Elfhunter (8 page)

"Never mind, Eros, you have proven your usefulness on
countless occasions. The efficient may prevail where the swift
falter."

"Efficient" was a good word for Eros. He maintained
on very little feed, unlike Réalta, who grew lean where the grazing
was poor. He was very steady in his way of going; he did not tire
his rider or his own legs with erratic movements and hard pounding.
Eros flowed like water over nearly any terrain; hence he had been
named for the gentle River Eros that fed into the Ambros from the
north.

The first sign of trouble came as the horses raised
their heads and turned them to the southeast, their ears pricked
and their bodies tense as they stood motionless. Rogond also stood
riveted, listening. A sudden whistling sound pierced the air as a
dark arrow sped through the trees, startling all three of them. In
the dim light of morning Rogond could only see that the arrow had
flown from the direction of a large pile of rocks near their
resting-place. He dropped quickly to the ground as a second arrow
flew, striking the pack horse behind the elbow, felling him. This
was a marksman of some skill, and Rogond feared for Eros. Taking
shelter behind a large stump, he whistled and shouted to his mount,
seeking to move him out of range.

"Run, Eros! Run toward the river until I call
you!"

A third shaft flew, barely missing the animal’s
shaggy neck. Rogond flapped his cloak at the horse, crying, "RUN, I
tell you!"

Looking just a little offended, Eros turned and
trotted off toward the river as Rogond reached for his bow, only to
remember that his quiver was still attached to the saddle. He
swallowed hard and cursed his lack of alertness. Only his recent
illness could explain it. How ironic for Galador to find Gaelen and
Nelwyn at last, only to wait by the river for his friend who would
never come. There were at least two reasons why Rogond could not
let that happen. First, he would not look upon Gaelen or hear her
song again. And second, his spirit would have to endure the
knowledge that he had been picked off easily, as might a fool
traveling without skill. For the pride and honor of his race, he
would have to prevail.

He hoped there was but a single enemy, but as he
leapt from the shelter of the stump and grabbed his spear, he was
disheartened to see three Ulcas rush from their rocky concealment,
yelling and waving their crude but deadly blades. Their dark, ugly
faces were drawn into a snarl, and they squinted even in the dim
light of dawn. Their strategy was clear: they had intended to kill
both horses, undoubtedly to eat later, then to kill Rogond, whom
they had rightly perceived as outnumbered. They would have eaten
him, also.

What they had not known was that Rogond’s lack of
awareness was only momentary. He called back toward the river,
sword in one hand and spear in the other, bracing for the
fight.

"Eros! Eros! I need you! Come to me!"

The three Ulcas burst into the clearing, but they
checked back at the sight of Rogond. What they had thought to be an
unwary traveler appeared now as a tall warrior, well-armed and
stern-faced, keen of eye and strong of limb. It was only partially
true; Rogond was still weak from his illness. The Ulcas were
deceived nonetheless, and they drew back for a moment.

"Come on, you miserable rats!" snarled Rogond. "It is
time for you to join your pathetic ancestors in whatever forsaken
pit they dwell!"

Without waiting for them to react, Rogond sent his
spear straight into the heart of the first Ulca, and then lashed
out with his long blade at the others, who leaped upon him, waving
their dark and pitted weapons. Normally they would be no match for
Rogond, who was skilled at arms and had seen real battle, but in
his weakened state he was slow to react, and his strokes lacked
their usual power. His skill was far superior to theirs, but his
strength was ebbing quickly. It looked as though he would meet with
a lowly fate, until Eros burst between Rogond and his enemies,
trampling one handily while knocking both Rogond and the remaining
Ulca to the ground.

Rogond had retained his grip on his sword-hilt. The
Ulca was swifter to rise, and it leapt upon him as he dodged its
last stroke. Rogond drove the sword into its belly, releasing its
dark blood, and the encounter ended.

Winded, head swimming, Rogond lay for a while on the
grass, praying that these were the only ones he would contend with
this day. Eros approached him, nuzzling his face and tickling it
with his long whiskers. Rogond blew hard into the horse’s nostrils,
causing him to step back, tossing his head in the air. Then, after
getting rather gingerly to his feet, Rogond patted Eros’ strong
neck.

