elerian prepared to cast his spell; unaware that Tullius was watching him with a look of intense curiosity which contradicted the casual tone of his words. Had he chanced to look up, Elerian might have wondered what the old mage found so interesting, but his attention was focused on the tabletop. He had never succeeded before in casting a spell without the aid of heightened emotion, and he was doubtful that his unpredictable powers would obey him. Carefully, he spoke the words of the light spell, but to his disappointment, nothing happened. Then, just as he was about to repeat the spell, Elerian felt something flow through his right arm into his fingers. A small orb of golden light suddenly leapt from his fingertips to hover above the tabletop before changing into a yellow mage light. A pleased smile spread across Elerian’s face as he regarded the small sphere of light hovering a few inches above the table top. So great was his excitement, that he barely heard Tullius speak.

“It seems that you may not need a staff after all,” said Tullius casually, as if he had witnessed nothing out of the ordinary. The expression on his face was at odds with his voice, however. There was surprise there and even some dismay, but Elerian failed to see it, for his whole attention was focused on the brightly burning mage light which he had brought into existence all on his own.

“Why does the light stay on after the spell has vanished?” asked Elerian after a moment.

“There are many types of spells,” said Tullius. “Some, like the light spell, produce an effect that lingers. Others, like the spell which destroyed the plate, produce a single effect which exhausts their power. Still others can lie dormant until they are activated by a word, a touch, even the light of the moon. Magic is a subtle and diverse art.”

The explanation Tullius gave only raised more questions in Elerian’s mind, but the old mage had had enough of questions for one day. “Practice the light spell,” he said sternly before Elerian could say another word. “Do not trouble yourself about anything else for now, or we shall never progress any farther.”

Elerian attempted to ignite and extinguish a light above the table many more times that day. Sometimes, he succeeded which pleased him. Other times, he failed as his capricious power failed to obey him, causing him to grind his teeth in frustration.

While Elerian practiced, Tullius sat in his chair by the fireplace, thinking his own thoughts until he noticed that his pupil’s concentration was wavering. “That is enough for today,” he said at once. “Using magic, Elerian, takes a physical toll as surely as any other heavy task done with your body. You may find that you are unusually tired tonight. Rest well and do not return until the day after tomorrow. We will continue your lessons then.”

“What about my book?” asked Elerian as he rose from his seat and stretched tiredly.

“I will keep your book for you until you learn to manage it properly,” said Tullius.

True to Tullius’s warning, an unaccustomed heaviness suddenly filled Elerian as he walked to the door with Carbo at his heels. When he opened it, he saw that the sun was already dipping down into the west behind the sharp peaks of the Galerius. He had spent the whole afternoon and a good part of the afternoon sitting at Tullius’s table without realizing it. As he and Carbo walked up the path that led toward Balbus’s farm, Elerian felt tired down to his bones and ravenously hungry as if he had worked all day in the fields. When he passed the two trees that marked the entrance to the hidden ravine, Elerian saw no sign of the green barrier he had seen that morning. Despite his curiosity about the place, he passed it by, for he was tired, and the hour was growing late. He arrived at the farm without incident, and after a hearty dinner, during which he could hardly keep his eyes open or make any reply to Balbus’s questions, Elerian went straight to bed and fell into an unaccustomed, heavy sleep.

Balbus remained sitting in his chair by the fire with Carbo at his feet after Elerian went to bed. He was pleased that Elerian had begun his training as a mage at last. “He is already growing quite skillful with all manner of weapons,” thought Balbus to himself. “Proficiency in the magical arts will give him still another skill he can use to protect himself when he is grown up and on his own.”

Just then, there was a light knock on the front door, and Balbus started, for it was after dark and thoughts of Goblins immediately popped into his head. Carbo, however, pricked up his ears, but did not bark. Someone he knew was at the door. Even so, Balbus took down his sword and held it ready in his right hand as he cautiously opened the front door. His mage lamp cast a pool of yellow light onto his doorstep, revealing a dark, hooded figure.

AN UNEXPECTED VISIT

Balbus tightened his grip on his sword and regarded his mysterious visitor suspiciously, for the hood pulled low over his face kept the light from illuminating his features.

“Don’t stand there gaping,” said the cloaked shape impatiently in a voice barely above a whisper. “Come outside and close the door.”

Balbus recognized the voice of his friend Tullius at once. Wondering why the mage needed to speak to him out in the dark, he stepped outside and quietly closed the door behind him, but not before Carbo had followed him out. He disapproved of Balbus being out at this time of night, and he intended to keep an eye on his master.

“You old fool,” said Balbus sternly, “Why you are risking your life walking about at this hour.”

“I have something to tell you,” said Tullius, “but it needs to be said in private.”

“Let us go inside then,” said Balbus reasonably. “Elerian is already fast asleep in the loft. We can sit and talk comfortably in the kitchen.”

“No!” insisted Tullius. “We must talk somewhere Elerian cannot overhear us if he happens to wake up.”

“Come around to the barn, and I will open the door for you then,” said Balbus resignedly. As he stepped back inside, Tullius vanished into the darkness. After Carbo followed him inside, Balbus closed and locked his front door. He paused to listen for a moment, but nothing stirred overhead. Elerian was still asleep.

Yawning mightily, Balbus crossed over to the kitchen. Leaving Carbo behind, he opened the side door and walked down the passageway which led to the barn, using the mage lamp from the kitchen to illuminate his way. “I hope the news Tullius brings is worth all this bother,” he thought to himself tiredly as he shuffled along.

He let Tullius into the barn through a stout wooden door, and then led the way to a small workroom that stood in a corner of the barn. Here, Balbus was accustomed to making repairs on his farm equipment. A variety of tools hung on the walls, and there was a heavy wooden workbench along one wall. A small iron stove stood against the outside wall, and Balbus quickly built a fire while Tullius paced impatiently behind him. He left the door to the stove open, so that the yellow flames of the fire lit the room and cast flickering shadows in the corners. There were two benches in the room, and Tullius helped him drag both benches in front of the fire. Tullius then seated himself in front of the stove, basking in its welcoming heat, but Balbus disappeared, taking the mage lamp with him. When he returned a short time later, he was carrying two large wooden cups and a bottle filled with golden mead.

“None of this is necessary. I only came to talk briefly,” protested Tullius impatiently.

“Well we may as well be comfortable while we talk,” said Balbus to Tullius as he passed the mage one of the cups. “This will take away the chill of the evening better than wine.”

After filling both cups, Balbus seated himself in front of the fire on the second bench, and the two men drank in companionable silence for a moment. The shifting light of the fire played over their rough-hewn features and raised an occasional gleam in their dark eyes. Balbus was tired, and he yawned as the potent mead spread its warmth inside his body. He stirred himself back to wakefulness as Tullius began to speak softly.

“Even though I scoffed at your notion that Elerian was not human born, I must admit that there were things about him which concerned me since the first time I laid eyes on him,” began Tullius in a low voice as if he still feared being overheard. “His appearance and his ability to perform magic troubled me, but I clung to the hope that he was an unusually gifted human child. Recently, however, Elerian revealed to me that he had developed the third eye, and that hope began to dwindle.”

“Has the mead made you light headed?” asked Balbus incredulously. “The boy had the same number of eyes as you and I when he went off to bed tonight.”

“The third eye is a magical term,” said Tullius impatiently. “It means that Elerian has gained the ability to see magical forces. It is unheard of for a human child to possess this ability. Those who can see the magical energies are few in number, and are usually mages of the highest rank.

“What are you trying to say then?” asked Balbus who was growing more confused by the moment.

“As much as it pains me, I am trying to tell you that you were right all along,” said Tullius irritably. “There is no longer any doubt in my mind that Elerian is not a human child, or at best is only part human. Today, after waiting all this time for the boy’s magical powers to mature, I was finally able to give him a simple test which would prove whether he was human or not. Elerian was able to cast his first spell today without the aid of any staff or wand, something no human mage can do, no matter how powerful he is.”

“It is what I have said from the beginning,” said Balbus with satisfaction, “and while it is certainly pleasant to be proved right, I don’t understand why you needed to tell me about it tonight. You could have waited until morning instead of risking your neck walking about in the dark,” said Balbus disapprovingly.

“Don’t be a fool,” said Tullius irritably. “I did not risk going out at night just to tell you that your guess about Elerian’s origins was correct. I came here at this late hour because I did not want to chance him seeing or hearing the two of us talking together. From the questions he asked me today, I believe that he has already begun to suspect that something is not right about his past. I managed to distract him, but I wanted to warn you in private to watch what you say to him.”

“What harm can it do to tell him who he really is,” asked Balbus reasonably. “He is older now and can be trusted with the information.”

“He must not discover his true history until he has finished his apprenticeship,” insisted Tullius. “The knowledge that he is not human might affect his training.”

“I can’t see what difference it would make,” said Balbus in a puzzled voice. “He has waited impatiently for years to begin his training to be a mage.”

Tullius gave Balbus a pitying look. “Balbus, the boy may not thank us for what we have done. Once he discovers that he is not human, he may resent the change I wrought on him or even become angry enough to run off. At best, his mind will be in turmoil and unfit for learning. Rather than chance this, we must keep our secret from him until he has learned all I can teach him.”

Balbus shifted uncomfortably, for Elerian’s past and when to tell the boy the truth about it was an old argument between them. It seemed to him that Tullius was trying to muster a new argument for keeping the boy’s history a secret. It might take many years for Elerian to finish his apprenticeship, and Balbus was not sure he wanted to delay telling Elerian about his past for such a long period of time.

“Why is it suddenly so important for Elerian to become a mage?” he asked Tullius.

“There are two reasons,” said Tullius. “First, if he seeks to use his powers without the proper training, it could easily kill him. Second, magic may save his life someday, for cold steel alone will not be enough to protect him from the enemies he may face.”

Balbus was unsure of the first point, but he had a ready argument for the second. “There has been no sign of Goblins in our land for years,” Balbus reminded Tullius. “Surely they believe the boy is dead after all this time.”

“Just because you have not seen them does not mean that the danger is gone,” scolded Tullius. “Have you forgotten the Ancharians that walked about our land searching for Elerian? They were surely Goblins or Goblin spies walking among us in the guise of men. I will wager there are still those among us who have not forgotten their promise of silver in exchange for information about a lost boy. If someone discovers that Elerian is that child, never doubt that the news will travel, somehow, to Nefandus. Once word reaches the Goblins that the child they sought so long ago is still alive, they will spare no pains to have him slain or taken. Malice and revenge might drive them to slay us, too, for sheltering him.”

Balbus shifted uncomfortably at Tullius’s words, for they shattered the peace of mind he had felt for so long. He remained firm, however, in his conviction that Elerian must be told who he was someday. “Even if all you say is true, the boy must still be told who he is. It is the right thing to do,” he said stubbornly. “He can make his own choice then whether he wants to remain a Hesperian or resume his original form.”

“What if he wishes to change back, and I am unable to restore him?” asked Tullius harshly. “He may come to hate us both then. He seems happy as he is. Why not leave him alone to live the life he has become accustomed to?”

The thought was a tempting one, for Balbus had almost come to regard Elerian as his real grandson. Firmly, he pushed it out of his mind. “If we do not tell him someday who he really is,” he said slowly, “then we are no better than thieves. I only agreed to his disguise to save his life not rob him of his heritage,” said Balbus with a stubborn look on his face.

Tullius sighed and shook his head. “Humor me for a little longer then,” he said resignedly “Once he completes his apprenticeship, you can tell the boy whatever you wish although I fear we will both come to regret it if you do.” Without another word, Tullius drained his cup and rose from his bench.

“Spend the night,” said Balbus. “Why risk another journey through the dark?”

“It is worth the risk not to raise the boy’s suspicions,” said Tullius. Drawing his cloak closely about him, he left the workshop and opened the outside door. Stepping through it, he disappeared like a shadow into the night.

Balbus stared for a moment through the open door into the darkness. His imagination suddenly filled the night with Goblins and lupins thirsting for Elerian’s blood and perhaps his own too. He shivered as he stepped back and closed the door, quickly locking and barring it. He was afraid, but he was still resolved not to give Elerian up or force him to remain in human guise for the rest of his life.

Balbus closed the door on the stove and turned down the damper before returning to the kitchen. He set the Dwarf lamp on the table, where it cast a warm, cozy glow over the room. Danger of any sort seemed far away, but when Balbus went up to his bed, he found it hard to forget Tullius’s disturbing words and sleep was long in coming to him that night.

BUMPS AND BRUISES

When it was time for Elerian to return Tullius’s house for his next lesson, he made sure he left early so he would not irritate Tullius by being late again. He left Carbo at home, for he now felt confident that he could deal with his third eye without Carbo’s protection. When Elerian reached the place where he had discovered the enchanted ravine, he could not resist stopping for a few moments to search for its entrance. He attempted to open his third eye in order to locate the barrier which concealed the ravine, but to Elerian’s annoyance, it refused to respond. He wondered if it would always remain beyond his control, opening or closing only at times of its own choosing.

