A troop of ten knights were the first to come into view, their silver armour gleaming in the summer sun, their black uniforms and banners streaming in the sea breeze. Alith let them pass without hindrance. A short distance behind, perhaps only a few dozen paces, the rest of the party galloped: ten more knights formed up around a knot of lavishly dressed nobles and retainers.
When the magisters and their bodyguards were almost level with Alith, he rose from his hiding place, moonbow ready. He was a heartbeat from letting loose the string when a shout from behind him drew his attention. Furious that one of his warriors had betrayed their presence, Alith turned to see what had happened. His anger quickly became alarm when he saw what had caused the cry.
Along the hills to the east a line of warriors appeared, regiment upon regiment of warriors in black and purple advancing beneath long banners. Crossbowmen formed into lines on the flanks as spearmen and swordsmen advanced in the centre. On and on they came, thousands of druchii.
Alith spared no time trying to answer the question that hammered into his brain at the first sight of the army: how did so many warriors come to be here? Rather than ponder that which he could not answer, Alith leapt immediately to a more pressing issue: how to escape?
The twenty knights had come together in a single squadron on the road and faced eastwards, barring any route to the north; their charges continued along the road and were quickly disappearing from sight.
Running figures from the south—shadow warriors shouting warnings as they approached—told Alith they there was no sanctuary in that direction either.
“To me!” Alith called out. “Rally to me!”
The Shadow King watched the wave of black-armoured warriors advancing from the east as the shadow warriors gathered around him. A glance at the sun told him that the druchii had timed their attack well; they would be at the road some time before the first evening shadows fell.
“We have been lured into a trap,” Alith said hurriedly as the shadow warriors clustered around him. They crouched in a circle, partially concealed by the grass of the hills. Some stared intently at Alith with desperation in their eyes, others cast nervous glances at the knights on the road or allowed their gaze to be drawn to the army in the east. The riders close at hand seemed content to stay out of bow’s reach. Why would they not? Alith thought, there is no need to attack with so many reinforcements on the way.
“The sea is our only escape,” Alith said. “We must reach the waters and then swim south and come ashore at Koril Thandris. From there, we separate and make our way east, to meet again at Cardain.”
“The knights will charge if we attempt to cross the road,” said Khillrallion. “We cannot outrun warhorses.”
“Then we must kill the knights first,” said Alith with a shrug.
“Bows against fully armoured knights?” asked one of the shadow warriors, a young elf called Faenion.
“There are only twenty of them,” snapped Alith. “Shoot at their horses; on foot they will be little match for us. When the road is clear, we head down to the shore a little way to the south, where there is a shingle beach.”
At this the shadow warrior who had come from the south before the ambush spoke again.
“There are more knights moving up the road from that direction,” he said with a shake of his head. “At least fifty of them. I do not think we can reach the sea that way before they cut off the road.”
Alith growled in frustration. It was not just the fact that he had been caught out that upset him; he had enjoyed so many successes of late his luck had been bound to run out at some point. What worried him more was the precision with which the trap had been set. The bait had been irresistible and the enemy had guessed exactly where and when he would strike. The Shadow King wondered for a moment if he had become too predictable, but dismissed the notion as soon as it came. Whoever had masterminded this particular trap had simply got the better of him this time.
“We’ll have to climb down the cliffs,” Alith said at last. “Slay the knights at hand and get to the clifftops. From there we’ll just have to take our chances amongst the rocks.”
The shadow warriors exchanged worried glances and there were a few murmurs of dismay.
“The enemy will not wait for you to regain your courage!” snarled Alith, pointing a finger towards the lines of black steadily closing from the east. “Follow me, or stay here and die.”
Alith stood up and strode purposefully towards the Anlec knights on the road. He lifted up the moonbow and sighted along the shaft, his aim settling on a rider at the front of the formation. The arrow leapt from the string and took the knight full in the chest, punching through iron and tearing from his back to pass through the throat of the rider behind him.
