The End Times, page 30
‘You are queen no longer, Morathi,’ said Yvraine, ghosting softly across the glade, her steps as light as settling snowflakes. ‘The Everqueen has returned and I shall rule with Bel Shanaar, just as Aenarion reigned with my mother.’
‘You will wed Bel Shanaar?’ asked Morathi, turning on Yvraine.
‘As Aenarion wed my mother, so the Everqueen will marry the Phoenix King, and ever shall it be down all of the ages,’ Yvraine declared. ‘I cannot marry Malekith, my half-brother, no matter what his entitlement or qualities to succeed his father.’
The debate continued long into the night, but it was Malekith’s decree that any force sent to bolster the defence of Avelorn would be wasted. While Tyrion’s focus was on the Everqueen it made sense to gain ground in the southern and eastern kingdoms, and perhaps to even take Ellyrion so that Tyrion would have foes to the east and west of his position.
As dawn lit the night sky, clear clarions were heard to the east. Suspecting attack, the defenders of Lothern rushed to their posts, while Malekith and his princes alighted on their dragons and took to the skies. What they saw to the east was almost like illusion, a semi-real phantasm of the dawn light.
An army marched to Lothern, but not of Tyrion or his commanders. Maidens with bows and spears led the way, and on a unicorn in their midst came Alarielle herself, flanked by companies of leaf-cloaked archers and stag riders. A morning mist followed them, creating an otherworldly air as though the army marched not on the ground but through it, passing hedge and thicket without impediment. As the sun rose higher the apparitions took more shape, their gonfalons and banners snapping in the breeze, their regiments marked out in summer and autumnal colours, greens and browns and deepest reds.
Malekith and Imrik sped back to the Sapphire Palace to make ready for a proper welcome to the Everqueen while the other dragons flew escort to the eagles and drakes that accompanied the combined army of Avelorn and Athel Loren.
The gates were opened for the Everqueen and, followed by her handmaidens, she entered the city along streets that were littered with hastily-procured leaves and petals, while choirs of children sang hymns in praise of Isha. Only once before had Alarielle come to Lothern, to publicly wed Finubar when he had been chosen as Phoenix King, and there was rampant rumour in the city regarding this unheralded arrival.
Malekith, who had no experience of how these matters were handled on Ulthuan, allowed himself to be guided by Teclis’s counsel. In the wide plaza before the Sapphire Palace a stage was quickly raised and bedecked with garlands of such flowers and plants that could be found in the palace and the gardens of the local nobles, while word was sent to those same ranking elves to attend a feast that afternoon.
Alarielle’s procession through the city was stately, and for Malekith thankfully slow, so that by the time the Everqueen and her entourage arrived at the Sapphire Palace the inner plazas of the city were thronged with princes and nobility ready to cheer her in welcome.
Following Teclis’s advice Malekith had left his immense iron throne in the audience chamber, and instead two ornately carved chairs, equal in size, were placed at the centre of the stage. Standing to one side of these, the Phoenix King, his glamour-image resplendent in dragon armour and swirling scarlet cloak, waited for Alarielle to complete her parade.
‘Bow, your majesty,’ whispered Teclis, as Alarielle mounted the steps to Malekith’s left.
‘What?’ snapped the king. ‘Why?’
‘She is the Everqueen, greater than the Phoenix King, and you seek her commendation,’ Teclis said hurriedly. ‘Your majesty.’
Malekith almost refused, thinking it beneath him. Alarielle was no more a great queen of the elves than any of the fake kings she and her foremothers had endorsed in his place over the centuries. However, when he saw the light of Ghyran that shone from the Everqueen, highlighting a beauty that was ethereal and entrancing, he allowed his old charm to surface and did not bow, but sank to one knee.
Surprised, the Everqueen stopped a few paces away while her handmaidens and grim-faced guard lined the square. Malekith had already placed warriors from the Shadowfire Guard on all the roofs and surrounding buildings lest an agent of Tyrion try to assassinate the Everqueen, but Alarielle was used to seeing to her own fortunes.
‘Welcome to Lothern,’ said the Phoenix King, standing up to offer his hand.
