Chapter 23: The Mountain of Gold
That night, Igraine slept under soft woolen blankets, in the camp of Elathan's warriors who always held a tent ready for their prince, even if he was not present. It felt heavenly to lie down on the straw-filled pallet, although it was just a makeshift warrior's bed. Apart from the days in the inn, she had rested under the open sky so often that she was glad to have some kind of roof over her head again.
Not that it really mattered when one spent every night in the arms of a handsome elven warrior who smelled like earth, honey and fresh leaves. Besides, he made love like a pagan god come down to earth to claim a human woman.
With the first light of morning, they left the camp and rode towards the foot of the mountain at the other end of the valley. When the sun rose, Elathan told Igraine to look up, and the beauty of the sight in front of her eyes took her breath away. According to the old legends, the Fae lived in hills under the earth, but now she saw that this wasn’t quite true. The huge elven palace wasn’t just built on top of the mountain, but carved right into the eternal stone by magic. The mountain actually was the palace, with high, arched windows, impregnable walls, battlements, turrets and towers, several inner and outer baileys that looked like terraces or the steps of a flight of giant’s stairs. This fortress would easily hold off any siege, for only a narrow, steep path wound around the ridge, ending at a heavily guarded portcullis.
The sun rose higher, and all of a sudden the whole mountain began to glow in a golden light, so bright that Igraine had to shield her eyes. She smiled to herself. This impressive castle seemed to be perfect for her noble, golden warrior, representative of what befit a king. Yet she knew his true colors now. The forest was the only place where he would ever feel at home.
“Aye, it’s beautiful,” Elathan said, taking her hand and kissing it. “My ancestors called it Sliabh an óir. The Mountain of Gold. I wished I could have welcomed you to my home with all honors, entering through the gates as a prince should, with the royal guard to greet us. Instead, I come like a thief in the night, after hiding in the woods.”
Calatin reined his horse beside them. He had heard Elathan’s last words. “Igraine does not care, and your people won’t either, Sire. Their prince has returned at last.”
* * * * *
Prince Ruadan stepped out of the royal chambers and descended the stairs do his vast throne room, accompanied by two bulky troll guards, armed to the teeth to protect their master and future sovereign. He was wearing his best armor and the resplendent coronation robe of his noble ancestors, made of deep green velvet. It was adorned with gemstones and fastened with a huge emerald brooch. Around his neck he wore a golden chain with the Seal of Kings.
Ruadan paused on a landing before a high, gold-framed mirror. His appearance was flawless. He had inherited his mother’s compelling beauty which made it impossible to resist him, a sleek, muscular body and a perfectly shaped elven face with deep green eyes. His midnight-black hair fell loosely over his shoulders, tiny emeralds woven in between his warrior’s braids.
Half-breed, a cruel voice in his head whispered.
It was the voice of his mother. She made sure that he never forgot his heritage. He knew what the court whispered behind his back. Son of the nymph, they called him. Elathan was King Midhir’s true heir, and he would always be, traitor or not. Ruadan’s authority would have to be established with severe laws that would ensure his power and the succession of his own, considering the possibility that Elathan would father a son. It was a rare gift when a child was born in the elven lands, but maybe his half-brother already had a bastard hidden somewhere, conceived in a barn or after battle with one of the pleasure nymphs who followed in the trail of the elven army.
But Elathan was not here, so Ruadan would be Great King of the Elven Realms in less than an hour. Once he was crowned, not even his brother could ever dispute his right to the throne, as long as he lived. And Ruadan intended to live for a very long time, now that he had come so far. A dark smile spread over his lips. Son of the nymph, indeed. Very soon, it would be dangerous to call him anything except his proper title.
The whole court bowed respectfully as he walked by, his gaze directed to the high golden throne on the far end of the richly decorated hall. The walls and the high, arched ceiling were painted with royal decorations, and huge tapestries depicted glorious deeds of former kings. Elves, fairies, goblins and trolls, even the sea people in their cities on the bottom of the sea, would all be under his command.
Slowly, he went up the dais and slowly sat down on the king’s chair, as his people simply called the throne. A sharp pain pierced his heart when he realized that his father had been the last king to claim this throne. What have I done? His hands began to shake, and he felt the sudden urge to run away, not realizing that the druids had begun their chanting to start the ceremony.
But then, there was the touch of soft, female fingers on his shoulder, and a surge of magic ran through his body. It confused his senses and made him feel sick for a moment, but then his mind cleared. He relaxed, fully convinced that he had done the right thing, freeing his kingdom of a ruler who had become old and weak.
“My queen,” he murmured, looking up into his mother’s ageless face, more beautiful than anything he could imagine. She had emerged from the antechamber behind the dais, her steps so graceful that he had not heard her until she stood at his side. “All is well, my son. Now talk to your people,” she said.
Ruadan raised his hand, and the great hall fell silent.
“Tuatha Dé Danann,” he said, and neither his face nor his voice betrayed the inner turmoil he had fought just moments before. “Today I’ll crown myself your king. Now I ask you – do I have your love and allegiance?” He did not enjoy the courtier’s applause and cheering voices since he knew that his troll guards ensured that nobody would dare to challenge his right to succession, so that nothing would delay the ceremony. According to the law, an elven king still needed his people’s approval to be crowned.
“I, Ruadan, will bring the kingdom back to its former glory. Too long have we allowed the kingdom to be weakened by those who wished to govern their own people, defending their own borders without subjecting to the law. First we’ll conquer the Fae who haven’t agreed to become a part of the kingdom yet, and they will answer to my royal call. The dark elves of the wild lands in the south, the giants, the seafolk and the creatures of the underworld, they all will bend their knees and swear their oath to me.
