by C S Marks
"What I would like to know is…how can they tell their men from their women? The men are at least as pretty!"
"Aye, some are even prettier!" The fact that male Elves were beardless had always been a joke to the dwarves.
"What I find dismaying is that they complain about the smell of dwarves and of men, but pay no heed to their own. It’s as though they don’t believe they have any smell!"
"Oh, that’s a good one. I once had to walk into a room full of them. You can always tell where Elves have been."
To this, Rogond would give no argument, though he had always found the normal scent of Elvish folk pleasant, rather like fresh sage. They certainly didn’t suffer from the same foul odors that afflicted men, even when they were unwashed and weary. Of dwarvish aroma, Rogond knew little, and wisely decided to forego comment.
"I marvel at the way they can talk out of both sides of their mouths at once," growled Noli, remembering the dwarves’ version of the treachery of the High-elves and the subsequent fall of Rûmm. He was in a better humor, but he and his folk still presented a danger, and Rogond was waiting for the right time to suggest that perhaps they might go on their way. But then, one of the folk of Cós-domhain approached him and bade him stand in the torchlight.
"Show me that ring on your right hand," he asked Rogond, indicating the ring of gold with the black stone. Rogond removed it and handed it to the dwarf, who examined it with wonder. "I am Glomin, of Cós-domhain. How came you by this token?"
"It was taken from the hand of my mother as she lay dead, slain by Ulcas in the mountains," said Rogond. "The Elves gave it to me as an heirloom. It’s the only thing of my family that I possess, for I know not even the names of my kin. It is my great desire to learn this," he added hopefully.
Glomin was amazed. "If this ring is that which I think it is, it belonged to one of the great among our folk, whose life was saved by a proud maiden of Dûn Bennas. If it is indeed that ring, the stone is like to very few that remain in this world, for the craft of their making is closely guarded. Come and look into the light of the Èolarin lamp. We must come away from the torchlight."
He led Rogond down the passage until they reached the next of the blue lamps, and only its light illuminated the ring. "Look deep into the depths of the stone. The image will appear only in this light." Rogond searched and was astonished to behold an inscription, tiny but legible, glowing blue in the black depths of the stone.
He translated the words aloud, to the wonder of Glomin. "I, Farin, declare the bearer to be Dwarf-friend and free in Dwarf Realms."
"He gave that not lightly, Aridan. Show it to Dwim and Noli. They will honor it," said Glomin.
"This Farin—does he still live?" Rogond was anxious. Could it be that this dwarf would shed some light on the mystery of his parentage? If so, Rogond would seek him out and learn all that he could.
"He does," said Glomin. "Farin has attained greatness among our people as a hardy warrior, and of his smith-work, you can see for yourself. Let’s go back and show this to the others. Then I will tell the tale of Farin as I have heard it"
After Glomin had spoken to Dwim and Noli, they also marveled at the ring. "This changes everything, Aridan," said Dwim. "If you are Dwarf-friend, you are free to take any provisions you need while in our lands, with no need of payment. I give you back your token." He handed the dragon-brooch back to Rogond, who bowed, then gave it right back to him.
"I give it to you freely, but not as payment for provisions. I give it in ransom for the Elves, that they also may have provisions and leave to continue their journey."
"As your companions, they are free to leave with you," said Dwim, though Noli still glowered. "But no provisions will they take from our hands. You may take enough for all, but they must know that this generosity toward them comes from you and not from us." "Then I still give this token in friendship, Dwim of Cós-domhain. May your beard grow to match those of the Five Founders and never grow thin. But I would stay and hear the tale of Glomin, as it
concerns me closely."
He asked that the Elves be unbound and allowed to stretch their limbs and partake of food and drink before going on their way. To this, the dwarves did not agree.
