by C S Marks
"Thou art as prideful and strong as ever I made thee, Elfhunter. Have a care as thou wouldst enter My fortress, and lower thy proud gaze, if thou wouldst have My aid. Thou art as a wayward child returned. Show thou respect to thy Father."
Gorgon dropped his eyes then, though he did not submit within his heart. "Yea, Lord Wrothgar, I have returned as Thou willed. Yet Thy offer of aid was not made with the price of my pride, or assurance of my submission. I cannot promise this to Thee, and if it is Thy price, now may I know of Thy gift that I may judge its worth? My pride and resistance to Thy will may be of the greater value to me." Unpleasant, malicious laughter emanated from the flames, and they burned hotter and brighter—showing their blood-gold hearts— before Gorgon. "How like to thy mother’s kin, Elfhunter. And how foolish, though I take pride in thy strength. Thou dost not comprehend thy peril at this moment; never hast thou done so. But I will grant thy request. Come unto Me, and then we will parley, O Wayward Son. Then might thou understand the value of My promises."
Gorgon nodded, and the flames died back to a small flicker that still burned brightly in the grey mist. The flame drew back through the great doors, with Gorgon following its reddish glow. It led him down the dark passages and up many winding stairs. There was no light inside, only the small amount from the guiding flame. Gorgon had no difficulty, as he was most at home in the blackness, yet the screams and cries of the prisoners of the Pale Tower disquieted him. Down in the depths, unfortunate souls captured by the minions of Wrothgar could be heard even now, writhing and shrieking in their agony. It had always been so.
The first sounds Gorgon had heard ever in his life were the helpless wails of his Elven mother as he was forcibly taken from her womb, and the first sight he had beheld in his innocence was her horrified expression as she looked upon his hideousness with her dying sight. He had inherited her perceptive nature, and knew from the first that he was a ghastly abomination in her eyes. She held pity for him as well, but she rejected him utterly even as he was placed in her arms as she lay dying. She held him once to her breast, then cried out in revulsion and pushed him away.
He would never know a warm embrace again, and would never be willingly accepted by any being in Alterra. The Elves would hate him, and the Ulcas would fear him. Both would find him repulsive, loathsome, and monstrous. Still, he had cried out to his mother in the darkness, yearning for her warmth and the comfort and security of her breast, for he had not yet understood his own nature, or his purpose. He understood it well enough now, however, and he would soon be in the presence of the One whose power, added to his own, would allow him to achieve that purpose.
He followed the flame into a large chamber lit with torches placed along the walls which, like the floor, were jet-black and highly polished, reflecting the flickering torchlight as would a mirror. Gorgon saw his own dim reflection there as well and drew himself up, throwing out his powerful chest and placing his hand on his sword-hilt in readiness. Then, the voice of Wrothgar came again.
"Remove thy helmet, Elfhunter."
Gorgon hesitated for a moment, then reached up and pulled off his heavy helmet with his left hand, releasing the flood of golden hair from beneath it. Gorgon’s hair was beautiful. It was as fine and soft as spun golden thread, and it lifted like silk in the fiery breeze. Wrothgar appeared in the midst of his own unnatural, dark fire as a black, shadowy figure seated upon a massive throne. Where he actually was and what he really looked like would remain unknown to Gorgon, who realized that this was merely a vision planted in his mind.
Then the vision of Wrothgar spoke: "Thou wouldst visit death upon thy foes, those of thy mother’s kin, yet taking them singly by chance meeting will not further thy cause. They are aware of thee— they ride even now to Tal-sithian and to the lands west. If thou wouldst destroy them, take heed of this gift."
From the depths of the peculiar greenish-black flame came a vision of a small, golden disc, hanging in the air before Gorgon’s vision and turning gently. As Gorgon looked on in wonder, the cover snapped open to reveal a round mirror, winking and flashing in the flickering green light.
"Take it, and rejoice, for it will aid thee."
