02 - Shadow King

by Gav Thorpe - (ebook by Undead)

  “It will not delay them for long,” Elthyrior told Alith as they helped the maidens scramble over a tumble of boulders damming a narrow stream. “The raven heralds have means other than eyes and ears to follow their quarry.”

  Onwards and upwards they marched, breaking only occasionally for rest and drink. Part of Alith hoped the raven heralds would catch them, longing to exact the first retribution against the druchii. For all his desire for a confrontation, he put aside his own wants, knowing that it would be a greater blow against the druchii cause to keep alive the sons of Yeasir and Elodhir.

  By mid-afternoon they had crested a ridge on the southern side of the mountain. Alith turned to look down the slope, Elthyrior stepping back to stand beside him. Far below, faint black shapes could be seen moving amongst the rocks: the raven heralds.

  Alith watched for a moment, and saw that there were five of them, perhaps more. Each led a horse as black as his raven-feathered cloak.

  “Their steeds will be more of a hindrance than help in the mountains,” said Elthyrior. “We should make as much gain as possible before we reach the plains of Ellyrion and their mounts become an advantage.”

  “Then let us continue,” said Alith, turning his back on the pursuers.

  Alith had never spent a night so high up in the Annulii. The magical vortex created by Caledor Dragontamer swept through the mountains, drawn by the waystones erected across Ulthuan. Magic flittered on the edge of visibility and a deeper sense inside Alith could feel its strength. Mystical winds vied with each other, twining and splitting, eddying and gusting across the slopes. Each successive draught brought a strange sensation, of lingering hope, or deepening despair, warmth or chill, wisdom or rashness. Though he had lived close to the mountains for all of his life, this was the first time he had truly felt their presence.

  Not only the magical winds disturbed the travellers’ rest. Howls and roars echoed from the peaks as warped animals defended their territories. Here in the wilderness, wyverns and manticores, hydras and basilisks prowled the darkness. The same creatures the druchii had enslaved for their armies wandered the peaks, enormous predators that were more than a match for Elthyrior and Alith’s blades.

  Though Alith was no stranger to mountaincraft, in these unfamiliar surrounds he was as dependent on Elthyrior’s guidance as the rest of the group. The raven herald had a sense for the terrain and its inhabitants that went beyond familiarity and experience. He had taken them on circuitous tours to avoid the nests of monsters, and sometimes they had doubled back on a whispered warning from Elthyrior. As the others slept, Alith questioned Elthyrior on this.

  “I have told you before that I follow a different path, one laid down by Morai-heg,” explained the raven herald. “That path leads neither to good nor ill, save that I do not believe my mistress wishes me to end my existence in the gullet of some Annulii beast.”

  “But how can you tell where to find this path?”

  “One cannot think about it,” said Elthyrior. “It is an instinct, a knowing within that guides me. It is something that cannot be seen or heard or smelt, only felt in your heart. Morai-heg tugs us this way and that as she is wont, and most pull back against her thread, refusing to accept her wisdom. I accept the fate she has woven for me and allow her hand to turn me left or right, to stop me or urge me on as she sees fit.”

  Alith shook his head at this, uncomprehending.

  “But if Morai-heg has chosen our fate already, then what of the decisions we make?” he asked. “Surely we are more than puppets for the gods?”

  “Are we?” said Elthyrior. “Aenarion, for certain, dared the gods’ wrath to save his people, yet did not Khaine claim him as his own? Did not Bel Shanaar offer himself to the mercy of Asuryan before he became Phoenix King? Even Morathi wields her power only from the pacts she has made with the darker gods.”

  “And why should I care for such gods when they clearly do not care for me?”

  “You should not,” said Elthyrior, eliciting a frown of confusion from Alith. The raven herald stoked their small fire as he continued. “The gods are what they are, old and young, lower and higher. Only a fool attracts their attention or makes demands of them. The druchii do not realise this, thinking they are free to exhort the cytharai without consequence as long as the sacrifices are fresh.”

