Elfhunter (44 page)

Gaelen continued to walk beside Fima in silence. She
knew that he was right about the superior attitudes held by some of
her people; she had endured them herself. In Mountain-home the
whispers and quick looks of disdain had not gone unnoticed. There
were those who could not imagine why Magra would even acknowledge
one such as Gaelen, and they had made this opinion known. Gaelen
had no difficulty dealing with them, as she was quite sure of
herself and cared not for the opinions of those who judge others
using only those characters visible to the eye. There were many
evil souls that wore a fair semblance.

She considered Fima for a moment. He was true of
heart and ready of mind, with a marvelous sense of humor. She truly
liked him and would rather have had him at her side than many who
were considered beautiful. Rather abruptly, she told him so.

He smiled at her. "But, I
am
beautiful,
Gaelen. Did you not realize it? It is your people who are lacking.
Not even a whisker on any of them!"

Rogond, who had overheard much of their conversation,
smiled to himself. Gaelen was learning some lessons from kindly
professor Fima; she would take a different view of the dwarves ever
after.

"Ah! Wait a moment, this is something worth seeing,"
said Fima, calling the guides to a halt. He led them down a wide
passage to the left, where Gaelen could hear the rushing and
splashing of water ahead. They entered a spacious cavern, in the
center of which a sparkling, bubbling jet of crystal clear, cold
water rose from the very floor to cascade down among the stones,
which were as smooth as glass. The blue light that illuminated the
cavern was caught by the bright waters of this marvelous fountain,
and was then sent back in spangles and rippling waves upon the
walls. Gaelen saw huge crystals, some clear, some milky white,
growing and glittering from nearly every surface. She was
breathless, as were Belegund and Rogond. What a magical realm
indeed!

She hated to leave the cavern, but they needed to
continue their journey. Fima insisted that they all partake of the
waters of the fountain, which they found to be among the purest and
sweetest they had ever tasted. Gaelen cast one longing look back
over her shoulder as they departed, for she loved flowing waters
and would have remained awhile. They saw many wonderful and strange
sights on their way to the Council of Elders, but Gaelen would
always remember that chamber with its cold, clear waters and
fabulous glittering walls. The ornamental lamp hung from the
vaulted roof was an outstanding example of the beauty that results
from the combined skills of the Èolar and the Rûmhar. It was
immense, wrought and engraved with images of mighty Dwarf-lords,
combined with the emblems of the great High-elven realms. Here were
the Stars-and-Sunburst of the Èolar, and the White Flame of
Monadh-talam, as well as the single bright Star of the Eádram.

At long last they entered the Great Halls of
Cós-domhain, which were so immense and impressive that they said
not a word, but walked in silent awe among the bustling dwarves
until they were brought before the Council of Elders. Seven of the
very wisest of the folk of Grundin’s realm regarded them
importantly from heavily carved oaken chairs, set upon a raised
platform hung with tapestries. Their eyes were bright in their
weathered faces, their beards were immaculate, and they were richly
dressed. Chief among them was a dwarf named Ular, who rose to his
feet and bowed.

Rogond and Company bowed as well, as Fima stepped
forward, introducing his companions as Rogond and Belegund of the
Tuathar, and Gaelen Taldin of the Greatwood Realm. Ular gave a warm
welcome to Fima, who had once been a member of the Council himself,
but had left it for other pursuits. It had been nearly fifty years
since he had seen the inside of Cós-domhain, as he found
Mountain-home a better place to indulge his considerable curiosity,
exchanging ideas and lore with learned representatives of many
races. Still, it was good to be home again, among his own folk.

Ular asked Fima why Rogond and his companions had
come, and Fima gestured to Rogond, directing him to stand beside
him and tell his tale. Rogond did so, at least the important points
of it, emphasizing the encounter with Glomin and the revealing of
the message contained within his mother’s ring.

"I have come seeking Farin, the maker of the ring, in
the hope that I may learn more of my origins. Much have I learned
already from Glomin that I thought never to know…it is of great
importance to me to hear all that may be told."

The Elders nodded in understanding. To a dwarf, as to
an Elf or a man, heritage is important.

"Why bring the Elf ? What is her purpose in this
quest?" asked a stern-faced dwarf sitting to the left of Ular. His
name was Nimo, and he wore a brooch fashioned with the emblem of
the lost city of Rûmm.

