by William King
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Our land is in pain. We feel it. It disrupts the flows of power. It makes it difficult to think. This vessel is unprepared to receive us.’
‘Can you help us?’ Tyrion asked, thinking that if Alarielle could tap into the power of the goddess for even a moment, she might be able to do something that would aid them greatly.
‘The wound,’ she said. ‘Let us see it.’
She staggered like someone imperfectly in control of her body over to where he stood and reached out to touch the wound. Despite himself he flinched as her fingers found it, but he felt no pain. Her touch was cool and oddly soothing.
‘Can you help us?’
‘Our daughter is too young and too untrained to take the full brunt of our power. The Cold King has chosen his moment too well.’
‘Can you help us?’
‘Hush. This wound is a vile one filled with poison and powered by potent runes. The blade that did this was wound round with foul spells.’
The Everqueen closed her eyes. She murmured something. The coolness spread from her fingers. The wound pained him less although it would not close. It became less black. He felt as if he had some more energy.
‘It is the best we can do. You must find help soon or you will die.’
The Everqueen slumped like a puppet with her strings cut. ‘Alarielle!’ Tyrion said. He did not have the strength to catch her as she fell to the ground.
N’Kari loomed over the dead bodies of the Witch King’s chosen assassins. The stink of magic hung over the battlefield. It had been unleashed here and quite strongly by the standards of mortals. It was enough for N’Kari to recreate what had happened. Tyrion had been more than a match for Malekith’s pet killers. The boy had improved over the last century. His wound had become worse though. He smelled as if he was rotting away inside. Fortunately, he was close now. It would not take long to overhaul him and the Everqueen.
Tireless as ever, N’Kari put its head down and followed the trail. It moved with the speed of the storm wind. Lust for revenge made its bounding stride all the faster.
Teclis froze. He suddenly felt the closeness of a being of terrifying daemonic power. He sensed its psychic spoor as it moved past him. In the distance he could hear the panicked shrieks of dark elf soldiers as they too felt its presence. He turned to Alanor and said, ‘Run!’
The ranger looked at him, bewildered. ‘Get away from me or you will die!’ Teclis said. Something in his tone must have compelled belief because Alanor turned and ran. Teclis gathered his power to him and waited for N’Kari to arrive.
It would not take long. He cursed. They had finally made their way through the hordes of druchii. His brother was so close he could feel it. It was all going to be in vain unless he defeated the daemon.
N’Kari laughed aloud. It sensed the presence of the wizard who had banished it over a century before. Of course, he would be looking for his brother. Briefly N’Kari considered turning aside and swatting the troublesome mage, but it found the compulsion laid on it by the Witch King was strong. Not that it mattered. It was close to Tyrion now. All it had to do was wait for a few moments and Teclis would come upon his dead twin. Then N’Kari would take its revenge on him.
Teclis braced himself for an attack that never came. The daemon moved past him and on into the woods, its pace suddenly so slow that Teclis could almost keep up. Teclis understood what that meant. Tyrion and the Everqueen must be close. That was what N’Kari had been sent to find. It was the only thing that made sense.
Teclis limped on, pursuing the daemon as quickly as he could.
‘Thank you,’ Tyrion said. He felt better since the Everqueen had worked her magic on his wound. The pain had lessened and he could move again. It still felt as if his strength was slowly leeching away, but at least he had some.
‘I did not do anything,’ Alarielle said. ‘She did.’
‘I thought she was part of you.’
‘I think I am part of her. At least that is what it feels like when she manifests.’
She looked a little frightened when she spoke of it. Perhaps because of the lessening of his pain, his mood had lightened. The woods looked bright and sunny. A bright red bird fluttered from branch to branch above them. The sun looked golden. War and death might as well have been a hundred leagues away.
‘What is it like?’ he asked, genuinely curious.
‘Like drowning,’ she said.
‘That does not sound pleasant.’
‘They say a drowning person relaxes and enjoys it towards the end, after they give up the struggle.’
‘Is that what it’s like?’
‘The Everqueen is so big and I am so small. I don’t think this was the way it was meant to be.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Neither do I. There is a process of transition when the power moves from one Everqueen to the next. It can take years before it’s complete.’
‘We don’t have years,’ said Tyrion.
‘I know, and it makes me feel so… useless.’
‘Why does it take years?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t think the elven mind was meant to encompass what the Everqueen is – a god, a composite being, an elemental power. They are all in there, you know…’
‘Who?’
‘All of the ones who went before me. My mother. I see her sometimes, in my dreams. Sometimes when I am awake and I feel the power bubbling up in me. I think I am going to go mad…’
She looked very pained now. Tyrion was sorry he had started the conversation. It was not at all what he had expected. He had never thought there would be such a price to pay to become what she was. ‘You are not mad.’
‘But I may go mad. There are rituals to be undergone when you become the Everqueen. Hundreds of them. They stretch out over a period of years.’
‘And you have not undergone all of them.’
‘Not even the tiniest fraction.’
‘Does it matter so much?’
‘Yes. My tutors explained it to me. They are intended to accustom me to being the Everqueen and the Everqueen to being me.’
