Elfhunter (45 page)

"Is there nothing more?" said Gaelen. "We have
learned precious little other than what we already knew."

Farin shook his head. "I knew nothing of Rogond’s
father, not even his name. I did know that Rosalin had a son who
would be in his eighties if yet living—a son who resembled his
father."

Rogond now knew that he had his mother’s eyes and
probably his father’s hair. He knew the full tale of the rescue of
Farin by his mother and of the gift of Farin’s ring to her, but
there was so much left unlearned. Farin sensed his
disappointment.

"I’m sorry, Rogond. I wish I could enlighten you
further, but I have told you all that I remember. It seems your
mother did mention the name of her beloved, presumably your father,
but I cannot now recall it."

Rogond took a deep breath and faced Farin with
brightness in his voice that he did not feel. "Never mind…you’ve
been of great help. I never thought to learn even this much. I now
know that I may yet have a brother, and now that I know my mother’s
name it will be easier to learn whether he still lives."

"Just think," said Gaelen, attempting to cheer him,
"you may even have met your brother unaware! Perhaps now you will
find him. He will surely know much of your family history."

Rogond nodded, though he would not look Gaelen or
Farin in the eye for a moment. The dwarf sensed that Rogond wanted
to speak to Gaelen in private. Muttering something about the need
to see to the forge, he rose and busied himself elsewhere, leaving
Rogond and Gaelen alone.

Rogond turned to her, his eyes downcast. "I was wrong
to expect more. I should be grateful for that which I have been
given," he said. "Spoken as a man raised in the company of Elves,
who have forever to learn the truths of their history," she
replied, concern in her voice. "I know you are disappointed, but
know that if I can, I will help you find your brother. Then you
will surely learn the truths you seek. This has only been delayed a
while. Take heart!"

She caressed his cheek with a hand that was soft save
for the callused fingers that pulled her bow. Rogond cast his eyes
downward. The anticipation of talking with Farin had built up an
incredible tension within him, and now that it was over he felt
empty and drained. Gaelen put her arms about him in a rather stiff
embrace, as though she felt at a loss for words to comfort him.

Suddenly the dam of his feelings broke, and he
gripped her tightly with both arms, holding her to him as though
clinging to life. He squeezed his eyes shut and held her, riding
the tide of his emotions until they calmed. He did not weep, but
neither did he release his hold on her until the storm had passed.
Then, he whispered to her as the hammers rang about them.

"Gaelen, my friend, my love, thank you for being
here."

Belegund had finished an excellent meal and decided
to leave the Great Hall to do a bit of exploring. He had been told
of a wondrous cavern with a well-shaft in the center that led not
to water, but to the great forges of the dwarven-smiths below. The
red light from those forges was said to give the walls of the
cavern an eerie glow, and if one concentrated upon them one could
perceive the faces of his ancestors, and maybe even receive
messages from them. Belegund doubted the veracity of this tale,
thinking that perhaps too much wine had been involved in its
making, but he wanted to see for himself just the same.

The dwarves gave some direction, but told him the
easiest way to find the red cavern was to be drawn by the
distinctive smell of the great forges. He made his way along
several long, dim corridors; these passageways were rarely used.
His excitement grew as he approached a chamber lit from within by
an eerie red light, reeking of the sulfurous, metallic vapors of
the forges. He was tentative as he entered the chamber, but he
found it to be all that was promised. The weird red light seemed to
move across the rough walls, creating all sorts of shapes and
shadows.

Yet it was the scent that most confused him, as he
was not aware that the forges would smell so…odd. There was an
undercurrent of foulness in the air, a corruption that was new to
his senses. As he turned slowly, taking in the full view of the
chamber, the source of the strange odor became apparent as he
beheld a massive dark figure moving silently up behind him, holding
a blade that flashed red in the dim light.

As Belegund was entering the cavern, Gaelen Taldin of
the Greatwood was walking the dim passageways, trying to sort out
the meaning of Rogond’s words. After hearing Farin’s tale they had
parted, and Rogond had gone with Fima to the Great Hall to forget
disappointment by indulging in food, drink, tales, and song. Gaelen
smiled. Fima would sort him out. She had never before seen Rogond’s
spirits dampened so, and Fima’s humor and good sense would be of
great benefit. But Rogond’s final words in the chamber of Farin had
troubled her.