"Let them lie there until you are ready to depart, Rogond. They will be allowed to proceed with you unharmed. Let that satisfy you." Glomin stepped into the center of the circle to tell his tale, and they all attended him, for it was a tale some had not yet heard. "I will tell of Rosalin, the River-maiden, who was Dwarf-friend, and how she came to save the life of one of our greatest warriors and craftsmen, Farin son of Farlos."
Rogond was rapt, for he knew then that Rosalin, his mother, had been a proud woman of the Tuathar—a fierce fighter and worthy companion, friend of Elves, dwarves, and men. Of his father there was no mention, but Rogond held out hope that Farin would know something of him.
It was with such hope in his heart that Rogond prepared to lead the Elves from the mountain, at the direction of Dwim, who knew the quickest and easiest way to the Sanctuary. After saying their farewells, the dwarves left the Company and began the return journey south to Cós-domhain, together with Noli’s folk. Only then could Rogond release the Elves.
Galador, Gaelen, and Nelwyn were nearly paralyzed from being trussed and immobile on the cold stone for so long, and they got up with some difficulty upon being released. Gaelen actually fell down twice, as she had no feeling in her feet for several minutes. Rogond braced her until she could walk, her face set and determined not to show the pain of a thousand hot needles flaring in her hands and feet as life returned to them. She glared at the dwarves’ retreating backs, and would always remember their treatment of her.
Galador and Nelwyn were of similar mind. It was their opinion that Rogond had perhaps enjoyed his camaraderie with the dwarves a bit too much, particularly at the Elves’ expense.
Their attitudes softened when Rogond pointed out that they now had their provisions, had found their way back to their destination, and still had all four of their lives. "Rogond, you have proven your worth far beyond my expectations," said Gaelen. "Forgive us our lack of gratitude. I will not underestimate you again."
Rogond smiled at her. "You will, you know…you will not be able to help yourself."
Chapter 10: Eros and Realta
Capellion, the Master of Horse in the Woodland Realm, had never before faced a situation such as this. Two fine animals had been left in his charge, and he had been instructed to keep them confined, but, try as he might, he could not get either of them to settle down.
Both horses were well used, had no doubt seen years of long travel and warfare, and had probably not often been in confinement. But it was a rare animal that did not eventually settle in to the comfortable accommodations provided in the King’s stables. The stalls were roomy, the bedding fine and deep, and the feed superb, even at this time of year. Though the Elves did not cultivate their own fodder they traded for some of the best, and this year’s crop had been excellent.
Capellion was Master of Horse because he had an innate sense of the minds of horses. Even so, he was puzzled by these two. At first he assumed they were unhappy at being left behind and would have preferred to follow their masters. But surely they would have gotten over that by now; even foals taken from their dams did not fret for so long. They had been in his keeping for three weeks, and though they had thankfully stopped their incessant neighing, they paced and circled, and simply would not rest.
Ri-Aruin and Wellyn had returned from the hunt, and Wellyn had been down in the stables once or twice since, but he had not been allowed access to Eros and Réalta on the King’s orders. Apparently, Wellyn had been told that both strangers had gone, but as he had not seen their horses he had assumed that they had gone away mounted, attending to their own business. If he had known the horses were still there, he might have guessed his father’s deception, and that would have been a very bad turn of events.
Capellion was unhappy with this situat
ion, as he took great pride in the care shown to the horses in his charge. Eros and Réalta now looked lean and ill-kept. Though he tried to soothe them and keep them groomed, they would not stop pacing, nor eat more than a few mouthfuls of feed. Eros, in particular, looked much less fit than he had. His ribs were now easily felt, even through his thick hair, which was beginning to shed with the waning of winter into spring. Capellion wished that the King would relent and allow him to release the horses onto the wide plain, but he also knew that if they did so, Eros and Réalta would never see his stables again. Better that, than to watch them stress themselves until they sickened and died.
