Elfhunter

by C S Marks

  Galador looked on in approval. Rogond’s life might not be in their power to save, but he certainly had a better chance now. At least someone was doing something. Galador had not known what to do and had despaired, certain that his friend would die. He had thought to bring women to help, but knew that they would be unwilling to expose themselves to the sickness. She-elves were therefore his next choice, for although they knew no more of healing pestilence that he did, they still seemed to have unique instincts. Galador knew, for example, that Gaelen’s idea of embracing a raving, sweat-soaked, delirious man would never have occurred to him, but it had certainly made a difference to Rogond.

  By dawn’s light, Gaelen was weary from serving as Rogond’s anchor through the long night. She had sung songs of great power, and they had drained her. As she rested, Galador brought her food and drink, apologized for his initial discourtesy, and thanked her profusely for her effort.

  Gaelen assured him that all was well between them. She was now hopeful that Rogond would live, but she knew that it would be awhile before he was strong again. Regardless, she knew that Galador would have to care for him without her.

  "We cannot stay here. You will have to take care of him yourself as soon as the fever breaks."

  Galador’s eyes widened, his dismay obvious. "But...he will need more than I can give, probably for some time. He is a worthy man, worth saving! Why must you leave us in our need?"

  "We were tracking the creature that brought the boat ashore. We have been in pursuit for many days, and the trail is cold enough already. I cannot risk losing it altogether."

  "What creature? How came you to be tracking it?" asked Galador, who could not understand how the pursuit of an enemy could be more important than saving Rogond.

  Gaelen told him the tale, leaving nothing to his imagination. She described the manner in which her friends were killed, the encounters with the fishermen, and the hardships she and Nelwyn had faced since. When she got to the end of the story, at the point that Nelwyn had been startled into the river, Galador’s ears reddened and he looked at his hands.

  Gaelen smiled at him. "It’s all right. She has forgiven you already… at least I think she has."

  Beside them, Rogond stirred. He opened his eyes, which looked clearer and more focused than Gaelen had yet seen them. She knew, though, that the fever would probably rise again after sunset. Now was a good time to get some food and drink into him if they could. Rogond needed her now, more than Halrodin did. She sighed, turning back to Galador.

  "I will give you another night. If Nelwyn wishes to stay beyond it, that will be her choice. I must continue the hunt or all will be in vain."

  Galador still did not understand. "What are you going to do, all by yourself, if you catch up with your enemy? From what you have told me, you won’t have a chance. Your friends were experienced and wary, yet he took them with no effort and there were two of them." "They were unaware of his existence, and I am not," she replied simply. In truth, she hoped Nelwyn would choose to go with her, as tackling the creature by herself had not been in her plan. "I must speak with my cousin. See what you can do to get him to take some food and drink. I will return soon."

  Gaelen found Nelwyn stroking the neck of one of the horses— a proud, rough-coated dun animal such as the people of the north favored. The horse acknowledged Gaelen with a soft whicker of greeting, earning a friendly pat. After a moment of reluctance, she put forth her statement with her customary lack of fanfare. "We dare not leave the pursuit for long."

  "If we had Galador and Rogond beside us, we would have a better chance of defeating the creature," said Nelwyn. "Have you considered waiting until Rogond is strong, and then asking for their help?" "The longer we wait, the colder the trail," Gaelen stated with finality. "Will you go with me, then?"

  Nelwyn considered for a moment. She turned back to the dun horse and resumed stroking it. "I am not certain of the wisdom of your course, but naturally I will go with you. Do you think I would leave you to face that…that thing by yourself ?"

  "I know that the fire of this chase has burned hotter in me than in you these past days," Gaelen replied.

  Nelwyn took a half step back, incredulous. "I have already told you that I would never abandon you to fight this alone. You are the person in this world that I care most about, and you should know it! I won’t ask you to break off the chase and go against the desire of your heart."

