by C S Marks
Galador called to Nelwyn, even as her spirit drew farther from him, in a desperate, broken voice. In the dark, swirling chaos Gaelen cried out to Nelwyn, even as she began to turn away. Listen! Do you hear Galador? This is the cry of forlorn hope! Can you not hear it? Turn back and face me! I would speak with you one last time. The fire of her spirit flared for a moment, so that she was difficult for Nelwyn to look upon, but it faded rapidly until all Nelwyn beheld was Gaelen standing before her, her face grim and sad.
Speak, Gaelen, for I must leave soon. I hear Galador’s cries… they wrench my heart. But I must go now to my fate, as it cannot be denied.
Then the fire flared again in Gaelen, until Nelwyn had to close her eyes against the brightness of this final effort to hold her.
You are not so fated! You just refuse to see it! Where is your strength, daughter of Turanen? Where is the love of Galador? Where is your love of Gaelen, the one for whom you endured the black ditch? Do you not remember? We did not care as we both leaped into that foul, stinking mire together so long ago. Is that not stronger than this? And when you saved my life in the dark when we drew too near the Pale Tower? Will that spirit not prevail? Will you leave us to die in despair without you? My spirit is spent with effort. I cannot return without you, for I have gone too far. Galador, though he may not die of grief, might as well do so rather than live forever without love. Will you let Gorgon succeed in killing the spirit of three more worthy Elàni? I think not, daughter of the Greatwood. I KNOW not!
Nelwyn shuddered, trying to grasp the impact of Gaelen’s words. She could not let Galador suffer such a fate. And Gaelen, who had gone so far to save her that she herself would be lost, what of her? The pull of death was so strong, and the promise of rest so tempting. She was so weary! Then, as if sensing Nelwyn’s wavering, Gaelen spoke one last time:
If you deny me, and go to this fate, I shall have no choice but to go with you. And I was not ready to give up my life, Nelwyn, not until my quest is fulfilled. I love you and would return with you to the wide world, where so much yet awaits us. But if you insist on death then I shall make certain that you never, EVER hear the end of it! Even as she said this, her spirit faded and flickered.
Rogond moaned in despair as he sensed Gaelen’s fading spirit. At the bidding of Ordath he did not call to her, and he knew that there was nothing he could really do for her, as she was unaware of the depth of his devotion. He sat in grim silence, focusing his will on thoughts of her returning, bringing Nelwyn with her, and reuniting with him. He thought of the adventures they would yet have together and how she would come to know him better. And he thought of how he would give all the strength he had at this moment to ensure that he could behold the light of her eyes and hear the clear sound of her voice again.
NO! cried Nelwyn. She would not tear Galador’s fragile heart with grief, and Gaelen would not be lost. Her resolve hardened as she turned at last from the voices, and reached out with both hands toward Gaelen’s rapidly diminishing light.
I don’t want to leave any of you! I WILL try. Help me! Nelwyn, her own inner fire flaring blue-white, struggled forward against the forces pulling at her, clutching at Gaelen. They combined and renewed their strength, clinging to one another in the gale, taking first one step, then another. The voices of Gaelen and Galador filled Nelwyn’s ears, sustaining her resolve and drowning out the voices calling at her back.
Remember the Black Ditch! Remember the Dark Tower! Remember Tal- rodin and Thaldallen and your vow of vengeance! Find the strength to live, for your work is unfinished! Hearken to Galador, who loves you!
The darkness faded, and the wind grew less. Gaelen closed her eyes as warmth returned to her limbs, and she grew vital again in Rogond’s embrace. Nelwyn once again drew breath, and Ordath smiled.
Chapter 14: In Which Some Friendships Are Renewed
With the return of Gaelen and Nelwyn, the darkness passed from the Company, and the peace and healing of Mountain-home could be enjoyed at last. All Elves are quick healers, but it would be awhile before Gaelen or Nelwyn regained full strength, probably late spring at least.
As soon as she was able, Gaelen met with Ordath and Magra to tell them her tale from the beginning. Magra was especially dismayed by the tale of Gelmyr and the horror Gaelen read in his eyes. She told Magra this knowing it would distress him, for she hoped to enlist his aid.
