by William King
Tyrion sat down and confidently moved an Archer two squares forwards, on his Phoenix King’s flank.
‘What?’ said Korhien obviously amused. He picked up his Gryphon and skipped it over Tyrion’s Archer into a position where it threatened a Loremaster. Tyrion contemplated the board. As always, he played quickly, by instinct, seeming to feel the strengths and weaknesses of the pieces and the complex web of forces woven by their placement and interaction.
He moved another Archer forwards, clearing space to bring his own Loremaster and Phoenix King into play, building a flanking position of his own. The exchange of pieces Korhien planned occurred and by the end of it he had gained an Archer, but was looking at the board thoughtfully. He clearly sensed that the balance of power was changing. He was a good enough player to understand what Tyrion was doing but he had not quite grasped the young prince’s plan yet.
He maintained his own attack, but Tyrion blocked it, with a cunning combination of Loremaster and Archers used to block the long diagonal that was Korhien’s main line of attack. A few moves later, Tyrion began his own attack. By the end of it, Korhien was laying his Everqueen on her side to show that he had resigned. He laughed loudly, seemingly delighted.
‘Are you always this good, doorkeeper?’
‘Yes, he is,’ said Father, with a pride which surprised Tyrion. ‘Better actually, since he would not have made the mistakes I did in the opening.’
‘I must see if this was a fluke,’ said Korhien. He picked up one gold Archer and one silver Archer in his huge hands, placed them behind his back and asked Tyrion to choose one. Tyrion chose silver this time and the game began. He won this game in forty-two moves and a third, in which he started as gold, in thirty. He could see that Korhien was impressed.
‘Your father is an excellent chess player and I am considered one of the best at court, and yet you have bested us without much trouble. You are not at all what I expected, doorkeeper.’
‘What did you expect?’
‘Not you,’ said Korhien clearly not wanting to say any more.
‘Another game,’ Tyrion suggested.
‘No, I have had quite enough defeats for one day.’ He said it with a smile though. There was no sourness in this Korhien. Tyrion liked him.
Tyrion shrugged and, well pleased, made his way outside. He was surprised to find that there was still some daylight left. It was the first time he could ever recall there being a fire in the grate before nightfall, no matter how cold it got in the mountains. He drew his cloak around him and thought about his chess games against the older warrior. Korhien was a better player than both his father and Teclis, which was not what he would have expected at all.
He felt flushed with his small victory and filled with restless energy, so he went out through the small postern in the main gate and began to run, slowly at first, just to warm himself up, and then faster and faster, vaulting over the rocks and bounding down the treacherous trail with careless disregard for life and limb.
It was dark by the time he returned, and he still was not tired, not even breathing heavily. The huge greater moon was in the sky. The lesser moon was a small green spark in a different quadrant. It seemed like a good omen. He was even more surprised to find Teclis warming himself in front of the fire in the sitting room, talking with Korhien. The chessboard was in front of them. Tyrion took in the board at a glance. Korhien was winning. Teclis saw him noticing this and gave a sour grimace. He did not like being beaten, which was why he did not often get the chance to play with his brother.
Teclis looked up sardonically as Tyrion entered. ‘Where is father?’ Tyrion asked.
‘He is closeted with the Lady Malene,’ said Teclis. ‘Apparently they have much to discuss.’
There was a warning note to his voice. Teclis suspected that something was going on and he wanted Tyrion to know this too.
‘I hear you have been winning again at chess, brother,’ Teclis said, changing the subject. He, at least, did not sound at all surprised when he said it. ‘It is not something I seem to be able to manage against Lord Korhien here. How do you do it? Win, I mean.’
Tyrion studied the board. ‘You could win from this position.’
‘Pray explain to me how?’
Tyrion looked at Korhien. ‘May I?’
The warrior laughed. ‘I am not sure I am going to enjoy this, but go ahead.’
‘Get used to being beaten by my brother; he does not like to lose,’ Teclis said.
