Elfhunter (4 page)

"My thanks for your aid in bringing me across the
river. Your part in this has been played. Return now to your homes;
care for your fallen kin and your families. I would suggest you not
tarry long, as your people need you. My cousin and I wish you
well."

Maleck shouldered his pack. "It’s not my intention to
leave you, for I also would see my kinsmen avenged. Unvar is here
to return with the boat."

Gaelen could see that he was determined, but in his
eyes there was doubt. These were not adventurous folk, and they did
not travel far from their own lands. It took great courage for
Maleck even to consider this course. Gaelen shook her head and
spoke gently, though her gaze was firm.

"You cannot go with us, Maleck. Your heart tells you
so, brave heart though it is. You are a worthy man, and we respect
you and your folk, but you simply cannot strive with us. You must
aid your brother in returning with the boat—that is task enough. If
I have still not convinced you, let me remind you of my friend
Halrodin’s fate at the hands of our enemy. He was hacked to pieces
with a dull blade, and left to die in great pain and despair. This
is an enemy beyond you. Take your honor, and depart."

Reluctantly, Maleck saw the wisdom in her words.
"Farewell then, Gaelen, daughter of the Greatwood. We are thankful
to have known you and wish you success in your quest. Take care
that the enemy you seek does not find you first, for I would rather
meet you again."

Gaelen bowed and smiled at him before she sprang
away, leaping and sprinting along the river bank, keeping one eye
on Nelwyn and one eye at the water’s edge. Within moments, Maleck
had difficulty spotting her, and then she was gone.

The air was as chill as the trail was cold. Nelwyn
drew her cloak tighter as she gazed out at the dull grey
river-water, now veiled with rain. The wind was coming up strong
again from the northwest, and it rained or sleeted almost every day
at this miserable time of year. She could just barely make out the
form of Gaelen, who was carefully searching for signs on the other
side of the river.

It had been nearly five days since their encounter
with the slain fishermen and the escape of their enemy in the boat
he had stolen. Nelwyn stood shivering on the riverbank, thinking of
the coming storm, hoping that they would find signs of the boat
being pulled from the water before the river rose high enough to
wash them away. The enemy would undoubtedly cast the boat loose
when he was finished with it, but even if he didn’t bring it
ashore, he would have to come ashore himself. Then they would find
the signs if there were any to find. They were not as familiar with
this section of the river—it was narrower, but deep and turbulent.
As they both looked downstream, they observed some respectable
rapids in the distance.

The rapids both cheered and worried Nelwyn. Surely
their enemy would come ashore rather than risk crossing the wild
water. If so, had they missed the evidence? Or was the enemy
lurking just ahead, lying in wait? They hadn’t exactly been
vigilant about concealing themselves from view. At any rate, Nelwyn
hoped that they would find something before they reached the
rapids. She just hoped they would not find the enemy himself; they
were not yet ready for such a confrontation. Nelwyn thought of
Talrodin’s astonished expression and shuddered. She didn’t like
being all alone by the river. At least it was getting warmer as she
made her way south, and the cold wind would soon pass. For now, she
was miserable.

The Elves had encountered only two others in the last
four days, fishermen of a different clan from those up river. Both
had been on the east bank. Gaelen had questioned them, but from her
posture it was apparent that she had learned little or nothing from
them.

Gaelen was wet and miserable herself. She felt her
cousin’s gaze, straightened, and waved at her. They would both go
to shelter for the night facing the same dreary prospect—no dry
wood, only a few remnants of food, and no nice, warm cousin to
share cloaks and the pleasure of complaining with.

If they didn’t find something soon, Nelwyn feared
they both would lose heart, and she had no wish for that. But they
were so far from home already! Grumbling to herself, she settled
her back against some large stones that protected her from the
wind. This was not much of a shelter, but it was better than
nothing.

A few moments later, Nelwyn was startled by a cry
from the east. Though it sounded rather like a large bird, she knew
it was Gaelen— she must have found something. Nelwyn leaped to her
feet, shaking off the cold, and peered into the rain. Gaelen was
pointing down and across the river, gesturing for Nelwyn to
investigate. Gaelen started down river herself, keeping a close
watch on the far bank. The boat was there, about a quarter mile to
the south.

