by C S Marks
Shandor said nothing, but Arialde could see in his eyes that he had also felt the loss of his friend and steadfast comrade-in-arms.
“What have you to say, my brother?”
Arialde was at a loss. She had to make Shandor realize that other concerns were more important than his own. Do you not know that all of this…this battle, and the sacrifices that have come with it, is because of you? If Wrothgar did not desire to enslave you, we would not be here. If you had not stayed within the Stone for so long and given it the power that you have, Magra would be alive, and your daughter Ordath would not now be faced with death. Does that not convince you? You fear to look into your own destiny…is that because you know that you will not like what you see?
Shandor had never dropped his chilly gaze from her until now. I have looked long enough to know that I have no destiny of which I can be proud, he said. My only joy has come in this place. Will you see me undertake an endless life of sorrow?
There is other happiness to be found, said Arialde. She could feel his grief, and it nearly overwhelmed her. Yet he had to overcome it now…he had to leave it behind.
If you do not come out from the Stone, you will never see your child again, and we risk your being taken and subverted into darkness. You must hear me! There is nothing for you here, and there is everything outside. Come with me, my brother, you must come with me. Trust me, as you did before.
She looked back over her shoulder as though responding to an unseen call. I cannot linger here any longer, she said, for if you will not fight this battle, then I must. I will await your decision, but choose quickly, and choose wisely. So saying, she willed her spirit to return to her body, awakening to behold the anxious face of Lord Airan.
“Were you successful, my lady?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Oh, Airan…he is so hurt and he is so alone. But if he does not come out of his own accord, I shall forever lose faith in the ultimate power of love.”
“It is love that holds him there,” said Airan.
“No,” Arialde whispered. “Grief holds him there. Love will send him back to us.” With those words, she settled herself beside Shandor’s body, taking his cold hand in her own, awaiting his decision.
Shandor debated with himself for only a few moments longer, then turned and retreated back into the depths of the Stone. He sought enlightenment from the one he loved, and he summoned Liathwyn, who, as always, came to him at once. She sat upon a bench of carved marble in one of the many glades of Mountain-home, water gurgling from a cold spring beside her, soft grass at her feet. Shandor went to her side and took her hand.
Liathwyn, my love, you must guide me. Long have I lived here in happiness with you, yet now I am told I must leave the Stone for the sake of the Light. I do not wish to leave you, but I cannot allow others to give their lives for my sake. Yet I would remain, if you desire it. Would you have me stay by your side? If I leave you, I will not return.
Liathwyn turned her deep blue eyes upon him, piercing his heart. Then she smiled a hopeful smile. Shandor, my beloved, I know that you must go forth to this conflict. I also know that you will return, and I shall send forth my prayer each day until I behold you again. Be not dismayed.
Shandor wept as he held her, for he knew the truth. This was but a memory of his farewell to Liathwyn ere he went off to the Third Battle. She could not enlighten him, for she was not really here.
He could not sacrifice the life of his only child for the sake of a memory…no matter how precious. He held Liathwyn, fierce tears of overwhelming sorrow coursing down his face, for he knew that this would be the last he would ever see of her. He rose, stroked her beautiful, gleaming hair one last time, and then turned from her.
Shandor…keep safe, and return to me. I will always be waiting.
He paused, and turned his silver head back toward her. Oh, beloved…if only it were true. Then he did the hardest thing he had yet done in his life—he walked away from her.
“Rogond!” cried Nelwyn, as she rushed to his side.
Duinar had led the Company there, and they had found Rogond lying where he had fallen. Nelwyn and Galador turned him over, shocked at the blood on the stone beneath him and at the pallor of his face. He was still breathing, but not well.
Duinar shook his head. “We must get him to good air, and now, or he is lost,” he said. “No mortal man can live long in this place.”
In fact, Fima had been left behind already; he could not withstand the poisoned air, and they would not risk his life.
“But there is another of our Company, a Wood-elf like me,” said Nelwyn. “I cannot leave without her. She is my cousin and dearest friend.”
