by C S Marks
"You are not ready to leave, little Wood-elf," said Fima. "You would never make it to Tal-sithian without aid." He turned to Grundin. "She must remain here until she is strong. Our people will be watchful now, as they are aware of the enemy."
But Gaelen again tried to speak. "You do not know Gorgon! He has killed untold numbers of Elves over the years, and he is clever, stealthy, and swift. He is a coward, striking from the shadows, and he only attacks when he is certain he will prevail. Merely being aware of him will not prevent him from taking vengeance upon Grundin’s folk, and I will not stay here to be a danger to them."
Grundin held up his hand to silence them. "Here is my decision," he said to Gaelen. "You and Rogond are free to leave when you choose. I would encourage you to stay until you are healed, but I sense that you have already decided your course. Should you choose to leave us, you will be provided with an escort as far as the Lake-realm. If the enemy is as cowardly as you say, he will not dare attack you. After that, I cannot vouch for your safety. But your enemy does not understand the nature of Grundin’s folk if by this action he expects we will turn you away out of fear of him! A coward understands only cowardice, and he thinks you will no longer be welcomed here. For your courage and willingness to place yourself at risk to protect my people, I name you Dwarf-friend. You are ever welcome in my realm." Grundin bowed low, as did the other dwarves in attendance, and Gaelen tried her best to return the gesture, though it pained her. Grundin smiled.
"It has been long since I so named an Elf, Gaelen of the Greatwood. You have the heart of the Èolar. Guard it well."
Fima and Rogond helped Gaelen return to their chambers, where their few belongings were gathered. Gaelen would take no food, as she could not yet swallow it, but Rogond and Fima availed themselves of one last meal and a rest before departing. Rogond would be glad to see the outside world again, and he now wrestled with his own feelings of guilt and responsibility. Had he not disregarded Galador’s warning, all would have been well. He certainly had not expected Gorgon to turn up in Cós-domhain. He had learned so little from Farin—certainly not worth the three lives that were lost. He mourned Belegund in silence, though no one was there to hear.
Fima went to see his kin, explaining that he would accompany his friends at least as far as Tal-sithian. From there his path was yet undecided, but he told them that it might be awhile ‘ere he returned. They were saddened, as Fima was well loved and would be missed. Each hoped that they would see him again, for news of this new enemy had spread quickly, and they feared for him.
As Fima made his way back to the Great Hall, Nimo and several of the kin of Noli appeared out of the dark, blocking the way. They stood before him with stern faces. Fima sighed. "Pardon me, Nimo, for I am in a hurry to return to my chamber and prepare to leave with my friends. I have no time for your ill temper just now."
That made no difference to Nimo. "Well and good, Lore-master, leave with your friends. They brought this evil here, and while they may have the favor of Grundin, they had best never return so long as I or any of my kin are here. And they had best never go near the Northern Mountains. You may give them that message from me. We will never forget the loss of Noli. That Elf had better never show her face here again."
Fima nodded at him, his eyes cold and hard. "Very well. I will tell them. Shall I also inform Grundin that perhaps he should take back his designation of Dwarf-friend from the Elf so that it does not displease you? I’m certain Grundin would not wish to upset you or your kin, Nimo. And while I’m about it, perhaps I should alert Farin and his folk in the smithies that their friendship is wasted on Rogond, as well. After all, they certainly would not want to displease you, as there are only about a hundred of them. The last person who displeased Farin, as I recall, received the loving attentions of his hammer and required significant healing time. I shall certainly relay your threats to those who should hear of them."
Nimo and his kin responded with anger to Fima’s bold words, for he was alone among them. They moved toward him, apparently meaning to do harm, when out of the shadows emerged about twenty of Farin’s folk, bare-chested in leather aprons, their beards divided and plaited and tied behind their necks to keep them from the fire. They carried large hammers in their hands, and their eyes were alight with the possibility of mayhem. Farin himself stood among them.
"So, these folk think they can threaten our friends and gainsay the pronouncements of Grundin, do they? How very foolish! I would imagine, Nimo, that if you reflect for a moment, you will realize the folly of your words. After all, you sit on the Council of Elders. You must have some wisdom. If I were you, I would think on it, as you would not wish to deal with us."
