by C S Marks
"Efficient" was a good word for Eros. He maintained on very little feed, unlike Réalta, who grew lean where the grazing was poor. He was very steady in his way of going; he did not tire his rider or his own legs with erratic movements and hard pounding. Eros flowed like water over nearly any terrain; hence he had been named for the gentle River Eros that fed into the Ambros from the north.
The first sign of trouble came as the horses raised their heads and turned them to the southeast, their ears pricked and their bodies tense as they stood motionless. Rogond also stood riveted, listening. A sudden whistling sound pierced the air as a dark arrow sped through the trees, startling all three of them. In the dim light of morning Rogond could only see that the arrow had flown from the direction of a large pile of rocks near their resting-place. He dropped quickly to the ground as a second arrow flew, striking the pack horse behind the elbow, felling him. This was a marksman of some skill, and Rogond feared for Eros. Taking shelter behind a large stump, he whistled and shouted to his mount, seeking to move him out of range.
"Run, Eros! Run toward the river until I call you!"
A third shaft flew, barely missing the animal’s shaggy neck. Rogond flapped his cloak at the horse, crying, "RUN, I tell you!"
Looking just a little offended, Eros turned and trotted off toward the river as Rogond reached for his bow, only to remember that his quiver was still attached to the saddle. He swallowed hard and cursed his lack of alertness. Only his recent illness could explain it. How ironic for Galador to find Gaelen and Nelwyn at last, only to wait by the river for his friend who would never come. There were at least two reasons why Rogond could not let that happen. First, he would not look upon Gaelen or hear her song again. And second, his spirit would have to endure the knowledge that he had been picked off easily, as might a fool traveling without skill. For the pride and honor of his race, he would have to prevail.
He hoped there was but a single enemy, but as he leapt from the shelter of the stump and grabbed his spear, he was disheartened to see three Ulcas rush from their rocky concealment, yelling and waving their crude but deadly blades. Their dark, ugly faces were drawn into a snarl, and they squinted even in the dim light of dawn. Their strategy was clear: they had intended to kill both horses, undoubtedly to eat later, then to kill Rogond, whom they had rightly perceived as outnumbered. They would have eaten him, also.
What they had not known was that Rogond’s lack of awareness was only momentary. He called back toward the river, sword in one hand and spear in the other, bracing for the fight.
"Eros! Eros! I need you! Come to me!"
The three Ulcas burst into the clearing, but they checked back at the sight of Rogond. What they had thought to be an unwary traveler appeared now as a tall warrior, well-armed and stern-faced, keen of eye and strong of limb. It was only partially true; Rogond was still weak from his illness. The Ulcas were deceived nonetheless, and they drew back for a moment.
"Come on, you miserable rats!" snarled Rogond. "It is time for you to join your pathetic ancestors in whatever forsaken pit they dwell!"
Without waiting for them to react, Rogond sent his spear straight into the heart of the first Ulca, and then lashed out with his long blade at the others, who leaped upon him, waving their dark and pitted weapons. Normally they would be no match for Rogond, who was skilled at arms and had seen real battle, but in his weakened state he was slow to react, and his strokes lacked their usual power. His skill was far superior to theirs, but his strength was ebbing quickly. It looked as though he would meet with a lowly fate, until Eros burst between Rogond and his enemies, trampling one handily while knocking both Rogond and the remaining Ulca to the ground.
Rogond had retained his grip on his sword-hilt. The Ulca was swifter to rise, and it leapt upon him as he dodged its last stroke. Rogond drove the sword into its belly, releasing its dark blood, and the encounter ended.
Winded, head swimming, Rogond lay for a while on the grass, praying that these were the only ones he would contend with this day. Eros approached him, nuzzling his face and tickling it with his long whiskers. Rogond blew hard into the horse’s nostrils, causing him to step back, tossing his head in the air. Then, after getting rather gingerly to his feet, Rogond patted Eros’ strong neck.
"Well done, my friend. May your forelock flourish and keep the flies from your face."
