The snow continued relentlessly for the whole day and into the night. Alith spared himself only short breaks from his walking, taking shelter beneath overhangs and in craggy defiles to drink spice-seasoned water from his flask and eat a little of the carefully wrapped rabbit and bird meat he had cooked over the previous days. As twilight fought through the thick clouds he looked for somewhere to stay for the night.
After much searching Alith located a small knot of trees further down the mountainside. He climbed into one of the larger pines and quickly wove a rudimentary roof from the branches above. With the worst of the snow kept away, he sat with his back to the trunk, his legs along the branch, and fell into a light sleep.
Alith woke before dawn and was suddenly aware that he was being watched. Opening his eyes just a fraction, he saw a large crow perched on the end of the branch. With a wry smile, he opened his eyes fully and looked around for Elthyrior.
The raven herald was squatting in the snow a little way off, rousing a small fire into life. A thin wisp of smoke drifted up through the branches. Elthyrior looked up as Alith stood.
“I am happy to see that my warnings do not fall upon deaf ears,” he said.
“I am sorry if I was harsh when we last met,” said Alith, dropping down from the tree. “Often one knows that something is amiss but refuses to look upon the truth. I knew that all was not well with Ashniel, but would not believe myself. One should not shoot the messenger if the tidings are bad.”
Elthyrior waved Alith closer.
“I wish that I could bring better news on occasion, but it is not the task of the raven heralds to be bearers of happiness,” he said. “In war and hardship our order was founded, and so our eyes and ears are ready for that which brings misery not joy.”
“It must be lonely,” said Alith, crouching beside the fire. A thought occurred to him. “Is it safe to have a flame? The smoke might be seen.”
“There is nobody to see it, not here,” said Elthyrior. “You chose your path well, keeping high up the mountains. Where do you intend to go from here?”
“I thought to head south for another two days until I come to the Naganath. Then follow the river west before turning south towards Tor Anroc.”
“I would counsel against that,” said Elthyrior, shaking his head. “Bel Shanaar has his army stationed on the Naganath, watching the border. There is little chance your journey to Tor Anroc will be unobserved. Should you be found crossing from Nagarythe you will be taken into custody and brought before Bel Shanaar in full view.”
Alith swore gently.
“I do not know Tiranoc,” he said. “Now that we speak of it, it seems foolish that I could reach the Phoenix King without suspicion. Even if I make it to the city, how do I contact Bel Shanaar?”
“I have no answers for your second question, but for the first I would say to keep on the southern path until you come to the Pass of the Eagle. Turn westwards and head to Tor Anroc from there. Only a few days to the south the weather is more welcoming and some travellers still pass between Ellyrion and Tiranoc at this time of the year. I am not saying you will go without being noticed, but coming from the east will attract less attention than the north.”
“Thank you,” said Alith. “I do not know how I would ever survive without you to guide me.”
“Then you must learn, for I cannot be relied upon,” Elthyrior replied. His voice was quiet but stern. “You are not my only concern, and you are an adult. I am your ally but I cannot be your guardian and guide forever. You know the right paths to take, but you argue with yourself constantly. Trust your instincts, Alith. Morai-heg speaks to all of us in our dreams and feelings. If you do not trust her, and many are wise not to, then find another in whose light you are happy to follow.”
Alith considered this for a moment, warming his hands at the fire.
“You did not answer my first point,” said Alith. “Are you lonely?”
As if in reply, the crow cawed and flapped down to land upon Elthyrior’s shoulder, nestling into the raven feathers that made up his cloak.
“Loneliness is an indulgence for those with the time to spare for it,” said Elthyrior. “Some fill the emptiness with the meaningless chatter of those around them. Some of us fill it with a greater purpose, more comforting than any mortal company.”
“Then tell me one other thing,” said Alith, seizing the moment of companionship he felt with the raven herald. “Have you ever loved?”
Elthyrior’s face was a mask as he replied.
“Love was taken from my family in the time of Aenarion. Perhaps it may return before I die, but I think it unlikely. There will be little love for any of us in the years ahead.”
“Why? What have you seen?”
“I dream of black flames,” said Elthyrior, gazing deep into the fire. When he turned his attention to Alith, the Anar prince flinched from the icy stare of those emerald eyes. “It is not a good omen.”
Elthyrior travelled south with Alith for the best part of the next day, leaving him just before dusk.
“I cannot be found within the borders of Tiranoc,” the raven herald told Alith. “They will think me a cultist, and my pledge is to the protection of Nagarythe and it is here that my powers are strongest. From here you can easily find your way to Eagle Pass.”
The snow stopped at about the same time and Alith pressed southwards into the night while the going was fair. His path took him across several streams and a broad river—the headwaters of the Naganath that marked the border between Tiranoc and Nagarythe. Crossing the water, he moved from the realm of Prince Malekith into the kingdom of Bel Shanaar. He truly was on foreign soil.
Looking westwards the sky was clearing and out on the plains many miles away he saw the dim flickers of camp fires. There the armies of the Phoenix King watched their neighbour. It seemed that Bel Shanaar was not yet convinced by the twenty years of peace that had followed Malekith’s return. Alith was beginning to share his doubts.
