[Sundering 02] - Shadow King

by Gav Thorpe - (ebook by Undead)

  One of the captains of the Tiranoc guard stepped forwards, somewhat cautiously, hand on sword hilt at his waist. Palthrain intercepted the warrior and put a hand to his chest.

  “Let them go, Tiranoc is well rid of them,” said the chamberlain. Without incident the Naggarothi left the plaza down the tunnel-road to the east, and then were out of sight.

  With that, Prince Malekith passed out of Tor Anroc for the final time.

  There was a deathly hush in the grand hall and an air of reverence surrounded the two bodies laid in state upon marble slabs either side of the Phoenix Throne. Though Bel Shanaar’s death remained contentious, he had ruled over Ulthuan for one thousand, six hundred and sixty-eight years and was accorded due respect from all present. Thousands of elves had filed past the Phoenix King’s remains, preserved by the attentions of priests dedicated to Ereth Khial, the blemishes of his poisoning removed by priestesses of Isha. Alith noted that Elodhir’s body wore a collared robe that concealed his neck and so was unable to confirm the wound he had thought he had seen in the carriage.

  The doors had been closed after five days and only the household of the princes remained. Alith was in attendance to Yrianath, as were other servants to their masters and mistresses. The hall was almost empty, for many nobles from Tiranoc had travelled with the Phoenix King to the council of princes and not returned alive. The bodies of some had been brought back from the Isle of Flame and were with their families in the manses around the huge palace. Some had not returned at all and their fate remained unknown.

  “A grievous wound has been done to Tiranoc,” declared Yrianath. He seemed just as stunned as when he had first looked upon Elodhir’s corpse. Beside him were Lilian, Elodhir’s widow, and the dead prince’s son, Anataris. She was draped head-to-foot in white robes of mourning, her face concealed behind a long veil, the babe in her arms swathed in white cloth. Of her expression, Alith could see nothing.

  “Tiranoc will not stand idle in these times,” Yrianath continued. Though his words were meant to be defiant and stirring his voice was hollow. “We shall prosecute by whatever means those who have heaped this hurt upon us, and taken from Ulthuan its rightful ruler.”

  There was a discontented rustle of voices and Yrianath frowned. He cast his weary eyes over the nobles.

  “Now is not the time for whispers and secrets,” the prince said, gaining some vigour. “If there are any present who wish to speak their mind, they are free to do so.”

  Tirnandir stepped forwards with glances to the rest of the court. He was the eldest member of the court after Palthrain, born just twenty years after Bel Shanaar’s ascension to the throne and respected as one of the Phoenix King’s wisest advisors.

  “With what authority do you make such promises?” the noble asked.

  “As a prince of Tiranoc,” replied Yrianath.

  “Then you claim succession to the rule of Tiranoc?” asked Tirnandir. “By tradition, the line does not pass to you.”

  Yrianath looked confused for a moment and then turned his eyes upon Lirian and Anataris.

  “Bel Shanaar’s heir was Elodhir, and Elodhir’s heir is no more than three years old,” said Yrianath. “Who else would you propose?”

  “A regent, to claim rule until Anataris comes of age,” said Tirnandir. It was clear from the nods of other council members that this had already been discussed in private.

  Yrianath shrugged.

  “Then as regent I will make these promises,” he said, uncomprehending of any cause for objection.

  “If a regent is to be appointed, then he or she need not be of the descent of Bel Shanaar,” said Illiethrin, the wife of Tirnandir. “You are no more than six hundred years old, there are many in this hall better suited to the role of regent.”

  Palthrain intervened before Yrianath could reply.

  “These are uncertain times, and our people will look to us for leadership,” said the chamberlain. “It is not proper that the stewardship of Tiranoc passes far from the royal line. Other realms are facing the same woes as we, and surely our enemies will exploit any dispute to their own purposes. Yrianath has a claim by blood that is strong and with such advisors as are gathered here, his policies can yet be wise. To do otherwise invites claim and counter-claim by those who seek to undermine the true rule of Ulthuan.”

