Elfhunter

by C S Marks

  They had two torches to light their way, and this was encouraging, because they could not have risked the journey otherwise lest they fall into a sudden chasm or get hopelessly lost, unable to see what lay ahead or behind. But the torches would not last forever, and they would have perhaps a few hours of light from each, so they lit only one, trusting that they could light the other when it failed. Rogond bore the torch, holding it aloft for Gaelen, who walked ahead, and Nelwyn and Galador, who walked behind.

  All three Elves had weapons at the ready, and Rogond could tell that they were ill-at-ease. This was not to their liking at all, and he could not blame them. They had all heard tales of the dark things that dwelled under the mountains, and the Elves felt disadvantaged in this unfamiliar environment, though their keen senses and quick- witted agility would still stand them in good stead.

  They were all thankful that they would not have to face this peril alone, as four pairs of eyes and ears straining into the darkness were certainly better than one. The narrow passage widened out quickly and went fairly straight and smooth for a while, but then there were a few heart-stopping moments when the path fell into deep blackness, forcing them to shinny along narrow ledges and leap over wide gaps in the dark. They went as silently as they could, every now and then signaled to stop by Gaelen, who would check for any sign of strange scent before moving on. At such times Rogond watched her in fascination as she stood with her eyes closed, tensed and quivering, sampling the air in all directions. She found nothing amiss for a long while, but traveling with one’s senses at fever pitch was exhausting even for the Elves.

  As the light of their first torch faltered, they took stock of their situation. They had no idea where they were or where they were going. They had only a few hours of torch light left, and all were so tense that a sudden shadow on the wall was likely to have at least three arrows in it before any of them could draw their next breath. At least they would not die of thirst—the sound of water dripping into deep pools and empty caverns was all around them— and it was a great deal warmer going under the mountain than over it. Gaelen had detected no sign of fresh air as yet, but there had been relatively few choices to be made as to which passage to follow, and always she chose the one that smelled less stale.

  They decided that they would find a suitable place to rest before the light of the first torch went out altogether, and then they would trust to Gaelen to get the second one going, as she had gleaned all she could of the wonderful dried spruce needles. They would rest in darkness, saving the second torch for when they continued their journey to who-knew-where. They found such a place just in time— the torchlight gave one last flicker and went out as they entered a small, round chamber with a pool of very cold, clear water in the exact center. The water looked wholesome enough. It seeped from a spring in the floor, and they drank of it gladly, for they had been rationing their water supply. They filled their water skins and then rested in the overwhelming darkness, taking comfort in their companions.

  Rogond began to tell a tale in a soft, low voice, and all the Elves hearkened to him, for it was of the lost realm of Tuathas. Gaelen and Nelwyn both wept as Rogond described the cataclysmic upheaval of the Fire-mountain that covered the lands with ash and choking vapors, taking every life. So few escaped, and so much that was fair and good was lost. It seemed especially sad that Rogond, whose forebears had managed to escape that terrible fate, should tell the tale. "Do you think you will ever know whose blood is in your veins?" Gaelen asked.

  Rogond reached out to Gaelen, who, for all her bravado, was a sensitive soul, and gently wiped her tears away. "If it is meant that I should know them, then I will," he replied, his voice betraying his great longing.

  "I’m sorry, Rogond. It was not my place to ask."

  At this he smiled in the darkness. "Do you realize that is the first time you have called me by my name since the journey began? Not ‘The Aridan’, or ‘Tuathan’, but by name?"

  Gaelen was silent for a moment. Then, she replied, "My apologies, Aridan. I’ll try not to let it happen again."

  This was followed by a chuckle from Galador. "Let that be a lesson to you, Rogond. A proud mare does not give in so easily."

  "True, but they are worth the effort in the end," answered Rogond, and to this the Elves had no reply.

