Elfhunter

by C S Marks

  "I will," said Galador, though his throat was closed up so tightly that no sound came from his lips.

  "I know you will…I know. Now hold us, beloved…hold us until we leave you. We are not afraid…"

  Gwynnyth died in the early morning, as he held her in his arms and wept. As she lay before him, cold yet still beautiful, Galador knew that he had lost all that he loved.

  The Elves do not know the ultimate fate of men; they are only certain that this fate is different and entirely separate from their own. Galador knew that he would never be with Gwynnyth or with their child. Even so, he resolved to meet Gwynnyth on the misty, distant shores where the children of men go when their lives end, there to set out for their unknown and irrevocable fate. Surely, if he called to her, she would come back.

  He arranged and tended the body of Gwynnyth, wrapping it in his own warm cloak. He then lay beside her, trying to will his spirit to follow her. For two days and nights he was still and cold as stone, his mind and heart focused on the task, but he could not achieve it, for he was only an Elf, and the way was closed to him. Finally, when cold and thirst had nearly claimed his life, he roused himself. The death of his body would not serve his purpose, as he knew that his fate would then be separated from Gwynnyth beyond hope. He ate and drank, and tended Gwynnyth, then tried again for two more days and nights to follow her, this time barely managing to escape death.

  He knew then that his hope was vain and that Gwynnyth was truly gone. He wept for many days after that, wishing that death would now take him rather than allow him to live in misery, but such was not his fate. He remembered the desire of Gwynnyth that, in spite of their estrangement, she would have Galador keep watch over her folk from afar. To comfort her he had agreed, though in his heart he carried bitter resentment of their stones and spears.

  Though Galador possessed a strong spirit, he was nearly consumed with grief. He lay in solitude in the small shelter, still trying in vain to reach out to Gwynnyth, wherever she had gone. He wept and slept fitfully, eating and drinking only enough to keep himself alive until spring. Gaunt and haggard, he finally emerged, but it was a long while before the light returned to his eyes.

  He buried Gwynnyth in a grove of maple trees. The warmth of spring stirred new life all around him, but he was not cheered by it. For uncounted years he watched over Gwynnyth’s folk as best he could, for he had promised her. His long bow and keen blade kept them safe, but then the east wind brought a dreadful pestilence that devastated men, women, and children without mercy. Galador sorrowed for them but could do nothing to aid them, and at the last he revealed himself to the few who remained. He sat beside them, speaking comforting words as they died, begging them to carry his message of love to Gwynnyth, if they should meet in the hereafter.

  Stone-hearted and bitter-minded, Galador became a solitary wanderer for many an age, until his true nature prevailed and allowed him to walk again among Elves and men. During that time many things came to pass in Alterra: there was war between the dwarves of Rûmm and the Eádram, so that both realms were destroyed. King Doniol was slain, and Cuimir became so despondent that he gave up his own life. Galador fought beneath the banner of the High King in the Third Uprising of Lord Wrothgar. The northern land of Tuathas, home to the most enlightened of men, was laid in ruin, and the Plague spread its icy hand over all the western lands, taking far more than it spared. Throughout those long ages, Galador kept largely to himself.

  Then, during his recent travels, he met and befriended Rogond, and they had traveled together for six years. It was this friendship— this slight opening in the stone of Galador’s heart—that had allowed him to venture into the Light. But it was Nelwyn’s light that truly gave him hope.

  For the first time since his world was torn apart, his heart was swelling inside its stony shell. If he could but listen, he would escape the dark, loveless prison he had built for himself. Nelwyn was beautiful, and gentle-natured, and of Elven-kind. He could love her without fear, and be joined with her forever, if only she would have him. Galador took courage from his thoughts of happiness with Nelwyn, and for the time being he waited to see if his love would be returned.

  Pushing his dark memories aside yet again, he made sure his eyes were dry before catching up with the rest of the Company. He had grown quite fond of Rogond in their travels together and would not let his friend make the same grievous choice. When the time was right, he would tell just enough to dissuade Rogond. He hoped that the inevitable rift that would result would not sunder him from Nelwyn before their love could flower, but better that, he told himself, than to allow Rogond to impale his heart upon bitter thorns.

