02 - Shadow King

by Gav Thorpe - (ebook by Undead)

  Saphistia soon joined them and, dismounting they followed the path speedily, Alith at the fore, Elthyrior guarding the rear. Ahead something white shimmered in the moonlight. As he came through the trees Alith saw that it was a lodge, built of narrow planks, painted white. It had a steep tiled roof and a stone chimney, though the narrow, arched windows were dark and no smoke could be seen.

  Elthyrior appeared and signalled for the group to halt before vanishing to the left. Alith drew his sword and turned about, seeking any sign of danger. A few roosting birds flapped from tree to tree and nocturnal hunters rummaged amongst the undergrowth. An owl called in the distance, but all else was still, even the wind. The starlight came fitfully through the branches, dappling the pathway and the clearing beyond.

  Elthyrior emerged from the right, having circled the lodge.

  “It is empty,” he told them. “Whoever felled the trees has moved further south today.”

  “Should we stay, or move on?” asked Lirian. “Anataris is so tired, as am I. Can we not rest here for a while? Perhaps the riders will pass us by.”

  “And then be between us and Tor Elyr,” said Elthyrior. “No, we should not stop.”

  Alith was about to agree when Elthyrior sharply raised his hand, warning for silence. The raven herald slowly drew his sword and waved Lirian towards the lodge.

  “Get inside,” he whispered, his eyes fixed upon something out in the woods.

  Alith followed his gaze, but could see nothing. He took Heileth by the arm and led her to the door, Lirian and Saphistia following close behind. When they were inside, Alith brought the horses around the back of the lodge, where a small stable was built against the back wall. Having hidden the mounts, he returned to the front of the building, where Elthyrior was crouched beside a tree close to the path.

  Keeping low, Alith joined the raven herald. Peering around the tree trunk, he allowed his eyes to lose focus, looking for movement rather than detail. Things scratched in the dirt and shuffled in the leaves but he saw nothing else.

  Then, no more than two hundred paces away, he spied a shadow. It moved slowly, seeming to seep from one tree to the next, momentarily blotting out the patches of starlight. Once he was aware of it, Alith watched more closely, following its course as it approached from the north, skirting around the edge of the clearing.

  “There are three more to the south,” said Elthyrior, his voice nothing more than the barest sigh.

  The raven herald tapped Alith on the arm and motioned slowly towards the lodge. Fusing, the pair stepped backwards, inching away from the path. There was another hoot of an owl and Alith realised the call came from no bird. The shadow ahead stopped for a moment and then changed direction, heading directly across the clearing towards them.

  Elthyrior sprang up, dragging Alith by the arm. The two bolted for the lodge, swerving left and right. An arrow whistled past, catching Alith’s cloak before thudding into the wooden frame of the door. Another hit the door itself as Elthyrior wrenched it open.

  “Get away from the windows!” the raven herald snarled. At his instruction Saphistia, Lirian and Heileth cowered behind the stone hearth, the two children huddled tight amongst them.

  The inside of the lodge was a single open room, with windows to the north, south and east, the fireplace to the west. A long table with two benches dominated the centre of the lodge. Sheathing his blade, Alith crossed to the other side and looked out.

  There was another shadow, a few dozen paces away, watching.

  “Help me,” said Elthyrior, motioning towards the table. Between them, they managed to tilt it upon its side and scraped it across the leaf-patterned tiles to block the doorway.

  Glass shattered as an arrow sped into the room, glancing off the mantel of the fireplace. Several more followed, snicking from the hearth. Alith crouched beneath the southern window and glanced out. He saw the flickering of a flame and then a flash of orange as a fire-tipped arrow sped towards the window, landing just short, smoke spiralling up from the sill.

  “They’ll burn us out!” hissed Alith as more flame-arrows came through the windows, thudding into the benches and skittering from the floor.

  Heileth darted forwards, tamping down the burning arrows with her cloak, her demeanour calm. Another missile sped inwards and caught her in the leg just below the knee and she fell backwards with a suppressed squeal of pain. Alith grabbed her under the arms and hauled her to the others. A quick glance showed that the wound was not deep.