"Well done, my friend. May your forelock flourish and
keep the flies from your face."

He surveyed the scene before him. Eros would now have
to carry the packs, as Cronan lay dead where he had fallen. After
instructing Eros to stay in the clearing, Rogond tracked the Ulcas
back for a little way just to make certain there would be no
further threats. He was not fearful, as he was now on his guard,
and the dawn had truly broken.

What he found when he had gone back along the Ulcas’
trail dismayed him. There were nearly a dozen dead, in two groups
of five and six, killed with swift efficiency. The tracks that went
away were confusing, but Rogond soon read them as Gaelen’s and
Nelwyn’s mingled with those of the enemy they tracked. So, the
creature was not a friend of Ulcas, either. The three that had
attacked Rogond must have escaped its notice, or been away from the
other groups when the attacks came. From the look of things, these
unfortunate ones had been dead for five days or more.

Rogond was thankful for that, as Gaelen and Nelwyn
were still on the trail of the enemy, but they were unlikely to
catch up unless it had tarried near the river. All tracks did
indeed go back to the Ambros.

Rogond hoped that Galador had found the Elves already
and would be waiting for him. Returning to Eros, he removed their
gear from the body of Cronan and patted his still form with
affectionate regret. "Farewell, my sturdy friend. Rest here forever
on the grass you loved." He packed their belongings onto Eros, who
snorted and tossed his head. "It’s no use complaining about it,"
said Rogond. "We both must go on feet today." He turned and led
Eros westward, following the tracks of Réalta.

When evening came and there was still no sign of
Rogond, Galador began to worry. The plan had been for Rogond to
follow Réalta, mounted on Eros and leading Cronan, at a pace that
would not tax him. He would therefore have been expected by now, as
Galador had accomplished the task of locating Nelwyn and Gaelen by
early afternoon. Even at a walk, Eros could have caught up. To
Galador’s delight, Nelwyn had been more than happy to see him.

Gaelen had also greeted him with enthusiasm, though
she appeared even more delighted to see Réalta. Here was the answer
to her river-crossing problem! She looked back north, hoping to see
Rogond coming up from behind, but found no sign of him.

"Where is Rogond? He surely has not been lost, or you
would not be in such good spirits."

"He is following, but slowly. I expect he will be
here in a few hours. He leads the pack horse."

"How is he faring? Is he well? Surely he is not yet
strong," said Gaelen, concerned at the thought of Rogond traveling
alone. When she had last seen him, he had been fairly helpless.

"He is far from strong, yet is stronger than he was.
He will recover if he is not overly taxed."

If Rogond had overheard, he might have wondered
whether fighting off Ulcas and having to walk all those miles when
he was supposed to be riding constituted being overly taxed.
However, this seemed to satisfy Gaelen, who now occupied herself
with thoughts of pursuing her enemy across the river on horseback
and seeing Rogond again, in that order.

As they all waited for Rogond, Nelwyn and Galador
renewed their friendship. Nelwyn told of all that had passed since
their departure. She spoke of the slain Ulcas they had found, more
of the creature’s handiwork. They had been killed, but not tortured
or maimed; it seemed that honor was reserved for Elves alone. Then
Nelwyn asked Galador why they had followed so quickly.

"Rogond was insistent, as I told him of your enemy,
and he feared for you. I believe he has known of this enemy before.
He told me some dreadful tales about it."

Nelwyn grew agitated. "So he
knows
it? What
did he tell you? Does he know its nature or how it may be
killed?"

Galador calmed her. "Hush. The last thing we need to
do is arouse Gaelen. She would probably run back on foot to find
Rogond if she thought he had useful information. No, neither he nor
his people had much insight into the creature that so terrorized
them, but the pattern you described was so similar, he knew it was
either the same creature or its twin brother."