Magra was an Elf-lord of the Èolar, and his name means "Mighty", for so he was. One of the chief advisors to Lady Ordath, he also commanded her forces in battle. He had fought beside Ri-Elathan during the Third Uprising of Wrothgar; in fact, Magra was probably the closest thing the High King had to a friend. Gaelen was hopeful that with one such as Magra to aid her, Gorgon would be overthrown and destroyed at last. In the meantime, she resolved to accomplish two things while in Mountain-home: to acquire a larger, more powerful bow and to regain her ability to pull it.
Nelwyn and Galador were nearly always together. They rejoiced as they came to learn more of each other, and Nelwyn thrived under Galador’s excellent care. She slept well and often, as Elves do when they are healing, and at such times Galador would rest with her, though he did not sleep.
Rogond did not dare appear too solicitous of Gaelen, for though he knew that Ordath had perceived the truth of his feelings, he did not wish to make them the subject of widespread speculation in Mountain-home. Gaelen initially had needed rest, as the journey of her spirit had exhausted her nearly beyond recovery. She had slept beside Nelwyn for a day or two, and Galador had not begrudged her this, knowing that he owed her a great debt.
Gaelen’s recovery was swifter than Nelwyn’s, and she was soon on her feet and wandering about. Though both she and Nelwyn had been in this realm before, they had never been afforded the status of honored guests. Now Lady Ordath announced that there would be a celebration in honor of the Company, for their courage and devotion in bringing their grim news as quickly as possible and at such great risk. The feast would occur during the new moon in three days’ time, for the stars would be most bright above Mountain-home, and no mist would cloud them. The Lady would see to it.
Those three days passed quickly. On the morning of the celebration, Nelwyn, Galador, and Rogond were brought before the Lady, where they listened with fascination as Nelwyn told them of her encounter with Gaelen in the Spirit Realm. Galador chuckled at Rogond as Nelwyn described her own blue-white aura and Gaelen’s fiery one.
"You see? I told you. She is a foundling descended of the house of Aincor!"
Rogond smiled back at him. "A good thing, my friend, as the blood of the Fire-heart must have been an asset. Gaelen accomplished a difficult task."
To this, Ordath agreed. "It was indeed difficult for both of them. Nelwyn also has a strong will, though it lies more deeply hidden— like a swift current beneath calm waters. You shall all sit at my table tonight with Lord Magra. This reminds me…I must seek him now, as there are things I would discuss with him. You will please pardon me." She rose gracefully to her feet and bowed before taking her leave, pausing in the doorway to address Rogond. "There is a friend here who would see you; he was in the second floor library, I believe."
Rogond knew at once who she referred to. Fima, the dwarvish lore-master, was waiting for him; the library had been their favorite place to meet and study together. Rogond said farewell to Galador and Nelwyn, and prepared to greet his old friend.
Magra found Gaelen perched on one of the high walls overlooking the rushing waters of Monadh-talam. Her hair was ruffled in the early morning wind, her eyes distant, looking out to the west. She appeared to be lost in thought. Magra didn’t really know why he wanted to speak with her, but he sensed that she had not yet told him everything of Gorgon and the death of Gelmyr. He also wanted to give her a token to show his appreciation for her efforts. He had one for Nelwyn, as well. Gaelen had not yet detected his presence, and he stood for a moment, gazing at her, as she sat motionless as though made of stone. He didn’t wish to risk startling her
from her perch, so he made certain she could hear his approach. She turned quickly to face him, and then relaxed.
Gaelen had been edgy all morning for some reason, maybe something in the wind or a movement in the earth? She did not know why. "Gaelen, may I sit with you awhile?" Magra drew nigh her, his long flaxen hair blown back and his piercing blue eyes fixed on her. For a moment, they took one another in. Gaelen admired Magra’s broad, strong shoulders and powerful, tall frame. Magra’s gaze was drawn to Gaelen’s large, bright eyes and rather long, elegant ears, which were swept back along the sides of her head in a most attractive manner. Most male Elves would agree that Gaelen’s eyes were beautiful, but her ears were considered stunning and highly sensuous. They more than made up for her shortcomings: her slight stature, her cropped hair, and her reluctance to wear any but masculine attire. Magra wondered…would she make an exception for him?
