The Exile of Elindel (The Elwardian Chronicles Book 1)

by Carol Browne

  “Look at Kinchine, Haldrin. Look!” squealed the elf-child. “Kinchine’s riding a great big horse!”

  “Where have you been to, spindle-shanks?” demanded the old elf, not unkindly, his wizened face a sullen mask in the firelight. “’Tis late. Who is that with you?”

  “Kinchine met nice friends in the forest. Trystin’s come home, too. Trystin’s naughty, isn’t he?”

  “Trystin is a fool,” the old elf snapped. “Come here by the fire, all of you. Don’t skulk in the shadows like thieves. What is your business here?”

  Trystin yanked at Elgiva’s sleeve and urged her towards the fire. Lifting the elf-child and her burden of firewood from Grimalkin’s back, Godwin strode towards the elder.

  “My name’s Godwin,” he said, setting Kinchine gently down. He held out his hand in greeting, but it was ignored. “This is Elgiva from Elindel, and our pony is Grimalkin.”

  “From Elindel, you say?” An expression of mild curiosity flitted across the elder’s face.

  “Yes,” replied Godwin. He folded his arms across his chest. How could such a shrivelled old creature make him feel so ill at ease?

  “Come here, girl,” scolded Haldrin. “Stand where I can see you. I cannot abide skulkers. Now that you are back, Trystin, make yourself useful. Go and find some food for these folk and put that gnat to bed before she falls asleep where she stands.” He turned to face Elgiva and Godwin and looked them up and down. “Sit down beside me, the pair of you.”

  Trystin scuttled to obey. He seized Kinchine’s tiny hand and led her away. Elgiva and Godwin sat by the fire and subjected themselves to the old elf’s careful scrutiny. He studied them intently, as though they were items on a market stall and he a wary buyer.

  Finally, he deigned to speak. “Now, you are from Elindel and he is a wilthkin. What else have you to say for yourselves?”

  “We’d rather not say too much,” said Elgiva. “This is a dangerous place to be, and I fear your king has many spies.”

  “What?” croaked the elder, his temper rising. “If all you can give me is insults, you can go on your way at once! If he has any spies or supporters, I am not among their ranks. I may be a menial now, but I have my conscience and my principles, no matter what you think. I was a free elf once, you know, until I defied our so-called king, may Faine tie his entrails in a thousand knots!”

  Godwin looked at Elgiva. The elder’s outpouring of wrath was startling, but perhaps also rather reassuring.

  “You said ‘Faine,’ ” Elgiva ventured.

  “Oh, I see,” he cried, “the light has suddenly dawned! You are spies of that jumped-up jackanapes yourselves, and you have come to trick me, have you? Well, he might think he is a deity and better than the Founder, but the filthiest heap of dung on the Earth would avoid his foot for fear of being tainted. There, take that back to your master. I have lived too long as it is!”

  Godwin had to smile at this. The scrawny-limbed ancient had climbed to his feet and was flailing his arms about. The sight of such infuriation, dancing about in a tattered robe, struck Godwin as both sad and amusing. The elder’s behaviour was excessive and his courage pathetic, for it seemed to be no more than the death wish of a foolish old man who could well afford a reckless concern for what life he had left.

  Elgiva jumped to her feet and reached out to the elder, but he recoiled from her touch. “Calm yourself, please. We’re of the same mind. Vieldrin is our enemy. In fact, I mean to challenge him.”

  The old elf cocked his fists on his hips. “Hah! I never trust the words of strangers. I know Vieldrin and his tricks. You may have fooled Trystin and Kinchine, but it is not so easy to fool me.” He jabbed a finger in her direction. “How can you prove what you say?”

  “Elgiva’s the Queen of Elindel,” broke in Godwin, somewhat vexed. He got to his feet and stood at her side, as if to show his allegiance. He would have said more, but the elder forestalled him.

  “What proof is that, then?” the elder said. “I am not too keen on royalty.”

  “I had hoped for your support, but if you don’t trust us, so be it,” Elgiva said. “I dare say we can live with it. All we ask for is your silence.”