He surveyed the scene before him. Eros would now have to carry the packs, as Cronan lay dead where he had fallen. After instructing Eros to stay in the clearing, Rogond tracked the Ulcas back for a little way just to make certain there would be no further threats. He was not fearful, as he was now on his guard, and the dawn had truly broken.
What he found when he had gone back along the Ulcas’ trail dismayed him. There were nearly a dozen dead, in two groups of five and six, killed with swift efficiency. The tracks that went away were confusing, but Rogond soon read them as Gaelen’s and Nelwyn’s mingled with those of the enemy they tracked. So, the creature was not a friend of Ulcas, either. The three that had attacked Rogond must have escaped its notice, or been away from the other groups when the attacks came. From the look of things, these unfortunate ones had been dead for five days or more.
Rogond was thankful for that, as Gaelen and Nelwyn were still on the trail of the enemy, but they were unlikely to catch up unless it had tarried near the river. All tracks did indeed go back to the Ambros.
Rogond hoped that Galador had found the Elves already and would be waiting for him. Returning to Eros, he removed their gear from the body of Cronan and patted his still form with affectionate regret. "Farewell, my sturdy friend. Rest here forever on the grass you loved." He packed their belongings onto Eros, who snorted and tossed his head. "It’s no use complaining about it," said Rogond. "We both must go on feet today." He turned and led Eros westward, following the tracks of Réalta.
When evening came and there was still no sign of Rogond, Galador began to worry. The plan had been for Rogond to follow Réalta, mounted on Eros and leading Cronan, at a pace that would not tax him. He would therefore have been expected by now, as Galador had accomplished the task of locating Nelwyn and Gaelen by early afternoon. Even at a walk, Eros could have caught up. To Galador’s delight, Nelwyn had been more than happy to see him.
Gaelen had also greeted him with enthusiasm, though she appeared even more delighted to see Réalta. Here was the answer to her river-crossing problem! She looked back north, hoping to see Rogond coming up from behind, but found no sign of him.
"Where is Rogond? He surely has not been lost, or you would not be in such good spirits."
"He is following, but slowly. I expect he will be here in a few hours. He leads the pack horse."
"How is he faring? Is he well? Surely he is not yet strong," said Gaelen, concerned at the thought of Rogond traveling alone. When she had last seen him, he had been fairly helpless.
"He is far from strong, yet is stronger than he was. He will recover if he is not overly taxed."
If Rogond had overheard, he might have wondered whether fighting off Ulcas and having to walk all those miles when he was supposed to be riding constituted being overly taxed. However, this seemed to satisfy Gaelen, who now occupied herself with thoughts of pursuing her enemy across the river on horseback and seeing Rogond again, in that order.
As they all waited for Rogond, Nelwyn and Galador renewed their friendship. Nelwyn told of all that had passed since their departure. She spoke of the slain Ulcas they had found, more of the creature’s handiwork. They had been killed, but not tortured or maimed; it seemed that honor was reserved for Elves alone. Then Nelwyn asked Galador why they had followed so quickly.
"Rogond was insistent, as I told him of your enemy, and he feared for you. I believe he has known of this enemy before. He told me some dreadful tales about it."
Nelwyn grew agitated. "So he knows it? What did he tell you? Does he know its nature or how it may be killed?"
Galador calmed her. "Hush. The last thing
we need to do is arouse Gaelen. She would probably run back on foot to find Rogond if she thought he had useful information. No, neither he nor his people had much insight into the creature that so terrorized them, but the pattern you described was so similar, he knew it was either the same creature or its twin brother."
Nelwyn looked over at her cousin, who was now sitting preoccupied on the river bank, staring fixedly out to the south and west, her thoughts clouded by an unshakable melancholy. Gaelen sensed that something evil had happened in the night, not far from their encampment. Though she normally did not sleep in the manner of men, she did sometimes experience a kind of waking dream. Last night’s had been a bad one. As the moon rose high, Nelwyn had found her, trembling and pale, eyes wide and staring, mouthing the same words over and over: "Aontar release me, Aontar take me…" Nelwyn had grasped her shoulders, shaking her lightly, calling her name. She came out of her trance-like state slowly, still whispering the name of Aontar. As Nelwyn looked deep into her cousin’s eyes, they shared the same feeling—their enemy had killed again. They sat together in quiet sorrow for whatever poor soul they did not know, in hope that his spirit would find safe passage to its eternal home.
