by C S Marks
The Company had ridden many miles beyond the borders of the slave-market, and it did not appear that they had been pursued as yet. Now they could regroup and decide what their next course would be. The sun would soon be rising, and many wounds needed tending, both of body and spirit. Rogond sat with Galador, who stared stonily into the distance and would neither speak nor make eye contact with anyone.
Hallagond’s wound was potentially quite serious, but at least it did not appear to have been poisoned. Gaelen tended him, observing him with wonder, for he truly did resemble Rogond. She placed a quantity of Shiva’s healing salve on the wound, and Hallagond cried out as if it burned him.
“Leave me in peace, Elf. I need no cure that is worse than the affliction, and I certainly did not need to have my life disrupted by the likes of you!”
Gaelen regarded him calmly. “Your brother would not make such a fuss, but would submit gratefully to my attentions. You obviously do not possess his forbearance. Keep still and be silent!” She examined his arm with practiced hands. “This will heal, but it will be a while before you wield a blade with it.”
She looked into his eyes, though he tried to turn from her. “I am grateful for your aid in saving my beloved, and I’m very thankful to have found you at last. His search has been long and difficult. Perhaps now you will come to know one another.”
Hallagond sniffed. “That man is your beloved? I’m less surprised than you might think. It would be typical of my brother to give his heart to an Elf, as from what I have heard, he is something of a fool. If you wish to speak with me in future, please do so in the common-tongue, for the sound of Elven-tongues is unwelcome to my ears.” He then spat an oath in High-elven, his contempt evident. Gaelen was unmoved.
“If you find it more pleasing to hear the common-tongue, then I shall oblige,” she said, “but I will hear no ill spoken of Rogond.”
“Fine. Then let’s not speak of him at all!” said Hallagond. His arm pained him a great deal, he had been driven from his companions, and he did not know how he would rejoin them. He had paid to ensure that his brother never found him, yet here he was, and it looked as though Hallagond would now have to face him. Worse, this is all my own doing. I had to be noble and leap in to save him. When will I ever learn?
Gaelen shook her head. “I’m certain you have quite a sad tale to tell...I can see it in your eyes,” she said. “Yet your brother is my beloved, and I will safeguard him. Do you understand?”
“Ah. You mean that you will shoot me with arrows or cut my throat if I am unkind to him?” said Hallagond. “Well, then let’s begin at once! I might prefer death to dealing with him. Do you not know that the reason your quest has been long is that I did not wish to be found? I would now take my leave of you, except that your foolhardy behavior has made that impossible! I risked my life for him, to what end I cannot know.”
Gaelen’s smile was cold. “Yet you made that choice,” she said. “And now you must remain with us, for you owe me the debt of your life. I did not know you, and I could have let the sutherlings take you. You owe me your life. Now be silent, and live with it!” She looked at his arm again. “This will be less likely to fester now, but we will need to watch it for a few days. Rogond is better equipped to tell the signs than I; you should have him look at the wound each morning when we change the dressing.”
Hallagond gave her a wry look. “Do you not see the scars I bear? I am quite capable of looking after my own wounds. I need no younger brother as a nursemaid.”
“Yet, if you had been more adept at looking after your wounds, perhaps you would not bear so many scars,” she replied. “For now, I will leave you to nurse your ill temper.”
She rose and left him, her gaze drawn to Galador, who sat alone and miserable under the early morning sun. Rogond had gone to tend the horses and to keep watch for pursuit. Thankfully, there was still no sign of any—at least not yet. Gaelen sat quietly down beside her friend Galador, her heart grieving for him. She knew what he was feeling, for she felt some of it herself. Nelwyn was beloved of both of them, and she was still lost. How would they find her, and recover her, when they did not dare venture back into Bezaltor?
As if he sensed Gaelen’s thoughts, Galador turned toward her, speaking for the first time since their flight from the marketplace. “This is my doing. Do you recall the night that Nelwyn lay dying in Mountain-home? The way I held you to blame for it? Now you shall have the chance to turn those same thoughts upon me, for I failed her. My lack of composure has cost us the hope of rescue.”
