“A fair question, Elemon,” said the queen, placating Nuramon’s kin. “But I assure you, it was only here on that night. Then it escaped to the Other World.”
“But it could return,” Elemon protested.
“It was clear to the beast that if it remained in Albenmark, I would soon recognize its presence. Now that I know it exists, I will see it immediately if it tries to enter our world again. No, my Albenkin, the demon came here to sow its seed. That was its task, and it succeeded in it.”
“Where did it come from?” asked Master Alvias, who otherwise rarely said a word. “It was said that the Alben destroyed the Devanthar, every last one.”
“This one must have survived all the battles.”
“What have you done to us?” Pelveric shouted at Noroelle. “How could you let such a demon seduce you?”
The queen gave voice to what Noroelle was thinking. “Her love was greater than her discretion.”
“What can I do?” asked Noroelle, her voice low. “If you demand it, I will seek the Devanthar and fight it.”
“No, Noroelle, that is not your job. Just tell me where the child is.”
Noroelle looked at the floor. Deep inside, she felt that it was not right to betray the child. She had seen nothing demonic in him. Besides, not even she could find the way back to her son. “I don’t know where he is. I took him to the Other World. I do not wish to say any more than that.”
“But it is a demon child, the spawn of a Devanthar, the beast that very likely killed the men you love.”
“I may have been deceived in my dream, but I have never seen anything more clearly than the innocence of that child. I will not allow anything to happen to him.”
“Through which gate did you enter the Other World?”
“At a place where two Albenpaths meet.” Noroelle knew that there were countless such places in Albenmark.
“Tell me where the Albenstar is.”
“Only if you swear to me, by the Alben, that no harm will come to my child.”
The queen remained silent for a long time and studied Noroelle. “I cannot afford such an oath. We have to kill the child. If we don’t, a terrible misfortune could befall us. One day, he will learn to use his magic. It is far too dangerous to let him live. You are his mother, and you have to love your child, though it be the offspring of a demon. But consider the price Albenmark will have to pay for your love if you do not tell us where he is.”
Noroelle hesitated. “If my son loses his life, will his soul be reborn?”
“I have no answer to that. The boy is neither Devanthar nor elf. Think of fire and water. It may be that his soul falls in between and is lost. It might also be that your son’s soul, in death, divides into Albenchild and Devanthar. Only then would the Albenchild be reborn.”
Noroelle was stricken. A Devanthar. She should have felt disgusted, but could not. She was unable to look at her son as a demon’s child. She had conceived him in a moment of love. Could that make him evil? No. A mother knew her child’s soul. And she had seen nothing bad in her boy. But there was no proof, nothing but her word that it was so. Everything else spoke against her. She knew that the queen’s judgment might cost her her life, but she was calmed by the certainty that she would be reborn. So she said, “Because my child might only have this one life, it would be wrong of me to let him die.”
“Sometimes, you have to send what you love the most to its doom,” the queen replied.
“I may sacrifice my own life or my own soul. But I cannot decide the fate of another.”
“Maybe you already have. Remember what you said? ‘Whatever task you charge them with, they will do for me.’ Were you not courted by Farodin and Nuramon? It may be that the Devanthar has killed their souls, so perhaps it would not be the first time that you destroyed what you loved.”
Noroelle grew angry. “You are Emerelle, the queen. I thank you for exposing my visitor that night as a deceiver. That gives me hope that Nuramon and Farodin still live. There is no certainty about their fates, but even if I sent them to their deaths, then I did so unwittingly, because I did not know the true danger they faced. How could I have known what even the queen did not know? If I were now to betray my son, then I would knowingly incur my guilt.”
Emerelle seemed unimpressed. She merely asked, “That is your final word?”
“That was it.”
“Did you spirit the child away alone? Or did you have help?” She turned and looked at Obilee, who was trembling with fear.
“No. All Obilee knew was that I intended to keep my son out of harm’s way.”
