by C S Marks
He began speaking to himself in a low, purring voice. “What Messenger has come? Did the raven steal this golden thing from him? I see no Messenger. Perhaps if I take this golden thing and look more closely, all will be made clear.” He could sense a power emanating from the amulet and, though he was wary, he was also eager to receive Wrothgar’s promised aid. He reached for the amulet with an uncertain hand, hesitating for just a moment and closing his eyes.
“For whatever fate befall, may Evil come to all, as the Darkness rules the Light, Death take the Elves this night.”
He hesitated for only a moment longer before grasping the amulet in his massive right hand. A sudden feeling of comfort came over him; not merely well-being, but genuine comfort. He let out a long breath, held the amulet before his pale eyes, and looked into the depths of the golden stone. There he saw an image forming. It was…a face. Yes, it was the face of a man—old and very wise—with fathomless dark eyes and flowing grey hair and beard. When he smiled, Gorgon knew that this was the Messenger Wrothgar had promised him. That smile would have beguiled nearly anyone except Gorgon Elfhunter, who had seen the face of Evil enough to know it when it appeared. “Very well, Messenger of Wrothgar. I see your face and I behold your smile. What message do you bring?”
“How courteous of you to speak Aridani to an old man,” Kotos replied. For his part, he had been satisfying his own curiosity regarding Gorgon. It has been a long while since I have seen him…he has matured nicely. “Hail, Gorgon Elfhunter, and well-met at last. My journey has been long and hard, and I am most pleased to find you. I am the guardian promised by your Master. With my aid, you shall become a force so terrible that no enemy can prevail against us. Yet you must allow me to take certain liberties, and we must work together always. Are you ready to abandon your solitary life, and learn the true nature of your task?”
“I’m certain you did not travel all this way to hear me say ‘no,’” replied Gorgon. “Tell me now, if you will.”
“I will indeed,” said Kotos. “But first, you must tell me of yourself. I have heard something of your history from Lord Wrothgar. He described you as a fearsome, powerful creature. Now that I behold you, I see that it is so. In fact, words fail to convey how formidable you are. He has also said that you are highly intelligent, but in need of experience and guidance. It is your fondest wish to see the last of the Elves, is that not so?”
“That is absolute, undeniable, and irrefutable,” said Gorgon with a growl.
“If such a thing came to pass, it would not dismay either of us,” said Kotos with a curl of his lip. “Elves have inhabited these lands for far too long. They have kept dominion despite all effort to remove them, yet now our Master believes that their time may be at hand. He has devised a plan that will result in the downfall of not only the Elàni, but of all who refuse to serve the Dark Powers. This plan will only succeed with your assistance. There is no other with your strength—no other with your purpose.”
“Tell me, then, what it is you wish of me, and I will decide if it serves my purpose,” said Gorgon. He was not naïve enough to believe the flattery Kotos had given, yet he could not help but be intrigued.
Kotos knew that his task was delicate. Gorgon would not be overtaken; he would need to be enlisted as a willing participant in the plan. He was very strong-willed and of independent mind, such that cooperation did not come naturally. Yet he had shown some ability when placed in command of his army in the Darkmere. Kotos was more than up to the task of convincing him. He had beguiled some of the most intelligent and strong-willed beings in all of Alterra, Elves and men alike.
“This may take a while. Are you quite comfortable?”
“I am always comfortable with discussions involving the killing of Elves,” growled Gorgon in reply. “Get on with it!”
To Gorgon’s surprise, Kotos’ face wavered and disappeared. In its place there was a view of a very tall, golden-haired Elf clad in fine armor. He was probably the largest and most magnificent Elf Gorgon had seen, and the sight both angered and frightened him. The Elf appeared to be standing in some form of council-chamber with many onlookers, and he was speaking of the massing of Wrothgar’s forces in the ruin of Tal-elathas. Then Gorgon beheld Wrothgar’s armies as they swept down upon the Elven-realms, killing every last Elf…save one. The tall, golden Elf was spared and, in fact, he threw his beautiful head back and laughed as the last of his people fell. Gorgon was confused. Why should an Elf rejoice at such a calamity?
