With a thunderous crash, the gates slammed against the walls.
Shouts of joy and laughter echoed up from the spearmen below and Alith pulled himself up with Casadir’s help and staggered to the parapet. Thousands of warriors streamed into the city. On the wall, Eothlir stood upon the battlement, the unfurled banner of the Anars held high in his hand.
As Casadir bound Alith’s wounds with the remains of his cloak, a cry of dismay came from the other Shadows atop the tower. Looking down into the square inside the gate, Alith saw that the druchii beastmasters had unleashed their monstrous creatures upon the army of Malekith. Two enormous hydras advanced on the spearmen, smoke and fire billowing from their jaws.
As the first of the monsters closed on them, the spearmen formed a shield wall, their weapons jutting like silver spines. With a clatter of wheels on stone, the chariots of Chrace charged through the gate and swung around the spearmen. Drawn by white lions, the chariots headed straight for one of the hydras; their prince, a tall elf wielding a gleaming double-headed axe, led the charge.
To the right, more cages were opened and a stream of unnatural beasts loped, skittered and slithered across the stones. Taken from the Anullii and the wastes across the sea north of Ulthuan, the Chaotic monsters lurched forwards, driven by the goads and whips of the beastmasters. More spearmen moved up beside the Naggarothi, their blue banners marked with the symbols of Yvresse.
Alith turned his attention back to the Naggarothi warriors as the flicker of flames and the roars of the lions echoed across the courtyard. The other hydra was almost upon the spearmen. The creature drew back its heads and a shouted command cut across the cacophony filling the square. As one, the spearmen dropped down, raising their shields above their heads. Fire spewed from the hydra’s heads, lapping against the shields of the warriors. Some fell, wreathed with smoke and fire, their cries shrill. As the flames dispersed a bank of charnel smoke drifted away from the scorched warriors.
“Kill the handlers!” gasped Alith, drawing his bow.
A shower of arrows fell upon the beastmasters behind the hydra and each fell, pierced by several shafts. As the Shadows turned their missiles upon the other druchii emerging from the cages, Alith watched the hydra.
Suddenly free of the goading whips and spears of its handlers, the hydra slowed. Three of its heads bent back to examine their unmoving corpses, the other four rose into the air, nostrils flaring as they caught the scent of basilisks and khaltaurs. Fiery venom dripping from its maws, the hydra heaved around its bulk and spied its enemies from the mountains. With hisses issuing from its many throats, the hydra lumbered into a run, heading for the other monsters.
“Alith!” Eoloran called up from below. “Come down here.”
Casadir tightened the knot on the makeshift bandages around Alith’s torso and then took off his own cloak and fixed it around Alith’s shoulders. With a nod of thanks, Alith trotted down the stairs. The pain had subsided but his back was numb, and twice he almost stumbled as he hurried down the steps.
Coming out onto the rampart, Alith found his father and grandfather in conversation with a majestic elf lord clad in golden armour. He was dark of hair and eye, taller and broader than both Eoloran and Eothlir. He turned as Alith walked out of the tower, a smile on his lips.
“Alith, I would like you to meet a very special person,” said Eothlir, laying an arm across his son’s shoulders and pulling him forwards. “This is Prince Malekith.”
Alith bowed out of instinct, his eyes not leaving the prince’s face. Malekith leaned forwards and took Alith by the arm, pulling him upright.
“It is not you that should bow, it is I,” said Malekith, and then he did so, sweeping aside his cloak and lowering himself to one knee for a heartbeat before standing again. “I owe you a debt that will not easily be repaid.”
“Free Nagarythe and I will consider us even,” said Alith.
“Alith!” snapped Eoloran, but Malekith waved away his rebuke with a laugh.
“He is of the Anars, that is for sure,” said the prince. He turned his gaze back to Alith and his expression was earnest. “I agree to my part of the bargain. The tyranny of Morathi will end today.”
The prince’s attention was drawn to a captain of the spearmen who was striding up the steps to the wall. Malekith waved him forward.