  “Bind it,” he said, looking at Saphistia. He heard the sound of tearing cloth as he turned back to the windows.

  The fire-arrows had not done much damage to the seasoned wood of the lodge, but smoked fitfully where they had hit. Alith glanced towards the back of the lodge and saw a raven-cloaked figure moving closer to the stable.

  Alith leapt through the broken window with a crash, snatching his sword free. The raven herald straightened in surprise as Alith dashed across the ground between them. The druchii tossed aside a bow and a gloved hand pulled free a slender blade as Alith reached his foe.

  Alith swung back-handed towards the raven herald’s head. His enemy ducked and Alith almost lost his footing, stepping to his right to regain balance. The herald lunged, raven-feather hood falling back, revealing a cruelly beautiful face. Alith was almost caught by the thrust, momentarily stunned by the maiden’s appearance.

  He raised his sword to parry another blow, stepping backwards again until he sensed the stable wall at his back. Dodging to the left, he avoided the next attack, the herald’s sword carving a furrow in the white planks.

  Alith spun away from the next thrust, bringing his sword swinging up. The blade cut into his foe’s arm, under the shoulder, and blood sprayed in the starlight. The raven herald gasped, lurching away, and Alith swiftly followed, driving the point of his sword into her back. She twisted as she fell, blood dribbling from her lips and running down her pale chin. Her eyes were filled with hate.

  A shout from Elthyrior brought Alith back to the window to see flames flickering along the eastern wall, lapping at the window. The fire was taking hold and smoke was quickly filling the chamber despite the broken windows. Lirian was sobbing in the nook beside the fire, bent protectively over her son.

  A flash of panic crossed Elthyrior’s face as he realised the peril of their situation. If they stayed inside the smoke would choke them, if they left they would be easy prey for the raven heralds’ bows.

  “Out the back,” snapped Alith, gesturing to Saphistia. He took Durinithill as she clambered through the window and then handed back Yeasir’s son, gesturing for Lirian to follow.

  “Wait!” said Elthyrior. He pointed towards the southern windows. “Listen!”

  Alith froze, his breathing still. He could hear nothing for a moment, but then his keen ears detected something at odds with the sounds of the forest. It was a tremor, distant but powerful. Dashing to the side of the lodge he saw white shapes moving quickly through the woods.

  Riders!

  From the south and east the Ellyrian reavers came, upon pearl-white steeds, dashing amongst the trees with reckless speed. There were dozens of them, galloping between the boles, bows in hand. The raven heralds turned in shock as the Ellyrians thundered across the clearing and streamed up either side of the path. One of the heralds loosed arrows as they approached, felling three knights before the shafts of the other Ellyrians found him, hurling him into the bushes with four arrows in his chest. The surviving raven heralds fled, disappearing into the shadows between the shafts of starlight, skimming from trunk to trunk before vanishing completely.

  The riders of Ellyrion quickly encircled the lodge and Alith was struck by the memory of his first encounter with these headstrong folk, so many years ago. He searched their stern faces but recognised none. Climbing back into the lodge, Alith helped Elthyrior pull the table from the door and the two of them stepped out, dropping their swords to the ground.

  “Once again it seems I owe my life to
the proud knights of Ellyrion,” said Alith, forcing a smile.

  The knights’ captain, his silver breastplate chased with sapphires in the form of a rearing horse, urged his steed forwards. He stowed his bow and brought forth a long spear whose tip flickered with magical energy.

  “Do not be so glad to see me,” he said fiercely. “In Ellyrion, spies and horse thieves are punished with death.”

  ——

  The Clarion Sounds

  Though their hands were not bound, Alith was in no doubt that he and the others were prisoners of the Ellyrians. They had ridden south with an escort of a hundred knights, who constantly darted suspicious glances at the Naggarothi. Anataris and Durinithill had been taken away, despite the wailed protestations of their mothers. Though it was a callous act, Alith knew he would have done the same.

