Fire-heart (Tales of Alterra, the World that Is) Read online

  Fire-heart

  A Tale of Alterra:

  The World that Is

  BY

  C.S. MARKS

  ~~~

  The characters and events in this book are entirely fictional. No similarity between any of the names, characters, persons, and/or institutions in this book with those of any living or dead person or institutions is intended, and any such similarity which may exist is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2013 by C. S. Marks, Iron Elf, LLC

  Cover Art by John Connell

  Maps by Carie Nixon

  Edited by Leslie Wainger

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means including photo- copying, recording, or information storage and retrieval without permission in writing from the author.

  Published by Parthian Press, all rights reserved

  ParthianPress.com

  ISBN: 978-0-9859182-7-9

  The Author’s Website: CSMarks.com

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1: Gaelen’s Vision

  Chapter 2: THE COMPANY TRAVELS SOUTH

  Chapter 3: Dûn Bennas

  Chapter 4: ON THE RAVANI ROAD

  Chapter 5: THE FORSAKEN ONE

  Chapter 6: THE VOICE OF THE SPIDER

  Chapter 7: SUTHERLINGS AND EASTERNERS

  Chapter 8: THE FESTIVAL

  Chapter 9: CUIDAG’s WEB

  Chapter 10: TRAPS AND TREACHERY

  Chapter 11: THE SELLERS OF FLESH

  Chapter 12: HALLAGOND PROVES USEFUL

  Chapter 13: THE UNLUCKY MOON

  Chapter 14: SOME DEBTS REPAID

  Chapter 15: THE FIRE-CLOAK

  Chapter 16: THE SILVER CITY

  Chapter 17: THE CROSSING BEGINS

  Chapter 18: A SAVAGE LAND

  Chapter 19: TRIALS OF THE ROAD

  Chapter 20: THE LEGACY OF SALASIN

  Chapter 21: THE WAR COUNCIL

  Chapter 22: ALI’S FOLLY

  Chapter 23: THE ENEMY AT THE GATES

  Chapter 24: THE BATTLE IS JOINED

  Chapter 25: THE SONS OF DIOMAR

  Chapter 26: THE COMPANY IS REUNITED

  GLOSSARY OF NAMES WITH AID TO PRONUNCIATION and MAPS:

  About C.S. Marks

  Chapter 1: Gaelen’s Vision

  Gaelen had been blind for far too long. Her other senses were keen, certainly, in fact they were getting keener by the minute. She knew the Elven-hold so well that she managed without help, and thank the stars for that. But she had been forbidden to go into the forest, and that had distressed her. She had spent a good portion of her life perched in trees, alert for anything out of place, alone with her thoughts.

  Will my thoughts ever be mine alone again, I wonder? She had not known the answer to that question since Gorgon Elfhunter had looked into his accursed mirror for the first time. Well, I certainly gave him more than he bargained for. Unfortunately, he has done the same to me. Will I ever be free of him?

  They were still connected. She had taken the mirror, along with his left hand, but they were still connected. She knew it, and so must he. It wasn’t anything obvious—a vague, oppressive feeling that came over her sometimes—and she knew the blindness made it worse, for she was always in darkness now. But I’ll heal…he won’t. He has been in darkness his whole life.

  Gaelen also knew that she had truly laid Gorgon low. He was far away by now, no doubt holed up in some forsaken, lonely place where he could feel safe, trying to hide himself from her. It will be awhile before he dares venture forth again, she thought. Yet he has lived a long time…one day, he will return for me.

  She ran her fingertips along the smooth, polished shaft of her bow in a loving caress. She had made it herself years ago, and she knew every contour. With a sigh, she raised it, took her stance, and drew it back, but there was no arrow fitted to the string. I dare not lose strength in my arms and shoulders. Once I find him again, I’ll need it.

  It frustrated her—she missed the sound of the swift arrow in flight, and the very satisfactory “thunk” as it hit the target. She would never be the archer Nelwyn was, but she held her own. A blind archer is a bit of a hazard, though…one of these days I’ll heal. Everyone says so.

