Elfhunter (37 page)

Now Gaelen was startled from her memory by the
arrival of Belegund and Thorndil, who were preparing to settle by
the fire for the night, as it was turning chill. Thorndil commented
that they really were unused to the luxury of such a well-rested
journey while in the wild, as the Elves, who needed no sleep, would
keep the watch. They sat side-by-side, wrapped in their cloaks,
hard men who had faced perils without number. Rogond asked Gaelen
if she would sing for the three of them, as his friends had not yet
been favored with her song. Gaelen obliged, and the sound that came
from her was so beautiful and sad that the hearts of the Tuathar
were torn by it, making Rogond wonder still whether she called out
to the one who waited for her.

Had Gorgon heard that song in the depths of the
Darkmere, he would have been filled with loathing. The song of
Elves, no matter how fair, was to him abhorrent, for it served to
remind him of the rejection of his existence by his mother’s people
and of his lonely life full of hatred. He neither loved nor
appreciated the beauty of anything Elven. The pain he felt as he
raised new scars upon his own flesh was at times the only thing
that made him know he was even alive. Yet alive he was, and now he
was filled with hopeful anticipation, as he drew ever nearer to Tûr
Dorcha and the Realm of the Shadowmancer.

The next several days passed quickly and proved
enjoyable as the weather had turned fine and warm, and the Company
was in no hurry to reach their destination. Though they did not
tarry, they set a relaxed pace.

Nelwyn and Gaelen were both fascinated by Fima, who
never seemed to run out of surprises. Neither of them had ever
allowed more than a minimal acquaintance with any of Fima’s race
before, and they now regretted it, as it appeared that at least
some dwarves were truly worth knowing. Fima, who was much more
enlightened concerning Elves, was gladdened at this change in
attitude. He taught Nelwyn a little of the dwarf-tongue and shared
with her his people’s conception of the beginning of the world.
Gaelen would hear all that Fima knew of the history of the Èolar.
She also wanted to hear more tales of the fabled northern realm of
Tuathas, and she became rather close in friendship with old
Thorndil, who shared a wealth of such tales with her.

When they were not sharing tales, they were
practicing their skill at arms. Nelwyn’s artistry with a bow was
amazing. Her green eyes narrowed in concentration as she placed
shaft after shaft exactly where she wished to. It was as though she
merely had to look to a target, and the shaft appeared there.
Galador and Rogond sparred with Thorndil and Belegund, their long
swords ringing, as Gaelen sharpened her short sword and long
daggers, humming softly to herself and enjoying the sight of them.
Belegund was the most powerful, and Thorndil the most efficient and
accurate. Rogond, the youngest of the three Tuathar, was the
quickest and most graceful on his feet, for he had been well
trained by the Elves who raised him. His swordplay was impressive,
but even more so was his skill with the spear, which he could hurl
with a precision nearly as great as Nelwyn’s arrows. Such abilities
were rare even among Elves. Galador was Rogond’s equal when it came
to the sword. In addition he was nearly as adept with the bow as
Nelwyn, and his shots were far more powerful.

On one such day, Fima sat beside Gaelen, watching
these displays with admiration. "Little Wood-elf, I notice you are
not vying with your companions, yet I know that you must have some
skill. What is your strength at arms?"

Gaelen turned to him and smiled. It was amusing being
called "little" by one whose head did not reach her shoulders.
"Bring your axe, Master Dwarf, and you shall know."

Fima was delighted at the prospect and grabbed his
axe. Gaelen then led him to a small clearing nearby, where an old
tree-stump stood about as high as Fima’s head. They stopped about
fifteen yards from it, and Gaelen held up her hand. "Cast your
weapon, Child of Fior, and then watch and learn."

"Hmmm…" said Fima, as he sized up the target. Then he
drew back, axe in hand, and let it fly swift and sure. It turned
gracefully over thrice before coming to rest, quivering, in the
exact center of the stump. Gaelen clapped with delight, patting
Fima on the shoulder. "Well thrown! That was a beautiful thing to
behold. Now see where my skills lie." She drew a long dagger quick
as thinking, leaped in the air and turned about, landing catlike,
bright eyes focused on the axe. She let the dagger fly, striking
the stump in the same fissure made by Fima. She dropped and
somersaulted, throwing a second blade to again strike the fissure
upon the opposite side of the axe. Fima’s weapon wavered and
sagged, and Gaelen rolled and caught it as it dropped to the
ground. Then, she tossed it to Fima in a blur of motion. "Defend
yourself!" she cried, drawing her short sword and leaping upon him
before he could blink.

