Elfhunter (29 page)

This strategy did not work, however, as the wine only
seemed to further embolden Rogond, and he realized that he should
drink no more of it. Pushing his crystal goblet away, he surveyed
the scene, looking for anything that would divert him. Then his
gaze fell on Fima, who was still at the table, eating and drinking
with another dwarf and one of the Elvish healers. This appeared to
be a merry gathering, exactly what Rogond needed to take his mind
from the tall Elf-lord who was presently occupying the attentions
of his only love. He rose and moved to join Fima and the healer,
who made him welcome.

Fima suspected that sitting alone watching Magra with
Gaelen would not be to Rogond’s liking. "You are very subdued
tonight, my young Aridan," he said, watching Rogond look sidelong
at Magra, who was at that moment being disgustingly charming.

Rogond drew a deep breath. "I have never been one for
this sort of formal revelry. Perhaps I should excuse myself and
return to my chamber, for tomorrow will be a very long day, and I
have much to think about."

Fima smiled and shook his head, then leaned over and
spoke quietly to Rogond. "First think about this—running away won’t
solve your dilemma, my friend. If you want that Elf, go and take
her. If you ask, and she accepts, you shall have your answer. Magra
cannot interfere with her choices, lord though he is. You are as
worthy as are any of these folk, but they have trained you well, so
that you do not see it. Go on and take her! If you don’t, you’ll
regret it. I suspect that Magra only toys with her anyway, as she
is but a Sylvan rustic, and he is a powerful Elf-lord. You must
trust her. Think of all you have seen and been through with her;
she will honor it. Besides," he added with a sly wink, "I would
very much like to see the two of you dance together. It would
gladden my heart."

Rogond’s eyes flashed at the thought of Magra’s
toying with Gaelen. He wondered how the great Elf-lord would have
fared against Gorgon—would he have discovered the creature’s hidden
weakness, as had the Sylvan rustic? He resolved to take Fima’s
advice. "Then you shall see it," he declared, getting to his
feet.

Fima nodded in approval and clapped Rogond on the
arm, sending him forth. "Go on and take her, my friend," he
repeated, then rose and worked his way over to the musicians. He
spoke urgently to one of them, pressing a few coins into his
hand.

Magra and Gaelen were standing together, speaking in
low voices, waiting for the music to resume. Magra had been
entirely focused on his companion, ignoring all attempts at
distraction by the Elves of Mountain-home, several of whom also
desired his company.

Nelwyn and Galador, flushed with the excitement of
the evening, approached Gaelen, who asked if they had seen Rogond.
Then she heard a voice from behind her right shoulder.

"He is here," said Rogond as she turned to face him,
"and he would dance with you. Will you have him?"

Things grew quiet around them for a moment, as Gaelen
considered. Several of the Elves of Mountain-home had ceased their
conversation and turned their attention to Lord Magra and his
companion, who had just been asked to dance by Rogond of the
Tuathar. Rogond and Magra knew one another, and there was no enmity
between them, at least not until now. But the Elves were
understandably curious as to Gaelen’s choice and the reaction of
either Magra or Rogond to it.

Gaelen, who in her naïveté had no idea of the
significance of her next act, took Rogond’s hand and followed him
without so much as a backward glance at the tall Elf-lord. Magra
was somewhat taken aback, though he did not reveal it.

Galador quickly stepped in. "They are good friends,
Lord Magra, but friends only. It was generous of you to allow this
intrusion."

"It is of no consequence," replied Magra with a
dismissive wave of his hand. "I must speak with Lady Ordath at any
rate, and this time alone is appreciated. But your friend Rogond, I
fear, takes an ill-fated path, for I know Gaelen of old, and I know
her heart’s desire. She longs for that which she cannot have. All
hope of winning her is vain." He looked hard at Galador, and his
next remark was chilly. "It would be best if your friend became
aware of this, as I sense his interests in her are far less casual
than are mine." So saying, he returned to the table, there to
occupy himself in conversation with Ordath.

As soon as Lord Magra had gone, Galador turned to
Nelwyn. "What did he mean by all that?" he asked, puzzled.

