by C S Marks
Wellyn found no comfort in her assurance. “Gaelen, I have foreseen your fate…you and I will never meet again in Alterra if it comes to pass. Please do not go from here—not yet. I’m not ready to give up my friend when I have only just recovered her. Please stay your flight from the Greatwood, or at least allow me to go with you for a time.”
She knew that he would never even suggest such a thing had he not held a very disturbing premonition, and he trembled as she drew back from his embrace, saddened by the despair in his eyes. “You know better than to try to avert the course of your fate, or of mine,” she said. “It’s not your destiny to be bound to me or to my task; that much I know. And you know the futility of such a hope. I would take great comfort and courage from your presence, for you are a stalwart friend and I love you, but your destiny lies not with mine. It has ever been so.”
“If you are my friend, then let me do as my heart directs,” he said. “Let me protect you. I know your heart is no longer yours to give…I have known it since I was young.”
Gaelen smiled at him, though there was sorrow in her eyes. “You are yet young, my dear Wellyn—obviously young enough to believe that you can deny the directive of destiny, or that the King would ever allow you to leave the realm. Visions may not come to pass, and I shall live forever in the hope of seeing you again. For now, let’s enjoy the time remaining to us.”
Even as Wellyn resolved to go to his father and beg leave to travel with Gaelen, he knew she was right. He would not be allowed to leave the Greatwood, for his duties lay within it. He had not come to see her again—not even when the Company departed—and Gaelen thought to have seen the last of him until they made their way beside the rushing waters of the Brunner Ia, when she beheld a shadowy figure in the mist. She gave a cry, handing Siva to Nelwyn, and ran toward it before anyone could stop her.
Wellyn emerged from the mist to stand before her, clasping her hands in his own, looking earnestly into her eyes. “I did not attend your departure because I could not say what needed to be said. You are ever my friend, Gaelen, and I love you dearly. I would have you stay in the Woodland, where you are sorely needed, but since you will not, I must now bid you farewell.”
She could see the distress in his eyes, and tried to reassure him and herself. “I will miss you. I’m glad you came to see me…I was afraid that I would not be able to bid you farewell. Don’t fear, for I shall do all I can to return home. I have long known that a great destiny awaits you; one day you will rule this realm. Therefore you must not try to find me, or follow me, for I must not divert you from your appointed path. I believe that we will meet again, and then I will hear all you have to tell. Think of those long and happy hours, and be comforted.
But Wellyn was not comforted, as Gaelen spoke to him then for the last time ‘ere she departed: “Remember our friendship and be glad. I shall always love my friend, though we are parted. Farewell!”
He released her, their hands lingering for just a moment, and when she turned from him, he did not follow. He would grieve in silent solitude for many days, knowing in his heart that he had seen the last of her. Gaelen was not yet certain, for she knew that she would remain true to her word, and would try to reunite with him in spite of what his vision had foretold.
Chapter 3: Dûn Bennas
The Company met no enemies on the way to the White Fortress, and despite low provisions and occasionally immoderate weather they reached the banks of the Ambros in good time, turning westward to follow it to their destination. During one of their rest stops, Nelwyn approached Fima as he sat upon a comfortable pile of dry leaves at the base of a large oak. “Will you tell us about the men of Dûn Bennas?” she asked. “We have never before traveled so far to the south.”
“They are of the same line as our hardy Rangers,” said Fima. “The King in Dûn Bennas knows Thorndil, and I actually met him once—we should be welcome there. It might be another matter in the Ravi-shan, where you will find races of men in great variety. We do not really know much of their history or culture…especially since the Plague has mixed everything up and thrown everyone together.”
“The kindreds of men vary greatly in their appearance, stature, and temperament,” said Galador. “Anori-folk and sutherlings, for example, have little in common, and they have no love for one another. Neither is much like the northmen. To be sure, they are all men, and all are mortal, yet in other respects they are very different. We will see many wonders in the southern desert lands.”
