Elfhunter

by C S Marks

  Now, as Eros worked the second knot loose, he considered his choices. In a few moments he would be free to go where he would. And though he did not relish the thought of traveling the mountains at night by himself, he truly did want to get back to Rogond. Besides, Galador had thrown the gauntlet in his face, slapping him from behind like a common mule! He would show that Elf a few things. The memory of the indignity inflicted on him by Galador decided him, and he walked quietly from behind the picket line, ducking his head under and lifting it so that he could proceed back down the path the way he had come.

  Nelwyn, who kept the watch, heard his quiet footfalls, though he trod quite softly indeed. Then, all the horses began nickering after him, especially Réalta, who nearly always wanted to follow Eros into mischief, but was not as adept at untying himself. Suspicious, Nelwyn roused Galador from his rest, and they both rose to their feet and peered into the darkness, just in time to observe the light golden body of Eros disappearing back toward the east.

  Cursing, Galador leaped down from the rock shelf, grabbed Réalta, and swung onto his back. Eros heard the galloping feet of his pursuer, and the chase was on!

  It was fortunate that both Elves and horses see as well in the dark, as the mountain pass was difficult enough in the daylight! Eros ran swiftly along, leaping over stones and gaps in the path, followed closely by Réalta, who thankfully was the swifter, even carrying a rider. Galador held his breath several times as the trail dropped away beneath him and Réalta leaped into the night; his life was literally hanging on the agility and sure-footedness of his mount. If he could keep up with Eros long enough to reach the point where the path widened, he could get alongside him and catch hold of him. Then he and Réalta would drive Eros into the cliff-face, halting him.

  Without warning, Eros slammed to a stop, wheeled about and charged back up the path, nearly barreling into Réalta. Galador came very close to flying over his mount’s head, sitting astride his neck before pushing himself back into proper position. He spat an oath at Eros, who was now fighting to get past him on the narrow trail. A loud bellow from behind Eros told the tale—a huge mountain-troll was striding purposefully toward them. Galador was in no position to engage it, as he had only his sword, and even if he had brought his longbow, it would have been of limited use. Trolls are nearly impossible to kill, as they are vulnerable only in the eyes and through the mouth. In the dark, on a moving horse, such a shot would be difficult at best.

  Trolls are tireless, but fortunately, they are not swift. Galador caught hold of Eros’ lines as he tried to crowd past, then turned Réalta and galloped back up the trail with the troll in pursuit. Drawing near to their encampment, Galador looked back over his shoulder, and was dismayed to see that, though it was far outdistanced, the troll still followed. Galador called out a warning to Nelwyn and Thorndil, and then galloped under the rock shelf to find them arming themselves and releasing the horses, preparing to ride. The troll’s heavy feet could now be heard taking great, slow strides; it would be upon them in a few moments.

  "Hoist me up, Galador," said Nelwyn, grabbing her longbow. Galador knew he did not have time to argue, and taking Nelwyn’s left foot in his hand he tossed her up onto the rock shelf, where she knelt, drew an arrow, and bent her bow.

  The troll caught sight of its quarry and dropped into a low, crouching run. It was charging them, intending on crushing them with its great arms. The horses cried in terror and backed into the wall as Thorndil and Galador struggled to control them.

  Nelwyn peered into the darkness, drawing the powerful bow back to the limit of her strength. Then, holding her breath and praying, she released it. The shaft flew straight to its mark, burying itself in the troll’s tiny left eye. It pitched forward, dead before it hit the ground, churning up the rock with its heavy body. It nearly slid into the frightened horses and their caretakers. Had it done so, it would have crushed them, but thankfully it ground to a halt before doing any real damage.

  Nelwyn exhaled, her knees weak and shaky, and sat down upon the rock. Galador and Thorndil were still occupied with calming and subduing the horses, who seemed to know that they had just come perilously close to becoming provender for a troll’s larder. Galador cast a jaundiced eye at Eros, who stood quietly without restraint as though truly repentant.

  "Now, you nearly worthless animal, see what you have done! Do not try my patience again! If you ever even consider such a course I will forget that Rogond actually likes you. He will find another mount, believe me!"

