by C S Marks
Isn’t Wrothgar going to be pleased when He finds out that His forces have been obliterated, and you just walked right into the trap! Perhaps you can take Amandir’s head and pass it off as Magra’s! Ha! And now, you are having trouble with the lowly Gaelen of Greatwood. You cannot even kill a Wood-elf! Did you hear that cry? It sounded like the Tuathan. You could not kill either of them the last time…and now you shall have another chance at the same failure. So happy to remind you of it. Good hunting, Elfhunter. Ha!
Gorgon broke apart from Gaelen for another few moments, as each took stock of the other. Gaelen’s left sleeve was red with blood, and she was shaky and weak. She had managed to inflict a deep wound under Gorgon’s left arm, as she had done before, but his armor had served him well, and he was still in fair fighting form. Gorgon’s eyes narrowed, and his mouth quirked in a slight smile. It would not be long now before the mirror would be useless. How had the She-elf discovered it? He supposed he would never know, for she rose to her feet with difficulty, and he noted that Fima’s heavy axe shook in her hand.
Gaelen hoped that Rogond would arrive soon, as she had very little strength remaining. She felt a surge of pride as she looked upon Gorgon; she had done well to weaken him to this point, and Rogond might well be able to finish him now. The evil creature looked a bit vague and distracted, as though hearing things that weren’t there. Gaelen, of course, could not hear the voice of Gelmyr tormenting him. But that did not make it any less real to Gorgon, who grimaced slightly and shook his head, as though trying to banish the scornful laughter that still rang in his ears and haunted his thoughts.
Gaelen took a deep breath, grimacing as her chest expanded, for her ribs were badly bruised. She had only to keep him here long enough for Rogond to arrive. Hurry, my friend Thaylon, if you would make my death have meaning, she thought, unaware that Rogond had taken a terrible risk to aid her, and was now facing death himself.
Rogond clung tightly to Eros’ black mane as they flew over the huge pile of boulders toward a landing that wasn’t there. The horse would surely panic and try to make the landing, but even if he could extend his front feet far enough, the rest would fall, and he would cartwheel backward on top of his rider. Rogond wanted to close his eyes then, but he did not, as he still held some faith in his mount and needed to be aware so that he might aid Eros as far as he could.
Eros and Rogond were, in fact, very much alike. They shared a practical nature, a tendency to view a situation rationally and not panic. This quality was indispensable in battle, or in such situations as the one they now faced. Eros knew that he could not successfully reach the remnant of the path, and he decided to make the most of it. He saw more clearly in the dark than did Rogond. The ravine was not vertical, there was some slope to it, but it was loose and rocky. It would be nearly impossible to negotiate at any speed, but Eros had no choice. As he hurtled down toward the ravine floor, he dropped his hindquarters toward the steep, rocky slope, causing Rogond to grab his neck. He looked like an eagle about to land.
Hang on, tall man, thought Eros as his hind feet hit the slope, catapulting him forward and slamming his forefeet into the ground. Rogond was flipped handily over his head, still clinging to the horse’s neck. It took everything they had to stay upright, but if they did not do so, they would meet with a very unpleasant end.
Eros squealed with effort as he put all his strength into bracing his mighty hindquarters while trying to remain balanced with his forelegs. The rocks and loose gravel tore the skin from his hind legs as Rogond clung to him, hanging before Eros’ chest, his legs thrown back beneath the horse’s belly. Eros sat down on his hindquarters, sliding uncontrollably for a few seconds, and then launched himself down the slope, his flinty hooves striking sparks in the darkness, trying to keep from going end-over-end.
Rogond’s feet hit the gravel, and he swung onto Eros’ back, trying to help him keep his balance. It was a frantic, reckless nightmare of a descent, but Eros managed somehow to avoid the large stones, pounding down the gravelly, nearly vertical surface, lunging and catching himself just in time as Rogond struggled to stay aboard. Then the slope gentled, the great horse slowed, and it was over.
Eros stood, panting and trembling, sweat running from his flanks. He had injured both of his back legs in the descent; they were raw and bleeding, and would be forever scarred. His left foreleg had taken a bad strain and would bear no weight; Eros would go no farther. Rogond wept as he patted his friend, but he had no time to tend him. Gaelen fought with a monster in this darkness, and he needed to ensure that the sacrifice of his brave, able mount had not been in vain. Taking his weapons, he ran toward the west, where once again the sound of clashing blades could be heard, yet they were slower than before.
