The Elven Read online

  Noroelle’s mind went back to the fear that had accompanied her dreams the night before, where she had seen Farodin and Nuramon suffering. Despite her pride in both of them, she would have preferred them not to have to be part of the elfhunt. But she understood that the queen’s question was a gesture, no more. Noroelle was not free to reject Emerelle’s wish. If the queen called on the assistance of the men Noroelle loved, then she could not refuse. She sighed softly and noticed that silence had settled over the hall. The only sound was the low drone of the water.

  “I will surrender them for the elfhunt,” said Noroelle finally. “Whatever task you charge them with, they will do for me.”

  Emerelle stood and approached Noroelle. She said, “So are the queen and her warriors’ lady united.” She took Noroelle and Obilee by the hand and led them back up the steps to stand beside her throne. She took her seat again.

  Noroelle had stood there often, but as usual, she felt out of place. She saw admiration in many eyes, but a trace of mockery in some as well. Neither the one nor the other pleased her. With a curt motion, the queen gestured to Noroelle to lean down to her. “Trust me,” she whispered in Noroelle’s ear. “I have sent many on the hunt. And Farodin and Nuramon will also come back.”

  “I thank you, Emerelle, and I trust you,” Noroelle said.

  Now Master Alvias stepped up to the queen. “Emerelle, they are waiting at the door.”

  The queen nodded to Alvias, who turned, spread his arms wide, and called in a resounding voice, “The elfhunt is waiting at the door.” He pointed to the far side of the enormous hall. “Once loosed, they will pursue their quarry until they have completed their task or failed. Once we open this door, there is no turning back for the hunters.” The elves crowding the hall parted to form a broad aisle, along which Alvias strode. “As is customary, you must advise your queen,” he said, directing his words at several elves close by, clearly representing all present. “Consider the circumstances. There is a fearsome beast in the human realm. Close to our borders. Should our queen keep the door closed and accept that something is roaming the lands beyond, something that could one day be a danger to us as well? Or should she open it and give us the chance to free the people of the Fjordlands from the beast? Both paths could lead to fortune or ruin. If we keep the door closed, the beast might one day find a way through it to us. If we open it, elven blood may be spilled in the service of mortals. The choice is yours.”

  Alvias gestured toward Emerelle, his hand open. “Advise the queen on how she should proceed,” he said and returned to Emerelle, bowing before her.

  The eyes of all present turned from the door to the queen and back again. Soon, the first voices rose exhorting Emerelle to open the door, but others spoke against it. Noroelle saw that those against included Nuramon’s relatives. She had expected nothing else. The fear in their eyes was obvious, but it was not fear for Nuramon. It was the fear of his death and its consequences.

  The queen asked among her subjects, selecting this one or that to explain their choice, listening patiently. This time, she consulted with more of them than usual. When she asked Elemon, one of Nuramon’s uncles, why he wanted to see the door remain closed, he replied, “Because to open it could lead to hardship, as Alvias said.”

  “Hardship?” the queen said and looked intently at him. “You’re right. That may happen.”

  Now Pelveric from Olvedes stepped forward. Among the soldiers, his words carried considerable weight. “Emerelle, think of the elven blood that might be spilled. Why should we help the humans? Why should their problems concern us? When was the last time they helped us?”

  “It was a long time ago” was all Emerelle said. Finally, she turned to Noroelle and whispered, “I want to hear your counsel.”

  Noroelle hesitated. She could advise the queen to keep the door closed. Like so many others, she could speak of elven blood and the thanklessness of the humans, but she knew that such words only showed her apprehension about the lives of the men she loved. Here, now, it was about much more. Quietly, she said, “My heart fears for Farodin and Nuramon, but the right thing to do is to open the door.”

