by William King
‘Oh yes, the Witch King is there himself. Malekith the Great is only a few days’ march from here. He intends to do with his own hands what you could not – find and kill the Everqueen.’
Dorian shrugged and began to issue orders. It seemed that he would be facing Malekith sooner than he had expected.
So it was true, Tyrion thought. There was an elven army here. Coming over the rise, walking wearily with his brother limping on one side and the Everqueen on the other, he realised that they had done it. It had taken them long weeks of walking and hiding, of spreading the word that the Everqueen was still alive whenever they met a high elf, but it looked like finally they had reached a safe haven. Over the past few days, he had had his doubts whether they would. It seemed like a vast army of druchii was moving across the plains; they had come close to being captured more than once.
Ahead of them lay a small city of tents that looked far more makeshift than the great tournament grounds ever had. Among the tents were the banners of hundreds of elven noblemen. It seemed as if elves from all over Ulthuan had come to this place. It was as surprising as discovering a great festival in the middle of nowhere. But, at last, he told himself Alarielle was safe.
He felt better now – Teclis had proven what a master healer he was. The effects of the witch elves’ poison were completely gone. His enormous vitality had reasserted itself. His side was healed and he was as fit as he ever had been.
It was strange. Over the past few weeks a distance had grown up between himself and the Everqueen. Teclis’s mocking and sardonic presence had been part of the cause, but there were other reasons. Tyrion was sick and withdrawn most of the time and Alarielle distant as she communed with the power within her, seeking solutions for the problems of her people. They were no longer as close or as intimate as they had been during their long flight through the woods of Avelorn. Alarielle had withdrawn into herself, as if shrinking from him, becoming daily more silent and thoughtful.
They reached the edge of the great army camp. Elves looked at them with suspicious eyes. Of course, Tyrion thought, they were worried about spies. They were wondering who the strangers were. There was a simple answer for that. He gestured for the watchers to come closer and gather round. Once he had attracted a crowd, he shouted, ‘Kneel! The Everqueen is among you.’
Alarielle removed her hood. The spell that compelled adoration radiated out from her. All of the elves present knelt and gave thanks for her delivery. Word of it rippled out through the camp. They were ushered into the presence of the army’s leaders, hastily arranged in council to greet their queen.
A great cry went up, ‘The Everqueen is saved!’
Tyrion looked around at the assembled group of nobles and warriors. He was astonished to see a number of familiar and unexpected faces in the crowd. Korhien Ironglaive was there and so was Arhalien of Yvresse. Tyrion wondered if any others had survived the surprise attack on the tournament grounds. There were clearly stories that he needed to hear as soon as possible, but for the moment he needed to concentrate on the asur army and its leaders.
This was not an army in the traditional sense, he realised. It was a gathering of desperate elves who had come together because there was no place else to go. Now Alarielle was the focal point of their effort, partially because they wanted to protect her but partially because they needed protection themselves. They were huddling together like a herd of wild cattle forming a circle to protect themselves from predators.
He had to admit Alarielle formed an admirable living banner for them to rally to. The spell of the Everqueen kept all eyes focused on her; he knew that there was not an elf present who would not give his life to protect her, with the possible exception of Teclis. He would do it himself, and not because he was compelled by ancient magic. He would do it because…
Looking at those adoring faces, he wanted to punch them for their stupidity. Could they not see she was worth protecting for herself, not because of the spells around her? Was he the only one who understood that?
He forced himself to unclench his fists, to relax. They were not responsible for their actions here, any more than she was. In this, as in so much else, they were the pawns of powers greater than themselves. Speeches were given welcoming the Everqueen. She spoke, thanking Tyrion and Teclis for her deliverance. The brothers were cheered to the high heavens when the tale was told, but business pressed on. There was much to be discussed.
