Elfhunter (33 page)

"Do not follow me, Gaelen. I am simply going to rest,
and I need to be left alone. If I need you, I will find you."

Gaelen was not used to such curtness from Rogond. He
had barely acknowledged her presence all evening. "Why are you
reproachful? Have I offended you in some way?" she asked. She was
confused and hurt, and Rogond knew that his treatment of her was
undeserved.

His expression softened, and he spoke to her again.
"I’m sorry, Gaelen. I simply am very weary and have many thoughts
in my mind that I must work through. It’s nothing you have done. I
just need to rest in solitude for a while." This seemed to satisfy
her, though her eyes still bore some of the hurt.

"If I can help sort out your thoughts, please ask.
That’s one of the things friends do for each other. I will leave
you alone until you tell me I should do otherwise. Rest well."

She turned and left him standing in the corridor. He
wished that he could follow her and be with her this night, and
that he was still blissfully unaware of the existence of "He Who
Waits".

After leaving Rogond, Gaelen decided to go down to
the stables and look in on Eros and Réalta. It was one place where
she could express her feelings to a living being without having to
listen to anyone’s advice. She found Eros lying comfortably on his
thick bed of straw. He nickered when he saw her.

"Well met, Eros…at least someone seems glad of my
company." She entered the stall and knelt down beside the great
horse, stroking his neck, and began to tell him all of her feelings
concerning Rogond and his recent behavior. She was confused and
filled with foreboding, trying to imagine what she had done to
offend him. "Eros, I don’t know how I feel about him. I just know
that I would rather lose my right arm than not have him beside me
in the conflict to come. I had thought he was content…but now I
sense that he is thinking of abandoning us. I don’t
understand."

She was suddenly overcome with emotion at the thought
of losing Rogond, and she hugged Eros’ neck and buried her face in
his mane, shedding silent tears. "You must not let him leave
without telling me, Eros. He won’t go without you. Promise that you
will not bear him from me."

Eros didn’t understand what Gaelen was saying, but he
knew that she wept. He truly liked Gaelen and nudged her gently,
trying to cheer her. She stayed with him for a few more minutes,
then stood, brushed the straw and the tears away, and left the
stables. Eros rose to his feet, watching her with some concern as
she disappeared into the darkness.

The new day dawned chill, damp, and grey. Rogond
still had not slept. He paced the floor of his chamber for the
fiftieth time, weighing his alternatives. He was no closer to a
decision now than he had been in the beginning—he needed another
opinion. After a few hours had passed, he would seek out the advice
of the one friend in Mountain-home whose perspective lay outside
the world of both Elves and men. Fima, the dwarvish lore-master,
would help sort things out and certainly would tell Rogond exactly
what he thought in the situation. He could also be trusted to keep
matters in confidence. Rogond lay back down on his bed, looking at
the ceiling, counting the hours until he could go and find Fima in
the hope that the dwarf ’s practical wisdom would suggest the right
path.

Rogond found Fima in his study in the late morning.
The dwarf was not known to arise early, as he was usually awake
through most of the dark hours, reading and studying. He greeted
Rogond, inviting him to sit opposite him as he ate and drank. He
offered food and drink to Rogond, which was politely declined.

"Something weighs heavily on you, my friend," said
Fima through a mouthful of bread and sausage. "Have you come for
counsel?"

Rogond nodded. Fima continued eating, as Rogond
waited patiently for him to finish. At last, Fima pushed his empty
plate away and settled back in his chair.

"This is about that She-elf isn’t it? I thought as
much. Well, let’s have it, and don’t leave anything out. I’ll try
to be as helpful as I may."

Rogond began his tale, and it took some time to tell.
He painted a vivid picture for Fima, explaining the nature of his
feelings, telling of his conversation with Ordath and of all the
thoughts he had since. When he had finished, Rogond looked at the
dwarf in hopeful silence. "Elves and men, men and Elves," said
Fima, clucking and shaking his head. "Rarely have I heard a tale of
a situation so simple turned into something so complicated. This
entire matter rests on your answer to a single question, by which
you may succeed, or be doomed to fail. Consider carefully."