Eventually, he found the two trees that guarded the entrance to the ravine. Stepping past the trees, Elerian found that the path was still there, but he immediately noticed differences in his surroundings, some subtle and some more obvious. He walked down what he was sure was the exact path he had followed before, but the green motes that had filled the air two days ago had vanished, and there was no sense of magic in the air today. When he came to the stream, it seemed narrower, and the flow of water was less than before. He followed the stream to the falls and found that they had turned into a thin trickle of water that made barely any sound as it fell into a clear pool that seemed far too shallow for even an otter to dive into. Even more startling, the beech tree growing by the side of the pool had vanished. In its place grew a tall ash tree.

“Have I come to the wrong place?” wondered Elerian in confusion. He climbed down the side of the falls and walked up to the ash tree. Hesitantly, he touched it with his right hand, wondering if it was real. The bark felt rough and solid when he pressed it with his fingertips. “If this is the same tree, am I seeing it as it really is, or is the spell that is on this place clouding my eyes?” wondered Elerian to himself. “How exasperating it is that my mage sight will not respond. I would have the answer in a moment.” Disappointed and frustrated, he finally left the ravine.

Elerian ran the rest of the way to Tullius’s house to make up the time he had lost. When he knocked on the front door, the mage opened it immediately, an impatient look on his face even though Elerian had arrived on time today. Seemingly filled with an uncharacteristic anxiety, he remained standing while Elerian seated himself at the table. Elerian had hoped to discuss the hidden ravine again, but Tullius immediately asked, “Do you remember how to cast the light spell?”

“Yes,” said Elerian without hesitation, and in his mind he clearly saw each line of the spell.

“Cast the spell then,” said Tullius, and still evincing a strange nervousness, took up a position behind Elerian, out of his sight. Elerian paid little attention to Tullius’s movements. Putting aside his questions about the ravine for a more opportune moment, he confidently spoke the words of the light spell. He was delighted to feel the immediate flow of power down his right arm in response to the words. As he neared the last word of the spell, however, something suddenly poked him hard in the middle of his back. Hurt, surprised, and distracted, Elerian stumbled over the last word of the spell and momentarily lost his focus. Instantly, there was a blinding flash of golden light in front of his eyes, and something that felt like a heavy club struck him hard enough in the chest to send him over backwards in his chair which then toppled over onto the stone floor. Elerian found himself flat on his back, gasping painfully for breath. After a moment, he slowly sat up, and the first thing he saw was Tullius’s face floating behind the cloud of bright sparks that were dancing in front of his eyes. The mage was holding his staff in his right hand, and Elerian guessed, at once, what had happened.

“You poked me with your staff,” shouted Elerian, overcome with anger and disbelief. It was beyond comprehension that Tullius could betray him in this way.

Instantly, Tullius’s face darkened with anger. “If you cannot be respectful, then go home!” he said coldly to Elerian.

Elerian had never felt so angry in his life. For a moment, he actually considered storming out of the mage’s house, but gradually, his good sense reasserted itself. Tullius was not given to malicious acts; therefore, his action must have some purpose, or at least Elerian hoped it did.

“Why did you interrupt my spell?” he asked in a calmer voice.

“Words do not teach as well as experience,” Tullius said with a sudden gleam in his dark eyes. “I explained the dangers of my craft yesterday, but I wanted to be certain in my mind that you understood what I meant by those words.”

“I could have been killed or injured,” said Elerian, some of his anger seeping back into his voice.

“That would have been most unlikely,” said Tullius brusquely. “The spell you attempted to cast is a minor spell, requiring only a little power. You may have a few bumps and bruises, but I doubt you suffered any permanent damage. A more powerful spell, on the other hand, would have killed you instantly,” said Tullius in a grave voice. He paused for a moment to let his words sink in, probing Elerian’s  face with his dark eyes as if searching for some sign of fear. “Do you still want to be a mage knowing that you risk your life with every powerful spell that you cast?”

With an effort, Elerian put aside his anger, as he considered Tullius’s question. Although he still felt ill used, he now understood the purpose of Tullius’s lesson, harsh as it was. Up to now, he had performed magic without any conception of how powerful were the forces he was dealing with. Knowing his life hung in the balance, could he now utter a spell without fear freezing his tongue or making him hesitate? A deep silence filled the room as Elerian searched inside himself for an answer. He was relieved to find that, deep down, his confidence in himself was unshaken. Rightly or wrongly, he still believed that he could become a mage. Tullius’s lesson had given him new found respect for the powers of magic, but it had not made him afraid of them.

“I still want to be a mage,” said Elerian firmly, as he lifted his eyes and returned Tullius’s searching gaze without flinching. “I still think that what you did was not fair,” he added with an edge of annoyance in his voice. “You could at least have warned me to prepare myself for the backlash of my failed spell.”

“You will find that many things in life are unfair,” said Tullius, unperturbed by Elerian’s lingering anger. “The rules of this lesson are fixed by tradition. Every apprentice mage is given the same test you just endured, and no warning is ever given since it might reduce the effect of the lesson. You would be amazed at how many budding mages suddenly turn to other careers when they realize firsthand the extreme dangers of the powers they are dealing with. There are good mages, and there are bad mages, but there are no cowardly mages,” said Tullius firmly.

Elerian’s sense of fair play was still offended, but he put aside his anger and even smiled a little. While he did not doubt that the test was genuine, he wondered if Tullius had not garnered a bit of revenge at the same time. Elerian suspected that Tullius still thought he might be connected in some way with the wolf that had attacked him in the garden. The memory of the incident widened his smile as he recalled, once more, the startled look on Tullius’s face when he had first seen the black wolf spring out from behind the cedar.

“There is nothing to smile about you young fool,” said Tullius severely, almost as if he had some hint of what was on Elerian’s mind. “Even though you have demonstrated the courage that a mage needs, you must still prove to me that you possess the caution that will keep you alive. A reckless apprentice will seldom live to complete his training, and some of them have destroyed their masters, as well as themselves, through their rashness. If you display any signs of irresponsible behavior, I will send you home at once. I have no wish to be blown apart in my old age by a reckless, young fool. Do you understand?” asked Tullius sternly, raising his voice for emphasis.

“I understand,” said Elerian drawing his face into more serious lines although his eyes still sparkled with laughter as he remembered how Tullius had cleared the garden wall in a single leap. “I understand that I must not be afraid, but I must also be careful,” he added dutifully.

“Good,” said Tullius, but there was still a tinge of doubt in his voice. He had never doubted Elerian’s courage, but there was definitely a hint of recklessness in the boy that worried him. “He must have his chance in spite of the risk to both of us,” Tullius decided at last. “With or without my training, he is certain to continue using his power. If he does not learn to control it now, then it will surely destroy him some day.”

The severe expression faded from his face only to be replaced by a threatening look a moment later. Eyes flashing fiercely beneath his bushy gray eyebrows, Tullius pointed his staff at Elerian and thundered, “Suppose I were to direct the spell which destroyed the plate at your beating heart?”

Elerian started and tensed involuntarily at the sudden change that had come over Tullius. The mage actually looked as if he might be capable of loosing the spell he had threatened. There was no fear in Elerian’s voice, however, as he calmly replied, “I suppose I would be dead if that were to happen.”

“Yes you would,” said Tullius emphatically, “therefore, one of the very first things you must learn is how to defend yourself from spells which might harm you.”

“Why would another mage wish to harm me or anyone else?” asked Elerian in a puzzled voice. As far as he knew he did not have a single enemy in the wide world except the Goblins, and they had not used magic against him.

“Not everyone you meet in your life will be your friend, Elerian,” said Tullius. “There are evil mages as well as good ones in the world, and you must know how to defend yourself against the wicked ones.” He cut off further questions by producing Elerian’s spell book as well as his own. Tullius read the words of the shield spell from his own book while Elerian wrote them down. As he wrote, he looked with satisfaction at the dark letters written in his own neat handwriting that appeared on the creamy white page of the book.

“Do not sit there gawking,” said Tullius brusquely. “Memorize the spell so that we can practice it.”

Elerian sighed and began his assignment, wishing that Tullius was not such a hard taskmaster. He still did not understand why the mage was placing so much importance on learning a shield spell that he would likely never use. As far as Elerian knew, Tullius was the only real mage in the area. There were a few others whose powers extended only to performing minor spells, but Elerian did not consider them true mages. Certainly, they were not dangerous. Tullius impatiently began to pace the floor, and Elerian sighed and bent to his task. The spell was not overly difficult, and before long, he raised his head and said, “I am ready.”

Rather than take Elerian’s word, Tullius had him repeat the spell several times until he was sure that Elerian had committed it perfectly to memory. “Cast the spell then,” he said at last. His nervousness seemed to have returned, and as Elerian began the words of the spell, Tullius unobtrusively moved to stand behind him again. If Elerian had turned around then, he would have seen a tense, apprehensive look on the mage’s face. Training an apprentice to cast the more powerful spells was a nerve-wracking task, for at any moment, something could go horribly wrong. With his nerves on edge, Tullius prepared to cast a shield spell, if necessary, over himself and Elerian to protect them both from any missteps the boy might make.

Unaware of Tullius’s anxious frame of mind, Elerian slowly and clearly recited the words of the spell, hoping all the while that Tullius was not about to poke him again. As he spoke the last word, he felt a familiar flow of power in his right arm, and his capricious third eye showed him a golden light spreading from his fingertips. The light flowed up his arm, and in an instant, covered his whole body like a gleaming cloak. Elerian leaped to his feet in excitement, and the light of the spell promptly vanished as he lost his concentration.

Lacking the gift of mage sight, Tullius was unable to see the spell, but he was satisfied from listening to Elerian recite the words that it had been cast properly. He also guessed correctly that the spell had broken, along with Elerian’s concentration, when the lad sprang out of his chair.

“You must maintain your focus, Elerian,” he said sternly. “If you were in a struggle with another mage, that moment of inattention could have cost you your life. Now, cast the spell again.”

Tullius spent several hours observing Elerian as he cast the spell over and over again. Elerian became thoroughly bored before long, but with Tullius’s dark eyes constantly trained on him, he dared not let his concentration waver for an instant. Unexpectedly, Tullius walked away from Elerian until a distance of about ten feet separated them.

“Stand up!” said Tullius, turning to face Elerian. “I will now attack you with a sleep spell while you use your shield spell to protect yourself.” He raised his staff into the air with his right hand and said, “When I lower my staff, we will both begin our spells at the same time.”

As Elerian stood, waiting nervously, Tullius suddenly dropped his staff and said, “Somnus!” in a commanding voice before Elerian could even begin his own spell. The next thing Elerian knew, he was sitting up on the floor, rubbing a painful bump on the back of his head. Tullius’s spell had put him to sleep before he could speak a word of his own spell. To add insult to injury, his third eye had failed to open, denying him an opportunity to try to avoid Tullius’s spell.

“This is not a fair contest,” protested Elerian angrily, for between the bruises on his back and the ache in his head, he was beginning to feel abused. “You are faster than I am.”

Tullius leaned on his staff and looked at Elerian from beneath his bushy brows. “This is a lesson not a contest, so the word fair does not enter into it,” he said sternly. “Do you wish to quit? If you are afraid of a few bumps and bruises, it might be the best thing for you to do.”

Tullius sounded quite serious. Elerian still felt the mage was being overly harsh, but he set aside his anger and stood back up. “I do not wish to quit,” he said firmly. “What am I doing wrong?”

“When casting a spell for the first time,” explained Tullius, “the safest way to proceed, especially for a novice, is to speak each part of the spell aloud. As your mind becomes more familiar with a spell, you will find that fewer and fewer words are needed to cast it. For example, when casting your defensive spell, you may eventually only need to utter tego meum, or better yet, tego.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before our match?” asked Elerian with an irritated look on his face.

A slow smile spread across Tullius’s face. “You now have an incentive to practice which you might not have had before,” he said complacently.

Elerian wondered uneasily if Tullius had somehow sensed his earlier boredom and was using the lesson as a way to motivate him and amuse himself at the same time. When he looked deeply into the mage’s sharp brown eyes, however, he saw a deep concern there along with the humor. Amused or no, Tullius was quite serious underneath. Even though his methods were harsh, he was doing his best to see that both he and Elerian remained alive.

Tullius watched with satisfaction as Elerian put aside his irritation and grimly prepared himself for another challenge he would surely lose. “He has spirit,” thought Tullius to himself, “and he is beginning to learn the prudence that will keep him alive.”

Elerian was surprised and relieved when Tullius said, “Return in two days. Practice the words of the shield spell, but on no account are you to try to cast it on your own. The danger is too great at this point.”

After returning his spell book to Tullius, Elerian took his leave and wearily made his way home, favoring his various bumps and bruises. He tried to use his healing power on himself and sighed in disappointment when it refused to respond. “This is certainly not what I expected from my training as a mage,” he thought to himself wryly. “Even Balbus never gave me half so many bruises during all of our weapons training.”

A DIFFICULT TIME

In the weeks and months that followed his first attempt to use the shield spell, Elerian entered into one of the most trying periods of his young life. Several times a week, he traveled to Tullius’s home where he defended himself endlessly against Tullius’s sleep spells. His control over his power remained unpredictable, and even when it did obey him, he was never able to cast his shield spell quickly enough to protect himself against Tullius’s spells. After each attack by Tullius, he unfailingly   ended up on the floor in the grips of a sleep spell. It soon became a wearisome business with no end in sight, for Elerian failed to see any improvement in himself, and Tullius seemed obsessed with the idea that Elerian learn this one spell before he could move on to any others.

