silently with Falco until, halfway through the night, the Dwarf changed places with Ascilius. Elerian also took a place on the driver’s seat then, slipping warily past Ascilius who glowered at him while longingly clenching his powerful fists.
Elerian found that he much preferred sitting outside the carriage to being confined to its interior. A soft breeze blew in his face and the stars overhead were bright. The only sounds were the clop of the ponies’ hooves and the rumble of the carriage wheels, for the darkened countryside on both sides of the road was deserted, its residents tucked comfortably into their beds.
“Your Anthea must be a stern woman, heavy-handed as a Dwarf matron to inspire such respect from you and Ascilius,” ventured Falco.
“She is no one to trifle with,” admitted Elerian. He related how Anthea had beaten him and Ascilius with a branch after their encounter with a licantrope during their flight from Galenus.
“I see now why you and Ascilius fear her,” said Falco, tears of laughter springing from his eyes as Elerian told his story. “The two of you do not wish to suffer another beating.”
“The thrashing we suffered was inconsequential,” replied Elerian, his voice taking on a pensive tone. “Anthea attracts those around her like a lodestone draws iron, inspiring in each of them a desire to win her approval and friendship. It was fear of her disapproval not the punishment she might mete out that made Ascilius and I stop fighting.”
“He might be describing himself,” thought Falco to himself, for sitting next to Elerian, he felt as if he were basking in the warm rays of the afternoon sun. “What an odd blend of mischief and fellowship he is,” mused Falco to himself as Elerian, after swearing him to secrecy, began to relate some of his favorite pranks.
Shortly after sunrise, Falco stopped for a fresh team at another way station. This one had no proper inn so the three companions had only a few biscuits from the packs they carried in the carriage boot for their breakfast. Elerian continued to keep a wary eye on Ascilius who maintained a taciturn silence while they ate.
“He is plotting some sort of revenge,” thought Elerian to himself as he followed the two Dwarves back to the coach. His suspicion was confirmed when Ascilius suddenly turned and cast a meaningful look in his direction while drawing the first finger of his right hand across his throat. From a safe distance, Elerian thumbed his nose at the Dwarf to show his indifference to the threat. He waited until Ascilius had taken the reins again before entering the carriage, seating himself across from Falco as before. Then they were on their way again, stopping once at midday to change ponies and drivers and again in the evening for a fresh team and supper.
As dusk fell, they resumed their journey with Ascilius at the reins. Elerian sat inside the coach with Falco, certain that it was still not prudent to be in close quarters with Ascilius. Hours later, when he judged that they were only a few miles from the fortress that guarded the southern entrance to the Caldaria, the carriage suddenly slowed. Drawing aside the curtain covering the window by his right shoulder, Elerian’s night-wise eyes easily penetrated the darkness outside, revealing, in shades of gray and black, a narrow, grass-covered track which intersected the eastern border of the road. In the distance Elerian could see rugged foothills and beyond them a wall of soaring mountains that wore a coat of snow on their peaks. He did not remember seeing this road on his journey to Iulius although the carriage he had ridden in had surely passed it.
Ascilius carefully guided the ponies onto the little used track, passing between the trunks of two of the enormous ash trees that lined the main highway. The little used road took the carriage east through a countryside that became increasingly remote. Farms and meadows gave way to an ancient forest of oak, ash, and
Elerian found that he much preferred sitting outside the carriage to being confined to its interior. A soft breeze blew in his face and the stars overhead were bright. The only sounds were the clop of the ponies’ hooves and the rumble of the carriage wheels, for the darkened countryside on both sides of the road was deserted, its residents tucked comfortably into their beds.
“Your Anthea must be a stern woman, heavy-handed as a Dwarf matron to inspire such respect from you and Ascilius,” ventured Falco.
“She is no one to trifle with,” admitted Elerian. He related how Anthea had beaten him and Ascilius with a branch after their encounter with a licantrope during their flight from Galenus.
“I see now why you and Ascilius fear her,” said Falco, tears of laughter springing from his eyes as Elerian told his story. “The two of you do not wish to suffer another beating.”
“The thrashing we suffered was inconsequential,” replied Elerian, his voice taking on a pensive tone. “Anthea attracts those around her like a lodestone draws iron, inspiring in each of them a desire to win her approval and friendship. It was fear of her disapproval not the punishment she might mete out that made Ascilius and I stop fighting.”
“He might be describing himself,” thought Falco to himself, for sitting next to Elerian, he felt as if he were basking in the warm rays of the afternoon sun. “What an odd blend of mischief and fellowship he is,” mused Falco to himself as Elerian, after swearing him to secrecy, began to relate some of his favorite pranks.
Shortly after sunrise, Falco stopped for a fresh team at another way station. This one had no proper inn so the three companions had only a few biscuits from the packs they carried in the carriage boot for their breakfast. Elerian continued to keep a wary eye on Ascilius who maintained a taciturn silence while they ate.
“He is plotting some sort of revenge,” thought Elerian to himself as he followed the two Dwarves back to the coach. His suspicion was confirmed when Ascilius suddenly turned and cast a meaningful look in his direction while drawing the first finger of his right hand across his throat. From a safe distance, Elerian thumbed his nose at the Dwarf to show his indifference to the threat. He waited until Ascilius had taken the reins again before entering the carriage, seating himself across from Falco as before. Then they were on their way again, stopping once at midday to change ponies and drivers and again in the evening for a fresh team and supper.
As dusk fell, they resumed their journey with Ascilius at the reins. Elerian sat inside the coach with Falco, certain that it was still not prudent to be in close quarters with Ascilius. Hours later, when he judged that they were only a few miles from the fortress that guarded the southern entrance to the Caldaria, the carriage suddenly slowed. Drawing aside the curtain covering the window by his right shoulder, Elerian’s night-wise eyes easily penetrated the darkness outside, revealing, in shades of gray and black, a narrow, grass-covered track which intersected the eastern border of the road. In the distance Elerian could see rugged foothills and beyond them a wall of soaring mountains that wore a coat of snow on their peaks. He did not remember seeing this road on his journey to Iulius although the carriage he had ridden in had surely passed it.
Ascilius carefully guided the ponies onto the little used track, passing between the trunks of two of the enormous ash trees that lined the main highway. The little used road took the carriage east through a countryside that became increasingly remote. Farms and meadows gave way to an ancient forest of oak, ash, and
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