—
A Dark Plan Revealed
Tiranoc was certainly warmer than Elanardris. The wind kept steady from the west, bringing air from the hot climes of Lustria across the seas and holding the wintry chill at bay. The sky was overcast though and the square that adjoined the great palace of the Phoenix King was all but empty. A few elves hurried from one place or another, eager to spend little time out of the warmth of the city’s thousands of fireplaces.
Alith sat on a marble bench close to the wall surrounding the plaza, looking at the ceremonial gateway that led into the palace. Two white, circular towers soared above, each with a pointed gilded roof and capped with braziers that burnt with magical blue fire—a sign that the Phoenix King was in residence.
The city was utterly different to Anlec. Tor Anroc had been built and rebuilt in times of peace, of winding roads and open spaces, while the Naggarothi capital clung to its warlike past with its forbidding walls and garrison houses. Built around and into a solitary mountain that speared up from the plain of Tiranoc, Tor Anroc was partly opened to the sky and partly a maze of winding tunnels lit with silver lanterns. There was colour and light everywhere Alith looked, utterly unlike the grim greys and black of Anlec’s naked stone.
He didn’t like it at all. The city was for show and little else, like the enormous gatehouse to the palace. The city was dominated by the manses of princes and other nobles and vast embassies containing lords and ladies from the other kingdoms of Ulthuan. Most of the folk of Tiranoc dwelt in towns that surrounded the capital, riding in by wain and horse each day and returning home at nightfall. Only those close to the Phoenix King could afford to stay in the city.
Alith had been in Tor Anroc for three days. He had followed Elthyrior’s instructions and travelled along the roads from Eagle Pass. He had been relieved if not also a little disturbed that his entrance into the city amongst a group of merchants went unremarked. It was fortunate for his personal circumstance, but it was clear that after so many travails across the isle t
he vigilance against the cults and their agents was weak, even here where the ruler of the elves lived. There were guards at the gates and on the walls, but they watched the masses passing with only vague interest.
For three days Alith had come to the plaza and thought on how he might enter the palace and contact the Phoenix King in secret. He had listened to the market stall traders gossiping and the exchange of rumours between the visiting nobles picking at the merchants’ wares. Fashions in clothing and literature, talk of the colonies and the romances of the princes and princesses of Ulthuan dominated, and there was little spoken about Nagarythe, or Prince Malekith. It occurred to Alith that the Naggarothi were treated like distant cousins, occasionally wayward and attracting attention but otherwise left to their own means. If one did not pry too hard, one would not see things that might be unpleasant.
The hosts of Tiranoc camped close to the banks of the Naganath told Alith a different story and he was astounded that having such a garrison in place caused so little remark amongst the Tiranocii. Even Morathi’s imprisonment was old news and Alith had not heard her name spoken once in the time he had been in the city.
Alith admitted that he was at a loss concerning what to do next. His paranoia was such that he was loath to announce himself to any but Bel Shanaar, though as a prince of Nagarythe he could have simply walked up to the gates and demanded an audience with the Phoenix King. He had caught word that Bel Shanaar regularly held open sessions during which any elf could petition him, but also had detected an undercurrent that such audiences were not truly open and all petitioners were questioned and vetted prior to being allowed to come before the Phoenix Throne. A public audience would do Alith little good even if he could gain entry—the hall would surely be full of others to see Bel Shanaar and he would have no privacy to express his concerns to the Phoenix King.
As midday came, the market began to fill with elves as they made their way in from the towns and farms around the city. Alith wandered amongst the growing crowds, his grey and brown wilderness clothes at odds with the swirling robes and gaily coloured dresses of the urbane elite of Tiranoc. Fortunately most took him for a servant of some kind and paid him no attention as individuals in power often do when close to those of lesser station.
It was this invisibility that gave Alith an idea.
That night he stayed in the city, though the boarding house cost him a good proportion of the silver coins his father had furnished him with. After dark, when the gates were closed, the city took on a different life. Lanterns of red and blue sprang into life and those more modest elves who still lived in Tor Anroc finished their labours and came out. The wine houses threw open their doors and cellars and the merchants packed up their stalls to patronise these establishments.
Alith entered one of these drinking halls close to the palace and was pleased to see a variety of customers in the livery of the Phoenix King. Some were ageing retainers, most were young pages, maids, ostlers, cleaners, cooks and other mundane chore-workers looking for a way to establish themselves in court life. Alith picked a likely group—three male elves and four female—and bought a generous pitcher of hot spiced wine. This cost most of his remaining money and he hoped the expense was not in vain. He filled a tray with eight red-enamelled clay goblets, and the jug and sat down with the palace servants.
“Hello,” he said, handing out the cups. “I’m Atenithor. I’m new to the city and I’m wondering if you could help.”
“Is that an Ellyrian accent?” asked one of the maidens as Alith began to pour the wine. She was petite, for an elf, and her smile was warm and genuine. Alith took her to be a little younger than him, but only by a decade or so.
“Chracian,” he said, feeling that if someone knew the difference they would already have known he was Naggarothi. He guessed that few folk of Nagarythe would be found in the city.
