Elfhunter (30 page)

He turned and lifted Gorgon’s shield, which they had
brought with them slung across Galador’s back. Magra shuddered as
he touched it. "If the armor is of the same material, it is no
wonder that your spearhead was turned." He handed the shield to
Rogond, who had not as yet examined it closely. The weight of it
was daunting. No weapon that he knew of in Alterra would penetrate
it. There were many dents, each no doubt a reminder of some
desperate and ineffective fight for an Elven life. Rogond suddenly
felt ill, and he lowered the shield to the ground.

Magra looked at him with concern. "I don’t blame you,
Rogond. I had the same feeling and would sooner not handle anything
that has been touched by this creature. Gaelen said that you held
it off for several minutes in single combat. That’s an impressive
feat, for any creature that could bear that shield must be mighty
indeed."

Rogond smiled. "He slung it around as a leaf in the
wind. Its weight burdened him not at all. It is a good thing Gaelen
is as quick as she is, or neither of us would have been favored
with her company last night." He searched uncomfortably for the
right words to say to Magra, but the Elf saved him the trouble.

"Rogond, I must apologize for last night. Gaelen had
told me that she wanted you to be her companion, but somehow when
she was sitting at my right hand I simply forgot myself. We have
known each other for quite a long time, and I do enjoy her company.
At any rate, I had no right to force such a choice upon her. It is
obvious that she is very fond of you. You definitely have her
respect, and that’s not easily earned." He inclined his head in a
gesture of esteem.

Rogond was taken aback, as he had expected to be the
one apologizing. Before he could stop himself, he asked a rather
bold question of Magra—one that caused him to raise both eyebrows
in mild surprise.

"Forgive me, but what does a great Elf-lord see in a
simple Wood- elf such as Gaelen? I know that she is considered
worthy in her way, but surely there are countless others more
worthy to consort with one such as you. Please don’t be
offended…I’m merely curious, and intend no disrespect."

Magra took a deep breath, as though formulating his
reply. "Gaelen and I do not ‘consort’, Tuathan. We might be
considered friends, and I enjoy her company, but there are things I
know of her that would preclude my consorting with her. And as for
being a simple Wood-elf, you should know by now that Gaelen is
anything but simple, and her worth is not for the folk of
Mountain-home to judge. I am not offended by the question, as it
has been asked by many here. But I would caution you against
getting too deeply involved with her. I will speak no more of this
matter."

Then, his eyes grew wide for a moment as though he
had just remembered something. "I was to give a message to you from
Lore- master Fima, should I encounter you. He asks that you meet
with him this morning in his underground chamber. You know it, of
course?"

Rogond nodded. "I shall go now; I have a few words
for him as well. Thank you again for this." He indicated the spear,
which he placed carefully among the others in the armory. He would
have no need of it while in the Sanctuary.

Magra turned to leave, but Rogond delayed him with a
last question.

"I don’t suppose you are willing to tell me
why
you caution me against involvement with Gaelen?"

Magra turned back for a moment and replied, "No, I am
uncomfortable revealing such matters. If you wish to learn more,
inquire of Ordath if you cannot ask Gaelen directly. I don’t know
how Gaelen would react to such an inquiry." Before Rogond could
reply, Magra had gone.

Rogond found Fima sitting amid the clutter of his
underground study. Rogond looked around, bemused. This place hadn’t
changed a bit since his last visit over a decade ago. His friend
was poring over a manuscript, muttering to himself, and had not
heard Rogond until he shouted, "Go and Take the Elf,
INDEED
!" whereupon Fima was very nearly startled to death.
Rogond slumped down in the only man- sized chair in the room,
opposite Fima, who was looking daggers at him and smiling at the
same time. They both chuckled good-naturedly like the true friends
they were.

"Ah, Rogond, you are still as willing to be
manipulated as ever. It was good for Magra. Somebody has to remind
him occasionally that he breathes the same air as the rest of us.
And I noticed that your friend didn’t even ask his leave! Some were
still speaking of it this morning. How very marvelous!"

