The Elven

by Bernhard Hennen

  Nuramon realized that Yulivee had summed up the ending quickly. He stroked her hair. “That was a very lovely story. Thank you for telling it to me.” He stood up. “But now I would like to introduce you to somebody. This is Farodin. He is the best fighter of the queen’s court.” One corner of Farodin’s mouth rose slightly, but Mandred grinned broadly. “And this is Mandred Torgridson, the jarl of Firnstayn. He’s a human.”

  The girl stared openmouthed at Mandred, as if he were some magnificent statue to be gaped at.

  “And to the two of you, I would like to introduce the last of the elves of Valemas.”

  A look of dismay crossed Farodin’s face. “Does that mean . . .”

  “Yes. Valemas does not exist anymore.” In a few words, he explained what he had heard from the djinn. “The djinn rescued this girl and brought her here. Her name is Yulivee, and she is now our companion.”

  “Welcome, Yulivee,” said Farodin, though more politely than pleasantly.

  “She will accompany us for a while,” Nuramon continued. “Then I will take her to Albenmark.”

  “But I don’t want to go to Albenmark,” said Yulivee. “I want to stay with all of you. And there isn’t a thing you can do about it,” she said in a confident voice.

  “The little one seems to have a plan already,” said Mandred with a smile. “I like her. Let her stay with us.”

  Farodin shook his head. “Mandred. It is too dangerous for a child. What if we get into a battle?”

  “Then I would make myself invisible,” said Yulivee.

  Mandred leaned his head back and laughed out loud. “You see? She knows what she’s doing.”

  Farodin looked intently at her. “You can make yourself invisible?”

  Yulivee waved dismissively. “It’s easy.”

  “The djinn has taught her quite a bit,” Nuramon added.

  Farodin eyed the girl. “All right, then she can stay with us,” he finally said. Then he pointed at Nuramon in a mock threat. “But she’s your responsibility.”

  “Fine with me. Now tell me what the keepers of knowledge told you.”

  Farodin nodded. They had pointed him toward two important books about the art of the seeking spell, he said, and now he was confident that he could perfect his skill in that area of magic. They had also talked of Albenstones and reported that in recent centuries, someone had been using one of the stones to weave new paths into the fabric created by the Alben. It was one of the new paths that they had discovered the first time they visited the library, and other travelers had obviously also noticed them. There was something strange about them, but that could very well have to do with the fact that they were something completely new appearing in a network of paths that was millennia old. Whatever the truth, their mere existence was proof that Emerelle’s Albenstone was not the only one.

  When Farodin finished, Nuramon told them about his encounter with Reilif. The danger that the keeper of knowledge had spoken of worried his companions. Finally, Nuramon spoke of the djinn’s hints concerning the vanished fire opal.

  “But how are we supposed to find the crown? What you’re describing won’t help me pick up its trail,” Farodin pointed out.

  “Then look at this.” Nuramon opened the book the djinn had given him to the page he’d already looked at. “This is the crown of the maharaja of Berseiniji.”

  Farodin looked closely at the picture, contemplating and nodding. “This is a very good lead, Nuramon.”

  Little Yulivee stood on tiptoe next to the table so that she could see into the book. “But which one’s best? Should we follow the new Albenpaths and look for whoever’s making them, or should we go and look for the fire opal?” she asked.

  “You had your ears open. That is exactly the question,” Nuramon answered.

  “I say we go in search of the fire opal,” Mandred suggested. “It has to be easier to find a missing crown than to take an Albenstone away from someone.”

  Farodin closed the book. “Mandred’s right. I’m certain I can find this crown with my seeking spell. We know more or less where it is, and we know what it looks like. That should be enough. Are we allowed to keep the book?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then let’s go and find this Albenstone.” For the first time since they had left Noroelle’s island, Farodin was chafing at the bit again.

  Nuramon was relieved. He recalled the last time they had left Iskendria. Back then, they had quarreled and gone their separate ways. Now, everything was different. They would depart as allies, with a little comrade at their side.

