Elven Winter Read online

  The heavy door swung open. She saw Alfadas tense, ready to vent his anger, but then he froze. She heard someone whisper but could not catch what was said. The voice sounded strange and unfamiliar. It seemed to be a woman. Her words came like soft music.

  Asla hastily pulled her dress on again, then crouched for her husband’s breeches.

  Alfadas stepped aside. A tall, slim woman entered. The sight of her caused Asla’s breath to catch. The stranger was gaunt, too gaunt, and her dress was torn, and yet she was beautiful. Her movements were proud and confident . . . as if she were a queen.

  Blood jumped to his feet. He greeted the newcomer with a deep snarl. He stalked toward her on stiff legs. Every trembling fiber of his muscular body seemed to resist an attack, and yet he wanted to drive this unknown visitor out.

  Someone else entered. A woman with short blond hair. Sword belts crossed on her chest. She looked around mistrustfully. When she saw Blood, she made a short, commanding gesture toward him. The dog dropped to the floor but kept growling.

  A third woman entered. In disbelief, Asla could only stare at the growing parade of guests. The slim, dark-haired woman who had entered first was still talking to Alfadas. The blond with the two swords grasped his wrist in a warrior’s greeting. Both of them seemed to know her husband. Only the third remained in the background. She looked all around, her lips pursed contemptuously.

  Asla swallowed. What she had always feared had come to pass. The elves had arrived to take her husband away.

  OF STRANGERS AND FRIENDS

  Lyndwyn tugged carefully at the reed in his throat. It pinched a little, then slid out of the wound. She laid the palm of her hand on the place it had been. Her fingers radiated a benevolent warmth. Three days. Three days that he’d had to put up with the stick in his throat. The sorceress claimed that the journey along the Albenpaths had exhausted her. Ollowain did not believe a word of it!

  Lyndwyn removed her hand and looked expectantly at him. “You should be able to speak again now.”

  The swordmaster’s mouth was as dry as dust. He cleared his throat softly. Everyone was standing around him, watching him as he sat on one of the three rough chairs in Alfadas’s house.

  Ollowain cautiously lifted his fingers to his throat and felt the place where the reed had been. Lyndwyn had removed the leather strips holding it in place. There was neither hard scar tissue nor a rough scab to remind him of where she had sliced into his throat. It was as if the reed had never been there. “Everything seems to be healed.” His voice was hoarse and sounded foreign to him.

  “Your throat still has to recover a little,” said Lyndwyn confidently. “Any pain will soon pass. Don’t go looking for anything still wrong. You will see—everything is sorting itself out.”

  Ollowain looked to the sleeping niche where they had prepared a bed for the queen. Nothing was sorting itself out! How could she talk this way when Emerelle lay there like that? The queen’s wounds were healing, but she lay in a deep sleep from which no one and nothing was able to wake her. To Ollowain, her sleep seemed like a flight from the cruel reality of their situation. Or was it Lyndwyn’s handiwork? He no longer knew what to think of the sorceress. Without her help, they would never have made it to safety. And Silwyna? In her quiver were arrows that looked exactly like the two that had been shot at Emerelle. Each of them, Lyndwyn and Silwyna, had saved his life during their escape. But what were they supposed to do now? Everyone was still looking at him—now that he could speak again, they expected decisions.

  Ollowain smiled. “I would like to express my gratitude to our two hosts,” he said calmly. “I am well aware that our presence is a burden on your family’s peace, Asla. We will not overstay our welcome, I assure you.”

  The human looked at him with no warmth in her eyes. “The laws of hospitality are sacred to us. You are welcome in this house.”

  Ollowain did not know what he had personally done to upset the young woman, but he had sensed her aversion to them ever since their arrival. Had Alfadas told her about Silwyna? No, he would certainly not do anything that stupid.

  But their appearance had caused a deep disruption in the lives of the humans. People came from miles around to gape at the strange guests who had come to visit the jarl of Firnstayn. And Asla had to serve all of them. The family’s winter stocks were melting away like snow in spring sunshine. She had every reason to be angry.

