02 - Shadow King

by Gav Thorpe - (ebook by Undead)

  Now that Caenthras’ plots were involving the rule of Tiranoc, there was a clear danger to all of Ulthuan. Caenthras had to pay for his duplicitous crimes.

  The rites of passing for Bel Shanaar and Elodhir continued for the next seven days. There were ceremonies of mourning led by the greatest poets of Tiranoc, who recited anguished requiems to the Phoenix King accompanied by dirgeful wailings and choruses of weeping maidens. Alith found these recitations utterly lacking in originality or special significance, bland oratories of loss and woe that spoke nothing of those who had died. In Nagarythe, such verses would be filled with true lamentation for those who had been taken away, composed by the families who had lost a loved one. In all, Alith found these professional mourners to be overblown and impersonal.

  The next day heralded the first of several rituals of sanctity during which the rightful priests and priestesses of Ereth Khial prepared the bodies and spirits of the deceased for the afterlife. These spiritualists were unlike the cults of the dead that had risen in Nagarythe. They sought not to converse with the supreme goddess of the underworld, but to protect the souls of the departed from the attentions of the ghost-like rephallim that served the Queen of the Cytharai. As with the mourners, Alith was left a little confused. In Elanardris it was well understood that the spirits of the dead would go through the gate to Mirai, there to dwell forever under the watchful eye of Ereth Khial. There was no fear, only acceptance that death is the natural conclusion to life.

  Unlike the wild chanting and sacrifices Alith had witnessed in Anlec, these true priests bathed the bodies in blessed water and used silver ink to paint runes of warding on the dead flesh. He watched from the back of the attending crowds as they made whispered intonations to placate the rephallim, and wove chains of beaded gold around the limbs of the departed so that they would be too heavy for the vengeful ghosts to carry away.

  During the funeral, Caenthras was housed as a guest of Yrianath and Alith had to move warily, to avoid discovery by the Naggarothi prince. He spied on the pair whenever the opportunity presented itself, which was rare, but was nearly always clever enough to pass on some duty that required his presence to another of Yrianath’s household. On occasion Alith was forced to take extreme measures to avoid being seen by Caenthras, ducking into doorways or running down halls on hearing his approaching voice. At one time he even resorted to hiding behind a curtain, something Alith had thought only occurred in children’s tales.

  Simply killing Caenthras would not be as easy as Alith had first thought. Certainly slaying him without being caught was quickly looking impossible, as the prince never seemed to be out of company, either of Yrianath, Palthrain or some functionary of the palace.

  While the keen edge of his hatred for Caenthras remained undiminished, as Alith observed the prince from afar, his vow to slay him was mollified by a desire to visit upon him the same min as he had perpetrated against the Anars. A simple knife in the back in the darkness would only cause more suspicion and grief, while an open challenge would reveal his presence and raise all number of unpleasant questions regarding his presence in the palace at the death of Bel Shanaar. On top of that, Alith was pretty certain that in a straight fight with Caenthras, the veteran of the wars against the daemons would surely win.

  If Alith could understand more the nature of Caenthras’ scheming he would be able to bring about a more just downfall than simple death. Alith wanted Caenthras exposed and shamed before his life was ended. To do that he needed to know everything about Caenthras’ plans, his allies and his minions. That would mean awaiting the arrival of the other nobles who would vouch for Yrianath’s accession. For the time being, Alith was patient enough to stay his hand and see what was unveiled.

  The day came for the final interment of the dead rulers of Tiranoc, and tens of thousands of elves travelled to the capital to pay their respects and witness this last journey. There were, some commented, few princes and nobles from other realms. Speculation was rife on why this might be so. The more pragmatic observers simply mentioned the travails that had beset Ulthuan’s rulers of late and suggested that most would be busy keeping order in their own lands. The more conspiracy-minded locals believed that there was a deliberate snub implicit in the absence of so many worthwhile citizens of Ulthuan. A few elves, after encouragement from friends who should probably have known better, even went as far as to say that the Phoenix King’s death was held in such suspicion by the other kingdoms that they feared to come to Tiranoc.

  Alith’s own conclusion was that those princes who had survived the tragedy at the Shrine of Asuryan, of which there were very few by many accounts, had far more important things to do than doff their crowns to a dead body. Though some in Tor Anroc had forgotten, the uprising from the cults that had preceded the council of princes was still ongoing. It was the nature of folk to concentrate on their own perils and woes, and none in Tiranoc could consider the grief of other people to be anything like as great as theirs. For the sake of peace, Alith kept these opinions to himself when asked to venture his thoughts on such matters.

  The bodies of Elodhir and Bel Shanaar were set in state upon the backs of two gilded chariots, each pulled by four white steeds. Three hundred more chariots rode in escort with the departed, followed by five hundred spearmen and five hundred knights of Tiranoc. Yrianath, Lirian, Palthrain and the other court members were also driven in chariots, decorated with chains of silver and flying the pennants of their houses, following behind the body of the Phoenix King.