Alarielle looked at it, and Malekith realised that the glamour had no effect on her. She saw the truth of what he was, a haggard half-corpse in blackened armour. He left the hand out and tried to smile, though his helm hid his withered lips.
Alarielle took the hand without comment and stepped beside the Phoenix King, turning her radiant smile on the crowd. Their cheers shook the buildings as she nodded regally, her gaze passing over everyone in her audience, seeming to touch all present with a glance of wry humour or earnest intent as their expectations warranted.
Releasing her grip, Alarielle moved to the front of the stage and held out her hands for quiet. A break in the clouds bathed her in golden sunlight and a still descended, so that not even the birds nesting in the eaves made any sound. Her voice when she spoke was as clear as running water, calm but strong, carrying on the wind easily.
‘Great are the tribulations that have troubled our lands of late, and the turmoil to come is greater still. Yet in adversity can also be union, and so it is that with profound pleasure I can tell you that the houses of Avelorn and Athel Loren have been united once again. Those that were estranged are now as one.’
She gestured to the wood elves that had followed her into the square, and there was a ripple of polite applause for them. Alarielle straightened, her hands resting lightly on her girdle, and took a deep breath. Malekith could sense her nervousness now, though she did not look back at him, and knew what troubled her thoughts.
‘And of other unions I must speak. Divided are the kingdoms of Ulthuan, and divided are the loyalties of their princes. This must end, and so I have sent my maiden guard to roam wide across Ulthuan bearing the declaration I speak to you today.’ She then turned a little and beckoned to Malekith, who dutifully stepped forward. ‘As is the right and proper tradition, Malekith of Nagarythe, prince of Ulthuan, heir to Aenarion the Defender, has entered the sacred fires of Asuryan and been reborn. When his prosecution of the current war has successfully driven out the dark forces that would see us plunged into a nightmare of blood and eternal night, we shall be united in marriage, Phoenix King and Everqueen as ever it has been since the time of Aenarion.’
More rapturous cheers and claps thundered across the plaza. Someone started to chant Malekith’s name, and the shout was taken up by others. To hear voices raised in praise of him in such a fashion was something he had not experienced for a long lifetime. Spears and halberds were raised, swords clashed against shields, adding to the tumult of adulation. Yet for all the noise of his supporters there were many in the plaza that did not join the celebration. He saw elves slinking away through the streets and alleys with backwards glances, concern and distaste on their faces. Kouran had noticed them too, it seemed, for almost imperceptibly groups of former Black Guard broke from the crowd and followed these dissidents.
When the clamour had died down, Malekith and Alarielle walked together back to the Sapphire Palace, but once concealed within the gates the Everqueen took her leave of the Phoenix King and retired with her handmaidens to the south halls. Malekith returned to his chambers to assimilate the day’s events and before long the guards called out the arrival of Teclis and Imrik.
Malekith sent for refreshments for his advisors and sat silent in his throne while they debated the course of events that had led to Alarielle’s arrival. Orion was dead, all reports claimed, slain by Tyrion but not before the King in the Woods, the incarnation of Kurnous the Hunter, had gravely wounded the prince with his spear. Many other heroes of Avelorn and Athel Loren had died in the forests of Withelan, but a great toll had also been taken of Tyrion’s forces. Morathi’s attempt to claim the power of the Everqueen had again been thwarted though Avelorn itself was now abandoned.
‘Alarielle remains uncertain,’ Malekith declared. ‘Why else would she pronounce that the war will end before we are wed? It is a soft proclamation, one that our rivals will seize upon as proof that Alarielle only backs me out of coercion.’
‘Her words are more significant even than that, your majesty,’ said Teclis. ‘She talked of reuniting Ulthuan with Athel Loren. All three of our split kindreds are again becoming one. Druchii, asur and asrai, all of them returned to Ulthuan now, under your rule.’
‘It is inevitable, is it not?’ Malekith tapped his fingers on the arm of the throne. ‘I am Asuryan reborn, Aenarion’s heir, the king of kings. Not for me the false throne of Ulthuan. When I prevail I shall be ruler of all the elves.’
