Authors: James Moloney
Marcel couldn’t hide the disappointment in his voice. Bea heard it too and the happiness slipped from her face. “Marcel, it’s my home.”
They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. Marcel’s eyes rose to their surroundings instead, first to the trees and then to the snow-capped mountains that ranged tall and imposing, so many miles in the distance.
“How long to Lenoth Crag, King Long Beard?” Fergus called out.
“We should reach the pass through those mountains by nightfall,” he answered.
“But it’s so far!” objected Starkey in surprise. “Surely it’s two days’ march at least.”
“For humans alone, yes, but elves know ways through the forest you can only dream of.”
If they doubted him, they were soon proved wrong. Long Beard led them along paths that did not go round the many obstacles but effortlessly through them and over them. He
charged through thick forest without any need of a track, found stones that led over swollen streams, and guided them along the rim of gaping chasms to where rocks jutted out so that even an elf’s short legs could leap across. In her long gown, Eleanor looked just as uncomfortable as she had earlier, but Marcel had to admire her determination not to show it in front of Long Beard.
They began heading uphill, into rockier terrain where stunted trees clung hardily to barren, windswept hillsides. A long day’s march brought them to the desolate mountain pass, just as Long Beard had promised.
As they approached they could all see a ghostly finger of grey smoke drifting between the treetops overhead.
Long Beard sniffed. “There must be some kind of human dwelling up ahead. It hasn’t been there long or I would have heard about it.”
Then they emerged into the narrow opening of the pass itself. Two massive granite crags loomed over them, one on either side, their soaring tops whitened by snow. Obstructing the way between the overhanging peaks sat a rough cabin built of stone and fallen logs dragged from the forest.
“So,” observed Damon with surprise, “Zadenwolf has built an outpost here. Things certainly have changed. Maybe he’s had trouble from woodsmen, or perhaps he fears the elves.”
Long Beard gave a quick snort to indicate his lack of concern.
Some horses were tethered on the rough ground nearby – ponies really, their manes and tails long and untidy. “They make you look pretty,” Marcel teased Gadfly, who pretended to ignore him. Small and unkempt they might be, but they were clearly hardy beasts, bred for a harsh land. They neighed and stamped their feet at the approach of strangers, bringing men from inside the cabin – three, four, and finally a fifth.
“Fighting men,” breathed Fergus, clearly impressed, as the men spilled out into the open. They were dressed for the cold, in heavy fur coats and leather breeches, and each of them was armed with a sword. They advanced towards the group and stopped only a few strides away.
“What’s your business here?” asked one who was obviously their commander.
“We wish to enter Lenoth Crag,” Starkey announced imperiously.
“Not unless King Zadenwolf gives his permission, you’re not,” was the curt reply.
“It’s Zadenwolf we’ve come to see,” Damon cut in quickly. “I am Prince Damon of Elster, an old friend. I fought beside him years ago. He’ll be glad to see me, I’m sure.”
The men didn’t seem ready for this answer. They backed away into a huddle, arguing in hushed tones.
At length their leader spoke again. “We’ll send word to King Zadenwolf immediately. Until we have his answer, I’m afraid you must stay here.”
The cabin was barely large enough for the surly warriors. They helped the travellers get their own fire going then closed the door, leaving them to shelter from the mountain winds beside the cabin wall, much to the disgust of the Prince and Princess. They were all glad to see the sun in the morning and, just before midday, even more pleased to see a dozen riders galloping through the pass.
The soldiers hurried from the warmth of their cabin and bowed to the tallest man among the new arrivals. He dismounted quickly and straightened the axe that hung from his belt. The fur of his coat was thicker than the other men’s and his leather boots finer. Much of his face was hidden beneath a black and unruly beard.
“Damon!” he called with genuine feeling, as soon as he sighted his old friend. He strode towards the Prince and they embraced in a manly hug.
“Zadenwolf, it’s good to see you again,” Damon responded warmly.