  “I believe I would like to take a little walk. Would you have anything against accompanying me, Alfadas?”

  “No, master. On the contrary.”

  His face still mirrored what he felt. Ollowain had always appreciated that about the humans. Very few of them were any good at dissembling their emotions.

  “Can you take Kadlin and Ulric with you?” Asla’s words were more an order than a question. “And ask Svenja to bake three more loaves of bread for me for this evening. And bring back a basket of apples from her, too. That manhorse eats enough for all of us!”

  “As always, your wish is my command,” Alfadas replied cheerfully as he lifted Kadlin onto his shoulders. He waved to his son to join them, and the big, ugly dog followed them outside.

  As long as they were in the village, inquisitive eyes followed them. An entire troop of the curious had set up camp at the foot of the small hill on which Alfadas’s house perched. Luckily, just then, they were being entertained by Orimedes, who was raising a barrel to his mouth and drinking deeply. The centaur felt at home among the humans, but Silwyna did not—after that first evening, she had vanished into the forests without saying a word about why or where.

  “You’re the master swordsman who taught my father sword fighting, aren’t you?” asked Ulric reverently.

  “Yes. He was still younger than you when they brought him to me. He was a very good pupil.”

  “Would you give me a sword-fighting lesson, master?”

  Ollowain had to smile. For a moment, he once again saw the cheeky young boy, hungry for knowledge, that Alfadas had been back then. Ulric was very like his father, although decidedly more respectful. “It would be my honor to cross swords with the son of my best student. From what I’ve seen, you have a good selection of beautiful swords at home.”

  “My father carved all of them for me!” Ulric declared with pride. “Usually when he has a quarrel with my mother, he carves me a sword. And they like to quarrel.”

  Or perhaps he had been mistaken about the young lad’s respectfulness toward adults, thought Ollowain, amused.

  They strolled along the path that led from the back of the village into the forest. The swordmaster found the human world uncanny in a way that he found difficult to put into words. Something about the air there was not right. It blurred one’s view into the distance, and even the simplest arrangements of things seemed disordered. The positions of the trees in relation to one another, or the way their branches grew. Even the rustling of their leaves in the wind sounded different if one listened closely. Different from Albenmark. Maybe it was because there was so little magic in the human world? And maybe it was completely natural for worlds to distinguish themselves from one another. What did he know about such things, after all? He had other matters to worry about.

  They walked for a long way in silence. The only sound was Ulric shouting challenges to invisible opponents beside the path they followed and occasionally slashing at bushes or mushrooms with his wooden sword.

  “Are things really as bad as Yilvina said?” Alfadas suddenly asked.

  Ollowain had sat in silence as his companion had reported on the fall of Vahan Calyd and on the battle with the trolls. The cut in his throat had not allowed him to speak, and he had not been unhappy to not have to tell that particular story.

  “She has not told you half of it.”

  “What will you do now?”

  Ollowain lifted one hand in a gesture of hopelessness. “I don’t know. Maybe I should go to the Snaiwamark. The trolls will probably head there next.”

  “What makes you th
ink so?”

  “It is the home of my people, the Normirga, and also Emerelle’s clan. The trolls have two reasons to attack there. Presumably, they would search there for Emerelle, and they are very likely inclined to avenge themselves in blood against an entire clan. Even if that were not the case, they would want to retake their old homeland. They were driven out of the Snaiwamark—it is the land the Alben once gave to them.”

  “But why would they want blood vengeance against an entire clan? What do the rest of them have to do with it? What—” Alfadas broke off.

  “You have been living among humans again for a long time, my friend. You think in their terms, on their scale. Though the atrocities of the last troll war happened hundreds of years ago, many elves who took part in them are still alive today. The wounds our races have inflicted on each other run too deep.” Ollowain briefly considered telling Alfadas about the massacre on the Shalyn Falah—about the murder of the troll king and his dukes—but he decided to say nothing. What had happened that night was too shameful. “Sometimes, our long lives become a curse. The old wounds won’t heal because they cannot be forgotten. You must still remember Farodin. For more than seven hundred years, he has been carrying on a feud with a troll duke. He alone knows how many times he has killed the troll and how many times he has been reborn, only to die again at Farodin’s hand.”

