by William King
‘After the events of the past few days, I think you can understand why.’
‘I always understood why, Prince Tyrion. It did not make it any easier. I never saw my mother again after my sister died.’
‘Died?’
‘An accident. She fell from a tree into deep water. There were rocks, they say. I don’t know, of course, for I was not there.’
There was something shocking and accusing about her grief. He did not want to hear it. He felt like he was standing in for the world that had forced this young woman to live apart from her family. In Lothern, he had seen many examples of the way elven society made the people in it cold and distant. He had not expected to encounter the same here.
‘You have a brother,’ she said. ‘The famous magician.’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you close to him?’
‘Yes.’
‘And your mother?’
‘She died when we were born. It was a difficult birth, so they say – twins.’
‘I am sorry.’
‘Why? You never knew her.’
‘Nor did you. Perhaps you would have been different if you had.’
He did not want this conversation to go any further. ‘I am going to take a look around,’ he said. ‘Make sure there are no dark elves sneaking up on us.’
He moved off into the quiet of the night and did not return until she was asleep or pretending to be. He stared into the fire for a long time, thinking of daemons and gods, castles and the lovely stranger lying so close by the fire.
The fire had burned down and the sun had already risen when he came awake suddenly. The woods around them were filled with the noise of an approaching army. Alarielle was already awake, staring at him with fear-filled eyes. Sometimes he thought he saw something else staring out at him, something ancient and alien and strange.
‘We need to run,’ he told her. ‘Now!’
Chapter Four
‘What’s that?’ Alarielle asked. Tyrion could understand why she was disturbed. He recognised that eerie high-pitched screeching sound. He had heard it before in the cold northern lands of Naggaroth. It was a sound that meant terror to the warriors of Ulthuan.
‘Cold Ones,’ Tyrion said.
‘The great lizards that the dark elves use as cavalry? What are they doing here?’ Alarielle asked.
‘Looking for us,’ Tyrion said. ‘That would be my guess.’
‘I mean in Avelorn.’
Again he understood her shock but he chose to wilfully misunderstand it. ‘Doubtless they got here the same way as their riders. One day, if we are lucky, we will know how that happened.’
‘Cold Ones,’ she said softly, as if not quite believing either her own words or the distant bellowing of the great beasts.
‘We need to move. They can smell warm blood. They are trained to be particularly receptive to the smell of high elf blood.’
Almost as if the creatures could hear him, the bellowing came closer.
‘It sounds like there are a number of them,’ Alarielle said.
‘One would be too many,’ Tyrion said. He was already starting to jog down the track, trusting to Alarielle to follow him. She kept up easily. His side hurt from where the witch elf’s blade had bit home. It was going to be difficult for him to keep up any speed over long distances.
Tyrion could hear the sound of branches breaking as the Cold Ones’ massive forms forced their way through the forest. Horns sounded, nearby and farther in the distance, as the dark elves exchanged signals. They were on the track of something and it seemed safe to assume that the trail which had been found was their own.
‘They’ve caught our scent,’ Alarielle said.
‘Some of them can smell warm blood at a distance of a mile,’ Tyrion said. ‘I don’t doubt that this is why these riders were sent ahead.’
‘We can still lose them if we can find a way to water. That throws hounds off the tracks and wolves. It ought to do the same for them.’
‘Do you know where we can find a stream?’ Tyrion asked.
‘I can do better than that,’ Alarielle said. ‘There is a river ahead. If we can reach it we can probably get them off our trail.’
‘Lead on,’ Tyrion said. Behind him he thought he already heard the sound of elves moving through the forest nearby. He doubted they would be friendly.
Tyrion looked out of their rocky hiding place and studied their enemies. Alarielle had chosen it because it would be impossible for their foes to track them over this ground. She had gone off and left a false trail beyond it and circled back to him. He had not liked letting her out of his sight, but he had no choice. She knew about these matters and he did not.
