by C S Marks
It was a warm winter cloak of beautiful, thick wool of a soft blue-grey color, the hood trimmed in cream-colored fur that Gaelen recognized as the winter coat of a northern fox. It was very old, but had been carefully looked after.
“This was our mother’s favorite cloak,” said Gwaryn. “She said that she was never cold while wearing it, and the color reminded her of mists upon the Lake. She would want you to have it now.”
Tears came to Eryn’s eyes. “This creature, Gorgon, has brought nothing but suffering to my mother’s people and shame to her memory. He killed her, there is no doubt of it, yet it was not his doing. He is only what fate has made him. Please, when you take him, do not cause him any more suffering than you must, no matter what vengeful desires you might hold. Our mother would not have it so.”
“You must desire his death, surely,” said Gaelen, who had not expected such an expression of mercy.
“We do,” said Gwaryn. “Yet he is, after all, our half-brother. It nearly sickens me to say it, but it is no less true. By all means, take him from the world, but do not visit pain upon him on our account.”
“I doubt very much that I will be given that opportunity,” said Gaelen. “I would not toy with such a fearsome foe. When the chance comes to strike, I will strike. Yet, though I will not cause him pain on behalf of Brinneal, neither will I withhold it! Do not hold hope that Gorgon will go easily into death.”
“Wear this, then, and think of the tenderness of our mother’s heart,” said Eryn. “May it warm you and comfort you when the nights are cold and the lonely winds chill your spirit.”
“I will think of Brinneal’s tender heart,” said Gaelen, “lest my own heart grow too cold and hard. My thanks for your gift…it is fitting.” Gwaryn and Eryn bowed, and then left Arialde alone with Gaelen, Fima, and Rogond.
“I must say my farewells to you now,” said Arialde, “for there will be others attending your departure. My estimation of the Woodland folk has grown since knowing you, Gaelen, though I have always held them in esteem. Farahin made a wise choice. Rogond, take care as you travel to the land of your ancestors. You may not find welcome there now, yet Gaelen trusts in your clever mind to rule the day, and hence I will not worry so much. Fima…your heart is as true as that of any dwarf who ever walked in this world. Guard it well.” She bowed then, and spoke to them one final time. “Receive now your gift, and farewell. I hope that we might meet again.”
She reached out toward them with both hands, as she had to the scouts, and they felt her power surge forth, filling them with resolve and hope. They would take comfort in that power in times to come. Arialde grew bright with inner light, then slowly faded, and was gone. Yet her voice was heard within every heart.
Be blessed…
Gaelen, Rogond, and Fima set out just after midnight, having ferried across the lake to the grassy meadows where their horses waited. Toran, Eros, and Faladinn stood by, laden and ready. The boatmen and the horse-handlers were the only ones to see them off, but no one minded. After all, this was a secret quest. Toran stood, quiet and meek, knowing that the task before him was an important one and he must not play about.
Faladinn was resigned to bearing the wooden casket containing the Stone, along with their other gear, but he bore the load with no complaint. This was nothing new to him. Rogond marveled once more at the fortitude of their little brown Kazhi-horse, who had not once been lame, had maintained his condition on practically no feed, and who had never complained about his lot in life. He was a stoic little spirit, and he absolutely loved Gaelen, who groomed him and gave him apples. In her opinion, they had much in common.
They set out in darkness, Fima riding with Rogond while Gaelen led Faladinn at an easy, ground-covering trot. It was a good thing that Eros ran as gently as the river he had been named for, or else Fima would have been most uncomfortable. As it was, he said nothing about it, though he gripped Rogond’s midsection tightly, knowing that there were many, many miles to go. They made their way northward through the marsh-meadows, unaware that, at the same time, their friends would soon draw within range of Mountain-home.
Gaelen rode in silence. Both she and Rogond trained their senses outward, as wary as they had ever been, though they knew the greater peril was north of the river. She intended to make certain that Lord Wrothgar paid for his violation of her spirit, and her thoughts were dark and violent—exactly the kind that would be difficult to keep from Gorgon Elfhunter. She mastered herself…such thoughts would not do! She left them behind in Tal-sithian, where they belonged.