Gorgon towered over Gaelen, who prepared herself for the killing blow that would surely come as she lay now before him. Her strength was spent, and Gorgon knew it. Yet he hesitated, though his hatred for her still burned. He needed to ask something of her, and to her surprise he sank to his knees beside her, though he kept enough distance that she could not strike at him.
"How did you learn of my mirror, Elf of Greatwood? Tell me, and I will take away your pain."
Gaelen grimaced and drew herself up slowly from the ground, now kneeling with her right arm holding her bruised ribs, and looked at him in wonderment. He actually expected her to engage in conversation now, upon the hour of her death? Yet she answered him, for by doing so she gained time for Rogond to reach them.
"Many had a hand in the knowledge. You underestimated the skills of your enemies. There are so many things in this world that you will never know, in your dark solitude. I have no time now to explain them, for my strength wanes and I shall soon go to my fate. Yet I will not be alone, even then."
Gorgon was taken by a sudden, undeniable curiosity, and his left hand crept into the leather pouch at his side, hesitating for just a moment. What would it be like to see himself through her eyes? He had never been this close to her while holding the mirror. As much hatred as she held for him, to see himself though Gaelen was tantalizing. A small voice in the back of his mind cautioned him—it would be best to simply kill her and make his escape, and not toy with her. Yet he could not resist, for the ability the mirror gave to him had become almost addictive, and in his heart he did not wish for it to end with the death of Gaelen.
His desire overcame his reason, and he clutched the golden disc tightly in his left hand. The familiar pain assailed him, and even Gaelen drew a sharp breath and swayed as a wave of dizziness threatened to send her into darkness. Her vision swam for a moment; she had never been this close to the mirror before. Gorgon’s vision came slowly back into focus as both he and Gaelen shook off the initial wave of pain and bewilderment.
"Look at me, Elf!" he shouted at her, and she obliged him, turning and looking into his eager face.
What Gorgon saw then would remain in his mind for the remainder of his days. Gaelen also was affected by it, for something passed between them as they knelt side by side in the rain. She felt, for the first time, the violence and pathos of his life, and he felt the strength and purity of her spirit, and they knew that, but for different circumstances, they might each have shared the fate of the other.
Gorgon saw himself through her eyes, but the sight did not please him, for now as she looked upon him and felt the pain and deprivation he had endured, she wondered what might have been. Her attention was drawn to the evidence of his High-elven heritage: his hair, his tall, straight frame and long legs, and his brilliant, inquisitive mind. And for a fleeting moment, she saw him as Elven, beautiful and whole, and unscarred by hatred and pain.
Then, almost immediately, the vision changed. Her view of him twisted into the familiar scarred, dark figure, but he did not look powerful, or fearsome, or terrible. Through Gaelen’s eyes, Gorgon was pathetic, twisted, ugly, and alone. They shared thoughts then, for the mirror had bewildered them both and turned them away from the battle for the moment. Gorgon knew that
Gaelen anticipated her death and that she would go to the Far Shores, there to reunite with her beloved. She felt his uncertainty as to his own fate, and he wondered aloud:
"Will I, too, go to the Eternal Realm? What shall be my fate? I have no one awaiting me, and no race will claim me. Where, then, shall I go?"
Gaelen answered him, for she felt pity for him in that moment. "I cannot imagine, Dark Horror, what fate awaits you. But you shall find out soon, for your hour is at hand. You may kill me now, but Rogond is coming, and he will not see you as I do. Prepare yourself, for I cannot imagine that your destiny lies anywhere except in Darkness. I cannot weep for you. None of the Elàni shall weep for you."
Her words enraged him as his pride welled once more. He leaped to his feet, preparing to strike her down, for she was weak and would not resist. He still grasped the mirror, for he wanted to view her last sight as he cut her down. Raising Turantil over his head, he roared at her, relishing the terrible sight of himself standing tall over her. The beautiful, bright sword may have been dwarfed by Gorgon’s massive form, but it would cleave her neck all the same.
