Elfhunter

by C S Marks

  "They appear to be a bit lean, but otherwise in fine condition," Nelwyn observed.

  Gaelen agreed as she rubbed Eros’ neck and face with practiced hands. She swung astride him, and as Rogond appeared in the courtyard she called out: "See what I have found!"

  Eros turned about and faced the outside entrance, ignoring Rogond completely. Gaelen laughed and slid down as the rest of the party arrived—two tall men and three horses; a bay, a chestnut, and a black.

  "It appears our good friend Rogond has been shunned by his noble mount," said Nelwyn.

  Rogond returned the insult, walking right past Eros to meet his friends. They exchanged warm greetings, then Rogond turned and introduced them to all assembled. "This is Thorndil, and this is Belegund. They are two very good friends, come to look after me, I expect." The Elves bowed courteously. A few of them had met Thorndil and Belegund before.

  Thorndil chuckled. He looked older and far more careworn than either Rogond or Belegund. "Indeed, we know that you are less than capable of looking after yourself on occasion. But you seem to be faring well enough now, though Eros still begrudges you."

  "Ah, well, Eros doesn’t understand that I must sometimes leave him behind. When he is thus abandoned he gets rather non-sociable until I do something to appease him. It may take a while this time," Rogond observed, taking note of the look of disdain in Eros’ eye. He wasn’t really worried, though. By tomorrow morning they would be the best of friends again.

  Rogond turned then to his recently-arrived comrades. "How came you to the Sanctuary? You must have passed through the Greatwood, for that is where we left the horses. They still wear the King’s mark on their halters."

  Thorndil explained that the horses had come in search of them after escaping their handlers. "Because the halters bore the mark, we went looking for you in Ri-Aruin’s realm, as we knew Eros would never intentionally leave you and Galador, and feared some ill fate had befallen you. It’s a relief to find you alive and well!"

  Thorndil observed the still-healing wound on the left side of Rogond’s neck, where Gorgon’s sword had brushed him as he had deflected it. "It appears as though someone has tried to remove your head," he said, his expression more serious. "You must tell us your tale."

  "Not until you are fed and rested, my friends. Then I shall take you to Lady Ordath, for she would know of your purpose. Now that you are here, we would all like to know your immediate plans, for a matter has arisen that we must deal with, and your help would be most welcome."

  "Our plan was simply to find you. We have no other—unless Thorndil keeps it from me," said Belegund. "And you know we will always aid one of our own when needed. We are also counted in the service of Lady Ordath and the Elves of Monadh-talam."

  Rogond clapped each of them on the shoulder. "Then let us see to your welfare. Your horses will be looked after, and your things sent to your chambers. I will conduct you."

  He turned to Gaelen, who had been standing by, hoping to be introduced to Rogond’s friends, but instead he merely instructed her to see to the horses. She noticed that he would not look her in the eye as he spoke. Confused, she nodded and took the reins from Thorndil and Belegund, who bowed respectfully before following Rogond from the courtyard. Gaelen looked over at Nelwyn, shrugged her shoulders, and led the horses down toward the stables. Eros and Réalta followed willingly; they had seen quite enough of the wild for the time being.

  After Gaelen had gone, Nelwyn turned to Galador. "What do you suppose has gotten into Rogond? You haven’t been telling him of things you don’t really understand, have you?"

  Galador had not informed Nelwyn that he had been in conference with Ordath concerning the matter of Rogond and his affections, but he still took slight offense that she hadn’t credited him with more sense.

  "Of course I haven’t. But I wonder whether someone else has. Perhaps I should inquire of him."

  "Best wait and give it more time; it may be nothing," said Nelwyn. "For the moment we should occupy ourselves with more pressing matters—we should enlist the aid of these men in our quest. Let’s go and help Gaelen, then we will all await Rogond and his two friends, whereupon tales will be both heard and told." She turned and strode toward the stables, with Galador close behind. She hadn’t cared for the look in Rogond’s eyes as he had turned from Gaelen. For a brief moment, pain was graven there.

