Sword of Caledor

by William King

  ‘Not the blade everyone thinks of as Aenarion’s sword,’ said Teclis. ‘But, yes, we found Sunfang.’

  ‘Many said it was impossible,’ she said. ‘I knew you would succeed. You and your brother always do at anything you truly put your minds to.’

  ‘I wish I shared your faith in my abilities. You are, of course, correct about Tyrion.’

  ‘You always sound so sour these days when you talk about him,’ she said. Teclis thought it certainly was so when he talked to her. He could not help himself. He did not wish to be displaced in her affections. He could never bring himself to say that openly though. He realised he was being unfair to Tyrion as well, which galled him, for he knew his brother would never behave so towards him. It was just one more way in which he was better.

  ‘I do not mean to, but it is hard sometimes,’ he admitted. ‘I live on his charity, me and father both.’

  Malene studied him. ‘You do not live on his charity. He has given most of what he owns to you and your father. It is all yours now, not his. He told me to tell you that if the matter ever came up.’

  ‘Why would he do that?’

  ‘He knows your father needs the money and he was letting me know something as well.’

  Somehow this did not make Teclis feel any better. ‘He earned that money with his raiding and his trading. He did it while I was studying at Hoeth. I think sometimes he does these things to make me feel bad.’

  ‘You think your brother gifts you with gold in order to make you feel bad?’ Malene’s smile was curious. ‘Explain!’ For a second, she was the old Malene, his tutor in magic and alchemy.

  ‘Even Tyrion’s generosity is a weapon. Or rather, a display of superiority. He is saying he is the one who is in a position of power. He is always the one who helps us, helps me. It is never the other way.’

  Malene steepled her fingers. ‘I am surprised it has taken such an intelligent elf so long to realise this,’ she said.

  Teclis smiled sourly. ‘I have never been good with people.’

  ‘Better than you think.’

  ‘You agree with me then?’

  ‘Of course. The question you really should ask yourself is why your brother behaves this way.’

  ‘Because he likes to feel superior.’

  ‘No. Because he still feels inferior.’

  ‘Why should he do that? Everyone always praises him. He is probably the best-loved elf in Lothern.’

  ‘It was not always so.’

  ‘I do not remember it any other way.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Your memory is better than mine then, lady.’

  ‘We both know it is not. But I can still remember a day that you seem to have forgotten.’

  ‘What day is that?’

  ‘The day I first saw the pair of you.’ Malene smiled fondly, as if recalling something that was special to her.

  ‘You saw a sickly child and a perfect elf boy.’

  ‘I saw a father who doted on the sick son who resembled him and who shared his interests. I saw another boy who was excluded because he had no interest in or talent for the Art, only for things his father despised or considered of no consequence. It was a small house and there was only one parent.’

  ‘You think Tyrion still remembers that?’

  ‘Probably not, but it does not matter. It set his feet on a certain path and he probably cannot even remember now why he still walks it. What matters is that he does.’

  Teclis turned this thought over and over in his mind. He had been so lost in his own bitterness that he had never even thought that Tyrion might have some of his own. He always seemed so happy and secure. ‘I am not sure I believe that. He has never said anything to me.’

  ‘He is even more self-contained than you are, though you may not believe that. And he has said something to you. He says it by his actions.’

  ‘You are as wise as you are lovely, lady,’ Teclis said eventually.

  ‘And it is pleasant to discover you have acquired some elven graces over the years. Now I presume this is not purely a social call. You have something you wish to discuss with me.’ It had been a social call really. He had just wanted to see her and reassure himself, but he could not say that out loud.

  ‘Tyrion told me you were troubled about something before he went to visit Prince Iltharis today. He said you told him that the winds of magic have changed. He did not know what it meant, but he said it sounded ominous. My father has been saying similar things. And I had a message from Hoeth this morning. It seems the High Loremaster shares your fears.’

  ‘I am troubled, Teclis. More than I can say. There is something not right with the world, and not right with the flow of magic, although I cannot put my finger on exactly what.’

  ‘Then I have something that may disquiet you more. In Lustria I found a slann prophecy. I feel it may be of grave importance. If I am not mistaken, it concerns the return of Chaos to our world, and if I understand the slann dating system, it is due to happen soon.’ Teclis took out the drawings he had made and showed them to her.

  ‘It does not strike me as chance that this sort of thing would fall into your hands right now,’ said Malene. She looked thoughtful. ‘I know very little of slann pictoglyphs, otherwise I would offer to help.’

  She sounded wistful, almost as if she were looking for an excuse to get involved in some magical research again.

  ‘I need to know who the best person to discuss the matter with would be,’ Teclis said.

  ‘High Loremaster Morelian is the greatest expert we have in the slann languages.’

  ‘I suspected as much but it is nice to have that confirmed. Do you think he would help me?’

  ‘He’ll probably tear your arm off trying to get those out of your grip. A new and authentic slann text – it’s the sort of thing he dreams about. I’ve known him since he was my tutor at the tower. The slann have always been an obsession with him.’

  ‘I am familiar with the type,’ said Teclis thinking of his father. Malene could obviously tell the way his thoughts were running.

