by William King
Beside the White Lion was a female elf in a beautifully woven and cowled travel gown. Her expression was haughty, her amber-eyed stare piercingly direct. She wore a number of glowing amulets that marked her out as a mage. A lock of long raven-black hair emerged from beneath the cowl of her cloak.
Behind them a group of riders sat, mounted on caparisoned horses. All of them wore the same tabard and had the same emblem on the pennons of their lances; a white ship on a green background. A line of spare mounts and pack mules straggled out behind them. It looked like quite an impressive expedition.
Before Tyrion could say anything the White Lion had planted the lance in the earth of the gateway, vaulted down from the saddle, strode across the courtyard and swept his father off his feet in a massive hug. Much to Tyrion’s surprise his father did not object, he was laughing merrily. It was the first time Tyrion had ever seen such a thing.
He glanced at the woman to see if she was as wonderstruck as he, and noticed that her expression was sour and disapproving. She looked around the courtyard as if she were inspecting a pigsty. Her horse was smaller than the warriors’ but even more beautifully accoutred. She caught him watching her and frowned. He met her gaze though and held it till she looked away.
‘Korhien, you old warhound, it is good to see you,’ said Father.
‘And you, Arathion,’ said the warrior, slapping his father’s back with a force that Tyrion feared would do him injury. His father winced under the impact but made no protest. It suddenly occurred to Tyrion that Korhien and his father were friends. It was a novel concept. In all the years of his childhood, Tyrion could not recall his father showing affection to anyone or anything, even his sons. ‘How long has it been?’
‘Not since you retired here, after Alysia...’ Korhien said, and the way his expression changed showed he knew he had made a mistake even as he spoke. He closed his mouth. A wave of sadness flashed across his father’s face and he looked away into the distance.
‘Lady Malene,’ said his father at last. ‘Welcome to my home.’
‘So this is where my sister died,’ said the woman. ‘It is not a very... prepossessing place.’
Another faint shock rippled through Tyrion’s chest. This woman was his aunt. He studied her even more carefully now, wondering just how much she resembled his mother. Now that he looked closely he saw that some of her features bore a resemblance to Teclis’s and even to those he saw in the mirror. She was staring at him just as hard. There was hostility in that gaze and something else he could not make out, curiosity perhaps.
She held out her hand and looked at him again. It occurred to him that she was a lady who was not used to mounting or dismounting a steed without aid. He felt tempted to go and help her, but something in him rebelled against it and after a moment, he realised why.
It would be servants who would aid this woman, and he was most definitely not her servant. She saw the knowledge strike him, and she smiled coldly, dismounted gracefully and strode over to where he stood. She walked all around him inspecting him the way a mountain housewife might inspect a calf she was thinking of buying. Tyrion did not like the way she did it.
‘Do you like what you see?’ he asked.
‘Tyrion,’ his father said, his tone disapproving. The warrior laughed. The elf woman’s response surprised him.
‘Yes, very much,’ she said. ‘Although its manners could be improved.’
Korhien laughed at that too. Tyrion felt his face redden. He clenched his fists defiantly, not used to being mocked by any but his father or Teclis. Then he saw the funny side and laughed himself.
‘You look like her when you laugh,’ Malene said, and there was a sadness in her voice that reminded him of his father sometimes. ‘Alysia was always a merry soul.’
Alysia had been his mother’s name, and it was obvious from Malene’s tone that she missed her. It occurred to him that perhaps this proud, cold woman might be something like he would become if Teclis died, and he found he had a certain sympathy for her then.
‘Are we going to stand out here in the dust all day?’ asked Korhien, ‘Or are you going to ask us in and ply us with some of the fine old wines in that cellar of yours you always boasted about.’
‘Of course, of course,’ said his father. ‘Come in, come in.’
It was the first time Tyrion had ever heard about fine old wines in their cellar. It was certainly turning out to be an interesting day. The riders still sat on their horses, impassive, as if waiting to charge. There was a sort of menace in their stillness.
