by C S Marks
Fima’s eyes grew very wide and he drew in a sharp breath, followed by a fit of coughing that lasted nearly a minute. Gaelen drew her cloak tighter and waited for him to calm himself. He simply sat staring at her, as though trying to make sense of what he had just heard.
“I will give you something now, Fima, and just look it over when you are so inclined.” She drew forth the parchment containing her list of misgivings about Orrion. She knew he would not be able to read the words in the dark, so she folded the parchment and tucked it beneath his jerkin. “When you have considered the words on that parchment, come to me again and I shall enlighten you. Until then, you will have to trust me. I will not risk revealing my suspicions to Nelwyn until we are safe and she is under watch. I know how upsetting such revelations can be, remember?”
Fima did. When Gaelen had learned of Gorgon’s mirror, and of her unwitting part in the deaths of so many Elves and men, she had attempted to take her own life rather than allow her enemy to take one more life with her assistance. His invasion of her senses had unbalanced her—Fima remembered how it had torn her apart.
“Apart from the death of my beloved, that was the most terrible disclosure my spirit has ever endured,” she said. “As to the present situation, I believe I have put some of the pieces together, but until I have them all, I will not wish to upset Nelwyn. There is no harm in continuing our present course…in fact, we must not alert our enemies by diverting from it. I also believe that the Powers of Darkness may have given us a key that will bring about their undoing. Until I am certain, I must keep my thoughts to myself. I trust you will agree?”
“You ask much of me, Gaelen,” said Fima, blowing softly through his fine, white mustache. “Yet I understand. When I have considered what is on this parchment, I will counsel with you again. Of course, you realize that I will not be able to wait until the sun is up, but will be reading this immediately by firelight?”
Gaelen stole a furtive glance at Estle, Galador, and Nelwyn, who sat by the fire. “Not now, you won’t! We must not draw attention to the parchment or risk anyone’s looking over your shoulder. You will need to wait until you can examine it in private.” She sighed. “I hope we can get to Dûn Bennas soon. There is one there who can aid us. Astor will surely know where to look for enlightenment.” She smiled then at Fima. “Between the two of you, we will be armed with all the learning we need. And when we finally gain Tal-sithian, perhaps we can look to Arialde and…and maybe Lord Shandor. Surely he is no friend of Lord Kotos!”
Fima did not sleep at all that night. The notion that Lord Kotos was somehow involved with dealings in Dûn Arian, and with the affairs of the Company, seemed quite absurd. When Fima had last seen depictions of Kotos, they had been so horrible and terrifying that he could not imagine good-hearted folk coming anywhere near without fainting. And yet, Gaelen was obviously convinced. The parchment crackled in his jerkin, mocking him. “Oh…I can’t bear the suspense,” he whispered to no one in particular, throwing off his blankets and heading back to the riverbank, gathering deadwood as he did so, that he might make a small fire of his own.
The Company finally drew within sight of the great bridges and towers of Dûn Bennas, which sparkled through the grey, depressing rain like beacons of welcome. They were met by advance guards, who knew them at once. There was little fanfare, for they had not been expected, but that was just fine. King Hearndin was informed of their arrival., and the horses were taken to the stables while the Company was shown to their familiar guest quarters.
The first and most important request made of the people of Dûn Bennas was for hot water, and plenty of it. There is nothing like a good soaking in steaming hot water after days and days of hard riding in the rain.
Next, it was a hot meal and a flagon of good wine, together with wonderful, warm clothing made of velvet, wool, and soft leather. The Company had been asked whether they bore urgent tidings or whether they would just as soon stand before Hearndin after a good night’s rest.
“A good rest will not hurt, if it please the King,” said Rogond, to the relief of Fima and Hallagond, who had both been partaking of quite a good measure of wine. Soon they were sleeping in comfort for the first time in a long while.
The rain had cleared and the stars sparkled in the night sky as Gaelen and Nelwyn made their way to one of the tall, flat-topped observation towers. The watch was being kept, but not on this tower; it was the perfect place for star-gazing. There was even a stand where a very large version of Thorndil’s glass could be mounted, and objects in the heavens could be enlarged and seen with greater clarity.