“This is the noble Yeasir, commander of Nagarythe and my most trusted lieutenant,” said Malekith. Yeasir nodded his head in greeting, somewhat uncertainly. Malekith clapped a hand to the shoulder of his second-in-command.
“Well done!” the prince exclaimed. “I knew you would not let me down.”
“Highness?” said Yeasir.
“The city, you fool,” laughed Malekith. “Now that we are in, it is only a matter of time. I have you to thank for that.”
“Thank you, highness, but I think you deserve more credit than I,” said Yeasir. He looked at the Anars. “And without these noble warriors, I would still be stood outside, or perhaps lying outside with an arrow in my belly.”
“Yes, well I have thanked them enough already,” said Malekith. “It would be best not to give them too much credit, otherwise who knows what ideas they might get.”
“How did they come to be here?” asked Yeasir.
“Malekith sent word to us many days ago,” said Eoloran. He went on to explain the plan devised with Malekith and how the Anars had infiltrated the city.
“Well, you have my gratitude, prince,” said Yeasir with a deep bow. He turned to Malekith with a frown. “I must admit to being somewhat hurt that you did not feel that you could trust me with this counsel, highness.”
“Would that I could have,” said Malekith airily. “I trust you more than I trust my own sword arm, Yeasir. I could not divulge my plan to you lest it affect your actions in battle. I wanted the defenders to know nothing was amiss until the gates were opened, and foreknowledge of the Anars’ presence may well have meant that you held back until the gates were already flung wide. We needed to keep the pressure on so that all eyes were turned outwards rather than inwards.”
Malekith then turned to Eoloran.
“If you would excuse me, I believe my mother is waiting for me,” the Naggarothi prince said, now empty of all humour.
PART TWO
Exile in Tiranoc
An Usurper’s Folly
Hope Restored
A Banner Falls
—
A Bitter Parting
Conversation and laughter spilled across the lawns of the Anars’ manse in harmony with the pattering of fountains, against a low backdrop of flutes and harps. Three pavilions of red and white, hung with golden chains studded with precious gems, dominated the gardens. Within and without these huge tents, the guests of the Anars strolled and talked, enjoying the midsummer sun.
Nearly twenty years of relative peace had seen the fortunes of the Anars wax again and many of the wealthiest and most powerful nobles of Nagarythe attended Alith’s ascension gala. It was his coming-of-age, an occasion of great celebration for the family and their allies. Even Prince Malekith had sent his warmest regards, though his business in the court of Anlec had prevented him from attending, a distraction he professed to regret deeply.
Eoloran had not been surprised by the prince’s absence, and Alith also knew well that while Malekith had restored his rule, the problems of the Naggarothi were not yet wholly behind them. Many of the cultists’ leaders had escaped capture and hidden, in Nagarythe and other realms of Ulthuan. There was an occasional murmur of uprising, though such demonstrations as happened were local and easily curbed by Malekith’s warriors.
The threat of Morathi had receded but not disappeared. Malekith had promised mercy for his mother and the former queen was a prisoner of the Phoenix King in Tiranoc. Though Bel Shanaar forbade her visitors save for her son, and she was kept guarded in chambers lined with magical wards, there were some that believed Morathi still orchestrated the actions of the cults from afar.
&
nbsp; Such worries and suspicions were far from Alith’s mind on this momentous day. Not only was he a true lord of Elanardris and a prince of Nagarythe, he was also about to make a declaration that he had longed to make for many years.
As the afternoon sun sank towards the horizon, the attendants of the manse marshalled the guests into the main marquee. Censers puffed wisps of fragrant smoke into the air, filling the space with the fresh perfume of mountain flowers. Bunches of white-petalled hill roses and ruby-bloomed caelentha decorated the poles that held up the high roof. Servants swayed effortlessly through the throng with platters of silver, laden with the most exquisite delicacies of Ulthuan and her distant colonies.
A stage of white wood had been erected at one end, gilded with the griffon’s wing crest of the Anars. Upon a high-backed chair, Eoloran looked out upon the sea of guests that filled the tent and spilled out onto the grass beyond. His visitors were dressed in their finest clothes, with feathery hats and glittering crowns, bejewelled armlets and necklaces, gowns embroidered with silver thread and hemmed with gilded stars.
