by C S Marks
Nelwyn was the first to notice the column of smoke to the east, rising from a copse of trees very near the river. Gaelen shivered, as she was not comfortable with the idea of approaching from upwind. She didn’t know whether the enemy could or would take notice of their scent, but they could not afford the risk. She directed Nelwyn to follow her, moving in a wide arc until she was satisfied with their position. Then they crept cautiously in.
This time the victims were not Elves, but men. Two of the fishermen who lived along the river lay dead amid the ruins of their camp. They had been slain with quiet efficiency; the brutal savagery with which the Elves had been attacked was not evident here. The stench of the creature still hung heavily in the air, as it had not been long gone.
A sudden thought struck Gaelen, who leaped up and sprinted toward the water, abandoning her prior caution. Fishermen are never very far from their boat and, as she feared, it had been taken. She mouthed a silent curse, gazing downstream at a massive figure paddling southward with the current, disappearing into far distant twilight. If only they had been quicker! Frustrated and weary, she sank down onto the bank as Nelwyn ran lightly up behind her. Peering into the gathering dark, Nelwyn realized that their enemy was beyond their reach.
She sat down beside Gaelen and shook her head in resignation. “I suppose that’s the end then...we’ll never catch up now. Did you get a look?”
“Yes, a brief one,” said Gaelen, examining the riverbank. “It’s tall—taller than any Ulca. Heavier, too...the boat rode quite low in the water.”
Nelwyn nodded in appreciation of her cousin’s keen sight; the boat was only a tiny speck by now. “A troll, maybe?”
“Doesn’t smell like one. I could swear the thing was wearing armor. And besides, trolls don’t like the water.”
“Neither do Ulcas.”
Gaelen cast her eyes heavenward. “Obviously, it’s not an Ulca! I don’t know what it is, and thanks to all my delays, I may never know.” She drew a deep breath in an attempt to quell her frustration. “We are now faced with a choice. Do we go on along the riverbank and follow the boat, or do we turn back for home?”
They regarded one another in silence for a long moment. At last, Nelwyn spoke.
“I keep thinking of Talrodin—the way he knew every leaf and blade in the forest. He was so quiet and gentle-natured, and he loved his sons. They will never learn any more of that herb-lore from him now. I fear for all who pass near this terrible enemy, and, though I counseled you to turn about, I wonder now whether I can live with what will happen if we do. I fear we must continue on...though we may not see home again.”
Gaelen loved her cousin very much. She had been thinking similar thoughts, but the revelation that Nelwyn shared her determination to continue the pursuit was unexpected, and it filled her with relief and gratitude. Her desire to hunt down the creature had wavered a little, and she would have turned back for Nelwyn’s sake if asked, but now they were united and strong in their resolve. “Halrodin was left to bleed to death, yet he still tried to pull his brother from the fire,” she said. “Such courage and devotion must be avenged. Halrodin would not have suffered his brother’s killer to walk free, and neither will I.”
She remembered Halrodin’s sword, the one the killer had stolen. It was a prized heirloom of his house, and she bristled at the thought of it in the hands of his murderer. She made a silent vow to get it back.
Gaelen also understood what Nelwyn meant about what would happen if they turned from their pursuit. This creature killed everyone it encountered, seemingly for the most trivial of reasons. It could easily have stolen the boat from the fishermen; it didn’t have to kill them. At least they had been taken quickly and had suffered little pain.
The brutal treatment of her friends had planted an irrefutable thought in Gaelen’s mind. This creature, whatever it was, hated Elves above all others. She had read this in Halrodin’s dead eyes, sensing it like the heavy, suffocating feeling of an approaching storm. Talrodin had been killed quickly enough, but the creature had gone out of its way to maim and inflict as much pain as possible upon his brother. It had taken his weapon, leaving him to die in agony and despair. Gaelen knew this was not mindless, but by design. This enemy would go out of its way to kill Elves wherever it encountered them, and they would die in torment. No, she could not turn from the path now—she would continue the pursuit until her last arrow buried itself in the creature’s black, hateful heart.
