by Carol Browne
He halted at the sound of her voice and chuckled.
“Thought you’d fallen asleep,” he said. “I was restless, see. Needed to stretch the ole legs. My ankle was only twisted. The rest must have done it good. Mind if I join you, lass?”
“As you please,” she said.
“Stars are bright tonight,” he remarked. He drew nearer and seated himself upon the grass. “You’re keepin’ a lonely vigil out here. What you watchin’ for? You got enemies?”
Something sly about his tone made her look at him. She paused and then said, “We all have enemies.”
“Yet you’re travellin’ wi’ one. Elves an’ men don’t mix, you know. Sad, I reckon, ’cause elves ain’t bad folk. No worse than us, at least. You ain’t the first I’ve seen, you know. The woods are teemin’ wi’ elves back home, but they keep to themselves an’ don’t cause no trouble.” He shook his head. “Aye, less trouble than them damned Britons. They’re a funny lot. Can’t be trusted at all. But elves, they mind their own business.”
He paused, and Elgiva knew he wanted some kind of response. A sigh of boredom was all he deserved.
He paused and shuffled nearer. “You know, I think it fittin’ I give you some advice. Be careful o’ the company you keep, lass. That friend o’ yours has a runaway tongue. It doesn’t matter in front o’ me, ’cause I’m an honest wight an’ take it all wi’ a pinch o’ salt. But there’s some folks might wonder a bit. Might think his wits had gone wool-gatherin’.”
“You underestimate me,” Elgiva said at length. “Especially my sense of hearing. I know what’s passed between you. I might have found it entertaining, had your sport not been at my friend’s expense.” She turned and gave him an icy glare. “What game are you playing?”
Oswald looked surprised, feigned innocence, and then he laughed.
“I’m not a fool,” Elgiva assured him. “What’s the meaning of this act of yours, and furthermore, who are you?”
“I’m a poor ole man,” moaned Oswald, “an’ if my mind sometimes wanders, then ‘tis no fault o’ mine.”
“You can do better than that,” she said.
There was a brief, tense silence.
“I should need to do a great deal better to fool you, little elf. I have nothing but praise for your perspicacity.”
Elgiva stared at Oswald, amazed at the change in his voice. He smiled at her; a cruel and cunning smile that had nothing in common with humour. Then he sighed and stretched himself, as though set free from a tiny cell.
“Who are you?” demanded Elgiva, but she half-feared she knew the answer.
He raised a sinewy hand and stroked her cheek. Though filled with revulsion, she couldn’t pull away.
“I am not as I appear, of course,” he said. “You knew something was amiss, but this is such an excellent disguise that you could not pierce the illusion, could you? Well, I’m not a Saxon. Neither am I old. What am I then, think you?”
“I . . . I . . . ”
“Come now, little elf, you do not need to fear me. I am your friend. Your only true friend in all the world, though as yet you cannot see it. I know your heart.”
His vivid blue eyes gleamed, grew larger, and emitted an inner glow that animated his features. His hand snaked out and fastened on her arm. Drawing her towards him, he rested her head upon his lap and stroked her forehead with a silken touch. Mesmerised, her limbs relaxed. A warm, narcotic glow spread throughout her being.
She struggled to focus on her captor, and within the nimbus of power he had thrown about himself, she saw a male elf, neither young nor old, but strong and lean and handsome. His features were so perfect, they could have been sculpted out of marble by a master at the art. His high, intelligent forehead was crowned by glossy black hair which fell to his shoulders in gleaming waves, while above his large black eyes, his eyebrows arched wickedly, full of dark humour.
Yet despite his beauty, his face had a contradictory appearance, for it seemed at the same time both cruel and kind. When he spoke, his voice was as sweet as honey, but as sour as vinegar, too.
“Forgive my little disguises,” he said, “but sometimes I grow bored, and when I do, I must make mischief. But this is preferable, is it not? A handsome fellow, would you not say? I assure you this is my true appearance, yet gladly will I assume another, if it does not please you. Great magic knows no limits.”