  She hadn’t heard Wellyn at first, but she caught his scent in the breeze wafting through the chilly corridors of the armory. She knew his scent anyway, but even had she not, the overarching smell of wormwood and camphor would mark him until his wounds healed and he could use his right shoulder again. Though the medicines would prevent him stiffening up, it was now impossible to approach without her knowledge.

  “What are you doing, Gaelen? Drawing your bow without releasing it? For a moment there, I wondered…”

  Well, obviously I can’t release it without putting some poor innocent at risk, can I? “I’m just hoping to keep the strength in my arms and shoulders. It’s easier to maintain than to regain,” she said.

  “Don’t I know it,” he replied, and she could imagine his rueful expression. “At this rate, I won’t be able to draw without pain for quite a while. I miss the sound of the arrow, though, and the satisfaction I get when I place it just right. From the expression on your face, I see you share the sentiment.”

  “It’s rare that I place an arrow exactly where intended, Wellyn, but yes…I do miss it.”

  “You’re not the best target shooter, Gaelen, but I’ve seen you in battle. You shoot fast and you shoot well. I think your talents need purpose to awaken them.”

  Gaelen smiled. Her father had been the same way—always bested at target shooting, but rarely equaled in a crisis. He had made his name that way, earning the admiration of the King and a permanent place as his bodyguard.

  Like all good archers, Gaelen never took her bow anywhere without the arrows that matched it, and she heard Wellyn draw one from her quiver.

  “I swear, Gaelen, you must have the plainest arrows in the realm.”

  What he did next surprised her, and she startled at his touch. “Here. Take the arrow and fit it to the string,” he said. “Now let me guide you, and we’ll hear our favorite song today.”

  She drew a deep breath, fitted the arrow, and raised the bow. He gripped her shoulders gently—she could feel the weakness in his right hand—and turned her toward the target. He leaned forward, his face close enough for his breathing to lift the hair from her neck. He has been chewing ginger root again. I gave him that habit long ago, and he has never given it up. The King hates me for it.

  “Now draw,” he said. “I’ll guide your hand.”

  She drew back with the fluid motion of the expert, anchoring her right hand just below her cheekbone. When released, this would be a powerful shot. He corrected her twice.

  “All right…release!”

  This really shouldn’t work…it’s a good thing we’re alone down here. I suppose hitting the wall is the worst thing that could happen. She held her breath and released the arrow. It flew straight to the target, though only just barely, quivering just inside the outer edge. Gaelen knew it…she could tell by the sound it made, and it made her happier than she had been in days.

  “Again!” cried Wellyn. “We hit the target, but we can do better.”

  As she practiced over and over with Wellyn that afternoon, her thoughts strayed into deeper waters. This sort of partnership was the way things were supposed to be when one lives a happy life. It wasn’t just the presence of other people that made the difference, but whether the heart will let them in. My heart knows what it wants, and cannot have. Does that mean I must live the rest of my life alone? And if I cannot accept love, does that mean I c
annot give it?

  She knew where the thoughts came from. Wellyn guided her arm, but she kept wishing for Rogond. She longed for his strength and his steadfast devotion. She longed also for the sight of his thoughtful grey eyes, the turn of his jaw, the rugged shoulders and slim waist. When he was near her, she felt desires that she rarely experienced these days. It would be wonderful to love again…

  But more than that, she wanted to care for him, to be there whenever he needed her. He was vulnerable in so many ways. Why does he love me? I’m not sure why anyone would…I don’t even like myself sometimes.

  She paused and looked around, blinking at the darkness. “Wellyn?”

  “I’ve called a halt to our practice session, Gaelen. Your thoughts stray from the task. How weary you must be!” He embraced her, as he was one of very few who knew she would allow it. “It will be all right. Your eyes will heal…everyone says so. But we both need rest, I think.” He took the arrow from her and placed it back in the quiver before retrieving the others.