  Then the queen rose majestically to her feet. The murmur of the waters flowing down the walls swelled gradually. Emerelle gazed across the hall to the entrance at the far side. She seemed not to notice the glittering mist as it filled the air, rose to the open sky above, and transformed into a broad rainbow in the sunlight. All at once, the walls behind the water began to glow. There was a hiss, and a breeze wafted through the hall. The wings of the door swung wide to reveal the band of hunters. The water settled again, but the mist and the rainbow remained.

  The hunters paused momentarily beneath the arched doorway before entering. At their head was Mandred, the human, who looked up with awe at the rainbow, then turned his eyes to the queen. Behind him came Farodin and Nuramon, and behind them Brandan, the tracker; Vanna, the sorceress; Aigilaos, the archer; and Lijema, the wolfmother. It was an unusual sight, a human among the companions of the elfhunt, though he looked more like the elves than did the centaur, Aigilaos. The elves, however, had grown accustomed over the years to the possibility that centaurs could be part of the elfhunt. But a human? That Mandred marched at the head of the company made the spectacle even stranger. Until today, every elfhunt had been led by an elf.

  Nuramon and Farodin resembled the heroes of the old sagas. Farodin, as usual, looked flawless, and Nuramon—for the first time—also looked the ideal of an elven warrior. And not only in Noroelle’s eyes. She saw the esteem in the eyes of those standing there. It made her happy. Even if their recognition turned out to be short-lived, no one could take this moment away from him.

  The small troop approached the queen. When they came to the steps leading to the throne, the elves went down on one knee. Even the centaur made an effort to bow as deeply as he could. Only Mandred remained upright, and seemed surprised at the obeisance displayed by his companions. He was about to follow their lead when the queen spoke to him in his language.

  “No, Mandred. In the Other World you are the jarl of your community—a prince among men. You do not need to kneel before the elven queen.”

  Mandred looked at her in surprise, but said nothing.

  “The others, arise,” said the queen. These words, too, Emerelle spoke in the language of the Fjordlands. Some of those present were obviously not familiar with the language and watched the proceedings with resentment.

  The language of the Fjordlands. Noroelle’s parents had taught her many of the languages of humans, but Noroelle herself had never left Albenmark. The wild human lands were a place she had only ever seen in her imagination.

  The queen turned back to Mandred. “You have been twice honored at my hand. You are the first human ever to take part in the elfhunt, and I have made you its leader. I cannot expect you to behave like an elf. My choosing you has offended many among the Albenkin, but the power of Atta Aikhjarto lives in you. I trust your senses. None of us knows your homeland as you know it. You will be a good leader for your companions, but in everything you do, remember what you promised me.”

  “I will keep my word, Queen.”

  Noroelle had heard of the pact the human had made with the queen. She looked keenly at Mandred and was surprised at his appearance. Having arrived at court late the evening before, she had had no opportunity to see him until now. And she had not ventured into the wing of the palace where the companions had been billeted the night before. She had heard the various rumors that surrounded Mandred, though, and seeing him now, she concluded that not all could be fairly ascribed to him. True, he was as broad as a bear, and at first glance—with all that hair, red as sunset, cascading wildly over his shoulders—he looked threatening. He had twisted several thin braids into his hair and, like many of the centaurs, was also bearded. His face was coarse but honest. He looked unusually pale to her, and dark rings surrounded his eyes. Perhaps
, in all the excitement, he hadn’t been able to sleep? He must have been very proud at being honored by the queen in this way. Now he bore a great responsibility. Noroelle shuddered at the thought of the price he had to pay for the queen’s help. If she were ever to have a child, she would never give it up. She looked at the two men she loved . . . the question was not whether she would have a child, but rather, with whom.

  As if he had heard her thoughts, Mandred briefly looked at her and smiled. Obilee grasped her by the hand. The girl was shaking. Noroelle kept calm and looked into the human’s blue eyes. What she saw there was not the lecherous gaze she had been told about at court. As coarse as he looked, there was great depth of feeling in his eyes. One could feel safe in his presence, and she knew she could entrust the men she loved to his care. She looked to Nuramon and Farodin. Ever since they had declared their love to her twenty years earlier, one or the other of them had always been close by. Now she would be alone, and she did not know for how long.

