Elfhunter (19 page)

He led Rogond down the passage until they reached the
next of the blue lamps, and only its light illuminated the ring.
"Look deep into the depths of the stone. The image will appear only
in this light." Rogond searched and was astonished to behold an
inscription, tiny but legible, glowing blue in the black depths of
the stone.

He translated the words aloud, to the wonder of
Glomin. "I, Farin, declare the bearer to be Dwarf-friend and free
in Dwarf Realms."

"He gave that not lightly, Aridan. Show it to Dwim
and Noli. They will honor it," said Glomin.

"This Farin—does he still live?" Rogond was anxious.
Could it be that this dwarf would shed some light on the mystery of
his parentage? If so, Rogond would seek him out and learn all that
he could.

"He does," said Glomin. "Farin has attained greatness
among our people as a hardy warrior, and of his smith-work, you can
see for yourself. Let’s go back and show this to the others. Then I
will tell the tale of Farin as I have heard it"

After Glomin had spoken to Dwim and Noli, they also
marveled at the ring. "This changes everything, Aridan," said Dwim.
"If you are Dwarf-friend, you are free to take any provisions you
need while in our lands, with no need of payment. I give you back
your token." He handed the dragon-brooch back to Rogond, who bowed,
then gave it right back to him.

"I give it to you freely, but not as payment for
provisions. I give it in ransom for the Elves, that they also may
have provisions and leave to continue their journey."

"As your companions, they are free to leave with
you," said Dwim, though Noli still glowered. "But no provisions
will they take from our hands. You may take enough for all, but
they must know that this generosity toward them comes from you and
not from us." "Then I still give this token in friendship, Dwim of
Cós-domhain. May your beard grow to match those of the Five
Founders and never grow thin. But I would stay and hear the tale of
Glomin, as it

concerns me closely."

He asked that the Elves be unbound and allowed to
stretch their limbs and partake of food and drink before going on
their way. To this, the dwarves did not agree.

"Let them lie there until you are ready to depart,
Rogond. They will be allowed to proceed with you unharmed. Let that
satisfy you." Glomin stepped into the center of the circle to tell
his tale, and they all attended him, for it was a tale some had not
yet heard. "I will tell of Rosalin, the River-maiden, who was
Dwarf-friend, and how she came to save the life of one of our
greatest warriors and craftsmen, Farin son of Farlos."

Rogond was rapt, for he knew then that Rosalin, his
mother, had been a proud woman of the Tuathar—a fierce fighter and
worthy companion, friend of Elves, dwarves, and men. Of his father
there was no mention, but Rogond held out hope that Farin would
know something of him.

It was with such hope in his heart that Rogond
prepared to lead the Elves from the mountain, at the direction of
Dwim, who knew the quickest and easiest way to the Sanctuary. After
saying their farewells, the dwarves left the Company and began the
return journey south to Cós-domhain, together with Noli’s folk.
Only then could Rogond release the Elves.

Galador, Gaelen, and Nelwyn were nearly paralyzed
from being trussed and immobile on the cold stone for so long, and
they got up with some difficulty upon being released. Gaelen
actually fell down twice, as she had no feeling in her feet for
several minutes. Rogond braced her until she could walk, her face
set and determined not to show the pain of a thousand hot needles
flaring in her hands and feet as life returned to them. She glared
at the dwarves’ retreating backs, and would always remember their
treatment of her.

Galador and Nelwyn were of similar mind. It was their
opinion that Rogond had perhaps enjoyed his camaraderie with the
dwarves a bit too much, particularly at the Elves’ expense.

Their attitudes softened when Rogond pointed out that
they now had their provisions, had found their way back to their
destination, and still had all four of their lives. "Rogond, you
have proven your worth far beyond my expectations," said Gaelen.
"Forgive us our lack of gratitude. I will not underestimate you
again."

Rogond smiled at her. "You will, you know…you will
not be able to help yourself."

