Elfhunter (51 page)

"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.

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.

He reflected that such talent and such a difficult
creation as Gorgon had been wasted for too many years in hiding and
striking down a few Elves. It was time to unleash the power
Wrothgar had labored so long to develop, and to do this effectively
Gorgon would need to learn the ways of a field commander.

Along with Kharsh, Wrothgar had sent nearly thirty
Warrior- Ulcas that would make a worthy force against a relatively
small host of men or Elves. They wielded various weapons; some were
adept archers, others were more formidable with blades, axes, or
clubs. They did not love Gorgon either, but in fear of Wrothgar
they would do as they were told. Gorgon’s obvious disdain for the
Ulcas and his (in their eyes) glaringly Elven features and
mannerisms made for an uncooperative beginning.

Kharsh knew that although Gorgon understood Ulcan
speech quite well, he would not use it. Communication had been
difficult at first, for none of the Ulcas save Kharsh spoke or
understood any form of Elven-tongue, which Gorgon preferred. He
stubbornly refused to address them in the common tongue, until
Kharsh had pointed out that Wrothgar would indeed be disappointed
should his hand-picked army fail for lack of clear direction.
Gorgon then wisely reconsidered. He had actually killed two of his
own Ulcas before their purpose was made plain to him, and Kharsh
worried that Gorgon might be so undisciplined that he might not be
able to carry out Wrothgar’s commands

Then Kharsh became aware that Gorgon really did fear
Wrothgar, and the situation eased. Regardless of his prideful
nature, Gorgon would not openly defy the Shadowmancer, and thus, in
spite of himself he would submit and allow Kharsh to complete his
task. Kharsh tried to win Gorgon’s begrudging acceptance by
tantalizing him with promises of the destructive capabilities of
his new command. Now Gorgon could, with planning and insights
provided by the mirror, do considerably more damage upon the Elves,
to his anticipated delight. Kharsh hoped that they would soon have
an opportunity for mayhem, as both Gorgon and the Ulcas were
growing restless.

Kharsh and the Ulcas had spent several weeks training
with their new commander, and now they were ready to venture forth,
for they had been presented with an opportunity. Gorgon had learned
that a group of about a dozen Elves were traveling to the
Cold-spring to relieve those on the far watch. Gorgon and Kharsh
had some trouble convincing the Ulcas that they could endure the
daylight even for so short a time, but that day the sun was dimmed
by clouds, and their armor shielded them.

The Elves were taken unaware. Two of the sentinels
were felled by Gorgon’s weapon as they stood watch in the
tree-tops. The others fell quickly enough, though two of the Ulcas
were slain by the Elves’ bows before they were taken. Soon the
anticipated group of twelve appeared, and they were surrounded.
They were utterly surprised and put up only as much struggle as
their light armaments would allow, standing no chance against this
well-armed and armored force. The dead Elves were dragged off and
hidden deep underground. When the host departed there was very
little sign for anyone to read, and there would be even less two
days later, when a small party came from Tal-sithian to
investigate. This attack bore none of the usual signs or methods
Gorgon normally employed, and the Elves were confused and
mystified. Gorgon was now much more appreciative of his "lowly
minions".

Nelwyn finally found Fima in the early evening as he
sat down to an evening repast with several of the Elves of
Tal-sithian. They were enjoying their food, drink, and
conversation, and Nelwyn did not wish to disturb them, but she
wanted to ask Fima about the Stone of Léir without anyone else
overhearing.

She hung back in the shadows behind a large
vine-covered rock until Fima noticed her and invited her to join
him. She approached and sat between Fima and the Elves, who were
engaged in a lively discussion regarding the Time of Mystery and
the interpretations that had been recorded since. Nelwyn listened
with fascination, for she knew little of such things.

Eventually the Elves took their leave, and Nelwyn and
Fima were alone. After a brief but awkward silence, Nelwyn turned
to the dwarf, who had already guessed that she had not come only to
socialize with him.