‘Perhaps your retainers would care to join us,’ his father added. ‘It seems like a very large party for a social visit.’
Tyrion did not miss the quick look of warning that flashed between Father and Korhien.
‘The roads grow dangerous again,’ Korhien said. Tyrion sensed that he would like to have said something else but was constrained by the presence of the others.
What was going on here?
chapter two
The sitting room was damp and fusty and cold, and Tyrion could tell that the Lady Malene was less than impressed. For the first time he felt ashamed of his father and his home.
Looking at her raiment woven from silks and magical cloths he could not even name, Tyrion saw for the first time how very shabbily he and his father were dressed. For so long he’d had nothing to compare his family to other than the local villagers who were, he now realised, simple mountain folk.
It was obvious that Korhien and Malene belonged to a very different order of people, and one to which he felt he and his father did not. Perhaps his father once had, but, if so, no longer.
Lady Malene sniffed the air and looked at the chipped wooden armchairs. They were not padded or cushioned and he guessed that was something else she was not used to. Korhien laughed. ‘I have been in army camps that were more prepossessing, Arathion. Not much chance of you going soft out here.’
‘Be seated, I will soon have the fire lit,’ said Father, and he was good as his word. He exited the chamber and returned with some of their precious supply of winter logs. He tossed them into the fireplace any old way and lit them with a word of power.
Each log erupted simultaneously into blue mystical flame when he spoke. Sparks flickered and faint popping sounds filled the air as the sap within ignited. Tyrion looked at his father in amazement. It was the most, and the most obvious, magic he had seen him use in years. He wanted to run and tell Teclis but was kept frozen to the spot by curiosity, a desire to see what extraordinary thing might happen next.
Thornberry brought in a clay bottle of wine and three goblets on an ancient-looking bronze tray. She seemed uncomfortable but tried not to show it, keeping her face stone-like in its lack of expression. She placed the wine on the low table and retreated from the room as quickly as she could.
His father gestured for the guests to be seated. ‘There will be food soon.’
Tyrion wondered at this as well. His father must have given instructions for the food to be prepared which was something of a wonder in and of itself. Often he forgot to eat for days at a time, and, when Thornberry was not there, Tyrion had to cook for himself and Teclis.
Korhien and Malene sat while his father poured the wine. Tyrion went over to the fire and stood with his back to it, luxuriating in the unaccustomed heat.
‘To what do we owe the honour of this visit?’ his father asked eventually.
‘It is time,’ said Korhien. ‘The twins are almost of the age to be presented at the court of the Phoenix King.’
‘It is their right,’ said Lady Malene. ‘And their duty. They are of the Blood of Aenarion.’
‘Yes, they are,’ said his father. He sounded oddly sharp and looked more combative than Tyrion had ever seen him. His father was never aggressive to anyone. ‘I am wondering why House Emeraldsea has chosen to send its fairest daughter and its greatest ally at court to collect them.’
Tyrion felt another shock. Collect them. What did his father mean?
He could tell from Malene’s expression she had not expected this response either. She had the look of a woman who people did not talk to in that tone. Korhien too was looking at Tyrion’s father oddly but not without admiration.
‘What do you mean?’ Malene asked eventually.
‘I mean for the past fifteen years or so, House Emeraldsea has shown little enough interest in my sons. And yet today, here you are, reminding me of my paternal duty to have them presented before the Phoenix Throne in the company of a troop of armoured warriors. I am curious as to why.’
‘They must be presented,’ said Korhien. ‘You know the law as well as I do, Arathion. They are of the Blood.’
‘And if they are to be presented at court, I must see that they do not disgrace our family,’ said Malene.
His father let out a soft laugh. ‘I thought it must be that.’
‘Why must we be presented at court, father?’ Tyrion burst out, unable to contain his curiosity.