‘A war still lies between us and that eventuality,’ said Imrik. ‘The endorsement of the Everqueen stands in our favour and her troops are well-received, but the greater part of Ulthuan is still loyal to Tyrion. While he is wounded we would do well to strike fast and make what ground we can, spreading the word of Alarielle’s blessing.’
‘Summon the princes and generals to council tonight,’ commanded Malekith. ‘Come dawn the last war for Ulthuan will begin.’
The next morning the combined army of Malekith and Alarielle marched forth from Lothern, the Phoenix King and Everqueen at its head, one a figure of dark majesty, the other the embodiment of life and light. The banners of Ulthuan, Naggaroth and Athel Loren streamed behind them and the host that followed numbered tens of thousands.
The war that followed was a terrible time, fought as bitterly and savagely as when Malekith had first attempted to seize the Phoenix Throne. Wherever Tyrion rode the Shadow of Khaine followed, filling elves with a bloodlust and desire for battle that brought them flocking to his banner. To counter this Malekith and the Everqueen seemed to be everywhere, calling on the elves of Ulthuan to swear allegiance to the new Phoenix King.
Malekith’s army had one great advantage over Tyrion’s, and that was Alarielle’s mastery of the World Roots. These ancient magical paths were the means by which the warriors of Athel Loren had come to Avelorn, and they allowed bodies of troops to move from kingdom to kingdom, across the mountains and Inner Sea, undetected and unopposed.
It was well that the Phoenix King’s host had such advantage. Though victories and defeats seemed in equal measure between the two sides, always it seemed that Tyrion’s army was swelled by every conflict and Malekith’s diminished.
Too many are the tales to be told of that bloody affair, of armies routed and scores of dragons duelling in the skies. Morai-heg laid many a twist and turn on fate’s path over the coming seasons, so that the battle for Ulthuan was marked as much by treachery and rebellion as it was valour and sacrifice.
Most notable of these events was when Korhil, who had led Tyrion’s army to the walls of Lothern, broke free of Tyrion’s grip and Morathi’s enchantments. In a daring episode, the captain of the White Lions took the Widowmaker and attempted to bring it to Malekith’s camp.
Morathi’s hunters scoured the wilds for Korhil and the stolen Sword of Khaine but in a twist that would have made Morai-heg cackle with joy, they were set upon by rival Khainites under the command of Hellebron. The hag queen had finally abandoned Har Ganeth, and having learned that her favoured assassin Shadowblade had been ensorcelled by Morathi when he attacked Malekith, sought to avenge herself on the Hag Sorceress and her consort. Long was the rivalry between Har Ganeth and Ghrond and now that enmity was given full freedom. Cothique and Yvresse were awash with blood as the two sects of devotees to the Lord of Murder tried to outdo each other in their dedication and bloody sacrifice, but it availed Korhil nought, for he was captured and the Widowmaker returned to Tyrion. For his bravery the Lionmane was beheaded with his own axe.
The fighting moved to the mountains of Saphery, where the vortex of magic swirled strong and beasts of all size and manner were brought to the battles by both sides – manticores and chimeras, griffons and hydras. While spell and counter-spell lashed across the peaks the roars and bellows of the beastmasters’ charges heralded a deadly confrontation of fangs and claws, scorpion-stings and petrifying stares. The skies were split by thunderbolts and the earth trembled with the summoning of elementals.
The threat of assassination and treachery was rife. Though the direct attempts on Malekith or Alarielle were few, greater were the desertions and small coups. Garrisons would hail for Tyrion and ambush supply caravans destined for the armies, while ship’s captains and town elders would transport and hide the agents of Morathi, conveying the spies into the heart of Malekith’s holdings in return for promised riches and power when Tyrion was victorious.
Word often reached Malekith’s ear of a prince’s wavering loyalty or of seditious words spread through the companies of a particular general. Having learned from the fiasco of Brackblood’s execution Malekith did not act overtly against these naysayers and faint-hearts, but sent them to the areas where the fighting was hardest, allowing Tyrion’s warriors to cull the dissenters.
And throughout the war Malekith and Tyrion avoided matching each other blade to blade. Both knew that they were evenly matched. Malekith had fresh experience and his pride still smarted from his last confrontation with the Dragon of Cothique, while Tyrion was wary of Malekith’s new-found power and reforged blade, reminded that in the old myths Khaine was laid low by Asuryan’s wrath.
