by C S Marks
Gorgon fought through his burning pain as he tried to grasp the reality of his situation. Never before had he engaged an enemy and left him standing, always he had made certain that the odds were so overwhelmingly in his favor. But now, he must turn or die. Later he would deal with this humiliation, of a magnitude that he had not felt for a very long time.
At first backing up before Galador’s onslaught, he finally turned and sprinted for the safety of the dark mountains. Galador started after him, but he heard Rogond call out: "No! Do not pursue him alone! He goes to ground, where the bright shield will fail. Do not pursue him alone!"
Rogond was right. Gorgon had escaped, and they were in no condition to follow him. He was so incredibly fast for one so large! With one last look after his enemy, Galador turned and went to see to his companions.
Galador found the three Elves and Rogond all lying together among the stones. They were bloody, battered, and exhausted. Gaelen and Nelwyn were both weeping quietly in the realization of what might have happened. Rogond’s face was grim and weary, and a few of his wounds were fairly deep. They would have to be cleaned and dressed, as the flesh of men sometimes harbored corruption if not properly tended. Nelwyn’s head was pounding, and she felt very shaky and ill as she lay upon the ground. Gorgon’s missile had struck her just over her left eyebrow, where a deep indentation had appeared. Blood was flowing from her left ear as well; she would have to be carried to Mountain-home. She moaned miserably in Gaelen’s embrace.
Gaelen was not in much better condition. She was pale and shaking, and she had taken several wounds. Though most were not deep, it would be awhile before she pulled her bow again. What Galador concluded when he assessed the condition of his friends was that they were all in for a slow, painful journey.
Then there was the matter of Elethorn. Gorgon had cut the cords behind both of his knees so that he could not stand and had left him without water for nearly three days. He was bruised and battered, lying unconscious as Galador tried to get him to take some water. Rogond was so exhausted that he was not able to be of much help. Galador gathered wood, built a fire, and set about the task of comforting his friends. He kept ladling water down Elethorn, wrapping him in a warm cloak and positioning him near the fire.
Gaelen, Nelwyn, and Rogond lay senseless and unmoving. Galador went to each in turn throughout the night, tending them carefully until the dawn came.
He had never been so thankful that he had followed his instincts. He had been well on the way to Mountain-home when the nagging doubts as to the wisdom of leaving his companions suddenly gave way to a feeling of dread. He was compelled to return to them as quickly as he might, and a good thing, too. Had he lingered in debate or chosen to remain on the path appointed, he had no doubt that no living Elf or man would have been here to greet him. He shuddered as he thought of his friends overpowered at last by Gorgon, dying at his hands. Nelwyn lost! He could not have borne it. He vowed never to leave her again.
Elethorn fretted and moaned as Galador soothed him with gentle words. He could only imagine the horrors Elethorn had witnessed. The other two scouts were undoubtedly lost, and Galador would not waste time or energy in looking for their remains. If the Elves of Mountain-home wished to recover what they could, they were welcome. Galador didn’t really want to know the grisly details of their fate.
Rogond awoke as dawn broke, feeling as though he would never move again. He gazed at Gaelen’s inert form lying next to him, disheveled and bloody, her pale, bruised face drawn with anxiety. His heart was filled with both loathing of Gorgon and fear of his return. Thank the stars Galador had returned, although Rogond wished that he had not called Gaelen’s name aloud.
They needed to be on their way as quickly as they could manage, lest Gorgon return and finish them. It would be so easy, especially after nightfall. With sudden urgency, Rogond roused Galador, who was dozing in the early light of dawn, and held a brief parley. Then they began preparations to depart.
It was indeed a sorry procession making its way along the rocky and difficult slopes toward Mountain-home. This beautiful refuge, shielded by the mists of the Monadh-hin, was the hidden realm of Lady Ordath. It was a fair place for all folk of good will to gather, study and learn, and rest from the cares of the world outside. Within its borders rose the renowned University known only as "The Sanctuary".
