Elfhunter (34 page)

This Ulca stood taller than any man, as broad as a
great oak, with skin as dark as pitch. His eyes, yellow and feral,
gleamed with a rare intelligence, and his crooked fangs were sharp
and long. In spite of his age he was both powerful and enduring,
but Gorgon would later outstrip him in both agility and
swiftness.

To this impressive bloodline Wrothgar now sought to
add the influence of the Elves, and he sent his spies abroad to
search for it. They found her outside the Lake-realm of
Tal-sithian, and there she was lost. Her people never saw her
again, that golden-haired maiden whose own child grew in her womb
unaware that it would serve as the raw material for one of the
mightiest yet most forlorn of beings. Wrothgar crafted this
abomination carefully, for he thought to set Gorgon at his right
hand—the perfect general of his mighty army. Gorgon and others like
him would lead the dark host to a victory that would result in the
ultimate destruction of the Elves, as well as any of the race of
men who would not bend to his will. Such was his design, but it
would not come to pass, for Wrothgar did not reckon with the fierce
independence and stubbornness of the Èolarin heart, and Gorgon
answered to no purposes save his own.

The rain ceased by late afternoon, clearing to a sky
that promised bright stars. Rogond sought out Nelwyn to learn more
of the truth of Gaelen’s history, knowing that Nelwyn, who was
closer in friendship with Gaelen than anyone, would have much to
reveal. He knew also that Nelwyn both loved and trusted him, and
would be kindly disposed to his request for enlightenment. He
didn’t need to worry about Gaelen—she had gone with Magra,
Thorndil, and Belegund on a foray to the south, from which she
would not return until dawn.

Rogond had allowed her to ride Eros, to their mutual
delight. Rogond wondered for a moment whether he had lost his
favorite mount, but when the great horse nuzzled him as Gaelen rode
up to bid him farewell, he knew his friend was forever
faithful.

"Why will you not come with us? I can choose another
mount for tonight," said Gaelen.

Rogond looked away from her for a moment. "I need the
time to meet with Fima and ponder our next course. He always seems
to know what to do in any situation. Besides, I have been looking
forward to spending some time with him."

Gaelen wondered whether he was being truly
forthcoming, but the others were waiting and she could not
delay.

When Rogond was certain that she had gone, he spent a
few brief moments in a last debate with himself, then found his
resolve and went in search of Galador and Nelwyn.

He strode out in the early evening, seeking the
gentle, golden- haired Nelwyn in one of her favorite haunts: a
quiet glade surrounded by fragrant vines, carpeted with moss and
soft grass. Here he found her in quiet conversation with Galador,
who rose protectively to his feet until he recognized Rogond. He
greeted his friend and then started to ask if there was some
pressing purpose to his coming, as he sensed some urgency in
Rogond’s manner. Rogond held up a hand to quiet him.

"I have come on a matter of some concern to me, yes,
but I need to speak with Nelwyn. You are welcome to remain if you
wish, as this may or may not take long. You, I believe, are aware
of most of it anyway, having been in counsel with Lady Ordath."

Galador looked down at his hands, muttering something
about the inability of some folk to keep matters in confidence.
"Please do not be wrathful…I merely wanted to seek answers to
questions that would help me to guide you, as I always have when
you have sought my aid. I didn’t mean to pry too deeply, and in
truth I learned very little from the Lady."

Rogond smiled wryly at Galador, who still would not
look directly at him. "And what matters did you not pry deeply
into, my friend? If you refer to the unfortunate history of Gaelen
and her lost love, then be content, as I’m here to seek
enlightenment from Nelwyn on this very subject. I no longer have
time for veiled insinuations." He turned to Nelwyn and drew a deep
breath.

"I love Gaelen and would seek happiness with her, if
only in this life, for I know that is the best I may hope for. It’s
time I knew the nature of the obstacle I must overcome to win her.
You are well aware of the workings of Gaelen’s heart. Will you aid
me?"