Startled, the knights took a moment to collect themselves ready for a charge, in which time Alith felled three more with another shot. Lowering their lances, the knights urged their steeds into a full gallop and thundered towards the shadow warriors. Alith watched them coolly. On the Ellyrion plains and in the forests of Avelorn, he had learnt the reputation of these deadly riders was greater than their actual strength. When he might once have trembled at the armoured warriors bearing down on him, he felt only contempt.
Another shot from the moonbow sliced through the neck of the lead horse and buried itself in the chest of the following steed, sending both crashing to the ground. The other shadow warriors sent their own arrows arcing into the knights in a series of deadly volleys and before the knights had crossed half the distance from the road all were dead or lying wounded in the grass.
A look over his shoulder confirmed to Alith that the approaching army was now closing fast.
“To the cliffs, follow me,” he shouted, stowing the moonbow and breaking into a run directly towards the sea.
Alith led the retreat, casting glances over his shoulder towards the approaching druchii host as the shadow warriors reached the road. The enemy were advancing quickly but Alith and his warriors would be at the cliff edge before their repeater crossbows were in range. A look to the south revealed the knights coming along the road; they too would not reach the shadow warriors before they were safely moving down the cliff. Though the situation was not good, Alith was more confident than when he had first seen the banners rising over the hills. Despite this he did not allow himself to relax.
“Keep moving!” Alith ordered as several of his warriors took up positions to shoot at the oncoming druchii. “No rearguard will hold them back.”
When he was a few dozen strides from the cliff edge Alith caught his first glimpse of the sea. He marvelled at the unending dark blue horizon but as he continued forwards he saw the wider expanse of the ocean. High waves rolled in towards Ulthuan, far stronger than the tides of the Inner Sea he had witnessed at Tor Elyr. Ignoring his own command, he stumbled to a halt, mesmerised by the spectacle. As far as he could see in every direction stretched the Great Ocean, dwarfing him with its size. Far beyond lay the jungles of Lustria, where the descendants of the Old Ones’ servants clung to civilisation. Ruined cities and steaming mangroves, treacherous swamps and ancient treasures awaited bold adventurers and explorers.
Alith realised how little of the world he had seen. He had never been to Elthin Arvan to the east, or the colonies of Elithis, or the towers of the elves far to the south. Had it not been for the civil war, would he have ever visited Ellyrion or Avelorn?
Shouts from his shadow warriors broke Alith’s reverie and he snapped back to the current situation. His companions were pointing down to the seas and there he saw something that sapped his confidence as quickly as it had returned: three black ships at anchor not far from the shore.
Reaching the cliff edge, Alith looked down to gauge the difficulty of the descent. The cliff was not quite vertical, the strata of rocks pronounced in light and dark bands, the surface pitted with many holes and ledges. It was not the most difficult climb Alith had attempted. The cliff was not the problem, the greatest dangers were at thei
r feet where surf crashed against jagged rocks and swirled in strong currents through jutting piles of tumbled boulders.
Something black and heavy blurred through the air close by Alith, quickly followed by other projectiles. Several shadow warriors were thrown from their feet with long shafts jutting from their bodies as the ships loosed their deadly bolt throwers. The swish of spear-sized missiles filled the air as more shadow warriors were cut down by another volley.
Along the cliff face warriors threw down their weapons to lighten themselves, some of them tearing off their cloaks and boots as well. Many hesitated, staring in horror at the black ships lurking out to sea or transfixed by the bodies of the slain.
“Keep moving!” Alith yelled again, unfastening his cloak and tossing it to the ground. Looking left and right he saw his followers pulling themselves over the cliff to begin the long descent. He grabbed the quiver from his back, ready to cast it aside, but hesitated. The moonbow gleamed in the sunlight. He could not abandon such a hard-won prize. Pulling it free, he passed the moonbow over his shoulder, threw away the quiver and then swung himself over the clifftop.