The vision faded, along with the tall Elf’s laughter, and Gorgon once again beheld the face of the old man. “So, Wrothgar has a plan that will somehow allow His armies to overcome the Elven-realms? He has tried this many times before, and has each time been defeated. Why, now, should the Elves allow Him such advantage?”
“Because they will be beguiled,” said Kotos. “They will be deceived by one of their own. Look now, and see.”
Another vision appeared then, this time either horrific or delightful depending on the viewer. Elves in all parts of Alterra were dying by the hundreds, being attacked from all sides when they were most vulnerable. There was blood, and filth, and pain in the vision. There were desperate cries of grief and agony, and the wailing of many Elven voices, until all were silenced. Gorgon had never beheld anything so satisfying.
His eyes glittered with ravenous expectation as he looked into the eyes of Lord Kotos, the Deceiver. “How may I see this wonderful vision come to pass?” he asked. “Whatever it is, I will do it. Please enlighten me, for the hunger to see this fate visited on the Elves has nearly consumed me.”
“We shall see how willing you are when your role in the deception becomes clear, said Kotos. Are you not curious as to the identity of the tall, golden Elf?”
“I am,” said Gorgon. “If he were not an Elf, I would call him friend. Who is he?”
“Why my irrepressible Elfhunter,” said Kotos with a smile that was almost fatherly, “he is you.”
“Welcome, Rogond Thaylon,” said Lord Salastor with an encouraging smile. “It has been too long since we sat down together. I trust your wounds are healing well?”
Rogond returned the smile and bowed before replying. “My wounds are healed, though I have yet to regain full strength of my right arm,” he said. “My thanks to the excellent care of your healers and, of course, to Gaelen, who looks after my shoulder each day. It will be strong again before long, I should think. In the meantime, I’m becoming more adept at left-handed combat, despite the unfortunate outcome of my sparring with Azori earlier.” He shook his head and grinned.
Salastor smiled again. “Ah! Well, if Gaelen is tending you, then you will be stronger than ever if she has anything to say about it. It is said that Elves have a kind of magic about them when it comes to healing and touch. I will not pry into your personal affairs by asking if that is so. Please come and sit with me, and let us counsel together. I will always hear your concerns.”
“I hope you will not think me foolish, but my thoughts have been troubling, and I would share them,” said Rogond. “My friends would also join in the counsel, if it does not displease you.”
They sat down together as Salastor offered good brown bread, wine, and sugared figs. “Tell me of your thoughts,” he said, “for I see disquiet in you. Does this concern Gorgon Elfhunter?”
“That’s a matter for another day,” said Rogond. “Today my thoughts concern the continued security of the Silver Fortress and the safety of her people. I have traveled many of the northern lands, venturing now into the distant south. From what I have seen, the strength of men is rebuilding. This both gladdens my heart and troubles it, for I fear your City may not long remain undiscovered. Dûn Arian has maintained her isolation in part because she is surrounded by nearly impassable terrain, but also because she is hidden, and there have been so few men in the world to discover her. There were many Scourge warriors who survived the battle, and they now know of her. Does it not seem likely that others will follow? The scholars say tha
t the only possible way the Scourge could have made the desert crossing was with the dragon’s aid; they believe Lokai delved deep into the bedrock to find water that the army could share. If so, then there will be many new water-holes scattered along the Scourge’s course. That will make the crossing easier, and some might attempt it who will not have your best interests in mind. What if they bring an army?”
“Well, what if they do?” said Fima. “Then the City will repel them, as they did the Scourge. We still have the Wall in place, after all.”
“Yes, we have the Wall,” put in Galador, “but our enemies will most likely know about it. The Scourge was not expecting such a thing. Now, it will be known far and wide, if I am any judge of men and their gossiping tongues.” He looked over at Rogond and Salastor. “No offense intended.”