  Gaelen sighed. "I know, and I’m glad to hear it. The only difficulty is that I will not lead you against the desire of your heart. I will wait at least one more day. Northmen are rare in these times, and this one is in need of us. I do feel for Galador. I...sort of…promised to stay until the fever breaks." (This last was spoken under her breath.) Nelwyn turned about. "Oh, you did, did you?" She quirked a bemused half-smile at Gaelen. "You never could resist a challenge

  involving the weak and helpless."

  Gaelen looked annoyed, but it was obvious that she had kept her good humor. Rogond would have his anchor for at least another day. Tomorrow they would decide again whether to stay with their new allies or rejoin the pursuit of the dark creature that had so easily and successfully eluded them.

  Chapter 3: On the Trail Again

  It was three days since they had found the boat by the river, and the Elves were ready to move on. Nelwyn was packing up her gear when Galador approached her, bringing provisions from his own stores. Gaelen had washed their clothing at the riverside and hung it to dry in the late winter sun and wind. In Nelwyn’s opinion, Gaelen had used this as an excuse to return to the river and check the boat for herself, as when she returned she had seemed preoccupied and ever more eager to get away.

  Before she would leave, however, Gaelen made certain that Rogond was no longer in danger of death. His fever had broken on the second night, after an exhausting delirium that had taxed them all as they fought to calm him. At last he had collapsed, soaked with sweat, and they all feared that he would never move again, until the dawn came and he stirred at last.

  Gaelen had still been with him, singing quietly, warming and comforting him with her embrace. Hers was the first face he beheld on awakening, and he later told Galador that it was her voice that had pulled him back from the madness of his delirium as he fought with unseen demons. He started taking food the day after, and it seemed that all would be well provided that he and Galador could stay safely hidden until he was strong again. Gaelen and Nelwyn brought fresh meat from the forest, and they had plenty of good water and dry wood. Galador was reasonably confident that Rogond would be able to ride in a few days.

  Now, as Galador handed Nelwyn the provisions he had brought, his grey eyes betrayed his disquiet. He didn’t want Nelwyn to go. He was worried for her, and besides, he would miss both her company and her help in caring for Rogond. He spoke to her in his deep, gentle voice while gazing off into the trees.

  "Must you leave us now? Why not stay until he is healed, and then we can go all the more swiftly because of the horses."

  Nelwyn smiled, touched by his offer of aid. "The horses will not avail us here, Galador. We dare not make too much speed; we may miss some sign. Gaelen and I can move swiftly enough and attract less attention on foot. Rogond will not have his full strength for some time, and it would be unwise for him to leave your sanctuary until he is fully recovered." Then she added, "I would very much like to have your help, and your offer is received with thanks, but I fear that we cannot accept at this time. We have told you of the enemy we seek. Our only chance to defeat him is to catch him before the trail grows so cold that we never find it again."

  She cast her eyes toward Gaelen, who was inside with Rogond. "She will never give up, and I cannot abandon her. And I also wish to prevent this monster from doing further harm to our people." She thought of her friend Talrodin and his two sons, remembering the stench of his charred flesh and the difficulty they had in prying his brother’s hands from his arm. Her eyes and her voice grew cold. "I also wish vengeance for my frien
ds."

  She looked at Galador, and she could see that he was troubled. He did not know what he could say to dissuade her, though he felt an almost desperate urge to do so. "I sense that if you leave now, without me, it will mean your doom," he said quietly.

  At this Nelwyn sighed and turned away. "Then doom it must be, for we are leaving."

  Gaelen, who had approached without seeing Galador at first, had overheard this last exchange and now knew that Galador was trying to delay Nelwyn further.

  "Take heart!" she said with false brightness. "We have tarried here so long that the trail is undoubtedly cold by now, and the doom you fear will be quite unlikely. Perhaps we’ll come back when we realize that all efforts of the last fortnight have been in vain."

  Galador bristled at her, as it seemed she would not take him seriously.

  "You’re so confident that you can handle this enemy yourselves. Tell me, Gaelen, have you ever seen real battle? Or is your experience limited to ambushing stray Ulcas in the forest? Do you not understand that my wish to delay you is grounded in the desire to help you?"

