Elfhunter (18 page)

The dwarves muttered in low voices, as one stepped
forward. "I am Dwim, son of Dolim," said he. "We do not usually
brook Elves making use of the passages made by our folk. You will
have to find another way out."

"Rogond of the Tuathar bows humbly before you," said
Rogond, bowing low. "We have naught but praise for those who built
this passage, for it is as fine and straight as one could hope for.
However, unless I am wrong, Elves of the Èolar also had a hand in
the building, and it was they who provided these lamps. Can my
companions not claim a share, enough to travel in peace just this
one time?"

The dwarves considered this, and then Dwim spoke
again. "They are not of the Èolar. Hardly any of those folk remain.
However, we have been set to meet a group of Dwarves from the
Northern Mountains, and when they arrive we shall consider your
request and decide your fate." Dwim and his folk approached the
Company and surrounded them. Then they were conducted back to the
carved stone door that marked the food cache, where the south-bound
group had arrived and stood waiting. "Stand where you are!" said
Dwim, as he went to greet them.

The group of dwarves coming south looked tired and
travel- weary. A feeling of dread came over Rogond, as he expected
they meant to break into their stores to replenish themselves. They
would find what had been taken. Rogond’s dread grew deeper when he
noticed the crest of Rûmm emblazoned on their leather
breast-plates. This made sense—the Northern Mountains had been
settled by the survivors of the war that had destroyed both Rûmm
and Eádros.

He hoped the dwarves would consider the dragon-brooch
adequate payment, but since they would now know the stores had been
plundered by Elves, sufficient payment might not be possible.

He spoke to Galador aside. "Whatever you do, don’t
speak to them again. They will know you for a High-elf, and they
won’t like it. You are now a Sylvan Elf of the Greatwood Realm."
Galador would not need to be told twice—he, too, had noticed the
crest of Rûmm on the dwarves’ armor.

The Company was surrounded by a group of some two
dozen dwarves, nearly all of whom were muttering in angry voices
about the Elves, who were now trying to look as non-threatening as
possible. Dwim hailed the leader of the northern dwarves, whose
name was Noli.

"We are glad to have encountered you, Noli of the
Northern Realm. Here you shall rest from your travels for a time,
and then we shall escort you to Cós-domhain."

"It appears we’re not the only ones you’re
escorting," growled Noli with a very unpleasant look at the
Company.

"They are trespassers. What do you and your folk
think of them?" asked Dwim.

"We don’t like the look of them. We do not know the
man, but Elves are not welcome here or in any of our lands to the
north," said Noli. To this, all his folk agreed, nodding their
heads and muttering. "Let’s bind them until we learn more, and then
decide their fate."

At this the Elves could keep quiet no longer. "We
will not suffer ourselves to be bound and made helpless!" cried
Nelwyn, who was becoming very nervous indeed. These dwarves were
fierce, and out- numbered the Company by six to one.

Rogond placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. "You
surely do not expect us to submit to being bound, O Reasonable and
Courteous Dwarves, whose beards are indeed impressive. You may
trust us to remain here quietly until our fate is decided." He shot
a look at the Elves, who returned it with expressions of tension
bordering on barely controlled panic.

"We might trust you, Aridan, if you had chosen better
companions," said Noli. He was eyeing Galador with suspicion.

"I will vouch for them," said Rogond hopefully, but
the dwarves were moving closer, and several had cords in their
hands.

"I’m sorry, Aridan, for you are courteous, and I
would trust you. However, we cannot trust
them
. They will be
bound, and if they do not resist, no blood need be shed this day.
If they do, we are ready to deal with them." Dwim patted the haft
of his axe. He turned to his companions. "Bind them," he said. Then
he turned back to Rogond. "I sense that you lead this Company. Tell
your companions to submit peacefully, or things will not go well
with you."

Rogond did so, and the four of them were soon bound
hand and foot, sitting in a row with their backs to the wall
opposite the engraved stone door. As an extra precaution, they had
been blindfolded. Gaelen trembled not with fear, but with
indignation, as the dwarves bound her. She spoke under her breath
to one of them; he did not understand her tongue, but the message
was clear. He jerked the rawhide thongs painfully around her
slender wrists, and she stifled a cry that he noted with
satisfaction.

