The Exile of Elindel

by Carol Browne

  He nodded. “Will you address the slaves, dear heart?”

  “If it pleases you.”

  She got to her feet, surveyed the assembly, and then shook her head. “So, you surrendered like cowards, and now you are cringing before me. Is there an ounce of courage among the lot of you?”

  Several sneering faces glared back at her from the crowd, but no one dared speak. She glanced at Godwin; he was frowning and seemed perplexed. His honest blue eyes were pleading with her. She snatched back her gaze and found herself looking straight at Haldrin. The glint of triumph in his eyes made her hesitate, but she didn’t have time to wonder at it.

  “Why I wanted to help you, I really can’t imagine.” She tilted her head back. “Now, everything has changed. Thanks to my future husband, I will have what is rightfully mine. I was born a queen, but I lived like the bastard child of a beggar. They made me feel unworthy, fitted only to serve . . . ”

  Fitted only to serve. And so she was. Bellic had been right.

  There were mutterings in the crowd, and Vieldrin drummed his fingers on the arm of his throne. Elgiva drew herself back into focus.

  “Well, Elindel will be rewarded for what it did to me.” She took a deep breath, swept her gaze over the gathering. “I despise it. I despise you—”

  “Do you despise Lord Faine?”

  There were gasps of horror among the crowd, and Elgiva’s heart clenched with dismay at the sound of Godwin’s voice.

  “Who dared to interrupt me?” she demanded.

  “I did,” said Godwin. “You know it was me.”

  Vieldrin sat bolt upright, a cruel smirk on his face.

  “Come forward, wilthkin!” ordered Elgiva.

  ***

  Ignoring the sudden weakness in his legs, Godwin obeyed Elgiva’s command. He knew the risk he was taking, but he had to speak to Elgiva and tell her about the stone. Despite her angry demeanour and the speech she had given, he felt he could trust her, whatever happened.

  He wove his way through the crowd of elves and walked towards his friend. A space of about four yards lay between them when she held up her hand to stop him. He wanted to be nearer, to look into her eyes and see the covert messages she was bound to send.

  “I’ve heard your little speech,” he said. “I don’t believe a word. You wouldn’t change sides like this.”

  “Why not?” Her voice had an icy edge. “This is the way—the only way—for me to get what I want.”

  “Are we no longer friends?”

  Elgiva frowned at him. “We can be, if you swear you are loyal to me, whatever path I choose.”

  “I don’t think I can follow this particular path,” he said.

  “That is most unfortunate.”

  Her mouth was set in a hard, cruel line, but surely her eyes were laughing at him, sharing some secret joke. He hoped he didn’t mistake her meaning. He laid his mind wide open to her, begging her, somehow, to reach him.

  “Do you think this is a game?” she asked. “Do you doubt my intentions?”

  Godwin wasn’t certain how he should react, but she spared him no time for deliberation.

  “Well?” she snapped. “Do you doubt me?”

  “It seems I can’t, but I don’t believe it. You can’t be so false-hearted.” He confronted her with a look of outrage, believing that was what was required. “Is this what I’ve been striving towards? So you could be with him?” He nodded towards Vieldrin.

  “Striving, wilthkin?” she said. “What is your striving compared with destiny? Destiny can’t be overruled. I have always believed that.”

  His lips drew apart, but he couldn’t speak. Only his eyebrows questioned her. She laughed and gave him an arch look, and then her expression changed to one of anger.

  “You should never have interfered with the lives of the Eldrakin. Your meddling has been your downfall. Were the trivial affairs of your own kind not enough for you?”

  For a moment, Godwin faltered. The ground at his feet was suddenly unsafe, and his heartbeat quickened with panic. Had he done the right thing in coming here?

  “There’s no need for this,” he said, his voice cold. “You have no further use for me. I had better return to my trivial affairs.”

  “You can’t do that,” she told him. “Oh, no. I won’t allow it. I may not have a use for you, but I can, at least, have my revenge.”

  He gaped at her. “Revenge? For what?”

  You told me not to doubt you, but you’re not making it easy!

  “I haven’t forgotten the Forest of Shades. Remember when you attacked me? You wanted to cut my throat.”