  ‘Do not confuse Morelian with Prince Arathion. You do not get to be High Loremaster without being perceptive, ambitious and politically minded.’

  ‘I know him by sight, of course, but not that well.’

  ‘He will know you too, but, of course, I will write. It can’t do any harm.’

  As the head of House Emeraldsea, his aunt was one of the richest and most influential women in Ulthuan, a personal friend of the Phoenix King. Since she was a mage, she was also a powerful ally of the White Tower at court. Again, almost as if she could read what he was thinking, she said, ‘I see you are becoming quite political yourself.’

  ‘I have a long way to go before I can match my brother.’

  ‘You’ll get there in the end.’

  ‘I am not sure I want to.’

  ‘You’ll be High Loremaster one of these days. I am sure of it.’

  ‘It is not an honour to which I aspire.’

  ‘Now you really do sound like your brother,’ Malene said. Teclis wondered what she meant by that.

  The shores of Ulthuan glittered on the horizon. Malekith saw the shimmering haze in the air that he remembered so well. It was the glow of magic that hovered perpetually over the island continent and had done ever since the time of the Archmage Caledor. The whole mighty fleet cruised along the coast now, heading for their goal.

  Beside him his generals looked grim or pleased or filled with anticipation according to their temperament. Some of them directed lustful bemused looks towards N’Kari, who now wore the form of a lustrously beautiful elf maiden. Her shackles in particular seemed to focus their attention. Malekith easily guessed which direction their thoughts were taking.

  Slaves walked through the chamber bearing platters of food and drink, their eyes downcast s
ubmissively as they attempted to avoid drawing any attention to themselves. Today it worked. The assembled nobles paid them no more attention than they would any other piece of furniture.

  There was a certain febrile festival atmosphere about the command chamber. All of those present knew that war was about to begin and that it was going to be hard, but all of them also believed they were going to win. None of them knew the full extent of his preparations but all of them knew him, and they knew he would not have launched this attack unless he was utterly certain of victory.

  They sipped drugged wine and smiled and calculated spoils. A few of them discussed reclaiming ancestral estates that had been lost millennia ago.

  Malekith deliberately said nothing to damp down the conversations about reward. He wanted to foster this atmosphere of feverish competition and greed. His lack of intervention was duly noted by those who had spent a lifetime watching him for the slightest clues as to his whims. He knew that eventually the message would spread to all present in the fleet.

  Sometimes he noticed the sorcerers present turn their gazes on N’Kari for a moment. The most powerful present blanched and fell silent and that too was noted by the audience he had assembled. And that too was good. He was giving them all a demonstration, making a statement of how powerful he truly was. Word of that would get out too.

  And in the inevitable druchii fashion it would filter its way down to every rank of the army. All of them would know that their lord and master had bound a greater daemon of Chaos to his will. They would wonder about what other allies he could command.

  He felt something like happiness at this moment. His plans were under way and he was confident of eventual victory. So far everything had gone as anticipated. He was not foolish enough to think there would be no setbacks or that everything would go according to plan, but he had amassed a sufficient concentration of resources and power to counter any threat that might arise. It was only a matter of time before Ulthuan fell, and after that he would deal with his remaining enemies.

  Not a few of those present were his mother’s lovers and secretly sworn to her service. They thought him unaware of that fact and the time had not yet come to apprise them of their error. That day would dawn soon enough and Malekith was looking forward to it with relish.

  One of the things he abhorred most was disloyalty.

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘It seems like you have become a person of some importance,’ said Atharis. Tyrion looked at his old friend. They sat together in his office in the Emeraldsea palace. Physically, Atharis had not changed much from the young fighter Tyrion had met when he first came to the city all those years ago. His nose was still broken and he refused to have the healers use magic to set it properly. He was higher ranked in the House now and trusted with many secret duties.

  ‘While you have steadily been working your way down in the world,’ Tyrion said, smiling to take the sting out of his words. Atharis had made quite a name for himself among the brothels and stews of Lothern. He was also a very successful merchant, representing the family interests whenever their grandfather had chosen to send him.

  ‘We cannot all be blessed with the blood of Aenarion,’ said Atharis. ‘Some of us have to get by using only our natural intelligence and charm.’

  ‘That explains why you have been doing so badly then,’ said Tyrion. Atharis punched him on the arm playfully.

  ‘It is good to see you again,’ he said. He sounded sincere. Once, long ago, they might have been considered rivals but Atharis no longer seemed to see things that way. Tyrion was glad.

  ‘It’s good to see you too,’ said Tyrion. ‘I understand that we are to be travelling together.’

  ‘Your aunt could not allow you to travel to the court of the Everqueen unescorted. I am to be in charge of your retinue. I am responsible for seeing you don’t disgrace House Emeraldsea.’

  And doubtless you are also responsible for reporting my actions to my aunt, Tyrion thought.

  ‘And how big is this retinue of mine going to be?’

  ‘Well Lady Emeraldsea feels you need at least fifty warriors to protect you from the marauding deer of Avelorn. You also need servants in order to make sure that your clothes look sufficiently impressive and that your hair is properly combed. So, you’re probably being accompanied by the crew of an entire fighting ship. Let’s hope that your participation in this tournament proves worth it.’