"Gaelen, my friend, my love…"

Was he declaring love for her? She shook her head.
Surely, he was simply overcome with emotion and meant only that she
was a beloved friend. It was best not to read too much into it. But
what would she do if it were not so, if he really was telling her
that he loved her? He was vulnerable at that moment and was not on
his guard—in her experience it was at such times that hidden
feelings are revealed. She had felt much in his embrace; he clung
to her as though he could not bear to be parted from her.

Gaelen was worried. Did he understand the nature of
the mingling of the Elàni with the Aridani? And what of her own
feelings? She had not allowed herself to open her heart to anyone
save Farahin—her beloved Rain. She loved her friend Wellyn in a
way, but she would never bind to him even if he wished it. She
loved Nelwyn, certainly, but as one loves a blood relative and
closest friend. She looked within herself. Could she ever love
anyone the way she had loved Rain? Was she even capable?

She decided to let some time pass before being with
Rogond again. Tomorrow she would observe the way he reacted to her.
If she suspected that there was more to be told of this tale she
would bide her time, waiting until he felt comfortable again, and
then she would speak with him…perhaps.

She was so uncertain of her own feelings and of what
her course should be that she did not at first notice the dark,
unclean scent drifting upon the cool air of the passageway. She
continued on until the scent grew stronger, and she heard a sound
that startled her from her confused contemplation. The scent was
distinctive, and she knew it at once. Gorgon was here! Here in
Cós-domhain…but why? It didn’t make sense. He would have no way of
knowing they were here, and he certainly would find no welcome. The
rumor of heavy feet and the clash of steel blades came to her ears,
and she ran toward the sound, approaching carefully as she drew
nigh it.

Gorgon and Belegund battled in a large, dimly lit
chamber. Belegund, whose strokes held more power even than
Rogond’s, was fighting with all his skill, but he had been wounded
several times already. Gorgon was in his element here in this dim
red light and sulfurous air. He had a fine new shield, the surface
of which was as dull black as the rest of his armor. Gaelen
wondered where and how he had acquired it. He still wielded
Gelmyr’s broadsword, and still carried Turantil at his side.

A cry from Belegund startled Gaelen into action, and
she rushed forward, drawing her own blade. Her bow, quiver, and
long knives she had laid under the pallet on which she slept, which
was a pity, for they would have been of great use. She leaped in to
defend Belegund, who was proving much more difficult to kill than
Gorgon had anticipated. Gorgon had precious few dealings with the
descendants of Tuathas, and, excepting Rogond, he had never
experienced combat with any of them. Gorgon was confident now and
was in fact rather enjoying his encounter with Belegund, who wore
no armor.

When Gaelen appeared, Gorgon was distracted for a
moment; this was not as he had planned. She ducked under his blade
and slashed at him as he aimed a deadly blow at Belegund. The wound
went deep, and Belegund’s blood was flowing in a crimson flood from
his right shoulder. This sudden and severe loss of blood caused him
to stumble and drop to his knees as much of his strength left
him.

Gorgon was trying to subdue Gaelen; he could easily
have killed her, or so he thought, but he was constrained by the
knowledge that his mirror would be of no further use once she was
dead.

Belegund rallied and struggled to his feet, wielding
his blade with his left hand, trying to strike Gorgon’s unprotected
face. Gaelen cried out as Gorgon swept his shield-arm toward her,
releasing the heavy metal disc to strike her so hard that it
knocked her off her feet. Then he aimed a second killing stroke at
Belegund, whose strength was flowing away with the bright blood
still sheeting down his right side. Belegund gave an agonized cry
as the broadsword was buried halfway to the hilt in the center of
his belly. He gripped Gorgon’s sword arm in a vain attempt to push
himself away, and sagged to the ground.

Gorgon withdrew the sword as Gaelen stared,
horrified, at the dying man. She called Belegund’s name, then
cursed aloud in a terrible voice. She flew at Gorgon again, but
with only her short sword it was difficult, as he was her equal in
speed and held a much longer reach.

