The Exile of Elindel

by Carol Browne

Aldric’s brow was creased with vexation, and he fidgeted where he stood. “Your friend has betrayed us. She’s going to be Vieldrin’s queen. It’s just been announced. What treachery!”

  This information was so absurd that Godwin could have burst out laughing. “What?”

  “Didn’t you know? Deceived you, too, then, has she? The two of them are going to be wed, and all of Misterell—what’s left of it—must go and pay them homage or be slain for disrespect. Tomorrow at noon, if you want to know, they’re announcing their betrothal. Pah! No more chatter, or I’ll be late. I’m a weaver by trade, and Vieldrin has ordered me to make a special cloth for his wedding. When Vieldrin commands attendance, only a fool would disobey. If I’m not there before dusk falls, then my head’s off, for sure.”

  “Wait!” cried Godwin, raising his sword.

  The elder began to back away, but Grimalkin butted him between the shoulders and thrust him forward with her nose, until he stood within an inch of the tip of Godwin’s sword.

  “Are you mad, or lying, or what?” Godwin asked.

  “I tell you it’s true,” bleated Aldric, flinching from the sword, “and my advice, for what use it is, is that you go and pay homage, too, or be found by the guards and slaughtered.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Godwin said.

  “Please yourself,” snapped Aldric, “but there’s something else you ought to know, though you won’t believe that either. That Lorestone you spoke of. He’s found it.”

  “Found it?” Godwin looked at Trystin, not knowing how to react, and Trystin stared back in bewilderment.

  “A murrain upon him!” cursed Aldric. “I suppose that’s why your friend gave in so soon. I always suspected she was a coward, but it strikes me she’s changed sides a bit too quickly even so. Not altogether unwilling, I think. I’ve heard about these Elindelians. Power-mad . . . and that’s not all—”

  “By Frigg, will you shut up! For a man who’s anxious to take to his heels, you’ve a ruddy good lot to say for yourself. Now, tell me this. Where are we to pay homage?”

  “The royal hall, of course. Where else?”

  “All right,” said Godwin. “Be off with you, then, or be well-acquainted with the edge of my sword.”

  Aldric glared at him with contempt and then turned and fled into the forest. Godwin sheathed his sword, musing on the nature of the Misterellians. They were cowards. But it was easy to think such thoughts with anger in his heart and a magic sword, easier to chide and bluster than to try to understand. He sighed at his own hypocrisy and turned to his young companion. The gods be thanked, Trystin, at least, was always on the side of right. Or was he just besotted with Elgiva? He was, perhaps, too easily swayed.

  “Well, lad, what do you make of all this?” he asked.

  “Stuff and nonsense!” proposed Grimalkin.

  “I wasn’t asking you.”

  “Why not? Never heard of horse-sense?”

  “Master Godwin,” ventured Trystin, “I agree with Grimalkin. Lady Elgiva must have been tricked. She wouldn’t do this willingly. She’s playing along with the king.”

  “Yes, it must be so,” agreed Godwin. “In which case, Trystin, we must make sure she knows we have the Lorestone. We have to do this ourselves. No one else can be trusted.”

  “Hate to get on my high-horse,” snorted Grimalkin, “but exactly how, may I ask?”

  “Well,” decided Godwin, “we’ll have to go and pay homage, and perhaps we can speak to her privately.”

  “Some hope of that. More likely, they’ll grab us, Brit.”

  “Shut your noise, you ugly brute. You’re always so pessimistic.”

  “You wanted to talk to animals,” she reminded him, “so now you’re stuck with it.”

  Godwin ignored her. “Trystin, it’s going to be a long, cold night. Do you know where we can get some food?”

  The elfling stiffened like a frightened hare. “Everil will help us. But it means going back . . . ” He paused and drew a deep breath, and then his eyes lit up with purpose. “But I’ll go, Master Godwin.”

  “Good lad, but wait till dusk. Bravery won’t conceal you from the king’s patrols quite as well as darkness.”

  Trystin appeared surprised, delighted, and embarrassed all at the same time and surely wouldn’t have been more taken aback had he found the crown of Misterell discarded in a ditch.