The shadow warriors were nimble and well-versed in climbing, and soon most of them were halfway down the cliff. Bolts from the lurking vessels hammered into the grey stone, some of the shots finding their mark, sending shadow warriors tumbling down to the frothing surf below. Rock shrapnel splintered from the iron heads of the bolts as they crashed into the cliff face, shredding Alith’s clothes and grazing skin. One bolt missed his foot by the smallest of margins, pulverising the rock on which he had been stood. Alith scrabbled to find a new grip as he swung dangerously from one hand.
Panicked shouts and cries of pain mixed with the sound of the waves as Alith dropped from one handhold to the next, swinging from ledge to outcrop, his fingers finding purchase in small cracks, his toes making solid footing out of striations no wider than a finger.
More and more of Alith’s warriors were falling to the bolt throwers, their screams drowned in the thunder of the sea as they plummeted into the swirling waves. Perhaps a quarter of their number had already been lost.
“They’ll kill us all!” Alith bellowed to his followers. “Leap into the water!”
The shadow warriors were too fearful of jumping to their possible deaths, but to Alith it was more certain that their doom would come if they remained on the cliff face.
“With me!” he cried, letting go his handholds and pushing out with all of the strength in his legs.
Wind battered Alith’s face and tore at his hair as he fell towards the seas. He saw the foaming spume hurled into the air by the sharp pinnacles of the reefs, but it was the rocks below the water that he feared more. He closed his eyes and angled into a dive with a silent prayer to the sea god Mannanin upon his lips.
Hitting the water was like being kicked by a horse, forcing all of the air from Alith’s body. He banged his right arm against something and immediately lost all feeling in his hand. He was engulfed by a storm of bubbles, tossing him this way and that, threatening to dash him against the rocks. He was turned upside down, twisted back and forth by the fierce eddies, the water colouring red from his wounds. Light and dark whirled as he rolled between the surface and the forbidding depths. Coldness seeped into his flesh and gnawed at his bones.
Alith struck out, fighting against a surge that threatened to drag him deeper and deeper into the water. One-handed he clawed his way to the bubbling surface, buffeted and buoyed by the heaving waves. Twice more the current snapped at his legs, pulling him under, filling his mouth with salt water. He coughed and spluttered, and gave a howl of pain as he was thrown into the sharp edge of a spire-like reef, a long gash torn across his stomach. The current tugged at the moonbow, its string cutting deep into Alith’s arm. It tangled with his legs and batted against his face, but Alith would not relinquish his prized weapon.
Stroke by painful stroke, the Shadow King forged through the waters. He managed to gain his bearings and turned south, away from the druchii ships. A look back to the cliffs confirmed that the druchii army had arrived. Crossbowmen unleashed a storm of quarrels from above, picking off those shadow warriors who did not possess the courage to make the leap into the sea.
Slicks of red stained the water, and Alith had no idea how many warriors had been lost. He saw several, Khillrallion among them, clinging to the rocks, gasping for breath. They were sheltered in the lee of a giant pinnacle that stood apart from the rest of the cliff like a huge grey needle. Alith swam over to them and grabbed a handhold in the cracked surface of the rock.
“We cannot stay here,” Alith panted. He pointed upwards, to the gathering druchii troops, too breathless to say anything further. Khillrallion nodded in understanding and signalled for the others to follow.
Exhausted, Alith pushed away, unable to spare any more thought for his followers. He needed all of his strength and focus just to stay alive.
—
The Night of Dark Knives
Morathi’s displeasure was not usually a survivable experience, but Alandrian held his nerve as he strode up the steps of Anlec’s palace. It was true that he had not captured or killed the enigmatic Shadow King, but he had come much closer than anyone else in the last six years. He was not foolish enough to believe that Morathi would simply forgive him his failure, but Alandrian had already devised a new plan to ensnare the elusive renegade; a plan that would not only bring success but also be an act of contrition on his part. He had even taken the bold step of requesting an audience rather than awaiting the queen’s summons.