Gaelen was disquieted, glancing over at Nelwyn, who was already gazing back toward the familiar lands of the Greatwood. She had imagined most men to be like Rogond and Thorndil. What if the men of the southlands were fierce and foul? She didn’t relish the thought of traveling to such a place, where it might be difficult to tell enemies from friends. She looked over at Rogond, hoping for reassurance.
“Don’t worry,” he said, “I will make certain that no harm comes to you or to Nelwyn. For every enemy, there will also be a friend. You’ll see.” Even as Rogond spoke the words, Gaelen hoped they would prove true. Fima and Galador were looking at him with raised eyebrows, as though they doubted him. The people of the Ravi-shan were strange, and reputedly savage. Friends might be in short supply in those lands.
“So long as we remain together, I will not fear,” she said, with a dismissive attitude she didn’t truly feel. “Nelwyn and I have had some experience with Anori-folk, and they are of little consequence…they spend much of their time fighting amongst themselves. I will admit that we never tried to befriend them; there’s no love between us.”
“Gaelen, there are many tribes of men known as Anori-folk,” said Fima. “Those encountered by your people are quite different from those who roam the lands to the south and east of here. Some are far more organized, and vastly more dangerous. Do not take them lightly. I don’t mean to frighten you, but I fear your irrepressible confidence. I want you to walk with your eyes wide open.”
“I will not take them lightly, Lore-master,” said Gaelen. “Nor will I allow myself to hold any arrogance before the people of the southlands. If this place is as strange and forbidding as you have described, we shall need their aid. I hope Rogond is right about the likelihood of finding friends among them, for none of us has the slightest idea of how to survive there, and we shall be completely dependent upon their hospitality. We are all walking into this desert land in relative ignorance. Let’s hope her lessons will not be taught with too hard a hand!” The entire Company nodded gravely at her. They could not have agreed more.
They drew near Dûn Bennas after about another fortnight. Gaelen, as usual, was the first to notice. “We will approach the City soon,” she said, turning to Rogond. “I can smell the rapids and see the distant mist.” She pointed to the southwest, indicating a very faint halo in the air over the foothills. “What can you tell us about it?”
“I know some of the history,” said Rogond. “It’s known as the White Fortress, and it came to glory after the destruction of Tuathas. It is now the greatest remaining realm of men in the west of Alterra, so far as is known. Dûn Bennas was colonized and enhanced by enlightened men of Tuathas—my ancestors—and is still inhabited by their descendants.”
“That realm has not fared well in recent times,” said Fima. It spans both sides of the Great River, united by seven mighty bridges which, I may point out, were designed by dwarvish folk.”
“Yes,” said Rogond. “The people suffered great loss during the Plague years…four out of five fallen, they say. Not even the Royal Family was spared—King Hearndin, who was the only male survivor, rules it now.” He shook his head. “I cannot imagine the sorrow and darkness that fell upon the people of the White Fortress…I only pray that some record of my heritage survives there. I may learn much, if luck is with me. It’s a strange path that has led me here. If we had not become lost in the Great Mountains, I would not have learned my mother’s name. If it were not for Farin in Cós-domhain, I would not have learned of my brot
her. Now, in the home of my family, I hope to find out all I can.”
Gaelen wanted Rogond to learn as much of his heritage as he could, so that he would know from whence he came. She could trace her own ancestry all the way back to the beginning of the First Reckoning, and that was a comforting thought. It helps to know who you are. She rode ahead, as usual, scouting the way.
The Verdant Mountains had loomed to the north and west of their path for quite some time, and as they approached Dûn Bennas the peaks appeared also on the south side of the river, shrouded in white snow and grey mist. When the sun hit the slopes of the mountains, the Great City gleamed as a jewel with bright waters flowing right into its heart, and it was among the most beautiful sights they had ever seen.
Galador winded his silver horn as they approached, announcing the arrival of friends. Soon a small but well-armed party of men appeared, riding proud horses.
“Please identify yourselves and declare your intentions,” said one. “What brings you to the White Fortress?”