  ***

  Vieldrin stepped from the royal hall into the lambent morning. Elgiva was ahead of him. She stopped, stood ankle-deep in the rich, green sward, and gazed down at her new clothes. Her blue silk gown rustled in the breeze, its train a swathe of sky upon the grass.

  He had wondered at her cropped hair and told his female servants to wash and brush it. They did what they could and then covered her head with a square of white silk held in place by a gold circlet shaped like a two-headed serpent. The circlet sparkled in the sunlight and the white silk fluttered beneath it, seeming too light and ethereal a thing to be a part of the Earth. A brooch set with garnets gleamed at her breast and when she moved, frail chains of gold, adorned with tiny trinkets, tinkled like bells on her ankles and wrists.

  As Vieldrin watched, she resumed her walk across the grass, and he sauntered after her in his equally regal attire, his jet-black outfit studded with pearls. He raised his hand and reached out with his dark power to hold her back, the fleshless fingers of his coercion gripping her with their unseen talons. He held her still while he strolled to her side.

  She turned to face him with a half-smile on her face and took the arm he offered.

  Floating somewhere in the mire of his heart was a tiny vestige of pride untouched by evil. Gazing at his future queen, he was dazzled by her radiance, though it troubled him to find such pleasure in beauty. As she looked up at him with her large, dark eyes, he wondered if the affection he pretended to feel had some small shred of truth in it.

  He laughed to himself. No. Idle thoughts. Remember who you are, Vieldrin, what you have to do. This pleasure comes solely from gloating. When those slaves see their avowed ally, the good and lovely Elgiva, sitting beside her enemy, helpless and submissive—and soon to share his bed—how they will despise her!

  He congratulated himself on the way things had turned out. Elgiva had abandoned her quest to find the stone and that left him more time to search for it himself. Of course, there were those prophecies, but if destiny really did intend Elgiva to be the stone’s discoverer, then what did it matter? He would be there to take it from her.

  “When are you going to show me the Lorestone?”

  Unnerved, he flashed her an evasive smile. Taking her small hand in his own, he raised it to his lips, but it was deliciously perfumed and only increased his unease. He dropped her hand with a frown of displeasure, and she stepped back in alarm.

  “Later, my dear,” he promised, forcing himself to sound gentle and calm. “After the oath of fealty. Be not so impatient.” He grasped her hand again.

  She offered him a mysterious smile. Was this artful creature playing games with him? Did she really believe he had won? Well, it would be a small thing to kill her if she gave him any trouble.

  “Will you be going to Elindel?” asked Elgiva.

  Vieldrin gave her a questioning look.

  “You’ll take me with you, won’t you?” she said.

  He shook his head and feigned regret. “You will stay here and rule in my stead. These scoundrels need to be constantly watched.”

  And so do you, my dear. And I would not allow you anywhere near Bellic or Gilda.

  “How fares my cousin, Thallinore?” she asked.

  “Ah, none too well, I fear.”

  “What poison do your agents glut him on?” she asked, her tone still light and casual.

  “Poison? What need of poison? Mix royal blood with nar-wardain, and you have an unstable compound. Poor Thallinore is mad and weak and not long for this Earth.”

  Elgiva appeared to consider this, and then she nodded. Stepping away from him, she str
olled towards the nearest tree, the train of her luxurious gown dancing in her wake. Placing her hand on the trunk, she stood for a moment, clearly lost in thought.

  “How is my great-uncle Bellic?” She traced the patterns on the bark with her fingers, but her eyes seemed to be focused elsewhere.

  “Old,” Vieldrin said with a smirk, “but otherwise quite well. He is not ill-treated, but he is helpless. His powers are blocked by the chains he wears. A clever spell of mine. I have allowed him to live, dear heart, but if you decide to turn against me . . . ” His voice deepened, hinting at horrors.

  She shrugged and leaned back against the tree. She wriggled her toes in her sandals, watching their movements with interest and then, without looking up, she spoke. “What’s the use? I knew this was all a waste of time. Anyway, why should I care?” She turned her dark eyes full upon him, and they were livid with anger.

  He summoned up his powers, preparing to defend himself.

