Fire-heart (Tales of Alterra, the World that Is)

by C S Marks

  Turan looked into the eyes of Rogond, and his expression was grave. “Some have guessed that your brother has either gone mad, or has lost his honor somehow.”

  Rogond took in a sharp breath, for the loss of honor to a Ranger was a fate much worse than death. “You’ve guessed, but you don’t know,” he said to Turan with some fervor, for he would defend his brother despite never having met him. “There are many explanations possible. You have said that you don’t even know where he is, or whether he has fallen. Why would you stain his name with such a speculation?”

  “Because Hallagond would not abandon his people, nor would he fail to bring word of the fate of his companions unless too ashamed to do so. I knew him as well as anyone, and called him friend. He would only retreat to such solitude if he could no longer suffer our company, and there’s only one reasonable explanation for that. But you’re right…anything could have happened. It’s possible that he encountered an evil so fearsome and terrible that it deranged him, though I think that unlikely.”

  “Do you know of my father?” asked Rogond. “Did Hallagond tell you his name, or his fate?”

  Turan looked down at his feet. “He did not. He mentioned your father only with bitterness, and never by name. It would seem they didn’t get along, which may have been why Hallagond left Dûn Bennas in the first place. I’m thinking he believed his father thought him unworthy, thus his seeming urgency to prove otherwise.”

  Turan looked earnestly at Rogond. “If you would learn more of Hallagond, you should go first to the dwarves of the Northern Mountains, for they knew much of him. It’s my hope that he renewed his ties with them on his way to the Eastern Hills, and he may have made his intentions known. I have not inquired of them, as I found them somewhat difficult to deal with, but since you have brought a dwarvish guide with you, all may be well. I’m sorry that my tale does not gladden your heart.”

  Rogond nodded. “That it does not, my good Turan, but you undertook a long journey to bring this news, and I thank you. I must now continue my search. Hopefully I will find my brother and learn the truth. Perhaps he can be healed, and his honor restored, if indeed he thinks it lost.”

  “I wish you well in that endeavor,” said Turan. “Hallagond was a good man. Be careful in the dwarf-realms.” Then he fell silent, drawing his hood down over his face.

  Gorgon Elfhunter stood alone under the brilliant stars, the east wind lifting silky hair that glinted like spun gold in the darkness. The trees of the Greatwood were stirring; he could hear them even from this distance, and he scented the air, sensing the change in the wind. His pale eyes narrowed, and he closed them for a moment, concentrating upon Gaelen, his mortal enemy. As he did so, he reflected on the gift she had unwittingly given him. He had never before seen the beauty of the night sky, not until he perceived it through her eyes. Now he was drawn irresistibly to the brilliant silver lights burning above him, as were all his mother’s kin. But with that gift came the reminders of things he had never had, and would never be given. He had seen so much of her world—a world forever denied him—and he hated her for it.

  His life had been simple before she came into it. He hated her for that, too…for making him think about the answers to questions he had never allowed himself to ask. Blood and pain had been his only friends, and now he wanted more—far more. This connection between them, forged by the mirror, was both a blessing and a curse. He was aware of her…if he concentrated hard enough he could almost see her face sometimes. As he learned to hone his sense of her, it would be increasingly difficult to hide from him. But he also knew that she was aware of him, too. He could feel the heat of her desire—the one he shared—to hunt him down.

  I have the advantage. Her thoughts are complicated, and she has many others to turn them to, whereas mine have only one purpose. She will be distracted…I will not. She is weakened by love of that fool ranger and the rest of that sentimental, ridiculous clan. I can still guard myself from her, and follow after her. One dark night, I will take them all.

  He ground his teeth and took a deep breath, filling his massive chest with clean, cold air. Winter would be coming on soon, and he had the sense that Gaelen and her friends were on the move. He resolved to follow her as soon as he could manage it. He also needed to ensure that Lord Wrothgar did not know of his whereabouts, and that would require some care. Gorgon would most certainly need to manage his vengeance alone; he would take no further aid from the Shadowmancer, of whom he was quite understandably fearful.

