Elfhunter

by C S Marks

  The Lady stared hard at Gaelen, who, to the relief of Nelwyn, dropped her gaze and muttered something under her breath. They did not need to challenge the Lord and Lady of the Lake, at least not while within their realm.

  After the Company had been fed and rested, they sat listening to the haunting music of the Eádram, which filled the starry skies and echoed amid the gentle whispering of the leaves in the tall trees. Gaelen began to shiver, though the weather was warm. Rogond placed her cloak tenderly about her shoulders. She had been cold for much of the evening and could not seem to warm herself. Rogond added his own cloak to hers, but she still could not stop shivering.

  Nelwyn had filled them all in on what had transpired, and they were predictable in their reaction. Galador was shocked that Gaelen would so defy Arialde. Rogond was angered at the response of Amandir to Gaelen’s attempt to comfort him. They all wanted to know what was meant by this "dark doom" that supposedly lay heavily upon Gaelen, who muttered something under her breath about being tired of confusing predictions and mysterious pronouncements. Fima was the first to agree with her.

  "Elves! If they cannot make themselves plain, they should say nothing at all," he said, patting Gaelen’s shoulder. "Don’t be concerned. I’ll warrant there is nothing much behind it, probably just someone’s bad dream." He looked pointedly at Galador as he spoke. "And I, for one, wish I had been there when you dared stand up to the Lady. You were quite right that it was not her place to grant Amandir’s request."

  Rogond nodded. "Perhaps not the wisest course, Gaelen, but certainly an honest one. And I will tell you one thing—no Elf who thinks ill of you will I suffer at MY side, no matter the decree of the Lady. Amandir had best relent if he wishes to travel with us."

  Nelwyn also stood in agreement. "The Company shall remain devoted to its own," she said, "and will accept no one of ill will toward any among us." Thorndil and Galador added their voices in assent, and the six friends raised their glasses together, vowing to defend the Company to the last.

  Gorgon cried out in frustration as the pain of the mirror hammered at his already exhausted brain. He had been trying for several hours to perceive the goings-on in Tal-sithian, but he could not see clearly, nor could he hear any but the barest snatches of conversation. What was wrong? It had been bad enough that the accursed mist had prevented him from knowing how to enter the realm, but now he could not even see clearly in the mirror. His powerful weapon was failing him even now. He grew dizzy and ill with trying to make sense of the distorted images that flickered across his vision and prayed that this did not mean that the power of the mirror was fading for some reason. Without it, he would once again be reduced to hiding and ambushing stray Elves by chance, and all of his grand plans would be in vain. What would Wrothgar have to say about this? Gorgon did not wish to consider it.

  Ha! Having a bit of difficulty, are we? said a voice to his immediate left.

  Gorgon was somewhat distressed to see that Gelmyr had returned, still as dead as ever, his blue glowing face displaying an ill-natured smile.

  "Oh, go away, you wretched Èolo! I thought I had banished you from my presence at last. You are the last person I ever wish to encounter again. Why will you not leave me in peace?"

  Gelmyr shrugged. I am here because you willed it, whether you know it or not. I am very much looking forward to watching you unwittingly planning your own downfall. I hope I don’t miss anything, he replied.

  Gorgon turned from him, concentrating once more on the mirror and the vague, unreadable images channeling through it.

  The mirror will not work in the great Elf-realms, because you are using it for evil, said Gelmyr. I’m sure an intelligent creature such as yourself has realized it. So much for your grand plans! Did you really think you could gain the downfall of Lady Arialde so easily? The Dark Power Himself has failed in this task. How very prideful of you to have such a hope! He shook his head, his long, tangled hair matted with blood, which appeared silver in the blue light. I thought I warned you about that, didn’t I? I’ll warrant my people won’t have to do much to defeat you; your pride will do it for them!

  "Tell that to Belegund and those wretched dwarves," growled Gorgon, wishing with all his heart that Gelmyr would disappear and quit distracting him.