The King broke his hold long enough to bark instructions to the men who had ridden with him. “Get some tents set up for my friends,” he called to one who led a pack horse weighed down with canvas and poles.
Starkey stepped up to be introduced, but Eleanor held back, gathering the children around her instead. “This is men’s talk. Damon and the King will swap exaggerated stories about the great battles they fought together, but when they get
tired of that we want Zadenwolf to meet you. He must see that you are with us now.”
“Why? Does he know us?” asked Fergus.
Eleanor stared at him for a second but her answer came easily enough. “All sorts of rumours fly from kingdom to kingdom. He may have heard that you three were Pelham’s hostages. If he asks you a question, answer him truthfully. This meeting may well decide our kingdom’s future.”
The tents were set up, one for Eleanor, her children and Bea, a second for Starkey, Damon and Fergus, a third for Zadenwolf and then two more for Hector and the soldiers. However, the meeting that Eleanor spoke of was held in the open air, where the mountain king seemed most at ease. Long Beard was present, though he assured them he would soon be departing to return to his subjects.
“Here are the children,” said Eleanor, as the three were brought forward and introduced by their real names, Princess Catherine, Prince Edwin and Prince Marcel. Zadenwolf’s eyebrows danced eagerly as the names were pronounced.
“Prince Damon has told me of your adventures,” he said to them. “Tell me, is it true that you forgot who your own parents were?”
Marcel glanced towards his mother, who gave a brief nod. “Yes, Your Majesty – until Starkey helped us free them from the palace.”
“Yes, you freed Damon and Eleanor from the palace,” he
noted with an approving nod. “Tell me another thing, then,” Zadenwolf asked with more urgency. “What do you think of Elster’s king?”
Before Marcel could reply, Nicola answered for them all.
“He’s a usurper!” she cried with all the anger Marcel had wanted to unleash. “He’s stolen the crown from the rightful heirs,” and in case there was any doubt whom she meant, she turned towards Princess Eleanor and Prince Damon.
But this was nothing compared with what Fergus added. “Pelham robbed us of our memories and hid us away in an orphanage. I’d
kill
him if I had the chance,” he said furiously.
Zadenwolf broke into an exuberant laugh. “Royal blood is hot, I see.”
“Yes, truly royal blood is the hottest of all,” said Eleanor vehemently. “That’s what I carry in my veins,” and she pulled back the sleeve of her dress to expose the delicate traces of blue beneath her pale skin. “Pelham is a usurper who doesn’t deserve the crown. If it weren’t for Alwyn’s sorcery, he would still be on the streets of Elstenwyck, begging for scraps to eat. This is why you must help us, Zadenwolf. Alwyn had the old Queen under his spell when she named Pelham as her successor.”
Zadenwolf listened intently, but he did not seem moved by her pleas. When Eleanor realised this, she tried a new line of attack. “Long Beard knows how he treats his own people, even those closest to him.”
She let the dramatic silence that followed do its work. Long Beard took his time, aware of the weight his words would carry. “It is true,” he said at length. “Pelham has poisoned his own wife, that much I know.”
Damon and Starkey added arguments of their own. Through it all, Zadenwolf stood with his arms tightly folded across his belly. Finally, he spoke.
“There is one name we have heard for many years in Lenoth Crag. Lord Alwyn. We have sorcerers of our own, but they all tremble at the mention of his name. A wizard more powerful than the mountains, than the clouds and the sky, that is what they tell me. Lord Alwyn’s magic has kept the Kings and Queens of Elster safely on their thrones for as long as anyone can remember.”
He paused and ran his thumb gently along the blade of his axe. “I am King of a warlike people, it is true, but until now they have fought only each other. To fight an army like Pelham’s, down there on the plains, would be a great risk…” He shook his head doubtfully and looked around the faces. “One army alone would not be enough. I would need an ally to weigh the odds in our favour.”
“An ally?” Damon cried in exasperation. “But there is no other, not for hundreds of miles!”