Capellion, the Master of Horse in the Woodland Realm,
had never before faced a situation such as this. Two fine animals
had been left in his charge, and he had been instructed to keep
them confined, but, try as he might, he could not get either of
them to settle down.

Both horses were well used, had no doubt seen years
of long travel and warfare, and had probably not often been in
confinement. But it was a rare animal that did not eventually
settle in to the comfortable accommodations provided in the King’s
stables. The stalls were roomy, the bedding fine and deep, and the
feed superb, even at this time of year. Though the Elves did not
cultivate their own fodder they traded for some of the best, and
this year’s crop had been excellent.

Capellion was Master of Horse because he had an
innate sense of the minds of horses. Even so, he was puzzled by
these two. At first he assumed they were unhappy at being left
behind and would have preferred to follow their masters. But surely
they would have gotten over that by now; even foals taken from
their dams did not fret for so long. They had been in his keeping
for three weeks, and though they had thankfully stopped their
incessant neighing, they paced and circled, and simply would not
rest.

Ri-Aruin and Wellyn had returned from the hunt, and
Wellyn had been down in the stables once or twice since, but he had
not been allowed access to Eros and Réalta on the King’s orders.
Apparently, Wellyn had been told that both strangers had gone, but
as he had not seen their horses he had assumed that they had gone
away mounted, attending to their own business. If he had known the
horses were still there, he might have guessed his father’s
deception, and that would have been a very bad turn of events.

Capellion was unhappy with this situation, as he took
great pride in the care shown to the horses in his charge. Eros and
Réalta now looked lean and ill-kept. Though he tried to soothe them
and keep them groomed, they would not stop pacing, nor eat more
than a few mouthfuls of feed. Eros, in particular, looked much less
fit than he had. His ribs were now easily felt, even through his
thick hair, which was beginning to shed with the waning of winter
into spring. Capellion wished that the King would relent and allow
him to release the horses onto the wide plain, but he also knew
that if they did so, Eros and Réalta would never see his stables
again. Better that, than to watch them stress themselves until they
sickened and died.

Capellion was struck especially by the mind of Eros.
The Aridan had described him in his message as occasionally having
a roguish nature. What Capellion observed was a calculating
willfulness bordering on genius. They had stopped trusting him when
he had nearly escaped from them on his third day of captivity. Eros
had feigned an injury to one foreleg, compelling the stable hands
to halter him and bring him out for Capellion to examine. He had
stood placidly while the horse-master ran his experienced hands
over the ‘injured’ leg. Eros waited for the Elves to take their
attention from restraining him…after all, he wouldn’t run off lame,
would he?

Capellion had felt neither heat nor swelling, yet the
horse would place no weight on the leg at all. Cradling the
forefoot in his hands, Capellion called for steel pincers to test
the hoof, for such deep lameness could only be detected in this
manner. Eros nuzzled his back affectionately, convincing the Elves
that he had relaxed and was now accepting their care. Two of the
stable-hands had opened the large double doors to let in more light
from the outside courtyard.

Eros lifted his head, turned it toward the doors,
snorted once, and then leaped forward, knocking Capellion and one
of his handlers to the ground. The other handler was determined to
hang on, but Eros literally dragged him through the large double
doors, slamming him into one of them so that he fell back, stunned.
It was then that Eros discovered that he was in a wide, stone
courtyard. There was only one gate, and it was closed. Dragging his
long line, he called to Réalta anyway. Let the Elves try—they would
not catch him. Réalta was screaming in his stall, rushing at the
gate and slamming to a stop. Finally, with the grace of a gazelle
and a tremendous effort, he lifted himself up and over the
partition, barely avoiding the stone roof with his head and
withers. Capellion and his aides tugged frantically at the stable
doors, closing them just in time.

Réalta and Eros were both furious. Thank the stars
that the King and his son were gone on the hunt. Who would fail to
notice the frustrated screaming of the two foiled conspirators, one
of which still ran wildly in the courtyard? Capellion noted the
complete lack of lameness as Eros floated majestically back and
forth before the gate, eyeing the "Master of Horse" in defiance, as
though daring him to try to outwit him with his feeble, two-legged
brain. Capellion would have given a great deal at that moment to
have known Eros as a foal and to have raised him as his own. What a
war-animal he must be!