  That evening tales were told, counsel was given, and acquaintances were renewed. Thorndil and Belegund enjoyed the hospitality of Mountain-home after many months in the wild, and they listened with great interest to the tale of Gorgon, which was told from the beginning by Nelwyn. Thorndil was especially interested in the details of Gelmyr’s fate, as he had once discovered the body of an Elf during his travels near the Ambros.

  The Elf had been stricken with a blunt-tipped arrow, but the force of it had been too great, and it had killed him outright rather than merely crippling him. The arrow appeared to have broken the great vessel that runs along the spine, and the Elf had bled to death in a matter of moments. The signs had been confusing. The body had not been molested, although someone had gone to the trouble of hanging it head-downwards. Thorndil had cut it down and tended it, giving it to the waters as they had done with Gelmyr. That had taken place nearly sixty years ago and had remained a mystery. Now they all wondered whether Gorgon had been responsible for this death as well.

  It was with such unsettling thoughts, and after much debate over the course of action that should now be taken, that the group disbanded for the night and went to their resting places. Thorndil and Belegund would sleep more comfortably than they had in many months, as the security of Mountain-home was a thing they rarely knew—they could never relax their vigilance in the wild. Rogond found that he was quite weary and took his leave. He passed by Gaelen, who rose and started to follow him, but he raised a hand to halt her.

  "Do not follow me, Gaelen. I am simply going to rest, and I need to be left alone. If I need you, I will find you."

  Gaelen was not used to such curtness from Rogond. He had barely acknowledged her presence all evening. "Why are you reproachful? Have I offended you in some way?" she asked. She was confused and hurt, and Rogond knew that his treatment of her was undeserved.

  His expression softened, and he spoke to her again. "I’m sorry, Gaelen. I simply am very weary and have many thoughts in my mind that I must work through. It’s nothing you have done. I just need to rest in solitude for a while." This seemed to satisfy her, though her eyes still bore some of the hurt.

  "If I can help sort out your thoughts, please ask. That’s one of the things friends do for each other. I will leave you alone until you tell me I should do otherwise. Rest well."

  She turned and left him standing in the corridor. He wished that he could follow her and be with her this night, and that he was still blissfully unaware of the existence of "He Who Waits".

  After leaving Rogond, Gaelen decided to go down to the stables and look in on Eros and Réalta. It was one place where she could express her feelings to a living being without having to listen to anyone’s advice. She found Eros lying comfortably on his thick bed of straw. He nickered when he saw her.

  "Well met, Eros…at least someone seems glad of my company." She entered the stall and knelt down beside the great horse, stroking his neck, and began to tell him all of her feelings concerning Rogond and his recent behavior. She was confused and filled with foreboding, trying to imagine what she had done to offend him. "Eros, I don’t know how I feel about him. I just know that I would rather lose my right arm than not have him beside me in the conflict to come. I had thought he was content…but now I sense that he is thinking of abandoning us. I don’t understand."

  She was suddenly overcome with emotion at the thought of losing Rogond, and she hugged Eros’ neck and buried her face in his mane, shedding silent tears. "You must not let him leave without telling me, Eros. He won’t go without you. Promise that you will not bear him from me."

  Eros didn�
��t understand what Gaelen was saying, but he knew that she wept. He truly liked Gaelen and nudged her gently, trying to cheer her. She stayed with him for a few more minutes, then stood, brushed the straw and the tears away, and left the stables. Eros rose to his feet, watching her with some concern as she disappeared into the darkness.

  The new day dawned chill, damp, and grey. Rogond still had not slept. He paced the floor of his chamber for the fiftieth time, weighing his alternatives. He was no closer to a decision now than he had been in the beginning—he needed another opinion. After a few hours had passed, he would seek out the advice of the one friend in Mountain-home whose perspective lay outside the world of both Elves and men. Fima, the dwarvish lore-master, would help sort things out and certainly would tell Rogond exactly what he thought in the situation. He could also be trusted to keep matters in confidence. Rogond lay back down on his bed, looking at the ceiling, counting the hours until he could go and find Fima in the hope that the dwarf ’s practical wisdom would suggest the right path.

