Gaelain

Gaelain

unfinished work
25 December 1989

18 years old

Gaelain dismounted his horse and landed on the cool, mossy earth below. After murmuring a few soothing words to his mare, Nikia, he untied Thesse’s ankles from the stirrups and lowered her gently to the ground. She struggled weakly, but he held her firm.

“There now,” he said. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

She met his gaze for the first time with a seething look of hatred, and spat. Gaelain, apparently unmoved by this show of affection, pulled a cloth from his sleeve and casually wiped his face. He turned his back to Thesse and walked a few paces away to a small clearing, stuffing the cloth back in his sleeve.

Pulling his cloak around him, he squatted on a nearby rock and stared evenly at his captive.

“This is where we’ll make our camp tonight. Best sheath those daggers in your eyes, girl, and make the best of things.”

Thesse lowered her eyes and stared sullenly at the ground.

“Come and rest while I start the fire.” He paused when she refused to move. “Come. Sit,” she said, holding his hand out to her. “I’ve warmed this rock for you.”

Thesse tried to suppress a small smile but failed. She hid her face behind her long auburn hair as Gaelain rose and directed her to the rock.

Thesse watched as Gaelain prepared the fire. After he had an adequate flame burning, he left to retrieve his packs from Nikia’s saddle, where he had tethered her near the edge of the clearing. He then gathered some wood and quickly returned to the camp.

Gaelain squatted on his heels and added wood to the burning kindling, feeding the flames. Remembering her hatred for the man sitting next to her, Thesse resumed her sullenness and fixed an icy stare at her captor. Gaelain soon looked up at her. “I was hoping we could get through the evening on somewhat pleasanter terms. I would advise you improve your behaviour, for your own sake, if not my own. “

“You killed my father,” she hissed, venom dripping from her words.

“Ah. So, the young lass speaks. I had begun to suspect that you’d lost your tongue along our journey.” He paused. “As for your father, I seem to recall that the old man took perverse pleasure in hunting and killing my people for his amusement.”

“You bastard!”

“No, I’m afraid your father was the bastard—and one that deserved to die in a slow and agonising manner, not in the quick and merciful way I bestowed upon him. Perhaps if the circumstances were different and time permitted me to—”

“My brother will hunt you down and kill you!” Thesse threatened.

“Not unless I find him, first. And then I intend to make up for the kindness I paid your father.”

Thesse was silent. She knew that somehow, this lone renegade—who had miraculously gained entrance to the castle, silently murdered her father, skilfully evaded the guards stationed outside her bedchamber, kidnapped her and slipped back through the castle gate before anyone discovered her father’s body and her disappearance—could easily outwit and cut down her simple-minded brother. And if Gaelain did indeed succeed in doing so, there would certainly be no love lost between her and her brother. In fact, she feared that she might actually congratulate Gaelain on his success.

This man was an Elf, of that she knew. She knew also that her father, King Myros of the Myrovian Empire, and her brother Donovan, heir to the throne, often took to the dark forests of Nayneh to hunt and kill the Elves, who dwelt there, for blood sport. It was a pastime that had survived over the centuries and through generations of the Myrovian Empire. It was the sport of kings. It was not an activity of which Thesse approved, but neither did she condone Gaelain’s lone retaliation of kidnapping her and murdering her father.

“You have no right in taking the lives of my family,” she said evenly.

Gaelain’s temper flared. “And I suppose your family was justified in slaughtering generations upon generations of my kin? We are a peaceful people, who live within the dark forests of these plains and take pleasure in the living things around us: trees, flowers, animals large and small, vicious and tame. And we respect the humans who live in the villages nearby. We allow them to hunt for food the animals that dwell in our demesne, and welcome to our home and heal those what are injured. But we—I—will not allow the likes of your cursed family to hunt, maim and torture those of mine! I swear to you that those who practice this abominable sport will pay with their lives. I will not allow this heinous crime to continue any longer unpunished!”

All at once, a feeling of warmth, sadness and embarrassment welled up within Thesse. She knew that although she did not approve of her family’s mindless murder, she certainly never attempted to prevent it from continuing. She lowered her head, ashamed, for the first time, of her family. “I’m sorry,” she murmured softly.

Her voice was so soft that Gaelain barely heard her speak, and could only grumble incoherently in reply. He rooted around in his pack and pulled out some dried meat, passing a portion of it to Thesse.

“Eat that,” he began. “It’ll help you regain your strength. You put up quite a struggle back there and I was hard-pressed to keep you still and quiet without knocking you cold.”

Thesse sensed a glimmer of admiration behind Gaelain’s gruff attitude, and once again allowed her hair to fall over her face to hide the look of reluctant pleasure that stole across it.

By morning, a thick fog had settled over the land and Thesse awoke shivering from the damp cold. Pulling her cloak tighter around her body, she attempted to stoke the ebbing fire and failing, succeeding only in nearly extinguishing the flames altogether. She looked quickly to Gaelain, making sure he was not awake to witness her inept survival skills due to soft living as the princess of a powerful king.

Behind her, at the edge of the clearing, Nikia snorted and whickered uneasily. A creature, black as the depths of hell itself, stirred and moved stealthily, unseen, unheard, closer to the camp. It peered through the branches at the vulnerable human and her elf captor, huddled inattentively around the dead fire. It grinned, and giggled evilly to itself.