Elfhunter (40 page)

She turned and strode back down into the encampment,
leaving Galador to keep the watch alone. He contemplated her words,
the blood ringing in his ears as he considered them. He was not
certain that Gaelen would have cared more for his safety than for
her pride were their situations reversed, but the important thing
was that Nelwyn thought she would. He was humbled by her words and
by her simple faith in her cousin’s integrity. Had he been vying
with Gaelen for Nelwyn’s affections? If so, he should have known
better.

Galador dropped back onto the grass and gazed at the
stars, the watch forgotten for the moment. Then he realized that he
was not alone. He started up in alarm to find Gaelen standing
before him. He cursed himself for taking his eyes from the watch,
as she surely had an even higher estimation of his worth than
before. She did not comment, but leveled her gaze at him, knowing
he would wonder why she had appeared.

"I came up here because Nelwyn has just gone back
down into the encampment, and she is unhappy about something. She
seems angry, Galador, and that does not happen without cause. I
came to ask you about it." Her tone was neither accusing nor
combative—she simply wanted to know. In that moment, as Galador
looked into her artless face, he knew he had to tell her.

"Sit down, Gaelen, friend of my beloved, for I would
reveal much to you."

Gaelen did so, and Galador told her everything of his
thoughts and fears, of his frightening vision and his dread of
Nelwyn’s death beneath the mountain. He found her surprisingly easy
to talk to, as she gave her full attention, and did not scoff at
him or grow impatient. When he had finished, he took a deep breath
and looked into her eyes. "Well, Gaelen, do you have any
thoughts?"

In answer, she surprised him with a tentative
embrace, for she had misjudged him.

"I’m so sorry, Galador, for my unworthy thoughts
concerning you. I hope that you may forgive them—I just did not
know. I will watch over Rogond. You must promise to watch over
Nelwyn for me. You are a worthy companion and a stout friend. I
hope we may see one another again in Tal-sithian, but if not,
remember me as one who loves you and wishes you joy. You shall be
as a brother to me." Then she broke her embrace, looking into his
eyes once more.

"I truly am not descended of Aincor Fire-heart, you
know. You think I cannot hear your comments to Rogond? It is really
quite unseemly of you to keep suggesting it."

Galador smiled at her. "Of
course
you aren’t,"
he said, in a sarcastic tone. This earned him a half-hearted punch
to his upper arm, just before she turned to go. She couldn’t resist
one parting remark over her shoulder.

"If you ever want lessons in how to approach someone
without making such a racket, ask either Nelwyn or myself. That
skill is somewhat necessary to hunter-scouts in the Greatwood."

Galador chuckled at her, shaking his head. He was
pleased with the outcome of this conversation, now assured that
Nelwyn would accompany him to Tal-sithian and that he and Gaelen
would be on much better terms from that point on. He was relieved,
not knowing that the evil he feared beneath the mountain was moving
toward them even now, and that Gaelen could prove to be its
unwitting instrument.

Gorgon had been released from Tûr Dorcha and was now
making his way back toward the mountains. He knew the way quite
well. He also rejoiced to learn of his foes’ intention to go deep
into Cós- domhain, for at least some of those paths were fairly
well known to him. It was immense, the greatest dwarf-realm that
had ever been. The name meant "Deep Cavern," and it was an ancient
and impressive excavation. Gorgon neither hated nor feared the
dwarves, for he was clever and could avoid being seen if he wished.
Yet he had no objection to killing them.

His tentative plan was to follow his enemies deep
under the mountain, where he would hold the mastery, and then kill
all save Gaelen. She would grieve for them, but in time she would
seek out more of her kind, and he could then prey on them as well.
With luck, she would return to Mountain-home. Then she would
provide him with plenty of opportunity, as she would know when
various Elves were leaving and where they were going. There were
mighty Elves there, and he could almost taste of his coming victory
over them.

Gorgon sat alone under the stars, his evening meal
before him.

He had worked up an appetite, and he tore
enthusiastically into the raw flesh of the ewe he had strangled a
short while ago. The meat was tough, but tasty. Gorgon relished raw
flesh; this was a tendency he had inherited from his father. He
stopped short of consuming the flesh of Ulcas or men, however, and
as for Elves, other than occasionally tasting their blood out of
curiosity, he left their ruined flesh untouched. Somewhat
fastidious, he preferred fresh meat that he had killed himself, and
he disliked scavenging. But he seldom went hungry, for it did not
take much to sustain him. These were qualities of his mother’s
folk, though Elves did not eat raw meat of any sort unless
desperate.

