by Gav Thorpe
‘Asuryan’s name indeed,’ Malekith snapped back. He waved a hand to encompass the rainbow of kingdom colours flying above the returning army, and the darker icons of the druchii amongst them. ‘These are my people now, Prince Imrik. I have killed more than you can ever count, and a thousand-thousand times that number are dead because of my commands. But I am not their enemy, I am their king. I have shown mercy today. I have shown those that follow Tyrion that there is an alternative.’
‘It will take more than a few spared lives to change six thousand years of history, Malekith,’ said Imrik, but his protest was spoken softly, a touch of admiration in his voice. ‘But I suppose today is as good a day as any to start making amends.’
‘Amends?’ Malekith sneered. ‘I do not seek their forgiveness, only their compliance. Let the survivors take back the word that I can be merciful. Those that choose to face me again will learn that I can still be merciless.’
Teclis had been amongst the army retreating to Lothern, and sought out Malekith soon after, finding him in council with Imrik discussing the next moves in the war. King and prince were in disagreement, with Malekith keen to consolidate the victory in Eataine and Imrik pressing to move the army after Korhil, pushing back into Saphery and Yvresse.
‘We cannot win this war by battles alone,’ Malekith told them. ‘Tyrion will not give up his claim while he lives, and will spend the lives of his followers to the last elf in prosecuting that claim.’
‘As will you?’ said Imrik.
Malekith answered with a silent stare.
‘Or the war ends with your death or Tyrion’s?’ the prince continued.
‘Be sure to know that you will not outlive me, son of Caledor,’ Malekith replied abruptly. ‘And your people will die screaming soon after.’
‘The king has it right, Prince Imrik,’ Teclis intervened before Imrik could retaliate. ‘We must win Ulthuan to our cause and rob my brother of forces, so that when the confrontation that must happen occurs he is entirely outmatched. We must begin here, with a proper triumph, so that the citizens of Lothern can see who their saviour is and spread the word to the other kingdoms.’
‘I have seen the manner of reaction my presence provokes, in Tor Caleda,’ Malekith said sourly, flames rippling from his body to demonstrate his meaning. ‘My name is poison on the tongues of the asur, my image a vision of hate and dread.’
‘The first will be nullified by your title, King Malekith, the second…’ Teclis appraised Malekith for a while and then started an incantation. The Phoenix King felt the seven winds of magic binding around him, guided by the power of light, Hysh. He felt no physical change, but saw Imrik’s eyes widening in surprise.
‘A glamour?’ the king said, holding up his hand. He saw only dark, scarred metal and turned to Imrik. ‘What do you see?’
‘You, your majesty,’ the prince replied, his tongue faltering over the words. ‘The image of a king, the line of Aenarion, in golden plate.’
Malekith straightened to his full height, impressed by Imrik’s reaction.
‘Then let us share our triumph with the people of Lothern,’ the king declared. ‘Let them see the magnificence of Aenarion born again, and be glad in their hearts that the true Phoenix King walks amongst them.’
And with these words, Malekith set off for the city.
THIRTY-ONE
A Heavy Crown
Malekith’s will held sway after the victory at Lothern, and his army spent the early winter restocking supplies and garrisoning towns and castles that had been abandoned by Korhil’s swift retreat northwards. He expected a counter-attack, either along the coast or across the sea, but none came. Concerned that his own forces, many of them corsairs of the fleet, would grow increasingly unruly if left to grow idle, he despatched several columns into Saphery and Yvresse, hoping to prompt a response from his foes.
It was not only Malekith’s armies that coped poorly with idleness. The king himself, now that he had revealed himself to friend and foe, was the centre of much attention. Princes of Yvresse and Eataine were keen to make audience, and under Teclis’s urging the king granted such meetings to foster fresh alliance and reveal Tyrion’s falsehoods. These affairs were tedious in the extreme, a succession of pontificating nobles that seemed to think they had the secret to winning the war, who deemed their opinions of any interest to Malekith at all.
