by C S Marks
“It might. This warrior...was it very tall and broadly made? And when it spoke, did it make your skin crawl?”
“As I said, brother, it was immense. None could stand against it. I remember the hair—it was most disquieting. It did not seem to belong on such a being as that.”
“Was it like to the hair of Elves…long, and silken?”
Hallagond nodded grimly. “Yet there was nothing Elven about the rest of it,” he said. “Tell me, my brother, what does it mean? Is this a thing we need fear? If so, how may we avoid encountering it?”
Rogond looked into his brother’s eyes, his expression at once fearful and resolute. “I believe that you have seen Gorgon Elfhunter. He is definitely a thing to fear, yet I cannot imagine him traveling to this place. He has no love of sunlight, and the desert would not be at all to his liking.”
Hallagond drew in a sharp breath. “By the Sun-and-Stars…you know much of this! You are truly unsettling me, Rogond.”
“Hush. Lower your voice. You don’t understand the half of it. Say the wrong words in too loud a voice, and we will have no hope of avoiding the Elfhunter, for once Gaelen suspects that he has returned, she will immediately take up his trail. Nothing will sway her from it. He is our sworn enemy, and she has made it her life’s quest to bring about his ending. She has sworn that she will not return home until he lies dead at her feet.”
Hallagond snorted in disbelief. “Gaelen? Our Gaelen? Are we discussing the same undersized She-elf? She thinks to defeat the creature I beheld in my vision?” He shook his head. “I had thought her to be of practical mind, but I see now that she has taken leave of her senses if she thinks she can prevail against such a warrior. Talk about false hope!”
“She nearly succeeded the last time,” said Rogond quietly. “And although there were many of us working to defeat him, we had also to deal with his army. Many tried, but our undersized She-elf was the one who laid him low.”
Hallagond was intrigued. “You must tell me the tale,” he said. “For in so doing you will both entertain me and aid me in understanding the nature of my dark dream.”
“Would that it proved to be only a dark dream; it seems to have the markings of a prophecy,” said Rogond. “Our Company will tell you the tale, for many took part in it. But in return, you must tell me why you forsook your name, your home, and your people. Something drove you to do it, and I would know of it that I might understand. That will be a private telling, between brothers. Will you agree?”
“Why must everything have a price?” said Hallagond.
Rogond looked around at his brother with some dismay, for he thought he heard a quaver of profound sorrow in his voice. “This is a deep and festering wound, isn’t it? It has nearly taken your heart. It has taken a long time of trying to convince yourself that you do not care, but you do…you always will. You need to make yourself free of it. Have you ever told the tale to anyone before?”
“I haven’t,” said Hallagond, “and I cannot. Please do not ask it of me.”
“You must unburden yourself one day, brother, and when you come to know it, I will be there to listen. Our Company will share the tale of the Elfhunter, and ask only your promise that when you are ready you will share your tale with the one who shares your blood. We are all that remains of the line of Rosalin and Diomar—we must defend our own. I would release you from that which plagues you. Do I have your promise?”
Hallagond rode along in silence for a long moment. At last he spoke. “When I am ready, I will tell you my tale. Perhaps then you will hold me in sufficient disregard to leave me alone.”
Rogond sighed, knowing that his brother might never be ready, but he was glad to have exacted the promise nonetheless.
That evening there began a long recounting of the tale of Gorgon Elfhunter, and the Company’s adventures. Many had a part in the telling, for each brought forth different insights and experiences. Only Galador drew back; he had never liked revealing anything of himself before an audience. “Someone must keep the watch,” was his simple yet effective excuse.
The Ravani merchants gathered each night to listen. They were riveted by the tale, for they had not heard of such things before. The real storyteller, of course, was Fima, and he never tired of it. Rogond noticed that their pace had slowed, and they stopped more often, because the merchants did not wish to part from the Company until the telling was complete. When they reached the oasis, they settled in for a stay of many days.
The merchants shook their heads, their long, dark beards wagging, as Rogond told of Gorgon’s presumed escape in the Barrens. They clucked in sympathy as Rogond described his and Galador’s frustration at losing their enemy. Yet when Rogond told them of Gaelen’s lighting of the maglos, and the burning light that would blind and torment the creature for a long time to come, they cheered in approval. One actually approached Gaelen and clapped her on the back, which was highly unusual for sutherling folk. To touch a strange woman in such a manner was strictly forbidden. Apparently, in that moment he regarded Gaelen more as a warrior than as a female.
“Where is Gorgon’s mirror now?” asked Hallagond, who sat always with Estle, and was presently sharing a fine dish of dates dipped in thickened cream from one of the dromadan cows.
“It is in safekeeping,” replied Fima. “I will say no more.”
“May we not look upon it? I have never seen such a thing before,” said Estle, who had been drawn into the tale with everyone else.
“I would prefer that it remain hidden,” Fima replied, “for it is beautiful, and there might be those tempted to take it unto themselves. That would mean disaster, for we would not be able to rest assured that the creature had not regained it.”
“Do not fear, Fima,” said Gaelen grimly. “If Gorgon ever touches the mirror again, I will know it. He is far away, and at present can do no harm to the Company. Show them if you will.”