  The passage they had taken appeared to have been little-used for some time. Though travelers crossing the pass had often found and sheltered in the small cavern, Galador doubted that any had been inclined to explore the dark, narrow way behind it. He was thankful that no one had thought of blocking it up, as they would have been in a real fix. But the situation they were presently in was real enough. They all knew that the mountains were infested with Ulcas, trolls, and all manner of enemies, though they had not seen, heard, or smelled any sign. But as they continued, the paths they took became broader, smoother, and well worn. This could either be a welcome indication that they might soon find another way out of the mountain, or it could be a sign that an unpleasant encounter was becoming more likely.

  They crept along in silence in the last of the torchlight, hoping that Gaelen’s nose was leading them well. Galador whispered to her as she paused again at an intersection of two stone passages, eyes wide in the flickering light, a look of uncertainty on her upturned face. "What is it? What sign do you read?"

  Gaelen knelt down upon the stone floor and examined it. "Ulcas have passed this way within the past two days," she replied, wrinkling her nose slightly. "I would guess a dozen or so. And they had some sort of rotting carcass with them." The idea that the Ulcas were scavenging rotting meat was of no concern, but the thought that they had passed by within two days was discomfiting. Galador and Nelwyn listened down the passageway, hearing no sign of footfalls.

  Rogond suggested that the carcass the Ulcas were carrying was likely to have come from outside the mountain. If so, perhaps the Company could back-track the Ulcas, and thus find a way out. The Elves were not convinced. "We don’t know what sort of carcass it was, Rogond," said Galador. "It may have been that of a lost traveler who died alone in the dark, as we are likely to do if we make the wrong choice now."

  Gaelen considered for a moment, and then spoke in defense of Rogond’s idea. "The Aridan is right. This was not the body of a traveler. I would know the scent of rotting Elf or man-flesh, or Ulca for that matter. I think it was most likely an animal of some sort. That being said, it doesn’t mean they found it outside. But it is at least a path we can follow, and I see no merit in any other choice." "What about the merit of a path not recently traveled by Ulcas?" asked Nelwyn. "Where there are some, there are bound to be others, and once we are found, well…"

  None of them liked to think about it. The Elves still had a sense of the passage of time and knew that it would be daylight for many hours yet. If there were a way out, it would be easier to find while the sun was up, as they would see the faintest trace of light filtering in. Of course, once back outside, they would probably have no idea where they were or how to get back on their course, as the mountain had inconveniently rearranged itself.

  They were not thinking of such things just then; all they wanted was to emerge from under the mountain and see the daylight again. The image of what would happen if they encountered a large, well- armed group in the darkness was more than any of them wanted to face. Nelwyn was right—where there were any Ulcas there were bound to be many more. The dead carcass they were carrying could have come from anywhere, and they might have been carrying it for some time.

  Therefore the Company decided to follow the course that had not been taken so recently by Ulcas, even though they could see the logic in Rogond’s suggestion. As it was, they chose the path less traveled which, unbeknownst to them, led straight into the heart of the mountain.

  The torch light would only last a brief while longer. They had seen no sign of any diversion, nor any hopeful glint of daylight. It was too late now to regret their choice, though they all wondered about it. They would j
ust have to rely on their wits and trust that fate would not abandon them in the dark.

  Rogond walked up behind Gaelen, who had paused as though she had noticed something interesting. "What is it? Have you caught something in the air?"

  Gaelen turned. "It is not what I smell, but what I see!" She pointed ahead to a dim, bluish glow that could be clearly seen, though it was difficult to tell how far away it was. Only Gaelen had noticed it, because only she was walking in front of the torch, and thus it did not interfere. This was a beacon of hope, and Gaelen’s elation was obvious, even in the waning glow of the torch-light.

  "We must be cautious. Though I welcome the light, it may well mean enemies ahead," said Rogond. This was true, and they crept toward the light with senses attuned and hands straying toward weapons as the torch finally flickered and went out. After what seemed

  like ages, they reached an intersection of their own path with a much broader one, smooth and high-roofed, with regular, rounded walls.

  The source of the light hung from the roof by a chain of steel. Its purpose was probably to mark the intersection. It was a blue lamp made of some sort of mineral crystal that captured light so effectively that it seemed to burn with its own flame. Looking both ways down the long, straight passage, they saw a faint blue glow indicating the placement of other lamps.