‘That is a useful trait in a warrior,’ said Korhien. Tyrion proceeded to demonstrate how Teclis could win.
‘How do you do that?’ Teclis asked again.
‘How can you not? It just seems very obvious to me.’ It was true too. Tyrion really could not understand why his cleverer brother could not see what was so clear to him.
‘In what way?’ Korhien asked. There was a sharpness to his tone that Tyrion could not quite understand. He gave more thought to his response than he normally would.
‘Certain squares are more important than others, most of the time. Certain combinations of moves fit together. There are always weaknesses in every position and always strengths. You play to minimise the weaknesses and maximise the strengths.’
‘Those are sound general principles,’ said Korhien, ‘but they do not really explain anything.’
Tyrion felt frustrated. He understood how Teclis must feel when his twin tried to explain the principles of working magic to him. ‘It’s like I can see the way the patterns will work out. I see the ways all of the pieces potentially interlock. It’s like when I look at the maps of battlefields in old books...’
‘What?’ Korhien asked even more sharply.
‘There are certain obvious lines of attack on every battlefield. Places where troops should be placed. Places where they should not be. Hills with clear fields of fire for archers out over the rest of the field. Flat areas where cavalry can advance quickly. Woods and swamps that can guard flanks. You can see these things when you look at the maps.’
‘You can,’ said Teclis, stifling a yawn.
‘Blood of Aenarion,’ muttered Korhien. It was Tyrion’s turn to stare hard at him.
‘What do you mean by that?’ he asked.
‘They say Aenarion could do the same thing. See the patterns on a battlefield.’
‘Anybody can, if they take the trouble to think about these things,’ Tyrion said.
Teclis laughed again.
‘It is not often I hear my brother laud the virtues of thinking,’ he said, by way of explanation. ‘You should be applauding.’
‘Anyone can look at a map and say something. The trick is to be correct,’ said Korhien. Tyrion shrugged. He went over to the book shelf and picked up a copy of The Campaigns of Caledor the Conqueror. He opened it to a well-thumbed page and then walked over to where the warrior sat.
‘Look,’ he said. ‘Here is an example of what I mean. Here are Caledor’s dispositions against the druchii General Izodar. See the way he has placed his war machines to cover the approaches to Drakon Hill. Notice also the way the main strength of his cavalry is placed out of sight here behind this range of hills but with easy access to the defile that will allow them to emerge onto the field of battle at his signal.’
‘Yes, everyone knows about this, though. It was a fine trap, one of Caledor’s greatest victories.’
‘Yes,’ said Tyrion. ‘But he made mistakes.’
‘Oh ho, you do not lack for confidence, do you doorkeeper? The Conqueror was the greatest general of his age. His record is one of more or less unbroken victories. You look at a map of one of his greatest triumphs and claim he got it wrong.’
‘No. I do not. He won. No one can fault that. I said he made mistakes.’
‘An important distinction,’ admitted Korhien. ‘So, by all means, explain to me the mistakes he made, doorkeeper.’
‘Look where he placed the bulk of his cavalry. In full view, close to the enemy, and when the battle started, they closed
too quickly with the druchii right flank. It could easily have spoiled the trap.’
Korhien smiled. ‘Your analysis is flawless, but you have failed to consider one thing.’
Tyrion was not offended to hear his theory so casually dismissed. He sensed that here was a chance to learn something about a subject that intrigued him from one who possessed some expertise in it.
‘What have I missed?’ he asked.
‘I doubt Caledor wanted to place his cavalry there, or that he gave the order for that early charge.’
‘Then why did it happen?’
‘Because Prince Moradrim and Prince Lelik were rivals, and they both wanted the glory of breaking the enemy. They insisted on being where they were. Then one of them charged and the other, not being able to endure the possibility of his rival grabbing all the glory, followed suit.’
‘Why did Caledor allow that? He was the Phoenix King, he was in charge. Why would they disobey him?’
