by William King
‘If you’re trying to convince me to initiate you into its pleasures, it will not work. I simply do not have the time. I must kill you and I must kill her and then I must return to plotting my revenge.’
‘It seems to me that you spend more time talking about revenge than taking it.’
‘And it seems to me that you’re very keen to meet your death. Do you really suffer so much? Does your wound pain you so?’
‘Run!’ Tyrion said to Alarielle. ‘I will hold it for as long as I can.’
‘I am not going anywhere,’ she said. ‘I would not give this the pleasure of seeing me run. Nor will I leave you.’
‘How touching,’ N’Kari said. ‘Don’t you realise that your lover wishes to die? He cannot live with that wound and he wishes to leave this world heroically. I am almost tempted to let him live and watch him die in slow agony. It has certain advantages. He can witness what I do to you before he goes. Do not be afraid. There will be as much pleasure as there is pain in it for you, and you will come to enjoy both before the end.’
Tyrion sprang forwards. Sunfang flashed through a blazing arc. He put all his remaining strength and speed into the blow. N’Kari evaded it easily and laughed.
‘It seems I have touched a nerve,’ it said. Alarielle spread her hands and spoke a word. A wave of greenish energy flowed towards the daemon. N’Kari’s hands made the gestures of a counterspell and neutralised it.
‘Pitiful,’ said N’Kari. ‘An apprentice could do better.’
Tyrion moved in close and struck again while the daemon was distracted. Sunfang bit into its flesh. There was a sound of sizzling as the skin burned away. A faint sweet aroma filled the air. The daemon lashed out with its fist and batted Tyrion away like an elf tossing a small animal across a room. Tyrion fell badly. Blackness swept over him. He tried to force himself to rise but could not.
He knew that the end had come.
From the shadows of the undergrowth, Teclis resisted the urge to intervene. Striking before he was ready would merely result in all of their deaths. Instead he studied N’Kari. The daemon looked very much as he remembered it. Of course, there was no way that he would ever forget his encounter with the greater daemon of Slaanesh. There was something odd about the creature. It was bound not just by spells but by some ancient artefact grafted onto its wrist, a thing almost as potent as the daemon was.
It radiated an aura of awesome power. Teclis did not recognise the workmanship. He knew it was not made by an elf. Perhaps, judging by the runes upon it, it had been made by a Slann or perhaps even one of the creatures that had ruled the Slann back in ancient times.
All that he knew was that those chains had been made in a fashion that not even Caledor could duplicate. They were not only potent enough to bind a greater daemon indefinitely but they had other effects as well. They helped to maintain the presence of N’Kari in this plane of existence.
Normally, entities as powerful as greater daemons could not maintain a physical form for any great length of time except when the winds of magic blew much stronger than they normally did. Normally, only at times of great peril, such as when the northern warp gates were open, could they do so. The last time that had happened was during the reign of Aenarion.
No, there was something woven into those chains that bound the greater daemon. Perhaps he could use that to his advantage.
If he was going to do so, he was going to need to do it quickly. N’Kari was advancing upon Alarielle with something more than merely killing her on its mind. Tyrion, like the idiot he was, was trying to fight. Both of them were going to be killed very quickly unless Teclis intervened.
The daemon radiated an aura of awesome power, but not quite so much as it had the last time Teclis had encountered it. The wizard was sure that that was not simply his imagination or a bad memory. N’Kari was much weaker than it should have been. Teclis suspected that that too had something to do with those strange chains.
If you’re going to bind a greater daemon, it made sense to bleed off some of its power. It would make the act of controlling it much easier. Such a creature would still be powerful enough to make a terrible servant or weapon, even if it was not quite so strong as it would normally have been.
There was something familiar about the spell on those chains. Something about it reminded him of the locking spell that had controlled the door back at the Slann city of Zultec, where Tyrion and he had found Sunfang. It would be easy enough to undo that spell and release the chains, although that seemed like madness. At that point N’Kari would be completely unbound and able to bring all of its power into focus. There would only be a few moments where the daemon would be vulnerable and perhaps Teclis could banish it.