Fima was surprised at this response, but he nodded, rising from his seat by the fire and moving behind a nearby tent. There he reached down into his leather jerkin, found the hidden pocket there, and drew forth Gorgon’s mirror. He did not know that Gaelen had followed him, and now took note of where the mirror could be found. This had been in her plan, for if she ever needed to locate it she would waste no time in searching for it. She feared that one day this need would be on her, and she would have no time then to waste.
She spirited herself back to the fireside before Fima returned. Rogond looked over at her with some suspicion, for he had felt it best that she not know of the mirror’s whereabouts. Gaelen would not look directly at him, but tossed her cloak around Nelwyn and herself to keep back the cold.
Fima held the mirror aloft for all to see, though he did not open it. The beautiful golden casing glittered and flashed in the firelight, and the sutherlings were quite impressed. Gaelen’s blood chilled in her veins as she beheld it, for although it had been a long time since she had looked upon it, she sensed that it had lost none of its power. As she stared hard at the mirror’s golden housing, she called out to Gorgon, and he perceived, even across the vast distance that separated them.
Here is your property, Dark Horror. I know you are abroad again, and I know you can hear me…you have been listening for a while now. Keep on coming, then, if you have the strength of heart. I will be waiting. Your fate is waiting for you.
She closed her eyes, as a wave of sickening dread came over her. She thought she heard harsh, ill-natured laughter drifting on the wind, but then she realized it was only in her mind.
Fima finally finished the tale, to the dismay of his audience. He looked around at their disappointed faces, knowing that they had not enjoyed such fine entertainment in a long time. They knew almost nothing of Elves, and now they had been treated to descriptions of the great Elf-realms of the north, stories of great forests and rivers, and mountains covered in snow and ice. Fima almost hated to see the tale end as much as they.
“How ever did you come to be in this place?” asked one
of the men of the caravan. “How came you to be so far from your home, and why? Surely you have had many adventures on your way to finding our caravan. Will you not share them?”
Fima’s eyes grew wide with excitement at the prospect of more tale-telling. “You cannot imagine the perils we have endured, nor the trials we have faced,” he said, his eyes alight with enthusiasm.
Rogond looked hard at him, clearing his throat and scowling. It would not do to tell them everything; it was best to not bring certain matters to the attention of these Ravani-folk. Fima would just have to disappoint them. The dwarf nodded in understanding, his face falling a little as he turned back to his expectant listeners.
“Ah, my friends, I am afraid that we must all be moving on. My father, who was a fine storyteller himself, in fact a much better one than I, told me once that a tale should always end while the listeners are still hoping for more. This story will have to wait until another day.”
Hallagond rose and moved behind Rogond before leaving the gathering to return to his resting place. “Very wise, my brother, very wise,” he said.
Later that night, Gaelen sought out Bint Raed, for she would ask something of her. She approached quietly as Bint Raed sat alone in the moonlight, and sat down beside her.
“Why have you come, Gaelen Taldin? There is something that you would know. Ask, and I will answer if I can.”
Gaelen paused for a moment, admiring Bint Raed’s insight. There was much to admire about this woman. “I have come to ask why you are leading us on this path. We moved out of reach of Hassan’s folk long ago, so there is some other purpose at work here. Are you trying to get to the Silver City? If so, why not simply tell us? Then we may choose.”
Bint Raed smiled. “One thing I will never need worry about, Gaelen Taldin, and that is discerning what is in your mind, for you make your thoughts plain to all.”
“There is no time for veiled thoughts,” said Gaelen. “Each day we draw farther to the southwest. Just tell me…are you drawing us to the Citadel? If it’s true, I don’t mind, for I care not where we go so long as it is not near any Elven-realms. That I must not do until my enemy is defeated at last.”
Bint Raed looked over at her with a mixture of admiration and sympathy. “I know what it’s like to leave your home,” she said, “and I cannot imagine the path that will lead to the downfall of this enemy. He sounds fierce...and terrible! You alone I judged to be worthy of the fire-cloak, and that should encourage you, yet none can know who will be left standing when he finds you at last.”
She looked hard at Gaelen then. “I will answer your question if you will answer mine. You have said that you want to lead him away from Elven-realms. Are you calling him to follow after you?”
Gaelen’s eyes widened as she turned to Bint Raed. “That’s a bold question. I’m afraid my thoughts in such intimate matters are not yours to know…and you need not answer my question, for I believe I know the truth of it already. I have said nothing to Rogond, but I think that for all our sakes you must. He should at least know what forces drive the Company.”
“Perhaps so, but also he should know that you are drawing that horror ever-closer. You have likewise unintentionally answered my question, for you did not deny it, and you most certainly would have were it not true.” Here her gaze softened as she placed a gentle hand upon Gaelen’s shoulder. Gaelen stiffened, but did not move away. “I cannot imagine what you have endured, and my blood freezes at the thought of what is yet to come, but know this: I am your friend. I will not sit in judgment of you or of your motivation, and I will keep your counsel.”
