by William King
‘It is already on board. The servants brought it this morning. How about you? Are you ready to woo the Everqueen?’
‘If she is as beautiful as everyone says, yes. I am just not sure I am ready to be her champion.’
‘There are others who may have a say in that, your fellow competitors for the great honour of being in her service.’
‘You are in an unpleasant mood today, aren’t you?’ Tyrion wondered whether Teclis was being deliberately rude and abrasive because Atharis was present. He tended to adopt such a persona in public, even with his own brother. It was one of his less engaging habits.
‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘I have had a rather disturbing and sleepless night.’ He shot Tyrion a warning glance so that his twin would know for certain that he did not want to discuss this further in public. ‘Now if you will excuse me, I would like to go below. There is some reading I must catch up on.’
‘Don’t let us keep you from your books,’ said Atharis. ‘I am sure you have matters of earth-shattering importance to consider.’
‘Oddly enough, I do,’ said Teclis airily. ‘I am sure you will hear of them soon enough.’
‘I cannot wait,’ Atharis said softly to the wizard’s departing back. Once Teclis was gone, he said, ‘It is hard to believe you are twins. You seem to have got all the good looks and charm in your generation of your family.’
‘Possibly,’ said Tyrion. ‘But he got the brains and the magical talent.’
‘I think you got the best of the deal.’
‘That might be part of the problem,’ said Tyrion.
‘You are not as foolish as you look,’ said Atharis.
‘Why do you keep taunting Atharis?’ Tyrion asked. He stepped into the small cabin as soon as Teclis opened the door.
‘I don’t like him and he does not like me,’ his twin replied.
‘Perhaps if you were more pleasant to him, he would be more amiable.’
Teclis laughed bitterly. ‘Do you really think so?’
‘You do this to everybody. Most elves just ignore it but some of them respond very badly.’
‘And you think they might respond better if I was nicer to them?’ A note of mockery entered Teclis’s voice.
‘There is that possibility.’
‘There is no possibility,’ said Teclis with flat certainty. ‘Atharis does not like me because I make him uneasy. Most elves do not like me because I make them uneasy. I do not look right. I do not talk right. I am a cripple. I should have been exposed at birth. You know there is something to be said for the old ways.’ By the end of his speech, Teclis’s voice had become a high-pitched parody of the way most elves talked in polite conversation.
‘You are not a child anymore,’ Tyrion said. ‘No one talks to you that way and you do not have to talk to them as if they did.’
‘You really don’t understand anything, do you?’
‘Then make me,’ Tyrion said.
‘I am an outsider in my own country, Tyrion. I do not belong here and I never will. I am not beautiful. I am… flawed. I know it. Everyone else knows it. Elves do not like to be reminded they are less than perfect, that there is even the possibility of it.’
‘You exaggerate.’
‘Alas I do not. And you are in no position to tell me otherwise. They like you. You are what they think they themselves are. You are perfect.’
‘No I am not.’
‘Perhaps, but you look it, and this is a place where appearances are everything. You are a butterfly. I am a moth.’
‘Now I really don’t follow you.’
‘People like butterflies. They are bright, vivacious, good-looking. They are creatures of the day. People hate and fear moths. They are dark, night-going. They do not like to feel a moth’s wings on their face. Look closely at them and moths and butterflies are very similar creatures, but people feel very differently about them.’
Tyrion laughed. ‘I am trying to talk to you about the way you treat other elves and you start talking about moths and butterflies. Do you realise how strange that makes you sound?’
‘I am strange, Tyrion. I am an outsider. I am a magician.’
‘You are sure you are not a moth now?’
‘Don’t play the fool, brother. It does not suit you. You know what I am talking about. It’s cockroaches and ladybirds.’
‘Go on…’ Tyrion could not keep a certain amount of mockery from his voice.
‘They are both insects. People think one looks sweet. They are repulsed by the other. Look at them closely and they are the same except for colour. My basic point is that appearances matter. They colour what people believe. You look one way and I look another. You could be as rude as I am to any elf, and you would still get away with it. I could be polite as a courtier at the court of the Everqueen and they would still hate me.’
‘So you are using this as an excuse not to try?’
Teclis looked shocked. ‘Don’t you think I’ve tried? I tried so hard for so long that my face was frozen in a permanent grin. I might as well have had lockjaw. I tried as hard as I could and no one wanted to know. They still don’t. Keep that in mind before you judge me and come down on the side of your friends.’
‘I do not judge you and I never take anyone’s side against you. Surely you know that?’
‘I do not know that. You started this little conversation telling me not to be rude to your friend Atharis.’
‘I merely suggested that you might try being politer to him, and you might get on better. I am trying to help you.’
‘I will thank you not to.’
‘As you wish,’ Tyrion said. ‘But I think you will find that if you give other elves the chance, they will give you one.’
‘You never give up, do you?’
‘That is my nature.’ They looked at each other for a long moment, their expressions frozen in looks that were almost of hostility. Tyrion did not quite understand how, but his well-meant advice seemed to have pushed them to the brink of a serious disagreement. He realised that he had misjudged things and that he did not know his twin as well as he thought.
Another idea occurred to him. They had got on well enough when they were adventuring on their own. Since they had returned to Lothern, they were at odds.
It was the situation, not them. Now they had returned to the homeland of the elves, he was once again accepted and his brother was once again an outsider. The centre of power in their relationship had shifted and they were both responding to it.
He suddenly understood why Teclis was so much happier travelling and adventuring and why he spent so much time isolated. At least he partially understood. He doubted he could grasp all of the situation because he was not his brother.
