Elfhunter (42 page)

Nelwyn, who kept the watch, heard his quiet
footfalls, though he trod quite softly indeed. Then, all the horses
began nickering after him, especially Réalta, who nearly always
wanted to follow Eros into mischief, but was not as adept at
untying himself. Suspicious, Nelwyn roused Galador from his rest,
and they both rose to their feet and peered into the darkness, just
in time to observe the light golden body of Eros disappearing back
toward the east.

Cursing, Galador leaped down from the rock shelf,
grabbed Réalta, and swung onto his back. Eros heard the galloping
feet of his pursuer, and the chase was on!

It was fortunate that both Elves and horses see as
well in the dark, as the mountain pass was difficult enough in the
daylight! Eros ran swiftly along, leaping over stones and gaps in
the path, followed closely by Réalta, who thankfully was the
swifter, even carrying a rider. Galador held his breath several
times as the trail dropped away beneath him and Réalta leaped into
the night; his life was literally hanging on the agility and
sure-footedness of his mount. If he could keep up with Eros long
enough to reach the point where the path widened, he could get
alongside him and catch hold of him. Then he and Réalta would drive
Eros into the cliff-face, halting him.

Without warning, Eros slammed to a stop, wheeled
about and charged back up the path, nearly barreling into Réalta.
Galador came very close to flying over his mount’s head, sitting
astride his neck before pushing himself back into proper position.
He spat an oath at Eros, who was now fighting to get past him on
the narrow trail. A loud bellow from behind Eros told the tale—a
huge mountain-troll was striding purposefully toward them. Galador
was in no position to engage it, as he had only his sword, and even
if he had brought his longbow, it would have been of limited use.
Trolls are nearly impossible to kill, as they are vulnerable only
in the eyes and through the mouth. In the dark, on a moving horse,
such a shot would be difficult at best.

Trolls are tireless, but fortunately, they are not
swift. Galador caught hold of Eros’ lines as he tried to crowd
past, then turned Réalta and galloped back up the trail with the
troll in pursuit. Drawing near to their encampment, Galador looked
back over his shoulder, and was dismayed to see that, though it was
far outdistanced, the troll still followed. Galador called out a
warning to Nelwyn and Thorndil, and then galloped under the rock
shelf to find them arming themselves and releasing the horses,
preparing to ride. The troll’s heavy feet could now be heard taking
great, slow strides; it would be upon them in a few moments.

"Hoist me up, Galador," said Nelwyn, grabbing her
longbow. Galador knew he did not have time to argue, and taking
Nelwyn’s left foot in his hand he tossed her up onto the rock
shelf, where she knelt, drew an arrow, and bent her bow.

The troll caught sight of its quarry and dropped into
a low, crouching run. It was charging them, intending on crushing
them with its great arms. The horses cried in terror and backed
into the wall as Thorndil and Galador struggled to control
them.

Nelwyn peered into the darkness, drawing the powerful
bow back to the limit of her strength. Then, holding her breath and
praying, she released it. The shaft flew straight to its mark,
burying itself in the troll’s tiny left eye. It pitched forward,
dead before it hit the ground, churning up the rock with its heavy
body. It nearly slid into the frightened horses and their
caretakers. Had it done so, it would have crushed them, but
thankfully it ground to a halt before doing any real damage.

Nelwyn exhaled, her knees weak and shaky, and sat
down upon the rock. Galador and Thorndil were still occupied with
calming and subduing the horses, who seemed to know that they had
just come perilously close to becoming provender for a troll’s
larder. Galador cast a jaundiced eye at Eros, who stood quietly
without restraint as though truly repentant.

"Now, you nearly worthless animal, see what you have
done! Do not try my patience again! If you ever even consider such
a course I will forget that Rogond actually likes you. He will find
another mount, believe me!"

Eros was humbled and nickered softly at Galador, then
tried to approach Thorndil, who shunned him as well. "Don’t try to
appease me, Eros. You know Galador is right. Behave yourself from
now on and prove that you’re still worthy. We will find Rogond
again."

Eros looked so forlorn that Thorndil took pity on
him. "Don’t worry, you will regain favor soon enough. Rogond’s
faith in you is well placed, but sometimes you allow your loyalty
to get in the way of your judgment." Eros nuzzled Thorndil’s sleeve
and was rewarded with a pat on the neck.