Gaelen chuckled softly, shaking her head. “I thank you for your confidence in my ability to meet my enemy. Now I will simply have to prove you wrong.” She lifted her head, and turned her right ear to the wind. “Nelwyn is coming,” she stated simply. “We should speak no more of these matters, for they will unsettle her. Yet I’m glad of your friendship; you should know that it is returned. However, as I believe I now know the answer to my question, you should tell Rogond of your plan to return to the Silver City as soon as possible.”
Bint Raed nodded, patting Gaelen’s shoulder, as Nelwyn appeared and sat beside them. Had Gaelen thought long about it, she would have realized that speaking to Nelwyn of Gorgon’s likely return would not have unsettled her, for she already knew that it was so.
The Company remained in the oasis for three more days, and they learned several things of interest. Chief among them was the rumor of a great, savage army, made up of warriors of various races, that had been wreaking havoc upon all in their path. According to the rumor, they left none alive that they encountered. They had come out of the southeastern lands, and were now working their way slowly westward. There were no survivors to tell of them, only those who had met with the aftermath of their passing. These tales were terrible, and Bint Raed was understandably fearful.
“Did you say they were moving west? Are you certain?” she asked.
“That is certain, though they are a large force, growing ever-larger, and they move not swiftly, but linger for a time around each water-source. None draw near enough to observe them and live to tell about it, so I have been told. At any rate, they have definitely been moving toward the sea, leaving only destruction and death in their wake.”
“If they cannot be observed, then how does anyone truly know of them?” asked Rogond. “For example, you have said that they are mostly sutherlings and easterners, and that their numbers grow larger. If they kill all in their path, how do they grow larger? How is it that such things are known?”
“One may tell many things in the aftermath of a battle,” was the calm reply. “That they are growing larger is easy to see, for they now cut a wide swath through the desert that is impossible to miss. Though no bodies have been found, there have been items of clothing and broken armaments such as the sutherlings and easterners use.” Here, he smiled at Rogond. “You are welcome to try and approach them to confirm the rumors, if you wish.”
Rogond shook his head. “No, thank you. I meant no disrespect,” he said.
“This army…does it have a name?” asked Hallagond. “And the garments that have been found…are they of any special nature or coloring?”
“They are known simply as the Scourge,” the man replied. “I have heard little concerning the nature of the garments. Few in these lands even know of them, and I pray that they do not learn. This is a terrible enemy, and so far none have had the power to stand against them.” He lowered his voice, and Gaelen noted that his hands shook a little as he spoke. “They show no mercy to their victims. Make no mistake…they are capable of great evil. They thrive on the pain and suffering of others. Do all that you may to avoid them...their cruelty defies description!”
Gaelen and Nelwyn looked meaningfully at one another. They had quite enough dark enemies to deal with.
“Don’t fear, my friend. It is always our aim to avoid pain and suffering. We thank you for the warning,” said Gaelen. She looked now into the eyes of Bint Raed, knowing that her new friend was afraid for her beautiful homeland. I don’t blame you, she thought, knowing only too well the dread that comes from putting one’s own people at risk. The Company’s course might well cross paths with the Scourge, and there was now a genuine risk of leading them to the Silver City, which would be a great shame indeed.
Chapter 16: THE SILVER CITY
Bint Raed took Gaelen’s words to heart, and in the morning she went to speak with Rogond. He had just finished sharpening a spear point and had started on a sword blade, nodding toward her in acknowledgment. She sat down beside him, drawing a deep breath. “Gaelen came to see me last night,” she began. “She told me that you and the rest of the Company are wondering why I have been directing you as I have. Is this so?”
Rogond paused in his rhythmic stroking of steel upon stone to meet her gaze. “It is so,” he said. “I have been wondering, but I assume there’s a good reason for your choice to lead us here. You seem honest and ste
adfast, with a generous allotment of common sense. We all trust you. Is there some reason we should not?”
Bint Raed shook her head. “I don’t believe so, yet there’s a motive behind my actions…some might consider it self-serving. Gaelen urged me to come and explain to you, so that the Company may choose its path.”
“What self-serving motive?” said Rogond, putting aside his sharpening-stone to give Bint Raed his full attention.
She drew another long breath and looked away. “I am not originally of the Ravani desert. I come from a fair city on the far southern coast. We call it the Citadel, but it is also called Dûn Arian, the Silver Fortress. Its history is both impressive and unique. I left it long ago because I wanted to see the wide world—a fool’s errand, as it turned out. I was caught and sold into bondage after only a few years’ wandering. I saw nothing appealing in the wide world, I have had quite enough of it, and I wish more than anything to return home. I’ve been leading the Company there because I can’t make the journey alone, and there is no one else in whom I may trust. And now I hear of this terrible army making its way westward—straight toward the Citadel. Someone must warn them! I know this was not in your plan...I’m sorry.”
Rogond pondered for a moment. “Don’t be concerned, for you have done no harm to the Company. You have guided us well, and this place we’re in is not a bad one. We are far enough away from Hassan that we need not fear. Put your mind at rest, and lift up your heart.” Bint Raed looked gratefully up at him as he continued. “The Silver City…how far distant is it?”