02 - Shadow King

by Gav Thorpe - (ebook by Undead)

  “He has been so brave,” said Saphistia, clasping her arm around Yeasir’s. “Not a whimper or a tear the whole time.”

  As if emerging from a sleep, Yeasir then straightened and handed the child to Heileth.

  “I have brought steeds and more supplies,” he said. “I must divert the pursuit further south today, and tonight I will return. Then we can leave before the search begins afresh in the morning.”

  Lirian stirred at the back of the cave.

  “What of Yrianath?” she asked. “Perhaps you could rescue him also?”

  Yeasir shook his head sadly.

  “Yrianath is caught in his own folly,” said the commander. “Palthrain and Caenthras watch him every moment. It is you and your son that must be kept safe. Without the true heir their claim to any legitimate rule is weak.”

  Yeasir then shared another long embrace with his wife, and as they parted his face betrayed his pain. For a brief moment, Alith thought that Yeasir would not go, and he wondered what it was like to share such love.

  His expression full of stern resignation, Yeasir tore his eyes away from his loved ones and left the cave. Alith followed him out.

  “There is something I wish to speak to you about,” said Alith.

  “Be quick,” said Yeasir.

  “I am returning to Nagarythe,” Alith told him. “I cannot go with you to Ellyrion. I must go to my family.”

  “Of course,” said Yeasir, his eyes straying for a heartbeat towards the cave. “Keep them safe until tonight, and then you may follow whichever path you need.”

  Alith nodded. He watched Yeasir head off through the woods, heading to the west, until the commander had disappeared from sight. He sat down on a rock and began his melancholy watch.

  Not far from the cave a figure swathed in magical shadow watched Yeasir leaving. He swung into the saddle of his black horse, his raven-feathered cloak swirling behind him. Silently, he steered his steed south, riding swiftly.

  A sense of foreboding filled Yeasir as he crossed the plaza towards the palace. As he came to the gatehouse, he saw Palthrain standing with a small company of warriors. Yeasir’s heart began to pound. Something was wrong.

  “How fares the search?” the chamberlain asked, his manner off-hand.

  “No success today,” said Yeasir as he stepped past.

  “Perhaps you would have more luck if you did not waste your time visiting secret caves,” said Palthrain.

  Yeasir whirled around to confront the chamberlain. A sly smile crossed Palthrain’s lips.

  “Did you think you could betray us?” he said.

  Yeasir ripped his sword free and lunged before the guards could react. The blade punched through Palthrain’s robes, sliding effortlessly into his gut.

  “I’ll see you in Mirai,” hissed Yeasir, dragging his sword from the blood-bubbling wound.

  He cut the arm from the first warrior that approached and drove its point through the throat of the second. Yeasir dodged aside from the spear of a third and broke into a run, sprinting through the gateway.

  Running to the corral that had been made where the market had once stood, Yeasir jumped onto the back of a horse and urged it into a gallop. Three Naggarothi attempted to bar his path but he rode straight through them, snatching the spear from the grasp of one of them as he passed. With the echo of thundering hooves resounding from the walls, he passed into the tunnel-street that wound down through the mount of Tor Anroc.

  There were shouts of alarm from behind Yeasir but he paid them no heed, growling at his mount to run as fast as possible. Elves threw themselves from his path as he raced through the city. His heart was pounding with the hooves of his steed and he was gripped by a breathless panic. Everything in the world seemed to disappear around him. All that existed was the thought of his wife and son.

  Dusk was settling on the fields of Tiranoc as Yeasir’s headlong rush across the countryside continued. He spared no thought for his steed falling foul, his every intent upon the wooded hills ahead. In the ruddy light Yeasir could see armed figures marching into the woodland.

  Steering left, he sought to overtake the warriors. He ducked as he came to the edge of the trees, branches whipping at his face and shoulders. A glance to his right confirmed that several hundred Naggarothi were converging on the cave.

  His horse stumbled on a root and Yeasir almost fell. With a ragged gasp, he righted himself and urged the horse onwards. The glint of armour and weapons could be seen in the gloom ahead.

