by C S Marks
"Not a hint from either of them. You?"
"No, but I sense something in Nelwyn’s manner that suggests she is planning some action soon. I believe she might want to confide in me, but is holding back."
"If she and Gaelen have agreed that we are to be kept from it, she will not tell you, though she might wish it," said Rogond. "They are getting ready to set out again, I just know it. If we want to follow them, we will have to be vigilant."
"Is that what you wish to do?"
Rogond considered. Their original plan had been to travel to Dûn Bennas, there to meet with King Hearndin and inform him of the rumor of ever-increasing activity in the Darkmere, until Rogond’s fever and the ensuing events had diverted them. Now he could not shake the feeling that his destiny lay with the Elves. He would have died of the fever had Gaelen not aided him, of that he was certain. And she needed him now, whether she admitted it or not—the task before her was too great. A Ranger goes where he is most needed.
Rogond had his own reasons for seeing to the death of their enemy, though he had not made them known to his friends. Galador wanted to go with Nelwyn— that was plain. Rogond could only guess why the She-elves were trying to get away in secret. He suspected that Gaelen was behind it, worrying that Rogond, a mere mortal man, would prove too great a burden during the perilous winter crossing of the Great Mountains. He didn’t know of the King’s concerns.
He turned to Galador, who was patiently awaiting the answer to his question. "We cannot leave them now. They will have need of us before this is over, of that I am certain. Let us both keep watch over them until they depart, as I fear that if we miss their going, we will never catch up with them."
Galador nodded. "I will keep at least one of them in sight during the dark hours. You attend to them during the daylight. Agreed?"
Rogond agreed that this was a sensible plan. The moment it appeared that Gaelen and Nelwyn were making immediate preparations to leave, Rogond and Galador would be alerted. They would gather and pack their own provisions now, taking what they could carry, for the horses would have difficulty with the High Pass of the mountains. Rogond went below to the stable, where he found Eros and Réalta resting knee-deep in fragrant bedding and hay. He spoke to Eros as the powerful dun nuzzled his shoulder.
"I can’t take you with me this time, and it may be that I will not return for a long while. You must remain here, in the service of the King, until I come for you. Behave yourself and try to be useful, my friend. I shall miss you."
Eros looked at him placidly enough, but seemed to know that he was being left behind, and he didn’t much like it. He whinnied after Rogond as he turned to go, and Rogond called back over his shoulder. "Remember, now, no mischief! I don’t want to find you hitched to an ox-cart when I return."
Leaving Eros was difficult for Rogond, but necessary. He left written instructions for the keeper of the stables, saying that the Elves could make use of both horses to pay for their upkeep. He included a mild admonition concerning Eros:
"He sometimes has a roguish nature, and will not suffer those who are foolish, over-proud, or disrespectful to ride him easily, but he is a fine war animal and excellent for long journeys. His name is Eros. I will return for him—Rogond of the Tuathar."
Gaelen and Nelwyn had made ready to leave at sunset. Their packs were ready, and they were clothed for winter travel as before. One side of their fur-trimmed cloaks was a dull brown, the other pure white, for there would be deep snow from the foothills to the far side of the mountain pass, and the white cloaks would conceal them well.
They wore new fur-lined boots, silken undergarments overlaid with dull grey leathers, and carried their weapons and various packs. Arrow-points and fletching, resin and sinew, whetstone, flint and steel, cord and rope, flasks of clear liquid that warmed like fire but refreshed like cold water, a few spare garments (Gaelen insisted on bringing her old boots along, just in case) and as much food as they could easily carry were packed into light leather bags and slung at shoulders and waist. As always, they favored dried venison and fruit, but nothing such as butter or honey that would need heavy containers. They suspected they would be quite a bit leaner once they reached the other side of the mountains. No matter, in Mountain-home they would be fed like royalty. It was Nelwyn’s opinion that they would probably be ready to eat everything placed in front of them by then.