Capellion was struck especially by the mind of Eros. The Aridan had described him in his message as occasionally having a roguish nature. What Capellion observed was a calculating willfulness bordering on genius. They had stopped trusting him when he had nearly escaped from them on his third day of captivity. Eros had feigned an injury to one foreleg, compelling the stable hands to halter him and bring him out for Capellion to examine. He had stood placidly while the horse-master ran his experienced hands over the ‘injured’ leg. Eros waited for the Elves to take their attention from restraining him…after all, he wouldn’t run off lame, would he?
Capellion had felt neither heat nor swelling, yet the horse would place no weight on the leg at all. Cradling the forefoot in his hands, Capellion called for steel pincers to test the hoof, for such deep lameness could only be detected in this manner. Eros nuzzled his back affectionately, convincing the Elves that he had relaxed and was now accepting their care. Two of the stable-hands had opened the large double doors to let in more light from the outside courtyard.
Eros lifted his head, turned it toward the doors, snorted once, and then leaped forward, knocking Capellion and one of his handlers to the ground. The other handler was determined to hang on, but Eros literally dragged him through the large double doors, slamming him into one of them so that he fell back, stunned. It was then that Eros discovered that he was in a wide, stone courtyard. There was only one gate, and it was closed. Dragging his long line, he called to Réalta anyway. Let the Elves try—they would not catch him. Réalta was screaming in his stall, rushing at the gate and slamming to a stop. Finally, with the grace of a gazelle and a tremendous effort, he lifted himself up and over the partition, barely avoiding the stone roof with his head and withers. Capellion and his aides tugged frantically at the stable doors, closing them just in time.
Réalta and Eros were both furious. Thank the stars that the King and his son were gone on the hunt. Who would fail to notice the frustrated screaming of the two foiled conspirators, one of which still ran wildly in the courtyard? Capellion noted the complete lack of lameness as Eros floated majestically back and forth before the gate, eyeing the "Master of Horse" in defiance, as though daring him to try to outwit him with his feeble, two-legged brain. Capellion would have given a great deal at that moment to have known Eros as a foal and to have raised him as his own. What a war-animal he must be!
Eros grew weary and thirsty about mid-afternoon and stood by the courtyard gate, his tail raised like a sable flag. Réalta was still calling out, but he had been caught and placed back in the stall, the gate of which had been fortified such that he could not jump it again. Such agility was rare, and Capellion would have liked to keep Réalta to cross over some of the mares in the band, as it would no doubt improve the quality of the foal crop. Eros, on the other hand…
Capellion would have worried a bit about the temperaments that would have resulted from that cross. There was such a thing as having too much intelligence. Eros was a horse that would be suited to relatively few riders. As Rogond had said, he would not suffer prideful or foolish behavior, and Ri-Aruin’s people sometimes displayed plenty of one if not the other.
Capellion approached Eros now, no rope in hand, but with a small vessel of water. The tall, strong dun raised his head imperiously, eyeing Capellion with suspicion. If one had been privy to their thoughts, they might have gone something like this:
You will have to open this gate eventually, you know!
Not before you come into the stables to drink, Son of the North.
Try to outwit me, and you will regret it. I serve one master, and he has gone. I will find him, whatever comes.
Not without water. I will not harm you, but you must drink, and you know it. Your chance to outwit me again will come soon enough.
There is water in the Great River. That is where he has gone and where I must follow.
At that moment, Réalta called plaintively from his now-fortified captivity.
Your companion calls you, even now. Will you leave without him?
Eros stamped his "lame" foot once, raising the dust, snorted and flung his head in a circular motion. He took one step toward Capellion.
Set that water-vessel down, and we’ll talk.
Indeed, we will talk, but not before the courtyard gate. The water is waiting, you have but to come and take it.
Eros was very thirsty. He wanted to drink, but he didn’t want to approach Capellion, as he sensed that the Elf was his equal in cleverness and was now wise to his tricks. He knew Capellion would not be fooled again. Réalta was trapped inside the wretched stable, and Eros really didn’t want to leave without him. Eros wondered what his friend Rogond would think of his usefulness to the Elven-king at this particular moment. Well, what did he expect? Rogond surely knew him better than that. He had sworn loyalty to only one and was of quite different temperament with any other. If any of the Elves tried to ride him they would find out!