A few of the dwarves were inspecting the contents of
their packs, and they became angry and suspicious as they noted the
provisions that might very well have come from their own stores.
They discussed this in low voices with Dwim and Noli, who
immediately went to the carved panel, no doubt intent on
investigating. They pressed the icons that opened the door to their
storehouse, and several of the dwarves entered. The angry shouts
began almost immediately, and the hearts of the Company sank into
their boots. They knew the dwarves were in the storehouse; they had
heard the door open.

Dwim stormed over to the captives, and jerked the
blindfold from Rogond’s eyes. "What do you mean, breaking into our
stores and stealing from our folk? You neglected to mention this to
us. Did you think we would not notice?"

"Let’s just slay them and have done with it," growled
Noli. His folk heard this and began to move toward the Elves, who
were still blindfolded. Rogond searched frantically for a solution.
Dwarves were not savages, but these were angry, and they were
advancing on Galador.

Then the words of Lore-master Fima came to him, and
he cried aloud: "Norúllu hadi Rûmhar! Ish menukurr ani belkur!"
(Most noble Dwarves! Wait until you hear my tale!)

They froze in their tracks, regarding Rogond in
astonishment. "I have rarely heard our tongue spoken by one such as
you," said Dwim, looking Rogond in the eye. "How came you to learn
it? Speak quickly!"

In answer, Rogond replied once again in the
dwarf-tongue. What he said was apparently satisfactory, as many of
the dwarves chuckled, and they seemed to relax a bit. They lowered
their axes, at any rate. "What did you say to them?" whispered
Gaelen, who sat next to Rogond.

"I told them I learned the dwarf-tongue from one
named Fima in the Sanctuary, so that we could talk about the Elves
behind their backs," he replied. "I’m going to have to do some
careful talking to get us out of this. None of you should pay heed
to anything I am going to say." Gaelen was puzzled, but she trusted
him.

Dwim and Noli questioned Rogond further. Dwim and the
folk of Cós-domhain were familiar with Fima, and honored him even
though he had gone to the Sanctuary at Mountain-home. The realm of
Lady Ordath was possibly the one place in all of Alterra where good
people of every race met and discoursed with freedom and respect.
If Fima had deemed this man worthy of learning the dwarf-tongue,
then he was indeed worthy. They would at least hear what he had to
say. They took off Rogond’s binding so that he might address them,
over the protests of Noli, who would not have shown such
courtesy.

There followed a long conversation in which Rogond
told of the Company’s travels and how they came to the Great Dwarf
Road. He admitted that they had broken into the cache and taken
supplies, but that they had left payment. The dragon-brooch was
found and brought to Dwim, who examined it with awe.

"This was made by the folk of the ancient Dwarf-City
of Rûmm, that was the Deep-delving," said he, turning the brooch
this way and that so the various jewels caught the light and sent
it back in rays of scarlet, green and gold. Noli stepped up for a
closer look, and Rogond held his breath. Though Noli regarded it
with wonder, he did not appear to associate the brooch with the
Eádram and the ruination of Rûmm.

"From whence did this come?" asked Dwim. "Surely the
Elves did not leave such a fair token in payment for food and a few
torches." "No, it was I who left it," replied Rogond. "I have been
charged with leading these three Elves over the mountains, though I
doubted the wisdom of it. And now, they must do as I direct them,
for they are of the Cúinar, the Woodland folk, and are helpless
underground. Had I known they would tax me so, I would have
refused." The dwarves nodded, looking over at the three blindfolded
Elves with disdain.

Rogond continued speaking to Dwim and Noli as though
in confidence. "They’re worthy enough in their own lands, I
suppose. Good enough at climbing trees, feasting and singing,
dressed all in their finery. Not much good at making anything by
craft. Were it not for dwarves and men to make their ornaments and
carve out their great halls, where would they be? They remember the
days of the Èolar, who were mighty craftsmen among their people.
Those smiths are long since gone, yet the haughtiness of their
descendants remains. And the real frustration for us is that we
cannot even escape their haughtiness by outliving them!"

