by C S Marks
I will take thee with me, Gorgon cried in desperation. There will be no victory this day for either of us! He tightened his grip on her as he said this, but Gaelen did not relent. Gorgon was now truly at bay. She had him, and she would finish him. She looked now with fascinated revulsion at his dark face. His features convulsed, changing from one manifestation to the next, but none of them could stand before the Light.
She could feel his terror, but she could also sense the fear growing in the heart of her beloved. If Gorgon made good on his threat, then she would be taken with him, and none would be able to save her from it.
Rain’s urgent voice came to her. Let him go, Gaelen. Do not doubt him…he will not fall without you. You must let him go for both our sakes. If he takes you into the abyss, I cannot follow. You will face him again upon another field, and he will ever doubt himself because of this battle. You have shown him that Evil cannot prevail over you. Let him go…or strive with him forever!
Gaelen’s light dimmed as she heard these words, the last she had expected to hear from her beloved Rain. You said it was my destiny to rid the world of his foul presence, and now you tell me I must release him? I will not let him take me…I cannot let him escape again! I will not!
I cannot let you face such a fate, Gaelen, not for this end. He is but one enemy. There will be another time. Let go. His voice and words were gentle, but his tone was commanding. Gaelen did not seem to hear him. She pressed ever closer to an irrecoverable fate, as Gorgon clutched at her as though to the last lifeline of a drowning man.
Aryiah had stopped chanting, and her pale eyes flew open in alarm. “Oh, no…Gaelen, do not let him take you. You will be forever lost! Such a fate you cannot even imagine! No…oh, no!” She wrung her hands helplessly and turned toward Rogond, who clutched at her arm.
“Spirit-mother, what must I do?” he asked in desperation.
Aryiah shook her head. “If we do not bring Gaelen back from where she has gone, she is lost to you forever,” she said.
“And…and how do I do this?” he asked, frantic.
“I do not know,” said Aryiah. “Follow your instincts, North-man. Do what you must!”
Rogond knew what he had to do, and for once in his life he did not pause to consider. He reached out to his beloved and, praying that his instincts were true, he reached for the accursed mirror and tried to pry it from her hand. Her fingers tightened hard upon it—she would not let go. She thinks her job is unfinished…she’s being stubborn. Lord of Light help me! He tried again, but her grip was strong and he did not wish to hurt her.
Let go, Gaelen…he thought, praying that she would hear. Come back…come back to me! Don’t force me to mourn your fate for the rest of my life…come back to one who loves you!
A tiny moan escaped her lips, and her fingers relaxed enough that he could wrest the mirror from her. Apparently, he had been heard. As he took the thing in his hand, he felt the power surge up his right arm and his head swam. The world wavered in and out of focus—light and utter darkness flashed before his astonished eyes. He felt sickened, nearly overwhelmed by despair. He was not welcome in whatever realm she walked in now. Mustering his strength and choking back the bile rising in his throat, he flung the mirror into the far corner of the room.
All at once, everything around Gaelen vanished in a flash of white light: Gorgon, the Void, and the Shades of the dead, along with her beloved. She heard his voice one last time. Farewell, my tenacious Gaelen. You will face your enemy again. Your spirit has been restored to you, for I am with you always. Another Shore awaits upon another time, and our reunion will be complete. It will seem as only a brief time of waiting to me…farewell.
Gaelen shuddered in Rogond’s arms, and she grew warmer again, but much of her strength had been taken. She lay, inert and barely breathing, as her companions despaired, for they did not yet know whether she would be whole again.
Aryiah could not assure Rogond that Gaelen would be restored, but she did not question the wisdom of his action in taking the mirror from her.
“You had to do what was done, North-man. If she is lost, it is not on your account. She has looked into the face of horror and faltered on the edge of the darkest of fates. Without your aid she might have gone over. No ill fate that she might face now will compare. You have saved her very soul this day.”