"She is my friend and companion, and hoped to find
welcome here," replied Rogond, but Nimo held up his hand to silence
him.

"I would hear from her, Tuathan. Speak, Elf, and tell
me why you have come and what you hope to gain from your entry into
our domain."

Gaelen lifted her chin and met Nimo’s gaze, as Fima
interceded. "She is simply traveling with us, as Rogond has
indicated. She comes with my friendship as well. I have found her
to be trustworthy and steadfast." He glanced at Gaelen and smiled.
"She is a true and fine friend. Surely you do not wish to have her
doubt our hospitality and reinforce the unfortunate mistrust that
so often exists between us."

Nimo was undaunted by Fima’s words. "Be silent,
Lore-master of Ordath, for you no longer sit upon this Council. You
have never understood the enmity between my ancestors and theirs.
You have gone soft in the Mountain-realm, exposed to their
influence, and have been beguiled. I would not expect you to be
wary of them now. Let me hear from her!"

At this Fima bristled, and his hand strayed to his
axe. His voice was low and menacing, with none of its usual gentle
patience, as he spoke. "You dare to suggest that I forget my
origins, while I merely point out that blaming the She-elf for the
troubles of the Dwarves of Rûmm is inappropriate and wrong? My feet
are firmly rooted in the rock, Nimo, and my heart burns fierce
right now. Have a care." The other dwarves remained motionless,
appearing impassive.

This was between Fima and Nimo, and none would
interfere. Things might have gone ill had Gaelen not chosen that
moment to speak. She used the High-elven tongue, reminding the
dwarves of the friendship they had once held with the Èolar. Her
clear voice rang through the vastness of the huge hall, where once
many such voices were heard, though not in the reckoning of any
then assembled.

"O Ye Children of Fior, who is revered by both thy
people and mine, hear what I have to say. I came here willingly
that I might gaze upon the greatness of Cós-domhain, for I am of
the Woodland, and know of it only through tales that have truly
understated its grandeur. Never have my eyes beheld such wonders.
Wouldst thou deny me the chance for such enlightenment? I have
received warm welcome from thy folk, and understand thy
trepidation, though I was long unborn when the War of Betrayal
estranged our peoples."

At this the dwarves muttered among themselves;
hundreds of voices could be heard, but one rose above the others.
Noli stepped forward, asking to be heard. He spoke of his encounter
with Rogond and his three companions upon the Great Dwarf Road, and
told that they had been caught stealing by his and Dwim’s folk.
Rogond bristled.

"
Not
stealing! We left more than adequate
payment. Surely the dragon-brooch was sufficient for a little food
and a few torches to lost travelers wandering hungry in the
dark."

Noli seemed not to hear, but looked directly at Nimo,
who was in fact his cousin. "I do not forget the fate of the Great
Smiths of Rûmm so easily. At least one of the Elves was of
Eádros—did you think I would not hear it in his voice? We spared
the three of them only because of the Tuathan, who at the time
seemed burdened with the task of conducting them and had little
praise for them."

"We are in the Realm of Grundin, not in Rûmm," said
Gaelen, who was sincerely tired of Noli, and struggled to hold her
temper as she remembered her ill treatment at his hands. "We
suffered your hostility when we had done little to earn it. Will
the folk of Grundin thus fail in their hospitality to one who has
come seeking only enlightenment? I came willingly, and do humbly
ask your pardon for any insult I or my folk have caused. Fima has
called me ‘friend’, and I would fall defending him. At least allow
me the chance to prove my worth. I mean no harm. Besides, I would
learn from the descendants of Rûmm, as well as from Grundin’s folk.
Will you not share with one who knows so little?" This request,
made with such apparent humility, seemed reasonable to the Council,
but Nimo remained stern.

Noli glowered at Gaelen. "If you think you can beg my
pardon, Elf, for such grievous wrongs, then think longer and
harder. You cannot escape the misdeeds of your ancestors. I will
teach you something of our way, as you have asked, and it is this:
our memories are long and our pardon difficult to obtain. We do not
forget the wrongs of the past, even as you do not. My trust you
will never earn."

