Ravenshade

by C S Marks

  “I will simply tell her that I wish to record every detail of her premonition for historical value,” said Astor. “It is true, after all.”

  “The important thing is that we will not be the agents of deceit that bring about the downfall of the Lake-realm, or whatever other dark purpose Kotos had in mind,” said Gaelen. “From this moment, I must guard my thoughts. I do not wish to alert Gorgon that I have seen through his disguise.”

  “Indeed not,” said Fima. “Gaelen, how do you know that Nelwyn’s vision came from Orrion? Did she tell you he was there?”

  “No, but she did not need to,” Gaelen replied. “She smelled of oranges.”

  Although this last comment made no sense to Astor, it was not confusing at all to Fima, who smiled and nodded back at her.

  It took Gaelen several days to adjust to the impact of the knowledge she had gained. She replayed her entire association with Orrion over and over, shuddering at the thought of his walking among the good people of Dûn Arian without suspicion, cursing herself for not seeing through her enemy’s veil of lies. It didn’t matter that the most powerful Light-bearers had been deceived by Lord Kotos—she was a hunter-scout, and she had failed to recognize an enemy. Everything made sense…and nothing made sense.

  The turmoil never left her mind, except during her daily performances for the King. She did not allow any unsettling thoughts to invade the clear, rich perfection of her voice. Citizens, soldiers, and guards alike paused in their labors and turned their attention to the song that swelled forth from the Great Hall. Gaelen’s voice was arguably the greatest of all her gifts. It would be awhile before any of the local minstrels would dare perform again.

  On one dark night, she stood again upon the flat-topped observation tower, as the wind rose about her and the lightning flashed in the eastern sky. She did not like storms that blew from the east, as they were often violent and destructive. The east wind was wild, the eastern blizzards fierce, and the eastern rains lashed cold and hard. Even Gaelen did not understand what had compelled her to stand upon this wild and dangerous vantage point.

  She saw Rogond making his way through the streets below, no doubt trying to find her, for the storm would be a bad one and he would want her to shelter with him. Just as she turned to go, a jagged bolt of lightning struck so near to where she was standing that it knocked her from her feet. She fell back, senseless, striking her head on the stone floor, blinded and deafened by the blast.

  The voice and face of Orrion appeared in her mind’s eye, but the voice did not sound the same as it had before. It was deeper and more malicious, and it terrified her. It did not growl like Gorgon…it was horrible! This was the voice of Kotos as she had heard it in the Queen’s tent, when he held no concerns about concealing his true nature.

  You think to defeat me? I am more powerful than your mind can even imagine! You are by far the most foolish soul I have ever met, you pathetic Sylvan weakling. Your people have no power over me—I ruined the Èolar long ago. I killed Ri-Aldamar, and Dardis, and by my hand the greatest realm of Alterra was destroyed. Do not think to set yourself against me. You will not survive!

  Gaelen was nearly overcome with terror, but she swallowed hard. She would not—could not—back down.

  You rule only through deceit! I have unmasked you. Whatever plan you held will not work now. Go back to wherever it is you came from, only leave Gorgon behind. I have not yet finished with him!

  Kotos’ laughter rang in her mind—the most horrible laughter she had ever heard. As she looked for the last time upon his face, it changed and twisted into the apparition of Gelmyr, long dead as she had seen him before. The apparition laughed, too.

  I were you, I would not keep this knowledge to myself, it said. Something bad might happen. It’s a long way to Tal-sithian!

  Gaelen awoke with Gelmyr’s laughter ringing in her ears, such that she could not hear the anxious voice of Rogond, who had found her at last.

  She would not speak of her vision, as she did not wish to frighten Fima, who would no doubt wonder if Kotos had actually appeared in it. If that had been true, the plan already forming in Gaelen’s mind would have to change. But when she looked deep within herself, she knew that the image and voice had come from her own imagining of Kotos, and not from any actual visitation by him. As for the image of Gelmyr, she knew where that had originated as well. It was the voice of her own fears, warning her. She decided to take the warning, asking that Rogond and Galador come to counsel with her that very afternoon.