Gorgon hesitated, for he was wary. There were objects in the world that held powers unknown to him, and he did not wish to be ensnared. This one appeared to be of Elven-make; Gorgon could see some form of beautiful engraving upon it. It had in fact been made by Dardis, the greatest of the Èolarin craftsmen, who had been killed during the Second Uprising. Objects forged by his hand were known to contain great power, and this mirror had been collected and corrupted by Wrothgar. Who knew what terrible fate would befall one who possessed it or tried to use it? Wrothgar read Gorgon’s thoughts, and answered them.
"Do not fear. The mirror will not subvert thee to My will. It has but one power that has been placed within it, though that is not small. Take it, and I will explain it to thee."
Still, Gorgon hesitated, torn between distrust of his Dark Master and desire for the power the mirror would give.
"Dost thou wish to vanquish thine enemies, or dost thou wish to be vanquished by them? The choice is open to thee."
Gorgon knew the black flames would not burn him—not unless Wrothgar wished them to. He reached out into them and took hold of the mirror. It was warm in his hand as he turned it over, gazing into the smooth surface of the glass. Its depths were bottomless and filled with many-colored lights.
"Now I will tell thee of how it may be used. If upon learning of the power of the mirror thou wouldst take it unto thee, it will become thine, such that no other may use it until thy death. I give this not lightly, as its like shall not be made again."
Gorgon nodded. "I understand, Lord. What is this power?" Wrothgar explained that, once possessed by its master, the mirror would allow him to see and hear through the eyes and ears of one of his enemies. The master would determine which of his enemies would be bound to the mirror, and to do this, he needed either a part of the body of the enemy, such as hair or blood, or some possession that had passed through the enemy’s hands, the more recently the better. Wrothgar waited as Gorgon absorbed the impact of this information. If he could see and hear though the eyes and ears of one of his enemies, he could know all they were planning and could easily come on them unaware. In addition, they would lead him to more of his foes that he could prey upon by dark of night. They would not be able to evade him, as he would know their every move and plan as it was made.
"There is a warning, Elfhunter. Thou must choose the one whom thou wilt bind to the power of the mirror, and must then ensure that this one remains alive, for if slain then the mirror is useless. It will not work again for thee in thy lifetime, and may be used by another only upon thy death. Therefore, choose well!"
"But how do I choose, Lord? Wilt Thou not guide me? I wish to slay them all and leave none alive. How may I reconcile this?"
Wrothgar answered. "Thou wilt visit sorrow and pain enough upon the unfortunate one chosen, as they will be the instrument of death for those they love. Reserve thy final vengeance upon them until the last, when the mirror is of no further use to thee. Then reveal thyself to them, that the pain of their unwitting complicity in thy purpose may drive them mad. They may then welcome death at thy hands." Wrothgar laughed then, a horrible mirthless laugh that raised chills even upon Gorgon. "Which of thy foes is best known to thee?"
Gorgon considered. He knew precious little of any of them and had spoken only briefly with two of them: the tall, dark-haired Elf and the small She-elf, the one who had first discovered his weakness. Her name was known to him, and his lip curled as he spoke it aloud: "Gaelen... bright-eyed Elf of the Greatwood, how little I know of thee, and yet perhaps enough."
Wrothgar searched Gorgon’s thoughts and produced an image of Gaelen, hovering in the center of the dark flame. She was as she had appeared when speaking to Gorgon—teeth clenched, blade held before her, an expression of desperate hatred in her eyes. Gorgon snarled back at her in spite of
himself.
"Dost thou have any item that has passed through her hands, or a bit of her blood?" Gorgon did not know. In fact, some of the blood upon his sword had been Gaelen’s, but it was mingled with that of Rogond. Gorgon had wiped the blade clean after tasting of it.
"Lord, I have no blood of this enemy of which I may be certain. The blood of the Aridan mingles with it."
Wrothgar reflected for a moment before speaking once more. "Thou hast something that has passed through her hands—carried deep within thy flesh. Raise thy left arm, Elfhunter."
Gorgon did so, approaching nearer the flame, as the arrow-point deep within his flesh stirred painfully, drawn by the power of Darkness. Gorgon cried with pain and gritted his teeth as the steel worked slowly toward the surface. Suddenly, he was free of it, and it hovered in the air before him, dripping with his strange blood.
