Elfhunter (36 page)

The Company rode from Mountain-home in the fair light
of morning, some never to return. Others would see that fair land
again, but only after years of hardship had assailed them, wearing
down their spirits and their hopes. Gaelen had vowed that Gorgon
Elfhunter would be defeated utterly before she saw Mountain-home
again; but that, of course, remained to be seen.

Many days had passed since Gorgon had gone forth, and
he was nearing the south of Darkmere, a gnarled tangle of forest
with trees dead and dying, old and forbidding, now full of evil
creatures that lurked unseen. He would stand before his Lord soon.
He estimated that the journey would take only a few more days at
his current pace, which had been swift and sure. None of the perils
of Darkmere would waylay him. He had no fear of Ulcas or beasts,
except for the most fierce and fell, for he knew that he traveled
under the protection of Wrothgar. He had been summoned.

His pain had diminished to the point that it bothered
him little, excepting the arrow-point that still burned deep under
his left arm. It would not daunt him beyond annoyance, however, and
perhaps Lord Wrothgar could rid him of it. For now, he plunged into
the depths of the forest, the dank gloom enveloping and concealing
him. The creatures that roamed the Darkmere would have more to fear
from him than he from them, and once Lord Wrothgar favored him as
promised, he would be invincible. He only hoped he would cross
paths with the ones who had so shaken his confidence, as he would
utterly destroy them, after first ensuring that they suffered long
and painfully.

The Elfhunter’s hand strayed to the sword taken from
the Greatwood, the one the accursed She-elf had recognized. He
would be certain to use it on her, but not to kill her—not until he
paid her back a hundredfold for the pain she and her kind had
wrought upon his life. "Yes, my little maidrin…you will beg for
death ‘ere I release you from torment—you and that accursed Aridan
and the others of your Company. You shall see this sword again. You
will gaze on it through your own blood ‘ere I put your bright eyes
out with it. It shall be your payment for the burning of mine!"

Swift and silent, Gorgon moved on his large, heavy
feet, toward the Pale Tower. The She-elf may have discovered his
only real weakness, but he would come on her in the darkness where
it would not avail her. Darkness was more to his liking,
anyway.

In the misted fortress of Tûr Dorcha, Wrothgar the
Great, now known as the Shadowmancer, awaited the arrival of his
wayward creation with anticipation. Gorgon was being drawn as a fly
to honey by the promise of a powerful new weapon, one that would
make him invincible. Wrothgar smiled inwardly as he thought of it.
The gift that he had in mind would indeed make it possible for the
Elfhunter to wreak more havoc than ever before. In addition, it
would increase Wrothgar’s hold upon Gorgon, perhaps to the point
that Gorgon would submit to his will. This was a task never before
accomplished in spite of Wrothgar’s great power.

Even when he was young and fairly naïve, Gorgon had
resisted control and would not bend. It was a pity…he would have
made such an excellent captain had it not been so. Perhaps now this
would be possible, and that would please Wrothgar to no end. The
Èolarin spirit with which Gorgon had been endowed would serve well,
but only if it could be subjugated and diverted into Wrothgar’s
design. The Shadowmancer settled back amid the fires surrounding
his dark lair, and awaited his opportunity.

"Rogond, I beg of you, stop this accursed
animal!"

Fima had degenerated in the last half hour from
growling to pleading. Eros shook his head in annoyance as the dwarf
came down hard upon his loins for about the hundredth time in the
past several hours. Rogond sighed, wincing at the death grip Fima
had about his waist, and signaled for a halt. Eros was only too
happy to oblige, since Rogond had forbidden him to launch Fima with
a powerful thrust of his hindquarters, as was his desire.

Gaelen pulled up beside them, concern in her eyes.
"Fima, you shall ride with me next. Perhaps I can soften your
journey."

Rogond looked at her. "How do you propose to do that,
Gaelen? If you have some magical method I would love to learn
it."

Gaelen cocked an eyebrow at him. "I do not have a
magic method, only an idea. But it may be worth trying. Let’s rest
for a while first." Fima was a little insulted that Gaelen
suggested he needed to rest.

"I wouldn’t have to stop if I could go on my own feet
and not rely on this fur-covered mountain of beefsteaks. At least I
may predict where my own feet will take me and in what manner!"

Rogond swung his right leg across Eros’ neck and
dropped to the ground, then helped Fima to dismount. "Well, you may
not need rest, Fima, but I do! Your constant growling and grabbing
of my midsection has tired me. Let’s hope Gaelen’s idea increases
your comfort sufficiently."

