by C S Marks
Lady Ordath had sent messengers to the Deep Caverns of Cós-domhain to ask for aid from the dwarves of Grundin’s realm. The dwarves were divided as to their desire to aid the Elves in warfare, yet when Lord Grundin allowed each one to choose, he found a large contingent ready and willing to march into battle. Grundin would not go with them, as he would be needed to defend his own realm if all did not go as hoped.
Farin, the Smith, was appointed commander of Grundin’s army, for he was a battle-hardened dwarf if ever there was one. No Ulca would stand up to him in a fight. With him also went Dwim, who was a friend to the Company. Grundin also sent the request for aid to the clans of the Northern Mountains, using ravens as messengers.
Many weeks earlier, Magra had asked Ordath if she would summon aid from Dûn Bennas, for King Hearndin was known to be courageous and loyal to his friends. Surely, he would send a regiment or two. “Will they be needed, do you think?” Ordath asked Magra. “Hearndin’s people were winnowed thin by the Plague, and are only now rebuilding their numbers. If you do not believe they will be needed, I would rather not cause them hardship. Besides, we do not know whether Wrothgar plans to assail them from the south. I am told that there is much of darkness in those lands.”
Magra considered. “I cannot say for certain if we will need them, my lady, and prudence would have me stand on the side of caution. Still, from the reports we have been given, I believe that we will be ready to withstand the force from the north. Of course, that is provided the Shadowmancer holds nothing unexpected.”
“What we have learned from our scouts is that Wrothgar’s strength is greater than anticipated, but I have heard of nothing unexpected,” said Ordath. “Ulcas, trolls, and men…it is the men who give me pause. The nights will be long once battle is joined.”
Far away, in Tal-sithian, Arialde had gone deep into the carved stone chambers that lay beneath the surface of her beautiful, green island. There she beheld the body of Lord Shandor, wrapped in silk, and beside him a sarcophagus of black granite containing the Stone of Léir. She smiled at the memory of how he had arrived—tied up in a sack like common cargo, borne on the back of a mule, his guardians dressed as peddlers and merchant-men—such a lowly sight would never arouse suspicion.
She drew the silken wrap back from Shandor’s face and closed her eyes...the sight of him lying empty and lifeless grieved her. She touched his ivory cheek, caressing it with the back of her right hand, but there was no warmth or life in his flesh. Ordath had closed Shandor’s eyes, and had bound them with a band of soft deerskin to protect them from the journey. Arialde had removed the wrap, and the ice-blue eyes opened again, but they were as dead as the rest of him.
What Arialde did next she did as much for herself as for anyone. She approached the granite casing, removed the lid, and gazed down at the dark crystal within. Shandor was there still, but he had withdrawn into the deeps. Now there was a battle to win, and Arialde greatly desired insight. She had to convince Shandor to face his fears and come to her aid.
She lifted the Stone with both hands, though it was very heavy. Then she set it upon the platform next to Shandor’s body and knelt beside it. She reached out with both hands, gripping the Stone, and gathered herself for the effort to come. Arialde breathed hard and fast, as though she ran the race of her life, then took one last breath, closed her eyes, and sent her own mighty spirit within.
She had never before seen the sights that assailed her, and she was not prepared for them. She heard a thousand voices—some screaming, some laughing, some speaking gentle words—and saw a myriad of images ranging from simple and benign to terrifying. And she knew that, of the infinite number of planes that would show the fate of the world, one of them would show her own destiny. She understood why Shandor had been afraid.
She did not know where to find him, and she also knew that he would not answer her call, yet she called nonetheless. She wandered the chaotic realms of the Stone, wondering why her brother would choose to house his spirit in such a place. The farther she wandered, the more frightened she became.
Three days had come and gone, and three more, and then three more. The Company had discovered that the melted snow was indeed fit to drink, but only after they filtered it through very fine silk to remove the grey ash and yellow sulfur—no wonder the snow was not bright white. Food was a more pressing concern, as there was none to be found.
