by C S Marks
Her body stiffened, and he took his hand away. Turning from him, she returned to the horses and slung her bow, quiver, and other gear across her shoulders.
"What do you think you’re doing?" asked Galador, incredulous. "I’m tracking, Galador. I can bear my own things, since I will be on foot from now on," she replied, as though it should be obvious. She headed toward the mountains, determined in spite of her fears, leaving the others to stare after her. Rogond and Galador mounted the horses, pulling Nelwyn up behind Galador, and they trotted after Gaelen. Rogond drew nigh her, leaping off Eros and striding along at her side.
"Keep the horses behind me, Tuathan. They will trample and confuse the sign," she said.
He reached over and grabbed her upper arm, forcing her to stop. Her eyes flashed as she turned toward him. His gaze was gentle, and he smiled wryly at her. "You aren’t, by chance, related to Aincor, are you?"
Gaelen just stood there with her mouth open. This was an insult of the highest order. Surely, Rogond knew the tale of Aincor Fire-heart, the first High King, who grew so proud that he was driven to recklessness. Once he set upon a course no counsel would sway him—his stubbornness had resulted in mass genocide. Rogond dared compare Gaelen to Aincor? Unthinkable. Ridiculous. Gaelen stood in disbelief for a moment—what sort of point did he hope to make? Come to think of it, perhaps she had been just a little bit impetuous… and she did sometimes tend to be a little bit stubborn…
All at once, her stern façade gave way, and she laughed.
"No, Tuathan. I claim no kinship with him. But you certainly have made me see this with different eyes."
"Well, you would seem to possess some of the same determination. Come and sit with me awhile, for I would speak with you."
Gaelen agreed to parley with Rogond, and they sat upon the dry winter grass, talking and gesturing, for quite some time. At last she dropped her gaze, and he again placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, though she still did not appear to welcome his touch. They rose to their feet and approached the others, as Rogond told them that he had struck a bargain with Gaelen. They would continue to track the enemy for as long as possible, but when the signs vanished, which Rogond knew they would, Gaelen agreed to break off the pursuit until the trail grew warm again somewhere else. They would remain alert for rumors of the creature and would warn all who would listen of him, but they would break off the pursuit.
Gaelen turned and resumed tracking, unaware that exactly what Rogond had predicted would come to pass less than three days later, when it appeared that all sign of the creature had suddenly vanished from the land. It was as though it had sprouted wings and flown up and out of her grasp.
Had Gaelen known it, her enemy was not far away, but she would not find him. Gorgon lay, alone as ever, brooding in his dark lair deep underground. Here were provisions enough to last awhile; he would not have to leave his haven for several weeks. He had gone to ground beneath the Great Mountains, leaving no sign for anyone to follow. He would rest and think, and remember the anguished face of Gelmyr. He smiled a twisted smile, caressing the keen edge of Turantil. Lifting the blade, he drew it along his already-scarred forearm, imagining the pain he had inflicted upon his once-proud, once-mighty victim, his strange dark blood flowing freely, dripping onto the cold stone floor.
Chapter 6: The Path to the Greatwood
Gaelen slid down from behind Rogond and surveyed their intended encampment. It was she who had decided the Company needed to stop for the night, for she could sense Rogond’s weariness as he sat before her on Eros. Knowing his pride and not wishing to call attention to the fact that he was still not at full strength, she had feigned a need to stop and look to her gear.
"My blade is dull and my arrows few," she had said, "Let’s stop while there’s still daylight, so that I may replenish them." The others had agreed that a rest of a day or two would not hurt. The farther they rode from their enemy, the more relaxed and less driven they became. The pursuit had taken more energy than they were willing to admit. Now that they had diverted from it, a sort of weariness mixed with relief had washed over them.
They had decided to return to the Great Forest, there to inform the King of their recent hardships. Once they had made their report, Gaelen and Nelwyn desired to travel to Monadh-talam, also known as Mountain-home, for they wished to bring the news of Gelmyr’s death to Magra, his friend. They would beg the King’s leave to do so, but in their minds they had already resolved to go regardless of Ri-Aruin’s decision. They kept this plan to themselves, not wishing to influence the intentions of Rogond or Galador. Gaelen, in particular, had the sense that Rogond, for some reason, had appointed himself her protector. As if she needed one!
