The Elven (60 page)

A Morning in Fargon

D
awn had come, and the birds were twittering their morning song. Nuramon and Farodin stood at the edge of the grove of trees where they had spent the night. From this vantage point, they had a good view over the surrounding lands. Off to the north, they could see a large forest, and to the south, rolling hills stretched almost as far as Felgeres on the coast.

Mandred was still snoring, and Yulivee had her blanket pulled over her head. It would probably be hard to wake them, as usual.

“Let them sleep a little longer,” said Farodin. “Yesterday was hard. I have already saddled the horses. We won’t lose any time.”

The flight from the Tjured knights had driven them to the limits of their strength. They were so exhausted that Nuramon had nodded off momentarily during his watch. Luckily, nothing had happened, and none of his companions had noticed.

There would be no rest for them anywhere in Fargon. Ever since they had seen Guillaume’s image in the church, it had been clear to them why the humans hated the Albenkin with such bitterness. It had all started in Aniscans. It was their fault, and Nuramon could not reconcile himself to the fact that their good intentions had given rise to this hatred. Back then, they had heard the lies being spread, but Nuramon had never thought it was possible for such fabrications to lead to anything as momentous as what was happening here. The queen had been proved right: their failure in Aniscans was the seed from which the evil of the Tjured priests had grown.

“What do we do now, Farodin?” Nuramon asked. “We can’t travel here as we used to. There’s malice wherever we go, and soldiers everywhere.”

“We can deal with that,” Farodin replied coolly, and he looked to the rising sun.

“You know there are few things I think of as impossible, but after what we saw yesterday, I’m not so certain anymore,” said Nuramon.

“You mean the checks?”

“Yes.” From a hiding place, they had seen Tjured knights stopping travelers and checking their ears. And because a man had ears that were slightly pointed—though with no true resemblance to elven ears—he was led away. What had become of the faith Guillaume had once devoted himself to? The Tjured priests no longer healed the people. They were a scourge upon them.

“You are worried about Yulivee,” said Farodin quietly.

“About her, and about all of us. All of the new Albenpaths worry me. It cannot be a coincidence that they connect the major towns and cities of Fargon.”

“You’re right. Apparently a human is in possession of an Albenstone and the djinns’ crown. As terrible as this all seems to us, it is no doubt going to be easier to take an Albenstone away from a human than from one of the Albenkin. I am confident we’ll be able to track down the stone.”

“But doesn’t it surprise you that you can’t sense any trace of the crown?”

Farodin smiled calmly. “If I had to guess, I would say that the crown is in the capital.”

Nuramon shook his head. “Algaunis is a fortress. You have seen it yourself.”

“What other choice do we have? What do you think we should do?”

“We could look for allies. Remember the stories about the elven soldiers fighting the Tjured in Angnos and on the Aegilien Islands?”

“Allies here could only mean humans. And how could humans help us here?”

Nuramon’s gaze traversed the hill country to the south.

“There must be enemies of the Tjured worshippers, even here,” Nuramon said. “No one is going to tolerate this kind of suppression forever. And the lives of humans are short.”

“But the humans are weak.”

“That’s where you’re mistaken,” Nuramon said. “I was in Firnstayn a long time, and I saw how hard they strive for freedom. They will rebel, and they will rebel again and again.”

“That may be how it is in Firnstayn. They are far away from what is happening here. Just think of Iskendria with its Balbar. The inhabitants sacrificed their own children. Lunatics.”

Nuramon remembered his first stay in Iskendria, and the disgust rose in him again.

“And what about Aniscans? What did the people there do to help Guillaume against the soldiers? In the end, all they did was point their fingers at us as his murderers.”

“You’re probably right. But if someone could just light a little spark in them, then . . .” He broke off. There was a sound like distant thunder.

“I hear it, too,” his companion whispered and looked toward the hills on the far side of the meadows below the place they stood.

White-robed knights came galloping over the top of a distant hill and disappeared from view again. They were heading straight toward the elves’ encampment.

Farodin hesitated no longer. “Go. Wake the others.”

A heartbeat later, Nuramon was at Mandred’s side and shaking him awake. The jarl started, and his hand went for his axe.