  "I have seen these before," said Galador. "They were created originally by the Èolar for use in their underground realms."

  "Well, I don’t care who created them…they are marvelous!" said Gaelen. "I only wish they would help me gain my bearings. I have a vague sense that we are moving south, but I cannot vouch for it." Rogond examined the area around the intersection with wonder. "These tunnels are not of Ulca-making— they were fashioned by dwarves. A path so well maintained probably is one of their main thoroughfares and therefore unlikely to be used by Ulcas, at any rate.

  Thralls of Wrothgar do not love the dwarves, who are fierce fighters and will not abide trespassers into their domains.

  "You mean trespassers like us?" muttered Galador, whose dislike for dwarves was deep-rooted.

  "If the dwarves keep the Ulcas away, I’m happy," said Rogond. "But I do not know which direction we should take. If even the Elves are confounded, what chance do we have of finding our way?"

  "I can speak only for myself," said Gaelen, "but my sense of placement becomes muddled when I can see neither sun, nor stars, nor tree, nor glint of daylight. We are unlikely to be of much help down here, unless Galador has some extra sense of which I am unaware."

  "First Ulcas, and now dwarves?" said Nelwyn, who was not comfortable with either. On very rare occasion she had met a few dwarves passing through the forest on their way eastward, where it was said they prospected for rare metals. Ri-Aruin sometimes exacted tribute from them in return for safe passage between his borders, and his treasury was thus begrudgingly enhanced. But the King provided them with food, drink, and protection and guidance to the borders of the forest. By the time they had crossed far enough in

  to encounter the Elves, most would have given nearly any of their belongings to escape the dark, dangerous woods, which were in no way to their liking.

  Gaelen and Nelwyn had twice been assigned the wearisome task of conducting lost dwarves to the eastern border. The Elves viewed them as noisy malcontents. Gaelen in particular grew weary of their constant grumbling, and Nelwyn was appalled at their habit of cutting down beautiful, healthy young saplings for the sole purpose of procuring straight shafts for the making of arrows. They had scoffed at her when she suggested that they might glean seasoned branches from trees that had died and fallen.

  "Why should we spend all that effort, when these young trees provide us with the perfect material? It’s not as though you’re lacking for trees here. Our axes could be busy for many months and never even dent this wretched tangle."

  Gaelen had been required to grab one of Nelwyn’s arms to prevent her from "explaining" matters to the dwarves, sending her away so that she would not forget the admonition of the King, which was to make certain they all reached the eastern border without incident. Then Gaelen had turned to the dwarves and informed them that only fools made arrow-shafts of green wood without spending hours curing them over coals, and that uncured shafts would warp and need to be re-shaped.

  "Your saving of time is thus a false one," she told them, not even attempting to disguise her contempt. "Now I understand why so few of your arrows actually find their mark."

  Unfortunately, dwarves do not suffer well the contempt of Elves, who are viewed as having unjustly superior attitudes. It was true that, although the Elves respected the skill of the dwarves, and some even formed friendships and partnerships with them, they were still regarded as ill-mannered, clumsy, and unattractive. The two peoples were simply too dissimilar to find much common ground, unless in the making of beautiful things by craft.

  Now the Elves were in the dwarves’ domain. And while they were thankful for the lamps and the probable scarcity of Ulcas, they were uncertain of how things would end should they encounter a large group of dwarvish folk. Some dwarves, particularly those that

  had grown from the remnant of the lost Dwarf-city of Rûmm, were especially dangerous. There had been a terrible war long ago between the dwarves of Rûmm and the Elves of Eádros—Galador’s people. Any of the descendants of Rûmm would quite possibly do harm to Galador, and maybe even to Gaelen and Nelwyn, on principle.