  Rogond found Fima in his study in the late morning. The dwarf was not known to arise early, as he was usually awake through most of the dark hours, reading and studying. He greeted Rogond, inviting him to sit opposite him as he ate and drank. He offered food and drink to Rogond, which was politely declined.

  "Something weighs heavily on you, my friend," said Fima through a mouthful of bread and sausage. "Have you come for counsel?"

  Rogond nodded. Fima continued eating, as Rogond waited patiently for him to finish. At last, Fima pushed his empty plate away and settled back in his chair.

  "This is about that She-elf isn’t it? I thought as much. Well, let’s have it, and don’t leave anything out. I’ll try to be as helpful as I may."

  Rogond began his tale, and it took some time to tell. He painted a vivid picture for Fima, explaining the nature of his feelings, telling of his conversation with Ordath and of all the thoughts he had since. When he had finished, Rogond looked at the dwarf in hopeful silence. "Elves and men, men and Elves," said Fima, clucking and shaking his head. "Rarely have I heard a tale of a situation so simple turned into something so complicated. This entire matter rests on your answer to a single question, by which you may succeed, or be doomed to fail. Consider carefully."

  Rogond nodded, awaiting the question. After several long moments of silence, it came.

  "Do you desire to be free to love Gaelen, or do you wish to possess her?"

  Rogond was taken aback. He had never really thought to possess Gaelen, but he realized that his despair at the discovery of her lost love was rooted in such desires. A wise, warm smile crossed Fima’s face as he took note of the understanding dawning in Rogond’s eyes. "Ah! You see, don’t you? This Elf who was lost cannot love her in life, as you cannot love her after death. She may yet love him, but cannot be with him until she leaves this world, which may be a long time coming. Surely there is room in her heart for you as well, for she has been alone for a great span of years. One day you must leave her, but she will carry the memory of you to whatever fate awaits her. This situation doesn’t really change anything unless you must possess her, for that you cannot do. But I sense that you may love her and find your love returned. I have observed this one. She may be worth the effort."

  "She is," replied Rogond. "And the answer to the question is no, I did not really wish to possess her. I know that’s not possible. I don’t know if she can love me, though, and I am afraid to declare my feeling lest she send me away before our quest to bring down Gorgon is achieved. Such is Ordath’s belief. That would sadden me greatly, for I fear she will be lost in that conflict without me to aid her."

  "So, what’s your hurry, my friend?" said Fima. "Who says you must declare your feelings until you are comfortable doing so? Court her if you wish and see how she responds. You will know when the time is right. And don’t listen to the advice of any Elf, as they almost never approve of their kind consorting with mortals, however worthy. One cannot blame them entirely, as it isn’t the perfect situation. Certainly, you would be far better off with a mortal woman. Yet the situation exists, and you cannot now take back the desire of your heart. One fact should cheer you—your friend Gaelen will not ever give herself completely to another of immortal race. You actually are in an excellent position to gain her love, my friend, for she knows it cannot extend beyond this life. In my opinion, your differences are exactly what will allow you to come together, if only for a brief while." Fima paused as though in reflection. "I wonder who she gave her heart to so long ago…and after only a few hours? How regrettable." Rogond agreed that it was indeed regrettable. "Tell me Fima, does this sort of thing happen often? And if so, do you know how or why it happens?"

  "My real understanding of Elves is somewhat limited, though I know a great deal of their history and lore. I can tell you that they are often very passionate and very much driven by destiny. It is their belief that there are certain attractions that cannot be denied, and that these are immediately apparent. In other words, you meet the one you are destined for, and you know it. You cannot deny it, and you are forever bound by it. They call it "The Perception", and it happens only once in a lifetime. That is apparently what happened to Gaelen and her lost love. They say that the stronger the spirit, the more likely it is to resist other attractions until the one for whom it is destined becomes clear. Gaelen certainly has a strong spirit, and I suspect he did, also. Ordath said he died a hard death, and he had foreknowledge of it? No doubt he was some High-elven warrior who perished in some great battle. They were, in general, quite strong in spirit. Yes, indeed."