Scouts had brought word that a huge army under the Witch King was approaching. It would be upon them in a few days, maybe less. They were badly outnumbered. The thing to do was flee, a few of the nobles claimed. Their words sounded sensible, but could they not see they were making a huge error? Alarielle must have noticed something written on his face for she said, ‘Prince Tyrion, you obviously disagree with what Lord Marin said.’
All eyes shot to him. He stepped forwards, giving them a chance to look at him. He weighed his words carefully, trying to put his objections into words. ‘If we flee, our army will fall to pieces. The different components will all move at different speeds. The cavalry will outrun the infantry. The refugees who have joined us will be left behind.’
A tall elf garbed like a lord of the riders of Ellyrion said, ‘We will not leave our people to be captured by the Witch King.’
‘Then you will be overhauled and destroyed. The druchii have a disciplined army. It can march leagues in a day if it has to and maintain its formations. We cannot. This is not a picked force dispatched on a mission by the Phoenix King. This is simply a ragged assembly of survivors.’
There was a hubbub of voices. Many disagreed with him. A few took his words as an insult. Many of those with military experience knew he was talking sense.
‘What would you suggest we do?’ Korhien Ironglaive asked. He held up a huge hand for silence. His tone was challenging, but Tyrion knew the White Lion was really giving him a chance to explain.
‘Our position here is as strong as it’s going to get. We have the advantage of high ground and a flank protected by the Everflow on one side and woods on the other. We can take our stand here. If the gods are with us, we can win. If not, a force of fast riders must be prepared to take the Everqueen away. It would be better if she departed at once and we can hold the ground until she escapes.’
Alarielle shook her head. ‘I have run far enough. I will not leave this place unless I have to.’
‘But we cannot face the Witch King and his champion, this Urian Poisonblade,’ someone shouted. ‘He has slaughtered everyone who has faced him.’
‘Ah, but we can,’ said a sardonic voice from the edge of the council. It took Tyrion a long moment to realise that it belonged to Teclis. His twin stepped up to his side.
‘Malekith can be defeated,’ he said.
‘How?’ a voice demanded.
‘By magic,’ Teclis responded. ‘He has a weakness that can be exploited.’
‘And what would this weakness be, that no one has been able to discover for six thousand years?’
‘I will not say,’ said Teclis, ‘lest word of it reaches his ears and he takes measures to protect against it.’
‘You are seriously claiming you can beat the Witch King?’
Teclis nodded. ‘I dismissed his pet daemon. I walked unscathed through his armies. Trust me, I can do this.’
All eyes looked at him, some with disbelief, some with awe, some with hope.
A scout ran up and shouted, ‘We have sighted the Witch King’s army. It will be upon us by tomorrow evening at the latest.’
Alarielle looked at the council and said, ‘What is it to be? Stand or run? For myself, I will stay, but anyone who wants to is free to go.’
There was silence for a long moment, then a roar of affirmation that the army would stay.
‘I hope this magic of yours works, brother,’ Tyrion said so quietly that no one else could hear him.
‘So do I,’ Teclis replied. ‘Our lives depend on it.’
‘More than just ours,�
�� Tyrion replied, unable to take his eyes off the Everqueen.
‘Tyrion!’ He turned to find the source of that well-remembered roaring voice pushing through the crowd, and found himself whirled into the air by the massive, muscular arms of Korhien Ironglaive. ‘It is good to see you again.’
‘Korhien!’ Tyrion shouted. ‘I might have known I would find you where the action was thickest.’
Korhien gave a sour grimace. ‘That is everywhere these days. It seems like our land is overrun by these pests from Naggaroth.’
He was speaking loudly so that his confident assertion could be overheard. He wanted his contempt for their enemy well known and spread about the camp. He was doing his bit to keep up asur morale.
‘How did you get here?’ Tyrion asked. ‘I would have thought you would have been in Lothern. I hear there has been fighting there.’
‘I was dispatched to carry the war torch to our armies, to summon our people to the defence of the land. I was dispatched to the White Tower with messages, and from there was taking the word to Prince Moranion. I fell in with your father. He carries a burden of great importance.’