Elerian became heartily sick of waking on the cold stone floor of Tullius’s house with the mage poking him none too gently in the chest with the end of his staff. Invariably, as Elerian ground his teeth in frustration, Tullius spoke the same words each time. “If I were an enemy, you would be dead now; you must try harder to protect yourself.” As failure followed failure and his accumulation of bumps and bruises grew, it became harder and harder for Elerian to restrain himself from making some angry outburst against Tullius, an outburst that he knew he would surely regret.

“The fault lies with me, not Tullius,” Elerian reminded himself as the days dragged by without any change. More than once, he was tempted to quit, as he began to despair of ever making any progress. He began to linger along the path that led to the mage’s house, postponing his hours of torment for as long as possible. In the end, the only thing that sustained him was a core of stubbornness that forced him to return on each appointed day and which drove him, grim faced, to his feet after each failure, determined to try to try one more time. Throughout the whole ordeal, Tullius never offered a word of encouragement, and in his darker moments, Elerian began to wonder if the mage secretly wanted him to quit.

The seasons changed, summer into fall and fall into winter, and the unequal contests, one loss after another, blurred one into another in Elerian’s mind. He was, therefore, quite surprised one day, after another failed attempt to defend himself, to hear Tullius say, “Well done, Elerian, you are beginning to make progress at last.”

“What is he talking about?” wondered Elerian, for Tullius had beaten him again. It was only after he had shaken off the effects of the sleep spell which had dulled his mind that he realized that Tullius had spoken the truth. He legs felt weak, and he had to fight an overwhelming urge to close his eyes, but for the first time, he was still standing at the end of one of their contests.

That day marked a turning point for Elerian. Each day after that, he noticed a gradual, almost imperceptible improvement in himself. It became rare for his power to fail him, and the shield spell became so firmly embedded in his mind that he could cast it with just a single word. Only his third eye still remained beyond his control, opening and closing at unexpected times.

Despite all his progress, however, Elerian was still unsuccessful in completely defending himself against Tullius’s spells. Although he no longer fell to the floor lost in a deep sleep after Tullius’s attacks, the mage’s sleep spells still left him feeling drowsy and unable to defend himself if Tullius had chosen to attack him again.

“If my speed in casting a spell now matches Tullius’s, why am I still losing every match?” wondered Elerian to himself. After another string of failures, his pent up frustration finally got the better of him. After still another failure, he suddenly shouted at Tullius “What am I doing wrong?”

Tullius raised his bushy eyebrows at the outburst, and Elerian caught his breath, expecting to be reprimanded for losing his temper. Surprisingly, Tullius did not take offense. “A counter spell,” he said, with unexpected patience, “must match or exceed the power of the spell it is defending against; otherwise, it will not be totally effective. Your ability to cast your counter spell quickly has improved, but you still have not learned to gage the strength of the spell I am using against you. Your counter spell is always too weak to block the full effects of my sleep spell.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that before?” asked Elerian, thinking of the weeks of frustration he had just endured.

“You did not ask,” said Tullius calmly.

Elerian felt ready to explode, but he forced himself to remain calm. He had endured too much to fail now. “What if I make my spell as strong as possible then?” he asked in a calmer voice.

“If you overcompensate, you will use up your strength too quickly,” replied Tullius. “In a long battle against another mage, you would stand no chance of winning. You must learn to counter my spells without wasting power uselessly.”

The satisfaction Elerian had felt in his improving abilities all leaked away at Tullius’s words. How could he, in the blink of an eye, gage the strength of a spell he usually could not see? Even when it opened, his third eye was no advantage. Tullius cast his spells so quickly that by the time Elerian saw them, it was already too late to defend against them. “How can you anticipate and guard against a spell you cannot even see?” he asked hopelessly.

“Not every apprentice has the ability to learn this skill,” admitted Tullius honestly. “Even if you do have the ability, it must be honed through endless practice. Only then will you be able to read the subtle signs an opponent will give you with his body and voice as he prepares to cast a spell.”

Elerian groaned aloud at the thought of another series of endless, tedious contests against Tullius. “It may take years to learn such a skill, if I ever learn it at all,” he protested.

Tullius shrugged. “You are young and have all the time you need at your disposal. You did not learn to use a sword or knife in an hour. Why do you expect magic to be any different?”

“Why indeed?” Elerian asked himself, and the source of much of his frustration and impatience suddenly became clear to him. He had begun his training with the foolish notion that because he could already perform some magic, everything would come easily to him. Obviously, he had been badly mistaken. Magic was a far more complex craft than he had ever imagined. Elerian suddenly realized that he might spend the next ten years trying to master just this one spell. What made it even worse was that he still did not see the point of spending all this time learning a spell which he was certain he would never use. He looked into Tullius’s stern face and saw no hope there of persuading the mage to abandon this part of his training. He had only two choices, to quit and never realize his desire to become a mage, or to go on and accept, without complaint, the years of effort it might take for him to complete his training.

“Let us go on then,” said Elerian resignedly, and Tullius actually smiled a little and clapped him on the shoulder to encourage him. After their talk, Elerian felt his frustration at his slow progress vanish, to be replaced by a dogged patience. He was now determined to spend as much time as necessary to learn the skills which would make him a mage. Disregarding Tullius’s advice, Elerian began to throw his whole strength into his defensive spells. Because of this wasteful use of his power, Tullius was able to wear him down, but Elerian began to hold his own in some of the matches.

Almost before Elerian realized it, winter had passed and it was summer again. As his fifteenth birthday approached, he found that most of his duels with Tullius were now ending in a draw. He had also learned to gage the strength of Tullius’s offensive spells to a nicety so that he no longer had to waste power to block them. Even at the end of a long day of duels, Tullius was no longer able to wear him down and overcome his defenses. His third eye had also become more reliable. During each duel, it now showed him the golden orb which flashed from the end of Tullius’s staff each time he cast a spell as well as the bright flare of golden light that resulted when the orb struck Elerian’s shield spell.

Oddly enough, success brought boredom with it. Now that he had mastered the shield spell, Elerian felt that he was ready to move on to other spells, but Tullius seemed content to continue practicing the same spell day after day. Elerian had to force himself to concentrate during each duel now, but he dared not let his thoughts wander. One moment of inattention would allow Tullius to put him to sleep. Tenaciously, he continued to defend himself, determined to outlast Tullius no matter how long it took.

A week after Elerian’s fifteenth birthday, Tullius suddenly put down his staff after Elerian had successfully defended himself a number of times. “You have now mastered the most important spell that I can teach you, Elerian,” he said quietly. “It is time now to go on to other spells.”

The unexpected announcement took Elerian by surprise as did the undisguised weariness and relief in Tullius’s voice. Suddenly, he felt guilty for all the resentment he had felt against Tullius for forcing him to learn the shield spell. He realized, suddenly, that the tedious duels must have been nearly as difficult for Tullius to endure as they had been for him.

“Thank you for your patience, Tullius,” said Elerian awkwardly. “I know I have been difficult at times.”

A rare smile lit up Tullius’s face. “Most of the spells which will follow will be far easier,” he said in an encouraging voice. The perseverance Elerian had displayed in mastering a difficult task had impressed Tullius and had finally dispelled any doubts he felt about Elerian’s qualifications to become a mage. Driven by the thought that the shield spell might save the boy’s life someday, he had taken a risk. He had pushed Elerian relentlessly to learn a spell that would have taxed an apprentice far older and more skilled than himself, despite the chance that the boy might become discouraged and quit. Tullius knew that Elerian thought he had taken an unusually long time to learn this one spell, but in actual fact, the boy had made remarkable progress in just one year. “He has the talent to go far,” thought Tullius to himself. “Farther than I can take him,” was his bitter afterthought. “He should have come to a better teacher.” A dark mood suddenly descended over the mage, and he abruptly dismissed Elerian without any explanation, telling him to return in two days.

HIDDEN REALMS

When Elerian returned to Tullius’s house again, he found that the mage’s dark mood had lifted, and he was his old testy self again. Elerian was hoping that the worst part of his training was over, but Tullius soon disabused him of that notion at the start of their next lesson. He began with another lecture which Elerian took as a bad sign.

“Most of the spells I will teach you now will be less difficult to execute than the shield spell,” began Tullius. “The amount of power needed to cast the various spells will differ, but you must always make sure that you have enough power to see each spell you attempt through to the end. All of them, as you have already learned, will present a danger to you if not performed properly.”

“How can I measure how much power I have if I can’t see it?” asked Elerian, as his misgivings were confirmed. Although Tullius had assured him that things were about to become easier, it seemed to him that they were quickly becoming complicated again.

“For now, that will be my task,” said Tullius soberly. “I will try to make sure that you do not over reach yourself while I am instructing you. Until you become more accomplished, do not perform any spells, even the simpler ones, out of my sight,” he said sternly. “Eventually, through constant practice, you will develop a sense of your own power, hopefully without destroying one or both of us in the process.”

When he heard these last words, Elerian began to smile, thinking that Tullius was joking, but his smile quickly vanished when he saw that the mage was deadly serious. He began to appreciate more and more what a dangerous task Tullius had taken on himself by overseeing his magical training.

“I must not try his patience as much,” thought Elerian to himself. “He is taking on a huge risk for no reward that I can see.”

“Now then,” continued Tullius, interrupting his thoughts, “it is time for you to learn how to call your spell book and also, how to send it away.” He opened his right hand, and Elerian’s book appeared on his upturned palm. Even this simple spell delighted Elerian after the tedious business of learning the difficult and, in his opinion, useless shield spell. He watched carefully as Tullius, after handing over Elerian’s book, caused his own book to appear, after which he brought the quill pen and the bottle of ink from the shelf across the room to the table.

“Will you also show me how to bring objects from across the room?” asked Elerian, promptly forgetting his promise to himself not to try Tullius’s patience so much.

“In a moment, I shall freeze you into immobility,” threatened Tullius. “Perhaps then, you will listen and not interrupt me.”

“I wonder if my shield spell would protect me if he tried that?” wondered Elerian, but wisely, he kept his thoughts to himself. Tullius opened his book, and Elerian hastily prepared to copy the spells the mage was about to give him. As Tullius slowly read the words of both the calling spell and the sending spell, Elerian carefully recorded them on the blank page in front of him. As Tullius had promised, neither spell was very long or complicated. Tullius also added the words of a third spell.

“This last spell will enchant a spell book,” he said solemnly, “just in case you live long enough to have an apprentice of your own.” Elerian glanced at Tullius’s face which remained impassive, but this time there was a twinkle in his eye which made Elerian feel better. “Perhaps he expects me to survive my training after all,” thought Elerian to himself as he carefully recorded the last spell.

Elerian committed the first two spells to memory, and then, under Tullius’s watchful eyes, made his spell book appear and disappear for the first time. As he repeated the two spells over and over, however, the novelty of it soon faded, and it became another tedious task which he must perform until Tullius gave him leave to stop. After a time, Elerian lost track of the number of times he had performed the spell, and his mind began to wander a little. As he watched his book vanish with disinterested eyes, he suddenly asked, without thinking, “Where does the book go Tullius? Does it become invisible? If it does, then how does it follow me around?”

Tullius, who had dragged his chair by the fire after Elerian showed his mastery of the spells, was almost asleep in his chair, but the questions startled him into wakefulness. Elerian braced himself for another reprimand as Tullius turned his chair to face the table. To Elerian’s surprise, however, Tullius did not seem upset for once.

“Our understanding of how many spells perform their function is limited, Elerian,” said Tullius patiently. “Since it is difficult to study something you cannot see, much of what we know about magic is based on conjecture. Some of the great mages of the past believed that other realms exist which touch upon our own world but are separated from it by invisible barriers. According to their thought, one of the spells I have taught you sends the book into another realm, and the reverse spell brings it back.”

“How can a spell send a book to another realm?” asked Elerian, more than half convinced that Tullius was having a joke at his expense.

“Both the sending and the fetching spell are thought to create an opening, a small portal if you will have the proper name,” replied Tullius. “They then carry the book back and forth through this opening according to the mage’s command. Whether this is what actually occurs, I cannot say, for there is no way to see what is happening to the book. That is as much as I know about it,” he said with an air of finality, and Elerian knew that he would have to be satisfied with this explanation. Soon after, Tullius dismissed him for the rest of the day. “No sense in overdoing it,” he said with a smile. “Come back in two days, and we will try something new.”

Elerian rose from his chair and a wave of exhaustion swept over him. The two simple spells he had practiced all day had taken far more of his strength than he had realized. He wearily set off for home, but tired as he was, the spells he had learned that day remained fixed in his mind. “Do they really open portals into other worlds?” Elerian wondered to himself as he traveled home through the forest.

Although Tullius had warned him against performing unsupervised magic, that night, after Balbus had gone up to bed, Elerian sat downstairs by the fireplace and, a trifle guiltily, whispered the spell that would bring him his spell book. The book appeared in his hand, and he smiled, a trifle smugly it must be said. It had occurred to Elerian that he had an advantage not possessed by other mages, an advantage that might help him solve the mystery of where his spell book went when it vanished. As he spoke the words that sent his book away, he called on his mage sight. His third eye opened, and he saw two small golden spheres spring from his right hand. One expanded to envelope his spell book in a golden glow. The second orb both flattened and spread, turning into a golden circle whose center shimmered and then turned dark, leaving only a thin rim of gold, just large enough for the spell book to pass through, hanging in the air. With a suddenness that made Elerian jump, the spell book flew through the circle, and both the book and the portal vanished.