In addition, each carried a gift of great value for the Lady Ordath, tokens of King Ri-Aruin. They would have preferred to carry little of value—such things always seemed to attract the wrong sort of attention—but they could not refuse the King’s request. Gaelen still wore the brooch he had given her, and as she turned to leave his chamber, he called out to both of them:
"Speed Well and Safe Journey, daughters of the Greatwood. May you find your way through peril to the journey’s end. Stay steadfast upon your path and remember your promise to return to us. Farewell."
Gaelen and Nelwyn returned to their own quarters for the last time. Nelwyn began writing a message for Galador, concerned that he would not understand why she had left him behind. The sun was already down beyond the trees to the west. They needed to be away soon, but Gaelen had one more duty before her. "There is something I must do before we depart. Please don’t be concerned, just wait for me." She removed her new winter cloak and fur-lined boots, pulling on her old ones so that she would not arouse suspicion.
Nelwyn nodded at her, saying "I know what it is you must do, and you are right to do it. Just don’t take too long. He was down in the deeps when last I saw him."
Gaelen made her way down into the depths of the fortress, her shadow flickering and wavering along the torch-lit walls. She thought she knew where to find Wellyn, and she did indeed find him in the armory, practicing target shooting down the long, straight passageway. She crept near him, fitting her bow. When he loosed his next shaft straight and true to the exact center of the target, she shot past him, the arrow quivering in virtually the same location as his own. He was startled, and whirled around to regard her standing behind him. "Well met, Wellyn, son of Ri-Aruin. May I speak with you for a little while?"
Wellyn laid down his bow, approaching her. His expression was mixed. "You are free to speak to whomever you choose, Gaelen," he said. "What do you want of me?"
He was glad to see her, but she could tell that he had not forgotten her treatment of him. She hoped that he would not make things any more difficult than they had to be. "I was wrong to dismiss you at the feast. I really was preoccupied and was not thinking clearly. Please accept my apology, for you are a very dear friend and I would never intentionally cause you hurt."
Her sincerity was genuine, and Wellyn, who had always found her disarming, was taken aback. He took a step closer to her, as she continued.
"Because you are my friend, I felt I could do what I needed to do, because friends forgive each other when they mistakenly cause insult. I promised to tell you of my adventure, and I will keep that promise. I just don’t know when." Wellyn stood quite close to her now, considering what she had said. Then, he spoke to her.
"You’re leaving us again, aren’t you?"
As Gaelen regarded her tall, handsome friend, she wanted more than anything to give up the quest and to remain in the warmth and safety of her home. Tears started in her eyes, and she quelled them, but not before sharp-eyed Wellyn beheld them.
"You’re alarming me, Gaelen. Whatever you’re thinking of doing… please don’t do it."
Gaelen took a deep breath and found her courage again. "I go where I will, and do what I must, as always. But I will return, and then you shall be the first to hear my tale. Please, say nothing of this to anyone, especially the Aridan. He somehow feels obligated to protect me and will be unhappy when he finds I have gone. You must help me in this." She looked hard at Wellyn, who was torn between disappointment that Gaelen was leaving, and relief that at least Rogond was not going with her. His dejected expression transformed into firm resolution.
"I will keep your secret," he said, embracing her as a friend fearful of losing her, and her resolve wavered again at his comforting touch. Then she pulled back from him, eyes clear and bright as he bent to kiss her forehead. Taking both his hands in her own she spoke to him once more before turning to leave.
"So, am I forgiven?" She smiled, though her eyes still shone with unshed tears.
"You are forgiven…this time. But I shall not forgive you if you allow yourself to be taken beyond the borders of this world. You must safeguard yourself so that I may hear your tale at last. You owe me that much!"
"Then that I shall do. And you will no doubt have new tales of your own when next we meet. Farewell, my friend, and be content that when I return our reunion will be fair and sweet." So saying, she turned and left him again to his bow. But the next few arrows did not find their mark, and it took Wellyn many days to shake off the melancholy that came over him as Gaelen’s footsteps faded and were heard no more.