There was no sound, scent, or sight of the enemy.
Nelwyn could tell that he had left the boat in haste and was now
making his way over land, for he had left plenty of sign for her to
follow. This was encouraging, as it meant that he was probably not
aware that anyone was tracking him. Either that, or he didn’t
care.

Though the second possibility frightened her, the
first cheered Nelwyn as she climbed into the boat, which had been
secured with a short rope to a nearby stone. She examined the small
craft for signs, and there were plenty, if not very enlightening. A
few remnants of food stolen from the fishermen and a few drops of
strange, dark blood were left behind, not quite washed away by the
rain. The same foul smell was now evident, but it was very faint,
indicating that the creature had been gone for a while.

As she stood up to signal to Gaelen, the rear of the
boat moving unsteadily under her feet, Nelwyn heard a sound from
the brush at the edge of the trees. She spun around in surprise to
behold a tall, shadowy figure moving rapidly toward her. It
startled her enough to throw her off balance and, with a cry, she
fell into the water. The cold numbed her senses for a moment, long
enough for the current to pull her away from the bank.

Gaelen gave a cry of alarm, grabbed a slender cord
she carried across her shoulders, uncoiled it, pulled a rather
unique arrow from her quiver, and tied the cord to it. As she did
so, she spotted the tall figure leaping after Nelwyn, who was
floundering along a steep and rocky bank grasping at whatever she
could. The unknown figure could not reach her, and it soon
disappeared amid the thick scrub along the riverbank.

Gaelen held her breath, waiting until Nelwyn had
fetched up against a large stone and clung to it, struggling
against the wild water. Seeing her chance, Gaelen drew back with
all the strength and skill she could muster, and sent her shot
across the river.

The stout, multi-barbed shaft lodged firmly among the
stones several feet above Nelwyn’s head. The cold had robbed her of
her strength, and soon she would no longer be able to stay above
water. She didn’t dare try to grab the cord—Gaelen would have to
help her.

Observing a stout young spruce that hung out over the
water, Gaelen acted quickly. Taking only her weapons and one small
pack, she tied up her winter cloak, flexed her cold fingers, and
leaped up into the branches, securing the cord around the trunk to
make a life-line across the river. She climbed hand over hand,
swaying in the ever-rising wind, her heels hooked over the
line.

The cord was strong, but it stretched under Gaelen’s
weight, lowering her toward the churning river. She gasped as the
cold water soaked her back. It grabbed at her cloak, bow, and
quiver and nearly tore her loose, but she hung on, grimacing, until
she reached Nelwyn, who was by now exhausted. Gaelen grasped the
back of her cousin’s sodden cloak, heaved it out of the water, and
slung it across one of her shoulders. At that exact moment, Nelwyn
lost her grip on the cold stone and was then held to the world only
by the sturdy clasp of her cloak. Her eyes were closed, her teeth
were chattering, and her strength was gone. She turned over,
moaning, as Gaelen’s hand found hers and grasped it. The added
weight of holding onto Nelwyn pulled Gaelen completely down into
the water, and she didn’t know whether she could hang on.

She looked up to behold the mysterious figure
standing directly over them atop the rocks. It appeared to be
either an Elf or a tall, strong young man; she could not yet tell.
He threw a rope down to the water, cast off his own cloak, and
began to climb toward them.

When he reached them, Gaelen saw that he was, in
fact, an Elf. His hair was long and dark, and his grey eyes were
anxious. Grasping Gaelen’s wrist, he pulled her up and onto the
rocks, along with Nelwyn, who was now unconscious. He removed
Nelwyn’s cloak, which had taken on enough water to weigh as much as
Nelwyn herself, and cast it up onto the stones. Then he lifted her
and slung her over his shoulder, as Gaelen followed his example
with her own sodden cloak.

Gaelen watched as he struggled back up to the top of
the rocks, then she grasped the rope with icy hands and climbed
slowly and painfully up to join him. She had secured the rope
around both of the wet cloaks, for they would be needed and could
not easily be replaced. She was not afraid of the newcomer; her
instincts told her that he could be trusted, for his eyes held no
evil in them.

