They walked along the corridor, which went on and on. After a while, Kormak noticed that the lamps cast a strange light, pale and steady, not at all like the light of burning wood or oil. He stopped and looked into a lamp. Inside was a pile of clear stones with sharp edges. The light came from them.
"They are sun stones," the elf said. "If we set them in sunlight, they take the sunlight in and then pour it out like water from a jug, until they are empty and go dark. Then our slaves replace the stones with fresh ones, full of light."
"You have slaves?" Kormak asked.
"We are like Icelanders, except more clever, fortunate, healthy, and prosperous. The Icelanders have slaves, and so do we."
This made Kormak uneasy. But he kept walking beside the elf, who was taller than he was and had a sword at his side.
At last they came to an open space. Light shone from above, though it was dimmer than the spring light in Borgarfjord. Looking up, Kormak saw a dark roof, dotted with many brilliant points of light.
"Are those stars?" he asked.
"No," said the elf. "They are sun stones, like the ones in our lamps. If the stones are solitary, they gradually fade. But we can connect them, laying them one after another through channels in the rock. Then each pours light on the next and renews it. In this way they bring sunlight from the high mountains into our home. They never dim in the summer, but in winter it can be dark here."
Below the roof were high, black cliffs ringing a flat valley dotted with groves of trees. Animals grazed in green fields. In the middle of all this was a long hall, larger than the one at Borg. The roof shone as if covered with gold.
"That is my lord's hall," Alfhjalm said. "Come and meet him."
They walked down a slope into the valley. The fields around them were full of thick, lush grass. The animals grazing – sheep and cattle and horses – all looked healthy and well fed. Many had young, which meant it was spring in Elfland as well as in Iceland.
He had never seen handsomer horses. They were larger than Icelandic horses and every color: tan, red-brown, dark-brown, black, blue-gray, and white, with black or blond manes. As he and the elf walked past, the horses lifted their heads, regarding them with calm, curious, dark eyes.
At last they came to a road paved with pieces of stone. "Our kin in the south learned how to do this from the Romans," Alfhjalm told him. "You can say what you want about the Romans – they know how to build roads."
Kormak barely knew who the Romans were. But he was glad to be walking on a smooth pavement rather than a twisting trail.
The road led to the long hall. When they were close, Kormak saw the roof was covered with shields. Some shone silver, others gold.
"They are bronze, covered with gold or silver leaf," Alfhjalm said. "It would be difficult to make the roof solid gold. We elves are more prosperous than Icelanders and have more precious metal, but our wealth is not unending. And if needed, we can pull the shields down and use them in war."
They entered the long hall. A fire burned low in a pit that ran the hall's length. At the end were two high seats made of carved wood. One was empty. The other contained a handsome old man. Firelight flickered over him, making his white hair and beard shine. He wore a crown, a simple band of gold, and a gold-hilted sword lay across his knees.
"This is Alfrad," Alfhjalm said. "Our lord."
They walked the length of the hall and bowed to the old man.
"Welcome," he said in a deep, impressive voice. "Tell me why you came here."
Kormak told the story of his journey with Egil and Svart and how the old man had killed Svart and tried to kill him, all to hide two chests of silver that he didn't want his son to inherit.
"They are a difficult family," the elf lord said finally. "Not good neighbors. I will send men to recover the silver from the river. There is no reason to leave it in the water. You will be our guest until I decide what to do with you."
They bowed again and left the long hall. Once outside, Kormak gave a sigh of relief. He was not used to speaking with lords, especially elf lords. Alfhjalm took him to another building, where food lay on a table: bread and meat and ale. Kormak learned later that this often happened in Elfland. If something was needed – a meal, a tool, an article of clothing – it would be found close by, though he never saw servants bringing whatever it was. Maybe this was magic, or maybe the elves had servants who could not be seen: the Hidden Folk's hidden folk.
They sat down and ate. Kormak found he was hungry. "There are two high seats," he said to Alfhjalm, after he was full.