  Alith and the other servants were gathered in the plaza outside the gatehouse, which had been cleared of all other elves, so that they might witness the passing away of their former lords. Alith watched the thousands-strong cortege wind its way out of the palace grounds and take up station in the square. The golden chariots then emerged and all present gave up a great shout, declaring their farewells to the fallen king and prince. Sonorous pipes sounded from the towers of the palace to warn the city below, and the blue flames of the gatehouse flickered and died.

  Alith had not known Bel Shanaar well, and had cause to resent some of his actions. Yet he could not stop tears forming in his eyes as he watched the procession clatter out of the plaza. Thus had passed the first Phoenix King since Aenarion, and the world ahead lay uncertain. No matter what came next, Alith knew that an age had ended and felt in his core that his generation would not know peace. Blood had been shed, the kingdoms of Ulthuan were divided and there were those who seemed determined to drag the elves down into darkness.

  With the Phoenix King and his son interred within the sepulchres at the heart of the mountain, the business of the palace was soon abuzz with the succession. The servants were full of opinion as to who would be the more suitable prince to rule. However, all of their heightened speculation was to be for nothing. Yrianath claimed a sickness had befallen him, brought about by the grief of the funerals, and would not be able to participate in any debate whilst he was under the influence of this affliction.

  “It must be a tremendous burden,” said Sinathlor, guard captain of the towers where Yrianath’s chambers were located. He and several others of the prince’s household were in the common room of their quarters, drinking autumn honeywine. Alith sat a little way apart, attentive to the discussion but far enough away that he need not participate directly.

  “I am not surprised that he has been set low by this malady, not surprised at all,” added Elendarin, Stewardess of the Halls. She swept back her white hair and gazed at her companions. “He has always been of a delicately sensitive disposition, ever since he was a child. His empathy for the people’s grief is a tribute.”

  Alith suppressed a disparaging remark at this saccharine observation, but Londaris, Steward of Tables, was not so polite.

  “Ha! I have never seen anything so obviously false in my life,” he declared. “This very morning, I found the prince on his balcony taking in the dawn sun and he seemed as fit as a hunter’s hound.”

  “Why feign such weak
ness?” argued Sinathlor. “Surely that gives argument to Tirnandir and his cronies?”

  Alith was fascinated by the professional loyalty of the household of each noble, who would argue the cause of their master and mistress in the fiercest of debates, yet as soon as their role and duties changed would switch their defences to their new lord or lady. It was not so with Gerithon, whose family had served the Anars since Eoloran had founded Elanardris, or the other subjects of the house who owed their loyalty alone to their prince and their kingdom.

  “Yes, it does,” Londaris was saying. “That is why I think it a risky move. I am sure the prince knows best, but I cannot see at the moment what advantage he gains.”

  Another thing that occurred to Alith during the debate was that all of the elves present had a personal stake in the unfolding events. If Yrianath’s bid succeeded, they would be members of the ruling household of Tiranoc, with all of the privilege that entailed. It was in their own interests to see the court’s decision favour their master.

  “He gains time,” said Alith, sensing an opportunity. “Have you not noticed that of all the visitors who have requested to see him, only the Naggarothi, Caenthras, has been admitted? Not even Lirian, who is the ward of our lord since the death of her husband, can see Prince Yrianath. I fear that this illness may not be the fault of the prince at all, but some ploy by the Naggarothi envoy.”

  There were frowns from some of the elves, but nods from others.

  “What have you heard?” demanded the Fire Master, Gilthorian.

  Alith held up his hands as if in surrender.

  “I know nothing more than I am saying I assure you,” he replied. “Perhaps it is simply idle speculation on my part, for I am still a novice in the ways of politics. Yet it occurs to me that this envoy has Yrianath’s ear by some means, and their meetings are always held in secret. Not even Palthrain attends them, and he supports Yrianath’s claim. I do not know what this means, but it makes me wary.”

  The others attempted to question Alith further and then took up his line of reasoning when he declined. It was, they agreed, somewhat suspicious for a Naggarothi prince to arrive in Tor Anroc during the funeral, and Caenthras certainly had unprecedented access to Yrianath. Though no conclusions were drawn, Alith went to his bed that night content that he had stirred up an unwitting force of spies on his behalf. He hoped the rumour would spread to other households and perhaps the nobles themselves, so that they might pay closer attention to Caenthras’ activities.

  On the seventh night after the conclusion of the burial ceremonies, at a time when the demands for Yrianath to come to the court were becoming louder and louder, Alith was woken by the thud of booted feet in the corridors above his room.

  He dressed quickly and slipped quietly out of his chamber. The palace was in a new tumult and Alith followed the other servants as they made their way towards the main halls. He froze when they came out into the courtyard at the centre of the palace grounds, for stood there were rank upon rank of spearmen and bowmen, several thousand of them. They were not dressed in the white and blue of Tiranoc, but in the black and purple of Nagarythe. Alith immediately ducked back inside, his heart beating.

  The Naggarothi princes had arrived, and they had not come alone.

  ——

  A Loyal Traitor

  Alith arrived in the corridors outside Yrianath’s chambers just in time to see Caenthras and an escort of Naggarothi entering the prince’s rooms. Alith ducked down a servants’ stairwell as the group emerged, Yrianath in the midst of the imposing warriors, looking much distressed. There was nothing Alith could do, even if he had been armed. He slipped away down the stairs to the floor below, where Lirian lived.