  Now he looked once more upon the stars, his gaze softening with delight that filled a small corner of his dark heart in spite of himself.

  Chapter 2: THE COMPANY TRAVELS SOUTH

  The trip to the Northern Mountains, though hazardous, had proved worthwhile, though most of what Rogond learned merely confirmed what he had already heard from Turan. His brother was now a man alone...alone and without honor. He had forsaken his people, running away to some far-distant southern land “where no one would know his name.” The dwarves could give nothing more specific than that regarding Hallagond’s whereabouts, but at least the Company now knew in which direction to look for him.

  I do wish we had something more specific than “south,” thought Rogond. South is not much to go on, but at least we might actually be able to get somewhere before winter comes. He sighed, glancing back over his shoulder at Fima. “It’s a good thing you were with us. Your folk were most helpful, though far from encouraging. Thanks to them, we won’t waste precious time traveling to the Eastern Hills.”

  Rogond drew a deep, sweet breath of air heavy with the scent of late-season flowers, and looked out over the wide grasslands stretching before him. I will not rest until I either find Hallagond or learn of his fate. Perhaps I can help him regain his honor. Regardless, I will not relent until I have heard the tale from my brother’s own mouth.

  Now that the Eastern Hills were no longer in their plan, the hearts of the Company grew lighter, as they were more likely to reach milder lands before the onset of winter. Yet the journey would take months, even mounted. There were many obstacles before them, and many ways they might have chosen, but in the end they decided to make for the River Ambros, which they could then follow to the southern city of Dûn Bennas. Once there, Rogond wanted to spend some time in the Hall of Records, for now that he knew the name of his mother and brother, he might learn a great deal more. They could spend the winter there, provisioning themselves for the journey.

  Upon leaving Dûn Bennas, they would continue southward through the scrublands until they encountered the first of the desert. This stretched far beyond the borders of Fima’s map, where it was labeled the “Ravi-shan”, or Sun-country. From there they would take the Ravani road and begin the search for Hallagond in earnest. This made sense to Fima, who would not take one step out of his way if he could help it. He had never been to the desert lands, but he already suspected he would not like them.

  “Are there Elves in the Sutherlands?” asked Gaelen, who had just been relieved from the watch. Rogond thought she was worried about leaving all that was familiar behind, and the thought of encountering other Elves along the journey would comfort her.

  Rogond looked over at Fima. “I don’t know how far south they may be found, but there are Wood-elves in the Verdant Mountains, and most especially in Tal-ailean, which is a beautiful country. Yet they were never many, and they keep to themselves. We are unlikely to encounter them.”

  Fima nodded. “Much of the land between the Greatwood and the mountains is under the sway of men, yet it is a fair land, Gaelen. You and Nelwyn will enjoy passing through it, from what I’m told. Our test will be in the southern desert, for in the Ravi there are no trees, little water, and men of strange ways and savage temperament. Not all are savage—the lore of the region speaks of several learned cultures that are, quite frankly, intriguing—yet the Plague wiped out many of the inhabitants. Those who survived were thrown together in various interesting ways; a lot of cultural barriers were
broken down by simple necessity.” He shook his head. “The kindreds of men suffered greatly in those years. What good fortune that our Rogond was in the arms of the Elàni.”

  “Well, should we encounter Elvish folk, I will warn them of Gorgon, and pray that he does not follow behind us,” Gaelen muttered.

  Rogond lifted his eyebrows at her, and then spoke in a low, gentle voice. “What brought him to your mind, little one? Do you have a sense of him now? Does he follow us? What do you feel?”

  She closed her eyes for a moment, and Rogond saw the first three fingers of her right hand curl as though upon a bow-string. When she opened her eyes again, they were bright with loathing. “The Elfhunter is not hunting yet, but he soon will be,” she said simply, and then left him, climbing once more upon the rocks to stand the watch beside Nelwyn and Galador.