  With a last effort, Yeasir forced his mount up the hillside that led to the cave, cries from the warriors around him sounding through the trees.

  “Alith!” he shouted as the cave came into view. The young Anar leapt up from where he was sat, his bow suddenly in hand.

  Yeasir reined his mount to a skidding stop, sending a cloud of leaves swirling in the air. He swung himself down to the ground and ran for the cave.

  “We are undone!” said the commander.

  Saphistia and Heileth dashed from the cave. Yeasir waved away the attentions of his wife.

  “Take the children and flee!” he rasped. “The enemy are at hand.”

  Even as he spoke these words, the first of the Naggarothi could be seen advancing through the woods. They pointed up the hill towards the cave and hastened their attack.

  “Flee!” cried Yeasir, grabbing Saphistia and shoving her towards the cave. She fought back, slapping away his arm.

  “You are coming with us!” she said, tears streaming down her face.

  Yeasir relented for a moment, pulling her close, his arms tight around her. He caught the scent of her hair and felt the warmth of her against his cheek. Then hollowness gripped him, welling up from the pit of his stomach, and he pushed Saphistia away.

  “Take Durinithill and go,” he said hoarsely. “Protect our son, and tell him that his father loved him more than anything else in the world.”

  Saphistia looked as if she would stay, but Heileth grabbed her arm and dragged her towards the cave. With a wordless cry, Yeasir bounded after them and threw his arms around Saphistia for a last time.

  “I love you,” he whispered and then pulled away.

  Yeasir looked at the Naggarothi stalking through the woods and his sorrow was burned away by a bright anger. His body was aflame with rage, his hands trembling with the emotion. He had known little peace in his long life.

  He thought he had found it, but there were those who would rob him even of this small contentment.

  “I will fight beside you,” said Alith.

  “No!” Yeasir told him. “You must keep them safe.”

  The Naggarothi were barely a hundred paces away. Yeasir could hear the echoes of his wife and companions’ shrill voices from the cave.

  “Get them away from here,” he hissed. “There is a darkness claiming Ulthuan. You must fight it.”

  Alith hesitated, his eyes flicking between the cave and the closing Naggarothi. With a resigned sigh, he nodded.

  “It has been my honour,” said Alith, grasping Yeasir’s shoulder. “I have met no truer son of Nagarythe and I swear that if need be I will give my life to protect your family.”

  Alith was not sure if his words had been heard, for all of Yeasir’s focus was on the approaching warriors. Alith ran to the cave mouth and turned back. The black-clad Naggarothi were advancing more cautiously, in a line a dozen wide, shields raised and spears lowered.

  Yeasir faced the dark mass coming through the trees; sword in his right hand, spear in his left. He appeared relaxed, already accepting of his fate. One might have thought the commander was simply taking in the fresh evening air. Yeasir spared not one glance back, his stare fixed upon those that would slay or enslave his family. Alith had never seen such courage, and though he knew what he must do, he felt a great shame that he was being forced to run.

  Yeasir raised the spear defiantly above his head and his voice rang out, the cry of a commander who had bellowed orders over the din of a hundred battles.


  “Know who you face, cowards!” he shouted. “I am Yeasir, son of Lanadriath. I am Commander of Nagarythe. I fought at Athel Toralien and the Battle of Silvermere. I marched with Prince Malekith into the north and faced the creatures and daemons of the dark gods. I was the first into Anlec when Morathi was overthrown. Ten times ten thousand foes have felt my wrath! Come and taste the vengeance of my spear and the ire of my sword. Come to me, brave soldiers, and face a true warrior!”

  Yeasir lifted up his sword also and his next cry caused the advancing soldiers to halt, sharing fearful glances with each other.

  “I am Naggarothi!”

  Yeasir broke into a run, heading down the slope at full speed. As he came to the line of shields, he leapt into the air, his spear flashing downwards. With a crash of metal, he plunged into the soldiers. Screams of pain and dread resounded over the hillside as a swathe of warriors fell before the commander’s assault. In moments a dozen bodies littered the ground and the dead leaves were spattered with blood. Yeasir’s sword and spear tip were a silvered whirlwind, cutting down everything within reach.

