Elfhunter (43 page)

"Truly, it is impressive beyond my estimation, Fima.
I shall be most eager to see the Great Halls. And your people are,
for the most part, accepting of my presence here, though I sense
were we not with you, things might be different."

Fima nodded. "Of that there is little doubt. Were it
not for me, you would have been brought before the Council of
Elders in bonds until we learned of your business. As it is, I
expect a delegation to meet us directly. Then, you shall taste of
our hospitality in full!" He gave a hearty laugh and rubbed his
hands together in anticipation of good times to come.

Gaelen had heard of dwarvish hospitality while in
Mountain- home. Dwarves were earthy folk, and they delighted in
such pleasures as feasting and drinking, dancing and even singing,
though their song was much different from that of the Elves. She
knew that both Fima and Rogond were hoping she would sing for their
hosts, as the dwarves would have rarely heard such song.

Fima’s prediction proved true a short while later as
a delegation of rather impressive-looking dwarves met them at the
junction of two passageways. They were immaculate compared with
Fima, who was somewhat travel worn, but they greeted him with great
respect. They wore many beautiful ornaments of gold, and their
tunics and cloaks were of finest make in various splendid colors.
After introducing themselves, they escorted Fima and his guests to
a large, well-appointed chamber where they could wash, change, eat
and drink. It would take another day to journey to the Great Halls,
where the Council of Elders would receive them and hear their tale.
Fima was well known to them, and they were always hungry for news
of the wide world.

Rogond rejoiced, as surely these great persons could
tell him where Farin, the smith who had known his mother, might be
found. Thus he waited patiently, though Gaelen could see that he
was anxious.

The Company settled back on their soft beds, all
except Gaelen, who stalked quietly up and down the floor. She did
not like being closed in underground and would take no rest. Rogond
and Belegund had some difficulty, as the beds, though designed for
guests, were still too short for their tall frames. Their feet hung
over the edge a little, but they were comfortable, especially after
a couple of meat pies and two flagons of beer each.

"Gaelen…would you please stop pacing? You’re making
me nervous," said Fima, who could not understand why anyone should
be uncomfortable in such eminently hospitable surroundings.

Rogond raised himself up and called to her outside
Fima’s hearing. "Come and sit with me awhile and be content, for I
will tell you a tale. I know this place isn’t to your liking, but
we will be here for only a few days. Please, come and sit with
me."

Gaelen did so, and Rogond settled her back upon the
bed beside him, lying with her head upon his chest. He could feel
the tension in her body, and reaching around the back of her head
he took one of her ears in his hand and gently began massaging it.
At first she resisted his attentions, but he reassured her. After a
few moments, she sagged into a completely relaxed state, her eyes
half closed, all interest in hearing tales forgotten.

"Where did you learn such a thing as that?" asked
Fima, quite fascinated with the action of Rogond’s fingers on
Gaelen’s ear and her reaction to it.

"In Mountain-home," Rogond replied as Gaelen
stretched her lithe form in contentment. If she had been a cat, she
would have been purring loudly. "This comes in handy on a time when
you must quiet or comfort someone. It is especially valuable when
they are stressed or in pain." He turned to Gaelen. "You’re not in
any pain, are you, my friend?"

Gaelen stretched out again beside him, then spoke in
a languid, drowsy voice: "Oh, yes, Tuathan. I am in considerable
pain. I think you had better not stop doing that for a while."

Rogond smiled, and the time passed more pleasantly.
He treasured the feel of her warmth and vitality as she lay beside
him, and he did not sleep, for he did not want to miss a single
moment of it.

Tibo could not remember having been so excited in
recent memory. It was so rare that any of the Elàni came into this
realm, and it was rarer still that he happened to encounter them.
The She- elf had promised to speak with him later, and this pleased
him, as he loved Elves and Elven lore. He loved especially the
language of the Èolar, which he had taught himself after a fashion,
and if he did say so, his High-elven wasn’t too bad. The She-elf
had responded politely and appropriately to it, at any rate. Many
of his folk thought his desire to know and interact with Elves was
strange, yet he would do so whenever the opportunity arose. Now he
was looking forward to a nice, long conversation with Gaelen. She
had been so courteous to him! She even called him a "Worthy
Disciple of Fior," and had said that she looked forward to
conversing with him.