Lady Ordath was widely acknowledged as the greatest master of the Healing Arts in all the world, for though her mother was of Elven-kind, her father was a powerful Asarla. He was the mighty Shandor, silver-haired and with eyes like ice. He founded the realm of Mountain-home with his beloved Liathwyn of the Èolar, and Ordath was their child. She had inherited the strength and ageless nature of the Elves, together with the magical abilities of the Asari. Her power had grown very great, so that the people of Mountain- home had little to fear. Because Ordath was descended of both the Èolar and the Asari, she was devoted to learning and knowing—the Sanctuary was unrivaled as a place of study. Because of her vigilance, the way into Mountain-home was shown only to those of good will and open mind.
Though Shandor and Liathwyn had gone, Ordath would see that the realm they had founded was kept safe. Outside, the mountains could rage as they would, but they dared not challenge the power of the Lady.
As the Company struggled painfully toward their destination, it looked as though the skills of Lady Ordath would be sorely needed. Galador walked at the fore, carrying Nelwyn, who was grievously hurt. Behind him went Gaelen and Rogond, bearing Elethorn between them. Neither had strength in their arms; Gaelen’s shoulders were torn, and Rogond had simply spent his strength to the point that he would need time to recover. In addition, he had taken several wounds and lost sufficient blood to further drain his strength. As such, they had rigged a sling of Galador’s cloak and some of their light cord, suspending Elethorn between them. Gaelen bore her part across her chest, Rogond behind his shoulders. It was not an efficient or a pleasant strategy, but the only one available to them.
Elethorn was now conscious, and he lamented as he beheld the pain of those who bore him, but he could not walk on his own. When he suggested that they leave him behind, sending others to return for him later, they dismissed the idea as absurd. Who knew when Gorgon would decide to return by dark of night? He would certainly kill Elethorn, who would be helpless against him. They got very little enlightenment from Elethorn concerning Gorgon, for the creature had revealed almost nothing of himself.
With each time they stopped to rest, it became more and more difficult to rise again and continue. Though they had only a few leagues left to travel, it would take at least one more day at the rate they were going. Galador was by now very anxious. Nelwyn needed the services of a competent healer, and soon. The wound on her forehead was small, but deep, and Galador suspected that her skull was cracked, as she kept bleeding from her left ear. Her eyes appeared to sink into dark purple wells, and she was rarely conscious. When she did manage to rouse herself, she muttered quietly in words that made no sense at all.
Galador was right to be concerned, for Nelwyn had taken deadly hurt. Her chances grew less with each passing hour. Frustrated, he called back to his friends, whose pace had slowed such that they had fallen way behind again. "Why do you tarry? We must make haste, for Nelwyn’s sake, as she is in grave need. Can you not come faster?"
Gaelen and Rogond had spent much of the last hour chastising one another for every misstep that delayed them or threw them off balance. Elethorn tried to be helpful, but there really was nothing he could do. They were all exhausted, especially Rogond, who felt that his feet were literally constructed of lead. Gaelen was in a significant amount of pain and worn out. Neither was in the mood to be admonished by Galador, though they understood his urgency.
Gaelen grew silent, set her jaw, and fixed her eyes straight ahead, willing herself into a sort of half trance that no pain or weariness could assail. She would make it to Mountain-home with Elethorn on her back if she had to.
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p; Rogond had already seen more hardship than many mortal men could have endured. He focused on the back of Gaelen’s head, trying not to think about the way the cord was cutting across her already- damaged shoulders, or the deep, sickening ache in his own.
His mind wandered back to the encounter with the enemy. Gaelen had really come through for them, discovering Gorgon’s weakness and exploiting it, but he sensed that her spirits were severely dampened by the incident, and he knew that she was terribly worried for Nelwyn. He also sensed a deep guilt that had welled up within her, as though this whole affair had been her idea, and the outcome was therefore her fault. Gaelen would probably never forgive herself should Nelwyn die. This would, of course, have displeased Nelwyn, because she made the choice to pursue Gorgon and was a willing participant in the search and in the confrontation. She would not have Gaelen bear this burden, for it was not hers to bear.