  Vieldrin leaned forward in his seat, a look of glee on his face.

  “Evil magic made me do it!” protested Godwin, hurt and embarrassed by her words.

  “You would have me think so,” retorted Elgiva.

  The ground sagged beneath Godwin’s feet once more, and this time, nothing could save him. “How can you be so petty, so unreasonable?”

  “How dare you!” she cried. “I ought to kill you where you stand.”

  Hardly had she said these words, when Trystin fought his way through the crowd and stood at Godwin’s side.

  “No, Lady Elgiva, please don’t!”

  With a frown of genuine annoyance, Elgiva raised her hand. Her power leapt through the air, and Trystin grew suddenly wide-eyed and rigid. Then with a groan, he sagged and slowly fell to the ground, where he lay as still as a stone.

  Godwin was speechless with horror. He fell to his knees at Trystin’s side. How could this happen? This was impossible. Elgiva wouldn’t do this. But his friend’s limp body said it was so.

  He stared up at Elgiva, unable to comprehend what she had done. “Elgiva, you . . . you’ve killed him.”

  He couldn’t decipher the look on her face. She was about to speak, but Godwin didn’t want her words. He jumped to his feet and staggered towards her, uncertain of his intentions. Vieldrin leapt up to forestall an attack and raised his hand to lash out with magic, but before he could do so, Elgiva’s power stopped Godwin in his tracks. He crumpled to the grass and plummeted into darkness.

  ***

  Vieldrin studied his future queen. Her face was flushed, her eyes were bright, and her lips were stretched by a strange, grim smile. The addiction of magic will teach you the truth about yourself, my dear.

  And how well she used this power. How swift and dramatic it was. He felt it growing, unfolding, and its after-glow made him shiver.

  Of course, he must not let her know how adept she was becoming.

  Elgiva sank down onto the throne, gripping the arms tight, while Vieldrin gazed across the crowd, pleased to see them mute with horror.

  “Well done, dear heart,” he whispered. He seated himself on his throne. “The fools are frightened out of their wits.”

  “As they should be,” she panted. A distracted expression slackened her features, and a gleam of wetness shone on her cheeks.

  “Tears, my love?”

  She smiled at him. “Ah, no. It’s nothing. Power hurts.” She scrubbed away the evidence, as though her tears had betrayed her.

  He raised his eyebrows. “I think you have tired yourself.”

  “Oh no, my lord. The use of power has left me a little dizzy. It’s a new experience . . . one I like.” She caught sight of her fallen friends and looked away.

  “I will have the bodies removed, my dear,” he offered.

  Elgiva spun to face him. “They’re not dead,” she blurted out, and then she seemed to compose herself and gave him an arch look. “Do you think I would let them off so lightly? I will have my revenge, and I will savour it. They’ll suffer before they die.” Her face lit up at the prospect. “We can do anything now, my lord. With power, we can do anything. I never knew it could be so easy to make others do one’s bidding.”

  Indeed, little fool. How right you are.

  He patted her hand. “The easiest thing in the world, dear heart.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVE
N

  Godwin was floating back to the world from a distant time and place, where colours were brighter, scents were sweeter, where pain and sorrow had no meaning. He had soared over fields and farmsteads, twisting streams of polished steel. He had wandered through sun-swept meadows, and rising before him, a stately hall had opened its massive doors. He drifted through them like a ghost, into an atmosphere vibrant with laughter.

  And there . . . was it Woden, the High-God, rewarding the warriors for their valour? And was he welcome in their midst?

  And he was one with all of it; all things were one with him. And in the air around him purred a soft, familiar voice.

  Be at peace, Godwin. All is well.

  Clouds of petals fluttered down upon him. Each petal reflected the sun like a chip of coloured glass, and he found himself on the boundary between what is and what should be.

  He opened his eyes. A narcotic languor clung to his mind, and he stretched himself and murmured, “How soft are the clouds . . . How soft . . . ”

  “Master Godwin!” hissed an urgent voice.