“Is this a private gathering, or may anyone join it?” asked Carmyn, who had come up behind the Elves.
“You are welcome, of course,” said Nelwyn. “We do not sleep, but we often enjoy lying about gazing at the heavens. It is one of my favorite times to think and wonder about the nature of things.”
“Mine, too,” said Carmyn, spreading a blanket upon the stones. “My father was a map maker, but he also charted the stars. He taught me many things about what is seen in the night sky.”
Just then, a falling star blazed a bright golden trail in the dark, flared up, and went out forever. “What a pity,” said Carmyn, and there truly was deep sorrow in her voice.
The Elves were concerned. “Why is it a pity?” asked Gaelen. “Falling stars are beautiful—sent by Aontar to delight us. It is said that all thoughts held beneath a falling star are true.”
“Do you not understand that stars are not just pretty lights? They are other worlds,” said Carmyn. “Even as our sun gives life to Alterra, so each bright star gives life to a far distant world. Someone has just lost their sun, and therefore their world. I’d call that a pity.”
“You believe that…that stars are other worlds? That they are like the sun?” said Nelwyn, incredulous.
“That is what the people of Dûn Arian believe,” said Carmyn. “At least some of them. Sutherling astronomers, especially those from the great desert realms, were very knowledgeable. My father knew it. He always told me that there were many worlds in creation, and that Aontar rules them all. Light is the one thing they all have in common.”
“Wait a moment,” said Nelwyn, who was still trying to wrap her mind around the concept that the stars were really suns. “Are those tiny lights suns to tiny worlds? They look so small and cold…their light is not the same as sunlight. I do not understand.”
“They are very far away,” said Carmyn. “That’s why they are small and do not look the same as our sun does. Do you truly believe that all those lights, and all that blackness, were put here just to amuse us?”
“Well…they also aid mariners in steering their proper course,” said Nelwyn, who had never been on a ship in her life.
“And what do you think lies beyond the dome of stars?” asked Carmyn.
“I don’t know,” said Nelwyn. “Perhaps…the Spirit Realm?”
“As good an answer as any I have heard,” said Carmyn.
“I don’t think there’s an answer to that question,” said Gaelen. “Might we speak of something else?”
“A good idea,” said Nelwyn. “My head is hurting from such deep thoughts. But I must admit that I will not look at the stars in quite the same way again. I always thought they were lights put forth by the ancestors of the High-elves, arranged in the heavens to delight us and guide us. I never thought of them in any other way before.”
“What a pretty notion that is!” said Carmyn. “Perhaps I will not look at them in quite the same way, either.”
“It’s cold here,” said Nelwyn with a shiver.
“If you will both excuse me, I’m going now to find Rogond,” said Gaelen. “All these lofty thoughts have reminded me of my clever Aridan. I’ll warrant that he knows about all those other worlds.” So saying, she went from the tower to the chamber where her Thaylon was sleeping. She lay beside him, sharing warmth and smiling at the odd sounds he made, knowing that he only made them when he was conten
ted, and remained with him until dawn.
The Company had gone before Hearndin the previous day. The King expressed deep sorrow upon hearing of the death of Thorndil. “How tragic—that he should make that difficult journey, alone and at his age, only to come to such a terrible end! Our hearts are torn by it. He was a worthy and kind-hearted man. We will honor him here, for he was of our race. From now on, the southern watch-tower shall be named ‘Thorndil’s Tower.’”
This was a great honor, but some in the Company did not feel any better for it, Gaelen in particular.
Rogond told of their desire to reach Tal-sithian as soon as they had rested and replenished their supplies. “We will not need much,” said Galador. “The way between here and the Lake is both moderate and fruitful at this time of year. There will be plenty to sustain us. We are so accustomed to carrying a large water supply…this will be an easy path!” The Company agreed that it would be most welcome to have plenty of water and grass available along the next step in the journey.
