by C S Marks
Gaelen bowed before him. “You’re right. I should have known better, for you would not be reminded of your heritage were you in the Ravani or not. Very well, Al-amand, Forsaken Man of Tuathas, hear what I have to say. You are hereby released from your debt, even though, as you pointed out, I did save your life again and could hold you further if I wished. But your brother has asked, nay, has insisted that you be released, so I suppose that means you are free to go and get on with your wasted life. I would ask only one thing of you ‘ere you leave us, and I believe after such a long and arduous quest to find you that you owe me a response.”
She looked hard at him, trying to read his expression. When he did not try to interrupt her, she continued: “Why do you so wish to hurt Rogond? Why can you not embrace him as your family, and give him the courtesy and respect that he is due? Why can you not love him as your brother, when it is so obvious that he wishes only to aid you? Your lives will be brief enough without bringing such sorrow. Imagine yourself in his place! His heart was filled with hope and joy upon learning that he has a brother, yet your fondest wish is to be rid of him forever, and he knows it. Why would you hurt him so?”
Hallagond sighed. “I have long known that your people are not at all shy about speaking whatever is in your minds, and you take forever to do it. Do you spend years perfecting the art of tedious, meddling sanctimony? In some respects you are more skilled in this than you are with your blades. I thank you for the release of my debt, but I would rather keep matters related to my brother to myself, if it’s all the same to you.”
Gaelen bristled at him; she had heard quite enough of his high-handed censure. “Save it, elder son of Diomar! It is only my love of Rogond that prevents me from demonstrating skill with my blades right now. It’s obvious that you’d rather not share your motives, but answer me if you can find the words. I wonder whether you even understand what drives you. Answer me if you can, but do not answer falsely, for I shall know it. When I’m not practicing being tedious and meddlesome, I am perfecting my skill at detecting lies in the eyes of men!”
Hallagond was weary of her, yet she was right; he probably did owe her an explanation. He looked at her as she stood before him in the moonlight, knowing that she would not relent. Despite the fact that telling Gaelen of his dark history was the last thing Hallagond wanted to do, he sighed, extending a beckoning hand.
“Come with me, Gaelen Taldin, and you shall hear. Then I must ask that you truly release me, and not trouble me further with such bothersome questions. I must also ask that you share none of what I will say to you.”
“I cannot promise that,” said Gaelen, “for if revealing your words would bring understanding and comfort to Rogond, then I will reveal them.”
Hallagond smiled darkly at this. “Then I need not fear, for nothing I will say to you will be of comfort to Rogond. On that you may rely!” He looked hard at her. “Do you still wish to learn?”
“I do.”
“Very well, then.” He led her to a dark, lonely alcove behind an empty dwelling. Once he was satisfied that they were alone, he began. “I…I got into a bit of trouble in the north,” he said. “It was a bad time, and I did something very foolish. I cannot give any specifics.”
“That’s not good enough,” said Gaelen. “You’ll have to do better than that.”
Hallagond sighed, and she could hear him grinding his teeth. “Once, back in the northern lands, I was a Captain of Rangers, in command of a company of twelve good men. I made…a bad decision.”
“What sort of bad decision?”
Hallagond thought for a moment. “One that makes me unfit to go among brave and honest men.” He looked back into the darkness, from which Rogond soon emerged, walking quietly up from behind. Apparently, he was looking for Gaelen.
Her eyes did not stray from Hallagond’s, though she knew she had heard all she would from Hallagond for the moment. “This is not yet ended, Al-amand,” she said quietly. “We shall speak of it again upon another time.”
Not if I can help it, thought Hallagond, though he nodded in assent. He would not meet her gaze, and she knew that he had no intention of giving her any further enlightenment. Rogond had unwittingly interrupted her attempt to aid him, and that was regrettable, yet Hallagond had convinced her of one thing: if this situation could be fixed, she would not be the one to fix it. The healing of this deep hurt would need to come from within. She hoped that somehow the Company could remain with Hallagond until that occurred, for he was a man worth redeeming, and she would see his faith in himself restored.