‘I always thought you were one and the same.’
She shook her head. ‘She is a living goddess, a spirit, a power that passes from one host to another. I am a vessel. She is the power that flows into me. When one vessel dies, another one must be found.’
‘Or what?’
‘We don’t know. It has never happened. Not in all of elven history. The power has always passed from mother to daughter.’
‘And all descended from the original Everqueen.’
She nodded again. ‘I think I am the anchor. If I die, the power is lost. The spirit will have no way into the world.’
‘The Shrine of Asuryan…’ Tyrion said. ‘You are like the Shrine of Asuryan.’
‘What?’
‘My brother and I were there once. He reached out and touched the god, or perhaps it touched him, I don’t know. He told me that it was the only place in the world where such a thing could happen. That is why the Phoenix Kings have to be crowned there.’
‘And you think that the daughters of the line of Astarielle are like the gateway that exists on the Blessed Island, a sort of mobile place of power?’
‘I am no sorcerer. I don’t know about these things. I am just guessing.’
‘You are guessing very well. That is exactly the way it is supposed to work. It is a sacred mystery. You must become my champion now. You know this.’ Her voice told him she was joking, but there was nothing here to joke about.
‘Malekith knows this too.’
‘You think he planned his attack now, knowing I would be weak?’
‘If he wanted to ensure the elves had one less god, he is going about it the right way.’
‘That is sacrilegious.’
‘We are talking about an elf who took it upon himself to walk into the Flame of Asuryan without any protection, who once attempted to destroy all of Ul
thuan. I don’t think the idea would trouble him too much.’
‘You speak as if you understand him.’
‘I am trying to. I am trying to understand what is happening here.’
‘It might not be the wisest of things, trying to think like the Witch King. He is almost seven thousand years old. I doubt that he is sane as we understand sanity.’
‘A few minutes ago you were telling me that you doubted your own…’
‘That is why you should listen to me,’ she said, with a strange, sad smile. He thought about what it must be like to share your body with a god.
Something she said came back to him. ‘Do you have their memories? All of them, all of the previous Everqueens?’
‘She has them. I can sometimes remember them. Why?’
‘That must be a heavy burden,’ he said, not wanting to say what was really on his mind, not yet anyway.
‘Prince Tyrion, you sound almost sympathetic.’
‘I find you more sympathetic than I used to,’ he said. ‘And I am grateful to her.’
‘Don’t become like everyone else,’ she said. ‘I have enough worshippers.’
‘What?’
‘At least you don’t give me the look – of adoration.’
‘I would have thought you enjoyed it.’
‘I did at first, but it gets odd and lonely after a time. I am not her. I am just the person she speaks through. She weaves her spell around me so that people will listen. For whatever reason, you at least can see me… and I am grateful for that.’
She reached out and took his hand. He looked up into her eyes. ‘So am I,’ he said. She leaned forwards. They were close enough to kiss.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of something. He pushed her to one side into the undergrowth beside the path.
‘Quickly,’ he said. ‘Get out of sight.’
Chapter Twenty
N’Kari could sense the presence of more of the blood of Aenarion. One of the scents belonged to Tyrion, the warrior who had done so much to help defeat it over a century ago. The other scent belonged to a female. It was a subtle scent and there was the suggestion of great power to it. Somewhere, deeply hidden, nearby there was a deity. It was not quite as warlike or as potent as Asuryan but it was, or it could be, very powerful.
This made N’Kari wary. It moved carefully closer, adjusting its shape to keep it camouflaged among the dense undergrowth. It padded softly closer, sniffing the air and readying itself for anything. Tyrion’s scent was even more sickly and tainted. The warrior was very ill. Of course, it did not matter very much because his life was just about to come to an end.
N’Kari was pleased by the fact that it was not only going to be able to carry out its orders for Malekith but take revenge on its greatest enemies in this world at the same time. It could sense the presence of Teclis close behind it but somewhat muffled as if by powerful, deceptive magic. It seemed that fate or the dark gods had conspired to give it the perfect opportunity for vengeance.
It was close enough now to peer out from the bushes and see the pair as they sat by a fire. They looked comfortable, which was also a good thing. It would take great pleasure in tormenting them; these things always went better if the victims felt secure to begin with.
It listened to the conversation for a while. It was the usual mortal trivia, nothing very interesting to one of its age and predisposition. It knew that it could waste a great deal of time waiting for them to say something that piqued its interest.
Instead it moved farther away into the undergrowth, changed its shape again and went crashing through the bushes as loudly as it could, determined to get their attention and unsettle them before it finally took its vengeance. It wanted to draw this moment out, to savour it and feel the fear building in the minds of its prey. It laughed softly to itself. It had waited for this for a very long time.
‘What was that?’ Alarielle asked. Tyrion forced himself upright and his head spun, dizziness threatening to overwhelm him. He felt sick as he had never felt in his life. And he felt something else, something that was in its own way as bad as the sickness. He sensed the presence of something evil. A faint, sickly-sweet aroma that reminded him of perfume. It also brought to mind something else that he had scented a long time ago.
