Outcaste, p.3
Outcaste, page 3
part #1 of Alterra Undiscovered Realms Series
Gaelen still shivered at the memory of the beast's huge head, which was almost twice as wide as she was tall, poised on a long, serpentine neck, the skin covered in tiny, glass-like scales. The Guardian had erected the frill on both sides of its great jaws, revealing itself to be a male, and Gaelen had leaped back in surprise, slipping on the wet stones and falling painfully onto her back. Far from reacting aggressively, the enormous creature had responded by gently prodding Gaelen, thrumming in concern. “He asks if you have hurt yourself, Gaelen,” said Arialde. “He wants to aid you in regaining your feet. Don't be afraid.”
Gaelen had then found herself between the Guardian's great jaws, but his touch was so gentle that she knew he would not hurt her. He had set her carefully down on her feet, waiting until she had her balance before releasing her. Gaelen had bowed, acknowledging her gratitude, though she had been a bit disgusted to find that she had smelled slightly of old, stale fish.
Now she sighed, wishing for the company of a different sort of emissary. The Currgas, small, friendly, otter-like people who had inhabited the shores of the lake, were among Alterra's most disarming inhabitants. Since the defeat of Wrothgar, they had gone back to their original home along the forest river. Gaelen never grew tired of them, and they made a point of escorting her whenever she traveled up the river to the Greatwood. They were quite possibly the most contented and light-hearted creatures in the world, but they were happiest along the river, and so Gaelen did not begrudge their absence from the lake.
She looked into the crystal-clear depths to see an enormous, dark shadow gliding effortlessly beneath, raising no disturbance in the water. The lake was cold and nearly fathomless; the Guardians cruised far below so that their passing could not be detected on the surface. They could hold their breath for a very long time. When they did emerge, particularly during daylight, they did so with stealth, letting their pent-up breath out slowly so it could not be seen nor heard, drawing in great draughts of air into their barrel-like chests, and slipping back under unnoticed. At night, however, they came up to play.
Sometimes one could hear their midnight frolics, slapping and splashing like great, agile whales, thundering and chuckling in their sonorous voices. It would not do to sail close by, for one's boat might be swamped by the wake they produced.
At last the Company disembarked on the familiar, pleasant shores of the island. Because Rogond's brother Hallagond had the shorter journey, he was usually there to meet them. This time, to everyone's surprise, only a small contingent of Elves stood in welcome, and they had been instructed to conduct the Company to stand before the Lady without delay. This was most uncharacteristic–usually such honored guests were conducted to chambers where they could refresh themselves and take rest before being summoned.
Rogond, Gaelen, and Fima exchanged concerned looks. Such departure from normal courtesies could mean bad news. Rogond seemed particularly disappointed. “I haven’t seen Azori since he was a boy. I was hoping to see how much he has grown,” he said, shaking his head. “I hope they’re all right…”
When the Company entered Lady Arialde's marble pavilion, they were relieved to discover that a feast had been set out for them. “Really bad news would not be delivered in conjunction with such festivities,” said Gaelen, taking her seat at the long table. “Once our hostess arrives, we’ll learn the truth of things.”
Arialde first appeared as a soft, golden glow emanating from her antechamber. She entered the Hall with nary a sound, and the Company rose to its feet. Gaelen took notice of the long train of Arialde's robe, puzzled as to how such a garment could be dragged across the floor in complete silence. It made her wonder whether Arialde was physically there at all.
The Lady took her place at the head of the table, Lord Airan at her right hand, a king of silver beside his golden queen.
“We have asked you to join us directly because Hallagond is not here, and we knew it would dismay you,” said Airan. “Let me assure you that Hallagond and young Azori are still in Mountain-home, and they are safe.” He paused, lifted his chin, and surveyed the faces of his guests.
There was an audible release of breath from both Rogond and Fima, who had been quite concerned. It was not like Hallagond to miss their reunion, but at least they knew he was not lost.
“Well…why have they not come, then?” asked Fima, who disliked Airan's long pauses.
