The Exile of Elindel (The Elwardian Chronicles Book 1)

by Carol Browne

  The warriors mocked her with their insouciance, clearly not the least bit alarmed, but before they could prevent it, their haughty master was pierced to the heart.

  ***

  Godwin staggered from the stronghold just in time to see Beortnoth drop slowly from his horse’s back. The animal reared and galloped away, while the warriors stood open-mouthed and gawped at their fallen leader. But several had the presence of mind to let their arrows fly.

  As the missiles swished about Elgiva, Godwin stumbled forwards. Each step he took jarred his throbbing head. Vaguely, he realised he had left his sword behind. He was weaponless, defenceless, but it didn’t matter now. His friend was his only concern. And he was too late to save her. He hadn’t kept faith with his vow.

  Horns blared the news of Beortnoth’s death, and the ranks of the enemy scattered in confusion. The higher-ranking men retreated on horseback; the rest were left to flee as best as they could. Godwin shifted his line of vision and gasped when he saw Elgiva. She lay stretched on the ground like a sacrifice, a bristling of arrows piercing the earth around her, like carelessly planted saplings. In his haste to reach her, he tripped and stumbled to his knees.

  When he regained his feet, he found himself facing the stronghold. His breath caught in his throat. Like a broken dam, the gates spewed forth a flood of retreating men. Some were injured, some carried plunder, and many were fighting still as they tried to get away. A few had taken captives, children who squirmed in their captors’ arms and screamed to be released.

  The retreat emboldened Othere’s men and cries of triumph rang in the air.

  Godwin stood transfixed by it all. A tidal wave of men bore down on him. He had to reach Elgiva, but before he could summon the strength to move, the surge of marauders had swamped him and he was carried along.

  Someone grabbed hold of him and encircled him with rope. He struggled but was overwhelmed by the crowd of fleeing men. As if from a long way off, he heard the horns of the settlement bellowing victoriously. He fought for a last look at his home, but all he could see was a pall of grey smoke that rose from the stronghold, like a gasp of exhaustion.

  Bewildered and bereft of hope, he allowed himself to be dragged along by the yelling mass of raiders. A blur of armour and swords blocked everything else from view. They hauled him down a grassy slope and over a narrow brook. A raider, his thick arms cradling booty, crashed heavily into him, and they fell into the water. Goblets and plates clattered and splashed. His captors jerked him upright and urged him on with curses.

  Ahead of them, ponies and wagons waited beneath the trees. The animals neighed in terror at the sight of the angry horde, and their eyes glittered white.

  Godwin was bound securely and then hurled into one of the wagons to lie among the sacks of booty. For the second time in his life, he was just another spoil of battle. With a sickening lurch, the wagon began to move.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Night had already fallen by the time Godwin came to his senses. He lifted his head and gasped at the pain that pierced his skull, but gradually his vision cleared and he was able to focus on his surroundings.

  He was slumped on the cold earth at the edge of a clearing, leaning against a tree, and bound to it with rope. His chilled body was stiff and bruised, and a crust of dried blood tightened the skin of his face. He ached to stretch the cramps from his limbs.

  The night’s icy breath crept into his bones. He shivered and scanned the trees around him, but he had no idea where he was, nor how he came to be there. He remembered being in a wagon, and he ought to be at the settlement of Beortnoth’s people by now, but clearly he was in the middle of nowhere.

  About four yards from where he sat, a small fire blazed invitingly. A cooking pot hung over it on a makeshift spit. A delicious aroma wafted towards him, and his stomach clenched. He had eaten nothing all day—assuming it was the same day—and a void inside him yearned to be filled.

  A man he assumed to be his captor, or one of them at least, squatted beside the fire. He was rubbing his hands to warm them, his scowling face lit by the flames. He glanced impatiently over his shoulder and searched the surrounding trees, and then with a curse, he turned to the pot and stirred its contents with a stick.

  Godwin tested his bonds, but they were secure. Wearily, he resigned himself to whatever his captors had planned. A noise in the undergrowth snatched his attention. A man in a cloak emerged from the shadows and made for the fire. His companion looked up with a grunt of annoyance.

