The Exile of Elindel

by Carol Browne

  Of course, they’re still barbarians, surrounded by the spoils of battle, she thought.

  The chatter and laughter of many voices resounded within the hall. Elgiva longed for the cool, open air. She swallowed the last of her bread and cheese, gulped down some wine to calm herself, and watched the great dogs that were grouped by the hearth. They were fighting over a thigh bone that had once belonged to some hapless beast. The manner in which they addressed each other made Elgiva sigh. They were clearly as arrogant as their masters.

  Someone was trying to attract her attention. It was Othere, seated on her right. Godwin had brought her to him at the beginning of the meal. Elgiva’s mouth had been dry, and she had feared the Saxon lord could see her trembling. Tall and draped with fur, Othere looked like an angry bear, with strong hands, a battle-scarred face, and a voice accustomed to being heard.

  He thanked Elgiva for her part in saving his son from the boar’s attack, but when told of her exile, his face darkened. He shook his head, and his grey beard whispered against the silver chain that hung about his neck. His eyes had the sharpness of steel. Deceiving him wouldn’t be easy.

  But Othere said no guest in his hall was called to account on an empty stomach, and with that, he had left her alone to gnaw on the bones of her apprehension.

  Now, however, it seemed he was ready and eager to hear her tale.

  “You have feasted well, child? Perhaps you will honour me with the tale of your unhappy exile? I cannot believe you an evildoer, unless your innocent looks are deceptive.”

  Feasted well? Though the Eldrakin used the horns, hides, and bones of beasts that died in the forests, since the time of Faine’s pact with the animals, they had never eaten flesh. Bread, cheese, and russet-coloured apples had sufficed at Othere’s table this evening.

  Elgiva drew in a deep breath and expelled it quickly to steady herself. “I may have done evil, my lord, but it wasn’t my intention,” she said, and she cleared her throat. “I tried to protect my master. I knew he was in danger. He had placed his trust in men who were really his enemies. I chanced by their hiding place one day and overheard their talk. They were plotting against him, my lord.”

  Lord Othere drew closer, clearly intrigued to hear more.

  “I was angry. For all his faults, he was still our master, and we had sworn oaths to serve him. I had to keep it to myself, and you might wonder at that, but to be honest, I was afraid.” She paused, as though it saddened her to recollect the past, but it was the effort of choosing her words that made her hesitate. One slip, and she risked revealing her true identity. “Who would believe someone like me, if I accused my betters?”

  Bellic would, of course, but he had been absent, as he frequently seemed to be when he was most needed.

  “I decided, if I was to save my master, I must take action myself.” She paused again and gulped some wine. “Well, my people are skilled at archery, as are yours, I dare say. So, as I knew where my master’s enemies planned to meet him . . . kill him, I went there with a bow and some arrows. I climbed a tree and waited.”

  Elgiva was growing in confidence now, and this time, she paused for dramatic effect. She took another sip of wine, while Othere sat stiffly attentive.

  “My lord arrived for the secret meeting his enemies had requested and soon his arch-enemy, who was also the Chief Counsellor turned up with his fellow conspirator.”

  The conspirator was called Tarkinell. She shuddered as she remembered his gaunt, mean face and greedy eyes. She had never liked him, but still it had surprised her to find him in league with the Chief Counsellor.

  “This man diverted my lord’s attention and engaged him in conversation while the Chief Counsellor stepped behind him and drew a dagger from his robe. But I was ready. Did I intend to kill the Chief Counsellor? I don’t know, but I pierced him to the heart.”

  Elgiva glanced at Othere. His mouth was set in a thin, hard line, but otherwise, he showed no reaction.

  “My master looked up and saw me, and while he called for the guards, the other man picked up the dagger and hid it in his tunic. Then there was general confusion, as guards and servants appeared from all sides. I was shaken from the tree, and the other conspirator feigned outrage and told everyone my master had been my intended target. Nobody listened to me. The Chief Counsellor a traitor? What a ridiculous notion! And there I was, a low-born slave, with a bow and arrows, guilty of murder. I was beaten unmercifully. The conspirator egged them on to prevent me from speaking up for myself. I think they would have killed me, had a high-ranking friend not intervened.”