Rogond nodded, awaiting the question. After several
long moments of silence, it came.

"Do you desire to be free to love Gaelen, or do you
wish to possess her?"

Rogond was taken aback. He had never really thought
to possess Gaelen, but he realized that his despair at the
discovery of her lost love was rooted in such desires. A wise, warm
smile crossed Fima’s face as he took note of the understanding
dawning in Rogond’s eyes. "Ah! You see, don’t you? This Elf who was
lost cannot love her in life, as you cannot love her after death.
She may yet love him, but cannot be with him until she leaves this
world, which may be a long time coming. Surely there is room in her
heart for you as well, for she has been alone for a great span of
years. One day you must leave her, but she will carry the memory of
you to whatever fate awaits her. This situation doesn’t really
change anything unless you must possess her, for that you cannot
do. But I sense that you may love her and find your love returned.
I have observed this one. She may be worth the effort."

"She is," replied Rogond. "And the answer to the
question is no, I did not really wish to possess her. I know that’s
not possible. I don’t know if she can love me, though, and I am
afraid to declare my feeling lest she send me away before our quest
to bring down Gorgon is achieved. Such is Ordath’s belief. That
would sadden me greatly, for I fear she will be lost in that
conflict without me to aid her."

"So, what’s your hurry, my friend?" said Fima. "Who
says you must declare your feelings until you are comfortable doing
so? Court her if you wish and see how she responds. You will know
when the time is right. And don’t listen to the advice of any Elf,
as they almost never approve of their kind consorting with mortals,
however worthy. One cannot blame them entirely, as it isn’t the
perfect situation. Certainly, you would be far better off with a
mortal woman. Yet the situation exists, and you cannot now take
back the desire of your heart. One fact should cheer you—your
friend Gaelen will not ever give herself completely to another of
immortal race. You actually are in an excellent position to gain
her love, my friend, for she knows it cannot extend beyond this
life. In my opinion, your differences are exactly what will allow
you to come together, if only for a brief while." Fima paused as
though in reflection. "I wonder who she gave her heart to so long
ago…and after only a few hours? How regrettable." Rogond agreed
that it was indeed regrettable. "Tell me Fima, does this sort of
thing happen often? And if so, do you know how or why it
happens?"

"My real understanding of Elves is somewhat limited,
though I know a great deal of their history and lore. I can tell
you that they are often very passionate and very much driven by
destiny. It is their belief that there are certain attractions that
cannot be denied, and that these are immediately apparent. In other
words, you meet the one you are destined for, and you know it. You
cannot deny it, and you are forever bound by it. They call it "The
Perception", and it happens only once in a lifetime. That is
apparently what happened to Gaelen and her lost love. They say that
the stronger the spirit, the more likely it is to resist other
attractions until the one for whom it is destined becomes clear.
Gaelen certainly has a strong spirit, and I suspect he did, also.
Ordath said he died a hard death, and he had foreknowledge of it?
No doubt he was some High-elven warrior who perished in some great
battle. They were, in general, quite strong in spirit. Yes,
indeed."

Fima looked intently at Rogond. "I have given you
something to think about. I trust it has been helpful?"

"As ever, very helpful," Rogond replied. "My
gratitude cannot be expressed, as this was weighing heavily on me.
I know now what I must do." Fima nodded in approval, and then spoke
as Rogond prepared to take his leave.

"If you find out the identity of this lost Elf, will
you come and tell me? I’m understandably curious as to whether my
theory is correct."

Rogond assented to this, then turned and left the
study, climbing the stairs to the lower courtyard. Though it was
raining, he was in fairly good spirits as he went now in search of
food and drink. He hoped he would not encounter Gaelen just yet, as
he needed to prepare his response carefully. If all went well, she
would forget about his recent treatment of her, as though it had
never been.