Painfully aware that he could not simply have them killed out of hand – this was not the Black Council of Naggarond – Malekith tried his best to endure their bird-like twitterings and ill-informed grasps at politics and military strategy, but all too often his shortness of temper betrayed him and the emissaries left with stinging insults in their ears, if not bellowed threats following them out of the Sapphire Palace of Lothern, where Finubar had once ruled.
‘You cost us valuable friends,’ Imrik complained to the king a dozen days after Lothern had been saved. ‘Teclis has given you the appearance of a true king, but you have none of the nobility.’
‘You would talk to me of nobility?’ asked Malekith softly, wondering just how much longer he would require Imrik’s support. He longed for the day when the dragons answered to Malekith directly, and he could dispense with the swaggering, overblown descendant of the Dragontamer. ‘These princes try to tell me how to wage war, and seek to advise me on how best to rule my people. They are dolts and dullards, and it is a wonder that with such cretinous commanders your armies ever held against mine.’
‘A history it is best not to bring up with them,’ Teclis said smoothly, having entered unheard and unseen through one of the side doors of the great audience hall of the Phoenix King. He looked weary again, the flush of energy that had filled him following the defeat of Korhil now vanished. ‘I have spent the better part of the last two days salving the wounds your harsh words have caused, your majesty. Prince Imrik is correct, you must try to resist these intemperate moods.’
‘Moods?’ Malekith said the word slowly, with menace. ‘Lackwits try to surround me with their idiocy and I am prey to moods? The whole of the Naggarothi people were dedicated to my every word, they lived and died by my will and whim. They recognised my leadership and knew when to offer their opinions and when to listen. Perhaps I should make a few more obvious examples, so that these pretentious princes understand the nature of my kingship?’
It was in this state of mind that Malekith later received word that one of his corsair captains, Drane Brackblood, had led an attack on an outpost at Allardin, slaughtering all within and looting as was the nature of the black ark crews. Such violence against Malekith’s new allies was wholly unacceptable and the Phoenix King feared that unless he sent a strong message to the other druchii tensions between them and the asur would split apart the fragile alliance he had forged.
Turning in these troubled times to his most trusted companion, he despatched Kouran, who for some time had been working with the Caledorian princes integrating the armies of Naggarond and Caledor. The captain of the Black Guard’s orders were clear and would be carried out without hesitation – Brackblood and all of her officers, and any that took part in the killing at Allardin, were to be summarily killed.
Five days later Kouran returned to Malekith with the news that the deed had been done. The bodies of the dead were displayed from the battlements of Brackblood’s black ark Shadow Tide in the harbour of Lothern and Malekith delivered a speech to his court in which he told his allies that the perpetrators of the attack at Allardin had been apprehended and executed, and he told those from the druchii contingent that any violence against the asur when not in open battle would be punished in the same manner.
The show of strength had the opposite effect to that which Malekith had desired. Amongst his own ranks there were desertions as companies and commanders decided that Malekith no longer represented their best interests, hoping to find better understanding amongst those that had followed Morathi to Tyrion’s side. From the asur princes came an outcry against the king’s brutal actions, complaints about th
e tyranny of Naggaroth being brought to the homes of Ulthuan.
The following night fighting broke out in the Sapphire Palace. The battle was swift and one-sided and when it was concluded Malekith was visited by Kouran and Caradryan, whose bodyguard forces had combined to form the Shadowfire Guard, one sinister figure in black the other a bright hero in white, as though a telling embodiment of the Phoenix King’s own duality.
‘Prince Torhaeron rallied a company of the White Lions still in Lothern, your majesty,’ reported Caradryan. ‘They served once as Finubar’s bodyguard and were on their way to kill you.’
‘This Torhaeron, where is he now?’
‘Caradryan took his head, my king,’ Kouran replied, with a hint of grudging admiration in his voice. ‘The others all fought to the death too. There were no survivors.’
‘We can expect there to be other attempts on your life, your majesty,’ the former Phoenix Guard captain told him. ‘We have organised a standing guard of two hundred warriors that will attend to your security at all times.’
