Authors: C S Marks
Gorgon nodded, and the flames died back to a small
flicker that still burned brightly in the grey mist. The flame drew
back through the great doors, with Gorgon following its reddish
glow. It led him down the dark passages and up many winding stairs.
There was no light inside, only the small amount from the guiding
flame. Gorgon had no difficulty, as he was most at home in the
blackness, yet the screams and cries of the prisoners of the Pale
Tower disquieted him. Down in the depths, unfortunate souls
captured by the minions of Wrothgar could be heard even now,
writhing and shrieking in their agony. It had always been so.
The first sounds Gorgon had heard ever in his life
were the helpless wails of his Elven mother as he was forcibly
taken from her womb, and the first sight he had beheld in his
innocence was her horrified expression as she looked upon his
hideousness with her dying sight. He had inherited her perceptive
nature, and knew from the first that he was a ghastly abomination
in her eyes. She held pity for him as well, but she rejected him
utterly even as he was placed in her arms as she lay dying. She
held him once to her breast, then cried out in revulsion and pushed
him away.
He would never know a warm embrace again, and would
never be willingly accepted by any being in Alterra. The Elves
would hate him, and the Ulcas would fear him. Both would find him
repulsive, loathsome, and monstrous. Still, he had cried out to his
mother in the darkness, yearning for her warmth and the comfort and
security of her breast, for he had not yet understood his own
nature, or his purpose. He understood it well enough now, however,
and he would soon be in the presence of the One whose power, added
to his own, would allow him to achieve that purpose.
He followed the flame into a large chamber lit with
torches placed along the walls which, like the floor, were
jet-black and highly polished, reflecting the flickering torchlight
as would a mirror. Gorgon saw his own dim reflection there as well
and drew himself up, throwing out his powerful chest and placing
his hand on his sword-hilt in readiness. Then, the voice of
Wrothgar came again.
"Remove thy helmet, Elfhunter."
Gorgon hesitated for a moment, then reached up and
pulled off his heavy helmet with his left hand, releasing the flood
of golden hair from beneath it. Gorgon’s hair was beautiful. It was
as fine and soft as spun golden thread, and it lifted like silk in
the fiery breeze. Wrothgar appeared in the midst of his own
unnatural, dark fire as a black, shadowy figure seated upon a
massive throne. Where he actually was and what he really looked
like would remain unknown to Gorgon, who realized that this was
merely a vision planted in his mind.
Then the vision of Wrothgar spoke: "Thou wouldst
visit death upon thy foes, those of thy mother’s kin, yet taking
them singly by chance meeting will not further thy cause. They are
aware of thee— they ride even now to Tal-sithian and to the lands
west. If thou wouldst destroy them, take heed of this gift."
From the depths of the peculiar greenish-black flame
came a vision of a small, golden disc, hanging in the air before
Gorgon’s vision and turning gently. As Gorgon looked on in wonder,
the cover snapped open to reveal a round mirror, winking and
flashing in the flickering green light.
"Take it, and rejoice, for it will aid thee."
Gorgon hesitated, for he was wary. There were objects
in the world that held powers unknown to him, and he did not wish
to be ensnared. This one appeared to be of Elven-make; Gorgon could
see some form of beautiful engraving upon it. It had in fact been
made by Dardis, the greatest of the Èolarin craftsmen, who had been
killed during the Second Uprising. Objects forged by his hand were
known to contain great power, and this mirror had been collected
and corrupted by Wrothgar. Who knew what terrible fate would befall
one who possessed it or tried to use it? Wrothgar read Gorgon’s
thoughts, and answered them.
"Do not fear. The mirror will not subvert thee to My
will. It has but one power that has been placed within it, though
that is not small. Take it, and I will explain it to thee."
Still, Gorgon hesitated, torn between distrust of his
Dark Master and desire for the power the mirror would give.
"Dost thou wish to vanquish thine enemies, or dost
thou wish to be vanquished by them? The choice is open to
thee."
Gorgon knew the black flames would not burn him—not
unless Wrothgar wished them to. He reached out into them and took
hold of the mirror. It was warm in his hand as he turned it over,
gazing into the smooth surface of the glass. Its depths were
bottomless and filled with many-colored lights.
