Ravenshade Page 5

  Gaelen, Nelwyn, and Estle received perhaps the most intriguing gifts. They were each given a phial containing a healthy quantity of a most rare and precious substance. Known as ainya, or dread-fire, it was the essence from which dragons kindled their flames. Collected from the back of Lokai’s throat, a single drop of it would start a fire under nearly any conditions. Regrettably, much of it had been spent; the dragon’s fire had been greatly diminished ere he had fallen. Gaelen, who was usually appointed the fire-builder when traveling with the Company, was thankful for the gift.

  “Now, be careful with this,” said Lord Salastor as he handed her the phial. “It will burn anything except dragon-scale. It will stick to flesh, consuming it without mercy, and is very difficult to extinguish.”

  Gaelen had also requested a large piece of the dragon’s hide, which would be stripped of the scales, split, softened, and tanned into leather. Such leather was highly prized, for it was soft, yet the strongest to be had. It would even turn flames aside for a time, though it would burn eventually. A dark chestnut-red in color, it held no dragon-scent by the time it had been seasoned and oiled. Gaelen would make boots, gauntlets, and a jerkin from it that would probably last longer than she would live. She also crafted a pair of boots and a set of gauntlets for Hallagond. “In case you must ever face the fire again,” she said with a small flourish. “My fire-cloak may not be available. Consider this part of your wedding gift.”

  “Estle and I have decided to forego the ceremony for a time,” said Hallagond, to Gaelen’s surprise and dismay. “We do not wish to marry while there is still a pall of fear and grief over the City, and while our future course remains uncertain.”

  “Understandable,” said Gaelen. “But if you are waiting for certainty, Brother of my Beloved, then you may never marry. There are very few things of which I have been certain. If you are certain of your love for Estle, then you should pledge your heart. Do not wait for tomorrow.”

  “Ah. But I said only that we have decided to forego the ceremony,” said Hallagond. “We pledged our hearts in secret, even as you and Rogond have done.”

  This was overheard by Fima, who always seemed to be in the right place at the right time. “That is very happy news! Now I shall have a use for that extremely fine bottle of brandy that I purchased to give you on your wedding night. Since that has apparently occurred already, perhaps we might all share it.”

  “Fima, you are nearly as prone to make unexpected appearances as Gaelen,” said Hallagond, shaking his head. “I would rather not call attention to our union, as folk here would do exactly what you are doing and make a fuss about it. Estle does not wish that, and neither do I.”

  “Well then, perhaps you and I can enjoy one quiet toast together?” said Fima. Hallagond scowled at him.

  “Don’t worry,” said Gaelen. “Fima will not tell anyone. And if I were you, I would take him up on his toast. He has an exceptional talent for judging fine brandy. If you do not join him, then he will be forced to partake of it alone. Surely you would not deny him!”

  She approached Hallagond and placed a hand upon his shoulder. “You are so like your brother…in many ways. I’m happy for you.”

  Hallagond returned the gesture. “My brother is fortunate to have one such as you, although at first I did not know it. May you have a long life together in joy, even as Estle and I would hope for.”

  Fima rubbed his hands together. “We should definitely drink to that sentiment, Hallagond. Will you join me?”

  Hallagond smiled, knowing the fine brandy would not long remain in its beautifully-crafted bottle.

  The following morning, Lord Salastor summoned the Company to the Council. “My advisors and I are concerned about this threat to our people,” he said, his face grim and somber. “We must decide the fate of the mirror. As long as it exists, Gorgon will be drawn to it, and Gaelen risks being held by its influence. Perhaps it is better that it be destroyed, for then the connection will be broken. Fima, what is your view?”

  Fima, who had appeared rather bleary-eyed and disheveled at first, became deadly serious. “Long have I considered this, and I see little benefit to keeping this vile token intact. While it exists there is the chance that the creature might recover it, which would be an unmitigated disaster! It is made only of gold and glass—a hammer and a well-heated forge is all I need to render it harmless.”

  “Is there any risk to Gaelen?” asked Nelwyn. “I am concerned that somehow her life-force might be caught up within the mirror.”

