Elfhunter (23 page)

Rogond and Gaelen drew as near to the tall stone as
they dared before Rogond crouched down among the moss-covered
boulders, preparing to defend Gaelen and himself. The two of them
could now see the strange Elf clearly, and Rogond stifled a
frustrated moan, for he recognized Elethorn, who was one of the
scouts of Ordath, and a friend. Rogond and Elethorn had once
enjoyed roaming the marches of Mountain-home together with several
other companions, escaping the civility of the realm for a time.
Rogond was more determined now than ever, as anger burned within
him on behalf of his friend. He squeezed Gaelen’s arm as she
prepared to leave.

"Be wary, Gaelen, but be swift. I sense that if
Elethorn is alive, he will not be so much longer. I’ll watch over
you with Nelwyn, but if the creature appears, fall back and do not
linger. I will take him if I can."

Gaelen gave Rogond a look that told him she was not
likely to fall back and that she would linger until the end, but
she understood him. Just before she left cover, she turned to him
and took his face in her hands, running her fingers curiously
against the grain of his ever-present whiskers. Then she smiled and
whispered: "Just be there when I need you, Aridan. That’s all I
ask. I’ll try to leave something for you to do. Now, let’s fall
into the trap!" She turned before he could see that this bravado
did not extend to her mind or heart, and crept carefully toward
Elethorn.

Rogond and Nelwyn were both tensed and ready;
Nelwyn’s bow was fitted, but not yet drawn, and Rogond gripped his
sword-hilt with one hand and the shaft of his spear with the other.
They jumped as a small but noisy tumble of rock came rolling down
the hillside. All turned their attention to it for several minutes,
straining to see what had set it off, but found no sign of the
enemy. By this time Gaelen had nearly reached Elethorn, and she
rejoiced as he stirred and moaned in his pain, his face haggard and
drawn. So, he was alive! She paused, straining to hear all around
her, but heard nothing but her own breathing and rapid
heartbeat.

Elethorn was unconscious as she approached him, but
he roused himself as she gently took hold of one of his feet and
squeezed it. His eyes opened, then focused on her and grew wide
with fear. Speaking in a low voice, she reassured him as she
quickly took in his condition. There was blood on the stone behind
Elethorn’s legs; apparently the enemy had not felt confident enough
to bind him without first crippling him. Otherwise he had no
obvious deadly wound, though he had been bound to the stone without
water or warmth for some time and had very little strength left.
Gaelen drew one of her long knives, and as she cut him from the
stone he fell into her arms.

Lowering him gently to the ground, she replaced her
blade, looking back over her shoulder as a sound from the tall
spruce caught her attention. To her horror, she observed the
slender body of her cousin Nelwyn as it fell, limp and lifeless, to
catch in the branches of the tall tree. It was fortunate that she
did not fall all the way to the ground. Gaelen cried out in alarm,
leaping to her feet, but she would not be able to find out what had
happened to Nelwyn just yet.

Another sound distracted her and she turned, gasping
as she beheld for the first time the shadowed figure that seemed to
emerge as from the very stones, making straight for her. The next
few seconds were a blur of motion and speed, as Gaelen drew her bow
without thinking and loosed an arrow at the huge, dark enemy. It
was easily deflected by his black armor, and she drew her curved
blade, leaping back just in time as he was upon her, his sword
ringing against hers with a force that was like a great tree that
crashes to the ground during a storm. She knew then that she was
outmatched, and that even the strength of one such as Rogond might
not be enough.

Gorgon had not been idle. For over two days he had
been lying in wait, concealed by his grey cloak among the stones,
taking only an occasional sip of water, sitting still and silent as
though made of stone himself. His scent he had disguised with that
of the two now- dead companions of Elethorn; this was a trick he
had learned long ago and it had always served him well. He first
noted the approach of those that tracked him in the late morning.
Ha. It is as I had hoped… there are but three. And only two are
Elven. The third, though he has the look of a warrior, is a mortal
man. This will not prove too challenging.
Then he had
remembered the words of Gelmyr. Was this the pursuit of which the
Elf had warned? Ha! Trust an overconfident dead Èolo to make a
prophecy of two Wood-elves and one mortal man.

