He saw Liandra dismount. How she came to be riding Imladrik’s dragon was a riddle he knew he did not want to solve. She looked as dishevelled as her steed, her face streaked with tear-tracks over grime and blood. She tried to say something to Yethanial but the grey lady barely noticed her.
Yethanial approached Imladrik’s corpse hesitantly, carefully, as if he were terribly wounded and might still get up. Caradryel could see the futility of that – his master lay awkwardly, as slack as sackcloth, his armour dark with blood.
Yethanial’s grief then was terrible to witness, so powerful and so complete that for a moment none of them could speak. The dragon wheezed sclerotically, its huge eyes weeping black tears. Across the city, the trumpets were stilled as the celebrating heralds realised that something was terribly wrong.
Thoriol stumbled forward to stand by his mother, his feet shuffling unwillingly on the stone. For a moment the two of them just stood there, staring stupidly, emptily, at Imladrik’s body. Then Yethanial’s tears came at last – huge racking sobs that made her bend double. Thoriol held her up, his body erect, his face like stone. The two of them clung to one another, grasping greedily as if they could somehow insulate themselves against the truth.
Caradryel looked away, unwilling to intrude further. He felt nauseous.
‘What happened?’ he asked Liandra.
The red mage looked exhausted. ‘Dawi,’ she said, coldly. ‘They got to Oeragor ahead of him.’
‘And you? Where were you?’
Liandra glared at him. ‘It can wait.’ Her gaze travelled to Yethanial. Sympathy was etched on her features. Sympathy, and perhaps a little envy.
Caradryel felt wretched. Just moments ago the future had been mapped out. His decisions had been vindicated, his path clear.
Now, nothing. He remembered the first time he had seen the sapphire dragon, high above the waves, swooping earthwards like a messenger of the gods. It had looked invincible then, something that no force of the earth could ever vanquish.
Now it slumped on the stone, bleeding like any mortal, still carrying the body of its dead master. Around it huddled the remnants of the House of Tor Caled, one weeping, one silent with shock.
What now, then? he asked himself weakly.
The wind picked up, cold from the west. The east was darkening quickly, sinking into the deep night that made the forest so forbidding. That dark had always seemed contestable before; now it looked infinite and unbreakable.
Caradryel didn’t know where to look.
What now? Who will follow him?
But no answer came.
Epilogue
Sevekai had no idea how long he’d been on the cusp of it. He didn’t know where he was, nor how far he had travelled since leaving the Arluii behind. In the beginning he had tried to remember. He had vague memories of going south, heading down into the lowlands until the trees blotted the sky. Measuring time, though, no longer seemed like something he should concern himself with. The rhythm of the forest was less exact: languorous, shackled to a lower, more eternal measure.
His crow perched on a branch above him, its black eye glinting. It seldom left him now. The others, the ones that had made their way to the forest as he had done, they all had their companions too: Aismarr had a lean hunting dog, as skinny as bones; Elieth had a hawk; Ophiel had a fox that slunk timorously in the shadows. They came and went, these creatures of the wood, but never departed for long. They were like echoes of thoughts lingering under the eaves.
Sevekai watched the others. They bore the same dreamy expression. They had renounced the old passions. None of them hated or loved any more; it was like being half-asleep.
A few of them, he knew, were kin from Naggaroth; just a couple, skulking amid the briars like thieves. They came into the centre of the circle only slowly, just as he had done at the beginning, unable to entirely forswear the hatreds they had been born into.
The forest worked on them, though, just as it did the others. They gradually lost their pale mien and took on a healthier blush. Their tattoos faded somehow. Their oil-slick hair seemed lighter under the green glow of the canopy.
The rest had the healthy light of Ulthuan in their eyes. He didn’t know where they had all come from. Neither did they – the old life drifted out of mind and memory so quickly. Some of them had taken on new names. Sevekai, for the moment, clung to his. It seemed important. He didn’t know how long he would feel that way.
He didn’t even want to hurt them. That was novel.
None of them had penetrated far into the heart of the wood. They lingered on the edge where the light still shafted down between the branches. They heard creaks and snaps from the deep core, buried in arboreal gloom. They heard night-noises – squeals and rustles, low groans that were almost elf-like, though distorted and alien.
What is this place?
He asked that question less often as time went on. At first he had been consumed by it, desperate to know what was slowly altering his mind. He would look at a leaf in the sunlight, seeing its veins standing dark against the translucence, staring at it in fascination. He would breathe deep of the musty soil aroma. He would hear the brush of the branches as the moons wheeled above him.
He never thought of escape. Where would he go?
The wood called them. All of them heard it. Soon they would have to enter, ducking under the curved and twisted branches and stooping into the shadows. He had dreams of what lay in there, waiting for them, though he never remembered them once the sun was up.
Aismarr smiled at him. She was standing a few yards away, her smock stained green and her cheeks ruddy. Sevekai liked the way her hair fell about her face – tangled, flecked with dirt, half-plaited.
