Elfhunter (13 page)

And what of their companions, the Ranger and the
High-elf ? They were hardy and steadfast, and would probably be of
some help, but Ri-Aruin did not approve of Rogond’s apparent
fascination for Gaelen—it was obvious that he was traveling down a
forbidden road. Ri-Aruin, though sympathetic, was inflexible
concerning the union of the Elàni with those of mortal race.
Galador was apparently in close comradeship with Rogond, and
probably would not separate from him. And so it would have to be
Gaelen and Nelwyn alone.

The King raised his eyes and regarded the two
hunter-scouts standing calmly before him, reflecting that he was
probably sending them to their deaths. They were worthy among his
folk, and he would not have wished this, but he had made his
choice. He told them that they were sanctioned to travel
immediately to the Sanctuary, and that he would make sure they had
provisions for the journey, but that all must be kept in
secrecy.

"My heart is heavy that I must send you onto so
perilous a road, but as you seem determined to follow it, I will
aid you," he said.

He saw their faces brighten as they drew themselves
up and squared their shoulders, ready to face any challenge. This
simple gesture grieved him even more, as he felt they could not
imagine what lay ahead. He shook his head slowly, his glossy black
hair gleaming beneath his crown of silver. "Please do not have me
regret this decision. Promise me that you will return when you can,
as you are needed here."

In answer, they both bowed. Gaelen approached and
knelt before the throne, taking the right hand of the King and
pressing it to her forehead in a gesture of respectful obedience.
Then she rose and, followed by Nelwyn, turned and left the council
chamber as Ri-Aruin watched them in silence, wondering whether he
regretted his decision already.

Galador shook his handsome head in frustration as he
tried for the third time to secure his long hair back from his
face. It had always been his custom to plait each side, parting it
back from his ears, so that it never strayed before his eyes. Now
it had been trimmed in such a way that plaiting it was difficult if
not impossible, and parts of it were too short even to tie back
behind his neck, which was what he normally did with the rest of
it. There were several unruly strands that now insisted on hanging
forward in his face; it was almost as though they were protesting
their years of captivity and were intentionally making themselves
as inconvenient as possible. There was nothing for Galador to do
but put up with them until they grew long enough again.

Gaelen had playfully suggested a solution as she drew
her long knife, nipping off a small bit of her own hair and
grinning at him, eliciting a smile that did not reach his eyes.

Gaelen’s hair was something of a mystery to all
except Nelwyn; even Rogond had asked her about it. Elves usually
did not cut their hair, and he had not yet seen such a shaggy,
windblown look among the Elàni, who were inclined to be so vain of
their long, silken tresses that cutting them short was unimaginable
to most. They were often even named for their hair and identified
by it. An Elf with cropped hair was the equivalent of a
clean-shaven dwarf.

When Rogond had questioned Gaelen about it, she
responded good-naturedly that there were aspects of her character
that would simply have to remain a mystery. She did reveal that she
had not always cropped her hair, not until she was about twenty
years of age, but that it would remain her custom until her death.
She leveled her gaze at him.

"Why do you ask, Tuathan? Does my appearance distress
you?" He smiled and shook his head. "No, it does not distress me. I
only ask because I have never seen such hair on an Elf before. But
I must also admit that it doesn’t surprise me, Gaelen, as I sense
there are many ways in which you are unique among your folk. I
expect that you have an eminently sensible reason for the manner in
which you wear your hair."

Gaelen nodded—she did, indeed. She remembered a
terrible day…the day she witnessed her first death in battle. It
was her dearest childhood friend, a delightful young male named
Aran. They had done nearly everything together, and were as close
as two friends could be. Aran had been nearly decapitated when a
large Ulca had grabbed him from behind by his long hair, wrenched
his head back, and cut his throat before he could blink. Gaelen
closed her eyes, remembering his blood drenching her as she leaped
forward to try to wrest him from the Ulca; she had spent her arrows
and was now fighting hand-to-hand with the others of her group. The
Ulca’s head had at last been cloven by the heavy blade of her
beloved uncle Tarmagil, who later met his death in battle during
the Third Uprising.

