“Well, then . . . let’s ride,” Mandred cried, and the elfhunt set off again.
The silence between Noroelle and her two suitors persisted. The seven wolves stirred Noroelle’s concern for the men she loved. The animals had a sense of the gravity of the danger awaiting the hunters. They themselves decided how big the pack would be that joined the elfhunt. When Gaomee had ridden against the dragon Duanoc, eight wolves accompanied her. What kind of beast could it be, lurking there beyond the stone circle? She trusted in the skills of Nuramon and Farodin, but even great heroes died in battle. What if the worst came to pass? What if Nuramon was wrong? What if an elven soul that died in the human world could not be reborn in Albenmark?
They passed the faun oak and Noroelle’s lake. Only yesterday, she had sat here listening to Farodin and Nuramon. Noroelle wondered whether such a day would ever come again.
When they reached the fortified tower at the Shalyn Falah, they halted briefly while Aigilaos departed. With his horseshoes, he could not cross the white bridge. The centaur cursed the ancient structure, then muttered that he would see them at the gate and cantered off.
Noroelle watched the centaur leave and thought of the stories that were told about him. No doubt he envied the elven steeds with their unshod hooves and elven dexterity, able to cross the bridge without a second thought.
“Why did he have his feet shod at all if it prevents him from crossing the bridge?” Mandred asked.
“They say the kobolds at court told him he would be able to gallop faster with horseshoes,” Lijema answered. “He believes he’s faster now but has to accept the detour whenever he comes this way.”
Mandred laughed. “Sounds just like Aigilaos.”
They moved on. At the tower of Shalyn Falah, Ollowain was waiting for them. Mandred greeted him coolly, which drew an amused smile from Ollowain. They passed the tower quickly. Noroelle wondered what had occurred between Ollowain and Mandred.
They reached the far side of the Shalyn Falah and followed the wide path on the other side, riding past the remains of the stone circle at Welruun. The trolls had destroyed it a long time ago. Noroelle had not been there to witness it, but the trees and the forest spirits remembered it well. In earlier times, the gate of Welruun led to one of the princedoms of the trolls. Noroelle could clearly feel the power of the seven Albenpaths that crossed there to form a major Albenstar. The trolls had found a way to seal the gate, and no elf knew what magic they had used to do so.
The forest grew denser and denser. Noroelle remembered how, when she was younger, she had come here often. She loved these woods.
The troop followed the path downhill, trotting between the birch trees until they reached the large clearing, within which stood the rise with the stone circle. At the foot of the rise, they stopped and waited for Aigilaos. Mandred dismounted and, saying nothing, moved away from the others. He wanted to pay a visit to Atta Aikhjarto.
Noroelle had heard that the oak had saved Mandred’s life. She wondered what Atta Aikhjarto had seen in Mandred. The faun oak had once confided in her that old Atta Aikhjarto could see into the future. What did the old oak know that would make it curtail its own powers to save the life of a human?
Noroelle allowed Farodin to assist her from her horse. Nuramon came a moment too late and instead helped Obilee dismount. The young elf was so taken by Nuramon’s gesture that her cheeks turned red. He led her to Noroelle.
They sat together in the grass, but it was still too early for words. The others also soon fell silent, and even the wolves were unusually hushed.
Only when Aigilaos appeared did the companions start speaking again. “Was I gone too long?” he asked, out of breath. His flanks were bathed in sweat.
“No, Aigilaos. No need for concern,” said Noroelle.
The centaur was exhausted and had to rest. Again, silence settled over the band.
Now the only one missing was Mandred, and then the elfhunt could finally depart. More than an hour passed before the human returned. Noroelle would have given a great deal to know what Mandred had found out from Atta Aikhjarto, but the human simply asked, “All set?”
The companions nodded. Noroelle felt rather guilty, for she knew she was responsible for the silence that had infected the others. Now she wanted to make up for that. “Come, I will go as far as the stone circle with you.”
