Elfhunter (2 page)

“Oh…Gaelen, it’s Talrodin and…and Halrodin.”

They were brothers, inseparable both in life and now
in death.

Gaelen gasped and ran to Halrodin’s side. His strong,
dead hands grasped his brother’s arm with desperate effort. His
sightless eyes stared up at the sky, but he was still warm enough
that the snowflakes melted as they touched him. She brushed away
tears and helped Nelwyn pull Talrodin from the smoldering ashes,
noting the look of pure astonishment on his face.

Gaelen tried not to gag at the stench of charred
flesh and fabric. She didn’t know which was worse, that or the
underlying smell of roasted meat, normally tantalizing and
inviting. She bit her own lip, disgusted that she found it so.

She returned to Halrodin, who had been her friend,
and knelt beside him, looking intently into his eyes and grasping
his cold hands with her own. Gaelen possessed a unique talent—one
she had revealed to no one except Nelwyn—and she searched
Halrodin’s eyes for what they might reveal. She knew that the dead
may speak to the living and, if one could perceive it, the tale of
their last moments lingered for a while. She concentrated and
focused her will, locking her bright hazel-green eyes with
Halrodin’s glassy, lifeless ones. The violence of his last moments
was clearly written there, but there was something else, as well.
Revulsion, a kind of fascinated horror, came clearly to Gaelen’s
mind. Though she could not see the image of the enemy through
Halrodin’s eyes, she could feel his last thoughts. She could also
feel some of the malevolence of the thing that had tortured and
killed him.

At least the brothers hadn’t been dragged off and
eaten, and their few belongings remained with them—all except one.
Halrodin’s beautiful, elegant sword, his most prized possession,
was missing, along with the curved, silver-clad leather sheath that
had fitted it so well. Gaelen’s slight frame shook with cold fury,
and she looked over at Nelwyn with an expression of determination
the younger Elf had seen before: Gaelen wouldn’t rest until she had
recovered that sword and restored it to Halrodin’s family.

Nelwyn sighed, considering the immediate task before
them. “We had best get to work. The carrion beasts will be drawn to
blood on the wind.”

Gaelen worked beside Nelwyn in silence, wrapping her
fallen friends in their cloaks and covering them with stones to
keep them safe from the scavengers. Then she sang a lament of the
ancient line of High-elves known as the Èolar, for their sad songs
were hauntingly beautiful. The anger smoldering within her did an
excellent job of steadying her voice, which did not waver despite
her grief. Nelwyn wept openly, especially for Talrodin. They had
spent untold hours sharing herb-lore, and she had been fond of
him.

When Gaelen had placed the last stone, and the last
notes of her lament had faded into the forest, her thoughts turned
to her new enemy. This was a wanton, senseless act against two
innocents who had every right to be where they were. They weren’t
unwary travelers, but clever, wood-wise forest dwellers with keen
senses and quick reflexes. That someone should have taken them
unaware and with such crude weaponry was inexplicable. What sort of
being could have strung a bow so powerful with an arrow so large
that it had pinned Talrodin to the ground, and then hacked Halrodin
to pieces—taking plenty of time about it—before vanishing with
little trace? It had to be huge, heartless, and incredibly strong.
Gaelen knew that she could track it, but not easily. The snow had
not been falling long, but it covered what little sign had been
left. Progress would be slow, as careful tracking took time and
effort.

There was an unfamiliar and very unpleasant stench
about the place, but it was fading rapidly, also blunted by the
snow. Gaelen committed it to memory; she would know it if she ever
encountered it again. She saw no blood other than that of the two
brothers. Her small frame shuddered, momentarily overcome with a
mixture of horror and rage.

Nelwyn placed a concerned hand on her arm. “I wonder
if it would be best to return home…to tell our people what has
happened. Then we could come back with many others to help us in
hunting down this enemy.”

Gaelen closed her eyes. “That will take too long. We
might as well just say fare-thee-well and give up. If we want to
hunt this…this thing, we must hunt it now!”

“But…”

Gaelen’s eyes flashed. “Don’t even consider delaying
this.”

In answer, Nelwyn’s gaze hardened. “Just remember
what this scene might have been had it taken place in a different
encampment last night. You will not avenge our friends by falling
to the same foe.”