  “Have they fixed that wheel yet, Ealdred?” the man by the fire asked morosely. “At this rate, we’ll never get home.”

  The newcomer warmed his hands over the flames. “Stop moaning, Harold. That’s all you ever do. I told you, it’s a tricky job. Edgar thinks it’s past repair.”

  “Shit. That’s all we need. This jaunt’s been a nightmare from start to finish. We’ve had more bad luck in one day—”

  “Shut your noise,” said Ealdred, “and give me one of those oatcakes. I’m starving.”

  Harold ignored him. “We should have left the ruddy wagon. Gone back with the rest of them.”

  Ealdred seated himself by the fire “And leave all that stuff? I’m not going home empty-handed. Anyway, there wasn’t room in the other carts for us and all the spoils. How many times must I tell you?”

  “No room, aye, and why is that? All those kids they took, that’s why. What use are they? Take adult prisoners, that’s what I’ve always said. The higher ranking the better. You get more ransom then.”

  “We won’t get much ransom for these two. A couple of serfs.”

  Hearing this, Godwin looked around to see if there was another captive in the clearing. Now that his eyes were used to the dark, he could make out more of his surroundings. He noticed something to his left and thought he detected movement. Was it a small figure, tied to a tree as he was?

  In the distance, a howl shattered the calm of the glade. The marauders stiffened and drew close to the fire.

  Godwin dragged his tormented gaze away from the cooking pot. His mind was clearer now, and some of his strength was returning. He tried his bonds again, but still it was no use.

  The howl sounded once more in the darkness. A solitary wolf.

  Godwin’s fellow captive let out a howl so similar to the wolf’s, the men by the fire sprang up with cries of alarm and fumbled for their swords. Godwin would have leapt up too, had the ropes not prevented it.

  “By the gods!” yelled Harold.

  “A wolf!”

  “Too bloody close for my liking!”

  The men peered round in all directions, and another howl reached their ears, this one from the distance. They sagged with relief and reseated themselves, evidently persuaded that both sounds had the same origin.

  “Night air playing tricks on us!” said Ealdred.

  “Aye, a wolf won’t come this close to a fire.”

  But from Godwin’s perspective, the last howl had seemed much nearer than the first. The wolf was drawing closer, and Godwin had the strangest feeling it came in answer to the other captive’s call. An insane idea, perhaps, but one he couldn’t shake.

  “It’s ready now,” said Harold as he prodded the stew with a stick. But a moment later, he jumped to his feet in horror and stared across the clearing.

  Ealdred’s mouth fell open in shock when he followed Harold’s gaze.

  A wolf with silver-grey fur emerged from the shadows.

  Two men appeared from the opposite side of the clearing. If they had been entertaining thoughts of supper, these were soon abandoned, and they threw down their torches and bolted. The two marauders by the fire were quick to follow their example.

  “They always travel in packs,” screamed Harold as he fled. “Let them eat the captives!”

  They crashed through the bushes in a frenzy of fear, desperate to make their escape. From beyond the trees came scuffling and cracking sounds, the nickering of horses and the bellowing of oaths. Godwin listened as they
galloped away, leaving their prisoners to the mercy of wolves. He held his breath and prepared for the worst.

  For a long moment, nothing happened, and the night seemed to thicken around him. Then the great wolf turned slowly towards him, and a visceral panic lurched through his body, as though all of his organs were rushing to his feet.

  But the wolf wasn’t joined by others of its kind, nor did it seem in a hurry to eat him. It paused and sniffed the air with its long grey muzzle. The full moon, rolling free from clouds, turned the wolf’s fur an eerie silver. Paralysed and helpless, Godwin watched the beast consider him, its amber eyes gleaming.

  The great wolf turned, its large paws soundless on the frosty grass, but Godwin found no relief from his fear. The animal strode across the glade towards the other captive. Once there, it stopped and lowered its head, and its jaws opened and fastened on something.

  Godwin felt his heart would stop; the other captive was being devoured!

  He struggled wildly against the ropes. Then, breathing hard, he stopped and listened. There were no screams, nothing to indicate that carnivorous fangs were at work. All he could hear was his own ragged breathing—and the wolf was wagging its tail.

