Read Online The Elven by Bernhard Hennen, James A. Sullivan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Bernhard Hennen, James A. Sullivan
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later.”
“But—”
“No, not a word. It is not your place. Look up there,” she said and pointed to the image of an elf fighting a dragon. “That is Gaomee. She defeated the dragon Duanoc, which had found its way into our realm through the Halgaris Gate.”
Gaomee. Duanoc. Halgaris. Names from the sagas, names that stood for great deeds, reminiscent of heroic times.
At one time, many dragons came to Albenmark, but only a few found their place in this world and forged an alliance with the elves. Duanoc was far from accepting such a pact, or so the old tales said, at least. Young Gaomee slew Duanoc. A shudder ran down Nuramon’s spine.
The queen continued. “Gaomee had no family left. I chose her, which also caused no few eyebrows to rise. I saw in her something that I once saw in myself.” Emerelle closed her eyes, drawing Nuramon completely under her spell.
He had never before seen the queen’s closed eyelids. She would look like this when she slept, dreaming of things that only an elf of extraordinary power could comprehend.
“I see Gaomee so clearly in my memory . . . she stood here in front of me, the tears rolling down her cheeks,” said Emerelle. “She had nothing of what she would need to ride with the others against Duanoc, so I outfitted her. I will not allow one among the hunters to be poorly equipped, especially when the hunt will take them into the human realm.”
“Then I will accept your offer,” said Nuramon, transfixed by the fresco of Gaomee overhead. The queen had opened up a path for him, a path he never would have believed was his to follow. He had long ago resigned himself to a life lived apart from his fellow elves.
“I know this is new for you,” said the queen gently. “But this is a turning point for your soul. Never before has one with the name Nuramon been part of the elfhunt. You are the first. The elfhunt brings with it distinction among the elves, without exception. So when you return, there are many here who will have to think again about how they ought to treat you.”
A smile crept over Nuramon’s face.
“Why do you smile? Let me share your thoughts,” Emerelle commanded.
“I am reminded of the fear on the faces of my relatives when you named me to the elfhunt. Now I am more than just a disgrace. I am a danger. They fear that if I die, a child will be born who carries my soul. They would have done better to come here and equip me as best they could, in the hope that I survive. Their aversion to me seems greater than their fear of my death . . .”
Emerelle looked at him benevolently. “Don’t judge them too harshly. They have to come to terms with how things are now, and this is new for them. Few of us who live through the centuries can quickly adapt to the new. No one could suspect that I would call on you. Not even you expected it.”
“That is true.”
“And are you clear on how things will proceed from here?”
Nuramon was confused for a moment. Was she talking about his life or about this conversation?
Before he could say anything, Emerelle went on. “No elfhunt is without its dangers for those who ride out. For this reason, the queen gives each of the companions her counsel to take with them on their journey.”
Nuramon was ashamed of his ignorance. “I will accept it, whatever it may be.”
“It pleases me that you have such trust in me,” she said and laid one hand on his shoulder. “You are different from the others, Nuramon. When you look out on the world, you see something different from what most elves see. You see the beauty in what others shrink from. You see what is worthy where others pass by in disgust. And you speak of harmony in places others cannot bear to be. Because you are how you are, I give to you the counsel I once heard spoken by the Oracle of Telmareen. ‘Choose your kinfolk for yourself. Pay no heed to your reputation. Everything you are is within you.’”
It was as if a spell had been cast on Nuramon.
“But—”
“No, not a word. It is not your place. Look up there,” she said and pointed to the image of an elf fighting a dragon. “That is Gaomee. She defeated the dragon Duanoc, which had found its way into our realm through the Halgaris Gate.”
Gaomee. Duanoc. Halgaris. Names from the sagas, names that stood for great deeds, reminiscent of heroic times.
At one time, many dragons came to Albenmark, but only a few found their place in this world and forged an alliance with the elves. Duanoc was far from accepting such a pact, or so the old tales said, at least. Young Gaomee slew Duanoc. A shudder ran down Nuramon’s spine.
The queen continued. “Gaomee had no family left. I chose her, which also caused no few eyebrows to rise. I saw in her something that I once saw in myself.” Emerelle closed her eyes, drawing Nuramon completely under her spell.
He had never before seen the queen’s closed eyelids. She would look like this when she slept, dreaming of things that only an elf of extraordinary power could comprehend.
“I see Gaomee so clearly in my memory . . . she stood here in front of me, the tears rolling down her cheeks,” said Emerelle. “She had nothing of what she would need to ride with the others against Duanoc, so I outfitted her. I will not allow one among the hunters to be poorly equipped, especially when the hunt will take them into the human realm.”
“Then I will accept your offer,” said Nuramon, transfixed by the fresco of Gaomee overhead. The queen had opened up a path for him, a path he never would have believed was his to follow. He had long ago resigned himself to a life lived apart from his fellow elves.
“I know this is new for you,” said the queen gently. “But this is a turning point for your soul. Never before has one with the name Nuramon been part of the elfhunt. You are the first. The elfhunt brings with it distinction among the elves, without exception. So when you return, there are many here who will have to think again about how they ought to treat you.”
A smile crept over Nuramon’s face.
“Why do you smile? Let me share your thoughts,” Emerelle commanded.
“I am reminded of the fear on the faces of my relatives when you named me to the elfhunt. Now I am more than just a disgrace. I am a danger. They fear that if I die, a child will be born who carries my soul. They would have done better to come here and equip me as best they could, in the hope that I survive. Their aversion to me seems greater than their fear of my death . . .”
Emerelle looked at him benevolently. “Don’t judge them too harshly. They have to come to terms with how things are now, and this is new for them. Few of us who live through the centuries can quickly adapt to the new. No one could suspect that I would call on you. Not even you expected it.”
“That is true.”
“And are you clear on how things will proceed from here?”
Nuramon was confused for a moment. Was she talking about his life or about this conversation?
Before he could say anything, Emerelle went on. “No elfhunt is without its dangers for those who ride out. For this reason, the queen gives each of the companions her counsel to take with them on their journey.”
Nuramon was ashamed of his ignorance. “I will accept it, whatever it may be.”
“It pleases me that you have such trust in me,” she said and laid one hand on his shoulder. “You are different from the others, Nuramon. When you look out on the world, you see something different from what most elves see. You see the beauty in what others shrink from. You see what is worthy where others pass by in disgust. And you speak of harmony in places others cannot bear to be. Because you are how you are, I give to you the counsel I once heard spoken by the Oracle of Telmareen. ‘Choose your kinfolk for yourself. Pay no heed to your reputation. Everything you are is within you.’”
It was as if a spell had been cast on Nuramon.
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