Elfhunter (75 page)

Gorgon saw himself through her eyes, but the sight
did not please him, for now as she looked upon him and felt the
pain and deprivation he had endured, she wondered what might have
been. Her attention was drawn to the evidence of his High-elven
heritage: his hair, his tall, straight frame and long legs, and his
brilliant, inquisitive mind. And for a fleeting moment, she saw him
as Elven, beautiful and whole, and unscarred by hatred and
pain.

Then, almost immediately, the vision changed. Her
view of him twisted into the familiar scarred, dark figure, but he
did not look powerful, or fearsome, or terrible. Through Gaelen’s
eyes, Gorgon was pathetic, twisted, ugly, and alone. They shared
thoughts then, for the mirror had bewildered them both and turned
them away from the battle for the moment. Gorgon knew that Gaelen
anticipated her death and that she would go to the Far Shores,
there to reunite with her beloved. She felt his uncertainty as to
his own fate, and he wondered aloud:

"Will I, too, go to the Eternal Realm? What shall be
my fate? I have no one awaiting me, and no race will claim me.
Where, then, shall I go?"

Gaelen answered him, for she felt pity for him in
that moment. "I cannot imagine, Dark Horror, what fate awaits you.
But you shall find out soon, for your hour is at hand. You may kill
me now, but Rogond is coming, and he will not see you as I do.
Prepare yourself, for I cannot imagine that your destiny lies
anywhere except in Darkness. I cannot weep for you. None of the
Elàni shall weep for you."

Her words enraged him as his pride welled once more.
He leaped to his feet, preparing to strike her down, for she was
weak and would not resist. He still grasped the mirror, for he
wanted to view her last sight as he cut her down. Raising Turantil
over his head, he roared at her, relishing the terrible sight of
himself standing tall over her. The beautiful, bright sword may
have been dwarfed by Gorgon’s massive form, but it would cleave her
neck all the same.

Gaelen knew that her time had come, but she would
take as much of him with her as she could manage. Her gaze darted
to Fima’s axe lying on the wet ground beside her, and she recalled
the words of her beloved friend, who was now lost.

It is well that you would learn the skills of the
axe, Gaelen, but have a care as you practice with this weapon, for
it will cleave iron. There are not many things that it will not
cleave, in fact!
Gaelen knew then what she would do.

She grabbed the axe in her right hand, and gathering
herself for a last effort she ducked beneath Turantil as Gorgon
brought it down upon her, and swung with all her might at his left
arm, severing the hand that held the mirror. He roared with pain
and dropped the sword, gripping his left forearm and staggering
back as he heard the voice of Rogond approaching.

Gaelen grabbed Turantil and the severed hand, and
backed away as quickly as she could, while her mighty enemy moaned
in his agony. She wondered whether the mirror still worked, though
the hand of Gorgon was separated from his body, and she closed her
eyes. She would blind him if she could. Gorgon was terribly
confused, as the mirror would indeed hold power over him for a
time, and he saw nothing but darkness. He blundered away from her
then, for he would be no match for Rogond if he could not see to
fight.

Rogond arrived a few moments later, as Gaelen urged
him to pursue Gorgon. "Track him, Thaylon, for he is not far away.
Track him! You must not let him escape. I will aid you from here,
for the influence of the mirror may lessen as Gorgon leaves it
farther behind." Rogond looked puzzled, but Gaelen spoke again.
"There is no time!" She could sense her connection with Gorgon
beginning to wane, and she cautioned Rogond. "Go now, beloved, but
be swift and careful. He will see through his own eyes again ‘ere
long."

Rogond dropped his leather pack from his shoulders,
and carried only his weapons as he left in pursuit.

Gorgon moaned in pain and despair as he beheld
Rogond, who was now tracking him. It would be very difficult to
evade pursuit, seeing only through Gaelen’s eyes. He had heard
Gaelen say that the influence of the mirror was fading; he had felt
it, too. Yet it was still strong enough to blind him to all else
but her visions as he ran, stumbling, into the night.

Gaelen was taken with a sudden feeling that Gorgon
might well escape, or even do harm to Rogond, as she sat on the
rain-soaked ground with Gorgon’s hand in her lap. She stared at the
glint of gold visible through Gorgon’s thick fingers, wondering
what would happen if she took the mirror and gazed into it herself
?

