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

by C S Marks

  At this, the Minister of Commerce, who had not been in favor of the wall from the beginning, stood and addressed the people. “Our gates have withstood all challenges, and they have never fallen,” he said, though it was difficult to be heard over the excited muttering of the crowd. “Now we are asked to complete this impossibly huge wall in so little time? It cannot be done! It is not necessary that it be done, and I will not aid in seeing it done, for it is folly. A waste of time, effort, and resources.” He turned to Gaelen. “What proof have you that the gates will fall?”

  Gaelen had no proof other than her own dark intuition, which she had no intention of speculating upon in public. She was silent for a moment. But then another voice was heard, from the Minister of Omens, who rose to her feet, her face pale save for two spots of high color in her cheeks.

  “The Elf needs no proof, for I also have seen a…a force under the enemy command. I cannot see it clearly, but there is no doubt that it comes. If only the gates stand before it, the City is lost. Build the wall, my people, or we are all dead.”

  She turned to the Minister of Commerce. “You have been undermining this effort from the beginning, choosing to ignore the words of one who has seen the enemy, and who has risked all in coming here. You would place your own desires above the welfare of your people, and you are not worthy to sit upon this Council if that is so. Your actions bring shame upon our ancestors.” She sat down again, but did not drop her gaze from the now furious Minister of Commerce.

  Lord Salastor held up his hand. “Peace, my fine Councilors. All may voice their opinions and be heard. Have you anything to say?” He looked at the assembly, who sat in silence. “Then I would now ask the people to vote on their desire—will they set their efforts into completing the wall, or will they not? They must choose, and then agree to abide by the choice. What say the people?”

  A great cheer went up, indicating the crowd was in favor of the vote. “Very well, then,” said Lord Salastor. “Who among you will agree to the task of completing the wall? Please raise your arm that we may count you.” He then asked the same of those who did not agree. To the dismay of the Minister of Commerce, the vote was nearly five-to-one in favor. Apparently Gaelen, Estle, and the Minister of Omens had made their argument.

  As Gaelen rode past the Minister of Commerce, she looked him in the eye. “If the City falls, there will be no more commerce.” He looked away, having finally taken the point.

  That evening, Rogond went to find Gaelen, who had gone out onto the cliffs facing the sea and was now watching for the approach of another storm.

  Is it spring already? He had lost track of the seasons in the endless heat and dry of the Ravani. He wondered whether Gaelen would ever see another season in the Greatwood when she turned to face him, having heard him approach. He drew quietly beside her, placing a loving hand on her back before taking her into his arms.

  “You made quite an impression on them today,” he said softly. “Riding Finan and wearing the fire-cloak was a nice touch. Now they are making plans to resume work at full strength and effort. That should cheer you.”

  She nodded, nestling into the valley between his right arm and his strong chest. “Then tomorrow I shall join them in the labor,” she said. “I have no other task, and while I know nothing of wall-building, I can take direction and I have strong hands. We shall need many strong hands before all is ended.”

  Rogond held her, feeling the warmth of her body against his own. “I shall labor beside you,” he said, “for our time together may be dwindling. I fear the Scourge may prevail, even if the wall is completed.” He felt her tense in his arms as he said those words, and he immediately regretted them. He decided to try to distract her. “Did you receive insight during your time alone in the desert? Did you speak with your beloved, who waits for you? I know you sometimes seek guidance from him. Were you enlightened?”

  Gaelen did not answer immediately, and he felt her tremble. She held Rogond more tightly, looking up at him with wide eyes, in which the approaching lightning now flickered. “I cannot speak with Rain, but I believe that he can hear me when I’m alone and my thoughts turn toward him. I did ask for insight, but whether I received any remains uncertain. I won’t know that until I face dire need, I expect.

  “Yet you have received insight, Gaelen, which is why we build the wall,” said Rogond quietly. “I believe I know from whence that insight came. Gorgon is coming toward the City, isn’t he? He has somehow communicated with you that the wall must be built, for he would save you for himself. Is that not so?” He braced himself for her response to this bold, deeply personal question.