Nelwyn looked over at her cousin, who was now sitting
preoccupied on the river bank, staring fixedly out to the south and
west, her thoughts clouded by an unshakable melancholy. Gaelen
sensed that something evil had happened in the night, not far from
their encampment. Though she normally did not sleep in the manner
of men, she did sometimes experience a kind of waking dream. Last
night’s had been a bad one. As the moon rose high, Nelwyn had found
her, trembling and pale, eyes wide and staring, mouthing the same
words over and over: "Aontar release me, Aontar take me…" Nelwyn
had grasped her shoulders, shaking her lightly, calling her name.
She came out of her trance-like state slowly, still whispering the
name of Aontar. As Nelwyn looked deep into her cousin’s eyes, they
shared the same feeling—their enemy had killed again. They sat
together in quiet sorrow for whatever poor soul they did not know,
in hope that his spirit would find safe passage to its eternal
home.

Now Gaelen turned and invited Nelwyn to sit beside
her. The afternoon was waning into twilight, which came so early in
the winter. After that would come the cold darkness, and there was
still no sign of Rogond. They both looked over at Galador, who was
saddling Réalta, preparing to backtrack and find his friend. His
ageless face could not conceal the worry he felt, and Nelwyn didn’t
like it. She wanted to go along, but Réalta could not carry the
three of them, and she didn’t want to leave Gaelen alone. Galador
promised to return as soon as he could and then was gone.

He had ridden about five anxious miles when he
finally found Rogond. It was alarming to see that there was no pack
horse, and that Eros was now carrying both Rogond and their gear.
Rogond had walked until he could walk no more, then he had
persuaded Eros to carry both himself and the packs, and told him to
follow Réalta. Once mounted, he had slept. He was still asleep when
Galador rode up; not even Réalta’s loud greeting of Eros had
awakened him. Galador jumped down from his horse and ran to Eros,
taking hold of the bridle. The dun was undaunted by his heavy load
and didn’t seem to understand Galador’s distress, but Galador
didn’t know whether Rogond was wounded, sleeping, or dead. The
absence of Cronan was a bad sign.

He roused his friend with some difficulty; the strain
of the encounter with the Ulcas and the long walk of so many miles
had thoroughly worn him out. But now that he had slept a little,
his mind and his eyes were clear. He was certainly happy to see
Galador and began looking around for Gaelen at once.

"She is not here. We must ride back a few miles, but
they are both safe. Tomorrow we will cross the river."

Galador then asked Rogond to tell what had happened.
Where was Cronan? What had taken so long? Rogond told his tale as
they made their way back to the river in the dark, ultimately
falling asleep again as Eros walked with gentle, quiet care, his
feet lighting softly on the hard ground.

The next day they crossed the river. It was deadly
cold, and the current was treacherous, but the water was not as
deep as they had feared. They made it with the help of the horses,
leaving all that they could spare behind. The horses did have to
swim, but not for long, and they got to the other side with most of
the gear dry. Rogond had slept well indeed once he had been
reunited with the Elves, as there were now many watchful eyes and
he could do so without worry.

The four of them rode south as the river began her
slow turning and meandering, and the grassy, shrubby banks backed
by forest began to turn to open land with only scattered trees.
They chose to stop for the night, sheltering under a bank where
they could rest together. As Rogond began to drift off, he asked
Gaelen to sing.

"No, Tuathan. I cannot sing tonight. A great evil has
been done near here. Nelwyn and I both sensed it, and tomorrow I
fear we will find the proof. Instead, I would hear your tale.
Galador has told me that you know something of this enemy already.
Will you not share with us?"

Rogond told all that he knew of the vile creature,
and when he had finished, the Elves agreed that indeed it was, if
not the same evil, at least of similar ilk. Galador wondered
whether some of the stories he had heard told of mysterious
disappearances in and around the Verdant Mountains had been related
to the experiences of Rogond’s people. There were reports of Elves
who journeyed to the Twilight Shores, but did not reach them. Some
had been found dead by their companions, and some had never been
found at all. Those who were found had not died easily. In truth,
Gorgon was not responsible for all of those lost ones, but he had a
hand in many an unpleasant ending. These incidents, and the
inevitable tales that resulted, had been going on for a long, long
time.