Nelwyn took one last swallow of water from her flask and rose to her feet. She ran her fingers through her hair and sighed. It would be another long night. There was nothing to do now except make their way southward with all speed and hope that the bright stars would shine upon their path.
In the realm of King Ri-Aruin, the discovery of the fate of Halrodin and his brother had not yet been made, though it was noted that both they and the She-elves were long overdue. It was not unusual for scouting parties to be gone for many weeks, but as the days continued with no word, a few of their kinsmen brought the matter to the attention of the King.
The news that four worthy hunter-scouts had failed to return or send word troubled Ri-Aruin. Gaelen and Nelwyn concerned him less, as they had a habit of returning when they pleased, but Talrodin would never inflict such anxiety upon his sons without dire cause.
There was nothing to do but send new scouts to find the brothers and help them if need be. Perhaps there was a harmless explanation for the delay, but of this Ri-Aruin was not hopeful. The rescue party left at sunset, well equipped and ready for anything—so they thought. When they returned nearly twelve days later, bearing the remains of Talrodin and Halrodin, they had only their sorrow to offer.
Ri-Aruin was both saddened and frustrated, and it was now apparent that Gaelen and Nelwyn had been involved. The manner in which the bodies had been cared for made that clear. In addition, Nelwyn had placed a small beech twig bearing a few perfect, copper- colored leaves in Talrodin’s right hand. Of their whereabouts there was little clue, but the search party rightly guessed that they had gone off in pursuit of the unknown killers. Ri-Aruin grew impatient as he questioned his scouts. What sort of enemy had done such a thing? The scouts did not know and could not even speculate, as this was simply beyond their experience. Indeed, it would be a long time before any Wood-elf of the Greatwood would fully understand the nature of the threat that had passed through their lands.
Gorgon Elfhunter rested in the rocky scrub along the river bank, shaded by the long, windswept branches of an ancient willow, still basking in the satisfaction of his recent ‘kill’. The suffering of Elves was about the only thing in the world that brought him pleasure—that, and the bizarre habit of inflicting scars upon his own flesh with his own blades. He settled back, unconcerned, confident in his ability not only to remain concealed, but to evade pursuit. After all, he had always made certain that those few who saw him clearly did not live to tell of him, hence he preferred to strike the Elves down as they traveled alone or in pairs.
He was as cunning as they, but larger and stronger, and his heart was filled with hatred of them and lust for their blood. He could point to every single one of his battle-scars with pride, knowing that the ones who wounded him had been far beyond healing when he had finished with them. It pleased him especially to see the look of horror on their faces when he revealed his true nature at the moment of their deaths.
He drew forth the short-sword he had taken from the Wood- elf, the foolish one who had been so concerned with trying to pull his dead companion from the fire, examining it in the dappled light. “Turantil. Tooo-rran-teeeel,” he purred, reading the Elvish runes engraved in the pommel. The name meant “Scourge of the North”. He chuckled, remembering the pathetic struggle its owner had put forth. “Not much of a scourge, were you? Well, no matter. You will certainly have the chance now, my pretty, pretty blade.” He replaced the sword in its beautiful scabbard, thrumming deep in his broad chest like an enormous cat. Soon, he would rest.
&nbs
p; He had lurked in the world long enough to have heard some of the stories about him—tales of his marauding came mostly from men, and even the Ulcas knew of him and feared him. Gorgon had no love for them either, and usually killed any he encountered as a matter of convenience. Ulcas were beneath his contempt—stupid, mindless creatures with little will of their own.
Gorgon spent much of his empty life in solitude deep under mountains, for such was his place of comfort, resting and planning his next foray. Sometimes, when pickings were lean, he would lapse into a state of torpor, usually while clutching a weapon or other reminder of a long-dead enemy. He stopped killing only long enough for people to doubt his existence, as he dreamed of the deaths of a thousand Elves. Then he would awaken, travel to his next killing-ground, and the tales would come alive again.
