by Gav Thorpe
Malekith was always careful to conceal himself on these excursions, unwilling to expose himself to detection by his mother. He could feel her sometimes scouring the winds of magic, seeking the telltale signs of his presence, and occasionally he was certain that she had found him. The magic of his armour, the force that she had poured into him to sustain him after his near death, were as distinctive as his seal. Yet however close she came, no matter how much he felt her lingering presence hovering over him as though she could set eyes upon him, he never felt that moment of connection that would reveal he had been discovered.
He brought up this matter with Teclis when the mage returned to Tor Caleda. They convened on a moonlit rampart at the summit of the fortress, the lights and sounds of the city far below while the odd footfall of a guard broke the still on the walls beneath them.
‘You really do not understand that which you have hungered after for so long,’ Teclis said, with a rare moment of genuine humour. ‘Your majesty, you have become the Phoenix King and the fire of Asuryan burns within you. Morathi is no doubt confused, because she will see the fire but not recognise it.’
‘Surely she would remember such a thing from her time with my father?’
‘Her memories are splitting, her mind finally dissembling after so many years adrift on the tides of magic. She thinks Tyrion is your father reborn. Now that he has lifted the Sword of Khaine, has become the Lord of Murder, her self-deception is complete. She was young when Aenarion was Asuryan’s chosen, and likely if she ever did witness him at that time the memory of it is quite obliterated by the towering force that was the blood-wreathed avenger he became. It was not your father she craved, it was the power of the Widowmaker.’
‘My mother is more than just the power-hungry witch as she has been painted by the lies of the Phoenix Kings,’ Malekith said. ‘Of late a madness has consumed her, and her ambition has never been a secret, but I cannot doubt that she cared for me and loved my father.’
‘It is nigh impossible for a son to think harshly of his mother,’ Teclis replied. The moonlight made his pale flesh glow with silvery light as he turned away and looked east towards the Inner Sea. ‘Family makes fools of us all at one time or another. I was blind for so long to Tyrion’s weaknesses. He was lauded from Caledor to Chrace, and that works a terrible toll upon the mind. When you despatched your daemonic ally N’Kari to kill the Everqueen, and my brother saved her and became her consort, you initiated a turn of events that led us to this current point.’
‘Your brother’s amour and the Everqueen’s poor choice of lovers is my fault?’ Malekith gripped the rampart in metal fingers, clawing grooves in the stone. ‘Is there any woe of the world for which you would not lay blame upon me?’
‘You misunderstand, your majesty, or I do not explain myself well.’ Teclis looked at the Phoenix King. ‘All of the choices we have made have laid the path that brings us to the place we are in, here and now. When I came to you and offered to make pact with you, do you think it was easy for me? Lileath showed me the grief and death to come, and I could have ended it with a single blow of my sword. I could have slain Tyrion without effort, forestalling this war.’
‘Your love of him stopped you?’
Teclis shook his head, saddened. ‘No, my fear of the consequences did. Without Tyrion we would have failed against the daemons and you would be the lone survivor in Naggarond, fighting with your last breath against the very creatures of Chaos that you unleashed upon us so many times.’
Malekith wondered if he had ever really made a decision himself, or if they were all simply pawns of powers far beyond their comprehension, playing out petty games for the amusement of otherworldly entities. They fell silent, contemplating the past.
Turning, Malekith leapt up the stairs three at a time, chasing after his mother. Despite his haste, Morathi was already standing beside the balcony window by the time Malekith reached the top of the tower. She turned and smiled as he strode into the room, and held out an arm for him to hold. Sighing, the prince allowed his mother to lay her hand upon his and led her out onto the balcony. This time, the seeress-queen and prince of Nagarythe were greeted with rapturous cheers and applause. The streets were packed with elves in every direction, and windows and balconies were full as the people of Athel Toralien sought the best vantage point to see their mysterious, glamorous visitor.
‘What are you doing here?’ Malekith whispered as he waved to the adoring crowds.