  He turned his head to find the source of this irritating noise and discovered it was Trystin, but he was fuzzy round the edges and clearly not important. “Go away. You’re dead.” He tried to return to the land of his dreams, but the vision was lost forever. His mind abruptly cleared and he sat up, startled, and looked around. “Dead? But you’re . . . What’s going on?”

  “Don’t be afraid, Master Godwin. I’m alive, and so are you, thanks to Lady Elgiva.”

  Godwin struggled to focus. He was in a small wooden building, but he couldn’t gauge its height or width. The flickering stump of a candle stuck to the floor was the only illumination. But one thing he knew for certain: the creature kneeling at his side was definitely Trystin.

  “Trystin, what’s going on?” he gasped. “I saw her strike you down.”

  The elfling shook his head. “No, she only pretended to. I heard her voice in my mind. ‘Fall down. Feign death. All is well.’ A good trick, Master Godwin. But you knew that all along.”

  “I did?”

  “Yes, you made to attack her. A good idea. It made it look more believable. Vieldrin would have killed you, but she was too quick for him. She made you fall asleep. Now Vieldrin thinks he can trust her, because she turned against us. But we knew we were safe, didn’t we?”

  Godwin smiled to hide his shame. “Where are we, lad?”

  “In a hut near the hall. It’s dark outside. There are guards everywhere, too. Would you like a drink of water?” He handed Godwin a beaker. “Lady Elgiva said we’d make good slaves. That’s why we haven’t been killed. They even let us have some light.” He pointed at the solitary glim, as though it were a beacon, and his face wore a grin of triumph.

  As Godwin gulped the water, he thought of something and almost choked. “Trystin, by Frigg, Grimalkin!”

  “She’s tethered outside, Master Godwin. Don’t worry, she still has the stone. No one suspects we’ve got it. No reason why they should.”

  Somewhat reassured, Godwin tried to relax, but a noise outside the hut made him tense with alarm. As he and Trystin watched with dread, the heavy drape that covered the doorway fluttered and moved aside, and bearing an oil-lamp before it, a cloaked and hooded figure stepped in, chased by a giant shadow.

  For a moment, the captives and their visitor confronted each other in silence, and then Elgiva set the lamp on the floor. “Hello, you two,” she greeted them. “Are you both all right?”

  “Yes, lady,” Trystin said.

  “Elgiva!”

  She knelt beside them and pushed back her hood.

  “Vieldrin’s a little the worse for wine,” she told them with a knowing smile, and she paused, as if to savour some secret victory. “He’s sleeping so soundly nothing will wake him, but he won’t be left in peace for long. There’s been some trouble near the hall. Some fighting, I think, but I don’t know the reason. I told the guards to investigate and said I would keep an eye on you. They weren’t exactly willing to go, until I threatened to complain to their lord and master. But I must be brief. I daren’t stay away from the hall too long.”

  “I suppose I should thank you for saving my life,” put in Godwin, feeling sheepish for having doubted her. “I wasn’t thinking sensibly when I came forward like that, was I?”

  Elgiva looked downcast for a moment, as though she shared his guilt. There was a tension in her movements, as if she no longer trusted her limbs. The strain of their quest was beginning to show. The light from the lamp underscored her features, making them look heavy and tired, and her eyes had developed a fitful gleam, as though too much energy had been tapped.

  “You both put me to a great deal of trouble,” she said. “In a way, it was a good thing. It put you both in my control, so to speak. Now at least I know where you are, and hopefully, I can protect you. But you didn’t make it easy for me. I was lucky, Godwin, to make a move before Vieldrin did.”

  “You don’t have to worry about him now,” Trystin said, his face aglow. “Lady Elgiva, you won’t believe it, but we’ve found the Lorestone.”

  “Hush, Trystin, not so loud!” said Godwin.

  Elgiva drew nearer and grasped Trystin’s arm. “What? It exists? You’ve found it? Are you sure?”

  “It must be. It’s so beautiful. And we found this with it, lady.”

  Trystin slipped his hand inside his tunic and drew out the piece of parchment. With a grin of triumph on his face, he offered it to Elgiva. They all lapsed into silence while she scrutinised the contents.