  “I cannot say for certain, but I do not believe so,” said Fima. “There are scholars here in the City with whom I have conferred, for their knowledge of such things may be greater than mine. All are in agreement that Gaelen is in far greater peril in a world where the mirror exists.”

  “Then it would seem to be a simple choice,” said Rogond. “We should destroy it with no further delay.”

  “Will you hear what I have to say in this matter, or will you all debate my fate and decide it for me?” asked Gaelen, who had not yet spoken. “It may surprise you to learn that I will fight the notion of destroying the mirror…I do not wish it to be destroyed.”

  “Why not, in the name of heaven?” asked Fima.

  “Because the mirror is my closest connection with our enemy. I do not know whether I will keep my sense of him if it is unmade, and, as much as it pains me, I must keep that sense. He cannot come upon me unaware if I remain vigilant, and he cannot hide from me so long as I possess the…bond…that the mirror has forged. If we destroy it, I don’t know what will happen. We may be helpless to evade him, with little hope of finding him. I have sworn not to rest until he is dead at my feet, and to gain that goal I must continue the dance.” Her voice, though bitter, was full of resolve. “If I have to, I will look into the mirror again, though I doubt I’ll surprise him a second time.”

  “I’d rather you not do that,” said Rogond. “We barely got you back alive the first time.”

  “You’re right, Gaelen, much as I hate to say it,” said Fima. “But I would caution that, should Gorgon retrieve his token, we are all in peril—you most of all.”

  Gaelen looked hard at him. “Should that happen, I will remain alive for not more than a few moments, for I will never be his vessel again.” Fima looked downcast, for he knew what she meant. She would take her own life by whatever means available.

  “Therefore, you must be certain to guard it well. He will never find it so long as you hold it,” she said. She held such faith in him that his eyes grew moist as he looked at her. When Gaelen gave her trust, it was deep and nearly unshakable.

  “I have no reply to that, Gaelen,” said Salastor. “I know that your faith in Fima is well placed. What, then, shall we do to aid you in finding and defeating this dreadful menace? What can the people of Dûn Arian provide?”

  “They can guard themselves,” said Gaelen. “This enemy takes any in his path. But I do not believe he will return to Dûn Arian, as we are too well protected here. He is a coward at heart, and he will try to lure the Company to some place where he will hold the advantage. He already knows that he will need aid, and he will seek it from among the ranks of evil as he did before. There is little of real courage in him. He will not strike until he is either certain to prevail, or has no other choice.”

  “All the more reason to pursue him now,” said Estle. “If you are aware of him, perhaps you can do what the searchers could not.”

  “He is guarding himself,” said Gaelen. “He was defeated and he knows it. He will not open himself to me until he is ready, or until he relaxes his vigilance. I would not count on that happening any time soon. He’s more wary than ever now…I doubt I could summon him as I did before, and I’d really rather not look into the mirror again!”

  “If he can prevent you from sensing him, then what’s the use?” asked Estle. “This entire situation is quite unnatural and mysterious, and I don’t like it.”

  “I don’t care much for it either,” said Ga
elen. “But know this—though he is lying low at present, I’ll know it if he rouses himself. My vigilance will not waver again until he is dead.” She dropped her gaze for a moment. “I could curse myself for my lack of awareness. In a way, Thorndil’s death is my fault.”

  “Nonsense!” said Fima. “If people are going to go around blaming themselves, then we might as well give up. You were distracted by the rather important matter of a battle to the death, with a dragon thrown in just to make things interesting. So stop talking so foolishly.”

  “All right, Fima,” said Rogond. “Let’s get back to the matter at hand. What shall we do with the mirror?”

  Everyone looked at Gaelen as though expecting her to know. Her ears reddened as she spoke to Salastor. “My lord, I don’t know. But I do know that the Light will face the Darkness again. He will call me out, and then we shall see. Until I am further enlightened, I can only wait.”

  “That is indeed a foolish notion!” said Estle. “You intend to give him the time he needs to prepare and muster an army before you pursue him? You will be defeated!”