“They haven't come because they have been detained,” said Arialde. “It would seem that certain matters have kept them in Mountain-home. We received a message from Lady Ordath—she requests that you travel there.”
“What, to Mountain-home? This seems all too mysterious,” said Fima. “Obviously there's some urgent matter compelling such a request.”
“She has summoned me as well, said Airan. “There’s to be a Council, and it will debate a matter of importance, but not dire urgency—Ordath has given us leave to travel at a normal pace, and you will have time to rest and recover before we set out. She wants you to know that Hallagond and his family are well. I can tell you nothing more as yet.”
“And why not?” said Fima. “If this isn’t any urgent matter, why can you not tell us?”
“Because we don’t know. Ordath has not told us. She tells me only that it is…complicated,” said Arialde.
“Well, since we are all being kept in the dark for now, let's avail ourselves of food, drink, and conversation,” said Rogond, wishing to reassure his hosts. “It's a rare thing to be graced by two Asari at once.”
“Indeed,” said Arialde, favoring Duinar with an expression so filled with warmth that it would have melted even the coldest heart. She was always overjoyed to see him. He had been seated in a position of honor at the opposite end of the table.
Duinar bowed his head in acknowledgment. “We appreciate your consideration in laying our fears to rest at once. It would seem the only bad news to be delivered this day is that my visit with you will be shorter than anticipated.” He smiled back at Arialde, and one could almost see the gentle flow of benevolent energy passing between them. Duinar appeared to be a wise and kindly old man, and Arialde a radiant and beautiful Elf, but they were both of the same kindred.
With Duinar's words, the feast began. There were questions in nearly every heart, and it would be awhile before they were answered, but it was difficult to hold apprehension or melancholy in the presence of Duinar and Arialde. Fima alone was still mulling over possibilities. He knew that the Company would linger for a while in Tal-sithian, resting and preparing, but then the journey would begin. That fact did not dismay him—he had traveled from Tal-sithian to Mountain-home many times—but he could not help wondering if this was only the beginning of a greater journey, as if he stood on the edge of a precipice with his friends, poised to take an unwitting step into an unknown fate. What dismayed him was the knowledge that his friends might have to take that step without him this time.
If Fima had known of the difficulties he would encounter in the journey to Mountain-home, he would never have discounted it. There were no real enemies to contend with, but the rains had been unusually heavy of late, and all waterways flowing from the mountains were swollen with swift water. There was no way to reach Mountain-home without crossing at least one of them. It was not the first time the Company had faced a swift-water crossing, but it was the first time they had faced one with Figg, the mule.
No one had known of Figg's terrible fear of water, but they were soon very much aware of it. Figg had shown only mild reluctance to approach the banks of the Amar Dess, which was the waterway bordering the south of Mountain-home. After all, he was thirsty, and did not imagine for even a moment that Fima would suggest that he actually cross such a turbulent and dangerous torrent. He took a long drink from a quiet eddy, never taking his eyes from the main channel as though he feared it would rise from its banks, leap upon him like a cat, and drag him under.
Fima did not care for crossing swift water either, and, though he tried to maintain an air of indifference, his anxiety was both well-known and apparent. This was clearly communicated to Figg, and it did nothing for his confidence. Gaelen, who understood the nature of horses very well, believed that Figg's apprehension came only from Fima, and she tried to reassure them both.
“It actually looks worse than it is,” she said. “There's a place to cross just upstream from here that isn't too bad. See? Toran and I have been across and back already.”
“Yes,” said Fima, “and I notice you’re both soaking wet already! Toran is taller and stronger than Figg, and you are at least a little taller than I am. Forgive me if the fact that you have crossed doesn't fill me with optimism.”
Gaelen smiled. “Toran may be taller, but your mount is probably the most surefooted of all here–even Faladinn! Figg is very strong, Fima, and he has a great deal of common sense. You'll see.”