  “We have to find this place,” said Elgiva, handing the parchment back. “But where it might be, I’ve no idea. If I could contact Uncle Bellic, perhaps he’d know where these Nine Wise Men are.”

  “And then you could use the stone,” said Trystin, “and free the people of Misterell.”

  “And kill Vieldrin,” added Godwin.

  Godwin heard a protracted scraping, the sound of a sword being drawn from its sheath. He winced at the sound. There was someone outside.

  “Come out, conspirators!” shouted a voice.

  Grimalkin’s frantic neighing filled the air.

  “Be still, you beast,” cried a second voice. “Let go of my sleeve, or I’ll slice you!”

  The neighing persisted. At first it was muffled by the sleeve, but then it rose in volume and became a string of invectives against all two-legged creatures.

  There was a dull thud, followed by an outraged squeal of pain. Someone had hit Grimalkin, and Godwin bristled with anger. Careless of the consequences, he dashed out of the hut. An elf stood near the pony, his staff raised to strike her again. Godwin seized him, swung him round with a snarl of contempt, and punched him on the jaw. Then Godwin looked about him and saw, to his utter dismay, that he was greatly outnumbered. Two more guards stood by the hut, their torches searing the night, and two more sprang from the shadows, each one holding a spear. One of them pelted towards him and let loose a chilling scream. Horrified and helpless, Godwin staggered backwards, but a kick from Grimalkin’s hind legs lifted the warrior into the air and sprawled him on the grass.

  This wasn’t enough for Grimalkin. Her blood was up, and she trampled on the fallen elf, her hooves crushing out his life. Godwin tugged at her thick mane.

  “Stop it, Grimalkin!” The sounds of purposeful movement echoed through the forest. “Listen! You must save the Lorestone. Run!”

  “I’ll wait!” she snorted. “At that place where Elgiva cut her hair.” She turned and sped away.

  Godwin glanced down at the mangled elf and almost retched, and then he turned towards the hut. Should he attack the other guards? Perhaps he should run away? But none of these choices seemed feasible, and in the end, it didn’t matter. A band of warriors broke through the trees and quickly took him prisoner.

  Elgiva was already out of the hut, and she felled three guards with a blast of power, but others soon took their place. She raised her arm in preparation for another elf-b
olt, but one of the warriors swung at her with his heavy wooden staff.

  Godwin cried out as his friend collapsed on the grass. Any resistance was pointless. Trystin was dragged from the hut and beaten and kicked to the ground, where he lay in a sobbing heap.

  “Stop it,” moaned Godwin. “He’s only a child!”

  As they bound his hands behind his back, Godwin cursed the day of his birth. He should have put up a fight, rather than let them drag him away, unresisting, to meet his doom.

  Grimalkin would have a very long wait.

  ***

  All too soon, the guards and their captives had reached the royal hall. Elves filled the space inside and spoke in nervous whispers, while the air grew thick with the smoke from the torches, and the great dogs stood in the corners, trembling.

  At the end of the hall stood a dais, and on it, a table and an empty throne. The guards hauled Godwin and Trystin towards it and threw them to their knees. Elgiva’s limp body was dumped beside them, her head wound seeping blood. Godwin, unable to help her, could only watch as the thin red rill dripped onto the wooden floor.

  Only the worst could happen now.

  There was a sudden stillness, the bowing of heads, as the king strode into the hall.

  Godwin dragged his gaze away from Elgiva. Vieldrin was robed in midnight blue, his face a mask of fury as he glared down at the captives. But all Godwin could think of was the precious blood draining away, of the hopes smashed like footling trinkets; he would never see his family or his home again.

  Lightning flashed in the elf-king’s eyes. “So, you plot to kill me, do you? It seems I should have known better than to trust the words of that false-hearted bitch.” He clicked his fingers. “Rouse her, someone.”

  A female servant bowed and ran from the hall. She returned moments later with a jug of water, which she poured over Elgiva’s head. Elgiva gasped and opened her eyes, squinting at the light. Once she had gained a sitting position, she looked around the hall.

  Godwin tried to meet Elgiva’s gaze, but she shied away from him, as though she expected an accusation. Raising her head, she wiped the water from her eyes and peered at the king. A deep frown creased her brow.