Gaelen’s mother, Gloranel, had found her daughter
still holding her friend’s body and crying as though her heart
would break. From that day forward, Gaelen’s hair was cropped
short. She would listen to none of the admonitions of her kinsfolk
and had never paid attention to any since. She saw no need to
explain her choice to anyone.

Rogond, relaxing in his pleasantly warm, comfortable
chamber, was mildly amused by Galador’s attempts to govern his
unruly hair. "Give it up, my friend," he chuckled. "You will just
have to look like a vagabond until it grows back." Then he added,
"It could be worse. At least you don’t have to scrape your face
with a blade every morning." This was true, and Galador was
thankful for it. He looked over at Rogond, who had already grown
enough hair since the day before to darken the lower half of his
face. Giving up his hopeless task, Galador moved to sit beside his
friend.

"Have you learned of their intentions?" he asked
Rogond, referring to Gaelen and Nelwyn.

"Not a hint from either of them. You?"

"No, but I sense something in Nelwyn’s manner that
suggests she is planning some action soon. I believe she might want
to confide in me, but is holding back."

"If she and Gaelen have agreed that we are to be kept
from it, she will not tell you, though she might wish it," said
Rogond. "They are getting ready to set out again, I just know it.
If we want to follow them, we will have to be vigilant."

"Is that what you wish to do?"

Rogond considered. Their original plan had been to
travel to Dûn Bennas, there to meet with King Hearndin and inform
him of the rumor of ever-increasing activity in the Darkmere, until
Rogond’s fever and the ensuing events had diverted them. Now he
could not shake the feeling that his destiny lay with the Elves. He
would have died of the fever had Gaelen not aided him, of that he
was certain. And she needed him now, whether she admitted it or
not—the task before her was too great. A Ranger goes where he is
most needed.

Rogond had his own reasons for seeing to the death of
their enemy, though he had not made them known to his friends.
Galador wanted to go with Nelwyn— that was plain. Rogond could only
guess why the She-elves were trying to get away in secret. He
suspected that Gaelen was behind it, worrying that Rogond, a mere
mortal man, would prove too great a burden during the perilous
winter crossing of the Great Mountains. He didn’t know of the
King’s concerns.

He turned to Galador, who was patiently awaiting the
answer to his question. "We cannot leave them now. They will have
need of us before this is over, of that I am certain. Let us both
keep watch over them until they depart, as I fear that if we miss
their going, we will never catch up with them."

Galador nodded. "I will keep at least one of them in
sight during the dark hours. You attend to them during the
daylight. Agreed?"

Rogond agreed that this was a sensible plan. The
moment it appeared that Gaelen and Nelwyn were making immediate
preparations to leave, Rogond and Galador would be alerted. They
would gather and pack their own provisions now, taking what they
could carry, for the horses would have difficulty with the High
Pass of the mountains. Rogond went below to the stable, where he
found Eros and Réalta resting knee-deep in fragrant bedding and
hay. He spoke to Eros as the powerful dun nuzzled his shoulder.

"I can’t take you with me this time, and it may be
that I will not return for a long while. You must remain here, in
the service of the King, until I come for you. Behave yourself and
try to be useful, my friend. I shall miss you."

Eros looked at him placidly enough, but seemed to
know that he was being left behind, and he didn’t much like it. He
whinnied after Rogond as he turned to go, and Rogond called back
over his shoulder. "Remember, now, no mischief! I don’t want to
find you hitched to an ox-cart when I return."

Leaving Eros was difficult for Rogond, but necessary.
He left written instructions for the keeper of the stables, saying
that the Elves could make use of both horses to pay for their
upkeep. He included a mild admonition concerning Eros:

"He sometimes has a roguish nature, and will not
suffer those who are foolish, over-proud, or disrespectful to ride
him easily, but he is a fine war animal and excellent for long
journeys. His name is Eros. I will return for him—Rogond of the
Tuathar."

Gaelen and Nelwyn had made ready to leave at sunset.
Their packs were ready, and they were clothed for winter travel as
before. One side of their fur-trimmed cloaks was a dull brown, the
other pure white, for there would be deep snow from the foothills
to the far side of the mountain pass, and the white cloaks would
conceal them well.