“Something lives here,” said Gaelen, “because I can hear creatures scuttling and rustling in the brambles. I believe it’s time I discovered them.” She looked around, seeing nothing but a thorny tangle, a view that had not changed in many days. “This looks like as good a place to stop and rest as any,” she said. “Nelwyn, are you up for a challenge?”
“I am,” said Nelwyn, “anything that will break the tedium of this place.”
“Then let’s clear a place to make camp, and you and I will see what we can discover. Something is making that sound, and if that something is not fit to eat, then perhaps it can show us what is. Our provisions will not last much longer.”
“You don’t know what creatures lurk in these hard lands, Gaelen,” said Fima. “They have fought very hard to survive here. They may be venomous, or have some other dire means of defense you are unaware of. I am not certain your idea is wise.”
“And why would they be venomous?” said Nelwyn. “Venom against what? We have seen no fearsome hunters here. A few birds have crossed in the sky, but we have seen or heard little else.”
“Just be careful, is all Fima is saying,” said Galador. “And I’m saying it, too.”
“As ever, Galador, do not worry!” said Gaelen, tossing her hair from her eyes. She hated tedium even more than Nelwyn did, and was looking forward to the diversion. She looked over at Rogond, who raised one eyebrow at her, but said nothing. Then she and Nelwyn removed their cloaks and crouched near the ground, where the stems were thick but widely spaced. In a moment, they had disappeared into the bramble-thicket.
The sun was beginning to set when they finally reappeared. The sky was not bright during the day, as it was always gloomy and clouded, but they could tell that the day was waning.
“Good Lord of Light! What happened to you?” said Galador in alarm. Gaelen and Nelwyn were in a good humor, yet their clothes were torn in several places, as was their skin. Most distressing to Galador was the patch of Nelwyn’s hair that had been cut short and now hung over her forehead. “Look at your hair!” he gasped, reaching out with one hand to brush the uneven locks aside.
“Never mind that,” said Nelwyn. “Look at what we found! There is more to this land than meets the eye.” She opened the leather bag she carried and upended it. Out came a collection of mushrooms, a quantity of dark red berries, and what appeared to be a small pile of orange roots. “We just needed to know where to look,” she said.
“Never mind that,” said Galador, “what happened to your hair?”
“If you must know, it became hopelessly entangled in the briars. Gaelen very considerately cut it free.” Galador just looked at her in shock. “Oh, for the love of mercy!” she said. “It’s only hair. Would you rather Gaelen have left me entangled?”
Galador did not speak for a moment, almost as though he debated the question. But, of course, the answer was “no.”
“How do we know that any of this may be eaten?” said Fima. “And is there any meat to go with it? We will not last long on berries and mushrooms.”
“Ah! For that, you must turn to me,” said Gaelen. “Behold, the huntress returns in triumph.” She reached into her bag and drew forth four brown-furred creatures with short, flat tails. They resembled a cross between a squirrel, a rat, and a beaver. “The briars are thick with them. They feed on the berries and the orange roots. They smell wholesome enough, though they are a challenge to catch. Now let’s see how they taste!”
The clouds had thickened, further blocking the light, as it began to snow. The brambles did not burn well, at least not until Gaelen applied a tiny
drop of dragon-fire to them. She skinned the four “squirrel-rats” and roasted them. They weren’t bad eating, once one adjusted to the slightly sulfurous smell of their flesh.
Gaelen saved the skins, scraping away all trace of fat. She rolled them up tight, after first applying some of the dusty soil to dry them. They would not spoil in the cold. The fur was beautiful, waterproof, and would be unbelievably warm. Fima wrinkled his nose at her. “You cannot be thinking of carrying those with you,” he said.
“They who waste things will want them,” was the reply.
“Wood-elves!” muttered Galador. He shared Fima’s opinion that carrying uncured skins was disgusting. Yet Rogond understood Gaelen’s reasoning, and praised her for it. “Well, Rangers are obviously no better than Wood-elves, after all,” said Galador. He sighed and looked over at Nelwyn. Her hair will grow back…
The berries and the orange roots were determined to be safe to eat, in fact they were almost tasty when stewed with a small amount of water. None would try the mushrooms, however, as neither Gaelen nor Nelwyn had observed them being eaten by anything. Besides, even if they were not poisonous, mushrooms provided little sustenance. They were useful mainly as flavoring.