Gorgon watched as Nelwyn, Gaelen, and Rogond took up
their positions, and he quickly guessed their plan. The one in the
tree was the lookout, and the man was there to back up the other,
who had apparently been appointed rescuer. The first part of
Gorgon’s plan was to quietly eliminate one of them from the fight.
Moving as one in slow motion, he drew forth a weapon of which he
was most proud, as it had proved its worth on countless occasions,
and he had constructed it himself. It was a stout, Y-shaped
creation of supple yew wood, highly polished and balanced, with a
thong of leather strung between the branches. In the center of the
thong was a concave piece of hard silver into which he placed a
rounded piece of steel about the size of the end of his own index
finger. It remained only for him to decide which of his enemies to
strike first.

Gorgon smiled as he beheld Nelwyn’s small bow; though
she was undoubtedly skilled, her weapon would lack the power to
penetrate his armor. He would have to be careful never to turn his
face to her, as she might wound him sorely if she hit him in the
eye, but he reckoned that was about the only way she could do much
more than annoy him. Gorgon was not only well armored, his skin was
as thick and tough as several layers of leather, and there was
precious little of it exposed. He was positioned so that, if he
wished, he could shoot any or all of his pursuers, but in the end
he decided that, as the lookout, Nelwyn would be his first choice
of target. Then he would not have to concern himself with her darts
and could turn his eyes where he would.

His plan was to incapacitate or kill Nelwyn with his
marvelous weapon, and then to engage Gaelen and Rogond. He had
already assessed his risk and found it acceptable. Rogond would
probably put up a stimulating if brief struggle, and as for Gaelen,
he would swat her as a fly, perhaps after toying with her first. He
would keep her alive long enough to ensure that there were no
others to trouble him, at least.

He drew silently on Nelwyn, hoping that her sharp
eyes would not detect the movement until he could get the shot off.
He pulled back, straining against the tough yew wood, sighting in
on Nelwyn’s forehead. At this distance, he would be satisfied with
any head shot, as it would accomplish his purpose. Nelwyn
tensed—had she heard something over the wind in the spruce boughs?
Gorgon’s thick, black fingers released the weapon. The steel
projectile hurtled straight to its target, and Nelwyn knew no
more.

Gorgon had then leaped to his feet and rushed toward
Gaelen as she beheld Nelwyn with alarm. As he had guessed, she was
quick to get off a shot at him, but his armor deflected her arrows
even at close range. Sword drawn, he met her pathetic attempt at
fending him off with about half the force he was capable of. There
followed a violent but somewhat awkward bit of swordplay, during
which Gorgon slashed so hard and fast at Gaelen that it was all she
could do to leap out of the way. The few times that he made contact
with her blade he nearly bore her to the ground with the power of
his great arm.

Rogond had also reacted with alarm when Nelwyn fell
from her perch, but Gaelen’s cry of dismay had turned his attention
back as Gorgon rounded on her. He leaped up and made toward the
enemy, his heart sinking as he took notice of Gorgon’s size and
power. Gaelen would be crushed quickly, even as the enemy toyed
with her. As Rogond rushed toward them, he brandished his spear,
which had always served him well; it was rare armor that it would
not pierce. Gorgon was moving much too fast to risk hurling it, so
Rogond sprang in front of him, striking at his enemy’s heart with
all his strength.

Regrettably, Gorgon’s armor
was
rare. It was
made of a most unusual material—the carapace of a gigantic beetle
that dwelled only in the deepest caverns beneath the great northern
wastes. The beetles fed on large prey, including one another, and
the really enormous ones were not only rare, but nearly impossible
to kill. Wrothgar’s most skilled armorers had shaped the armor,
which was relatively light yet harder than steel. Even so, its
weight would have daunted any mortal man or bright Elf, though it
meant nothing to Gorgon, who was so seldom without it that it
seemed a part of his own skin. The best quality was the stealth it
afforded—metal armor clanked and creaked and rattled with every
movement, but this armor was utterly silent, allowing Gorgon to
approach as quietly as if he wore none. The plain black surface was
dented and pitted from many battles, despite the natural resilience
of the carapace. Most weapons would simply bounce off.

