The Elven (68 page)

The Chronicle of Firnstayn

A
nd our city and the kingdom were saved. Humans, elves, and trolls won out against the fleet of the Tjured priests and forced the demon leading them to flee. Never shall the night after that victory be forgotten. Firnstayn was bright with fires of celebration, and humans and elves danced together. The trolls celebrated the victory aboard their ships, and the rumbling of thunder reached as far as Firnstayn. But there were many who mourned the fallen that night. They prayed for the dead and were proud that the fallen had played a role in the great victory.

Even the elf queen, Emerelle, came into our city, and never had any here seen a woman of such grace. She walked nobly through the streets of Firnstayn and spoke to many of the people she encountered. The unworthy writer of these lines himself enjoyed the blessing of her words. She said, “You are the memory of this kingdom? Then make it known that the destiny of the Fjordlands will forever be bound to the destiny of Albenmark.” And so it is written.

When morning came, Mandred and King Liodred had already left the city. The elves said they had gone to kill one of the leaders of the enemy. We were fearful, then, for the life of our king, for his son was far from being of an age to accede to the throne should the worst come to pass. But we were also proud of him. Now another Firnstayner has gone on a journey at the side of the elves. May Luth spin a good thread for them all.

A
S
R
ECORDED BY
T
JELRIK
A
SWIDSON

V
OLUME
S
IXTY-
S
EVEN OF THE
T
EMPLE
L
IBRARY OF
L
UTH IN
F
IRNSTAYN, PAGE 45

Beyond the Victory

I
t was night, and Nuramon walked at Obilee’s side along the beach. All along the fjord gleamed campfires, lanterns, and barinstones. Firnstayn, the ships, and even the forests were brightly lit. The humans and the elves were celebrating together, but the trolls remained on board their ships and kept their own company. The booming of their drums reached the shore, and the smell of roasted meat hung in the air.

They had wrested a historic victory. Many of those at the fires were celebrating with song and dance, but many had lost relatives and friends and were in mourning for them. The bodies of the dead had been laid out in the Temple of Luth and the adjoining halls. Those of the elves had already been burned. Their funeral pyre, now collapsed into a pile of coals, still smoldered outside the city.

“Do you really want to take the risk?” asked Obilee.

“Yes,” said Nuramon. “The Devanthar was behind what happened to Noroelle. It is the one that remains a danger to Albenmark and the humans here. And it has an Albenstone.”

“But the danger.”

“Would you risk any less for Noroelle?”

“No. But a Devanthar. How can you possibly win against something like that?”

“We will find a way. No doubt it is ready for anything, but not for us.”

“Perhaps I should come with you? King Liodred already is.”

“Liodred is coming because he admires Mandred and because he loves adventure. A king going off with his ancestor on his legendary journeys. No, Obilee. It is not your destiny. Your place is with the queen. Don’t let yourself be tempted by our sad path. Perhaps you will achieve through your loyalty what we are trying to do through disobedience. Maybe, one day, the queen will free Noroelle as a favor to you.”

“Very well. I will stay,” she said and smiled. “And I will tell Yulivee that we will have to wait for you together. She will miss you terribly.”

“I’m afraid she’ll try to do something silly.”

“The queen won’t let her. She loves the girl just as much as you do.”

Nuramon knew that Obilee’s skills would be immeasurably valuable to them in their search for the Devanthar, but the thought that Noroelle might lose all who remained loyal to her in a single stroke was unbearable to him. Maybe he was being selfish, keeping Obilee away like this, but the knowledge that she would remain at the queen’s side among her greatest warriors would give him strength.

They approached the fire where, earlier, they had been sitting with Farodin and Mandred. Nomja, Yulivee, and Emerelle were there now, too, with the queen’s bodyguard. To Nuramon’s surprise, Ollowain had also joined the small party. Nuramon had only seen him from a distance earlier, but the keeper of the Shalyn Falah had lived up to his reputation and fought like a dragon.

Yulivee came running toward Nuramon. He crouched and threw his arms around her.

“I want to come along,” she said.

“But you can’t. The queen needs you here,” he replied.

“She’ll get by just fine without me.”

“No, Yulivee. She would certainly be very disappointed.”

“I thought we were brother and sister.”