  “You know what has to be done,” said the queen. “You are equipped and rested. Are you ready?”

  The elven warriors answered one by one, each with the words “I am ready.”

  “Farodin and Nuramon, approach.” The two elves did as Emerelle commanded. “I am your queen, and you stand under my protection. But you also serve another, your lady. I cannot speak for her. She has decided.” She led Noroelle down the steps to Farodin and Nuramon. Obilee trailed behind. “Here she is.”

  Noroelle took them both by the hand and said, “If you serve me, you serve the queen.”

  “Then we will always serve the queen,” declared Farodin.

  “May our deeds please you both,” said Nuramon.

  She kissed their hands.

  Noroelle knew that the moment of departure had arrived, but it had come too soon for her liking. She did not want to say farewell to the men she loved here, in front of everyone. “Your lady has one more wish. She would like to accompany you as far as the Aikhjarto gate.”

  Farodin exchanged a glance with Nuramon. “We are obliged to do what our lady requests.”

  The queen smiled and took Noroelle and Obilee by the hand. “Here, Mandred, are two more who will be in your charge as far as the gate. Treat them well.”

  “I will,” the jarl said.

  The queen looked up, as if she could see something in the gleam of the sun that was hidden from more common eyes. “The day is still young, Mandred. Go and save your village.”

  Mandred took his place at the head of the elfhunt, with Noroelle and Obilee in the middle. The assembled Albenkin wished them luck as they made their way back down the aisle. Noroelle turned for a moment to look at the queen and saw her standing in front of her throne, a look of apprehension on her face as she watched the small company depart. Was she afraid that something might befall them? If that were so, then until that moment, Emerelle had kept her fears well hidden.

  Obilee pulled Noroelle out of her thoughts. “I wish I were part of the elfhunt,” she said.

  “Right now, it looks like you are.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Of course. But didn’t you hear what the queen said? And haven’t I myself told you often enough that you look like Danee? One day, you too will be as revered as she is, as both a great sorceress and master of the sword.”

  The company strode through the hall and out into the open courtyard beyond, which was crowded with Albenkin. Even the kobolds and gnomes had come to watch the departure of the elfhunt. An elfhunt led by a human was something special. This was a day that would be talked about for years to come.

  The companions’ horses stood ready, their equipment already stowed. Only the centaur, Aigilaos, still took a number of bags and bound them to his back, cursing in a low voice about his stiff neck. The previous night had obviously not been particularly comfortable for him.

  While Master Alvias arranged two more horses, Noroelle watched Farodin and Nuramon. They suddenly looked so uncertain. Very soon, both of them would be separated from her. What words would they find for her in this situation? What words could console their beloved?

  “Is the elfhunt ready?” called Mandred, as court ceremony required. His companions nodded, and the human called, “Then ride.”

  And the elfhunt set off. At its head rode the human, behind him, Noroelle. To her left rode Nuramon, to her right, Farodin. Behind her came Obilee, and around her trotted Brandan, Vanna, and Aigilaos. Lijema brought up the rear. Loud cries of farewell accompanied them to the gate, and the kobolds cried loudest of all.

  Once through the gate, Noroelle could scarcely believe what she saw before her. Across the broad meadow were gathered more Albenkin than had ever assembled before. All of them were there to see the elfhunt ride out. High above the meadow, the wings of the riverbank sprites glittered in the sunlight. The faeries were well-known for their curiosity. Close to the road they traveled along stood elves from both the heartland and from the farthest corners of the kingdom. Some of them had not managed to reach the royal court the day before, but they did not want to miss the departure of the elfhunt this morning. From here and there, shouts of greeting rang out. On the hills that edged the forest, too, elves stood in front of the houses of the emissaries, waving as the small band rode past.

