by C S Marks
Rogond of the Tuathar had been greeted as a beloved comrade who returns home after a long journey. He had lived in Mountain- home for five years, had made many friends, and had gained the respect of most who came to know him, including Lady Ordath herself. Now he had slept, with the help of the Elves’ healing elixirs, for two days and nights. His strength was returning, and his wounds were healing rapidly, for he was a hardy man. He had met with Lady Ordath and learned that Galador and Gaelen were watching over Nelwyn. Ordath had questioned Rogond about their travels, especially about the encounter with Gorgon, as Galador had been able to provide only a partial account. Rogond had promised that he would tell all he could, but now he must see to his friends. Ordath nodded, her wise face solemn.
Soon Rogond was also at Nelwyn’s side, ready to assist if needed. He did not like the look of Nelwyn either, and he was not hopeful. He was also concerned about Gaelen and Galador, neither of whom had rested or eaten. Gaelen, in particular, could ill afford this, as she was still battle-weary, and her wounds would not heal until she had gained strength. Her face was drawn, her eyes held no light, and she did not move or acknowledge Rogond’s presence.
Gaelen was still thinking of Nelwyn and of the day they began their pursuit of Gorgon Elfhunter. She had spoken a single word to Nelwyn then—a word that had set her upon this course that might well result in her death:
"Thaldallen."
The word, literally translated, meant "steadfast oak". To understand it, one needed to go back to an incident that happened when Nelwyn was only sixteen years of age. She had befriended an attractive, engaging young Elf named Talrodin. He was handsome and lively, and she adored him. She and Gaelen, who had been about forty and six at the time, enjoyed roaming the forest with Talrodin and his older brother Halrodin, who was also quite likeable. They hunted and gathered, and made merry in the manner of young Wood-elves.
Nelwyn followed after Talrodin, racing along the edge of the forest in the deep twilight on her uncle Tarmagil’s great horse, Anlon. Talrodin was a superb rider, but he could not evade Nelwyn, who swept around him, snatching from his hand the banner of his house. She urged Anlon to pull away in front of Talrodin, looking back over her shoulder and laughing.
She did not see the shadowy, dark figures that rose up suddenly on either side of her, pulling taut a fine rope between them. The figures braced themselves as the great horse, running full tilt into the rope, was neatly tripped and sent flying onto the grass, throwing Nelwyn hard against the ground. Talrodin pulled up in alarm and called Nelwyn’s name in panic, for he had seen only that her mount had fallen. The tall grass was suddenly alive with fierce, snarling Ulcas who rushed toward him.
Talrodin saw them drag Nelwyn into the forest, but he could do nothing alone against such a horde. He turned and fled, his mount flying as fast as she could, and the Ulcas were denied a second captive. But they had Nelwyn, and Talrodin knew that she was doomed unless he could rescue her in the immediate future. His only hope came in the knowledge that sometimes Ulcas were instructed to take Elven captives to be delivered alive to Lord Wrothgar, the Shadowmancer, for purposes unknown. If that was the fate that awaited Nelwyn it was the blackest imaginable, but at least it would buy time.
He almost literally ran into his brother Halrodin, who was following with Gaelen, intending to spend the evening watching the stars once they caught up with their friends. Talrodin told them in a panicked, desperate voice of what had befallen Nelwyn. There was no one to aid them, and they would have to act at once. They tracked the Ulcas as carefully as they could, turning Talrodin’s mare loose, instructing her to return to the stables. Anlon had been killed and dismembered where he had fallen. The Ulcas would feast well this night.
The Elves finally caught up with the Ulcas as dawn was breaking. Nelwyn had been taken south through the deep forest to a clearing near a small stream where grew a great oak, standing alone, believed to be the oldest and tallest in the forest. The Elves called it Thaldallen, and it was a venerable landmark. Nelwyn had been bound tightly to it and gagged so that she could not cry out. The Ulcas were sheltering from the sun in the surrounding undergrowth, but watchers had been set. The Elves counted about fifteen of the enemy, but in fact there were eighteen. Gaelen and the brothers had about thirty arrows between them.