Nelwyn was somewhat taken aback by this bold
declaration. She looked briefly at Galador and thought for a
moment. Then she looked into the eyes of Rogond the Aridan. In them
she saw much the same longing that she had beheld in the eyes of
Galador that day on the western slopes of the mountain, before he
had left her to seek the aid of Mountain-home.
Rogond…he is so
young,
she thought
, yet he has such a brief span of years
before him. He has not the luxury of patience over long years of
waiting, as we do. I can’t blame him for wanting to know the truth,
yet why he does he not ask it of Gaelen herself ?
She posed
this question to him, and he looked away from her for a moment.

"Because…I am not yet ready to face her. I cannot
know how she will react, as I do not yet comprehend the matter
myself. I thought that if I knew the truth, I could more carefully
craft my inquiry, and be more cautious of her feelings."

Nelwyn chuckled in spite of herself, for she took his
meaning. "I believe you’ve just told me you are afraid of her
reaction should you speak too plainly with her. That’s quite
understandable. Gaelen has gone to some lengths to establish
herself as less than approachable, and make no mistake—she can be
somewhat prickly, especially when it comes to matters that make her
uncomfortable, as this surely will. Still, she admires you, and
appreciates your forthrightness. If you truly love her, you had
better get used to dealing with her."

She looked over at Galador again, rejoicing in the
hope of enjoying his company for a long span of years. Would she
now deny Rogond the chance at the same joy? She could not send him
to face Gaelen unprepared, even though it might mean incurring the
wrath of her occasionally difficult cousin. And she had a sense
that Gaelen, who clearly was very fond of Rogond, would quickly
forgive the indiscretion, for she had always disliked veiled
insinuations and innuendoes. She preferred honesty and clarity of
purpose.

"Sit down, my friend, and I will tell you what I
know. Having learned of it, may you choose wisely."

Gorgon Elfhunter, the Half-elven, was stirring once
again in his dark sanctuary. His wounds still pained him, but grew
less with each day that passed. He had risen and sought one of the
pools of icy water that formed in the deep caverns, washing the
blood and Elf-stench from his body, now charged with the new hope
of aid from the Shadowmancer. Gelmyr had not appeared since Gorgon
had heard the voice of Wrothgar in his despair. It was likely that
the wretched dead Elf had been banished forever. This thought
cheered Gorgon immensely as he stood beneath a cascade of snow-melt
that poured through a rocky fissure in the cavern’s roof. It took
his breath for a moment, but he felt his own malevolent energy
surging deep within him as the icy water pounded his shoulders and
turned his long hair—the fine, silky hair of his mother’s kin—into
a river of gold.

Soon he would once again don his black armor and set
forth into the wide world. There he would move cautiously to Tûr
Dorcha to meet with the One who knew and understood his nature more
completely than any other. The Shadowmancer had promised aid, and
though Gorgon was still wary and mistrustful, the promise of some
new power that would help vanquish his pursuers and achieve his
hateful purpose went a long way toward dispelling all doubt. His
lip curled with contempt as he spoke the name of the She-elf who,
along with her companions, was surely doomed to die by his hand.
"Gaelen…Gaehhlehhnnn…you have wounded me, little maidrin.

But the hurts I have received from you will be as
nothing compared with your fate. Enjoy each breath you take while
you may." Gelmyr did not appear to offer argument. So long as
Gorgon’s resolve was strong, he would come no more.

Rogond and Galador had listened with fascination to
Nelwyn’s tale, recounting all she knew of the nature of Gaelen’s
lost love. Nelwyn had never met him, or even seen him, but she knew
of him—they all did. Rogond had seen several renderings of him here
in Mountain-home, paintings depicting various heroic acts. All were
similar: a very tall, powerfully built, dark-haired Elf-lord,
stern-faced and keen-eyed. Above his head there was a banner of
sable and blue, bearing the design of a field of silver stars
encircling a sunburst of gold.

The same design was barely discernible on the worn
leather pouch Gaelen wore always. It had been passed down an
ancient line, adorning the banners of some of the mightiest and
most wise, and it took a moment for Rogond to comprehend that
little Gaelen, lowly Sylvan Elf of the Greatwood, had given her
heart to none less than Ri-Elathan, the last of the High-elven
Kings.

Galador shook his head in disbelief. How could it be
so? Yet he recalled now an incident that had occurred during the
feast in the hall of Ri-Aruin, and again in Monadh-talam. "The
Tragic Fate of Ri-Elathan" had been harped and sung by the fine
minstrels in both realms, and each time Gaelen would rise and take
her leave, as though she would not suffer herself to hear it.
Galador had not understood or really taken notice at the time, but
now the reason was quite clear.