  Five days after their capture, the Ellyrians brought them to Tor Elyr. To the east the Inner Sea sparkled in the afternoon sun, waves crashing upon a steep pebble shore. Two glittering rivers wound towards the coast from the north and west, converging on the capital of Ellyrion.

  The city was unlike anything Alith had ever seen. Built upon the confluence of the rivers and the sea, Tor Elyr was a series of immense islands. These isles were linked by bridges, graceful arches covered with turf so that it seemed as if the meadows rose up of their own accord and spanned the water.

  The towers of the Ellyrians were like ivory stalagmites, open at the base, soaring high upon circles of carved columns above spiralling stairs. Not a paved path or road could be seen, all was grassland, even under the platforms of the towers.

  White horses roamed freely within and without, gathering in herds to crop the lush grass, trotting over the bridges alongside their elven companions. White ships with figureheads of horses with golden harnesses bobbed on the water, their huge triangular sails reflecting the sun. It was as different from bleak Nagarythe as the summer is from winter. All was warmth and openness, even the skies were cloudless, their deep blue mirrored in the waters of the Inner Sea.

  There were many looks at the group as their captors led them through the wide, winding avenues of Tor Elyr, crossing from island to island. There was a babble of talk as they passed and the Ellyrians were not restrained in voicing their disapproval as insults and curses followed Alith.

  They came to the great palace, alone upon an isle at the mouth of the rivers, larger than the manse of Elanardris, though not nearly so grand as the citadel of Tor Anroc. The palace was shaped as an amphitheatre, a huge enclosed field surrounded by an arch-broken wall and six towers built upon hundreds of slender pillars. At the centre of the arena rose a stepped hill, runes of white carved into the turf, a circular stage of dark wood and silver at its summit.

  About this circle stood tall banner poles, each hanging a standard from one of the great houses of Ellyrian. Blue and white and gold fluttered in the gentle breeze, topped with streaming tails of horsehair. At their centre were two thrones, their backs carved in the likeness of rearing horses that appeared to be dancing with each other. Ellyrian nobles were gathered upon the stage and hillside, some on foot, some upon the backs of haughtily stepping steeds. All turned to look at the new arrivals, their expressions unwelcoming.

  The rightmost throne was empty save for a silver crown upon its seat. On the other sat Princess Athielle, and the sight of her stirred within Alith feelings he had thought gone forever. Her hair reached to her waist, spilling across her shoulders and chest in lustrous golden curls, braided in places with ruby-studded bands. She wore an elegant sleeveless gown of light blue, garlanded with dark red roses and embroidered with golden thread and more red gems. There was also a golden hue upon her skin, glowing in the sunlight.

  The princess’ eyes were a startlingly deep green flecked with brown, beneath a brow furrowed with anger. Lips pursed, Athielle regarded Alith and the others with a smouldering ire that did nothing to abolish Alith’s admiration; if anything her intemperate expression only served to display a fiery disposition that attracted him more.

  “Dismount,” commanded Anathirir, the captain who had taken them prisoner.

  Alith duly slipped from the back of his horse and immediately stepped towards the thrones. Knights closed in swiftly, placing themselves between Alith and their co-ruler, their speartips directed towards him. There could be no danger, for Alith and Elthyrior had no weapons.

  “Bring them,” said Athielle. “Let me see them.”

  The knights parted and, urged on by the presence of the riders, the group walked towards the princess. She stood as they stopped a few paces short, and strode from her throne. Taller than Alith, arms folded across her chest, Athielle walked back and forth in front of them, her eyes taking in every detail.

  Alith bowed briefly and opened his mouth to speak but Athielle recognised his intent.

  “Say nothing!” she snapped, a finger raised to silence him. “You will speak only to answer my questions.”

  Alith nodded in assent.

  “Who here is your leader?”

  The captives exchanged glances, and the eyes of the others eventually fell upon Alith.

  “I speak for all of us, Lady Athielle,” he said. “My name is—”

  “Have I asked your name?” Athielle interrupted. “Is it true that you took from our herds by the ford of Thiria Elor?”

  Alith darted a glance at the others before answering.

  “We took horses, it is true,” he said. “We were—”

  “Did you have permission to take these horses?” Athielle continued.