He continued to stroke her brow, his touch as soft as a butterfly’s wing, as soothing and warm as a mere in summer, yet as numbing and cold as a winter frost. Elgiva’s eyes refused to stay open.
As she lay helplessly sprawled in his lap, she felt herself floating over fields of flowers, the Earth a pageant of colour below, the mountains glimmering in the sun . . .
No, this is an illusion . . .
She opened her eyes and blinked at the night.
“Do not oppose me,” he murmured. “I mean you no harm. You see how magic can be used to subdue, how easy it is to beguile? I regret your inexperience, but I, Vieldrin, can teach you.”
She struggled to resist him, to find a spark of awakening power, but he tightened the clench of his magic about her.
“The King of Misterell is your friend,” he purred, “and you are safe with me. Quite safe.”
He lowered his head and kissed her mouth, and the pleasure of his embrace melted her resistance. Her lips tingled. The coercion of magic made her his thrall. He slowly released her and studied her face.
“We are two of a kind,” he breathed. “You are safe with me. We are Eldrakin. And you are safe with me.”
“Yes.”
“You are safe with me. I am your friend.”
“Yes.”
“I am your friend. You trust me.”
“Yes.”
“Thallinore is a fool,” he said. “He talks too freely, and I know all. It did not require a great stretch of my intellect to work out what you are up to. And I know you for what you are: a precious jewel of Elvendom. Mine, dear heart. My jewel. What would I want with a dolt such as he, with magic dulled by unworthy blood? He believes I am his protector, but he is useful to me. That and nothing more. But you, I would not use. You would not be taken in, I think. Clever little elf. But here I must apologise, for one of my disguises frightened you—though even then, you knew it was a trick. It was cruel of me, but I had to test your mettle, to see what you were made of. You have potential, I admit. And you intend to find the Lorestone, do you?”
Elgiva struggled to speak. “Yes.”
“Unhappily for you, so do I.”
Fighting the spell that cocooned her, she gasped out, “You were afraid of me.”
“Afraid, dear heart?” He laughed. “Wary, nothing more. Wary and respectful of your little powers, my sweeting. If I feared anything, it was that I might harm you. I wanted to assess your strength. Thallinore thought you had no powers since you did not use them when he banished you. You let those scum abuse you. But even then, he feared you, for he is a cringing coward. I also wanted to determine your heart’s true inclinations. How distressed I was to find it set so resolutely against me. It pained me, little elf, for I wished only to be your friend.”
“My heart will always . . . be set . . . against . . . evil . . . ”
“Your heart has been warped by weak elves and wilthkin. But I will win your heart, as I will win the Lorestone. You do not know your true self, but I do. Power will excite you. Power is a drug you will come to crave.”
“Never.”
“Be that as it may, dear heart,” he said with a sigh, “you will come to realise that what I am to tell you is the only way. It is inevitable. Mark me well. You and I together, with the stone, would be invincible. As allies, we could rule the Earth. What could we not achieve together? As King and Queen of Misterell, we would build a powerful dynasty, and our children would inherit our conquests. The stain of wilthkin would be removed from this land, and all elves would kneel before us. Even Faine would seem weak in comparison to our power.”
&n
bsp; Elgiva was aghast. “You can’t deceive me. You can’t. You know I’ll find the stone. The Ninth Book says—”
“The Ninth Book comes from Misterell. How do you know it is genuine? But harken to me, Elgiva, I will give my kingdom to you as a gift to seal the alliance between us. It was a disorganised kingdom when it fell into my lap. My father was weak and foolish.” Vieldrin’s lip curled. “But now I have it all in order. My subjects resented the rule of law and stuck to their idle ways. They thought to oppose me, as you do but were soon to discover the extent of my wrath. They are a mere handful now, but they always do my bidding. They have learned the wisdom of obedience. A king must be strong and brook no insolence from a rabble of inferiors.”
“You murdered your own people?”
“I did what was necessary,” he replied. “Do not trouble yourself with such thoughts. The loss of a few silly elves is beneath consideration. I have set my sights on higher things.”