At last all was made ready, and they departed in stealth as the dark of night loomed at their backs. They would see no stars; a gloomy late winter day would give way to a cold late winter night. Nelwyn looked back over her shoulder in regret as she and Gaelen made their way beyond the hidden gates of the Elven-hold, crossing into the forest beyond. While it was good that they were away at last, she hoped that Galador would find her message and would take it well, understanding the reason for her going without him. She would very much have preferred had it not been so, as in her eyes he was fair and worthy, and would have been of great comfort. She knew she would miss his company on the road, as they had spent much time together and learned much of each other in recent days.
The memory of those past days would have to be enough, however. Gaelen was right that they should not interfere with whatever plans had been made already by Rogond and Galador. This matter did not concern them. They had not lost friends to this enemy, and they had no doubt been charged with other duties. Perhaps she would meet Galador again when they both were unfettered by obligation and could simply be together in peace.
Nelwyn considered the task set before her. While she did not doubt that she and her cousin were up to crossing the High Pass in winter, as they had done once before, it would still have comforted her to have Galador’s strong arms, stout bow, and keen blade beside her.
Gaelen, who strode beside her, was not thinking of Rogond, of Galador, or of Wellyn. Her mind was filled with thoughts of the chase, of seeking and bringing down her prey. She was high and glad to be away on that road, for it brought her closer to the realization of her goal: to find and destroy that which brought so much sorrow. It was with sharpened senses, then, that she perceived two intruders lurking before them beside the trail. She hissed a warning to Nelwyn and sprang aside into the understory, fitting her bow and calling out:
"Show yourselves, trespassers, or die quickly! Elves of the Woodland command you!"
It was then that Nelwyn beheld the face of Galador much sooner than she had expected, as he and Rogond stepped out upon the path where they had been waiting. They were dressed and provisioned as for a journey, and looked not a little unnerved to be staring down the shafts of two bright arrows. The Elves knew them at once and lowered their weapons, looking them up and down.
"Why are you here, and why are you dressed as travelers? You are not coming with us," said Gaelen.
Rogond looked hard at her. "So you say, yet that is our intention. We will not have you face this alone. You will have to outrun us or kill us to prevent it. Why not just accept our company and be glad?" Nelwyn did not have time to be polite. "You will burden us,
Aridan. You cannot go in our footsteps and you know it. Don’t make this any more difficult than it already is."
Rogond, who was used to being underestimated by Elves, took no offense. "If I am a burden, then may I fall into Darkness rather than interfere with your progress. But I will follow you with or without your leave. I do not ask it of you, anyway. Rogond of the Tuathar goes where he will, as does his friend Galador. But while we travel with you, we offer our swords and our aid. Whether you avail yourselves of them is your choice."
To this, Gaelen had no answer. She stood defiantly before Rogond, slowly shaking her head. "May you fall into Darkness, indeed! Fine, Aridan, share our road. But I, for one, will not wait for you, nor will I turn back to aid you when you find yourself alone in the freezing wilderness. Don’t count on Gaelen of the Greatwood to protect you from your own foolishness!"
So saying, she re-slung her bow and nodded to Nelwyn, who sprang forward with her as the two of them bolted down the trail and out of sight. Rogond and Galador stared at one another for a moment, unsure of how to react.
"Come on! They mean to outrun us, and I expect they can do it unless something delays them. We must fly!" Galador yelled. They sprinted down the trail in the dark, each hoping that either Gaelen or Nelwyn would relent, for that was probably the only way they would be caught ‘ere they reached the foothills of the Monadh-hin.
Galador growled at Rogond between breaths as he ran. "You had to… suggest they outrun us. You couldn’t just leave it… that they had to kill us. No. You had to… give them the idea… to outrun us." Rogond was amused, though he, too, was regretting his statement. "Just be thankful… my friend… that killing us… wasn’t presented… as their only option. I am not… so certain that I… at any rate… would be drawing breath right now."