Even at the best of times though, such a spell was not without risks. All Teclis knew was that it was theoretically possible. He had never summoned a greater daemon. He had never bound a greater daemon. He had never banished one either. He was familiar with the spells. He had studied them in the White Tower a long time ago, when he had first gone to study there. The masters had allowed him, for they had known as well as he did that one day he was going to have to face N’Kari again. Now that day had come. The question was – was he ready for it?
There was only one way to find out. N’Kari had almost reached Alarielle. It had stretched out its huge arms like a lover and was herding her towards a great tree. Tyrion lay on the ground and did not move.
Teclis spoke a word of power. A bolt of magical energy hurtled towards the daemon. It screeched. For a moment, it seemed to be outlined in the fire and lightning. It turned to face Teclis and roared.
‘It seems I have got your attention,’ Teclis said. ‘Depart now and I will spare you.’
The daemon said, ‘Little Teclis – my, how you have grown!’
‘I see you have not lost your taste for melodramatic dialogue,’ Teclis said. He made his voice sounded utterly bored even while he studied the locking spell on the chains. With his magesight he could see the intricate pattern woven into the structure.
‘It seems your skill at magic has greatly improved,’ N’Kari said. The daemon was coming closer, its movements reminiscent of the stalking step of a great predator. Teclis knew that if it got within springing distance he was dead. He did not have Tyrion’s lightning reflexes. There was no way he could avoid the fatal strike of those great claws.
Teclis worked the spell of opening, using his powers to undo the intricate magical locking mechanism on the chains of binding. They fell away to the ground. N’Kari spread its claws wide and laughed. It seemed to expand with a new influx of power and evil.
‘You have made a mistake, little Teclis.’
Teclis knew he had only one chance. He spoke the words of banishment. N’Kari’s outline wavered. Without the chains to anchor it, it was prey to instability once more. Teclis manipulated the flows of magic around him, adding to the resistance of normal reality, aiding it in its attempts to expel N’Kari back to its natural home.
‘No!’ it cried, realising what was happening. It strode towards Tyrion, determined to take its revenge on one of the brothers.
Teclis invoked another offensive spell. An enormous blast of magical energy ravened through his body and washed over the daemon, limning it with witchfire.
N’Kari faded away, still screaming.
Malekith felt a sudden pain inside his head. What was happening, he wondered? Had death finally overtaken him in the moment of his greatest triumph? Had the Flame of Asuryan and the spells woven into his armour finally failed? Was this what death was like? He was surprisingly untroubled by it.
The faces of his followers turned towards him. He realised that he was swaying and that he had raised one massive, gauntleted fist to his forehead. He forced himself to stand upright and assume his usual, dominant posture. He was not dead.
It dawned on him what it was. The sense of linkage with the daemon N’Kari was gone. Something had happened. Had the daemon finally broken the spell that bound it? Or wa
s this something else entirely?
He paused to consider these questions. He did not think that the daemon could possibly have broken the spell that bound it to this world. Even if it had, the chances were that instability would cause the daemon to vanish back into the Realm of Chaos.
If not, Malekith realised that he had a very big problem on his hands. An angry Keeper of Secrets was not something that anyone wanted to have hunting them. Which brought another terrifying thought to mind – if the daemon had not managed to break the spell binding it, someone had banished it from this world or suborned it to their own purposes. This spoke of magic of the highest level and the most frightening level of power.
He cursed the Everqueen and the land of Avelorn. It did not seem to matter what he attempted – it foundered among the forests of that dreadful place. Another thought filtered into his mind. Without N’Kari, his armies really were reduced to the same level of mobility as his enemies. He could no longer reinforce them using the daemon’s transportation magic. He had taken a gamble by despatching the daemon to seek the Everqueen and it had failed – now he was going to have to pay the price. Swiftly he made a few calculations. The war was still winnable. His forces still enjoyed an overwhelming advantage against a surprised and demoralised enemy.