Gaelen dropped down from the wall onto the ground, and they walked a few paces to an intricately carved wooden bench. Sitting beside Magra, Gaelen waited to hear what he had to say, for she knew there was some purpose to his coming. First, he drew forth the longbow he had slung at his back and presented it to her. It was a thing of beauty, plain but elegant, of Èolarin design.
"Word reached me that you wanted a more powerful bow. Please accept this as a gift for your invaluable service. I would say that you will not be able to pull it as yet, for it is a powerful weapon with a very long range. It was recovered from the battle-plain and has been kept wrapped with oil for many long years. May you have better fortune than he who bore it last."
Gaelen was delighted. She could hardly wait to try out her gift. She would make certain, however, that she was unobserved, as she sensed that Magra was right. She would not be able to pull this massive weapon for quite some time. She accepted it with thanks, still waiting to learn why he had sought her out.
"I would speak with you of Gelmyr. What became of his remains? Are they where they might be recovered?"
"Alas, they are not. We gave him to the Ambros, as I remembered him speaking of how much he loved the sound of it."
"When did he speak of this? I was not aware that you knew him well," said Magra, his eyes and his voice solemn and sad. His heart ached for the loss of his friend, and Gaelen’s mention of this personal detail grieved him, for she was quite right about Gelmyr’s affection for flowing waters.
"I did not know him, but he came once to the Greatwood, and I remember you sitting with him at feast. He must have mentioned it then. My lord, is there anything else you would learn of me?"
Magra nodded. "I felt a great dread come over me, a fear that I could not name. I don’t recall now when it happened, but I expect it was about the same time as Gelmyr’s death. I dreamed of a large, dark enemy coming for Gelmyr, for me—for every Elf who lives. We could not stand against it. Gaelen…what was this thing you fought with on our southern borders?"
She took a deep breath. "What was the moon like on the night of your dream?"
He considered for a moment. "It was full, or nearly so. I remember that it had risen when the dread struck me, and I grew cold and did not know why."
Gaelen nodded, and then confirmed his suspicions. "Gelmyr died under that moon. You felt it. As to the nature of the enemy, I do not know."
He pressed her, perceiving that she held back. "You have sensed something. I know it! Please, tell me what you think."
"I thank you for your gift, Lord Magra. I cannot tell you my beliefs, as they have little foundation, but it is clear to me that this enemy is formidable to the point that the next time we encounter him, it had best be with as much strength as our people can muster." "Certainly you shall have the resources of Mountain-home to aid you. You intend to continue pursuit?"
"Eventually. I must now wait until my friends are strong and the trail grows warm again. But we may at least warn the people of Tal-sithian and of the Verdant Mountains. If we are wary, we can ensure that we are not taken so easily. Perhaps then we can force the creature out into the open, though I don’t know...he is very clever." Magra smiled inwardly at Gaelen’s expressing the need to wait until her friends were strong. He also agreed that warning the Elves would be most prudent. He rose and turned to leave her, but spoke to her once more: "My thanks for your enlightenment, though it was not all that I desired. I notice that your friend Nelwyn has a companion in Galador. Will you allow me to be your companion tonight?" Gaelen considered for a moment. This was an appealing notion, as she liked Magra, though she was a bit in awe of him. "But what of Rogond? Surely I must escort him, as he has been a worthy traveling companion, and a doughty warrior. He must not feel as though he has been cast aside."
Magra took her point. "Then at least you shall sit at my right hand. Your friend Rogond can sit then at yours. Will that be satisfactory?" Gaelen nodded. Magra then added a parting comment: "I will send raiment for you…it would please me if you would favor me by wearing it."
Gaelen’s beautiful ears turned red as she stared at his retreating back.