‘My father is here? I thought he would never leave his beloved armour.’
‘He has brought it with him. He was plagued by prophetic dreams. It seems half the wizards of Ulthuan have been, and the other half have not been getting enough sleep to do so.’
‘How did you get here?’
‘Once we were on the road, we just got caught up in the war. I was not jesting when I said those maggots were everywhere. We were chased hither and yon about the plain until I found Lord Marin’s force, then we turned and gave those druchii a mauling.’
‘I am very glad to hear it and even more glad to see you.’
‘We must have a drink to celebrate. Come to my tent and we shall have some wine and you can tell me lies about your great feats of heroism.’ Something about Korhien’s expression told Tyrion that he wanted to discuss matters that were not for public hearing. He followed his old teacher through the vast encampment with a growing sense of foreboding.
They took a seat inside an old tent and Korhien rummaged in his pack for a bottle of wine. He pulled out the cork with his teeth and passed it to Tyrion. ‘No fine goblets here, I am afraid,’ he said. ‘Drink it down. You will need it.’
‘Why do I have the feeling I am not going to like what you are going to tell me?’
‘Because you know me too well.’ Tyrion took a swig of the wine. It had been a long time since he had drunk any of the stuff. It went down well but it tasted sour.
Korhien grinned. ‘It’s useful for washing out wounds as well as giving you hangovers.’
Tyrion handed the bottle over and Korhien gulped it down. ‘It does the job,’ he said.
‘What news of the war?’ Tyrion asked.
‘Bad as bad can be,’ Korhien said. ‘The druchii took us completely by surprise. Armies everywhere as if by magic. A dozen towns fell before anyone even knew it. Fortresses were besieged. A horde of barbarians have set fire to the north and are swarming through the rest of Ulthuan like maggots in a corpse.’
‘Not a pretty image.’
‘It’s not a pretty time. The worst of it is not just that we were made to look like fools and half-beaten before the war even started. The worst of it was that we were betrayed.’
Tyrion looked up at the note of bitterness in his old friend’s voice. He accepted the bottle and took another swig. ‘Traitors? Who?’
‘Iltharis for one.’ Tyrion felt as if the bottom had just dropped out of his world.
‘Prince Iltharis?’
‘Do you know anyone else of that name?’
‘I don’t believe it.’
‘I said the same thing, but he was seen giving instructions to a band of druchii sympathisers who tried to open the gates of Lothern to the dark elves.’
‘He would not do that. There must be some mistake.’
‘No mistake at all. He took a swipe at me en route to attempting to kill Finubar.’
‘No.’
‘Yes. Walked up to me, greeted me like a long-lost brother and then smacked me on the back of the head with the hilt of his sword. Knocked me out and left me with a bump the size of a peacock’s egg. Fortunately my skull is so thick or I would not be here to tell you this tale of woe.’
‘He could have slit your throat.’
‘But he didn’t. He’ll pay for that mistake.’
‘He did not kill you. Maybe he was being blackmailed or did it against his will.’
‘He was changed, Tyrion. I am not sure how or what I can say to convince you, but I don’t think he was reluctant about what he was doing. Mad, maybe, the way druchii are mad, but not reluctant.’
‘He tried to kill Finubar?’
‘He would have done it too, but while he was slaughtering a few White Lions, the Phoenix King escaped through the old secret tunnels in the palace. Iltharis followed him too, knew his way through what was supposedly a sacred, secret area. He must have been scouting out the place for decades.’
‘How did Finubar get away?’
‘Out into the harbour and onto a ship. Lady Malene was there and a bunch of house archers and enough troops to give even Iltharis pause. He vanished into the night, while the traitors were spreading panic. No one has seen him since.’
‘I can’t believe it,’ said Tyrion, but he found he could. After the events of the past few months, nothing could surprise him.
‘I couldn’t either at first, but the crack in my skull was real.’
