Elfhunter (12 page)

"You’re wrong! I will endure forever. I am timeless
and I am to be feared. My sword will take uncounted numbers of your
kind until none remain, and they and their folk will shed tears
uncountable! You are
wrong!
"

Gelmyr smiled and replied, "You know you have been
pursued. It is only the beginning. There are those who know of you
and are now driven to destroy you. No one will mourn your passing,
but they will weep for the wretchedness of you. You cannot escape
this fate, no matter how much you hate them and yourself."

Suddenly, Gorgon’s limbs became free and he took a
violent swipe at Gelmyr, his mighty arm passing harmlessly through
the apparition as if through smoke. Gelmyr faded from his sight
like a mist, but his voice lingered for a moment. "Farewell,
Gorgon, who once named himself ‘Elfhunter’. You are the hunted now.
Brood well in your lair while you can."

Gorgon jerked awake, breathing hard, a mixture of
fury and fear on his dark, twisted face. He shook his head to clear
his thoughts and erase all traces of the voice of Gelmyr, but he
remained troubled for a long time after. Gorgon’s dreams, though
dark, had always been easily shaken off, but this dream had been
different. He stormed about in the blackness of his stronghold,
crying aloud in a terrible voice, attempting to subdue the feeling
that this had been not a dream, but a prophecy. Who was pursuing
him? He had felt it as he lingered on the banks of the river,
before heading to the mountains. No, this could not be a prophecy.
He would not allow it. He would not be prevented from his course of
hatred, and he would not be pitied!

If he was vigilant, none could prevail against him.
The Elves were too scattered—they clustered in their few remaining
settlements like sheep in paddocks and would not unite against him.
He would continue to take advantage of their foolish wanderings,
but now he would be wary, at least for a time. If he detected any
pursuers, and they drew too near, he would leave them such a vision
of horror and death that they would think twice about continuing.
The Èolo was wrong, and he was only a dream, after all. Gorgon
muttered a dark battle-chant, repeating it over and over as though
to ward off the prophecy of Gelmyr, until at last he grew weary and
drew back within himself.

After many hours of revelry the King finally rose and
left the Great Hall, signaling the official end of the feast.
Although any were free to remain if they wished, they were also
free to leave. Gaelen breathed a sigh of relief as she rose and
turned to depart, her dark red cloak unfurled behind her, moving
swiftly toward the main passageway. She was waylaid by Wellyn
standing tall and elegant before her, clad all in white and silver,
his raven-dark hair beautifully plaited, his blue-grey eyes
intent.

He had just returned from a rather stressful foray
into the east, where he and his companions had battled with two of
the many groups of Anori-men that seemed to constantly harass the
border- lands to the northeast. As such he was in need of
merriment, and was not yet ready to retire. Gaelen was not unhappy
to see him, as they had been good friends since a rather
apocalyptic incident when Wellyn was seven years of age. Gaelen was
far older than he, and she had shown him then what a true friend
she could be. On the rare occasion that he found her, for they were
rarely both in the same place at the same time, Wellyn often
confided in Gaelen and sought her counsel, for he trusted her.

Now he faced her, eyes full of concern. "You were not
celebrating with us in your heart tonight, Gaelen. Your people are
overjoyed that you are found, and yet you are not content. What
troubles you?"

Gaelen looked over at Rogond and Galador, who were
still seated at their table, surrounded by those who wanted to hear
more of their tale. They had been required to give only the barest
account of it at the feast, as Ri-Aruin had seen how weary the full
disclosure had made them. Rogond, in particular, was fending off a
group of very curious Wood-elves, who wanted to know all about him.
They were polite, but persistent, and they had him surrounded.
Gaelen sighed, knowing that she would have to go and rescue
him.

Turning back to Wellyn, she replied, "It is a long
tale…one for which I haven’t the strength tonight. I am retiring to
the forest to rest in the trees near the river, where the sun may
warm my dreams. Perhaps I will give you a full accounting when I
return."

