Elfhunter (9 page)

Hearing of this again had unsettled Galador so that
he could not rest. He rose and climbed up onto the bank where he
could see and hear all around him. There he sat, alone and
watchful, as Nelwyn regarded him, settling back against the bank
next to Gaelen and Rogond, who was soon fast asleep.

When the wind shifted so that it blew from the south,
the Elves’ worst suspicions were confirmed. Galador caught it first
as he stood watch. Nelwyn felt Gaelen tremble as she lifted her
head, scenting the air. Then Nelwyn also detected it—the smell of
blood and corruption, of suffering and death. As Nelwyn spoke
comforting words to Gaelen to stop her trembling, she lifted her
eyes up to Galador’s. She was truly glad of his company, but she
hoped that she had not led him into a situation from which none
would escape.

The Elves could not rest after that, as each was lost
in his or her own thoughts. Gaelen’s dreams had unnerved her, and
she dreaded the dawn. Nelwyn was afraid also, for all of them.
Galador, who alone among the Elves had yet to actually experience
the violence of this enemy, was nonetheless disquieted. His
thoughts turned more and more often to Nelwyn and how he longed to
tell her that he would defend her unto death, though he hoped it
would not come to that.

They first caught sight of what remained of Gelmyr in
the late morning. He was still hanging from the tall tree, swaying
slightly in the wind. They debated as to whether it would be safe
to approach him, but Gaelen could tell by the faintness of the
enemy’s scent that he was long gone. In fact, Gorgon had been gone
for more than two full days. They were wary nonetheless as they
approached Gelmyr, for his body had been left hanging for someone
to find, and perhaps there were traps and snares. But they found
none, and as they drew near to him Galador started back in
dismay.

"But, he is of the Èolar!" he said, amazed.

"I remember him. He came as emissary to the Greatwood
long ago, along with his friend Magra. His name is…Gelmyr, as I
recall," said Gaelen.

"It was Gelmyr," said Nelwyn sadly. She, too,
remembered Gelmyr together with Magra—two powerful Elf-lords at
Ri-Aruin’s table. How different he had looked then!

Rogond drew his long knife and cut Gelmyr down. They
laid him gently on the ground, as Galador began to examine him.
They were all horrified at the damage that had been done, as they
pieced together the manner of death from the tale the ruined body
told them. "So, this enemy was clever enough to approach an Elf
such as Gelmyr without being seen or heard, craven enough to break
his back so that he is helpless, and then cruel enough to hack him
to pieces while he is still alive. Yet at the last it kills
quickly? It is almost as if there is some vestige of honor amidst
the evil. It doesn’t make sense," said Rogond.

"Perhaps it does," whispered Gaelen, as she bent over
Gelmyr’s ruined face. His once-beautiful blue eyes were difficult
to read; they were clouded over like pale moons, but Gaelen put
forth all her effort into searching their depths. Gelmyr had
possessed a powerful spirit, and in spite of his being nearly three
days gone, she could still sense a remnant of it. She took hold of
his cold hands and searched harder. The icy feeling washed over her
without warning, and she cried out in dismay, letting go of
Gelmyr’s hands as though they burned her.

Rogond caught her as she swooned back, her eyes
closed, shaking with cold. None of them fully understood what she
had done, and they were confused and worried for her. Rogond tried
to lift her, but she suddenly came alive in his arms and pulled
away, leaping to her feet with her hands flung up before her as
though trying to ward something off.

"Gaelen!" Nelwyn cried, rushing to her side and
forcing her to look into her eyes. "Come back to us!"

Gaelen buried her face in her hands for a moment, and
then the shadow lifted from her as she turned to her friends, who
were standing transfixed by what they had just witnessed.

Nelwyn approached her again, placing a hand on her
shoulder. "Did...did Gelmyr speak to you? What did you learn?"
Gaelen turned to Nelwyn with an expression of cold fury in her
eyes.

"Yes, he spoke to me. What I learned is that this
enemy will not stop until every one of us is dead, and that he
would prefer to kill us one by one, at his leisure, in the worst
possible way. What I did not learn is why. Though, at the end,
Gelmyr thought he knew."

