by Carol Browne
Elgiva abandoned all her fears and gave herself to the magic. It filled her limbs like ecstasy, and nothing else existed. Her entire being revolved around it, and power monopolised all of her senses. She became a part of all the magic that ever was or ever would be.
Her power flooded into the night, and the sword accepted it, channelled it away from her, and threw it at the fetchen. A searing white beam of destruction, it lit up the whole of the sarsen ring, like an exploding star.
While the blade keened with power, Elgiva spun round and round, cutting through the ranks of the foe. She stood at the hub of a wheel of might. The fetchen gyred around her, like pieces of black and helpless anger, trying to swoop towards their prey, but Elgiva’s magic pushed them back.
Then a new sound filled the air, a chiming rife with energy. The monoliths were singing.
Laughter welled up in Elgiva’s throat. Now she knew what magic was. Magic was ecstasy, abandonment, freedom. Magic was total awareness. Magic was oneness with everything that was natural, pure, and good.
The ringing of the sarsens’ song rose to the sky, like the voice of the Earth. They called to Elgiva’s magic, and it hummed through their sandstone hearts.
In a rush, the fetchen flew from the circle, swirling in all directions with a noise like beating wings. The speed of their departure left a gust of air in its wake. It snatched at Elgiva’s clothes and hair and howled off into the distance. The black shapes melted into the night.
But as they went, their fading cries sounded more like triumph than defeat.
***
For some time, nobody moved or spoke. In the stillness, Elgiva’s ragged breathing was abnormally loud. Dawn was breaking beyond the trees, and birds were starting their morning songs, as if nothing had happened in the power-scourged glade.
Elgiva’s hands were clenched at her sides, and her eyes had a faraway look. Taranuil lay at her feet, and Godwin stooped to retrieve it. Trystin clung to his side. As Godwin hefted the blade, he thought of the differences between them. Elf and wilthkin; female and male; magic and mundanity. He and Elgiva had lived their lives in disparate worlds, spanned by a yawning gulf. Taranuil was the bridge.
“So,” said Elgiva. “He’s done it.”
“He has the Lorestone,” said Godwin.
She flashed a look of hatred at him, and an after-glow of magic glinted in her eyes. “I’m a fool!” she cried, gasping with anger, and he winced at the violence that crackled in her gaze, though it wasn’t meant for him. “I should have kept the Lorestone beside me!”
“If we’d been attacked by elves alone, we’d have been able to stop them,” he said, “but those other things . . . ”
“By Faine!” she cried.
Blue flames slithered down her arms and dripped to the grass with a sizzling sound. Godwin stepped back in alarm.
“I’ll crush him,” Elgiva said. “I’ll break him. I’ll burn him. I’ll snap every bone in his worthless body!”
With a cry of frustration, she hurled her magic into the pallid sky. The bolt soared upwards and burst high above like a monstrous flower, illuminating the sarsen ring down to its roots.
“I’ve failed.” Elgiva sank to her knees and began to sob.
Godwin placed his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t give up yet. We have to follow Grimalkin. Perhaps she’s managed to hold them up. We might be able to catch them.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Halfway through the following day, Elgiva and her friends came to a steeply rising ridge. Rocks gleamed like splinters of bone in the grass. Following the pony’s trail, she led them up the slope to a level crest. The land before them dropped sharply down to a vast, flat plain.
Elgiva emitted a gasp of delight and closed her hand on Godwin’s arm. “I’d no idea we were so close. Look over there. Elindel!”
Godwin followed the line of her gaze. “I see a hint of darkness on the horizon,” he said. “Is that it? It might be as much as two leagues away.”
They followed the trail along the ridge. The ground fell away, and before them was a narrow rift. The tracks of elves ran along the rift and out across the plain, but the hoof marks ended at the edge. They peered into the fissure. A soft moan rose from the darkness below, and they gazed at each other in horror. The plaintive murmur was unmistakable.
“Grimalkin!” cried Elgiva.
“Lady Elgiva, what shall we do?” said Trystin.
“We’ll get her out at once!” she said.
“In Frigg’s name, how?” Godwin asked.