He had contingency plans. He always did. It seemed like he was going to have to regroup and get ready. The war was going to take longer than he thought, but he could still win it. He was going to have to assemble his forces into one mighty sledgehammer and use it to smash the high elves once and for all. He had his own force. He had these tribes of barbarians. He would hunt down the Everqueen himself.
Chapter Twenty-one
‘I am very grateful to see you, brother,’ Tyrion said. ‘And I’m sure that’s not something you hear anyone say very often.’
He looked spent, Teclis thought, hovering on the very edge of death. It was a precipice he could fall over at any moment. It was unsurprising. That last blow from N’Kari would have killed a normal elf. The broken ribs he sensed were easy enough to repair. It was something else that troubled Teclis. A dark and evil magic was present within his twin.
‘Hush,’ Teclis said.
Alarielle hunkered down beside him. ‘Thank you,’ she said. Teclis looked at her. She was beautiful and her beauty was enhanced by a variety of subtle and complex magics. He sensed another presence within her. He fought to keep her glamour from swaying him.
Teclis spoke a spell of sleep, and Tyrion closed his eyes.
‘How was he wounded?’ Teclis asked.
‘With a poisoned witch elf blade,’ Alarielle said. ‘He has borne that wound since we left the tournament grounds. I am surprised he is still alive.’
‘Then you do not know my brother. He is too stubborn to die.’
‘Yes, he is.’ Teclis was not surprised by the emotion in her voice. Tyrion always had that effect on women. It appeared not even the Everqueen was immune. ‘I tried to heal him, but my grasp of magic is not sure.’
‘You might well have killed him.’
‘I did not have much choice. He was going to die anyway.’
She was looking at him warily now, measuring him and judging him. It was something he was quite used to from other elves.
‘Let’s take a look at this wound,’ he said, cutting away the area around the tunic with his athame and removing the improvised bandages. The stink of rotting flesh and something else hit him. He looked at the wound. At its centre it was the colour of raw liver, and it was black round the edges. The smell was enough to make him gag. ‘I am surprised he is still able to walk. All most people would be able to do in his condition would be lie on the ground and moan.’
‘Can you do anything?’ Alarielle asked. A frown marked that perfect brow. Long-suppressed tears glittered at the corner of her eyes.
‘Let’s see, shall we,’ said Teclis. He fumbled in his pack and found the small jar of diamond-glass crystal he was looking for. The contents writhed within it. They were maggots of a very special sort. Teclis took them from the jar and placed them on the wound. They inched their way out onto the poisoned flesh and with a horrible slurping sound began to devour it, turning from a sickly yellow to a rotted black as they did so. They ate their own weight in corrupted meat and grew larger and more bloated as they did so, growing from the size of a pared fingernail to the size of a finger in a matter of minutes. Tyrion groaned and stirred in his sleep, but Teclis’s spell held him.
The surface of the wound was soon cleared and the edges eaten away until there was only pink natural flesh and seeping blood visible. One by one Teclis took the maggots away, impaled on the point of his athame. They crawled over the blade and tried to bite his hand with their lamprey-like mouths. He dropped them on the ground and incinerated them with magic on a small bonfire made from the stained bandages. A hideous stench arose that was even worse than the smell of the wound.
The wound looked clear. He invoked a forensic spell and studied his brother. The flow of life energy was weak and there were areas of taint and damage in his aura. Teclis wove magic that would cleanse those areas and start them repairing themselves. He spoke wave after wave of spells intended to neutralise poison and cleanse disease. For hours he worked, minutely, carefully, with total concentration and utter care. When he was certain he had done all he could, he spoke the spells that would cause the wounded flesh to knit and then put new bandages in place.
‘The healers at my mother’s court could have done no better,’ Alarielle said.