Galador had climbed up to congratulate Nelwyn, and
witnessed Thorndil’s kind-hearted treatment of Eros. "So now you
reward
him? I would prefer to tie his head to his tail for a
few hours. Worthless animal!" He chuckled in spite of himself. "He
nearly succeeded in his escape plan. I am quite glad that I do not
have to tell Rogond that his favorite mount was eaten by a troll.
He is quite fond of the scoundrel. Why that is so, I cannot
imagine!"

But in truth, Galador had no trouble imagining it.
When he was with Rogond, Eros was one of the finest, steadiest
animals alive. Rogond had ridden him into battle, where he seemed
to have an innate sense of what to do and how to do it. He had
saved Rogond’s life several times, and he was courageous and
steadfast. Galador knew that his friend’s trust in Eros was well
deserved.

The stench coming from the dead troll was incredible,
so they elected to move some distance before once again settling
down until dawn. They found a good, wide semicircle in the rock
that would be perfect for sheltering. The wind was rising and they
could smell rain on the air. It would probably roll in before dawn,
so best to take rest while they could.

The ordeal with Eros and the troll had tired Galador,
and he sat with Nelwyn as Thorndil took the watch. As he looked
back toward the west, where the weather was building, he wondered
how their friends were faring. They had most likely reached the
Gateway by now. Galador fixed his eyes on the heavens, imagining
the stars shining there, and entered the realm of waking dreams,
where Elves regain their strength in time of weariness. After a few
moments, his thoughts moved in a very unpleasant direction,
drifting…drifting……Galador looked for the last time into the eyes
of Rogond as his friend died in his arms.

There were signs of struggle all around them, but
Rogond had been bested, run through with a formidable blade, and
was now bleeding to death. Galador had come too late to aid him.
Galador called his friend’s name, and Rogond roused himself, his
grey eyes focusing with some effort. He beheld Galador, whereupon
his brow furrowed with exertion as he breathed a final, single
word—
Gorgon
. Then he died, his body at first going rigid in
Galador’s arms, then limp and lifeless, his eyes staring unfocused
and sightless, his last breath rattling in his throat. Galador
could not weep, but set his friend’s body down gently, a sudden
sense of panic and urgency gripping him: he had to find Nelwyn!

He tracked the bloody footprints leading from
Rogond’s body down a dark corridor that seemed to go on forever,
until he beheld a dim glow in the distance. Running recklessly now,
he flew toward it, turning to his left into a large underground
chamber to behold a horrifying sight. There was blood
everywhere—Elven blood. Nelwyn was lying in a crumpled heap in the
center of the floor, and she was covered with it. Gaelen knelt
beside her, her back turned toward Galador, who cried Nelwyn’s name
in horror. He could not move toward her—it was as though his feet
were rooted to the floor. He called to Gaelen through his panic,
tears flowing from his eyes. Nelwyn’s head was turned such that he
could not see her pale face. Gaelen’s left hand was bloody,
entangled in Nelwyn’s hair. Was she bent with weeping?

"Gaelen…Gaelen! Does Nelwyn live? Does she still
live?
Gaelen!
" Slowly Gaelen rose to her feet, her hand
still gripping Nelwyn’s long, golden hair. As she turned, to
Galador’s horror, she tightened her grip and lifted her arm.
Galador moaned as Nelwyn’s head came away from her body; it had
been severed by the same blade that had killed Rogond. Gaelen
looked up at Galador then, confusion in her hazel-green eyes.

Then her eyes rolled back into her head, and when
they reappeared they were pale, nearly colorless, with tiny
pinpricks of black at the center, and full of malice. She chuckled
in a voice other than her own.

"Does Nelwyn live? No, my ‘brother’. I think
not!"

Galador wanted to cry out in horror, but he could
not; his strength had left him. Gaelen started toward him, now
laughing in Gorgon’s voice, and he knew no more…

"Galador…Galador? Come back to me, my love. It’s all
right… come back!"

Galador jerked upright with a sharp intake of breath.
He was sweat-soaked, pale, and trembling. "Calm yourself, my
beloved. It’s all right," Nelwyn’s soothing voice reached out to
him in his terror. He opened his eyes and beheld her, then pulled
her to him, enfolding her in his arms, shaking and silent. His hair
and tunic were wet with sweat, and he clutched her so tightly that
breathing was difficult. She endured his embrace, fearing for him,
and spoke words of comfort until he finally mastered himself and
relaxed his hold on her. She looked into his eyes and reached up to
stroke his damp hair as he drew slow, deep breaths. His trembling
stopped.