The following morning, Gaelen, Galador, Rogond, and Nelwyn sat together, enjoying the hospitality of Mohani, who was serving Nelwyn her first taste of kaffa. Gaelen had not managed to fully acquire the taste, and as she watched her cousin’s expression she knew that this view would be shared. Rogond loved kaffa, as did Galador; they could drink the bitter fluid even without benefit of adding sugar to sweeten it.
Gaelen and Nelwyn shared quite a different view of the dark, sweet koka, however. Gaelen still had some that Mohani had given her, and now she shaved a large bit off into her kaffa-mug, watching as it slowly melted away. She held the cup to her lips, tasted of it, and smiled. Now she was on to something!
“Try adding some of this,” said Mohani, offering her powdered spice that turned out to be a mixture of cinnamon and nutmeg. Gaelen was very pleased with the result. She handed the vessel to Nelwyn, who tasted of it, but gave it back immediately; it still was not to her liking.
Gaelen shrugged, and sat cradling the warm mug in her hands until she had finished it. The kaffa began to affect her shortly thereafter, and she grew very bright-eyed and restive. “The sun has been up for hours,” she said. “Where are Hallagond and Fima? If we do not rouse them soon, the day will be half over. There is much that needs doing. Shall I go and fetch them?” Her expression indicated that she would enjoy the task of turning Hallagond and Fima out of their beds, for she had never understood the desire of healthy mortals to sleep so much.
Rogond, who had a much clearer understanding, admonished her. “I think it would be unwise for you to perform the task, Gaelen, as you would get far too much pleasure from it. Hallagond shared a bottle of brandy with Fima last night, and I would expect neither is in the mood to be roused by an energetic Wood-elf who is presently under the influence of dancing goats.”
“Ah. I see,” said Gaelen, looking over at Nelwyn, who was finishing one of Mohani’s wonderful cakes. “Drunkenness is a common excuse for lying about all day among both men and dwarves, apparently.”
Rogond smiled. “It is not merely an excuse, Gaelen. I doubt that either of them will be pleased with the state of their pounding heads or aching bodies this morning. I shall go and try to rouse them, for I know that Hallagond wanted to take care of certain affairs today.”
Gaelen, who would not suffer harmful effects from drinking, shook her head. Why did men drink if it made them ill?
Hallagond finally appeared as the morning waned into mid-day. Rogond and Galador were replenishing their supplies, while Gaelen and Nelwyn had gone out to exercise the horses. Fima, who had never been an early riser and who was presently suffering from the effects of the previous night’s indulgence, had declared that he would not be joining anyone in anything today…at least not until suppertime.
El-morah served Hallagond a large mug of his most excellent kaffa, laced with a small amount of sweet liquor that tasted rather like rum. “It is said that a small amount of liquor will aid in banishing the after-effects of a large amount,” he said.
Hallagond scowled at him. “You’re far too cheerful this day, innkeeper,” he said, rubbing his hand across his red-rimmed eyes.
“One of the tasks that I perform for my customers is listening to their woes,” said El-morah with a knowing look. “It would seem that you had sorrows to drown last night. If you would unburden yourself, I would listen.”
Hallagond liked and trusted El-morah, but he would keep most of his troubles to himsel
f. “Thanks, kindly host, for your concern. My life has been thrown into disarray with the appearance of my brother and his friends, nothing more. I am trying to determine how best to proceed from here. The She-elf has released me from my life-debt, so I may now go on my way. I only need to decide where to go, I suppose.”
“You would truly abandon your brother, after he has come so far to find you?” El-morah was incredulous, for family was a thing he valued above all else.
“My brother wishes to take me back to the northlands with him, and I have sworn never to return. Rogond will not accept that I have become a man of the Ravani. He still belongs in the northlands, and I would prefer that he return there as soon as possible, taking those Elves with him.”
El-morah shook his head. “You are not just a man of the Ravani. You are Al-amand, companion of Azori the bandit. Your reputation is unsavory; you and your friends have done some dreadful things. Perhaps your brother would see you redeem yourself? He has said that you are a good man in your heart, and I believe him, for I also see this in you.”