  Eros was humbled and nickered softly at Galador, then tried to approach Thorndil, who shunned him as well. "Don’t try to appease me, Eros. You know Galador is right. Behave yourself from now on and prove that you’re still worthy. We will find Rogond again."

  Eros looked so forlorn that Thorndil took pity on him. "Don’t worry, you will regain favor soon enough. Rogond’s faith in you is well placed, but sometimes you allow your loyalty to get in the way of your judgment." Eros nuzzled Thorndil’s sleeve and was rewarded with a pat on the neck.

  Galador had climbed up to congratulate Nelwyn, and witnessed Thorndil’s kind-hearted treatment of Eros. "So now you reward him? I would prefer to tie his head to his tail for a few hours. Worthless animal!" He chuckled in spite of himself. "He nearly succeeded in his escape plan. I am quite glad that I do not have to tell Rogond that his favorite mount was eaten by a troll. He is quite fond of the scoundrel. Why that is so, I cannot imagine!"

  But in truth, Galador had no trouble imagining it. When he was with Rogond, Eros was one of the finest, steadiest animals alive. Rogond had ridden him into battle, where he seemed to have an innate sense of what to do and how to do it. He had saved Rogond’s life several times, and he was courageous and steadfast. Galador knew that his friend’s trust in Eros was well deserved.

  The stench coming from the dead troll was incredible, so they elected to move some distance before once again settling down until dawn. They found a good, wide semicircle in the rock that would be perfect for sheltering. The wind was rising and they could smell rain on the air. It would probably roll in before dawn, so best to take rest while they could.

  The ordeal with Eros and the troll had tired Galador, and he sat with Nelwyn as Thorndil took the watch. As he looked back toward the west, where the weather was building, he wondered how their friends were faring. They had most likely reached the Gateway by now. Galador fixed his eyes on the heavens, imagining the stars shining there, and entered the realm of waking dreams, where Elves regain their strength in time of weariness. After a few moments, his thoughts moved in a very unpleasant direction, drifting…drifting……Galador looked for the last time into the eyes of Rogond as his friend died in his arms.

  There were signs of struggle all around them, but Rogond had been bested, run through with a formidable blade, and was now bleeding to death. Galador had come too late to aid him. Galador called his friend’s name, and Rogond roused himself, his grey eyes focusing with some effort. He beheld Galador, whereupon his brow furrowed with exertion as he breathed a final, single word—Gorgon. Then he died, his body at first going rigid in Galador’s arms, then limp and lifeless, his eyes staring unfocused and sightless, his last breath rattling in his throat. Galador could not weep, but set his friend’s body down gently, a sudden sense of panic and urgency gripping him: he had to find Nelwyn!

  He tracked the bloody footprints leading from Rogond’s body down a dark corridor that seemed to go on forever, until he beheld a dim glow in the distance. Running recklessly now, he flew toward it, turning to his left into a large underground chamber to behold a horrifying sight. There was blood everywhere—Elven blood. Nelwyn was lying in a crumpled heap in the center of the floor, and she was covered with it. Gaelen knelt beside her, her back turned toward Galador, who cried Nelwyn’s name in horror. He could not move toward her—it was as though his feet were rooted to the floor. He called to Gaelen through his panic, tears flowing from his eyes. Nelwyn’s head was turned such that he could not see
her pale face. Gaelen’s left hand was bloody, entangled in Nelwyn’s hair. Was she bent with weeping?

  "Gaelen…Gaelen! Does Nelwyn live? Does she still live? Gaelen!" Slowly Gaelen rose to her feet, her hand still gripping Nelwyn’s long, golden hair. As she turned, to Galador’s horror, she tightened her grip and lifted her arm. Galador moaned as Nelwyn’s head came away from her body; it had been severed by the same blade that had killed Rogond. Gaelen looked up at Galador then, confusion in her hazel-green eyes.

  Then her eyes rolled back into her head, and when they reappeared they were pale, nearly colorless, with tiny pinpricks of black at the center, and full of malice. She chuckled in a voice other than her own.