The queen turned to Dijelon. “Did Obilee hinder you or lie to you in any way?”
“No, she was too frightened to try,” the soldier replied, then turned his cold, gray eyes on Noroelle.
The queen, too, turned back to Noroelle. “Then hear my judgment.” She raised her arms, and the water suddenly began to flow again from the springs. “You, Noroelle, have brought upon yourself the gravest of guilt. Though a powerful sorceress, you were not able to tell the difference between your beloved and a Devanthar. As the demon child grew in you, you did not see its true nature. Your love for your son is so great that you would sacrifice all the races of Albenmark for him. Even faced with this truth, you put your child’s life above the lives of everyone else. Though I might understand you as a woman, as the queen, I cannot accept your choice. You have betrayed Albenmark and force me now to punish you. You will not suffer death only to be reborn. You will be banished, but your exile will not be to the farthest reaches of Albenmark or to the Other World. Your punishment is eternal exile to an island in the Shattered World. The gate to that place will not lie in Albenmark, and no one will ever be able to find a way to you.”
A cold fear wrapped around Noroelle’s heart. It was the most dreadful punishment that could be handed to an Albenchild. She turned to the court but saw only abhorrence and anger on the faces of those gathered there. Then she thought of her son, and the memory of his blue eyes gave her the strength to follow the path that fate had given her to its end.
“You will live forever in that place. If you seek death, you will have no hope of rebirth,” proclaimed Emerelle, her voice flat. “Not even your soul will be able to leave that place.”
Noroelle knew what that meant. She would never go into the moonlight. In such a place, no Albenchild could ever find their destiny.
“Do you accept this judgment?” asked Emerelle.
“I do.”
“One final wish is yours,” said the queen.
Noroelle had many wishes, but could speak none of them. She wished that all of this had never happened. She wished Nuramon and Farodin were there, that they could rescue her and take her away with them to a place where no one would ever find them. All of it nothing but dreams.
She looked at Obilee, still so young. Her having been Noroelle’s confidante would certainly hurt her. “I wish only one thing from you,” Noroelle finally said. “Do not extend my shame to Obilee. She is innocent and on the verge of an extraordinary future. Accept her into your entourage. Let her speak here for Alvemer. Knowing that this wish will be fulfilled, I will go into eternity with my mind at peace.”
Emerelle’s face softened and her eyes shone. Her chilly aloofness vanished. “I will grant your wish. Use this day to say your farewells. I will come to your lake tonight, and we will leave together.”
“Thank you, my queen.”
“Now go.”
“Without the soldiers?”
“Yes, Noroelle. Take Obilee and spend this final day as you like.”
Obilee came to Noroelle and threw her arms around her. Then they walked side by side through the gathered elves. Noroelle knew that she would never again return to this hall. With every step, she said good-bye. Her gaze drifted through the sea of faces, the familiar and the unfamiliar. Even those who had scorned her w
hen she entered now looked at her with compassion.
Farewell to Albenmark
Noroelle chose three of the magical stones that had been lying on the bed of the lake all these years and returned to Obilee. The young elf sat at the shore and paddled her naked feet in the water. Noroelle laid the three stones on the flat rock beside Obilee. Then she dried herself and put on her green dress. It was the same dress she had worn when Farodin and Nuramon rode away.
It made Obilee smile to see her wearing the dress. She looked down at the three magical sparkling stones. “They’re lovely.”
Noroelle had chosen a diamond, an almandine, and an emerald. “The diamond is for you.”
“For me? But you said I should keep them for—”
“Yes. But there are three, and this one is yours. Take it.”
Noroelle had not had much time to teach Obilee the secrets of magic. The stone would serve her apprentice well. It was as if it were made for her.
Obilee held the crystal against the weak light of the fading day. “I will make a pendant of it and wear it on a chain. Or will that make it lose its magic?”
“No, it won’t.”
“Oh, Noroelle. I don’t know if I can manage without you.”