When they had rested, Gaelen took Rogond’s bedroll
and tied it to the front of her saddle, draping it across her
horse’s shoulders. She preferred mares, though she was very fond of
Eros, and had chosen a small, tough grey from among those offered
her in Mountain-home. The mare was fine-haired and sinewy, nearly
pure white, and of a type favored by the desert folk of the far
southern lands. In Gaelen’s experience, these were often the
toughest and most enduring horses to be found anywhere, despite
their small size. The mare’s name was Siva, meaning "grey".

Siva stirred restively as Gaelen assisted Fima onto
the soft, thick cushion at the front of the saddle and then swung
up behind him. Fima was not convinced of his security on the small,
agile mare that could so easily jump from under him, but at a word
from Gaelen they set off at a lovely, rolling canter that Fima
found almost tolerable, especially with Gaelen steadying him from
behind. The cushioning helped as well; it seemed to minimize the
bouncing and discomfort to both the rider and the horse.

Rogond nodded in approval. "Well, Fima, has your
outlook improved now?"

"It has, though I still would rather feel the ground
under my feet," the dwarf replied. "But your friend the Wood-elf
has me under her protection, and so I will bear it." He looked over
at Rogond, Belegund, and Thorndil, who rode beside him, and winked.
Rogond smiled back at him before sending Eros forward to catch
Galador, who was leading the company along with Nelwyn. She rode a
fiery chestnut appropriately named Gryffa the Red, who was of
similar type to Siva, but a bit larger.

Fima rewarded Gaelen for her patience by regaling her
with all sorts of captivating tales as they rode. He had lived a
much more interesting life than might have been imagined, and he
knew so much of history and lore that his supply was inexhaustible.
He knew the answers to nearly all her questions concerning events
of significance in Alterra, and the day’s journey passed quickly.
So pleasant was their discourse that Fima forgot all about his
discomfort.

At last they stopped to camp for the night. Fima drew
Rogond aside as they prepared to sleep. "Oh, yes, she’s
worth
it, my friend. You have my permission to court her,
and if you don’t, I will!" He nudged Rogond in the ribs, saying, "I
think I love her…at least my backside loves her!"

Rogond chuckled at him. "Well, that would be the most
vital part of you. Have a care, my stout-hearted Fima. You would be
in way, way over your head with her!"

Fima drew back, feigning insult. "Why, Tuathan…how
little you estimate the power of my dwarvish charm." Then he drew
near and spoke in a low voice. "Remember, you said you would reveal
to me the identity of her Lost One. Are you nearer to discovering
it?"

Rogond flushed, for he had forgotten his promise to
Fima, but now he was uncertain whether he should honor their
agreement. "I have discovered it, Lore-master," he said, "and
perhaps later I will reveal it, but not just now, I beg you."

Rogond looked back toward the encampment where Gaelen
was preparing the fire. He knew he could trust Fima with the
information, but he was still uncomfortable. He and Galador were
now privy to a secret that few were left alive to know.

Fima sighed. He knew that his friend would tell him
when he was ready. He also sensed that his instinct concerning the
identity of Gaelen’s beloved had been correct, and thus this news
would be of some significance. He would suppress his curiosity
until the time was right. It would probably be worth the wait.

That evening Nelwyn and Galador lay together in the
soft spring grass, gazing up at the bright stars and thinking of
Lady Ordath’s parting words to Nelwyn. Would there be a happy union
between the Woodland and the Eádram? Galador could see no reason it
should not be so, as they both were happy in each other’s company,
and their love grew deeper each day. Yet, Nelwyn was troubled. She
had foreseen dark times ahead, when evil would disrupt the Company
and tear it asunder.

She had clung to Galador one night in Mountain-home,
crying in fear. It had taken him some time to quiet her, and in
fact she would not be satisfied until she had found Gaelen and
Rogond, who were, of course, perfectly safe. But Gaelen had looked
into the eyes of her cousin with alarm. Though Nelwyn would not
reveal all of the nature of her dark foresight, enough became known
to make Gaelen uneasy for several days. Nelwyn had already told
Galador that she would not consider any betrothal until their
journey’s end, when they would be once again in the Greatwood and
could be at peace.