The next few seconds were alarming for Fima, as
Gaelen’s short sword met his axe time and again; it was all he
could do to fend her off. He forgot that she was a Sylvan rustic;
here was a whirlwind of sinew and steel. At last he lay winded upon
the ground, her blade held harmlessly at his throat for the sixth
time. She drew back and smiled at him, her face flushed, eyes full
of excitement. Drawing a deep breath, she sheathed her blade then
held out her hand to help him to his feet.

"That was amazing! I thought you preferred the bow,"
said Fima, catching his breath.

"I do prefer it, Master Fima, but I cannot vie with
either Nelwyn or Galador in tests of archery. The blade is my
second choice, as I do not possess great power, so I must make up
for it in speed and accuracy. What do you think? Are my skills
satisfactory?"

Fima eyed her ruefully, brushing the leaves and dead
grass from his jacket. "I would not want to be your enemy, Gaelen
of the Greatwood. Now let us return; this exercise has made me feel
slow, old, and very mortal, not to mention hungry and thirsty!" At
this he chuckled, then laughed heartily as they made their way back
to the encampment.

Rogond met up with them, still somewhat winded and
sweating from his contest with Belgund. Fima drew him aside. "I
have now concluded that our Gaelen is much too quick for the likes
of you, Rogond. Watch her, my friend, or I will steal her from you.
She obviously finds me fascinating!"

Rogond looked sidelong at him. "Of that I have no
doubt, Fima. Yet many things in this world might be described as
fascinating. I will leave it to you to think of them."

Fima laughed again and clapped Rogond on the elbow.
"Fair enough. I still think she is too quick for you. Alas that she
was not born a dwarf; it is the only thing that would truly improve
her, though she would no doubt still cut her hair."

Rogond smiled. "No doubt—and she would probably shave
her beard as well!" At this, Fima shuddered, being unable to
imagine such a thing.

Fima went in search of food and drink as Rogond took
stock of his own condition. He was sweating in the heat of mid-day,
and was in need of a good soaking. There was a deep pool of cool
water nearby that would be perfect for such an application. After
all, it certainly would not do to be unclean in such company. His
clothing he could wash as well; the sun would dry it quickly.

He eased himself into the soothing, green depths,
ducking under so that his long hair was thoroughly wetted. Removing
his clothing, he scrubbed it beneath the water, and then tossed it
upon the bank. He swam beneath the surface, reveling in the feel of
the water as it traveled across his skin. After warming and
stretching his limbs with slow, powerful strokes, he came up at the
edge of a reed bed, and was surprised to see Gaelen entering the
water from the opposite side. She was unclothed, her soft skin
flawless save for the scars that she bore. She lowered herself
gracefully into the water, then disappeared beneath the surface,
raising hardly a ripple.

Rogond held his breath, not knowing what her reaction
would be to his presence, as she surfaced again. As though she had
suddenly become aware of him, her head turned and she met his gaze.
Her expression was calm as she swam toward him, but Rogond flushed
and dropped his eyes. Then she was right in front of him, standing
waist-deep among the reeds, her left arm across her breasts. She
tossed the wet hair from her eyes, her expression quizzical, as if
standing before him unclothed was the most natural thing in the
world.

"Are you all right? You look distressed. Does my
presence here disquiet you? If so, then I will permit you your
privacy."

Rogond still would not look directly at her, as he
feared she would read his thoughts in his eyes. Her skin was like
fine alabaster, and the light of her eyes smote him to the heart.
He felt such an incredible longing for her in that moment that it
was nearly unbearable. He wanted to declare his feelings right
there and take her in his arms upon the warm, soft grass. He wanted
to feel her soft skin next to his own and become one with her until
they were both spent. No, he had best not look directly at her just
now. He muttered some words that she could not understand, then
turned from her and waded through the tall reeds, paying little
heed to the black sediment that now coated his legs from the knees
downward. He only wanted to escape his predicament, but in his
haste he had forgotten about his clothing, which was lying in a wet
heap quite some distance away.