  She smiled as she remembered Captain Merrill and hoped he hadn’t been punished for standing up for her.

  She sighed deeply and took more wine. By now, her head was beginning to swim and the heat in the hall made it hard to breathe freely. She leaned against the tall chair back and tried to relax, but it wasn’t easy. She could see in her mind those awful moments following her arrest. She had thought King Thallinore would strike her dead with his magic, but oddly, he withheld his power, in spite of his fury. Outrage had no doubt robbed him of the capacity to act.

  She swallowed to ease her tightening throat. It was easy now to look sincere. Too well, she recalled the curses and blows and the feeling of helpless despair.

  “At length, I was dragged away. I was put in a cruel confinement, underground in a dark, dank cell. If some sort of trial was conducted, I was never told. Eventually, they hauled me out and banished me forever. I thought they were going to execute me, but perhaps they thought exile was worse. I dare say they were right.” She shrugged and took a sip of wine. “So I can’t return to my people’s land. Ever. On pain of death. My home is lost to me.”

  And Bellic had said nothing. He sent Briar with the amulet. He asked Alsiann, leader of the royal herd, to be her escort. But he said nothing, not even goodbye.

  Elgiva started as Othere banged his large fist on the table. “If what you say is true—”

  “I swear it, my lord.”

  “Then your lord was unjust and foolish. He lacks the knowledge required for a lord to rule wisely and well. A lord must be a father to everyone, high or low. He must know their needs and value their worth. He must give justice to everyone. Your master did not permit you to speak in your own defence. A lord such as yours can never have the respect his title merits.”

  Elgiva imagined that Othere truly believed what he was saying, but removed from them by his rank and wealth, did he really know the worth of his people down to the lowliest serf? And yet, were royal elves really any better?

  “It is foolish to trust without question the men who crowd around one, eager to give advice,” he went on. “Such men are often dissemblers whose hearts nourish secret ambitions. They are often not as true as the lowly servant who tends the hearth.”

  “Like Godwin?” she asked. He was across the hall, clearing away the remains of the meal in the company of some other serfs, while his betters continued to laugh and swill beer.

  “Ah, my favourite servant! An honest wight, indeed. More so than these noble sirs you see about me, mouthing wise words. Position and wealth do not nurture humility.”

  She wanted to cock an eyebrow at this but managed to look sincere.

  “Yet even so,” she added, “he belongs to the race of our enemies.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “That is so. There were many battles with different tribes at the time when Godwin was taken.” He paused for a moment, and the gleam in his eyes looked more like relish than recollection. “Our children were also abducted in raids. But now we live in a time of peace. Our enemies have retreated west, and those that were taken, on both sides, are no doubt content to be where they are. Godwin is one of our race now.”

  “I dare say you are right, my lord.”

  She lifted her beaker to her lips but found it was empty. Othere reached for a jug of wine.

  “Permit me to offer you more,” he said.

  He filled her beaker to the brim, and Elgiva sm
iled. Seldom did a lord wait on a servant.

  “You treat your guests very well. I am, after all, a mere serf.” Perhaps her remark had been ill considered, because he narrowed his eyes fractionally. Hastily, she added, “And a serf without a master. As an exile, I can expect nothing from anyone, but I dare to ask something of you, my lord Othere.”

  “Ask.”

  “I need food and a place to live. You are convinced of my innocence, I hope. Would you let me stay here and serve you? If you deem me worthy, of course.” If it weren’t for the loosening effects of the wine, these words might have choked her.

  Othere weighed her request, while Elgiva’s guts churned with impatience. Eventually, he said, “I consider you most worthy.”

  “Thank you, noble lord.”

  He chuckled. “An interesting creature you are, to be sure. You are a serf, yet your manner speaks of higher things.”

  “I was well taught, my lord.”