The journey from the Greatwood to Mountain-home would be difficult, as it was not exactly the optimal time of year to cross the mountains. Spring was not far off, but winter still ruled the forest, and it would not relinquish its hold on the mountains for some time yet. It was true that there were fairly safe paths known to the Elves, otherwise the crossing could not have been attempted. Still, the weather would tax them, and the going would be slow and laborious.
Nelwyn, for once, did not suggest the sensible alternative of waiting until spring had softened the mountains. She had been profoundly affected by the death of Gelmyr and remembered his close friendship with Magra. She recalled the two of them at the King’s table, tall and proud yet relaxed and merry, happy to be sharing in Ri-Aruin’s hospitality.
Nelwyn thought of Magra waiting, but no word of his friend would come unless they brought it to him. The way from the Greatwood back to Mountain-home would not be so easy, but the promise of a new and likely perilous journey would be especially good for Gaelen. It would take her focus from their enemy, as there would be new challenges to be met. But first, they would have to return to the Greatwood. What Nelwyn dreaded most in all of this was facing Talrodin’s two sons.
This dread was shared by Gaelen, who would rather have come back with the news that the creature had been slain and the sword Turantil recovered and returned to Halrodin’s heir. She suspected that Turantil had been the very blade used to inflict such grievous damage upon Gelmyr, though how she knew it she could not say.
With this plan in mind, they had returned to the ford and crossed the river again, as this would be more difficult the farther north they traveled. They stayed close to the Ambros wherever possible and did not enter the forest, as the southern regions of the Darkmere were thoroughly dangerous places.
Now, Gaelen was searching in her pack for her whetstone, her bag of steel arrow-points, and the feathers she carried for fletching. Nelwyn had been sent to find the straightest and strongest material to manufacture the shafts. She was expert at this. She could find suitably straight-grained, seasoned branches where no one else could. She soon brought several back to camp, where Rogond and Galador took them and began the shaping of them. Gaelen watched Rogond intently, and it was soon apparent that he was skilled in this as in many other ways of woodcraft. Turning to the sharpening of her blade, she spoke to him.
"How is it that you know so much of the woodland way? And how came you to speak Elven-tongues as if born to them?"
Rogond paused in his shaping of the arrow-shaft, regarding Gaelen with a pleasant expression. "I would tell you my tale, but you may not wish to sit still long enough to hear it," he said, having noticed her tendency to be restive.
Gaelen snorted, favoring him with a wry look. What did he know about her abilities? She recalled a day the previous summer when she had been forced to hide herself for hours in a tall tree standing alone in a meadow on the western edge of the forest. A large, armed company of Ulcas had appeared suddenly and she had not the time to get out of the open. The Ulcas had chosen that tree as their resting- place, and they were there nearly four hours before they left to seek underground shelter from the coming dawn. For all that time Gaelen had to sit absolutely still and silent, listening to their horrid speech and smelling their rotten flesh, lest an
y one of two dozen pairs of eyes should detect her. In the flickering light of their fires, she had been glad she wore very little of silver, gold, or gem. She could certainly remain still if need be. "Tell your tale, Aridan. I’ll sit still for it…if you make it interesting enough!"
"There’s not much to tell, really," he said, his grey eyes shadowed by regret. "I don’t know who my parents were, or whether I have any family yet living. I know my mother was killed by Ulcas when I was just a baby…she was running from the Plague that had overrun Dûn Bennas."
"I have heard the stories," said Gaelen. "It must have been terrible!"
"It was," said Rogond. "I can only assume that the rest of my family was felled by it…there were so few who lived. It spared no one—noble or journeyman, mother or child—it swept through the settlements of men like a wildfire. I was fostered by the Elves of the Verdant Mountains, who found me tucked away in a crevice of rock. Apparently, my mother hid me there before the Ulcas overwhelmed her. The Elves found this ring on what was left of her finger—it’s the only thing of my family that I possess." He showed the ring to Gaelen, who admired it appropriately.
