Elfhunter

by C S Marks

  When he returned, he brought news that not only could he not find either Rogond or Galador, but that their gear was gone as well. In the meantime, the message left by Rogond had been found, and as Capellion read it, he sighed and shook his head. Here, then, was the explanation. He looked at Eros, who was literally bouncing up and down off his front feet, tethered as he was between the pillars, shaking his long, dark forelock with frustration. Réalta was in no better mood, shifting his weight alternately between his forelegs with an occasional lash of his tail. It was odd that no one had told Capellion the strangers were departing and leaving their horses behind.

  Just as the horse-master was trying to decide what to do, King Ri-Aruin appeared, dressed for the hunt along with several of his courtiers. He noticed the two restive horses tethered between the pillars.

  "What animals are these, and why are they tethered thus?" he asked.

  Capellion bowed. "They belong to the newcomers…the Aridan and the Elf. They are tethered because they have been trying to break out of the stables since early morning—I would guess because of this." He showed Rogond’s message to the King, who read it quickly, his face darkening.

  "I see," he said. So, Rogond and Galador had managed to find out about the departure of Gaelen and Nelwyn and had no doubt followed after them. That was why the horses had been left behind; they could not make the mountain crossing in winter.

  Ri-Aruin turned quickly to his trusted horse-master. "Who else knows of this?"

  "Only the stable-hands, my lord. I will summon them so that we may inquire of them."

  The stable hands reported that they had not told anyone of the message. They had asked after the strangers and been directed to their chamber, but that was all. Ri-Aruin turned to the three of them. "Say nothing of this to anyone, especially my son. He is not to know that the strangers have left. This is of utmost importance! Do you understand?" They nodded and bowed before him.

  "Keep these two animals in confinement until I return, and keep them as well as you may," said the King. "But do not allow Wellyn to view them, as he will ask too many questions. For now, help us to get on our way. This outing must now last longer than I had originally intended."

  They rushed to attend to the King’s wishes, carrying equipment and provisions to the eastern courtyard that faced the wide grasslands. Ri-Aruin could see Wellyn, mounted on his own horse with neither bridle nor saddle, calling and whistling to the other horses that followed behind him with their tails in the air, eager to be away. They trotted into the courtyard where they were caught and tacked up, for while the Elves did not need gear to ride or control their mounts, they often used it when hunting, as one needed places to secure things. Besides, Ri-Aruin nearly always went out in relative splendor, which was enhanced by the ornate intricacy of his beautiful equipment.

  The King was a sight to behold as he sat mounted astride, his raven-dark hair held by an intricately woven crown of hard silver, his robes of sable and white. Beside him, his chosen courtiers and huntsmen were also attired in relative splendor, and some carried banners that bore the crest of the Woodland Elves upon it, shimmering in green and gold in the chill, early breeze.

  Only Wellyn showed some reluctance. Ri-Aruin had detected a melancholy in him; no doubt he had somehow learned of Gaelen’s departure. The King had decided that going on an extended hunt would accomplish both the task of distracting him and of raising his spirits, as Wellyn loved hunting with his father.

  The King was certain that, should his son discover that Rogond had gone after Gaelen, even the orders of his father would not dissuade him from going after them as well. Rogond had been smitten to the heart, and both Ri-Aruin and Wellyn had seen it. The union of one of their own people with one of mortal race was unseemly and to be forbidden—Wellyn would never allow it. The last thing Ri-Aruin wanted was for his son to go haring off after Gaelen in order to safeguard her from Rogond’s advances.

  Wellyn moved slowly and deliberately as he made ready, turning back toward the stable and listening to the frustrated calling of Eros and Réalta. Ri-Aruin rode up before him, saying, "Make haste, my son, for all are ready save yourself. The dawn is growing and we are eager to run over the wide lands."