“Only for the moment,” said Gaelen. “We simply need to regroup and try again. I don’t hold you to blame—I would be the last to blame anyone for lack of composure. Now we simply begin again. You will not help Nelwyn by sitting in despair.”
“What do you think they are doing to her at this very moment? From what I have seen, many of those people have no vestige of honor or decency in them. What will they do to her?” The horror in his face was evident.
“I do not know,” said Gaelen, and she meant it. “But what they will not do is harm her. She is of far too great a value to them. I know you can’t put your mind at rest, but you must try. Only with clear thinking will we be able to restore her. We must turn all other thoughts aside for the moment.”
She was thinking of Sajid, and the fact that he had escaped her vengeance. She had wanted to pursue him, but she simply could not. Now she had to come to terms with it, lest it consume her from within. There would be another day; his hour would come. This thought did not exactly assuage her frustration, but it was better than nothing. With a sigh, she placed a comforting hand on Galador’s shoulder before moving to join Rogond on the watch.
There had been very little clear thinking in Nelwyn’s mind in many days. She had drifted in and out of a dream-world, as Sajid and then Castor had given her a potion that blunted her senses, taking away both her awareness and her reason. She was adrift with no way to ground her thoughts, and they rambled in many strange directions. She did hear Galador’s cries, and they dismayed her, but she heard his voice often in her mind. The feeling of dismay passed quickly. She did not see the unpleasantness of her surroundings, and she did not feel the hands of Castor and those others set to tend her. Yet every now and then a tiny spark of awareness flamed, giving rise to unpleasant and frightening thoughts. At such times she would fight, trying to ward off the hands and the visions until more of the potion was given to quiet her.
Castor was very unhappy at the outcome of the auction. He had sold his other captives, but he had expected Nelwyn to bring a very high price, and he truly did not want to be saddled with her. He knew how dangerous she would be when she regained her senses, and he wanted her to be someone else’s problem by then.
Though morose and dejected for the moment, Castor had apparently been born under a lucky moon. As he sat in his tent, thinking of the riches that still lay beyond his grasp, one of his servants informed him that a man had come to speak with him concerning Nelwyn. Castor was on his guard—perhaps the man was up to no good, and would try to take her from him. But on the other hand, he might be the agent of a wealthy buyer, and Castor could conclude the transaction tonight, in private.
A man in fine robes of dark red was shown into Castor’s tent. Well-spoken and of proud bearing, he introduced himself as the representative of the most honorable Chieftain Al-Muniqui. He had been sent to acquire the finest offering from Bezaltor, and he had seen Nelwyn on the block before she had been withdrawn. Castor rubbed his hands together and called for some wine, bidding the man sit down with him that the bargaining might begin.
Al-Muniqui was the eldest of four brothers, the ruler of a small but very wealthy clan that lived within close proximity of the Neela Oasis. His family had prospered because they were weavers of great renown, and their silks and brocades were among the finest to be found. Al-Muniqui himself lived in a beautiful stone dwelling, ornately carved and gilded, surrounded by his many relatives. Yet he had no heir,
and two of his three brothers often turned a covetous eye toward the wealth and power of their elder. Al-Muniqui feared that one day they would rise up and claim leadership. Naturally, this could only happen upon his death, and he never passed a shadow without fear of lurking assassins. His other brother, the third-born, was feeble-minded, and no threat to him, but the others bore sinister thoughts behind their smiling faces.
Al-Muniqui’s lack of an heir troubled him, for he despised his brothers, and did not wish for his wealth to pass to them. After all, a man’s worth was measured by the number of sons he produced. Al-Muniqui had many wives, and they had given him three daughters, but he did not care for them. He let it be known that, should his next child be born a daughter, all of his wives would suffer the penalty. Surely, it was not he who was lacking. His wives conspired against him, and had been deemed unworthy by the powers of heaven.