Elerian tried the spell several more times, but each time, everything progressed in the blink of an eye, leaving him no opportunity to look through the portal which was only visible for an instant. At last, no longer feeling quite so superior, he gave up trying to see what was on the other side of the circle of light. “There must be some other way I can do this,” he thought to himself in frustration, for he badly wanted to get a glimpse of what lay on the other side of the portal.

Suddenly, Elerian thought of Balbus’s magic purse which they had gotten from the Goblins so long ago. He had forgotten it up to now, for Balbus had used the silver coins it yielded in a sparing manner. Elerian was now sure he knew where the silver was coming from. Excitedly, he took the purse from its hiding place, a loose stone in the floor near the fireplace, and opened it.

With his mage sight, he saw a golden light envelop the leather purse at the touch of his fingers. When Elerian opened the silver clasp and looked inside, he saw only the empty bottom of the purse. The moment he reached into the purse with the fingers of his right hand, however, a thin circle of golden light appeared in the depths of the dark leather. Elerian thrust his fingers through the circle and immediately felt the round, cool shapes of several silver coins. He withdrew his fingers so that he could look through the circle, but it promptly disappeared, and he saw only the empty bottom of the purse again. With a sigh of disappointment, Elerian returned the purse to its hiding place.

“The purse must also open up into another realm,” thought Elerian to himself. “That is why it can hold such a large quantity of coins even though it is very small.”

He fell asleep that night wondering what that other realm was like, unaware that his guesses were only half right. His book did indeed travel to another realm, but the purse led to a remote part of the treasury of the Goblin King himself. Only Balbus’s lack of greed and his sparing use of the purse had kept his and Elerian’s most terrible enemy from discovering them.

In the months which followed his lesson on portals, Elerian forgot about the Goblins’ purse once more and even ceased to wonder about other realms, for Tullius kept him much too busy for idle thoughts. As soon as Elerian mastered one spell, Tullius gave him another one. Each new spell had to be written in his book and then memorized. Once he could recite the new spell flawlessly, Elerian cast the spell under Tullius’s watchful eye until the mage was satisfied that he had mastered it. Occasionally, when Elerian worked with the simpler, less dangerous spells, Tullius would try to distract him with noises or pokes from his staff. After several painful experiences, Elerian learned to focus on completing his spell no matter what distractions Tullius imposed on him.

“Why not just read a spell from my book instead of memorizing it?” Elerian asked Tullius one day, as he struggled to memorize a spell that was particularly long. He knew by now that Tullius would have an explanation, but the interruption was still welcome, no matter how brief.

“When you complete your apprenticeship that will be allowed,” answered Tullius, “but for now, you are training your memory. There will be many occasions where you will not have the leisure of opening your book and searching through it for a spell. The more spells you can carry around in your head, the better off you will be.”

With a sigh, Elerian returned to his memorization. He found, however, that he could only retain a limited number of spells in his memory at one time. At a certain point, it was as if each new spell he committed to memory pushed out an old one.

“I am forgetting some of my early spells,” he said worriedly to Tullius one day.

“It happens,” said Tullius unconcernedly. “The number of spells a mage can memorize will vary. Some can only hold one or two in their heads at one time while others are able to retain dozens of spells in their memory. When you have completed your apprenticeship, you can choose which spells are most useful for you to commit to memory. The rest of them will remain safely stored in your spell book until you need them.”

As Elerian grew more proficient, Tullius let him attempt more difficult spells, like the destruction spell. Elerian found this part of his training quite entertaining. In order to allow him to practice, Tullius lined up stones or pieces of wood along the edge of the clearing behind his garden. From a safe distance, he had Elerian destroy them one by one. Elerian found the sharp cracking sounds and the flying fragments emitted by the objects he destroyed most satisfactory. He then had to restore each piece so that he could destroy it again which was not quite as much fun. Elerian discovered that he was especially tired at the end of these sessions because of the power he expended, and sometimes, it was all he could do to drag himself home at the end of his lessons.

“Is there no way I can increase my power?” he asked Tullius after one particularly trying day that left him unusually exhausted. Tullius’s face immediately darkened at the question, and Elerian wondered what he had done to anger the mage now.

“Each person,” admonished Tullius as if he were weighing each word, “is born with a fixed amount of power which will increase each year until he achieves his full growth. Beyond that, a mage cannot increase his power by any natural means.” There was an air of finality to his voice, but Elerian was not yet willing to let the subject drop.

“Can it be done by magic?” he asked.

“It can,” said Tullius grimly, “but only one mage in all the Middle Realm possesses that knowledge.”

“Who is he?” asked Elerian eagerly, wondering why Tullius had never mentioned him before.

“His name is Torquatus, the king of the Goblins,” said Tullius soberly. “Long ago, he was able to make a ring that would steal power from other mages and store it until it was needed. His dungeons are full of miserable prisoners whose power is fed into his ring, bit by bit, until they finally weaken and die. Year after year, he increases his strength through the death and misery of others. Is that the path you wish to take?” asked Tullius sternly of Elerian.

“Of course not,” replied Elerian in a shocked voice. “I would never steal from anyone for any reason, let alone to gain power.”

Elerian did not bring up the subject again, for Tullius obviously disapproved of it, but the thought of the Goblin king’s magic ring remained in Elerian’s mind. “Perhaps there is some other way to gain power to store in such a ring besides stealing it from others,” he often thought to himself.

A RASH OF MISCHIEF

Time passed in a blur of hard work after Elerian learned to send his book away and bring it back. Then, without any explanation, Tullius slowed the pace of Elerian’s training. He was now only required to visit the mage once or twice a week, leaving him with unaccustomed free time on his hands. For the first time in months, Elerian took notice of the season and realized that almost another year of his apprenticeship had gone by. In just a few weeks, he would be sixteen.

At first, Elerian was content just to rest and spend time with Balbus, but before long, his sense of mischief, long suppressed by hard work and exhaustion, began to resurface. The urge to have some fun after two years of sustained, difficult lessons became irresistible for Elerian. One evening, on the spur of the moment, he used his ring to disguise himself and hid in the loft of a neighbor’s barn. Through a wide crack in the floor, he watched as the farmer, a stout fellow with an excitable nature, set a milking stool down by his cow and prepared to sit on it. Just before the farmer’s substantial seat contacted the stool, Elerian cast a spell which moved the stool backward. The farmer missed it entirely and dropped heavily onto the thick layer of straw covering the flagstone floor.

More startled than hurt, he rose and examined the stool with a puzzled expression before attempting to sit on it again. At the last moment, Elerian moved it away for a second time, and the farmer ended up sitting heavily on the floor once more. Flushed and obviously irritated, he stood up and positioned the stool yet again, this time holding it firmly in place with both hands as he carefully lowered himself onto it. Elerian, eyes shining with mischief, pulled the stool away at the last moment, and the farmer landed on the floor for a third time. Sputtering with anger, he jumped to his feet. Giving in to his hasty nature at last, he impulsively seized an ax and chopped the stool to bits before stomping on the broken pieces with both feet. Breathing heavily, he regarded the stool with a vengeful look before turning away to set down the ax. Elerian immediately cast a spell to reassemble the stool. When the farmer turned and saw the offending piece of furniture in one piece again, his eyes widened in fear and surprise until the whites showed all the way around them. At this critical moment, Elerian cast a weak destruction spell at the stool, and it fell to pieces again with a sharp cracking sound that caused both the farmer and his cow to start violently. Convinced at last that some evil presence had taken possession of his stool, the farmer uttered a loud, inarticulate cry of alarm before turning and running out of the barn.

Shaking with silent laughter, Elerian reassembled the stool and then left the barn unseen, stifling a fresh round of suppressed laughter at the thought of what the farmer would say when he returned to the barn and found the stool whole again.

Encouraged by the success of his first prank, Elerian left a silver coin in front of the doorstep of another nearby farmer who was notoriously tight with money. He entertained himself for some time by moving the coin away each time the farmer sought to pick it up. In the end, he sent it into the farmer’s pocket and watched with amusement as he pulled it out with a mystified look on his face. Other pranks followed, limited only by Elerian’s fertile imagination. Soon, they became the talk of the countryside. Opinions varied as to the source of the strange doings. The majority thought that a malicious shade was involved because none of the victims ever saw any sign of the prankster. A smaller minority hit closer to the mark in thinking that a mischievous mage might be the cause.

Eventually, the pranks ceased, and the talk died down again. Elerian never entertained any fear of being found out, but after a time, he came to consider his neighbors such easy marks that he became bored with playing tricks on them. His roving eye began to seek a more challenging target, and it was only a matter of time before it settled on Tullius. Elerian clearly recalled the near disastrous consequences of the last prank he had played on Tullius, but the element of risk attracted him like a moth to a flame. He carefully made his preparations, and one morning, well before his lessons for the day were to start, he showed up at the edge of Tullius’s clearing unannounced.

As a precaution against being discovered, Elerian disguised himself with an illusion that would allow him to take on the appearance of his surroundings. When he looked down at himself without the benefit of his mage sight, he saw only a pattern of rowan branches covered by green leaves. Slipping silently through the ring of rowan trees growing behind Tullius’s garden, Elerian stopped just behind the screen formed by their low hanging branches. Secure in the knowledge that he blended perfectly with the leaves and branches around him, Elerian peered through a gap in the leaves, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. As he had hoped, Tullius was working industriously in his garden, waging a never ending war against the weeds which sought to invade his herb beds during the spring and summer months.

Elerian smiled to himself when he observed that Tullius paused often to glance warily about him. Even after all this time, the mage evidently still remembered the black wolf which had chased him through the garden. “It will be a real challenge to take him by surprise,” thought Elerian to himself, almost shivering with eagerness to match wits with Tullius again. The possibility of being fatally injured by one of Tullius’s spells fazed him not at all. The risk only lent spice to the adventure.

Carefully, Elerian raised the small cage woven of grass stems which he held in his left hand. Inside the cage was a large, very angry hornet almost the size of his thumb. His armor gleamed in the morning light, bright yellow with black stripes, and an ominous hum came from the cage as he angrily tested the confines of his small prison. Abruptly, the hornet vanished as Elerian’s sending spell carried him away to appear, without warning, barely six inches in front of Tullius’s nose. As the hornet hung there disoriented, filling the air with the dangerous drone of his anger, Tullius gave a shout of alarm and stumbled backwards, waving his hoe wildly in the air as he sought to fend off the angry insect. Quickly, before Tullius could inflict any damage, Elerian brought his small warrior back for a moment and then sent him back to appear near Tullius’s left ear, eliciting another shout, more wild stabs with the hoe, and another disappearance by the hornet.

As Tullius looked about him with wild eyes, his chest heaving from his exertions, the hornet appeared next to his right ear, filling it with a menacing, buzzing sound. It was too much for Tullius. Throwing his hoe down on the ground, he bolted for his back door, forgetting even his staff in his panic. Immediately, Elerian brought the furious hornet back for the last time. As he retreated back through the rowans, he saw Tullius’s door open a crack, and one dark eye gleamed in the opening as the mage looked out to see if the hornet was still about.

Elerian retreated to a safe place in the forest and laughed until tears came to his eyes. Eventually, when he could stand again, he returned to the upper forest and released the hornet in the first meadow he came to, sending it far out into the middle of the clearing where it hung buzzing furiously, as it looked about for some victim on which to vent its anger. Elerian made his own quick retreat and took his time returning to Tullius’s house. Tullius answered his knock immediately, but Elerian thought that there was a wild, rather hunted look in his dark eyes. He looked carefully around him and appeared to be listening for a moment before giving Elerian a suspicious look. Elerian gazed back at the mage with wide, guileless eyes that made him seem incapable of any mischief.

“It has reached my ears that there has been an outbreak of strange occurrences on the hilltops in the last few weeks,” said Tullius severely.

“I have heard the same thing,” said Elerian. “What do you think might be causing them?” he asked with a puzzled look on his face.

“If a certain young apprentice is discovered to be the cause, there will be no more lessons,” said Tullius. There was no mistaking the note of warning in his voice.

Elerian allowed a surprised look to cross his face, as if he could not imagine which apprentice Tullius was talking about, and the mage favored him with a stern look before turning and leading the way inside.

“Well, it was fun while it lasted,” thought Elerian regretfully to himself, as he followed Tullius. It would be too risky to attempt more pranks in the face of Tullius’s suspicions, but at least he still had his memories. With Tullius’s back still safely turned, Elerian’s eyes sparkled with laughter as he recalled how Tullius had fled from his small warrior.

Once he no longer had his pranks to distract him, Elerian became subject to a vague restiveness. It vanished for a time as he and Balbus celebrated his sixteenth birthday but returned stronger than ever a few days later.

“Why do I feel this way,” he wondered. “I am finally realizing my dream of becoming a mage. I should be happy.”

Despite his attempt to reason it away, the restlessness Elerian felt persisted. In an effort to banish it, he went over, in his mind, the spells he had mastered over the past two years, hoping to draw some satisfaction from his accomplishments. Surprisingly, he felt no pleasure in reviewing what he had learned, for a small voice in the back of his head whispered, “Except for a few spells like the destruction spell, they are all minor spells, more worthy of a beginning apprentice than an accomplished mage.”

