A few of the Ellyrians tried to engage him in conversation, wandering over in small groups to meet their strange guest. His civil yet curt replies soon rebuffed their attempts at friendship, and the sympathetic looks of the departing nobles did nothing to ease the residual anger he felt. To Alith, it seemed impossible that such a banquet could be held while elves fought and died not so very far away, the future of Ulthuan hanging in the balance. It was such a far cry from what he had left in Nagarythe that he was taken by the urge to leave immediately. He wanted no part of this false display of gaiety and wellbeing.
As he resolved to depart, Athielle made her entrance. Flanked by a bodyguard of knights, she rode into the arena upon a high-stepping white stallion, her long tresses flowing behind her like a cloak. Diamonds glittered in the harness of her steed and flashed like stars from the threads of her blue gown.
The crowd parted before the princess and she rode quickly up to her throne while her knights wheeled away, picking their way easily through the mingling elves. Athielle dismounted with a flourish and sent her horse running with a whispered word. Servants were on hand with platters of food and goblets of wine, but she ignored them, casting her gaze across her assembled subjects. Her eyes stopped when they fell upon Alith, who was stood away to her left, far from the rest of the elves.
Athielle beckoned him to approach. Taking a deep breath, Alith strode up the throne hill, ignoring the looks directed at him from the other Ellyrians. His eyes were fixed upon Athielle, as hers were upon him. The princess smiled as Alith reached the stage and extended a hand in greeting. Alith took her hand in his, bowed and kissed her slender fingers.
“It is my pleasure to see you again, princess,” said Alith. To his surprise he realised that he meant these words, all his misgivings having been dispelled by her warm smile.
“And it is an honour for me, prince,” Athielle replied. She turned and whispered something to one of her retainers who slipped away.
“I hope that you are finding your stay in Tor Elyr more comfortable than your journey here,” she said, gracefully withdrawing her hand before sitting upon her throne.
Alith hesitated before replying, not wishing to be dishonest but cautious not to voice his misgivings.
“The hospitality of your city and people are a great credit to Ellyrion,” he said.
Servants returned carrying high-backed chairs, which they arranged around the throne. As Athielle waved for Alith to be seated, she looked away with a broad smile.
“You need not suffer my company alone, Alith,” she said.
Before Alith could dispute that such an encounter was anything but pleasant, Athielle pointed past him. Alith turned to see Lirian, Heileth and Saphistia walking up the hill, clad in flamboyant dresses of silk and jewels. There was no sign of the children, or Elthyrior. Alith’s companions seated themselves around him, looking comfortable in their finery, pleased with the attention being heaped upon them.
“Our vagabond maidens have been restored to their glory,” said Athielle. “Like fine steeds that need to be well-groomed after a long ride through briar and wood.”
Alith murmured his agreement, for his companions looked every part the nobles that they truly were. Still, there was something stiff about the beauty of Lirian, like a finely rendered statue, which reminded Alith too much of Ashniel. Heileth and Saphistia were more familiar, being Naggarothi, but even they had taken on an otherworldly air with the pampering of their attendants. Alith returned his gaze to Athielle, admiring all the more her natural beauty. Though her appearance was as meticulously designed and styled as the others, Alith saw a light within her, a glow of life that couldn’t be swathed by all the gems and cloth in Ulthuan.
Alith tried to dismiss these thoughts but Athielle leaned forwards towards him, her scent enveloping him. It was the perfume of Ellyrion itself: of fresh sea air and grass, of open skies and rolling meadows.
“You seem uncomfortable, Alith,” said the princess. “You are not at ease.”
“I am perplexed,” said Alith. “If you will pardon the question, I must ask how it is possible that so many Ellyrians can be brought here, while the Naggarothi wage war upon all of Ulthuan?”
A scowl marred Athielle’s perfect features and Alith felt a stab of regret at his words.