  He knows where my thoughts have turned—that he has been shut out of them. I can feel his regret, but I can’t call them back now. “What you have done today is very kind, Wellyn, and I won’t forget it,” she said. “You have always been the best friend I could wish for. We’ll practice again tomorrow if you’d like.” I still wish you were Rogond.

  “I would, indeed,” said Wellyn. “And once your sight returns, and my shoulder is still too weak to hold a steady arrow, you’ll finally best me. We’ll drink to your momentary victory!”

  To her surprise, Gaelen’s head swam for a moment, and she grew pale. Wellyn, obviously alarmed, drew her to a bench along the wall, sitting down beside her. She shivered with a sudden chill, and he wrapped his cloak around her, settling her back against his chest, warming her. Again, she thought of Rogond. Though the chill worried her for a moment, she swept it aside. It’s not Gorgon. It’s cold in the armory—it’s always been cold in the armory. It’s not Gorgon. You know what he feels like—it’s not Gorgon. No cloak, no warm friendship, can make that chill go away.

  The chill did go away. She and Wellyn fell asleep in the solace of friendship, united by hardship, far from Gorgon Elfhunter and anything to do with him. But as she drifted off, Gaelen knew that she could no longer delay her decision regarding Rogond.

  Lore-master Fima lay unmoving upon the bed in his private chamber, looking up at the intricately carved ceiling. Despite all efforts, Gorgon still lived. Of this Fima was certain, for he had held the mirror, and could feel the vitality of it. The malevolence of that creature pervades it. The mirror seemed to warn me not to look into the glass…as if I would ever be curious enough to try such a foolish thing.

  Fima wondered what other powers Gorgon had been given. No one had reported signs of any other, but still he wondered. As long as Gorgon is alive, the Greatwood is threatened. Surely the King knows it…though I’m sure the Woodland Elves are doing all that can be done.

  He had gone to see the King the day before, and had been somewhat mollified to hear the tales of those sent to track Gorgon, viewing the shame and frustration on their faces. I didn’t realize how impossible the task is. Gorgon has by now made his way deep underground, and covered his tracks so well that they’ll never find him. They don’t know the vast pathways beneath the Barrens—and they don’t like walking in darkness. Small wonder their hearts quailed when they discovered Gorgon’s sanctuary and realized that he had gone deep…we’ll have to find another way. But for now, at least, the monster has been damaged. According to Gaelen, he isn’t likely to bother anyone for a while. We have time.

  Unless Gorgon wanted to be found, his path would remain unknown. Those who had lingered long in his lair were nearly sickened by the remnants of his presence. It will be up to Gaelen, then. She’ll find him again one of these days, mirror or no mirror. Fima sorrowed for a moment, wondering what the outcome would be. He was almost glad for her blindness. At least it slowed her down and gave her a respite.

  He also knew that Gaelen’s frustration grew by the day. This fettering of her freedom wouldn’t stand much longer unless someone thought of a way to divert and channel her energies. Wellyn had been especially helpful so far. He gave Gaelen something to be concerned about besides herself. And then, there’s Rogond. He certainly won’t stand by and let Gaelen’s frustrations get the best of her. He’ll think of something. Just before the Battle in the Barrens, Gaelen had declared Rogond her protector, bestowing the banner of Ri-Elathan, her most treasured possession, upon him. Rogond had shown it to Fima before carefully folding it and placing it beneath his tunic, next to his heart. It rested there always.

  Fima smiled at the thought of Gaelen’s declaring anyone to be her protector—as if she needed one. Ah, but we all need protectors, don’t we?

  If I can do this, it will all have been worthwhile. Gaelen carefully placed her left foot among the rotting leaves and moss, easing her body forward, mindful of every twig and leaf. A leather visor covered her large, bright, useless eyes. Rogond was not far away—she could hear him breathing if she concentrated hard enough—but she would have to navigate through the understory of the forest without alerting him.

  They had played this game every day for several weeks now. Actually, it was Rogond who had suggested it when Gaelen had grown bored and weary of confinement. She had taken to sneaking up on people as a method of entertainment.

  “Could you do that in the forest, I wonder?” he asked.