  Letter to the High Priest:

  Report on the Campaign in Angnos and in the Aegilien Sea

  Venerable Father Therdavan, keeper of the faith on Earth, appointed at Tjured’s hand, in his wisdom.

  In accordance with your wishes, I send you news concerning the activities in Angnos and the Aegilien Sea. As we have found everywhere our mission takes us, we face two difficulties.

  The first is that the places sacred to us have been defiled by the Albenfolk. Many among them are willing to fight to the death, as would anyone who fights for their house and home. But with our superior strategy and the spirit of self-sacrifice of our knights, we have never yet lost a battle. There are no more than a handful of places that we have to lay siege to for a long time, until we break through to the other side and free the soil destined for our god alone from the demonic Albenfolk. May Tjured curse the Alben!

  The second hazard to our plans are the unbelievers, all those who pray to other gods. Tjured be praised, the terrible cult of Balbar has been exterminated. Your visions were in accord with the truth. In the catacombs of Iskendria, we found the stone heart of the cult. Balbar was no more than a stone spirit brought to life by the Albenfolk.

  The cult of Arkassa fell once the people saw the miracles of Tjured. Your decision to pull the high priests back from the siege of the Albenstars and instead to show the population of Angnos the power of Tjured wiped out the Arkassa cult once and for all.

  There is only one thing that causes me concern. At this moment, it must be said, one does not perceive it as a great danger, but it may well grow to present a real problem. From many points around the Aegilien Sea, news has reached me that elven warriors on horseback have been desecrating our fanes. Just yesterday, a message reached me that the temple in Zeilidos had been burned. We have also lost a number of the ships that were to make the voyage to Iskendria. The survivors reported that they were attacked by elves. So far, these events have been mere pinpricks. But from this resistance, which for now can be said to be inflicting only minimal damage, a large-scale rebellion could grow.

  It is not my intention to claim that the armies of Albenmark are slowly beginning to move, but I fear that the Albenfolk who dwell in the holy places have found out that sooner or later, we plan to move against them. It may also be that the elves plundering on horseback are refugees from liberated shrines.

  Finally, I would like to draw your attention to a piece of intelligence obtained by our spies. They have discovered that the Drusnians are, in fact, preparing for war again. They seem to assume that you could turn your attention to them next. Their attempt to foment a rebellion in Angnos failed. It is true that there have been reports of elves journeying from Angnos to Drusna, but these have not been sufficiently verified. You asked for my counsel, and I would give it thus: let the Drusnians prepare for war. In the meantime, we will reinforce our fortifications in the mountains of Angnos. Until now, we have always been the ones to attack, and we have never been defeated. But in Drusna, the tide almost turned against us. It was a very wise decision not to risk a confrontation in the forests there and to order the retreat in time. If that had not happened, our army would have suffered the same fate as once befell Saint Romuald. We can only defeat the Drusnians if we break their power on our own soil. Then we have everything open to us. Let them be the
aggressor and we the defender. They will run their feet raw on the flinty hillsides. As for the Northmen from the Fjordlands, I see no danger from that quarter. They are mindless barbarians and have no allies. When the time comes, the Fjordlands will fall to us like ripe fruit from a tree.

  EXTRACT FROM A LETTER FROM GILOM OF SELESCAR, PRINCE OF THE BROTHERHOOD, TO THERDAVAN, SUPREME RULER OF THE BROTHERHOOD, HIGH PRIEST OF THE TJURED

  The Forests of Drusna

  From Iskendria, Nuramon and his companions followed an Albenpath they had traveled before to the western parts of Angnos, intending to go overland from there to Drusna. In this way, they avoided the humans and their settlements and stayed far away from villages and towns and the roads that crossed the mountains. Finally, they made their way deep into the woods of Drusna.

  The forest seemed to go on forever. Rarely did they come across a clearing. The region reminded Nuramon of the forests of Galvelun, through which he had once traveled, for now, as then, they had to be on their guard against wolves. Fortunately, they had seen here no sign of the brown dragons that existed in Galvelun. Mandred claimed that there were dragons in the human world, but Nuramon doubted it was true, particularly because the stories the jarl told of them sounded more than a little dubious.