  As he emerged from the stairway, a group of Naggarothi, four of them, rounded the corner. Alith turned to run but the closest leapt forwards and grabbed his arm, hauling him back into the passageway.

  “Please,” Alith begged, falling to his knees. “I’m just a poor servant!”

  The warrior sneered as he hauled Alith to his feet.

  “Then you can serve us, wretch,” he snarled.

  Alith smashed the heel of his hand into the soldier’s chin and as the warrior fell, snatched free the sword at his waist. The blade cut the throat of the next before the Naggarothi could react. The remaining pair split, coming at Alith from both sides.

  Alith parried the first blow and leapt backwards as the point of a sword stabbed towards his chest. His return attack crashed against the shield of the warrior to his left and his arm jarred from the impact. Alith’s heart was in his throat as he dived beneath another swinging blade, rolling on his shoulder to come up to a guard position a moment before the other warrior launched a furious assault. Blow after blow rang from Alith’s sword as he backed down the corridor, heading towards Lilian’s chambers.

  In a momentary respite from his assailant, Alith used his free hand to tear down a tapestry upon the wall, hurling it at the warrior. He followed up with a jumping kick, the ball of his foot smashing into the swathed figure, sending him toppling to the carpeted floor.

  The other leapt over his fallen comrade, but Alith had expected this and lunged, chopping at his foe’s leg. Blade bit into armour and rings of mail scattered across the corridor in a spurt of blood. The Naggarothi fell to the ground, a cry of pain torn from his lips. Alith drove the point of his sword into the warrior’s exposed neck.

  The remaining soldier disentangled himself from the tapestry but lost his sword and shield in the process. As he bent to retrieve his weapon, Alith brought his blade down hard on the back of his head, splitting the warrior’s helm and biting into his skull.

  Panting, Alith straightened and assured himself that his foes were dead. He leant the sword against the wall and hurriedly unfastened the belt of one of the soldiers, wrapping it around his own waist. Sheathing his stolen blade, he ran down the passageway to the royal chambers.

  The twin doors were open and there was no sign of anyone within. Alith stepped cautiously inside, ears alert for any sound, but there was none. A quick glance through the doors and archways leading from the antechamber confirmed that the Naggarothi had already taken Lirian and her son.

  Alith could spare no further thought for the missing heir to the Tiranoc throne. The Naggarothi would be searching the whole palace and sooner or later he would run across opposition he could not avoid or overcome. It was inevitable that he would be recognised by someone. He needed to get out of Tor Anroc.

  Alith assumed that the Naggarothi had entered by the main gateway, and so headed through the palace towards the north towers, hopefully ahead of any search parties. He kept to the side corridors and hidden stairwells used by the servants to move about the palace unseen by their masters. As he came closer to the servants’ quarters he could hear yells and cries from ahead.

  He changed route, cutting eastwards across the lawn of a night garden, skimming from column to column, through moonlight and shadow, along the edge of the cloister. Beyond were the outer parts of the eastern wing and from there he would be able to reach the formal gardens at the back of the palaces.

  Several of the ground-floor windows were unshuttered and open, and Alith jumped through the closest. He heard tramping feet echoing from bare stone to his right and so turned left at a run. His headlong sprint brought him out into one of the smaller gateyards that led out of the palace into the grounds. He was about to haul open one of the solid wooden gates when he heard footsteps behind him.

  Turning, Alith saw more than a dozen spearmen entering the paved square. He saw a flash of white amongst them: Lirian carrying Anataris. The nearest warriors levelled their weapons and advanced slowly. Alith drew his sword and put his back to the closed gate.

  “Wait!” the officer at the back of the group called out. Alith recognised the voice.

  The small troop parted and the captain strode forwards. Though much of his face was concealed by his helmet, Alith could see that it was Yeasir.

  The comma
nder of Nagarythe stopped suddenly on seeing Alith. For his part, Alith was unsure what to do. If he turned his back to open the gate they would be upon him, and if he tried to fight, he would have no chance of victory.

  “Put down your weapon, Alith,” Yeasir ordered.

  Alith hesitated, flexing his fingers on the grip of his sword. He glanced at Lirian, who seemed oddly calm. She nodded reassuringly. Alith reluctantly let go of the sword, the clatter of its fall like a mournful knell as it echoed around the gateyard. Alith slumped back against the gate, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender.

  Yeasir handed his spear to one of his soldiers and approached, his gauntleted hands held up in front of him, palms upwards.

  “Do not be afraid, Alith,” said the captain. “I do not know how you come to be here, but I am not your enemy. I mean you no harm.”

  Yeasir’s words did not relax Alith in the slightest and the young Anar’s eyes darted around the yard seeking some other avenue of escape. There was none. He was trapped.

  “Come, quickly,” said Yeasir, waving a hand over his shoulder.

  Lirian, her baby in her arms, trotted forwards. As she did so, Yeasir gestured to one of his warriors.