"The other belongs to Alfrad's wife Bevin. She is an Irish fey who grew weary of the north and went home to Ireland, though she left a daughter here, who is named Svanhild. She is the loveliest maiden in Elfland and also the richest. I am courting her, along with many other men, but she is not interested in any of us."
"What is your quarrel with the family at Borg?" Kormak asked next. He was always curious. It was one of the qualities that made him a difficult slave.
"Many-fold," Alfhjalm replied. "We came to Iceland before humans did, leaving Norway because it became too crowded with people. There was no one here in those days except a few Irish monks. We frightened them, and they kept to small islands off the coast, while we had all of Iceland for our own. The country was empty, except for birds and foxes. There were forests of birch and aspen, which the humans have cut down, and broad fields where we could pasture our animals, black mountains with caps of white snow, and the brilliant sky of summer. As lovely as Norway had been, this seemed lovelier.
"But then the settlers came. They were violent, greedy folk. We are less numerous than the elves of Norway, and we did not have the strength to oppose the settlers. We withdrew into the mountains to avoid them, becoming the Hidden Folk. When we traveled, it was at night, when no one could see us. That was our first quarrel with the Marsh Men. Egil's grandfather Kveldulf would grow sleepy late in the day and sit hunched in a corner of their hall. Then his spirit would go out in the form of a huge wolf, roaming through Borgarfjord. There are no wolves in Iceland, as you must know, only foxes and a few white bears that float into the northern fjords on sheets of ice."
Of course Kormak knew this. He had even seen the skin of a white bear, when he was a slave in the north. It had been yellow rather than white and not nearly as soft as a fox's pelt.
"The foxes are too small to bother us, and we don't have a problem with bears in this part of Iceland. But it was an ugly surprise when Kveldulf appeared in wolf form, and it made our night journeys unpleasant. He was a frightening sight. We elves do not like to be afraid."
No one does, thought Kormak.
"We thought of killing his wolf form, but it was possible that Kveldulf would be unharmed and wake up, knowing about us. Life was easier when we had Iceland – and Borgarfjord – to ourselves." Alfhjalm lifted a pitcher and poured more ale. "He died of old age finally, and the wolf was not seen again. Then his son Skallagrim inherited the farm at Borg. He was another man like Egil, big and strong and ugly, almost a giant; and he was an ironsmith, which sounds better than a wolf. But we elves are not entirely comfortable with iron. Though we can use it and even work it, we prefer other metals. We are able to cast spells over copper, tin, silver, and gold, making the metal stronger, sharper, brighter, luckier, and better to use. Iron resists our magic. If we make an iron blade, it cuts less well than a blade of bronze. If we make an iron pot, it cooks food badly. Iron tools turn in our hands. Everything becomes less useful and lucky.
"Skallagrim made us uneasy, since he had great skill with iron, and we suspected his skill was magical. He never did us any harm. Nonetheless, we avoided him and watched him for signs of danger. In the end, he died in bed like his father, and Egil became the farmer at Borg. He is the worst of the three: a Viking, a poet and a magician. There is no question about his magical power, though it appears diminished now.
"He knows a spell that can compel land spirits, such as we are. He cast it on our kin in No
rway, so they could not rest until they drove King Eirik Bloodaxe from the country. If he could do this to Norwegian elves, he can do it to us. It's a difficult spell that requires killing a mare and cutting off its head, then setting the head on a pole carved with runes. We are not sure he can still do it, but we are always careful around him."
"Why did you help me?" Kormak asked.
"I wanted to know what Egil was doing. He was killing men on our doorstep. Who could say what that meant? And he had a mare with him. It was possible that he intended to cast a spell on us. I am willing to cross him, if I can do it without him knowing. We have lived in fear of the Marsh Men for a long time, and it's been angering. Now this seems to be ending. Egil will die soon. Thorstein is a good farmer, but not at all magical. He will cause us no more trouble than any other human."
"What will happen to me?" Kormak asked.
"I think Alfrad will make you a slave. Do you have any special abilities?"
"I have worked with horses," Kormak said. He did not add that he'd learned some ironsmithing from Svart.