  “So it would appear. I was told you may have tales for us. In sooth, I confess my hospitality was not entirely unselfish.” He studied the rings that adorned his fingers while Elgiva gulped down more wine. “Hearing you were a traveller, I had hoped that you would repay me by giving us news of foreign parts, as well as some new stories. We have few visitors these days, now that things have quietened down. Some diversion is always welcome. So, child, from whence do you come?”

  “From beyond the hills to the west,” she replied.

  “The stronghold of the Britons?”

  “Oh, er . . . yes, my lord. But our settlement is very large, and we have many warriors. As for the Britons . . . ” She shrugged. “A disorganised rabble, bemoaning their lot and fighting amongst themselves. They know what’s best for them and leave us well alone.”

  “Perhaps . . . yes,” agreed Othere. “It must be as you say. But enough of such matters for now. It is time we had some tales and verses. Perhaps you have some stories for us?”

  Elgiva gave him a weary look. “Forgive me. I don’t wish to offend, but I am very tired. My mind is confused by the day’s events. If you have no objection, my lord, I should like to retire.”

  Othere looked disappointed, but he clearly wanted to uphold his image as the affable host. “Of course, my child. I can see your fatigue. I will not keep you from your rest.”

  She bid him good night, left the table, and slipped out through a side door into the evening’s chill embrace. Its freshness hit her like a wall of stone, making the wine surge in her veins, and she staggered for a moment before the giddiness passed. Her gown felt damp and cold on her skin.

  The full moon had risen, and an afternoon storm had rolled away to a distant sky. Leaves and blades of grass were silvered under the spell of the moon, robbed of their reality, but Elgiva’s senses felt their being.

  It was then she experienced a pang of compassion for these wilthkin with their narrow views. They would never see life with her elven perception, never know the feeling of oneness with even the smallest living thing.

  A burst of fresh carousing from the hall, and her communion was profaned. She sighed and walked towards Godwin’s hut. Now she wasn’t just a servant; she was a servant of the wilthkin. It was truly unthinkable.

  She hoped it would be a short winter.

  And what had happened to Bellic? Was he sitting in King Thallinore’s hall, listening to Caspell’s harp, or reading some dull, old manuscript in his cosy, fire-lit room? Did he wonder what had become of her, or had the giving of Siriol absolved him from all responsibility for his former pupil, from the guilt of letting them drive her out?

  But he wasn’t responsible for her at all. He had only been her friend. Friends weren’t responsible for each other, were they?

  Even so, he was still a wardain, and he had power. He could go wherever he pleased, do whatever he liked. Surely one day, he would seek her out?

  Yet, could it be even he believed she was a traitor? He knew her better than that, didn’t he?

  That night, Elgiva went to her bed feeling lost and alone, but the days that lay ahead of her weren’t as bad as she had feared.

  Many months passed and a hard winter came. The rivers were choked with ice, the mean huts scoured by blizzards, but in the great hall there was food, warmth, and company, of sorts, and Elgiva did her duties without complaint.

  Elgiva’s skill in handling livestock was generally admired, and no one ever suspected that being able to talk to the animals was the reason for her success. She seized this as her chance to gain a little privacy and asked if she could have a pallet in the stable. Her devotion to her master’s beasts was praised, but what would the Saxons have thought had they known she preferred the company of animals to the company of men?

  Guilt, however, gave her no peace; guilt for living a lie. She wasn’t used to the feeling and hadn’t expected it. After all, they were only barbarians. What had she to feel guilty about? Didn’t she work hard for her keep?

  And with the guilt came anger at the situation she found herself in. Her life should never have been like this. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair.

  But the amulet’s spell endured, and soon the winter was growing old. Still, there was no word from Bellic. Elgiva longed for the first signs of spring, when she could leave this place, undo the spell, and be herself again, running free in the leafy woods.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  It was a grey dawn near the end of winter when tragedy fell upon the settlement. An army of warriors appeared in the east, marching over the frosty fields. Cold sunlight flashed on their shields and swords.