Eros grew weary and thirsty about mid-afternoon and
stood by the courtyard gate, his tail raised like a sable flag.
Réalta was still calling out, but he had been caught and placed
back in the stall, the gate of which had been fortified such that
he could not jump it again. Such agility was rare, and Capellion
would have liked to keep Réalta to cross over some of the mares in
the band, as it would no doubt improve the quality of the foal
crop. Eros, on the other hand…

Capellion would have worried a bit about the
temperaments that would have resulted from that cross. There was
such a thing as having too much intelligence. Eros was a horse that
would be suited to relatively few riders. As Rogond had said, he
would not suffer prideful or foolish behavior, and Ri-Aruin’s
people sometimes displayed plenty of one if not the other.

Capellion approached Eros now, no rope in hand, but
with a small vessel of water. The tall, strong dun raised his head
imperiously, eyeing Capellion with suspicion. If one had been privy
to their thoughts, they might have gone something like this:

You will have to open this gate eventually, you
know!

Not before you come into the stables to drink, Son
of the North.

Try to outwit me, and you will regret it. I serve
one master, and he has gone. I will find him, whatever comes.

Not without water. I will not harm you, but you must
drink, and you know it. Your chance to outwit me again will come
soon enough.

There is water in the Great River. That is where he
has gone and where I must follow.

At that moment, Réalta called plaintively from his
now-fortified captivity.

Your companion calls you, even now. Will you leave
without him?

Eros stamped his "lame" foot once, raising the dust,
snorted and flung his head in a circular motion. He took one step
toward Capellion.

Set that water-vessel down, and we’ll talk.

Indeed, we will talk, but not before the courtyard
gate. The water is waiting, you have but to come and take it.

Eros was very thirsty. He wanted to drink, but he
didn’t want to approach Capellion, as he sensed that the Elf was
his equal in cleverness and was now wise to his tricks. He knew
Capellion would not be fooled again. Réalta was trapped inside the
wretched stable, and Eros really didn’t want to leave without him.
Eros wondered what his friend Rogond would think of his usefulness
to the Elven-king at this particular moment. Well, what did he
expect? Rogond surely knew him better than that. He had sworn
loyalty to only one and was of quite different temperament with any
other. If any of the Elves tried to ride him they would find
out!

These thoughts occupied him even as he followed the
water vessel, held before him by Capellion, until the stable doors
closed behind him. He was allowed to drink his fill before being
led to his own stall next to Réalta. Capellion stayed with him for
a while, stroking him, speaking softly to him, and offering him
bits of fruit, which he would not take at first.

Réalta snorted, envious. Capellion gave him a few
dried apples, which he consumed with enthusiasm, dripping white
froth upon the stall floor as he chewed with his eyes half closed.
That was too much for Eros. After all, he didn’t really have
anything against the Elves, and Capellion was worthy of respect. It
couldn’t hurt to take a few dried apples. He nuzzled the pouch that
hung at Capellion’s belt, nickering.

All right…I will submit for the moment. May I
please have some of those?
Capellion smiled and gave Eros most
of the rest of the apples, sharing a few yet with Réalta. He patted
Eros again, trusting that they understood one another. Eros lifted
his proud head and looked th horse-master in the eye.

Don’t think that this changes anything between us,
Elf. You have your duty, and I have mine!

Capellion nodded to himself. They did indeed
understand each other.

Now, weeks later, Capellion regarded both horses as
they stood in their stalls, looking at him in forlorn silence. Eros
gave a halfhearted toss of his head and resumed pacing. Réalta gave
a low nicker at his companion through the partition that separated
them, circling slowly in his own stall, first one way, then the
other. Capellion was disheartened as he observed the uneaten feed
in the mangers. Something would have to be done. He decided to go
to the King and beg leave to turn the horses loose before their
condition declined any further.