Rogond now recalled the words of Ordath.
Do not
count him fortunate. His life was hard nearly beyond enduring, and
he did not become acquainted with Gaelen until the very end of it.
He died a hard death, for many reasons.
Rogond was overcome for
a moment, and his heart ached with empathy for Ri-Elathan. He knew
that the High King had lived most of his life in solitude, burdened
with the responsibilities of his office and the dreadful doom that
lay before him. At last he had been allowed to open his great heart
to the one unlikely spirit who was to be bound forever to him, only
to leave her until death reunited them. Rogond could not imagine
the grief that this grim fate had wrought.

Nelwyn recounted all that Gaelen had told of her
first encounter with Ri-Elathan, where she gave her heart forever
to him, and of their reunion at the gathering of the Great Host as
it moved northward, going forth to engage the armies of Darkness.
Then she told what she knew of their final parting. Ri-Elathan had
left Gaelen behind; insisting that she return to the Greatwood,
promising to come for her should he survive the war. But he had
known then that this was not likely, as he had foreseen his own
terrible death. He spoke without much hope, yet Gaelen kept faith
in her heart that he would return, for she was very young and could
not allow herself to think otherwise.

Together with the hosts of Tal-sithian and the
Woodland, Ri- Elathan succeeded in routing Wrothgar’s army, but the
effort and the losses were great, lasting for several years. During
that time, many of the Sylvan Elves were lost. Nelwyn’s father
Turanen and her uncle Tarmagil both perished in the final great
assault. Wrothgar was finally defeated, but at the cost of the High
King.

Even though they were far from the battle-plain,
Nelwyn and Gaelen had both known when this final, desperate stand
occurred, for as Ri-Elathan gave up his life, Gaelen’s heart was
torn from her. She had fallen to her knees as though stricken,
unable to breathe, an expression of horror in her over-bright eyes.
Nelwyn had reacted with alarm, not knowing what had befallen her
cousin, and called Gaelen’s name over and over.

Gaelen’s eyes met Nelwyn’s then, and she had covered
her face with both hands and wailed—the high, keening sound of a
heart that has been forever diminished by unfathomable loss. Nelwyn
backed away in fear, for she did not yet understand, and Gaelen
turned from her, still wailing, calling the name of her beloved as
though to stop his flight from the world. But of course, she could
not. Her faith had been ill-founded, and his doom the stronger, for
she would never lay eyes upon him again in this world.

Her face somber and voice breaking as she recalled
that dreadful day, Nelwyn finished her tale. She would later learn
of the deaths of her father and uncle, and of the outcome of the
assault and the defeat of Wrothgar, but all she knew then was that
her closest friend had been overcome with grief. She had tried to
comfort Gaelen, and in the days that followed she was of great
help, but right then it made no difference; Gaelen was alone in her
devastation, beyond all reach.

It was of no surprise to either Gaelen or Nelwyn when
Tarfion, the only one of the three brothers to survive, returned at
last to the Greatwood, bearing with him the blade of Tarmagil and
the bow of Turanen. With him came the mighty Magra, his pain and
empathy clearly visible as he returned to Gaelen the scorched and
tattered remnant of the silken banner that she now preserved and
cherished, carefully folded, next to her heart.

Rogond despaired at the thought of Gaelen in such
pain, and he could not imagine it having ever been so, for she now
seemed cheerful, strong, and self-possessed. Yet, Nelwyn cautioned
him, the pain was still there, and Gaelen had been forever
diminished by it. Though much time had passed, and her spirit was
nearly whole again, the sun would fall into the sea before Gaelen
would ever forget either her love for Ri-Elathan or her pain at his
loss.

"This is the chasm that you must cross," she told
Rogond, clasping his hands in gentle concern. "It is both wide and
deep. I hope the way has been made clearer for you with this
knowledge and that I have not daunted you beyond trying, for I
would see Gaelen’s heart truly glad again. This knowledge must be
guarded closely; none now know of it who remain in this world save
few—Magra, Lady Ordath, and, of course, myself. What Magra knows he
learned from Ri-Elathan, for they were great friends."