“None taken,” said Rogond, “for you are right. And though I understand your view, Fima, I do not share your optimism. The City’s armies have been greatly reduced in number. We have lost many weapons and most of our seasoned fighters. The Scourge has left its mark on us.”
Salastor had been listening to the exchange, his chin resting on one hand, his expression thoughtful. “Rogond, do you really believe the City is in danger of invasion?” he said. “We have realized that we will now be more widely known, and that some will try to come here, but the crossing will still be difficult.”
“You must be ready for any possibility, in my humble opinion,” said Rogond.
Salastor leaned forward. “Then please advise me, all of you. How can we make ready?”
“You must see to the making and re-fitting of weapons, and train a standing army,” said Rogond.
“That is something we have not done at any time in our history,” said Salastor. “Our people have preferred reason to violence. We have always discouraged aggression here and, in fact, we have insisted that our citizens settle their disputes with consideration. It has served us for five hundred years, and I would not see it changed.”
“Just because you have an army doesn’t mean you should start fighting amongst yourselves,” said Fima. “Rogond is right…you will need a defense force. Alas, so many of your trained fighters have been lost.”
“Alas, indeed,” said Rogond, remembering Ali. “But now we must make do with what remains. Lord Salastor, I would like to convene a council with your new Minister of Defense and see whether a plan can be made to train more of your citizens in the arts of battle. Fima, I would also appreciate your aid in seeking knowledge in the library. Perhaps the scholars can direct us to helpful manuscripts…instructions in the making and use of weapons. We should no doubt put out a call to all citizens to come forward if they have any training or knowledge of battle skills.” He turned to Salastor. “What do you think of this plan, my lord?”
“It’s a good plan, Rogond,” said Salastor. “But I do not know how willing our citizens will be. The avoidance of violence is very deeply ingrained in them. I hope you are not disappointed, but you will have a task before you.”
“They must be convinced while the memory of the Scourge still haunts their thoughts,” said Galador. “Your people are peaceful, but they are also practical. Their blood was aroused when their home was threatened. I have every confidence that they will agree.”
“Who is the new Minister of Defense?” asked Fima. “I know you asked Hallagond, but he declined. Has anyone accepted the post?”
Salastor shook his head. “They have not, though Visili was my next choice. He has more than paid his debt, yet he is still not trusted by some in the City. I have not as yet asked him.” He looked over at Rogond. “I know that you have refused the Ministry, but as the architect of the plan, will you not take leadership of it?”
Rogond smiled at Salastor and shook his head. “Is this how you treat those who try to make helpful plans to aid you?” he said. “You thrust additional responsibilities upon them?”
For once, Salastor did not return the smile. “If I see a job that needs doing, I will see it done myself,” he said. “Those who have the skills must stand ready to use them for the sake of the Light, for it is by the Light that they were given. So says Salasin, the Wise.”
Fima then stepped in. “Yet one of the most valued qualities of a leader lies in knowing how to assign duties to those most capable. Rogond is a thinker, and he has given you his thoughts. You should not expect to divert him from his primary task.”
“And what is your primary task, Rogond?” Salastor inquired. “If it is the tracking and slaying of Gorgon Elfhunter, then I have sworn the services of all in the City to assist you. Will you not now aid us in preparing our defense?”
“I will aid, but I will not lead,” said Rogond. “I will not commit to such an important position, for I don’t know how long I will be in the City. If the quest against Gorgon takes me hence, I will be gone. Ask Visili, my lord. I will aid him as I can, and Hallagond has offered his services, as have all in our Company. There will be those with talents as yet undiscovered who will show themselves as training proceeds. But now you must convene the Council and enlist the aid of your citizens. I’m sure they will agree. If not, take them to the Memorial of the Fallen and remind them.”
He rose and bowed before Lord Salastor. “I must now take leave of you, my lord. Other tasks call me this day. Please let me know at once if I am needed here again.”
“You are needed here, Rogond,” said Salastor. “That cannot be denied. But now see to your other tasks and I will see to mine.” He smiled and inclined his head to Rogond, Galador, and Fima, who then turned and left the chamber.