Eothlir stood to his father’s right hand and Alith to the left. Caenthras stood beside Eothlir while Alith was flanked by Ashniel. She looked resplendent in a gown of soft yellow, which was gathered up in silken billowing clouds about her arms. Golden chains bound her hair in a complex of braids and a single oval diamond hung on a golden necklace around her alabaster neck. She exuded serenity amongst the hubbub of the elves, maintaining an air of cool and noble poise. Alith continually glanced sideways at his love, feeling her beauty lap upon him like the gently cooling waves of a lake’s shore.
When all the guests were assembled, Eoloran stood and raised his hands in greeting.
“My most noble friends, welcome to Elanardris,” he declared with a smile. “It is my honour to have such fine company to witness the ascension of my grandson to adulthood. Many times he has proven his worth, and it is right that we now give praise to his achievements.”
There was a whisper of assent and a forest of hands rose in the air holding crystal goblets and golden cups filled with dark wine. Eoloran took a chalice from a low table set before his throne and raised it in both hands above his head.
“I am Prince Eoloran Anar, lord of Elanardris,” he intoned, his voice quiet and assured. “My blood hath passed into my son Eothlir, and from he into his son, Alith. My grandson hath come of age this day and upon him now fall the duties of a lord and prince of Ulthuan.”
He took a sip of the wine and lowered the chalice.
“As we gave blood to defend our people alongside great Aenarion, now we take of this wine in remembrance of the sacrifice he made,” Eoloran said solemnly. He drank once more. “Blood we have shed again to restore peace to these lands, and Alith gave of himself in that conflict. Though we all wish it that such brave deeds are never needed again, my grandson has shown he has the mettle and the spirit to prevail against the darkness that would threaten our homes and our society.”
The mood in the marquee had become sombre as the crowd of elves nodded sincerely, while a few wept silently at the memory of what had befallen Nagarythe. Eoloran allowed his audience to hold their thoughts and memories for a while, his head bowed in meditation as he also contemplated the dark acts he had committed in his life. Straightening he smiled again.
“Yet it is not for the past that we mark this day, but for the future. Alith is, as are all our children, our legacy to each other and the world. As I pass over this chalice, so I pass my hopes and dreams to the generations to come, and wish them the peace and happiness we have also enjoyed. Into their stewardship we place our great civilisation, from Elanardris to Anlec, Tiranoc to Yvresse, Ulthuan to the far colonies. Into their guardianship we entrust the prosperity of our people, from farmer to prince, servant to king.”
Eoloran turned and proffered the chalice to Alith, who took the goblet with slow ceremony.
“Upon this day of my passing from childhood to adulthood, I accept the duties that fall to me,” Alith said. “As I have enjoyed the privilege and harmony to learn and grow beneath the boughs of my father and grandfather, I now extend the protection and wisdom of my position to those that will come after.”
Alith then lifted the cup to his lips and took a mouthful of wine. He savoured the deep, rich taste before swallowing, taking in the import of the ceremony just as he imbibed the liquid. No more a child, he was a true lord of House Anar. Pride filled him. Pride that he was Anar, and pride that already he had shown himself worthy of the tide of prince.
Alith realised he had closed his eyes. Opening them, he saw expectation in the faces before him: his father and grandfather, Caenthras and Ashniel, and the dozens of elves who had come from across Nagarythe to witness this. Lowering the goblet, Alith smiled and applause filled the tent, with no few shouts of happiness and encouragement.
Caenthras stepped up, hands raised for silence. As quiet descended eventually, the elven lord looked at Alith, his expression thoughtful.
“Let me congratulate Alith on his ascension,” said Caenthras, crossing the stage to embrace the newest prince of the Anars. “And also let me invite him to say to you all that which we have spoken about between ourselves for many years.”
Suddenly self-conscious, Alith stepped away from Caenthras and turned to Ashniel. He took her left hand in his, still holding the wine in his other.