Their greatest fear was that Nelwyn would be slain before she could be rescued, as they did not yet know what was planned for her. They crept quietly around the group of Ulcas, taking up various positions where they had reasonably clear targets. Nelwyn heard several "bird calls" emanating from the forest that were not made by any bird of Alterra. Her spirits rose, knowing that her friends were near, for though she feared for them she now hoped desperately for rescue. The first arrows flew, and before the Ulcas could gain their feet, each Elf had taken three. That left nine to contend with, six of which rushed toward the source of the arrows while drawing their own weapons and shooting into the undergrowth. Several near misses forced Talrodin into the open, and as Gaelen tried to draw the attention of the enemy from him, Halrodin made toward Nelwyn. She was surrounded by three of the remaining Ulcas, who were now intent on making an end of her.
Halrodin had drawn his sword, and he leaped into the fray with a ferocious yell. He was skilled with a blade, large and strong, and more than a match for the Ulcas, who have not the size, speed or strength of Elves. Still, there were three of them, and they were fairly adept. Halrodin was hard put to deal with all of them together. He slew two of them after several moments of fierce fighting, but his heart sank as he turned to regard the third standing with its blade at Nelwyn’s throat. Intentions were clear: if Halrodin didn’t back off, she would die.
Halrodin was instructed to throw his sword into the brush, and he did so despite Nelwyn’s shaking her head in anxious protest. The Ulca then told Halrodin to lie down with his hands clasped behind his head. This Halrodin did, though his eyes never left the enemy. Laughing in a hideous, malicious manner, the Ulca told Halrodin that he had been deceived, and Nelwyn closed her eyes in anticipation of having her neck slashed. But the stroke never fell.
Two arrows, one with white fletching and one with black, cut through the air. The first struck the Ulca’s sword hand, knocking the blade free even as the second buried itself in the Ulca’s throat. Gaelen and Talrodin ran into the clearing and cut Nelwyn from the massive trunk of Thaldallen. Her knees gave way, for she was very young and had been through a terrible ordeal. She had indeed been destined for the Black Flame; a worse fate they could not imagine! Talrodin and Halrodin, together with Gaelen, had saved her from that fate at great risk to themselves. Thus, when Gaelen had spoken the name of the great oak as they stood by the remains of the two gallant brothers, who had been true and lifelong friends, Nelwyn could offer no argument to the pursuit of their killer. She remembered their courage and sacrifice so long ago.
Gaelen would have given anything to take back the mention of Thaldallen. She had spoken it knowing that Nelwyn could not refuse her. Now, Nelwyn had certainly paid any debt she might have owed. Gaelen sensed that her closest friend was held to the world only by the slenderest of threads, and if that thread broke, Gaelen would have only herself to blame.
Rogond was losing hope that Nelwyn would recover. Her breathing had slowed so much that each one led to anxious moments until the next finally came. Galador died a little each time; Rogond had never seen him look so careworn. Rogond was also terribly concerned for Gaelen, who had not moved in several hours. She had not been caring for herself at all, and she now sat upon the floor at Nelwyn’s right side, knees drawn up before her, staring unblinking through eyes that Rogond now regarded with alarm. He knelt beside her, took her chin in his hands, and raised her gaze to his. His heart sank as he looked into her lifeless eyes. They were glassy, unfocused, and dead. Though Gaelen was still breathing, and her body technically still living, she was not there.
Nelwyn looked down with wonder at her own hands, which seemed now to glow with a cool, so
ft light. She did not know this place; a thick grey mist enveloped everything so that she could not see. She could still hear Galador’s voice, and she perceived the desperate sorrow in it, but it grew fainter with each moment that passed. Soon, she would be unable to hear him at all. She took a few tentative steps, and as she did so the wind rose, or at least it seemed so, for she felt a pull at her clothing and heard the soft sighing of the breeze as it lifted her golden hair.
With her next step the breeze grew stronger. She could hear other sounds as well, but she could not identify them. Were they voices? She felt a great desire to move toward them. As she took her next step, the strange land grew darker, as though building to a storm, though she still could see nothing through the mist. She was not frightened and was no longer in pain. The struggle had been so hard just a short while ago, yet now she breathed with no effort, and seemed feather-light as she took another few steps through the darkening mist. Her own inner light glowed ever brighter in the gloom. What was this place?