“How will we find her?” asked Duinar, who could see that Nelwyn was not about to be dissuaded.
“She will be wherever Gorgon is,” said Nelwyn. “She has set herself to the task of killing him. If she has left Rogond in such a state, it can only be in pursuit of Gorgon Elfhunter. And Lord Kotos will be there as well.”
“Lord Kotos is quite near,” said Duinar. “I can practically put my hands around his throat!”
“If only you could,” said Galador.
“Well, then we must search for him,” said Nelwyn. “Galador, only you are strong enough to save Rogond. He is too tall and heavy for me to carry. Take him back to Fima, so that he can be tended to. Duinar and I will search for Gaelen.”
“And what if you find her?” said Galador. “Gorgon will be there…do you expect me to let you face Gorgon alone?”
“I expect you to do what you must to save the life of your friend,” said Nelwyn. “I am not alone…I have Duinar to aid me. And do not count Gaelen out as yet.”
“Oh, in that case, I can surely put my fears to rest,” said Galador, who had been faced with a nearly impossible choice.
Duinar stood before Galador, forcing him to look into his eyes. “I know that your faith in me, and in my race, has been shaken,” he said in a voice so gentle and caring that it nearly brought Galador to tears. “Trust me now, my proud friend. I will not disappoint you again. No harm will come to Nelwyn through any failure of mine, I promise you.”
Galador swallowed hard, looking from Duinar to Nelwyn, and back to Duinar again. Then he stooped and lifted Rogond, hoisting him over one shoulder. “I will rejoin you once I have delivered Rogond into Fima’s hands,” he said. “Until then, I will place my faith in both of you.” He looked over at Nelwyn. “Keep safe,” he said, and was gone without another word.
Nelwyn looked into Duinar’s aged, earnest face. “What do we do now?” she asked.
“We find Lord Kotos and see to your other friend,” said Duinar. “We must be swift, yet we must be cautious, for I would sooner throw myself through that wall of flame than prove unworthy of Galador’s faith in me.”
Arialde first felt Shandor’s return as a warming of his cold, lifeless hand. She dropped it abruptly, for she had been lost in contemplation and it had startled her. She rose to her feet, calling for Lord Airan, for she did not know whether Shandor would need aid, or whether he would be successful in his return. No Asarla had ever left his body for so long and returned to life. Yet Arialde held to her faith, and waited.
The body galvanized as though it had been struck by lightning, arching its back and lifting from the slab on which it had been laid. Shandor’s eyes bulged and his jaws clenched, along with every other muscle in his body. His limbs were stiff and hard as marble, every sinew and vessel clearly visible, as he opened his mouth at last and cried out in pain. He began to thrash from side to side, his beautiful head whipping back and forth, fighting like a gaffed fish as Airan held him down. Then it was over, and he collapsed.
“Is he breathing?” asked Arialde, for she could not tell.
“He is,” said Airan, panting with the effort he had made. He turned to Arialde. “Your brother, it would seem, has a strong spirit. His body resisted, but he won out in the end.”
Arialde knelt beside Shandor, whose eyes were now clos
ed. “Shandor? Shandor…my brother, will you not greet your sister, who loves you?” She caressed his face, and he opened his eyes.
“I have returned to you,” he said. “I finally realized the wisdom in your words. Yet you must leave me alone…to do what I must do.”
“But you are not strong,” she said. “You should rest for a while. I will stay with you.”
“I cannot rest, for in my next action lies the hope of the future. You must not remain here, and you must not hinder me.” He smiled, which was a rare thing. Then he took her hand, flushing with humiliation as he asked the next question. “Please…will you help me to rise?”
Arialde and Airan both aided Shandor in gaining his feet, though it was difficult. His body had lain for so long with no spirit to guide it that it did not answer his commands at first. Yet he stood, naked and trembling, but upon his own feet at last. He closed his eyes, took four very deep breaths, and drew himself up tall and proud. When he next turned his gaze to them, it was piercing, valiant, determined, and just slightly imperious. Shandor had returned.