Elerian felt disloyal to Tullius, listening to that voice, but he realized that it spoke the truth. Most of the spells he had acquired from Tullius taxed his growing powers only a little, and now that his first excitement at learning them had worn off, he found that he derived little satisfaction from them.

“It is all very well to be able to open a door lock with a word or to bring a cup from across a room without touching it, but the ability to perform these actions does not make you a great mage,” thought Elerian to himself. Out of loyalty to Tullius, he made no complaint, trying instead to make the best of the situation. This grew even more difficult when Tullius stopped giving him new spells. Elerian now spent his time practicing spells he already knew while Tullius dozed by the fire. Despite a growing weariness with the direction his training had taken, Elerian still made no complaint, for he did not wish to appear ungrateful after all that Tullius had done for him. He hid his dissatisfaction, all the while longing for something new, a spell that would arouse his interest and challenge him again.

Of their own accord, in his idle moments, Elerian’s thoughts often returned to the girl he had seen in the enchanted pool. Hoping to see her again and to penetrate the mystery of the place, he had returned to the ravine many times over the past two years. He discovered, as he had suspected from the beginning, that an illusion lay over the ravine. When he saw it with his everyday sight, it appeared to be a drab, ordinary place. When seen through the invisible lens of his third eye, however, it became, once more, the magical place he had seen on his first visit, but nothing out of the ordinary ever appeared in the pool again, and the beech tree near the pool maintained its hostile silence, even when he saw it in its true form. With the passage of time and much thought, Elerian had come to the firm conclusion that the girl he had glimpsed in the pool had changed into an otter to make her escape. Even after all this time, he could still recall, with perfect clarity, the creature’s curious, strangely unsettling stare that seemed so inappropriate for a mere animal.

The thought of shape shifting carried an allure for Elerian that he could not explain. “If I had power to change my shape like that girl in the pool,” he often thought to himself, “I would finally feel like a real mage.” He could still recall the time when his ring, acting in concert with the old wolf skin, had worked some sort of shape change upon him, and he began to long to repeat the experience.

For reasons of his own, Tullius had never touched upon the subject of shape changing. He had shown Elerian how to cast illusions, but he did not seem to think much of that type of magic. He seemed to regard it as more trickery than anything else, and Elerian wondered if he held the same attitude toward shape changing. On his next visit to Tullius’s house, Elerian impulsively brought up the subject which had been on his mind a great deal of late. “Tullius,” he asked abruptly when they were seated at the mage’s old table, “do you know anything about shape changing?”

Tullius, who was taking a deep drink from his wine cup, suddenly went into a fit of coughing and spilled a good portion of his wine on the tabletop. When he had recovered himself, Tullius sent the spilled wine to the sink with a word so that the table was dry once more.

“What brought the idea of shape changing to your mind?” he asked. His voice was carefully neutral, but Elerian thought there was an anxious look in his eyes. Unaccountably, the subject of shape shifting seemed to have disturbed him for some reason.

“Well,” said Elerian, uncertain of how to begin without offending Tullius by sounding ungrateful, “I thought it might be interesting to learn how to change my shape.”

The alarmed look left Tullius’s eyes to be replaced by one of sadness. “Is anything wrong?” Elerian asked quickly.

“There is nothing wrong with your request, Elerian” said Tullius and fell silent for a moment. For some time now, he had known that this day was fast approaching, but it was not any easier for him to deal with. “The fault lies in me,” said Tullius after a moment. “You see, Elerian, when I first apprenticed as a mage, my teacher thought I showed the greatest promise of all the youths who wished to apprentice with him that year. This was the only reason he accepted a Hesperian as an apprentice, for my teacher was an Ancharian, and mages of that race seldom train outsiders. At first all went well, but as time passed and I grew older, it became clear to both of us that my powers would not fulfill their early promise.” From the pain in Tullius’s voice, Elerian could only imagine the bitterness of that discovery.

“When it became obvious that I could not progress any further, my master dismissed me from his service,” continued Tullius. “I left Ancharia and returned home to become a country mage, able to perform only simple spells for the most part. This is the reason why I have never taught you any of the great spells. Because the power required to perform them was beyond me, I was never taught any of them by my master. An apprentice is only allowed to record in his book spells he can actually perform. True shape shifting is one of the spells that requires a power I do not possess,” he concluded sadly. “I can show you how to alter the appearance of something, but it will be a surface change only, more like casting an illusion than true shape shifting.”

Rising from his chair and walking over to the sink, Tullius drew a cup of water from the pump and spoke the words of a spell. Without a word, he returned to the table and handed the cup to Elerian.

“What do you see?” asked the mage.

Elerian looked into the cup and saw that the water had taken on a ruby color, and the sharp odor of wine came to his nose. “It appears to be wine,” said Elerian excitedly.

“Taste it then,” said Tullius in the same sad tone as before. He watched the disappointment spread across Elerian’s face when he tasted the liquid in the cup. “The appearance of the water has changed, but it has none of the qualities of wine saving only the appearance and the odor,” said Tullius before Elerian could speak.

“Do not feel badly, Tullius,” said Elerian sincerely. “It does not matter to me which spells you can perform. I would not have wished to be apprenticed to anyone else no matter how powerful they were. I would be happy to learn this spell, if you care to teach me.”

Tullius smiled but his eyes still had a bleak look. He debated with himself for a long moment whether he should teach Elerian this final spell. He had planned to give it to the boy only in the event that Elerian learned his true identity. “If I refuse him, it may rouse his suspicions,” he thought to himself. “It cannot do him any harm in any case. The spell does not carry the dangers of a true shape changing spell. He can only alter his appearance with it, if he is rash enough to try it.”

Tullius quickly recited the spell for Elerian from his spell book. “The spell I have given you is written to change the appearance of water,” he said quietly as Elerian wrote the words in his book, “but the principle is the same if one wishes to apply it to other things.”

After waiting patiently for Elerian to memorize the spell, Tullius drew a fresh cup of water and watched as Elerian changed the appearance of the water in the cup a number of times. Whenever Elerian glanced in Tullius’s direction, however, he appeared distracted, as if he had other thoughts on his mind.

When Tullius was satisfied that Elerian could perform the spell properly, he put his hand over the top of the cup and said unexpectedly, “This was the last spell I had to teach you, Elerian. Because of the speed with which you learned the small number of spells I possess, you have accomplished far more than I ever expected in the past two years. Despite your youth, I am releasing you from my service. You are free to perform, on your own, the spells I have taught you, but for now, I still want you to conceal your mage powers from everyone except Balbus. I must also caution you not confuse knowledge with experience. Do not overreach yourself. Practice your art prudently until you have gained more years and experience.”

Elerian found that he was not really surprised by Tullius’s announcement. In the back of his mind, he had been expecting it for some time now, ever since it became obvious to him that his training had ended. He felt no elation, only sadness for Tullius who still seemed to think that he had failed to instruct Elerian properly.

“Thank you for your time and patience, Tullius,” he said warmly and was surprised to see a gleam of moisture in the old mage’s dark eyes.

“On your way then,” said Tullius abruptly, “and stay out of mischief.”

Elerian smiled and rose from his chair. He shook off the sadness of the moment, and when he left through the front door, his mind was already deeply occupied with the latest spell Tullius had given him. Despite the fact that it performed only a change in appearance, he felt a rising sense of excitement as he reviewed the spell in his mind, for he felt that there was a very good chance that it might provide him with the key to performing a true shape change.

Tullius stood in the doorway and watched Elerian walk across the clearing to the gate leading through the rowan trees. “He startled me with that question about shape changing,” he thought to himself, “but fortunately, he still does not suspect that he is not what he appears to be. Let him be happy a little longer then. I will not be the one to tell him if I can help it, for I feel the knowledge that he is not human will bring him only grief in the end.” Putting aside his somber thoughts, Tullius suddenly wondered, “What was the source of his interest in shape changing then, I wonder? I hope the young rascal is not planning some new mischief at my expense. I shall have to be especially watchful,” he thought to himself as he closed his door after Elerian disappeared through the gate.

THE SHAPE CHANGER

When Elerian woke the next morning, his first thoughts were of the new spell Tullius had taught him. Like a dog worrying a bone, his mind turned it over and over, seeking the key which would make it complete.

After breakfasting and helping Balbus with the morning chores, Elerian slipped off to a quiet place in the forest on the slopes below the farm. Slipping off his sandals, he climbed thirty feet into a large oak tree by grasping the ridges in its fissured bark with his strong fingers and pulling himself up. He climbed onto a great branch, thick as a young tree, which grew straight out from the trunk and sat on it with his back resting against the tree. As Elerian listened to the bird calls that filled the air and the rustle of oak leaves stirred by the light breeze, he felt his mind clear.

“I managed a shape change, once,” he thought to himself, and his memories of chasing the woodcutters in the form of a wolf grew clear and sharp in his mind. “Somehow on that day, my power interacted with my silver ring and the wolf skin, allowing me to change my form,” thought Elerian to himself. “I would like to try it again, but I need to use a spell instead of a skin to help me change. Where do I start then?” he wondered as he brought his spell book to his right hand. Opening his book to the last spell Tullius had given him, he read it over carefully. From talking to Tullius, he knew that each spell in his book had at one time or another been discovered through trial and error by different mages and then written down to be passed on to other mages. “Somehow, I must complete this spell so that it will allow me perform a true shape change?” he thought to himself. It was a daunting task for someone just ending his apprenticeship. Elerian found that he had no idea how to begin.

With a sigh, he sent his book away. A brief gleam, seen out of the corner of his left eye, suddenly drew his glance to a clump of ferns not far from the base of the tree in which he was sitting. Elerian sat motionless, studying the ferns intently, until he finally spied the source of the gleam. It came from a fierce yellow eye that was just barely visible through the feathery green leaves of the ferns.

His curiosity aroused, Elerian quickly climbed down from his branch and approached the cluster of ferns on light feet. As he drew near to it, a thin, high-pitched cry suddenly shattered the still air beneath the trees, and a large gray and black hawk, one of many that lived in the forest, sprang from the ferns, menacing Elerian with its powerful, hooked beak and taloned feet. Elerian easily avoided its rush, for though its right wing was spread and held high, its left wing dragged uselessly across the ground. Elerian surmised that the hawk had broken its wing in the pursuit of its prey through the trees. Left to its own devices, it would slowly starve to death.

As Elerian looked into the bird’s furious yellow eyes, admiring its fearless spirit, he decided to heal its wing.

“Calm yourself, my friend. I will not hurt you,” said Elerian soothingly as he avoided another valiant rush from the injured raptor. The hawk continued to glare at Elerian as he raised his right hand and said, “Quiesco,” in a soft voice. With his third eye, Elerian saw a small golden orb of light flash from his right hand and envelope the hawk in a golden glow. The sleep spell took effect immediately, and the hawk went limp, collapsing onto the ground. Elerian picked it up and gently smoothed its soft black barred gray feathers. His clever fingers probed its damaged wing and found that the long bone between the elbow joint and the shoulder joint was broken cleanly in two. Carefully, Elerian fitted the ends of the broken wing bones together before casting a healing spell over the hawk. Pale, golden light flowed from his fingertips, covering the broken wing. At once, the healing spell began to knit the broken wing bones together.

A magical link now existed between Elerian and the hawk. Questing idly with his mind while he waited for the spell to do its work, Elerian found that for the first time in all his healing experiences, he was able to send a part of his shade through this magical avenue into the body of the hawk. “Have I gained some new power through age or training?” he wondered to himself as he watched with his third eye as his golden shade mingled with that of the raptor. Excitement surged through Elerian as he realized that here were the missing elements he needed to complete his shape changing spell. Carefully, he began to memorize every aspect of the hawk’s shape and inner being for the magical charm he would construct later.

Once he had gained all the knowledge he needed and the wing bones were knit together again, Elerian gripped the hawk firmly with both hands around its wings and body before withdrawing his shade and releasing the raptor from the sleep spell. The bird woke instantly, and Elerian flung it high into the air before it could tear at him with its powerful beak. Propelled by its powerful wings, it shot like an arrow through the branches overhead, its high, fierce cry piercing the air like a spear as it disappeared behind the green crowns of the trees.

After releasing the hawk, Elerian spent days working and reworking Tullius’s spell, removing every reference to water or wine and incorporating instead the elements which would allow him to become a hawk. When he felt that it was complete, he recorded it into his spell book. Elerian had no lack of courage, but he thought long and hard about whether he should try his new spell. He knew the dangers of his craft all too well now.

“Do I possess enough power?” he wondered. “If I cannot carry the spell to its conclusion, it might kill or maim me. Even success will carry its own dangers, for then there is the threat of being overcome by the new shape to contend with,” thought Elerian uneasily to himself, as he recalled how the Ondredon had changed from men to trees, conquered by the new form they had assumed. A wry smile suddenly crossed Elerian’s lips. “Tullius would be proud of me,” he thought to himself. “It seems I have finally developed some of the caution he harped upon for so long.”