"This is of Dwarf-make," she said. "It’s very beautiful, though rather massive for a woman’s ring." She gave it back to Rogond, who replaced it on the smallest finger of his right hand. "It looks perfect on you, though," Gaelen added, not wishing to offend him. He smiled back at her.
"Well, that explains why you are so fluent in Elven-speech," said Gaelen, after a rather awkward silence. "So, if you grew up among the Elves, why are you not with them now? Did you offend someone?
Did you grow weary of their company?"
"Not shy of asking personal questions, are you?" said Rogond good-naturedly. "Since you ask, I didn’t exactly offend anyone…I was just behaving as any normal young man would."
Gaelen looked puzzled at first, then her eyes grew wide and she drew in a quick, sharp breath, lowering her voice to just above a whisper. "Did you cast your young man’s eyes upon a She-elf ?"
Rogond stared at her for a moment, seeing she was deadly serious. Then his face split in a broad grin, and he laughed. "You are remarkably perceptive for a hunter-scout."
"What happened?"
"Well, I had already learned so many things from the Elves—I had learned that I was mortal, that I would age and die, that I could get sick…that was a particularly difficult blow."
Gaelen nodded. She could only imagine. "But, what did they do to you when you cast your eyes on their daughters? They didn’t drive you out or anything…did they?"
"They decided that I needed to learn my place, and that it wasn’t in the Verdant Mountains. They sent me to Mountain-home to be educated, hoping that Lady Ordath could reunite me with others of my race. Mountain-home is a place where people of every sort gather to learn. It was a good idea."
"It got you away from their daughters," said Gaelen. "I’m sure they thought it was a grand idea. But why did they not just send you to Dûn Bennas, if your people came from there?"
"I am Tuathan. I guess they thought I would be more at home among the Northmen. There aren’t very many of us left—only a small remnant still wanders in the North, and I am now one of them, a ranger sworn to defend the Light. I spent years studying and learning at the Sanctuary, and they were very happy years. I loved especially learning languages and lore. Even Ordath herself said I had a knack for it. When she finally introduced me to the rangers, they knew me as one of their own. I learned a lot from them, as well."
Gaelen nodded, her face solemn. She had met a few of the rangers when they passed through the Greatwood, which was not often. They were inclined to be rather grim and serious, and they followed a strict warrior code. With enough ale, however, they could be quite good-humored. Wrothgar hated them, and that was enough endorsement for Gaelen.
"I met Galador on…well, let’s say it was an interesting day," said Rogond with a bemused expression. "We’ve been friends for, ohhh, six years at least, and we’ve had some adventures! But I’ll save those tales for another time. You must tell me more of yourself, as well. It should be an interesting ride back to the Greatwood."
"Perhaps later," said Gaelen. "Thank you for trusting me with your story. It was well told." As she sheathed her blade, which was now sharp enough to split the bristles on a cricket’s belly, she considered what he had told her. It was obvious that he longed to know more of his origins; she could hear it in his voice. It made her sad, really. He probably had little hope of answering any of the questions that troubled him, as most of those who had known of him would have been lost to the horror of the Plague.
Rogond handed her a perfect, straight arrow shaft, and as she began the work of fitting and finishing it, he asked her again to tell of her own beginnings. She smiled and shook her head.
"Perhaps later, Tuathan. My beginnings take some time to tell, and I sense that your tale has worn you out. Why not lie by the fire, and I will sing to you so that you may take rest. It appears that Nelwyn and Galador are keeping the watch tonight."
So saying, she moved to the fireside with him, and he rested while she sang of the Elves and the men of Tuathas, and of the great friendship between them.
Rogond rested for yet another day, and the Elves looked to replenishing their provisions as best they could. They now had plenty of arrows, which cheered Gaelen, as she had the feeling they would be needed before she would see King Ri-Aruin’s halls. Food was another matter. There was little to be gleaned here, even if one ventured into this part of the forest, which lay a good ten leagues west of the river. They still had some stores left from Galador’s pack, but the going would be lean until Gaelen and Nelwyn drew closer to home. This did not concern the Elves, for they did not require much to keep their strength; but Rogond, who was still recovering, needed fuel.