  “You should not take Emerelle back to Albenmark with you. Not in the condition she is in now. Leave her here with me. Asla and I will take care of her.”

  “And I will, too!” said Ulric very seriously. “I can get her something to drink if she is thirsty, and tell her stories if she gets bored.”

  Ollowain stroked the boy’s hair. “I am certain that my queen would appreciate your offer very much indeed.” He glanced at Alfadas. “But in good conscience, I cannot burden you with that.”

  “No? So you really want to take her with you to the permanent ice of the Snaiwamark? To exactly the place you expect the trolls to attack next? No one would look for her here. Who would even suspect that the mighty Emerelle would go into hiding in the human world? Name one place that would be safer for Emerelle, and I will let you leave with her.”

  Alfadas’s objections were not easily swept aside. And yet Ollowain did not have a good feeling about what the jarl was proposing. Ollowain’s own plan had been to hide there for a few days, long enough for Emerelle to regain her strength, but no more. He had not considered at all the possibility that she might not readily recover from her injuries, and now he did not know what was to be done. In his mind, it would always have been up to the queen, there in Firnstayn, to decree how they would proceed. “I will sleep on it one more night,” Ollowain finally replied.

  Alfadas smiled broadly. “Why? I’ve never known you to be this hesitant. My words will be the same tomorrow as today. Why wait?”

  “Perhaps because despite my age, I have not yet given up hope of attaining wisdom overnight,” Ollowain replied, and laughed.

  Suddenly, Blood stopped and growled softly. He was glaring at a thicket a short way ahead. Ollowain could see nothing suspicious, but he had the feeling they were being watched. And something had come over Ulric, too. He rubbed his arms. “It’s cold here under the trees,” he said.

  “Then let’s go down to the fjord.”

  “Ata, ata!” Kadlin cried enthusiastically, as if she had understood what her father had said.

  “Silwyna?” Alfadas called toward the bushy thicket. But no reply came.

  “This is where Grandpa fought the monster,” Ulric explained. The boy pointed at the hazel bush. “That’s where it was hiding. And this is where they found Grandpa’s friends. All dead.”

  “Who told you that?” Alfadas asked in annoyance.

  “Grandfather Erek. He told me everything about the fight with the manboar. Grandfather says that this place is cursed because it’s where his father’s friends died. That’s why it’s always cold here.”

  “And I say you’re cold because your good-for-nothing grandfather has been telling you scary stories about this place.” Alfadas took his son by the hand. “Now let’s go.”

  Ollowain looked at the dense hazel bush one last time. Something was there. He could sense it. The dog had not become restive for nothing. Something lurked there.

  Was it possible that the trolls had followed them through the labyrinth of the Albenpaths? No, that was absurd. You did not leave tracks in the Albenpaths.

  Ollowain strode after Alfadas and soon caught up with him and the children. Ulric thrashed at the trunk of a young birch with his sword and rained invective on the tree as he did so—some of his curses would have impressed even Orimedes.

  “Silwyna was at the hazel bush,” said Alfadas softly. “I can still sense when she is close by. Like I used to . . . Why did you bring her with you?”

  Ollowain considered lying to him, but whom could he trust if not Alfadas? Alfadas was certainly not involved in any conspiracy against Emerelle, so he told him why she was there.

  They could see the waters of the fjord glinting through the trees long before the swordmaster came to the end of the story of the Maurawan and the opaque role she played in their escape.

  “She did not shoot at the queen, I’m certain of that,” said Alfadas resolutely. “She would never do that.”

  He is as trusting as ever, thought Ollowain sadly. It would have been wiser not to tell him anything at all. “And you never thought, back then, that she would leave you, did you?”