But Gaelen, as usual, had the last word. It was a
single word, spoken through clenched teeth, and Nelwyn could offer
no argument.

“Thaldallen.”

Five days later, their tracking had turned them south
near the eastern forest boundary, then eastward toward the River
Ambros. Gaelen was determined to catch up with their quarry before
they reached the Great River; she feared all signs would be lost in
the crossing, and she knew they would be difficult to pick up again
on the other side.

Her tracking efforts had confirmed that she pursued a
lone enemy. That was of little comfort, but at least there was only
one pair of eyes and ears that could turn back toward them. At
first, she gritted her teeth at Nelwyn’s constant admonitions that
she not go too fast, that she would surely miss some sign, but
these were getting harder to ignore. They had neither rested nor
eaten, and both were weary from the tiresome, close work of
tracking. The only good news was that the killer had become more
careless as it drew farther away from the kill. That, and the
simple fact that both Elves were becoming more familiar with their
enemy, had increased the speed of the pursuit considerably.

“If we don’t stop to rest and eat soon, I shall not
be strong enough to contend with this marauder when we do catch
it.” Nelwyn had been trying to get Gaelen to stop for hours,
undoubtedly wishing she had convinced her cousin to give in to the
sensible suggestion to return home.

Gaelen snorted. “As if either of us would ever be
strong enough to contend with a creature that could do what was
done!

My only plan is to get close enough to shoot the
cursed evil wretch in the throat.”

Still, Nelwyn’s request made sense; Gaelen realized
that she needed to rest and renew her strength, as she was becoming
a bit reckless. She stretched her lithe form toward the cold, pale
blue winter sky, and then rummaged in her food pouch for a few
dried apples, some dried mushrooms, and strips of dried, salted
venison that chewed rather like leather. She and Nelwyn ate
quickly, washing down the dry, salty meal with refreshing cold
draughts from their flasks. Then they rested a little, knowing they
could not linger beyond sunset.

They had been tracking even in the dark, for it had
been clear and moonlit these last nights, and they could see well
enough. Nelwyn had noted that the creature moved much faster by
night, though she estimated that it was now only one or two hours
ahead of them. Once or twice it veered from its course, and they
found the remains of a deer that had been slain and partially
devoured, torn to pieces and eaten raw. No fire had been built, and
if their enemy had taken rest, it was not obvious.

Nelwyn was the first to notice the column of smoke to
the east, rising from a copse of trees very near the river. Gaelen
shivered, as she was not comfortable with the idea of approaching
from upwind. She didn’t know whether the enemy could or would take
notice of their scent, but they could not afford the risk. She
directed Nelwyn to follow her, moving in a wide arc until she was
satisfied with their position. Then they crept cautiously in.

This time the victims were not Elves, but men. Two of
the fishermen who lived along the river lay dead amid the ruins of
their camp. They had been slain with quiet efficiency; the brutal
savagery with which the Elves had been attacked was not evident
here. The stench of the creature still hung heavily in the air, as
it had not been long gone.

A sudden thought struck Gaelen, who leaped up and
sprinted toward the water, abandoning her prior caution. Fishermen
are never very far from their boat and, as she feared, it had been
taken. She mouthed a silent curse, gazing downstream at a massive
figure paddling southward with the current, disappearing into far
distant twilight. If only they had been quicker! Frustrated and
weary, she sank down onto the bank as Nelwyn ran lightly up behind
her. Peering into the gathering dark, Nelwyn realized that their
enemy was beyond their reach.

She sat down beside Gaelen and shook her head in
resignation. “I suppose that’s the end then...we’ll never catch up
now. Did you get a look?”

“Yes, a brief one,” said Gaelen, examining the
riverbank. “It’s tall—taller than any Ulca. Heavier, too...the boat
rode quite low in the water.”

Nelwyn nodded in appreciation of her cousin’s keen
sight; the boat was only a tiny speck by now. “A troll, maybe?”

“Doesn’t smell like one. I could swear the thing was
wearing armor. And besides, trolls don’t like the water.”

“Neither do Ulcas.”