  All of a sudden, Noroelle saw a little faery flying close to Mandred’s head. The human swatted at it like he would a bothersome insect, but missed. The faery shrieked and flew to Noroelle. Mandred looked around. He had heard the shriek but evidently was unable to see what made it.

  Gradually, Mandred increased their speed. He seemed to have acquired a liking for riding an elven horse. She hoped he would not fall. It was said that he was far from skillful when he rode on Aigilaos’s back.

  When they had left the Albenkin and their well-wishing behind, and with the wide meadowlands ahead of them, Lijema galloped past on the right and, a moment later, was riding beside Mandred. Mandred looked at her in surprise. But Lijema took her wooden flute from her belt and blew into it. She blew hard, that was clear, but no sound could be heard from the flute.

  Moments later, Obilee cried, “There! Look there!” She pointed off to the right. Something white broke from the forest’s shadows and approached rapidly.

  “There they are,” Aigilaos called.

  “There are seven!” said Nuramon.

  “Seven?” Farodin spoke now. “Incredible.”

  Mandred turned in his saddle. “Seven what?”

  Noroelle knew, as any of the Albenkin would. The white wolves of the elfhunt. Until the moment they joined the hunt, no one could say how many there would be. The more wolves that appeared, the more important the occasion . . . at least, that’s what people said.

  “Those are our wolves,” Lijema shouted to Mandred.

  “Wolves? Those are big wolves.”

  Noroelle smiled. The wolves were the size of ponies, their pelts heavy and white.

  “Are they dangerous?” she heard Mandred ask. But over the sound of hoofbeats, Lijema did not hear what he said. “Are they dangerous?” he repeated, more loudly.

  Lijema smiled. “Of course.”

  When the wolves caught up with the riders, four of them took positions at the head of the band. One ran at the left and one at the right, while the seventh wolf loped at Lijema’s side.

  The riders soon reached the edge of the forest and reined in their horses to look back one last time at the queen’s palace.

  Farodin and Nuramon were captivated by the sight, and even Mandred seemed affected. Nuramon’s face, in particular, betrayed his secret fears. And although Farodin tried to keep his feelings hidden, Noroelle saw through his mask of composure.

  The wolves were impatient and surrounded Mandred’s horse. The human seemed unsure how to deal with the creatures and kept a wary eye on them at every moment. He must have had bad experiences with wol
ves, thought Noroelle. Maybe wolves in his world were a danger to life and limb, like the wolves in Galvelun were for the Albenkin. When Mandred saw Noroelle watching him, he leaned down in the saddle and stroked the largest of the wolves on the fur of its neck, as if to prove his courage. It pleased the beast.

  “Shall we ride?” the human asked. The wolf growled and looked up at him.

  Lijema laughed. “It does not speak the language of the Fjordlands, but it likes you.” Speaking in Elvish, Lijema explained to the wolves why Mandred could not understand them, then she translated the human’s question. The wolf tilted its head and grew suddenly restless. The restlessness spread to the other wolves, and they began to trot around, one or two running ahead then returning to Mandred. They wanted to be on the move.

  “Do they understand what you say?”

  “Every word,” said Lijema. “Believe me when I say they are smarter than some of the elves.”

  “And them? How do they speak?” Mandred asked.

  Lijema stroked the fur of the largest of the wolves. “They have their own language. I speak it, too.”

  Noroelle smiled. This human wore his heart on his sleeve. The way he watched the large wolf, the way he raised his eyebrows and chewed at his lip, there was only one thing he could be thinking: a wolf like that would be the perfect creature to take in search of game.

  “They must make great hunting companions,” said Mandred, and Noroelle had to make an effort to stop herself from laughing aloud.

  “No doubt,” Lijema replied.

  “Are they as loyal as dogs?”

  Lijema laughed cheerfully. “No, you can’t compare them to dogs. They are much smarter. Say again what you just said.”

  “In Fjordlandish?”

  “Yes.”

  “Shall we ride?”

  Once again, the animals suddenly grew restive, wanting to be on the move.