Now she shivered in his embrace, not so much with
chill as with disquiet. He responded by enfolding her in his arms,
drawing her golden head to his chest. Once again she felt safe and
warm. Nelwyn knew that Galador would not go beneath the mountains;
he had seen quite enough of them. Of the four of them, he had been
the most ill at ease traversing the darkness beneath the
Monadh-hin. She sensed that some horror of the deep darkness had
assailed him on a time, for he would suffer neither himself nor
Nelwyn to go there again. Thus she had agreed to go with him to
Tal-sithian, there to await the arrival of Rogond and Gaelen. Fima
would remain in Cós-domhain through the next winter, as he had not
seen his kin in quite a span of years. What course Thorndil and
Belegund would take was unknown.

Nelwyn was not happy being separated from Gaelen, and
she had tried to talk Galador into going under the mountains, but
he really was not comfortable with the idea of entering the dwarf
realm, though he liked Fima well enough. "I would sooner go over
the mountains than ever go under them again. I know Fima is quite
open-minded, but many dwarves still considered Elves to be their
bitter enemies— especially Elves like me. I don’t know what sort of
welcome I would have in the deeps of Cós-domhain."

Nelwyn had asked Gaelen about her choice to remain
beside Rogond, even though it meant walking willingly into
Cós-domhain. Gaelen had thought for a moment before answering. "I
know he does not need my protection, as he is far more adept in
dwarf-realms than I, but I sense he has placed great store by the
information he expects to get from this dwarf, Farin. I fear it may
not be all that he hopes for, and if he is disappointed I want to
be there beside him. He seems vulnerable when it comes to the
discovery of his history. He stayed by my side when I faced
difficulty in Mountain-home—I now wish to do the same for him.
Besides, I truly enjoy his company. Are you certain that you will
not come with us? Fima has told me that this dwarf-realm is
something to see."

Nelwyn shook her head. "I would go with you, Gaelen,
but I must stay with Galador, and he will not go under the
mountain. Since you will not come with me to Tal-sithian, we must
wait for you there."

Gaelen laughed. "A fine waiting-place it will be in
late spring! I cannot feel too sorry for your waiting. I shall be
glad to see those lands again."

Nelwyn agreed. "Yes, but I shall be the more glad to
see you again. There is an evil that stalks us, and though it does
not yet draw near, it will. I’m certain of it."

At this, Gaelen grew somber. She knew that Nelwyn had
held some sort of premonition, and it frightened her. The
realization of how formidable Gorgon really was— that he had nearly
succeeded in killing them all—had unnerved her, yet she was now
more determined than ever to bring him down. She reached out to
Nelwyn and embraced her, trying to convey a confidence she did not
truly feel. She hadn’t really been separated from her cousin in a
long reckoning. "It will be all right, Nelwyn. I shall come to
Tal-sithian as quickly as I may. And you must take care in the
mountain crossing, as it may be dangerous enough. In the meantime
let us enjoy our time together. It will be many days ‘ere we reach
the mountain gate, then we shall say farewell for a while."

Now Gaelen sat by the fire that she had built, gazing
into the depths of the flames. Her mind was far away as Rogond sat
beside her; she did not appear to take notice of him at first. He
wondered whether she was casting her thoughts toward her beloved
Ri-Elathan; her eyes were full of longing that Rogond could see
through the reflected firelight. In truth, she was lost in a memory
of another time, when she had cast her thoughts to one in need of
them.

It happened in the forest as she had settled for the
night in a clearing, when the stars were so bright that the sight
of them gladdened and inspired her spirit into song. It was so with
all the Cúinar, to whom the stars are beloved.

It had been three long years since Rain had left her.
As she sang on that night, she could see him standing alone on a
hilltop overlooking the choked, poisonous ruin that was the
battle-plain, and he had lifted his eyes to the heavens in despair.
He had not seen the stars clearly for time interminable, and his
heart was sick and weary. Her song somehow reached him, and as he
gazed heavenward he closed his eyes, and her visions filled his
mind with an indigo field of silver lights so bright that he gasped
in surprise and delight. Here, at last, were his beloved stars,
millions of brilliant jewels that filled his spirit with joy. He
saw her as well, bright eyes raised skyward, clear voice ringing,
singing a beautiful song of hope and love…and of longing. The
wonderful vision could not last, but it was such a gift that when
it faded he did not despair, but treasured the memory of it until
the end. It was his last clear sight of the stars, and the moment
did not come again; though she often tried to call to him, he could
not hear.