  Then Yeasir was lost from view as the soldiers swarmed forwards and surrounded him.

  Alith was choked with despair but his heart burned with pride as he turned into the cave. He followed the others and plunged into the darkness.

  ——

  A Beacon of Hope

  Once more Alith found himself in the mountains, though this time he was not alone. The group had ridden north from the caves and then turned eastwards. Alith’s craft had allowed them to avoid their pursuers in the foothills before turning north again. It was the morning of the sixth day of their flight when Lirian reined her horse in beside Alith’s.

  “Why are we heading north?” she asked. “The Pass of the Eagle is south. There is no way north to Ellyrion.”

  “We are not going to Ellyrion,” Alith told her. “We head for Nagarythe.”

  “Nagarythe?” Lirian gasped. She tugged her horse to a stop and Alith paused beside her. “Nagarythe is the last place we need to go. It is the Naggarothi who want to take my son!”

  Heileth came alongside.

  “What is the delay?” she said.

  “He is taking us to Nagarythe,” Lirian said shrilly, as if accusing Alith of wanting to kill them all in their sleep.

  “Not all of Nagarythe is ruled by Morathi,” Alith said. “We will be safe in the lands of my family. Safer than anywhere else. The cults are everywhere, even in Ellyrion. Do you trust me?”

  “No,” said Lirian.

  “How can we be sure you will not abandon us?” said Heileth.

  “I gave my vow to Yeasir to protect you,” replied Alith. “It is my duty to see you all safe.”

  “And what is the word of a Naggarothi worth these days?” said Lirian. “Perhaps we should return to Tor Anroc and ask them?”

  “Not all Naggarothi are the same,” Alith replied hotly. “Some of us still value honour and freedom. We are the true Naggarothi. We have a name for those who have occupied Tor Anroc—druchii.”

  Lirian was still uncertain, though Heileth looked more convinced. She was also Naggarothi and understood better the divisions that had grown there. She turned to Lirian and spoke softly.

  “What Alith says is true,” she said. “Not all Naggarothi pray to dark gods nor seek to enslave others. If you do not trust Alith, do you trust me?”

  Lirian did not reply. She urged her horse away and turned back down the trail they had been following. Alith leaned forwards and grabbed the reins to stop her.

  “We are going to Nagarythe,” he said quietly.

  Lirian looked into his eyes and saw no compromise there. She lowered her head and turned back to the north.

  Alith had never loved Elanardris so much as he did the moment they crested the ridge at Cail Amis. He stopped his horse and looked at the hills and mountains. He had wondered at times whether he would see such a sight again. For a moment he was lost in the beauty of the white slopes and the wind-swept grass. The autumn clouds were low, but here and there the sun broke through to dazzle from the peaks. The air was crisp and cool, and Alith took a deep breath.

  The others had stopped with him, gazing in wonder, both at their surrounds and the change in Alith.

  “Is this your home?” asked Saphistia.

  Alith pointed north and west.

  “The manse of the Anars lies over those slopes,” he said. “Past those woods upon the shoulders of Anul Hithrun and two more days of riding.”

  A movement in the skies caught Alith’s eye and he was not surprised to see a crow dipping down over the hillside. It landed on the branch of a short bush not far away and cawed once before setting off again, heading south.

  “I shall fetch us some fresh food,” said Alith. “Go on ahead. I’ll not be far away nor gone long. It is safe here.”

  He turned his horse after the crow and set off at a gentle trot, his eyes keen for any sign of Elthyrior.

  Coming around a pile of moss-covered boulders, Alith saw the raven herald sat on a rock, his horse nearby nibbling at the grass. The crow was perched on Elthyrior’s shoulder and gave Alith a beady look as he dismounted and walked his horse closer.

  “I should have expected your welcome,” said Alith. He let the horse walk free and sat down beside Elthyrior.

  “I would have said it was coincidence, but I know the ways of Morai-heg better than that,” replied the raven herald. “I was heading north when I happened to see you. What news from Tiranoc? I have heard little, but that has been enough to worry me.”