  Wellyn made some adjustments to his own equipment and swung lightly up on his own horse, a clean-limbed grey mare. Were he in better spirits, he would have looked quite formidable, clad in grey and white, armed with bow and blade, his dark hair flowing behind him. But his blue-grey eyes were subdued beneath his dark brows.

  "What animals are those, neighing and pawing in the stables? Why are they not looked after and calmed?"

  "They belong to the Aridan and the High-elf. We have sent for them—I expect they are both still at breakfast. The horses are restive because they know we are going out, and they wish to accompany us. Once we’re away, they will settle down. So, let us be away!"

  Ri-Aruin turned and rode forth into the sunrise. Wellyn followed, but he sensed that his father had not told him everything, and he was troubled. Ri-Aruin now set about the task of distracting his son. He would allow Wellyn to return home only when the opportunity to follow his friend Gaelen (and the moon-struck Ranger who pursued her) had long since passed.

  Chapter 9: Rogond Proves His Worth

  It looked as though Galador’s thought of dying a frozen death beside Nelwyn might well come to pass. An unexpected storm had come over the mountains in late morning, and by mid-afternoon the snow was flying so thick and fast that the Company could not separate by more than a few feet, lest they lose sight of one another. They would need to find a place to weather the storm, and soon, or the combination of the screaming wind, bitter cold, and blinding snow might well be the death of all four of them.

  They had been on the trail now for nearly nineteen days. The last five had been spent crawling painfully along toward the High Pass of the mountains. They had made great progress through the forest, skirting to the north of both the swift river and the wider Ambros, crossing instead the two broad streams that came down from the north. It was plain that the Wood-elves knew this route well, but it had meant going out of their way, as the High Pass lay considerably farther south. That did not seem to concern Gaelen and Nelwyn, who moved along at a consistent pace of about five miles an hour, covering a minimum of twenty miles a day. They would have gone farther and faster, except that they wanted to conserve their strength for the crossing and make time to procure fresh food where they could to save their stores.

  Once on the eastern side of the Ambros, they had again followed the river south for a while, and then cut across the wide scrub forest to the foothills of the Monadh-hin, the Great Mountains. Rogond did not like the look of them. They were nearly always shrouded in a mist that told of cold, damp conditions, and on the rare occasions that they were clearly visible, they were seen to be clad in white from about halfway up the tree line. Rogond was wise in mountain lore, but he had been raised in the Verdant Mountains, which were near to the sea. The climate there was much more moderate.

  He took advantage of one of many opportunities to sit before the fire and assemble two pairs of new snowshoes, as he and Galador would soon be in need of them. Gaelen was fascinated, as she had not seen them before. Rogond had soaked and bent the frames before setting out, so that they had cured and were ready to be strung with the rawhide strips he had procured from the Elves’ tannery. These he soaked overnight to soften them and then proceeded to wrap the frames, weaving the long strips back and forth like a coarse net.

  Gaelen’s curiosity had gotten the best of her. "What are you constructing? Is that a thing for netting fish? Or perhaps some sort of trap?"

  Rogond smiled. "You shall find before long, do not fear," said he. "I only hope I have constructed them well, for we shall have great need of them." He referred to himself and to Galador, who would also require snowshoes to keep up with the Wood-elves. The talents of High-elves did not include walking trackless in deep snow.

  The chance to try th
em out came not four days later, as they worked their way up the rocky slopes through the tall spruce/fir forest into a world of white. Gaelen and Nelwyn watched in fascinated approval as Rogond strapped on his creations, which resembled rawhide-laced beaver tails. He could then walk nearly as lightly as they. "Well done, clever Tuathan! I have underestimated you again.

  Those are ingenious! How fast can you travel in them?" Gaelen was impressed.

  "Fast enough, I hope," replied Rogond, his eyes on Galador, who had seen him use the snowshoes before and knew that they would slow him down considerably. Galador would have less difficulty, for he was both hardier and more graceful than Rogond. The Elves would all have to slow their pace to allow Rogond to keep up, but he was determined not to hold them back, and he set off as fast as he could go. Though it tired him quickly, he would not say so. Fortunately for Rogond, the climb and the footing would slow the Elves down as well. Though these paths had been made by many travelers, they were still steep and treacherous, and one needed to use great care in traversing them.

