The Exile of Elindel

by Carol Browne

  “You’re after the king,” growled the hound.

  Trystin’s heartbeat quickened its pace, but the hound laid its head between its paws and let out a weary sigh.

  “You’re welcome to him. Over there. He’s sleeping behind those drapes.”

  Trystin padded the length of the hall towards the curtained chamber; then, after a moment’s hesitation, he summoned his courage and twitched the hangings aside. Vieldrin lay on a raised bed, a woollen blanket pulled up to his chest. On the bench beside him, a chunk of candle glimmered in a sconce. In his arms he cradled the Lorestone, as though it were a baby.

  Trystin’s heart was in his throat as he looked at the slumbering king, and his mouth was parched with terror. Yet, he wished he had brought a weapon. How easy it would be for him to kill Vieldrin where he lay.

  He heard a cry from outside and flinched as though he had been hit. Blades clanged together outside the hall.

  Vieldrin stirred and frowned in his sleep. Horrified, Trystin stepped away and hid in an alcove. The elf-king cursed with rage; his feet thumped on the floor. The swish of the drapes made Trystin snatch in his breath.

  “What’s going on?” demanded the king. “Who dares to wake me with this noise?”

  Vieldrin marched across the hall, and the hound stood up and barked at the sight of its angry master.

  “Silence, you worm-riddled cur!” yelled the king. Picking up a flagon of wine, he flung it at the dog. With a yelp of fear, it scuttled away, its tail between its legs.

  The king hurled force at the hall’s main doors, and they threw themselves open so violently that all of their hinges buckled. Trystin’s heart pounded as Vieldrin strode out into the night.

  “I will have you all throttled with wire,” roared the king. “I will feed your guts to the hounds! I will teach you to quarrel when you are on watch! Get back to your posts this instant!”

  Confused and angry as he was, Vieldrin had left the stone behind. Trystin sneaked back through the drapes. The Lorestone lay on the blanket. He darted forwards and snatched it up. Then, quitting the chamber, he made for the side door, overjoyed at his success. Checking to see that his way was clear, he crept towards the undergrowth.

  But there he was caught.

  A hand clamped across his mouth, and he was dragged to the grass. Shock and terror threatened to burst his heart. But then he recognized his captor, and he was dizzy with relief. Slowly, she released him.

  “Oh, Lady Elgiva!”

  “In Faine’s name, what have you done?” she hissed.

  “I have it. I have it. Look!” He held out the stone, and she sucked in her breath. “Lady Elgiva, take it!”

  “What’s that noise there?” demanded Vieldrin. He marched from the entrance of the hall, his fists upon his hips. “Ware, you dogs, we have prowlers!”

  “Run,” said Elgiva. “Back to the cave!”

  They fled into the forest, but they didn’t make it back to the cave. They had barely left the great hall behind when a wall of darkness blocked their path; a darkness with features and claws.

  “By Faine, the fetchen! I can’t fight them again. We mustn’t let them touch us, Trystin.” She pushed the elfling behind her.

  Shrieking with glee, the fetchen formed a ring around the elves and herded them back towards the royal hall. Then, suddenly, a gap appeared in the writhing wall of shapes, and the king strode forward into the ring, a clutch of guards at his back.

  “Elgiva, my dear, what a pleasant surprise.”

  ***

  Tanarus left Godwin and Grimalkin at the edge of the forest and trotted off to rejoin the royal herd. While they were deciding what to do next, the sudden appearance of an armour-clad elf took them both by surprise. Godwin quickly drew his sword, but the elf held up his empty hands to show that he meant no harm. His gaze had a distracted look that sent shivers up Godwin’s spine.

  “Are you Godwin?” he asked. “Elgiva’s friend?”

  “What if I am?”

  “I’m Merrill, Captain of the Guard. Lord Bellic spoke of you. I await Queen Gilda’s arrival. Did you see any sign of her on your way here?”

  Godwin nodded. Merrill looked him up and down in a puzzled manner. Then Godwin remembered he was dressed in Queen Gilda’s colours, but he saw no reason to explain himself to a stranger.

  “Don’t doubt me, Godwin,” Merrill said. “I’m Elgiva’s friend, too, and that’s the truth.”

  “Easily said, but not so easily proven.”