  They had been traveling through a section of forest for some days already. The place had once been the scene of a major battle. They had found rusted helmets and shield mountings, swords and spears. In places, shattered armor and human bones were piled on boulders, forming grim altars.

  While Farodin, as usual, took the lead, Yulivee was the only one on horseback. She liked Felbion, and the horse seemed to have taken a liking to the girl in return. For Yulivee, the journey was one long adventure. She observed every animal and every plant with a curiosity that amazed even Nuramon.

  “Are we there yet?” she asked for what must have been the fiftieth time that day.

  Mandred grinned. He had probably just been asking himself the same question. After all, at midday the day before, Farodin had said that they would reach the place his magic was drawing them to by sundown the next day. But then the new day had dawned and they had found themselves in a damp patch of forest flanked by large marshes.

  Farodin ignored the child’s question.

  So Nuramon turned to Yulivee. “Every time you ask, it’s going to take an extra day.”

  The girl fell silent.

  “This place is starting to feel very strange,” Mandred muttered. “Wolves? Fine. We’ll tan their hides for them. But these stinking swamps . . . We’re all going to get sucked into some bottomless mudhole.”

  Farodin sighed. He was obviously losing his patience. He started to walk faster, wanting to put a little distance between himself and the others.

  “If you’re worried, you should ride your mare,” said Nuramon quietly to Mandred. “She won’t put a foot wrong.”

  The jarl didn’t need to be told twice and mounted up.

  Nuramon, meanwhile, strode ahead to Farodin. He wanted to ask him what the matter was, because the elf had never led him on a false trail, but in the past few days, something seemed to have been confusing him. Perhaps he sensed another grain of sand not far away. Or something was interfering with the seeking spell he was using to track down the crown.

  “What’s going on?” Nuramon asked when he caught up with him.

  “I hadn’t counted on these swamps. But there’s—” Farodin jerked his head around and looked back.

  “What is it?”

  The elf calmed himself and shook his head. Then he rubbed his forehead with his fingers. “Something flashed just now. It obstructed my spell.” He pointed into the marshlands on their right. “I can see the trail over there. It’s like a track left by an animal. But something about it isn’t right. It isn’t clear enough. And I’m constantly getting the sensation that there’s a grain of sand somewhere around here.”

  “Maybe in a hollow in the swamp?”

  “No, it’s been happening for days, almost as if the wind has been blowing it along through the forest. If I didn’t know better, I’d say we were being followed.”

  “I’ll sort it out,” said Nuramon, and he returned to Mandred and Yulivee.

  Mandred nodded, but Yulivee took hardly any notice of him at all. She was busy holding her little fist up to her eye.

  Nuramon already had a suspicion. He moved around to Felbion’s side. “What have you got there?” he asked Yulivee.

  The girl lowered her arm, but held her hand closed. “Nothing,” she answered.

  “You’ve got something in your hand.”

  “Just a little glowworm.”

  Nuramon could only laugh. “I think I know that kind of glowworm. Farodin!”

  The little elf pursed her lips and seemed to be considering what she ought to do. Then Farodin was with them again.

  “Open your hand,” said Nuramon to Yulivee.

  The girl did as he asked.

  “Nothing,” said Mandred breezily.

  But Nuramon saw the tiny grain of sand lying on her palm. “A very little glowworm indeed,” he said.

  Farodin seemed more perplexed than angry. “You? You did that?” he asked and shook his head. “Did you take a grain of sand from the bottle?”

  “No, no,” Yulivee quickly said. “I didn’t steal anything.”

  “Well, where else could you have gotten it?” Farodin pressed.

  “Remember the night when you left the camp because you could feel a grain of sand? Well, I snuck out, too. And I was faster than you,” the girl responded.

  “She’s a crafty one,” said Farodin. “She serves up a little fib, something she only has to say she’s sorry for, just to hide something worse.”

  “I never stole anything,” Yulivee repeated. “Count your grains of sand again if you want to.”

  “Am I supposed to believe you found that grain? How did you do it?” Farodin asked.

