by C S Marks
“I would like to make a few more miles before dusk, Fima,” said Gaelen. “Will you not ride?”
Fima had been walking on his own feet for the last several miles. The pace of the Company had been slow and deliberate. Fima had not slowed their progress…not yet…but he was getting weary at last.
“If I did not ache so from sitting atop those enormous animals, my legs could carry me all the day and night,” he grumbled. Yet despite his wish to deny it, he knew that his weariness was only due in part to soreness from riding.
“Well, then, let’s try to solve the problem,” said Rogond, who knew that Fima was sensitive about the fact that age was catching up with him. “If it is your legs and seat that ache from straddling my broad-backed horse, perhaps we should try another method.” He reined Eros to a halt and dismounted. “Where sitting is painful, standing might do.”
He lifted Fima onto Eros’ back, placing him behind the saddle. Then he remounted with some difficulty. “All right, Fima, now place your hands on my shoulders and try to stand up.”
“What?” said Fima.
“Try to stand up! Place your feet behind the back of the saddle, and stand up. Use my shoulders to balance, and brace your feet between my saddle-packs.”
Fima struggled to follow Rogond’s directive, grumbling and growling as he pulled himself into a standing position. Finally, he stood upon the back of the saddle-skirt, looking over Rogond’s head.
“Now, you see? You are the perfect lookout in that position,” said Rogond. “As long as Eros only walks, you should have no trouble.”
Fima discovered that this was more comfortable than sitting. It was, in fact, a lot like walking with no effort, as his feet rose and fell alternately with Eros’ hindquarters. Yet he grew dizzy if he looked down at the ground. He focused on the horizon ahead of him, and took a deep breath. “All right,” he said. “Let’s move on.”
At last they decided to camp for the night. Gaelen tended the horses and soon had a fire going, while Rogond went out foraging. He came back with two plump squirrels in his hand, as well as some fine wild greens. Though the meal wasn’t quite a match for the cuisine of Mountain-home, it was much appreciated. Gaelen settled down by the fire, listening to the barely discernable but comforting sound of the scouts of Tal-sithian calling to one another from the distant tree-tops.
The Elves were watching for ordinary travelers, and were not anticipating three black-clad assassins. Wrothgar’s men stole in toward the Company’s encampment from the southwest, against the night wind. They knew of the Elven guards, and they knew how to avoid them. Their instructions had been very clear. They were to kill everyone in the Company, and then take the Stone back past the guards. If they did their work well, there would be no sound and the Elves would not be aware of anything until dawn. By then it would be too late. Wrothgar’s Ulcas should be approaching from the south by this time. The men could have waited for reinforcements, but they had no desire to share the glory—or the reward—with Ulcas.
Three dark shapes crouched in silent concealment, near enough to cast their blades. Gaelen lifted her head, listening. She sensed something amiss, and they knew that it was time to act, lest she warn the others. Each man focused his attention on a different member of the Company, as all had agreed. They drew their dark blades forth without a sound. The first man nodded and raised his arm to strike, yet the blade flew wide of its target. There were two reasons for this: one was that Gaelen had heard the sound of the blade slicing through the air and had moved out of the way, and the other was that the man now had a black dagger buried in his throat. The second man raised his own blade to cast it at Rogond, but a second black dart took him and he fell, crying out in surprise. The third looked around in panic as a lone, black shadow came from nowhere, breaking his neck with a single blow. He fell in a disorganized heap.
By this time, all three members of the Company had drawn their weapons, preparing to face their unknown assailant. Who had managed to get past the Elves?
“Lay down your weapons, and do not fear!” said a voice. “I am a friend. I have just killed three men who were trying to do harm to you. Please allow a friend to approach you, Gaelen, Rogond, and Fima Lore-master, for there is a message I would bring.”
“Show yourself!” said Gaelen, who was not in a good humor, for she had just been caught with her guard down. “I will not shoot you until I have seen you, but if I see you holding a weapon, I will shoot you just to make certain. Show yourself!”