  Gaelen simply shook her head. “How little you understand,” she said. “I do have a sense of my enemy, and you’re right…I wish that he would come here, within range of my bow and my blades. At least I’d know that he was far from the Greatwood. I may have gained some insight from his dark history, for I seem to have knowledge of things I never knew before. But you’re wrong if you think that I have shared any thought directly with him. At least, not that I know of…not lately… “If that creature ever tries to invade my senses again, I won’t allow it. I’ll die first.”

  The bitterness in her voice dismayed him, and he tried to reassure her. “Then surely that will never happen. I regret mentioning Gorgon to you, and won’t do so again.” He stroked her left ear as he said the words, but she did not relax.

  “A storm is coming,” she said simply. “We should not be atop the cliffs when it breaks.”

  She pulled from his grasp and stood on her feet, stretching up on her toes as the wind rose about her. She turned back toward him, her hair whipping across her face, looking like some wild spirit from the first days, before the coming of men. Her cold eyes glittered in the light of the approaching storm—there was none of the usual warmth and love she held for him.

  “Keep your regret, Rogond,” she said. “You should not regret the mention of Gorgon, for I shall face him again soon enough. But never again suggest that I share anything with him other than hatred.”

  Her eyes softened when she beheld the consternation in his face. “I’m sorry, Thaylon. I never mean to hurt you. Sometimes my words seem to be chosen for me, and are not as I would wish. Please forgive me.” She turned and ran back to the shelter of the White Pavilions before he could reply.

  He stood for a few more moments upon the cliffs as the storm rose about him, knowing that her spirit would only be at peace upon the death of Gorgon, until the winds and lashing rains forced him to follow where she had gone.

  No rain fell upon the scarred, dark flesh of Gorgon Elfhunter. After finding the water, and drinking deeply of it, he had removed his heavy armor and spent many hours recovering his strength. He had barely survived, his mind lost in feverish delusions, as he lay on his back and moaned, hoping the water would restore him. Why do you hate me? I am innocent…and yet they all hated me. It is not my fault that I am what I am. You made me this way…you made me what I am.

  The water slowly seeped through his desiccated body, bring life and vitality, restoring his awareness. He wept for a while without knowing why, but soon regained enough strength to drink again. The water was foul and full of minerals, but it was among the finest things he had ever tasted.

  He sat now beneath the fiery desert stars, wondering how they could be so impossibly bright and beautiful. Had there been any living soul bold enough to ask him about it, he would have denied such feelings, but there was no living soul, bold or otherwise, for miles in any direction. Gorgon could sit and wonder at the stars to his heart’s content. Even as Gaelen denied the existence of any bond between them, so did Gorgon. But unlike Gaelen, whose healing would only be accomplished upon the death of her enemy, Gorgon’s only hope of salvation lay within her, and in the bridge that she had made between the Darkness and the Light.

  Gorgon didn’t want salvation—he had scarcely even entertained the notion of it. What he wanted was vengeance, to prevail over Gaelen and every other E
lf who drew breath. When they were vanquished, there would be no more troublesome diversions, no more unwanted insights, and no more conflict within. Deep within his black heart, he knew that he would both celebrate and regret the time of her passing. He did so enjoy looking at the stars.

  True to her word, Gaelen worked beside the stone-masons whenever they needed her, despite the opinion of Galador that her talents would be better used elsewhere. “You could show these fletchers a thing or two,” he said, as he rested briefly from his own labors one afternoon.

  When it came to the making of arrows, Nelwyn was the better of the two cousins at fashioning the shafts, but Gaelen was the undisputed master fletcher, matching and shaping the feathers perfectly, binding them in exact spirals so that they would never come loose. Arrows crafted by Gaelen not only flew straight and true, but they spun as they flew, making them more effective when they struck their target. None in the Citadel could match her skills, which had been perfected over a thousand years of practice.

  “We need large quantities of arrows. We don’t have time for elegant fletching,” said Gaelen. “There is no more important task before these people than the building of the wall, and therefore, I am most needed here. No quantity of arrows, regardless of the quality of the fletching, will make the slightest difference if this wall is not completed.”

