Authors: C S Marks
"Why should we spend all that effort, when these
young trees provide us with the perfect material? It’s not as
though you’re lacking for trees here. Our axes could be busy for
many months and never even dent this wretched tangle."
Gaelen had been required to grab one of Nelwyn’s arms
to prevent her from "explaining" matters to the dwarves, sending
her away so that she would not forget the admonition of the King,
which was to make certain they all reached the eastern border
without incident. Then Gaelen had turned to the dwarves and
informed them that only fools made arrow-shafts of green wood
without spending hours curing them over coals, and that uncured
shafts would warp and need to be re-shaped.
"Your saving of time is thus a false one," she told
them, not even attempting to disguise her contempt. "Now I
understand why so few of your arrows actually find their mark."
Unfortunately, dwarves do not suffer well the
contempt of Elves, who are viewed as having unjustly superior
attitudes. It was true that, although the Elves respected the skill
of the dwarves, and some even formed friendships and partnerships
with them, they were still regarded as ill-mannered, clumsy, and
unattractive. The two peoples were simply too dissimilar to find
much common ground, unless in the making of beautiful things by
craft.
Now the Elves were in the dwarves’ domain. And while
they were thankful for the lamps and the probable scarcity of
Ulcas, they were uncertain of how things would end should they
encounter a large group of dwarvish folk. Some dwarves,
particularly those that
had grown from the remnant of the lost Dwarf-city of
Rûmm, were especially dangerous. There had been a terrible war long
ago between the dwarves of Rûmm and the Elves of Eádros—Galador’s
people. Any of the descendants of Rûmm would quite possibly do harm
to Galador, and maybe even to Gaelen and Nelwyn, on principle.
The Company needed to decide which way to turn and,
as usual, they did not agree. Galador wanted to go left, which he
was convinced was "south". Rogond wanted to turn right. Gaelen and
Nelwyn then joined in support of Rogond, as the last decision had
gone counter to his wishes. "A fine group of frozen folk we shall
make at the end of this road," muttered Galador as he strode along
toward the next lamp. "True enough," chuckled Rogond, who walked
beside him. "But
at least we won’t rot until spring. And our friends
the Ulcas will have fine eating in the meantime."
"You know better than that," Galador hissed back at
him. Even Gaelen and Nelwyn had turned their eyes back at this.
Rogond knew, of course, that Ulcas would not consume the flesh of
Elves (although they would eat almost anything else), nor would
they suffer the touch of objects that were Elven-made. Rogond also
knew that the Elves were somewhat sensitive about it. And there was
no question that he had once again been reminded of another
difference between himself and his companions, for the Ulcas would
consume his flesh with relish.
"Sorry…I forgot myself for a moment. I suppose that
only I would provide nourishment for them."
"Well, should that come to pass, I hope you choke
them!" said Gaelen, who then made deep gagging sounds and clutched
at her throat, pretending to expire on the spot. Even Galador, who
had momentarily lost his good humor, chuckled at the thought of
Ulcas gagging on Rogond (though the idea was a bit morbid).
They continued in silence until they passed three
more of the lamps, which seemed to be hung so that the cold light
from at least one could always be seen. Rogond noticed that the
fourth lamp was larger and more ornate than the others, yet there
was no intersection, but only a recessed area of the passage wall,
into which there appeared to be carved runes and ornate traceries
that suggested both dwarvish and Èolarin origins.
"What can you make of this?" Rogond asked, staring
intently at the runes. The Elves could read bits of it, but Rogond
actually was more familiar with those runes used by dwarvish folk,
as he had studied them in the Sanctuary. He had a fine gift for the
learning of languages and a fascination with them. There was one
old lore-master, a dwarf descended from the founders of the Great
Cavern Realm of Cós-domhain, who had taken up residence in the
Sanctuary as an advisor to Lady Ordath. His name was Fima, and from
him Rogond had learned much concerning the ways of the dwarves,
including some of their speech.