  “And where is that true rule to be found?” snapped Tirnandir. “There is no Phoenix King, and we have had no word from the council of princes regarding a successor. Morathi has been let free once more, and her ambition will not have been dimmed by twenty years of imprisonment. No doubt she will put forth some claimant of her own. Does the elf we choose here also take on the Phoenix Crown and cloak of feathers?”

  “I do not seek the Phoenix Throne,” Yrianath said hastily, holding up his hands as if to ward away the suggestion. “It is for Tiranoc that I will act. Other kingdoms shall surely look to themselves at this time.”

  There was angry muttering and Palthrain raised his hand for silence.

  “Such a matter cannot be decided in a moment,” he said. “All concerns can be raised and deliberations made in due course. It is unseemly to squabble in this fashion, here beside the body of our Phoenix King. No, this will not do at all.”

  “We will talk on this matter again when respect has been paid to the deceased and the memory of our lord properly regarded,” said Tirnandir with an apologetic bow. “It is not division we seek, but unity. Ten days hence we will convene again and make such petitions as are required.”

  The nobles bowed to the bodies of the dead, and a few nodded their heads to Yrianath as they left, but several darted suspicious glances at the prince. Alith believed Yrianath beyond reproach, for he had been in the prince’s entourage for several seasons and seen or heard nothing to raise his suspicions. However, the sudden removal of both Bel Shanaar and Elodhir had left the subject of succession wide open for debate, as Alith suspected those who had perpetrated the deaths had intended.

  Though these lofty concerns occupied a little of Alith’s thoughts while the final arrangements were made for the twin funerals, he was mostly concerned for events in Nagarythe. He decided that as soon as the ceremony was concluded, he would head north and rejoin his family. Who could say what chaos reigned with Prince Malekith dead?

  The burial rites of the Phoenix King and his son would be long, even by elven standards, and were due to last ten days. On the first day, Alith joined a long line of mourners who passed by the dead to celebrate the lives of those who passed. Poetry was recited praising the achievements of Bel Shanaar as both a fighter in the time of Aenarion and a king in times of peace. Under his auspices, the elven realm had grown every year, so that the colonies of Ulthuan stretched across the world to the east and west. The alliance with the dwarfs in Elthin Arvan was lauded by a choir of three hundred singers, and this irritated Alith more than he had thought it would. In those conversations he had shared with Yeasir at Elanardris, the commander had made it clear that it was Prince Malekith who had forged the friendship with the dwarfs and Alith was inclined to agree.

  The second day was spent in silence, the whole of Tor Anroc eerily quiet as the populace meditated upon the memories of Bel Shanaar and Elodhir. Some would write down their thoughts in verse, others kept their recollections to themselves. This period of solitude gave Alith time to sit in his room and think deeply on what had happened. His thoughts were never focussed on one thing, and he reached no conclusion as to what had passed or what he needed to do next. He longed more than ever to return to the mountains and the support of his family.

  Thinking of Elanardris took Alith onto a dark path, and he horrified himself with all kinds of fearful imaginings of what might await his return. He had received no word from family or friend for almost a year and he did not know whether any were still alive. The frustration he had felt over that period welled up inside him in one wave and he vented his anger and fear with violence, smashing lamps, tearing at the sheets on his bed and driving his fists i
nto the walls until his knuckles were bleeding heavily. Panting, he collapsed onto the floor, weeping uncontrollably. He tried without success to fight back the images of torment that assailed him, until long after midnight he fell into an exhausted sleep.

  When he awoke, Alith found himself refreshed, though no more optimistic than he had been the night before. Though shared by no other, his personal outpouring had cleared his mind and he knew what he needed to do. His decision to remain at Tiranoc for the ceremony of burial was simply an excuse to delay his inevitable return. While ignorance tortured Alith for the most part, it also gave him hope, a hope that might be crushed as soon as he returned north. He realised he was being immature, seeking reasons to keep himself in this vacillating state, and set about packing up such possessions as he would need on the journey.