He had discovered the pleasure of carving his own flesh long ago—first cutting away his right ear and then his left, bit by bit. Now hardly an inch of his filthy, greyish flesh was left unmarred. His nose was a flat lump of misshapen cartilage with wide nostrils, his pale eyes gleamed from folds of scarred flesh. He felt no pain that he could not endure, and he knew no fear except that his life would end and he could kill no more. That was a thought he could not accept so long as Elves walked, sang their songs, and breathed of the free air.
Chapter 2: Of the Fishermen and the Rescue of Nelwyn
Eventually, the creature would have to come out of the river. Gaelen reasoned that he would not go far, for he was clearly visible as long as he traveled by water. She had guessed that he would not spend long in the open if he could help it. Because they did not know on which side of the river their enemy would disembark, the Elves knew that they must track along both riverbanks for signs of the boat. If their enemy came ashore, they would know.
The first difficulty would be in getting one of them across the river, for although they both swam well, the swift water was far too cold. They decided to seek out the rest of the fishermen, tell them of the fate of their kin, and ask their help. First, they returned to the fallen ones and tended to them. They wrapped the bodies respectfully in their cloaks, laid them side by side, and covered them with dead winter leaves to hide them from unfriendly eyes. Then they went looking for the settlement.
They found it easily enough—several small, thatched earthen dwellings along the riverbank. They looked crude, but warm and comfortable. Gentle fires glowed from within, and a large rack of drying fish had been suspended over a bed of smoldering coals outside. There were boats, nets in various stages of mending, and other signs that a hardy people dwelt and thrived there.
Fisher-people were found along most of the flowing waters of Alterra. Some were men, while others were smaller, web-footed, secretive creatures known as Currgas. This was a settlement of men—honest, hard-working, and generally harmless. They would be wondering why their slain kinsmen had not returned, as it was raining again, and the wind promised a bad storm by nightfall.
It would probably not do for Gaelen and Nelwyn to appear from out of nowhere, for Elves would undoubtedly seem strange to these folk. It would be safer and wiser to approach cautiously, one at a time. Gaelen, who wasn’t as tall as Nelwyn, wrapped her cloak about her, stooped over like an old woman with her hood hiding her face, and limped slowly toward the warm bed of coals. She leaned upon a walking-stick of yew wood that she had fashioned from a downed limb and stood near the fire, apparently trembling with cold, making herself as small as possible to the eye. Nelwyn stood hidden nearby, an arrow fitted to her bow. She would give Gaelen time to escape if things went amiss.
The strange, huddled figure drew the attention of the fishermen at once, and several of them came out of their dwellings, approaching with some reluctance. One called to Gaelen in the common-tongue:
"Old woman! Who are you, and what is your business here?"
Gaelen answered, for she knew the language that was used by most of the men of Alterra. "I should think, with such weather, that my intention to warm myself would be obvious. I mean no harm to you or your folk. However, I bear news that you will not find pleasing, and I must now ask if I may speak to you without fear."
The fishermen considered for a moment. They were very wary of Gaelen now. They didn’t like the sound of bad news coming, and they sensed that she was not as she appeared. She could not disguise the Elven ring and clarity of her voice, even through the wind and the rain.
"No old woman ever had a voice like that. Perhaps she means to harm us, as she is not what she seems," said one.
Another replied, "If she had meant to harm us, would she have appeared so openly and without a weapon in hand? We could so easily kill her. What news does she bring, and why bring it, if her intent is to harm us?"
"Weapons can be hidden," said a stout, bearded man who appeared to command respect from the others. He straightened and raised his bow, fitting an arrow to the string. (Nelwyn drew on him silently.) He called out: "Show yourself, for you are not as you seem. Then we shall decide your fate."