  “But what happens if they are victorious? What if all elves become druchii and Morathi reigns in terror across the world? There can be no peace, no harmony, no balance in such a civilisation. Such dark gods thrive on strife and discord, so there can be no pleasing them.”

  Elthyrior turned his earnest eyes upon Alith, fierce in their intensity.

  “That is why we cannot allow the druchii to win,” he whispered savagely. “They are the doom of our people, and their victory will condemn us to a bloody death at our own hands. A people cannot live in anger and hate for all time.”

  “Is it not too late?” said Alith. “The druchii have already divided our people and brought war, and only more bloodshed and war can follow.”

  “Only if one lives without hope,” replied the raven herald. “We can fight to achieve peace, knowing that no peace is preserved without further war. Once we lived in utter bliss, but that can never be regained. All we can hope for is balance, in ourselves and in our people.”

  Alith pondered this for a while and Elthyrior left him to his thoughts. Talk of harmony and balance meant nothing to Alith except to reassure him that only the death of the last druchii would bring peace: to his people and to him.

  For eleven more days they stumbled and clawed their way across the mountains, buffeted and chilled by the winds. Elthyrior and Alith pressed the others to keep moving though Heileth, Saphistia and Lirian were soon wearied by the labour. At times it was if they walked without thought, following the lead of their escorts in silence. Though Elthyrior would occasionally relent and call for the group to stop, Alith spared only the slightest thought for his companions. He regarded their presence as a necessary annoyance, a duty to be fulfilled that kept him from pursuing his true goal. By sunlight and starlight he led them on until they could walk no further and only then would he allow them to sleep.

  In all this time they saw nothing of their pursuers. Elthyrior would sometimes remain behind to keep watch, but whenever he reappeared he reported that they were alone. The news brought little cheer to Alith, for as Elthyrior warned the raven heralds would soon close the gap upon them once they were out of the mountains.

  Having crossed the back of the peaks, the going became easier as the steepest peaks quickly gave way to the shallower mounts of Ellyrion. Within the encircling wall of the Annulii, the weather was warmer and the winds gentler, and they made swift progress. For three more days they descended, leaving behind the barren peaks, finding themselves once again amongst sparse forest and grassy valleys.

  It was with a mixture of relief and trepidation that the party made camp in a dell nestled at the foot of the mountains. Alith stood atop a steep hill nearby and looked across Ellyrion. Dawn was rising and in the growing light he could see the grasslands of the Ellyrians stretching out to the south and east. As the sun rose it bathed the grass in its ruddy light, creating a glowing sea that undulated in the wind. Perhaps once Alith may have marvelled at the natural beauty of the plains, but his only thought was that there would be nowhere to hide in such open country.

  “We should head south and find a river to follow,” said Elthyrior, striding up the slope.

  Alith replied with a quizzical look.

  “I do not know these lands, and neither do you,” Elthyrior explained. “But the herds of the Ellyrians need water as much as elves, so a river will give us the greatest chance of reaching a settlement.”

  Alith shook his head.

  “We cannot be sure of the loyalties of any Ellyrians we meet,” he said. “I have heard only that Prince Finudel has sworn to aid King Caledor. We need to make for Tor Elyr as directly as possible.”

  “And you know t
he way to Finudel’s city?” Elthyrior replied with a doubtful look.

  “While you learnt to speak with crows and listen to Morai-heg, I was shut up in a study with my tutors who thrust maps of Ulthuan beneath my nose,” said Alith. “Tor Elyr lies south of here, just east of the Eagle Pass from Tiranoc. It is situated on an inlet of the Inner Sea where the rivers Elyranath and Irlana meet the waves.”

  Elthyrior nodded, impressed. Then a new doubt crossed his face.

  “Eagle Pass is at least eight days’ march to the south,” he said. “And that is if we suffer no delay from our frail companions. The dark riders will surely catch us before then.”

  “Not only that, but the druchii hold the pass,” Alith said with a grim smile. “I would be surprised if we could reach Tor Elyr unhindered, but it is there we must deliver our charges. There is a forest between the Elyranath and the Annulii, Athelian Toryr, which should provide us with some cover.”