  “Caenthras and others have usurped power in Tor Anroc,” Alith told him. “I am escorting the true heir of Bel Shanaar to keep him out of Morathi’s clutches. I have had no word from Nagarythe for almost a year. What manner of welcome can I expect in Elanardris?”

  “A good one,” said Elthyrior. “Morathi has other concerns than the Anars at the moment. Her army is split between those who were loyal to Malekith and those who have sworn fealty to her. She thinks the Anars are a trouble of the past, no threat to her.”

  Alith took this without comment and Elthyrior continued.

  “All of Ulthuan is in upheaval,” he said. “Only a handful of princes survived the massacre at the Shrine of Asuryan.”

  “Massacre?”

  “Surely. Though it is hard to piece together what occurred, some treachery unfolded there. The cults have been patient, growing their strength, and now they strike. Attacks and murders plague the other kingdoms, turning their eyes inwards whilst Morathi readies for war.”

  “War?” said Alith. “With whom? It is one thing to occupy leaderless Tiranoc, it is another to march to battle against the other princes.”

  “And yet that is her intent, I fear,” said Elthyrior. “Once she has full control of the army again she will set Nagarythe against all of Ulthuan.”

  “Then perhaps we should allow her to indulge this folly,” said Alith.

  “Folly?” Elthyrior laughed bitterly. “No, it is not folly, though there are risks. Ulthuan is an isle divided. No single realm can stand against Nagarythe. Their armies are small and untested, and no doubt there are traitors loyal to the cults in their ranks. Of all the kingdoms, only Caledor perhaps has strength to hold if the others do not unite.”

  “And surely they will unite when they see the threat,” said Alith.

  “There is nobody to unite them, no banner that they can come together beneath. The Phoenix King is dead. Who else would the princes follow? Whether it was some part of a grander scheme or simple opportunism, the death of Bel Shanaar and so many princes has left Ulthuan vulnerable. If Morathi can strike quickly enough, in the spring I would say, then nobody is ready to hold against her.”

  As he absorbed this, Alith absent-mindedly plucked a long stem of grass and began to tie it into intricate knots. Occupying his hands allowed his thoughts to clarify.

  “It occurs to me that the longer Nagarythe is unstable, the more time the others h
ave to recover from this disaster.”

  “I would agree,” said Elthyrior. “What do you have in mind?”

  “A banner, you said,” replied Alith. “There must be a rallying call to all of those Naggarothi who would see the druchii menace opposed. The Anars can issue such a call.”

  “The Anars did not fare so well last time they attempted to defy the will of Anlec,” said Elthyrior.

  “Last time we had a traitor in our midst—Caenthras,” snarled Alith. “We were unprepared for the foe we faced, isolated and outnumbered. This time there can be no doubting our cause. There can be no divided loyalty, and those families that perhaps once feared Morathi’s anger and did nothing will know that they cannot simply stay silent any longer.”

  Elthyrior directed a doubtful look towards Alith.

  “How I wish that were true,” said the raven herald.

  He started walking towards his horse when Alith called out.

  “We are likely to need your eyes and ears in the days to come. Is there any way that I can contact you?”

  Elthyrior mounted his steed, pulling his cloak over its flanks.

  “No,” he said. “I come and go at the whim of Morai-heg. If the All-seeing One thinks that you need me, I shall be close at hand. You know how to find me.”

  The crow leapt from his shoulder and beat its wings thrice before soaring past Alith at head height. It gave a loud screech and climbed into the air. Alith watched it circle higher and higher until it was just a speck.

  “I…” he began, turning to where Elthyrior had been. The raven herald was gone, without the slightest beat of hoof or jangle of tack. Alith shook his head in disbelief. “Just for once, I wish you’d say goodbye properly.”

  Alith had quite an entourage by the time he was on the road to the manse. Loyal subjects of the family came out of their houses and stores to rejoice at his homecoming. Their cheers and smiles were just a little too desperate though, and the strain of the split within Nagarythe showed on their faces. Alith did his best to remain confident, playing the part of the lord of the Anars, but in his heart he knew that their woes were far from over.