  Fima shook his head. “She is aware of the creature, and I suspect he is aware of her. He will find us again one of these nights. That’s why she is willing to travel so far from her home, and why she asked about Elves in the south...she wants to lead Gorgon away from Elven folk. There is some insight that she has not shared with us—something happened to her in the Greatwood.”

  Thorndil had lit his pipe and was now puffing thoughtfully on it. “We must not press her about it, for she will tell us nothing until she is ready. That monster has wounded her…the wounds are deep enough that even I can see them.”

  They sat in silence for a while, Fima joining Thorndil in lighting his own pipe. Rogond heard a small rustling from above, just before they were all startled abruptly by Gaelen, who sprang down from her stony perch.

  “Have you taken leave of your senses? Evil creatures do not partake of that leaf. The scent of the smoke will draw them here! Have you both gone mad? Put them out!”

  She disappeared as suddenly as she had appeared, leaving them blinking at one another in surprise. She had frightened Fima nearly to death once again.

  Thorndil looked annoyed. “I will smoke if I please,” he grumbled, though, after another moment’s thought, he put out his pipe.

  “She’s right, and you both know it,” said Rogond. “Yet this was most unlike her. She is not herself…the mention of Gorgon has unsettled her. We must try to be understanding.”

  “I will be dead if she does that to me but once more,” said Fima, obligingly putting out his own pipe. “I would not want to make her my enemy.”

  “That you would not,” said Rogond. “Just think of this as a way to aid you in sharpening your alertness. I heard her before she appeared; soon she will not be able to startle me anymore.”

  Fima snorted. “A fine job you did of not showing it. Your entire body jumped, your eyes were as wide as ours, and I saw your hand dart for your weapon. Save your breath.”

  Thorndil settled back against the stone, drew down into his warm cloak, and was soon asleep. Rogond and Fima remained awake until dawn. “I wish that none of us had ever heard of Gorgon Elfhunter,” said Fima. “The violation and torment of Gaelen is the worst of all his foul deeds, in my humble opinion.”

  The first of the late autumn gales found the Company sheltering near the foothills of the Verdant Mountains. They had come straight south, turning westward from the River Dominglas, skirting around the fens and marshes that dotted the lands near the river. The journey had taken them through wide, rich grasslands, and the horses had enjoyed the grazing there, though it was diminished by the imminent onset of winter.

  “It’s a good thing they’re putting on some flesh,” said Galador as he appraised their plump, glorious mounts. “They will soon face deprivation in the southlands. I worry especially about Eros—he is not of the type that will fare well in such conditions. With such a thick coat, the heat will surely tax him.”

  Rogond patted Eros, feeling the nice layer of flesh covering his ribs. “Yes, he has always grown plenty of hair. From what I hear, the nights can be cold in the desert, so he may yet do well. He has always taken care of himself, this one. If I have to, I will clip his heavy coat.” Eros seemed to take his meaning, snorting and lifting his proud head at such a ludicrous suggestion. Clip him, indeed!

  A storm came upon them in late afternoon. It blew down out of the mountains, and the winds in the wide lands were terribly fierce with little to block their way. The rain lashed the travelers until they found makeshift shelter within a ring of stones; even Eros’ thick coat was soaked to the skin. The horses put their tails to the storm, crowding together with their heads down, ears flattened against the rain. The two-legged members of the Company huddled among the stones, thoroughly wetted, but at least protected from the biting wind.

  Rogond marveled as he sat between Gaelen and Galador, for it seemed they were always warm to the touch. He envied them their efficiency, for they ate much less out of need than he, and they kept warm on very little. Their energy seldom waned, and they suffered less from the weather. He looked over at Thorndil, who sat by himself, probably out of pride. He would not want the others to know how miserable he was, shivering and trying to keep his teeth from chattering.

  Rogond reached into his pack and extracted two lovely honey-cakes that he had been saving for himself and Gaelen, should she ever need her spirits lifted. He moved to sit beside Thorndil, noting the pain in his eyes. The old Ranger had taken many wounds, and the weather played havoc, especially with his gnarled hands. Though they were still strong, the swollen joints and crooked fingers ached and throbbed.