Now Gaelen turned and invited Nelwyn to sit beside her. The afternoon was waning into twilight, which came so early in the winter. After that would come the cold darkness, and there was still no sign of Rogond. They both looked over at Galador, who was saddling Réalta, preparing to backtrack and find his friend. His ageless face could not conceal the worry he felt, and Nelwyn didn’t like it. She wanted to go along, but Réalta could not carry the three of them, and she didn’t want to leave Gaelen alone. Galador promised to return as soon as he could and then was gone.
He had ridden about five anxious miles when he finally found Rogond. It was alarming to see that there was no pack horse, and that Eros was now carrying both Rogond and their gear. Rogond had walked until he could walk no more, then he had persuaded Eros to carry both himself and the packs, and told him to follow Réalta. Once mounted, he had slept. He was still asleep when Galador rode up; not even Réalta’s loud greeting of Eros had awakened him. Galador jumped down from his horse and ran to Eros, taking hold of the bridle. The dun was undaunted by his heavy load and didn’t seem to understand Galador’s distress, but Galador didn’t know whether Rogond was wounded, sleeping, or dead. The absence of Cronan was a bad sign.
He roused his friend with some difficulty; the strain of the encounter with the Ulcas and the long walk of so many miles had thoroughly worn him out. But now that he had slept a little, his mind and his eyes were clear. He was certainly happy to see Galador and began looking around for Gaelen at once.
"She is not here. We must ride back a few miles, but they are both safe. Tomorrow we will cross the river."
Galador then asked Rogond to tell what had happened. Where was Cronan? What had taken so long? Rogond told his tale as they made their way back to the river in the dark, ultimately falling asleep again as Eros walked with gentle, quiet care, his feet lighting softly on the hard ground.
The next day they crossed the river. It was deadly cold, and the current was treacherous, but the water was not as deep as they had feared. They made it with the help of the horses, leaving all that they could spare behind. The horses did have to swim, but not for long, and they got to the other side with most of the gear dry. Rogond had slept well indeed once he had been reunited with the Elves, as there were now many watchful eyes and he could do so without worry.
The four of them rode south as the river began her slow turning and meandering, and the grassy, shrubby banks backed by forest began to turn to open land with only scattered trees. They chose to stop for the night, sheltering under a bank where they could rest together. As Rogond began to drift off, he asked Gaelen to sing.
"No, Tuathan. I cannot sing tonight. A great evil has been done near here. Nelwyn and I both sensed it, and tomorrow I fear we will find the proof. Instead, I would hear your tale. Galador has told me that you know something of this enemy already. Will you not share with us?"
Rogond told all that he knew of the vile creature, and when he had finished, the Elves agreed that indeed it was, if not the same evil, at least of similar ilk. Galador wondered whether some of the stories he had heard told of mysterious disappearances in and around the Verdant Mountains had been related to the experiences of Rogond’s people. There were reports of Elves who journeyed to the Twilight Shores, but did not reach them. Some had been found dead by their companions, and some had never been found at all. Those who were found had not died easily. In truth, Gorgon was not responsible for all of those lost ones, but he had a hand in many an unpleasant ending. These incidents, and the inevitable tales that resulted, had been going on for a long, long time.
Hearing of this again had unsettled Galador so that he could not rest. He rose and climbed up onto the bank where he could see and hear all around him. There he sat, alone and watchful, as Nelwyn regarded him, settling back against the bank next to Gaelen and Rogond, who was soon fast asleep.
When the wind shifted so that it blew from the south, the Elves’ worst suspicions were confirmed. Galador caught it first as he stood watch. Nelwyn felt Gaelen tremble as she lifted her head, scenting the air. Then Nelwyn also detected it—the smell of blood and corruption, of suffering and death. As Nelwyn spoke comforting words to Gaelen to stop her trembling, she lifted her eyes up to Galador’s. She was truly glad of his company, but she hoped that she had not led him into a situation from which none would escape.