Rogond’s spear, though a worthy weapon, made little
impact on it, but at least for the moment Gorgon had to pay careful
attention, as he now faced two foes. Rogond was taken aback and
struck again as hard as he could, ducking under a sweeping stroke
of Gorgon’s broadsword. This time the spear point snapped against
the black armor, to Rogond’s dismay. He cast aside the broken
weapon and brandished his sword as Gaelen deflected a fresh attack.
She had thrown both of her daggers, but Gorgon was incredibly quick
and agile, and he had managed to evade them.

Confident that he was more than a match for these
two, Gorgon raised his heavy, polished shield. It was mirror-bright
in contrast to the dull black of his armor. The man’s favored
weapon was now useless, and he would soon fall. The Elf would
present no difficulty, for though she was quick and apparently
possessed of a certain amount of skill and stamina, Gorgon’s
strength would wear her down. He drew himself up and brandished his
long sword in the air, roaring like a beast and displaying his
long, sharp teeth. Both of his adversaries froze, staring at him in
horror. Then, he chuckled at them. He certainly was fearsome,
wasn’t he?

Rogond was first to recover, as he realized that
Gorgon was toying with him. This enemy was no doubt quite
intelligent, but he was twisted and malicious, and altogether evil.
Rogond fought with all the skill he had been able to acquire in his
short lifetime, but Gorgon more than matched him, even with
Gaelen’s help.

She had managed to place no fewer than three arrows
in Gorgon’s flesh, a difficult task considering the speed with
which the creature moved. Two had pierced his sword-arm at the
inside elbow, but he had ripped them out quickly, as they had not
gone deep.

The one that now lodged under his left arm had been
more troublesome; it had caused him to drop his shield, though he
felt little pain as yet. It was time to put an end to this
annoyance. Abruptly, Gorgon came alive before them with all his
strength, roaring and slashing at Rogond until he was overwhelmed,
finally striking him with such force that he was flung aside to
land hard among the rocks, insensible.

Gorgon paused as though catching his breath, though
Gaelen could see that his strength was far from spent. They stared
at one another for a moment, Gorgon now breathing easily, Gaelen
still panting hard. She had never seen anything quite like him, and
for a moment she forgot that he was a mortal enemy as she regarded
him with fascinated revulsion. His pale eyes narrowed, and he bared
his sharp, yellow teeth in a sort of sneering smile. He was only
slightly taller than Rogond, but much more massive. His limbs were
all corded muscle beneath his armor, and his weapons and bright
shield gleamed. Though he brandished a broadsword that he had taken
from Gelmyr, Turantil hung at his side, and as Gaelen beheld it,
she snarled back at him.

He noted this with satisfaction, and then he spoke to
her in a voice that made her skin crawl: "Well met, Elf of the
Darkmere. You are kin of he that owned this sword?"

Gaelen put forth every effort to keep the tremor out
of her voice. "Not kin, but friend. One who would see you dead at
any rate!"

Gorgon’s pale eyes narrowed. "We don’t always receive
what we desire, She-elf. If that were so, neither you nor any of
your accursed race would yet exist. Regrettably, I must wait for
the fulfillment of my desires. As for yours, it will be a long time
indeed ‘ere I perish at the hands of one such as you."

Of this, Gaelen now had little doubt. Still, she
gritted her teeth and faced him, trying to make herself appear to
be as large and menacing as possible. "I know of your desires,
Hateful Horror," she replied. "Gelmyr has told me of them."

At the mention of Gelmyr, Gorgon’s eyes flickered and
his lip curled just slightly. Gaelen sensed that he was
uncomfortable with the mention of Gelmyr’s name. She glanced over
at Rogond, who had not yet stirred, an action that did not go
unnoticed.

"Hoping for the Aridan to save you? I don’t blame
you, Hapless One. That sword you carry is not your preferred
weapon—you have the look of an archer to me, and I would say a
fairly apt one, but your bow will not avail you here. Your mortal
friend may not yet be dead, but he soon will be. He is no match for
my strength. And as for Gelmyr, you are a liar. He was as dead as
stone long before I left him and was not in a position to reveal
anything of my desires, or aught else."