Rogond gave him a wry look, as Fima continued. "At
any rate, I have no time to discuss the humbling of Magra by a
Wood-elf. I have something important and remarkable to share with
you, a gift that will stand you in good stead. I have been thinking
about your enemy and the fact that you may need to pursue him below
ground or in the dark of night. This will aid you, but I warn you
that it is a powerful gift and dangerous if mishandled."

He drew forth a glass phial containing a small mass
of what looked like soft, white metal suspended in a clear amber
fluid. "The phial contains oil, and this material must be kept
inside until needed. To use it, you will need a tiny bit of water.
I have arranged a small demonstration." He indicated a clay saucer
in which a tiny shaving of the metal was lying. "Shield your eyes,"
he cautioned, as he took a drop of water, applying it to the edge
of the saucer so that it ran down onto the metal.

The result was immediate and startling. Rogond
flinched as a tiny explosion, accompanied by blinding white light,
forced him back a few paces. It was incredible. The reaction lasted
for several seconds. When it had faded, Rogond gaped at Fima,
speechless.

"What dwarvish devilry was
that
? What is it
called? How did you get it? What would happen if you did that to a
larger quantity?"

Fima raised his hand. "We call it maglos. As to how I
acquired it, that is mine to know. It is very rare…difficult to
mine and refine to this form. As to what would happen if you added
a larger quantity, you had best not find out, unless in imminent
danger from your enemy. Then, may you have the good sense to gain
some distance from it quickly!"

"Maglos," muttered Rogond. The name meant "mighty
light". True enough! Fima handed him the phial.

"The oil prevents moisture from accidentally
contacting the maglos. That would be a catastrophe. When you need
it, simply shave a bit off and add water. You have seen the result.
The light will serve you well against this enemy. If he looks
directly into it he will be blinded for several minutes, if I am
any judge. It’s definitely something he will not expect."

Rogond bowed before Fima. "Immeasurable thanks, my
dear friend. This will be a difficult road, and you have given us a
weapon that will allow us to walk with less fear in the dark."

Fima returned the bow, but his face was grim. "Yes,
Rogond, walk with less fear, but with fear nevertheless. I have my
own thoughts concerning the nature of your enemy, and if I am
right, he has abilities as yet unseen. Beware! I did not go to all
the trouble of teaching you our tongue so that you could take the
knowledge to an early death." Rogond was intrigued. "Will you not
share your insights with me? I would hear them, for you are wise
beyond any here save Lady

Ordath herself. Please, favor me with your
speculation."

Fima nodded and then spent nearly an hour explaining
his view concerning the nature of Gorgon and the reasoning behind
it. When he had finished, Rogond thanked him and took his leave.
Though Fima’s hypothesis was horrific, it was unassailably logical.
As Rogond made his way back up the long stair, the phial of maglos
tucked safely away, he reflected that Fima’s theory definitely made
sense. It actually made very good sense.

Gorgon had fled into the cool, dark haven beneath the
mountain, nursing wounds to his body, his mind, and his pride. He
had never been thus routed in all the long years since he had been
turned loose upon the world. He was among the mightiest of all the
misbegotten children of Darkness, and the labor of producing him
had begun long ago.

Wrothgar had decided to fashion the perfect evil
warrior—an invincible creature of such stature and might that none
could stand against it. Ultimately, he succeeded, having learned
from the horrible failures that had come before. The result was
Gorgon, and Wrothgar was at first pleased with his success. But
when he learned that Gorgon would not be controlled and served no
master but himself, Wrothgar had set him loose to cause as much
suffering as he could manage, to the satisfaction of both. Wrothgar
was perhaps the only being in Alterra who hated the Elves even more
than Gorgon did.

This "invincible warrior" had been thwarted by two
Wood-elves, a man, and a third Elf of unknown origin. Though he not
anticipated this third Elf, Gorgon still could not believe that
such a pathetic force had defeated him. The arrows of the accursed
Wood-elves had damaged him, especially the last that had lodged
beneath his right arm. He had pulled it out immediately, but it had
gone deep. The other that still pained him had gone under the left
arm. The point had come free of the shaft and remained deep within
his flesh. His head was still pounding from the searing blast of
light that had nearly blinded him. He cursed himself for his
carelessness. Why had he not made certain that he struck the
lookout with enough force to kill her outright?