Unlike the Elves, who delighted in sharing and
teaching their languages to any who would learn, the dwarves
guarded their tongue jealously, and very few outside their race
knew even the rudiments of it. Rogond had been in great favor with
Fima, who taught him as much as he could learn. Rogond spoke many
forms of Elvish, as well, and had studied the dialects of men in
all their variety. He had accomplished much in his years at the
Sanctuary, and he looked forward to returning there and renewing
his friendship with Fima.
Now he studied the graven runes carefully, trying to
make out the meaning of the inscription. At last, he nodded with
satisfaction and pressed four of the images at the same time. With
a sort of grinding "creak", a small fissure appeared along the
right-hand edge of the panel. Rogond, with help from a very
surprised Galador, pushed as hard as he could, moving the heavy
stone panel inward until a small chamber was revealed.
As the door opened, another of the eerie blue
lanterns caught the dim light and sparked into life. The chamber
appeared to be a storehouse of goods left to provision the dwarves
on their journeys through the mountains. There were earthenware
jugs of food, barrels of wine and ale, spare garments and weapons,
and…torches! Piles of them, the pitch wrapped with wax, stood in
one corner.
The Company could hardly believe their good fortune.
They had been rationing their food stores so carefully that their
mouths began to water at the thought of the abundance before them.
Rogond cautioned his friends. "The dwarves had laid this by for the
provisioning of their own folk, and they will take none too kindly
to our despoiling it. We should take only what we need for the
immediate future."
This was greeted with silent stares from all three
Elves, who were hoping to take at least two torches and several
days’ worth of food each. And they certainly wouldn’t turn their
noses up at the wine. "I don’t see any dwarves here now," said
Gaelen, looking all around her. "Let the dwarves ration their goods
a little—I’m not about to pass up this bounty. Besides, we can pay
for it." She ran her blade around the edge of the wax seal on one
of the jugs and opened it to find sacks of nuts, tubers that filled
as well as bread when roasted, and some hard, sweet cakes that
tasted wonderful even if one risked breaking teeth on them. She
tossed several of these to Nelwyn, who was busily investigating one
of the smaller jugs, which turned out to be filled with wild
honey.
To a Wood-elf, this substance is more precious than
gold and more intoxicating than wine. Gaelen and Nelwyn wasted no
time getting into the dark, sticky-sweet richness, and they were
soon quite silly. Forgetting all caution, they sat giggling in one
corner as they shared cakes covered with honey, both charged with
exuberant energy.
Rogond had the feeling that, though it was better
than nothing, the small pile of gold coins they left behind would
not be considered adequate by the next party of dwarves to pass
through. He hoped that they had left little other evidence behind
as they finally packed what they could easily carry, lighted one of
the eight torches they had taken, and pulled the heavy panel until
it was nearly closed. Then Rogond repeated his action of touching
four images simultaneously, and the panel closed with a grinding
‘thud’.
The Company was much more cheerful after that, what
with Gaelen and Nelwyn laughing and very nearly colliding with the
walls, and at least one of their water-skins filled with good wine.
They had plenty of food in their packs to see them for quite a
number of days yet. In truth, they had not made much of a dent in
the stores, but the dwarves still would have no sense of humor
about it if they suspected that anyone other than their own folk
had taken the provisions.
To that end, Rogond had at the last insisted that the
Elves surrender one of the tokens sent by the Woodland King for
Lady Ordath—a beautiful and incredibly lifelike golden replica of a
dragon in flight, jeweled and enameled. It was meant to fasten and
adorn a cloak and was of great worth, for it had come from the
treasure-stores of the
Eádram, though it was of dwarf-make. Gaelen and
Nelwyn were fiercely opposed to the idea, but in the end they
relented, as they still had one other token for the Lady. The
dwarves would count themselves well paid. "Well, then I’m taking
our coins back, at least," said Galador.