  Alfadas looked up in surprise. “What does one have to do with the other?”

  “You have spent the larger part of your life in Albenmark, my friend, but a human life is short. I’ve had temporary moods that have lasted longer. You don’t really know us. Do you truly know whether she might hold a secret grudge against the queen?”

  Alfadas shook his head in disbelief. “You have been Emerelle’s bodyguard for too long, master. All you see is intrigue and betrayal but not the reality! Your constant concern for the queen has burned you out. Why should Silwyna have saved your life if she had wanted to murder the queen? And why would she be here? She could easily have killed Emerelle when you were incapacitated by the bees.”

  “You can’t begin to think like a Maurawan, Alfadas. And who can blame you? Even in Albenmark, hardly anyone understands that clan of eccentric loners. For her, it is all about the hunt. And if neither I nor Emerelle herself is in a position to protect her, then the queen is no longer worthwhile prey. Don’t try to understand her, Alfadas. All that lies in that direction is pain.”

  His friend’s face hardened. With his short blond hair, Alfadas looked strange. Older, tougher, more human. “Silwyna will have had a good reason to leave me. She has never told me what it was, but that does not mean it doesn’t exist.”

  Alfadas’s excessive trustfulness was as charming as it was naive. If only the world were as Alfadas wanted to see it!

  “Why did she leave my house again so quickly?” said Alfadas, deep in his private thoughts.

  “Perhaps because she prefers a forest to your four smoky walls?” Ollowain joked.

  The jarl laughed. “Oh, I’m sure she does that. Besides, I think she understood how things stand between Asla and me immediately.”

  “I think anyone who saw you walking around without your trousers would understand that.”

  Alfadas reddened. “Silwyna is still beautiful. When I saw her standing in front of me in the doorway, it was as if she had only been gone a moment, and not ten years. I . . . if not for Asla . . .”

  “But as it happens, there is Asla. Be happy that you have her. She—”

  “She sensed instantly that I knew Silwyna,” the jarl interrupted him. “I have never told her about our love.”

  “Did she never think to ask what your life was like at Emerelle’s court?” Ollowain was surprised. He had another image of humans in his mind. He imagined they were not very sensitive creatures . . . something like centaurs, in fact. He would not have believed
that Asla was smart enough not to ask a question whose answer she could not bear to hear.

  “She does not like it when I talk about those times. I can feel how it gnaws at her. Every time I look up to the stone circle, it makes her angry. But she does not ask questions. Asla is a wonderful woman.” They had reached the edge of the forest. In front of them lay a rocky stretch of shore. Ulric charged ahead to the water’s edge, and little Kadlin pulled at her father’s hair and wanted to get down from his shoulders. “I fear I am not a good husband to her,” Alfadas said softly. “She often calls me her ‘beautiful, strange man.’ Her words are meant to be a joke, but they say exactly what she feels. We have two children. We have been living together for eight years. And I am a stranger to her.”

  Ollowain placed one hand on his friend’s arm. As a young boy, Alfadas—despondent because the young elves were so very superior to him, and yet wanting to hold his own against them—had gone to Ollowain. Even then, it had been hard for the swordmaster to find the right words to advise him. And today . . . what did he know about the hearts of humans? The best he could do was to be there, to listen.

  Kadlin began thumping on her father’s head with her little fists. She no longer made any effort to hold on—she wanted down!

  “It looks like you have a little warrior woman there,” said Ollowain, to steer their conversation in another direction.

  Alfadas laughed drily and lifted his daughter down. “Women are not trained to fight here.” Kadlin stamped her feet angrily and complained bitterly as he held on to a fold of her dress to stop her from running out onto the deeply cleft rocks. Gusty winds threw the waters of the fjord against the shore, and the waves broke into a labyrinth of caves and fissures. Occasionally, without warning, a geyser of spray shot skyward from among the fractured rocks. Ulric was already soaking wet. He was standing on a rocky promontory projecting far out over the fjord, shouting a challenge to the king of the deeps.