  “I would love to try,” said Gaelen, “but the healers won’t let me leave the Elven-hold until I can see again.”

  Rogond chuckled at her. “Since when do you do as you’re told, anyway?”

  “Since I promised Fima. He made me swear to behave myself and do whatever the healers asked.” She sighed, twisting her restless hands in her lap. “I cannot deny the advantages of being blind. I have used this time to hone my other senses…it’s amazing what you miss when you can see. The sounds, the smells, and you learn to truly feel things, too. I’ll bet I can tell you what color your tunic is, just by feeling it. In fact, I might not even need to feel it. Let me try now.” She concentrated, her brow furrowing, her expression deadly serious. “I sense…I sense the color of the sea at sundown,” she said at last, smirking a little. All of Rogond’s tunics were blue-grey.

  “Impressive,” said Rogond. “Perhaps we should try tomorrow. I’ll borrow one of Galador’s.”

  “Good idea, as long as it’s a blue one.”

  Neither she nor Rogond could shake the idea of Gaelen’s going out into the forest, and after a few days he had come to her with a very special gift. “I designed this with Fima’s help,” he said. “I call it a stealth suit. Here—let me help you put it on.”

  Gaelen was soon attired in close-fitting garments of soft dark leather. Stiff leather “feelers” projected from both shoulders, both knees, the back of the gloves, and the top and sides of the leather head-covering. A leather visor concealed and protected her eyes. Gaelen was delighted.

  “Just like the whiskers on a cat!”

  “Exactly. Now let’s go and try it out. Fima has given his blessing.”

  Rogond had taken her out into the forest, very near the Elven-hold, and placed her among the brush and trees. Then he had gone a distance away—at first, only about thirty feet—and called to her to come and find him. Her task was to circle around and approach him without his being aware of it. He had obligingly blindfolded himself, as well.

  At first, things had not gone well. Gaelen had some difficulty adjusting to the “feelers” and she made quite a bit of noise. All would be silent for a while as she eased her way through the thick foliage, then the rustling and snapping as she blundered into something, then the muffled cursing. But she rapidly became quite formidable, though he had always managed to detect her…until now.

  Twenty feet of undergrowth stood between Gaelen and her goal. She waited for the breeze to pick up, rattling the aspen leaves, before she let out anot
her long breath. That’s cheating. You should act as though you’re trying to do this on a calm day.

  She approached Rogond from downwind, taking in the scent of him, which had been forever etched in her mind. He smelled musky, as did all men, but it was not unpleasant. She thought of it as earthy, especially when combined with the shaving-soap he used, which was heavy with juniper berries and wild mint, among other things. Another foot down, and a few more inches’ advance. He doesn’t hear me. I’m really going to do it this time…

  Rogond had promised to remain alert, but it was late spring, the moss was warm, the smells of the forest were soothing, and he was drowsy. A thrush called in the deep wood, answered by another. The aspen leaves quaked, the pine boughs sighed in the wind, and he still did not hear Gaelen.

  He owed it to her to be vigilant. He took off his blindfold, rose to his feet, stretched his arms and legs, and walked a small circle around the tree he had been resting against. She will take advantage of that—I’ll bet she advanced several steps while I was walking around. He moved to the opposite side of the tree-trunk and sat down again upon the soft moss, drawing forth the flask from his belt. He had taken a long swallow of mead, and was rummaging for some dried venison to go with it, when Gaelen’s booted legs appeared right next to his left knee. She startled him, and he jumped a little. He had heard nothing.

  She laughed—a free, musical sound filled with delight—as he rose to embrace her. “You did it! You truly startled me, Gaelen. I hereby promote you to hunter-scout first class!”

  “I would say blind hunter-scout supreme,” she said. “I was already a first-class hunter-scout.”

  He took her in his arms, stroking her hair. He was extremely proud of her. Blindness would have depressed him, but she had turned it into a challenge.

  “Now, if I can only do it on a dead calm day,” she said. Rogond smiled and shook his head. Leave it to Gaelen to immediately raise the level of effort required.