She thought better of it, for the mirror frightened
her and she dared not test its power. The Stone of Léir had taught
her the folly of giving in to her inquisitiveness. But now, she
beheld Turantil, and Fima’s axe, and her thoughts again turned to
vengeance for the hurts Gorgon had caused.

Her eyes strayed to Rogond’s pack, and a thought came
to her as to how this vengeance could be achieved. She drew forth
the remaining maglos from the pack, set the hand in her lap, and
opened the phial, flinging the remaining chunk of metal onto the
rain-soaked ground not twenty feet from where she was sitting.

She crawled painfully back, knowing that she needed a
greater distance from it, when it burst violently into blinding
light. She turned her head away, as Rogond both heard the explosion
and beheld it when he turned back toward her. He knew at once what
she had done and why. He ran toward the light, calling her name,
screaming at her to stop, to turn from her course, for he knew what
it would do to her.

Gaelen had not much time before the influence of the
mirror would fade and the connection would be broken. Turning
toward the flaring maglos, she stared directly into its light,
willing herself to keep her eyes open despite the pain, as Gorgon
shrieked in agony. His light-sensitive brain was incapable of
enduring this, and he dropped to the ground, his own pale eyes
squeezed tightly shut, to no avail. As he writhed on the wet
ground, he heard Gaelen calling in a terrible voice; it was obvious
that she was filled with pain herself, but it was a mere shadow of
his own suffering.

Talrodin! Halrodin! Gelmyr! Noli! Tibo! Amandir!
Belegund! Fima!
he heard through the white, flaring agony in
his mind, before it faded at last and all was dark again.

Rogond ran back to where Gaelen now sat before the
dwindling light. He heard her calling out the names of Gorgon’s
victims, and as he appeared, she turned toward him. As he knelt
beside her he could see that her eyes were strangely blank, and he
knew that she could not see him.

"The hold of the mirror has faded—Gorgon will gain no
more from it. My vengeance has been achieved," she said, as she
sagged sideways, her strength gone at last. He caught her in his
arms, holding her gently to him.

She roused herself and spoke to him again. "I have
hurt him badly, and he is blind. You may well defeat him now, but
be cautious, as he is a wounded animal and will visit as much harm
upon you as he can. I can still feel his desperation. You must see
him dead before it fades."

Rogond heard her words, but he was still shocked and
grieved at her blank gaze and her weak, shaky voice. "Oh,
Gaelen…why did you do this? You will have harmed only yourself. His
eyes were not burned by the light! Why did you do it?"

A vague, brief smile crossed her face. "I will heal.
He cannot, for the image of the light was not in his eyes, but in
his mind…in his heart. He will never truly heal." With those words,
she sank into darkness, as Rogond held her and despaired.

Galador and Nelwyn had found Eros, still standing
where Rogond had left him, and had turned him over to the
Wood-elves, who would take him slowly and carefully back to a place
where he could be tended. Galador looked in wonder at the evidence
of Eros’ heroic descent, and he addressed the animal with new
respect.

"All is forgiven between us, Eros. Do not fear…I will
find Rogond. Go, now, and submit to the kind attentions of the
people of the Greatwood."

They had been tracking their friends with the help of
Ri-Aruin’s folk, and when the maglos flared they had been drawn to
it, arriving to find Rogond sitting with Gaelen in his arms. Nelwyn
rushed to his side as Galador looked around in alarm.

"Where is Gorgon?" he asked Rogond, looking with some
concern at Gaelen’s pale face and bloody clothing.

Rogond looked up at him, his face full of pain. "I
don’t know, and I have not the will to care, but now that you are
here I shall track him and make certain that he does not escape the
net Ri-Aruin’s folk have laid for him. I fear Gaelen is grievously
hurt, and I dared not leave her."

Nelwyn bent to examine her cousin. "She is spent, but
her heart is still strong and her wounds are not grave. She will be
hale again, my friend, do not fear. But we should get her back to a
place of healing and make certain she is warm and dry. Eros is
being well tended as we speak. Lift up your heart, my dear Rogond."
She embraced him as she spoke, for he was a beloved friend.