Fima bowed low. “I am Fima, Lore-master to Lady Ordath of Mountain-home, and no stranger to the City,” he said. “My friend Rogond is descended of the White Fortress. Thorndil is known to King Hearndin already. This is Gaelen of the Greatwood, her cousin Nelwyn, and this is Galador, who hails originally from the Realm of Light. Last I knew, Elves were always welcomed among you. Is that not so?”
“In general, it most certainly is” said the tall man, removing his elaborately tooled leather cap with a flourish. “Welcome to Dûn Bennas.”
The ragged and travel-worn Company met with a warm reception, since Thorndil and Fima were already known to the King, and Elves were always welcome in a city founded by Tuathar. Fima, as Lore-master to Lady Ordath, would be treated as a visiting dignitary.
Dûn Bennas was built on high, rocky bluffs on both sides of the river, united by the seven bridges, five of which remained passable. The River Ambros was wild and swift in this place, and the City could not be gained by water except from upstream, foiling Corsairs and other enemies who would try to invade by coming upriver from the sea. There had been a settlement here for ages, on the northern side, but it had been overrun many times in its history. When the Tuathar came, they built the mighty fortress that had withstood all enemies save one...the Plague had found the citizens despite all efforts.
The City was arranged in three levels, and the highest of these, on the northern bank, was the abode of the King. The Company would be conducted there eventually, but first they were shown to quarters and given food and drink, as well as the opportunity to make themselves clean and presentable. This was welcomed especially by Rogond and Thorndil, who languished in the embrace of hot, soapy water for as long as they could justifiably do so.
They were all offered fine new clothing, and by the time they had made themselves ready to be taken to the King, they looked magnificent. There were plenty of rooms and garments to be had, and Rogond despaired as he thought of the grave loss of life that had resulted in such a surplus. He wore a high-necked black-and-silver velvet tunic, dark indigo velvet breeches, and his old black boots, which had been cleaned and polished. He looked like a courtier of the King.
The Elves were resplendent—even Gaelen, once she had been persuaded by Nelwyn, had donned new raiment. “There is nothing wrong with what I’m wearing,” she had insisted, shivering in her sleeveless green jerkin.
“Look how beautiful and warm these are. They might have come from Elven-realms, they are so fine. I’m wearing them, for I wish to be warm and comfortable,” said Nelwyn, who had outfitted herself in her favorite colors—green and gold.
Gaelen was convinced when she put on a thick, soft velvet tunic of a red so dark that it was nearly black. With it went a dark grey woolen cloak lined with the same velvet, the neck trimmed in soft, black leather. She wore her own brown doeskin breeches and her old brown boots, though they were clean, and she had turned the tops up, lacing them above her knees. Weapons would not be permitted in the audience hall, yet she wore them anyway. They could take them from her at the door...if they could find them.
Galador, Thorndil, and Fima had also found glorious new attire, and they all sat down to a simple but fine meal that seemed like a banquet after so many weeks on the road. There was white bread and honey, thickened cream and roasted pork, and dark red sweet tubers laced with butter and nutmeg. There was wine and ale, and a warm fire burning. Several of the folk of Dûn Bennas joined them, as Rogond told the tale of their journey.
Gaelen commented that she had rarely tasted a better meal, even in Mountain-home. The serving-women were delighted, favoring her with warm smiles and extra-large helpings. They were intrigued and somewhat awed by the Elves, and were a little surprised when Gaelen rose and bowed before them.
The plates and cups had been cleared away, and evening pipes drawn forth, when a tall, well-dressed man of proud bearing came in, stating that he was to conduct them to the King when they were ready.
Rogond looked around at his companions. “We are ready now, if it please the King.”
They strode forth from their warm chamber into the early evening twilight, and then made the long, circuitous climb to the uppermost level, where Lord Hearndin, the fourteenth King of Dûn Bennas, awaited them.
The Great Hall was not like any other place they had ever seen, though Gaelen was strongly reminded of Cós-domhain. Much of the same skills had gone into the carving of the huge, marble archways and columns. None of the Elven-realms she had visited compared with it, for they seemed to rise from the woodlands in harmony with the trees and growing things around them. Their design was more delicate, taken from those found in nature. This structure, an imposing, formidable edifice of stone, was more like the surrounding mountains.