  “Thank you, Greyflanks.” Shaking off the chewed ropes, the captive got to her feet. She stretched herself exquisitely and then stroked the animal’s head.

  By Frigg . . . It’s Elgiva! Godwin gaped at her as she strolled across the glade.

  Kneeling beside him, she untied his ropes.

  “Elgiva?”

  “Yes, that’s right.” Her lips curled into a mischievous smile. “You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “But . . . I was sure you were dead!” Liberated from his bonds, he rubbed his wrists and flexed his arms. His mind was so crowded with questions, he couldn’t give voice to them all.

  “I pretended to be, and if I’d done so for a few minutes longer, I wouldn’t have been taken. Curiosity overcame me.” She tucked her hair behind her ears and smiled. “Are you all right? Can you stand?”

  “Yes,” he said vaguely. “I’m fine.” With her assistance, he climbed to his feet.

  “Godwin, this is Greyflanks.” She pointed towards the wolf. “And we were very fortunate he was in the area. I recognised his voice at once and . . . er . . . sent him a cry for help.” Her eyebrows drew together, and a tentative smile touched her lips. “I spoke wolf, of course, so I didn’t alert the raiders.”

  “Of course.” Godwin frowned in bewilderment.

  The animal leaned against Elgiva, and she stroked its large, soft ears. “You see we . . . we’re old friends.”

  “Old friends.” Godwin feared his grip on reality was not as firm as he had believed.

  “Godwin, I . . . ” Then she stopped, her features fraught with misgiving. She cupped his elbow with her small hand. “You should sit down. You don’t look well. Our captors left their supper. A shame to waste it, don’t you think? And I’m sure you must be hungry.” She led him unresisting to the campfire, and they seated themselves in silence.

  Gradually, the warmth restored the feeling to his limbs, and Godwin’s stupor began to recede. He ladled some stew into a wooden bowl and as he did so, he tried to grasp the strangeness of his plight. He offered the food to Elgiva, but she pointed to the wolf.

  “Serve the guest first,” she said with a grin. “Then yourself. I’ll eat these oatcakes.” To the question in his eyes, she said, “Haven’t you ever noticed? I don’t eat animal flesh.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well . . . ” She stopped, chewing her lower lip before continuing. “It’s not the custom of my people.”

  “Oh.”

  He stared at her for a moment before gingerly placing the bowl of stew before the wolf. Then he reached for a second bowl and filled it for himself. The wolf regarded him briefly, as though in silent thanks, then set about devouring the stew with obvious enjoyment.

  Elgiva sat chewing an oatcake and staring into the fire, her large eyes reflecting the flickering flames. Godwin watched her while he ate and his mind worked.

  A young girl having a wolf for a friend? A wolf as docile as Othere’s hounds? And why was she being so quiet? They had been involved in a battle, abducted from the settlement, and miraculously saved by a wolf, but it didn’t seem worthy of comment, as though such things were commonplace. There was an awkwardness between them that had never been there before, and he couldn’t cope with this silence. What was she hiding? Had he offended her?

  “Did you rear him from a whelp?”

  She was startled out of her thoughts. “What?”

  “Your friend. You tamed him, did you not? Does he do tricks as well?” Perhaps it was all quite plausible, really. What were Othere’s dogs, after all, but domesticated wolves? As for her claim to have spoken wolf, that was clearly a joke.

  “Tricks?” She sounded annoyed.

  “Redwald had a dancing bear once.”

  The flash of anger in her eyes brought an end to his questions. He sighed and stared at the fire.

  When Elgiva finally spoke, the unexpected harshness of her tone unnerved him. “He’s completely wild—as he should be. I met him a few years ago. He was half-grown then, and his leg was caught in one of your people’s traps. They had no business laying their vile snares so close to my people’s lands.” Her voice was rising in scale with her anger. He saw her check herself, and then she drew a deep breath. “Well, anyway, I freed him, and Bellic tended the wound. It was lucky I found him when I did, or he might have lost half his leg.” She glared at Godwin, who suddenly felt the need to apologise, as though he had set the trap himself. “We haven’t seen each other since, but he hasn’t forgotten me, and I haven’t forgotten the sound of his voice.”