His father looked at him, as if noticing for the first time that he was there. ‘Leave us, Tyrion, your aunt and I have much to discuss. I will tell you what you need to be told later.’
His father sounded stern, and what he was saying was unfair, but there was such a look of pain in his eyes when he spoke that Tyrion did not have the heart to argue with him or question him. He stalked to the door and closed it behind him, resisting the urge to slam it although the temptation was very great.
‘Think,’ said Teclis. His voice sounded even more husky and rasping than usual. His cough was worse, but there was a feverish interest in his eyes now. He sat upright in his bed, a blanket draped round his shoulders like a cloak. ‘Try and remember, what else did they say?’
Tyrion shook his head. ‘I have told you all of it.’
He drew his cloak tighter around him. After the warmth of the sitting room downstairs, Teclis’s room seemed colder than ever. Perhaps he should carry Teclis down and let him sit by the fire for a while. He knew better than to suggest it though. His brother would never agree. He did not like his weakness to be exposed before strangers.
‘You are sure she said we are to be presented to the Phoenix King?’
‘Yes.’
‘I suppose it makes sense. We are potential inheritors of the Curse, after all.’
Tyrion laughed. ‘The Curse? The Curse of Aenarion? Be serious!’
‘The Archmage Caledor claimed that all of those of the Blood of Aenarion could inherit his curse and be touched by Khaine, god of murder.’
‘Surely that only applies to those like Malekith, born after Aenarion picked up the Godslayer and was tainted by its power.’
‘You would think, wouldn’t you? But such were not Caledor’s words. And if you think about it, it would make no sense. Malekith has been sterile since he passed through the Flame. He has never had any children.’
‘Why? I do not believe you are cursed by Khaine nor I, for that matter.’
Teclis gestured at his wasted form and raised one eyebrow. ‘I think it is possible.’
‘I don’t think you are cursed.’
‘How many elves ever get sick, Tyrion? How many are as feeble as I am?’
Tyrion tried to laugh the matter off. ‘I hardly think that qualifies you as a threat to the Realm.’
‘It does not matter what we think, Tyrion. It matters what the Phoenix King and his court think.’
‘We are being presented there so they can inspect us for the taint of Khaine?’
‘I believe so.’
‘That does not seem fair.’
‘They may be right.’
‘You cannot mean that, brother!’
‘Aenarion was unique. He did things no elf ever did before and very few even attempted afterwards. He passed through the Flame of Asuryan unaided and unprotected. He drew the Godslayer from the Altar of Khaine. There was something different about him, something that allowed him to wield the power of the gods, and for them to act through him. Who is to say that difference is not passed on through his blood. Caledor Dragontamer certainly thought so, and he was the greatest mage this world has ever known.’
‘How do you know all this?’ Tyrion asked. He knew the answer already but as usual the full extent of his brother’s learning astonished him.
‘Because while you roam abroad, I have nothing better to do than read, when I have the energy.’
‘Yes, but what you read, you always remember. I wish I could do that. With me it always slips in one ear and slides out the other.’
‘Unless it’s to do with war or heroes,’ said Teclis. ‘Anyway, don’t you think it unusual that Lady Malene and Lord Korhien came to visit us this way?’
‘What do you mean?’ Teclis gave him a warning look.
A draft of air hitting his back told him that someone had just opened the door to Teclis’s room. Tyrion turned and saw the Lady Malene standing there. She did not look embarrassed to be intruding. She matched their stares and then marched right into the chamber without waiting to be invited.
‘You would be Teclis,’ she said. ‘The cripple.’
‘And you would be Malene, the rude.’ Teclis replied.
She laughed. ‘Well said, boy.’
‘You may address me as prince. It is my title.’
‘That has yet to be determined. I will know what to call you after you have stood before the Phoenix Throne.’
‘Why don’t you start practising now?’ Teclis said. ‘We can pretend that we are all well-bred elven nobles together.’