  One also needed to be watchful, especially during the dark hours, as there were many enemies living under the mountains. Therefore, the Company tried to find places of concealment before dusk where they could sit huddled together against the cold. Once in the mountains, there could be no fires except in dire need, as they could not risk discovery. Doing without a fire was not as difficult as it sounded at first, for the Elves and Rogond all were hardy in the cold, and their cloaks were warm, especially when shared. But the chilly, ever-present mists blocked the stars and dampened the spirits of the Elves, who loved always to renew their bond with the stars by night. So they huddled together in silence, listening only to the wind, the cracking and shifting of the rocks, and the occasional sound of snow sliding from the high peaks. At such times Gaelen felt Rogond tense beside her, and she understood his concern. To be caught in one such slide would probably finish them all.

  The storm had come upon them on the fifth day. They had heard it approaching but had not seen it, as the mists were now so thick that it was like traveling through a cloud bank. The wind came up at midday, and it began snowing. Soon the blizzard was upon them, and they were all having difficulty moving in the wind and the snow that piled over Rogond’s snowshoes faster than he could lift them. They could not hear one another for the wind, nor could they see one another beyond a few feet. Galador brought out a long rope, which he handed to Nelwyn, Gaelen, and Rogond, instructing all to keep hold of it. Then he took up his position behind Rogond so that he could watch over him. Nelwyn led the way, followed by Gaelen.

  After a while, Gaelen shouted to Rogond over the screaming wind: "We are going to look for shelter. Nelwyn and I believe we know where to find it." She patted his snow-covered shoulder encouragingly, and he smiled beneath his frozen moustache, trying not to worry her. He had struggled valiantly but was losing ground, and by the time they stopped to rest under an overhang of rock, he was completely spent. Gaelen and Nelwyn debated with one another, trying to establish their location and the whereabouts of the shelter they sought. The fact that they did not agree was not encouraging.

  Rogond lay panting, exhausted, and shivering with the cold, as Galador turned to Nelwyn. "We have to get him to some warmer place where he can rest. He is worn out with trying to walk in those snowshoes. You said you knew the mountains. Why can you not agree?"

  Nelwyn cast a worried glance at Rogond. "I think the shelter is farther up the pass, but Gaelen thinks it has been passed by. She wishes to go back and look for it, but if she is wrong, it would be disastrous for Rogond. He cannot risk using any energy in a false pursuit. She would go back on her own, but I don’t think we should separate." She looked pointedly at Gaelen, who shrugged at her.

  "You’re right, we should not separate," Galador agreed. "How certain are you of the location of the shelter?"

  "Not certain at all, but neither is Gaelen. The mists and snow have made it difficult for us to keep our bearings on the trail. We are not exactly lost, but we’re getting there."

  Gaelen looked over at Rogond and shook her head. "Enough of this! While we stand here debating, the Aridan is freezing to death. I am going out to scout the way. You should all stay here…there is no point in risking more than one of us. If we don’t find the shelter soon, we shall all freeze to death." She drew her cloak tightly about her, took a draught of the warming liquid from her flask, and headed out into the snow over the protests of Nelwyn and Galador. Then they lost sight of her, and there was nothing to do but wait and compare her again to the Fire-heart.

  She reappeared not twenty minutes later, completely covered with snow and shivering, but elated. "Nelwyn, you were right! I found the shelter, and it’s not far. I’m so glad you talked me out of going back." Moving to Rogond, she roused him and got him to his feet, pouring a quantity of the warming fluid down his throat. He stopped shivering and shook off his weariness, looking hale enough. "Up and onward!" cried Gaelen, in a voice charged with hope. "Forth, bold adventurers!" They each grabbed the rope and set out into the blizzard, trusting that Gaelen knew what she was doing. Thankfully, this time she did.