  Chapter 12: The Trail Grows Warm

  When the Elves and Rogond finally emerged into the light from the depths of the mountains, they rejoiced at the sights, sounds, and smells of the world outside. They could hear one of the two mighty streams that flowed near the Sanctuary and realized that their destination was very near at hand, though they were now south of it. Rogond, who had spent more time in these lands than any of the others, looked around with satisfaction. Though they would still have to negotiate treacherous footing along the rocky slopes, and undertake a precipitous climb over the pass that opened the hidden way into Ordath’s realm, it would be nothing compared with what they had already been through. They were now below the tree line, and the snows here were old and tired. Spring would bring the land into flower before long, and they had actually made better time than they had planned.

  Each of them now blessed the encounter with the dwarves, who had shown them the way out. Luck had been with them in that they had not encountered any significant threat along the way, but there was one rather queer sign at the tunnel exit. Crude gear, food stores, and weapons, apparently to provision a small company of Ulcan guards, lay abandoned. It was queer because the Ulcas that owned the provisions were nowhere in evidence, yet it was full daylight outside, and the Company had seen no sign of them back up the tunnel for a long distance. Galador guessed that they had gone out in the dark of night on some mischief and had either gotten lost or had fallen under misfortune.

  "If they got anywhere near the Elven-realm, they will never return. That much is certain," said Rogond. "All the same, we must take care."

  Gaelen and Nelwyn picked up the trail of the Ulcas without difficulty. They had gone south along the slope, avoiding the path toward Mountain-home, but for what purpose none could say. Curiosity had gotten the better of Gaelen; she wanted to know what had befallen them. A familiar prickling was growing in the back of her mind. She and Nelwyn tracked the Ulcas southward, despite the mild protestations of Rogond and Galador, who pointed out that they were getting farther from their destination. Finding themselves ignored by the She-elves, they followed behind, speaking in low voices to one another and keeping watch for enemies.

  "We may encounter Elves of Mountain-home in these lands, hunter-scouts like yourselves," said Rogond. "They will welcome us once they know us, but they may be a bit twitchy if they cannot identify us quickly. Of that we must be wary, especially as evening draws down. I would suggest that we stop moving once night falls."

  Gaelen nodded, though she had no intention of stopping until she discovered the fate of the Ulcas. The prickling in her mind had not gone away; it had turned instead into a low burning. She looked up at the sun-bright sky and smiled. She did this for two reasons. The first was that it was good to see the sky again, unclouded by snow or mist. The other was that the stars and moon would be bright tonight, and she would have good light for tracking. A short while later she was beginning to pick up scent on the wind, and in a few moments she knew that tracking the Ulcas would not need to extend into the darkness, as they were dead.

  Their scent had carried for miles, and it was coming on toward twilight when they were found at last. Seven dark, rotting bodies, dead for several days, lay among the rocks. There was evidence of a struggle, and several of the Ulcas had fled upward toward the tree line in a vain attempt to
escape their attacker. These had been killed quite effectively, lying face down with arrow-wounds in their backs. The others had been killed hand-to-hand using a keen blade. There was blood, but much of it had been washed away, apparently by a late winter rain. Several massive stones had been displaced, indicating that a large and heavy being had taken part in the fighting, yet was not among the dead.

  Gaelen galvanized as she beheld the scene, then she had to sit down and wrap her arms about her shoulders to stop their trembling. This was the work of their enemy—of that she was certain. The scent was faint and nearly obliterated by the stench of the rotting Ulcas, but it was there. Nelwyn also recognized the pattern; it was becoming all too familiar. So, he had been in this very spot only a few days ago. Gaelen could not believe her luck!

  They moved upwind of the decaying Ulcas and held a council. It was decided that Galador would make his way back to Mountain- home and deliver their message to Lady Ordath and Lord Magra. Then he would rejoin the others, who would continue tracking the enemy. With luck, he would bring aid.