"Now I will tell thee of how it may be used. If upon
learning of the power of the mirror thou wouldst take it unto thee,
it will become thine, such that no other may use it until thy
death. I give this not lightly, as its like shall not be made
again."
Gorgon nodded. "I understand, Lord. What is this
power?" Wrothgar explained that, once possessed by its master, the
mirror would allow him to see and hear through the eyes and ears of
one of his enemies. The master would determine which of his enemies
would be bound to the mirror, and to do this, he needed either a
part of the body of the enemy, such as hair or blood, or some
possession that had passed through the enemy’s hands, the more
recently the better. Wrothgar waited as Gorgon absorbed the impact
of this information. If he could see and hear though the eyes and
ears of one of his enemies, he could know all they were planning
and could easily come on them unaware. In addition, they would lead
him to more of his foes that he could prey upon by dark of night.
They would not be able to evade him, as he would know their every
move and plan as it was made.
"There is a warning, Elfhunter. Thou must choose the
one whom thou wilt bind to the power of the mirror, and must then
ensure that this one remains alive, for if slain then the mirror is
useless. It will not work again for thee in thy lifetime, and may
be used by another only upon thy death. Therefore, choose
well!"
"But how do I choose, Lord? Wilt Thou not guide me? I
wish to slay them all and leave none alive. How may I reconcile
this?"
Wrothgar answered. "Thou wilt visit sorrow and pain
enough upon the unfortunate one chosen, as they will be the
instrument of death for those they love. Reserve thy final
vengeance upon them until the last, when the mirror is of no
further use to thee. Then reveal thyself to them, that the pain of
their unwitting complicity in thy purpose may drive them mad. They
may then welcome death at thy hands." Wrothgar laughed then, a
horrible mirthless laugh that raised chills even upon Gorgon.
"Which of thy foes is best known to thee?"
Gorgon considered. He knew precious little of any of
them and had spoken only briefly with two of them: the tall,
dark-haired Elf and the small She-elf, the one who had first
discovered his weakness. Her name was known to him, and his lip
curled as he spoke it aloud: "Gaelen... bright-eyed Elf of the
Greatwood, how little I know of thee, and yet perhaps enough."
Wrothgar searched Gorgon’s thoughts and produced an
image of Gaelen, hovering in the center of the dark flame. She was
as she had appeared when speaking to Gorgon—teeth clenched, blade
held before her, an expression of desperate hatred in her eyes.
Gorgon snarled back at her in spite of himself.
"Dost thou have any item that has passed through her
hands, or a bit of her blood?" Gorgon did not know. In fact, some
of the blood upon his sword had been Gaelen’s, but it was mingled
with that of Rogond. Gorgon had wiped the blade clean after tasting
of it.
"Lord, I have no blood of this enemy of which I may
be certain. The blood of the Aridan mingles with it."
Wrothgar reflected for a moment before speaking once
more. "Thou hast something that has passed through her
hands—carried deep within thy flesh. Raise thy left arm,
Elfhunter."
Gorgon did so, approaching nearer the flame, as the
arrow-point deep within his flesh stirred painfully, drawn by the
power of Darkness. Gorgon cried with pain and gritted his teeth as
the steel worked slowly toward the surface. Suddenly, he was free
of it, and it hovered in the air before him, dripping with his
strange blood.
"Take it, my errant son, and hold it in thy hand."
Gorgon gasped as he lowered his arm; the pain grew less with each
moment until it was nearly gone. He reached out and took the bloody
arrow-point in his right hand. It burned hot in his grasp, but its
touch was bearable. "It is the heat of thy hatred, Gorgon
Elfhunter. Revel in it and speak her name, if thou would bind her
to the mirror."
All Gorgon had to do was speak Gaelen’s name, and the
power would be his. He could track them down and slay them—all
except Gaelen herself. Would that satisfy him? He really wanted to
kill her most of all; he had promised it to himself. He had vowed
to put her eyes out with Turantil, but now her eyes would be
central to his purpose. If he confronted her, would he be able to
resist killing her? Almost immediately, he knew the answer. To slay
her companions with her unwitting aid would be far worse than
killing her. He knew this deep within his black heart. She was the
one who pursued him with the greatest passion, bent on laying him
low. How delicious that he should subvert her desires into the
deaths of those she loved! Gorgon clutched the arrow-point, as the
burning heat of it increased with the swell of hatred within
him.