  The captain spread his hands apart in a gesture of helplessness and then let them fall to his sides. ”Everything goes amiss. Lord Bellic is under close arrest, and warriors are marching against Queen Gilda. She can’t kill them all, nor would she, for she knows they serve Vieldrin out of fear. I have no power to stop them. I’m helpless, and that’s the truth. And . . . and, worst of all, my friend, little Elgiva and Trystin are taken.”

  “Taken?”

  “Just before daybreak,” said Merrill. “The elfling tried some hare-brained scheme to get the Lorestone and failed.”

  Godwin cursed under his breath. “Are they all right?”

  “As far as I know,” replied Merrill, “but Elgiva seemed to have given up. I offered to take care of their confinement, but Vieldrin said I should go to blazes. He put them under some sort of spell—though by the look of those two wretched creatures, he didn’t need magic to subdue them. The guards took them somewhere, and others went to get Lord Bellic. I came straight here to wait for Queen Gilda. Didn’t know what else to do.”

  Godwin leaned against Grimalkin and sighed.

  “Please,” said Merrill, stepping forward. “Come with me to a place of safety—if there’s one to be found. The forest’s alive with Vieldrin’s guards. And we’re all to assemble at sunset. I’ll try to hide you till then. Vieldrin says there’s to be some sport. Faine knows what he’s got in mind.” He tugged at Godwin’s sleeve. “Come.”

  “I must help Elgiva!” cried Godwin, snatching back his arm.

  “Indeed,” said Merrill, “but how? Vieldrin has the Lorestone and the means to use it. There’s nothing we can do. I don’t even know where they’ve taken Elgiva. And she’ll be well-guarded, count on that.”

  “But you’re the Captain of the Guard! Can’t you do something? Anything?”

  “No one’s going to listen to me with Vieldrin breathing down their necks. The truth is, only Queen Gilda has any chance of beating Vieldrin, but even she can’t fight the Lorestone. See sense, man. You must hide.”

  The captain turned and hurried away, and Godwin followed. The world was about to end.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Dusk was falling over the forest, and thick clouds curdled the blood-shot sky. In a clearing specially made for the purpose, Elindel’s inhabitants were assembled. A handful of armed guards patrolled the scene, while the rest of Vieldrin’s warriors were guarding the forest’s perimeter.

  Godwin, Grimalkin, and Captain Merrill stood at the rear of the crowd, and despite his fear of what was to come, Godwin had to marvel at the sight of so many elves. The forest was huge, but still he wondered how so many beings could live within it.

  He looked out over the sea of heads, and in front of the crowd, he saw two platforms. They stood about twenty feet apart and were raised several feet off the grass. With a knot of dread in his stomach, Godwin surmised their grim purpose.

  “There’s Bellic,” said Merrill.

  Godwin started and then turned to the left and followed Merrill’s gaze. Flanked by two armed warriors, the elf-lord shuffled into the glade, and his age-lined face was slack with defeat. Iron bands circled his ankles and wrists and were bound together by chains. Behind him trudged a younger elf in parti-coloured clothes, and under his arm, he carried a lyre.

  “Caspell, the minstrel,” Merrill said.

  Caspell stood between the platforms and turned to face the crowd. In a quavering voice, he began to sing a refrain in honour of Vieldrin. The strings of the lyre tw
anged like sorrow.

  Soon, Caspell’s song came to a mournful end, and a blare of horns resounded across the clearing.

  Vieldrin ascended the nearest platform. He wore the crown of Elindel, and his scarlet robe was studded with gems. In the crook of his left arm, he cradled the Lorestone. With his elegant frame and handsome face, he looked every inch a monarch. For a while, he stood, his eyebrows arched, and contemplated the crowd.

  “Well?” he said. “No cries of joy to welcome your lord and master?”

  There was a distinct lack of enthusiasm in the elves’ response. Vieldrin looked upon them all with a cold and steely glare, and Godwin found himself clenching his fists as the dark eyes swept across him.

  Vieldrin turned and signalled to his guards beyond the trees, and Elgiva and Trystin were dragged into the glade. The elfling was made to stand at the front, while two guards pushed Elgiva onto the wooden platform opposite Vieldrin. She stood there blank-faced in her tattered shift, her hands hanging limp at her sides.