Rogond knew that Nelwyn was right, that Gaelen would
heal, but only he knew the extent of what she had done, and in his
heart he wept for her. As he turned now to pursue Gorgon, Rogond
noticed the severed hand now lying, nearly invisible, on the muddy
ground. He lifted it up, noticing the mirror gripped in the
bloodstained palm. The touch of Gorgon’s flesh was repulsive, yet
Rogond knew the hand and the mirror must be preserved. He did not
wish to handle the mirror or remove it without guidance. Tearing
the fabric of his cloak, he wrapped the hand in it, and then placed
it beside Nelwyn. "Guard this well. The enemy must not recover it,"
he cautioned her. Nelwyn stared at the cloth-wrapped hand in morbid
fascination as Rogond and Galador fell once more onto the trail of
their enemy.

Gorgon felt his doom approaching as the circle
tightened around him. Though his connection with the mirror had
faded and his own eyes were now functional, his mind could not
perceive the images sent to it in the darkness, and he was blind.
If he closed his eyes he saw only the brilliant, searing light of
the maglos, and with a cry he would open them again, for he could
not bear it.

He had dealt with the problem of his bleeding left
arm, for the blood would be a sign for his enemies to follow. He
had taken a thong of leather and tied it so tightly around his left
wrist that the bleeding stopped. Unfortunately this caused a great
deal of pain, and he did not know how long he could withstand
it.

He crept carefully along the ravine floor, scenting
the wind for his enemies, listening intently. He caught the scent
of Rogond and Galador in pursuit, and he called upon all of his
considerable skill, climbing carefully up the treacherous,
rain-slick wall of the ravine, leaving almost no sign of his
passing.

This was made much more difficult by the absence of
his left hand. He occasionally forgot the hand was missing and
tried to gain purchase with it. This was a mistake, and he grimaced
as a throbbing bolt of pain shot up his left arm. There was only
one hope for him now, and that was to find a place deep under the
hills where he could hide from the wrath of the Wood-elves. Gorgon
was accustomed to this; he had perfected the art of remaining
nearly inert, sometimes for weeks at a time, subsisting only on the
occasional sip of water. He would try to heal himself, though he
was in so much pain and was so dispirited that this now seemed
doubtful.

The scornful words of Gelmyr echoed in his mind,
tormenting him. In addition, he had been humiliated by Gaelen,
after she had cut the mirror free. Though she had barely enough
strength left to speak, he sensed her smiling at him as he backed
away, crying out in pain, right hand grasping his left wrist.

"You said that Belegund whimpered like a child at the
end, didn’t you? Did he sound half as pitiful as you do right now?
I think not!" Then she had crawled back from him and closed her
eyes, effectively blinding him.

How had things come so far awry? He had been
deceived, and the Elves had won the night, though they paid a
terrible price for their victory. And now Gorgon himself would have
to pay the price of disappointing Wrothgar and leading his fearsome
force to disaster.

Deep in the fortress of Tûr Dorcha, the Shadowmancer
surely awaited Gorgon’s return. He would eventually learn of the
deception of the Elves, but would not know what had befallen Gorgon
for a long time after. If Gorgon escaped Ri-Aruin’s net, and
survived, it would then be up to the Black Flame to decide the fate
of his Dark Child. Gorgon knew that whatever else befell, he would
have to face this fate, and the thought terrified him.

For a moment he considered engaging Rogond and
Galador, effectively taking his own life, for he could not prevail
in his blind, one-handed state. At least then he would not have to
face the wrath of Wrothgar, and he might accomplish at least one of
their deaths, for he would fight like the wounded animal he was.
But in the end, he could not face the thought of any Elf
accomplishing his end, and so he continued, hoping against all
reason that he would be able to find his intended hiding place
before Galador and Rogond could reach him.

The warm, moist air that had borne the rain with it
had spawned a thick mist that seemed to hang all about the ravine
and was especially dense near the floor, where Rogond and Galador
tracked Gorgon relentlessly. Far above them, Gorgon could not see
the mist, but he could feel it. He rejoiced in his dark heart, for
he knew that it would conceal him. The Tuathan and the tall Elf
would never find him if he could only reach his goal…and here it
was.