He wiped the blood of the ewe from his mouth and lay
back upon the grass, flattening it beneath his tremendous weight.
He thought to try the mirror again and view what was happening in
Gaelen’s world. Drawing it from a small pouch on his belt, he
turned it over, admiring it in the starlight. The engraved golden
cover glittered as he beheld it—it picked up nearly every trace of
light and shot it back in every color imaginable. He cautioned
himself not to look at it in full sunlight.

Carefully, he pressed the tiny pin that released the
cover, flipping it open to reveal the magical surface of the glass.
He looked into the misty grey depths, steeling himself against the
pain that would follow. It slammed into his head like a bolt, and
he squeezed his eyes closed, focusing hard on subduing it.
Gradually, it subsided until he could bear it. He could hear voices
inside his own head, speaking in Elven-tongues. They were speaking
of plans to separate and go to Tal-sithian as well as to Cós
Domhain. Gaelen and Rogond were still going under the mountains,
and Gorgon could wait until later to pick off the others. Gorgon
smiled as he listened to Galador’s recounting of his terrifying
vision of death beneath the mountain, imagining that it surely
would not be as bad as the reality! But now the pain in Gorgon’s
head increased, nearly blinding him, and as Gaelen embraced
Galador, and Gorgon beheld the disgusting sentiment they shared,
his gorge rose and he looked away, lest the effort spent in
obtaining his excellent meal should be in vain.

The day dawned with the arrival of grey, chilly
weather that brought with it the promise of rain by mid-day. The
Company had packed up their gear, and they were now sitting around
the fire, cloaks wrapped about their shoulders, warming themselves.
Which of them would now go beneath the mountain? Rogond and Gaelen
would go with Fima; that much was certain, but the choice of
Belegund and Thorndil remained unknown. Rogond had of course told
them both of Galador’s fears, and Gaelen hoped that at least one of
them would go with Nelwyn. It might be somewhat difficult leading
seven horses over the mountains, especially when one of them was
Eros, who would be intent on following Rogond.

In the end, it was decided that Thorndil, the older
and more experienced of the Tuathar, would go with Galador and
Nelwyn, as he had walked in Cós-domhain before, but never in
Tal-sithian. Belegund, who had not yet seen the great halls of the
Deep-caverns, wished to go with Rogond despite Galador’s
warning.

The time had come to go separate ways. Nelwyn
shivered as she sat astride her restive mount. She had already
embraced Gaelen and Rogond, and even Fima, tears welling in her
beautiful green eyes. Fima had blushed and muttered something about
the overly emotional nature of Elves. Gaelen also had tears in her
eyes for a moment, but she quelled them. Galador sat in stony
silence upon Réalta; he alone had seen the vision of death in
Cós-domhain, and he prayed that it would not come to pass. He
looked hard into the eyes of his dearest friend.

"Farewell, Rogond. Keep safe and remain ever
vigilant, as this journey you undertake is perilous. Safeguard my
little sister, she who denies being of the House of Aincor." He
looked sidelong at Gaelen and smiled as he said this, and she
muttered something disparaging under her breath.

Rogond answered Galador: "It will not be the first
time you have been wrong, Elf of Eádros! Take heart and remain
watchful yourself, for your way is no less perilous. Thorndil—take
care of these Elves for me, won’t you?"

Thorndil nodded, raising his right hand in farewell.
He turned his stout black horse toward the mountains, leading Eros.
Nelwyn looked once more into Gaelen’s eyes, then turned Gryffa and
Siva to follow Thorndil. Galador remained for a moment longer, his
expression grave. He nodded once more to Rogond, then turned
Réalta, Belegund’s chestnut horse, and the bay horse that bore
their gear, and trotted off after Nelwyn. Galador prayed that he
would see his friends again, even the dwarf, whom he had come to
like and respect.