‘One hundred of mine and one hundred of his, my king,’ added Kouran, ‘regularly rotated from the rest of the companies.’
‘You think this was a serious threat to my life?’ Malekith growled.
‘Perhaps not this time, but the danger will grow when Morathi learns that you have taken up the Phoenix Crown, your majesty,’ Caradryan said, his expression stern.
‘I do not need two hundred shadows dogging my footsteps, getting in the way.’
‘We are resolute on the matter, my king,’ Kouran added, literally standing shoulder to shoulder with Caradryan. ‘Shadowblade tried to kill you on the Blighted Isle, and his whereabouts have been unknown since. There are too many people that want you dead, my king – we will not be refused on this.’
Malekith was stunned by the insolence, even as he was unsettled by the accord between the two captains. They could not have been more dissimilar in temperament and ambition but they now presented a united front.
‘You are right, there will be others,’ the king snapped. ‘You can have your guard of two hundred warriors, but I want a thousand more out there in the city, in the towns, scouring for signs of rebellion before they take root. Cut out any disease, eliminate potential threats before they become a problem.’
‘Yes, my king,’ said Kouran. Caradryan seemed uncertain, but said nothing in protest.
When they had gone, Malekith walked through the palace, coming to the high tower that rose needle-like over the east wing. Finubar’s Point it was called, raised by the previous Phoenix King, where he would retire and think. At the summit was a crystal-domed observatory, for Finubar had been known as the Seafarer and even after his voyages had ended he had spent many days looking out at the stars, charting their course across the heavens, gazing towards distant horizons only he could see.
The doors had been broken in, the enchanted planks split apart by many heavy axe blows. Malekith stopped at the threshold, disturbed by the last words Finubar had said to him.
The starlight beyond the dome was reflected in the still scrying pool on the raised dais at the centre of the room, like a sheet of inky blackness dotted with tiny diamonds. A ripple disturbed the water, which in turn disturbed the watcher, for Finubar had not moved for many hours and there was no breeze to cause such a thing.
The Phoenix King straightened in shock as he saw a face at his shoulder reflected in the settling water. He spun, the punch passing through the apparition of a dark-haired, lean-faced elf.
‘So it’s true what they say,’ Malekith’s spirit said lightly, stepping through the scrying pool. He stopped at the centre and turned, one finger tracing a line in the water though the rest of his projection was as insubstantial as thought. ‘Sailors, always ready with their fists!’
Finubar stepped back, eyes narrowing, a glance directed towards the door.
‘The wards… They are not broken. How did you pass them?’ The Seafarer stopped his retreat as his legs met the edge of a cabinet by the wall. ‘The loremasters assured me the barrier was inviolable.’
‘Magic can be a tricky thing, my friend,’ said Malekith. ‘But you are right, my mother and I tried for many years to breach the warding spells on this tower without success. Trickery, brute strength, nothing we tried worked. A shame we didn’t have an earlier opportunity to exploit treachery.’
‘A traitor.’ Finubar had recovered some of his composure, comporting himself again as ruler of the elves. ‘A traitor amongst the loremasters of Hoeth? Who could gain by such a thing?’
‘Not quite a loremaster, not really.’
‘Teclis?’
‘I’ll grant you this, you are one of the cleverer Phoenix Kings I have killed.’
‘So, you intend to kill me. It will not help – my death will bring you no closer to the Phoenix Throne.’
‘Actually, it will. Or so I have been told, from a reliable source.’
Malekith strode out of the pool and looked up at the stars, marvelling at the way the rays of light seemed to pass through his not-quite corporeal body.
‘Teclis again? It was a moment of weakness, assisted by wine, the night I confessed to feeling guilt at our deception.’
‘Deception? Confession?’ Malekith smiled, or at least the representation of him did. ‘Please continue.’
‘You know of what I speak. The coronation to become Phoenix King, it is a sham. I no more passed through the flames of the king of kings than you did.’
‘I knew it!’ Malekith snapped his fingers, his smile broadening to a grin. ‘There had to be something that made Teclis seek me out. He thinks the Rhana Dandra is coming, you know? He needs the true heir to Aenarion to sit on the Phoenix Throne, to save elvenkind.’