  Rogond offered him one of the honey-cakes, and they sat quietly together, enjoying the sweet taste and the renewal of vitality. Thorndil’s shivering grew less, and he smiled at some fair thought that crossed into his mind. Rogond wondered whether he should suggest that his friend remain in Dûn Bennas, for he would be most useful to the people there, but he thought better of it. With luck, Thorndil would come to this conclusion himself.

  “When we get to the city there will be plenty of food, drink, and warm fires. It will be a fine place to spend the winter,” said Rogond. “I, for one, am looking forward to some new garments. These have about reached the end of their usefulness.”

  Thorndil snorted. “You still retain your fondness for new clothing. The Elves have influenced you beyond recovery...even when we were in the northern wilderness you bemoaned the fact that you could not wear fine new things. You’re forever hopeless.” He chuckled at Rogond. “We could never reckon who you were trying to impress.”

  Rogond regarded him with a wounded expression. “Why do you disparage me? I merely wanted to ensure that our enemies could not track us by scent alone. It makes hunting Ulcas so much easier when you don’t need to worry about always approaching them from downwind.”

  “That sounds like something a certain She-elf would say,” replied Thorndil. “And speaking of She-elves, I believe I shall try to light my pipe, if you will assist me.” Rogond nodded. This thought had occurred also to him. In spite of the wind and rain, they managed to strike sparks while sheltering under their cloaks, and soon they were both drawing contentedly.

  Fima, alerted by the faint whiff of smoke wafting on the wind, was drawn to the Rangers at once, and the three of them were soon quite happy with life. The Elves looked curiously at the indistinguishable mass of dark, soaking wet cloaks, out of which blue smoke and laughter were drifting. Rogond, Thorndil and Fima weathered the storm together, reveling in their glorious leaf, telling jokes and tales, still shivering but warm in spirit, sharing in their mortality.

  It’s good to have friends, thought Gaelen, hunkering down in her cloak, except when we must leave them behind. She drew a wistful sigh, remembering the day Wellyn had come to see her in the stables before she left the Greatwood. He had appeared in the doorway, flushed and breathless, having run all the way as though he feared she had gone already.

  He came straight to the point. “You’re preparing to leave us again, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I’m leaving. Rogond is traveling north the day after tomorrow, and I’m going with him,” sai
d Gaelen, taking notice of the look of dismay on her friend’s face. This isn’t like him… he is generally quite used to my being away. “Why are you thus distressed? I leave the fortress often and long…it is not usual for me to be here unless reporting to the King or receiving orders. This has long been my habit.”

  Wellyn stood for a moment, his eyes wide with anxiety, then his face flushed and he tried to turn from her. She gripped his arm, staying him, and forced him to look into her eyes. “Tell me what has unsettled you. I know you would not be grieved without cause. Tell me.”

  Her insistence was genuine and he responded to it, drawing her to him and embracing her. She returned the embrace, for she could feel his urgency and would calm his fears. She also wanted to know the nature of them…it truly wasn’t like Wellyn to be afraid. She knew that he sometimes had difficulty revealing his thoughts and concerns, and she waited patiently for him to begin.

  He drew a deep sigh, his breath warm and comforting on the nape of her neck. “I know that you are seldom in the Elvenhold for long, and I’m quite accustomed to your leaving me, but this time is different, for…you will not return. I have seen it.”

  Gaelen pulled back from him and looked into his anxious face, her own expression shocked and saddened. “Of course I will. What have you seen that makes you doubt it? It’s my greatest wish to return and never leave again, but I must wait until certain things are resolved. I must leave the Greatwood, Wellyn. I must leave for now, no matter my desire. I cannot be here if…” Her voice trailed off. She did not wish to upset Wellyn further by the mention of Gorgon, and she knew that she could not return until he lay dead before her at last. Her promise to Rogond was only one of the forces driving her.