Elfhunter

by C S Marks

  At this he rose and left the glade, where Rogond was now alone with his thoughts. He was having some difficulty taking in the impact of Nelwyn’s revelation and Galador’s warning. Ri-Elathan—the last High King. Rogond sighed. He was certainly in impressive company in his affection for Gaelen. There was much to know about this "simple Sylvan rustic’, this occasionally exasperating but irrepressible Wood-elf to whom his heart had been irretrievably given. She would be returning soon, he supposed, as he noticed the first light of dawn dimming the stars in the east, over the mountains. Will she have enough love to give me? Do I dare risk telling her how I feel, for fear of hurting her? Can I be sustained, knowing that not only would her love be one day lost, but that I must share it with another? Is there room in my own heart for this?

  He remembered the words of Fima, those wise words that sprang from pure friendship and not from any concerns over the ways of men or Elves. This situation doesn’t really change anything unless you must possess her, for that you cannot do. But I sense that you may love her and find your love returned. I have observed this one. She may be worth the effort.

  And Rogond remembered his own reply: She is.

  He considered Galador’s words once more before putting them forever from his mind. He could walk away now, leaving Gaelen hurt and confused, and live the rest of his life in grief and longing to spare them both the pain of their inevitable parting. Or, he could continue to love her and see whether his love would one day be returned, allowing her to choose.

  Rogond closed his eyes and whispered: "Most noble Farahin, I do not know what thoughts you are permitted as you await her on the shores of Elysia. But if you can, know this—you must share your affections for Gaelen of the Greatwood with Rogond, a mortal man, for as long as he can give them. You cannot gladden her heart, or strengthen her resolve, or protect her from the dark hand of fate, though I know that you would. I hope you will welcome my efforts in this common purpose, for one day you shall be reunited with her, and I will be forever sundered from her. Then well may you remember Rogond and his love for the one you hold dear."

  He left the glade and mounted the steps to the watch-tower overlooking the south march, so that he might look for her return.

  Chapter 17: Farewell to Mountain-home

  Seven horses stood waiting in the courtyard as the Company prepared to depart. Their decision to leave Mountain-home had been made after a long council that had included Lady Ordath and Lord Magra. It was decided that Gaelen, Nelwyn, Rogond, and Galador would now travel south to the Lake-realm of Tal-sithian, taking with them Belegund and Thorndil. Magra would ride west to the Verdant Mountains and the sea, ensuring that as many as possible were warned of Gorgon. At least some deaths might be prevented if their people were aware of the threat.

  Rogond intended to investigate more of his heritage in Cós- domhain, which lay between Mountain-home and Tal-sithian, and he hoped that Gaelen would go with him. Her attitude toward dwarves had mellowed since she had spent some time with Rogond’s friend and mentor, Fima. She found him funny, even charming, very direct and earthy. He was neither arrogant nor false and was thoroughly interesting in most respects. He in turn warmed quickly to her (he was already far more open-minded with respect to Elves), and after a few afternoons spent gaining mutual trust, he actually taught her a few words in the dwarf-tongue, emphasizing that she was to use them only when needed. She was not to reveal their meaning to any others of her own race. Rogond approved of this new friendship, as he truly liked Fima and was looking forward to learning more from the folk of Cós-domhain. This would be much easier without a hostile Elf at his side.

  As they made their final preparations, Fima appeared in the courtyard. He was provisioned for a long journey, and to the surprise of Rogond and all assembled, he announced that he would be traveling with them as far as Cós-domhain. They marveled at his appearance, for he had seemed old and rather soft while poring over his manuscripts in Mountain-home. Now he stood clad in dwarf-mail, carrying his weapons and packs. In fact, he would have looked fierce were it not for the gentle good humor in his eyes.

  Then he saw the horses.

  Fima had a long-standing mistrust of horses that bordered on antipathy. Although many dwarves could ride, and ride well, Fima preferred to go upon his own feet whenever possible. The tall horses standing in the courtyard might as well have been fire-breathing dragons as far as he was concerned, and it showed on his face. He had never forgotten the humiliation a horse had once brought upon him, and, regrettably, neither had certain of the Elves of Mountain-home. Fima had been taught a hard lesson, and he would long remember it.

