by C S Marks
“Right you are, my lord,” said Gorgon. He had caught the scent of Elves; it drifted from either side of the doorway. “We are being watched even now,” he said.
“Retreat, then, and take no chances!” said Kotos. “You must not risk being taken, or we will not be able to get Wrothgar’s prize.”
“No, we won’t,” said Gorgon. “But then, if I am taken, I’ll be dead, and I won’t care, will I?” He chuckled silently, knowing his words would upset Lord Kotos. As an afterthought, he spoke again. “Just allow me to practice my skills without interference, and all will be well.” He then made a deep thrumming sound in his chest that was reminiscent of a huge, evil cat purring on some hellish hearth—the sound of a hunter who has sighted his quarry after a long and difficult pursuit.
Arlan had decided that he and Fynn would be more effective keeping the watch together, and he moved to join his brother on the other side of the doorway. They caught Gorgon’s foul scent on the north wind, having been warned that such an unexplainable odor heralded the approach of their enemy. They had never seen Gorgon before, and therefore they did not fully appreciate the danger they were in, but they had been told to allow him to pass unchallenged. Arlan heard the sound of a blade being drawn slowly from the sheath, and turned to behold Fynn with his sword at the ready.
“Put your blade away. We are not to engage this enemy,” Arlan whispered.
“And who says so? I thought that killing the Elfhunter was the main objective in this whole elaborate ruse,” said Fynn, gripping his sword tighter. “There are two of us, and we know our enemy is there. We are fierce fighters! If we can take down the creature and avenge our father, I say why not?”
“We have been told to let him pass!” said Arlan. “This creature killed our father and his brother Halrodin, and they were more experienced than we. You should cool your temper and listen to Gaelen’s words. She has seen what this enemy can do, whereas we have not.”
“I saw our father’s body,” said Fynn in a grim voice. “You saw it, too. How can you have looked upon what was done to him and let this creature pass?”
“Because I trust those who have been charged with the task of killing him,” said Arlan. “You must listen to the voice of good sense that I know you possess. Please, my brother, listen to it just this once.”
Fynn would not be dissuaded, though it would not have mattered if he had. Gorgon leapt upon them like a cat upon two rabbits, and though Fynn and Arlan fought with ferocity, they were no match for the tiger. Gorgon was armored, and they were not. Gorgon was ruthless in his attack, and he was larger, heavier, and stronger than they. Their last moments were terrifying, though they fought with valor, Arlan in particular. Fynn had been more reckless, but he was no match for the Elfhunter, and like his father he had been first to fall. Sadly, the line of Talrodin ended upon that dark, cold night.
Gaelen’s screams of grief and outrage echoed in Gorgon’s mind—she knew what had happened—and he laughed aloud at the thought of it.
Afterward, he dragged the bodies off and hid them among the rocks. They would soon be covered with snow; there was a fair blizzard blowing by then. “Well,” he growled after he had finished, “that’s two less to worry about.”
He had recovered Talrodin’s sword, Turantil, from Arlan’s hand, and now held it up before his dark, ugly face, admiring it again. “Hello, my beauty. You will cleave more Elves before the dawn comes.” He drew the glittering blade along the gap in his armor, grimacing as it bit into the flesh of his arm. “As sharp as ever.”
Kotos knew of Gorgon’s tendency to inflict pain upon himself, and he was not disquieted, yet he would bring Gorgon back to the moment. Now that you have practiced your skills, might we return to our course? You have a much more important job to do. At least now these erstwhile door-wardens will not be able to warn the others of your approach.
Gorgon laughed aloud. “Oh, but they have been warned,” he said. “Did you not hear the Vixen screaming? She knows what has happened, and could do nothing about it. The irony of this is just delectable. It would seem that these two were the sons of the first Elf I slew in the Greatwood.”
What Elf in the Greatwood? I do not understand, said Kotos.
“It’s a long, long story,” said Gorgon, who was still smiling. “One day, when this is ended, perhaps I will enlighten you.”
