by William King
‘I do not need to survive it,’ said Teclis, smiling brightly. ‘I just need to make sure you do not survive as well.’
‘I think that is beyond your skills, little cripple.’
‘I must beg to differ,’ said Teclis.
‘Are you really willing to die?’
‘Are you, mighty prince? That is the real question here. I have not found life so much to my taste. If I die here, they will say of me that I died slaying the greatest evil in elven history. If you die here, they will say he was killed by a crippled boy. Which of us comes out of that better?’
Teclis held his breath. He was close enough to Malekith to sense the fires of Asuryan that still burned within him. He had touched those fires in the past, had woven them to his will when he had faced N’Kari. The question was, would he have time to do so now?
‘Do you really think you can hurt me?’ Malekith asked.
‘We both know the answer to that.’
‘I suspect we do,’ said Malekith. His fingers traced a pattern in the air. Teclis could not be certain what he was attempting, but he sensed immense force gathering in response to the Witch King’s will.
Teclis invoked the power of Asuryan. He reached out with his will and called upon the flames that burned within the Witch King’s body. They blazed up in response to his spell. The wards woven into Malekith’s armour could not protect him against the attack from within.
‘No!’ Malekith’s voice boomed across the battlefield. Teclis called upon the full power of the Moonstaff of Lileath, using it to sculpt all of his power into one massive bolt of ravening destruction, knowing the pain of the awakened flame within his body would keep Malekith from countering. Malekith however surprised him.
As the titanic bolt smashed home, he spoke a potent spell. The massive armoured form vanished, leaving an outline limned in fire and the web of energies collapsing around him. Teclis was not sure what had happened. Had the Witch King been destroyed? Had he managed to escape by using some sorcery of translocation or displacement? One thing was certain: his baleful presence was gone, and Teclis knew he was alone on the hilltop.
He was not the only one who knew that.
Beneath him the entire dark elven force let out a great roar of horror and despair. They had seen their king and their mightiest champion destroyed before their eyes – at this moment they did not share Teclis’s doubts as to his fate. They only knew that they faced his vanquisher and that thought was not at all to their liking.
Teclis drew upon the winds of magic again. He leapt upwards into the sky above the army, his aura glowing around him like that of a god.
Teclis began to weave spells of destruction, drawing upon all the grim knowledge he had acquired in the library at Hoeth. He felt mad exultation build within him and knew that once more his soul was in danger. He did not let that stop him.
Great clouds swirled over the ranks of the Naggarothi, rains of green acid showering down on them, burning their flesh. Bolts of chromatic lightning stabbed down from the sky, searing flesh and cutting great swathes from their ranks. Thunder so loud it burst eardrums and caused blood to gush forth made them cringe in terror.
For long minutes an unleashed tide of destruction played over the battlefield such as few had ever witnessed or ever would again. There were times when Teclis thought it was all going to slip beyond his control and the powers he had so rashly thought to bind to his will were going to break free and destroy as much of his own side as they were destroying his enemies.
Somehow, by dint of desperate effort, and mighty exertion of skill and will, and through not a little luck, he wrestled the forces under control, and the great storm of unleashed energy passed, leaving him standing alone on the hillside: drained, elated and empty.
Slowly the magnitude of his triumph sank in. He had beaten the Witch King. He had routed the druchii army. Victory was his. Already the army of Malekith was in retreat and Tyrion and his warriors were riding them down.
Death tipped the piece representing the Witch King to one side, signalling his resignation. He raised his pale hand in ironic mocking salute.
‘Well played,’ he said, rising from his chair with an air of resignation. ‘Perhaps next time I will win.’
Caledor felt strangely confused and oddly empty. He knew he was missing something. He knew he had forgotten something. He had a task to do but he could not remember what it was.
‘Perhaps next time I will let you,’ he said, so softly that he doubted Death could hear.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
William King is the author of the Tyrion & Teclis trilogy and the Macharian Crusade, as well as the much-loved Gotrek & Felix series and the Space Wolf novels. His short stories have appeared in many magazines and compilations, including White Dwarf and Inferno. Bill was born in Stranraer, Scotland, in 1959 and currently lives in Prague.
For John McLintock, Sword Against Evil.
A BLACK LIBRARY PUBLICATION
Published in 2013 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd., Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK
Cover illustration by Raymond Swanland
Icon by Nuala Kennedy
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ISBN 978-1-78251-246-2
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