Korhien’s mighty laugh gusted around the sitting room.
‘Once you have spent some time around our glorious aristocracy, you will not have to ask me that, doorkeeper.’
‘Indulge my curiosity and answer me now.’
‘Because our princes are a law unto themselves and their warriors swear service to those princes, not direct to the Phoenix King. They follow the leaders from their homeland, not some distant king.’
‘That is not what our laws say,’ said Teclis.
‘I am sure you have read enough, Prince Teclis, to know that what the laws say should happen and what actually does are not always the same. In the heat of battle, when sword rings on sword, and the battle-shout echoes over the field, warriors follow their usual loyalties and instincts, not the law. And princes often crave glory more than the common good. It is not unknown for them to think they know better than their commanding general. Sometimes it is even the case, for the warrior on the spot often sees things invisible to the general on the hill.’
Tyrion nodded. He could see the sense in what Korhien was saying. It was something he had suspected himself when reading the descriptions of these old battles. It was nice to have it confirmed by one who knew what he was talking about.
‘Why don’t our historians mention this?’ Teclis asked.
‘Because they dwell at the courts of princes, and their pens and paper are paid for by the treasuries of those princes. Have you ever read a chronicle in which one historian blames one ruler for defeat and praises another for almost snatching victory from the jaws of defeat? Then gone to another scroll and had a different historian say exactly the opposite? It happened to me so often when I was young my head hurt.’
‘I’ve had that experience,’ said Tyrion.
‘My brother’s head often hurts when he tries to read,’ said Teclis.
‘I meant I have read two conflicting views,’ said Tyrion. This was serious and he was in no mood for Teclis’s flippancy.
‘I suggest that when it happens next, you check where the historians were living when they wrote their tomes, or who their patron was. A bronze bracer will get you a golden torque that they have some connection with the court of the prince they are praising and there is some enmity between them and the ruler they are disparaging.’
‘You are a very cynical elf, Lord Korhien,’ said Teclis. He sounded more admiring than condemnatory. He was a very cynical elf himself.
‘There are honest historians,’ said Tyrion.
‘Yes,’ said Korhien. ‘And those who believe themselves to be honest, and those who are in the pay of no prince because they are sponsored by the White Tower or dwell at the court of the Everqueen, and those who have their own estates. But it’s odd how often those who dwell in Avelorn praise the wisdom of the Everqueen, and those who live at Hoeth dwell on the excellence of the Loremasters – except the ones they have a personal feud with, of course. And those who are independently wealthy tend to find previously unsuspected virtues among their ancestors and relatives.’
‘I see you are corrupting my sons with your cynicism, Korhien, and undermining their simple faith in scholarship.’ The twins’ father had entered the chamber unnoticed while the brothers listened to the White Lion.
‘I am simply pointing out that all scholars bring their own biases to their work. It is inevitable, part of elven nature. You know this better than I do, my friend.’
‘To my cost,’ said their father with some bitterness.
‘How goes the great work anyway?’ Korhien asked.
‘Slowly as always, but I am making progress.’
‘May I see it?’
‘You may.’ Father gestured for Korhien to follow him. Tyrion helped Teclis up and supporting his brother on his shoulder, they made their way to their father’s chambers. By the time they made it up the stairs, Teclis was breathing heavier than Tyrion had after running for hours. Tactfully Korhien pretended to ignore his eel-like walk, the way his body twisted first one way and then the other as he moved.
‘Where is Lady Malene?’ Korhien asked.
‘She has retired to her chamber for the moment. She has many letters to write.’
‘Have you finished the business she came to discuss with you?’
‘I have told her I will consider it,’ Father responded. There was an undercurrent of tension to the words that Tyrion caught but did not understand.
‘I suggest that you do,’ said Korhien. Again, there was that note of warning in his voice.
chapter three
‘I see you have made progress,’ said Korhien. He walked around the suit of armour, inspecting it but not touching it. The metal suit somehow dwarfed him while simultaneously giving the impression of having been made for someone about his size.