  “Enough arrows will make a difference in any battle,” said Galador. “Nelwyn was wishing you would go and aid her; she trusts no barb that has not been fletched by her cousin Gaelen. She also asked for some help in training the City’s archers.”

  “Train them how? You draw, you aim, you loose. It’s as simple as that. Skill with a bow can only be gained with practice, Galador. Nelwyn knows this as well as anyone. The citizens can run their own archery practice.”

  Galador laughed good-naturedly at her. “I will tell her,” he said. “Though I doubt she will care for the notion. I would stay and aid you in moving mortar and stones, but alas, I am called to other tasks. Ali has commanded me, and I am a captain of the Citadel, after all.”

  “How unfortunate that Ali prevents you from laboring beside me…I know that fills you with dismay. Tell Nelwyn that moving stones makes for strong shoulders, which gives steady and tireless aim,” said Gaelen, smiling back at him. “Look what it has done for me!” She flexed her arms and shoulders provocatively.

  As if by prearrangement, Rogond arrived looking rather worn out; he had been working alongside Gaelen for many days now. He had not shaved, and he was stripped bare to the waist, revealing several scars upon his shoulders and chest. He brought a water vessel to Gaelen, and she drank gratefully. This was hot work.

  He brightened when he beheld Galador. “Ah! My friend! Come to aid us at last?”

  “What? And become unkempt and dusty, not to mention hot and tired? I think not,” said Galador, as Ali approached from behind.

  “Hail, Talishani Ali,” said Gaelen, raising her hand to greet him. “Our friend Galador was just lamenting that he could not stay and aid us in building the wall; he said that you had commanded him to be elsewhere. It is such a pity to disappoint him so.”

  Ali did not reply at first, looking with some confusion at Galador, who was now delighting Gaelen with an expression of barely concealed dismay. “Perhaps some messenger has misspoken…I have given no tasks to Galador this day. He’s free to do whatever he is called to do.”

  “What a relief for him,” said Gaelen, looking sidelong at Galador. “All the same, you had better reassure him. I know he would make certain you can spare him before he sets about this labor.”

  Ali had perceived the joke, though his face was serious as he turned to Galador. “You are free to remain here for the entire day if you choose, with my blessing. It looks as though your friends could use your strong hands. Enjoy your freedom this afternoon; only be advised that I may ask you to work even harder tomorrow to make up for it. There should be great progress made on the wall today, with your efforts added.”

  He bowed to Gaelen and Rogond, and last to Galador. “Forgive me, but I must see to another task. Farewell, my friends; I will see you at supper tonight. I’m sure you’ll have hearty appetites.”

  “Come, Galador! Let’s get dirty!” said Gaelen.

  “Indeed. I’m delighted at the prospect,” was the chilly reply.

  The Company reassembled that evening around the supper-table. Ali joined them, and they dug into the meal as though it would be their last. Hallagond couldn’t resist taunting Galador; he had never seen the Elf eat so much at one sitting. “That’s what comes of hard work,” he said.

  “And what were you doing all day, might I inquire?” said Galador through an uncharacteristically large mouthful of roast lamb and potatoes. He paused and looked around to see Gaelen and Rogond staring at him with identically bemused expressions. They had never seen such a sight, either.

  Galador drew himself up in a dignified manner, and swallowed hard. Suddenly it was as though he had never lowered himself to touch food in his life. “I ask again, Hallagond, what undoubtedly vital and important task occupied your time?”

  “Actually, Estle and I were making plans of our own today,” said Hallagond. “She decided that I needed a respite from battle preparations. The sea was calm, the west winds were fresh, and the white sands were warm beneath our feet.” He looked hard at Galador as though daring him to say anything about it.

  Galador was not put off in the least. “I hope you enjoyed the respite. Tomorrow is another day.”

  “Let’s drink to tomorrow, then,” said Fima, raising his glass. He was getting stronger by the day—the clean air of the Citadel was working wonders. The sight of his friendly face, eyes twinkling with their old good humor, filled his friends with joy. “I, for one, wish you had come to fetch me when our tall friend got his first taste of the quarry. After all, stone-building is an art at which my people excel. I might have given him helpful advice.”