They had been running for most of the day and no matter how they tried, it seemed impossible to outdistance the pursuit. Always, the woods were full of the sounds of horns and druchii battle-calls, as the various components of the army kept in touch. Gradually, some of the noises had faded into the distance, but others had managed to keep up, no matter how quickly he and Alarielle ran.
Looking back now, he could see why. These were not standard infantry. They were lightly armed and armoured and moved with the easy authority of the highest echelons of combat troops.
Their very appearance here was shocking. The dark elves moved confidently along the trail. They gave every impression of being at home, of having utter confidence in their right to be there in the heart of the most sacred place in Elvendom. There was no fear in the way they walked. They were the hunters, not the hunted.
The cockiness in their manner almost compelled Tyrion to leap out and slay them. An insane anger burned deep in him, filling him with the urge to rend and slay. He wanted to wipe the confident smile off the smug face of the dark elf sergeant giving orders to his troops. He wanted to see fear blossom in the eyes of the two druchii warriors sharing a joke, doubtless at asur expense. His hand tightened on the hilt of Sunfang.
A hand gripped his. He turned and glared angrily at Alarielle. She shook her head. I can kill them all, he wanted to say. There were only a score of them. With the advantage of surprise, and the power of Sunfang, it was possible he could do it too, even with the Everqueen clinging to his arm.
He let out a long breath, realising how mad the thoughts cascading through his brain had suddenly become. Attacking a score of armed veterans was not a sensible thing to do. The chances were that he could not kill them all, even if he could he might be wounded or slain in the process. It was a mad risk and there was nothing to be gained from it, save the satisfaction of a bloodlust that he had never even suspected he possessed.
Was this the Curse of Aenarion finally coming on him in full force? Or was it something else? Had the wound from the witch elf’s blade infected him with something else, a taste of their reckless madness perhaps? He stayed frozen in place, waiting tensely to see if the dark elves discovered their trail.
One of them bent down and said something to the others. Had he spotted a track? Tyrion readied himself to spring into action if that was the case. It looked like his bloodlust might be slaked after all. Part of him would have welcomed it.
He could feel Alarielle tense beside him. If the dark elves overcame him, she might end up their prisoner once more. If that happened, she would eventually end up within Malekith’s iron-gauntleted grasp.
After a long moment, he felt her exhale. The dark elves moved on, still scanning the woods around them, hunters seeking prey. It seemed like a very long time before they were out of sight.
Tyrion and Alarielle lay in the undergrowth, slumped out of sight, close as lovers. Eventually they smiled at each other. It seemed that danger had passed them by for a while. Some buried instinct urged him to stay here, but he knew it was foolish. The horns in the distance were coming closer. It was only a matter of time before the larger force of druchii overhauled them and they would have the numbers to search thoroughly. They needed to get moving by another path than the ones the pursuing scouts had taken.
&n
bsp; Reluctantly, he rose from the hard ground. He felt a small sharp pain in his side, where the witch elf had wounded him. It seemed to be getting worse.
Alarielle stopped walking, raised her head and looked around. ‘What was that?’ she asked. Her jawline was set tight and every muscle was tense. Tyrion reached out to touch her shoulder and he could feel the tightness of the muscles beneath. She shrugged off his touch and glanced around, wary as a deer that has caught the scent of a hunter.
He understood why. There was a sudden tension in the air that had not been there before. Fewer birds sang. Fewer small creatures moved through the undergrowth. He realised how tightly wound the Everqueen must be to spot this before he did. Normally he was the person most aware of his surroundings. She gestured for him to take cover and threw herself under a nearby bush. Tyrion burrowed into the undergrowth, not a moment too soon.
A group of druchii emerged into the clearing, moving carefully and calmly. They carried small hand crossbows and had wicked-looking blades at their sides. Their movement was stealthy. There was something shadowy about them. They looked like creatures of the night, feral, predatory and deadly.