Why did he not kill her? He had missed several
opportunities already. Perhaps Belegund had wearied him to the
point that he was severely off his form. Then, as she darted in to
try to bury her blade under his right arm, he suddenly dropped his
sword and grabbed her by the throat, lifting her from the
floor.

He squeezed his huge fingers tightly around her
slender neck, gazing into her bright, bulging eyes. He had only to
close his fist and she would be dead, her windpipe crushed. He
could imagine the blood pouring from her mouth as he did so; it was
a sight that he greatly desired to see. Gaelen could not breathe at
all as she gazed into the eyes of her enemy. She struggled, swiping
at him with her blade, but she could do little as he held her
suspended. The harder she fought the tighter he gripped her until
at last she went limp in his hand.

Her ears rang with a deafening roar, and her vision
went dark. Gorgon knew he could crush her quickly, or choke the
life from her slowly, or simply shake her like a rat and break her
neck. He lowered her to the floor, but did not let go of her
throat. A small trickle of blood flowed from the corner of her
mouth, touching the topmost of his fingers. The warmth of it
shocked him into the realization that he would kill her in seconds
if he did not release her.

He struggled with his own feelings of hatred for
Gaelen and her kind, which he weighed against the promise of the
mirror. Sitting heavily upon the stone floor, he kept one eye on
Belegund, who was now so weak that he could no longer move or
speak, but could only watch in silence as the last of his life
flowed away.

Gorgon drew Turantil, placing the gleaming tip of the
blade near Gaelen’s pale face. It would be so easy to put out her
eyes, as he had once vowed to do. He traced the upper lid of the
left eye with the keen blade, drawing a fine line of blood. So
easy…and so sweet!

Belegund closed his eyes, for he did not wish to see
what would befall. Then, suddenly, Gorgon came to himself. What
could he have been thinking? He released Gaelen abruptly, then
shook her limp form and slapped her face to get her breathing
again. She had a great deal of trouble, as he had done a fair job
of flattening her windpipe, but she finally struggled back to lie
unconscious, breath whistling but regular. Gorgon nodded in
approval. She may have been undersized, but she was tenacious.

Now he went to sit beside Belegund, and, as the light
slowly faded from his eyes, the Ranger heard all Gorgon would tell.
He explained why he had not killed Gaelen and what his intentions
were for the future. If he was lucky enough, perhaps he could even
bring about the downfall of Mountain-home, or even Tal-sithian!
Wrothgar had promised him an army should either opportunity
arise.

Belegund listened to this talk with horrified
fascination. Certainly it was madness. His pain was very great, and
he squeezed his eyes closed against the tears of agony that welled
in them. Gorgon seemed almost solicitous as he spoke to Belegund
for the last time.

"I have nothing against you, Tuathan, and you proved
to be a stimulating and worthy adversary. I will ease your passing
now. You should have listened to the warnings you were given." With
those words, he turned Belegund’s head almost tenderly before
cutting his throat, killing him in a few seconds.

The She-elf was still unconscious, but her color was
coming back and Gorgon had decided that she would live. He removed
Belegund’s cloak and wrapped his body in it, then dragged it away
and hid it among the rocks. He would return for it later. He came
back for Gaelen, slung her over his shoulder like a sack, and
carried her deep into little-used passageways where the dwarves
seldom walked.

Thorndil, Galador, and Nelwyn had descended into the
western valley, from which the mists that shrouded the Linnefionn
could be seen in the distance. The horses had given no difficulty.
Eros, in fact, remained close to Thorndil as though reluctant to
interact in any way with Galador. The Elf had forgiven him—Eros’
devotion to Rogond was commendable, if occasionally bothersome— but
for now Eros preferred the company of Thorndil, who very much
resembled Rogond in appearance and manner of speech.

Nelwyn rode before them upon Gryffa, who was fine of
limb and proud of bearing, his red mane blown back. He called to
the horses of Tal-sithian that pastured in the outlying lands to
the southeast. The Company would first proceed there, crossing the
cold stream that flowed from the Iolari Pass, and leave the animals
to run with those of Tal-sithian, continuing on foot.