  Now Godwin was even more baffled. How had she found the courage to approach an injured wild animal? And how could she tell one wolf’s howl from another?

  Elgiva lifted her gaze. For a moment, she looked at Godwin with something approaching hatred, but he returned her gaze and her features softened.

  “I’m sorry,” she said with a sigh.

  He managed to smile at her. “What for?”

  “I expected some quip. Some dismissive remark. I thought you were like the rest of them, but of course you’re not, are you?”

  His eyebrows drew together. He had no idea what she meant.

  “I’m going to tell you something, something you ought to know. You’ve been a good friend to me, Godwin, and perhaps you will still be my friend after I’ve told you the truth.” She shrugged her slender shoulders. “Or perhaps you’ll hate me. I don’t know. I just know I must tell you my secret. This lie, this disguise, I hate it. And when I’ve told you, I’ll leave you in peace. I’ll go to the forests, to where I belong, or to wherever . . . ” She swallowed hard and turned her face away. “I’ll never bother you again.”

  “Elgiva?” He reached out to touch her, but she recoiled from him, so he sat back and waited, concerned by her sadness and desperate to know its cause.

  She shifted her position. Drawing up her knees, she hugged them to her chest. It was then that Godwin noticed the tear in her sleeve just above the elbow, the smear of dried blood caked around it. One of the arrows fired by the raiders must have snicked her flesh. Frowning, he got to his knees.

  “You’re injured. Let me tend the wound.”

  “Please,” she said steadily, “sit down and listen.”

  Godwin acquiesced with a shrug. “Very well. You can have your say, but that wound should be tended. After you’ve told me—”

  “After I’ve told you, you won’t care, believe me. You’ll run for your life, or you might want to kill me.”

  “What in Frigg’s name are you talking about?”

  “Just sit down and listen.”

  She glared at him and refused to go on until he complied with her wishes. The wolf watched him, too, and Godwin felt any offence he gave Elgiva wouldn’t escape the notice of her lupine companion.

&
nbsp; “I didn’t want to deceive you,” she said, with a pleading look in her eyes. “Believe me, I meant no harm. It was something I had to do to survive. I needed food and shelter, and there was nowhere else to go. What you see, my present form, it’s one I took upon myself by the agency of . . . of magic.” She paused and ran her fingers through her hair, and Godwin’s heartbeat quickened in response. “I’m not what I appear to be. I’m one of those beings feared by your kind. I’m . . . I’m . . . Godwin, I’m an elf.”

  That knock on the head had clearly done him more harm than he realised. None of this made any sense. If Elgiva hadn’t looked so sincere, he might have laughed out loud. He didn’t know how to answer her, but he had to say something.

  “Elgiva, is this a jest?” Her scowl told him plainly that it wasn’t. “Forgive me, I don’t know, I’ve no idea what you expect me to say. I’m not even sure this is really happening.”

  Godwin wanted to lighten the mood, to make her the friend he knew, but everything seemed to have changed between them. He didn’t know how he should react, and she appeared unwilling to help him. He hadn’t yet recovered from the trauma of abduction, and his mind was still at the settlement, where elves lived only in tall tales and sagas.

  “I thought you were different once,” he admitted. “Well, a bit mystical, something like that. But this . . . If you really are an elf, I guess you could put a hex on me, but it wouldn’t be a bad one, would it? You’d never do that to a friend.”

  He raised his eyebrows expectantly, but perhaps he was being presumptuous. Elgiva was frowning at him.

  “I can’t anyway,” she said. “Only the wardain—the elves of royal blood—have the gift of magical power. I’m just an underling. Ordinary. In Elvish, we say ‘nar-wardain’.”

  “But you talk to wolves,” he protested.

  “That isn’t magic.”

  “It isn’t?”

  “Yes, well, it is and it isn’t. Basically, elves and animals are able to speak to each other. It all goes back to our founder, Lord Faine. His love for animals, and theirs for him, created a magical bond. That’s why we don’t eat their flesh. It happened a very long time ago. It comes from the spirit, a feeling of oneness.” She looked at him then, and he tried not to show how completely lost he was, but clearly he failed. “Let’s just say there are many different kinds of magic. There’s high magic and low magic, and low magic can be quite commonplace.”