The Elves could not rest after that, as each was lost in his or her own thoughts. Gaelen’s dreams had unnerved her, and she dreaded the dawn. Nelwyn was afraid also, for all of them. Galador, who alone among the Elves had yet to actually experience the violence of this enemy, was nonetheless disquieted. His thoughts turned more and more often to Nelwyn and how he longed to tell her that he would defend her unto death, though he hoped it would not come to that.
They first caught sight of what remained of Gelmyr in the late morning. He was still hanging from the tall tree, swaying slightly in the wind. They debated as to whether it would be safe to approach him, but Gaelen could tell by the faintness of the enemy’s scent that he was long gone. In fact, Gorgon had been gone for more than two full days. They were wary nonetheless as they approached Gelmyr, for his body had been left hanging for someone to find, and perhaps there were traps and snares. But they found none, and as they drew near to him Galador started back in dismay.
"But, he is of the Èolar!" he said, amazed.
"I remember him. He came as emissary to the Greatwood long ago, along with his friend Magra. His name is…Gelmyr, as I recall," said Gaelen.
"It was Gelmyr," said Nelwyn sadly. She, too, remembered Gelmyr together with Magra—two powerful Elf-lords at Ri-Aruin’s table. How different he had looked then!
Rogond drew his long knife and cut Gelmyr down. They laid him gently on the ground, as Galador began to examine him. They were all horrified at the damage that had been done, as they pieced together the manner of death from the tale the ruined body told them. "So, this enemy was clever enough to approach an Elf such as Gelmyr without being seen or heard, craven enough to break his back so that he is helpless, and then cruel enough to hack him to pieces while he is still alive. Yet at the last it kills quickly? It is almost as if there is some vestige of honor amidst the evil. It doesn’t make sense," said Rogond.
"Perhaps it does," whispered Gaelen, as she bent over Gelmyr’s ruined face. His once-beautiful blue eyes were difficult to read; they were clouded over like pale moons, but Gaelen put forth all her effort into searching their depths. Gelmyr had possessed a powerful spirit, and in spite of his being nearly three days gone, she could still sense a remnant of it. She took hold of his cold hands and searched harder. The icy feeling washed over her without warning, and she cried out in dismay, letting go of Gelmyr’s hands as though they burned her.
Rogond caught her as she swooned back, her
eyes closed, shaking with cold. None of them fully understood what she had done, and they were confused and worried for her. Rogond tried to lift her, but she suddenly came alive in his arms and pulled away, leaping to her feet with her hands flung up before her as though trying to ward something off.
"Gaelen!" Nelwyn cried, rushing to her side and forcing her to look into her eyes. "Come back to us!"
Gaelen buried her face in her hands for a moment, and then the shadow lifted from her as she turned to her friends, who were standing transfixed by what they had just witnessed.
Nelwyn approached her again, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Did...did Gelmyr speak to you? What did you learn?" Gaelen turned to Nelwyn with an expression of cold fury in her eyes.
"Yes, he spoke to me. What I learned is that this enemy will not stop until every one of us is dead, and that he would prefer to kill us one by one, at his leisure, in the worst possible way. What I did not learn is why. Though, at the end, Gelmyr thought he knew."
They did not know what to do with Gelmyr. In truth, he deserved to be brought back to Monadh-talam, where he was loved by many, and laid to rest there. But that was not in their plan. There were no stones to cover him with, and the ground here was soft and damp, not suitable for burial. In the end, they decided to give him to the chilly waters of the Ambros, which he loved. Gaelen sang for him as they released him into the grey water. It carried him gently until he finally slipped out of sight as it took him under.
After Gaelen finished singing for Gelmyr, she returned to the base of the tree where they had found him. Her steps were somewhat stiff as she walked to the base of the tall beech and without warning slammed her fist into it. None of them dared approach her for a few moments. Then Rogond placed a hand on her shoulder.