The Elven

by Bernhard Hennen

  Nuramon was about to speak, but a sideways glance from Farodin stopped him.

  “Did you want to say something, Nuramon?” the queen asked, her voice ironically pleasant.

  “It was not my intention to anger you,” he began haltingly. “When I was in Firnstayn, I knew that you could have sent others to fetch me at any time, but you did not. You must have had your reasons.”

  The queen tilted her head to one side. “Do not think for a moment that I would have changed my position on Noroelle. But I see that I cannot hold you here. Your love is too strong. You can try to rescue Noroelle, but know that you do so without my blessing. Time has passed since you contravened my command. I was able to see you from here often enough. Some of the things I saw pleased me. Others did not. You, Nuramon, spent time among the renegades. Fundamentally, a queen should find it displeasing when one of her subjects seeks refuge among those who have rebelled against her, but no one is likely to condemn you for visiting the children of the Darkalben.” A murmur spread through the hall. No doubt those gathered there were asking one another about the secrets surrounding the dwarves, and they would have given a great deal to find out what Nuramon had experienced among them. The queen looked around the hall but made no gesture to silence the whispering. She simply continued. “And the same is true of your stay in Firnstayn. No one here is closer to Firnstayn than you. And for that reason, you shall bear a special responsibility. You shall sail into battle on board my ship.”

  “I thank you, Emerelle,” Nuramon replied, although he did not know if he was being punished or honored.

  “And now to you, Farodin. You talked Mandred into representing himself to the trolls as my ambassador. You waged your own private war against the trolls in a time of peace . . . and in the end, you did the right thing. It hurt me to discover what the trolls did to Yilvina and the others. Our dead bodies decay, but our souls live on. There is one thing you must understand, Farodin. We need the trolls in the battle against our enemy. And we must make sure that they believe in our good intentions.” The queen’s face had transformed to that of a good friend, which did not match very well with the words she was speaking. “What would Orgrim, prince of the trolls, say to you sailing into battle aboard his ship?”

  Farodin, barely noticeably, swallowed. “He would no doubt see it as an honor,” he replied.

  Nuramon could not believe that the queen honestly wanted to hand Farodin over to the trolls as their hostage. More than two hundred years had passed since Farodin’s attack on the Nightcrags, but the trolls had long memories. They would certainly try to kill him in some kind of regrettable and dubious accident. Was the queen trying to separate the two of them? To send the companions to their deaths to ensure the search for Noroelle failed? He had to do something. He released Yulivee’s hand and took a step forward. Farodin managed to touch his hand, apparently wanting to hold him back. But now he had taken the step, and the queen was looking at him in surprise.

  “Yes, Nuramon?”

  “The trolls will murder Farodin, but any other elf would certainly come back alive. I beg of you, send me to them and keep Farodin at your side.”

  Farodin stepped up beside Nuramon. “Please, Emerelle, don’t listen to him. I will submit to your will.”

  Yulivee followed the two companions and slipped her little hand into Nuramon’s.

  “I am impressed by your readiness to stand up for each other, but that changes no part of my decision. Farodin, I will hand you over to Prince Orgrim as a hostage. It is the only way to ally the trolls to us. It is not revenge nor a grudge that I carry. It is proof of my trust. It is as I said to you before, most recently before the elfhunt. Remember the words with which I sent you on your way. I don’t want you to simply be a hostage, but a model for all elves to follow. You are to protect the life of the prince as you were supposed to protect the life of Mandred during the elfhunt. Will you do it?”

  Farodin hesitated for a long moment. Then the corners of his mouth turned up in an almost imperceptible smile. “I will do it, my queen.”

  Something had passed between Farodin and Emerelle. In the hall, hardly anyone seemed to have noticed. They all seemed to think that they had witnessed a reconciliation that at first glance appeared to be a punishment, but what did Emerelle mean when she said that Farodin was supposed to protect Mandred? The queen spoke as if his companion had failed and was now being given the opportunity to make up for his failure. After all these years together, there was still a lot about Farodin that remained hidden from Nuramon.