This was true, as Farin’s folk worked the forges, and were incredibly strong. They were also in high favor with Grundin. Nimo realized that he was outmatched, and he bowed before Farin, though his eyes were hard.
"Your pardon," he growled. "We shall rethink our stance in this matter, but expect no love for the Elf or the Tuathan from us. My warning to them concerning the Northern Mountains is still clear, Fima. Tell them so from me, won’t you?" At this, Nimo and his kinsmen turned and retreated down the long corridor, grumbling as they went. Fima and Farin watched them go, and then Farin escorted Fima back to his chamber, as he wanted to wish Rogond well.
Fima looked in on Gaelen to see whether she needed anything. He found her standing as though entranced, eyes closed, mouthing a long stream of words that he could not fully understand. He did not comprehend what she was doing, and feared for her. She heard him approach and opened her eyes. "What is it, Fima?"
The dwarf looked uncomfortably at his feet, as though he knew that he had witnessed something very private and spiritual.
"Nothing, ah, I just wanted to see if you were all right," he muttered. Then he looked up at her. "I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything."
A sad, sweet smile crossed Gaelen’s face. "I was just reciting a prayer in High-elven. I thought Tibo would have liked it."
Fima nodded. "That he would have. It was a fine and fitting tribute to his passion for the Èolar. I always said old Tibo was simply born at the wrong time. Gaelen, you are a tender-hearted little spirit deep down, aren’t you?"
Gaelen sighed, grimacing as she tried unsuccessfully to turn her head toward him. "Yes, I suppose I am. But don’t you go around telling anyone—otherwise these constant jests referring to my being descended of the Fire-heart might cease. That would break my heart." She rolled her eyes heavenward for emphasis.
Fima chuckled. "Yes, I’ve no doubt it would. Do not fear; I shall tell no living soul. Take some rest, little one. Tomorrow we depart for Tal-sithian, and I do not envy you the task of traversing the black passage—bending over will be difficult when you cannot move your head to look down!"
Gaelen smiled at him. "Rogond is the one I worry about—are you certain he will fit?"
"Ha! Of course he will, though he’ll look somewhat undignified crawling along. We’ve entertained many tall guests over the ages… but few are as tall as our Rogond! But do not fear. You are high in favor with Grundin; he will see you both safely through. I bid you good evening. Rest well." He turned to go, but paused in the doorway.
"Gaelen…?"
She turned to him and raised both eyebrows, indicating that she awaited whatever he had to say.
"Thank you for the prayer. I am certain Tibo would have loved it." Then he left her to her solitude.
Chapter 21: The Stone of Léir
It was not long before Nelwyn and Galador were brought before the Lord and Lady of Tal-sithian, whose place of counsel was high atop the Greenwood Hill that stood in the center of the island. Nelwyn was quite at home in this place, as she loved all things green and growing, and Tal-sithian was presently in full flower and leaf, with beautiful tall forests that covered much of the land. Galador was likewise at ease, for he was surrounded by Elves of the Eádram, who were his distant kin. Thorndil, who knew little of Gorgon Elfhunter, did not need to
present himself before the council and had remained beside the lakeshore, for such was his preference. He conversed politely with the sentinels as he awaited the return of his friends.
Lord Airan, who was a venerable and mighty Elf of the Eádram, had long, flaxen hair and wise, calm grey eyes. Nelwyn had spoken with him before, when she and Gaelen had delivered a message from King Ri- Aruin of the Greatwood. But Nelwyn had not yet beheld the Lady Arialde, whose deep blue eyes were unfathomable. Her hair, as with many of the Asari, was of flowing silver, and she had the most beautiful features Nelwyn had ever seen; it was as though some sort of divine light hovered about her in a glowing veil. Nelwyn had never actually met one of the twelve ancient Magic-users, and she was quite overwhelmed for a moment.