  It was at that moment Trystin returned. He carried a loaf and a jug of ale, which he placed before his friends, and he seemed embarrassed to have intruded into this atmosphere of hostility. He smiled and stepped back.

  Elgiva frowned at the offered food. “If this is all you can provide, how thoughtless would we be to take what little you have?”

  “If our food is not good enough, ‘tis your look out,” snapped the elder. “Vieldrin keeps us short of food to make us weak and pliable. Eat it or not, I don’t much care.”

  “There’s really no reason to be so rude,” Godwin said. “We came here in peace and are used like enemies.”

  “If you don’t like it, you are free to leave and find better company elsewhere. I still don’t know exactly what you are doing here, so why should I welcome you with open arms?” Haldrin glared at Godwin with blatant contempt and then hitched up his robe and sat.

  After a short and uncomfortable silence, Elgiva, Godwin, and Trystin followed his example.

  ***

  Elgiva sat staring at the fire, and while she nibbled on a chunk of bread, she stirred the soup of her thoughts. She and her companions needed to move forward. They should leave now and proceed on their quest, but for some reason, they had ended up here. Perhaps it was meant to be, and if they could glean some hope or help from the elves of this strange kingdom, it mustn’t be discounted. But Haldrin’s unfriendly manner disturbed her. She didn’t want to go and leave him so angry and bitter. She needed to convince him of her integrity.

  She turned towards Godwin. His friendship was the only thing she could rely on, and in his gaze, she saw an echo of her own thoughts: it was time to take some kind of action, to make some kind of statement.

  She got to her feet, her sudden movement startling those around her. “Haldrin,” she said, “we can’t presume upon your hospitality, and it seems to me we should leave you in peace, but before we go, let me make amends for any offence we have given you.”

  “How?”

  She shrugged. “My magic is unpractised, but it is at your service.”

  “Now just you harken to me, girl . . . ” Haldrin pushed himself upright, his face creased with annoyance. “I am leader of the Eldership of Misterell. In youth, I was chief mentor to the late, good King Eldruin. I was Ministrant of the Rites of Faine First-Father.” His head snapped back, as though he expected his audience to gasp at the sound of these appellations. “And I tell you this, I will not be mocked by magic trickery.” He drew a deep breath and puffed out his chest.

  Elgiva admitted defeat. “As you wish.”

  ”No, Grandfather,” bleated Trystin. “Lady Elgiva would never mock you. She’s good and has great magic. Good magic, look.” He tugged at the old elf’s sleeve. “She healed my scar. She healed me!”

  “I know what the wardain can do!” snapped Haldrin. “They conjure up things to make us afraid. They use us for their sport. She healed you, did she? So? A small demonstration of magic, and you become her willing thrall! You are too gullible, boy. Did Vieldrin not promise us many things when he set the dead king’s crown on his head? We trusted him and were betrayed.”

  “Elgiva’s not like that!” Tears of frustration welled in his eyes as Trystin went on. “You alone of the elders, you knew Eldruin well. You said he was a good king. And Faine, Grandfather, Faine, wasn’t he a wardain?”

  “Be silent, boy,” commanded Haldrin, his eyes livid with outrage. “Don’t dare to argue with me! You ran away, and now you presume to tell us what to think. Good Eldruin might have been, but he sired an evil monster, so there was something rotten in him, for all his good intentions. Let go my sleeve, you silly knave, or I will cuff your ears!” He pushed him away. “Magic can kill as well as heal. Have you forgotten so quickly the murder of your parents?”

  Tr
ystin covered his face with his hands. Godwin frowned at Haldrin’s callous outburst, got to his feet, and drew the sobbing elfling into a warm embrace. Angered by the elfling’s distress, Elgiva knotted her fists in her robe and felt the coils of her power unfold, like a serpent preparing to strike.

  She had reached a decision. Something had to be done, if only to mollify Trystin’s pain. If only to purge herself of anger.

  Turning on her heel, she walked several yards and then spun to face the fire. She threw back her mantle, spread her arms out before her, and focused her will on the wielding of magic, her anger the spark that would kindle the flame.

  “Haldrin, I wish to show you there’s still such a thing as good magic in this world. Allow me to entertain you in payment for your hospitality, and if you remain unconvinced of my integrity, Godwin and I will leave you in peace,” she told the elder.