  The queen suddenly smiled. “I have only one more question.” She looked at Yulivee. “Who is the girl holding your hand so tightly, Nuramon?”

  “This is the sorceress Yulivee, daughter of Hildachi of the Diliskar clan. She may be the last of the Free of Valemas.”

  A rumble of voices rose in the hall, telling Nuramon that Valemas and the Diliskar clan had not been forgotten.

  “Yulivee. What a name that is,” said the queen, gazing at the girl as if Yulivee were one of the Alben. “Come here to me, Yulivee.”

  The child did not let go of Nuramon’s hand, but looked up at him anxiously.

  “Go on. That is Emerelle, the one you’ve heard so much about.”

  Yulivee slowly eased her grip and stepped cautiously before the queen. Everyone in the hall fell silent. The only sound was the swishing of the water falling from the walls. Emerelle looked at Yulivee for a long time, as if she wanted to remember every facet of the girl. Then she said, “Yulivee, I have waited a long time for the return of the Diliskar line and the other clans of Valemas, which makes today all the more important. A great future awaits you. How did you come to be with Nuramon and Farodin?”

  In a quiet voice, Yulivee told the story of the first time she met Nuramon. She repeated their conversation from that time word for word. “And then he told me that you told him that he should choose his own kin. And then I knew that I was not alone.”

  “It was wise of Nuramon to tell you that. So you chose each other as relatives?”

  “Yes. Now he is my brother.”

  Although Nuramon could see that some around him were listening to the little sorceress’s words with disdainful smiles, he felt no unease. He was proud of Yulivee and how open she was with the queen.

  “Come and stand beside my throne. You will have to get used to standing here.”

  Yulivee did as the queen asked. In the girl’s face, it was clear how impressed she was at having the eyes of all the assembled Albenkin on her. When the queen took her hand, the young sorceress’s eyes grew even wider. She must have felt as if she herself were in one of the Emerelle stories she knew so well.

  The queen turned back to Nuramon. “You did well to take the child on. She is more powerful than you might think. Because you have chosen each other as siblings, I would like to ask you if I might be allowed to instruct her in the magical arts.”

  “Who could turn down such an offer?” replied Nuramon. “But it is not up to me to accept or reject. Yulivee should make that decision for herself. I would be happy to have you instruct her, for there is little I can teach her.”

  “Well, Yulivee? Would you like to be my pupil?”

  “Yes, Emerelle. I would like that . . . but I would also like to stay with Nuramon.”

  “I will give you some time to think. It is not an easy choice. But whichever way you decide, you will not disappoint me,” Emerelle said. Then she rose. “And now, my Albenkin, arm yourselves for battle. Alvias.” The master approached. The queen whispered something in his ear, then she took Yulivee by the hand and left the hall through a side door. The soldiers around her throne followed her, all but Obilee, who stood where she was and looked at Farodin and Nuramon as if they were a painting that reminded her of good days.

  Farodin was immediately surrounded by his relatives, and Nuramon’s clan came to him, showering him with questions. Mos
t of his relatives were strangers to him. The only familiar face he saw was Elemon’s, and the old man’s eyes still betrayed his suspicion. The young woman who had spoken to him earlier was his cousin Diama, he discovered. She asked him what had happened among the children of the Darkalben. Nuramon replied evasively and tried to catch Obilee’s eye at every opportunity. But Obilee did not move from her place. She seemed happy enough to see Nuramon in the midst of his own clan.