Far to the northeast, Nelwyn was also keeping her thoughts to herself. She had been riding behind the column of warriors dispatched by the Lady to aid the Elves of Mountain-home during the anticipated upcoming attack; they had been on the march now for over a fortnight. They had crossed the treacherous waters of the southern Amar Dess, and that task alone had taken nearly two days.
They had since been met by grey-clad scouts who conducted them toward a plateau surrounded by tall, snow-capped peaks—the hidden realm of Mountain-home. The way in from the southwest was difficult and treacherous, as were all ways into Mountain-home, but it was the most direct.
Nelwyn tossed her golden head with impatience. She was tired of riding so slowly, though it would have been increasingly difficult to go at a faster pace as the terrain worsened. Considering that most of them were on foot, the Elves had made very good time, yet Nelwyn was still impatient.
Galador wondered about it, for impatience usually was not in her nature. “Be at ease,” he said. “We’ll get there soon enough. Why are you in such a hurry?”
“Because I have much to do,” she replied. “I want to speak to Ordath and deliver all messages to her. It seems as though we are moving at a snail’s pace.”
“We’re not,” said Galador. “We are making good time. Don’t be in such a hurry to get to Mountain-home…we don’t know what we will find when we get there.”
“Precisely why we should make even better time,” said Nelwyn. “You heard the reports of the scouts earlier—word is that Wrothgar’s northern armies are gathering for an attack. There will be battle soon, and there are things I must do first.”
“What things?” asked Galador, his voice deep and gentle. He reached across the gap between them and took her hand. “What things, Nelwyn?”
“I will share them when the time is right,” she said. “For now, I would prefer to keep them to myself.”
Galador scowled. “What have you and Gaelen been planning? Both Rogond and I noticed that you brightened up immediately upon spending time with her. I know you have formed some sort of plan. What is it?”
“I’ll tell you later,” she said. “For now, I must keep my own counsel.” She looked up at the column of Elves in front of her. “Now what? Why are they slowing down…again?” Galador sighed and shook his head. There would be no cure for her impatience that he could think of.
At last, Nelwyn’s prayers were answered as one of the scouts rode back to speak with her. “Please,” he said, “who leads your Company?”
All eyes turned toward Nelwyn. “It would seem that I do,” she said. “I am Nelwyn of the Greatwood Realm. I bear a message for Lady Ordath from Lady Arialde.”
“So we have been told,” said the scout. “Please, move to the front of the column. We will conduct you with all speed.”
“At last!” said Nelwyn under her breath.
Galador shook his head. “You’re acting like Gaelen,” he muttered.
Nelwyn sighed. “If that is true, then I don’t know how she has managed to not explode into a thousand pieces. I have not experienced this sort of impatience often, and it wears me down.”
Galador shook his head again, but he did not reply. Nelwyn would feel better once they got into Mountain-home. He wondered about the nature of the message Nelwyn was to bring to Lady Ordath, but even if he had asked her about it, he suspected she would not have known what to tell him.
Gaelen and company had be
en on the northward road for three days and had just crossed the southern river Artan. This had proved to be something of a trick, and it was fortunate that the spring rains had already come and gone. Gaelen and Rogond had tracked up and down its banks for several hours until they finally found a suitable crossing point. They were most concerned about Faladinn, who supposedly bore the most precious object in the world on his back. “Don’t worry,” said Gaelen. “This is the only river crossing we’ll need to make if we keep to our plan.”
“The casket is heavy,” said Fima. “I can’t help but worry. Why did we need to put it on such a short horse?”
“Would you rather Toran bear it, or Eros?” laughed Rogond. “Then you could ride Faladinn.”
Fima grumbled and blustered at the thought. They all knew that Faladinn could not be ridden by anyone except Gaelen.
“Don’t worry, Fima,” Gaelen repeated. “Faladinn may be short, but he’s capable. This is not the first stream he has crossed.” She turned Faladinn loose so that he could find his own way across the river. “Besides, if the casket falls off, we’ll just…retrieve it.”