“You won’t succeed. I’ll find it. I’ll find the stone and I’ll defeat you,” declared Elgiva, but her voice sounded too feeble for her purpose.
“Poor, misguided creature. Would you risk your life for those who do not love you as I do? I am King of Misterell and have never found the Lorestone. Small hope have you, and even less of using it with your adolescent powers. But so be it. It shall be a game between us. A contest. I shall enjoy that. Yet if you do not finally see the sense in what I have said and if you persist in opposing me, then regrettably, I will destroy you.” He laughed, and his teeth glimmered like pearls in the moonlight. “Power, they say—those who have none—is a corrupting force, but I know it will divert you to a truer path. A path that leads to my friendship. How sweet would be the union between us? We are so alike, dear heart. And there is none to equal you in all Elvendom, none as worthy to be my queen. You will realise that I am your only hope. In fact, I am your destiny.” He tutted and then frowned in mock apology. “In the name of Smirill, how remiss of me. Here I am, chattering on, and quite forgetting an important disclosure I had come here to make. It is most inexcusable. Will you forgive me? I have good news for you, my dear, though it will make your obstinacy even more unthinkable.” He stroked her hair for a moment and gazed up at the night sky, sighing.
“You see,” he went on in silken tones, “I was charged to tell you that your banishment is revoked.”
Elgiva tensed beneath his touch but was powerless to move.
“Furthermore, the King of Elindel has given you to me. You are your master’s gift to me to seal the alliance between us. As the property of your betters, you must do as they decree. So you will be my bride. The oath of fealty you made to the king in the name of that old fool Faine still applies, so you are bound to honour your master’s pledge.”
Elgiva struggled to rail at him, but her voice was a croak of helpless ire. “You lie.”
He shook his head. “Whether you like it or not, dear heart, you belong to me. Would you dishonour your vow to Faine? Anyway, I will leave that to your conscience. It is time for me to go.”
He bent and kissed her on the lips, and his power drew back, the spell of coercion lifting. Shaking the mist from her mind, she pushed herself away from him.
“I don’t believe you!” she cried. “You’re using me to get the stone, and once I’ve outlived my usefulness—”
“Do not even think such thoughts. I am your friend, Elgiva.”
She tossed back her hair and made anger the shield for her fear and abhorrence. “Your spell has faded. Is that the best you can do?”
He got easily to his feet. His stately frame towered over her. “A weak spell sufficed to subdue you, my dear. Now I must go. I eagerly await our next meeting. But before I leave, should I draw your attention to something that you may already have noticed?”
She frowned.
“Your friend, Elgiva.”
“What of him?”
“That sword of his . . . ”
“I know.”
“Of course.” He turned to leave but stopped. “By the way, please keep that pony. She is a true beast. I placed a spell of silence on her after I stole her from the old wilthkin who owned her, but it is lifted now. Take the food also. I do not wish to see you starve before the start of our contest. Where is the fun in that? Do not worry, dear heart, none of it is poisoned. I fully intend us to meet in Misterell.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Godwin’s eyes focused on another day. He noticed Oswald’s absence at once. Elgiva was also missing. At least the pony was keeping him company. She stood a few yards away from him, regarding him with perfect indifference. In fact, as her jaws munched a mouthful of grass, she seemed to be looking straight through him.
He sat up, stretched and yawned. The campfire was a mound of grey expenditure, as empty and forlorn as the blanket beside him. He rubbed his eyes with his knuckles.
“Can’t you stare at something else?” he asked.
The animal tossed her head and snorted.
“Where has everyone gone?”
He got to his feet. Surely, the contours of the ground were now impressed forever into his flesh. “By Frigg, you’re an ugly brute,” he exclaimed.
The animal flashed the whites of her eyes at him.
“If I was an elf, we could have a chat to pass the time. There’s no one else to talk to round here, and when there is, they either bite your head off or bore you to death with their endless chatter.” He looked about him and frowned. “Perhaps I’ve been abandoned. Well, no reason why I should starve.”