“Well, this will show my brother Hallagond that he was wrong about something,” said Rogond. “He said there was nothing fit to eat here.”
“He did not know where to look,” said Nelwyn.
They kept to their course toward the south and west, skirting the mountains, until one memorable evening when the clouds cleared, allowing a rare view of the brilliant red-orange sunset. “Look at that mountain yonder!” said Fynn, who was hacking brambles at the front of the line. “It looks as though it is on fire. I have never seen such a sight.”
Indeed, one mountain seemed to give off its own orange light. It stood at a distance from its fellows, alone and beautiful and terrible. It seemed to glitter, as though it were made of crystal. Then the sunset faded, and it was only a mountain again.
“That was a sight to see,” said Rogond. “I don’t suppose we shall ever see such a thing again.”
“Yet we may,” said Fima. “That is no ordinary mountain…do you see, now, how it gleams pale beside the others? In the morning, when the light returns, you will see that it is entirely covered with ice and snow. Ash does not sparkle in the sun.”
They saw the raven three days later, flying over their heads. “You know…I could take care of this problem right now,” said Galador, fitting an arrow to his bow and drawing on the dark shape as it flew above him. Yet, something gave him pause, and he stayed his hand. “That is without doubt the largest raven I have seen,” he said.
“Don’t kill it!” Fima cried, reaching out to take hold of Galador’s arm. “This is not Lord Kotos. Wait, and let’s see what the bird will do.” Then Fima did a most unexpected thing, calling out to the raven in a harsh, croaking voice.
The raven circled, spiraling down over the Company, finally coming to rest on one of the small evergreens that had begun to appear amidst the thorn-trees. It fixed Fima with a bright black eye, which then constricted to show a rim of golden iris. Its name, when translated from raven-speech, meant “golden-eye,” yet when spoken it sounded like “Krraah.”
Fima spoke then in the Dwarf-tongue and to his delight the raven responded. They conversed for quite some time, as Fima’s friends looked on in awe. Then Fima reached into his pocket and pulled out a bright silver coin. He handed it to the raven and bowed. The raven took the coin, returning Fima’s bow, and then went aloft on its great, black wings. It had soon flown beyond their sight, back toward the north. Fima turned back to his astonished friends.
“Well, that was certainly worthwhile,” he said. “It would seem that the northern ravens have not lost their gift of wisdom.”
“Did it tell you anything of interest?” asked Rogond.
“Oh, without a doubt,” said Fima.
“Well…are you going to tell us?” said Fynn, who was nearly beside himself with curiosity.
“I asked how near we are to Tallasiar, and the bird has told me that we should gain it in a day or two if we could fly, but as we are it will take closer to a fortnight. He said we should go to the Cold Mountain, for the doom of Tuathas lies there. He said it would make a grand hiding-place, if one wished to hide things.
“I am intrigued by this ‘Cold Mountain,’” said Rogond. “Yet I am ill-at-ease. The farther I travel through these lands, the more convinced I am that there is nothing here for folk of good will.”
“What is here even for folk of ill will?” asked Nelwyn.
“We are,” said Fima. “Yet we cannot concern ourselves with such things. Look, here…on Carmyn’s map. The Mountain that led to the downfall of Tuathas, the first one to erupt, was this one here. It set off the cataclysm.” He pointed to a peak labeled Monad Ëthas, meaning “Mountain of Dread.”
“This is the Cold Mountain that the raven referred to,” said Fima. “It’s the one we have been seeing that is covered all in snow and ice. Krraah said there is something there of interest to us. Tallasiar lies not far beyond it.”
“Should we make for the Cold Mountain then?” asked Fynn, who was eager to see what great sight lay beneath the so-called “Doom of Tuathas.”
“It’s on our way to Tallasiar…why not?” said Fima.