“Now leave me,” he said. “Leave me to my task, and ask no questions. I will summon thee when I have finished.”
Arialde and Airan left Shandor alone, as he had asked. “Will he be all right, do you think?” asked Airan. “What task does he mean to do? Are you certain we may trust him?”
“I am certain that I have never been as glad to see anyone before in my life,” said Arialde. “He will be all right.”
Shandor composed himself, preparing his next act with care. He stood before the Stone of Léir, gazing down at its surface with longing. It looked small and harmless without his mighty spirit within. It would be so easy to return to his life with Liathwyn...
He lifted the Stone in graceful, sinewy hands like carved alabaster and held it before him. It was beautiful, and it was harmless now, but Shandor could take no chances.
You did a fine job, Dardis, my friend. Perhaps you were too good at your craft. Forgive me.”
He raised the Stone high over his head. He hesitated for only a moment longer, knowing that he would never see her again—not in this life, and not in the next.
Farewell…
He brought the Stone down hard upon the polished marble floor, where it shattered in an explosion of light and sound and imagery. Shandor wailed as he saw his beloved reflected in each and every fragment: Liathwyn laughing, Liathwyn smiling, Liathwyn weeping. He lunged forward and fell to his knees, reaching out to her, gripping the crystal shards in desperate hands. But the images of Liathwyn had faded, and she was gone.
Arialde rushed in to aid him, finding him on his knees, his head bent down to the floor, crying in grief and loss. His hands were bleeding, as he had clenched the sharp fragments of the Stone. Arialde did not dare approach him for a moment. She had not ever in her life heard Shandor truly weep until now.
Airan had come in behind her, alarmed. “He has…destroyed it?”
Arialde held up her hand to silence him.
“Leave us alone,” she said. “Do not speak of what you have seen. He has done a great thing…the only right thing. I will comfort him, do not fear. Make certain we are not disturbed.”
Airan bowed and did as she asked, but his heart was troubled. It was discomfiting to see a mighty soul such as Shandor in the grip of such terrible, unrelenting woe.
Unlike the death of Magra, the destruction of the Stone of Léir was felt by relatively few beings in Alterra, but it profoundly affected those who did, no matter which side of the Light they stood upon.
It set off a reaction in Tûr Dorcha that reached all the way to the Greatwood, to Tal-ailean in the Verdant Mountains, and to the Lake. Every Elf in those realms instinctively placed a hand upon his weapon, and every eye was turned with vigilance toward the Darkmere. Lord Wrothgar was, as his name implied, quite wrathful indeed. This had not been at all the outcome he had anticipated. If the Stone is still in Tal-sithian, where is that fool, Kotos? What is he doing chasing shadows in Tuathas?
Every Ulca within a half mile of the Tower fell dead, as Wrothgar exuded a suffocating tidal wave of malevolent energy. The Ulcas were creatures of evil, but they could only withstand so much.
In Mountain-home, Lady Ordath felt the death of the Stone and the return of Shandor to the world of the living. She rejoiced, for he was free, but she wondered whether he would be whole, or whether his grief had damaged him beyond hope. She could not concern herself with such things now, as she had a battle to win. She hoped that, with the destruction of the Stone, the enemies of Mountain-home would realize that they could not prevail.
The commanders of Wrothgar’s forces sensed their Lord’s dismay, and they knew that the war they had waged could not be won. They had lost their dragons, and they had lost most of their fearsome black cavalry. Many trolls had fallen, and thousands of Ulcas. But the greatest concern was the loss of support from Tûr Dorcha.
Without Wrothgar to drive them, without a plan of action that they thought could succeed, the dark forces were disheartened, even as they had hoped to take the heart of Mountain-home with the death of Magra. They had been abandoned, and without the fear of Wrothgar to keep things in order, chaos crept into the ranks.
The Elves took heart, and pursued their enemies, who now found themselves engaged in hasty and dishonorable retreat. The battle was over, and Mountain-home would live on in glory. Yet the losses had not been counted.