  Ah, yes! Well, another victory for cowardice, after all. And then you nearly choked the life out of the one person who can aid you in accomplishing your purpose. How very savage and predictable! You know she is quite bent on destroying you. They all are. And they are gathering strength, Gorgon. You had better figure out a way to lay them all low, and soon. Wrothgar expects a return for His fine gift, and from what I have heard He does not suffer disappointment well. No, indeed!

  Gorgon then closed the mirror, taking a swipe at Gelmyr, who was shaking his head and smiling ill-naturedly, mocking Gorgon all the while.

  "Begone, you dead, helpless, vanquished pathetic excuse for an Elf!" Gorgon roared. "Begone and come to me no more!" Then he sank heavily down upon his knees, exhausted by the mirror and the effort of banishing Gelmyr, as the Elf ’s laughter faded slowly from his hearing at last, and he was gone.

  The Company remained in Tal-sithian for several weeks, though Gaelen grew increasingly restive and anxious to set forth toward the Greatwood. It would be a pleasant journey with horses and fine summer weather to aid them, and Gaelen was looking forward to seeing her home again. Nelwyn was likewise anxious, and it was all Galador could do to keep her contained. She and Gaelen spent endless hours provisioning themselves for the journey—refitting their weapons, practicing with bow and blade. Gaelen enlisted Fima’s help in training her to use his dwarvish axe, which she wielded with her customary grace, though she lacked Fima’s power.

  They saw little of Amandir, though he still planned to accompany them. Rogond had drawn him aside one morning, and though courteous, Rogond was direct. He told Amandir that no ill will toward Gaelen would be tolerated should the Company allow him to proceed with them, and it might be best if he apologized to her before they departed. Amandir returned Rogond’s courtesy, stating that he did indeed regret his harsh words to Gaelen, but that the feeling of her unwitting complicity with their enemy remained. Rogond shook his head.

  "You could not be more wrong, Amandir. She, of all the Company, holds the most hatred of him. She has been the force that has driven this quest. She will not give up until he is dead. You cannot have a stronger ally!"

  Amandir shook his head. "These things you say may be true in your reckoning. I only know that some evil stalks her even now. It grows less with time in the Sithian, but I fear it will grow strong again once she leaves the protection of the Lady. And many Elven lives will be lost—I know it, because I have seen it. Now I ride with you because I know this enemy will not stray far from your Gaelen; the road leading to him lies where she has gone."

  Rogond knew better than to scoff at Amandir, and he was worried. "What have you seen, and where did you see it?"

  Amandir then told Rogond of the fabled Stone of Léir, now kept by the Lady, in whose depths many things could be seen. He had looked into it three days before the arrival of Galador and Nelwyn, at the request of Arialde. What he saw there had disquieted him.

  "I presume that a man educated in Mountain-home knows much of the Stone’s history already," he said. "The terrible war that surrounded the Third Uprising had begun because it was rumored that Wrothgar would march on Mountain-home to overrun it and seize the Stone for his own. The Stone was then moved to the Lake-realm, for should its power be turned to the service of Darkness, the consequences would be devastating."

  Rogond nodded, for he did know quite a lot about the Stone. It had been created by the Elf, Dardis, together with Léiras the Asarla. Initially its use had been completely benevolent and harmless; it enabled any who looked into its depths to re-live past moments that had brought joy and contentment. It had been especially useful in healing the troubled hearts of those damaged by grief. When the Second Uprising of Wrothga
r destroyed most of the Èolar, the Stone had been taken to Monadh-talam under the protection of Shandor and Liathwyn. Wrothgar did not yet desire it, for its power at that time was of little use.

  Liathwyn had been so grieved at the loss of her people that she relinquished her spirit, and she was accepted into Elysia, the Elves’ eternal home. But Lord Shandor, mightiest of the Asari, could not follow her there, and he loved her so deeply that his great spirit was broken.

  He grieved long and bitterly for his beloved and at last sought relief by gazing into the Stone, where he could re-live his happy years with Liathwyn. But memories are only reminders of what can no longer be, and Shandor’s attempts to escape his grief and to heal himself were of little avail. It was said that he gazed so long and with such longing that at last he was drawn into the crystal. His body remained outside and has never withered, though it is without life. It is kept in a tomb of glass beneath Monadh-talam, for Shandor is the father of Lady Ordath, who rules that realm.