The pull of the wind grew greater, and the voices more clear. Behind her, there was nothing. She could no longer hear Galador, but she was transfixed, and it did not distress her. Another step and the wind rose yet higher, pulling her toward the voices. But one voice drifted from behind. It was small, yet insistent. Nelwyn paused, and turned to look over her right shoulder, her hair blown back. Whose voice was this, calling her name so that she could not ignore it? She stood now against the pull of the wind, listening.
The voice called again: Nelwyn, daughter of Elwyn, beloved of Galador, and protector of things that grow in the earth, stay your flight from those who love you! It was Gaelen’s voice, and she was drawing nearer. Nelwyn turned all the way around, despite the persistent forces pulling at her, and beheld a radiant red-orange glow that pierced the swirling darkness of the mist. Her cousin appeared a few moments later, leaning into the wind, her inner light flaming around her. It seemed that the forces drawing Nelwyn were battling Gaelen, for her thick, tousled hair blew back from her face, and her cloak was torn back from her shoulders.
Gaelen! What are you doing here? I sense you should not tread this way with me. Nelwyn’s own light flared blue-white as she said this, as though confirming her intuition. Whatever forces were drawing her, she was being directed to a destination where Gaelen could not go. Gaelen’s outline was wavering and indistinct, as though she gave off tremendous heat. Her eyes blazed as she reached out, trying to take Nelwyn’s hand.
You go to the end of your life, and I came to return you to those who love you. Find your strength and come back with me. You can do it!
Nelwyn stared at her, mesmerized, but the pull of the tempest at her back became so intense that she knew she could not stand against it for long. The cacophony of voices mingled with the roar of the wind and swelled to a deafening pitch. Nelwyn shook her head sadly at Gaelen.
I cannot go back with you, for I am called to the Far Shores. My time has come, and I must go where I am bidden. She turned her face back toward the voices, and her inner light dimmed.
You must not leave Galador! He will grieve forever and never love again! There was a dark doom upon his heart until you came—I sensed it. You have healed him from hurts so deep that he would dwell ever in the dark without you, yet you would now leave him without even a fight? Take my hand—I will aid you! Gaelen raised her voice to be heard over the dark grey gale that tore at Nelwyn and stretched her hand out, burning as though with fire. When Nelwyn turned her face back toward her, Gaelen saw her eyes fill with tears. She reached out to Gaelen and took her hand, feeling the heat wash over her, and the wind and the voices ceased.
They found themselves standing in a misty silence now, almost floating, hands still locked together. The light that had surrounded them was nearly gone, only the dimmest flicker illuminated their faces. Gaelen did not understand what had happened, but she didn’t care. She was bent on bringing Nelwyn back, and the thought of failure had not even entered her mind.
Gaelen had actually been gone for some time when Rogond discovered her near-lifeless state. He looked desperately up at Galador, still holding Gaelen’s face in his hands. Galador regarded Rogond with concern.
"What is it? What’s the matter with her?"
Rogond shook his head. He did not yet know. "She is not with us, Galador. I do not know where she has gone, but she is not with us." Galador crossed to Rogond and knelt beside him, examining Gaelen for himself. What he saw made him draw back in alarm. Gaelen’s eyes still reacted to light, but there was no spirit behind them. Rogond took her in his arms, despairing at the stiffness and coldness of her skin against his, almost as though she were made of wood. "She is dying," said Galador. "We need Lady Ordath." Surely, Ordath would be able to put her right. Rogond had been prepared to lose Nelwyn and to deal with Galador’s grief, or so he thought. But the thought of losing Gaelen had not really entered his mind until now. His eyes implored Galador, who rose and went to seek the help of the Elves of Mountain-home.
Lady Ordath was found and brought to them. She entered to find Galador once again beside Nelwyn as Rogond called in vain to Gaelen, trying to revive her. Gaelen’s dead eyes stared at the carved ceiling as Ordath bent over her, studying her with grave intensity. She searched the anxious face of Rogond and realized the depth of his feelings, for she was very wise in the ways of the attractions that could sometimes arise between Elves and men.
She shook her head. "Your affection for her is ill-fated, Rogond. Still, it is deep, and I sorrow for you. This will be a difficult night." Then she examined Nelwyn, turned to Galador, and confirmed his worst fears.
