The Elven (9 page)

Valediction

T
he Royal Hall was seldom as busy as it was that morning. Noroelle stood close to one of the walls, where the water streamed down in a whisper. At her side was Obilee, her ward and confidante, a delicate girl of just fifteen. Her timidity showed in the way she stood, but her expression reflected her curiosity. Like Noroelle, she came from Alvemer, and to the older elf, she was the younger sister Noroelle had always wished for. Obilee, with her blond hair and green eyes, had little in common with Noroelle when it came to looks, but they knew each other as well as any siblings. Like Noroelle, she had left her homeland when she was still young. Noroelle had come here with her parents, whereas Obilee had been put into Noroelle’s care by her grandmother.

“Look, Noroelle,” Obilee whispered. “Everyone is looking at you. They want to know what favors you will give to your suitors to take with them. Watch out. They’ll pick up every gesture and every word.” She moved her lips closer to Noroelle’s ear. “This is the hour when new customs are born.”

Noroelle looked around quickly. Feeling so many eyes on her made her anxious. She was often at the royal court but had not yet grown used to it. Speaking low, she replied, “You’re mistaken. It’s the dress they are looking at. You have really outdone yourself this time. Anyone would think you had faery hands.”

“Perhaps it’s a little of both,” said Obilee, smiling. Then she looked past Noroelle, and her smile gave way to astonishment.

Noroelle followed her companion’s gaze and saw Master Alvias approaching her. He nodded pleasantly. “Noroelle, the queen would like to see you at her throne.”

The elf noticed the many curious glances that Alvias’s approach attracted, but she hid her uncertainty. “I will follow you, Alvias,” she said, then turned to Obilee. “Come along.”

“But she just wants—”

“Come with me, Obilee.” Noroelle took the young elf by the hand. “Listen carefully. We will be standing before the queen in a moment, and she will ask me who you are.”

“But the queen knows who I am, doesn’t she? She knows who everyone is here.”

“But you have never been introduced to her. Once I’ve spoken your name, you will be a part of court society.”

“But what do
I
have to say?”

“Not a word. Unless the queen asks you something, of course.”

Alvias said nothing. There was neither a smile nor distrust to be read on his face. Noroelle and Obilee followed the master to the queen’s throne. Those they passed met Noroelle with words and gestures of respect. When they came to the throne, Master Alvias stepped to one side, and Noroelle and Obilee bowed their heads.

“I greet you, Noroelle,” Emerelle said and looked to Obilee before asking, “Whom do we have here?”

Noroelle turned slightly and gestured elegantly at the young elf. “This is Obilee, the daughter of Halvaric and Orone from Alvemer.”

Emerelle smiled at the young elf. “Then you come from the clan of the great Danee. You are her great-granddaughter. Everyone here will be watching the path you follow. With Noroelle, you are in good hands.” She turned back to Noroelle and said, “It has not escaped me that there is a bond between you and two companions of the elfhunt.”

“There is,” Noroelle replied.

“You enjoy the affections of both Farodin and Nuramon.”

“That is true.”

“An elfhunt in which the queen and her warriors’ beloved do not see eye to eye is doomed to fail from the start. So I ask you, will you, as the beloved of Farodin and Nuramon, release them for the elfhunt?”

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.”