  Panic scattered Lord Othere’s sentries, for peace had made them complacent and they were late in sounding the alarm. The people were jolted out of their sleep, not knowing quite what the danger was, and they were unprepared for the threat of bloodshed.

  Elgiva, however, was aware long before the sentries knew what was happening. In the deep straw of the stable, she was dragged from her sleep by a premonition. She sat up and listened intently. Her companions were restless, and a small, nervous pony nudged her with its muzzle.

  After dressing, she set off for Godwin’s hut, where she found all of the occupants sleeping. She shook Godwin by the shoulder and tried to convince him they were in danger, insisting they hurry to find Lord Othere. Confused and frowning, he pulled on his boots and yawned his apologies to his wife Rowena, and then he stumbled after Elgiva as she ran to the hall.

  By the time they reached their destination, the alarm had been given and warriors were starting to take up arms. A half-dressed servant came tearing towards them, still wrestling with the buckle of his leather belt. He thrust Elgiva and Godwin aside and barged into the hall.

  “Have you heard? We’re attacked,” he yelled.

  Godwin looked horrified, and then he called after the man. “Kern, wait!”

  But Kern, his bare feet slapping on the wooden floor, was already on his way to rouse Lord Othere.

  Elgiva and Godwin followed him. They reached the high table just as Othere appeared at the curtained entrance of his chamber, a mighty scowl upon his craggy face. Kern came scuttling in his wake, and Othere rounded on him.

  “By all the gods, what’s toward, you rogue? Why am I tumbled from my bed at this hour?” he demanded. “Is the settlement ablaze?”

  “It’s Beortnoth,” Kern almost shrieked. “With a great army, a very great army, my lord, and almost upon us.”

  “By Grim,” roared Othere. “That murdering bastard is after my lands again.” He gave the servant a mighty shove. Do not stand there gibbering, Kern. Get my sword and helm and see that everyone is awake.”

  Kern darted off in terror, and Othere strode towards the dais, a dangerous frown upon his face. “A dawn attack. There is no honour in that.”

  “My lord,” Godwin said, “they’ll be here before we’re ready. Can we hold the gates against them? Perhaps we should talk—”

  “Talk? How much talk has there been with that bastard and his mercenary scum? How many truces
has he broken? Did he not agree to keep to his side of the river? He covets my land, Godwin. He will not give up until he has everything I own. But I will see him dead first.”

  Godwin lowered his gaze. “Yes, lord.”

  “He has been biding his time, gathering strength. It is a blood feud and must end in blood. We must commit ourselves to battle and pray that the gods are with us. We must hold the gates, and if we cannot, we will fight to the very last man.” His keen eyes narrowed with resolution. “Whoever is sound in limb must take up arms—even you, Godwin.”

  A spasm of anxiety passed over Godwin’s face, but he merely nodded.

  “Hurry, man!”

  Godwin straightened himself, gave Elgiva a brief, tight smile, and hastened from the hall. She stared after him blankly, wanting to express her concern, but finding no words for the purpose.

  At that moment, another side door flew open. In its throat stood a trembling Kern, behind him a background of chaos as people ran in all directions, shouting in fear and panic.

  “My war gear!” cried Othere, as though he were greeting a long-lost friend.

  Elgiva watched him from the corner of her eye. You’re actually enjoying all this.

  As if for the first time, the Saxon lord seemed to notice Elgiva. “Find yourself a place of safety, child,” he said. And with that, he hefted his longsword in both hands and strode out through the hall’s main doors, Kern trotting in his wake.

  Elgiva sighed and leaned heavily against the high table. Now what? This seemed like a good time to leave. The world of men was one of violence and mayhem, and she had seen the awakened savagery in Othere’s ice-blue eyes. He thrived on warfare; they all did. Without it, what were they but farmers and storytellers, growing fat and bored?

  She didn’t intend to shed her blood in the name of some petty, territorial dispute. If she sneaked through the rear of the hall and out across the compound . . .