Fima, on the other hand, was incredulous. “What? How could you have done such a thing without knowing what it would do to her? She has not awakened; it may be that her spirit still wanders and now cannot find its way back. Not even the most learned minds and works could provide enlightenment. How could you have been so…impulsive? It’s so unlike you.’
Nelwyn looked into Gaelen’s eyes and took both of her hands. “She is with us now, Rogond. She is not lost. She is weak and drained, and in need of rest, but she is with us.”
“Is she whole?” asked Rogond, sensing that Nelwyn would know.
“She is whole. In fact, I sense she will be stronger than before, though I cannot explain why. Yet she faced a terrible trial.”
Rogond brushed aside a lock of Gaelen’s hair, and was shocked to see several strands of silver mingled amid the copper, brown, and gold. Gaelen would be marked forever by her struggle.
“She is so pale…could we still lose her?”
“We may,” said Nelwyn, “but I don’t think so. She has ever been strong, and I have seen her in worse shape than this. Now she is simply weary. She will take strength from you and others who love her.” She sat down beside Rogond, placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, and waited.
Rogond stayed at Gaelen’s side for days, leaving her only to tend to his own few needs. Fima, Nelwyn, Hallagond, and Estle took their turns in the watch, speaking quietly to her of whatever they would, but Rogond was always there. When Gaelen finally did awaken, it was his careworn face that she first beheld, and she managed a wan but heartfelt smile.
“It was you…you drew me back from the Void,” she said, as he began to weep. “It’s curious…I thought I would be angry, for my enemy was vanquished and I had but to finish him, but in doing so I might have been doomed to the worst possible fate. Gorgon would have made certain of it. You saved me, Thaylon. Even the High King was having difficulty swaying my actions.” She smiled again despite her exhaustion. “I really must try to be a bit less obstinate in the future.”
Gaelen was alive and apparently whole, though she would sleep for many more days. She allowed Rogond to hold her, taking his hand as his tears dampened her hair. She knew that wherever Gorgon was, he was at least as weary as she, for he had faced the Void without hope of recovery. Oddly enough, it was love that had saved them both. I told him that love was the true power, and when I next face him I will remind him of it…if given the chance.
Gaelen had been right about the state of her enemy. Gorgon had gone to ground after arranging his terrible display of Thorndil. He had traveled back many miles, using all his skills to confound any would-be pursuers, leaving no tracks or traces behind him. He had been so pleased with his own performance that his mind and soul had been unguarded—in fact, they were quite open, for he would relish Gaelen’s grief and outrage. She, on the other hand, had kept her plans concealed, so that when she had gazed into the mirror at last, Gorgon had been unaware until it was too late to guard himself.
Now he was lying on the dusty floor of his sanctuary, the one in which he had imprisoned Thorndil and tortured him. He lay for many days, unmoving and unseeing, slack-jawed, his blank, grey eyes unfocused. He appeared to be quite lifeless even after his spirit returned, and if anyone had found him in such a state, they could have killed him with no effort. Flies buzzed around him, settling on his flesh, but they soon left him, knowing the truth. Gorgon still lived.
The flies had already been drawn to the blood and flesh of Thorndil that remained in this place of torment. Gorgon’s one hand was still stained with it. It was fortunate for him that he was underground, for the sun would have finished him had he b
een unlucky enough to lie alone in the open for so many days without water. He was also fortunate that no night-hunting beasts had been drawn to the blood-stench, for they might have feasted on Gorgon’s tough, thick flesh. He had no loving friends to tend him. Gaelen awoke long before he did, and when he finally did awaken, he would recall their conflict with dismay. She had called upon the Light, and it had vanquished him. The fact that he would have taken her with him was of little consolation.
The Elfhunter had been dealt a bitter blow, but as always he would regain his resolve given time. He was shaken, but far from broken, and he would never again allow Gaelen to engage him in the spirit realm. From then on it would be flesh against flesh. In that arena, he would be confident of victory over her.