They did not know what to do with Gelmyr. In truth,
he deserved to be brought back to Monadh-talam, where he was loved
by many, and laid to rest there. But that was not in their plan.
There were no stones to cover him with, and the ground here was
soft and damp, not suitable for burial. In the end, they decided to
give him to the chilly waters of the Ambros, which he loved. Gaelen
sang for him as they released him into the grey water. It carried
him gently until he finally slipped out of sight as it took him
under.

After Gaelen finished singing for Gelmyr, she
returned to the base of the tree where they had found him. Her
steps were somewhat stiff as she walked to the base of the tall
beech and without warning slammed her fist into it. None of them
dared approach her for a few moments. Then Rogond placed a hand on
her shoulder.

Her body stiffened, and he took his hand away.
Turning from him, she returned to the horses and slung her bow,
quiver, and other gear across her shoulders.

"What do you think you’re doing?" asked Galador,
incredulous. "I’m tracking, Galador. I can bear my own things,
since I will be on foot from now on," she replied, as though it
should be obvious. She headed toward the mountains, determined in
spite of her fears, leaving the others to stare after her. Rogond
and Galador mounted the horses, pulling Nelwyn up behind Galador,
and they trotted after Gaelen. Rogond drew nigh her, leaping off
Eros and striding along at her side.

"Keep the horses behind me, Tuathan. They will
trample and confuse the sign," she said.

He reached over and grabbed her upper arm, forcing
her to stop. Her eyes flashed as she turned toward him. His gaze
was gentle, and he smiled wryly at her. "You aren’t, by chance,
related to Aincor, are you?"

Gaelen just stood there with her mouth open. This was
an insult of the highest order. Surely, Rogond knew the tale of
Aincor Fire-heart, the first High King, who grew so proud that he
was driven to recklessness. Once he set upon a course no counsel
would sway him—his stubbornness had resulted in mass genocide.
Rogond dared compare Gaelen to
Aincor
? Unthinkable.
Ridiculous. Gaelen stood in disbelief for a moment—what sort of
point did he hope to make? Come to think of it, perhaps she
had
been just a little bit impetuous… and she did
sometimes
tend to be a little bit stubborn…

All at once, her stern façade gave way, and she
laughed.

"No, Tuathan. I claim no kinship with him. But you
certainly have made me see this with different eyes."

"Well, you would seem to possess some of the same
determination. Come and sit with me awhile, for I would speak with
you."

Gaelen agreed to parley with Rogond, and they sat
upon the dry winter grass, talking and gesturing, for quite some
time. At last she dropped her gaze, and he again placed a gentle
hand on her shoulder, though she still did not appear to welcome
his touch. They rose to their feet and approached the others, as
Rogond told them that he had struck a bargain with Gaelen. They
would continue to track the enemy for as long as possible, but when
the signs vanished, which Rogond knew they would, Gaelen agreed to
break off the pursuit until the trail grew warm again somewhere
else. They would remain alert for rumors of the creature and would
warn all who would listen of him, but they would break off the
pursuit.

Gaelen turned and resumed tracking, unaware that
exactly what Rogond had predicted would come to pass less than
three days later, when it appeared that all sign of the creature
had suddenly vanished from the land. It was as though it had
sprouted wings and flown up and out of her grasp.

Had Gaelen known it, her enemy was not far away, but
she would not find him. Gorgon lay, alone as ever, brooding in his
dark lair deep underground. Here were provisions enough to last
awhile; he would not have to leave his haven for several weeks. He
had gone to ground beneath the Great Mountains, leaving no sign for
anyone to follow. He would rest and think, and remember the
anguished face of Gelmyr. He smiled a twisted smile, caressing the
keen edge of Turantil. Lifting the blade, he drew it along his
already-scarred forearm, imagining the pain he had inflicted upon
his once-proud, once-mighty victim, his strange dark blood flowing
freely, dripping onto the cold stone floor.

Gaelen slid down from behind Rogond and surveyed
their intended encampment. It was she who had decided the Company
needed to stop for the night, for she could sense Rogond’s
weariness as he sat before her on Eros. Knowing his pride and not
wishing to call attention to the fact that he was still not at full
strength, she had feigned a need to stop and look to her gear.