Now Arialde greeted her guests warmly, but with concern in her eyes. She maintained a close relationship with Lady Ordath, who was in fact her close kin, and they could share thoughts when they wished. Therefore, she knew why Nelwyn and Galador had come. She bade them tell their tale, and it was Nelwyn who stepped forward. She told what she knew of Gorgon and of her travels since leaving the Woodland in pursuit of him. She and Gaelen had probably traveled farther in less time and seen more of Alterra than any two Wood-elves in reckoning. When she came to the point at which the Company had been divided, she faltered and then fell silent.
Arialde looked at her with understanding. "I know why your tale falters. You are right to be concerned for your companions. I have seen great difficulties beneath the mountain."
Nelwyn’s heart sank. She and Galador had both known that it would be so, though they had hoped otherwise. Arialde turned then to Airan.
"We must summon Amandir. This concerns him closely."
Airan shook his head. "Perhaps that should wait until the others arrive. We need to hear all that will be told before involving Amandir, as this will grieve him, and we must make certain that we have learned all that we may."
"There will be little to learn that has not yet been told, as I am already reasonably certain of the origins of this enemy," said Arialde. "Yet we cannot act until the others arrive, so I see no harm in waiting."
Nelwyn became agitated. "Do you mean to say that you know the nature of this creature that has so afflicted our people? I beg you to enlighten us!"
Arialde regarded her with an expression of deep melancholy. "Be careful what you wish for, daughter of the Greatwood. You may regret the knowledge once you have been given it. This is truly a tale of woe." She rose then and bade her guests refresh themselves with food and drink, as she and Airan wanted to speak in private.
But Nelwyn was not easily dismissed. "You have said that you have foreseen difficulties for my friends. I wish to return to the mountain and find them, and aid them if I may. I beg your leave to do this," she said, to Galador’s dismay.
Arialde closed her eyes for a moment. "They are already on their way here." She looked into Nelwyn’s eyes. "There are but three. A company of dwarves leads them. I am sorry, Nelwyn."
"But, my lady…of course there are only three. One of our companions is a dwarf, and was destined to remain in Cós-domhain. So, all is well."
"All is not well. Fima, the Lore-master of Ordath, travels with them. There is also an Elf, and a man. One remains forever entombed within the stone. I cannot tell more as yet."
The color drained from Nelwyn’s face as Galador steadied her. He bowed his head before Arialde as both he and Nelwyn placed their right hands upon their hearts in a gesture of grief. Either Rogond or Belegund lay dead beneath the mountain just as Galador had foreseen. He felt the blood rise in his face as he stepped forward, addressing Arialde and Lord Airan.
"In that case, I wish to beg your leave to go to my friends, to see whether I may aid them. One of the men of the Company is a close friend, and I fear for him. If it please you, may I return to them?"
Arialde nodded. "Your friends will approach the lakeshore by the rising of the moon. There, they will rest, for one is in need of healing." She looked at Nelwyn, who was now even more distressed. "You will go with Galador?"
Nelwyn bowed her head, then met Arialde’s gaze. She nodded once, her face pale, as Galador spoke again to Arialde. "My lady… can you not tell me any more of the man who still walks with our companions? Can you not describe him to us so that we may know which of our friends lies dead? Rogond is very tall—taller than I am, with dark hair and clothing."
Arialde nodded. "That is a fair description, but was not your other friend of similar form and coloring?" Galador dropped his eyes, for Arialde was right. Belegund and Rogond were quite similar save that Belegund was a bit more broadly made.
"Does he carry a spear?" asked Nelwyn, who was very fond of Rogond and was nearly as anxious as Galador.
Arialde considered for a moment. "I do not know. You will learn the truth soon enough. Our folk will guide you."
Airan had summoned an Elf who would conduct them back across the waters. Arialde addressed the guide as he stood before her. "There is an old dwarf with the Company—Fima is his name. He is the Lore-master of Monadh-talam and is welcome here. No other dwarf may enter. Please see our guests safely back to their friends, and take food and healing herbs to aid them. Return as quickly as you may."
The Elf bowed low, his right hand over his breast. Then Nelwyn and Galador took their leave, with many thanks to Arialde. They told Thorndil what they had learned, and the news grieved him sorely. Both Rogond and Belegund were dear comrades, and as Thorndil gathered his belongings, preparing to accompany Galador and Nelwyn, his lined face was grim and sad.