A dark shape emerged slowly into the fire light, hands held before it with palms upward. There was no weapon in evidence.
“Who are you?” asked Fima. “Your voice is oddly familiar. If you are a friend, tell us your name, as you appear to know ours already.”
The dark figure removed the grey cloth from his face.
“Carefully…” Gaelen warned, tightening on her bow string.
Then, his face uncovered, the stranger stepped forward. It was quite possibly the last person they expected to see.
“El-morah?” said Gaelen in wonder.
“El-morah! My friend…how? Why?” said Rogond.
El-morah smiled at them. “Yes, it is I. And a fine, long journey you have set me on. I believe you can rest easily now, as I saw no others. Those three are dead.”
“Who are they?” asked Fima. “They must have been skilled to make their way past the Elves.”
“I made my way past them,” said El-morah. “It’s not so difficult for a man of my background. These men were trained killers, I would guess. I expect their intent was to rob you of your valuables.”
“No doubt,” muttered Rogond.
“You saved our lives,” said Gaelen, who had always liked and respected El-morah, and was now very glad to see him. “Yet I would never have expected to see you again. How is it that you have come so far north? And how in the world did you find us?”
“You’re not as hard to track as you believe…not for a Shadow-man like me. There’s no mistaking Faladinn’s hind foot-prints. I followed you from the Chupa to bring a message.” El-morah’s eyes grew even darker than usual. “Let’s sit by the fire and I will tell my tale.”
“Have some roasted squirrel!” said Fima, for Gaelen had not eaten her full share.
“When I have finished, I would enjoy that very much,” said El-morah. “But now I must convey the message. As you know, I made my way back home to the Chupa, hoping that I would not find disaster waiting for me. What I found was my wife and my four children coping as best they could. They had no notion of why I had left them. All the memories that I held were false, as Gaelen thought. She suspected Orrion, but I feared that she might relent as time passed. The more I considered, the more I began to fear that you would all side with Nelwyn’s vision, which I knew then was also false. I now believe that Orrion has been manipulating all of us for some dark purpose. Therefore, I had to do my part, or take responsibility for aiding him. Mohani understands, and I am here with her blessing. Knowing what I know, I had to find you, Gaelen, and tell you that you were right about Orrion. If your friends were not convinced of it, I came prepared to convince them.”
“You are a noble and a kind man, El-morah,” said Gaelen. “Your sacrifice is much appreciated, though my friends require no convincing. You needn’t have left your home, yet I am very glad you did. It would seem that fate sent you here, just when you were most needed.”
“Indeed. Perhaps I am your Guardian Spirit,” said El-morah as Gaelen handed him the rest of the roasted meat, together with a vessel of sweet water. He ate and drank before settling in for the night.
“What was the rumor we heard at the oasis about trouble in the Chupa?” asked Rogond.
“Ah. There is always trouble of some sort in the Chupa,” said El-morah. “I expect it was nothing of real consequence. Oh, and speaking of no consequence, I have brought you a gift from my wife. Though it is of little consequence, it is from the heart.” He drew forth a package from his robes, and they
could all smell the scent of kaffa on the night breeze. “Is that what I think it is?” asked Rogond.
Gaelen looked back and forth between Rogond and Fima; for a moment she thought they were going to weep. She did not understand this devotion to the dancing goats, and she shook her head until El-morah brought out another small package of dark, sweet koka and handed it to her. Now there was something she could understand.
She took the package with thanks, bowing to El-morah, and then turned and made her way up to the watch. Gaelen nearly always chose some high place, climbing a tree or a tall stone, where she could survey in all directions. The wind was in the west, and that pleased her, as she could smell the distant river. It was a good, brown smell like freshly-turned earth, full of life and energy. She settled herself to her task for the night, alert to every sign.