“The quickest way. Levitation.” Elgiva smiled at Trystin. “I’ve already had some practice.”
Godwin knelt upon the grass and peered into the rift. “I’ve no idea what that is, but I don’t care, as long as it works. Grimalkin! Can you hear me? Don’t worry. We’ll soon have you out of there.”
Ragged breathing answered him from the darkness of the rift. Godwin looked at Elgiva with hope in his eyes. She drew a deep breath and raised her hands. Then she spoke.
“From out of this abyss, dark and drear,
“Grimalkin, arise, and have no fear.
“The power of Good suspend you high
“Above the sharp rocks where now you lie.
“Float towards me, friend so fair,
“Like a mote that rides the warm spring air.”
A dim shape rose from the fissure. Elgiva continued her incantation.
“I order you stop, but do not drop.
“And float towards me, slow and sure.
“Lie at my feet; the spell is effete.
“Gently down and heavy once more.”
Grimalkin’s unconscious body obeyed Elgiva’s commands and drifted over the grass, coming to a halt at Elgiva’s feet.
They knelt beside the pony, and Elgiva ran her sensitive hands over the animal’s body.
Elgiva smiled with relief. “There’s nothing broken. This creature is made of iron. But she’s badly bruised, and she’s had a bad knock on the head.” She nodded towards Grimalkin’s pack and then sat back on her heels. “They’ve taken the Lorestone, of course.”
“They pushed her down there on purpose,” said Godwin.
“They were far enough away from us and near enough to Vieldrin. Grimalkin was no longer needed.” She began to unstrap the pony’s pack.
Godwin snarled. “The bastards could have just turned her loose.”
“Poor Grimalkin,” said Trystin, his large eyes full of tears. “Lady Elgiva, will she be all right?”
Elgiva hugged him. “Yes, she’ll be fine. Don’t worry. But she won’t be able to travel for a while, and we haven’t time to wait for her.” She scanned the darkening sky and got to her feet. “The day grows old. We must go.”
“But we can’t just leave her here all alone!” Trystin’s gaze flitted back and forth and finally settled on Godwin.
Godwin smiled. “I’ll stay with her.”
Elgiva spun round. “Godwin, I can’t leave you behind!”
“We’ll catch up with you. Anyway, you don’t need me. Go to your uncle. He’ll know what to do.” He paused a moment and then added, “Take my sword, if you wish.”
“Godwin, I can’t do that,” Elgiva said. “It’s yours!”
His generosity touched her, but her attention was snatched away by a shout from Trystin. The elfling had jumped to his feet and was pointing across the plain, his eyes wide with wonder.
“Lady Elgiva, what is that?”
She followed the line of his gaze. A cloud of dust issued from Elindel, and as it drew nearer, the sound it made resembled thunder. As the nebulous shape approached them, Elgiva saw within it a herd of horses. Their coats were white, but their manes and tails were black as ebony. They galloped nearer, their necks thrust forward, dirt and grass flying from their hooves.
“The Royal Herd of Elindel!” cried Elgiva.
“They’re beautiful!” squealed Trystin.
The great animals skidded to a halt at the bottom of the ridge. Th
ey stood there, snorting, their large hooves raking the earth.
“By Frigg,” breathed Godwin. “I don’t know anything about horses, but I’ll wager that’s the finest herd I’m ever likely to see.”
The horses raised their noble heads to the figures atop the ridge. They thrashed the air with their raven-black tails, which fell to the ground in silken splendour, and their black eyes glittered, as if they knew themselves to be without equal.
Then one of the horses pranced forwards. It was Alsiann. “I have come for the one who once cleaned my stable, whom now I honour as my queen.”
Time rolled backwards for Elgiva to the days when she and Alsiann had travelled together from Elindel, Elgiva refusing to ride the great horse because, as a nar-wardain, she knew her place. Needing to be back among her own kind, the animal had eventually left Elgiva on a shallow hilltop, looking out at the bleak landscape of her future. It was there that Elgiva had finally confronted the reality of exile. She clung then to the one piece of advice Alsiann had given her. Find an oak tree. One that is rich in years. Oaks are lords of the forest. Their wisdom is well known.