Even when by miscalculation or poor fortune the two found themselves on the same battlefield they would be circumspect in their fighting, such clashes becoming brief skirmishes before both sides withdrew.
At Tor Ellian Malekith’s army faced a disastrous defeat and only the arrival of warriors and spirits from Athel Loren along the World Roots allowed the Phoenix King’s forces to disengage in any semblance of order. Alarielle herself had almost been slain and the elves from beyond the Great Ocean vowed that they would never leave her side.
Tor Ellian signalled a shift in fortunes for Malekith. No matter what he tried, still Tyrion’s forces prevailed more than they lost. Engulfed by the Shadow of Khaine they would fight to the last, selling their deaths dearly while Malekith’s warriors were forced to retreat again and again to fight another day. With each encounter the Shadow of Khaine spread to more soldiers and princes once loyal to Malekith, sapping the strength of his hosts even more.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
A NEW ENDING
His desperation growing, Malekith sent Teclis across Ulthuan, demanding of the princes not yet committed to show themselves loyal to the Phoenix Throne, in battle. A great many of the nobles finally sent forth their households, but as many that declared for Malekith were matched by the number that moved to the camp of Tyrion, and an equal number refused to pick between two equally bloodthirsty tyrants.
No matter how bloody a pursuit became, nor if an army was outmanoeuvred and on the brink of destruction, there was one kingdom of Ulthuan that neither side violated. Nagarythe, a fog-shrouded desolation, was home to the Shadow King and his aesenar and neither side dared the borders of Aenarion’s ancient realm for fear of rousing the wrath of Alith Anar. Now Malekith risked the Shadow King’s neutrality and despatched Teclis to seek audience with the self-appointed ruler of Nagarythe.
It was with some trepidation that Malekith awaited his emissary’s return. In the guise of a flock of crows Teclis came back to the camp of the Phoenix King as the army was camped on the shore of the Inner Sea close to the border between Eataine and Saphery. Malekith knew immediately from Teclis’s expression that his advances had been rebuffed.
‘The ranks of the aesenar swell, as they did when the Anars first raised their banner in opposition to Morathi before the Sundering, your majesty,’ said the mage. ‘Tens of thousands of refugees from across the kingdoms have sought sanctuary under his banner, turned aside from the other kingdoms.’
‘A force that could swing the war yet he sits on his hands like a coward,’ snarled Malekith. ‘Does he not know that Tyrion and Morathi will slaughter them all once they have secured Ulthuan?’
‘He does not care, I think,’ admitted Teclis. ‘He is a bitter spirit, and your treachery still burns cold in his heart.’
‘My treachery?’ The king’s protest was like iron scraping on stone. ‘The Anars swore their oaths to me, delivered Anlec to me, and then they turned on me. He owes me an army!’
‘Nevertheless, there will be no army from Nagarythe, your majesty,’ said Teclis. The two of them walked to Malekith’s pavilion and stopped under the shade of the great awning over the entrance. Servants brought Teclis wine but he waved them away and instead imbibed one of his constitution restoratives.
‘We are being beaten, nephew,’ Malekith said quietly. ‘The time fast approaches when I must risk all or we shall lose by degrees everything we have until there is no army left to fight with.’
‘Personal combat?’ Teclis flexed his fingers as though they were stiff and rolled his shoulders with a pained expression. As much as anyone the war had taken its toll on him. ‘Do you think you can win?’
‘I think the first problem is drawing Tyrion into a fight he cannot avoid,’ said Malekith. ‘His army grows stronger every day, and with each the reasons to match his blade against mine lessen. I have misjudged this war. The Shadow of Khaine lies too deeply over our people, and loyalty to the Phoenix Throne is scarce.’
‘What do you suggest, your majesty?’
‘Do not be coy, nephew.’ Malekith stepped inside the pavilion and Teclis followed. He did not speak again until they were alone in his audience chamber. ‘You have always harboured a grander plan for the conclusion of this effort, have you not? Do not seek to dissemble any longer – the time is upon us for frank discussion.’