  She explained the entire situation to them after first exacting the promise of strict confidence. After hearing of it, both were distressed—Galador feared for Nelwyn, and Rogond for Gaelen. They also feared for the future of the Light.

  Gaelen reassured them. “As with Gorgon’s mirror, we now have knowledge of our enemies, and they do not realize it. With this knowledge, I believe we may defeat them both. Kotos can only prevail if we are deceived.”

  “What must now be done?” asked Galador. “It would seem that Kotos was trying to lead us into some action, so that Wrothgar would profit from it. What action, and to what end?”

  “I have some thoughts on that,” said Gaelen, “and so does Fima. Yet I believe I will put that question before Arialde when we get to Tal-sithian. One thing is certain—the end concerns the Stone of Léir.”

  “I don’t even want to imagine what Wrothgar could do with the Stone at his command,” said Rogond.

  “We do not need to imagine it…Nelwyn has seen it,” said Galador, shuddering with indignation at this dreadful invasion of his beloved.

  “Do you both see now why we must not reveal our insights?” said Gaelen. “We must continue as we have been, as though we still believe everything Nelwyn foretold. This will be hardest for her to bear once the truth becomes known. When we arrive in Tal-sithian, all will be set right, and a wise plan can be made. Lord Kotos must not know of our insight until the time is right, nor must his servant, Gorgon Elfhunter.”

  She frowned and shook her head. “I must say, it surprises me to learn of Gorgon’s complicity with Kotos. I had not thought him willing to be led by anyone. Kotos must have ensnared him with dark promises such that he cannot escape.”

  “Perhaps he has simply been overtaken, or threatened with death,” said Rogond. “There may have been no complicity.”

  Gaelen shook her head. “No…he is a willing part of the plan. Don’t ask me how I know it, but he has been convinced to go along with it somehow.”

  “Proof, if any were needed, that everything has its price,” said Galador. “I’ll warrant Kotos convinced Gorgon that this is the only way to defeat his mortal enemy, the very perceptive and admirably ferocious Gaelen of the Greatwood.”

  “Do not jest about it,” said Gaelen.

  “I was not jesting,” said Galador. “I am quite serious.”

  “Probably the most serious person I’ve ever met,” said Gaelen, and her somber expression was broken for the first time that day by the hint of a smile. “At least now there are four of us to carry the knowledge to Tal-sithian. It’s less likely that four will fall than two.”

  “I am not expecting any of us to fall!” said Rogond.

  “Nor am I,” said Gaelen. “Wrothgar has no doubt ordered his minions to stay away from our path. After all, if we are taken, his delicate plan will collapse. A lot of effort for nothing…that would not sound pleasing to the Dark Powers. Yet there are perils other than Ulcas and Trolls. I still feel safer sharing these revelations.”

  “That’s true,” said Galador. “Your clumsy horse could trip and fall on you. And if he is passing too near to Eros, he might knock Fima from the saddle and trample him in confusion. Rogond might also be lost if Eros cannot keep his feet. Therefore, I believe I shall keep my distance from all of you.”

  Gaelen turned to Rogond. “He’s just so appealing when he tries to be humorous, isn’t he?” She was weary; it showed in her face as she sank back down upon the soft cushions that had
been laid before the fire.

  Rogond looked over at Galador, who, realizing that his presence was no longer required, bowed and took his leave. Rogond sat beside Gaelen, taking her into his arms, enfolding her in warmth and comforting strength. Then he told her the tale of a famous battle between the mariners of Tallasiar and the Corsairs of Fómor, delighting her beyond measure.

  Gorgon had discovered a comfortable hole in which he could shelter from the rains and the wind while he waited for the Company to depart from Dûn Bennas. The raven, bearing Lord Kotos, went forth every few days, flying straight to the stables. As long as the horses remained, so did the Company. The bird managed to steal an occasional treat for Gorgon, be it a loaf of bread, a small sack of sweets, or even a nice bit of roasted meat. On this occasion it brought him a savory, herb-stuffed roasted pigeon that disappeared in three bites, bones and all.