“You come to us in a brief moment of respite. Even now my brother fights in the north, defending these lands.” Her tone and expression relented as she continued. “Is it wrong to enjoy these fleeting moments of peace? If we do not treasure our lives as they can be without war, what is it that we fight for? Perhaps it is a failing of the Naggarothi that they could find no contentment within themselves, that only in action and not quiet do they measure the success of their lives.”
Athielle’s words stung Alith and he looked down, shamed. He had no right to bring his own darkness here, to taint the light of the festivities of others, but for all his misgivings, a part of his soul protested against acquiescence. This was an illusion, a fake revelry that tried to defy the blights of Ulthuan, hollow and meaningless.
Alith curbed his tongue, wishing to cause no further offence. Athielle was speaking to the others, but her questions and their replies were faint in Alith’s ears. Only after some time did he look up, stirred by movement. Lirian, Saphistia and Heileth were leaving the throne-stage. Alith stood and mumbled a few parting words, and then he was alone with Athielle and her court.
“I see that my attempts to lighten your mood have been for naught,” said Athielle. “Please, sit, and we will talk of matters that are perhaps of more concern to you.”
“Forgive my mood, princess, I am not ungrateful for your kindness,” Alith said, taking his seat again. “I have suffered more than any from this war and it is not in me to put aside my woe. I would have it that every day could be spent as this one, but wishing it will not make it so.”
“I will not deceive you, Alith,” said the Ellyrian ruler, her mood serious. “The war has not gone well of late. King Caledor’s gains of the summer have been reversed and we expect the Naggarothi to march again for Tor Elyr before the end of the season. I do not know if we can hold them this time, for they seem reckless in their hatred and determination to crush all opposition.”
“There is no alternative but to fight,” Alith replied. “I have seen the horror of Morathi’s rule, the wickedness of her followers. It is better to fight and die than submit to such barbarous slavery.”
“And how will you continue to fight, Alith?” asked Athielle. “You are a prince without a realm, a leader without an army.”
Alith said nothing, for he had no answer to the question. He knew not how he would fight, only that he must.
He refused to entertain the hopelessness that churned within him; refused to consider any thought of surrender. The blood in his veins burned, his heart set to racing at the merest contemplation of the druchii and the wrongs they had heaped upon him.
He looked up at Athielle and she shrank back from his piercing stare.
“I do not know how I will fight,” Alith said. “I do not know if any will fight with me. While I still draw breath, I will not suffer a single druchii to live. This is all that is left of me.”
The seasons passed differently in Ellyrion, the weather far milder than in Nagarythe, and Alith became unsure how long he had spent in Tor Elyr. The passing days melded into an interminable limbo, and Alith felt the same frustrations that had beset him in Tor Anroc. He had no plan, no course of action to follow, only the burning desire to do something.
He spent little time with the others he had arrived with; Elthyrior had disappeared soon after their coming, and the rest were quickly adjusting to court life in their new home. Alith found the Ellyrians intolerable company, even more garrulous and overly friendly than the serving folk of Tor Anroc. The wide meadows surrounding the city had none of the bleak charm of Elanardris, the sundrenched fields only serving to throw his own cold feelings into stark contrast. The Inner Sea held no appeal for Alith eit
her, nothing more than a means to travel further east, away from Nagarythe.
So it was that he spent much of his time alone, brooding on his fate. The Ellyrians soon came to shun his company, and he encouraged this. He even turned down requests from Athielle to join her, driven by a self-torturous need to deny himself any form of pleasure. Alith came to hate and love his own suffering, taking comfort from his bitter thoughts, confirming his own dark suspicions about his fellow elves.
When even the clement weather within the Annulii began to grow colder, Prince Finudel returned from his campaign. Alith joined the Ellyrian court to welcome the prince, and was introduced by Athielle that evening. The three of them met alone in the prince’s chambers, high within one of the palace’s towers. Alith again related the circumstances surrounding his exile from Nagarythe.