"We have fine horses, as you have seen, and we take good care of them. You have a useful skill."
This was his fate, Kormak thought, to go from owner to owner, a slave to farmers in Iceland, then a slave to Icelandic elves. It was a discouraging idea. At least he was alive, unlike Svart, and he was away from the horrible old man. If it was his fate to labor for the elves, he would not trust them. Svart had trusted the Marsh Men and been killed.
He slept in an outbuilding. The next day the elf lord announced that he would be a slave and sent him to work with the elf horses. They were intelligent, well-mannered animals, and Kormak enjoyed them.
All the slaves in Elfland were human. The elves did not own one another. But when humans came into their land, they enslaved them. There is always dirty work to be done everywhere, in Midgard and Alfheim and Jotunheim and Asgard. Even magical beings had work they did not want to do, either with their hands or magic. The slaves were a miserable group, badly dressed, dirty, and sullen.
Kormak was sure he remembered stories about humans who went into Elfland and had fine lives, sleeping with elf ladies, hunting with elf lords, till they woke and realized a hundred years had passed. Instead he mucked out stables and groomed horses. Well, life was never like stories. In time, he began to help an elf smith, who forged gear for horses out of bronze. The smith had some iron, which he never used. "An evil metal," he told Kormak. But he kept the ingots tucked in a corner of his smithy, and Kormak remembered where the iron was.
So the days passed. There was no winter in Elfland, though the sky grew dark when winter came to the land outside. Still, it was warm. He never had to follow animals through the snow. One period of darkness came and went, then another, then a third. He had been in Elfland three years. Egil must be dead by now. Should he try to escape? Was it possible?
Elves came to get horses and ride them inside or outside Elfland. Some were tall and handsome men. Others were beautiful women. One was the lord's daughter, Svanhild. Her favorite mount was a dun mare with white mane and tail. No horse was lovelier, and no rider was more beautiful. Svanhild was blue-eyed with blonde hair as white as her horse's mane. Her dress was usually blue, a deep and pure color; and her cloak was scarlet. Gold bracelets shone on her arms. Of course Kormak was interested in her, but he was not crazy. He kept his ideas to himself and helped the elf girl on and off her horse.
One day she came by herself. The elf smith was gone from the forge, and Kormak worked alone. "I know you have been watching me," she said. "I think you want to have sex with me. I also know you are Irish, like my mother."
"I am Irish," said Kormak. "I am also a slave, and I take my pleasure with other slaves, not with noble women."
"That may be," Svanhild replied. "I want to go to my mother's country. My father is narrow-minded and avaricious. Look at what he did with the treasure you and your companion brought to the river. You don't have it. My father does, and he has not shared. Instead, you are a slave, though you brought him wealth."
"Yes," said Kormak.
"The men here want to marry me because I am my father's heir. I have no interest in any of them. In my mother's country, I might be free."
"Or maybe not," Kormak replied. "I have not found freedom anywhere."
"I am willing to try," Svanhild replied. "Will you come with me and help me?"
"Why should I?"
"Once we reach the land of the fey, I will set you free. You will be in Ireland then, which is your native country."
He would be taking a risk, but maybe it was time to do so. He did not want to spend the rest of his life as a slave in Elfland. Kormak answered, "Yes."
The woman smiled, and her smile was an arrow going into Kormak's heart.
She left, and he had a thought. While the elf smith was gone, he shod two horses with iron. One was Svanhild's favorite horse, the dun mare with white mane and tail. The other was an iron-gray gelding with black mane and tail. The iron shoes made the horses uneasy. They sidled and danced. But they endured the iron.
Three days later, Svanhild returned. She rode a red mare and wore a chain-mail shirt. Two full bags were fastened to her saddle.
"Is this the animal you want to take?" Kormak asked, disturbed. He was relying on the iron shoes.
"No. I needed it to carry my bags, but my dun mare is sturdier and better tempered."
Kormak unsaddled the animal and moved the saddle to the dun mare. As he did so, he noticed that the bags were heavy. "I hope you have directions."
"I have a map, which my mother left me."