As the afternoon waned and twilight came, Rogond took a bad step onto a loose stone, his left leg turned from under him, and he fell hard upon the rocky ground. He lay, panting, head swimming, as the evening sky wheeled unpleasantly above him. Gaelen’s anxious face appeared, and when he focused on her beautiful eyes the world stopped spinning. Galador gently set Nelwyn down and ran back up the slope to his fallen friends. Rogond tried to rise, but his body simply would not respond. Elethorn and Gaelen reassured him, but they had all reached the conclusion that Rogond had taken his last step for a while. They were now so close to Mountain-home that perhaps it would be prudent for Galador to go on with Nelwyn and send back help for the others. It was less likely that Gorgon would come so near to the Realm of Ordath, where they could once again hear the rushing waters that flowed forth from the mountainside.
Elethorn, whose strength had increased with rest and water, would keep watch over Gaelen and Rogond. They would build no fire and would need none, for the warmth of spring was in the southerly breeze that stirred the tall trees, bringing the scent of growth and burgeoning life. Galador promised to return as quickly as he could, lifted Nelwyn, who had neither moved nor spoken in many hours, and disappeared into the grey twilight.
Gaelen shrugged out of the cord that bound her to Elethorn, grimacing at the deep crease it had made in the flesh across her chest and shoulders. She somehow made her way to lie beside Rogond, who was already beyond awareness, his eyes closed, his breathing shallow and irregular. Her vision blurred with weariness, so she closed her eyes and the darkness took her out of the reach of pain. Elethorn lay beside them, taking Gaelen’s cold hand to warm it, knowing the debt that he owed and vowing to repay it when he could.
Chapter 13: The Fate of Nelwyn
Gaelen awoke to the sound of flowing water and soft, pleasant voices. She was in a dark, warm place, and although she did not yet know its name, she knew somehow that it was safe. It was night, and the lamps were lit, but as she looked up toward the open roof of her chamber she could see the stars. She tried to sit up, but this was difficult given the lack of strength in her arms. Rolling painfully onto her side, she dropped both legs over the edge of the pallet on which she had been carefully laid and then jerked her body upright. This was a mistake, as she overbalanced and fell to the floor, her vision occluded by a black cloud and her head ringing as she fought to remain conscious. This gained the immediate attention of two of the Elves of Mountain-home, who rushed to her side, speaking in soothing voices. They lifted her with gentle hands and replaced her on the pallet.
Through the darkness that clouded her vision, Gaelen still managed to ask a few breathless questions. Was she in Mountain-home? Where was Rogond? Had these people encountered Galador and Nelwyn? Had they summoned the Lady Ordath? The Elves did their best to answer, while calming Gaelen as they could. Yes, she had been brought to Mountain-home along with Rogond and Elethorn. Galador had arrived with Nelwyn, and the Lady had sent back rescuers who had borne everyone to safety. Of Nelwyn’s condition they could not yet tell.
"Rest and recover, for your strength is spent and you have taken serious hurt. There will be time for questions and answers from all as you are able. Lady Ordath has not yet tended you or your friend the Tuathan, for she is occupied with your other companion. Rest until she comes to you. Then you will learn the truths you seek."
Gaelen was not satisfied. She wanted to see Rogond and Nelwyn, and protested even as she was covered with warm, woolen blankets and given a strengthening liquor from a silver flask. Her attendants were determined to prevent her from trying to get up again.
"The Lady Ordath would not be pleased should we allow you to harm yourself," they said. "You must respect our wishes, and remain here until she has seen to you. Close your eyes and rest, for the liquor you just drank also contained a sleeping-draught, and you will not remain aware for long. Don’t fear, Elf of the Greatwood. No harm will come to you or your friends." Gaelen muttered something about the unscrupulous nature of Elves who would conceal a sleeping- draught and give it to her unaware, just before she sank once again into the long dark.
