Elfhunter

by C S Marks

  Tibo could not remember having been so excited in recent memory. It was so rare that any of the Elàni came into this realm, and it was rarer still that he happened to encounter them. The She- elf had promised to speak with him later, and this pleased him, as he loved Elves and Elven lore. He loved especially the language of the Èolar, which he had taught himself after a fashion, and if he did say so, his High-elven wasn’t too bad. The She-elf had responded politely and appropriately to it, at any rate. Many of his folk thought his desire to know and interact with Elves was strange, yet he would do so whenever the opportunity arose. Now he was looking forward to a nice, long conversation with Gaelen. She had been so courteous to him! She even called him a "Worthy Disciple of Fior," and had said that she looked forward to conversing with him.

  He bustled down the passageway, having promised to meet his friends later. He would now go and put on his finest garments, then find where Gaelen was being kept so that perhaps he might speak with her awhile. As he drew near the intersection of two passageways, he heard a deep voice speaking softly in Èolarin Elvish. He stopped and listened, entranced for a moment, as the deep voice was actually addressing him.

  "Ah, Tibo of Cós-domhain, at last we meet. Thy name is known to us, as is thy love of our people. The She-elf you met, though worthy enough, is but a Wood-elf of the Sylvan folk, whereas I am of the Èolar." (Regrettably, this was true.) "Come to me and we will speak of all the old tales. I shall delight in conversing with one such as thou, who speaks my tongue so fluently. I will await thee—follow my voice and all shall be revealed."

  Tibo could hardly believe his good fortune. The deep, enchanting voice, speaking such beautiful words, held him in thrall. He followed it to the end of the corridor, stopping as he heard the voice again from the shadows.

  "Well met, Tibo of Grundin’s Realm. How fortunate that thou lovest the tongue of the Èolar, as it will be the last sound in thy hearing." Tibo did not yet grasp the impact of these words, but he briefly beheld the shadowy figure as it emerged from the darkness, wielding a glittering blade that neatly severed his astonished head from his neck. The beautiful words of the Elven-speech may have been the last in Tibo’s hearing, but his last sight was horrifying, and definitely anything but Elven.

  Gorgon tended the body of the dwarf, intending to take it along, as he had a use for it. It would probably keep fairly well, as it was cool in the deeps, and the flesh of dwarves decays but slowly, returning at last to the earth from which it was originally formed. Gorgon knew little of dwarvish history or myth, and he was really not interested in learning more. He needed to concern himself with the considerable difficulty he would find himself in should he arouse their wrath, and he would have to go about his business with discretion.

  Gorgon had learned that the Company was expected to stand before the Council of Elders and might possibly be brought before Lord Grundin himself, although Fima had intimated that this was not likely. Although Grundin got along reasonably well with friendly visitors, he cared little for news of the outside world that did not directly concern his own realm.

  For the time being, Gorgon would content himself with waylaying and killing one of the Company before they emerged from the West Gate in a few days. He settled on Belegund, because he wanted to be free to torture and kill Rogond at his leisure, not when he was in danger of arousing the dwarves. He would leave Belegund and Tibo for the rest of them to find, by which time he would be long gone. He could go as far away as he wished, because his wondrous mirror would allow him to find and rejoin his prey at a time of his choosing. He was not in any particular hurry now that he held the upper hand, and he thought briefly about killing Fima, the old dwarf, as he was a friend to both the She-elf and the Aridan. But Fima was also in great favor with the dwarves of this realm, and Gorgon was unwilling to risk arousing their vengeful natures.

  Gorgon would move toward the West Gate, taking paths little used by the dwarves, until he became aware that the Company was preparing to leave. Then he would strike. In one of his brief encounters with his mirror, Gorgon had learned that Belegund had been warned against going into Cós-domhain, yet had chosen to do so because he so desired to see the great realm for himself. Gorgon smiled and shook his head. "Enjoy the sight while you may, Aridan. The warning you were given will prove true ‘ere long. I shall look forward to our meeting." Slinging Tibo over his shoulder, he made his way silently and with great caution, lest he be discovered before he could put his plans into motion.