Nelwyn shook her head. "You will have to learn it
from Gaelen herself, if you want to know, but even Magra does not
hold all the knowledge of her that he believes he does. Though it
is possibly true that Gaelen will never fully give herself to
another of Elven-kind, Rogond’s hopes are not in vain." She
embraced Galador, who was more confused than ever. "Do not try to
make sense of this now, as I will speak no more of it," she
implored him. "Let’s return to the dance."

At last the musicians resumed playing, but rather
than the slow, cadenced, deliberate tempo that had dominated much
of the evening, this was faster, lighter, and more abandoned. Such
music was favored by the Wood-elves of the Greatwood and of the
Verdant Mountains, though it seemed a bit out of place in the court
of Mountain-home. Rogond and Gaelen knew it at once. Gaelen tossed
her head, knocking her garland askew, and was soon dancing in the
manner of her people—a lively, springy dance with much elaborate
footwork. Rogond also knew this dance (as Fima had been perfectly
aware), and they moved expertly together.

The Elves of Mountain-home delighted in watching
their energetic performance, and some even joined them. The others
clapped their hands and sang snatches of the tune as they could.
The level of merriment reached its peak, and the song ended.

Rogond and Gaelen were now flushed and breathing hard
from their efforts, but both felt much better for it. Gaelen’s
perfect hair had come undone and now displayed its usual windblown
untidiness; she looked very much the Sylvan rustic.

Rogond bowed before her, turned toward his good
friend Fima with a nod and, with a last acknowledgment of Nelwyn
and Galador, he took his leave. He paused to bid good evening to
Lady Ordath and to thank her. Ordath nodded, but her gaze, though
gentle, was stern. Magra also nodded toward him. "Aridan," he said,
with a courtesy in his voice that did not extend to his eyes.

Many thoughts grew in many hearts that night in
Mountain- home. Rogond returned alone to his chamber, his courage
waning with the influence of the wine. He began to doubt the wisdom
of his bold possession of Gaelen at the feast. She would almost
certainly ask him about it. What in the world had Fima been
thinking? "Go and take her," indeed! Now he would have to explain
himself to her satisfaction and at least partly reveal his desires
to her. What, then, would she do? What if she rejected him utterly?
He supposed she would insist that he leave her to face Gorgon
without him. On the other hand, he did not believe that she would
scorn him. She had gone willingly to the dance, the light of her
eyes was not tainted by disdain, and her voice held no derision of
him as she said goodnight. On the
other
hand, she was no
mortal.

Rogond had not meant to show discourtesy to Lord
Magra, either. Despite Fima’s insinuations, there was no evidence
that Magra’s affection for Gaelen was anything but genuine.
Tomorrow Rogond would find him and apologize. His face burned as he
thought of it.

Ordath knew the truth of Rogond’s feelings, and she
had always been kind to him, even somewhat motherly. Perhaps it
would be prudent to seek her advice in this matter, though he
thought he knew what she would say, and he dreaded hearing it. Once
given, such advice would be difficult to disregard. Rogond wished
for a moment that he had just a bit more of Gaelen’s self-willed
nature; she didn’t balk at disregarding advice from anyone, but
followed the desires of her heart. She judged all advice on its
merit and always against the standard of her opinion, whether it
came from Elf-lord, Sylvan rustic, or mortal man.

Rogond truly loved the civility of Mountain-home, but
he found himself wishing for the wilderness and for the company of
his own people. They judged him always by his actions and not by
his heritage. They were now so few, and there was much work to be
done.

Shaking these thoughts from his mind, Rogond tried to
take rest before the dawn came, but found that it eluded him. His
main comfort came from thoughts of finding Fima in the morning and
having a few words with him concerning his manipulation of the
actions of a certain wine-besotted Aridan, playing on his feelings
for one fair, immortal, headstrong Sylvan rustic.