“All that I desire is to strike back at those who have destroyed my family and my lands,” Alith concluded.
“You wish to fight?” said Finudel. The likeness between him and his older sister was remarkable, though Finudel was even more animated and prone to changes of mood. The prince paced to and fro across the circular room, his hands in constant motion, seeking activity.
“I do,” said Alith.
“Then you will soon have the opportunity,” replied Finudel. “You were not the only Naggarothi to have crossed the mountains. They joined with us as we pursued an army of cultists. Many spoke highly of you, Alith, and they will be heartened to hear that you are alive.”
“I am glad that others have evaded the clutches of Kheranion and his army,” said Alith. “How many have made the crossing?”
“A few thousand in all,” said Finudel. “They are camped to the west with my army. It would do me a great service if you would lead them into battle beside me.”
“Nothing would give me more satisfaction,” said Alith. “Against whom are we to fight?”
“The druchii have retaken the Pass of the Eagle, its eastern reaches no more than three days from here,” Finudel said. “I ride out again tomorrow.”
“And I ride out as well,” said Athielle. “We cannot allow our foes to approach Tor Elyr. As you see, our city has no walls to defend, no keeps to hold the druchii at bay. We must meet them in open battle, and must do so with all of our strength.”
“We must deal with this threat,” added Finudel. “In the north, there are still those who were once our subjects who have been swayed by Morathi. They are a blight within Ellyrion but they cannot be swept away whilst the threat from the west remains.”
“I will fight for Ellyrion as if they were my own lands,” said Alith. “The druchii will pay a bloody price for their treachery.”
—
Blood on the Plains
Cheers greeted Alith’s arrival at the Naggarothi camp, but the enthusiasm of his followers was soon quelled by his dour expression. Amongst those that thronged towards him from the tents, Alith recognised many faces. The former Shadows Anraneir and Khillrallion were there, with Tharion, Anadriel and several others who had fought at Dark Fen. All seemed pleased to see him, but there was a drawn, haunted look about their faces.
“We feared for you, lord, when you disappeared from Elanardris,” said Anraneir. “We thought you dead, or worse.”
“You were not wrong,” replied Alith. “Though I am not dead in body, I suffer all the more for it.”
Some of the captains exchanged worried glances at this, but remained silent.
“What are your orders, prince?” asked Tharion.
It struck Alith as strange that one of his father’s closest friends, who had fought beside Eothlir in the colonies, would look to him for leadership. Alith considered the question for some time.
“Fight until your last breath, and with that last breath spit out your hatred of the druchii.”
The army moved westwards towards the Pass of the Eagle, a force of several hundred knights riding ahead of the host to spy the position of the enemy. The Naggarothi marched alongside the Ellyrian spearmen and archers, and Alith walked with them, choosing to accompany his warriors on foot rather than ride with Finudel and Athielle.
Two days from the pass, scouts returned with word of the druchii army. Messengers asked Alith to attend the Ellyrian prince and princess so that they might devise a strategy. They met just after midday, as the army took a break from its march along the southern bank of the Irlana River. Beneath a pavilion roof of blue and gold, the commanders sought the counsel of each other whilst they refreshed themselves with water from the river and fruits brought from orchards further south.
“We are outnumbered, that is for certain,” they were told by Prince Aneltain, who had met Alith whilst returning from the ill-fated expedition to Ealith more than twenty-five years earlier. It was Aneltain’s warriors that formed the vanguard and the prince had troubling news. “Forty thousand infantry at least, and some ten thousand knights. Few are cultists, most are soldiers trained in Anlec.”
“That is nearly ten thousand more warriors than we have mustered,” said Athielle. She paused to take a bite from a red apple, her expression pensive.
“It is, but we have the greater number of cavalry,” said Finudel. “We have twice as many riders.”
“These are knights of Anlec, not reavers,” said Alith. “You cannot count their strength by numbers alone.”