At this Galador chuckled, though he could ill afford it. They would be running for days if he were any judge of the Wood-elves’ plan. And Nelwyn and Gaelen knew the forest, whereas they did not. On and on they ran, seeing nothing but the trail ahead, hearing nothing but their own footfalls and their own breathing, until a sudden arrow shot straight before Galador’s face and lodged, quivering, in a tree-trunk. Tied to it there was a scrap of parchment, which they warily removed after recognizing the arrow as one of Nelwyn’s.
It was difficult for Rogond to read in the dark, but Galador had less difficulty.
"You are off the trail. If you continue your course, you will run straight into a rather dreadful bog. We suggest that you turn back now, or if you will not, at least move due north until you find us. We will wait yet awhile."
Rogond looked over at Galador and shook his head. "Well, come on, then. Let’s try to salvage what’s left of our self-respect."
They had nearly caught their breath and stopped blaming each other for going off course when they found Gaelen and Nelwyn at last. The She-elves were relaxing in the shelter of a ring of stones in one of the clearings maintained for their own use when traveling the forest.
Nelwyn rose to greet them, saying, "Well-met, both of you. We have decided not to leave you helpless in the forest, for it is not our wish that you die by our hands, even indirectly. But we would counsel you to turn back, for we will not return for you again. What is your decision?"
Rogond was beginning to lose his good humor at this point. "Our thanks that you would save us from sinking into the mire, O Generous Ones, but since you’re in such a hurry I’d suggest wasting no more time in debate. We did not set upon this path lightly, and we have no intention of turning back. I, for one, will be grateful if we do not have to run all the way to the Sanctuary. You must at least give me time to shave the beard from my face, or it will grow so long that I will be unable to run without treading on it."
To this, Gaelen replied: "Do not fear, Tuathan, for the mountains are infested with all manner of nasty, disgusting creatures…even in the chill of winter they are more than happy to relieve you of that burden by severing your head from your neck. Shaving your beard will be the least of your troubles before we are through."
"So be it, then," said Rogond.
Gaelen shook her head, her thoughts conflicted. Rogond was certainly courageous, strong, and fairly fleet-footed. But the crossing would tax him, and he would fall behind. When that happened would she be true to her word and leave him? The answer to that, she supposed, depended
on the circumstances. If it meant failing in her task, turning back, or risking Nelwyn, Rogond might well be left behind. He and Galador would find their own way out of their difficulties. Still, she had grown quite fond of him, and in her own way she admired all that he had accomplished in the very short span of years that he had been alive. Rogond was not looking for answers from her, and he meant to go with her, whatever happened. Might as well make the best of it.
"Well, are you rested? We’re ready to move on. If you are ready to go with us, come on, then."
Nelwyn looked surprised at this, and her eyes widened at Gaelen, but she said nothing. Galador gave a slight bow, indicating his readiness to proceed, and Rogond nodded as well.
"Let’s make time while we still know the trail well. Things will become difficult soon enough," said Gaelen, turning and running lightly ahead with Nelwyn close behind. Rogond and Galador followed, keeping up easily with the more moderate, efficient pace set to eat up the distance between them and the mountains. As they ran, Galador reflected on the wisdom of their decision. They still had the river crossing and the mountains themselves, which he had never attempted at this time of year. But at least if he had to die a frozen death in the High Pass he would die beside Nelwyn, and that chased all further doubts from his mind.
The stable-hands were greeted with loud whinnying the next morning when they discovered that Eros and/or Réalta had demolished their stalls during the night. They were dismayed to find Eros, who had up to then been quite tractable, kicking unceasingly at the one barrier that still confined him, while Réalta circled his stall, pawing in the deep straw of the floor. Both horses were damp and steaming from the effort. At first the stable-hands wondered whether they were ill, and they summoned the Master of Horse, a wise and venerable Elf named Capellion. He observed them for a few minutes, concluding that they were not ill, but distressed at their confinement. They should probably be turned out to run free with companions in the wide grasslands east of the forest, but as neither animal belonged to the Elves, Capellion could not make that decision. Eros and Réalta were caught, haltered, and tied between two pillars while one of the stable-hands went to seek the strangers, to ask if they might allow the horses to be turned out.