Hallagond shrugged. “It matters not to me what any of you see. My actions have spoken for the kind of man I am.” His eyes narrowed as he looked sidelong at El-morah. “Once, a long time ago, I actually cared about what happened to others, but I have since learned that there is no benefit in it. I care now only for my own comforts. If that She-elf had not claimed a life-debt, I would have left them all to their fates. I do not care for Elves; I never did before, and I don’t now. I would escape their bright gaze as soon as I may, but I have a few errands first. When I’m ready, I will face the unpleasant task of confronting my brother so that he will know my inclinations, and stop trying to pursue me. I look forward to that as I would to being buried neck-deep in an anthill.”
El-morah shook his head again. “As host, my task is to listen, and not give advice,” he said, “but I am finding it difficult to keep silent.”
“Well, I will not keep silent,” said Mohani, as she approached from behind her husband. Apparently, she had overheard at least part of Hallagond’s declaration. “This path you are taking is wrong. Your brother is a kindly soul, and he has your best interests at heart. I expect he could be very persistent. I don’t think you will put him off so easily, and make no mistake…Gaelen loves him, and I believe she could be somewhat unforgiving, so have a care how you trample him.”
Hallagond looked at Mohani as though she were an interesting insect that he had only just discovered. “Do you think I have cause to worry about my safety? Do I need to watch my back, or have someone taste my food before I do?” He chuckled softly as Mohani’s face reddened. “My thanks for the warning, but I am not afraid of any avenging She-elf, especially that one. She is all talk and bravado—she certainly would not do harm to Rogond’s only surviving brother. Now, if you will pardon me, I have business to attend to. You dispense excellent kaffa, and I feel renewed. It’s a pity that the same may not be said of your advice, but my thanks are given to you anyway.” He drew forth three pieces of silver and laid them on the counter.
El-morah took one as payment for the kaffa, but he pushed the other two back toward Hallagond with a chilly expression. “Save these, northlander, for our advice comes without charge, particularly to those not wise enough to listen. We would never take advantage of such a man. I hope you don’t find your confrontation with Rogond too unpleasant, Forsaken One.” He turned from Hallagond then, returning to the back room to aid Mohani in the preparation of food for their evening meal.
Hallagond shrugged, pocketed the two silver pieces, and went out from El-morah’s house. He sensed that he had estranged both the innkeeper and his wife, but this did not dismay him, for he had so intended.
“Tuathan!”
Hallagond winced at Nelwyn’s bright, clear voice calling out to him as he made his way to the abode of Mikla, the poisoner. Apparently the Elves had returned from their morning ride, and now Nelwyn walked with Galador through the streets of the oasis, for she had not as yet truly explored it. “Wait for us, and we will walk with you,” she said, as he turned to regard her striding briskly toward him with Galador at her side.
Both Elves bowed before Hallagond in greeting, but he did not return the gesture. He was in a less-than-charitable mood this morning, and Nelwyn heard this in his voice as he addressed her: “I have spoken with your cousin about this, and I will now say the same to you. Obviously it has not occurred to you that I have taken the name Al-amand because I do not wish to call attention to my northern heritage. You have just called this to the attention of everyone in hearing. Northmen are not well thought of here. Never refer to me as “Tuathan” again. Do you understand?”
Nelwyn’s bright expression changed immediately, and she was chagrined. “I’m sorry,” she replied in a small voice. “I did not realize…”
The look on her face made him immediately regret his reprimand, and the look on Galador’s face convinced him that he should make it up to her. “It’s all right…you didn’t know any better. I apologize for growling at you.” He smiled warmly at her. “Will you forgive me?”
Nelwyn smiled back at him and nodded, although Galador’s expression might still have been described as glacial. Hallagond explained his errand, and offered to take them to meet Mikla, promising a most entertaining experience.
Nelwyn was delighted; she would be most pleased to inform Gaelen that she had seen such wonders. The two cousins occasionally shared a sort of rivalry as to which of them had the more interesting day.