  Nelwyn’s eyes widened—these were bold questions. Gaelen stood before them, her face calm. She did not immediately answer Galador, but set her pack down and unlaced the front of her shirt. Pulling it aside, she displayed a jagged scar that ran diagonally from her collarbone on her left shoulder.

  "This was made by a blade forged by an evil hand. Ambushing Ulcas is sometimes a dangerous business. Our people have been fighting and dying for untold years trying to safeguard the Great Forest, yet it grows ever more perilous. None of us can be sure of returning home. In the north it is only safe to travel because of our vigilance and skill. Ask Nelwyn to show you the marks of her encounters. Our skills and experience are at least as valuable in dealing with an enemy that hides and strikes the unwary as those of one who has cut down his enemies in open battle."

  Nelwyn remembered the origin of the mark on Gaelen’s shoulder. She had come as close to dying as was possible before the healers had pulled her back. The wound still pained her at times, and it was not her only mark. Nelwyn, too, bore evidence of the perils they had faced. True, neither had seen the sort of warfare Galador was referring to, but they had certainly seen their share of battle.

  Galador was abashed. "I meant no disrespect," he said, staring at Gaelen’s shoulder. Only a dark blade would leave such a mark, and he knew what it had cost her. "And you’re right. Open warfare would not prepare you for this enemy. I wonder, though, how you will fare when you finally encounter it. Have you any thought as to what sort of creature it is?"

  Gaelen nodded in acknowledgment of his apology. "The signs left near the boat are confusing. There were traces of some sort of strange blood left behind. I tried to identify it, but it is outside my experience. I only know that it is not the blood of Ulca, or man, or Elf. It is…something else, but whether from the creature or some unknown victim, I cannot say." She lifted her light pack from the ground after re-lacing her shirt front, then slung her bow over her shoulder and turned to Nelwyn.

  "Are you ready to depart?"

  Nelwyn looked at Galador, who had by now lost all hope that she would stay but was still imploring her with his eyes. Nelwyn had made her intentions clear, and she did not waver. "Yes, I’m ready. Have you made your farewells to the Aridan?"

  "No. I would rather not disturb him, as he is resting. Galador can say our farewells to him when he awakens and can explain why it was necessary to leave him. He will be all right with time and care; what he needs most is rest."

  She said farewell to Galador and headed out toward the river without waiting for her cousin. Galador waited until she was out of sight, and turned then to Nelwyn.

  "Since you feel you must leave, I bid you farewell, O Daughter of the Greatwood. May your steps be swift and your aim be true. May you both escape the fate that I fear awaits you...I would look upon you again."

  Her expression encouraged him, and he took her in a stiff, somewhat awkward embrace. Then, with a last "Farewell," he turned and strode back to the cave so that he would not have to watch her go.

  Rogond awoke in misery some hours later, his head pounding and his entire body wrung out and sore. He sat up slowly, groaned, reached for his water-skin, and took a long draught from it. The cool water felt good going down, but it did little to ease his discomfort. His friend Galador was stoking the fire. Rogond noticed that the Elf seemed tense; his movements were mechanical, not fluid and relaxed as they normally were. He started to ask Galador about it, but his head swam, and he suddenly felt ill enough to lie down again. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply until his head cleared. He opened his eyes again, at first focusing on Galador.

  Then Rogond noticed that Gaelen and Nelwyn were nowhere in evidence, nor was their gear. He turned onto his side, trying to ignore the ache in his muscles and the vague tingling in his hands and feet, which went quite nicely with the ringing in his ears.

  "Where is Gaelen?" he asked, knowing the answer already.

  "She and Nelwyn have gone. You don’t know the story of how they came to be by the river, and I fear it may distress you," replied Galador, pulling back his long, dark hair to keep it out of the fire as he leaned over to tend the coals.