Once outside, Fima declared his intention to go down to luncheon. Rogond declined to go with him, as he had promised to meet with Gaelen by the sea; it was her opinion that soaking in the gentle waters of the harbor was good for his shoulder. She had promised to bring food, and he would not keep her waiting.
Galador decided to accompany Fima to the Courtyard of the Scholars, which was his favorite place to eat and think on a fine day such as this one. Fima was something of a celebrity, particularly to the apprentice scholars, who almost revered him. He would have any food and drink they could provide.
Neither he nor Galador was disappointed, as the table was laden with all sorts of temptations. “The fare is very nearly as fine as in Mountain-home,” said Fima, “and that is no small statement.”
“Indeed not,” said Galador. Though less enamored of food and drink than Fima, he still appreciated a fine meal. As he helped himself to soft bread with butter and honey, he noticed two of the apprentice scholars looking rather pointedly at him, speaking in hushed tones to one another.
“Pray tell what your business is with me,” said Galador. “I would prefer that you not discuss my concerns outside my hearing.” His tone was friendly enough, but commanding.
The scholars’ faces reddened. “We mean no offense,” said one. “We just do not understand how it is that you and Lore-master Fima are being so cordial, when it is said that your races have been bitter enemies for many an age…” The scholar’s voice trailed off at once, and he dropped his eyes. “Forgive me,” he said, “I did not mean any implication.”
Just then, Azori appeared from out of nowhere to sit heavily beside Galador.
“Well, obviously these two are friends,” he said with a wicked grin.”If you need proof, you only need examine the events of this morning, when I had nearly bested you, and your friend Fima came to your rescue with that little, harmless lie about your being summoned to Salastor. He saw that you were about to be humiliated, and he stepped in. Quite a natural thing for a friend to do, I would expect. You had not, in fact, been summoned, had you?”
“No, I hadn’t been summoned,” said Galador. “But what has any of this to do with my sitting down cordially to luncheon with Fima?”
“Well, I might have taken insult,” said Azori. “I need no dwarves to fight my battles for me. I would expect my friends to allow me to finish what I started. Now we shall have to wait until another
day to test our skills. Everyone knows the dwarf was simply trying to save you from your inevitable humiliation. You were losing!”
Galador smiled a cold smile and his eyes glittered at Azori. “At least I would have lost honestly, had I lost at all.”
Azori shrugged. “Honesty is overrated. Admit it, Galador. You were losing the fight. Are you not angry at Fima’s deception? I would feel foolish were I in your place.”
Galador was unfazed. “Were you in my place, Azori, you would have seen untold centuries of strife, grief, and pride, and such a small thing, so well-intentioned, would bother you not at all. I don’t share your insecurities concerning my own prowess. All is well between Fima and me. He knows I am quite capable of dealing with you, provided you follow at least a few of the rules of civilized combat.”
Azori laughed heartily then, clapping Galador on the back, which was a gesture the Elf did not like. “There are no such rules, despite opinions to the contrary,” he said.
“Fine,” replied Galador. “Then the next time I see a bandit such as yourself, I will simply have Nelwyn shoot him from behind. How fortunate for you that we did not do so earlier!” He smiled as he said this, but his jaw was set and his gaze was still cold.
“My friend,” said Azori choosing to ignore the last comment, “you remind me of a cat whose fur has been rubbed backward. In fact, Elves always seem to be miffed about things, much as cats are. I sense you do not like to be touched.”
“It depends upon who is doing the touching, and in what manner,” said Fima in an attempt to be helpful. This elicited more laughter from Azori, and even a chuckle from Galador, who had to admit to the truth of it.
When all had finished eating, the young scholars turned back to Fima. “Please, Lore-master, will you not enlighten us as to the history of the enmity between Elves and dwarves? It is a tale of which we have only the barest accounting, and there are few here who know anything of it. The elder scholars speak of a terrible conflict in which the great realms of Eádros and Rûmm were lost. Do you know of it?”