"What happened? You were crying and calling my name.
What has so terrified you?"

Galador’s vision was so horrible that he was unable
to speak of it. "I…I cannot say. Please don’t press me about it…I
could not bear to relive it. I must try to wipe it from my mind;
otherwise it will torment me. Please understand."

Nelwyn nodded, but she was afraid. She knew that
Galador’s vision had concerned her—he had been calling her name.
She settled back against the moss-covered boulder she had been
sheltering behind, pulling him down to lie against her breast. His
breathing had slowed, but there was a tension in his body that she
didn’t like. She tried to relax, to show him there was nothing to
fear, but she could not. The premonition she had while in
Mountain-home still troubled her. Was Galador’s much the same?

Nelwyn sighed and stroked his hair, looking up at the
clouded night sky. No stars to comfort them tonight. As Nelwyn
thought of the stars, her thoughts turned to Gaelen and Rogond, who
would not see the stars for a long while.

Galador’s dream had wearied him, and though he rested
at last, the tension never entirely left him. He struggled to rid
himself of the sight of Gaelen, pale malicious eyes gleaming,
speaking in Gorgon’s voice and clutching Nelwyn’s hair in her
bloodied hand. He did not understand—Gaelen loved Nelwyn more than
did anyone save himself, and would never harm her. Why Gorgon’s
eyes and voice? That question would remain to trouble him for a
long time after.

Rogond, who was still very much alive, reflected that
he had never seen Fima so elated as he led them through the
passageways of the underground realm of Cós-domhain. Fima still
appeared to know his way around, even though he had not seen the
inside of the mountains for a very long time. This place was so
vast and complex that even one living there might conceivably lose
himself in the maze of passages, chambers, halls, and stairways.
Belegund walked beside Fima, who led their small party. Rogond
walked behind with Gaelen. She was wary, looking and listening all
around her, though she was truly impressed with the intricacies of
this enormous excavation. Fima stressed that they had seen nothing
as yet; the Great Halls were at least two days’ journey away.

As Fima had promised, the passageways were well
lighted by means of torches and cleverly placed shafts and mirrors
that reflected and magnified light from the surface, as well as
many of the blue Elven lamps. These cheered Gaelen, as they
reminded her that these folk had once been great friends of the
Èolarin Elves. The four of them made their way along corridors and
climbed endless, wide stairs, meeting dwarves as they went. Each
time, the dwarves acknowledged Fima. Some appeared quite happy to
see him, greeting him enthusiastically and welcoming the visitors,
but they all looked somewhat sidelong at Gaelen.

It was no mystery when dwarves approached either from
the front or from behind, as they are not remotely stealthy, and
the corridors were frequently alive with echoing voices. Gaelen
took some comfort in this, as she did not need to worry about being
taken unaware. She still did not relax, as more than one hand
strayed to an axe-handle upon beholding her. This hostility did not
extend beyond her introduction by Fima, however, and the dwarves
then greeted her almost warmly, removing their hoods and bowing in
a humble display that she politely returned.

One stout fellow in a green jacket bowed before her,
and, to her surprise, addressed her in rather stilted High-elven
speech: "Hail, Gaelen of the Greatwood. Thy presence honors us,
though many will not know it. I shall hope to converse further with
thee on a time, if thou art remaining among us?"

Gaelen kept her tone serious as she replied to him:
"Alas, we are but passing through this great realm, O worthy
Disciple of Fior. Yet we may speak awhile, as I deem we will be
here for at least a few days’ time. I shall look forward to
conversing with one who speaks our tongue so well." The dwarf bowed
low and took his leave, pausing once to look back over his shoulder
at Gaelen.

Fima muttered to Belegund, "That’s just old Tibo. He
loves Elves. He’ll be a bit disappointed when he learns that our
Gaelen is a Wood-elf, and not of the Èolar, though I cannot imagine
anyone being truly disappointed in her." He turned back and smiled.
"Well, my little Wood-elf, have you found your confidence in my
realm? What is your impression thus far?"