  ‘Let’s hope,’ Tyrion agreed sourly. ‘So am I getting a ship to go with the crew?’

  ‘Of course you are. Your aunt has rerouted one of our Inner Sea traders to make sure that you get there in time. We are even supposed to row you if the winds prove unfavourable.’

  ‘That’s good,’ said Tyrion. ‘Because you look like you could use the exercise.’

  ‘I’m still capable of giving you a good run for your money with the sword.’

  Tyrion laughed. ‘I’m surprised my aunt isn’t sending you then. You could represent our House just as well as I can.’

  ‘Alas, Lady Malene does not see things that way. Otherwise I would gladly do so. Our new Everqueen is supposed to be quite the beauty.’

  ‘I have never heard of one who wasn’t,’ said Tyrion. ‘All of the poets always sing praises of their good looks and all of the books say how lovely they are.’

  ‘And, of course, no poet ever lied and no scholar ever propagated a falsehood,’ said Atharis. ‘You know this as well as I do.’

  ‘Is there anything else I should know?’

  ‘The protection of your sacred person is not the only reason that you’re being allocated so many fighters. You are bearing some coronation gifts for the new queen of the forest. Your aunt feels that she must be sufficiently impressed with the wealth and generosity of our House. Obviously the poor rustic girl is going to be swayed by our silks and gold and some pretty mirrors brought all the way from the dwarf lands.’

  ‘I imagine that we will not be the only ones bringing gifts,’ said Tyrion. ‘Every noble family in Ulthuan will be taking this chance to demonstrate its loyalty and generosity.’

  ‘Indeed. I often think it would be more profitable and sensible if we came to some arrangement with all of the other families not to do this sort of thing. Then we could keep the gold for ourselves.’

  ‘But gold is only a means to an end. How would we prove ourselves to be richer and more generous than all of our rivals if we did not give such gifts.’

  ‘Doubtless we would find a way. We are elves after all, famous for our ingenuity when it comes to proving our superiority.’

  ‘In the meantime,’ said Tyrion, ‘I suppose we shall have to go about doing so the old-fashioned way. After all, if it worked for our ancestors it should work for us.’

  ‘Indeed. We’re leaving with the tide. Let us head down to the docks and watch some other people working. I always find work very stimulating when I am not the one who has to do it.’

  Tyrion watched as the crew loaded the ship. How often had he done this in the past, he wondered? There were times when he felt like half of his life had been spent aboard ships, going somewhere or returning to Lothern.

  The vessel was anchored on the pier at Lothern’s northern docks. The Inner Sea was a different sea from the wild outer ocean. It was superficially calmer and safer, bounded on all sides by the landmass of Ulthuan, surrounded in its entirety by lands. There was less trade here, so the docks were smaller and less busy, but still bustling. Goods were shipped out to the rest of Ulthuan from here, and the produce of Saphery and Chrace and other places found its way to the great port, and from there to the rest of the world.

  The ships here were smaller and more homely-looking than the great ocean-going clippers.

  He saw his brother riding down to the harbour. As ever, no one paid too much attention to him. He was just another tall slender elf mounted on a fine steed. He was a terrible rider for
an elf but still stood out less than usual. His limp made him noticeable when he walked. His twin rode right up to the pier and paused for a moment to study the ship. He waved and Tyrion waved back.

  ‘I see your brother has deigned to join us,’ said Atharis.

  ‘You don’t like him, do you?’ said Tyrion.

  ‘He never gives anyone much of a chance to like him. If he were less caustic, he might have more friends.’

  Tyrion could not deny the truth of that. ‘His life has been hard. It is not easy to be less than perfect among elves.’

  ‘None of us are perfect,’ said Atharis. ‘Not even you. We don’t use it as an excuse to be rude to everyone else.’

  ‘I think he got into the habit of getting his retaliation in first when he was young. People were often rude to him because of who and what he was.’

  ‘I can tell you are going to go on making excuses for him,’ said Atharis. ‘He is no longer a sickly youth. He is a powerful mage and regarded as something of a hero among his kind.’

  ‘His kind?’

  ‘He is a wizard.’

  ‘He is an elf.’

  ‘It is possible to be both, my dear Tyrion.’

  ‘Mages are not a breed apart.’

  ‘You may want to explain that to them, my friend.’ Teclis limped up the gangplank, leaving his horse in the care of one of House Emeraldsea’s dockside factors. He saw Atharis and made a sour expression. Atharis responded in kind.

  ‘A pleasure to see you,’ said Teclis ironically.

  ‘I am as pleased to see you as you are to see me,’ Atharis responded. His smile was insincere, and obviously so.

  Tyrion wondered at his brother’s talent for making enemies. Atharis was not the least amiable elf in the world. It would not take an enormous effort to keep on the right side of him. Instead Teclis seemed to take pleasure in being disliked.

  ‘You are ready to depart?’ Tyrion asked his brother, to forestall any further sniping. ‘You do not seem to have brought much gear with you.’