“And the reavers of Ellyrion carry bows,” countered Finudel. “And ride swifter steeds. The druchii knights can chase us for a year and a day and they will never catch us.”
“They do not need to chase us, brother,” said Athielle, finishing the apple, tossing the core towards her horse, Silvermane. “The enemy know that we must stand at some time, to protect Tor Elyr.”
“Why?” asked Alith. The other elves directed surprised looks towards him. “Why do you need to protect Tor Elyr?”
“Fifty thousand of our subjects live in the city,” said Finudel, a touch of anger in his voice. “We could not abandon them to the cruel intent of the druchii.”
“Evacuate them,” said Alith. “By land and ship, have your people leave the city. It is only stone and wood, after all. Why hang such a weight about your necks when you have such a swift army?”
“It matters not,” said Athielle. “Though many of us can ride away from the druchii, even in Ellyrion there are not enough horses for every elf. Half our force is on foot.”
“Have them hide in Athelian Toryr, where the enemy will not happily follow.”
“Hide?” spat Finudel. “You would have us allow the druchii to ravage our lands at will, leaving us destitute and homeless.”
“Better that than make food for the crows,” Alith replied. “While you live you can fight.”
“We will not run like cowards,” said Athielle. “Too many have done so and paid the price later. The Naggarothi only grow stronger the longer we delay confrontation.”
Alith shrugged.
“Then we will fight them,” he said. “It would be wise to attack while they are still in the pass, where their numbers will count against them. Ambush them from the slopes, lure them onto your blades and surround them.”
“A rock-strewn valley is no place for cavalry,” said Aneltain. “We would surrender the advantages that we possess.”
“We will meet them upon the open field, and fight as Ellyrians,” said Finudel.
“It is clear you have already set your minds on one course,” growled Alith. “No argument I can make will convince you of the error of your actions. If you do not wish to hear my counsel, why did you ask me here?”
“And who are you to tell us better?” said Finudel. “A dispossessed prince; a wanderer with nothing but hate.”
“If you would suffer the same fate as I, then do as you say,” snarled Alith. “Ride out in glory, with your banners streaming and your horns ringing. You think that because you have defeated the druchii before that you will have victory today? They do not fight on your terms, and they will win. Unless you crash them, kill every
one of them, they will not relent. Morathi drives them on, and their commanders fear her far more than they fear your knights and spears. Have you mages to match their sorcery? If you win and they flee, have it in you to chase them down, slay them as they ran? Is it in your noble hearts to butcher and kill, so that they will not return?”
“Darkness cannot be defeated by further darkness,” said Athielle. “Did you not hear what I told you in Tor Elyr? It is because the druchii despise peace, loathe life, that they must be defeated. If we become the same, we have lost that which we fight for.”
“Fools!” said Alith. “I will have no part of this folly. The true Naggarothi have already paid the price for thinking that they can stand face-to-face against the might of Anlec. The corpses of my mother and father are testament to that course of action.”
Alith stormed from the pavilion, scattering the Ellyrians in his path. He strode through the camp, heedless of the shouts that followed him. Despair vied with rage inside him: despair that the Ellyrians would die; rage that the druchii would gain an important victory.
His captains met Alith as he entered the Naggarothi camp. They immediately sensed his foul mood and followed in silence as he cut between the assembled regiments towards his tent. A glare from Alith halted them at the door as he ducked inside.
Alith sat listening to the musicians of the Ellyrians calling them to the march. The ground trembled beneath the tread of horses and elves as Finudel and Athielle mustered their army. Let them march to their pointless deaths, he told himself.
It was Khillrallion who dared his foul temper, standing calmly upon the threshold of the pavilion, hands behind his back.
“The Ellyrians have broken camp, prince,” he said quietly.
Alith did not reply.
“Should we make ready to march as well?”
Alith looked up at Khillrallion.
“We will follow behind,” he said. “If they call for our aid, I will not deny them.”
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