Gaelen knew that her time had come, but she would take as much of him with her as she could manage. Her gaze darted to Fima’s axe lying on the wet ground beside her, and she recalled the words of her beloved friend, who was now lost.
It is well that you would learn the skills of the axe, Gaelen, but have a care as you practice with this weapon, for it will cleave iron. There are not many things that it will not cleave, in fact! Gaelen knew then what she would do.
She grabbed the axe in her right hand, and gathering herself for a last effort she ducked beneath Turantil as Gorgon brought it down upon her, and swung with all her might at his left arm, severing the hand that held the mirror. He roared with pain and dropped the sword, gripping his left forearm and staggering back as he heard the voice of Rogond approaching.
Gaelen grabbed Turantil and the severed hand, and backed away as quickly as she could, while her mighty enemy moaned in his agony. She wondered whether the mirror still worked, though the hand of Gorgon was separated from his body, and she closed her eyes. She would blind him if she could. Gorgon was terribly confused, as the mirror would indeed hold power over him for a time, and he saw nothing but darkness. He blundered away from her then, for he would be no match for Rogond if he could not see to fight.
Rogond arrived a few moments later, as Gaelen urged him to pursue Gorgon. "Track him, Thaylon, for he is not far away. Track him! You must not let him escape. I will aid you from here, for the influence of the mirror may lessen as Gorgon leaves it farther behind." Rogond looked puzzled, but Gaelen spoke again. "There is no time!" She could sense her connection with Gorgon beginning to wane, and she cautioned Rogond. "Go now, beloved, but be swift and careful. He will see through his own eyes again ‘ere long."
Rogond dropped his leather pack from his shoulders, and carried only his weapons as he left in pursuit.
Gorgon moaned in pain and despair as he beheld Rogond, who was now tracking him. It would be very difficult to evade pursuit, seeing only through Gaelen’s eyes. He had heard Gaelen say that the influence of the mirror was fading; he had felt it, too. Yet it was still strong enough to blind him to all else but her visions as he ran, stumbling, into the night.
Gaelen was taken with a sudden feeling that Gorgon might well escape, or even do harm to Rogond, as she sat on the rain-soaked ground with Gorgon’s hand in her lap. She stared at the glint of gold visible through Gorgon’s thick fingers, wondering what would happen if she took the mirror and gazed into it herself ?
She thought better of it, for the mirror frightened her and she dared not test its power. The Stone of Léir had taught her the folly of giving in to her inquisitiveness. But now, she beheld Turantil, and Fima’s axe, and her thoughts again turned to vengeance for the hurts Gorgon had caused.
Her eyes strayed to Rogond’s pack, and a thought came to her as to how this vengeance could be achieved. She drew forth the remaining maglos from the pack, set the hand in her lap, and opened the phial, flinging the remaining chunk of metal onto the rain-soaked ground not twenty feet from where she was sitting.
She crawled painfully back, knowing that she needed a greater distance from it, when it burst violently into blinding light. She turned her head away, as Rogond both heard the explosion and beheld it when he turned back toward her. He knew at once what she had done and why. He ran toward the light, calling her name, screaming at her to stop, to turn from her course, for he knew what it would do to her.
Gaelen had not much time before the influence of the mirror would fade and the connection would be broken. Turning toward the flaring maglos, she stared directly into its light, willing herself to keep her eyes open despite the pain, as Gorgon shrieked in agony. His light-sensitive brain was incapable of enduring this, and he dropped to the ground, his own pale eyes squeezed tightly shut, to no avail. As he writhed on the wet ground, he heard Gaelen calling in a terrible voice; it was obvious that she was filled with pain herself, but it was a mere shadow of his own suffering.
Talrodin! Halrodin! Gelmyr! Noli! Tibo! Amandir! Belegund! Fima! he heard through the white, flaring agony in his mind, before it faded at last and all was dark again.
Rogond ran back to where Gaelen now sat before the dwindling light. He heard her calling out the names of Gorgon’s victims, and as he appeared, she turned toward him. As he knelt beside her he could see that her eyes were strangely blank, and he knew that she could not see him.
"The hold of the mirror has faded—Gorgon will gain no more from it. My vengeance has been achieved," she said, as she sagged sideways, her strength gone at last. He caught her in his arms, holding her gently to him.