Hallagond had been found and brought into the Great Hall, where he told Estle of the death of her brother. Estle sorrowed not only for Azori’s death, but also for Hallagond’s misery. He blamed himself for the loss of his friend. He did not tell Estle the final words Azori had uttered as they lay together on the battlefield in the midst of the fighting.
“I must leave you now, Hallagond,” he had said, his eyes bright but unfocused. “Do not be concerned, for the pain and thirst have left me, and I am at peace. Lift a tankard to Azok and me the next time you find yourself in the Skulking Raven.”
“Why, Azori? Why did you do this?” asked Hallagond, though he tried not to weep.
“If my sister had lost her only love, she would have been unhappy,” said Azori, his breath hitching in his chest, color leaving his cold face. “I could not allow that, as you well know.” His back arched, and his eyes lost their light. Then he was still.
The news was not all bad. Wellyn had survived, though he had taken a knife-thrust to one forearm. Farin was in surprisingly fine fettle, and more than half of his people still lived. Yet the Elves had suffered great loss, the most profound of which was the death of Magra. There would never be another Elf of his kind in Alterra, and Mountain-home was diminished.
The destruction of the Stone of Léir was of great dismay to Lord Wrothgar, but it might have unsettled Lord Kotos even more. He dwelled in the person of Gorgon Elfhunter and, at the moment the Stone had shattered, he was deep beneath Cold Mountain, looking down upon the helpless form of Gaelen Taldin. Pain exploded in Gorgon’s brain as Kotos reacted to the loss of the Stone and to Wrothgar’s obvious displeasure.
No…no…NO! This cannot have happened. All of our plans are ruined…it has been for nothing. I am undone!
Gorgon did not know what had befallen Kotos, as he had no sense at all of the Stone of Léir. “What happened?” he asked.
It would have been better for Gorgon if he had not asked. You…YOU! This is all your doing! You knew the Stone was false, and yet you deceived me just so you could kill one Wood-elf? You will face my wrath, you worthless, disobedient, intractable, irritating…
“…Host?” said Gorgon.
Gaelen, though failing, was surprised to find that if she concentrated hard upon Gorgon, she could hear the voice of Lord Kotos as well. She listened to his railing against Gorgon, and she heard the reply. Then Kotos was silent for a moment. Gaelen smiled to herself. Gorgon was no fool.
We are still partners, Elfhunter, said Kotos. And we have much to do. Come now, and let us work toge
ther. You should not have deceived me, and I do not approve, but you were yourself deceived, and so you are not entirely at fault. Now go on, and exact your vengeance. Your enemy is helpless! Go on then, and take her. Then we can get back to more important business.
“That’s right,” said Gaelen to the surprise of both Kotos and Gorgon. “Just do it! And be sure you make a quick and painless end of me. You wouldn’t want to inconvenience your master, now, would you?” She was exhausted, and she was in pain, but she had kept her wits. “Kotos thinks he owns you, after all.”
Do not listen to her. She is only trying to save her own life, said Kotos. She thinks that by distracting you with doubts, she can buy time for her friends to arrive. You know how clever she is. Do not be fooled!
Gorgon looked down at Gaelen and rumbled deep in his throat. He was still in great pain, and his temperament was tenuous at best.
“Yes, go on and kill me,” said Gaelen. “Put me out of my pain. At least I am what I am…I have not lost myself to the will of another.”
Gorgon’s eyes narrowed and he flexed his right hand, preparing to throttle her.
“You have not been yourself since our last battle, have you?” she said. “Your spirit has been taken, your essence overcome. You no longer move at your own direction. You dwelled among the people of Dûn Arian, and you sat at the table with your enemies, and yet you let them live! You have forgotten your mission, and you will never accomplish it now.”
“On the contrary, I plan to accomplish it in only a few moments,” Gorgon said in a voice that was meant to be falsely ingratiating. Yet Gaelen could hear the doubt beneath it.
Yes, yes! Kill her at once, before she can spread more lies, said Kotos. To this, both Gorgon and Gaelen laughed.