  Rogond propped himself up on one elbow. "So tell me, then. I’m already distressed that she is gone, without even a farewell." He was pale, still unshaven, and he trembled as he attempted to remain upright. Galador crossed to sit beside him, bade him lie back down, and told him all he knew of the Elves’ tale. Gaelen had not left much out; Galador was able to paint a vivid picture for Rogond, who was dismayed and troubled by what he heard.

  There was something disturbingly familiar about the story. As a child, Rogond had been fostered by a group of Elves who frequented the lower elevations of the Verdant Mountains. One memorable, tragic summer, four of them had died badly by an unknown hand. They had been set upon, tortured, disfigured, and left to be found by their horrified kinsmen. There had been the same strange odor and the same difficulty in tracking. Oh, it had been easy enough for a while, then the sign would fade and disappear altogether, as though the marauder had sprouted wings and flown from their grasp.

  There had been other killings, other victims found, but only the Elves had been so tormented. No one in Rogond’s foster family could make sense of it; they only knew that this enemy was a creature of hate. What if Gaelen and Nelwyn approached it armed only with their slender bows and fine arrows? What if the creature, in its cunning manner, caught them unawares? Rogond asked three questions, and received three answers.

  "Do you care for them?"

  "Yes, of course," Galador replied. "Do you trust me?"

  "Yes."

  "How soon can we be ready to ride?"

  Galador considered. "Let’s wait until tomorrow morning. You will have a hard time staying mounted unless you rest for today at least." Rogond took another long drink, curled up before the fire, and tried to will his pain to go away. Whether successful or not, he would be following Gaelen in the morning.

  At dawn, Rogond roused himself (he had not slept well), washed and dressed, shaved off his scruffy beard, and presented himself to his companion, who was readying the horses and packs. Galador looked at him in approval.

  "You still resemble a walking carcass, but the shaving has helped. How do you feel?"

  "Like a walking carcass. But if I don’t tax myself I should be all right. I’m anxious to be riding again."

  One of the horses, the strong dun, nickered softly at Rogond. Galador chuckled. "It seems that Eros is eager to be away, as well.

  Let’s hope for a gentle ride."

  Rogond’s horse had a streak of mischief in him that was occasionally inconvenient, but he stood patiently as Rogond mounted with some difficulty. The horse sensed that Rogond was not himself and bore him with care. Eros was a fine animal, one of a noble, hardy race prized in northern lands. He was thick-coated and proud of bearing, stronger than he was swift, but tir
eless and steady. The other two horses were Galador’s own Réalta, a silver-white grey, more refined and swifter but less powerful than Eros, and Cronan, a sturdy chestnut pack-horse.

  Following Nelwyn and Gaelen proved to be more difficult than Galador had foreseen. For one thing, the She-elves were not mounted and could therefore pass obstacles that horsemen would have to ride around. They could negotiate narrow paths, wend their way through tangled undergrowth, and climb sheer, rocky inclines where the horses could not go. For another, they were swift, hardy, and unencumbered by a comrade whose strength and endurance were in doubt. Galador didn’t really hold much hope of catching them so long as Rogond was with him, but neither would he risk leaving his closest friend behind. He had observed that men were occasionally quite sensitive about the relative frailty of their bodies. It didn’t help matters that many Elves weren’t shy about reminding them; though most tried to be kind, they were often seen as patronizing. The last thing Galador wanted was to hurt his friend’s dignity.

  Rogond had managed to mount his horse with some help from Galador, but he could not make speed. He was still very weak, and Galador feared he would fall if pressed too hard. It fell to Galador to dismount and follow what signs there were; even after all this time there was more evidence of the passing of the enemy than of the two Wood-elves. Rogond trailed behind, keeping a watchful eye for any who would approach.

  As the afternoon waned, Rogond suddenly swayed in the saddle as a wave of dizziness took him. He leaned over the horse’s neck, clutching at the thick, black mane, fighting the darkness that clouded his sight as a deafening roar filled his ears. Perhaps this had not been such a wise idea, but there was no turning back now. Galador sensed his distress and was soon at his side, his face disquieted.