  "Rogond, I have some concern that I will not be able to find the way into the hidden gates, as I have never been to the Sanctuary without an escort," said Galador.

  "But you have been there, and you are known to them," said Rogond. "The way will be opened to any Elf. Do not fear."

  Gaelen knew they had to be swift. The sign could disappear at any time, and it was her sense that, somehow, this creature was dimly aware of them and would become more wary as they drew nearer. Her contact with Halrodin and Gelmyr had forged a bond, albeit a vague and tenuous one, with her enemy. As long as their mutual hatred flourished, this dim awareness would continue.

  It was all she could do to restrain herself until morning, but she knew that this was the only wise course, as signs would be easy to miss in the rocky darkness. Tracking this enemy was not like tracking a group of unwary Ulcas, at least not when he was on his guard. She stood alert in the light of the crescent moon and waited.

  Quite a number of miles away, Gorgon also found himself standing alert in the light of the crescent moon. He had emerged from the mountain many days ago, moving north along the slopes toward Mountain-home, hoping for prey. He would avoid the Sanctuary itself, for it was protected by a power that was beyond him. Having done so, he could then drop down along the western side of the mountains and cross the river into the great forest. There he might encounter stray Wood-elves as he moved ever westward, eventually gaining the Verdant Mountains, where he would go to ground again for a while once he was sated. He would be far, far away from anything to do with Gelmyr the Èolo, whom he had banished from his thoughts.

  Gorgon lifted his proud, ugly head, turning it to the north as the breeze stirred his long hair. So, his pursuers had found him again; he was sure of it. He was both annoyed and impressed that they had somehow managed to intercept his course, but he felt it was high time to resolve the situation one way or another. He had a sense that there were Elves among them—one in particular— and now he intended to draw them close enough to get a good look at them. If there were but few, he would eliminate them, and if not, he would stage a demonstration that would make them think twice about the wisdom of meddling in his affairs.

  He rose and stretched his massive arms and legs, replacing his helmet and gathering up his gear. There was a fair likelihood of finding prey nearby, as Gorgon had lingered near one of the main outposts used by the scouts of Mountain-home as they kept watch. He could still smell them. Like Gaelen, Gorgon possessed a keen sense of smell, and had trained himself to use it. If he waited yet awhile, they would return. For now he would find a place of concealment and be ready when they did.

  "I am uncomfortable with the idea of your going to Mountain- home on your own, you know," said Nelwyn, as Galador made ready to depart. "I really think we should stay together. If we find the enemy, I sense it will take all we have to defeat him. And you may find unknown perils on the road, with no one to aid you. Will you not reconsider?"

  "Someone must warn Lady Ordath and Lord Magra, and tell of the fate of Gelmyr. Who knows how far this road will take you? It is my intention to return to your side as soon as I can, hopefully with the power of the Elves of Mountain-home at my side." He sighed, and turned to face her. "It is not my desire to leave you, but I feel there is no other course. Do not fear. I will find you again." He smiled, intending to reassure her, but all it did was make her heart ache the more at the thought of his leaving. She embraced him as a cold wash of dread came over her.

  "This can only end badly. I know it! I cannot leave Gaelen, but she is on a road that will take down all who travel upon it. Please, Galador, return as quickly as you may, for you will be needed here.

  And take care that your own road ends safely…" Then, at the last, she whispered, "…for my heart goes with you." She turned and left him before he could reply.

  At dawn’s first light, Rogond, Gaelen, and Nelwyn set off on the trail of their enemy. They would remain on this trail for days, as the signs at first became fresher and more obvious, then faded, then picked up again. This was of some concern to Gaelen, for she wondered whether the creature was taunting them by making things too easy, and then making them so difficult that even her tracking skills were sorely tested. What was he playing at?

  She picked up the first signs of the Elves of Mountain-home nearly four days into the pursuit. They had come along a track from the southeast and had been intercepted by the enemy, who apparently had rested nearby for several hours until they had appeared. There were three Elves in the group, and they were not being especially wary, for their sign was easy to follow. The creature was obviously in pursuit, and Gaelen feared for them. Rogond and Nelwyn were also dismayed; they did not wish to find another like Gelmyr. On the morning of the fourth day, they first beheld the Elf named Elethorn, as Gorgon had left him for them to find.