  She had suffered some ill-treatment, and Godwin winced at the sight of her. Raw-eyed and bruised, she looked like a wraith. He wrapped his arms about his chest to still his pounding heart. His mind laboured.

  If only he could get to her, offer her his sword.

  Vieldrin’s voice boomed across the crowd. “People of Elindel, Elgiva and I are here to provide a little entertainment. Perhaps you don’t remember her, but she has aspired to be your queen. I am now about to demonstrate that she is unworthy to rule. Her paltry powers would be useless if you needed her protection. A ruler must be strong and bold, and lorewise, too, I think. Three virtues that I own in equal measure, and I shall provide you with ample proof.” His cruel gaze scanned the crowd, and he offered them a perfect smile. “I challenge the upstart Elgiva to a contest of magic. To the death.”

  Anxious murmurs ran through the crowd, and Bellic’s weary, desperate voice rose above them all.

  “The contest is unfair,” he cried. “You possess the Lorestone!”

  Vieldrin frowned. “Be still, old fool. Your senile mumblings grate on my ear. What I have, I have by virtue of my courage and cleverness. Two more attributes I possess that mark me fit to rule.”

  “If you are such a perfect ruler, have you no compassion? Mercy is also a kingly virtue.”

  Vieldrin glared at Bellic, his eyebrows arched. “Showing mercy is not always prudent, especially towards one’s enemies. Mercy is for fools and weaklings. Should I show her mercy and have her turn upon me later, like an ungrateful cur? I offered her joint rule, but she made her position clear. There is no other option.”

  “Then take away her powers,” cried Bellic. “It can be done. You have the stone!”

  Elgiva turned to face Lord Bellic, her face a mask of outrage. “How dare you! My powers are my inheritance, to do with as I please. It took me long enough to find them. I don’t intend to give them up now! By Faine, I won’t surrender, and I’ll accept no mercy from a cold-blooded killer like him! I will put my faith in the First-Father, and I will endure what I must!” Her tortured gaze fanned out over the crowd, and then the merest whisk of a smile touched her bloodless lips. “I believe it’s better to die once than die a little every day.”

  Godwin’s throat constricted as she spoke these words. He hugged his chest and prayed that her courage would see her through the ordeal ahead.

  Vieldrin laughed, though something in his eyes suggested Elgiva’s unwavering defiance unnerved him. “You see, Bellic, how no one listens to you anymore? You can teach us nothing. A new era dawns and cowards like you have no place in it. Watch and despair, old fool. Your turn will quickly come.” He spun to face his warriors. “Night falls. Light your torches. The audience must be able to see everything that happens here. We do not want them disappointed. But stand well back. I will be inviting some of my friends to this gathering, and they are a little wary of light.” Vieldrin grinned with cruel pleasure as the guards carried out his commands. “So, let us have a little prelude to the entertainment, shall we?”

  A restless hush fell on the crowd as the elf-king raised an elegant hand and began to chant an incantation.

  “I call to those so cruelly banished,

  “Come, sweet allies, sage and sear,

  “Arise from the clinging darkness here.

  “From your deep lairs arise and dance;

  “Amuse us with your dalliance.

  “The foul sun has been vanquished!”

  For a moment all was still, and then, like black fumes seeping from a fissure in the ground, the fetchen floated from their subterranean lairs and circled their summoner. Vieldrin laughed as they swooped round his head.

  “Soon, you will be free forever,” he promised them. “I shall harness the Lorestone’s power and make you immune to the sun. Then what fun we shall have together. But our audience needs warming up before the contest begins. I trust you came prepared to entertain us?”

  The formless creatures swarmed between the platforms and spun together in a circle, hissing like serpents.

  “Let the sun lie dead and the black mould spread.

  “Let the horse be lame that pulls the plough.

  “Let the ripe fruit rot; bare be the bough.

  “Let the farmer rail and the tall corn fail.

  “Let the fungus creep and the children weep.

  “Let slime of snail and mildew’s scent

  “Smother all the innocent.”

  The elves surrounding Godwin recoiled in revulsion, yet the horrid fascination of the whirling fetchen held everyone where they stood. Vieldrin grinned and clapped his hands, urging his creatures on. Their wild cacophony stunned the trees, profaned the peaceful twilight. Godwin fancied even unseen nocturnal animals must be scurrying for their dens.