"You know a great deal about the history and lore of
the Elves, Fima. Have you much knowledge of the people of
Tal-sithian?"

Fima shrugged. "Some, Nelwyn, but they have kept many
of their secrets well. What would you seek to learn of them?"

Nelwyn came directly to the point, for she knew that
was Fima’s preferred way in all things. "This is said to be the
resting-place of the Stone of Léir. Do you know of and understand
its workings? If so, what knowledge can you share with me?"

Fima looked at her with a mixture of curiosity and
interest. "It is one of the things of Tal-sithian that I do know a
listtle about, Nelwyn, though perhaps not as much as needed. How
came you to learn of it, and why do you wish to know?"

Nelwyn told him of the conversation she had overheard
between Rogond and Amandir, flushing a little as she admitted
listening in secret. Fima smiled slightly at her—he did not blame
Nelwyn for her action and was now enjoying the fact that he, too,
was privy to the conversation. When she revealed Amandir’s words
concerning Gaelen, Fima’s eyes hardened and he made a deep rumbling
sound in his throat which Nelwyn interpreted as disapproval. He let
her finish her tale, then drew a long breath.

"Good for Rogond. Someone needed to inform that
fellow Amandir that he had best watch his step and curb his
unworthy opinions of your little cousin. In league with Gorgon, is
she? He obviously didn’t see her in Cós-domhain. She fought off
that armored giant with only her short sword—I still marvel that
she escaped with her life. Alas that Belegund was not so fortunate.
At any rate, this Amandir sounds like a load of confusing rubbish
to me—typical vague Elvish nonsense, begging your pardon."

Nelwyn smiled, as no offense had been taken. She was
inclined to agree with Fima.

"I will reveal what I know of the Stone," Fima
continued. "It is kept in seclusion near the Greenwood Hill; you
have probably passed close by without realizing it."

He paused and drew out his long clay pipe and a
leather tobacco- pouch, filled the pipe and lighted it. Soon he was
drawing contentedly, sending fine wisps of blue smoke heavenward.
Nelwyn tensed as she became aware of a presence only a few feet
away from Fima, but then relaxed as Gaelen’s tousled head and
bright eyes appeared among the leaves. She smiled as Fima gave a
startled gasp, and then glared at her. "Well, Lore-master! You have
relaxed your vigilance in the Lake-realm, I see," Gaelen
observed.

Fima shook his head. "I do wish you would stop doing
that! You will startle me once too often one day." Ignoring the
comment, Gaelen crossed to sit beside Nelwyn, apparently in quite a
cheerful mood.

"Continue your tale, O Wise Dwarf, if you can pause
long enough from your pipe. I would also hear of the Stone. It
sounds interesting! What does it do?"

Fima sent forth a long curl of smoke before
responding. "It shows the past, the present, and some say the
future. Lord Shandor controls it…I would not look into such a thing
for any amount of wealth! From what I’ve heard, the visions may be
enlightening, but are often confusing, are always unpredictable,
and are seldom uplifting. Not a few have gone mad upon viewing
them. Thus Lady Arialde guards the Stone, and she will not permit
its use outside her presence. She also sees what is seen by those
who look into it, so unless you wish to share your visions with
her, I would suggest you abandon doing what I believe you are
thinking of doing."

Gaelen and Nelwyn looked innocently at one another.
"And what is that, Fima?" they responded in perfect unison.

"You are planning to have a look and see whether you
can gain any insights into your course in pursuit of Gorgon, is
what! And neither of you were intending to ask permission if I am
any judge. But you must, for if you disturb Lord Shandor without
leave, you’ll regret it! I would advise against this course,
because I fear for both of you. You will see nothing encouraging."
So saying, he rose and went from the glade, taking his pipe and a
vessel of wine to pass the night in cheerful solitude. But he threw
one last look back at Gaelen, for he could read the desire in her
face. "Do not go looking for the Stone… you will not find it."