But Wellyn was not deceived, for he knew her well,
and could sense that she meant to leave the Greatwood with little
rest. She was being driven by something, and though he did not yet
understand it, he knew that it was greater than simple desire for
revenge against the killer of Halrodin. As she would not make eye
contact, he knelt down before her, forcing her to look at him. He
read her thoughts in her eyes and was disquieted.

"You cannot put me aside so easily," he said. "You
would be long gone before I heard any of your tale. You carry a
heavy doom upon you, and it worries me, for I would have you remain
safely here. Your friend Wellyn would share this doom with you.
Please… come with me now and tell what has befallen, that I may aid
you."

As usual, Gaelen found Wellyn difficult to resist,
especially as he knelt before her, beseeching her. This was not
lost on the courtiers of the King, and Gaelen reflected that, in a
way, Wellyn had done her a favor. Ri-Aruin had never approved of
her friendship with him, and permission to travel to Mountain-home
was now almost assured. Though she intended to do so in any case,
it was always easier with the King’s sanction than without it, as
she had no wish to openly defy him. Now Ri-Aruin would probably
pack her provisions for her.

The King would certainly
not
have his son on
one knee pleading with a feral, disheveled Sylvan hunter-scout,
who, while eminently useful and occasionally charming, was not an
appropriate consort for the Prince of the Greatwood. As Gaelen
appraised the expressions on those of the King’s court who
remained, she supposed that Ri- Aruin was probably being told about
it already.

"I’m truly sorry to disappoint you, my friend," said
Gaelen, and she meant it, "but I must go now and look to the
Aridan. Otherwise, our people are so curious that they will be
questioning him and pestering him until he falls over from
exhaustion." So saying, she swept around Wellyn, close enough for
the edge of her cloak to brush against his astonished face. He was
unaccustomed to being dismissed in this manner, especially by
Gaelen, and he rose and turned to regard her as she rounded on the
group of Elves surrounding Rogond, parting the crowd as a stiff
wind parts the tall grass. Rogond smiled at her with relief, rising
to his feet and moving toward the corridor. She placed herself
before the inquisitive Wood-elves, who turned back from the amiable
yet fierce Gaelen Storm-cloud, temporary protector of Rogond the
Aridan.

As Wellyn of the house of Ri-Aruin watched her turn
and sweep down the corridor behind Rogond, his emotions were mixed.
He was concerned that Gaelen really had called some dreadful doom
upon herself. He was disappointed that she would not share this
with him, and disquieted that she felt she could dismiss him in
order to see to the comforts of a mortal man. And deep in his
heart, he was resentful of Rogond, because he would probably hear
what tales Gaelen had to tell this day—tales for which he, Wellyn,
would have to wait, if indeed they would be heard by him at all.
Thoroughly out of the mood for merrymaking, he turned on his heel
and strode toward his own chambers, the beginnings of this
resentment smoldering as a tiny spark that may, in time and under
the right conditions, give rise to sudden flame.

Rogond had returned to the sumptuous chamber that had
been prepared for him, gone directly to his bed, and fallen back
upon it in a deep slumber. The wine brought dreamless, pleasant
sleep, and his face was contented and peaceful as he lay stretched
out before Gaelen, who regarded him with ever-increasing
fascination. Cautiously, she approached him, tracing one index
finger along the angle of his jaw, noting the already-emerging
bristles of his beard. The feel of it was most peculiar. Not only
that, but he often made strange sounds as he slept, a sort of deep
rumbling that was occasionally quite loud. It was a wonder that he
did not attract the attention of his enemies! Elves made no such
sounds; in fact, they rarely slept unless healing or wearied by
grief.

Wellyn need not have worried; no one for would be
treated to any tales from Gaelen this day. She did not intend to
tell Rogond of her plan to leave the Greatwood—she and Nelwyn had
agreed that it was best if Rogond and Galador were allowed to
continue on whatever path they had taken before their meeting.
Though they were hardy and skillful travelers, they were perceived
as potentially burdensome, as Gaelen and Nelwyn had their own ideas
about the best route over the mountains and were accustomed to
traveling at their own pace. Rogond would bog down in the deep
snows over the high mountain passes, and he was more vulnerable to
the elements than the Elves.