Small wonder, then, that all of Al-Muniqui’s wives awaited the impending birth of his next child with apprehension. The one who would bear this child was young and in good health...perhaps their daily prayer for a son would be answered. In the meantime they kept busy at their weaving, knowing that should a girl be born, they would all be beaten nearly to death. It was into this world that Nelwyn, daughter of Turanen, was sold.
The Company broke bread together as the evening drew down around them, prepared to mount their horses and ride…where? They had spent much of the day in debate over what their course should be, but they were no closer to agreement now than they had been in the beginning. Gaelen wanted to ride back to the market and disguise herself, hoping to hear news of Nelwyn. Rogond thought this a fair plan, except that it would be difficult for a lone female to lurk at the market without arousing questions, and Gaelen knew little of the sutherling tongues, so she would be unlikely to pick up news. Neither Rogond nor Galador could risk returning to Bezaltor, for they would likely be recognized, even in disguise. It was difficult to conceal the identity of one so tall. Hallagond was already fairly well known in the slave markets, so there was no use sending him. In addition, there was always the possibility of someone’s recognizing their horses.
Gaelen was concerned for Rogond; he had not as yet spoken to his brother, other than to offer him food and water, as Hallagond had made it plain that he wanted nothing to do with him. He would not look Rogond directly in the eye, and would turn his back to him whenever possible. In Gaelen’s opinion, he was behaving in a manner most childish. She sat beside Rogond now, tending his bruises, soothing his spirit as she could.
“Don’t worry, my love, he will come around. I know he’s being disagreeable, but that is only because he did not expect us to find him, and he was not prepared. Remember your promise to your father—you knew it would not be an easy task, and it will test your resolve. Steel yourself, for he will not open his heart quickly or willingly. His spirit is wounded...I can see it in his face. Yet there is still a kind heart beneath the thorny veil.”
She began to rub Rogond’s shoulders, and he relaxed slightly as some of the tension left him. “But, why does he not want to know his own kin, unless he is so ashamed that he cannot face me? I have set myself in judgment of him already, for he was engaged in a practice most horrific and evil. I knew his tale was not a happy one, but I never expected to find him involved in the buying and selling of flesh!” Rogond shook his head and drew a deep breath. Hallagond’s presence as a bidder in the auction-tent had shocked him. It was the last place he had expected to find his brother, formerly a man of the highest character.
“Do you mean he was actually…actually bidding?” Gaelen had not realized this, and she threw a quick glance at Hallagond as though she expected to see scales covering his body, or perhaps horns sprouting from his forehead that she had missed earlier.
“He had a bidding card, and I saw him hold it up during the auction,” said Rogond. As he thought of it, the tension returned to his shoulders.
Gaelen drew a deep breath. It’s obvious that we don’t know what forces drive this man, and until we can learn more, it’s better to reserve opinion. “Calm yourself, beloved. We may not know everything yet. Don’t judge him too harshly…there is something about a man who would own slaves that doesn’t match what I have seen in Hallagond. Let’s wait and see.”
Rogond would take this advice for the moment, but he knew that if his brother had his way there would be very few words exchanged between them, and he would never know or understand Hallagond’s motivation any more than he did right then.
The Company was still no closer to an acceptable plan, and each minute spent in fruitless debate distanced them from Nelwyn. Galador, in particular, looked haggard and grey-faced. They had to take action soon.
Hallagond had remained outside their discussions, stubbornly refusing to take part in them, sitting alone with sullen eyes turned toward the deep desert. Gaelen knew that he longed to escape their company, to run from Rogond, but she had reminded him that he owed her a life-debt, and until it was repaid he would be compelled to remain.
She knew that Rogond wanted to converse with his brother so that they might each learn and tell of their history, but he did not yet know how to approach. Gaelen did not understand Hallagond’s reaction to Rogond, but she knew it pained him, and for this reason she went to speak with Hallagond aside.
She knew he didn’t care for Elven-speech, so she addressed him in the common-tongue. He would not meet her eyes, but that didn’t matter—she knew he could hear her. She told him of Galador, and of the importance of finding and restoring Nelwyn to him. She told him of their quest, and why Rogond had wanted so desperately to find him. She also told him that she respected his wish to remain alone, and at this he turned and acknowledged her, looking for the first time into her eyes.