They wore new fur-lined boots, silken undergarments
overlaid with dull grey leathers, and carried their weapons and
various packs. Arrow-points and fletching, resin and sinew,
whetstone, flint and steel, cord and rope, flasks of clear liquid
that warmed like fire but refreshed like cold water, a few spare
garments (Gaelen insisted on bringing her old boots along, just in
case) and as much food as they could easily carry were packed into
light leather bags and slung at shoulders and waist. As always,
they favored dried venison and fruit, but nothing such as butter or
honey that would need heavy containers. They suspected they would
be quite a bit leaner once they reached the other side of the
mountains. No matter, in Mountain-home they would be fed like
royalty. It was Nelwyn’s opinion that they would probably be ready
to eat everything placed in front of them by then.

In addition, each carried a gift of great value for
the Lady Ordath, tokens of King Ri-Aruin. They would have preferred
to carry little of value—such things always seemed to attract the
wrong sort of attention—but they could not refuse the King’s
request. Gaelen still wore the brooch he had given her, and as she
turned to leave his chamber, he called out to both of them:

"Speed Well and Safe Journey, daughters of the
Greatwood. May you find your way through peril to the journey’s
end. Stay steadfast upon your path and remember your promise to
return to us. Farewell."

Gaelen and Nelwyn returned to their own quarters for
the last time. Nelwyn began writing a message for Galador,
concerned that he would not understand why she had left him behind.
The sun was already down beyond the trees to the west. They needed
to be away soon, but Gaelen had one more duty before her. "There is
something I must do before we depart. Please don’t be concerned,
just wait for me." She removed her new winter cloak and fur-lined
boots, pulling on her old ones so that she would not arouse
suspicion.

Nelwyn nodded at her, saying "I know what it is you
must do, and you are right to do it. Just don’t take too long. He
was down in the deeps when last I saw him."

Gaelen made her way down into the depths of the
fortress, her shadow flickering and wavering along the torch-lit
walls. She thought she knew where to find Wellyn, and she did
indeed find him in the armory, practicing target shooting down the
long, straight passageway. She crept near him, fitting her bow.
When he loosed his next shaft straight and true to the exact center
of the target, she shot past him, the arrow quivering in virtually
the same location as his own. He was startled, and whirled around
to regard her standing behind him. "Well met, Wellyn, son of
Ri-Aruin. May I speak with you for a little while?"

Wellyn laid down his bow, approaching her. His
expression was mixed. "You are free to speak to whomever you
choose, Gaelen," he said. "What do you want of me?"

He was glad to see her, but she could tell that he
had not forgotten her treatment of him. She hoped that he would not
make things any more difficult than they had to be. "I was wrong to
dismiss you at the feast. I really was preoccupied and was not
thinking clearly. Please accept my apology, for you are a very dear
friend and I would never intentionally cause you hurt."

Her sincerity was genuine, and Wellyn, who had always
found her disarming, was taken aback. He took a step closer to her,
as she continued.

"Because you are my friend, I felt I could do what I
needed to do, because friends forgive each other when they
mistakenly cause insult. I promised to tell you of my adventure,
and I will keep that promise. I just don’t know when." Wellyn stood
quite close to her now, considering what she had said. Then, he
spoke to her.

"You’re leaving us again, aren’t you?"

As Gaelen regarded her tall, handsome friend, she
wanted more than anything to give up the quest and to remain in the
warmth and safety of her home. Tears started in her eyes, and she
quelled them, but not before sharp-eyed Wellyn beheld them.

"You’re alarming me, Gaelen. Whatever you’re thinking
of doing… please don’t do it."

Gaelen took a deep breath and found her courage
again. "I go where I will, and do what I must, as always. But I
will
return, and then you shall be the first to hear my
tale. Please, say nothing of this to anyone, especially the Aridan.
He somehow feels obligated to protect me and will be unhappy when
he finds I have gone. You must help me in this." She looked hard at
Wellyn, who was torn between disappointment that Gaelen was
leaving, and relief that at least Rogond was not going with her.
His dejected expression transformed into firm resolution.