The meeting fell silent as Damon’s despair infected them all. Marcel sensed Bea at his side. She took his hand in sympathy. Even she could see their chances slipping away as
Zadenwolf stood firm. The warmth of her hand in his set Marcel thinking. He could feel it even though he could barely see her. There were many more like her, back there in the forest, just as hard to see. They could put an arrow between a man’s fingers or within an inch of his head. Couldn’t they just as easily shoot their arrows through a man’s heart?
“King Long Beard, would you help us?” he begged. “Pelham’s soldiers would be helpless against an army they couldn’t see and bowmen who meet their mark without fail. If you and Zadenwolf joined forces, they’d throw down their weapons and plead for mercy.”
The solemn meeting suddenly erupted into a chorus of eager approval loud enough to win a battle by itself.
“Wait!” called Zadenwolf, raising his hand. “You are all speaking except the one who matters most. What do
you
have to say, Long Beard? Will you help us overthrow this King Pelham?”
For once, Long Beard did not hesitate. “You have convinced me that Pelham is a cruel man with an evil heart. But he has done no harm to the elves. If we have lived peacefully around our mountain for a thousand years it is because we do not interfere in the lives of humans.” He shook his head firmly as he beckoned Bea towards him. When she was close enough, he took her hand, just as Marcel had done, and said, “No, I’m sorry, but the elves will not join your war.”
For just a few moments, an easy victory had seemed theirs. The meeting struggled on as Eleanor, Damon and Starkey clamoured for Zadenwolf’s support, but the mountain king would not agree unless Long Beard changed his mind. And there seemed no chance of that.
Eventually it became too much for Eleanor, who fled, in exasperated tears, towards the tent that had been prepared for her.
“We’d better go with her,” muttered Nicola to Marcel. They followed with the slow strides of the dejected until they were only a few paces from the tent’s opening. The sounds from inside told them that Eleanor’s tears had turned to something more violent. Cautiously they poked their heads inside and there she was, kicking vainly at the sturdy pole in the centre. When this wasn’t enough for her rage, she snatched up the silver mirror and hurled it straight at the pole.
“No!” screamed Nicola, as she watched it fly through the air. But her cry came too late. The glass shattered into thousands of glittering diamonds and the heavy silver handle dropped with a thud to the ground.
Nicola’s scream had snapped the worst of Eleanor’s frenzy, but it had not cooled her anger completely. “Those cowards!” She sneered in their direction without really seeing them. “If I were a man, I’d be down in that valley with a sword in my hand, whether I had an army at my back or not.”
Then she seemed to collect herself, and only at this point
did she properly take in who was watching. She gave a brief start, before the fury suffused her features once more. “Leave me,” she snapped.
The pair staggered backwards, appalled. “Did you see her eyes?” Nicola whispered, when they had moved a little way from the tent.
Oh yes, Marcel had seen those eyes, full of black hatred. “She’s upset,” he said, scrambling frantically for excuses.
“Yes, that’s it. Not so hard to understand,” Nicola responded, just as desperate to agree. “This might be her only chance to win the Kingdom from Pelham. Of course she’s angry.”
Angry. It had been more than that. How could their mother’s exquisite features burn with such ugliness and rage?
Her tent was cut off to them now. There was no place for them either among the men, who were still arguing, and Bea and Fergus had wandered off somewhere with Long Beard. But just then Eleanor called after them, her voice full of contrition. “Wait, I’m sorry! Forgive me, both of you. You must be ashamed to see me this way.”
“No, of course not, Mother!” cried Nicola, rushing tearily towards her and accepting the hug offered by her outstretched arms. Marcel was about to do the same when a cry of outrage rose up behind him. He turned instantly to see what had caused it. The circle of men had dispersed, and Damon, Zadenwolf, Fergus and some of the fur-clad soldiers were crowded tightly around something on the ground nearby.
“There, in the trees! After him!” Starkey shouted. He hadn’t been standing with the rest, it seemed, and now, with his sword drawn, he was already running into the forest. The others began to charge after him. Only the dimly visible figure of Long Beard remained, kneeling beside something just as hard to see.