  “You don’t understand,” said Rogond. “I know Gorgon is a coward, but he is proud. I expect he is not very effective at mustering an army—he has been alone for far too long, and he is afraid of his Dark Master. I wouldn’t expect any army…he will try to lure us as soon as he is able, while he knows that our hearts are still burning with indignation at the fate of our friend Thorndil. We must stand ready.”

  “I am ready now,” said Gaelen simply. “It is my greatest wish to see Gorgon dead, for the mirror will have no more power, and I will be free of him at last.” She drew herself up, and hope shone in her bright eyes as she thought of that day. “But if we pursue him now, it will be in vain. He is cloaking himself…I have no sense of his presence. He knows that we are on our guard. A coward fears to strike a wary foe.”

  “Then why wait until he actually summons you?” asked Estle, who still did not understand. “I had expected you to want to pursue Gorgon at once. As soon as you become aware of him, why not move to defeat him?”

  Gaelen turned toward her, and Estle beheld for the first time the calm, wise assurance in her eyes. “You do not realize the depth of the connection between us,” she said. “He is every bit as aware of me as I am of him. If I pursue him before he is ready, he will go to ground, and he is much more adept at hiding from me than I am at guarding myself. He has been in hiding for much of his miserable life, after all.” She looked into the eyes of her friend. “Can you not accept this course? Would you go after him and waste your efforts?”

  Estle looked down at her feet for a moment. “Well, of course I trust your counsel I suppose…it’s just that I would have expected you to want to raze the desert for miles until you turned him out. Your friend was tortured and killed, and yet you are calm as you stand here and tell us that we should do nothing. It is not what I expected, is all.” She looked up into Gaelen’s eyes. “There is something different about you…this trial has changed you.”

  Gaelen’s face was grim. “I have changed much less than you think, Estle. The desire to avenge Thorndil burns my heart, yet wisdom tells me that now is not the time for it. I am not descended of the Fire-heart, in spite of all jesting to the contrary. We must make ready to pursue Gorgon and strike him as soon as he reveals himself, but he will not do so until he is certain. He will wait until we relax our vigilance, and then he will call to us. He wants the Company dead, particularly me—his loathing is now so great that I can still feel it in my heart. The very thought of it wearies me. I would not wish such black hatred upon anyone.”

  She turned back to Salastor. “Gorgon’s pride has taken a blow, and he will not come after me again without aid. Now we have an army and he does not, but he will not find what he will need here in the Tal-fásath. He will find aid in a place you or I dare not go.” So saying, she took her leave, bowing first to Salastor and then to the Council, as they puzzled over the meaning of her words and what they might imply.

  Lord Wrothgar brooded in the depths of Tûr Dorcha, for there was much to be considered. He knew Gorgon’s plight, for he had stood with him on the Edge of Darkness. Wrothgar’s black soul still burned from the Light sent forth by his enemy, the High King Ri-Elathan. Yet now a plan had come, and as he plotted and worked through it, Wrothgar grew stronger. Should this plan work, his power would increase a hundredfold, and it would not be long ere the Light would fail.

  Wrothgar was pleased that Gorgon Elfhunter had not been cast into the Void. Gorgon had been defeated—there was no question of that—but it was only in defeat that Wrothgar could assert any control over him at all. He preferred to think of Gorgon’s defeat as a trial by fire, tempering the steel that is forged into a blade. Now the metal was ready to accept the maker’s hand.

  Wrothgar knew that Gorgon’s pride had suffered a near-fatal blow in the conflict with Gaelen, the Wood-elf who somehow managed always to defeat him despite all expectation to the contrary. The Elfhunter needed aid—now more than ever—and Wrothgar could provide it.

  There was a spirit whose evil nature was second only to Wrothgar’s own, and that spirit moved always at his bidding. It dwelled in the lands known now as Aeglainor, the Realm of Grief, to the Elves, D’hanar to the dwarves, and the Fell-ruin among men. This was the ruin of Tal-elathas, and it was a place of evil and despair. Long had Wrothgar kept his stronghold there, until he had been driven forth by Ri-Elathan’s army in the Third Battle. That conflict had cost Ri-Elathan his life.