Rogond sighed, drawing his cloak about him. Fima was asleep already, as the day had been long and they had traveled many miles. El-morah looked over at his friend, and their eyes met in the fire-light. “She has done this every night since you began the journey?” he asked.
“She knows that Fima and I must sleep, and therefore she keeps the watch,” said Rogond. “I have tried to stay awake with her, but I always end up falling asleep eventually. She is not very talkative when she is on guard.”
“That must be frustrating,” said El-morah. “I know I enjoy my wife’s company each night when I am at home. You have been traveling for so long, and yet you stay apart?”
“This journey is different from most we have taken together,” said Rogond. “There is no lightness in any of us. We know what waits at the end of it.”
“It’s a shame that I must leave you,” said El-morah. “But tomorrow I will be returning to my family. I promised them nothing less, and I always keep my word. Yet tonight I will keep the watch, so that you and Gaelen might share some time together. It’s a small gift, but one I am happy to give.” He flashed a grin in the dark. “Don’t worry, I will not sleep. I can sleep all day tomorrow if I wish, whereas you cannot.” He rose to his feet, striding out to meet Gaelen, who was perched upon an outcropping of rock. After a few moments, she came back into the fire-light to find Rogond waiting for her.
On that same evening in Mountain-home, Nelwyn and Galador also shared warmth and love, wrapped in their cloaks against the chill of the night air. Hallagond and Estle had gone back to the garden-house and had built up the fire, sitting close together in the bright circle of warmth, talking and laughing until they fell asleep in each other’s arms. It was a night for sharing love among many in the Company. Perhaps, as Rogond had suggested, it was something in the water.
Chapter 22
MANY MILES TO GO
Nelwyn and Galador spent several days in preparation for leaving Mountain-home. They had been advised that Wrothgar was mounting forces not only in the Fell-ruin, but also in the Darkmere. There was said to be a gathering point set in the forested area that lay to the east of the river, nearly due west of Mountain-home, and that area must be avoided at any cost.
“So it will be the High Pass again,” said Nelwyn. “But this time there will be no snow or ice to contend with. I would expect the way will be clear to the west of the mountains. Ri-Aruin’s people will most likely choose that way as well. We should encounter them at some point, and that will be reassuring. They can tell us whether there is danger on our path to the Elven-hold.”
On the evening before her departure, Nelwyn sought counsel with Lady Ordath, standing beside her on a high ledge overlooking the Amar Tuath. Nelwyn had chosen this place because the sound of the wild water would prevent anyone from overhearing.
“My lady,” she said, “will you reveal the nature of the message I carried? I would truly like to know.”
Ordath drew a long breath. “Perhaps it would be prudent to share that message with you, Nelwyn, as you could then offer your advice as to what should be done,” she said.
“Oh, my lady…I would not presume!” said Nelwyn, lowering her gaze and blushing slightly. “I’m sure that any matters of concern between you and Lady Arialde are far too great for me.”
“Then give me your thoughts anyway, because you are true-hearted. I want to hear them. Lady Arialde believes that the body of Lord Shandor should be moved to Tal-sithian so that we may then decide whether to destroy the Stone and set him free. What say you to that notion?”
Nelwyn considered for a long moment. “I do not know what to say,” she said.
“That is wise, as there is no clear choice,” said Ordath. “One thing is certain. If the Stone is destroyed, Lord Wrothgar cannot use it against us.”
“But neither can you use it in defense against him,” said Nelwyn.
“Should Lord Shandor be set free?”
“Does he desire to be free?” asked Nelwyn.
“I would say not, yet I cannot say for certain,” said Ordath. “I suspect that he does not truly know his own heart’s desire.”
“I would do what I thought best for Lord Shandor,” said Nelwyn at last. “After all, we are dealing with his very life. As long as he is trapped in the Stone, he really hasn’t much hope. Without his presence, the Stone is but a Stone.”
“Thank you, Nelwyn…your words have aided me,” said Ordath. “Here is your flute. I look forward to hearing you play as you dance. May Aontar speed you on your journey tomorrow, the sooner you may return.”