‘His brother T–’
‘Tyrion is useless, a vacant slave to his lusts for the Everqueen, cursed by the taint of Khaine as pronounced by Caledor Dragontamer. Have you not been paying attention? He even has a child from his rutting, a dirty secret to keep from the court.’
‘Alarielle has borne only my child, Aliathra.’
‘Save your lies – you know that she is not yours. What a noble spirit Tyrion must be. To cuckold the Phoenix King and sire the next Everqueen? That must be why you never named him as successor, but always spoke well of Imrik though the prince of Caledor despises you for the most part.’ Malekith was guessing much of this, but he enjoyed the look of pain that twisted Finubar’s face as each accusation was made and took it as further proof. ‘It gnaws at your heart, doesn’t it? To think that the Dragon of Cothique is lauded so highly when in truth he is nothing more than an adolescent, getting into fights and bedding your wife. Even you, noblest and most worthy of all the princes, even you cannot swallow that shame and accept that failure in your heart.’
‘Many times has the marriage and consummation between the Phoenix King and Everqueen been purely… ceremonial.’
‘More sham, more guilt?’
Finubar bowed his head, averting his gaze. He mumbled something that Malekith did not quite hear.
‘Was that an apology or a prayer?’ said the Witch King. ‘Neither will be heard.’
‘You cannot harm me here,’ Finubar announced, suddenly emboldened. He waved a hand back and forth between Malekith’s left and right shoulder and then up through his face. ‘You could not transmaterialise yourself within these walls, even with Teclis’s assistance. He has opened a window for you, nothing more. In fact, I would think that Teclis does not want me dead, not yet. He is right, I have seen in the heavens that the Rhana Dandra is upon us. The gods of the stars fall back to the world and the gate in the north opens. The daemons will be upon Ulthuan in a matter of days and Teclis knows that our people need my leadership.’
‘I cannot say for sure what Teclis intended, but rest assured I have not hidden my motives.’ Malekith’s apparition started to make signs in the air, weaving jagged rune-shapes with the tip of a finger. ‘Well, not for this night. I will, however, dispense with hi
s alliance as soon as it becomes unnecessary. Once he has handed me Ulthuan’s keys, he will find me a less pleasant companion. You are correct in your assertion that I cannot lay physical hands upon you, much to my pity. There are other ways in which I can extend my reach.’
‘What are you doing?’ Finubar demanded, moving towards the door. Malekith’s apparition stalked after him, whispering an enchantment. With his words the floating incantation formed a circle that started to revolve around the scrying pool.
‘Dangerous things, windows,’ said Malekith, coming between the Seafarer and the door. He pointed back to the pool whose waters were colouring with blood. ‘The sisters of Ghrond have learned such lessons in very hard circumstances. Sometimes other things look back through the windows. Also, some windows can be opened, you see.’
‘What have you done?’ Finubar’s voice was choked as he dashed to the side of the raised pool and stared into the depths of his scrying-water.
‘Just a little portal,’ said Malekith. ‘It won’t last long enough to threaten Lothern.’
‘A portal to where?’
‘See for yourself.’
Finubar leaned over the edge of the pool. A hand with red skin and black claws shot out of the blood-coloured water and seized the Phoenix King by the throat. The waters boiled and a horned head emerged slowly, white-eyed, fanged mouth open in an ecstatic grin.
‘I cannot, as you said, transubstantiate my body within these walls, but daemons rarely have such problems.’
‘They’ll never accept you!’ Finubar pulled himself free from the grasp of the emerging daemon, tearing bloody welts from across his throat. ‘Ulthuan will drown in blood before you are hailed as the Phoenix King!’
Malekith said nothing as the bloodletter of Khorne leapt from the waters, hands seizing hold of Finubar while a forked tongue ran across its razor-sharp teeth. The daemon turned a hungry look on Malekith and the Witch King wondered if it would be able to follow him through the breach Teclis had made in the wards.