  Alith pointed south to illustrate his point. In the dawn gloom a darker shadow could be seen on the eastern flanks on the mountains, starting just at the horizon.

  “We can reach Athelian Toryr within two days,” he added.

  Elthyrior thought about this for a moment, lips pursed.

  “There is an alternative,” said the raven herald. “The Ellyrian herds wander the meadows; we could find one and secure ourselves some steeds.”

  “Steal horses?” Alith replied with disgust, though his disregard for the idea quickly passed as he considered the thought. He nodded appreciatively. “If we see such a herd before we reach the forest, then perhaps you are right. For the moment, we head south, following the hills.”

  Elthyrior signalled his assent and the pair returned to the camp.

  They set off as the sun climbed higher in the sky, trusting to swiftness rather than darkness for safety, following the hills to the south-west at the feet of the Annulii. Now that he had a plan, Alith’s mood lifted slightly at the thought that soon he would be free of this burden, free to pursue his own war against the druchii.

  He gave that matter some thought as they walked, daydreaming of the punishments he would exact upon Caenthras and the others once he had the opportunity. Gone was the shattered emptiness that had consumed him after the fall of Elanardris. He imagined returning to Nagarythe with more warriors, to challenge those who ruled from Anlec.

  With these darkly entertaining thoughts, the time passed quickly, and soon it was midday. They came across a stream running swiftly down from the mountains and stopped a while to drink, fill their canteens and catch fresh fish to eat. Alith felt none of the pleasure of this simple activity, his mind fixed solely on thoughts of the future. He was only aware of the delay, which nagged silently at him as he stooped into the waters to snatch up fish with his bare hands while Elthyrior kept watch to the north.

  Having refreshed themselves and eaten, the group moved on, following the path of the stream. It meandered to the south and Alith hoped that this would lead them to the Elyranath. Ahead the slopes of the mountains darkened with trees, still more than a day’s travel away. Alith pushed them on, seeking the sanctuary of the woods.

  The next day brought fresh hope, for the stream they followed came to a greater river, which Alith was convinced was the Elyranath. It swept powerfully from the north, heading almost directly south.

  “If only there were boats,” said Saphistia. “We could rest and travel swiftly at the same time.”

  With this in mind, they searched the banks of the river but could find no sign of such craft. It seemed the Ellyrians preferred their steeds to water. The search was not entirely in vain, for just upriver the waters widened and slowed at a ford. Elthyrior and Alith both spied fresh hoofmarks on the banks to either side, many horses having stopped to drink before moving off to the east.

  “I see no print of boots,” remarked Elthyrior. “I would say the horses are not tended.”

  “Or perhaps the riders simply did not dismount,” countered Alith. “Either way, neither of us can say how far the herd has travelled since crossing. It could be many hours away by now.”

  “There is a means by which we might find out,” said Elthyrior, turning away.

  Alith and the others watched as the raven herald strode away from the river, up a small rise to the west. Here he sat upon its crest, almost hidden in the long grass, with his legs crossed and his arms held out to either side of him. He remained unmoving for some time and Alith chafed at staying in one place for so long. Continually his gaze strayed to the north, his eyes searching the hills for any sign of the dark riders.

  Just as Alith was about to interrupt, irritated at this unnecessary delay, Elthyrior lifted his head back and let out a long whistling sound, which deepened into a low cawing. The noise swirled around Alith. The cry rose and fell in volume and pitch, creating harmonious echoes within itself, as if it came from many throats. Alith could feel the magic bound within the call lifting up, spreading higher and higher, and he turned his gaze to the clear skies.

  He saw nothing at first. After a moment a black speck appeared to the north. Another came from the south, swiftly followed by several more. Other dark dots converged from every direction, revealing themselves as crows as they neared. Alith guessed there to be several dozen as they flocked together high above the hill, wheeling and swooping, the cacophony drowning out Elthyrior’s ululation.