“Oh, won’t that be a pleasure then?” said Fima. “I can just imagine chasing it all the way down the Ambros into Wrothgar’s waiting arms.”
“Not likely, my good dwarf, as it will not float,” said Rogond.
“Hmmph. I suppose not,” said Fima. “But you will be the ones dredging it up from the bottom if it falls in!”
“I trust Faladinn,” said Gaelen simply, and that was that.
As soon as the crossing was made, they camped for the night. It was a sobering time, as they had truly left Arialde’s influence. From now on, they were vulnerable.
“Have you seen any ravens?” asked Fima, who knew that both Gaelen and Rogond would see things that he could not. They looked at him and nodded. They had each seen several ravens, often two at a time. It was, after all, their nesting season, when raven parents would be out foraging on behalf of their young chicks. “I wonder if any of them has taken notice of us,” Fima whispered, though it was on all of their minds.
Kotos had, indeed, taken notice of the Company, flying high and fast. It was important that his raven should appear to be engaged in business of its own, therefore it would not do to fly too low, or to circle over the heads of the Company. That would amount to posting a banner saying “Lord Kotos is here!”
His partnership with Gorgon was working well at present. During daylight, as the Company moved on, Gorgon would rest while Kotos took wing. After dark, the Elfhunter would emerge and track his quarry while the raven roosted with Kotos. Gorgon was always easy for Kotos to find, as he carried the amulet and it called to its master. As a result, Kotos and Gorgon spent very little time together, which pleased them both. Kotos knew that it was unwise to wear out his welcome, and the relief he saw on Gorgon’s face each time they were reunited reassured him. Gorgon knew that, should he defy Kotos and go his own way, the raven would catch him quickly. He suspected that he was no match for the power an enraged Lord Kotos could wield against him. Besides that, he had been directed to follow Gaelen, which was just what he wanted to do anyway. All was well for the moment.
Kotos had returned, having observed the river crossing, and had gone back into the amulet to report to Lord Wrothgar. Gaelen and company had ventured outside Arialde’s influence—from that point on, no power of Light would assist them. Kotos described the casket borne by the pack horse. Though it was covered with a canvas drape, he had caught a glimpse of it on one of his many flights.
Wrothgar praised Kotos and Gorgon, promising to reward them both, and then he sent forth his personal guard—one hundred fierce, wily Ulcas and five evil men—all professional killers. The Stone would be taken with little resistance. Arialde’s Elven guards ranged in a wide circle around the Company and they could not reassemble quickly enough to defend against an attack. The poor fools did not expect one.
Deep within the bright fires of Tûr Dorcha, Wrothgar laughed. The Elves had played right into His hands, and the Stone of Léir would soon be under His control. He reveled in the thought of Shandor, once His greatest foe, forced to submit to His directives. He would use Shandor’s grief, promising that Liathwyn might again be his, luring Shandor into a snare from which there would be no escape. Then Wrothgar would know whatever He desired, and they would all fall before Him. Lord Kotos would receive great reward…but what of Gorgon Elfhunter?
Wrothgar had always been dismayed by Gorgon’s inherent disobedience, and some of the behaviors reported by Lord Kotos were disturbing. The Shadowmancer did not tolerate defiance, and once the Elves were defeated, who could know where Gorgon’s thoughts would turn? Wrothgar resolved to promise reward, but once victory was certain, He would kill Gorgon at the earliest opportunity. The Elfhunter was, after all, half Elven.
Gaelen waited until Fima and Rogond were both sleeping to accomplish her task, for it was delicate, and she could bear no distraction. She sat in the branches of a lonely pine overlooking the grasslands north of the Artan, which they had crossed two days before. She had seen no sign of the raven since yesterday.