Galador sat unmoving beside Nelwyn, who was fighting for her life. She had worsened during the journey to Mountain-home, and had barely moved or made a sound for two days and nights. Lady Ordath, great healer though she was, could do nothing further for her. This sort of hurt was not of the sort that lay within her power. If Nelwyn wanted to live, she would have to recover mostly on her own.
Galador was nearly beside himself with worry, and he had neither slept nor eaten. He didn’t know whether he could bear the loss of Nelwyn, just when he had opened his heart and allowed himself to love again. Now their happiness would be snatched away before it could take root and grow. No, he decided, it would be unbearable, and therefore unthinkable. He stayed at her side, gently stroking her hair and speaking words of comfort. He even sang a little, but he found he could not keep his voice from breaking, so he sang no more. She did not respond, but he kept trying, pouring very small sips of water through her lips every few minutes. He told her some of his favorite tales, ones he had learned of old, but she was pale and cold. At times he wept, but quietly so she would not hear.
He found himself cursing Gaelen and her blind, headstrong tenacity. Nelwyn had chosen to follow Gaelen on her obstinate course despite doubts as to the wisdom of it. Were it not for Gaelen, and Nelwyn’s desire to protect her, they would probably still be safely in the great forest. Galador came close to wishing that Gaelen had gone off alone to face Gorgon. Perhaps they would have killed each other, thus ridding the world of two driven, self-willed personalities.
He knew this wasn’t really fair. Gaelen had not anticipated the cleverness and might of this enemy. If she had, she might have chosen differently. But no, Galador thought, she had seen Gelmyr. They all had. It did not daunt her that an Elf with five times her power and experience had fallen victim. She had to be related to Aincor. Had to be.
As Galador sat brooding on these dark thoughts, Gaelen appeared in the doorway, looking small, pale, and hurt. She had roused herself, found her clothing, dressed with great difficulty, and somehow made her way to Nelwyn. She said not a word to Galador, but crossed to Nelwyn’s bedside and sat nearby, both hands twisting in her lap. She looked for a moment into Galador’s eyes and read his thoughts in them: Do you see what you have done?
She did not weep, but stared back at him, her message clear. You’re right, Galador. This is my doing. I do not blame you for your thoughts of me. She turned her attention back to Nelwyn, who lay unmoving, her eyes sunken and dark, her breathing slow and shallow. She had been well tended, for all the good it would do.
Gaelen would make no further eye contact with Galador, but sat still as stone, her eyes lifeless and miserable. Though Galador tried to hold on to his resentment, he was not used to the light being gone from Gaelen’s eyes, and it worried him. She had encountered a terrible foe and had battled with valor, and were it not for her they would all have been lost. She had not expected what had happened to Nelwyn…she had taken the greatest risk upon herself.
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Galador also knew that Gaelen felt quite bad enough without enmity from him. She probably believed that she had failed Nelwyn, who was the person she was closest to in the world. Galador was well acquainted with such feelings, and a wave of sympathy came over him, quelling some of his animosity.
As though she could sense his thoughts, Gaelen turned her pale face toward him. Though miserable, she was still proud, even in the midst of her helplessness. "Do not pity me, Galador. Give me your ill will, if you wish. I cannot alter my nature, or whatever fate drives me. I would give anything now to take back the thing that I said to Nelwyn upon that day when we stood by the graves of our friends and decided to pursue this Dark Horror. But I cannot. I can only wish and regret, while enduring the knowledge that all has been in vain. For all of this, Gorgon Elfhunter is still free to kill our kind as he will. Keep your pity, Elf of the Light!"
She dropped her eyes, and both Elves understood each other. Galador rose and crossed to sit beside Gaelen, laying his hand very gently on her shoulder, for he knew that otherwise it would pain her. She accepted the gesture, but did not acknowledge it, as she was deep in her own thoughts. Galador shook his head in sorrow. He knew what it was to live with regret and torment. At that moment, he took back most of his dark thoughts concerning her. After all, she was deserving of some consideration. Even the Fire-heart had needed it in the end.