When she reached the top, Gaelen was pleased to find
Nelwyn wrapped in the stranger’s dry cloak. He had given her a
draught from his flask, and her color was coming back. She would
recover quickly once she was warm. The stranger waited for Gaelen,
his anxiety and impatience obvious. "Follow me. I have a good
shelter and a fire nearby."

"Wait! Who are you, and what is your business here?"
asked Gaelen. In answer, the stranger rose to his feet, lifted
Nelwyn, and began to walk away. Gaelen was weary, wet, and cold,
and she didn’t like having her question ignored. It was her opinion
that the stranger had most likely startled Nelwyn into the water in
the first place; it was the only thing that made sense. Her blood
rose as she got to her feet, nocked an arrow, and drew on him,
calling in a low, chilly voice: "If I were you, O Nameless Elf, I
wouldn’t turn my back to Gaelen, daughter of Tarfion. I would show
her the courtesy and respect that are warranted."

"Even if you had just saved her life and the life of
her friend?" replied the stranger with a bemused glance over his
shoulder. When he saw that he looked down the shaft of an arrow,
his amusement faded. Gaelen was obviously in no mood for it.

"Put that away. My name is Galador. I am not your
enemy, for if I were I would not have pulled you both from the
river. You are obviously cold and weary, and your wits have left
you."

"If you were not an enemy and were in possession of
YOUR wits, you would not have startled my cousin into the water in
the first place, making it necessary for you to pull us from the
river," muttered Gaelen. But she lowered her bow and followed him
without another word.

It was truly dark, and the weather was positively
wretched by the time they reached Galador’s promised shelter. It
was a rare find—an unoccupied cave in the hillside with a smooth,
dry floor. It only went back about twenty feet to a solid wall, but
there was a small hole in the ceiling through which smoke from a
dying fire was curling. There was another person in the cave, near
the fire, wrapped up in a bundle of blankets. Three horses stood by
outside, their tails turned to the wind, heads down. As soon as the
three Elves entered, Galador spoke to Gaelen.

"Try to get the fire going again, will you?"

He lowered Nelwyn, who was by now reviving nicely, on
the opposite side of the fire. He pulled two spare cloaks from a
pack in the corner and tossed one to Gaelen, who busied herself
with building the fire back up, glancing curiously at the prone
figure on the floor nearby. It appeared to be a man, tall and
strong, but presently either wounded or ill. She approached him, as
Galador moved to join her.

"Who is he? A friend of yours?"

Galador observed the man with grave concern. "Yes, he
is a very good friend, and he is very ill. I would help him, but I
really don’t know what to do for him. I was hoping one of you would
be able to heal him."

Gaelen sniffed. "You’d have better luck with the
fishermen than with us, I’m afraid. But let Nelwyn take a look when
she is recovered. She has some knowledge of healing arts."

The man stirred again, moaning and opening his eyes.
He looked right through Gaelen as she placed a hand on his
forehead. "He is burning with fever. I have heard my folk speak of
this when they have dealings with men. They say that men die of
this. How is it that he is ill?"

Galador shrugged. "I don’t know. He started getting
weak about three days ago. He really isn’t himself now. I fear for
him, but don’t know how to aid him." He looked helplessly at
Gaelen. "Any suggestion would be welcomed..." She now understood
why he had been in such a hurry to get back, and she would forgive
his discourteous treatment of her. Besides, he had pulled them from
the river. Her attention now focused on the man lying beside
her.

"What is he called?"

"His name is Rogond. Neither he nor I know his
heritage, other than as a man of the Tuathar, those of the lost
northern realm."

"Tuathar?" Gaelen was intrigued. She had heard of
these tall Northmen in stories, and she had even met a few of them
when they found their way into the Greatwood. She knew them to be
generally good and noble, but mysterious. She was now looking
forward to learning more.

Both she and Galador turned at the sound of Nelwyn
getting to her feet and moving to join them. She was still cold and
weary, but her color had improved. If she rested she would be fine
by morning. Gaelen told Nelwyn of all that had happened since the
river, and of Galador’s wish that they could heal Rogond.