These thoughts occupied him even as he followed the water vessel, held before him by Capellion, until the stable doors closed behind him. He was allowed to drink his fill before being led to his own stall next to Réalta. Capellion stayed with him for a while, stroking him, speaking softly to him, and offering him bits of fruit, which he would not take at first.
Réalta snorted, envious. Capellion gave him a few dried apples, which he consumed with enthusiasm, dripping white froth upon the stall floor as he chewed with his eyes half closed. That was too much for Eros. After all, he didn’t really have anything against the Elves, and Capellion was worthy of respect. It couldn’t hurt to take a few dried apples. He nuzzled the pouch that hung at Capellion’s belt, nickering.
All right…I will submit for the moment. May I please have some of those? Capellion smiled and gave Eros most of the rest of the apples, sharing a few yet with Réalta. He patted Eros again, trusting that they understood one another. Eros lifted his proud head and looked th horse-master in the eye.
Don’t think that this changes anything between us, Elf. You have your duty, and I have mine!
Capellion nodded to himself. They did indeed understand each other.
Now, weeks later, Capellion regarded both horses as they stood in their stalls, looking at him in forlorn silence. Eros gave a halfhearted toss of his head and resumed pacing. Réalta gave a low nicker at his companion through the partition that separated them, circling slowly in his own stall, first one way, then the other. Capellion was disheartened as he observed the uneaten feed in the mangers. Something would have to be done. He decided to go to the King and beg leave to turn the horses loose before their condition declined any further.
After Capellion had explained the situation, Ri-Aruin came down to the stables to see for himself. He agreed that Eros and Réalta needed exercise and fresh air, but he did not want them turned out to run loose, for he knew as well as Capellion that they would soon be gone. "The strangers left them in our care," said he, "and we cannot lose them. It is not in the manner of the Woodland to fail in such safekeeping when asked."
"I am keeping them, but I am not keeping them well," said Capellion. "They will not stand for it much longer, and they are worthy animals. It pains me to see them decline. Are they not better off running free than to be so put upon? When their masters return, they will hold us to blame if their mounts have wasted from grief." Ri-Aruin considered the
words of his trusted servant. "They will blame us the more if we have lost their mounts, and my son must not know that they are here. Allow me to send him on an errand to the west, to see to our interests there. The horses may then be used and ridden over the wide lands. That should cheer them. Will that satisfy you?"
Capellion bowed before the King, his right hand on his breast in a gesture of submission. Though this was not his preferred course, it was better than the present one, and he knew better than to press Ri-Aruin’s generosity too much. "Thank you, my lord. Hopefully, the chance to exercise and feel the air will turn them around, though they will still need to be confined. You will inform me when Wellyn has departed?"
Ri-Aruin agreed to inform Capellion, and then left the stables. Wellyn set forth a few days later, and Eros and Réalta could then be ridden and exercised by the Wood-elves. Four of the best horse handlers were assigned this task, as Capellion still did not trust either of the horses, especially the wily Eros, not to slip their bonds and escape. He decided that perhaps it might not be safe to ride them as yet, so long lines were attached to the halters, and two handlers were mounted, one on each side, galloping either Eros or Réalta between them. They did this twice daily, and Eros’ heart was gladdened, for he was beginning to wonder if he would ever see the sun and the grass again. He and Réalta bided their time, being as cooperative as lambs.
Spring was coming on in the wide lands, and though winter still held dominion it had lost most of its power. The four Elven handlers mounted up, took hold of the long lines securing Eros and Réalta, and went forth in the late morning. They anticipated no difficulty, as the weather was fine, and they were now well acquainted with their charges. Six horses ran over the plain as one, heads and tails high. The Elves were enjoying themselves as well, bent over the necks of their mounts, long hair flowing, long lines grasped firmly, enjoying the illusion of control.