“You will. The faun oak will help. It will teach you what it once taught me. Ollowain will instruct you in how to wield a sword, for you are a descendant of the Danee.” Noroelle had made all the necessary preparations. Her friend would be in good hands and would do well.
For herself, Noroelle had stowed a few things in a bag, all she would need and no more. For her family in Alvemer, she had found words that Obilee would pass on. “Remember everything I told you?” Noroelle asked.
“Yes. I will never forget your words. Nor your gestures or the tone of your voice. It will be as if you yourself are speaking.”
“Wonderful, my Obilee,” Noroelle said as she gazed out at the sun, low on the horizon. “The queen will come soon, and she will have her Albenstone with her.”
“The stone? Really?”
“Yes. She needs her power to create a barrier. Or it would be easy for me to escape from wherever she sends me.”
Obilee lowered her eyes. “I want to go with you, wherever you go.”
“Use your head, Obilee. I have been exiled, and that means forever. Why should you throw your life away?”
“But then at least you would not be alone.”
“True, but then I would cry for your sake, and not because of my loneliness.” Noroelle took a step back. The despair on Obilee’s face upset her. “The queen would never allow someone to go with me into exile.”
“I could ask her.”
“Obilee, please understand . . . knowing you are here will be my solace. I’m sure that when you think of me, there will be moments when you . . . lose hope. But all you have to do is imagine me with you, sharing in whatever it is.”
“But if I stay here, the sadness will be like a black cloud smothering my life.”
“Then you have to come here, to my lake. The best hours of my life were spent in this place. I awakened the magic of the spring and set the magical stones in the lake. I was happy here with Farodin and Nuramon. It was here that I got to know you, too.”
“And this is where you had your child,” said Obilee, looking out gloomily over the water.
“Also true. But I don’t remember that with sadness, nor anger. I love my son, even if he is what the queen sees in him. I have to pay for that. But you . . . you can learn from my mistakes.”
Noroelle suddenly heard steps in the grass. She turned around, and when she recognized the slight figure approaching them, she rose to her feet.
Emerelle was wearing a flowing blue dress decorated with gold and silver threads. Noroelle did not know the dress, and she had seen a lot of the queen’s clothes. Old runic signs were woven into the silk. In her left hand, Emerelle carried an hourglass, but her right was closed in a fist.
Noroelle now realized which spell the queen was going to cast to make it impossible for anyone to find a way into her prison. Once Emerelle had taken her to that place, she would smash the hourglass on an Albenpath, scattering the grains of sand to the four winds. No one would ever be able to gather them all again and replace the glass. The barrier would stand forever.
Emerelle showed her what she had in her right hand. It was a rough stone with five grooves. A red gleam pulsed inside it. So this was the queen’s Albenstone. Noroelle had often wished for a chance to see it, but she had never thought it might come under these circumstances.
Noroelle sensed power in the stone, though it was keeping its true power hidden. Anyone not knowing its secret would have taken it for no more than one of the magic stones in her lake, but in truth, the stone possessed power that Noroelle did not even dare to dream about. It was said that all of Albenmark drew its strength from this one stone. The queen could use it to open or close gates, to create Albenpaths or destroy them. She could use it to create an impenetrable barrier at the entrance to Noroelle’s island of exile. The Albenstone would be the walls of her prison, and the sand from the hourglass the lock.
Noroelle turned to Obilee and embraced her. “You are the sister I never had.” She heard her friend begin to cry, and she fought tears herself. The time for good-byes had come, and she kissed Obilee’s forehead. “Farewell.”
“Farewell, and think of me often.”
“I will,” said Noroelle, unable to hold back her tears. With trembling hands, she took her bag and stepped before the queen.
Emerelle looked at her for a long time. It was as if she were trying to read in Noroelle’s eyes whether she had cast the right verdict. She looked so dignified that any doubt Noroelle had ever had about her queen evaporated. Then Emerelle turned and led the way for Noroelle to follow.