‘I dreamed of dragons,’ she told him.
Sevekai remembered a dragon, though only vaguely. ‘Oh? What did it tell you?’
‘Their souls are broken,’ Aismarr said, sadly. ‘Someone has died, someone they loved.’
Sevekai remembered Drutheira then. Of all of them, she was the one he still remembered. He hadn’t ever loved her. There had been passion, of a sort, but that was part of the old pattern. Here things were simpler – more direct, more honest. He wondered where she was.
‘Then is it time?’ he asked. He knew that something would have to change. Some signal would be given and then the deep wood would beckon.
Aismarr frowned. Her hunting dog slunk around her calves, snagging at her smock.
‘No.’ She glanced over to her left, to where the path ran down like a river into the heart of the forest.
Sevekai followed her gaze. He didn’t think it was time either, not yet.
‘This is the start,’ he said, not really knowing where the words came from. ‘The dragonsoul is gone; others will follow. The world must change.’
Aismarr looked at him with shining eyes.
‘And then will we enter?’ she asked.
Sevekai couldn’t take his eyes off the trees. They called to him, though silently, and with neither malice nor affection.
‘When the word is given,’ he said.
‘And what then?’
Sevekai looked back at her. He no longer saw an asur standing before him, just a kindred soul. All of them were kindred souls now.
‘Rebirth,’ he said, smiling.
Characters
House Tor Caled
Menlaeth, called Caledor II – Phoenix King of Ulthuan
Imladrik – Master of Dragons; Menlaeth’s brother
Yethanial – Loremaster; Imladrik’s wife
Thoriol, called the Silent – Imladrik and Yethanial’s only son
The Council of Five
Liandra of Kor Vanaeth, House Athinol
Salendor of Athel Maraya, House Tor Achare
Aelis of Tor Alessi, House Lamael
Gelthar of Athel Toralien, House Der
reth
Caerwal of Athel Numiel, House Ophel
Other Asur
Caradryel – House Reveniol
Kelemar – Regent of Oeragor
Baelian – Archer captain
Loeth – Archer
Taemon – Archer
Florean – Archer
Rovil – Archer
Dawi
Morgrim Bargrum – Thane of Karaz-a-Karak
Morek Furrowbrow – Runelord
Grondil – Thane of Zhufbar
Brynnoth – King of Barak Varr
Druchii
Drutheira – Sorceress
Malchior – Sorcerer
Ashniel – Sorceress
Sevekai – Assassin
Glossary
Anurein – River running through the southern reaches of the Great Forest to the sea, later called the Reik
Arluii – Mountain range to the south of Elthin Arvan, later called the Grey Mountains
Asur – The elves of Ulthuan, known to men as High Elves
Athel Maraya – Lord Salendor’s lands, located in the heart of Loren Lacoi
Athel Numiel – City in the north-east of Elthin Arvan, destroyed by dwarfs during the early years of the war
Athel Toralien – City on the western shores of Elthin Arvan, ruled for a time by Malekith
Druchii – The elves of Naggaroth, known to men as Dark Elves
Elthin Arvan – The lands east of the Great Ocean settled by the asur, later called the Old World
Ifulvin – ‘Bitter-blade’; sword borne by Imladrik
Kor Evril – Imladrik’s citadel in the mountains of Caledor
Kor Vanaeth – Settlement east of Tor Alessi founded by Lord Athinol, father of the mage Liandra
Lathrain – ‘Wrathbringer’; sword borne by Caledor II, inherited from his father
Loren Faen – Forest south of the Arluii, said to be perilous and enchanted, later known as the Fey Forest or Athel Loren
Loren Lacoi – Forest between the Saraeluii and the coast, bounded on the south by the Arluii and in the north by unsettled wasteland, later known as the Great Forest
Oeragor – Asur city in the far south, chiefly settled by Caledorians of Imladrik’s household
Saraeluii – Mountain range to the east of Elthin Arvan, home to the majority of the dwarf holds, later called the Worlds Edge Mountains
Sith Rionnasc – Common name for the port at the head of the River Anurein, later the site of the free city of Marienburg
Tor Alessi – Pre-eminent city of the asur in Elthin Arvan, later the site of the Bretonnian city of L’Anguille
Tor Caled – Home of the House of Tor Caled and the court of Caledor II
Tor Vael – City of loremasters in Cothique; ancestral home of Yethanial
Ulthuan – Homeland of the asur in the Great Ocean
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Chris Wraight is the author of the Space Wolves novels Battle of the Fang and Blood of Asaheim. He has also written the Space Marine Battles novel Wrath of Iron, along with Schwarzhelm & Helborg: Swords of the Emperor and Luthor Huss in the Warhammer universe. He’s based in a leafy bit of south-west England, and when not struggling to meet deadlines enjoys running through scenic parts of it.
A BLACK LIBRARY PUBLICATION
Published in 2013 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd., Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK
Cover illustration by Fares Maese.
Map by Nuala Kinrade.
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