“My house has been empty for too long, and Felbion will certainly feel lonely. Someone has to take care of him and also Mandred’s and Farodin’s horses. And I would like to know that the house and horses are in the best hands. I’ve told you about Alaen Aikhwitan. He is lonely.”

“But then I’m all alone.”

Obilee stroked Yulivee’s hair. “No. I’ll be here to keep you company. And don’t forget Emerelle.”

The little sorceress looked scared and stared wide-eyed at Nuramon. “But what if you don’t come back? What will happen to me if you die?”

“Then, one day, your little brother Nuramon will be born. And you will have to take care of him.”

Yulivee smiled and kissed Nuramon’s forehead. “All right. I’ll stay . . . and I’ll learn lots of magic from Obilee and the queen.” She turned to Obilee. “We can have lots of grand adventures. Yulivee and Obilee . . . that sounds good. We can be friends. I never ever had a best friend. I only read about them in books, and I’ve always wanted one.”

Obilee hugged the little girl. She whispered something in her ear. Yulivee nodded, and together, they joined the others.

Farodin was on his feet, ready to go. Mandred had just said good-bye to Nomja and had his hands on her shoulders. Liodred stood up from his place by the fire and buckled his weapon belt.

The queen had done all of them the honor of healing them, and certainly suffered no pain in doing so. Now Emerelle was standing at the water, looking to the ships out on the fjord. She seemed to be deep in thought. The wind tugged at her gray robe and stirred her hair.

“Ready to go, Nuramon?” Mandred asked, approaching him. “Do you have your weapons?”

“Yes,” he said as he picked up his bow and the quiver with the dwarven arrows that remained. He unwrapped the long sword and weapon belt from a sheet of cloth, the weapons he had received from the dwarves. In his earlier life, he had killed a dragon with those. Perhaps they were strong enough to damage a Devanthar.

The queen turned around and came back to the fire. “My Albenkin, the time has come. The Devanthar is expecting me or the shaman Skanga or some other with an Albenstone. All of its senses are attuned to that. If I were to go, it would be aware of my presence too soon. If you go, maybe you will take it by surprise. Everything has been prepared. Several volunteers from my bodyguard will go with you to keep the Tjured knights at bay, but you must fight the Devanthar alone.”

“How will we find it?” Farodin asked. “Should we follow the path it used to escape?”

“No,” she replied. “That is a trap. The route simply stops. You would come out in the middle of a mountain and die instantly. I have looked in my mirror at all the paths open to you. Whichever one you choose, the shadow of Death hangs over you. I have also studied the web of new Albenpaths here in the human world. You have to go into a monastery in the mountains of Aniscans. I will open a gate for you to get there, but you won’t have much time. You will come out at an Albenstar, and from there, you have to immediately open a second gate that will lead you to the Shattered World. That is where you will find the Devanthar.”

“But is there any way we can beat it with the arms we have?” Farodin asked.

“Hold your weapons in the fire,” replied the queen.

Farodin took his sword and his parrying dagger and Liodred his axe, and they pushed them into the flames. When Mandred and Nuramon raised their weapons, the queen said, “Nuramon. Mandred. Not you.”

Nuramon returned his sword to its sheath. He knew that his old long sword was enchanted. He had already sensed it when he was with the dwarves, and there was magic in his bow and the dwarven arrows, too. He wondered, though, whether Gaomee’s sword was also steeped in magic.

Nuramon exchanged a look with Mandred. The jarl seemed bewildered and turned to Ollowain, who was smiling. He seemed to have known all along that Mandred’s axe was enchanted. Nuramon had not sensed it at all. It seemed whatever enchantment it was under was well concealed, which could be to their advantage in the fight against the Devanthar.

The queen called Obilee to her side. “You must cast the spell. Your magic is unknown to it.”

The warrior sorceress stood beside the fire and drew her sword. The weapon still impressed Nuramon. Its blade was completely covered with runes, and the guards attached to the brass hilt formed an interwoven magical symbol. Obilee held her sword in the fire alongside Farodin’s and Liodred’s weapons. There was a hissing noise, and the flames leaped brightly, then changed to a light-blue color and licked greedily at the blades. Obilee kept her focus on her own sword. It crackled, and glittering threads of light spread from her blade to those of the warriors. The runes on Obilee’s weapon began to gleam. The guard surrounding her hand also began to glow. With every heartbeat, the power shot from Obilee’s blade through the filaments, now swollen to cords of light, and into the swords of Farodin and the king. The power was so great that Nuramon felt something like a gust of hot wind emanating from Obilee’s blade. Finally, she withdrew the weapon and slid it back into its sheath before the hot glow of it had faded. She stepped back to make room for the queen.