  None of the Company save Fima had walked in the depths of Cós-domhain before. In fact, only Galador had seen the wonders of which dwarves are capable, as they had a hand in the creation of the Elf-realms of Eádros and Tal-elathas. Both of these great realms were now lost, but Galador remembered Eádros well, with its beautiful, majestic halls full of bright fountains and magnificent carvings. He had been polite enough in the halls of Ri-Aruin in the Greatwood, for it was plain that the Woodland King desired an underground realm to rival those that were lost, but the comparison was not favorable. The difference between Eádros and the Sylvan Elves’ unsuccessful attempt to re-create it was, in a word, dwarves. The Cúinar had not the skills of the Rûmhar to aid them.

  Gaelen was awed beyond words at the sights before her. She had not spoken since they had resumed their progress toward the Great Halls, though she would stop occasionally and examine some glittering crystal or vein of bright metal twisting along the living rock of the walls. At such times Fima would approach her, identifying the substance so that she would know its name, and she would nod in silence as she committed it to memory.

  Belegund, on the other hand, was anything but silent. He wanted to know how the dwarves had constructed the excavation without burying themselves, how they achieved such symmetry and smoothness of design, how they cut the rock to form bridges that spanned deep chasms, how they caught so much of the light, and so on. Fima put a hand to his brow.

  "Please, my good Belegund! You are making me weary with your constant questions, which I have neither the time nor inclination to explain. Just remember that these walls were excavated over a vast span of time, and not all at once! We had the greatest smiths, masons and excavators at our service, including not a few Elves, though I’m certain they learned more of us than we gained from them. They were better at creating ornamental things, some of which you shall soon see. They did invent these lights, which are quite useful."

  He indicated the blue lamps, placed strategically to catch and return light diverted down from the surface, along with that of the ever-present torches, thus the passage was quite adequately bright.

  Gaelen normally did not fear heights, as she spent considerable time in the tops of very tall trees, but she became quite dizzy looking down into some of the deep chasms, where the blackness was so vast it seemed bottomless. She swayed a little on one of the narrow bridges, and Fima steadied her.

  "Easy, my little Wood-elf. Best not to look too deeply, as you will not be able to find the bottom, and it can make you giddy. Your folk are unused to such sights."

  That was true enough. Rogond, who walked behind the two dwarves sent to conduct them to the Council, dropped back beside Fima and Gaelen. He too was ill-at-ease with some of the narrow going over such black depths.

  "I have heard of a black passage to the West Gate that is so narrow that only one may move through at a time," he said to Fima in a worried tone. "Is there no other way out?" Fima shook his head. "Such devices are common in dwarf-realms. It’s nearly impossible to evade our archers; no enemy attempting to invade from the west has ever been successful largely due to the existence of that passage. It’s barely tall enough for a dwarf, and it’s the only way in here, if one can even find it!" Here, he smiled up at Rogond. "You see, my very tall friend, there are some advantages to being made closer to the ground."

  Rogond shuddered a little at the thought of the narrow passage, which he would most likely have to take on his hands and knees.

  They stopped twice to
refresh themselves, eating and drinking and chatting with the ever-present dwarves. They were everywhere, and Gaelen was greeted with reasonable courtesy, though a few could not conceal their mistrust. Gaelen turned to Fima. "Why do they look at me thus? They are not of Rûmm, and I am not of Eádros. What ill have my people done them? I am in good company, and obviously not a prisoner in shackles. It hurts me to see the look in their eyes, as though they would push me into the deeps if they had half the chance."

  To this Fima replied, "And how have your people looked upon my folk when they have strayed across your borders? Honestly, now…"

  Gaelen was silent for a few moments. "Dwarves cut healthy trees for no good reason, and they do not respect the forest, which we are sworn to protect. Our races have so little in common that it is difficult to understand each other. The Èolar were friends of the dwarves, but only because they delighted in smith work and the making of things by craft. In all other matters, they were apart."