  Yulivee grinned cheekily. “I can do magic. Or did you already forget?”

  Then Nuramon said, “But who taught you the seeking spell?”

  “Farodin did,” Yulivee answered.

  “I did not,” Farodin replied testily.

  Nuramon tipped his head to one side. “Tell the truth, Yulivee.”

  Mandred patted the girl lightly on the shoulder. “I believe our little sorceress.”

  Tears welled in Yulivee’s eyes. “I’m sorry. Here.” She held out the grain of sand to Farodin. It floated into his hand. Then he took out the little bottle and let the grain drop into it.

  The tears flowed over Yulivee’s cheeks. “I just wanted to find something, too, so I watched how you did the spell.”

  “You can do that?”

  “Yes, and then I made it so Farodin couldn’t see the sand anymore. I only wanted to look at it. I’m so sorry.”

  “Stop crying, Yulivee,” Farodin said gently. “I’m the one who should say sorry to you. I accused you unfairly of being a thief.”

  “The little one’s left you with egg on your face, my friends. And for that, Yulivee, you can come hunting with me a bit later.”

  Yulivee was smiling again. “Really?”

  “Of course. Only if it’s all right with Nuramon,” Mandred replied.

  “Can I?” she begged. “Oh, please let me go hunting!”

  “If you stay close to Mandred, I guess it’s all right,” Nuramon answered.

  Yulivee squealed with glee.

  Farodin and Nuramon, bemused, went ahead again. When they were out of earshot of the others, Farodin said, “The girl has a gift. By the Alben. How can she simply mimic a spell like that?”

  “She’s the daughter of a sorceress. Her mother’s name was Hildachi, and she came from the Diliskar clan, which makes her a direct descendant of the first Yulivee. Magic is strong in her line. And the djinn taugh
t her, too. He warned me not to underestimate her,” Nuramon said.

  “She would be an excellent pupil for Noroelle,” said Farodin, with a little melancholy in his voice. “Once we have the crown and return to Noroelle’s gate, her little hands may be a great help to us.”

  “Have you forgotten the pain? I don’t want her to suffer anything like that. Once we’ve got the Albenstone, I will be happy to wait and let Yulivee decide for herself if she wants to help us with the magic we need.”

  Farodin did not reply. He looked straight ahead. “We’re here. Just up ahead. It has to be beside that beech tree.”

  As they approached the tree, Nuramon thought about how quickly this could all be over once they found the crown and the fire opal. They would learn to master the stone and then they would finally be able to free Noroelle.

  They reached the tree, which stood surrounded by pale grass at the edge of a swampy hollow.

  “Here it is,” Farodin announced as he gazed down into the muddy water. “But something isn’t right.”

  “Is it in there?” Mandred asked, pointing into the hollow. “We can use my rope. We just have to draw straws to see who gets dirty.”

  “Me!” Yulivee yelped.

  “Not on your life,” Nuramon shot back.

  “It doesn’t matter anyway, because you won’t find the fire opal down there,” said the little elf.

  Nuramon smiled. “And how does our precocious youngster know that?”

  Farodin touched Nuramon’s arm. “She’s right. The crown isn’t here.”

  “What?” said Nuramon. “Then what trail have we been following?”

  Farodin ran one hand over his face. “I’m a fool.”

  Mandred spoke up. “Would someone let me in on whatever crap you’re cooking up here?”

  “I don’t think I can answer your question with the same elegance with which you asked it, Mandred,” said Farodin. “But the crown is not here. Here . . .” He lifted his hands despairingly. “Imagine you press your axe into mud and take it out again. It will leave an imprint of itself behind. It’s like that here. The crown lay in this hollow for a very long time. It left behind an indelible impression in the magical fabric of the world. This impression is so strong that I, with my seeking spell, thought I was following the crown itself.” Farodin closed his eyes briefly. “There are two magical trails leading away from here. We followed one of them to come here, and it has nearly faded away, but the other is still fresh.” He pointed ahead. “We have to follow the new trail. Then we’ll find the crown.”