  Rogond took notice of his friend’s dour expression, realizing the nature of it. "We’re all truly glad that you have chosen to come with us, Fima, but I’m afraid you have no choice but to ride with one of us. I know the horses are too tall for you to handle without aid."

  Fima grumbled and growled, but Rogond saw also the fear behind his complaining. "Don’t worry," he said. "I’m sure that whoever you choose to ride with will make certain you’re perfectly safe and comfortable…"

  "There is no way to be comfortable on those unpredictable, excitable jackrabbits! Why can I not walk beside you? Are you in that much of a hurry?"

  Rogond knelt down, looked Fima in the eye, and spoke so that no one else could hear. "If you want to come with us, Lore-master, you will have to ride. There’s no use arguing—I’m afraid that’s all there is to it. Now, make your choice."

  "Here, Fima, ride with me!" said Galador, stepping forward. "Réalta is more than strong enough to carry us both. I would be honored to have you."

  Nelwyn smiled in approval, though she wondered about the wisdom of selecting Réalta to bear one such as Fima. The dwarf was in apparent agreement as he eyed the restive, spirited silver-grey charger, whose head was lifted to the wind and was taking in great draughts of air through his wide nostrils, eager to be away.

  "My thanks, Galador, but I believe I shall ride with one of the Aridani. Their mounts do not appear to be as fiery as yours."

  "Fair enough," said Galador, bowing and swinging gracefully aboard Réalta, his grey cloak thrown back in the morning breeze.

  Rogond stowed Fima’s pack with their other gear as Lady Ordath entered the courtyard to say her farewells. She approached Rogond, who bowed before her, and spoke to him aside. "Go forth, my friend, and keep safe. I wish you success in your quest. Take care, especially, of your heart…I pray it will remain unbroken." She looked over at Gaelen, who stood by. "Do not expect too much of her, my young Tuathan. Take care."

  She moved next to Nelwyn, favoring her with a gentle smile. "I rejoice that you have been restored, fair daughter of Turanen. May you and your beloved keep safe upon the journey. Perhaps a happy union of the Eádram and the Woodland will be forthcoming?"

  Nelwyn blushed, and glanced over at Galador, then raised her beautiful green eyes to meet Lady Ordath’s. "We shall see, my lady. We thank you for your hospitality and your aid. I would hope to visit your fair lands again."

  Ordath then approached Gaelen as she sat already upon her mount. Gaelen bowed her head and placed her right hand upon her breast in a gesture of farewell. "I give my thanks for your aid in our need, O Lady of Mountain-home, and for the gift of the horses. Perhaps one day you will receive our aid in time of peril, for it shall always be given to you."

  Lady Ordath returned the farewell gesture. In Gaelen’s eyes she saw the honest spirit and the strength of purpose that had no doubt appealed so strongly to Ri-Elathan, and she felt a sudden pang of grief as she remembered the High King, who had been both kin and friend.

  Gaelen looked around the courtyard, hoping to see Magra, but he was nowhere in evidence. She recalled her farewell to him the previous evening, as he had promised to travel to the lands of Tal-ailean and to the Twilight Shores, to give warning of Gorgon Elfhunter. At the last Magra had turned back to her, as she stood alone in the dark courtyard, and when he looked upward toward the stars
, she saw his eyes fill with sorrow. In a voice heavy with regret, he had spoken to her.

  "I could not save him, Gaelen, though I tried. Please forgive me…I could not save him." He had drawn back the sleeve of his tunic, displaying horrific scars that covered his right arm. These extended all the way to his neck; they had been made by the fires of the Bödvari. Gaelen could not speak for a moment, but as Magra replaced his sleeve and turned to leave her, she called after him:

  "There is nothing to forgive. One day we will both see him again." Magra had paused, and bowed his head for a moment in acknowledgment.

  Now, as she prepared to depart, Gaelen wanted to look upon him once more, as she cared for him and would miss his pleasant company.