He walked towards the pony, intending to take some food from her pack, but she whinnied at him and backed away. Sighing with impatience, he approached her again. This time, she showed him her large, yellow teeth, her brown eyes round with the promise of violence.
Godwin cocked his fists on his hips. “Well, perhaps I’ll starve after all.”
Whinnying, the pony turned and kicked out her hind legs, just missing him with her hooves. She galloped out of the dell, leaving Godwin alone with his hunger.
Muttering oaths, he wandered out of the dell through the trees behind him. A short walk took him to a bubbling stream, where he splashed cold water on his face. The sun was newly risen, and its rays slanted like threads of steam across the land before him. It was a fresh, mild morning and the emerald vistas called for his appreciation, but hunger was gnawing in his gut. He decided to wander back to the dell with the hope of somehow procuring breakfast.
When he arrived, Elgiva was already preparing food. The pony lounged beside her, her jaws once more munching grass.
“Hello,” greeted Elgiva, “I wondered where you were.”
“Me?” returned Godwin. “Where were you?”
“Just a short walk. To clear the cobwebs. It’s a beautiful day.”
“You haven’t slept, have you?”
“By Faine, does it show that much?” Elgiva laughed.
“Well, it seems to have done you good,” he said. “You seem a bit more cheerful. You should go without sleep more often.”
Her eyebrows drew together, and she muttered a brief apology.
Godwin shrugged. “I understand. Don’t worry. I forgive you.”
“I don’t need forgiveness from a wilthkin,” she said. “And your understanding is given without knowledge.”
Godwin bowed with mock servility and then turned to face the pony. “You see, Grimalkin, when it comes to saying the wrong thing, you can always rely on me.”
Sighing, Elgiva looked at Godwin, and then she handed him a bowl of oatcakes, liberally spread with honey. “Sit down and eat your breakfast.”
Godwin obeyed her command. “Where’s Oswald got to, then?”
Elgiva looked away and grinned. “I believe he was on his way to market when someone stole his pony.”
“Well, pardon me if I don’t follow any of that,” he said with a frown of exasperation.
“I’d better explain.” She seated herself beside him, a mischievous glint in her eyes. She ho
oked her hair behind her ears, folded her hands in her lap, and told him what had happened while he slept.
He completely forgot about breakfast. “Frigg, I had no idea!” he said.
“Neither did I for certain.”
Godwin detected a hint of smugness in her tone. “Well, I was completely taken in. I should have been more guarded. I guess you’ll have no choice now but to gloat and have a laugh at my expense.”
She seemed taken aback. “You’re a wilthkin, Godwin. How could you possibly see the truth behind a glamour of magic? How can I berate you for lacking a skill your kind don’t possess?”
“This is one of the few occasions when I’ve been thankful for my native stupidity. It has spared me your condemnation. But Elgiva, couldn’t that nag have told us what was going on?”
“Vieldrin silenced her with magic.”
He nodded and chewed on an oatcake. “So, Vieldrin sees this as a game.”
“A game he intends to win.” She hugged her knees and stared at the ground, the splendour of her hair like a shawl about her shoulders. “He was trying to turn us against each other, but probably just for his own amusement. He tried to tempt me with power and marriage, and he threatened me with a broken vow. It would have been easy for him to kill me, but I know why he refrained. I think he really does believe the prophecies, so I dare say he’ll wait until I’ve found the Lorestone. Whatever his motives, there’s a lot more sport to be had in waiting. Watching us struggle towards our goal, knowing he’s going to kill us at the end.” She sighed and lay back on the grass. “The worst part for me in all of this is he’s right. Under elven law, I do belong to him.”
He looked at her askance. “No, surely you don’t believe that. He’s using your integrity against you.”
“Perhaps, but I think you know something about the nature of vows, Godwin.”
“Perhaps I do,” he agreed.
“If I’m no longer exiled, I am bond-servant to the king. I am his to command. If he decrees I belong to Vieldrin, then I do. I vowed such obedience in the name of Faine. No honest elf would break such a vow. Vieldrin is using my love for Faine to force me to be his bride.”