"Take it, my errant son, and hold it in thy hand." Gorgon gasped as he lowered his arm; the pain grew less with each moment until it was nearly gone. He reached out and took the bloody arrow-point in his right hand. It burned hot in his grasp, but its touch was bearable. "It is the heat of thy hatred, Gorgon Elfhunter. Revel in it and speak her name, if thou would bind her to the mirror."
All Gorgon had to do was speak Gaelen’s name, and the power would be his. He could track them down and slay them—all except Gaelen herself. Would that satisfy him? He really wanted to kill her most of all; he had promised it to himself. He had vowed to put her eyes out with Turantil, but now her eyes would be central to his purpose. If he confronted her, would he be able to resist killing her? Almost immediately, he knew the answer. To slay her companions with her unwitting aid would be far worse than killing her. He knew this deep within his black heart. She was the one who pursued him with the greatest passion, bent on laying him low. How delicious that he should subvert her desires into the deaths of those she loved! Gorgon clutched the arrow-point, as the burning heat of it increased with the swell of hatred within him.
"Yea, Lord, I will accept this gift. May I be successful in the hunt, as it will also aid Thee in Thy purpose. But what would Thou ask of me in return?"
"Only to accomplish thy desire to kill as many of the Elàni as possible… that will please Me greatly. Upon a time, I may ask more of thee, but be assured that the boon will involve nothing beyond the slaying of Elves. Does that reassure thee?" Gorgon considered for a moment longer, then, slowly, he nodded agreement.
"Then speak her name, and she will be thy eyes and ears until her death…or thine."
Gorgon glared at Gaelen’s bright eyes as the vision still hovered before him. "They shall be my bright eyes now, unwitting She-elf. Guard them well." Then he spoke her name.
On the other side of the mountains, Gaelen suddenly fell from her mount to lie unconscious upon the ground. The Company, having resumed their progress toward the gates of Cós-domhain, was breezing along at a fair pace. Thorndil, who rode beside Gaelen, called out in alarm as he reined in his mount. Rogond looked back over his shoulder, then wheeled about and galloped Eros back, leaping off to kneel beside Nelwyn, who was already there. She was calling to Gaelen, who had not yet stirred. Her graceless fall had resulted in her striking her head upon a stone. A trickle of blood flowed from a small gash in the left side of her forehead. Fima appeared then, a small phial in his hand.
"Stand aside, both of you. This will bring her around." He held the phial before her face, and as she breathed the vapors emanating from it, she suddenly opened her eyes, turning her head from them and moaning.
Rogond took her hand. "It’s all right, Gaelen. You have fallen from your horse, but you are not hurt badly, just shaken a bit. Lie still until you find your wits." Gaelen closed her eyes and shuddered. Nelwyn looked at her with concern.
"Something happened to her, Rogond. She would not simply fall off her horse. Something happened."
Rogond took Nelwyn’s point. He turned to Thorndil, who had been nearest. "Can you shed any light on this, my friend?"
Thorndil shook his head. "Not really. She was riding well, then suddenly I noticed her sagging sideways, and a moment later she was on the ground. I believe she was unconscious long before she came off the horse." Rogond agreed, but until Gaelen could enlighten them, they still had no idea as to why this had occurred. Gaelen moaned again, and Rogond squeezed her hand.
"Come on, my little Gaelen. Come back to us, it’s all right." He helped her to sit up, wiping the blood from her pale face.
She took the flask of water from Nelwyn and drank gratefully. Then, she looked around as though confused. "What happened? Why am I sitting on the ground? And why does everyone keep calling me ‘little’?"
"You fell from your horse. We don’t know why. Something must have come over you," said Nelwyn. "Do you have any memory of what might have happened?"
Gaelen shook her head. Her color was coming back, and she felt strong again. She got to her feet, shrugging off the fall, but Rogond and Nelwyn insisted that they all stop for the night anyway, to Gaelen’s immense annoyance. "I’m just fine. I do not need to rest. It’s too early to stop for the night," she said. But Nelwyn, in particular, was not convinced.