“If you respect my desire to remain alone, why do you not release me?” he asked.
“Because that is not your destiny,” replied Gaelen. “Rogond was told by a man named Kamal that you had gone to Fómor, and that was where you could be found. That has never been so, has it?”
“Most assuredly not. I would not live long there, regrettably. No right-thinking man of northern heritage would take such a risk. I have been to the City of the Corsairs only once, years ago, and I quite had my fill of it.” He paused for a moment. “Kamal had been paid to put you off the trail, but he should not have directed you to Fómor; you would not have survived the crossing.”
Gaelen’s eyes widened with sudden understanding, and then narrowed as she addressed Hallagond in a chilly voice. “No, you would have preferred that your brother not be harmed…it was you that paid Kamal, wasn’t it? Your gold paid him to lie to us. Yet it was not the lie you would have wished for; I hear it in your voice. Even so, you would have seen us dead in the wastelands rather than face the only family you have left?” She shook her head in disbelief.
“You know nothing of destiny,” said Hallagond, his voice bitter and dark. The color had risen in his face and his eyes were bright with the realization that Gaelen had guessed the truth; it had indeed been his gold that had paid for Kamal’s lies.
“I know this much,” she replied. “Your destiny lies, for the moment, with us. It should be obvious to you by now…for what other reason could you be so impossibly unlucky? In spite of your detestable plan you have been foiled, and Rogond has found you. You owe me a life-debt, and until you repay it, I will not release you. If you aid us in freeing Nelwyn, I will hold your debt paid, but don’t think you will escape Rogond. He will continue to pursue you until there is no hope. Do you understand?”
Hallagond nodded, fixing her with piercing grey eyes that were nearly identical to Rogond’s, but harder. They had seen things Rogond would never see…not if Gaelen could help it.
“I will aid you in freeing your friend, if you will then release me,” he said. “But I will hold no love or regard for my brother. Do you understand?”
“No, I do not understand,” said Gaelen, “but for now, I will accept your aid. That will me
an that you must hold some regard for Rogond, at least. You will need to work with him if you would aid us. And know this, Tuathan…I will keep a tally of each hurtful thing you say to him, of each time you wound his spirit. These things will not be forgotten.” She rose and went back to join Rogond and Galador. Hallagond hesitated for a few moments, and then he turned toward the Company, setting himself to the task of rescuing Nelwyn, unwittingly taking the first steps toward an unforeseen destiny.
Chapter 12: HALLAGOND PROVES USEFUL
“I might be able to guess where your friend has been taken,” said Hallagond at last. He had spent some time in consideration, having listened to the tale of the auction at Bezaltor. Gaelen noted that he still would neither look at nor speak directly to Rogond, and that both brothers were ill-at-ease. This would have to be mended, and soon, otherwise it might interfere with their rescue efforts. Gaelen’s heart went out to Rogond; she could imagine the conflict of his thoughts. They had undertaken a long and arduous quest, only to find his brother bidding for slaves. A less honorable activity would be difficult to imagine. Thankfully, Rogond had not yet come to the realization that his brother had paid Kamal to mislead him.
Gaelen also knew that Hallagond was not as he appeared. He was trying to behave counter to his nature, and he was as conflicted as Rogond. Rogond’s disappointment was matched by Hallagond’s denial, and Gaelen did not wish to think too long upon either, for it made her weary and confused.
Even Galador could see the tension between the two brothers. He wondered whether this rough-looking man could aid them in finding Nelwyn. “You know these lands and the people in them. Even your guesses will be better than our meager knowledge,” he said.
Hallagond looked into Galador’s eyes, realizing that, if they failed, he would never survive. His spirit would waste away, and his body would follow it—he would die rather than return his heart to cold isolation. Hallagond had known relatively little of Elves, and he had never before seen sorrow that was thousands of years old. Galador’s very life depended upon Nelwyn now. Everyone in the Company knew it.