  “I see you have chosen to forego your newly-acquired table manners,” said Kotos, frowning at Gorgon from within the amulet. “How easy it is to slip back into old habits. Just try not to forget them completely, will you? It’s just possible that Orrion may need to make another convincing appearance.”

  “Oh, be quiet!” snarled Gorgon. “If you’re unhappy with my table manners, then perhaps you should turn your attention elsewhere. That would not disappoint me.”

  “Or perhaps I should forego the courtesy of delivering food to your waiting mouth,” said Kotos with a sneer. “That would not disappoint me.”

  “That would suit me just fine,” said Gorgon, and he meant it. “Save your offerings for the raven. It appreciates them more than I do. I would rather eat raw, cold flesh, or nothing at all, than put up with your all-consuming arrogance.”

  “I thought I made it clear that you were to maintain respect in my presence?” said Kotos with a menacing look at Gorgon.

  “You know, I was just thinking,” said Gorgon as if to no one in particular. “My desire is a simple one…to take down Gaelen Taldin, together with as many of the Elves as I can manage. I know where she is, and I know where she is going. I could get to her with no difficulty. Some Dark Asarla believes he can control my actions through threats of force, pain, whatever…but if he could hear me now, I would tell him that he’s wrong about that. The only way to ensure my cooperation is with promise of reward. Perhaps he would do better to remind me of the reward he has already promised, as I might forget. That would be so much more effective than threats.”

  Kotos could no longer be seen in the amulet, except as an inky cloud of annoyance. Finally, a voice came forth from it. “Speaking of all-consuming arrogance, it is an amazing coincidence that I happen to be thinking very similar thoughts, except that my thoughts have run a slightly different course. I was thinking that a certain mighty and intelligent Elfhunter, whose all-encompassing desire is to slay Elves, would not allow his woeful lack of respect to jeopardize the realization of that desire. It would seem a small price to pay. Such a pity that foolish pride, the hallmark of the Elves, will allow them to live on.”

  Gorgon did not answer, but growled and rumbled deep down in his cavernous chest. Kotos knew his point had been taken, but begrudgingly. I hope we don’t spend too long in waiting, as it allows Gorgon far too much time to consider things. It won’t do for him to get too deep into his own thoughts. Kotos gave a figurative sigh. Gorgon was without doubt the most difficult host he had ever encountered.

  Despite mild protest from Nelwyn, the Company lingered for a few more weeks until the worst of the spring storms had passed. There was sense in waiting, as very stormy weather would slow their progress. They would make better time under the sun. They took their leave, having said their farewells to the King, to Astor, and to others in the City whom they had befriended. The Captain of the Guard, a tall, barrel-chested man named Cronar, expressed special regret at their departure, for Azori had regaled the guardsmen each night with tales of his own nefarious exploits in the south.

  Of particular note was a very bawdy and now-infamous incident in a tavern known as The Skulking Raven, which had resulted in Azori’s band being driven out of Castalan. Azori imagined that the Shade of his lost brother Azok sat at his right hand, laughing along with him, whenever he told that story. Azok had played a prominent role in it.

  Gaelen very much regretted leaving Astor, for she admired him almost as much as she admired Fima. She would also miss King Hearndin, for he was just and wise, and she had grown fond of him. But her deepest and most painful regret was that Thorndil had ever left the City.

  If only he had stayed here…he could have met us as we returned to share friendship and tales. She remembered him raising his arm in farewell as he stood upon the south tower that now bore his name. It was her last sight of him as a living man. Judging by the somber faces of her friends as they rode beside her, Gaelen knew that her thoughts of Thorndil were shared.

  They headed north and east along the riverbank just after sunrise. The horses settled to their task, all except Toran, who played about, pretending to shy at nothing as an excuse to snort and leap forward. Gaelen was accustomed to his antics by now, and did not allow him to bait her. When they stopped to rest, she took away his good humor by allowing him only a small amount of the new grass. She fastened a leather muzzle to his head-collar that only allowed him to pick a few blades here and there. Each of the horses had been fitted with one.