  “Why should I be the only one to take responsibility? This burden was dumped at my door by those who once despised me. I can’t be held responsible because, you see, I can’t. I haven’t the power! You can see it, why can’t Bellic? All those years I spent as a slave. They had no right to do that. But I have the right to enjoy my life, just like anyone else.”

  “My dear?”

  She strode towards him, and he tensed, uncertain of her mood.

  “Bellic let me find things out the hard way, and while I suffered, a fool sat on my throne. Was that just? Wasn’t I entitled to any respect? Should a queen be treated like a slave? And fool that I was, I tried to save the life of my so-called master, and what did they do? They banished me. Sent me out to fend for myself. Did anyone help me? Did Bellic? Oh, no. But then I’m told I have a mission, and I’m sent on a dangerous journey, and I try to help a bunch of stupid old men who run away at the drop of a hat. I go from one form of slavery to another, and nobody ever asks my opinion. How dare they do this to me!”

  With a shaking hand, she massaged her brow, as if to erase the deepening frown there, and then she sighed and lowered her gaze. “Bellic doesn’t realise how hard it is using magic when you’ve never been taught. He doesn’t realise how much it hurts, how terrifying it is.”

  Vieldrin watched her aslant, but said nothing.

  “Strange, but I was never treated like a queen when I lived in my own kingdom.” She paused and stroked the fabric of her gown, and her fingers trembled, as though aroused by the decadent touch of the silk. “I’ve never worn fine clothes like this, and I never had homage paid to me, until now. And I tried to be good, but being good got me nothing but abuse. All the things I ever wanted, they denied me, and I loved them for it.”

  “And it pleases you, of course, that I can so easily provide you with all the trappings of power,” he said. “Whatever you want shall be yours.”

  She averted her face, but he caught her chin and forced her to look at him. Silvery tears ran down her cheeks, and Vieldrin experienced something unfamiliar. He stumbled mentally for a moment, but he was able to name the unsettling sensation: compassion. It threw him off balance. For a second, he thought of striking her, but her doleful gaze seemed to plead for restraint. He wanted to hold her in his arms.

  Confound the bitch. He would show no weakness. He would not jeopardise his plans for the sake of a fleeting and misplaced sensation, nor would he stoop to her level. He would be a figure of purpose and power, and she would always fear him.

  And she could never be trusted, no matter how genuine her change of heart might seem.

  Of course, if it were genuine, it was further proof of the axiom by which he lived his life; everyone could be corrupted by flattery, power, or wealth.

  Vieldrin was pleased. Of course the little fool’s tears were sincere. Either they were tears of frustration or tears of self-disgust. Whatever the cause, he was glad. It boded well for his plans. Perhaps it was odd how quickly she had changed to his way of thinking, but she was young and impressionable, and years as a servant had left her with a weak will and a damaged heart. A good thing for him, but sad, too. He had bargained on a worthier foe, a more experienced bride. In any event, it seemed she would be willing to help him, would even enjoy using her power against the ones who had spurned and abused her.

  But be on your guard, Vieldrin. She may get ideas of her own advancement when she has had her fill of revenge.

  He saw the path ahead of him, all obstacles swept aside. With Elgiva’s power to aid his own, he would rule Elvendom. He would be the Elwardain. Then all he needed was an heir, and he could dispose of his queen.

  “You no longer wish to be Queen of Elindel in your own right?” he asked.

  “When you are Elwardain, I shall be queen,” she said with her usual power to unnerve him. “And Queen of Misterell, too. And queen of wherever I choose. Why cling to the hope of one throne, when you can give me so many others and make them a reality? You said I’d see sense, and you were right. I should have heeded your wisdom. I’ve been a fool to uphold my ideals, because they weren’t mine at all. They belonged to other fools who wanted to keep me in my place. They made me a slave and then expected me to be noble and unselfish. Such attributes belong to a monarch.” She smiled.

  Damn the little bitch. Was she being sarcastic?

  “Would it be so very wrong to take the easy way out? I see no point in struggling, when all the odds are against me. And anyway, Vieldrin, we might make excellent rulers. Elvendom could be strong again.” She looked at him strangely, frowned, and edged a little nearer. “I hope, I hope you haven’t put a spell on me to make me think like this, to make me talk like this. No, no, I hope you have, because if not, then how can I cope with the truth? Oh, Faine, I wish—”

  “No spell,” he said, unnerved by her change of mood. “We all must accept what we are.”