"This is indeed cruel news," he said. "There are so few of my people left that the loss of any is especially hard to bear. I fear the blood of Tuathas will one day disappear from the kindred of men. Belegund and Rogond were still young, and neither had taken a wife or left an heir. They were both worthy defenders and friends."
Nelwyn shivered as she gathered her gear. She could understand Thorndil’s despair, and she feared for Rogond; in addition, Arialde had said that one of the Company was in need of healing. Perhaps Gaelen had been hurt! She wished more than anything at that moment that the four of them had not left the Greatwood, but had remained there until the spring had clothed the beech woods in new green leaves. She longed for the relative peace and comfort of her beautiful woodland home and for the company of her friends and kin. Not so far away, her cousin Gaelen would have stood in agreement.
As evening fell, Rogond first beheld the fair waters of the Linnefionn. There was a clear, cold stream that flowed into it from the mountains, and the dwarves decided to camp beside it that they all might be refreshed. Gaelen and Rogond were weary and heartsick from their experience, and they were pleased to rest beside the flowing waters.
Gaelen made her way carefully upstream until she was concealed from the eyes of the dwarves, who sat together eating and drinking and in general making a great deal of noise. She removed most of her clothing with some difficulty, for she was badly bruised and still could not move her head upon her neck, and then lowered herself gingerly into the invigorating waters, gasping a little as they washed over her.
Almost immediately her pain eased as she lay back, letting the water flow around her throat, her eyes closed. The stench of Gorgon was washed away, and at least a part of her spirit was renewed. She heard Rogond calling to her, but she could not answer, as her voice had not yet returned.
Taking small sips of the healing waters, she let them soothe her throat, hoping for improvement. She was rewarded; her pain was lessened and she drew breath more easily. When she next tried to speak, her voice, though strained and hoarse, could at last be heard. She looked up and saw Rogond approaching, smiling as he drew nigh her. His expression was relieved as he waded in to stand beside her, taking the hand that she offered him.
"Are you all right, Gaelen? Please do not wander off so; Fima and I were afraid for you. Does the water ease your pain?"
Gaelen was pleased to note that she could now nod her head
with much less discomfort. "I am sorry for worrying you; I did not wish to call attention to myself, and if you don’t mind I will remain here yet awhile." Then, she looked up at him. "Will you stay nearby and aid me? I do not know if I can rise easily by myself."
Rogond nodded, pleased that she could now be heard. "Of course I will. First I will go back and get us some food and drink. Then, when you are ready, I will aid you in rising from the water." He turned to go, and as he mounted the stream bank Gaelen called to him once more.
"Umm…Rogond?"
Rogond turned back to her, smiling slightly at her use of his name. "Yes?"
She looked sidelong at him, blushing. "Ah…when you get back, could you do that…that thing with my ears again?" Rogond’s smile grew broader. At that moment, he could not think of any duty that he would rather perform.
"I shall be delighted to do this for you, O Dwarf-friend of Grundin. I will return soon." So saying, he strode off into the gathering dark, noticing that the stars were emerging in the heavens, feeling that in spite of his recent disappointment and grief there was much that was still right with the world.
Nelwyn, Galador, and Thorndil reached their friends hours later, as the stars burned bright. They crept in so as not to arouse the dwarves, who had insisted on remaining where they were until dawn. They did not wish to approach the mists of the Lake in darkness.
Fima knew that the dwarves were less at ease as they drew nearer to the Elven-realm. In those days there was still some communication between Grundin’s folk and the Elves of Tal-sithian, but it was rare. Strange tales abounded on both sides. Save for the Èolar, who were most like-minded to themselves, the dwarves found Elves to be thoroughly mysterious and puzzling creatures that were not to be trusted. Likewise the Elves viewed Grundin’s folk as strange, stunted, and unattractive, with little to offer them save skill at craft. Out of such poor understanding comes disquiet, and both races had, over the long years, fabricated tales with only the barest truth to them. Regrettably, there were now few of the Èolar remaining to set things right.