The dwarves nodded in agreement, as the Elves sat in
silence (though their faces reddened a little, for there was a
small grain of truth in Rogond’s words). Dwim clapped Rogond on the
elbow with a hearty laugh. Here, surely, was a kindred spirit.

Rogond glanced over at his friends before turning
back to Dwim. "Actually, I’m reasonably fond of these, else I would
not have agreed to help them in their folly, but would have
abandoned them. I would appreciate your leaving them unharmed, as I
promised to make every effort to conduct them safely."

Noli growled under his breath at this. It was clear
that he was going to be difficult. Rogond thought quickly then
raised his voice to the assembled dwarves: "Let’s have music and
song, avail ourselves of this excellent wine and ale, and rest from
our labors. I’m happy to be in such pleasant company at last!"

The dwarves of Noli’s group, who were weary and in
need of just such a diversion, joined their fellows in a hearty
cheer. Soon the wine and ale were flowing with abandon, and torches
were lit all along the walls. The Elves had been moved out of the
way of the merriment.

Their captors took turns keeping an eye on them as
they sat on the cold stone floor, still bound and blindfolded, but
safe enough for the moment.

The dwarves had loosened up considerably and were
nearly all in a good humor as they played their tunes and danced in
the torchlight. They were surprisingly agile, hardy, and strong.
"Perhaps we should play a bit of the music of the Elven-folk," said
Rogond. "It might be enjoyable to watch them dance." The dwarves
glowered at him, and Rogond looked around, and then feigned sudden
understanding. "Oh, I see! You thought I meant to
untie
them
first!"

At this the dwarves all burst into laughter, turning
their heads to regard the three Elves, who were becoming quite
uncomfortable. The dwarf who had been set to watch them actually
clapped Galador on the shoulder, startling him such that he cried
out.

Rogond gave Noli a look that said
: You see what I
have to put up with?
There followed a long period of jesting,
mostly at the expense of the Elves, and in the dwarf-tongue. Rogond
missed some of the words, but he took much of the meaning. He was
glad the Elves did not understand what was said about them, as he
felt they had suffered enough already. They were a proud and worthy
people, and Rogond knew and loved them well, but this would not
serve their interests just now. Better he should at least pretend
to join in the jest.

"What I would like to know is…how can they tell their
men from their women? The men are at least as pretty!"

"Aye, some are even prettier!" The fact that male
Elves were beardless had always been a joke to the dwarves.

"What I find dismaying is that they complain about
the smell of dwarves and of men, but pay no heed to their own. It’s
as though they don’t believe they have any smell!"

"Oh, that’s a good one. I once had to walk into a
room full of them. You can always tell where
Elves
have
been."

To this, Rogond would give no argument, though he had
always found the normal scent of Elvish folk pleasant, rather like
fresh sage. They certainly didn’t suffer from the same foul odors
that afflicted men, even when they were unwashed and weary. Of
dwarvish aroma, Rogond knew little, and wisely decided to forego
comment.

"I marvel at the way they can talk out of both sides
of their mouths at once," growled Noli, remembering the dwarves’
version of the treachery of the High-elves and the subsequent fall
of Rûmm. He was in a better humor, but he and his folk still
presented a danger, and Rogond was waiting for the right time to
suggest that perhaps they might go on their way. But then, one of
the folk of Cós-domhain approached him and bade him stand in the
torchlight.

"Show me that ring on your right hand," he asked
Rogond, indicating the ring of gold with the black stone. Rogond
removed it and handed it to the dwarf, who examined it with wonder.
"I am Glomin, of Cós-domhain. How came you by this token?"

"It was taken from the hand of my mother as she lay
dead, slain by Ulcas in the mountains," said Rogond. "The Elves
gave it to me as an heirloom. It’s the only thing of my family that
I possess, for I know not even the names of my kin. It is my great
desire to learn this," he added hopefully.

Glomin was amazed. "If this ring is that which I
think it is, it belonged to one of the great among our folk, whose
life was saved by a proud maiden of Dûn Bennas. If it is indeed
that ring, the stone is like to very few that remain in this world,
for the craft of their making is closely guarded. Come and look
into the light of the Èolarin lamp. We must come away from the
torchlight."