On the way up the rise, Noroelle felt the power of the Albenstar like a breeze against her skin. This place had lost none of its magic. Leaning against a stone and gazing into the circle, in the center of which a wall of mist swelled and surged, was Xern. Without turning around to them, he asked, “Who goes there?” But he asked in Fjordlandish, fully aware that it was Mandred approaching.
The human stepped forward and said, “The elfhunt.”
Xern turned to face them. “Then this gate is open to you. Mandred, you entered this world with little more than a spark of life left in you. And you leave it with the power of Atta Aikhjarto. May that protect you and your companions.” He gestured with his open hand toward the wall of mist.
Farodin and Nuramon looked expectantly at Noroelle. Finally, she broke her long silence. “Keep in mind that you are doing this for me. And keep in mind that I love you both. Watch over each other. That is my wish.”
“I would lay down my life for Farodin,” Nuramon declared.
And Farodin said, “Nuramon’s suffering will be mine. What befalls him will befall me.”
“By the Alben, I don’t want either of you to sacrifice himself to save the other. Take care not only of each other, but of yourselves as well. I don’t want fate to take my decision away from me, with pain. Come back, both of you.”
“I will do everything in my power to make sure we both return,” said Farodin.
“And I promise you, we will return,” said Nuramon.
Farodin seemed surprised. His companion was making a vow that he could not guarantee. Who knew what would happen out there? But his promise was precisely what Noroelle wanted to hear.
Noroelle gave Obilee a sign and turned back to her two lovers. “I want to give you something to remember me by during the hunt.”
Obilee produced two small bags.
Noroelle took them from her and gave one to Farodin, the other to Nuramon. “Open them,” she said.
The two elves did as bidden and looked at what lay inside the bags. While Nuramon just smiled, Farodin exclaimed in surprise, “Mulberries.”
“There is magic in them,” she explained. “They will give you strength and fill your stomach more than you might suspect. Think of me when you eat them.”
Farodin and Nuramon exchanged a glance, then Nuramon said, “We will. And not only when we eat them.”
Noroelle embraced Farodin first and kissed him good-bye. He wanted to say something, but she laid two fingers on his lips. “No. No sweet parting words, no declarations of love. I know what you feel. I see it in your face. Don’t try to put that on your tongue, for a word will make me cry. And I am still smiling.” So Farodin remained silent, and stroked her hair.
Then Noroelle released Farodin and threw her arms around Nuramon. She kissed him as well. He took her face in his hands and looked at her for a long time, as if trying to engrave her image and every detail in his mind. Then he gave her a final smile and let her go.
The companions mounted their horses. Only Aigilaos was already looking ahead at the surging wall of mist. Mandred called out, “Follow me, my companions,” and the elfhunt stepped into the stone circle.
Farodin and Nuramon rode last of all, behind the wolves. They looked back at Noroelle one final time. Then they, too, vanished into the mist.
Xern turned from the stone circle and slowly walked away. Obilee took Noroelle’s hand. As the mist dissolved, Noroelle’s fear grew. She felt as if she had just seen Farodin and Nuramon for the very last time.
The Huma
n World
As the fog surrounding them cleared, they were met by the icy breath of the human world. Nuramon uttered a few warming words to drive the cold out of his clothes. He looked around curiously. They were standing in a stone circle atop a high cliff. Far below them lay a village.
Mandred had walked his horse to the edge of the drop. It looked almost as if he wanted to ride the mare over the rim. The village across the fjord seemed to hold a strong attraction for him. It had to be the village he had spoken about at court.
“I’ve found the tracks,” called Brandan. “Very fresh, as if the manboar has just been here.”
The top of the cliff was exposed to the wind, and there was nothing to eat so high up. But what would have kept the beast here so long? Had it been waiting? Nuramon smiled. Nonsense.
“Mandred,” said Farodin, his voice sharp.
The human started at the elf’s voice. Then he pulled at the reins and steered his mare away from the edge of the cliff. “Sorry . . . I just had to see how things looked down there. It looks like the manboar hasn’t attacked Firnstayn yet.”