  Fima nodded wisely. "Yes, and don’t think the Elves did not constantly remind them of this. I have lived many years in Monadh- talam, Gaelen, and I see the way your folk look upon one such as myself. Even I, who have earned the respect of Lady Ordath herself, must occasionally endure the condescending attitudes held by some of the very tall folk of that realm. I have done nothing to earn their scorn, except be what I am. You are different, Gaelen, as you do not equate your ideal of beauty with worth. Many cannot say as much."

  Gaelen continued to walk beside Fima in silence. She knew that he was right about the superior attitudes held by some of her people; she had endured them herself. In Mountain-home the whispers and quick looks of disdain had not gone unnoticed. There were those who could not imagine why Magra would even acknowledge one such as Gaelen, and they had made this opinion known. Gaelen had no difficulty dealing with them, as she was quite sure of herself and cared not for the opinions of those who judge others using only those characters visible to the eye. There were many evil souls that wore a fair semblance.

  She considered Fima for a moment. He was true of heart and ready of mind, with a marvelous sense of humor. She truly liked him and would rather have had him at her side than many who were considered beautiful. Rather abruptly, she told him so.

  He smiled at her. "But, I am beautiful, Gaelen. Did you not realize it? It is your people who are lacking. Not even a whisker on any of them!"

  Rogond, who had overheard much of their conversation, smiled to himself. Gaelen was learning some lessons from kindly professor Fima; she would take a different view of the dwarves ever after.

  "Ah! Wait a moment, this is something worth seeing," said Fima, calling the guides to a halt. He led them down a wide passage to the left, where Gaelen could hear the rushing and splashing of water ahead. They entered a spacious cavern, in the center of which a sparkling, bubbling jet of crystal clear, cold water rose from the very floor to cascade down among the stones, which were as smooth as glass. The blue light that illuminated the cavern was caught by the bright waters of this marvelous fountain, and was then sent back in spangles and rippling waves upon the walls. Gaelen saw huge crystals, some clear, some milky white, growing and glittering from nearly every surface. She was breathless, as were Belegund and Rogond. What a magical realm indeed!

  She hated to leave the cavern, but they needed to continue their journey. Fima insisted that they all partake of the waters of the fountain, which they found to be among the purest and sweetest they had ever tasted. Gaelen cast one longing look back over her shoulder as they departed, for she loved flowing waters and would have remained awhile. They saw many wonderful and strange sights on their way to the Council of Elders, but Gaelen would always remember that chamber with its cold, clear waters and fabulous glittering walls. The ornamental lamp hung from the vaulted roof was an outstanding example of the beauty that results from the combined skills of the Èolar and the Rûmhar. It was immense, wrought and engraved with images of mighty Dwarf-lords, combined with the emblems of the great High-elven realms. Here were the Stars-and-Sunburst of the Èolar, and the White Flame of Monadh-talam, as well as the single bright Star of the Eádram.

  At long last they entered the Great Halls of Cós-domhain, which were so immense and impressive that they said not a word, but walked in silent awe among the bustling dwarves until they were brought before the Council of Elders. Seven of the very wisest of the folk of Grundin’s realm regarded them importantly from heavily carved oaken chairs, set upon a raised platform hung with tapestries. Their eyes were bright in their weathered faces, their beards were immaculate, and they were richly dressed. Chief among them was a dwarf named Ular, who rose to his feet and bowed.

  Rogond and Company bowed as well, as Fima stepped forward, introducing his companions as Rogond and Belegund of the Tuathar, and Gaelen Taldin of the Greatwood Realm. Ular gave a warm welcome to Fima, who had once been a member of the Council himself, but had left it for other pursuits. It had been nearly fifty years since he had seen the inside of Cós-domhain, as he found Mountain-home a better place to indulge his considerable curiosity, exchanging ideas and lore with learned representatives of many races. Still, it was good to be home again, among his own folk.

  Ular asked Fima why Rogond and his companions had come, and Fima gestured to Rogond, directing him to stand beside him and tell his tale. Rogond did so, at least the important points of it, emphasizing the encounter with Glomin and the revealing of the message contained within his mother’s ring.