“One thing troubles me,” said Nelwyn. “There will be new grass all along the way through the Srath Miadan, and the horses are not accustomed to such rich feed.”
Everyone understood Nelwyn’s concern. Horses did not fare well on rich, early spring grass when they were not used to it.
“Don’t worry, Nelwyn,” said Hearndin. “Our folk have ways of preventing your animals from over-eating. We will share them with you ere you depart.”
He turned to Gaelen. “Please, will you sing for us? We have missed the sound of your powerful, soft voice swelling and echoing through the stone columns and vaulted ceilings of our halls.”
Although the reminder of Thorndil had saddened her, Gaelen could not refuse. The sorrow in her voice was so deep and so poignant that even the eyes of the King were filled with unshed tears. When she had finished, he rose and bowed to her, removed a pretty golden ring from the last finger of his right hand, and held it out before her.
“With this gift I name you Most Favored Singer of the White Fortress,” he said. “You must agree to sing each day until you leave us. That will be another very sad day for me.”
Gaelen stood frozen until Fima, who stood beside her, spoke softly under his breath. “Take his gift, Gaelen. Take it with grace and humility, as I know you can. What he gives you is of great worth—and I am not referring to the ring.”
Gaelen approached the King, bowed low, and reached out to take the ring. It would just fit on her largest finger, the middle one, and she smiled. It was very beautiful.
“The generosity and wisdom of the Tuathar are unrivaled among men,” she said. “You have the deepest thanks from a humble singer, and the promise that I shall sing each day.” Then she stepped back, lifting her eyes to meet his. Should an enemy threaten Dûn Bennas, she would die to protect it.
It was not usual for Gaelen to be late for anything. She was often early, in fact. Elves were courteous folk, and it was thus unacceptable to keep anyone waiting without very good cause. In the case of Gaelen, this tendency to be early often degenerated into impatience, as she might think that everyone else could be expected to be early as well. She sometimes became exasperated with Rogond, who was quite often late. He was not as adept at diverting his energies into many different tasks at once, and would get distracted by one of them. Gaelen did not see that as an excuse and, depending on her mood, might treat him with a sort of offended disdain for several minutes. This was not typical of her kind—Gaelen was an impatient Elf. Now she was the offending party, and she was not happy about it.
She ran though the stone corridors as fast as she could, for she was already late for a meeting that she herself had called. When she finally reached the Halls of Learning and Lore, making far more clamor than usual, she was stopped in her tracks by the sound of a deep, booming voice filled with reprimand.
“Who disturbs my learned realm!” it said, startling Gaelen, who turned to behold a tall, shadowy figure barely visible in a darkened doorway.
“Ummm…I do?”
Astor the Chief Lore-master, emerged from the doorway so that Gaelen could see him. “You’re late, my noisy friend.”
“I’m sorry…” Her ears turned red; she had never been called “noisy” before in her life.
Astor smiled his familiar chilly smile. “It’s very good to see you, despite your tardiness. Come then, and join us. Fima and I have been waiting.”
Astor, Gaelen, and Fima spent the rest of the afternoon examining Gaelen’s parchment, and speculating as to the nature of Orrion and his connection with Gorgon Elfhunter. Astor would leave from time to time, returning with books and manuscripts as he deemed appropriate. Yet there was little to be found within that would truly confirm any of their suspicions.
At last, Astor closed one old and mighty volume, looking Gaelen hard in the eye. “You must describe Orrion to me in every detail. There may be something of significance that you have not told us. Please, little apprentice, think hard now. Close your eyes and recall him down to the last hair on his arm.”
Gaelen did as she was asked, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. She was a very observant and discerning person under normal circumstances, but in this case she had nearly been overcome, and it was difficult for her to recall anything but the evil in Orrion’s eyes and the stench of Gorgon. “All right,” she said at last. “I see him in my mind’s eye. What now?”
“Just start describing everything you see. Ramble as much as you like. Leave out nothing that comes into your mind.”
“I’m trying…but I cannot get past the eyes…and the terrible power I saw in them.”