Mikla’s place was at first rather frightening to Nelwyn, with its bubbling flasks and strange smells, but it proved to be all that Hallagond had promised. Mikla nearly expired on the spot when he beheld Nelwyn and Galador. He had never before seen Avinashi; many thought them to exist only in legend, and now two of them were standing in his very establishment. He nearly choked to death from wheezing, and both Elves were alarmed.
“Are you all right?” asked Nelwyn, gazing at Mikla with the greenest eyes he had ever seen. He could not yet speak, as he was still wheezing, tears streaming from his eyes, his face purplish-red. He held up one hand in a gesture of dismissal, as Hallagond translated.
“It will pass. Wait a moment...he’ll be all right.” Amused, he spoke softly to Mikla. “What do you think of my visitors?”
Mikla managed to take a couple of breaths without coughing, and turned a jaundiced eye on Hallagond. Yet he was quite suitably impressed. In another few moments, he had recovered enough that he could speak.
“Why have you come, Al-amand? Is it your intention to pay your debt to me?” He was eyeing Nelwyn’s hair with longing.
“It is. I have brought you a token of great worth, though the gold I bring is perhaps not the gold you desire.”
“That is most likely true,” the old man replied. “Yet the gold I desire is unattainable, unless of course your friend would part with it, which would be a thing beyond hope, I expect.”
Hallagond smiled at Nelwyn. “Perhaps not,” he said. Then, to the surprise of everyone present, he spoke to the Elves in their own tongue. “This man’s skills are responsible for your freedom, at least in part. Without his elixir we could not have done what was done. He wants you to give him some of your hair, as it is valued here as a talisman to ward off sickness. I paid for his services in part with Galador’s hair earlier, though he did not know it. What is your will, Nelwyn? Will you part with a small quantity?”
“What do you mean, you paid with my hair?” said Galador, his expression torn between surprise and dismay. He was very vain of his hair, and could not imagine how Hallagond had acquired it.
“My hands are skilled, Galador, and my touch is light. I can pick the pocket of any man in the Ravani; I have done so on many occasions in order to survive. You were distracted, and did not even feel the touch of my blade. Don’t worry; no one will notice, and it will grow back. Was it not worth Nelwyn’s freedom?”
This reply, of course, was well chosen, for Galador could no
t argue with it, though Hallagond could see that he was distressed at this invasion of his person. “You might have asked me, and it would have been given willingly,” he growled under his breath.
Hallagond bowed slightly in acknowledgment. “Fair enough. I will do so in future. Nelwyn, what say you? If you give him what he desires, it will spare our gold, and we need that to repay El-morah. I would like to give him something extra for his trust and trouble.”
Nelwyn nodded, extending her right hand to accept Hallagond’s blade. She reached back behind her head, cut off a long lock of hair, and offered it to Mikla, who stood in disbelief, milky brown eyes wide, toothless mouth half-open. Nelwyn’s hair caught the sparse light of the dwelling and sent it back in rays of spun gold. It was worth a fortune, and Mikla accepted it with reverence, carrying it back into his private chamber with such care that one might have thought it as fragile as cobwebs. When he returned, he held out a small phial made of blue glass.
“Here is a token in acknowledgment of your generous gift,” he said to Nelwyn. “It is a fine oil to scent your hair. A mere drop will last for days; it is made of many things from faraway places. May you enjoy it, and think of Mikla.” He bowed as she accepted the token, and then waited expectantly for her to try it.
She opened the blue phial and held it to her face, breathing in the fragrance. Her expression was more than satisfactory, for here were mingled essences of flowers and fields, of woodlands and riverbanks. Many were familiar, and yet some were not. It was a green smell, a fair and wild scent that brought to mind deep forests and spring meadows. Nelwyn loved it.
Hallagond had never seen Mikla so transported. He was obviously pleased that his gift was acceptable. Later, Hallagond would speak of this to Nelwyn. “I believe he was so smitten with you that he would have thrown himself into a fiery chasm had you wished it.”
Galador scoffed at this notion. “Nelwyn needs no man-made scent to enhance her attractiveness.”
Hallagond smiled inwardly; it was enough that Nelwyn enjoyed the fragrance. Galador would never complain about it again, for he would deny her nothing.