  "I have come seeking Farin, the maker of the ring, in the hope that I may learn more of my origins. Much have I learned already from Glomin that I thought never to know…it is of great importance to me to hear all that may be told."

  The Elders nodded in understanding. To a dwarf, as to an Elf or a man, heritage is important.

  "Why bring the Elf ? What is her purpose in this quest?" asked a stern-faced dwarf sitting to the left of Ular. His name was Nimo, and he wore a brooch fashioned with the emblem of the lost city of Rûmm.

  "She is my friend and companion, and hoped to find welcome here," replied Rogond, but Nimo held up his hand to silence him.

  "I would hear from her, Tuathan. Speak, Elf, and tell me why you have come and what you hope to gain from your entry into our domain."

  Gaelen lifted her chin and met Nimo’s gaze, as Fima interceded. "She is simply traveling with us, as Rogond has indicated. She comes with my friendship as well. I have found her to be trustworthy and steadfast." He glanced at Gaelen and smiled. "She is a true and fine friend. Surely you do not wish to have her doubt our hospitality and reinforce the unfortunate mistrust that so often exists between us."

  Nimo was undaunted by Fima’s words. "Be silent, Lore-master of Ordath, for you no longer sit upon this Council. You have never understood the enmity between my ancestors and theirs. You have gone soft in the Mountain-realm, exposed to their influence, and have been beguiled. I would not expect you to be wary of them now. Let me hear from her!"

  At this Fima bristled, and his hand strayed to his axe. His voice was low and menacing, with none of its usual gentle patience, as he spoke. "You dare to suggest that I forget my origins, while I merely point out that blaming the She-elf for the troubles of the Dwarves of Rûmm is inappropriate and wrong? My feet are firmly rooted in the rock, Nimo, and my heart burns fierce right now. Have a care." The other dwarves remained motionless, appearing impassive.

  This was between Fima and Nimo, and none would interfere. Things might have gone ill had Gaelen not chosen that moment to speak. She used the High-elven tongue, reminding the dwarves of the friendship they had once held with the Èolar. Her clear voice rang through the vastness of the huge hall, where once many such voices were heard, though not in the reckoning of any then assembled.

  "O Ye Children of Fior, who is revered by both thy people and mine, hear what I have to say. I came here willingly that I might gaze upon the greatness of Cós-domhain, for I am of the Woodland, and know of it only through tales that have truly u
nderstated its grandeur. Never have my eyes beheld such wonders. Wouldst thou deny me the chance for such enlightenment? I have received warm welcome from thy folk, and understand thy trepidation, though I was long unborn when the War of Betrayal estranged our peoples."

  At this the dwarves muttered among themselves; hundreds of voices could be heard, but one rose above the others. Noli stepped forward, asking to be heard. He spoke of his encounter with Rogond and his three companions upon the Great Dwarf Road, and told that they had been caught stealing by his and Dwim’s folk. Rogond bristled.

  "Not stealing! We left more than adequate payment. Surely the dragon-brooch was sufficient for a little food and a few torches to lost travelers wandering hungry in the dark."

  Noli seemed not to hear, but looked directly at Nimo, who was in fact his cousin. "I do not forget the fate of the Great Smiths of Rûmm so easily. At least one of the Elves was of Eádros—did you think I would not hear it in his voice? We spared the three of them only because of the Tuathan, who at the time seemed burdened with the task of conducting them and had little praise for them."

  "We are in the Realm of Grundin, not in Rûmm," said Gaelen, who was sincerely tired of Noli, and struggled to hold her temper as she remembered her ill treatment at his hands. "We suffered your hostility when we had done little to earn it. Will the folk of Grundin thus fail in their hospitality to one who has come seeking only enlightenment? I came willingly, and do humbly ask your pardon for any insult I or my folk have caused. Fima has called me ‘friend’, and I would fall defending him. At least allow me the chance to prove my worth. I mean no harm. Besides, I would learn from the descendants of Rûmm, as well as from Grundin’s folk. Will you not share with one who knows so little?" This request, made with such apparent humility, seemed reasonable to the Council, but Nimo remained stern.