He bustled down the passageway, having promised to
meet his friends later. He would now go and put on his finest
garments, then find where Gaelen was being kept so that perhaps he
might speak with her awhile. As he drew near the intersection of
two passageways, he heard a deep voice speaking softly in Èolarin
Elvish. He stopped and listened, entranced for a moment, as the
deep voice was actually addressing him.

"Ah, Tibo of Cós-domhain, at last we meet. Thy name
is known to us, as is thy love of our people. The She-elf you met,
though worthy enough, is but a Wood-elf of the Sylvan folk, whereas
I am of the Èolar." (Regrettably, this was true.) "Come to me and
we will speak of all the old tales. I shall delight in conversing
with one such as thou, who speaks my tongue so fluently. I will
await thee—follow my voice and all shall be revealed."

Tibo could hardly believe his good fortune. The deep,
enchanting voice, speaking such beautiful words, held him in
thrall. He followed it to the end of the corridor, stopping as he
heard the voice again from the shadows.

"Well met, Tibo of Grundin’s Realm. How fortunate
that thou lovest the tongue of the Èolar, as it will be the last
sound in thy hearing." Tibo did not yet grasp the impact of these
words, but he briefly beheld the shadowy figure as it emerged from
the darkness, wielding a glittering blade that neatly severed his
astonished head from his neck. The beautiful words of the
Elven-speech may have been the last in Tibo’s hearing, but his last
sight was horrifying, and definitely anything but Elven.

Gorgon tended the body of the dwarf, intending to
take it along, as he had a use for it. It would probably keep
fairly well, as it was cool in the deeps, and the flesh of dwarves
decays but slowly, returning at last to the earth from which it was
originally formed. Gorgon knew little of dwarvish history or myth,
and he was really not interested in learning more. He needed to
concern himself with the considerable difficulty he would find
himself in should he arouse their wrath, and he would have to go
about his business with discretion.

Gorgon had learned that the Company was expected to
stand before the Council of Elders and might possibly be brought
before Lord Grundin himself, although Fima had intimated that this
was not likely. Although Grundin got along reasonably well with
friendly visitors, he cared little for news of the outside world
that did not directly concern his own realm.

For the time being, Gorgon would content himself with
waylaying and killing one of the Company before they emerged from
the West Gate in a few days. He settled on Belegund, because he
wanted to be free to torture and kill Rogond at his leisure, not
when he was in danger of arousing the dwarves. He would leave
Belegund and Tibo for the rest of them to find, by which time he
would be long gone. He could go as far away as he wished, because
his wondrous mirror would allow him to find and rejoin his prey at
a time of his choosing. He was not in any particular hurry now that
he held the upper hand, and he thought briefly about killing Fima,
the old dwarf, as he was a friend to both the She-elf and the
Aridan. But Fima was also in great favor with the dwarves of this
realm, and Gorgon was unwilling to risk arousing their vengeful
natures.

Gorgon would move toward the West Gate, taking paths
little used by the dwarves, until he became aware that the Company
was preparing to leave. Then he would strike. In one of his brief
encounters with his mirror, Gorgon had learned that Belegund had
been warned against going into Cós-domhain, yet had chosen to do so
because he so desired to see the great realm for himself. Gorgon
smiled and shook his head. "Enjoy the sight while you may, Aridan.
The warning you were given will prove true ‘ere long. I shall look
forward to our meeting." Slinging Tibo over his shoulder, he made
his way silently and with great caution, lest he be discovered
before he could put his plans into motion.

None of the Company save Fima had walked in the
depths of Cós-domhain before. In fact, only Galador had seen the
wonders of which dwarves are capable, as they had a hand in the
creation of the Elf-realms of Eádros and Tal-elathas. Both of these
great realms were now lost, but Galador remembered Eádros well,
with its beautiful, majestic halls full of bright fountains and
magnificent carvings. He had been polite enough in the halls of
Ri-Aruin in the Greatwood, for it was plain that the Woodland King
desired an underground realm to rival those that were lost, but the
comparison was not favorable. The difference between Eádros and the
Sylvan Elves’ unsuccessful attempt to re-create it was, in a word,
dwarves. The Cúinar had not the skills of the Rûmhar to aid
them.