Noroelle turned back once more to Obilee. The young elf would certainly not have it easy, but she would find her destiny, Noroelle was sure of that. She thought of Farodin and Nuramon. She had told Obilee everything she needed to know in case her lovers returned, but the premonition that had struck her when the elfhunt rode out had not been wrong: she would never see the men she loved again.
She walked behind the queen but harbored no grudge against her. Emerelle was her queen, and nothing would change that. Over the course of the day, she had asked herself several times what she would have done if the queen’s decision had not involved her son. She had to admit that she would have supported her. But because Noroelle was the boy’s mother, she chose to accept eternal exile rather than allow her flesh and blood to come to harm. That was why she had to leave this world. An elf could not alter her fate, even though it would never lead her into the moonlight. Noroelle looked back. As long as her lake existed, the Albenkin would remember Noroelle, the sorceress.
The Saga of Mandred Torgridson:
Of Svanlaib and What He Found in the Valley of Luth
Svanlaib was his name. He was the son of Hrafin from Tarbor, just twenty winters old, and as strong as a bear. He built the best ships on the fjord and hewed images of the weaver of fate for his neighbors. One day, old Hvaldred, the son of Heldred, came and told him of the ironbeards of Luth that stood high in the mountains beyond Firnstayn and pointed the way to the cave of the weaver of fate. And Hvaldred told him also that the ironbeards of Luth had been defiled, the cave desecrated, and that no one could make sacrifice to the fate weaver in that place.
On hearing this, Svanlaib grew angry and said, “I will travel to Firnstayn. I will go into the mountains and demand atonement for this act.” He hewed a new image of the fate weaver from an oak trunk. And all who lived in Tarbor made sacrifice to Luth, and the weaver made of wood grew a beard of iron.
Svanlaib gathered his things and set off for Firnstayn. He carried the image of Luth on his back and climbed high into the snow and ice, where he saw the ironbeards and made sacrifice to them, as
custom demanded. He followed the path the ironbeards showed him until he came to the Cave of Luth, but he found it sealed by Firn’s breath. Seeing this, a great anger overcame him, and he took the ironbeard he had carved and hoisted it above his head. And Luth broke down the wintry wall where a hero’s strength could leave no mark.
Svanlaib waited, for he dared not set foot inside the cave. Then he heard voices and footsteps drawing near. From inside stepped the son of Torgrid. Youthful was he, and his hair was red. At his side were two of the Albenfolk, elves from Albenmark.
Svanlaib asked who it might be coming from the cave. He did not know the son of Torgrid.
The man with the red hair spoke and said, “I am Mandred Aikhjarto, son of Torgrid and Ragnild.”
On hearing this, Svanlaib opened his eyes wide with wonder. Many were the stories told of Mandred Torgridson and the manboar he had gone to hunt and of how both hunter and hunted had vanished. It was said that Mandred had thrown himself on the boar, that they had plunged together into a chasm in a glacier, and that he did it to save his village.
Svanlaib asked the mighty Mandred what had happened. Mandred brought his liberator news of the death of the man who was a boar. And Mandred thanked Svanlaib, for with the power of Luth, he had broken down the boar’s ice wall. He said of the elves that they had helped him. Their names were Faredred and Nuredred. They were brothers and princes of the elves, at Mandred’s service.
Now the son of Torgrid took the ironbeard that Svanlaib had carried and thrown, and he set it where the burned remains of the defiled ironbeard had stood. To honor Luth, Mandred laid the head of the boar at the foot of the graven figure.
But what occurred in the cave was not told to Svanlaib and only later revealed. In the cave, Mandred had spoken with Luth, and the elves stood as his witnesses. The weaver of fate had disclosed the son of Torgrid’s destiny to him. And from that day on, time held no dominion over Mandred. But Luth had not told him the price he would have to pay. So did Mandred return to Firnstayn, with Svanlaib and the elven brothers.
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