  When Elemon approached him, Nuramon thought that all the joy of his return was over. His uncle had never had a friendly word to say to him. The other elves waited in silence for what the old elf would say. “Nuramon, we are all part of the Weldaron clan,” he began. “And you know that I and the others of my generation never had anything but scorn for you. In the time that you were here and were not allowed to leave Albenmark, we conceived children of our own. And after you left, they were born, and we were safe in the knowledge that they did not carry your soul. But these children, and their children, look at you through other eyes. They have heard the stories of Nuramon the minnesinger and warrior, of Nuramon the searcher, the eternal wanderer. During the troll wars, they discovered that you were once a companion to Alfadas.” He stopped speaking and stared at Nuramon as if waiting for some stirring of emotion from him. Then he went on. “You don’t need to forgive us who are now old. Many of us have not changed our views, but these elves around you now, they see you as one of the greats of our clan. Do not let them feel your contempt for us.”

  Nuramon had never liked Elemon, but his uncle’s words were a concession that Nuramon had never in his life expected to hear. When he looked into the faces of the young elves surrounding him, he realized that his uncle was right. “If the queen did not want me with her, then I would go into this battle beside my clan. Thank you for what you have said, Elemon.”

  “And I hope you can forgive me,” Elemon said, his eyes shining.

  “Yes, I can. In the name of Weldaron.” Nuramon recalled all the years he had had to put up with the ridicule of his own clan. If Elemon were not standing before him, and if he had not seen the old man close to tears, he would have believed that his relatives wanted him back among them now only for their own selfish reasons. But Elemon’s words were spoken in earnest. Nuramon doubted that no more than he doubted the intentions of the young men and women around him, many of whom wore short swords, as he did, as if consciously emulating him. His cousin Diama was one of them. She was even wearing armor that was similar in design to Gaomee’s armor, although fashioned from scales of metal and not from dragon leather. It was in that moment that Nuramon truly understood how long he had been gone. He had been a victim of time twice. And each time, more than two hundred years had passed. In that time, his clan’s scorn had transformed into respect, and even admiration.

  Alvias came to him then, accompanied by Farodin. The master nodded to him politely. “Nuramon, the queen wishes to see you and Farodin in her side chamber. Please follow me.”

  “Thank you for coming here,” said Nuramon uncertainly as he left his relatives. He would need time to get used to the change.

  When they had left the circle of their relatives, Farodin whispered, “It seems your clan has grown quickly. Apparently, they see more in you than just someone who is constantly reborn.” It sounded as if Farodin, in his own way, was happy for him.

  Nuramon was about to reply, but at that moment, they passed by Obilee. He stopped. Alvias seemed impatient. “I will go ahead and tell the queen that you are on your way.”

  Neither of them replied. Nuramon thought of the last time he had seen Noroelle’s friend. It had been at the first gate he opened with his own magic. She had waved to him from the hill. Back then, she had seemed to him to be more a sorceress than a soldier, but now she was wearing a soldier’s robes made of soft gelgerok leather, with hardwood plates fixed on the torso, sleeves, and legs. The runes painted on the wood no doubt aided Obilee in battle. Around her neck, she wore a chain to which, like Nuramon, she had attached Noroelle’s precious stone. Hers was a diamond.

  Finally, Nuramon broke the silence. “Xern told me that you were a heroine in the troll wars.”

  “Yes,” Obilee replied as if she regretted the fact.

  “Noroelle will be proud of you when she hears it,” said Farodin.

  “I have never forgotten Noroelle. Not a day passes that I do not think about her, or you.” She looked into Nuramon’s eyes. “I wish I could go with you.” Her voice sounded as melancholy as her words. She smiled, but it was a pained smile. “Don’t let my mood deceive you. I am happy to see you back.” With those words she embraced Farodin and kissed him on the cheek. “I wish I could do something for you.” She took Nuramon in her arms then, but did not kiss him. “I am so happy for you. Noroelle was right. Your clan has seen your true nature.”

  Before Nuramon could reply, Obilee said, “Come. We must not keep the queen waiting any longer. No doubt she wants to learn what you have both been through. And I am more than a little curious, too.”

  They followed Obilee into the side room. Nuramon could not take his eyes off the warrior woman. There was so much pain and longing there.