“If the mountain is a good place to hide the Stone, then we should hide it,” said Gaelen. “I’m ready to resolve this matter with the death of Gorgon, and I do not care where I do it.”
“You spoke to the bird, Fima,” said Nelwyn. “What would you advise?”
“I would go under the mountain,” said Fima. “If there are wonders there, I would see them. And it seems as good a course as any. Besides that, I have suspicions concerning what lies at the heart of the mountain. If I am right, it is a sight that I must see.”
Arlan shook his head. “I do not like the sound of a mountain named Ëthas!”
“Yet the Doom of Tuathas has long passed,” said Rogond. “I’m not afraid.”
The Company set off toward the Cold Mountain, not knowing what they would find when they got there…yet they were all united in the belief that it would be something they did not expect.
“Where are they going?” Gorgon mused as he followed behind. “And why is that mountain covered in white?” He rolled his eyes heavenward toward the raven, which was perched on his helmet at present. “Well? Do you know anything about this?” He reached up with his right hand so that Kotos could gain entry, flowing from the raven into his own being.
That is the mountain that brought about the chain of disasters resulting in the Doom of Tuathas, said Kotos. A very nasty place, I’m told. Watch the Company with care—if they go underneath the mountain you might lose them in the maze of tunnels and chambers. If their intention is to hide the Stone there, we must stand ready to seize it.
“We?” said Gorgon. “You are incapable of seizing anything, Great Lord. It is I who will do the seizing, not ‘we.’ I just thought I would remind you of it, in case you had forgotten.”
Of course, said Kotos, I had not forgotten. Yet we are partners in this venture, Elfhunter. That is one thing you must not forget, otherwise my raven-friend and I might just take the amulet and fly away, leaving you alone to face your fate. Would that please you?
“You wouldn’t dare,” Gorgon rumbled, though he was smiling. “Wrothgar expects a result, and it is your job to ensure that He gets it. You wouldn’t dare!” Kotos did not reply, but left Gorgon for the comforting environs of the amulet. He did not want Gorgon to know that he was absolutely right.
The Cold Mountain seemed unnatural and out of place. All the peaks around it steamed and fretted, and they were crowned with very little snow. Yet here was this tall peak that stood alone in a casing of white. Fima had said nothing concerning his mysterious hunch, despite entreaty from his friends. It was maddening to listen to him. As he walked along he would make some observation or other, punctuated by such wise dec
larations as “hmmm…” and “interesting…” yet he would not elaborate.
The chill of the mountain had spread even to the surrounding lands, and the Company shivered as they stood upon a tall, rocky hill. Gaelen climbed up to scout the area, and her vantage point provided an excellent view. She saw something in the distance, so she summoned the others that they might see for themselves. “Look, out there to the southwest, by the sea…is that Tallasiar?”
Rogond drew Thorndil’s glass from his pack, for the sea was still quite distant. Yet he could see the ruins, or what remained of them. There had been tall towers in Tallasiar, but no longer. It was said that the city sparkled like a jewel on the harbor, but now it was as black and forlorn as the magma-flow surrounding it. Rogond felt pain slice through his heart as he beheld it—the city was gone.
“It would appear that the Cold Mountain did not do the damage,” he said. “That tall, dark peak there…that was the one that rained fire upon the city.”
“It was a great realm once,” said Galador in a quiet voice. He alone among the Company had actually been to Tallasiar. “I cannot believe that such a center of enlightenment has been reduced to this. The sight of it fills my soul with despair.”
“Then why are we going there?” asked Nelwyn, who had also been discouraged at the sight of Tallasiar lying dejected and in ruin.
It was an excellent question, yet Rogond knew that Fima’s curiosity was at the heart of it. Now Fima was struggling with the notion that Tallasiar might not prove to be the intriguing exploration he had hoped for.
Krraah caught up with them as they stood at last upon the frozen mountainside, pulling their cloaks tight against the cold. He spoke briefly with Fima before taking wing again. “Follow him,” said Fima, eventually coming upon a dark crack in the ice that was the entrance to a darker passageway.