Malene stared at him for a long moment, obviously taking in the difference between his haughty manner and his wasted form and being forced to reassess the situation. ‘Indeed, Prince Teclis, why don’t we do that,’ she said at last.
‘Very good, Lady Malene. And further let us make an agreement that I won’t enter your chamber without knocking if you don’t enter mine.’
Tyrion thought his brother might be pushing things a little too far but Malene laughed and nodded in agreement. For some reason she seemed pleased with Teclis’s insouciance. ‘I am pleased to make your acquaintance and will bid you good day then, Prince Tyrion, Prince Teclis.’
As the door closed behind her, Teclis gestured for Tyrion to lean closer.
‘She has come here to kill us,’ he whispered.
‘Kill us?’ Tyrion asked.
‘Or have us killed, by the redoubtable Korhien.’
‘No.’ Tyrion was quite certain this was not the case.
‘Be assured of it. If she thinks we may prove to be tainted by Khaine, we will have an accident on the road to Lothern. Why else did they come?’
‘You are being over-dramatic,’ said Tyrion. He simply did not want to believe what Teclis was saying. ‘Why would they want to do that?’
‘Perhaps because House Emeraldsea has ambitions to seat its own candidate on the Phoenix Throne and it does not want the embarrassment of being associated with two tainted princes.’
‘We are not princes yet,’ said Tyrion. ‘You heard what Lady Malene said.’
Teclis laughed sourly till his mirth ended in a fit of coughing that brought tears to his eyes. ‘I must sleep now,’ he said. ‘Good night to you, brother.’
‘Isha smile on you, Teclis,’ said Tyrion hating the irony of the words even as he gave the traditional farewell. His brother was one of those that the goddess had most definitely not smiled upon. ‘May you live a thousand years.’
Disturbed by Teclis’s suspicions, Tyrion padded through the house. He reached the head of the stairs. From his vantage point he saw his father and Korhien sitting by the fire, a chessboard between them. Looking at the big warrior, Tyrion found it impossible to imagine him being involved in stealthy murder, in anything dishonourable at all. Such would not be Korhien’s way, Tyrion felt certain. If there was killing to be done, he would do it face to face, weapon to weapon.
Korhien leaned forward and moved a silver Gryphon. His father stroked his chin and contemplated his response. Tyrion padded do
wn the stairs, luxuriating in the unaccustomed warmth of the sitting room, and moved quietly over to the board so as not to disturb the concentration of the players. He took in the position at a glance.
His father was playing gold with his usual cautious, reasoned approach. He was already on the defensive, despite having the advantage of the first move. Playing silver, Korhien had a formation of Archers massed on the right flank, and was mounting a strong attack on Father’s Everqueen with his Everqueen’s Dragon supported by his Gryphon riders and a Loremaster attacking down the long diagonal. His father’s hand hovered over his King’s Gryphon which would be a mistake.
‘Your doorkeeper disapproves of your strategy,’ said Korhien with a booming laugh when he noticed Tyrion’s expression.
‘Then I had better pay attention,’ said Father. ‘Tyrion is the best player in this house.’
Korhien raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that so? Better than you? Better than this brilliant but sickly brother I have yet to meet?’
‘Better than you,’ Tyrion said, nettled by the way Korhien’s words seemed to disparage Teclis.
‘Are you challenging me, doorkeeper?’ Korhien asked.
‘I could beat you from my father’s position.’
‘Oh ho, you are a cocky one. I would say I have your father well beaten.’
‘It looks that way now perhaps, but there are some glaring weaknesses in your tactics.’
‘I don’t see them,’ said Korhien.
‘Tyrion, if you please.’ Father rose from his seat and gestured for Tyrion to sit down. ‘If you are going to make such outrageous claims, you should be able to provide us with proof.’ His father was smiling though. Tyrion guessed he was not enjoying being beaten even by his friend. Few elves enjoyed defeat in anything.