Yes, perhaps…” said Kotos, who could imagine few fates worse than enduring an endless telling of Gorgon’s adventures in Elf-slaying. I shall look forward to it. However, it is unfortunate that the She-elf knows you have come. Now we cannot take the Stone by stealth, but must take it by force! And in doing so, we risk its destruction. If I had known this would alert our enemies, I would not have allowed you to take the guards.
“It would not matter. The Vixen always knows that I follow her,” said Gorgon. “But what she does not know is that I intend to take the Stone. She does not know that you travel with me. She believes that my only task is to pursue her.”
Are you certain? said Kotos, who had detected some hesitance in Gorgon’s voice.
“Of course…they have not destroyed the Stone yet, have they?” Gorgon growled. His nose had been in the wind for a long time now.
Gaelen had sensed Gorgon’s stalking of Fynn and Arlan, and she began to cry, shivering and clenching both hands into fists. “They will be taken…they have allowed Gorgon to find them…Fynn means to attack, but, but they are taken unaware! Oh…no, no!”
She leaped to her feet and drew her blade, slashing at anything non-living out of grief and frustration. As she did so, she fairly screamed. “You have ended Talrodin’s line, you foul, horrible…thing! You are dead, do you hear me? Dead! Come on, you monster! Come on and get some of me then!”
She punctuated her words with repeated clashes of her bright blade with the icy walls of the chamber. No one dared approach her until she had spent herself, though they were all horrified. At last she stood, panting and trembling, trying to regain her breath. She drew the blade of her short-sword across the flesh just above her left elbow, bringing blood, before re-sheathing it. “Gorgon has killed two more of our friends,” she said, her voice disturbingly calm.
“Yes, I know,” said Rogond as he approached her. “Gaelen, are you all right?”
“Of course,” she said in the same calm, stony voice. “Why would I not be?”
Shocked and horrified at what he had just witnessed, Fima shook his head. “So much for the element of surprise…”
Arialde made her way deeper into the Stone of Léir, searching for Shandor and trying not to look into the infinite planes of past and future flickering before her. It was Shandor who had infused this power into the Stone. Its creator, Dardis of the Èolar, would never even have imagined it. Now, as Arialde wandered past the images of fates dreadful and glorious, she resolved that such a thing could not continue. The Stone, while useful at times, was simply too great a liability. It had taken the spirit of Shandor and held him captive. She would try to persuade him to leave it of his own volition…if she ever found him.
If not, she would destroy the Stone and hope that her brother’s spirit would find its former house…that he would be restored. She hoped also that he had not been twisted into someone, or something, that she would not recognize. She shuddered as she considered enduring imprisonment in this chaotic, terrifying place for so many ages. Who wouldn’t go insane?
She kept calling to Shandor, telling him that she was afraid, asking for his aid. In truth, she merely wanted to coax him into the light, but he did not respond. He crouched in a dark corner of the Stone, bitter and withdrawn, wishing that she would leave him in peace. He knew what she wanted. She had asked him to look into his own dark future, and he had not had the courage to do so. The ability to foretell the fate of others had come at a terrible price.
Perhaps, if he made no move toward her, she would leave him. He knew that her cries for aid were exaggerated, that she was trying to appeal to his protective nature. Arialde was a strong a
nd courageous spirit—the Stone would not thwart her.
Shandor whispered the name of Liathwyn, hoping she would comfort him, but she did not come. Liathwyn had not been a part of his present for a long time. She was only a part of his past. He wished himself back into her domain, back into the past, where he had once been happy. Yet so long as Arialde called his name, he could not escape there.
Go away! he said at last. Can you not leave me in peace? Go away, and fight your battles. They are mine no longer.
Arialde heard him. Shandor, come to me. I summon you, my brother, and I will not be denied. Come now to me!
She demanded his presence, and he could not refuse her. His image wavered before her, surrounded by an aura of white and pale, silvery grey. Shandor was a spirit of air. Arialde, like Nelwyn, was a water-spirit, her aura a cool blue shot with violet and pale green, like the waters of the Lake.