  Wrothgar would not return to the Fell-ruins, for the memory of his defeat sapped his strength and took his confidence. Yet the dark spirit of Lord Kotos, one of the most powerful of the Asari, embraced those lands. He had seen his greatest triumph there, almost single-handedly bringing about the downfall of the Èolar. The ruins served to remind him of the terrible powers of deception and guile that were his to command.

  Kotos had not been present during the Third Battle, instead directing Wrothgar’s northern army to march on Tuathas, where it was defeated. But Kotos felt no shame or trepidation amid the twisted ruins of Tal-elathas. He had fled there after his defeat, and dwelt there ever after, growing stronger as he spread his evil magic upon the land. No creature of good will would ever dwell there again, and no Elf would even enter it without falling into an overwhelming heartsickness and despair.

  The only thing that would ever cause Kotos to leave the Fell-ruin was the call of Wrothgar, his master. That call went forth now from Tûr Dorcha, as Kotos the Great Deceiver would be central to Wrothgar’s plan.

  Kotos would make his way there, although travel was difficult as he had no physical form. He could place his spirit within an object, such as a weapon, or he could inhabit the bodies of unwary folk. Once there, he asserted control over their will, guiding their actions to achieve his desires. When he reached his destination, he would leave them drained and with no memory of the experience. Sometimes they died, usually as the result of Kotos’ failure to encourage them to eat and drink. As he had no such need himself, it was often neglected or forgotten. He would drive his victims forth often without rest for many days, for he cared not for their well-being.

  Kotos could even inhabit the bodies of animals, but some were easier to control than others. He had been trapped once in the body of an owl for several weeks before a more suitable host came along. Ravens, on the other hand, could and did house Kotos’ dark spirit, flying rapidly to wherever they were bidden. Kotos could even speak through them, for ravens may use human speech. Although they are usually neither good nor evil, the ravens that dwelt in the Fell-ruin were larger and more cunning than most, and they seemed to delight in mischief. They were prone to attack the weak and kill them for sport, not out of need.

  The head of the largest clan of ravens in the Fell-ruin was a large, strong male named Kro-aark. It was a relatively common name, yet Kro-aark bore it with pride, for he was the favorite of the Dark Spirit, and sat always at his right hand.

&nb
sp; Lord Kotos had told him that there was an important journey to be undertaken, and that he would need to make all speed in accomplishing it. The bird was instructed to don a heavy, golden amulet, placing it about his neck and grasping the bejeweled medallion in the talons of his right foot. He was given a good meal and a long drink, and then he shuddered and fluffed his feathers as the spirit of Kotos entered. He was then made aware of his path and his purpose, and he wasted no time in taking wing, lifting his heavy body with slow, deliberate strokes of his immense black wings, sailing into the choked, grey mist of morning.

  Kotos did not take the most direct path to Tûr Dorcha, for he needed to make certain that he skirted the Elven-realms of Mountain-home and the Greatwood Forest. Elves have uncanny senses regarding messengers of darkness, and they would most likely shoot Kro-aark as he passed above them. He was a large target, nearly the size of a small eagle, and the amulet would be easily seen by their sharp eyes.

  Thus, Kro-aark flew to the east of the Monadh-hin, crossing them to the north of Tal-sithian, flying into the south of the Darkmere. He had little difficulty until he drew near to the pale mists of the Tower, for a dim-witted Ulcan sentry could not resist practicing with his bow, and Kro-aark fell. Kotos could not move farther without a new host, but as Kro-aark lay upon the ground, the Ulcas approached, drawn to the amulet.

  “Get back, you rabble! I’m the one shot the bird, and I’ll be the one claiming the prize!” said the sentry. As he bent over to examine the amulet, he was taken with a nearly uncontrollable desire to put it around his own neck, though he did not understand why he should want to place such an object, so obviously Elven-made, anywhere on his person. The others shrank back, expecting their companion to wail in pain, for Ulcas do not bear the touch of Elf-wrought metal very well at all.

  Do not be afraid, said a soothing voice inside the Ulca’s mind. This amulet will not pain you, but will comfort you. Do you not feel most wonderfully well at this moment? All your fears have passed from you. Go, now, and take it to the Shadowmancer. He will reward you for your faithful service.