For a time, caution won out, but gradually the lure of performing a shape change was too much for Elerian to resist. One bright afternoon, he finally set his doubts aside and decided to hazard his luck. “I can either progress in my art,” he thought to himself grimly, “or remain a simple country mage for the rest of my life. Besides,” he reassured himself, “my ring will help me as it did before.”

Alone, he traveled midway down the slope below Balbus’s farm to a small clearing in the forest. Here, in this remote meadow, he was sure to be safe from prying eyes. Elerian had already committed his new spell to memory. After he had made certain there was no one about, he immediately began the spell without giving himself time to think about the consequences. As he recited line after line of the charm, he also called on the power of his silver ring. Hid third eye opened, and he watched with a mixture of excitement and apprehension as a flow of golden light spilled from the ring, covering his body. Elerian felt a strange sensation as if his body had suddenly turned to water and was flowing into a new shape. His view of his surroundings suddenly blurred and then cleared again, with everything coming into sharper focus. He could now see even the minute veins on the backs of the leaves at the top of the green canopy far over his head.

Elerian looked down at himself and felt a moment of triumph, as he realized that he was standing on three toed, clawed feet and that in place of arms, he now had feathered wings. Eagerly, he shook free of his clothes which were mounded around him. His ring fell away too, but in his excitement, he failed to notice. Tensing his legs, he sprang into the air as he had seen the wild hawks do. Beating his powerful wings, he rose slowly and a little awkwardly above the meadow and the crowns of the trees around it, gaining more and more height until the forest spread out like a green carpet far below him. The wind whistled through his wing feathers as he dipped and soared, slowly gaining mastery over the intricacies of flight. As his control over his wings improved, he felt a sense of limitless freedom fill his mind. He could streak through the sky wherever he wished to go now, instead of plodding slowly over the surface of the earth below. Tullius’s warning about the dangers of shape changing and his own dangerous experience with the wolf skin both faded from his mind, swept away by the exhilaration of flight.

When an unexpected desire to hunt suddenly swept over him, Elerian was totally unprepared. He was shocked to find that a second consciousness, primitive and fierce, shared his new body, a consciousness that had desires and instincts which did not align with his own.

The element of surprise and the unexpected ferocity of his opponent worked against Elerian. In the bitter struggle that followed, he was overwhelmed almost before he could mount a defense, and with a growing sense of panic, he felt his control over his new body slipping away from him as the fierce hawk mind crushed his resistance without pity or any thoughts of failure. Dimly, for thinking was becoming more difficult by the moment, Elerian realized that he was being overcome, doomed to spend the rest of his life as a prisoner of the hawk mind which now commanded his newly transformed body.

A last desperate plan formed in Elerian’s fading mind. He ceased all resistance, and thinking it had won, his savage opponent suddenly rent the air with its wild, piercing cry. In that instant, Elerian rallied his flagging forces and waged a last furious struggle for control. In that last desperate contest, neither of the contesting minds was able to spare a thought for the body they both occupied. With no will to direct them, Elerian’s wings ceased to beat, and he suddenly felt himself spinning out of control, before dropping rapidly toward the ground far below.

Only a few moments of life remained, but Elerian stubbornly fought on, determined to emerge the victor or die in the attempt, rather than cede control of his mind to his savage opponent. At the last moment, the uncontrolled fall to earth panicked the hawk mind, giving Elerian the opportunity he needed. As fear momentarily paralyzed the untamed intellect that had opposed him, he seized control again, spreading his wings and gliding in a spiraling descent to a landing in the same clearing where he had first taken to the air. Hastily, before his adversary could resume the struggle for mastery, he transformed himself back to his human shape again.

Once he was safe in his own form again, Elerian took stock of himself and his situation. He found that he was shaking from the struggle he had endured, but he appeared to be all in one piece. The knowledge that he had come very close to losing himself forever was not something that he would forget any time soon, however. “I should have taken Tullius’s warning more seriously,” he rebuked himself. “I might easily have become a prisoner in my own body for the rest of my life.”

When he had recovered somewhat, Elerian dressed himself. He recovered his belt knife from where it lay on the grass but had a moment of panic when he realized that his silver ring had vanished. After thinking for a moment on how he might recover it, he cast a finding spell on a small branch. Holding the branch in his right hand, he pictured his ring in his mind, and the limb gently pulled his hand to where his ring lay concealed in the thick grass of the meadow not far from his clothes. As he slipped the silver circlet back on his finger, a sudden thought occurred to him. “I used the ring to change my form to that of a hawk, but I was able to return to my human form without it,” he thought excitedly to himself. “I wonder if my power has grown to the point where I no longer need the ring.”

Elerian did not tell either Balbus or Tullius about his near disastrous shape change, for he knew that both of them would strongly disapprove of the risk he had taken, and there was little he could say in his own defense. Luck not skill had helped him survive the experience. Elerian was wise enough to know that he could not depend on being so fortunate a second time, and he firmly resolved to put all thoughts of shape changing out of his mind.

For a time, he held to his resolve, but eventually, the desire to transform again returned stronger than before. Elerian began to wonder why shape shifting held such an attraction for him, even now that he knew firsthand the danger involved. At night, when he tried to rest, thoughts of soaring freely through the air filled his mind, and in the end, he gave in. “I will try another trial,” he thought to himself, “but not until I solve the problems I encountered in my first attempt.”

The thought of losing his identity was his chief concern. “Tullius said that a shape changer must have an iron will,” he thought to himself. The night the venetor had attempted to overcome Balbus, long forgotten, suddenly emerged clearly in his mind. With a clarity that surprised him, Elerian suddenly remembered how he had instinctively used his power to form a barrier against the will of that murderous creature, protecting both Balbus and himself. He began to practice forming such a barrier again until it came easily to him.

With the problem of protecting his identity solved, Elerian turned his thoughts to his clothes and personnel effects. “I cannot afford to lose my clothes and possessions each time I change,” he thought to himself. “It would be most awkward if someone caught me returning to the farm clad only in my bare skin.”

He turned to a familiar spell to solve this second problem. Although he needed to expend more of his power than he was used to with his spell book, Elerian found that same spell which sent away his book would also send away his clothes and ring until he needed them again. He lacked the power to send away his knife, however, revealing a serious drawback to changing his shape. “I will have to take precautions with my weapons,” thought Elerian to himself, “or risk leaving myself unarmed.”

With all his preparations made, tense with apprehension but unable to resist the thought of mastering a more powerful magic, Elerian returned to the same clearing he had used for his near disastrous first attempt at shape shifting. After hiding his knife, he cast his spell, sending away his clothes and ring at the same instant that he transformed into a hawk again, this time without the aid of his ring.

Once his change was complete, Elerian took to the air easily, for the lessons of flight learned during his last transformation returned to guide him. Climbing effortlessly until he was almost a half mile above the forest floor, Elerian was relieved to find that there was no struggle for control this time. The barrier he had erected at the moment of his change kept the hawk mind which also occupied his body at bay. He was aware of it and its fierce, implacable nature, but it could no longer overwhelm his consciousness and take control of their shared body, at least not in a short period of time. Over a long interval, that consciousness might still be able to breach the barrier he had erected against it, but bearing in mind the lesson of the Ondredon, Elerian had no intention of remaining in his new form for an extended period of time.

With his problems solved, Elerian changed as often as he liked into a hawk, and in the days which followed, spied out the country in all directions. North, east, and west, the land proved to be a wilderness, unmarked by any works or sign of men. South of the Galerius, Elerian flew over a pleasant land of rich farms and small towns, but it had little attraction for him. Like Balbus, it was the wild places of the world which had captured his heart.

His success with the hawk shape encouraged Elerian to consider other forms he might assume. Having changed into a wolf twice in the past, he tried that form again, but found it less than satisfying. The sleek green-eyed leopards which roamed the forest attracted his interest next, and after much effort, he was finally able to approach close enough to put one to sleep with a spell. After extending his shade into the leopard’s body, Elerian explored it carefully until he had gathered all the information that he needed. He then spent days crafting his new knowledge into another shape changing spell. When he judged it complete, he gathered up his courage and slipped out of Balbus’s farmhouse one moonless night. Deep in the forest, he used his new spell to transform himself. The form he took was not an exact replica of a leopard, however, for this time Elerian had made changes in the form he wanted to assume to suit himself. After the now familiar feeling that his body was flowing like water, he took on the appearance of a great cat twice the size of a leopard. Instead of being spotted, however, his short, silky fur was a solid gray, and his eyes were like great green gems that glowed with a light of their own in the dark.

Elerian found that he enjoyed being a cat more than he did being a wolf. His powers of scent were not as good, but his night sight and hearing remained acute, allowing him to move about in the darkness, aware of all that went on around him. Best of all, when he tired of gliding about under the trees on silent paws, he was able to take to the upper pathways of the forest, padding high above the ground over the thick tree limbs that made up the forest canopy and observing, unseen, all that went on below him.

ONE SPELL LEADS TO ANOTHER

Despite his pride in mastering a new form of magic, Elerian never told Tullius about what he had accomplished. He was no longer concerned about Tullius’s disapproval, but he did not want to chance hurting the old mage’s pride by demonstrating how much his own powers had grown. He continued to shift his shape in secret, and with time, his transformations became second nature to him. He never felt the need to use his silver ring again, and it became little more than an interesting keepsake of a past adventure.

The charm which allowed him to change his shape continued to fascinate Elerian. “If I can change myself into something else,” he thought to himself one day, “then I should be able to transform other things too.” He revisited Tullius’s wine spell and, by applying his new knowledge, found that he could now make an excellent wine from water. He presented a bottle to Tullius as a gift and was pleased when the old mage complimented him on its excellence.

Endless possibilities for changing things now presented themselves to Elerian, but he soon found that there were limits to his new spell. If two substances shared some of the same properties, it was indeed possible to transform one into another. Granite, for example, could be changed into a clear crystal. His attempts to make stone into gold or wood into stone were a failure, however, for the substances did not share enough similarities. Quite by accident, Elerian found that he could hold wood or stone in the first stages of the transformation spell he had crafted. As long as he maintained the golden glow of his new spell over the material he had selected, its substance remained pliable and amenable to change. In this state, using only his only his clever fingers and a few simple tools, Elerian found that he could alter a piece of wood or stone into any shape he desired.

The results of his efforts were so remarkable that Elerian was at last overcome by the need to show someone what he had accomplished. One evening, he woke Balbus as he was dozing in his chair in front of the warm fire burning in the fireplace.

“Look at what I have learned to do,” he told Balbus proudly. As Balbus watched in fascination, Elerian sat on the hearthstone and suspended a piece of dull quartz in the air at the level of his chest. Balbus’s eyes widened in surprise, but before he could say a word, the stone began to spin slowly in the air in front of Elerian. Before Balbus’s awestruck eyes, it turned into clear crystal veined with blue and green threads. The transparent depths of the stone flashed as they spun, reflecting the flames of the fire.

It was an impressive display of magic, and Balbus was about to congratulate Elerian when words suddenly deserted him. He watched in amazement as Elerian began to shape the crystal using only his deft fingers. As if it were only soft clay, the clear stone gradually took the shape of a graceful cup with a long stem and wide base. When he was done, Elerian held the splendid cup out for Balbus to inspect.

Balbus took the cup and gently held the gleaming crystal shape in his powerful, work hardened fingers. The way in which Elerian had made the cup both mystified him and delighted him, for lacking mage sight, he saw the results of Elerian’s spells, but he could not see the golden glow of the charm which enveloped the cup and enabled Elerian to shape it.

“It is wonderful work,” he said at last, and Elerian immediately felt a warm glow of pride in what he had accomplished. The warm glow was snuffed out like a candle flame, however, when Balbus said sadly, “You must destroy this cup, Elerian. There is no harm in showing it to me, but if anyone else saw it and found out how it was made, you would be the talk of the countryside. Such talk could reach the wrong ears. It is not worth taking the risk.”

Impatience and anger welled up in Elerian. He was tired of concealing his powers so that he could avoid drawing attention to himself. “At least tell me who these mysterious enemies are and why they are a danger to me,” he burst out impatiently.

“The time is drawing near, Elerian when I can tell you everything you wish to know, but you must be patient for a little while longer,” said Balbus avoiding his eyes as he handed the cup back to Elerian.

Elerian did not reply. “I am tired of being patient,” he thought to himself angrily. “It is all I have heard my whole life.” It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Balbus that he knew about the Goblins, but he said nothing, for he did not want to admit that he had eavesdropped that day in the barn. While Balbus watched sadly, Elerian angrily transformed the cup back into a lump of dull quartz.

The incident took away his pleasure in his new found skill, and he made nothing else for a time. Gradually, however, Elerian regained his good humor, for he discovered a new mystery to think about. He had wanted a new knife for some time, and thinking to use his new spells to shape one, he attempted his transformation spell on a piece of scrap steel. To his surprise, he found that no matter how he varied his spell, he could not alter the shape of the steel or any other metal object for that matter.

A growing frustration finally drove him to make careful inquiries of Tullius. “Is there any way to use magic to shape metal?” he asked casually one day when they were together.

Elerian had not played any tricks on Tullius since the prank with the hornet, and the ensuing period of peace and quiet had put Tullius into a tranquil mood. His good humor was also much enhanced by the bottle of excellent wine Elerian had brought him, so he answered Elerian’s question at once.