Their leader studied the ground where Tyrion and Alarielle had stood. He made a gesture using hand signals that could have meant anything but which Tyrion suspected meant they are close, be careful. He looked around the clearing and seemed to pick up their tracks. Tyrion knew the game was up and that he could only hope that there were not too many other druchii nearby. Alarielle clearly recognised what was happening. She stood up with her bow aimed directly at the scout leader. All of them turned to face her.
‘It seems we have found our prey,’ the leader said. His voice was as cold as the winds of the north. He sounded like a true son of his harsh land.
‘I will put an arrow through the first one of you who moves,’ Alarielle said.
‘Perhaps,’ said the druchii. ‘And then you will be pin-cushioned by the rest of us.’
‘It will be better than the fate that awaits me at your hands.’
‘Our king wishes you delivered to him unharmed.’ The dark elf’s tone was reasonable.
‘That was the fate to which I was referring,’ Alarielle said.
‘Shoot one of us and the rest will shoot to wound you,’ the leader said. Tyrion knew his words were aimed at his followers. He did not want them making any mistakes in this tricky situation. He was obviously a careful elf. He glanced around the clearing again, puzzled, and Tyrion knew that he was thinking about the second person who might be there.
He had no recourse but to act. He leapt from the bushes, driving Sunfang into the back of one of the scouts. He heard a scream from nearby and, turning, saw that Alarielle had put an arrow through the eye of the leader. The remaining pair of druchii were distracted for a moment, unsure who to shoot at, the sight of a warrior in their own armour bearing a blazing sword confusing them for a crucial second.
Tyrion covered the distance between him and the closest in three strides. The immediate threat made the druchii swing his crossbow towards Tyrion. Sunfang swept down and cleaved it in two. Tyrion dropped the dark elf with his second cut and turned in time to see the last scout’s crossbow pointed directly at him. There was no way he could close fast enough to avoid being shot. The dark elf’s finger squeezed the trigger. An arrow flashed through the air and took him in the side of the neck, sending him falling to one side, spoiling his aim. The crossbow bolt flashed past Tyrion’s ear, so close that he felt the wind of its passing.
Tyrion sprang forwards and beheaded the scout before turning to face Alarielle. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘You saved my life.’
She was not looking at him and she did not respond. Her face was very pale, and Tyrion turned to see what she was looking at. In the shadows beneath the trees hundreds of druchii marched, an army on the move; he did not doubt for a moment that it was seeking them.
Already crossbow bolts were starting to flash towards them. Fortunately the bushes, the shadows and the low branches interfered with their flight, but it was only a matter of time before they got the range.
‘Run!’ shouted the Everqueen. She did not have to tell Tyrion twice. They sprinted away through the trees with what must have been the better part of a regiment of druchii in pursuit.
Tyrion and Alarielle sprinted through the woods. Now and then they could hear the sound of the druchii screaming. The enemy had caught sight of their prey and felt it within their grasp. The woods echoed with the shouts and war cries of the dark elves. Tyrion’s heart pounded within his chest. Alarielle looked back at him over her shoulder. She could run like a gazelle when frightened, and she was frightened now.
Despair filled Tyrion’s heart. He could not see how they were going to escape the jaws of the enormous trap that were snapping shut. From all around now he could hear druchii voices. It seemed like an entire army filled the wood, stretched out in a vast crescent, like beaters driving pheasants before them on a hunt. Tyrion began to understand what it must feel like to be hunted in that way.
He stretched his legs and began to overtake Alarielle. He was already breathing hard, much more so than he ought to be for this amount of exercise. It seemed that the wound in his side was already beginning to drain his strength – he did not like that in the slightest. Just when he needed it most he was losing his fitness. He cursed the witch elf once again, hoping that her wicked soul rotted deep in hell.
A few crossbow bolts fell around him. They had come a great distance and lost much of their power. A bolt clattered off a tree in front of him. He could hear the whoosh of arrows behind him. He had heard the sound before on the field of battle but he had never known so many missiles to be directed at only two people. It seemed only a matter of time before one of them hit home and either he or the Everqueen was impaled. That would be the end of the chase.