Gaelen had settled in a warm, moss-covered niche
overlooking the water. She drew her battered cloak around her,
relishing the feel of her familiar clothing, and settled back to
rest, though she found that she could not. She had taken leave of
Magra, Galador, and Nelwyn not long after Rogond’s departure. She
stayed long enough to dance with Magra again, promising to teach
him some of the Sylvan way, as he in turn offered to aid her in
mastering the longbow. With a last, gentle farewell, she had left
him, pausing and bowing before Lady Ordath. The Lady’s expression
was enigmatic. Gaelen could not tell whether she was displeased,
concerned, or attempting to be dispassionate, but she read
something there. Certainly Gaelen did not wish to offend the Lady,
but she could not imagine how she might have done so.

She wondered about her friend Rogond, who knew so
much of the ways of her people. She liked him immensely, even loved
him in her way. She had grown so fond of him in the past few months
that she was beginning to be unable to imagine traveling without
him, as though he had always been at her side. He was faithful,
courageous, considerate, and not in the least arrogant or willful.
She admired his skill in battle, but even more the complex workings
of his mind and the seeming simplicity of his heart. Alas that he
was of mortal race, for he would remain in her world only for a
brief while. And where he went after, she could not follow.

Tears sprang unbidden to her eyes as she thought of
that parting, which would come no matter what their fates held. She
thought it very likely that one or both of them would perish in the
upcoming struggle with the Dark Horror that brooded now beneath the
mountain. She wiped the tears away quickly, though none would
witness them. Did she cry for Rogond, at the thought of saying
goodbye, or for herself ? The answer to that question lay in her
past, in a land far to the north of the Greatwood, and in the Vault
of Eternity.

Nelwyn and Galador lay together in a fair glade
beside gently flowing waters, breathing in the heady scent of the
new spring blooms and embracing beneath the stars. Galador had
given himself over completely to this deeply passionate, beautiful
maiden who now declared her love for him. She had reached into his
very soul, extracted the poisoned dart of his suffering, and
cleansed his heart, opening it anew. Though he would always carry
his love for Gwynnyth, he had learned that there was room in his
heart also for Nelwyn, whose light would fill the emptiness of his
life both now and through eternity. His joy could not be quenched,
and he threw his head back and laughed aloud, as Nelwyn smiled back
at him. "Why do you laugh, my love?"

"Because I am filled with joy at this fate, which
though it had seemed so desolate, I would not now trade with any in
this world. It has been long since I laughed in joy, as I do now."
This said, he held her in a passionate embrace, and they kissed for
the first of many times that night. As Galador beheld his perfect,
loving companion who now held absolute dominion over the desire of
his heart, he knew that he was ready to dedicate himself to her
utterly, to die for her if need be.

As for Gaelen, foundling descendent of the
Fire-heart, Galador could never repay the debt he owed her. What
had Magra meant when he had spoken of her heart’s desire that could
never be attained? Nelwyn would not tell him, but Magra had
intimated that it was something Rogond should be made aware of.
Tomorrow Galador would seek to learn the truth of this from Magra,
or perhaps from Ordath. Nelwyn had said that Gaelen would never
give herself to another of Elven-kind. Did this mean her heart was
given already? If so, how sad that her desire was unattainable, but
how fortunate that his own was not.

Oh, Happy Elf of Eádros!
Galador exulted,
closing his thoughts of Gaelen and submitting once more to the
loving attentions of her gentler cousin, of whose origins in the
Greatwood there was absolutely no doubt.

Rogond found Magra in the armory the next morning. He
seemed quite genial as he approached. "Ah! There you are,
Aridan…now I shall not have to go in search of you. Come and have a
look at this." He held out Rogond’s spear, which had been restored
with a new blackened steel point. The shaft, finely balanced so
that it rested lightly in his hand, would fly straight and true.
"What do you think?

Is it to your liking?"

Rogond’s expression left no doubt that it was very
much to his liking. He bowed courteously, and then raised his eyes
to meet Magra’s.

"This weapon has never been tended with such skill.
My thanks are insufficient," he said, and meant it.

Magra favored him with a good-natured smile. "You
restored Elethorn to us, and helped bring the news of Gelmyr and
this creature, Gorgon. It is we who are in your debt. Besides,
Gaelen and Nelwyn should not be the only ones with fine weapons.
You will need your spear, Aridan, before all is ended."