Upon entering the throne chamber, Alandrian was taken aback by the smile that Morathi wore. She sat upon a chair beside the great throne of Aenarion, swathed in a voluminous robe of white fur and black silk, her bared arms and legs pale in the lamplight. Her whole demeanour was welcoming, its openness more disconcerting than a scowl.
Alandrian suppressed a shudder as he felt dark magic crawling across his skin and fancied he saw flittering shapes in the shadows at the edge of vision. Half-heard voices whispered and twittered around him, and he struggled to ignore their taunts and promises, focussing on the sorceress-queen.
“Majesty,” said Alandrian, bowing long and low. “I offer my deepest apologies for the lack of success in apprehending the deviant who has so vexed your thoughts of late.”
“Stand up,” said Morathi, her voice neither cruel nor kind. She continued in the same matter-of-fact tone. “We could waste a great deal of time, with me reminding you of your failings, and you offering apologies and excuses. Let us assume that such a conversation took place in the manner we both anticipated.”
Alandrian felt a flutter of fear. Was he to be presented no opportunity to argue his case? Perhaps he had overestimated his position and influence.
“With that in mind, I am sure your arguments would conclude with an offer to make amends,” Morathi continued, her voice softening.
She stood and beckoned to a group of shadowy figures who had been lurking in the darker recesses of the hall. Three sorcerers—two female, one male—came out of the gloom, clad in robes of dark purple, their skin dyed with archaic symbols that set Alandrian’s teeth on edge. He had never been comfortable with sorcery; it seemed a dangerous weapon to wield.
“These are three of my most promising protégés, Alandrian,” Morathi said, gliding effortlessly across the hall towards the prince, her sorcerers falling in behind her. Alandrian swallowed hard, eyes flicking from Morathi’s alluring eyes to the harsh stares from her disciples.
The sorceress-queen stopped in front of Alandrian and placed a finger to his lips as he was about to speak.
Alandrian felt a thrill of energy surge through him from her touch, stirring his heart, awakening urges he had not felt since the sacrifice of his wife.
“Hush, prince, let me finish what I have to say,” she said, her voice as soft as a velvet caress. “You have another plan to apprehend the Shadow King, if I am but merciful and genero
us enough to grant you another chance. Something like that, was it?”
Alandrian nodded dumbly, not trusting himself to speak. Between the dark magic clouding his senses and the sensuous presence of Morathi, he was quite unable to gather his thoughts. He quivered uncontrollably, caught between lust and abject terror, both emotions stemming from the same cause.
“Good,” said Morathi, stepping back and crossing her arms across her perfectly formed chest, her weight on one leg, her smooth thigh exposed through a slit in her robe. Alandrian forced himself to keep his gaze on her equally beautiful face, dismissing the temptation to reach out and stroke that delightful skin. “I am not known for my mercy, nor my generosity, but I would offer nothing less to one who has known such favour from my son and has given so much in the service of Nagarythe. Your past actions and loyalty far surpass those of my other subjects, and you may rest easy for the moment, knowing that you also have my favour, despite the recent setback you have suffered.”
Released from Morathi’s spell, Alandrian recovered his wits and was about to offer his profuse thanks, but was stifled by a slight shake of the head from the queen.
“Don’t grovel,” she said, “it’s beneath you.”
She turned with a sweep of her arm, hair swirling in a dark cloud about her shoulders. Alandrian had to look away as Morathi prowled back to her chair, hips swaying. He looked at her again only when she was seated, regal and austere once more.
“Tell me how my faithful minions might help you in your efforts,” Morathi said.
“I fear that there is no bait that we can now dangle that will lure the Shadow King into a trap,” Alandrian said, speaking confidently, glad that his speech was well rehearsed, for his thoughts had been scattered by Morathi’s actions. Just as she had intended, he realised. “If we are to slay this scorpion, we must find his nest and drag him out by the tail.”
[Sundering 02] - Shadow King Page 40