  There was a knock on the door and Alith pushed the half-filled pack beneath his bed before opening it. It was Hithrin, who glanced at the destruction Alith had wrought the night before but made no comment.

  “We are to attend our master, Alith,” said the steward, not unkindly. “He is to receive an important guest at midday. Tidy yourself up and come to his chambers as soon as you can.”

  Hithrin gave Alith a look of sympathy and then walked away. The look was like a barb to Alith’s pride and he busied himself clearing up the ruin he had made of the room and dressed himself carefully. This menial activity allowed him to gather his thoughts after the interruption and he weighed up whether to attend to Yrianath or depart straightaway. Alith decided to remain a little while longer, intrigued to find out what manner of guest would call upon Yrianath at this time of mourning.

  The reception for Yrianath’s visitor was a sombre, stately affair. Alith, amongst the other servants, had prepared a simple cold luncheon in the lower east chamber, a small hall overlooked by two galleries. Just before the prince’s guest was due to arrive, the servants were asked to leave and Alith filed out with the rest of them.

  He was perturbed by this secrecy and slipped away from the other staff as they made their way back to the servants’ quarters, doubling back to the hall. Using the serving stairs normally employed to bring trays of food and drink to parties gathered on the galleries, Alith slipped unseen into the main chamber. High windows lined the south and north walls of the hall, but shed little light on the galleries, which were usually lit by lanterns when in use. From the hazy gloom, Alith peered down into the hall.

  Yrianath was sat at one end of the long table, the platters of food arrayed before him. He picked nervously at their contents until there was a resounding knock at the door.

  “Enter!” Yrianath called out, standing.

  The door opened and a functionary bowed low before ushering in the prince’s visitor.

  Alith suppressed a gasp and shrank back towards the wall as Caenthras strode into the chamber, resplendent in armour and cloak. Yrianath hurried forwards and greeted the Naggarothi prince at the near end of the table.

  Alith began to panic. Why was Caenthras here? Did he know of Alith’s presence, and if so what was his purpose in coming to Tor Anroc? The urge to flee before discovery gripped Alith and it took all of his nerve to remain where he was. He told himself that he was over-reacting, and that if he were to remain a while longer he would soon have the answers to these questions. He slipped forwards to the balustrade and nervously looked down on the elves below.

  “Prince Caenthras, it is a pleasure to welcome you,” said Yrianath. “Long have we yearned for news from beyond the Naganath. Please, sit down and enjoy what hospitality one can in these dark times.”

  Caenthras returned the bow and placed his helm upon the table. He followed Yrianath to the food and sat down at Yrianath’s right as the prince seated himself.

  “These are indeed dark and dangerous times,” said Caenthras. “Uncertainty holds sway over Ulthuan and it is imperative that authority and order are restored.”

  “I could not agree more, and may I offer my condolences to all in Nagarythe, who have also suffered the loss of a great leader,” said Yrianath, pouring wine for himself and his guest.

  “I am here as official embassy for Nagarythe,” said Caenthras, picking up the goblet and swirling its contents. “In order that any turmoil is dealt with, it is vital that the rulers of Ulthuan work together. It is a woe to us, then, that so many realms are as yet without leaders, and we know not with whom to discuss these matters. I hear that Tiranoc is embroiled in such a debate at the moment.”

  “I think embroiled is perhaps too strong a word…”

  “Is it not true then that there is disagreement over who will succeed as ruling prince?”

  Yrianath hesitated and sipped his wine as a distraction. Caenthras’ forceful stare did not waver and Yrianath put down his glass with a sigh.

  “Issues have been raised over the succession,” he said. “As the oldest blood descendant I have offered to act as regent for the time being, but there is opposition from some of the other court members.”

  “Then I should tell you that Nagarythe supports your claim to Tiranoc,” said Caenthras with a broad smile. “We are strong believers in tradition, and it is fitting that the relatives of Bel Shanaar succeed him.”