Gaelen cast her eyes heavenward. “Obviously, it’s not
an Ulca! I don’t know what it is, and thanks to all my delays, I
may never know.” She drew a deep breath in an attempt to quell her
frustration. “We are now faced with a choice. Do we go on along the
riverbank and follow the boat, or do we turn back for home?”

They regarded one another in silence for a long
moment. At last, Nelwyn spoke.

“I keep thinking of Talrodin—the way he knew every
leaf and blade in the forest. He was so quiet and gentle-natured,
and he loved his sons. They will never learn any more of that
herb-lore from him now. I fear for all who pass near this terrible
enemy, and, though I counseled you to turn about, I wonder now
whether I can live with what will happen if we do. I fear we must
continue on...though we may not see home again.”

Gaelen loved her cousin very much. She had been
thinking similar thoughts, but the revelation that Nelwyn shared
her determination to continue the pursuit was unexpected, and it
filled her with relief and gratitude. Her desire to hunt down the
creature had wavered a little, and she would have turned back for
Nelwyn’s sake if asked, but now they were united and strong in
their resolve. “Halrodin was left to bleed to death, yet he still
tried to pull his brother from the fire,” she said. “Such courage
and devotion must be avenged. Halrodin would not have suffered his
brother’s killer to walk free, and neither will I.”

She remembered Halrodin’s sword, the one the killer
had stolen. It was a prized heirloom of his house, and she bristled
at the thought of it in the hands of his murderer. She made a
silent vow to get it back.

Gaelen also understood what Nelwyn meant about what
would happen if they turned from their pursuit. This creature
killed everyone it encountered, seemingly for the most trivial of
reasons. It could easily have stolen the boat from the fishermen;
it didn’t have to kill them. At least they had been taken quickly
and had suffered little pain.

The brutal treatment of her friends had planted an
irrefutable thought in Gaelen’s mind. This creature, whatever it
was, hated Elves above all others. She had read this in Halrodin’s
dead eyes, sensing it like the heavy, suffocating feeling of an
approaching storm. Talrodin had been killed quickly enough, but the
creature had gone out of its way to maim and inflict as much pain
as possible upon his brother. It had taken his weapon, leaving him
to die in agony and despair. Gaelen knew this was not mindless, but
by design. This enemy would go out of its way to kill Elves
wherever it encountered them, and they would die in torment. No,
she could not turn from the path now—she would continue the pursuit
until her last arrow buried itself in the creature’s black, hateful
heart.

Nelwyn took one last swallow of water from her flask
and rose to her feet. She ran her fingers through her hair and
sighed. It would be another long night. There was nothing to do now
except make their way southward with all speed and hope that the
bright stars would shine upon their path.

In the realm of King Ri-Aruin, the discovery of the
fate of Halrodin and his brother had not yet been made, though it
was noted that both they and the She-elves were long overdue. It
was not unusual for scouting parties to be gone for many weeks, but
as the days continued with no word, a few of their kinsmen brought
the matter to the attention of the King.

The news that four worthy hunter-scouts had failed to
return or send word troubled Ri-Aruin. Gaelen and Nelwyn concerned
him less, as they had a habit of returning when they pleased, but
Talrodin would never inflict such anxiety upon his sons without
dire cause.

There was nothing to do but send new scouts to find
the brothers and help them if need be. Perhaps there was a harmless
explanation for the delay, but of this Ri-Aruin was not hopeful.
The rescue party left at sunset, well equipped and ready for
anything—so they thought. When they returned nearly twelve days
later, bearing the remains of Talrodin and Halrodin, they had only
their sorrow to offer.

Ri-Aruin was both saddened and frustrated, and it was
now apparent that Gaelen and Nelwyn had been involved. The manner
in which the bodies had been cared for made that clear. In
addition, Nelwyn had placed a small beech twig bearing a few
perfect, copper- colored leaves in Talrodin’s right hand. Of their
whereabouts there was little clue, but the search party rightly
guessed that they had gone off in pursuit of the unknown killers.
Ri-Aruin grew impatient as he questioned his scouts. What sort of
enemy had done such a thing? The scouts did not know and could not
even speculate, as this was simply beyond their experience. Indeed,
it would be a long time before any Wood-elf of the Greatwood would
fully understand the nature of the threat that had passed through
their lands.