  They soon reached their intended shelter, a most welcome little cave whose entrance was nearly concealed by the rapidly accumulating snow. It was a miracle that Gaelen had spotted it, but so she had, and they were now protected from the worst of the weather. It was a small cave, with a sin gle narrow passage leading off the back into the darkness. It probably went back for miles to places best left unseen, and no one in the Company had any desire to explore it. But the small chamber in which they were now sitting was hospitable enough, with a smooth floor and a roof tall enough to stand beneath. Gaelen tested the air at the entrance to the passageway. It was clean of the smell of Ulcas or trolls, at any rate. This shelter had been used by many travelers at one time or another, and some had left evidence of their coming and going. Runes and letters adorned the walls, providing some entertainment until the light failed. There were also some old torches that had been used and discarded, and a ring of stones marked someone’s attempt at a campfire.

  The four companions rested together, and after a meager meal they settled back, listening to the howling wind and hoping they would not have to dig themselves out of too deep a drift in the morning. Turning two of their cloaks around backward, and two forward, the heat of their bodies was well-contained. A fire would have been wonderful, but it was out of the question as they had no fuel. The Elves kept watch while Rogond slept, resting in the cold darkness, imagining the warmth and light of a crackling fire under a sky filled with stars.

  Gaelen reflected that Rogond had made a remarkable effort and actually had slowed them only a little. She patted his arm affectionately and whispered to his sleeping form: "Well done, Tuathan. It appears that we will not have to leave you on the ice after all." She shook her head and chuckled to herself. Snowshoes. What a clever idea! But Rogond could no t hear her, as he was deep in unpleasant dreams of struggling to keep up with the Elves, who drew ever farther away from him no matter how hard he strove to catch them, hearing their scornful laughter drifting back upon the wind.

  The Elves felt the tremor long before they heard it—a rumbling vibration so low that it was like a wave of pressure that brought an oppressively close feeling they could not shake off. This grew until they knew it for what it was, hearing the first roar of the hillside as it thundered down from the high peak above them. Rogond then felt and heard it too, and the four of them clutched each other tightly, fearing the collapse of their tiny cavern but not daring to emerge from it. They huddled together in the dark as the noise grew to a deafening thunder that seemed to fill the world, shaking the walls and floor so that dust and small stones rained down upon them. One struck Nelwyn, and she cried out in panic as Galador pulled her to his chest, trying to protect her.

  Then, rather abruptly, it was over. They could feel the tremors receding down the mountainside, but outside the cavern there was dead silence. Sl
owly they separated, faces pale, hands trembling. Relieved that none had been hurt, they cautiously felt their way to the entrance of the cavern. It was now blocked with boulders, frozen soil, and what appeared to be the broken dead bough of a spruce tree. These they could feel but could not see, as they had been plunged into darkness so complete that even the eyes of the Elves could not pierce it. With growing dread they realized that they were probably now entombed in the tiny cavern and that the only way out was down the small, black passage that led into the mountain.

  When daylight came, their suspicions were confirmed. The mountain snows had indeed slid down upon them in the night, bringing part of the mountainside with them. They would not be able to dig their way out until the snows melted in late spring. They were left now with one choice: they would have to take the passage and hope that it would not lead them to some dark doom. Only a tiny bit of grey light managed to filter through the impossible mass of ice, snow, and rock that now blocked their way.

  They groped in the dark for the old torches, blessing the ones who had cast them aside, as they still had a bit of good pitch and would give light for a while if only they could be ignited. Gaelen produced her flint-and-steel, and, stripping some dry needles off the spruce bough that protruded into the cavern, she struck a spark to them, tending it carefully until it flared into flame. Then she touched the pitch to the tiny fire. At first she was not successful, but tried again twice before the old, dry pitch gave in and smoldered into life.