“I’m Milandith,” said the girl, extending a hand. Alith shook it and there were peals of laughter from those around the table.
“One kisses the hand in greeting,” said one of the male youths. He took Alith’s hand and quickly pursed his lips to the middle knuckle. “Like so. I am Liaserin. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Atenithor.”
Alith returned the gesture, trying not to look self-conscious. In Naggaroth, a simple handshake was considered sufficient greeting, and perhaps an embrace for those who were family or well-regarded.
“It seems I have already displayed my ignorance.” Alith laughed off his embarrassment. “It is a good job that I have some friends to steer me straight. I was a hunter, you see, and one does not get much time to learn the niceties of city life on a mountainside.”
He then went around the table kissing the hands of the others, nodding his head in deference as they told him their names.
“What brings a hunter to Tor Anroc?” asked Lamendas, a female elf that Alith judged to be a little older than the others, perhaps in her eightieth or ninetieth year.
“Ambition!” Alith declared with a grin and raised eyebrows. “My father is a famous hunter in the south of Chrace, but it seems that the princes don’t value his work as much as when he was young. I realised that if I am to make a name for myself it was either Tor Anroc or the colonies, and I’ve never been one for ships!”
There was more laughter, friendlier. Alith could feel his new companions warming to his presence and continued.
“Naturally, I am looking for a position at the palace. Might I enquire how one goes about securing such employment?”
“Well, that depends on what you can do,” said Lamendas. “Not much need for a hunter in a palace.”
“Butchery,” Alith replied quickly. “A hunter learns to use a knife as well as a bow, and so I thought perhaps I might make myself useful in the kitchens.”
“You might be in luck,” said Achitherir, a boy of perhaps no more than thirty years. “The cooks are always looking for more help. Every banquet the Phoenix King holds is attended to by more guests than the last. You should speak to Malithrandin, the Steward of the Fires.”
“Malithrandin?”
Milandith, who was sat on Alith’s right, leaned close to him and pointed towards a table close to the fireplace. There were six elves of more senior years arguing intently over a piece of paper. Her other hand brushed Alith’s thigh gently but deliberately as she sat back.
“My father, he sits with the other stewards,” she said, placing a hand on Alith’s knee beneath the table. “I could introduce you if you like.”
“That would be most helpful,” said Alith, making to stand. Milandith’s grip on his knee tightened and forced him to stay seated.
“Not now, the stewards would be most perturbed to have their leisure interrupted by us,” she said. “I will take you to him in the morning.”
“Where might I find you in the morning?”
“Well, if you pour me another glass of wine,” Milandith purred, “you’ll find me lying next to you…”
Magical light flickered from the lantern in the corner of Milandith’s small room, dappling everything in a muted yellow and green. Alith lay staring at the ceiling, feeling the warmth from Milandith beside him. He wondered if he had made a terrible mistake. It would have been unforgivable for him to sleep with Ashniel before they were wed and Caenthras would have been right to demand serious reparations for such an act, not to mention the dishonour Alith would have brought to the Anar name. Perhaps things were different for the lower orders? There had certainly been no hint of reproach or suspicion from the other servants when Milandith had brought him back to her quarters in one of the palace’s long wings.
A thought occurred to Alith that brought a smile to his face. What would be Milandith’s reaction if she learnt that she had bedded a prince of Ulthuan, heir to one of the most powerful families in Nagarythe, no less? As he dwelt on this, his mood darkened again. The encounter, passionate and honest, had been nothing like his dealings with Ashniel. There had been none of the coquettish flirtation and implied physicali
ty, simply the mutual desire of two people. Maybe Ashniel had deliberately held back her attentions, to lead him on and tease rather than fulfil?
He felt Milandith stir next to him and looked to his left, letting his gaze linger on the smooth curve of her naked back and her thick curls of brown hair spilling onto the golden pillow. She rolled towards Alith, eyes half-opened.
“I would have thought your exertions would have left you ready for sleep,” she murmured, stroking a hand across his bare chest.
Alith leant across and kissed her on the cheek.
“I have a lot to think about,” he said. “The city seems to offer many charms that a simple hunter is not used to.”
Milandith smiled and stretched, allowing herself to fall onto him, her head on his chest. She curled her fingers into his hair.
“The city has many delights to be enjoyed, but I would have thought that this one was not new to you,” she said sleepily.
Alith did not reply and she looked up at his face. Her eyes widened in shock and she covered her mouth, suppressing a light laugh.
“I did not know Chracian hunters were so chaste!” she giggled. “Had I known, I would have been more… gentle.”
Alith laughed with her, feeling no embarrassment at his inexperience.
“If you could not tell that this was my first time, then I must have some natural talent!”
Milandith kissed him on the lips, cupping his face in her hands.
“Beginner’s luck, perhaps?” she said. “Of course, there is a simple way to find out.”
Any other thoughts fled Alith’s mind as he held Milandith close; Nagarythe, Caenthras, Ashniel, the cults, all banished in a moment of peace and contentment.
[Sundering 02] - Shadow King Page 15