  When the mightiest spirit in Alterra entered the stone, its power grew very great. It became at once the most magical and potentially the most dangerous object remaining in the world. Its use now is strictly governed by the Lady Arialde, and to look into the Stone outside the grace of the Lady is to court disaster. Shandor is a powerful but bitter soul, grieving for his beloved Liathwyn with whom he cannot be reunited, and in his wounded state he cares not for the pain of others. The visions he sends to those who should not behold them can drive them mad. Yet Shandor can, if he chooses, reveal the destiny of those who seek to learn it.

  "It is difficult to imagine the terrible advantage that would be gained should such a power fall into the hands of Wrothgar," said Amandir. "He would be able to know the minds and deeds of his enemies, and discover the outcome of battles ‘ere they were fought. The forces of Darkness have not yet discovered the present whereabouts of the Stone, but as they slowly regain their strength this would become more likely, and there might come a day when we will need to defend our great treasure to the last. I believe Gaelen is somehow aiding the enemy. I gained this insight from gazing into the Stone." Rogond was disquieted, for he had been taught that visions perceived in the Stone were true. He was not the only one who wondered about the meaning of Amandir’s vision.

  Not far away, Nelwyn had paused on her way to find Gaelen as she overheard Rogond speaking to Amandir. Intending at first to make her presence known so that she might add her voice in support of her cousin, she now hung back in the shadows, listening to Amandir’s tale of his encounter with the Stone. Lady Arialde had said that she had shared Amandir’s concern—did she know of his vision? Fima probably knew of such matters; Nelwyn decided to ask him later. She remained still and silent until Rogond and Amandir departed, after Rogond had reminded Amandir that he still needed to set things right with Gaelen.

  Nelwyn went back to their quarters in search of Fima, but instead found Gaelen preparing to ride. She had been granted permission to go to the mainland and ride Siva over the plains surrounding the lake, and she invited Nelwyn to join her. Though the past weeks had been enjoyable, Nelwyn compared them to being in a beautiful, very comfortable cage. She rejoiced as she readied herself for this excursion, and she and Gaelen went forth together.

  Once they had gained the far shore, they called for the horses, reveling in their freedom as they rode, truly unfettered for the first time since the Company had divided. The weather was clear and warm, though there was the promise of rain in the coming evening. At last they met a group of Elves traveling toward the foothills where flowed the cold stream in which Gaelen had healed herself after her last encounter with Gorgon. A few of the Elves were planning to relieve the guard there, and several brought fishing nets and baskets with them, for there were huge dewberry bushes growing on both sides of the stream nearby, and the berries would be prime for picking.

  They greeted Gaelen and Nelwyn warmly once they were recognized. Having little to fear in the daylight, they bore only light armaments, and they spread their cloaks upon the grass, inviting their guests to join them in an early meal. Gaelen was disinclined at first, until a jar of honey appeared beside the bread, cake, and fruit the Elves had laid out. She and Nelwyn swung down from their horses without another word, and they spent nearly an hour feasting and making merry with the lighthearted Elves of the Lake. Songs were sung then, as the sun rose high in the blue sky. One of the Elves sighed and looked at the towering white clouds that were beginning to make their way toward them from the west.

  "It will be a chilly, wet night I fear," said he. "Just the time for me to relieve my brother at guard. Ah, well. At least I will enjoy the afternoon until I reach him. Save some of the food for us, for we shall have need of it!"

  At this the others laughed. "Food there is yet aplenty, Lindor, but no honey will you take to the watch. It seems our Woodland cousins are as fond of it as we!"

  This set Gaelen and Nelwyn to giggling, as they had just about polished off the honey-jar.