As he came to himself at last, weakened and barely alive, he began the long process of recovery. Though he had gone many miles from the Citadel already, he would retreat farther for a while and make plans, forsaking this sanctuary for a newer, deeper one. He had learned a few things about himself recently, and not all had dismayed him. The Dark Power was a part of him, even as it had looked through his eyes and robbed his enemy of her courage. If he called upon that power, he would never again fight alone.
Gorgon was highly intelligent, and he had come to realize that it was Rogond, the fool who loved Gaelen, who had taken the mirror and saved him from the Void. Soon I will be strong again, and then perhaps I’ll trap the Vixen and that fool of a Ranger in some hellish place. Then I’ll summon that part of myself that has come from the very heart of Darkness, smile down upon the man’s dying face, and try to find the words to thank him.
The evil energies of Lord Wrothgar swirled in the depths of Tûr Dorcha, and he was pleased. His anger toward Gorgon had cooled, and he was aware of his wayward child once more. So much had been gained from Gorgon’s possession of the mirror that Wrothgar could not spend too much time in regretting the loss of it. After all, Gorgon had learned many things from it, and now Wrothgar knew of them, as well. The knowledge of Dûn Arian was of considerable interest, yet it was not the most important of Gorgon’s revelations. Wrothgar had long suspected that the Stone of Léir had been taken to Tal-sithian, and now he was certain of it.
A great plume of fire and foul vapor burst from the Tower as Wrothgar came to his next plan. He would not summon Gorgon to the Darkmere, for he would not risk such a valuable creature wandering back northward in such weakened condition. Instead, he would send aid—powerful aid.
Wrothgar wanted to tear into Gorgon’s mind, willingly or no, and lay it naked before his dark scrutiny. He hoped that the Elfhunter would survive this invasion…Gorgon had only begun to be truly useful, and so many future plans would benefit from his service. Wrothgar sent forth a northward call to the vast wasteland that the Elves once called Tal-elathas, and summoned forth the darkest spirit that had yet been known in Alterra, save for his own.
Chapter 2
OF PLANS AND WISE COUNSEL
Gaelen’s battle with Gorgon had seemed to take only a brief time in the ethereal world, but in the physical realm it lasted for days. It had ended abruptly when Rogond wrested the mirror from her hand. He gave it back to Fima, who re-secured it inside the inner pocket of his jerkin for the time being.
Gaelen had awakened four days after her return, but would not regain full strength for some time, as her spirit had been sorely tested. The strands of snowy silver in her hair would testify to the severity of this ordeal for the remainder of her days—a rather prominent lock of it fell across her eyes in the front. During the conflict, Gorgon had touched her there.
Despite her trial, she had gained several things of incalculable worth, emerging both wiser and stronger, with a much deeper and more complete understanding of her enemy.
She sat atop the wall overlooking the sea, as was her habit, lost in her own thoughts. She also knew that she would not ever wish to encounter him in such a place again, where the risks to her very soul were so terrible and final. She sensed that Gorgon feared this fate as much as she did.
Rain came to me when I called upon him, and we were as one—it was almost as if we both still lived. He looked through my eyes, and I through his…our souls merged utterly in those moments. Gorgon could not withstand our combined power, even with his most fearsome ally.
She smiled to herself. When I lost Rain long ago, my heart was torn…my spirit has never been whole since that day. I didn’t realize how deeply wounded I was, and I tried to heal myself, but I have been incomplete. Our reunion upon that dark frontier has mended what was broken, for he has left a part of himself behind. I will always carry him with me now, not just in memory, but as a true part of my being. I have sung songs of abject longing and loneliness, calling out to him beneath the bright stars, but I will not need to do so again. I am free to love Rogond for as long as we both live, without grieving for Rain.
Had Gorgon known this, it would have dismayed him, for his small adversary was now much wiser and more formidable. She had changed—that much was plain. She seemed less impulsive, calmer, and more at peace with herself. Though the fire of her spirit burned as brightly as ever, it had been tempered by an ancient grace.