Rogond returned to his chamber to find a complete ensemble of very elegant attire all laid out for him. He had spent a very pleasant afternoon renewing his acquaintance with Fima, the dwarf, who had been delighted to see him and hear of his adventures. Fima was particularly impressed with Rogond’s tale of the encounter with Dwim and Noli, and either nodded sagely or chuckled heartily in all the right places. He was surprised to learn the hidden secret of Rogond’s ring; he had known it as an outstanding example of dwarvish smith work, but had not known to place it under an Èolarin lamp to reveal the message within.
He frowned as Rogond told him of the encounter with Gorgon and what had happened when Gaelen had flashed the reflected sunlight into the creature’s eyes. "This sounds like a formidable enemy indeed," said Fima. "I wonder if any light makes him react thus, or whether only sunlight will do? If so, you had best never pursue him below ground. He sounds vaguely Ulca-like, and Ulcas can tolerate bright light other than sunlight, though they do not love it. Still, I wonder."
"He was no Ulca, Lore-master," said Rogond. "He was larger and stronger, and much more clever and adept than any Ulca."
"You might be surprised," said Fima. "When first the Ulcas were spawned, there were those among them that were mighty. Their kind has diminished with the passage of time and distance from their forebears. But you are right to believe that this creature, if he were of such mighty lineage, would be indeed ancient, and therefore that is unlikely. Most of the great Ulcas perished in the First Uprising of Wrothgar, and their like has not been seen in Alterra since. But come and see for yourself—some knowledge of them has been recorded.
Fima drew an ancient manuscript from a battered leather case containing many such old parchments. He thumbed through it until he found a description of large, powerful dark warriors that wreaked havoc in ancient times, complete with illustrations.
Rogond studied them intently. He concluded that while there were certainly similarities between Gorgon and the depiction in the manuscript, there were several very significant differences. Gorgon’s legs were straight and powerful, not bowed and crooked as in the drawing. Gorgon stood tall and proud—in no way was he ungainly. In addition, no Ulca has either eyebrows or eyelashes, and Rogond had seen both upon Gorgon.
The manuscript described these ancient Ulcan warriors as "reasonably adept with weaponry, clever and crafty, but not swift." Gorgon was clever and crafty, but he also was fabulously skilled with a blade, and, for his size, swifter than anything Rogond had seen that moved on two feet. He concluded that Gorgon was not an Ulca, even a mighty one, but something else. He discussed this with Fima, who then agreed that Gorgon seemed unlike any other creature.
As the afternoon waned, Rogond begged leave to go and prepare for the celebration. "You will be there, of course?" he asked Fima.
"I never miss a good feast in Mountain-home. I’m sure you remember that the food here is absolutely superb—we are in for a real treat. But by all mea
ns, go and make ready. After all, we of the mortal kindreds of Alterra must make an impressive showing, mustn’t we?" Rogond chuckled. "If that’s true, my undersized friend, we’re in trouble. It will take the rest of the afternoon for me to repair some of the holes in my garments."
"You will not have to repair your garments. I am certain of it. Lady Ordath provides well for her honored guests. I shall be present tonight, and if you grow weary of Elven tongues, come to my table and we shall see what you remember of Rûmhul." Then, in a sly voice, he added "They hate it when I do that."
Once Rogond had gone, Fima pondered for a few moments, his wise, weathered face looking troubled. He rose, moved to a stack of tall cases, and climbed the ladder attached to one of them. It took him a few minutes of searching to find the old manuscript, and then he fetched it down, settled into a comfortable chair, and began to read. "I wonder," he muttered, contemplating Rogond’s words. "I wonder…"
Gaelen sank thankfully into a tub of very hot water. She relished the feel of it as it relaxed every muscle in her body, particularly her stiff, sore shoulders, which were still healing. The water had been scented with fragrant oils, some of which were medicinal. The vapors felt wonderful as she breathed them in, filling her lungs and soothing her spirits.
When the water began to grow chill, she emerged with some reluctance and wrapped herself in the silken robe that had been left for her, shaking her wet hair from her eyes. She ran her fingers through it to tame it, to little avail. Frustrated, she glowered at her reflection in the glass, and then was startled as a tall, brown-haired Elf-maiden approached her from behind, a basket under her arm. The maiden was momentarily flustered when she beheld Gaelen’s lack of readiness.