‘Not as much as I would have liked,’ said Father. He eyed the armour the way he would have gazed upon a personal enemy with whom he was about to fight a duel. Tyrion had never seen him look at it this way before. Maybe the presence of Korhien reminded him of something.
As usual Teclis was gazing at it in awe. His magesight was far better than Tyrion’s and he had often helped their father trace the runes on the armour and the flows of magic they were intended to contain. He even claimed to have sometimes seen the faintest flickers of power within it, a thing which had at first intrigued Father but which he had never witnessed himself.
Looking at the three of them now, Tyrion felt excluded, a blind man listening to three artists discussing painting, or a deaf man reading about musical composition.
Korhien looked at the suit once more. ‘When do you think you will be done with it?’
‘Who knows,’ Father responded. ‘I have given up trying to predict that. There have been so many false dawns and broken promises with this.’
‘It is a pity. It looks fine, and would put fear into the heart of Ulthuan’s foes whether Aenarion wore it or not.’
Father glared at his friend. ‘Aenarion wore it. I am certain.’
Korhien nodded soothingly, obviously aware he had touched a nerve with his quiet musing, even if he had not intended to.
‘The spells woven around this armour are old indeed,’ said Teclis. Korhien shot him an amused glance.
‘I am sure the Council of Loremasters will take your word for that, Prince Teclis.’
‘They ought to, if they are not fools,’ said Teclis.
Korhien laughed outright.
‘One son criticises the battle-plans of the greatest of our generals, the other is prepared to dismiss our most learned sorcerers as fools if they do not agree with his assessment of an artefact. Your children do not lack for confidence, Arathion.’
There was no malice in his tone, and yet there was a warning there that Tyrion did not quite know how to interpret.
‘They have been brought up to speak their minds,’ said Father.
‘You have made them in your own image then, which is only to be expected, I suppose. I am not sure it will serve them well in Lothern.’
Tyrion caught his brea
th. Father had said nothing yet about them being sent to the great seaport. Had Father already agreed to their going? Tyrion supposed he did not have much choice in the matter. If the law required them to be presented because they were of the Blood of Aenarion, presented they would be.
‘When?’ Tyrion asked. His father shot another venomous glance at Korhien and then at Tyrion.
‘Very soon,’ said Father. ‘If I choose to permit it. There are still details to be worked out.’
Tyrion looked at Teclis and smiled. He could sense his brother was as excited as he was by the prospect of seeing one of the greatest of all high elf cities once more, a place where they had not been since they were both small children.
There would be libraries there to consult and they would look upon wonders. They would see the Sea Gates, and the Lighthouse and the Courts. There would be soldiers and ships and tournaments. There would be the palaces of their mother’s family and their own old house. A whole vast dizzying prospect danced before his eyes. Korhien sensed their excitement too and laughed with them, rather than at them.
‘There are many things to be discussed,’ said Father. ‘Before you go. If you go.’
He sounded saddened by the words even as he said them. ‘Before we go,’ said Tyrion. ‘You are not coming with us?’
‘I have been presented at court,’ said Father. ‘I do not feel any great need to meet a Phoenix King and his courtiers again. And I have work to do here. You will be back soon enough.’
He did not look at them as he said this but there was a faint catch to his voice. He turned towards the armour and began to tinker with the scales on the left upper arm.
‘If you will excuse me,’ he said. ‘I will need to get on with it.’
‘Of course,’ said Korhien quietly. ‘Come, lads, let us leave your father in peace.’
Teclis pushed himself painfully up from his chair and limped over to Father, his body writhing as he moved. He laid a hand on Father’s shoulder and whispered something in his ear. Tyrion wished that he could bring himself to do the same, but he felt sure that Father would not have accepted it from him. Instead he waited for Teclis and then helped him along the corridor to his room.