Rogond did not understand the nature of this change, but he would not have resented this intrusion upon her heart, because he truly loved her. Gaelen, mindful of his feelings, did not discuss such matters with him, but he knew that her love for him was undiminished. Her heart belonged to him for as long as he lived, and there was now no grief to fetter it.
Gaelen told her friends as much as she cared to about the battle on the Edge of Darkness, and they listened with wonder. Fima seemed especially moved, and for once he did not record her words on parchment, as it did not seem fitting.
Rogond told the tale before Salastor and the Council, for Gaelen was not comfortable doing so. After he had finished, Salastor spoke gently to Gaelen.
“Do you have a sense of this enemy now? Was he weakened, as you were? If so, then perhaps we should muster all our efforts to find him and bring him to bay while he is vulnerable. Does that not seem wise?”
Gaelen considered. “No doubt he has been weakened, for he has no one to tend him. But he has survived for long ages alone, and he is very adept at concealing himself. You and your folk are more than welcome to search for him, but I suspect he has gone too deep to be found. You will need insight to find him—insight given only to me. Gorgon is a more terrible enemy than any you have yet faced. I would rather deal with five of Lokai than with him, yet such is my task and my destiny. Search if you will, and good hunting, but use great care!”
Thorndil was laid to rest beside the other brave souls who had given their lives in the conflict. The Company sorrowed as they said their farewells, Fima and Rogond in particular. They placed a pouch of highly prized and especially fine pipe-leaf beside him. “Someday, my friend, I will see you again, and we will have a fine time sharing our pipes and tales,” said Rogond. “Enjoy the leaf until that day.”
With the death of Ali, the City had no Minister of Defense, and therefore no commander of its army. Not unexpectedly, the Council suggested that Hallagond be appointed to the post, an honor that he respectfully declined.
“I can accept no permanent duty here,” he said, “because I do not know when or where the Company will be called. I must remain with my brother and his friends, for they have need of me. I’m sorry.”
“Will you not take charge of our forces in the meantime?” asked Salastor. “Until the Company departs from the City, we will have need of you. Will you not help until then, or until another suitable person may be found?”
“What about Visili?” asked Hallagond. “He has shown his worth many times over. His skills both in battle and as a leader of men are at least as great as my own, and he is willing to serve the City in payment for his past crimes. I will serve as his second until I am called away.”
“We have pardoned him of his crimes,” said Salastor. “And you’re right—he is quite skilled. I s
hall consider your advice, Hallagond Worm-slayer.” They both chuckled at this somewhat lofty title. It was no less true.
Gaelen stood upon the Great Wall, looking out to the east at the gigantic remains of the dragon, giving thanks for the wind, which blew from the west. Much of Lokai’s usefulness had been claimed already, including his scales, which would make excellent shields against weapons or flame, his teeth and tail-spines, his venom, and his blood. When the flesh had rotted from his bones they, too, would be useful. One of the Citadel’s most eccentric and brilliant architects had been eyeing the great ribs with longing. The scavengers had fared very well, stripping much of the flesh away, but enough remained, rotting in the warm sun, to put a very unpleasant stench in the air.
Gifts gleaned from the dragon were bestowed upon the Company in honor of their very prominent and vital role in his defeat. Hallagond was given a shield made of beautifully carved dragon-scale, together with a blade made from one of the smaller fangs. Rogond and Galador each received a similar blade, for they had stood against the dragon. Fima gained an interesting addition to his arsenal—a tool fashioned rather like an axe, with a handle made of the long, hollow keel of dragon-scale. The blade was made of the very tip of one of Lokai’s great claws, which would dig through nearly anything without chipping or splitting. Fima remarked that it would be interesting to test it against his normal weapons of oak and steel, yet he did not favor it, as the balance seemed faulty for some reason.