  “Well, no, we needed—”

  “So you admit to being horse thieves?”

  Alith stuttered for a moment, frustrated by the princess’ interrogation.

  “I’ll take your silence as agreement,” said Athielle. “In these times, save for the slaying of another elf there is no greater crime in Ellyrion. Even now my brother fights to free our lands from the Naggarothi menace, and we find you in our borders. You came across the mountains to spy for Morathi, did you not?”

  “No!” said Heileth. “We were fleeing Nagarythe.”

  “But you are Naggarothi?” Athielle turned her full intent upon Heileth, who shrank back from her wrath.

  “I am not,” said Lirian. She cast a plaintive glance back towards the knights. “Please, princess, they have taken my son.”

  “And how many sons and daughters of Ellyrion have been taken by this Naggarothi war?” Athielle retorted. “What is one child amongst so much destruction?”

  “He is the heir of Bel Shanaar,” said Alith, drawing gasps from the Ellyrian nobles. Athielle turned her glare back upon him, her expression doubtful. Then she laughed, without humour.

  “The heir of Tiranoc? Out of the wilderness with a ragged party of Naggarothi? You expect me to believe that?”

  “Highness, look at me,” said Lirian, her voice growing in insistence. “I am Lirian, widow of Elodhir. We have met before, at Bel Shanaar’s court, when Malekith first returned. I was not so unkempt then as I am now, and my hair was almost as long as yours.”

  Athielle cocked her head to one side as she studied the Tiranocii princess. Her eyes widened with recognition.

  “Lirian?” she whispered, covering her mouth in horror. Athielle skipped forwards and threw her arms around Lirian, almost crushing her with the intensity of her embrace. “Oh, my poor child, I am so sorry! What has become of you?”

  The princess of Ellyrion stepped back.

  “Bring the children here,” she snapped, her sudden anger focussed upon Anathirir. Shame-faced, the captain hurriedly gestured to his knights and within moments two rode forwards and handed the babes back to their mothers.

  “And who are you to have delivered this gift to us?” Athielle said, looking at Alith.

  “I am Alith,” he said solemnly. “Last lord of House Anar.”

  “Alith Anar? Son of Eothlir?”

  Alith merely nodded. To his surprise, Athielle then hugged him tight as well,
squeezing the breath from his body.

  “You fought beside Aneltain,” Athielle whispered. “I have so longed to meet a lord of the Anars to thank them for their aid.”

  Alith’s hands hovered close to Athielle’s back, unsure whether he should return the embrace. Before he had decided, she broke away, a tear in her eye.

  “I am so sorry,” she said, addressing all of them. “Such wickedness as Morathi has unleashed has spawned a darkness in all of us! Please forgive my suspicions.”

  Alith almost laughed at the transformation in the princess. Faced with such earnest contrition, there was little else he could do.

  The hostility with which the group had been greeted was matched by the Ellyrians’ hospitality once Athielle had given her blessing. Spacious chambers were given over to them in the palace, and Alith found himself attended by several servants. He found their constant presence a distraction and despatched them on pointless errands so that he could be by himself. His quest for solitude was waylaid by an invitation from the princess to attend a feast that night.

  Alith was conflicted as his servants led him out into the great arena. Deep within, he longed to leave Tor Elyr having discharged his duty to Lirian and the others. The memories of razed Elanardris haunted his thoughts and he nurtured this bleak remembrance, drawing resolution from his bitterness. Yet the thought of spending more time with Athielle, of forgetting the woes that had burdened him, teased him. This desire made him feel weak and selfish, so it was in a sour mood that he stalked from the palace to join his hosts.

  The meadow-hall had been filled with long tables and hundreds of lanterns glowed with a rainbow of colours, dappling the ground with green and yellow and blue. Ellyrian knights and nobles strolled along the tables, sampling the many drinks and delicacies on offer. Their chatter was light and drifted out into the evening sky, and there was much laughter. Alith cast his gaze across the crowd, seeking a familiar face, but saw nothing of Elthyrior, Saphistia or the others. Athielle had not yet arrived.