They regarded one another for a long while. Shandor spoke first. I did not expect to see your face here. What would you ask of me?
My brother, you have aided me countless times when I have asked for insight. You have shown me images of dire things to come, that I may prevent them. Now I ask you to aid me once more.
Do not ask me to look into my own fate, said Shandor, for I cannot. My heart will not allow such a fearful sight to be seen. Do not ask it of me.
I know, said Arialde. I understand your fear, and I do not ask such a thing of you now. The aid I would seek is of a much different nature.
She collected herself and then put forth her request. I would have you leave this place forever, and be restored to us. I would see the Stone forever darkened.
Shandor did not move, nor did he speak at first. He simply stood before her, absorbing what she had said. Then his aura changed from silvery white to the dark, angry grey of clouds heavy with rain. His eyes darkened with it. His hair, that had seemed to be lifted by a gentle breeze, was now blown back as though by fierce winds.
He spoke to Arialde in a cold, menacing tone. I cannot leave this place. You know it! The Stone is the only realm in which Liathwyn still shares her warmth with me…I cannot leave it, or grief will consume my soul. I will not be persuaded otherwise. His face had now gone quite pale at the very thought of facing an eternity without his beloved.
Liathwyn is not here, said Arialde. She never has been. She is but a memory, my brother. Liathwyn dwells in Elysia. You love a shadow only.
She is real enough to me, said Shandor. I have been content with shadows for five thousand years. I will not give up my dreams, for I have nothing else.
But, you do…she said. Shandor, who was once mighty…your friends need you now. The Light calls upon you for aid, yet you hide from it. You once battled with Wrothgar himself, and you prevailed. Your eyes beheld the downfall of the Èolar, and you swore then that darkness would never threaten the Light in such a way again, yet here you are. Your only child is beset, and you do not aid her? She is the child of Liathwyn, too. Liathwyn lives on in Ordath, my brother, yet if you do not aid her she may be lost. You cannot aid her from within the Stone. Come out, Shandor, come out and fight for the world you once loved!
He did not answer her, but the wind in his hair calmed as he considered. Arialde spoke to him again—she had to convince him. Love is a power that cannot be denied nor overcome. It is the strongest power in both this world and the next, when it is given freely. Yet now your love for Liathwyn has turned into an instrument of darkness. It is not love any more, but is only the desire to turn aside the grief and pain of your loss. This perversion of love has corrupted you. Somehow, you must prevail over it.
His eyes filled with tears then, as Arialde had seen them do only twice before. I cannot. I have tried…don’t you think I’ve tried?” he said. “There is no cure for my affliction, no balm to soothe my spirit other than my memories. Now you would take them from me?
You will still have your memories, my brother, said Arialde.
But I will not be able to live them. In the Stone it is as though Liathwyn is alive again. If I leave it, she will die.
He grew darker again, and the unseen winds surrounding him became wild. He appeared to grow more massive and more threatening as he spoke. I showed the fate of Ri-Elathan ere he went into battle, and I showed him what would happen if he did not. He perished in flames to protect the Light, knowing full well that he would endure that terrible fate. He was sundered from the one he loved, and yet he went to his death knowing that one day he would be reunited with her. I would burn a thousand times to trade places with him.
Arialde knew that Shandor would debate with her to no end unless she could convince him otherwise. She also sensed the urgency that was building in Mountain-home. She was running out of time.
Would you leave your only daughter to die?”
Shandor fixed her with his ice-blue eyes, and considered.
“We must prepare to make our stand against Lord Kotos,” said Fima. “And I believe we must make it here. We dare not leave Duinar for Kotos to find.”
“Why not?” asked Nelwyn. “You already have your manuscript, and Duinar is dead.”
“Is he?” asked Fima. “We don’t know for certain.”
“He has been frozen in a block of ice for five hundred years,” said Nelwyn. “To me, that would be likely to mean that one is dead.”
“Ice is a tricky thing,” said Fima. “It can kill, or it can preserve. We do not yet know Duinar’s fate.”