‘I have come to visit you, my wonderful son,’ replied Morathi, not turning her smile from the masses below. ‘A mother worries, you know that. Word came to me that you were heading off into the wilds for some ridiculous adventures, so I thought it best that I finally visit your new home before you left.’
‘You will not dissuade me,’ Malekith warned her. ‘I am ready to leave within days.’
‘Dissuade you?’ said Morathi with a faint laugh. ‘Why would I not want you to go? Was it not me that stood upon the quayside when you left Nagarythe, and told you to earn glory and renown for yourself and your people? Have you not done so, and have I not looked upon all that you have achieved with great love and pride?’
‘Forgive my misunderstanding,’ said Malekith. ‘If you are here to lend your support, then I am very grateful.’
Morathi did not reply straightaway, but instead indicated discreetly that they should retire inside. With a final wave and a grin, Malekith stepped off the balcony and his mother followed. Closing the window, Malekith rounded on his mother.
‘So why is it that you are here?’ he asked, not with accusation but with genuine curiosity.
‘It is not my support that you need, at least not in any physical way,’ Morathi replied.
Seeing his mother wave a hand towards the bottle upon the desk, Malekith took a clean glass from one of the many cabinets in the room and poured wine for Morathi. She took it with a nod, had a sip and then continued.
‘You have been away from Ulthuan for too long. I was of a mind to persuade you to return rather than go gallivanting across the Wastes, but then I realised that such a course of action would be a fool’s errand and only earn me your enmity, perhaps even your disdain.’
‘You are right, I will not return to Ulthuan,’ said Malekith. ‘Why do you think it is so important that I do so now?’
‘Not now, but soon,’ Morathi said. ‘I sense that Bel Shanaar’s rule is fading. His usurpation of your relationship with the dwarfs was an attempt to bolster his flagging fortunes. Now that the colonies are well established, all of the kingdoms enjoy the comfort and wealth that the realms overseas bring to us, Tiranoc no less so, nor more so than any others. Nagarythe’s most adventurous spirits have departed the shores of the isle, for new generations look to the likes of you to emulate, not to the staid and overly sincere Bel Shanaar. In comfort there is frailty, for a sword must be forged in the burning fires before it can rest in its scabbard. There is no more fire in Ulthuan. Even as her empire continues to grow, Ulthuan herself is diminishing.’
‘If Ulthuan has become lessened, then it is the fault of the princes who rule there,’ said Malekith, pouring himself some wine.
‘That is my point,’ snapped Morathi. ‘There is none capable of succeeding Bel Shanaar – his court is as weak as he is. Your achievements here have been rightly lauded, but your success has been copied and appropriated and demeaned by others. If only you had returned to us before Bel Shanaar accorded himself and his rule with the dwarfs and stole your victory. It is time to create a new legend for yourself, and return in triumph to reclaim what is rightfully yours.’
‘What would you say if I told you that I wish never to return to Ulthuan?’ said Malekith. ‘What if I have decided that my life is out here, away from the coddling embrace of Ulthuan?’
‘Then I would curse you for a fool and cast you out of my life,’ said Morathi. ‘But that is not really how you think. You do not like Ulthuan, and I cannot blame you. She is like a maiden that you love, gripped tightly
within the arms of a less-deserving amour. But, just as you turn away from that sight, within your heart still lingers that love for the maiden, no matter what she does.’
‘You are right, of course,’ admitted Malekith. ‘She is like to me as a lover who has spurned my attentions many times, and yet her gaze lingers upon me always, tempting me with the notion that one day she will accept my advances. However, if what you say is true, then perhaps it is too late for me. The beauty of youth has faded and Ulthuan perhaps is on the decline into infirmity and then a swift passing away. Perhaps it is better this way – that we break our ties to that small isle, and reach out to the wider world.’
Morathi strode across the room, her face a mask of fury, and slapped Malekith across the cheek. In instinct he raised his hand to reply in kind, but Morathi was as quick as a serpent and snatched his wrist in her fingers, her long and sharpened nails digging so deep into the flesh that blood trickled across her hand.