“Riders. We have to get away from here,” said Nuramon.

Mandred leaped to his feet and, absurdly, quickly stuffed the remains of their food from the evening before into his saddlebags.

Nuramon tapped at Yulivee, but what his fingers touched was far too hard for the little elf. He threw back the blanket and was shocked to discover no more than her books and her travel bag.

“Nuramon, look!” shouted Farodin.

Nuramon jumped up and ran to his companion’s side while Mandred heaved the saddlebags onto the back of his mare. Farodin pointed straight ahead.

It was Yulivee. She was running down the slope to the meadow. Two low valleys still separated her from the riders. Nuramon could see the morning light glinting on their lances. He turned to Farodin. “You go. Wait for us at the edge of the forest.” Then he swung onto his saddle and galloped off.

Yulivee ran fast, but she was still some distance from the grove. The riders were out of sight, somewhere between the lines of hills. He could only hope that he was faster. He would never forgive himself if something happened to her.

The little elf was remarkably quick, but as the horsemen thundered down the slope of the last hill, Nuramon knew it would be close. “Faster, Felbion,” he shouted. Half of the Tjured knights were armed with lances, which they now lowered threateningly. The others carried swords in their hands. Like the knights they had seen the day before, the riders all wore long mail tunics under white tabards. The black tree of the Tjured stood out on their shields—the oak on which Guillaume was burned to death. This symbol could not be allowed to mark the end of Yulivee, too.

Felbion galloped as fast as any horse could. Nuramon knew he would reach Yulivee ahead of the riders. She was courageous and ran without looking back. Then it happened. Yulivee fell.

Nuramon felt Felbion, unbidden, push himself even harder.

The tips of the knights’ lances sank lower.

Stand up
, thought Nuramon desperately. As if she had heard him, the little elf jumped to her feet again. But she made the mistake of looking back and running forward at the same time, and she stumbled once more.

Then Nuramon was at her side, reaching down his hand to her. Yulivee jumped high and took hold of his arm, and Nuramon pulled her onto the saddle in front of him. As he raised his head to see their enemy, he knew that he could not turn Felbion in time. The knights’ lances were aimed at him, and the swordsmen held their blades aloft.

He had to at least try. But as he hauled on the reins to turn Felbion, the horse kept galloping straight ahead, charging headlong at the soldiers. In the first moment, Nuramon did not know what was happening. Yulivee screamed in fear and clung to Felbion’s mane.

The elf had just time enough to draw Gaomee’s sword. Felbion whinnied, and the enemies’ horses swung aside. The first lance shot at him from one side. Nuramon ducked low, protecting Yulivee’s body. The point of the lance breezed past his head, but the shaft struck him hard on the temple. From the right came a sword, but Nuramon managed to parry. Then he was through the riders.

He slid his sword back into its sheath. Then he saw a broken sword blade embedded in the saddle horn. “Yulivee,” he cried in fear. The girl did not reply. Nuramon leaned forward. Yulivee had her face buried in her hands and was shivering. Nuramon shook her by the shoulder.

She looked up at him. “Are we still alive?” she asked, her eyes wide.

“Are you hurt?”

“No, but
you’ve
got a bad bump.”

Nuramon sighed with relief and touched his fingers to his temple. The shaft of the lance had left him with a graze.

“Should I heal it?”

Nuramon did not ask her where she learned to heal. He already knew the answer. “You can do that later,” he replied. He looked over his shoulder and saw that the riders had turned and were in pursuit.

Nuramon drove Felbion toward the line of hills. The elven horse galloped up the slope with ease. Before they rode down the other side, Nuramon looked back and saw that their pursuers had lost a little ground. The moment he was in the hollow between the hills, he turned Felbion westward along the line of hills. He looked back several times, waiting for the soldiers to reappear.

There they were. Nuramon immediately turned Felbion up the hill again, heading back toward the meadow. He knew that the riders had seen him when they turned and rode along the ridge to cut him off. But again, Felbion was faster. Nuramon already had the hill behind him and was racing for the grove of trees where they had camped the night before.