"My blade is dull and my arrows few," she had said,
"Let’s stop while there’s still daylight, so that I may replenish
them." The others had agreed that a rest of a day or two would not
hurt. The farther they rode from their enemy, the more relaxed and
less driven they became. The pursuit had taken more energy than
they were willing to admit. Now that they had diverted from it, a
sort of weariness mixed with relief had washed over them.

They had decided to return to the Great Forest, there
to inform the King of their recent hardships. Once they had made
their report, Gaelen and Nelwyn desired to travel to Monadh-talam,
also known as Mountain-home, for they wished to bring the news of
Gelmyr’s death to Magra, his friend. They would beg the King’s
leave to do so, but in their minds they had already resolved to go
regardless of Ri-Aruin’s decision. They kept this plan to
themselves, not wishing to influence the intentions of Rogond or
Galador. Gaelen, in particular, had the sense that Rogond, for some
reason, had appointed himself her protector. As if she needed
one!

The journey from the Greatwood to Mountain-home would
be difficult, as it was not exactly the optimal time of year to
cross the mountains. Spring was not far off, but winter still ruled
the forest, and it would not relinquish its hold on the mountains
for some time yet. It was true that there were fairly safe paths
known to the Elves, otherwise the crossing could not have been
attempted. Still, the weather would tax them, and the going would
be slow and laborious.

Nelwyn, for once, did not suggest the sensible
alternative of waiting until spring had softened the mountains. She
had been profoundly affected by the death of Gelmyr and remembered
his close friendship with Magra. She recalled the two of them at
the King’s table, tall and proud yet relaxed and merry, happy to be
sharing in Ri-Aruin’s hospitality.

Nelwyn thought of Magra waiting, but no word of his
friend would come unless they brought it to him. The way from the
Greatwood back to Mountain-home would not be so easy, but the
promise of a new and likely perilous journey would be especially
good for Gaelen. It would take her focus from their enemy, as there
would be new challenges to be met. But first, they would have to
return to the Greatwood. What Nelwyn dreaded most in all of this
was facing Talrodin’s two sons.

This dread was shared by Gaelen, who would rather
have come back with the news that the creature had been slain and
the sword Turantil recovered and returned to Halrodin’s heir. She
suspected that Turantil had been the very blade used to inflict
such grievous damage upon Gelmyr, though how she knew it she could
not say.

With this plan in mind, they had returned to the ford
and crossed the river again, as this would be more difficult the
farther north they traveled. They stayed close to the Ambros
wherever possible and did not enter the forest, as the southern
regions of the Darkmere were thoroughly dangerous places.

Now, Gaelen was searching in her pack for her
whetstone, her bag of steel arrow-points, and the feathers she
carried for fletching. Nelwyn had been sent to find the straightest
and strongest material to manufacture the shafts. She was expert at
this. She could find suitably straight-grained, seasoned branches
where no one else could. She soon brought several back to camp,
where Rogond and Galador took them and began the shaping of them.
Gaelen watched Rogond intently, and it was soon apparent that he
was skilled in this as in many other ways of woodcraft. Turning to
the sharpening of her blade, she spoke to him.

"How is it that you know so much of the woodland way?
And how came you to speak Elven-tongues as if born to them?"

Rogond paused in his shaping of the arrow-shaft,
regarding Gaelen with a pleasant expression. "I would tell you my
tale, but you may not wish to sit still long enough to hear it," he
said, having noticed her tendency to be restive.

Gaelen snorted, favoring him with a wry look. What
did he know about her abilities? She recalled a day the previous
summer when she had been forced to hide herself for hours in a tall
tree standing alone in a meadow on the western edge of the forest.
A large, armed company of Ulcas had appeared suddenly and she had
not the time to get out of the open. The Ulcas had chosen that tree
as their resting- place, and they were there nearly four hours
before they left to seek underground shelter from the coming dawn.
For all that time Gaelen had to sit absolutely still and silent,
listening to their horrid speech and smelling their rotten flesh,
lest any one of two dozen pairs of eyes should detect her. In the
flickering light of their fires, she had been glad she wore very
little of silver, gold, or gem. She could certainly remain still if
need be. "Tell your tale, Aridan. I’ll sit still for it…if you make
it interesting enough!"