  Lady Ordath took notice and reassured her. "Magra prepares for his own journey. He wishes you safe passage, and reminds you to be cautious. I will add my own voice to his in that admonition, for I sense that you embark on a path fraught with difficulty. Guard our friend Rogond, and take good care of my lore-master. Farewell."

  The Company rode from Mountain-home in the fair light of morning, some never to return. Others would see that fair land again, but only after years of hardship had assailed them, wearing down their spirits and their hopes. Gaelen had vowed that Gorgon Elfhunter would be defeated utterly before she saw Mountain-home again; but that, of course, remained to be seen.

  Many days had passed since Gorgon had gone forth, and he was nearing the south of Darkmere, a gnarled tangle of forest with trees dead and dying, old and forbidding, now full of evil creatures that lurked unseen. He would stand before his Lord soon. He estimated that the journey would take only a few more days at his current pace, which had been swift and sure. None of the perils of Darkmere would waylay him. He had no fear of Ulcas or beasts, except for the most fierce and fell, for he knew that he traveled under the protection of Wrothgar. He had been summoned.

  His pain had diminished to the point that it bothered him little, excepting the arrow-point that still burned deep under his left arm. It would not daunt him beyond annoyance, however, and perhaps Lord Wrothgar could rid him of it. For now, he plunged into the depths of the forest, the dank gloom enveloping and concealing him. The creatures that roamed the Darkmere would have more to fear from him than he from them, and once Lord Wrothgar favored him as promised, he would be invincible. He only hoped he would cross paths with the ones who had so shaken his confidence, as he would utterly destroy them, after first ensuring that they suffered long and painfully.

  The Elfhunter’s hand strayed to the sword taken from the Greatwood, the one the accursed She-elf had recognized. He would be certain to use it on her, but not to kill her—not until he paid her back a hundredfold for the pain she and her kind had wrought upon his life. "Yes, my little maidrin…you will beg for death ‘ere I release you from torment—you and that accursed Aridan and the others of your Company. You shall see this sword again. You will gaze on it through your own blood ‘ere I put your bright eyes out with it. It shall be your payment for the burning of mine!"

  Swift and silent, Gorgon moved on his large, heavy feet, toward the Pale Tower. The She-elf may have discovered his only real weakness, but he would come on her in the darkness where it would not avail her. Darkness was more to his liking, anyway.

  In the misted fortress of Tûr Dorcha, Wrothgar the Great, now known as the Shadowmancer, awaited the arrival of his wayward creation with anticipation. Gorgon was being drawn as a fly to honey by the promise of a powerful new weapon, one that would make him invincible. Wrothgar smiled inwardly as he thought of it. The gift that he had in mind would indeed make it possible for the Elfhunter to wreak more havoc than ever before. In addition, it would increase Wrothgar’s hold upon Gorgon, perhaps to the point that Gorgon would submit to his will. This was a task never before accomplished in spite of Wrothgar’s great power.

  Even when he was young and fairly naïve, Gorgon had resisted control and would not bend. It was a pity…he would have made such an excellent captain had it not been so. Perhaps now this would be possible, and that would please Wrothgar to no end. The Èolarin spirit with which Gorgon had been endowed would serve well, but only if it could be subjugated and diverted into Wrothgar’s design. The Shadowmancer settled back amid the fires surrounding his dark lair, and awaited his opportunity.

  "Rogond, I beg of you, stop this accursed animal!"

  Fima had degenerated in the last half hour from growling to pleading. Eros shook his head in annoyance as the dwarf came down hard upon his loins for about the hundredth time in the past several hours. Rogond sighed, wincing at the death grip Fima had about his waist, and signaled for a halt. Eros was only too happy to oblige, since Rogond had forbidden him to launch Fima with a powerful thrust of his hindquarters, as was his desire.

  Gaelen pulled up beside them, concern in her eyes. "Fima, you shall ride with me next. Perhaps I can soften your journey."

  Rogond looked at her. "How do you propose to do that, Gaelen? If you have some magical method I would love to learn it."