  "Does Nelwyn live? No, my ‘brother’. I think not!"

  Galador wanted to cry out in horror, but he could not; his strength had left him. Gaelen started toward him, now laughing in Gorgon’s voice, and he knew no more…

  "Galador…Galador? Come back to me, my love. It’s all right… come back!"

  Galador jerked upright with a sharp intake of breath. He was sweat-soaked, pale, and trembling. "Calm yourself, my beloved. It’s all right," Nelwyn’s soothing voice reached out to him in his terror. He opened his eyes and beheld her, then pulled her to him, enfolding her in his arms, shaking and silent. His hair and tunic were wet with sweat, and he clutched her so tightly that breathing was difficult. She endured his embrace, fearing for him, and spoke words of comfort until he finally mastered himself and relaxed his hold on her. She looked into his eyes and reached up to stroke his damp hair as he drew slow, deep breaths. His trembling stopped.

  "What happened? You were crying and calling my name. What has so terrified you?"

  Galador’s vision was so horrible that he was unable to speak of it. "I…I cannot say. Please don’t press me about it…I could not bear to relive it. I must try to wipe it from my mind; otherwise it will torment me. Please understand."

  Nelwyn nodded, but she was afraid. She knew that Galador’s vision had concerned her—he had been calling her name. She settled back against the moss-covered boulder she had been sheltering behind, pulling him down to lie against her breast. His breathing had slowed, but there was a tension in his body that she didn’t like. She tried to relax, to show him there was nothing to fear, but she could not. The premonition she had while in Mountain-home still troubled her. Was Galador’s much the same?

  Nelwyn sighed and stroked his hair, looking up at the clouded night sky. No stars to comfort them tonight. As Nelwyn thought of the stars, her thoughts turned to Gaelen and Rogond, who would not see the stars for a long while.

  Galador’s dream had wearied him, and though he rested at last, the tension never entirely left him. He struggled to rid himself of the sight of Gaelen, pale malicious eyes gleaming, speaking in Gorgon’s voice and clutching Nelwyn’s hair in her bloodied hand. He did not understand—Gaelen loved Nelwyn more than did anyone save himself, and would never harm her. Why Gorgon’s eyes and voice? That question would remain to trouble him for a long time after.

  Rogond, who was still very much alive, reflected that he had never seen Fima so elated as he led them through the passageways of the underground realm of Cós-domhain. Fima still appeared to know his way around, even though he had not seen the inside of the mountains for a very long time. This place was so vast and complex that even one living there might conceivably lose himself in the maze of passages, chambers, halls, and stairways. Belegund walked beside Fima, who led their small party. Rogond walked behind with Gaelen. She was wary, looking and listening all around her, though she was truly impressed with the intricacies of this enormous excavation. Fima stressed that they had seen nothing as yet; the Great Halls were at least two days’ journey away.

  As Fima had promised, the passageways were well lighted by means of torches and cleverly placed shafts and mirrors that reflected and magnified light from the surface, as well as many of the blue Elven lamps. These cheered Gaelen, as they reminded her that these folk had once been great friends of the Èolarin Elves. The four of them made their way along corridors and climbed endless, wide stairs, meeting dwarves as they went. Each time, the dwarves acknowledged Fima. Some appeared quite happy to see him, greeting him enthusiastically and welcoming the visitors, but they all looked somewhat sidelong at Gaelen.

  It was no mystery when dwarves approached either from the front or from behind, as they are not remotely stealthy, and the corridors were frequently alive with echoing voices. Gaelen took some comfort in this, as she did not need to worry about being taken unaware. She still did not relax, as more than one hand strayed to an axe-handle upon beholding her. This hostility did not extend beyond her introduction by Fima, however, and the dwarves then greeted her almost warmly, removing their hoods and bowing in a humble display that she politely returned.

  One stout fellow in a green jacket bowed before her, and, to her surprise, addressed her in rather stilted High-elven speech: "Hail, Gaelen of the Greatwood. Thy presence honors us, though many will not know it. I shall hope to converse further with thee on a time, if thou art remaining among us?"