It would be a long and hard journey, for although
winter’s hold upon the mountains was well and truly broken, it
would still require skill and a bit of luck to reach Tal-sithian.
Galador was glad that Thorndil had chosen to accompany them, for he
was worthy and was now out of harm’s way. Belegund had made his
choice even after knowing of Galador’s grim vision. He was still
fairly young, and his desire to see the Cavern-realm was great.
Galador hoped he would not fall, as he was steadfast and quite
likeable, with a ready sense of humor. As though sensing Galador’s
misgivings, the rain began to fall as they departed. Even the
horses felt the melancholy that had settled over the now-divided
Company, as they hung their heads and trotted away, with some
reluctance, into the cold, damp gloom.

It took several days of careful going for Rogond,
Gaelen, Belegund, and Fima to draw near the gates of Cós-domhain.
They traveled along steep cliffs that rose straight up on both
sides of a narrow footpath. There was no sign of activity
anywhere.

"It would seem that this path has been well-used on a
time, yet I see no sign of any gate or entrance," said Belegund.
"Are we there yet?"

"No, my good Aridan," replied Fima. "But your concern
is well taken. The eastern gates are difficult to find and nearly
impossible to enter unless one knows the password. That password is
well-known to me, do not fear!" Fima was obviously enjoying his
role as trusted guide. They were approaching the underground realm
from the east, where the way was little-known, rarely used, and
kept in secret. The Great Gates on the western side were large,
ornate and much easier to find, but they offered only limited
access to the wonders within. Enemies would find little value in
storming them. Fima laughed at Gaelen’s worried expression.

"Don’t fear, little one. You are in safe hands! The
realm of Cós- domhain is a bright and hospitable place. You will be
welcome, as you are in my company. No servant of Darkness is
allowed to enter. We have never been deceived by Wrothgar nor by
any of his minions, though he has tried through all his long years
to win us over to his will. For this reason, because we resisted,
he hates us."

"You’re in good company there," said Gaelen.
"Wrothgar has always hated the Elàni. For many an age have we
warred with him." "True enough," said Fima, "yet the Elàni have
also formed partnerships with those who turned to the Darkness. My
people never were favored with the presence of magic-users in our
realms, and although we are thus considered less enlightened, it
turned out to be a blessing in my opinion. Take Dardis, for
example. He was perhaps the most beloved and skilled of all the
Èolar, and my people still revere him. He wrought some of the most
wondrous things ever seen in Alterra—mirrors that could see the
truth and tell enemy from friend, magical rings and blades, and
even a shield that was said to be able to turn back the very fires
of Wrothgar. He learned this craft from no less than three Asari.
There was Léiras, the far-sighted, Baelta the bright, and Lord
Kotos, whose name means power. Dardis was the maker of what has
become the most powerful magical object known in Alterra, and that,
of course, is the Stone of Léir. But Dardis was deceived by Kotos,
and unwittingly by Baelta—only too late did he discover it. All of
the Èolar were taken in, for they trusted the magic-users."

Fima shook his head. "The desire to know all things
was the curse of the Èolar, and it was also the thing that doomed
several of the Asari to Darkness. They were lured to Wrothgar with
promises of answers to all mysteries, and once ensnared they could
not escape. It is thought that Kotos alone survives among the Dark
Asari, and he has lost much of his power, yet he is still a
terrible and dangerous enemy. Dardis discovered the treachery of
Kotos, and for that Kotos killed him. My people wept at his passing
and never since have maintained friendship with the Elves, which is
a pity. The downfall of the Èolar was a time of great sorrow."

Gaelen knew that Fima was well over two hundred years
old, but not remotely old enough to have known many of the Èolar
save those remaining in Monadh-talam. Still, she could not help but
ask what he knew of the High Kings.

"Ah! Now THERE was an interesting and noble
collection of Elves. There were only four, and all came to
spectacular but bad endings." Fima could not conceal his
admiration. "Yes, if you’re going to throw your life away, do it
with style. They didn’t seem to have any sense of their own limits.
Most notably so, of course, was Aincor Fire-heart. It was said that
once he decided upon a course of action, nothing would sway him.
Aincor was said to be of brilliant mind, but he allowed his passion
to override his judgment one time too many, and as a result
Wrothgar’s forces nearly prevailed. When Aincor was killed, his
elder son, Asgar, refused the throne. Instead, he supported his
cousin, Aldamar of the Èolar."