Gaelen was awed beyond words at the sights before
her. She had not spoken since they had resumed their progress
toward the Great Halls, though she would stop occasionally and
examine some glittering crystal or vein of bright metal twisting
along the living rock of the walls. At such times Fima would
approach her, identifying the substance so that she would know its
name, and she would nod in silence as she committed it to
memory.

Belegund, on the other hand, was anything but silent.
He wanted to know how the dwarves had constructed the excavation
without burying themselves, how they achieved such symmetry and
smoothness of design, how they cut the rock to form bridges that
spanned deep chasms, how they caught so much of the light, and so
on. Fima put a hand to his brow.

"Please, my good Belegund! You are making me weary
with your constant questions, which I have neither the time nor
inclination to explain. Just remember that these walls were
excavated over a vast span of time, and not all at once! We had the
greatest smiths, masons and excavators at our service, including
not a few Elves, though I’m certain they learned more of us than we
gained from them. They were better at creating ornamental things,
some of which you shall soon see. They did invent these lights,
which are quite useful."

He indicated the blue lamps, placed strategically to
catch and return light diverted down from the surface, along with
that of the ever-present torches, thus the passage was quite
adequately bright.

Gaelen normally did not fear heights, as she spent
considerable time in the tops of very tall trees, but she became
quite dizzy looking down into some of the deep chasms, where the
blackness was so vast it seemed bottomless. She swayed a little on
one of the narrow bridges, and Fima steadied her.

"Easy, my little Wood-elf. Best not to look too
deeply, as you will not be able to find the bottom, and it can make
you giddy. Your folk are unused to such sights."

That was true enough. Rogond, who walked behind the
two dwarves sent to conduct them to the Council, dropped back
beside Fima and Gaelen. He too was ill-at-ease with some of the
narrow going over such black depths.

"I have heard of a black passage to the West Gate
that is so narrow that only one may move through at a time," he
said to Fima in a worried tone. "Is there no other way out?" Fima
shook his head. "Such devices are common in dwarf-realms. It’s
nearly impossible to evade our archers; no enemy attempting to
invade from the west has ever been successful largely due to the
existence of that passage. It’s barely tall enough for a dwarf, and
it’s the only way in here, if one can even find it!" Here, he
smiled up at Rogond. "You see, my very tall friend, there are some
advantages to being made closer to the ground."

Rogond shuddered a little at the thought of the
narrow passage, which he would most likely have to take on his
hands and knees.

They stopped twice to refresh themselves, eating and
drinking and chatting with the ever-present dwarves. They were
everywhere, and Gaelen was greeted with reasonable courtesy, though
a few could not conceal their mistrust. Gaelen turned to Fima. "Why
do they look at me thus? They are not of Rûmm, and I am not of
Eádros. What ill have my people done them? I am in good company,
and obviously not a prisoner in shackles. It hurts me to see the
look in their eyes, as though they would push me into the deeps if
they had half the chance."

To this Fima replied, "And how have your people
looked upon my folk when they have strayed across your borders?
Honestly, now…"

Gaelen was silent for a few moments. "Dwarves cut
healthy trees for no good reason, and they do not respect the
forest, which we are sworn to protect. Our races have so little in
common that it is difficult to understand each other. The Èolar
were friends of the dwarves, but only because they delighted in
smith work and the making of things by craft. In all other matters,
they were apart."

Fima nodded wisely. "Yes, and don’t think the Elves
did not constantly remind them of this. I have lived many years in
Monadh- talam, Gaelen, and I see the way your folk look upon one
such as myself. Even I, who have earned the respect of Lady Ordath
herself, must occasionally endure the condescending attitudes held
by some of the very tall folk of that realm. I have done nothing to
earn their scorn, except be what I am. You are different, Gaelen,
as you do not equate your ideal of beauty with worth. Many cannot
say as much."