In reply, they heard Gaelen’s soft, clear voice singing in the Elven-tongue. A mournful song, more beautiful than any they had ever heard, rose above the sound of the rain. The archer lowered his weapon, transfixed. The men stood astonished as Gaelen rose to her full height and, still singing, cast back her hood, revealing the light of her eyes. Though still grieving for her friends and weary with traveling, she radiated strength and purity of purpose. The fishermen had, of course, heard songs and tales of the Elàni, but they had never before known them or been among them. The song filled their hearts with both sadness and longing, so that they wished for it never to end, but knew if it did not, the sorrow in the song would consume them. When Gaelen stopped singing and held out both of her empty hands to show that she held no weapon, they remained as though frozen in a kind of fearful trance.
It was then that Nelwyn appeared at the edge of the trees, bow in hand, hood thrown back. She called to them: "Will you hear our tale? Choose now, or we will be gone."
The sight of Nelwyn, who was undoubtedly the most beautiful creature the fishermen had ever beheld, broke them from their trance. They knew then that they were in the presence of Elves, and they bowed in respect and reverence.
"Most fair bearers of ill news, please come and be warm and dry, and we shall hear your tale," said the archer, indicating the largest dwelling.
Inside there was warmth, light, and shelter from the wind. Several young children huddled together on the far side of a great wooden table set with small oil-lamps. The Elves were invited to sit there with the men-folk of the clan. As they removed their wet cloaks and hung them near the fire, the men and women marveled at their fine leather garments and elegant weapons.
The Elves wore little of ornamental design, for they were dressed as hunter-scouts of the Greatwood, presently in winter colors. Their cloaks were grey-brown lined with warm, soft fur of mottled brown and white that would conceal the wearer among winter trees or snow- covered rocks. They wore tall, soft-soled boots of worn, oiled leather. Gaelen’s were brown, Nelwyn’s a dull green.
Though their clothing was plain, their weapons had been made by Elven craftsmen and were of the finest quality. The blades were engraved with runes and images of warriors and huntsmen. The sheaths that held them were of worn, dark leather clad with traceries of silver. The fishermen had never seen their like, nor ever would again.
The bearded archer, named Maleck, seemed to be in charge of the others. He instructed the women to bring food and drink, but the Elves did not partake. "Our tale must first be told, for two of your folk are lost, and you will need to care for them. We will aid you in this," said Nelwyn.
With great sorrow the fishermen received the news of their fallen kinsmen and the theft of their boat, for these were men beloved of many. The Elves sat in silence, eyes downcast, as their gentle hosts wept for those lost. At last Maleck asked where his kinsmen could be found, and Gaelen answered him.
"We will show you where they are lying. We te
nded to them as we could, but we are tracking the one who killed them, and we have come here in part to ask for your aid."
"Take us there," growled Maleck. One of the fallen was the husband of his younger sister, and Maleck wanted to know all he could learn.
The fishermen bore the bodies back to their settlement intending to bury them beside their kin. Then they returned to the larger dwelling, inviting their guests once again to share food and drink. This time the Elves accepted with thanks, for they had not eaten a proper meal in days.
The men sat around the large wooden table, their faces grey and somber. "What sort of enemy killed our kinsmen, who were no threat?" asked Maleck, at once bitter and incredulous.
"We do not know," said Nelwyn sadly. She then told the tale of the discovery of the two Elvish brothers and of the savage nature of the attack upon them. "They were friends of ours, and we must pursue their killer. For this, we need your aid."
"What would you ask of us?"
"Only safe passage for one of us to the east bank of the river as soon as light dawns tomorrow," answered Nelwyn.
"And perhaps some provisions so that we may continue on our journey," put in Gaelen. "We will repay you, if you wish, with songs and tales tonight, so that your minds may rest from grief for a little while."
"No payment is necessary," Maleck replied. "You may take anything we can provide. Even so, I would listen to your tales and especially to your song. But please...less sorrowful than the last, for we are sorrowful enough."
Outside, a gale lashed at the small, sturdy dwelling. Two of the children whimpered with fear of the wind and icy rain, edging closer to Nelwyn, who spoke words of comfort in her soft, gentle voice.
Gaelen smiled. "You shall have your song. And it will be a song of hope…perhaps your fallen companions are still near enough to hear it as they journey to the Eternal Realm."