Then a new voice, deep and powerful and old as the
mountain, rose again amid a somewhat uncomfortable silence. They
turned to regard Grundin himself, who stood above them upon a ledge
that flanked his private chamber, from which he could attend to the
business of the Council if he so wished. He was magnificent. Gaelen
beheld in his eyes the same regal bearing and wisdom she had seen
in those of the High King and Lord Magra.

"Peace, Noli," said Grundin. "Though the Council
understands the grudge you bear, we will not permit you to deny
welcome to this Elf, who has herself done nothing to your folk, or
to ours. Payment for the provisions was left, and this man is
Dwarf-friend, and therefore entitled. She is his companion, and is
a friend of Fima. You will not deny her the welcome of
Cós-domhain." He turned to Gaelen. "Worthy Elf, your words are well
chosen. Walk freely in my realm as did your folk of old." With
that, he turned and left them, and there would be no disagreement,
not even from the descendants of Rûmm.

The Company was now officially made welcome by
Grundin’s folk, and Rogond drew Gaelen aside, whispering quietly in
her ear. "Well spoken! Perhaps you are not of Aincor’s house after
all."

But both Gaelen and Fima were still troubled. They
had seen the enmity in the eyes of both Noli and Nimo, and knew
that despite what Grundin had proclaimed, she was not welcome in
the hearts of some of the folk of the Cavern-realm. Nor would she
ever be.

The next few days passed pleasantly enough, as the
Company enjoyed the hospitality of the dwarves, avoiding Noli and
his folk as best they could. Fima renewed his bond with his family,
and he insisted on introducing his friends to each and every one of
them. Rogond was introduced to Farin down in the deep smithies
where the forges burned hot and the hammers were rarely silent.
This venerable dwarf greeted Rogond, embracing him as a long-lost
cousin. "You have your mother’s eyes," he told Rogond to his
delight, "but your father’s hair, I expect. Hers was a dark reddish
hue. How well I remember it! And who is your friend?" He looked
over at

Gaelen, who stood by.

Rogond introduced her, and they both sat upon the
polished stone floor at Farin’s feet. "Please, Master Farin, they
tell me that you know something of my family. This ring was taken
from my mother’s hand as she lay dead, slain by Ulcas in the
Verdant Mountains."

Farin cast his eyes downward, his expression both
shocked and saddened. After a moment he met Rogond’s eyes again,
and spoke in a soft voice. "Rosalin slain by Ulcas? That is ill
news and hard to imagine. She would not have been easily taken." He
wrapped his fingers in the long hair of his grey beard and tore a
rather large bit of it off, then dropped it into the forge. It went
up in a flash of flame as Farin spoke soft words unheard by any
save himself. He turned to Rogond.

"You have heard the tale of how my life was
saved?"

"Yes," Rogond replied, "but not yet from you. Glomin
has told us of it." Gaelen reflected that she would have been
better able to attend the telling of Glomin’s tale had she not been
trussed and blindfolded on cold stone.

Rogond now tried to subdue the pleading in his voice,
to little avail. "Please, I would learn all you can tell me. I
basically know nothing of my family history. I…I do not even know
my given name. Rogond is the name given me by the Elves."

Farin looked confused. "Rosalin had a son, she told
me, of whom she was most proud. She said he was much like to his
father in appearance and temperament, but never mentioned his name.
He was in his twenties, living in the north. That would have been,
let me see…about sixty years ago. You most certainly are not
he."

Rogond nodded. "I am but one and fifty. I was a babe
in arms when my mother’s people were killed." So, he had once had a
brother, possibly yet living. Perhaps they even had met, as his
brother would probably be unaware of him and so would not think to
search for him. Yet there were so few of the descendants of Tuathas
left, for so many were taken by the Plague. Rogond sighed. His
brother had no doubt perished with them.

Gaelen observed the mix of emotions that played
across Rogond’s face. "Don’t be discouraged," she said, placing a
hand on his shoulder, "but hear the rest of what Farin can tell."
She turned to the dwarf. "I would hear of it, also, if my presence
does not disquiet either of you." Rogond gripped her hand tightly,
and she patted his arm. He was so tense that he could hardly remain
still. She turned to Farin. "You had best tell him all you can. He
has waited long for enlightenment." Neither she nor Rogond moved or
spoke until Farin had finished.