“On this day of my ascension, it is now time for me to declare to the world that which has been plain for all to see,” said Alith. He looked out towards the audience, joy washing away his nervousness. “A year hence from this day, House Anar and House Moranin will be joined not just by alliance and friendship, but also by marriage. It is my intent to marry Ashniel and she will become a princess of the Anars as I become a prince of the Moranins. A more profound love I cannot imagine, nor a more fitting dedication to the future than to pave the way for the new heir of the Anars and many more generations to follow.”
“I bless this union between our houses,” said Eoloran.
“I am proud to call Alith a future son,” added Caenthras.
Alith took another sip of wine and held the goblet to Ashniel’s pale lips. Her eyes glittered as she looked at him. Her fingers curled around his hand, cool to the touch, and tipped the cup so that the wine wetted her lips and no more. Lifting the chalice away, Ashniel kissed Alith on the forehead, leaving the lightest smudge of red on his brow. She turned with delicate precision, kissed her father upon the cheek and then addressed the crowd.
“There are not the words yet created to express my feelings at this moment, though poets have bent their skills to such labour for a lifetime to fashion them,” she said. “In the Anars there is great strength, and in my house also. The blood of princes runs deep in Nagarythe, in our bodies and in the land. The generations to come from this lineage will be fair and noble, brave and strong, compassionate and wise. All that is great in the Naggarothi will be made greater yet.”
Alith hooked Ashniel’s arm under his and they walked down the short steps from the stage, to be surrounded by the surging elves, who pushed forwards to congratulate the couple and shower them with embraces and kisses. The sides of the marquee were thrown back and the gentle summer breeze stirred the perfumed mists and cast the petals of the flowers into the air above them.
Alith was awake immediately. He did not know what had woken him, but a moment’s listening brought sounds of a commotion from the main part of the manse. Evening sun streamed through the unshuttered window; a last defiance against the swiftly approaching Season of Frost. Alith did not remember falling asleep, though upon the table beside his bed lay half-open a lengthy tome by Analdiris of Saphery, analysing the warrior-poetry of Elynuris the Accepter.
Pushing aside the grogginess from his unplanned nap, Alith pulled himself from the bed and straightened his clothes. He heard his father call his name. As he opened the door, Alith found two servants bustling down the corridor, lanterns in their hands.
“Wha
t is it?” demanded Alith, grabbing the arm of Cirothir as he jogged past.
“Warriors are marching along the road, prince,” said the servant. “Your father awaits you at the front of the manse.”
Alith hesitated, deciding whether to fetch his bow. He decided against it, twenty years of peace having eased the paranoia that had once gripped the Anar household. In all likelihood, the soldiers were merely a guard of honour for an important guest. Grabbing a cloak from the chest at the foot of his bed, Alith hurried to the foyer and out onto the courtyard.
Eothlir was there with several other retainers. Eoloran was currently away from the manse, signing a treaty with one of the other noble houses, while Maieth was with Ashniel at the manse of the Moranins making arrangements for the wedding. Father glanced at son with raised eyebrows.
“I have had no word of any important visitor,” said Eothlir. Alith noted that his father had a short sword strapped to his belt. It seemed Eothlir was less willing to forget the troubles of the past.
The clatter of hooves echoed into the courtyard and riders came to a stop just beyond the gateway. Alith could see a column of a few dozen knights, with black pennants on their silver lances. Their leader swung down to the road and crossed quickly to the side of the gate, where Gerithon was standing. There was a short exchange between the two and Gerithon bowed and turned towards the manse with an outstretched arm.
The figure strode purposefully along the pavement, his black-enamelled armour glistening like oil, his dark cloak swirling in his wake. Alith relaxed as the figure came nearer and removed his helm: it was Yeasir, Malekith’s captain and commander of Nagarythe. Eothlir seemed set at ease as well, and stepped forwards to meet the Anlec officer.
“You should have sent word, we would have arranged a more suitable welcome,” said Eothlir with a smile, extending his hand. Yeasir’s face showed no joy at the encounter and he shook Eothlir’s hand only briefly.
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