Meanwhile, Figg stood with his front feet still in the relatively quiet waters of the eddy, but he was now completely frozen. Had he heard correctly? They were actually discussing crossing the water? Crossing it?
Toran had noticed Figg's unusual posture, and he was concerned. He walked over to his companion and nudged him. Figg did not move…even his long ears were stiff. Toran snorted and shook his head.
Are you all right?
Figg’s only response was to roll his eyes a little.
“You see?” said Gaelen. “Your fears have alarmed him, Fima, and now he's afraid of the water. You must calm yourself, or we'll have a great deal of difficulty. Perhaps you should cross with Rogond. Sye is large and strong enough to bear you both, and Sye is saddled, so it may be easier for Rogond than it would be for Toran and me.”
Gaelen used very little saddlery other than a light pad to keep the sweat of the horse from her breeches. Fima would benefit much more from Rogond's sturdy saddle and harness. In truth, Gaelen was worried that Fima might pull her off if Toran lost his footing.
“I hate to make Figg think that I would choose a horse over him,” said Fima, “but perhaps you’re right…this is my fault. If I can calm his fears by relieving him of the burden of bearing a frightened Dwarf, then perhaps it is for the best. Come on, Figg…let's get away from the bank now so that I may dismount.”
Figg actually leaped away from the water, nearly unseating Fima, who squawked in alarm. “It seems I’ve truly frightened you, my friend,” he said, trying to sound confident while stroking the mule’s conveniently-laid-back ears. “Gaelen thinks it best that you make the crossing without me, and I agree.” He slid down, grateful for the feel of the solid ground beneath his boots.
By this time, Rogond had come to investigate. “Is there some difficulty here?” he asked.
“It would seem that Fima's mount is reluctant to cross the swift water,” said Gaelen. “Perhaps he should ride with you, and I can then lead Figg across. I expect he will settle down once he realizes that I am unafraid.”
“Fine idea,” said Rogond. “Come on, Fima. Sye will carry us both.”
The crossing went well for the most part. Rogond and Sye had no trouble, even with Fima clutching at Rogond's midsection. Duinar and Carmyn were soon safely on dry ground, along with Lord Airan and his retinue. Only Gaelen, Toran, and Figg remained.
“You see, Figg?” said Gaelen. “Even Faladinn made it safely over. If a small, aged pony can do it, surely a fine, strapping fellow with such beautiful ears will make easy work of it. Let's go on across now.”
Figg took a tentative step, and another, and then another. He did trust Gaelen…he followed her voice and was up to his elbows in the churning water almost before he realized it. But the water was wild, and it was difficult to hear her. He seemed to realize where he was, and he froze in place.
Gaelen called to him, but Figg was now in a complete panic, though he did not move. Toran shifted about; it was difficult for him to remain in one place with the water pulling at his legs.
Eros, who was already on the bank with Rogond, shook his long forelock in disgust and plunged back across the torrent. He rounded on Figg’s hindquarters, inflicting a savage bite that Figg could not ignore. The mule squealed in pain and terror, leaping sideways and then forward, neatly pulling Gaelen right off of Toran’s back. In his confusion, Figg floundered upstream as Gaelen clung to his tether. Eros snorted and leaped after him, managing to block him, as Rogond urged Sye back to where Gaelen was trying to work her way up the lead-rope against the fierce current. Rogond pulled her up behind him, whistling to Eros, who then literally herded the frightened mule to the opposite bank, teeth flashing, ears flattened, head held out before him on a snake-like neck. Soon all were safely on dry ground.
“Are you all right?” cried Fima.
“I’m fine, if a bit waterlogged, thanks,” said Gaelen with a wry smile.
Fima, despite his concern, could not resist joking with her. “I was talking to the mule.” He walked over to his mount. “There, now, don’t be embarrassed. It was a frightening crossing, but now you know better than to be frightened again, don’t you? There’s my strong beauty.” He looked over at Gaelen and shrugged.