‘I became something of an expert on medical magic at an early age,’ Teclis said. ‘I have been my own worst patient.’
‘Will he live?’
Teclis considered the matter as dispassionately as he could. His brother was very pale and looked more dead than alive. It was shocking to see someone who had always blazed with health looking so sick.
‘I do not know,’ Teclis said. ‘All we can do is wait.’
Teclis sat looking over the fire at the Everqueen. She stared into the flames and then at Tyrion and then back at the flames again. Teclis brewed drugs and medicines that he thought might be needed in a small crucible before transferring them to alembics.
‘It was only a few hours ago we were talking about what we would do when we got out of this,’ she said. ‘It seems like a lifetime ago now.’
‘Life is like that,’ Teclis said. ‘Things that seemed permanent vanish in an instant.’
‘Nothing has seemed permanent since the druchii attacked us. We have lived a heartbeat from death for a week.’
Teclis looked at Tyrion. ‘I am sure he would have enjoyed that. He always loved danger.’
‘Don’t talk about him like that. As if he were already gone.’
Teclis simply stared at her. She was not used to being looked at that way, he could tell. ‘You look like him,’ she said at last.
‘You are the first person ever to tell me that. All my life I have lived in the shadow of his good looks.’
Alarielle laughed softly. ‘I meant you look at me like him. As if you see a person and not the Everqueen.’
Teclis cocked his head to one side. ‘That is interesting. He never had any gift for seeing through magic. I can see the glamours that surround you. I doubt even one in ten mages could. They are fantastically subtle.’
‘I don’t think he saw any spells at all. He simply reacted against them. I think they made him dislike me, to begin with.’
‘Tyrion never disliked anybody in his life. He was… he is very amiable.’
‘I did not think so when I met him.’
‘I am surprised. Women usually find him very charming.’
‘Lots of women?’ She sounded jealous and curious at once. Teclis nodded. He felt oddly touched and he was not sure why. He rose from beside the fire and went to check his wards. When he came back the Everqueen was sitting beside his brother, running her hand through his hair.
‘What are we going to do?’ she asked.
‘We can’t move him now,’ Teclis said. ‘We are just going to have to wait here.’
‘What if the druchii come?’
‘I will deal with them,’ Teclis said.
‘Can you deal with an army?’ she asked.
‘I guess we will find out,’ he said.
‘You don’t lack confidence, do you?’
‘It is a recent development. I find I have a talent for warfare. I used to assume he was the only one in the family who did.’
‘I can see the power in you. Or the Everqueen can. It blazes like a forest on fire.’
‘Let’s hope I don’t have to do that – set the forest on fire!’
‘But you will if you have to, won’t you?’
‘Indubitably, yes.’ Teclis wove spells of concealment around them, and they settled down to wait. ‘If it would save you both.’
‘I’ve felt better,’ Tyrion said. His eyes were open. His voice sounded weak. He was, however, still alive, and these were the first words he had spoken in days.
‘I am glad to hear that you are still capable of complaining,’ Teclis said.
‘It’s odd. I thought N’Kari had appeared. It turned out to be you. Not much difference I suppose.’
‘The daemon was here,’ said Alarielle. ‘Your brother banished it.’
‘Not for the first time,’ said Tyrion. ‘It seems it’s becoming a habit.’
‘I arrived just as you were preparing to make a heroically foolish last stand.’
‘You saved me a bit of effort, but I would have beaten him in the end,’ Tyrion said. ‘I feel fairly confident in saying that.’
‘Illness has not increased your intelligence,’ said Teclis.
‘Nice hat,’ Tyrion said. ‘We interrupted you on your way to a fancy-dress party, I take it.’
‘It is the War Crown of Saphery, worn by defenders of the wizards’ realm since time immemorial,’ said Teclis.
‘It’s the right size for your head, and it hides the point your skull comes to, so I suppose it has some benefits.’