‘How dare you!’ the seeress hissed. ‘Your father gave his life for Ulthuan, and it took his death to save her! I thought I had raised you better than this. I thought that you had not become one of those prancing, preening fools that pass as princes in Bel Shanaar’s court. How dare you condemn Ulthuan to death by indifference! Your father laid down his life to protect our isle – who are you to do differently?’
Malekith snatched away his wrist with a snarl and made to turn, but Morathi was relentless and grabbed his arm and spun him around to face her.
‘You dare to turn your back on me, just as you turn your back on your homeland!’ she snarled. ‘Perhaps the First Council was right not to choose you, not because of a darkness upon you, but because you are weak and undeserving.’
‘What more could I do?’ demanded Malekith. ‘I have conquered new lands in the name of Nagarythe, and brokered the greatest alliance our people will ever see. What more can I give to Ulthuan?’
‘Yourself,’ said Morathi. ‘When Aenarion died, he left Ulthuan a legacy, and you are part of it. To rule is also to serve – Aenarion understood that. He served Khaine, for there was no other master worthy of his fealty. You must be prepared to serve a high purpose, a great power.’
Morathi paused and took a deep breath, calming herself. When she continued her voice was low but insistent.
‘Serve Ulthuan and you will be Phoenix King. Protect her from enemies outside and within and she will embrace you in return. Go into the north and learn of the race of men. Head into the chilling Wastes and confront the dark powers that hunger over our world. Then return to Ulthuan and take up your place as ruler, to shield us against their unnatural thirst. I fear that only you can protect us against the dangers I have foreseen. I see fire and bloodshed sweeping Ulthuan again. The colonies will burn and all that we hold dear will be cast upon the rocks and be for naught.’
‘What have you seen, when will this happen?’ asked Malekith.
‘You know that there is no future that is certain,’ replied Morathi. ‘I have simply cast my gaze ahead along the path of my life, and I see death. War will come again and the Naggarothi will be called upon as they were by your father. I warned the First Council that it would be so, but they did not listen. You must learn what you can of Chaos, and of humans, for our future is entwined with both. When you are master of your fate, then return to us and take what has been kept from you for so long. Let Anlec be a beacon of hope again.’
Malekith saw desire and fear in equal measure in the face of his mother and his love for her stirred him. He laid an arm about her shoulders and pulled her close to him. She quivered, though whether from anxiety or excitement he could not tell.
‘It shall be as you say,’ said Malekith. ‘I shall go into the north and seek whatever destiny awaits me there. I will return to Ulthuan, and I will guard her against whatever comes to pass.’
‘I have given myself to Ulthuan,’ he whispered.
‘What was that?’ Teclis had been lost in a reverie of his own, or perhaps trying to discern the unwinding paths of the future guided by the whispers of his goddess.
Malekith straightened and flexed metal-bound limbs. He felt neither heat nor cold, but could tell that this year the season of ice would come swiftly. It would make no difference – the fighting was moving south towards Lothern and the campaign would continue through the winter while the north of the isle was gripped by blizzards.
‘I stepped through the flames, and gave myself to Ulthuan,’ Malekith replied more volubly. ‘I stayed in the fires and received Asuryan’s blessing. My mother told me long ago, before I travelled into the Northern Wastes, that I had to accept her and be accepted to rule the island. I had forgotten that these past six thousand years. Ystranna said something similar. I could never take Ulthuan by conquest.’
‘A wayward step has been corrected, your majesty,’ said Teclis, ‘but the journey has only just begun.’
‘There is something that plagues my thoughts in recent times,’ Malekith admitted. ‘I try to wrangle meaning from it over and over, but it makes no sense to me. If I was the chosen of Asuryan, if it was my destiny to become Phoenix King, why did the First Council reject me? Why has it taken so long?’