  As they entered the side room, Nuramon could hardly believe his ears. Little Yulivee was standing beside the queen, surrounded by soldiers, telling them the story of their journey through Fargon. “And just when I believed my life was over, Nuramon reached me and pulled me up onto the saddle. But listen to what happened then! Well, what would you have done if you were us?” She turned to Ollowain.

  “I would have turned around as fast as I could to get you to safety,” he answered. “Then I would have ridden back and fought the riders in battle.”

  Yulivee grinned cheekily. “A wise answer. But Nuramon did nothing like that because it would have meant the death of both of us. He did not turn his horse around at all, because the enemy was too close.” She could have told Ollowain that earlier, but the warrior from the Shalyn Falah laughed at her words. “Instead, he spurred us on, straight through the middle of them all, ducking their swords and lances and—” The little sorceress caught sight of Nuramon and stopped. But then she went on quickly. “And he saved little Yulivee from the evil men. And if little Yulivee watches out, she will still be alive tomorrow.”

  The soldiers around her laughed, and even the queen had a smile on her face. “Come closer,” she said. And when Farodin and Nuramon were standing before her, she said, “I want to thank both of you once again for protecting Yulivee.” She took the little girl’s hand. “You don’t know how much you have helped me and all of Albenmark by doing so.”

  A Wall of Wood

  A fresh breeze tousled Mandred’s thin braids. With Liodred and a bodyguard of Mandridians, he stood atop the western cliff overlooking the entrance to the fjord. From there, they could look far out over the sea. It was a beautiful late-summer morning. Small, fair-weather clouds scudded before the wind. The sun glittered on the water, and the outlines of distant ships stood out clearly against the sky. There must have been more than two hundred of them. And all of them bore the sign of the burned oak on their sails.

  “Another half an hour, and the first will reach the entrance to the fjord,” said Liodred calmly.

  Mandred looked down at the little fleet that would stand against the knights of Tjured. All told, they had gathered fewer than sixty ships. Fifteen were small, carrying a maximum of twenty men. They had run chains through the rudder hatches of the thirty strongest ships, binding them inseparably together. Like that, they formed a barrier, blocking the deep water in the middle of the fjord. This is where the battle would rage, and this is where the fight against the priests would be decided. The smaller vessels bobbed some distance behind the barrier. Their job was to deliver reinforcements if the line of chained ships threatened to break.

  Mandred looked at the wide gaps to the right and left of the wall of ships. “Are you really certain they can’t
get through there, Liodred?”

  “Definitely, Forefather. Our enemy’s fleet is made up mainly of caravels with a deep draft. Frankly, I want to lead them to the sides, to make them attack from the flanks. There are treacherous rocks that lurk just below the water there. At high water, a skillful captain might manage to guide a caravel through those rocks, but when the water ebbs, they are doomed. With luck on our side, they’ll lose a dozen ships or more on the flanks. The moment their fleet fans out inside the fjord, we will attack them with fire.” Liodred pointed to a number of smaller fishing boats, loaded high with brushwood. “If the wind holds, the fire will do serious damage.” He gestured widely, taking in the cliffs on both sides of the fjord. “Up here are the old men and the lads too young to fight in battle. We have brought in ten cartloads of arrows from all ends of the kingdom. The men and boys up here will send arrows raining down, should their ships wander too close to the coast.” Liodred spoke in such a loud voice that the bodyguards surrounding them could hear every word clearly. “When it comes down to it, the priests are doing us a favor by attacking Firnstayn. Here in the fjord, we fight the battle on our own terms. The narrowness of the fjord makes it impossible for them to use their numbers properly. Once they board the ships of the blockade, it’s man against man.”

  Liodred waved to Mandred to follow him back to the horses. When Liodred swung onto his saddle, he said quietly, “I hope the elves will make it here in time. The enemy outnumbers us five to one, maybe more.”

  “If there is a way for them to get here, they will be here,” replied Mandred resolutely. But he knew only too well how many unforeseeable things could prevent that from happening. Would Emerelle even grant his two companions an audience? And how long would it take to equip a fleet and sail it out through an Albenstar?