  Haldrin cocked his fists on his hips. Elgiva suspected he would have liked to storm off, but curiosity compelled him to remain where he was.

  Elgiva’s magic was now fully awakened, and it ached to obey her commands, but hesitation held her back. Self-doubt or fear seized her heart. What was she doing, and why was she doing it?

  Why was it so hard to let go?

  From the shadows that flickered beneath the trees, a snort of amusement reached her.

  “Show the old bastard what’s what.”

  Grimalkin’s wicked suggestion almost made Elgiva laugh out loud. Confidence flooded into her mind and dissolved the dregs of her doubt. Drawing a deep breath to steady herself, she gathered words for a spell.

  “I think this fire does not suffice

  “On such a night to melt the ice,

  “So I will try to be precise

  “And make it brighter in a trice.”

  Bringing both hands together, palms down, she levelled them at the fire, and magic coursed down her arms. “Stand back!” she warned.

  Her friends obeyed at once, and even Haldrin made no protest.

  The fire hissed and then flared with an angry roar. It grew in size and soon, the flames were over ten feet tall. The night drew back, as though startled, and the shabby huts were illuminated by a billowing orange glow. Their shadows capered in the underwood, like the dancing souls of dwellings.

  Elgiva continued her incantation, pausing between each line.

  “Fire dance and flames arise.

  “Mirror the colours of the skies.

  “Red, orange, yellow, and blue,

  “Imitate the rainbow’s hue.

  “Change to violet, then to green.

  “Now all together, they are seen.”

  As she spoke, the turgid flames obeyed her commands. Their colour began to change, and as it did, it softened. Her companions were no longer dazzled by the brilliance of the fire but could watch the display without shielding their eyes. The darkness around them thickened once more and took on a rosy hue as the fire billowed scarlet.

  The flames rippled like tongues of blood, and their crackling pulsed with vigour. Then the flames were streamers of rich orange light, filling the glade with amber warmth. A moment later, the fire became a dazzling cowslip yellow, a citrine coruscation as clean as summer sunshine.

  The aureate splendour of the flames deepened, transforming itself into azure. Like a cloudless sky, it spoke of freedom and the vast tracts of the heavens. Trystin clung to Godwin’s tunic, and his thin face glowed with wonder, but Haldrin, still unmoved, stood like a pillar of granite.

  The azure melted to lavender and then darkened to purple. The wall of flame swarmed with magical power and hinted at the opulence of royalty.

  With a sudden flare the fire changed again, and now it was green, a bright, luxuriant emerald so redolent of spring that the air actually carried the smell of its leafy, growing life, as if in celebration of the power of the Earth. The trees around the clearing stiffened, and Elgiva felt them strain towards the fire, as if they meant to feast upon the vigour of the flames.

  Elgiva continued to stand still, her arms levelled at the fire and power coursing along them. She waited, confident that when the final change came, she would see the flames reflect the colours of a rainbow. But soon, she realised the last line of the incantation had been ineffective. In a sterner voice, she repeated it, but the green sheet of flame remained unaltered.

  ***

  There was a change in the atmosphere. The air began to hum with the striving of magic that strained itself to the limit without success. Godwin could see Elgiva trembling, her small fists clenched with effort, as she stood in the eerie emerald glow. He glanced at Haldrin, who still stood blank-faced, and was taken aback by the number of elves who now stood in the clearing. Aware that magic was at work, they had crept from their beds to investigate. They now stood cowed and silent, both fear and wonder reflecting in their eyes as they gaped at the grass-green blaze.

  Elgiva’s voice ruptured the silence.

  “Fire, obey and flames be true!

  “Reflect entire the rainbow’s hue!”

  She chewed her lower lip. Mirrored in her feverish gaze, the green flames were unchanged. She lowered her arms. “I’m sorry. Have patience. I’ll try a little harder.” She closed her eyes and lifted her arms, her forehead glazed with sweat.

  “Mighty fire of Mother Earth,

  “Be kind to one who knows your worth.

  “Forget your roots are in the land.

  “A rainbow be, as I command!”