“It is possible to work metal with magic,” said Tullius in his best lecture voice, “but no human mage has ever learned how it is done. The Dwarves know the secret, but they do not share their knowledge with outsiders not of their own race. Does that answer your question?” asked Tullius.

“Yes, thank you,” said Elerian, hiding the disappointment he felt at Tullius’s words. He still wanted to make a knife of his own, however. When Elerian mentioned his ambition to Balbus, he had a more practical solution than using magic. The very next day, he took Elerian to the smithy in Sidonia. The stone building stood just inside the high wall that encircled the town. It had a brown tile roof but only three walls. The fourth side had two large wooden doors that were opened wide in all but the most inclement weather. Inside were a brick forge and several black anvils of different sizes. The left hand wall of the shop was hung with hammers, pincers, and the other tools the smith used in plying his trade. Coal and small ingots of copper, iron, and tin were piled against the back wall.

The smith was a short, thickset man with brawny arms and shoulders. When he saw Balbus and Elerian approach, he set aside the red-hot horseshoe that he was shaping on one of the anvils with a hammer and a long set of pincers.

“How goes it Balbus?” he asked in a deep voice. “I have not seen you in some time.”

“I have come to ask a favor Ancus,” said Balbus with a smile. “My grandson Elerian wishes to learn the ways of the forge.”

“It is no easy task,” said Ancus, glancing curiously at Elerian with his cheerful brown eyes. “Are you sure you want to attempt it boy?” he asked.

“I will work hard,” said Elerian earnestly, “if you will show me the secrets of working metal.”

Ancus laughed warmly. “There are few secrets other than hard work. Come back tomorrow and we will begin.”

Elerian returned the next day, and he and Ancus got along well together from the start. The smith was an old friend of Balbus’s, and his easygoing personality made him an agreeable teacher. He was, as Elerian soon discovered, something of a treasure. Although, at present, he spent his time doing common tasks such as shoeing horses, he had spent time in the army, like Balbus and had become skilled in making weapons during that time. Over a period of many months, he taught Elerian how to shape metal in the ordinary way, with sweat and skill instead of magic. As Elerian grew more adept, Ancus showed him how to shape the weapons and accoutrements of war, from knives to chain mail.

AN OLD ENEMY

Elerian’s trips to Ancus’s smithy brought him the metal working knowledge he desired, but they also had an unintended consequence, less favorable to him. When he returned home in the evenings from working with Ancus, he was unaware that unfriendly eyes sometimes watched him from the undergrowth which bordered an unkempt, isolated lane well outside the outskirts of the town. The overgrown lane led down into a wooded hollow where the woodcutter Granius had his home.

Although the woodcutter had not crossed paths with Elerian since being routed from the forest, the boy was often in his thoughts. The intense dislike Granius had conceived for Elerian from the moment he first laid eyes on him had grown into outright hatred, for his fortunes had taken a turn for the worse since the day that Elerian, disguised as a wolf, had chased him from the forest. Granius took to drinking heavily after the incident, and his companions gradually abandoned him. Alone, he was barely able to eke out a living. As his fortunes sank lower and lower, he came to blame Elerian for the sorry state of his life. Although he had laughed at the threat Elerian had made against him, the more Granius reflected over his misfortunes, the more convinced he became that Elerian had somehow been responsible for the wolf that had attacked him and his companions, starting the chain of events which had brought him to his present ruinous state. Granius became determined to do Elerian an injury if the opportunity ever presented itself. As soon as he learned that Elerian was working with Ancus, he immediately began to spy on him.

Granius soon discovered that in the evenings when Elerian returned to his home, the lane he traveled on was often deserted. Determined to use this fact to his advantage, Granius soon formulated a plan. When Elerian passed his hiding place one evening, his anger fueled by strong drink, Granius sprang out behind him onto the deserted road. He was armed with a stout club and meant to strike Elerian down from behind. Once the boy was unconscious, he planned to drag Elerian into the woods where he could finish him off in a more satisfying way, without fear of interruption. Without witnesses, he knew that his chances of being caught and held responsible for the murder were slight.

Granius’s plan was well thought out, but he had failed to take into account Elerian’s sharp ears. The slight rustle of leaves that accompanied the woodcutter’s rush from his hiding place alerted Elerian, and he whirled around just as Granius was in the act of bringing down the club he held in his right hand. For an instant, Elerian stood frozen in surprise at the sight of Granius’s face, for it was twisted into horrible, inhuman lines by his hatred, and there was murder in his dark eyes. For someone who believed he had no enemies, it was a shocking sight.

At the last moment, Elerian overcame his momentary paralysis, and seized Granius’s right wrist with his left hand, arresting the club in the middle of its deadly arc. With his right hand, Elerian seized the club and easily wrenched it free of Granius’s grip before flinging it to the ground. The woodcutter gaped in surprise for a moment. He was a powerful man, but Elerian had disarmed him as easily as he would a small child. Unable to free his right wrist from Elerian’s iron grip, Granius fumbled wildly with his left hand for the knife he carried in his belt, but Elerian plucked it away first. With a quick movement of his left arm, Elerian pulled Granius forward, off balance. Releasing his hold on the woodcutter’s wrist, Elerian slipped behind Granius and passed his arms beneath his shoulders. Locking his hands together behind the woodcutter’s thick neck, Elerian forced Granius down onto his knees. Granius struggled furiously to free himself, but despite his great strength, all of his efforts to break free of Elerian’s grasp came to nothing. Elerian remained bent over the kneeling woodcutter, easily maintaining his hold.

“Why did you attack me?” asked Elerian quietly as Granius paused in his struggles for a moment, breathing heavily. He had no real desire to hurt the woodcutter. He did, however, wish to know the cause of the hate he had seen distorting the man’s face.

“You ruined my life,” said Granius savagely. “I will make you pay for that if I can. I know what you are.”

The woodcutter’s last statement caused Elerian to start a little. “What am I then?” he asked curiously,” wondering what Granius knew about him.

“You are not like the rest of us,” said Granius cunningly. “I knew from the first time I saw you that you were different.”

Elerian felt disappointed. The man had told him nothing he did not know already. “Listen to me Granius,” he said softly. “I will let you go this one time, but if you come near me again, I will not be so kind.” Without warning, Elerian bore down on Granius with arms and hands that seemed more like iron than flesh. Fear swept through the woodcutter, for he was suddenly certain that Elerian meant to break his neck. Then, even as his sinews creaked and fiery pain lanced down his spine, Granius felt Elerian slacken his hold. With a careless display of strength, Elerian flung Granius away from him as if the sturdy woodcutter possessed no weight of any consequence. Granius tumbled helplessly over the ground into the middle of the lane. Slowly, he climbed to his feet, rubbing the back of his neck with his left hand as he faced Elerian. He shot Elerian a deadly look from hate filled eyes, but he made no attempt to pick up his weapons before fleeing noisily into the woods on his left. The woodcutter was too clever to attack Elerian openly again, now that he had the measure of the boy’s strength.

Elerian watched him go with regret. He felt an instinctive dislike for the woodcutter, but it disturbed him that he might have had a hand in bringing Granius to this low estate. Then, recalling the living trees the man had felled for no good reason, he sighed. “I am sorry for the man,” he thought to himself, “but I do not regret stopping the destruction he was wreaking on the forest. If his enmity is the price I must pay, then I will bear it. Hopefully, he will take my warning to heart and stay far away from me.”

Putting the thought of the woodcutter out of his mind, Elerian turned toward home once more. His frequent trips to Sidonia were done, for Ancus had nothing more to teach him and two fine, new knives hung from his belt, completed that very day. He was unlikely to encounter Granius again unless the woodcutter deliberately sought him out.

Granius was not able to forget Elerian quite so easily. Despite the fact that the boy had spared his life, Granius’s hatred remained undiminished after his defeat at Elerian’s hands. No other good opportunity to injure the boy presented itself, however, and nothing further might have come of his hatred except for a chance occurrence.

One evening, as Granius sat brooding and drinking at his table, a knock came at his door. When he cautiously opened it an inch or two, he was rudely shoved aside, and three tall, bearded men with a wild and savage air about them burst into his home. Two of the men seized Granius by the arms while the third grasped the woodcutter’s beard in his left hand, lifting it to expose Granius’s throat. As he raised the sharp knife in his right hand to cut Granius’s throat, the woodcutter shouted, “Wait. Don’t kill me. I have nothing worth stealing.”

At Granius’s desperate plea, the man with the knife smiled coldly. “You are wrong my friend, for you do have one thing we can take. We are outlaws in search of new hunting grounds, and we have decided that your home will make a fine hiding place for us once we have done away with you.”

“Take my home then, but let me live,” said Granius frantically. “I can be of help to you alive.”

The tall black bearded robber with the knife hesitated for a moment. “How can you help us?” he asked contemptuously.

“If you kill me, you will soon be discovered and driven out,” said Granius, the cold steel at his throat spurring his tongue. “Let me live and I will protect you from discovery while you pursue your trade. All I wish is a small share of the profits.”

The tall robber gave Granius a penetrating stare and decided that he had found a kindred spirit in the woodcutter. After a short discussion, a most amicable agreement was reached. Granius continued to ply his trade as a woodcutter to avoid suspicion, but he passed information about the movements of his neighbors to his confederates. With the information supplied to them by Granius, they carried out their thefts in broad daylight. They knew when homes were unoccupied, and no one could travel the roads with money in their pockets without the three robbers springing out from behind some hedge to rob them.

At Granius’s suggestion, the robbers were careful not to injure anyone seriously in the course of their thefts. It went against their cruel nature, but they saw the wisdom of Granius’s words. The robberies caused a storm of anger, but their victims did not band together to hunt down the robbers as they would have with a murder to avenge.

Things might have gone on like this for some time, but the leader of the band quickly became dissatisfied with the arrangement. Although Granius’s home was filled with plunder, the robber chief chafed at the need to hide and to restrain himself from committing any murders. He had a cruel and bloody nature, and one night, as he sat drinking with Granius and his two companions, he slammed his empty cup on the table.

“If I only had more silver, I would bring a great crowd of rascals from the east,” he said angrily. “We could set ourselves up as kings in this land and do as we wished instead of skulking about, afraid to so much as scratch one of these dull farmers and townsmen.”

The idea pleased Granius at once. He was tired of cutting wood to keep up appearances for the robbers. “If he succeeds in his plan, I can take my ease in a great house with many slaves,” he thought to himself. Then, it suddenly occurred to him that he could achieve this state and have his revenge against Elerian at the same time. Over the years, Balbus had given silver to many who were down on their luck, and with his own eyes, Granius had seen him reach into an old black purse at the inn in Sidonia and pull out silver coins. If he could convince his new friends to rob Balbus, he might be able to do away with the old farmer and Elerian too.

“There is a farmer I know of who is rumored to have a store of silver hidden on his farm,” said Granius quietly.

The robber chief’s face immediately darkened with anger. “Why have you not spoken of this before?” he asked suspiciously.

“It is a rumor only,” said Granius hastily. “I do not know if it is true or not?”

“We will find out soon enough,” said the robber. “Where does this fellow live?”

Granius described the remote location of Balbus’s farm, and soon the four of them were deeply involved in constructing a wicked plot. This was to be no simple robbery this time. At Granius’s own insistence, murder would follow the robbery so that there would be no witnesses. It was decided that they would strike after midnight the next day, for the moon was dark, and they could move about with confidence that no one would see them.

THE ROBBERY

On the night planned for the robbery, unaware that any danger threatened, Elerian silently let himself out of doors as he often did as soon when the sun went down. Balbus was sound asleep, and Carbo barely stirred on his bed in front of the fireplace, for he had grown accustomed to his Elerian’s nighttime routine. When Granius and his three confederates stealthily approached Balbus’s house, Elerian was already deep in the forest.

Granius eagerly approached the front door of the farmhouse while the three robbers hid along the wall on either side of it. Unaware of Elerian’s night time outings, Granius expected to find both Balbus and Elerian asleep inside. So bent was he on having his revenge that he cared little if they found any silver or not as long as he was able to do away with Elerian.

At Granius’s heavy knock on the front door, Carbo started awake and began to bark, waking Balbus. As Balbus sat up in his bed, still wrapped in the fog of sleep, Granius began to pound on the door shouting, “Help! Help!” at the top of his lungs. Carbo’s barks became louder and more urgent as he ran down the loft stairs to the front door.

Balbus sprang out of his bed, noting as he did so that Elerian’s bed was empty. “The boy is gone again,” thought Balbus to himself as he ran down the stairs after Carbo. Balbus had discovered some time ago that Elerian was leaving the house at night. It was not something he was entirely comfortable with, so he had never let on to Elerian that he knew.

The pounding on the front door continued unabated. Acting out of caution, Balbus seized his sword before opening the door just enough to see who was pounding on it so violently in the middle of the night. It was dark outside, but Balbus could just make out a face near the door, drawn into lines of desperation and fright.

“Let me in Balbus,” shouted Granius when he saw Balbus’s face appear. “I have been set upon by robbers and half killed by them.”

Balbus recognized the face and voice as those of Granius. Carbo continued to bark fiercely, but Balbus paid him no mind, for the dog and the woodcutter did not much like each other. He did not care for Granius, himself, but he was a softhearted fellow and without stopping to wonder why Granius was abroad at this late hour, he opened the door all the way.