  The evil song droned on, eating into the air like gangrene.

  “See the gelid dead below;

  “To clinging clay the bodies go.

  “Cankered buds and mildewed leaves,

  “Crippled roots and stunted trees.

  “Beauty falls, as we arise

  “To poison the water and stain the skies.”

  There was weeping in the crowd, and elflings clung to their parents. Godwin’s heart was suffused with outrage. Cursing his helplessness, he rested a hand on Grimalkin’s neck, knotted his fingers in her mane, and felt her body trembling.

  A guard with a torch stood a few feet away, so Godwin was bathed in a pool of light, but no one remarked upon his presence; all eyes were enthralled by the dance of the fetchen.

  Godwin’s gaze found its way to Elgiva, lost and alone on the platform, and he couldn’t imagine what thoughts racked her mind, what hopes she might still be nursing. She seemed subdued and broken, though a flush of anger tinged her pale cheeks, darkening her bruises. If only she could strike Vieldrin before he used the Lorestone, strike him with a lethal blast!

  ***

  Elgiva turned her head and caught Godwin’s eye. She could give him no comfort. She had failed him. Vieldrin had the Lorestone. She would die, and so would her friends.

  But accepting failure wasn’t easy. Had Faine intended evil to win when he left the stone for posterity? There must be a chance. There must be.

  She looked at Trystin, who was spellbound by the capering fetchen. His eyes reflected a hopeless terror that wrenched her heart.

  Her friends would die. They would die without hope, the image of her surrender pursuing them to oblivion. For their sakes, if not for hers, she must fight on. Fate had chosen Vieldrin to be the wielder of the stone, but love was still worth fighting for, no matter how futile the attempt. Love, innocence, and friendship were surely stronger than hatred, cruelty, and greed.

  She studied Vieldrin closely as he gazed dewy-eyed at his minions, the Lorestone cradled in his hands. His head was tilted to one side, and he seemed unaware of her existence. It was as if the purpose of their meeting was forgotten. His eyes widened with pleasure as he admired the fetchen, and Elgiva couldn’t
be certain, but he looked a little older. There were shadows of depravity upon his handsome face. Was evil leaching his youth away? Or was it the torchlight playing tricks on her eyes? Whatever the cause, she drew strength from the sight.

  Elgiva averted her gaze and followed the dance of the fetchen. As they spewed forth their hatred of all the things she knew to be good and natural, anguish and wrath welled up in her heart, and she screwed up her eyes to hold back her tears. Magic began to shape itself around the hub of her anger, and it lifted itself bold and clean, like a new-forged blade preparing to strike.

  Faine, I will not believe it. I will not believe we’re defeated.

  The pressure of magic inside her demanded to be released, and regardless of the consequences, she had to let it out.

  ***

  Godwin gasped as a blast of blue light burst from Elgiva and spiralled about the clearing. The entire assembly was jerked to attention, while the fetchen shrieked and capered madly, caught in a gale of magical force. Howls of confusion tore out of them as Elgiva’s power scythed through their ranks.

  Scowling, Vieldrin threw up a shield of force to protect himself. It shimmered in the air before him like a wall of water.

  Abruptly, Elgiva’s power went out. She was breathing hard, but her eyes gleamed with defiance as she turned to face Vieldrin. “Enough,” she said. “I won’t endure this any longer.”

  “You will endure what you must. You wish me to retaliate?” He held up the Lorestone for all to see, and torchlight sparkled on its perfect surface. “Shall I use this now? Or shall I toy with you awhile? The crowd are expecting some entertainment.”

  “Crown, come down!” commanded Elgiva.

  The crown of Elindel tumbled from Vieldrin’s head, clattered across the platform, and rolled into the grass. It wheeled and glittered until it came to a halt midway between the two platforms. Someone in the crowd behind Godwin ventured a nervous giggle.

  Vieldrin scowled at the fallen circlet, and then his face grew dark with vengeance. He thrust out his arm. The tree behind Elgiva began to topple towards her. It made a great cracking and splintering sound as its roots snapped free from the earth. There were gasps and cries from the crowd.