And what of the others? They knew Gorgon’s weakness
now; the accursed She-elf had discovered it. It would be no good
attacking in daylight from now on. He had lost his shield, as well.
One thing was certain—the next shield would have no mirrored
surface that could be turned upon him. The mirrored shield had
allowed Gorgon to delight in the fact that his victims could see
their own desperate, doomed faces reflected in it as he vanquished
them.

For the first time in untold centuries, Gorgon
despaired. He knew that these Elves would not rest until they had
hunted him down, and in the meantime they no doubt intended to warn
all who would hear of him, betraying his weakness. Deep within his
flesh, the Elven arrow-point burned him. Would he now carry that
reminder forever? He cursed the one who had given it to him,
knowing it was she whose relentless pursuit he had sensed from the
beginning. How could he have let this happen?

You let it happen because you were careless. It is
your destiny to be defeated by these foes.
Gorgon jumped,
startled by the voice to his immediate left. Gelmyr was sitting
beside him, as he often did these days, glowing vaguely blue in the
darkness. He wasn’t looking too hale, but considering the length of
time he had been dead, he was managing admirably
. I warned you
of this, you know. You didn’t listen because of your pride. Up
until the last, it blinded you to the truth. You said once that you
had taken my pride and that it had been my undoing. That was true,
but your own pride will bring about your downfall as well. After
all,
he added with a knowing smile,
it comes from the same
source.

Gorgon closed his eyes, trying to will Gelmyr to go
and leave him alone with his pain. He growled at the empty chamber
in which he was lying.

"Wretched Èolo, you are wrong. This is but a minor
inconvenience. I will slay them all when next we meet. And do not
dare to compare yourself to me."

Gelmyr truly laughed then, as he did more and more
frequently as time passed.

Why not? It is apt in some ways. But I will not
compare myself to you again, for you are weakening day by day, and
soon the fire will take you. And while it is true that I no longer
count myself among the living, at least I did not have to die awash
in pity, as you will, and at least I fell before a once-mighty foe,
not whimpering before an undersized She-elf.

This last enraged Gorgon so much that he turned and
swung hard with his right arm at the apparition beside him,
releasing a bolt of pain through his entire right side. He groaned
and clenched his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain of
the wound and the scornful laughter that rose, fell, and faded
away. When he opened his eyes again, Gelmyr was gone.

Gorgon lay, breathing painfully, humiliated in his
defeat. He thought of trying to rest again and closed his eyes. He
had removed his armor, and the blood that had flowed from his
wounds might draw enemies, but he was too discouraged right now to
concern himself with such things. Not even his ever-present rage
and resentment would sustain him. He curled up on his left side,
drawing his legs close to his belly. His breath came in shallow
gasps as he tried to sleep. He would heal if he found his strength,
and sleep would help.

As he drifted off, he thought he heard a deep,
sonorous voice beckoning him. It was a familiar voice, though he
had not heard it for time out of mind. He roused himself, waiting
for the voice to come again. When it did, he realized that he was
feeling the voice rather than hearing it. After a moment of
silence, Gorgon spoke softly into the dark.

"Are these the words of the Dark Master, whose voice
I have not heard in so long?"

Gorgon waited in the dark, and soon the reply
came.

Yes, it is I. Thou hast done well in thy task,
Gorgon Elfhunter, until now. I have heard thy desperate call and
have come to aid thee. Do not fear Me, for I am thy friend. For
much time have I watched over thee, rejoicing in the accomplishment
of thy purpose, yet discontented, for there is so much more that
could be done if thou would accept My help. Now, in the depths of
thy despair I sense that thou art ready. Heal thyself Elfhunter,
and come to Me. Thou wilt find Me in Tûr Dorcha. My strength is not
as yet restored, but I have strength enough to aid thee in thy
purpose. Come thou, then, and receive My blessing and aid. Thou art
as a son to Me. Return to thy place at My side.