  “If you could but convince my peers of my case, then the matter would be settled,” said Yrianath, leaning towards Caenthras with earnest intent. “I do not seek division, and a swift end to this matter is the best outcome for all concerned, so that we might turn our attention to graver issues.”

  “Most certainly,” said Caenthras, patting Yrianath’s hand. “Stability is the key.”

  Caenthras helped himself to a little food, arranging it carefully on his plate. When done, he cocked his head to one side and directed a thoughtful gaze at Yrianath.

  “I would say that the word of one prince, an outsider at that, would do little to sway the opinion of the Tor Anroc nobles,” said the Naggarothi. “As a sign of support I am willing to petition certain other princes and officers of Nagarythe to travel to Tor Anroc and speak on your behalf. I am sure that having such allies will increase your standing and strengthen your claim beyond reproach. It is, after all, unity that we seek at this time.”

  Yrianath considered this for a moment, but Alith could already see the trap being laid. If Yrianath wanted to be leader of Tiranoc he needed to do so from his own strength. Had not the Anars suffered greatly of late for relying too much on the support of others? Alith wanted to warn the prince not to agree, to tell him that it was a false bargain, but he dared not reveal his presence to Caenthras. Instead, he remained mute and watched the terrible plot unfold.

  “Yes, that would seem a good course of action,” said Yrianath. “I see no problem with that.”

  “Then might I impose a certain request upon you?” said Caenthras.

  Here it comes, thought Alith as he watched Yrianath drawn towards the lure like a fish.

  “Your northern border is closed to the Naggarothi,” continued Caenthras with a disarming shrug. “It is only by chance that I met one of your officers who would vouch for me, and thus allowed me to pass into Tiranoc. I fear such embassies as would come south on your behalf will not be so fortunate. I wonder if perhaps you could write me several letters of passage, which I might send to my fellow princes to act as permission to cross the Naganath with their bodyguards?”

  “Well, yes, of course,” said Yrianath. “I will give you the seal of my princedom as a guarantee of safe passage. How many would you need?”

  “Let us say a dozen,” said Caenthras, smiling. “You have many allies in the north.”

  “A dozen?” replied Yrianath, flattered. “Yes, I see no reason why that cannot be arranged.”

  The prince’s expression of happiness then faded and his shoulders slumped.

  “What is the matter?” asked Caenthras, the picture of concern. “Is there some problem?”

  “Time,” muttered Yrianath. “Deliberations are due to recommence at the ending of the funerals, only seven days henc
e. I fear my supporters will not arrive in time to swing the debate, and my rivals already arrange their arguments against me.”

  “I have riders ready to go north at once,” said Caenthras. “I cannot guarantee that our friends will be able to reach Tor Anroc in seven days, but perhaps you could delay proceedings in some fashion.”

  Yrianath brightened at this suggestion.

  “Well, the discourse of court never runs swiftly,” he said, as much to himself as his companion. He gave Caenthras a determined look. “It can be done. I shall provide you with my seal before night comes. I am sure that a final decision can be averted until I can make my strongest case.”

  Caenthras stood and Yrianath rose with him. The Naggarothi extended a hand, which the prince shook enthusiastically.

  “Thank you for your understanding,” said Caenthras. “A new alliance between Nagarythe and Tiranoc will no doubt set our people on the path to greatness again.”

  “Yes, it is time that history took its place behind us and we looked to the future once more.”

  “A most progressive and commendable attitude,” said Caenthras. He turned for the door but then looked back at Yrianath after a few paces. “Of course, we will keep this arrangement between us for the moment, yes? It would be counter-productive if your opponents were to hear of what has passed between us.”

  “Oh, that is for sure,” said Yrianath. “You can rely on my secrecy, as I can on yours.”

  Caenthras gave another nod and a smile and then left. Yrianath stood for a moment tapping his fingers upon the tabletop, obviously happy. With a self-assured stride, he walked out of the room, leaving Alith alone in the silence.