The humans lost a lot of time coming down the hill again. Their horses were exhausted from chasing Yulivee, and they were not as sure-footed on the slopes as Felbion was. When the knights finally made it onto the meadow, there were a good hundred paces between the humans and Nuramon.

Yulivee stretched and looked back past Nuramon. “We did it.”

Nuramon pulled the little elf back down onto the saddle. “Don’t celebrate too soon,” he warned her. It’s true that the humans would never be able to catch up with Felbion, but who knew what dangers still lay ahead?

They passed the little grove and rode straight for the large forest to the north.

“There,” Yulivee called, pointing ahead.

At the edge of the forest, Farodin and Mandred sat on horseback, waiting and looking in their direction. They had waited. That was not like Farodin at all.

Finally, the two turned their horses and disappeared slowly among the trees. They let Nuramon and Yulivee catch up.

“Are you hurt?” called Mandred.

“Not even a scratch,” Yulivee answered before Nuramon could say anything.

“You did well, Nuramon,” said Farodin, his tone appreciative.

Nuramon was surprised. Compliments from the mouth of the elven warrior were a rare treat.

They rode through the forest in silence. Though their horses left tracks that were barely visible to human eyes, they waded some distance through a river and even risked riding through a small swampy area. Their horses had a sense for solid ground and led them safely through to the edge of the forest.

There, in the protection of the trees, they rested.

Nuramon lifted Yulivee down from Felbion, and the youngster already wanted to run off and explore the area.

Nuramon grabbed her hand and held tightly. “Stop. Not so fast. We’re not finished with this.”

Yulivee put on a contrite face. “I’m sorry.”

The elf kneeled in front of her and looked into her eyes. “That’s what you say every time, Yulivee. And then you still go and do something you’re not supposed to. How many times have I told you that you’re not allowed to leave the camp at night? And then you made me think you were still lying there asleep.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” said Yulivee, touching her hand to the wound on his head. She frowned for a moment, then took her hand away again.

When Nuramon felt for the wound, his skin was smooth and the swelling was gone. He had to smile. “Thank you, Yulivee. But please stay in the camp at night.”

Then Farodin joined them. “How did you get out at all without being seen?” he asked.

Nuramon felt caught out. The girl must have crept away the moment he nodded off.

Yulivee answered, “Don’t you accuse Nuramon of anything. I made myself invisible, and when he was standing on the edge of the camp, I crept out.” It was a good excuse, but the conspiratorial glance she cast at Nuramon as she said it took away any credibility she might have had.

Farodin said nothing. His knowing look said more than words could.

“But why on earth did you put yourself in such danger in the first place?” Nuramon asked.

“You were talking about what the Fargoners were planning, and I thought you’d be happy if I found out for you. So I turned myself invisible. With all the magic I had to do for that, I was soon really tired. But I looked through walls, and I heard things that some people were talking about in secret. I read their thoughts and lots more. But I’m still small and don’t have very much power yet,” she said with a serious face. She did not seem to realize just how much power she already possessed. Her magical capabilities were little more than a game to her.

“That was very silly of you, Yulivee,” said Farodin.

“What do you want? I’m still alive.”

Mandred laughed, but a glance from Farodin silenced him.

“So do you want to know what I found out or not?” she asked.

“Please tell us,” Nuramon encouraged her.

Yulivee sat on a fallen tree and waited until her companions were gathered around. Then she told them about her adventures. “The moon shone brightly as I crept quietly over the hill and all the way down to Felgeres. Invisible, I passed by the sentries and just followed my nose. When I got down to the harbor, I saw at least a hundred ships anchored there.”

“By the Alben. They’re after control of the Aegilien Sea once and for all,” said Farodin. “The ships from Reilimee won’t be able to trade anymore.”

“Thank you, Yulivee, for finding that out,” said Nuramon.

“But that isn’t everything. I also listened to some of the commanders. Captains and knights, and even the prince of the brotherhood in Felgeres. The ships aren’t there to take control of the Aegilien Islands. They’re supposed to sail north. They want to reach the Fjordlands before the autumn storms. And they want to join with another fleet on the way.”