Impressive, yes, but cold, thought Gaelen. Not alive, like the halls of Mountain-home or the dwellings of Tal-sithian, or even the Elven-hold. The enormous carvings of dead kings did nothing to diminish this feeling of coldness. This would be a place Gaelen would need to endure, and after standing before Lord Hearndin she would look forward to escaping back to the warmth of her chamber, or better still, to sitting atop the wall under the stars.
Gaelen knew that King Hearndin had not expected to occupy the throne, but he had ruled wisely and well. He faced a great task, for the strength of the City had been lost to the Plague along with her people, and it would take a strong ruler to regain it. Her enemies had tried to take her while she was thus weakened; two of the seven bridges had been breached and were not as yet rebuilt, but Hearndin had kept his realm safe, calling all folk of good will to shelter within its walls. Dûn Bennas, though still diminished, was rebuilding. Hearndin had lost his beloved queen to a winter fever, but not before she bore him two fine sons.
He sat upon a magnificent throne of polished marble in his main audience hall as the Company was brought before him. Brown eyed and dark haired, his strong, well-chiseled face was solemn beneath his fine, dark beard. He was tall and of regal bearing, with a strong frame, for he was still relatively young. He regarded his guests with a keen glance.
“Fima Lore-master is known to us, and welcomed here, as is Thorndil of the northland. Perhaps you would favor us by introducing your companions?”
Fima bowed low, and introduced the members of the Company, who stood forth one by one. Each time the King inclined his head courteously, as a scribe wrote the names upon a parchment. When Fima had finished, he turned to Rogond. “Perhaps you should tell the King why we have come.”
“It would be my pleasure,” said Rogond, stepping forward and bowing. “We have come here to rest and provision ourselves for a great journey to the south. My friends and I are on a quest to discover what is left of my family, and also to learn more of my history. Therefore, I would be most grateful if you would allow me to examine the records of your citizens, as my mother and father were denizens of the White Fortress when the Plague came…in fact, I was born here.”
“Then by rights, you are
a citizen as well,” said the King. “You shall be taken to the Hall of Records in the morning. Our lore-master will assist you.”
“Begging your pardon, my lord,” said Fima, “but I would also ask leave to avail myself of your stores of knowledge, as I greatly desire enlightenment wherever I travel. Will you permit me?”
Hearndin smiled. “Anyone who has earned the trust of Lady Ordath is worthy in our sight. Our halls are open to you.”
He turned then to Gaelen, Nelwyn, and Galador. “It has been long since we have been blessed by the presence of the Elàni. What would Elves ask of the King?”
“Only leave to wander in your wonderful realm,” said Galador. “We are here to aid and support our friend in his quest. We require no favors, yet any aid you may give to Rogond is much appreciated.”
Hearndin smiled at them. “We are honored to have you,” he said. “I would hope to be favored with Elvish songs and tales before you depart from us. You may wander anywhere in our realm as you will…but there is something I would ask of you.”
Galador bowed. “What does the King require?”
“It will wait until you are settled,” said Hearndin. “But know that I am very, very glad to see you. You may help us solve a problem that has been troubling us for some time. I will say no more at present.”
Gaelen stepped forward then. “In my own country, I am considered a fair singer,” she said. “I will gladly sing for you whenever you like.”
The King chuckled at her. “Be not so quick to promise, for we may be so fond of your singing that you shall have little rest. Of course, you should sing at our feast of welcome tomorrow, but I would so enjoy a taste of things to come. Will you favor me now?”
Gaelen bowed, closed her eyes for a moment, and then began to sing, her rich, haunting voice echoing in the polished marble halls. None of those folk had yet heard the song of the Greatwood, and their hearts were rent by it. When the song ended, the people stood as though entranced for a moment. “Thank you for that,” said Hearndin. “Elven song is of rare beauty, and you have exceeded my expectations tonight. We look forward to more song tomorrow. We trust you will remain throughout the winter with us?”