He took his place at the head of the band and led them down the cliff. The wolf pack ran ahead of them, fanning out. They had picked up the manboar’s scent as well.
Although the tracks obviously led away from the village, it seemed to Nuramon that the human was growing more and more uneasy with every step. “Something the matter, Mandred?” he asked.
“The horses,” said the warrior through clenched teeth. “They’re bewitched, aren’t they?”
Nuramon did not understand what he meant. “Why would anyone bewitch a horse?”
“They don’t sink into the snow. That’s impossible. The snow here’s at least knee-deep.”
Nuramon noticed Farodin and Brandan grinning. What did they know? “Why should horses sink into the snow?”
“Because that’s what they do,” Mandred said and reined in his mare. “If the horses aren’t bewitched, then the snow’s bewitched.” He swung out of the saddle and instantly sank to his knees.
Brandan laughed.
“I don’t find that funny,” said Aigilaos, speaking up. He trotted to Mandred’s side, gouging a deep track in the snow as he moved. “These long-ears think we’re a riot. I’ve never figured out how they manage to stay on top of the snow. But it’s no enchantment, and it makes no difference if the horses are shod or not.”
Nuramon expected the human to be insulted, but instead his eyes suddenly lit up. “Do you think the queen would give me this horse when we get back?”
“If you prove yourself, she might, mortal,” said Farodin.
“Do you think I could breed one of my stallions with this mare?”
Aigilaos let out a braying laugh.
The idea struck Nuramon as bizarre. What did the human have in mind?
“This is no place to stand around cracking jokes,” warned Vanna. “It’s going to snow soon. We have to keep moving, or we’ll lose the trail.”
Mandred mounted his horse once again. The band moved off in silence, following the tracks in the snow.
Nuramon gazed out over the land. He had imagined the human world differently. The snow here was packed and rough, and the lines of hills were formed so irregularly that he found it difficult to commit the landscape to memory. How were they supposed to find the manboar in this chaos? He saw a thousand things that were different in Albenmark.
All the new impressions made Nuramon tired. He rubbed his eyes. This world seemed vast and incomprehensible. When he saw a tree, he was so drawn into the details of it that he was barely able to see the tree as a whole. And it was difficult to gauge distances. Things looked closer than they really were. To him, this world felt constricted. Now Nuramon understood why the queen had named Mandred to lead them. His knowledge of this world would prove invaluable.
The companions followed the manboar’s trail the entire day. They rode fast when the tracks crossed open land, then more carefully when they passed through the woods or crossed rocky ground. They were prepared at any moment to catch up with their quarry. At least, that was Nuramon’s impression.
Brandan, in the last few hours, had emphasized several times that the tracks of the manboar seemed strange. They were simply too fresh. It was almost as if the snow refused to fall into the boar’s tracks. This made Nuramon uneasy, and Lijema also looked worried. The others gave the impression that they heeded Brandan’s warning, but not one seemed to doubt that they would finish the task they’d been given. The elfhunt was under way, and the wolves in particular, so happy to race ahead, gave Nuramon the feeling that nothing and nobody could stop them, not even in this strange world.
In the afternoon, it stopped snowing. They followed the trail into a dense forest. The manboar could have been lurking anywhere in there. Finally, Mandred decreed that they should make camp before it grew too late. Brandan memorized the location of the tracks, then they followed Mandred. Farodin’s expression grew unusually ill-tempered, and Nuramon did not know why.
They moved out to the edge of the forest and pitched their camp. Aigilaos was hungry and wanted to go hunting. He had seen other tracks in the snow, and he and Brandan went off together.
Nuramon and Farodin unsaddled the horses. Vanna, the sorceress, kindled a small fire in the center of camp, but she seemed distracted. There was something playing on her mind. Lijema and Mandred saw to the wolves. The wolfmother answered all of Mandred’s questions. The big animals were calm, which Nuramon took as a good sign.