That was their perception, but if they had known more
of Rogond’s people, they would have known that he was of a tough
and hardy breed. Unless troubled by illness, he was at least their
equal in withstanding the hardships of the mountains in winter.
True, he could not step as lightly as they and would sink in the
deep snow, but so also would Galador—High-elves had not the
Wood-elves’ gift of walking trackless over the snow.

There existed devices used by the men of the north,
made of curved wood and leather that strapped to the feet, allowing
them to walk as lightly as the Cúinar. Rogond’s had been left
behind during their travels, but he knew the craft of their making
and could easily construct a new pair. But even wearing them, he
could not travel with the swiftness of the light-footed Wood-elves.
Again, neither could Galador.

It was with some misgiving that Gaelen considered her
decision to leave Rogond behind, for she liked him and wished to
learn more of him. She knew that her cousin was also fond of
Galador, who (in her mind) was less likely to burden their going
than Rogond. Gaelen could not deny that both had been very useful
in their recent travels and were worthy companions for the most
part, but she certainly did not wish for Rogond to accompany her
(as he almost certainly would) out of a sense of duty, obligation,
and the desire to protect her. She and Nelwyn would make their own
way as they always had.

Though the task before them was daunting, they would
see it done. Gaelen would find this murderer of Elves, and when she
found him she would make certain he would never kill again. She
looked for the last time that morning upon Rogond, and then she
turned and went out into the dawn to take rest beside the river,
where the late winter sun did eventually warm her dreams.

Gaelen and Nelwyn were summoned to the King’s
chambers that afternoon and were not surprised when he dismissed
his attendants. "I wished to speak with you both in private," said
he, "for I believe you have a request to make of me, and I would
hear it before deciding whether others should know of it." Gaelen
supposed that he was referring to Wellyn. She glanced over at
Nelwyn, who bowed and stepped forward.

"We desire to travel to Mountain-home to speak with
Lord Magra of the death of Gelmyr," she said. "They were great
friends, and we fear that he will not learn of this unless we tell
him. I would guess that he awaits Gelmyr’s arrival even now. We
would also warn the people of Mountain-home about this creature,
for they may not know of him."

Ri-Aruin considered for a moment. "You plan to cross
the mountains? The weather is immoderate at this time of year. Have
you thoroughly prepared for this?"

Of course, he knew the answer already. They had
probably thought of nothing else since their decision had been
made, and they did know how to cross the mountains in winter—they
had done it before. There was merit in telling Magra as soon as
possible; though it would grieve him, at least he would know of his
friend’s fate. Still, the King was reluctant to sanction their
request, as it would be more prudent to wait until spring. But the
terrible violence that had taken Gelmyr had already grieved the
Elves of the Greatwood, and Nelwyn was right—the people of
Mountain-home had to be warned. Perhaps Magra would take up the
quest to hunt and kill the creature, a task Ri-Aruin thought might
be beyond Gaelen and Nelwyn alone.

The King wrestled with his conscience as he weighed
the alternatives. If he sanctioned their request, providing them
with supplies and sending them on their way with no word to anyone,
he would be aiding them in a very risky endeavor from which they
might not return. Even if they surmounted the crossing of the
Monadh-hin and gained entry into Mountain-home, Ri-Aruin sensed
that this path of vengeance might well claim their lives. He also
knew that his son, Wellyn, who was close in friendship with Gaelen,
might attempt some foolish action to protect her, and then he would
be pulled down with them.

Ri-Aruin knew better than to refuse the request
outright, as Gaelen and Nelwyn were determined and would almost
certainly defy him. They would then have to secure their own
supplies, destroying all hope of secrecy. He could not risk
Wellyn’s discovering their plan.

If Ri-Aruin encouraged them to wait for the weather
to moderate, it would give him time to ensure that his son was far
away on some errand and unable to accompany them when they finally
did set out. But there was still the risk that they would grow
tired of waiting and set out anyway, at a time of their own
choosing. Ri-Aruin sighed. The best course was to grant their
request, protecting their secrecy so they might proceed alone as
they wished.