  Gaelen kept her tone serious as she replied to him: "Alas, we are but passing through this great realm, O worthy Disciple of Fior. Yet we may speak awhile, as I deem we will be here for at least a few days’ time. I shall look forward to conversing with one who speaks our tongue so well." The dwarf bowed low and took his leave, pausing once to look back over his shoulder at Gaelen.

  Fima muttered to Belegund, "That’s just old Tibo. He loves Elves. He’ll be a bit disappointed when he learns that our Gaelen is a Wood-elf, and not of the Èolar, though I cannot imagine anyone being truly disappointed in her." He turned back and smiled. "Well, my little Wood-elf, have you found your confidence in my realm? What is your impression thus far?"

  "Truly, it is impressive beyond my estimation, Fima. I shall be most eager to see the Great Halls. And your people are, for the most part, accepting of my presence here, though I sense were we not with you, things might be different."

  Fima nodded. "Of that there is little doubt. Were it not for me, you would have been brought before the Council of Elders in bonds until we learned of your business. As it is, I expect a delegation to meet us directly. Then, you shall taste of our hospitality in full!" He gave a hearty laugh and rubbed his hands together in anticipation of good times to come.

  Gaelen had heard of dwarvish hospitality while in Mountain- home. Dwarves were earthy folk, and they delighted in such pleasures as feasting and drinking, dancing and even singing, though their song was much different from that of the Elves. She knew that both Fima and Rogond were hoping she would sing for their hosts, as the dwarves would have rarely heard such song.

  Fima’s prediction proved true a short while later as a delegation of rather impressive-looking dwarves met them at the junction of two passageways. They were immaculate compared with Fima, who was somewhat travel worn, but they greeted him with great respect. They wore many beautiful ornaments of gold, and their tunics and cloaks were of finest make in various splendid colors. After introducing themselves, they escorted Fima and his guests to a large, well-appointed chamber where they could wash, change, eat and drink. It would take another day to journey to the Great Halls, where the Council of Elders would receive them and hear their tale. Fima was well known to them, and they were always hungry for news of the wide world.

  Rogond rejoiced, as surely these great persons could tell him where Farin, the smith who had known his mother, might be found. Thus he waited patiently, though Gaelen could see that he was anxious.

  The Company settled back on their soft beds, all except Gaelen, who stalked quietly up and down the floor. She did not like being closed in underground and would take no rest. Rogond and Belegund had some difficulty, as the beds, though designed for guests, were still too short for their tall frames. Their feet hung over the edge a little, but they were comfortable, especially after a couple of meat pies and two flagons of beer each.


  "Gaelen…would you please stop pacing? You’re making me nervous," said Fima, who could not understand why anyone should be uncomfortable in such eminently hospitable surroundings.

  Rogond raised himself up and called to her outside Fima’s hearing. "Come and sit with me awhile and be content, for I will tell you a tale. I know this place isn’t to your liking, but we will be here for only a few days. Please, come and sit with me."

  Gaelen did so, and Rogond settled her back upon the bed beside him, lying with her head upon his chest. He could feel the tension in her body, and reaching around the back of her head he took one of her ears in his hand and gently began massaging it. At first she resisted his attentions, but he reassured her. After a few moments, she sagged into a completely relaxed state, her eyes half closed, all interest in hearing tales forgotten.

  "Where did you learn such a thing as that?" asked Fima, quite fascinated with the action of Rogond’s fingers on Gaelen’s ear and her reaction to it.

  "In Mountain-home," Rogond replied as Gaelen stretched her lithe form in contentment. If she had been a cat, she would have been purring loudly. "This comes in handy on a time when you must quiet or comfort someone. It is especially valuable when they are stressed or in pain." He turned to Gaelen. "You’re not in any pain, are you, my friend?"

  Gaelen stretched out again beside him, then spoke in a languid, drowsy voice: "Oh, yes, Tuathan. I am in considerable pain. I think you had better not stop doing that for a while."

  Rogond smiled, and the time passed more pleasantly. He treasured the feel of her warmth and vitality as she lay beside him, and he did not sleep, for he did not want to miss a single moment of it.