She roused herself and spoke to him again. "I have hurt him badly, and he is blind. You may well defeat him now, but be cautious, as he is a wounded animal and will visit as much harm upon you as he can. I can still feel his desperation. You must see him dead before it fades."
Rogond heard her words, but he was still shocked and grieved at her blank gaze and her weak, shaky voice. "Oh, Gaelen…why did you do this? You will have harmed only yourself. His eyes were not burned by the light! Why did you do it?"
A vague, brief smile crossed her face. "I will heal. He cannot, for the image of the light was not in his eyes, but in his mind…in his heart. He will never truly heal." With those words, she sank into darkness, as Rogond held her and despaired.
Galador and Nelwyn had found Eros, still standing where Rogond had left him, and had turned him over to the Wood-elves, who would take him slowly and carefully back to a place where he could be tended. Galador looked in wonder at the evidence of Eros’ heroic descent, and he addressed the animal with new respect.
"All is forgiven between us, Eros. Do not fear…I will find Rogond. Go, now, and submit to the kind attentions of the people of the Greatwood."
They had been tracking their friends with the help of Ri-Aruin’s folk, and when the maglos flared they had been drawn to it, arriving to find Rogond sitting with Gaelen in his arms. Nelwyn rushed to his side as Galador looked around in alarm.
"Where is Gorgon?" he asked Rogond, looking with some concern at Gaelen’s pale face and bloody clothing.
Rogond looked up at him, his face full of pain. "I don’t know, and I have not the will to care, but now that you are here I shall track him and make certain that he does not escape the net Ri-Aruin’s folk have laid for him. I fear Gaelen is grievously hurt, and I dared not leave her."
Nelwyn bent to examine her cousin. "She is spent, but her heart is still strong and her wounds are not grave. She will be hale again, my friend, do not fear. But we should get her back to a place of healing and make certain she is warm and dry. Eros is being well tended as we speak. Lift up your heart, my dear Rogond." She embraced him as she spoke, for he was a beloved friend.
Rogond knew that Nelwyn was right, that Gaelen would heal, but only he knew the extent of what she had done, and in his hear
t he wept for her. As he turned now to pursue Gorgon, Rogond noticed the severed hand now lying, nearly invisible, on the muddy ground. He lifted it up, noticing the mirror gripped in the bloodstained palm. The touch of Gorgon’s flesh was repulsive, yet Rogond knew the hand and the mirror must be preserved. He did not wish to handle the mirror or remove it without guidance. Tearing the fabric of his cloak, he wrapped the hand in it, and then placed it beside Nelwyn. "Guard this well. The enemy must not recover it," he cautioned her. Nelwyn stared at the cloth-wrapped hand in morbid fascination as Rogond and Galador fell once more onto the trail of their enemy.
Chapter 30: The Trail Ends
Gorgon felt his doom approaching as the circle tightened around him. Though his connection with the mirror had faded and his own eyes were now functional, his mind could not perceive the images sent to it in the darkness, and he was blind. If he closed his eyes he saw only the brilliant, searing light of the maglos, and with a cry he would open them again, for he could not bear it.
He had dealt with the problem of his bleeding left arm, for the blood would be a sign for his enemies to follow. He had taken a thong of leather and tied it so tightly around his left wrist that the bleeding stopped. Unfortunately this caused a great deal of pain, and he did not know how long he could withstand it.
He crept carefully along the ravine floor, scenting the wind for his enemies, listening intently. He caught the scent of Rogond and Galador in pursuit, and he called upon all of his considerable skill, climbing carefully up the treacherous, rain-slick wall of the ravine, leaving almost no sign of his passing.
This was made much more difficult by the absence of his left hand. He occasionally forgot the hand was missing and tried to gain purchase with it. This was a mistake, and he grimaced as a throbbing bolt of pain shot up his left arm. There was only one hope for him now, and that was to find a place deep under the hills where he could hide from the wrath of the Wood-elves. Gorgon was accustomed to this; he had perfected the art of remaining nearly inert, sometimes for weeks at a time, subsisting only on the occasional sip of water. He would try to heal himself, though he was in so much pain and was so dispirited that this now seemed doubtful.