  “I don’t know what I am,” she exclaimed. “I’ve never known! It’s so confusing, and I’m so tired of it all. I can’t go on like this. If I just had time to sort out my thoughts . . . ” She turned away, and her body trembled.

  He regarded her for a moment, and a strange hunger almost overcame him. She was beautiful and vulnerable, and it would be easy for him to crush her with his bare hands, to snap her bones like twigs.

  On an impulse, he grabbed her shoulders, pulling her towards him. He lowered his head and kissed her. She tensed in his embrace. Was this revulsion or merely shyness? He would not tolerate either. She had agreed to be his queen and she must fulfil her duties.

  Summoning his power, he spun a web of coercion about them, an aura of sensual fire, and felt her revel in the heat of his passion. She seemed to melt in his embrace, but he saw in her mind a hint of reluctance.

  For a moment, she seemed about to yield, but then she stiffened in his grasp and reasserted her autonomy.

  “No!”

  The word seemed to hang in the air before his eyes. Her power flared in self-protection, and his web of coercion melted away.

  “No, please,” she gasped and pulled away. Her eyes were dark with abomination.

  “Coy, dear heart?” he murmured.

  She gave him a tight and nervous smile. For a time, they looked at each other, and then Vieldrin shrugged, deciding to dismiss her resistance. Perhaps some beakers of wine would make her less intractable.

  “Come, my dear,” he said. “Let us take our seats. The horns are sounding in the forest. The slaves will soon be here.”

  ***

  Godwin was one of the last to arrive, Grimalkin nagging in his ear and Trystin trudging behind him. The scabbard at his belt was empty, and Godwin hoped it would betoken peaceful intentions, but in reality, he didn’t want his sword to be confiscated by Vieldrin’s guards and had hidden Taranuil in a nearby grove of oaks.

  Ahead of them, the slaves of Misterell were trudging into the glade before the great hall, impelled along by the king’s warriors. Vieldrin watched from his throne, Elgiva seated to his left. Godwin managed to catch her eye, but
she looked away. Her face didn’t betray her thoughts, and he feared he might never get a chance to speak to her.

  Godwin and his two companions mingled with the crowd of elves.

  Warriors stood around the throng, facing inwards, their swords at the ready. Their captain stood on Vieldrin’s right and folded his arms across his chest. He looked out over the gathering of elves with a scowl that promised torment should anyone dare to step out of line. An elf at the front of the crowd turned to face them and bellowed an order. The slaves humbled themselves and knelt upon the grass.

  Vieldrin thrust himself to his feet, his dark eyes flashing with menace, and he made a brief oration, praising his future consort for the excellent choice she had made. Having completed his monologue, he commanded his subjects to pledge their fealty and renew their oath to serve him.

  When their half-hearted mutterings trailed to an end, Vieldrin nodded with satisfaction, a perfect smile on his perfect lips, and reseated himself on his throne. He scanned the assembly for several minutes, clearly relishing their wretchedness, and then he reminded them of the Lorestone and the absolute power he now possessed.

  While the elders muttered in consternation, Godwin smiled to himself. While Trystin still guarded the parchment, the Lorestone was wrapped in a piece of sacking and stowed in Grimalkin’s pack. Perhaps he had been foolish bringing it here, but he doubted that anyone would suspect, and as far as Vieldrin knew, the Lorestone had yet to be found. Godwin was excited by its secret presence: if only Vieldrin knew just how close he was to the stone.

  ***

  Elgiva glanced at Vieldrin. He was clearly enjoying the crowd’s dismay. He turned towards her and placed a hand upon her arm in a gesture of ownership.

  “Your companions are here,” he said.

  “They worship me,” she said, allowing a hint of a smile to dance upon her lips. “I dare say they’re waiting for me to trick you.”

  His eyebrows lifted. “But you cannot, my dear.”

  She looked at him with outraged innocence. “Will not, my lord,” she said. She flashed him a charming smile. “They will have to accept that things have changed.”