When Nelwyn next looked in her direction, the Lady had gone.
Ordath made her way to the underground vault that was her father’s resting-place, and wrestled with her decision. She was reluctant to subject Shandor’s body to a journey of so many miles where so much could go awry. Yet she sensed that the way between Mountain-home and Tal-sithian was devoid of enemies for the time being—Wrothgar would be focusing his energies on Mountain-home, and on the “Stone.” If she acted quickly, she could spirit Shandor away long before the battle was joined. Tal-sithian would be the safest place for him.
She knelt beside the clear glass casket, looking into her father’s lifeless eyes. “Forgive me,” she said in a voice tinged with regret. “I will miss looking upon your face and sitting by your side when I need counsel. Though I know you cannot give it, it always aids me to be here. Yet Wrothgar mounts an attack against us, and I am uncertain of the outcome. You will be safer in Tal-sithian.” She left him then and summoned Lord Magra. He would be the one to select the elite guard that would transport the body of Lord Shandor to the Lake-realm.
Nelwyn and Galador said their farewells to Hallagond, Estle, Azori, and Carmyn, who had come to see them ride forth in the early morning. Naturally, Ordath and Magra were there as well, but they had said all that was needed the night before. They stood in silence, right hands raised in farewell, as Azori called after Galador:
“Remember, my most principled friend, there are no rules of war where you’re going! Don’t waste your time with formalities. Make certain you strike first, whether the enemy is ready or not!”
Galador looked back over his shoulder and favored Azori with a withering glance that rapidly degenerated into a smile. “All right, Azori…I surrender. You have turned me to the dark side at last. You will be certain to make yourself useful to the Lady, won’t you?”
“Ah, my friend, you have never truly seen me in full battle-cry,” said Azori. “Those creatures won’t be able to find their own heads with both hands!”
“Take care of Hallagond, Estle,” said Nelwyn. “After all the trouble we went through to find him, it would be more agreeable if he was still alive to greet his brother when we return.”
“I will,” said Estle, but she did not speak further. She knew how unlikely that reunion would be.
Réalta and Gryffa trotted through the gates, disappearing into the mist almost at once. Hallagond put his arm around Estle’s shoulders, for he shared the profound sadness that had overtaken her, quenching the light of her good humor.
“Well, no sense in standing around here forever,” said Azo
ri in a voice that was perhaps just a little too loud. “We should all go and have some breakfast. After all, we’ve a battle to prepare for.” Estle closed her eyes and tightened her lips, quelling any tears that threatened. It was clear that her half-brother was showing a rare streak of sentiment.
Rogond had not spent such a pleasant night in a long time. He awoke to find El-morah already gathering his few belongings, preparing to depart. Fima was still sleeping and Gaelen was nowhere to be seen, though Rogond thought he heard her singing for the first time in many weeks.
“Gaelen is tending the horses, taking them to water,” said El-morah. “I promised I would not leave you until she returns.”
“It’s unsettling when she goes off alone like that,” said Rogond with a slight grimace of pain. Apparently there had been a rather large rock beneath his bedroll. He rolled up his blankets and found a small stone. Why do they always feel bigger than they look?
“Here she is at last,” said El-morah upon hearing the sound of the horses approaching.
“Yes, here I am,” came a cheery voice, “and not empty-handed! There is a veritable bounty of crayfish in the pond yonder. We’ll have a fine breakfast before we start our travels this morning.”
She drew forth a makeshift basket of woven reeds, which was now filled with wet, shiny carapaces, snapping claws, entangled legs, and black, beady eyes waving about on stalks. She looked plaintively up at Rogond. “Please tell me we have time to boil water and share them with El-morah…”
Fima had awakened by now; he was trying to rise to his feet without betraying the stiffness in his limbs. “We will make time, Gaelen,” he said. “I would appreciate a hot breakfast this morning.” He was looking forward to the first of the kaffa.