"Nelwyn is leaving us. She has not long until her last breath."
Galador’s face was set, but Rogond knew he struggled to keep his strength at this news. "Is there no hope? Nothing that can restore her?" Galador’s voice broke as he asked this question, because he knew the answer already.
Ordath spoke quietly to Galador. "Everything in our power has been done. I have seen far less take those I would have thought stronger; the fact that Nelwyn remains here is a tribute to her strength of will. But her best and only hope now rests with the one who wanders in shadow with her."
She turned to Rogond. "That is where Gaelen has gone. She is trying to keep Nelwyn here against the directive of fate. If she cannot, and Nelwyn’s strength fails, it is likely that neither will return."
Both Rogond and Galador tried to grasp the full meaning of Ordath’s words. Rogond closed his eyes and clung to Gaelen’s now graceless form, trying to reach out to her in thought. But the door was closed, and she could not hear him. He opened his eyes again and addressed Ordath with calm stoicism. "I can do nothing?"
"She has gone where you cannot aid her," Ordath replied. "She is determined to bring Nelwyn back, or to follow her. I do not know Gaelen well, but from Galador’s thoughts concerning her, I sense that she will not accept failure. And the alternative to failure, in this case, is death. Hold on to her, and if the time comes, you may yet aid her. I cannot know as yet."
She turned to Galador and spoke to him in sympathy, though her gentle rebuke was clear. "Gaelen’s devotion to Nelwyn is strong indeed. You must rid your heart of the unworthy thoughts you have held toward her—this hurt is Gorgon’s doing. Without Gaelen to hold her here, Nelwyn will surely leave you. They both possess great inner strength, but they will need more before the end. Let’s hope that Gaelen is as persuasive as she is tenacious."
Galador’s face reddened as he recalled his resentment of Gaelen. His eyes were unnaturally bright as he faced Ordath. "How may I aid her?"
"Remain vigilant, Galador, for the opportunity may yet come," said Ordath, who knew that Galador and Rogond might well be able to assist Gaelen when the time was right. "I will remain with you until this ends, whatever happens." She made her way to sit beside Galador and fixed her gaze upon Nelwyn’s pale face, awaiting the inevitable.
Gaelen and Nelwyn stood together in the darkness, as the wind began to rise ag
ain. Nelwyn appreciated this last opportunity to speak with her cousin, as she knew that she must soon follow to the land of her forebears, and nothing would detain her. Even as Gaelen tried to persuade her, she had closed her mind. She was so weary, and the promise of rest was too strong.
Gaelen sensed this, the fire of her spirit flickering brighter as she strengthened her resolve. You cannot give in, Nelwyn. You must prevail and come back with me. Do you not hear me? You must prevail!
No, Gaelen, I cannot. They that have gone before are calling to me even now. Release my hand, for I must go where you cannot follow. She sorrowed at the despair in Gaelen’s face, but her own light now flared around her as she attempted to pull away from Gaelen, who would not let her go. Release me! You cannot come with me, and you cannot hold me here. Do not endanger yourself thus.
Gaelen would not let go of Nelwyn’s hand. Do you not understand what you are asking of me? I will never let go! Aontar Himself will have to come and strike me down. I will not let you leave us so long as my strength holds. She meant this with all her heart, though her strength was waning even as she spoke the words. Her fiery aura was diminishing as Nelwyn’s grew brighter.
Take not so lightly the name of Aontar. It is useless to resist. Let go! I will not be the instrument of your death, Nelwyn cried, pulling back with all her strength. Gaelen hung on with grim resolve.
I will not let you go without me. If I must follow you into the Eternal Realm, so be it. May I be imprisoned together with the spirit of Aincor forever—I will not leave you. But even as Gaelen said this, Nelwyn slipped from her grasp……and drew her last breath.
Lady Ordath stiffened, waiting for Nelwyn’s next breath, which did not come. She reached across to Galador, gripping his arm. "You said you wanted to aid Gaelen, and now is your chance. Call to Nelwyn. Call her back to you and make certain she can hear you from the shadows. Rogond, do not call to Gaelen—her greatest test is at hand and you must not distract her. But focus your will and your fortitude, that she may gain strength from your devotion."