Farodin set down one of the saddles, then paused and turned to Nuramon. “Is this how you imagined the elfhunt would be?”
“Honestly? No.”
“Everything looks brighter from the outside. But we track down our prey, kill it, and return to our queen. That’s what it comes down to.”
“You’ve been here before, haven’t you? In the human world?”
“Yes, many times,” said Farodin. “I remember the last time. Our task was to find a traitor and take him back to the queen. It was like now. Almost the moment we came through the gate, we picked up the trail. A few hours later, we were already on our way back, but that was not a real elfhunt.”
“And does the Other World seem as strange to you as it does to me?”
“You mean this . . . tightness?”
“Yes, exactly that.”
“It is the air. The queen explained it to me once. The air is different here, not as clear as in Albenmark.”
Nuramon thought about that.
“Everything is different here,” Farodin went on. “If you search for the beauty and clarity of Albenmark, you’ll search in vain. Things don’t fit together in this world.” He pointed to an oak tree. “That tree does not match this one.” He slapped the trunk of the oak beside him. “In our realm, the things around you might be different, but everything exists in harmony with everything else. It is no wonder that humans find our lands so beautiful.”
Nuramon said nothing. He felt an attraction to the Other World. There was so much to discover here, and if one only knew the secrets of this place, then maybe one could find harmony here as well. “Nothing here seems incongruous to Mandred,” he said softly, looking briefly across at the human.
“His senses are not as finely tuned as ours.”
Nuramon nodded. Farodin was right. Nevertheless, perhaps there was an order to everything here, but it took senses even sharper than an elf’s to see it.
When the work was done, Nuramon sat at the edge of the forest and let his eyes roam out across the countryside. Farodin joined him and held out his little bag of mulberries to him.
Nuramon was surprised. “Are you sure?”
His companion nodded.
He accepted Farodin’s offer, and they ate a few mulberries in silence.
As dusk settled, Lijema wondered aloud what was keeping Brandan and Aigilao
s.
Nuramon stood. “I’ll find them.”
“Should I come along?” asked Farodin.
“No,” Nuramon said and looked to where the sorceress crouched. “Better ask Vanna if everything is all right,” he said in a whisper. “She’s been quiet the whole time. There is something on her mind.”
Farodin smiled and stood up to go and join Vanna, and Nuramon left the camp, following the tracks left by Aigilaos and Brandan.
The tracks were easy to follow. The prints from Brandan’s boots were certainly hard to make out, but Aigilaos had plowed a deep furrow through the snow. Nuramon looked down at his feet a number of times, thinking about how Mandred had sunk in the snow. Perhaps it was an enchantment after all that let him walk on top of the snow. He tried to leave clear tracks. And he could, but it took a lot of concentration, and he had to put his feet down as clumsily as he was able. If he didn’t, they refused to sink in the snow.
After a while, the tracks changed. Nuramon saw that his companions had picked up the trail of a deer. Then they had split up, Aigilaos moving to the left, Brandan to the right. The deer’s tracks led straight ahead. Nuramon followed Aigilaos’s tracks because they were easier to see.
Suddenly, he heard a sound. He stopped and listened, but there was nothing more than the wind drifting through the forest. Then he heard a low hiss. It may have been just a little crusted snow, blown from a tree close by. But the hissing sound came again, and then again. Sometimes longer, sometimes shorter. Some animal that lives in this forest? Nuramon wondered, knowing that it could just as easily be the manboar.
Nuramon cautiously moved his hand to the grip of his sword. He considered calling out for Aigilaos and Brandan, then decided not to. The moody centaur would fire an arrow at him if he spooked their prey with a thoughtless shout.
The sound seemed very close now, but Nuramon did not put too much trust in his senses. This world was confusing. His eyes had deceived him often enough today. It could just as easily happen with his ears.
Warily, he moved off Aigilaos’s trail to follow the hissing sound. Soon, between the trees, he saw a clearing. The sound seemed to be coming from there.
The Elven Page 10