  A grimace of pain appeared on her face, and trembling racked her limbs. The fire writhed with violence, but its colour didn’t change.

  “Stop it,” hissed Godwin. “You’ll hurt yourself. Enough!”

  The green glow flickered and faded, and then, with a tremendous whoosh, the fire shrank back to normal. Darkness swooped back into the glade.

  Elgiva staggered, lost her balance, and fell to her knees with a groan. Godwin’s muscles tensed as he fought his desire to run to her aid. He didn’t want the elves to see how badly she needed support, how inept she was at magic. This display must have cost them the trust of the elves, but acknowledging Elgiva’s weakness would only make things worse.

  ***

  When Elgiva’s vision swam into focus, she was startled to see so many elves and all of them apparently dumbstruck. She panted with fatigue. Her lungs felt scorched and her stomach churned, but she struggled to her feet. The forest canted around her for several sickening moments.

  So much for trying to impress people. All she had succeeded in doing was to demonstrate unreliable power and her lack of control in its use. The Misterellians would never see her as a serious threat to their king.

  She mopped her brow with the sleeve of her robe and stared at the crowd of elves. An embarrassed silence stifled the air. Why didn’t somebody speak?

  Into the feverish calm, she said, “I have to ask your pardon. I’ve over-taxed myself.”

  She looked at Godwin; he responded with a tight smile and folded his arms. Elgiva tried to smile back, but the muscles in her face weren’t working, and she feared her grin might be somewhat lopsided.

  “A fine thing, by Frigg,” said Godwin, sighing as though disappointed. “All these folk assembled here, hoping for entertainment.” He shook his head. “And you call that magic?”

  Godwin would never know how grateful Elgiva was for those words, for his supportive humour. The tension lifted, and she sagged with relief. The faces of the gathered elves made her think of bewildered sheep, staring wide-eyed at the antics of a brace of large, mad dogs, and despite her empathy for them and her guilt at causing their consternation, her need to giggle was irresistible.

  Careless of the consequences, she sat on the ground and laughed.

  The Misterellians muttered in the shadows, but Haldrin snapped at them to be quiet. Then he strode forwards and stood before Elgiva.

  “Forgive me,” he said with the hint of a bow.

  Elgiva peered up at him. He glowered down his nose at her.

 
“Perhaps I misjudged,” he admitted. “If you can find such amusement in failure, then I am inclined to trust your intentions. Perhaps not all the wardain are evil. Vieldrin would have torn us all limb from limb had we been witness to a failure of his power. You ask pardon for your weakness. You greet your companion’s disdain with laughter. We have seen all this, and yet, we still live. And above all . . . ” He paused and nodded, as though acknowledging some truth. “I have seen magic this evening of a kind I never thought I would see again. It honours Faine, and so do you.”

  Haldrin smiled and seemed almost embarrassed at having to use a blatant expression of pleasure. He let his gaze wander over the elves in the glade and then nodded to himself, as though he had reached a decision.

  “Well, fellow thralls, it seems to me that we are not in the mood for sleep,” he said. “So why don’t we have some food and wine in honour of our guests? There may be work afoot, and we should be apprised of it. Shall we drink to the death of Vieldrin? He is an abomination in the eyes of the Founder!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The fire had been refuelled, the tables and benches dragged out onto the grass, and under a star-filled sky, the slaves of Misterell were gathered for a feast, a feast that would leave them short for tomorrow, but living in Misterell had taught them that tomorrow might never come.

  Elgiva sat at one of the tables with Godwin on her left and Trystin next to him. All around them, the elders sat feasting and chattering, in good spirits. The chance to speak to these elves all together was one Elgiva welcomed, but it would be unwise for her to trust too freely. Their sudden change of heart was odd, and perhaps it didn’t ring true; however, Elgiva was responsible for it, and she couldn’t just walk away. She got to her feet.

  “My fellow Eldrakin,” she said, “your hospitality gives us strength for the challenge that lies ahead of us, and for that, we are very grateful. Misterell must be purged of evil, and her people must be free once more. Your king is a tyrant who breaks the laws of the Founder. If we are to be free of him, we all must do our part. Mine is to oppose him. I hope I have the strength for it, but your support will help me.”