When Nelwyn and Galador returned from foraging, they carried an assortment of roots, herbs, and tubers. Gaelen had obtained game in the form of a large bird—dark-bodied, with a broad, iridescent tail and naked, wrinkled red face. It was tough and stringy, but delicious! The tubers, roots, and herbs were roasted together among the coals and made a reasonable accompaniment for the meat. Rogond ate all he could hold and was soon asleep again.
In the morning they resumed their journey. There were two roads that ran from west to east across the forest, but the Elves would not take them, as they went too far to the south of Ri-Aruin’s domain and were no longer safe. Besides, Galador and Rogond had the best possible guides. As they rode they kept silent, saving the telling of tales for the evening fire. Then they would all be entertained with some of their favorite legends, such the trials of the great warrior Aincor Fire-heart, and the love of Shandor the magic-user for Liathwyn of the Èolar. As Galador told of the terrible events brought about by Aincor, Rogond reflected that it takes far less time to acquire skill and knowledge than it takes to acquire real wisdom.
Sometimes they would tell tales of their own experiences, as well. Rogond and Galador spoke of their adventures in the far north, where evil creatures were now abroad in large numbers. Galador was the only one among them to have actually seen a winged dragon, and he spoke of the encounter which, though distant, was nonetheless frightening. He spoke also of the Bödvari, captains of Wrothgar, and their terrible power. These were chilling tales, and Gaelen and Nelwyn shuddered as they sat side by side, the firelight flickering in their large, bright eyes.
At last they came to the path through the forest that was made and maintained by the people of Ri-Aruin. Even with the trees not in full leaf, the Greatwood looked dark and forbidding. They had over a hundred- fifty miles to go through it to reach the halls of the King, but mounted they could average at least twenty miles a day, and the Elves could easily do this on foot. Gaelen and Nelwyn took charge as they entered the forest, with Nelwyn scouting ahead and Gaelen bringing up the rear. Every so often, Nelwyn would climb up and have a look around, but she saw nothing disturbing.
Rogond was thankful for their
company, especially at night. It was so very dark that it unnerved him at times, for the ancient oaks still held their brown winter leaves. The Elves, however, always seemed to be able to find places to camp over which the stars were clearly visible. The oaks gave way to maples and beeches as they drew nearer to the Elvenhold, and the woodland became lighter and more welcoming. Gaelen and Nelwyn relaxed their vigilance somewhat, for their enemy was nowhere near to trouble them, and they were confident that the familiar perils of the Darkmere would not assail them unaware.
At such times they would sing together, to Rogond’s delight. All three Elves had fine voices and sang songs of such beauty and harmony that occasionally he found himself with moist eyes, heart aching to hear more. Once in a while they became a bit over-merry, setting words to some of the songs that were never intended by their original composers. These Gaelen and Nelwyn found uproarious and, try as Galador might to keep his serious expression, he broke into laughter right along with them. Rogond was amused; he was unused to seeing three of these generally dignified folk shaking with laughter at their own silly humor, which he admittedly did not quite understand. Though he had been raised among them, and probably knew as much of them as any mortal man, they were still of different mind from himself.
The intuition that Gaelen would need her arrows was proven correct on the fourth day, as they approached the crossing of a swift, cold-water creek that was wide, but not deep. The Wood-elves made their way north along the bank, until they came to a place where the crossing would be easier.
"This place is sometimes under watch by enemies; we must make certain it is safe," said Nelwyn, as she and Gaelen disappeared into the underbrush. They circled the area, scouting it while Galador and Rogond remained with Eros and Réalta. For a time the two She-elves vanished entirely, leaving Galador and Rogond to wonder what had befallen them, when they suddenly reappeared from behind, startling Rogond into drawing his blade. Gaelen gave him a wry smile as he sheathed it again, shaking his head and looking somewhat annoyed. "We have thoroughly explored the area near the clearing, and found no sign of danger," she said. "We think it’s safe to try to cross. It is best if the horses attempt this with but one rider, so Nelwyn and I will cross on foot." Gaelen turned up the tops of her worn, brown boots as she spoke, lacing them about her thighs, and then waded into the swift water without another word.