"You do not just fall from your horse for no reason, Gaelen, something happened to you. Besides, you struck your head, and we should make certain you are truly all right before we proceed. Tomorrow will be soon enough."
Gaelen went to sit beside the fire, grumbling under her breath. She could not know that Gorgon Elfhunter, her mortal enemy, had just had his first taste of the power of the mirror as he stood with his back against the wall of Wrothgar’s chamber, staring into the same fire.
Wrothgar had warned him that the mirror would take some getting used to. He would refine and improve his vision as he gazed into it, but at first, things might appear clouded and indistinct. After all, he was adjusting to input from senses other than his own. What Wrothgar had neglected to mention was the pain experienced while using it. Gorgon had gasped and staggered back against the wall, as his skull seemed to reel with nearly unbearable pressure. Tears of pain flowed from his eyes. Then Wrothgar’s voice was heard once again: "Focus on thy hatred, Elfhunter. The Maker did not intend the mirror to be used thus! It must be dominated and subverted to thy purpose. The pain will remain, but it will be lessened. In the future, thou wilt choose the time to use it, for it will tire thee, but the reward will be great! Concentrate on achieving thy purpose."
Gorgon did so, focusing all his thoughts on finding and eliminating the Elves one by one. He began breathing normally again, concentrating on dominating the mirror. It was his now and would serve his purpose. It would always pain him, but he would bear it.
At first, all was blackness, but slowly his vision came into focus. Then he heard Gaelen’s name being called repeatedly, followed by a blurred, wavering vision of the faces of the fair-haired She-elf and the tall Aridan. Gorgon witnessed the revival of Gaelen with a sort of pained fascination. He could see the others in the party: an old dwarf and two other men. And there was the dark-haired Elf, the one who had finally run him underground.
They appeared to be concerned for Gaelen, though Gorgon did not know why. He could hear her muttering as she stared at the fire. This was going to be trickier than he thought, as he would not be able to bear the mirror for more than a short period at any given time. Whether he saw or heard anything of real importance would be largely a matter of luck. Yet this ability would aid him, no doubt about that.
He stood with his eyes closed against the pain, still focusing on the vision in his mind. Gaelen had lifted her eyes from the fire, and was now looking at Rogond, who offered her food and drink. "Perhaps later," she said. The Aridan then sat beside her, placing his cloak about her shoulders. "Stop fussing over me, Rogond. I told you, I’m all right. I would rather have made more progress today; we will never get to Cós-domhain if we keep this pace."
Gorgon galvanized. Cós-domhain—how very interesting. He smiled in spite of his pain. Only a few minutes, a
nd he had already learned of their destination…how excellent! Deep within his fortress, Lord Wrothgar was satisfied. Gorgon was impressed with his gift already, and as time passed he would become more adept at using it. The Elves would never know what had befallen them, and he would pick them off one by one. He would know of their whereabouts and when they were getting too close, should they suspect his presence. They would never catch him if he remained cautious. Who knew what sort of information Gorgon would discover? Wrothgar was, in general, pleased with this plan. It seemed that the labor of creating Gorgon might prove to have been worthwhile after all.
Chapter 19: The Dividing of the Company
Nelwyn was lost in thought as she stood upon the hilltop, keeping the watch over the encampment, for this land was not without its perils. They had come to the separation of their paths, and tomorrow they would decide who among them would turn west to cross the mountains and who would go beneath them. Nelwyn had volunteered for the watch this night, and Galador would no doubt be joining her soon, for it was his habit. At such times they would speak quietly with one another, sharing their thoughts, and she had learned much of him in this way. But now she was unhappy about the upcoming division of the Company, yet she could not sway Galador in his determination to part ways with the others.
Nelwyn knew that he was deeply troubled and fearful of the passage under the mountains, though she did not yet know why. He had certainly been uncomfortable when they had been forced under the Monadh-hin, and not without reason, yet they all had, even Rogond. Galador was keeping something from them, something that made it necessary for him to turn from his companions even if they faced grave peril without him. Nelwyn knew that he was very old compared with the rest of them and had lived in places and seen things they could only imagine; yet it would take a lot to turn him from Rogond.