Briefly, a threat of tears choked off Elgiva’s voice, but when she found it again, excitement at this reunion with her old friend was hard to suppress. “Greetings, Alsiann Fiorin. Greetings to you and the royal herd.”
“The king is dead,” Alsiann said. “We have awaited you. Lord Bellic told us you would come.”
“Alsiann, these are my friends. This is Godwin, who found the thing we sought, and Trystin, who knew where it was hidden. And this poor beast is Grimalkin, who kept it safe as long as she could until she was taken by wicked elves.”
Alsiann nodded. “You must return at once. Elindel has a new king.”
“Vieldrin, of course,” said Elgiva.
Alsiann snorted. “I am leader of the royal herd. I alone have the right to carry you.”
Elgiva didn’t hesitate. She slithered down the grassy slope and ran towards her friend. Her joy at seeing Alsiann could no longer be contained, and she threw her arms around the horse’s neck.
“Dusk falls soon,” nickered Alsiann. “Vieldrin has creatures about him at night. And he has the Lorestone. We cannot tarry, my long-awaited friend.” The elf-horse nuzzled Elgiva’s cheek and then drew back her head.
Elgiva wrapped her fingers in the mare’s flowing mane and leapt onto her back. “You’ll stay, then, Godwin?” she asked.
He nodded.
“Trystin, what about you?”
The elfling chewed his finger, and his eyes flicked back and forth between Godwin and Elgiva.
“What should I do?” he asked.
“You’d be safer here,” said Elgiva.
“I’m not afraid,” Trystin said. “And when you kill Vieldrin, I want to be there to see it.” He pulled back his shoulders, as though he were trying to look brave, but his thin legs trembled beneath his tunic.
“Girasol will carry you,” Alsiann announced. “He is gentle and surefooted. The best of mounts for a young elf.”
A handsome young stallion trotted forwards and intercepted Trystin as he scampered down the slope.
Alsiann swung her head round. “And what of your human friend, Elgiva?” Elgiva whispered in her ear, and the great horse turned and stared at Godwin. “So, Godwin, is it your intention to follow as soon as that pony revives?”
“It is,” said Godwin.
“Then I shall leave you my eldest son. Tanarus Aquila will carry you when you are ready to travel. That pony will not be up to the task.”
Trystin swung onto Girasol’s back, and the herd prepared to leave. Elgiva looked back at Godwin, but she couldn’t say goodbye. They might never see each other again, but saying goodbye wouldn’t help; it would only make the fear more real. With a twinge of loss, she turned to look ahead, grabbed hold of Alsiann’s mane, and the herd thundered off towards the forest.
***
Godwin made a small fire and sat beside it, watching the evening fall upon the land. In his lap, he cradled Grimalkin’s head. The few provisions he had found in her pack had done little to fill his emptiness, but the loss of Elgiva bothered him far more than the gnawing of his stomach.
The herd had galloped away with his friends, their milky hides sucked out of sight like a cloud of vapour, and it had filled him with secret shame. He feared the forest of Elindel. It was a place of magic and peril, a place where he surely would founder and fail. The final test had come, and it had found him wanting.
He looked down at the pony. He was glad she had been unable to speak to the royal horses, for her form and manner would have been greeted with nothing but disdain—as he would suffer the scorn of elves were he to go to Elindel. Better both of them stay where they were.
For a while, he fell asleep, but Grimalkin stirred and woke him. She staggered to her feet, and Godwin shifted to avoid her hooves. She shook her head, then her body, and finally, her matted tail. She cast off sleep like a chrysalis and emerged with a vigorous snort.
“Cabbage hearts, I’m reborn!” she exclaimed. “Dreamed of warm hay and spring greens.”
“I’m glad you’re up. My legs had gone to sleep.” He rubbed his thighs to alleviate the stab of returning life. “Your head weighs a lot for something so empty.” He clambered to his feet.
“You make a fine pillow, if nothing else. So where has everyone gone?”
Godwin explained the situation.
“So, you stayed behind to look after me, eh?” She thrust her long muzzle into his face and tried to lick his cheek.