Gaelen shook her head. “There’s a deep fear inside him—I’m afraid he’ll always be better suited to dry land. But it’s a small price for such a worthy mount.” She shivered, her teeth chattering a little. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to start a fire and dry myself out…that water was very cold.”
“A grand idea,” said Duinar. “After all…I’ve spent quite enough time being cold. A fire, a meal, and warm, dry clothing will soon make everything all right.” Before he sat down to eat, Fima made certain to lead Figg to the best grass, just to make sure the mule understood that all was right between them
Chapter 3: The Man Who Wasn't There
It took only a few more days for the Company to reach Mountain-home. Lord Airan was actually cheerful as he urged his mare toward the gates. “Now we shall have a fine welcome,” he said, as Rogond smiled back at him. Airan was likeable, albeit somewhat lofty, and it was good to see him so light-hearted. Rogond’s smile faded, however, when he passed through the gates to find that, although there was indeed a fine welcoming party, neither Hallagond nor young Azori stood with them.
“Where do you suppose your brother is?” asked Gaelen, who had begun to worry. Rogond, despite his concern, was accustomed to Hallagond’s relative lack of consideration. “The Elves will know where to find him,” he said. “He might simply have drunk too much last night, for all I know.”
To everyone’s relief, the Elves did know where Hallagond was. “We will conduct you,” they said, with slight smiles on their faces. “In fact, it is Hallagond’s wish that we take you to him at once.”
“I would like to know the meaning of those ‘knowing’ glances you are giving one another right now,” said Gaelen. “Hallagond isn’t up to some mischief, is he?”
“Not lately, he isn’t,” said the Elves. Gaelen and Rogond followed them, accompanied by Fima, who was also somewhat anxious. It had been a long while since he had seen Hallagond.
They made their way to an upper level of the west pavilion. It was a labyrinth of light, airy chambers and corridors with open, vaulted roofs and indoor gardens. Spring came earlier in Mountain-home than in any of the surrounding lands. By now the gardens were in full bloom, the scent of flowers overlaid with that of spruces and firs. The air was so refreshing that it made one feel clean just to breathe of it.
Finally, they stopped outside an arched doorway. “This is Hallagond’s dwelling,” said the Elves. “Wait here and we will announce you.” They went inside and closed the door behind them.
“Oh, so now we need to be announced, do we?” said Fima, shaking his head. “That doesn’t sound like your brother to me. Even the Elves aren’t usually so formal with family. I wonder what’s going on?”
The door opened, and a pleasant female voice beckoned them from within. “Come in, Rogond. These theatrics are of your brother’s design, not mine.” The voice belonged to Hallagond’s life-mate, Estle, who was a great friend.
Theatrics? Why do I wish that I had a weapon in my hands right now? thought Gaelen as the three of them entered the chamber.
“Why is it so dark in here?” muttered Fima, who was at least as suspicious as Gaelen.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Hallagond!” said Estle.
A shadowy figure moved toward the large copper fire-pit in the center of the room, as Hallagond’s voice startled them all with a loud announcement:
“We are proud to introduce the newest members of our ever-growing family!”
The figure tossed something into the fire-pit, whereupon it fairly exploded with noise and light. It flared bright gold-and-orange, lighting up the room in spectacular fashion. Someone drew back the heavy drapes that had blocked the daylight, revealing the identity of the shadowy figure. Young Azori, clad all in black, bowed and extended both arms in a gesture of welcome, a white-toothed grin on his strong, young face.
Hallagond emerged, startling Rogond by grabbing him in a brotherly embrace. Gaelen and Fima looked at one another and shrugged. Hallagond stepped back, beaming at them. They had rarely seen him look so happy…or proud.
“Behold! The line of Diomar grows ever longer!” He gestured toward a rose-colored couch where his life-mate, Estle, sat with her arms around two very young children. “Twin daughters! Are they not beautiful? Their names are Florian and Rosalin. That’s four, count them, four children. And they are all equally wonderful. Raenien wanted to be here, too, but she is at lessons. She will be joining us in a while.”