  It was Nelwyn who first caught sight of Elethorn from her vantage point in the high boughs of a tall spruce. Her heart sank as she took notice of the limp form bound to a tall stone. There was no sign of any other living being as far as she could tell. Climbing carefully back down, she informed her friends of her discovery, and they all despaired, assuming that the unknown Elf would be dead when they found him. They wondered what had happened to the others, suspecting that they would soon learn the unhappy truth of them, also.

  As they drew nearer to the stone where the Elf was bound, they relied on Gaelen to judge how recently the enemy had been there. She could not tell, as the scent was confused. Here it was faint, there it was still fairly strong, but still at least a day old in her estimation. There was very little blood, but the tracks told the story. Two of the three companions had been dropped quickly; the third had been set upon and dragged away, struggling. Now there was blood. The sign was strong here, and the Company drew back, alarmed. Retreating to the shelter of stones, they discussed what to do next.

  "We must attend to this poor soul and see whether he still lives, but I fear the enemy is near, and I am afraid," said Nelwyn.

  "That poor soul was left there to lure us in, Nelwyn. You have every reason to be afraid," replied Gaelen, who could not seem to stop her hands from shaking.

  "We don’t know that," said Rogond, who had lived among the Elves of Mountain-home, and feared for what he might find. He was bent on rescuing the unfortunate Elf, though he did not as yet know him. "Perhaps it’s the same as the last; the enemy just enjoys displaying his victims to any and all that pass."

  Gaelen shook her head. "I trust Nelwyn’s instincts, as they are seldom in error. If the creature had meant to arrange a display, this one would have been like Gelmyr— he would not have been left alive for us to attempt rescue. If this is not a trap, then I’m a dwarf!" She shook her windblown hair from her eyes, and turned to Rogond.

  "What is your honest opinion of our ability to defeat whatever it was that killed Gelmyr?" She searched his anxious face.

  "I don’t know," he said at last. "But w
e cannot just leave the Elf. We don’t know that he is dead…what if he is yet alive?" He looked imploringly at Gaelen.

  "This is a chance to do what I have longed for these many weeks, to get close enough to get a good look at the creature and hopefully get off a shot that will remove his stench from this world forever," she stated, as though this should be obvious. "I’m willing to take the risk, for I, too, would prevent another needless death if I can. And I’m weary of this chase. I certainly will not waver…not when I am so close. But let’s at least make a plan first."

  They spoke in hushed voices, quickly formulating a plan to rescue the unknown Elf. Nelwyn, who had the steadiest hands and was best at shooting from high places, would climb a tall spruce where she could survey the area with ease, her bow ready to deal with the enemy should he appear. Gaelen, who was the smallest, lightest, and most stealthy on the ground would steal in and release the Elf, while Rogond remained concealed until they were certain the area was secure. If the enemy evaded Nelwyn’s bow and attacked Gaelen, Rogond would come to her aid with sword and spear. Then they would all work together to defeat the creature.

  Gaelen wore her curved short sword across her back in addition to her bow and quiver, and she carried two long daggers that she could throw with deadly accuracy. Nelwyn embraced her before being hoisted onto her shoulders and springing up into the convenient spruce tree. She disappeared into its green heights, and Gaelen felt much safer. Nelwyn’s marksmanship was almost infallible—nothing would get past her.

  Rogond and Gaelen drew as near to the tall stone as they dared before Rogond crouched down among the moss-covered boulders, preparing to defend Gaelen and himself. The two of them could now see the strange Elf clearly, and Rogond stifled a frustrated moan, for he recognized Elethorn, who was one of the scouts of Ordath, and a friend. Rogond and Elethorn had once enjoyed roaming the marches of Mountain-home together with several other companions, escaping the civility of the realm for a time. Rogond was more determined now than ever, as anger burned within him on behalf of his friend. He squeezed Gaelen’s arm as she prepared to leave.