  The Company needed to decide which way to turn and, as usual, they did not agree. Galador wanted to go left, which he was convinced was "south". Rogond wanted to turn right. Gaelen and Nelwyn then joined in support of Rogond, as the last decision had gone counter to his wishes. "A fine group of frozen folk we shall make at the end of this road," muttered Galador as he strode along toward the next lamp. "True enough," chuckled Rogond, who walked beside him. "But

  at least we won’t rot until spring. And our friends the Ulcas will have fine eating in the meantime."

  "You know better than that," Galador hissed back at him. Even Gaelen and Nelwyn had turned their eyes back at this. Rogond knew, of course, that Ulcas would not consume the flesh of Elves (although they would eat almost anything else), nor would they suffer the touch of objects that were Elven-made. Rogond also knew that the Elves were somewhat sensitive about it. And there was no question that he had once again been reminded of another difference between himself and his companions, for the Ulcas would consume his flesh with relish.

  "Sorry…I forgot myself for a moment. I suppose that only I would provide nourishment for them."

  "Well, should that come to pass, I hope you choke them!" said Gaelen, who then made deep gagging sounds and clutched at her throat, pretending to expire on the spot. Even Galador, who had momentarily lost his good humor, chuckled at the thought of Ulcas gagging on Rogond (though the idea was a bit morbid).

  They continued in silence until they passed three more of the lamps, which seemed to be hung so that the cold light from at least one could always be seen. Rogond noticed that the fourth lamp was larger and more ornate than the others, yet there was no intersection, but only a recessed area of the passage wall, into which there appeared to be carved runes and ornate traceries that suggested both dwarvish and Èolarin origins.

  "What can you make of this?" Rogond asked, staring intently at the runes. The Elves could read bits of it, but Rogond actually was more familiar with those runes used by dwarvish folk, as he had studied them in the Sanctuary. He had a fine gift for the learning of languages and a fascination with them. There was one old lore-master, a dwarf descended from the founders of the Great Cavern Realm of Cós-domhain, who had taken up residence in the Sanctuary as an advisor to Lady Ordath. His name was Fima, and from him Rogond had learned much concerning the ways of the dwarves, including some of their speech.

  Unlike the Elves, who delighted in sharing and teaching their languages to any who would learn, the dwarves guarded their tongue jealously, and very few outside their ra
ce knew even the rudiments of it. Rogond had been in great favor with Fima, who taught him as much as he could learn. Rogond spoke many forms of Elvish, as well, and had studied the dialects of men in all their variety. He had accomplished much in his years at the Sanctuary, and he looked forward to returning there and renewing his friendship with Fima.

  Now he studied the graven runes carefully, trying to make out the meaning of the inscription. At last, he nodded with satisfaction and pressed four of the images at the same time. With a sort of grinding "creak", a small fissure appeared along the right-hand edge of the panel. Rogond, with help from a very surprised Galador, pushed as hard as he could, moving the heavy stone panel inward until a small chamber was revealed.

  As the door opened, another of the eerie blue lanterns caught the dim light and sparked into life. The chamber appeared to be a storehouse of goods left to provision the dwarves on their journeys through the mountains. There were earthenware jugs of food, barrels of wine and ale, spare garments and weapons, and…torches! Piles of them, the pitch wrapped with wax, stood in one corner.

  The Company could hardly believe their good fortune. They had been rationing their food stores so carefully that their mouths began to water at the thought of the abundance before them. Rogond cautioned his friends. "The dwarves had laid this by for the provisioning of their own folk, and they will take none too kindly to our despoiling it. We should take only what we need for the immediate future."

  This was greeted with silent stares from all three Elves, who were hoping to take at least two torches and several days’ worth of food each. And they certainly wouldn’t turn their noses up at the wine. "I don’t see any dwarves here now," said Gaelen, looking all around her. "Let the dwarves ration their goods a little—I’m not about to pass up this bounty. Besides, we can pay for it." She ran her blade around the edge of the wax seal on one of the jugs and opened it to find sacks of nuts, tubers that filled as well as bread when roasted, and some hard, sweet cakes that tasted wonderful even if one risked breaking teeth on them. She tossed several of these to Nelwyn, who was busily investigating one of the smaller jugs, which turned out to be filled with wild honey.