  Lindor nodded. "Just as well, for we will have need of our wits. I suppose we should get to it, or there will be no time for berrypicking." He rose and bowed to Gaelen and Nelwyn. "Enjoy your stay with us and your ride in the fine summer air, and I hope that you shall now be able to sit your mounts and not fall off from laughing." This, of course, made Gaelen and Nelwyn laugh all the more, along with their new companions, though Gaelen suddenly felt her good humor drain away, as though something was amiss. She rose and scanned the horizon in all directions, scenting the air, but found nothing. Probably just the honey wearing off, she thought. The Elves of Tal-sithian were not dismayed, and they knew the lands hereabout. If anything threatened them, they would be alerted. As they prepared to go on their way, they called back to Gaelen and Nelwyn:

  "Farewell, new friends. We shall meet again and feast with you before you depart these lands. For now, we are off to the Cold-spring! Dewberries are only ripe for so long. Farewell!" They went on their way again, singing as they went, for their hearts were light.

  Nelwyn and Gaelen raised their hands in farewell. Nelwyn was still smiling and inclined to laugh without provocation, though the effects of the wild honey were waning. She glanced over at Gaelen, wondering at the serious expression on her cousin’s face. Gaelen couldn’t have explained had Nelwyn asked, and she turned away. She swung aboard Siva, shaking with the chill that had somehow found her once again.

  Chapter 22: Gorgon’s Army

  Gorgon had learned of Wrothgar’s intention to send him the beginnings of an army soon after Gelmyr had reappeared. He had despaired upon discovering that the mirror would not work within the influence of Tal-sithian, but Wrothgar was not dismayed, and simply reminded Gorgon to remain vigilant. Gaelen would eventually emerge, and then he might learn something of interest. This was a somewhat frustrating task, as Gorgon felt compelled for quite some time to gaze into the mirror almost constantly lest he miss his opportunity. He was so weary after a few days that he was forced to relax, and after that things were more bearable.

  Wrothgar assured him that all was well, and that he was pleased with Gorgon’s progress. He instructed Gorgon to await the arrival of the Ulcas, to train with them, and then to venture forth and bring ruin upon as many of his foes as possible. This Gorgon happily anticipated, although he was still not comfortable with the idea of collaborating with such lowly minions. He would soon change his mind, however, when sixteen Elves lay dead with barely a struggle. He would only regret that neither they nor their kin would know from whence death came on that day. No matter. They would all learn soon enough.

  Kharsh had been in the service of the Dark Powers for as long as he could remember. He was one of thirty Ulcas hand-picked from the descendants of the survivors of the Third Uprising, but only he was old enough to have actually lived through that great battle. Most of Wrothgar’s army had withered as dry grass before a flame, but Kharsh had managed to escape with a few others when his Master was laid low.

  He was old
indeed for one of his race, though it was not truly known how long Ulcas could live if they were not killed. It was rare for one to live much longer than a few hundred years, for they so frequently fell victim to enemies, including each other. Kharsh was now well into his second millennium. Truly, he was exceptional.

  Kharsh had been selected for his abilities as diplomat and tactician, not for youth or physical prowess. He stood about chest-high to Gorgon, if he did not stoop. His skin was a mottled grey-black; his face was as very old, worn leather with two yellowish-brown eyes peering intelligently from the folds of ancient flesh. His eight remaining fingers bore yellowed, curved claws. His teeth were few, but sharp and still surprisingly strong, though they could no longer crack even small rib bones the way they used to.

  He had been instructed to educate and guide Gorgon, a task he did not relish, though it would no doubt provide an interesting challenge. The Elfhunter was difficult from the first, as he was proud and not inclined to take direction, no matter how well advised. In addition, Gorgon despised nearly everything and everyone—though he hated most the Elves, neither did he love the Ulcas.

  Kharsh remembered having briefly met Gorgon’s impressive sire, who was one of the most formidable and savage Ulcas spawned since the First Reckoning. Wrothgar had eventually set Gorgon against him in combat three times. The first two times, Gorgon would have been defeated had Wrothgar not intervened, but the third time Gorgon was victorious. Kharsh had heard tales of this conflict; it was said among his folk that the battle between Gorgon and his sire went on for days. In truth, it lasted several hours, and at the end of it, Gorgon stood triumphant, a look of utter contempt upon his then relatively unscarred face. This contempt for his father’s race had grown with time, and thus Kharsh faced a daunting challenge.