As the four travelers made their way north along the
dwarf- passage, they were unaware that, a scant two miles away,
Gorgon was stirring in his stony sanctuary, preparing to go abroad
again. The disquieting visions of the Elf Gelmyr spouting prophetic
nonsense from his dead lips had motivated Gorgon to seek new prey
as quickly as possible. It was the only thing that would make the
visions go away. He also had the uneasy feeling that the same
pursuers he had sensed by the river were still close at hand,
though he could not really explain why or how he knew it. Gorgon
did not realize that his "sense" of Gaelen was coming from her
already-intense hatred of him, nor did he understand that she,
through her contact with his victims, now held a sense of him, as
well. For a while, he contemplated seeking out those pursuers and
making an end of them, but decided that would be imprudent, as he
only knew that at least one Elf traveled with them. He strapped on
his armor and various weapons, provisioned himself lightly, as he
had no trouble finding sustenance on the trail, and placed his
heavy helmet on his head.
Now to decide which of his killing-grounds would be
most productive. He thought about returning to the Darkmere, as
that area was still fresh in his experience and might prove
interesting. But he felt that he had picked up his pursuers shortly
after he had killed the two Wood-elves there, so at last he decided
to make his way westward, toward the gentle lands near the sea.
Hopefully it would not be too long until he could waylay one or two
of the Elves passing through those pleasant lands and make a very
unpleasant end of them. Then he would go to the Verdant Mountains
and prowl for more. After all, he would have to apply himself to
his murderous task if he hoped to erase the images of Gelmyr’s
sinister, smiling face and at the same time accomplish the goal of
exterminating the Elves from the face of the world. Someday Gorgon
would have an army, and then he would slay them all. He had
foreseen it.
He glanced at his reflection in the mirror-bright,
polished center of his dark shield, pausing to tuck away a few long
strands of silken hair that had fallen across the thick, grey skin
of his forehead. "Forth, Elfhunter, and good hunting," he growled.
As he headed out he was in fairly high spirits, despite the vague,
uneasy feeling of unyielding pursuit that gnawed at the back of his
mind.
The Company had not gone more than a mile north of
the dwarves’ hidden cache when the first rumor of heavy-shod feet
was heard down the passage ahead. All four of them froze in their
tracks, listening intently, trying to determine the nature of the
oncoming threat. "They do not sound like Ulcas…I would expect them
to go more quietly, especially down dwarf-roads," said Galador.
"Dwarves then, I expect," said Rogond, looking at the
three Elves, who appeared less than happy at the news.
"We cannot risk an encounter with them, Rogond," said
Galador. "They are very likely to take offense to our presence
here, and it sounds as though they are many. We shall have to find
a hiding place at once!"
"There
are
no hiding-places," said Gaelen with
alarm. "We will have to outrun them back the way we came, and turn
back up the other passageway, hoping that they will go straight
on—it’s our only chance." Without waiting for agreement, she turned
to move quickly back the way they had come, going as quietly as she
could, listening to the rumble of the approaching dwarves behind
her. As she approached the hidden doorway, she froze in dismay.
Similar dwarf- racket was now heard from in front of her, as well.
Apparently, the Company had been caught between two groups of
travelers who most likely meant to meet in the exact spot where
they were now standing. "Hurry!" whispered Nelwyn. "The other
passage is not far… perhaps we can make it!" It was worth a try,
though they all doubted they would make the passage before the
dwarves did. As they hurried along, they caught their first sight
of the north-bound dwarves. They were a group of about twelve,
jogging easily, apparently relaxed and in a good humor, talking
amiably with one another. This evaporated when they beheld the four
interlopers, and they halted and became silent, twelve sets of
hands gripping twelve axe handles.
"Well," whispered Gaelen with a sardonic shrug of her
shoulders, "this explains why we haven’t seen any Ulcas."
That was true enough. The dwarves approached with
deliberate caution, stopping about a hundred feet from the Company,
and called out to them in the common tongue: "Hail, wayfarers. Who
are you, and by whose leave do you trespass upon the Great Dwarf
Road?"
Galador spoke first. "We are lost travelers, waylaid
on our way to the Sanctuary and driven underground from the High
Pass. We do not wish to trespass, only to find our way out again.
We had hoped this road would lead us there."