"Yea, Lord, I will accept this gift. May I be
successful in the hunt, as it will also aid Thee in Thy purpose.
But what would Thou ask of me in return?"
"Only to accomplish thy desire to kill as many of the
Elàni as possible… that will please Me greatly. Upon a time, I may
ask more of thee, but be assured that the boon will involve nothing
beyond the slaying of Elves. Does that reassure thee?" Gorgon
considered for a moment longer, then, slowly, he nodded
agreement.
"Then speak her name, and she will be thy eyes and
ears until her death…or thine."
Gorgon glared at Gaelen’s bright eyes as the vision
still hovered before him. "They shall be my bright eyes now,
unwitting She-elf. Guard them well." Then he spoke her name.
On the other side of the mountains, Gaelen suddenly
fell from her mount to lie unconscious upon the ground. The
Company, having resumed their progress toward the gates of
Cós-domhain, was breezing along at a fair pace. Thorndil, who rode
beside Gaelen, called out in alarm as he reined in his mount.
Rogond looked back over his shoulder, then wheeled about and
galloped Eros back, leaping off to kneel beside Nelwyn, who was
already there. She was calling to Gaelen, who had not yet stirred.
Her graceless fall had resulted in her striking her head upon a
stone. A trickle of blood flowed from a small gash in the left side
of her forehead. Fima appeared then, a small phial in his hand.
"Stand aside, both of you. This will bring her
around." He held the phial before her face, and as she breathed the
vapors emanating from it, she suddenly opened her eyes, turning her
head from them and moaning.
Rogond took her hand. "It’s all right, Gaelen. You
have fallen from your horse, but you are not hurt badly, just
shaken a bit. Lie still until you find your wits." Gaelen closed
her eyes and shuddered. Nelwyn looked at her with concern.
"Something happened to her, Rogond. She would not
simply fall off her horse. Something happened."
Rogond took Nelwyn’s point. He turned to Thorndil,
who had been nearest. "Can you shed any light on this, my
friend?"
Thorndil shook his head. "Not really. She was riding
well, then suddenly I noticed her sagging sideways, and a moment
later she was on the ground. I believe she was unconscious long
before she came off the horse." Rogond agreed, but until Gaelen
could enlighten them, they still had no idea as to why this had
occurred. Gaelen moaned again, and Rogond squeezed her hand.
"Come on, my little Gaelen. Come back to us, it’s all
right." He helped her to sit up, wiping the blood from her pale
face.
She took the flask of water from Nelwyn and drank
gratefully. Then, she looked around as though confused. "What
happened? Why am I sitting on the ground? And
why
does
everyone keep calling me ‘little’?"
"You fell from your horse. We don’t know why.
Something must have come over you," said Nelwyn. "Do you have any
memory of what might have happened?"
Gaelen shook her head. Her color was coming back, and
she felt strong again. She got to her feet, shrugging off the fall,
but Rogond and Nelwyn insisted that they all stop for the night
anyway, to Gaelen’s immense annoyance. "I’m just fine. I do not
need to rest. It’s too early to stop for the night," she said. But
Nelwyn, in particular, was not convinced.
"You do not just fall from your horse for no reason,
Gaelen, something happened to you. Besides, you struck your head,
and we should make certain you are truly all right before we
proceed. Tomorrow will be soon enough."
Gaelen went to sit beside the fire, grumbling under
her breath. She could not know that Gorgon Elfhunter, her mortal
enemy, had just had his first taste of the power of the mirror as
he stood with his back against the wall of Wrothgar’s chamber,
staring into the same fire.
Wrothgar had warned him that the mirror would take
some getting used to. He would refine and improve his vision as he
gazed into it, but at first, things might appear clouded and
indistinct. After all, he was adjusting to input from senses other
than his own. What Wrothgar had neglected to mention was the pain
experienced while using it. Gorgon had gasped and staggered back
against the wall, as his skull seemed to reel with nearly
unbearable pressure. Tears of pain flowed from his eyes. Then
Wrothgar’s voice was heard once again: "Focus on thy hatred,
Elfhunter. The Maker did not intend the mirror to be used thus! It
must be dominated and subverted to thy purpose. The pain will
remain, but it will be lessened. In the future, thou wilt choose
the time to use it, for it will tire thee, but the reward will be
great! Concentrate on achieving thy purpose."