“Then, the guild of magicians who still live in their hidden valley and answer to no one, not even their rightful king. I will grant mercy to those who succumb to the law and agree that all usage of magic will be controlled by the council of elders. Stripped of their honors and selfish pride, the sorcerers will become what they are meant to be – servants to the people, helping them whenever the council deems it wise to use magic, considering the dangers.
“Finally, I will reach out into the world of humans. Fools as they are, unaware that only a thin curtain separates them from the Fae, and that we can cross the threshold any time we want. Their ignorance and disbelief makes them easy targets. The strong ones will be useful as slaves to build the new palace I’m planning. The rest of them will surrender or die, like they are destined. King Bres has kept the peace for many years, but he has left his people weak and unprotected against any enemy who should choose to attack the elven realms. Now, the reign of Ruadan has begun.”
Without waiting for the appraising noise that would unerringly follow, he stretched out his hand for the golden crown that one of the druids held up on a silken pillow, ready to crown himself in the time-honored tradition of all the great kings before him.
“Nice speech, brother,” a deep, melodic voice broke the silence. Ruadan’s hand fell to his side, and he turned towards the crowd, which had parted to make way for Elathan, who had dropped his hooded cloak to the floor. A collective gasp went through the elven nobles as they recognized their prince. Behind him, the Prince’s Men had cornered the armored trolls and held them captive with their swords while the prince walked up to the dais. “You seem to have great plans. But I fear that your efforts were in vain. As King Bres’s firstborn son, I have come to claim my right to the throne.”
The trolls’ snarls and growls were the only sounds in the hall while the courtiers turned to the throne again.
Ruadan looked at him skeptically, lifting one arched black brow. “Interesting attempt, traitor. I wouldn’t have expected you to come back after you killed our noble father. Now I suggest that you order your men to release my guards and let yourself be taken to the dungeon where you will patiently wait for your trial and execution.”
“And why would I want to do that?” Elathan asked.
“Because my trolls found this worthless creature, shortly before the ceremony. She was wandering around in the tunnels under the castle.” Ruadan gestured, and one of his servants opened the door to the antechamber where a screaming and kicking Igraine was tied to a wooden beam. “I assume this shapely human belongs to you?” At his side, Breena smiled sweetly.
Elathan narrowed his eyes, but the expression of his faces stayed unmoved. “A slave? I have never seen her before,” he said coldly.
“So you won’t object if we kill her right on the spot,” Ruadan suggested. The servant pulled out a dagger and held it to Igraine’s throat, waiting for his master’s order.
Elathan closed his eyes shortly. “I thought I told you to stay back in the woods,” he said, loud enough for Igraine to hear him. Then he called out to his men. “Release the trolls.” Looking at Ruadan, he nodded. “You will let her leave unharmed, accompanied by my men,” he said. “Swear it in front of this court. In return, I will not challenge your right to be king again, and I’ll declare myself guilty at my trial without further resistance.”
“Agreed,” Ruadan answered. “I swear. Now seize him."
* * * * *
As soon as the servant cut her loose, Igraine ran straight to the door to enter the great hall. “No!” she cried. “You can’t take him! He is not guilty! Elathan didn’t kill the king, he was with me!”
Her voice was suffocated by the deafening noise that was coming from the hall when all hell broke loose. A horde of trolls surrounded Elathan, who simply stood there with a bored smile, presenting his wrists to be bound while they took his sword from him. Women screamed, Fae of all races flew from the throne room not to be trampled down by the furious troll guards, driven by their instinct to kill once it had been awakened. Elathan’s warriors stormed into the antechamber, gathering around Igraine to protect her.
A wall of tall, muscular elves stood in her way now. Out of her mind with anger, she tried to push them away, helplessly hitting against their metal armor with her bare hands. “Go back!” she shrieked, “Defend your prince, for heaven’s sake! What kind of guard are you if you just let them take him away?”
“We must, my Lady,” one of them said, a young elf with golden hair and sunburned skin. She thought that she had heard the others call him Kalan. “We have to follow my Prince’s orders.” But when she looked up into his face, she saw that his eyes were filled with unshed tears.
Igraine wanted to answer, trying to change his mind. Right then, she looked over his shoulder into the throne room and saw Elathan, with a troll’s short, broad sword pressed to his neck. They had removed his armor and stripped him down to the waist to wrap heavy iron chains around his body. She saw that the metal burned his skin, but he didn’t flinch or move at all. The Fae have an intense dislike for iron, she remembered from a book she once read, and now she knew why.
The prince’s face was as hard and unmoving as a stone, so different from the carefree, enamoring elf who had told her stories by the fire at night. Their days in the Enchanted Forest seemed to be ages away now, like a wondrous dream that had ended all too soon. Feeling her gaze on him, he turned his head slightly and looked her right in the eyes, and just for the merest moment they were aflame with all the love he felt for her. Go, Igraine, she heard his deep voice inside her mind, and it wasn’t a plea. It was a command.
A strong arm reached around her waist and pulled her away. She broke into breathless sobs when the door to the great hall was closed, separating her from Elathan forever. But Calatin was there, holding her in his embrace while she cried desperately, aware that there was nothing she could do to prevent what would happen. They would kill her prince, and he’d die alone and dishonored. It was her fault. He had ordered her to remain in the woods, waiting at the entrance to the secret tunnels that led into the castle. But she could not endure staying away and followed at a safe distance, fearing that she could not fulfill Aon’s prophecy and save him when his life was in danger. Now her own foolish actions had sealed his fate.