"Good." Kormak's horse was the iron-gray gelding, a strong animal, intelligent and calm. He did not want trouble on this journey. Fire was fine for war and stallion fights. But what he needed now was sturdy endurance.
They mounted. Svanhild led, and Kormak followed. This is hardly wise, he told himself. He was risking his life for a girl who had no interest in him and for the hope of freedom. But he was tired of Elfland and Iceland.
They rode up a slope in the brief, dim daylight of winter, then entered a tunnel. The horses' hooves rang on stone. The air smelled of dust. There were only a few of the sun-stone lamps here, possibly because the tunnel led down. Who would want to go away from sunlight and open air? A tunnel like this one must be little traveled.
Each lamp shone like a star in the distance. When they reached one, they rode through a brief region of brightness, then back into darkness, with the next lamp shining dimly in front of them.
On and on they went, until they reached a place with no more lamps. Svanhild reined her horse and opened a saddlebag. Out came a lamp made of bronze and glass and full of brightly shining sun stones. She gave it to Kormak to hold, then took out a bronze stick and unfolded it, till it became a long pole with a hook at one end. "Put the lamp on the hook," she told Kormak, "then hold it up, so it casts light over us."
Kormak did as he was told.
They went on, riding slowly, lit by the lamp that Kormak held.
At length they came to a spring that spurted out of the tunnel wall and flowed across the stone until it reached another hole and vanished. They dismounted and watered the horses, then drank themselves.
"How long is the journey?" Kormak asked.
"Twenty-five days by horse," the girl replied.
"Is it all like this?" Kormak asked, waving around at the tunnel.
"I think so."
"The horses will need to eat, and so will we."
"There are folk down here, dark elves mostly. They are kin to us, though they prefer darkness to light. We used to live in the sunlight, as I think you know, but they have always lived underground. This is their tunnel."
"Do they have hay?" Kormak asked.
"I think so."
They mounted and rode on.
There was no way to tell time in the darkness, but they continued until Kormak and the horses were tired. He was about to say they would have to stop when a light ap
peared ahead of them. It wasn't a sun-stone lamp, he realized as they came nearer. The light was too yellow and uncertain. It came from a lantern fixed to the tunnel's stone wall. A man stood under it, leaning on a spear. The still air smelled of hot oil.
He was as tall as one of the elf warriors, but broader through the shoulders and chest. His hair and beard were black. His skin was dark, and his eyes – glinting below heavy brows – were like two pieces of obsidian. He wore a mail shirt that shone like silver and a helmet inlaid with gold.
"What do we have here?" he asked in a deep voice.
"I am Svanhild, the daughter of Alfrad, a lord of the light elves and kin to you. This human is my slave. We are going to my mother's country in Ireland. I ask your help in getting there."
"I can't make that decision, as you ought to know. But I'll send you to those who can decide." He put two fingers in his mouth and whistled sharply. A dog emerged from the darkness, iron-grey and wolfish. When it reached the elf warrior, it stopped. Its back was level with the warrior's belt, and every part of the animal was thick and powerful. A man could ride it, Kormak thought, if he pulled his feet up, and the dog was willing.
It opened its mouth, revealing knife-sharp, gray teeth and a gray tongue that lolled out.
It was made from iron, Kormak realized, though it moved as easily as a real dog. The dog regarded Kormak and the girl with eyes that glowed like two red coals.
"A marvel, isn't he?" the dark elf said. "Made of iron and magic. We can't do this kind of work any longer, but our ancestor Volund could. He made the dog after he fled the court of King Nidhad of Nerike, where he had been a prisoner. He took his revenge on Nidhad by killing the king's two sons and making goblets of their skulls and a brooch of their teeth. He gave the goblets to the king and the brooch to the king's wife, who was the boys' mother. In addition, because he was someone who did nothing by halves, he raped Bodvild, the king's lovely and innocent daughter. Then he flew away on iron wings. He couldn't walk because the king had cut his hamstrings, wanting to keep Volund as a smith.
The Best Science Fiction and Fantasy of the Year: Volume Eight Page 48