  Gaelen cocked an eyebrow at him. "I do not have a magic method, only an idea. But it may be worth trying. Let’s rest for a while first." Fima was a little insulted that Gaelen suggested he needed to rest.

  "I wouldn’t have to stop if I could go on my own feet and not rely on this fur-covered mountain of beefsteaks. At least I may predict where my own feet will take me and in what manner!"

  Rogond swung his right leg across Eros’ neck and dropped to the ground, then helped Fima to dismount. "Well, you may not need rest, Fima, but I do! Your constant growling and grabbing of my midsection has tired me. Let’s hope Gaelen’s idea increases your comfort sufficiently."

  When they had rested, Gaelen took Rogond’s bedroll and tied it to the front of her saddle, draping it across her horse’s shoulders. She preferred mares, though she was very fond of Eros, and had chosen a small, tough grey from among those offered her in Mountain-home. The mare was fine-haired and sinewy, nearly pure white, and of a type favored by the desert folk of the far southern lands. In Gaelen’s experience, these were often the toughest and most enduring horses to be found anywhere, despite their small size. The mare’s name was Siva, meaning "grey".

  Siva stirred restively as Gaelen assisted Fima onto the soft, thick cushion at the front of the saddle and then swung up behind him. Fima was not convinced of his security on the small, agile mare that could so easily jump from under him, but at a word from Gaelen they set off at a lovely, rolling canter that Fima found almost tolerable, especially with Gaelen steadying him from behind. The cushioning helped as well; it seemed to minimize the bouncing and discomfort to both the rider and the horse.

  Rogond nodded in approval. "Well, Fima, has your outlook improved now?"

  "It has, though I still would rather feel the ground under my feet," the dwarf replied. "But your friend the Wood-elf has me under her protection, and so I will bear it." He looked over at Rogond, Belegund, and Thorndil, who rode beside him, and winked. Rogond smiled back at him before sending Eros forward to catch Galador, who was leading the company along with Nelwyn. She rode a fiery chestnut appropriately named Gryffa the Red, who was of similar type to Siva, but a bit larger.

  Fima rewarded Gaelen for her patience by regaling her with all sorts of captivating tales as they rode. He had lived a much more interesting life than might have been imagined, and he knew so much of history and lore that his supply was inexhaustible. He knew the answers to nearly all her questions concerning events of significance in Alterra, and the day’s journey passed quickly. So pleasant was their discourse that Fima forgot all about his discomfort.

  At last they stopped to camp for the night. Fima drew Rogond aside as they prepared to sleep. "Oh, yes, she’s worth it, my friend. You have my permission to court her, and if you don’t, I will!" He nudged Rogond in the ribs, saying, "I think I love her…at least my backside loves her!"

  Rogond chuckled at him. "Well, that would be the most vital part of you. Have a
care, my stout-hearted Fima. You would be in way, way over your head with her!"

  Fima drew back, feigning insult. "Why, Tuathan…how little you estimate the power of my dwarvish charm." Then he drew near and spoke in a low voice. "Remember, you said you would reveal to me the identity of her Lost One. Are you nearer to discovering it?"

  Rogond flushed, for he had forgotten his promise to Fima, but now he was uncertain whether he should honor their agreement. "I have discovered it, Lore-master," he said, "and perhaps later I will reveal it, but not just now, I beg you."

  Rogond looked back toward the encampment where Gaelen was preparing the fire. He knew he could trust Fima with the information, but he was still uncomfortable. He and Galador were now privy to a secret that few were left alive to know.

  Fima sighed. He knew that his friend would tell him when he was ready. He also sensed that his instinct concerning the identity of Gaelen’s beloved had been correct, and thus this news would be of some significance. He would suppress his curiosity until the time was right. It would probably be worth the wait.

  That evening Nelwyn and Galador lay together in the soft spring grass, gazing up at the bright stars and thinking of Lady Ordath’s parting words to Nelwyn. Would there be a happy union between the Woodland and the Eádram? Galador could see no reason it should not be so, as they both were happy in each other’s company, and their love grew deeper each day. Yet, Nelwyn was troubled. She had foreseen dark times ahead, when evil would disrupt the Company and tear it asunder.