“Do not look at them,” said Astor. “Blank them out if you can. The eyes are taking your mind from your task. Look instead at the rest of him now. You can do it.”
Gaelen drew a deep, sighing breath. “He was beautiful, I know that,” she said in a soft, drifting voice. “If not for the eyes, the rest is quite beautiful. He is tall…very, very tall. Golden armor…it has seen battle. He has golden hair, long and silken, like Nelwyn’s…only with just a hint of curl.
“Gorgon also has golden hair,” said Fima.
“No…his hair is paler…this was like Nelwyn’s.”
“The armor, Gaelen, was there any device upon it?” asked Fima.
“No…wait! There is no device upon the armor, but there is something there. It hangs around his neck, and is golden…it is some sort of amulet. It’s golden, like the rest of him.”
Astor had galvanized in his seat and was now leaning toward her, his entire body tense as he asked the next question. “Was there a bright stone in the center?”
“Not bright…it is deep, and golden. Yet it flashes in the fire-light.” Gaelen’s brow furrowed as she concentrated for a long moment. Suddenly she went pale, and all the strength left her body. “Oh…my…” she said, just before collapsing in a dead faint, sagging sideways and sliding to the floor.
“Gaelen…? Gaelen!” cried Fima, leaping up to aid her. He rounded on Astor. “What have you done to her?”
“I have done nothing, Lore-master. Calm yourself. She has been so intent on remembering that she has forgotten to breathe, nothing more. And I think what she has just revealed will silence any doubt I have held up to this moment.” He turned to one of his reference books and began to thumb through it with great care, his white-gloved fingers caressing the pages like old friends.
Fima went to aid Gaelen, who was beginning to stir. Astor was right; she had been holding her breath. But that was not the only source of her distress. When she focused upon the amulet, she sensed the power within it, and that power could now only be used in Darkness. That Darkness had taken the light from her eyes. She moaned in pain and confusion; she had bruised herself upon the stone floor, and she did not remember where she was for a moment.
“There, there,” said Fima as he patted her shoulder. He was not comfortable touching her without leave.
The color came back into Gaelen’s cheeks and she roused
herself, recovering her wits as she and Fima rejoined Astor at the table.
“Did you learn anything of value?” she asked Astor, who was still studying the pages of the book. He turned it so that she could see an old engraving of what appeared to be an exact copy of Orrion’s amulet, inscribed in a tongue she did not know. She started to reach out to it, but drew her hand back, looking up at Astor and nodding. At last he closed the book.
“You were right, Gaelen,” he said. “Lord Kotos the Deceiver has walked upon your path.” Both Gaelen and Fima went pale.
“The amulet? Of course! I saw it, peeking out from his tunic. We all saw it! Why did I not remember it until now?” said Fima, bringing his stout fist down upon the table in frustration.
“It carries a power that allows it to be noticed…or not,” said Astor. “If Lord Kotos wills it, the amulet can be so noticeable that it overcomes the beholder with desire for it, or, as in this case, it can appear to be nothing of consequence.” He shook his head. “Léiras and Dardis knew what they were doing when they crafted it, but they never considered that their work could be turned to such dark purposes. How regrettably short-sighted of them.”
He reached out to Gaelen and turned her left hand, observing the ring Hearndin had given her. A beautiful red ruby in the shape of a cat’s eye glowed from a setting of woven gold. “That is a fire-stone. How very appropriate. Well done, and well-remembered, Gaelen Taldin. Lord Kotos has been unmasked.”
“So…we can trust nothing we have seen or heard while he was near,” said Gaelen. “And Nelwyn’s vision, I believe, was planted by the Deceiver to manipulate the Company. The question is…in what manner, and to what end?”
“We must ask Nelwyn to describe her vision again, and to leave out no detail,” said Astor.
“But we must not tell her why,” said Gaelen. “The knowledge will unbalance her! I want to wait until we are in Tal-sithian. Lady Arialde will be able to aid Nelwyn when the truth becomes known.