Wrothgar, Lord of Black Flame, awaited the arrival of
his wayward creation with anticipation. Not that such an evil being
would ever be capable of true creation, for that is the province of
the Light. Gorgon was a perversion, not a creation; the result of
the union of two beings so diverse that such a thing seemed
inconceivable.

Wrothgar had somehow managed to bring forth the
Ulcas, whose name means "evil", to serve as his minions, but how
they came to be was unknown to most. They had some things in common
with Elves, and some with men, but few outside the Dark Fortress
knew of the material from which they originally sprang. They
multiplied rapidly, but as they drew farther from their origins,
many grew weak and became less formidable in battle. They had
always been creatures of the dark shadows; sunlight, in particular,
pained and sickened them. Although they would certainly fight if
ordered, they were inherently cowardly, and therefore relatively
easy to defeat unless they attacked in large numbers. This had not
always been so. As Fima had pointed out to Rogond, there had been
those among them that were mighty, especially in the early
days.

Wrothgar desired an invincible army, and thus he
sought to create the perfect warrior-race. He used only the largest
and most ferocious as the foundation for these efforts. Still, they
were lacking in speed, grace, and cleverness. Wrothgar needed to
imbue them with those qualities, together with the courage they
lacked. He devised a plan to unite the largest and strongest of his
evil brood with the blood of the fairest beings in Alterra and, if
possible, to select those among the Elàni that possessed the
greatest strength of heart, body, and will. The Èolar were the
obvious choice, as they were renowned for their vitality and
stamina, for their skill in battle, and for their intelligence.
They were the tallest and most powerfully made of the Elves of
Alterra. A creature that would result from the union of two such
mighty progenitors would be formidable indeed, provided it could be
nurtured and molded by the hand of evil.

There were obvious difficulties in the beginning, as
ensnaring a worthy Elven representative without killing it was
difficult. The Elves hated Wrothgar and everything to do with him,
and they would not be beguiled. Any would die rather than subvert
to his will. Then there was the matter of actually accomplishing
the union.

The Shadowmancer had many Elven captives in his
fortress, but the two races were so dissimilar that interbreeding
them was not possible. They did not produce offspring in similar
fashion; the Ulcas had lost that ability long before. Of their
spawning little is known or recorded, and no Elf would willingly
participate in such an unclean, horrific joining. In addition,
She-elves could bear children only of their perceived
life-mates.

The attempts made by Wrothgar and his servants were
vile and contemptible, resulting in nothing but suffering. There
were no offspring, and any Elves who faced the terrible fate of
being chosen for this endeavor died as a result, either because of
the hideous process itself or by their own hand.

Throughout these failures, Wrothgar noted the cause
and devised a new plan. The few times that his Dark scholars
managed to accomplish the blending of the flesh, it became clear
that such an offspring could not be spawned in the manner of Ulcas;
it would have to be carried by its mother in the manner of the
Elves. This was tried several times, but none could bear the
hideous offspring, as they grew so large so quickly that they
overwhelmed and destroyed their would-be mothers long before they
could survive on their own. These unlucky females, though their
deaths were agony, relinquished their spirits gladly, for to be the
bearer of such an abomination would be unthinkable. Their cries,
and the cries of all who knew of them, echoed in the dark pits of
the Shadowmancer’s realm.

Wrothgar eventually put aside the idea and turned his
thoughts in other directions, as he did have quite a mighty army.
His forces included the Bödvari, dragons, trolls and innumerable
hosts of Ulcas. Yet he did not entirely abandon the notion of
breeding the ultimate warrior, and eventually he sought to continue
the work begun so long before. He had learned enough from the
earlier vain attempts that he felt ready to try again. It was such
an attractive prospect should he succeed, and he had such a likely
candidate in the Ulca that eventually turned out to be the sire of
Gorgon that he simply could not resist. The origin of this mighty
one is uncertain; even Wrothgar himself did not know. He was
discovered deep under the Monadh-hin and brought before Wrothgar,
whose power and influence were nearly at their peak.