  “Stop your complaining,” said Rogond, taking note of Eros’ particularly disgusted expression. “Would you rather I allow you to give yourself a belly-ache? In a few days you will be used to this forage, and you will not need to wear the muzzle…at least, not all the time.”

  Eros glared at Rogond’s back. He loved spring grass—sweet, tender, and green. He did not see the sense in anyone’s preventing him from eating it. After carefully placing his foot on the very edge of the leather muzzle, Eros set his strong neck and threw his head in the air. The leather gave just enough that Eros’ nose and upper jaw slipped around it. The edge of the muzzle was now wedged against his lower lip, producing a permanent “smile.” Eros did not care how silly he looked—he had accomplished his primary objective, and was now free to eat the grass. The irritating muzzle rubbed his lip, but that was a small price to pay for victory.

  Three days after they had gone, the raven noticed that the horses were no longer in the stable. It flew back to Gorgon’s shelter with the news that the Company had departed. “Now we should make our way to the lands north of the Linnefionn,” said Kotos. “We have plenty of time, as our enemies will linger for a while in deciding their course. Elves never decide anything without endless debate and discussion.”

  “We dare not come too close,” said Gorgon. “I am known to them. I slew a large number of the Elves of Tal-sithian the last time I encountered them, and they will not have forgotten it. The Vixen told me that the Elf-realms have been warned of me, and I believe her.”

  “Do not fear,” said Kotos, “although I face the same constraints. I cannot venture too near the Island of Tal-sithian, even carried on wings. Arialde will recognize her beloved brother, no matter the disguise. Yet we will prevail, for the raven will fly through the lands north of the Lake. If our plan works, the Elves will try to move the Stone. When they do, Lord Wrothgar will have them. Once He gains possession of the Stone, all will be well for us.”

  “But how do you know where they will take it?” asked Gorgon. “The Linnefionn is a large lake. They could slip away from us.”

  “I have a fair notion ,” said Kotos. “I know how Arialde’s mind works. We should also expect to see some of the Elves making their way to Mountain-home. They will want to verify the massing of forces in the Fell-ruin, and they will want to alert Ordath.”

  “What massing of forces in the Fell-ruin?” said Gorgon. “Any massing would be done in the Darkmere, I expect. The Lord Wrothgar calls from Tûr Dorcha, not from the Fell-ruin.”

  “I assure you that the Stone will not go anywhere near Tûr Dorcha. You cannot understand, as you
were not privy to the vision I implanted in Nelwyn’s mind,” said Kotos. “Again, you must trust me.”

  The journey to Tal-sithian was not eventful, except for one fine afternoon when it seemed that the question of who was the swifter of the grey stallions would finally be settled. The Company had been averaging between twenty and thirty miles a day, which is a sensible pace if one wishes to undertake a journey of nearly six hundred miles with no significant interruptions. This pace allowed them to rest between twilight and dawn, and to stop and rest during the day as required. The turf was fine and springy, but there were also long stretches of lowland that had been turned to mud by the rains, and these made for slower going.

  Réalta and Toran found that they were once again trotting stride-for-stride, and this time the challenge could not be denied.

  Keep to your place behind me, said Réalta, lifting his nose into the air.

  I will not, said Toran, extending his stride. Who says it is your place to lead?

  I have always done so, and the High-elf says it, said Réalta.

  And who is the High-elf to say it? The Soft-singer commands me, and she does not mind if I lead. I will not back off just because you say so. Toran had grown weary of Réalta’s insecurities.

  Soft-singer chose me, and not you, when it mattered, you foolish animal. You think to outrun me? You had just better think again, said Réalta, snorting and shaking his head, his ears laid back.

  We have been here before, I believe, and we were never given the chance to prove who is right, said Toran. Well, now let us just settle this question, shall we?

  I see there are no stones to trip you up this time, said Réalta. Yet I must not go against the will of the High-elf. I may only run if he commands it. Both horses had been increasing their speed a little at a time, and they were already cantering.