‘Iltharis? A druchii spy? It’s impossible. Who would have the patience to playact for all those years?’
‘He did obviously.’
‘Maybe it was magic, a spell.’
‘Maybe.’ It was obvious that Korhien had already discounted that possibility.
‘This is not good news. I doubt a more dangerous elf ever lived than Iltharis – he knows all our secrets. He was part of the Phoenix King’s council. He worked out what N’Kari was up to all those years ago.’
‘He calls himself Urian now, according to those who have seen him. He leads warbands across the plain and kills all who oppose him. Some say he is invincible.’
‘We shall have to put that to the test.’
‘At least N’Kari no longer fights against us. Your brother sent it back to hell. He’s become quite frightening himself, young Teclis, if the tales are to be believed.’
‘They are.’
‘What changed him?’
‘I think he has discovered that he likes killing elves.’
‘If anyone ever had a reason to, it was him. His life has not been an easy one.’
Suddenly Tyrion was annoyed with his old friend. Now that Teclis was a hero, people were beginning to sympathise with him and to understand his pain. They had never managed that before. He managed to keep the smile on his face. ‘That is the truth.’
Korhien smiled. ‘And you. You have become quite the hero too. Rescuing the Everqueen right out of the middle of a druchii army. It’s like something from one of the old legends.’
Tyrion shrugged. ‘I was in the right place at the right time.’
‘You were also the right elf. That is important.’
‘She saved herself really though, and she saved me a dozen times. I would not be here now if it was not for her.’
‘Nor she if it was not for you. You’ve picked a bad time to become afflicted with false modesty, Tyrion. What this land needs now more than ever is heroes.’
‘And I look like one, don’t I?’ said Tyrion sourly. He and Korhien looked at each other for a long moment. There was an odd hostility in the air, then Korhien grinned and said,
‘You most certainly do. I suspect you will look more like one before this is over.’
Tyrion wondered what he meant.
‘Teclis!’ The wizard looked round to see Belthania waving at him. She was in the presence of a company of Sword Masters from Hoeth. More wizards acc
ompanied her. He limped wearily over to where she stood.
‘Hello,’ he said, and she surprised him by kissing him on both cheeks.
‘You did it,’ she said. She was smiling. The Sword Masters were smiling too. ‘You saved the Everqueen.’
‘My brother did that. I just helped them escape.’ He felt embarrassed. He did not like being the centre of attention, or the hero of the hour. He seemed to be recognised everywhere he went now. People pointed at him. He felt self-conscious. For some reason, he limped more.
‘You banished a greater daemon. You spirited them out from among the armies of the Witch King. It’s like something out of an old heroic tale.’
‘I am not a hero,’ he said.
‘You are to most of us.’
‘How times have changed,’ he said sourly.
‘You haven’t,’ she said. ‘You are still a sour bastard.’ She was smiling as she said it though.
‘I like to be consistent,’ he said. ‘Is there any news from Hoeth?’
‘The White Tower still stands. No one has attacked it so far though. There is other news…’
‘What?’
‘Malekith is here on the plain. He has come with his army, seeking the Everqueen no doubt.’ Teclis felt cold fingers run up and down his spine. He had challenged the Witch King. Now it seemed he might actually have to face him. He hoped his idea about Malekith’s weakness was correct.
Teclis felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned and much to his surprise saw Prince Arathion.
‘Father,’ he said, ‘what are you doing here?’
‘I came bringing the armour of Aenarion to where it was most needed.’
‘Then you’re in the right place.’
‘I am not so sure about that.’ Something in his father’s tone alarmed Teclis much more than it should have done.
‘So, Urian, what shall I do with this one?’ Malekith asked. Urian looked at the elaborately dressed and yet shabby figure before him. It took a few moments to recognise his own half-brother. He had heard word that General Dorian and his force had just joined the great army of humans and druchii surging across Finuval Plain in pursuit of the Everqueen. He had not realised that the general might prove to be his brother.