Farodin’s and Liodred’s weapons had a matte sheen, and the pale-blue flames gradually returned to red. “Take your weapons,” said Emerelle.

The two fighters carefully withdrew their blades from the fire and looked them over as if they had just received them as a gift. For all the power Nuramon had felt when the spell was being cast, there was almost nothing he could feel now coming from the swords. That was the secret of casting a good spell on a weapon. Your opponent realized only too late what power lay in the blade.

“All of you now possess enchanted weapons,” said the queen. “You will carry them in my name and also in the name of the people of the Fjordlands. And for your own sakes, too, you will wield them. Step before me.” Mandred, Liodred, Farodin, and Nuramon did as the queen had commanded. Then she spoke again. “You will fight an enemy worthy of one of the Alben. You will have only one chance to defeat it.”

“But can we do it?” Nuramon asked.

“Yes, Nuramon. Each of you has your reasons to be part of this battle. And you will show how strong you are when you face the enemy. The only thing that will kill the Devanthar once and for all is an enchanted weapon.”

Emerelle stepped forward. She kissed Liodred on his forehead. “Do not fear for the fate of your kingdom. Before my race returns to Albenmark tomorrow, and with your permission, I will take it on myself to become your son’s patron. No one will dare to contest your blood right to the throne in your absence.”

She stepped in front of Mandred and kissed him as well. “Mandred Aikhjarto. Think of the manboar and all he took from you. Today is your day of vengeance.”

Next, she moved to Farodin and Nuramon and looked at them in turn. Then she kissed both of them on the forehead and said, “Think of Noroelle. There is nothing that will give you more strength.”

Now the others came and said their good-byes. Ollowain, as usual, was cool and distant. Nomja stroked Nuramon’s cheek and whispered, “It feels like we have known each other forever.” He thought of the dwarves and their cult of memory. Perhaps he should have told Nomja about that, but it was too late now. Obilee, like the queen before her, kissed him on the forehead. She said no words, but her face revealed her sadness and her pain. She would worry about him, that much was certain. But she would also be a good companion to the queen. And if he and his comrades failed, then perhaps she, at the queen’s side, could complete what they could not.

Finally, Nuramon took Yulivee in his arms. “Do what the queen told you,” she chided him. “Think of Noroelle when you fight the Devanthar.” He set her back on the ground and took a long look at her. “Go, Brother,” she said, and she sounded more serious than he had ever heard her sound before. Did she know something? Had the queen confided in her? Or had the little sorceress dared to steal a private glance into the queen’s mirror?

“Be ready,” said Emerelle.

The twelve volunteers joined Nuramon and his companions. They were armed with halberds and swords and were unusually heavily armored for elven warriors. Each of them wore a close helmet decorated in gold and a heavy cuirass. No one would be better able to protect them than the queen’s own bodyguard, that was certain. The Tjured knights would need to outnumber them massively to have any chance at all.

Emerelle retrieved the Albenstone from its plain leather pouch at her belt. Farodin’s eyes gleamed when he saw it, and Nuramon, too, was stirred deeply to see it again.

The queen closed her eyes and spoke inaudible words. Nuramon sensed powerful magic surrounding him. Albenpaths appeared out of thin air. They were simply there, making the queen’s magic look effortless. That was the way of most great magic, he knew. His mother had taught him that.

Beside Emerelle, five paths now crossed. Without warning, a brilliant light shot upward from the Albenstar. It was the gate they would pass through.

“Guards, secure the Albenpath,” the queen commanded. “Quickly. Every moment counts.”

The volunteers marched forward and disappeared into the light.

Nuramon glanced quickly at Mandred, Farodin, and Liodred. He saw nothing but determination in their expressions. His companions were prepared to face what might well be their last great adventure. And he was, too. For if they defeated the Devanthar, then everything they wanted could be theirs.

“Go now,” said the queen.

Nuramon, side by side with his companions, stepped into the light. One last time, he looked back. He saw Yulivee, Obilee, and Nomja slowly vanish behind him.

The queen turned to them and spoke in a fading voice, “We stand at the brink of a new age.”