He began to zigzag, moving from side to side to confuse the archers, but he realised that this was not such a clever plan. The people chasing him would be able to run directly after him and thus gain ground. Alarielle was pushing on and with great woodcraft was simply weaving in and out of the trees, moving in as straight a line as possible while gaining as much cover as she could. Tyrion decided to do the same.
He heard another terrifying sound now. It was one that he had heard before in the cold northern lands of Naggaroth. It was a high-pitched noise somewhere between a scream and a roar. He ran abreast of Alarielle.
He risked a glance backwards and saw some of the great lizards striding forwards through the massed ranks of the druchii troops. Cold Ones were bipedal wingless reptilian creatures who carried armoured knights upon their back. Their movements seemed oddly slow and bouncing but they covered the ground very swiftly with their enormous strides.
It was only a matter of minutes before the Cold Ones reached them, if that. He heard the running water up ahead. Just from the sound of it he could tell that it was a mighty river. It seemed as if they were trapped. Tyrion prepared to turn around and fight. Even a battle against hopeless odds seemed preferable to being captured.
‘What are you doing, idiot?’ Alarielle asked. ‘That is the River Everflow. We have a chance to escape if we are swift.’
‘They will shoot us while we try to swim across.’
‘There is another way.’
‘Lead on,’ Tyrion said. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing.’
Chapter Five
The Cold Ones were closing the distance with appalling speed, outpacing the soldiers behind them. Tyrion could hear them thundering along the trail even now. The screeching echoed out through the forest, terrifying the birds and sending them racing skywards in fear.
‘How much farther?’ he gasped.
‘A few hundred yards, if I remember correctly,’ Alarielle said.
‘I don’t think we are going to make it,’ he said.
‘Run faster,’ she replied.
It was already too late. Three riders closed the gap swiftly. The creatures gave off
an awful stink that Tyrion well remembered. They had gigantic jaws capable of ripping off a limb in one bite and crunching through armour as easily as flesh.
Alarielle sprang upwards, grasping a branch and somersaulting onto the one above. Tyrion considered doing the same, but he needed to hold the attention of their pursuers, so he held his ground on the track as the dark elf riders thundered closer.
They howled in triumph even as their beasts roared at the prospect of devouring prey. Tyrion could see saliva glistening on massive dagger-like teeth. He braced himself to face onrushing death. His heart beat a little faster. His grip tightened on the hilt of Sunfang as he ripped it from its scabbard. He raced towards the oncoming Cold Ones. If nothing else he might be able to distract their pursuers and give the Everqueen time to escape.
The jaws of the leading Cold One snapped shut. Tyrion sprang to one side. He could smell the foul beast’s breath. Its rider struck down at him with his sword. Tyrion rolled forwards, lashing out with Sunfang, aiming at the Cold One’s ankle. His blade bit home, drawing blood and sawing through the tendon.
The Cold One shrieked and turned to snap at him, lowering its head to reach him. As it did so, its left leg gave way beneath it and it tumbled to one side, hitting the ground with a thud. It tried to rise, small arms waving desperately.
Its rider groaned and tried to wriggle free, his leg trapped beneath the beast’s great bulk. Tyrion rolled to his feet, favouring his side. The poisoned wound ached. He struck out with Sunfang, catching the dark elf in his thigh as he was trying to get clear, severing the artery. Sunfang partially cauterised it, but blood still flowed from the wound and the dark elf desperately tried to stop it with his hands. Sensing the wetness flooding its back, the Cold One twisted to snap at him. It could not quite reach him but the two of them became progressively more entangled.
The other two riders charged towards Tyrion. Their beasts bellowed deafeningly. Tyrion watched the two massive monsters close with him, following the play of muscles beneath their scaly skin, readying himself to face them. A few hundred strides behind came a company of druchii soldiers.