  “Indeed,” said Ali. “If you are strong enough, my good dwarf, I will set you to aiding our builders tomorrow. Not with labor, but with experience and wisdom.” Fima nodded, casting a rather sly look at the Elves. It would be enjoyable to be set in a position of authority over them, if only for a while.

  “Never mind, beloved,” whispered Nelwyn, turning to Galador. “Tonight I shall wash the dust from your feet, comb your hair, and soothe your weary shoulders with oil. Tomorrow I shall work beside you, whatever your task.”

  Galador smiled. There were benefits to this sort of hard labor, after all.

  The next morning, Gaelen and Rogond returned to the building of the wall. Through their efforts, and those of countless others, it looked as though the task might actually be completed before the Scourge arrived. It remained to be seen whether “Ali’s Folly” would be enough to withstand the fury and power of Lokai, or whether Gaelen’s estimation of the need had been sufficient. After all, she was only a Wood-elf, and knew little of such things.

  Chapter 23: THE ENEMY AT THE GATES

  As the eve of the battle drew closer, the Company grew more restive and anxious. The preparations would not take very much longer—the citizens were making every effort. The City was nearly ready, but all within it shared a feeling of unease. The Minister of Omens had thoroughly unsettled them with her pronouncements of some unknown terror approaching as if on dark wings.

  Gaelen stood in the shallows of the harbor, sitting astride Finan, allowing the cool currents to draw the heat from his legs. They had both worked hard this day, galloping and maneuvering in preparation for the battle to come. Finan was a superb archer’s mount; he could sense when Gaelen drew her bow, lengthening his stride and remaining suspended long enough for the release. She almost never missed a target while riding him. She leaned over his neck, rubbing it with gentle hands, tracing an old, ragged scar with her fingers as he dropped his head and closed his eyes with delight.

  I would dread this conflict all the more were you not with me. You are the finest horse ever born
. I promise to keep you safe if I can, but we both know that we may fall. I love you with all my heart. Let’s take care of each other when the time comes. Finan sighed with pleasure as she continued stroking him, but when he felt her tears on his neck he lifted his head in concern.

  Gaelen would tell no one, but she was afraid of the battle to come. This was not just an army of savages; they had some fearsome terror under their command. What of Rogond, and his suspicion that Gorgon was somehow sending her these insights? What if it were true? She wept long that night, alone and unheard by anyone except Finan, who would have comforted her if he could. Gaelen needed more reassurance than he could give.

  Galador and Nelwyn tried to take heart in their embrace, spending as much time together as they could before the storm broke. Galador found comfort in the fact that Nelwyn would be in a relatively safe position atop the wall over the Great Gates. He would ride out with Rogond and Hallagond, along with Gaelen and the rest of the mounted warriors, trusting Nelwyn to safeguard him from above. She, of course, had vowed that no enemy would come near him if she could help it.

  Fima feared for the safety of the vast treasures contained in the library, and he had worked with the other scholars to relocate all the irreplaceable volumes and parchments in a central vault deep beneath the main level. When the time came he would barricade himself inside with the other elderly scholars; no enemy would gain entrance without feeling the wrath of his axe. Fima would defend the legacy of Salasin to his last breath.

  Bint Raed had settled in quite happily, but of course she knew that this happiness might soon be lost. She worked with the City’s tailors, using her talents to construct garments of green and gold that could easily be told apart from the red and black of the enemy.

  Rogond’s anxieties were torn between Gaelen and Hallagond. There was something astir in his brother’s mind that was unsettling—rather like a young horse thinking of taking flight. Hallagond seemed uneasy, often filled with false cheerfulness, and it worried Rogond. At such times he would convince himself to take a deep breath, and trust in his brother as well as in his beloved. Gaelen, of course, would not falter. And, he told himself, neither would Hallagond. Even as he paced the wall, Rogond reminded himself that no one can truly know the heart of another, and that whatever Hallagond was destined to do, he would do.