“Besides that, he is an Asarla,” said Rogond. “As we have seen, to our regret, their spirits may live on even when they have no body of their own. I know that I sensed something of vitality when I entered this room.”
“Duinar is not dead.” Galador left no room for doubt.
“If he’s not dead, why do we not release him?” asked Nelwyn.
“And what would you suggest?” said Fima. “We can’t just go and smash the ice and drag him out of there in haphazard fashion. If he is to be revived, it must be done with delicacy; otherwise we might kill his body with good intentions. It would take time and care to release him properly!”
“We have no time now. We must make ready, for Gorgon is drawing near,” said Gaelen. She threw the remaining wood on the fire, and it blazed up in flames of bright, pale gold. The ice beneath it had melted away, the water draining beneath the surrounding ice to reveal a floor of porous, black lava.
Rogond did not like the look of it, as he did not know what lay beneath it, and a heavy being like Gorgon might well break through. The layer of ice had strengthened it. As though to confirm his insecurities, Rogond now felt the mountain shudder. Had that crack in the black, hardened magma been there before?
Gaelen and Nelwyn carried the casket containing the replica of the Stone into the center of the room, not far from the fire, and set it down. “Rogond and I will stand in plain view,” said Gaelen. “The rest of you should hide yourselves. The moment Gorgon comes for us, attack him, but do not come within arm’s length. If he takes one of you hostage, I will not give you any consideration, for he will not allow you to live no matter what else happens. He will not allow any of us to live.”
“If he tries to take me hostage, please shoot me,” said Fima. “I have no desire to be kept alive for his amusement later.” He then took his axe and retired to a hiding place near Duinar.
“I would rather shoot him,” muttered Galador, who alone among them had a bow powerful enough to pierce Gorgon’s armor. He had three arrows that had been made for him in Mountain-home. They were fitted with heavy shafts and points made from steel that had been tempered and folded like a sword-blade. They would pierce nearly anything.
He turned to Gaelen. “I’m sorry for the discourtesy I showed you earlier,” he said, and then took up a position of concealment before she could reply.
Nelwyn stood before her cousin and dearest friend. “May luck be with us,” she said. “And…take no foolish chances. Remember that you are not alone in this fight. We have all lost things we loved to
the Elfhunter.”
Gaelen’s face was stony as she replied. “Then I will make certain that you all get a piece of him. There will be plenty of him, I’m sure.” She embraced Nelwyn and took up her own position with the casket before her. Nelwyn concealed herself on the opposite side of the chamber from Galador, and readied her own stout bow.
All was in readiness. Gaelen stood with her sword in one hand and her long knife in the other, one of Fima’s small throwing-axes thrust into her belt. She had removed Brinneal’s blue-grey cloak, replacing it with her precious fire-cloak. It glittered and flashed in the eerie light, looking more alive than ever. The casket containing the replica was open. Gaelen tried to remain calm, but her face and ears were flushed with battle-lust, and her breaths came faster than usual. Every muscle in her body was tense, like a whip that is bent back upon itself.
Rogond stood in plain view, but he was not near to her. His intent was to engage Gorgon from behind, thereby distracting him from Gaelen.
There was no sound to be heard in the chamber. Rogond saw Gaelen lift her head, scenting the air, her eyes narrowing, grip tightening on her blades. They all heard it then…the sound of an enormous, evil cat purring upon some hellish hearth.
Chapter 25
FACING THE FIRE
Dawn had finally broken over Mountain-home, giving the defenders a much-needed respite. Magra and Wellyn had managed to survive, as had Farin, but there had been great loss on both sides of the battle. Now was the time to re-group.
The dragon had made three more forays over the realm, and each time it seemed to focus its attention upon Magra, who had barely escaped with his life. At last Ordath ordered him to retire with Farin and Wellyn into the Great Hall.
“You must not fall,” she said. “The hearts of the people will fail if you are lost. Go now, and we will deal with this together when the situation allows.” Ordath knew, as did Magra, that Wrothgar’s intention was not to besiege Mountain-home, but to attack it with every means available. This conflict would be over quickly, one way or another.