  An eerie silence then followed. One-by-one the crows dipped to the hillside, settling in the grass on and beside the raven herald until he was obscured by a shuffling, ruffling crowd of feathers and beaks. The crows hopped and fluttered around Elthyrior, each cawing out in turn, as if in council. Alith watched with amazement as Elthyrior stood, the flock leaping into the air, circling around him.

  With a sweep of his hand, Elthyrior bid the birds to leave and in a great mass they climbed into the air, shrieking their farewells. As suddenly as they had arrived they were gone, each flying back the way it had come.

  The raven herald walked down the hillside, his expression grim.

  “I have news, both good and ill,” he said. “The herd that crossed the river has no guardians, and is but a short walk to the east, beyond that next line of hills.”

  “That is the good news?” asked Heileth.

  “It is,” replied Elthyrior. He turned to the north and pointed towards a towering white cliff they had passed early that morning. “The dark riders are close on our heels, passing that bluff. If we cannot take steeds they shall be on us before nightfall.”

  “Perhaps we can find a more defensible position further into the hills,” suggested Alith.

  “It will be to no avail,” said Elthyrior, shaking his head. “They will come at us in the darkness, clothed in shadow. I do not know if they mean to kill us or capture us, but we cannot fight them. There are eight of them, and we have no bows with which we might even the odds.”

  “We must get horses!” said Lirian, clasping her son protectively to her chest as if the riders were bearing down on them at that moment. “We can’t allow them to catch us. Think what terrible things they will do to us!”

  Elthyrior looked to Alith, seemingly happy to abide by his judgement. Alith considered his options and liked none of them, but for all that he wracked his mind he could not conceive of any better plan.

  “We’ll make for the herd,” he announced. “If we cannot fight, then the swiftest flight is our best option.”

  Though he sounded confident, Alith had no hope that they would outrun their pursuers. Perhaps for a day or two they would stay ahead, but it was still a long way to Tor Elyr and the dark riders would be relentless. If they came across a place that they could defend with any surety, he resolved they would stop and fight rather than be caught unawares.

  As they headed east, Elthyrior walked beside Alith.

  “There is something else that you should know,” he said quietly.

  “What is it?”

  “I did not want to alarm the others, but my summoning of the cr
ows will have been felt by my former brethren. Just as they can spy for me, the crows will spy for them. Such birds have little loyalty. The dark riders will soon know that we are mounted and will ride all the harder to catch us.”

  Nightfall found the group riding into the eaves of Athelian Toryr. As Alith had feared, though their stolen mounts proved faster than travelling on foot, their progress had not been as swift as it could have been. He did not have much horse riding experience, having had little opportunity to learn in his youth, while all except Elthyrior were unused to riding without saddle and harness. The Ellyrian steeds had been docile enough, and ran like the wind when urged, but Saphistia and Lirian, carrying their sons, had been afraid to give their steeds their full run. At times they had been forced to slow to a walk as the path wound round loops in the river or crossed other streams, and Alith knew such things would not delay the dark riders.

  Picking their way slowly under the tree canopy, the fugitives continued south by the dim starlight that broke through the leaves. Alith constantly looked over his shoulder, expecting to see shadowy riders closing on them at any moment. Elthyrior seemed content, his gaze fixed ahead, or perhaps he simply accepted that there would be no warning of attack.

  As the pale light of Sariour breached the roof of leaves, they came across a clearing, the stumps of felled trees stretching for several hundred paces. The smell of sawdust hung in the air.

  “These have been freshly hewn,” said Elthyrior.

  “There may be a lodge close at hand,” said Alith. “Spread out and seek a path.”

  The group did as he asked while Alith halted and turned back the way they came, keeping watch for pursuit. It was not long before he heard Heileth calling from the north-west. Alith guided his horse into a trot with a word, crossing the clearing swiftly. He found Heileth at the edge of the open area, Lirian and Elthyrior already with her. A wide trail in the fallen leaves and undergrowth struck out to the north, into the hills.