Gaelen knew that he was distressed, though she was
uncertain of the cause. She called to him: "Rogond! I am going now,
so that you may enjoy your time undisturbed. I merely wished to
cool myself, and have done so." She had no idea that Rogond would
be so easily mortified; he had always seemed self-confident and
secure. Ah, well, there was surely an explanation. She called to
him again. "I will meet you back at the encampment, where we may
eat and drink in a little while. Will that suit you?"

Rogond called back to her. "Yes, of course. I won’t
be long— wait for me and I will eat and drink with you." But what
he really thought was that it did not suit him. What would have
suited him at that moment, he could not reveal to her. And he
wondered whether he ever would have the courage to do so.

Gorgon first beheld the pale vision of Tûr Dorcha,
stark and full of foreboding, as it stood shrouded in a sickly grey
vapor. All around was desolation—a terrible, fetid bog surrounded
it where no tree or leaf would grow. Yet he did not fear the Tower,
as his coming was anticipated. His pride sustained him as he
approached it, standing unafraid before the gates. He called out to
the guards that drew their crossbows on him from atop the outer
wall: "Lay aside your weapons and tell your master that Gorgon
Elfhunter has come."

The guards looked upon him with puzzlement and not
without awe; they had not beheld him before, this massive figure
that could withstand so easily the evil energies radiating from the
Tower. If an ordinary foe, such as Elf or man, came nigh to this
place, he would be sickened and weakened merely from drawing
breath. His vision would be clouded by a thick mist of confusion
and despair, and he would either turn aside or die. An enemy that
could approach so boldly was formidable indeed.

The massive gates opened, and a small retinue of
well-armed Ulcas appeared, approaching Gorgon as he looked down at
them with disdain. Gorgon held nothing but contempt for them. He
had once respected his own mighty sire, but he had been
exceptional. Gorgon despised ordinary Ulcas for their weakness,
their inability to travel well in daylight, and their distorted,
twisted bodies. In truth, were it not for his armor, which
effectively blocked the sunlight from much of his flesh, he would
have experienced some of the same difficulty, for he did not love
the sun. His pale eyes were still quite vulnerable, as the accursed
She-elf had noticed.

Well, there was surely a remedy for that! When she
and her companions were all dead there would be no need to worry.
He snarled at the Ulcas.

"Lay down your weapons!" he thundered at them, and
they took several steps back from him as he drew Gelmyr’s blade.
The Elvish steel glinted in the misty twilight.

They retreated farther, snarling and arguing among
themselves in their foul tongue. Gorgon laughed. "I am expected,
you pathetic descendants of worms. One of you direct me to the Lord
Wrothgar, for he is waiting. Otherwise I shall exercise my blade on
your scrawny necks." He swept the head from the nearest guard
without even looking at it.

The others took his point immediately, and began to
flee toward the Tower and its great black doors. The doors opened
as they reached it, but, rather than providing sanctuary, a burst
of fire came forth, felling them as they shrieked and rolled upon
the ground to no avail. Gorgon drew back a little, though he was
untouched. The flames gentled down, and now burned softly, hanging
inexplicably in the air before him. They went from golden to black,
with peculiar green flickers edging and tipping them, as the deep,
malevolent voice of Lord Wrothgar invaded Gorgon’s mind.

"Thou art as prideful and strong as ever I made thee,
Elfhunter. Have a care as thou wouldst enter My fortress, and lower
thy proud gaze, if thou wouldst have My aid. Thou art as a wayward
child returned. Show thou respect to thy Father."

Gorgon dropped his eyes then, though he did not
submit within his heart. "Yea, Lord Wrothgar, I have returned as
Thou willed. Yet Thy offer of aid was not made with the price of my
pride, or assurance of my submission. I cannot promise this to
Thee, and if it is Thy price, now may I know of Thy gift that I may
judge its worth? My pride and resistance to Thy will may be of the
greater value to me." Unpleasant, malicious laughter emanated from
the flames, and they burned hotter and brighter—showing their
blood-gold hearts— before Gorgon. "How like to thy mother’s kin,
Elfhunter. And how foolish, though I take pride in thy strength.
Thou dost not comprehend thy peril at this moment; never hast thou
done so. But I will grant thy request. Come unto Me, and then we
will parley, O Wayward Son. Then might thou understand the value of
My promises."