‘The wiles of Chaos, your majesty. The designs of the Great Powers spool across countless lives of mortals before they are fully woven. In your case, the Prince of Pleasure sowed the seed of lust and power in the heart of your mother when she was captured by His creatures. Thus was the course of history changed. It was not the darkness in you that the First Council feared, it was the taint of Chaos in Morathi, though they did not realise that. Rather than see a reign of Phoenix Kings from Aenarion unbroken to the present day over an unbroken civilisation, the Chaos Gods divided the elves and created war and strife, feeding deep on the dreams and nightmares of a broken people. Now we have one opportunity to unite again and survive, or else we will perish.’
‘From that moment, we were doomed to millennia of war?’ Malekith took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, the heat of it billowing like dragonfume in the cool night air. It was hard to still the anger that burned inside, stoked by the mage’s revelations. ‘My acquiescence to the council, my attempts to bring favour back to the house of Aenarion, were for nothing?’
‘All were worthy attempts, your majesty,’ Teclis assured him, turning with his staff clasped in both hands. ‘Had you slain your mother on that fateful day in Anlec, had you refused her offer to give you control of the Cults of Pleasure so that you would manipulate your way to power, your claim would have remained untainted and Bel Shanaar would have named you successor in time. A little faith, for a little longer, is all that was required.’
‘No!’ Splinters and sparks showered from the battlement as Malekith’s fist struck the dark stone. ‘No! The other princes had already rejected me. Imrik was their favourite.’
‘Your mother’s words,’ Teclis snapped, his stare unflinching. ‘Her lies in your head. That was the moment the Chaos Powers won. Not when you slaughtered the princes in the shrine, nor when you murdered Bel Shanaar. Those were simply the consecrations of your betrayal.’
‘But… I spared her out of love.’
‘And that love was greater than the love of Ulthuan and her people,’ Teclis continued. ‘You chose the wrong mother, Malekith, and we all had to pay the price.’
Malekith sagged, leaning against the battlement. ‘Go,’ he whispered. ‘I tire of this conversation.’
‘As you wish, your majesty,’ said Teclis. ‘On the morrow I depart for the fields of Cothique where my brother makes great gains. We must hold council before then.’
‘Leave, meddling loremaster,’ Malekith growled. ‘Spare me more of your twisted words.’
Malekith listened to the footfalls of the mage until they were gone. The rage was too much to contain and with a snarl he ripped free a block of stone and incinerated it in his grasp, hurling the broken, burned fragments over the parapet.
He hated Teclis. More self-righteous than any other mage, so conv
inced of his own superiority and correctness.
He hated even more that Teclis was right.
The Phoenix King’s brooding presence spread to other parts of the citadel, his sour mood infecting the spirit of the guards and servants and beyond to the streets of Tor Caleda. There were whispers and dark rumours of what lay in the upper reaches of the keep, some as outlandish as to suggest Imrik had summoned forth a daemon, others more unsettling but closer to the truth – that the prince had sealed a pact with a dark spirit from the past.
Malekith’s self-imposed imprisonment started to take its toll on his temper. Daily he sent missives to Hotek demanding news on the priest-smith’s work. Daily the replies returned that Hotek’s labours continued without pause.
The risk of magical discovery stopped the Phoenix King from transporting his spirit beyond the castle, forcing him to rely upon conventional and far slower means of news. In concert with this, Teclis came only rarely to report the progress of the war, and spoke in equivocating terms, but it was plain that Tyrion’s direct intercession had rolled back Imrik’s forces to the borders of Eataine and the coast of the Inner Sea. Though supported by the mighty fleet of Naggaroth, the dragon princes were suffering setback after setback.
One evening there was commotion in the lower levels of the citadel, rousing Malekith from a days-long fugue of depression. Panicked shouts brought the Phoenix King to full awareness, and calls for aid carried him out of the halls he usually haunted and into the main part of the keep.
His appearance caused terror and consternation, and only by the intervention of Caradryan was a band of Caledorians prevented from attacking their king. Malekith demanded to know the reason for the tumult and he was led to a stately hall close to the citadel gate.