  Fima looked intently at Rogond. "I have given you something to think about. I trust it has been helpful?"

  "As ever, very helpful," Rogond replied. "My gratitude cannot be expressed, as this was weighing heavily on me. I know now what I must do." Fima nodded in approval, and then spoke as Rogond prepared to take his leave.

  "If you find out the identity of this lost Elf, will you come and tell me? I’m understandably curious as to whether my theory is correct."

  Rogond assented to this, then turned and left the study, climbing the stairs to the lower courtyard. Though it was raining, he was in fairly good spirits as he went now in search of food and drink. He hoped he would not encounter Gaelen just yet, as he needed to prepare his response carefully. If all went well, she would forget about his recent treatment of her, as though it had never been.

  Wrothgar, Lord of Black Flame, awaited the arrival of his wayward creation with anticipation. Not that such an evil being would ever be capable of true creation, for that is the province of the Light. Gorgon was a perversion, not a creation; the result of the union of two beings so diverse that such a thing seemed inconceivable.

  Wrothgar had somehow managed to bring forth the Ulcas, whose name means "evil", to serve as his minions, but how they came to be was unknown to most. They had some things in common with Elves, and some with men, but few outside the Dark Fortress knew of the material from which they originally sprang. They multiplied rapidly, but as they drew farther from their origins, many grew weak and became less formidable in battle. They had always been creatures of the dark shadows; sunlight, in particular, pained and sickened them. Although they would certainly fight if ordered, they were inherently cowardly, and therefore relatively easy to defeat unless they attacked in large numbers. This had not always been so. As Fima had pointed out to Rogond, there had been those among them that were mighty, especially in the early days.

  Wrothgar desired an invincible army, and thus he sought to create the perfect warrior-race. He used only the largest and most ferocious as the foundation for these efforts. Still, they were lacking in speed, grace, and cleverness. Wrothgar needed to imbue them with those qualities, together with the courage they lacked. He devised a plan to unite the largest and strongest of his evil brood with the blood of the fairest beings in Alterra and, if possible, to select those among the Elàni that possessed the greatest strength of heart, body, and
will. The Èolar were the obvious choice, as they were renowned for their vitality and stamina, for their skill in battle, and for their intelligence. They were the tallest and most powerfully made of the Elves of Alterra. A creature that would result from the union of two such mighty progenitors would be formidable indeed, provided it could be nurtured and molded by the hand of evil.

  There were obvious difficulties in the beginning, as ensnaring a worthy Elven representative without killing it was difficult. The Elves hated Wrothgar and everything to do with him, and they would not be beguiled. Any would die rather than subvert to his will. Then there was the matter of actually accomplishing the union.

  The Shadowmancer had many Elven captives in his fortress, but the two races were so dissimilar that interbreeding them was not possible. They did not produce offspring in similar fashion; the Ulcas had lost that ability long before. Of their spawning little is known or recorded, and no Elf would willingly participate in such an unclean, horrific joining. In addition, She-elves could bear children only of their perceived life-mates.

  The attempts made by Wrothgar and his servants were vile and contemptible, resulting in nothing but suffering. There were no offspring, and any Elves who faced the terrible fate of being chosen for this endeavor died as a result, either because of the hideous process itself or by their own hand.

  Throughout these failures, Wrothgar noted the cause and devised a new plan. The few times that his Dark scholars managed to accomplish the blending of the flesh, it became clear that such an offspring could not be spawned in the manner of Ulcas; it would have to be carried by its mother in the manner of the Elves. This was tried several times, but none could bear the hideous offspring, as they grew so large so quickly that they overwhelmed and destroyed their would-be mothers long before they could survive on their own. These unlucky females, though their deaths were agony, relinquished their spirits gladly, for to be the bearer of such an abomination would be unthinkable. Their cries, and the cries of all who knew of them, echoed in the dark pits of the Shadowmancer’s realm.