Gaelen had become very, very adept at controlling her thoughts and emotions in recent months. Her mind, once undisciplined, was now very well ordered. It had to be. This was taxing to her nature—not all the silver in Gaelen’s hair had come from her direct encounter with Gorgon—yet this was their last journey “together,” and Gaelen knew it. Either he falls this time, or I do…
Therefore, she set herself to her purpose, clearing her mind of all other thoughts, and opened herself to the Elfhunter.
She imagined herself within a waking dream, as she and her friends moved northward, carrying the Stone. All seemed well, but then the servants of Wrothgar converged on the Company. Gaelen acted the moment they appeared, grasping a large rock, uncovering the casket and jerking it open. There lay the precious Stone, the one thing Wrothgar desired above all else, the thing that he knew would bring him back to power. Gaelen did not hesitate, but raised the rock high and, with a cry, brought it down upon the crystal, shattering it beyond repair. She imagined Shandor’s cry of anguish, visualizing the release of his spirit into nothingness, and focused on the fragments of the Stone, which had all gone dark. The Ulcas reeled back, knowing that their mission had failed and the wrath of Lord Wrothgar would now fall upon their heads. Gaelen then repeated the same thought over and over.
I must do this…I must destroy the Stone…I will destroy it…it will not be taken!
She then imagined waking from the dream and crying out to Rogond, who came to aid her. In her mind she told him that she had held a most dreadful vision, and that whatever else happened, she would destroy the Stone if any servant of Wrothgar appeared, just in case. “If I fall to an enemy, you must do the same,” she told Rogond. “It is better to remove the Stone from this world than to allow it to fall into Darkness. It is under our control now, and I will do what I must do.” She sent that thought out as well, repeating it several times. I will do what I must…I will do what I must…I will…
Gorgon was in that moment making his way toward her, at about ten miles distant. He had not as yet encountered Arialde’s scouts, yet that would not dismay him. They thought they were skilled? Ha! Gorgon had already worked his way past them twice…none in the world save the Vixen could match him for stealth. Now he stopped in his tracks, sensing some strong thoughts…very strong.
Apparently, the Vixen was lost in some sort of waking dream, and she could not guard herself. He took in her thoughts as though they were his own, seeing and hearing as though he held the mirror again. What he saw both fascinated and terrified him. By the time her thoughts finally faded from his awareness, he was utterly convinced that she would make good on her word.
He had to warn Lord Kotos at once! He knew that Wrothgar had sent forces to take the Stone. At least some of them would no doubt rendezvous with Gorgon and Kotos, but what about the others? Even if they do not attack, if the Vi
xen became aware of them she might destroy the Stone just to be safe. He looked into the amulet, calling to Lord Kotos.
When Kotos heard Gorgon’s urgent call, he roused the raven, which had been standing on one foot with its head tucked under its wing. Ravens do not like to fly in darkness, as they are not made for it, and this one gave several loud, harsh calls of protest before Kotos could convince it.
Gaelen heard the distant calls of the raven and smiled in the dark. The seeds had been planted. “Now let’s see what will be done about it,” she whispered, shifting her position in the tall tree so that she faced the south.
Lord Kotos heard the news with dismay. Gorgon allowed him to enter his thoughts, and when he searched them, Kotos knew that Gorgon had not imagined them, nor was he trying to deceive.
“The Vixen will smash the Stone at the slightest excuse,” said Gorgon. “I do hope Lord Wrothgar has not sent anyone out to intercept her.”
Never mind about that, thought Kotos. Are you certain this vision is true? If you are, I must take action at once.
“She cannot guard her thoughts from me,” said Gorgon. “In dreams, all thoughts are known. She has told me of her plan, though she does not realize it. These thoughts were as clear to me as if I looked through her eyes.” He drew a deep breath. “I would most certainly take action if I were you.”
His pale eyes narrowed. “As I said before, I do hope Wrothgar has not sent out forces as yet. And if he has, I trust they have been instructed to do no harm to the Vixen. She is mine, remember? No matter what else befalls, the Vixen is mine!”
Of course, Kotos soothed, even as he knew the absurdity of it. Wrothgar’s Ulcas would not spare Gaelen. We would never rob you of your vengeance, for you have served well. Have no fear.