Balbus was taken completely by surprise when Granius suddenly lunged at him, seizing him around the chest with both arms, and wrestling him to the floor. Carbo immediately leaped to defend his master, but a club swept down, wielded by one of the robbers, and with a sickening crack, struck him on the back of the head. The dog fell limply to the floor and did not move again.

Once Balbus recovered from his surprise at being attacked by Granius, he began to struggle furiously. He had dropped his sword, but anger at the attack on Carbo gave him added strength, and despite the difference in their ages, he gave Granius a good fight, twisting his ears until he howled and pummeling his head and shoulders with heavy, punishing blows, but the woodcutter refused to let go his hold on his chest.

Two of the robbers finally seized Balbus by the arms and dragged him farther into the room while Granius spitefully kicked him in the face and side. The third threw Carbo’s limp body outside before closing and locking the door. As they bound Balbus to a chair, Granius drew his knife and motioning one of the robbers to accompany him, rushed upstairs. He had a score to settle with Elerian and supposed the boy was hiding in the loft. The dying fire still cast a dim glow over the room, and it did not take the two men long to determine that Elerian was not there. Hurrying back downstairs, Granius shouted, “The boy is gone. Search the barn before he escapes.” A hasty search was made, but they found no sign of Elerian.

“Where can he have gone?” asked the robber chief of Granius. “If he raises an alarm all of our plans will be ruined.”

“The front door was locked but not barred,” replied Granius who had not heard Balbus lift the bar before opening the door. “He could have let himself out that way before we arrived.”

The robber chief immediately turned to Balbus and struck him heavily in the face, drawing blood from his lips. “Where is the boy,” he demanded harshly.

“I don’t know,” said Balbus without hesitation. He was certain now that Elerian was out in the forest, but he had no intention of giving the robbers that information no matter what they did to him. As long as Elerian was out of harm's way, he cared nothing about his own safety.

“I’ll get him to talk quickly enough,” said one of the other robbers. Methodically, he began to build up the fire in the fire place. When the red flames leaped up, he thrust a poker into their midst, and the pointed tip soon began to take on an orange hue. The bitter smell of hot iron filled the room.

“Talk while you can, old man,” said the robber chief coldly. “Where is the boy?”

“He was asleep when I went to bed,” said Balbus truthfully. “I do not know where he has gone.” As he spoke, his eyes were riveted on the fiery tip of the poker. When the robber took the hot iron out of the fire and advanced toward him with a look of cruel anticipation on his face, sweat broke out on Balbus’s forehead. He could expect no mercy from these men, and he was certain that they would kill him once they gained the information they sought. A way to delay his fate suddenly came to him.

“There is a purse filled with silver under a loose stone in front of the hearth,” said Balbus. “Take it and leave. I promise you there will be no pursuit.”

The poker went back into the fire, and the robbers eagerly searched for the loose stone. When they found it, the chief robber seized the purse and then cursed horribly when he opened it and saw that it was empty. Throwing in onto the floor, he seized the poker from the fire and advanced on Balbus with a malevolent look on his face.

“I will teach you not to trifle with me, old man,” he said with a deadly threat in his voice. Slowly, he advanced the red-hot point of the poker toward Balbus’s left eye until it seemed to fill his whole field of vision, and the heat began to scorch his face and brow. Desperately, Balbus tried to turn his head away, but another of the robbers held his head immobile with strong hands.

Even as the robber chief made to thrust the hot iron into Balbus’s eye, Granius suddenly shouted, “Hold!” Unable to believe the change purse was really empty, he had picked up the discarded purse and thrust his fingers inside. At the touch of smooth metal, he had felt around and drawn out several silver coins which he now threw triumphantly on the table. As the robbers watched in disbelief, he continued to draw out bright silver coins until he had a mound of them piled on the table. At that point, his groping fingers brought out no more coins, and the purse appeared to be truly empty at last.

The robber chief returned the poker to the fire. Taking the purse from Granius, he searched it himself, and confirmed that it was empty before flinging it into the fire. His mood had improved considerably, for there was more than enough silver already on the table to further his ambitions.

“Do not injure the old man yet,” cautioned Granius. “We may need him to lure the boy back into the house. We can’t leave here until the old man and the boy are both dead. That way there will be no witnesses to raise the alarm or carry tales about us.”

“Gag the old man, then,” said the robber chief reluctantly. “We will wait until the boy returns and kill them both at the same time.”

Balbus was quickly gagged, and one of the robbers thought to remove the body of Carbo from in front of the doorway so that Elerian would not see it if he returned. When he opened the door, however, the body was nowhere to be seen.

Some animal dragged it off,” said the robber chief, unconcerned. He was certain the blow from the club had killed the dog, but in this, he was mistaken. After being thrown outside, Carbo had awakened, sorely wounded but still able to stand. Unable to get into the house, he had staggered off to find Elerian. After lifting the latch on the hedge gate with his nose, he painfully made his way through the forest, following Elerian’s scent trail for several miles before finally collapsing when the dizziness, caused by the blow to his head, finally overwhelmed him. With a last effort, he raised his head and sent up a mournful howl.

Elerian, who was lazing on a branch not far away, at once stood up. He recognized Carbo’s voice at once and set out to find the dog, wondering how he had gotten out of the farmhouse, for he had locked the door when he went out. He found Carbo lying unconscious and near death. The wound looked to have been inflicted by a club which could only mean that something was dreadfully wrong at the farm. Curbing his impatience to return home, Elerian immediately began to heal Carbo’s wound. When he was done, he was relieved when Carbo opened his eyes and licked his hand. The dog whined uneasily, telling Elerian, as clearly as if he had spoken, that they must return to the farm.

Carbo was still weak from loss of blood, but Elerian easily carried the heavy dog on his shoulders, running all of the way back to the farm. He left Carbo hidden in one of the grape fields, ordering the unhappy dog to wait there until he was called. Stealing quietly up to the house, Elerian looked through the window to the left of the front door, but the shutters were closed and he could see nothing inside.

Something warned Elerian not to enter through the front door, and he stealthily made his way to the small door that gave entrance to the barn. When he whispered an opening spell, the lock clicked open, and the crossbar fell to the floor. Elerian paused for a moment to listen, but no one came to investigate the noise. Silently, he opened the door and walked through the barn. The animals were quiet in their stalls, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary as he opened the door that led to the passageway which connected the barn to the house.

Stealthily, Elerian walked down the passageway and opened the door at the far end just enough so that he could see into the kitchen. The room was empty, but when he cautiously crept across the kitchen and looked out into the common room, his eyes were met by a grim scene. The light of the flickering fire illuminated the forbidding faces of the three robbers who were seated at the table and carefully sharpening their weapons. They were tall, dark men, and Elerian guessed them to be Ancharians. Balbus was tied to a chair by the fire, gagged so that he could not say a word, and blindfolded so that he could not see. Elerian’s eyes widened when he saw Granius impatiently looking out through the partially open front door. How it had come about, he could not imagine, but it appeared that Granius was in league with the robbers. Somehow, Elerian would have to overcome all four men in the room in order to rescue Balbus.

“Are you sure there is nothing more to drink?” asked the robber chief suddenly of one of his men.

“We have drunk every drop,” said the man sullenly. “How much longer must we remain here?”

“We can’t leave until the boy is dead,” insisted the chief. “Once we have gotten rid of him and the old man, Granius can hide the bodies and keep up appearances until we return. It will be easier to deal with the local people if we can fall on them by surprise.”

His answer was met with surly silence, but the question about drink gave Elerian an idea. With silent footsteps, he ran back to the barn. There was a small cask filled with clear well water in a corner, and Elerian took a moment to change its contents to a potent red wine. Carefully, he carried the keg back to the passageway and set it near the kitchen door in a dark corner. Pushing over a shovel leaning against a wall, he ran and hid in the barn.

One of the robbers jumped up immediately when he heard the shovel clatter to the floor. Taking the mage lamp from the kitchen table to light his way, he came into the passageway to investigate. He looked briefly around the empty passageway and saw the fallen shovel. “Probably just a rat,” he thought to himself. “It must have climbed on the shovel and caused it to fall.” As he turned to go back to the kitchen, his eyes were drawn to the cask.

“Here now, where did this come from?” he asked himself in a puzzled voice, for he did not recall seeing the cask before. After lifting the lid and smelling the rich wine within, he soon stopped worrying about its origin. Already more than a little drunk, the scent of the wine drove all thoughts of a further search out of his mind, as he carefully lifted the keg and carried it into the common room.

The others were equally excited over the find. They began to drink again, and it was not long before they were all quite drunk, except for the robber chief who had sense enough not to muddle his wits completely. He looked a grim, dangerous man, and Elerian, who was spying on the robbers again from the kitchen, wondered how best to deal with him. The distance was rather far for a spell, and in any case, there was no way for him to immobilize all four of the robbers at once. Even as tipsy as they were, some of them would surely reach him first, or even worse, do some injury to Balbus before he could prevent it. Their leader worried him, especially, for he still seemed far too alert.

“Can I frighten them away?” he wondered. If he used magic, an illusion might not suffice. He would have to use a shape change, one he was familiar with. The sight of Granius reminded Elerian of the wolf shape he had used to frighten the woodcutters and Tullius. A grim smile slowly spread across his face. He cast his spell, and his form began to flow and grow. A monstrous shape took form in the dark kitchen out of sight of the robbers. It grew until it was barely large enough to fit through the doorway, for Elerian had done his best to make himself as frightening as possible. With a roar that shook the rafters, he suddenly leaped through the kitchen doorway and sprang into the common room. There, he stood for a moment, dimly outlined by the flickering light of the fireplace. The eyes in his huge head glowed like fiery coals, and ropes of saliva dripped from his long, gleaming fangs.

By now, the strong wine had thoroughly clouded the wits of Granius and two of the robbers. Without troubling to ask themselves how a great, slavering monster could have entered the locked farmhouse, they fell over themselves in a rush for the door. After fumbling with the lock, they tore it open, and after a brief moment when the three of them were jammed together in the doorframe, vacated the room without a backward look.

The robber chief rose to his feet, but he made no move to run. He still had enough of his wits about him to be suspicious, and suspected some sort of magic at once, most likely an illusion. Drawing his knife with his right hand, he flung his chair at Elerian’s head with his left hand. With a massive paw, Elerian swept the chair away and growled again, filling all the room with the sound. The chair struck a wall and shattered, causing the robber chief to turn pale under his dark tan. An illusion would not have been able to block the chair, therefore, the fearsome beast before him must indeed be real. His courage did not desert him entirely, however, for he turned to his left and raised his knife, determined to slay Balbus at least before he fled the room after his men. With a desperate leap that carried him across the room, Elerian closed his jaws on the knife blade, wrenching it from the robber’s hand before it could complete its deadly stroke. With a curse, the robber chief fled out the open door.

After taking a moment to make sure that Balbus was unharmed, Elerian pursued the fleeing robbers through the grape fields as far as the gate at the edge of the forest. He could easily have slain all four of them now, for they were clumsy with drink and armed only with knives, but he could not bring himself to do it, even knowing the fate they had intended for him and Balbus. “They can be captured tomorrow and punished properly,” he thought to himself as he broke off the chase after they fled through the gate into the forest.

Satisfied that the robbers would not return any time soon, Elerian became human again and returned with Carbo to free Balbus. As he removed the blindfold and gag, Balbus greeted him with relief. Because of his blindfold, he had not seen what had happened in the room. He listened carefully as Elerian described how he had frightened off the robbers. “You must not tell Tullius that I can change my shape,” added Elerian when he was done. “It might increase the bitterness he feels about the extent of his own powers.”

“I think you are mistaken,” said Balbus. “He would be glad for you, but I will do as you wish.”

A pursuit was organized the next day, but the robbers had not gone into hiding in the forest as Elerian had expected. They had fled into the east and had a long lead by the time the pursuers found their trail.

“Good riddance to them,” said Balbus when they finally gave up the chase and turned toward their homes once more. A watch was kept for a time, but the robbers and Granius were never seen in those parts again.

Balbus’s purse was burnt up, except for the clasp which had melted in the fire. The silver, too, was gone, for the robber chief had put it into his own purse long before Elerian routed him from the room. Balbus thought it a fair price to pay to see the back of them and was of the opinion that they would not gain any advantage from their stolen money. Such folk did not share well, and it was likely that they would seek to do away with each other in an attempt to increase their share of the silver. Circumstances seemed to bear out the accuracy of his guess, for the robber captain never returned at the head of any outlaw band as he had planned.

LOOSE ENDS

With the disappearance of the robbers, peace reigned in the uplands again, but the story of Granius’s treachery shocked people when it became known. Bad enough that robbers should appear among them, but it was even worse that one of their own would help them. Everyone agreed that uncertain times were upon them. First, the mutare had come from the wild lands to the east and now these renegade Ancharians. What new threat might follow they wondered.

Elerian did not share the general unease, for he was certain that, with the disappearance of his only enemy, the dangerous times were over. Having come so close to losing Balbus, he was now content to resume a quiet life, at least for a while. He played no more pranks, and even the desire to know why the Goblins were a threat to him became less pressing. “Balbus will tell me in due time,” he thought to himself. “In any case, it hardly matters. It is most unlikely that the Goblins will ever return after all this time.” In this he was, of course, mistaken, but that is another story.