Godwin recoiled in disgust.
“I gave them trouble, you know. Kicked one in the gizzard. The other thought he was dead.” She bared her yellow teeth in triumph.
“Quite brave of you, I suppose,” said Godwin, “but they made you suffer for it. They pushed you down that chasm.”
“Celery stalks! I’ve been in worse plights. Suffering’s my lot.”
“Well, at least you’re feeling better.”
“I’m in agony! But who am I to complain?”
Godwin’s attention was drawn to something in the distance; two parallel lines of light were moving slowly towards the ridge. He squinted to try to make sense of them. Just then, Alsiann’s son joined them, striding up the bank, his body dim grey in the darkness. The animals weighed each other up while Godwin pointed across the plain.
“What’s that?”
“Don’t ask me,” said Grimalkin.
“It comes from Urith-Endil,” Tanarus said.
“Should I put out the fire?” asked Godwin.
“We have already been observed.”
And so they waited.
The strings of light-beads threaded their way closer to the ridge, and as they drew nearer, they formed a torchlight procession. Eight male elves in gold and white livery walked between these two rows, and they carried a golden litter.
The procession halted fifty yards from the bottom of the ridge and from its midst, four riders came, three bearing golden lances. When they reached the bank, they stopped and looked up, and one of them hailed the three companions. “Who are you and what is your purpose?”
Grimalkin snorted. “None of your business, nosy!”
The elf who had hailed them scowled. “I am Tercel, Captain of the Guard. My lady, Queen Gilda, will know your business, if you have any sense.”
Grimalkin hissed in Godwin’s ear. “Think the old slicer is due for an airing. Better safe than sorry.”
Godwin unsheathed his sword.
***
In a cave deep in the forest sat Bellic, Elgiva, and Trystin. Between them, a small fire kept the darkness at bay. Merrill, the Captain of the Guard of Elindel, stood in the maw of the cave, a gloved hand poised on the hilt of his sword, ready to fend off intruders.
“Well, Trystin,” Bellic said, “it makes my heart glad to see you alive, though I wish we had met at a happier time. But I see you have left behind more than your former slavery.” He reached out and touche
d the elfling’s cheek.
Trystin nodded and then turned to Elgiva and smiled. Bellic gave her a look of approval.
Elgiva was anxious to avoid all talk about her success with magic. “I’m glad to see you alive, too, Uncle. Vieldrin hasn’t harmed you.”
“I have Merrill to thank for that,” he said. “He has been my jailer for many months and pretended to be my tormentor, too, to spare me the malice of others.”
Elgiva stared at the iron bands on Bellic’s wrists and ankles and the chains that restricted his movements. “Forgive me, Uncle. I can’t break the spell that binds you.”
The creases round Lord Bellic’s eyes tightened. “Even if you could, perhaps it is better you do not, for now,” he said. “If I were to be seen without my shackles, it would arouse suspicion.”
Bellic was skirting round the truth, but Elgiva had to face the fact that she could never equal Vieldrin in power, let alone surpass him.
“I’ll never confront Vieldrin on any terms but his own,” she said, “and that’s something I can’t risk. He can use the Lorestone whenever he likes, and he has the fetchen to boost his power, and compared to that, I’m nothing.”
“My dear,” said Bellic, “you must not give in. There must be a way. I sent a message to Gilda, and she is on her way. Behind her marches an army. Perhaps some diversion can be contrived.”
Elgiva frowned. “What good will that do?”
He winced, but then he recovered his composure. He stroked his grey beard.
“When Vieldrin uses the Lorestone, I think he will use it against you only,” he said.
“You think, but you don’t know.”
Bellic disregarded this. “Against his other enemies, he will use his personal power and that of his creatures and guards. You must stay here and hide until Queen Gilda arrives. Possibly the three of us can defeat him in magical combat.”
“If we can take him unawares.”
“If Gilda’s army attacks,” he said, “it may distract him long enough for us to use our powers.”
Elgiva shook her head. “But why should he use the stone against me? He could destroy me without it. In fact, he could kill us all at once. Postponing the moment makes no sense.”