‘I don’t know, but I don’t like it one little bit,’ he said. He forced himself to his feet and stood there swaying. A worried expression fluttered across Alarielle’s face. He knew that he was the cause of it, not whatever she had heard out there in the darkness.
That was wrong. There was something that they needed to be afraid of out there. It worried him that she had sensed that before he did. He leaned forwards and threw some more sticks on the fire although he already suspected that whatever was stalking them was not some beast that was going to be frightened of flame.
The twigs caught fire. The sap inside them sputtered. Sparks drifted upwards. He looked around, trying to penetrate the shadows with his vision. Something big was moving out there in the wood. It sounded as large as a bear and it was making so much noise now that it was almost as if it wanted to be detected. Tyrion turned his head to look at the point from which the sound came, and at that moment all of the noise ceased. Tyrion drew his sword, the flames blazing along its length sending shadows dancing away. It just seemed to make the night all the darker.
The poisoned wound pained him deeply. It was as if his whole side had been sprayed with acid.
‘I think it’s gone now,’ said Alarielle. She sounded more hopeful than convinced. Tyrion shook his head. He suspected that whatever it was that was out there was creeping stealthily closer.
Perhaps though it was watching them and getting ready to spring. He turned around just so that he could be rid of the crawling sensation between his shoulder blades. There was nothing there that he could see. No sound came from the woods. Just the simple movement made him feel even dizzier. Alarielle rose now. She held the Moonstaff of Lileath in her hands, clutching it so tightly that her knuckles were white. She looked around as well in the opposite directions from the ones that Tyrion was looking in.
The sounds started again, receding into the distance, crashing away into the darkness. If he had been healthy, Tyrion would have investigated, but he knew that it would be folly to go out into the darkness and look for a creature the size of a bear in his present condition. He gestured for Alarielle to sit down again, looked around once more, sheathed Sunfang and forced himself to remain upright.
‘What will you do once we reach our people?’ Alarielle asked. There was an aura of false cheerfulness about her that Tyrion disliked. It was as if she believed that he was not going to live to reach their people and wanted to pretend otherwise. He supposed he could not really blame her for that. Her position was not a cheerful one under the circumstances.
‘I think I will have a bath,’ Tyrion said. It took all his willpower to stand upright and speak. ‘It seems like a lifetime since I’ve had one. The closest thing I’ve had to a wash was when I fell in the river when we were swinging over it.’
It seemed like a very long time ago that he had done that. The memory of it made him laugh for some reason. She joined in although her laughter was soft and sad. ‘That seems like a lifetime ago to me,’ she said. ‘I did not really know you then.’
He looked at her across the fire. ‘Nor I, you. I thought you were a spoiled princess back then.’
‘And you don’t now?’
He shook his head. ‘Find some noble knight to be your champion.’
‘I am not sure a noble knight could have got me this far.’
‘It was you who brought me this far,’ Tyrion said. ‘I would not be here now if it was not for you.’
‘We did this together. And we will finish it together.’ She leaned forwards and touched his hand. Her touch felt very cold, but that was perhaps only because he felt as if he was burning up.
She leaned closer to him until their faces were almost touching. Her lips were
slightly parted. Again Tyrion felt the urge to kiss her.
‘That you most assuredly will do,’ said a voice from the darkness. ‘I will see to it.’
A chill ran down Tyrion’s spine. He had last heard that voice over a century before but he could never forget it. It haunted his darkest nightmares. He looked up. Emerging from the forest was a massive four-armed figure. One of those arms ended in a monstrous claw. A faint wave of musk hit him. He realised that it must have been there all the time, and it probably explained Alarielle’s actions. He knew the powerful aphrodisiac effect it had on others.
‘N’Kari,’ he said, forcing himself to hold his blade level, even though he was so weak he could barely stand.
‘I am glad you remember me,’ said the daemon, beckoning in an awful parody of an exotic dancer trying to entice one of her audience. ‘I certainly remember you, blood of Aenarion.’
Tyrion knew that his life was over. Even at his best, he would have been no match for this daemon. Now, as things stood, sick and weary, there was almost nothing he could do that would even slow N’Kari down. Without taking his eyes off the daemon, he said, ‘Run!’
‘Please do,’ said N’Kari. ‘I will enjoy it all the more. Once I have killed this one, it will give me great pleasure to hunt you down. I would be very grateful to you if you could prolong this for as long as possible.’
Tyrion drew his blade. The flame burned much brighter than it normally would, as if somehow it recognised N’Kari and what it stood for.
‘You’re somewhat better armed than the last time I met you,’ N’Kari said. ‘That should make this slightly more enjoyable as well.’
‘I see you are wearing chains,’ Tyrion said. ‘You were your own master, the last time we met. Now it seems you’re someone’s slave.’
‘I will have my revenge on the one who bound me, just as I will have my revenge upon you,’ N’Kari said. ‘My vengeance will be as terrible as it is inevitable.’
‘What is it like being a servant? I have heard that the followers of Slaanesh enjoy submission. How do you find it?’