Teclis smiled at him and the tension was broken. They both laughed, but both of them knew that things were different now that they had come back to Ulthuan. Tyrion knew that it was because he had returned home and Teclis never could.
‘Since you have asked me, I will try and be civil to Atharis,’ Teclis said. ‘Watch and see what happens.’
Tyrion said nothing. He felt that Teclis was right. Atharis would not be his friend. He would go on being an outsider. Whether by reason of his appearance or his manner, or because he now chose to be. It was his brother’s role in life.
He thought about what Korhien had said about destiny and he was more troubled by it than he ever had been before.
After days at sea, Tyrion was glad as the ship approached the harbour at Cairn Auriel. The sun beat down on the deck. It was not as warm as it had been in Lustria but it was still very warm. A cool breeze blowing in off the sea gave some relief from the heat. Tyrion stood in the shadow of the command deck and watched the shore come closer.
Cairn Auriel was not a large port by the standards of Lothern but it looked like a pleasant place, a natural harbour cut int
o the high cliffs on the western coast of Saphery. A silver lighthouse watched over it. Long marble piers protruded outwards from a beach of golden sand. The town itself was a place of graceful white towers tipped with golden domes. Dock workers helped moor the ship and get the gangplanks into place so that Teclis could get off.
Tyrion strode over to where he stood. He let his smile widen and said, ‘Once again, brother, we must say farewell.’
‘We shall see each other again,’ said Teclis. ‘All that remains is for me to wish you good luck in the upcoming tournament. See that you do not disgrace our family too badly.’
‘I shall do my best,’ said Tyrion.
‘Doubtless I shall hear how well you have done from passing minstrels and other travellers,’ said Teclis. ‘You might even consider sending a messenger to let me know how things go.’
‘I’m sure the wizards of the White Tower have ways of receiving news much more swiftly than letter,’ said Tyrion. ‘But I shall write.’
‘It always comes as a pleasant surprise to find that you’re capable of it,’ said Teclis. The ship was tied up now and the gangplank was firmly in place.
Teclis’s baggage had been carried down by sailors and lay on the white marble of the pier. The two brothers clasped hands. The wizard left the ship and strode off in search of horses.
Tyrion watched him go until he was out of sight. By that time, the crew had cast off the moorings and the ship was being washed back out to sea.
Tyrion was suddenly struck by the ominous foreboding that it might be a long time before he saw his brother again.
Morathi stood on the prow of the great wooden ship and watched as her followers raced ashore. Tens of thousands of the Chaos-worshipping barbarians leapt from their ships into the roaring surf and raced up the black sand beaches. Behind her, thousands more ships crowded the seas. Most of them carried humans and beastmen and less wholesome followers of the Dark Gods. Some of them were packed with her own followers, from the Cults of Khaine and the Cults of the Pleasure God. They were the druchii who would form her bodyguard amid the humans. Not that she needed one.
The chieftains of the great horde gazed upon her with worshipful eyes. They would do what she required of them in return for her approval and her caresses. They would fight with each other for her favours if she wanted. Perhaps she would have them do so at some point, but right now she needed them to co-operate.
There were elven fortresses nearby that needed to be taken, and elven cities that needed to be conquered and enslaved. Soon she would set this land ablaze from end to end and teach the people to fear and adore her as they had done in the past. In an odd way it felt good to be home.
Naked, she plunged into the sea and let the cool water flow over her. Like a goddess she emerged dripping from the surf, aware that all eyes were upon her. In the distance she could see a beacon fire had been lit. It looked as if the asur were aware of her presence.
And so it begins, she thought. She was curious as to how it would end.
Chapter Fifteen
Teclis found the agent of the White Tower easily enough. The elf recognised him at once and knew what he needed. Swiftly he provided Teclis with a satchel of supplies, a saddle and two horses which he could use in relay.
Teclis rode up the pathway out of Cairn Auriel and followed the trail that he knew would eventually lead him to the Tower of Hoeth. It felt odd – for the first time in months he was on his own. Ever since he and Tyrion had set out on the quest to find Sunfang, he had been in company with his brother and quite often many others. He had not had time to think or to study or to brood or to plan. As he rode along, he found that he quite enjoyed the quiet of the woods and the respite from having to constantly deal with other people.
He felt better now that he was on his own. He enjoyed Tyrion’s company but several months spent daily with his twin had proven tiresome in the end. It was simply too much for an elf as solitary as he was. He loved his brother but he did not want to spend every waking hour of every waking day in his company.
Now at last he had time to think. He was pleased with the way the adventure had turned out. After decades of searching they had finally found Sunfang. His brother now had a weapon that was worthy of him and had burnished his reputation as a hero of Ulthuan.
Teclis did not really care how this victory affected his own reputation among the general populace. It might redound to his credit amongst the wizards of the tower but only insofar as it reflected upon his scholarship. His theories as to the sword’s whereabouts had been proven correct. He felt certain that many of his fellow wizards would be as interested in the slann text that he carried as the details of the search for the sword. Of course, he would leave a record of that at the library so that future generations would have access to the knowledge. That was part of his duty as a scholar.
At the moment it was the slann text that troubled him. There were people at the tower who knew far more about slann hieroglyphics then he did and he wanted their help translating it. He had understood enough of what was on the thing to know that its portent was ominous. More than that, since he had returned to Ulthuan, he had started to sense that time was running out. He was uneasy and he did not know why. He was a wizard, though, and he trusted to that strange sixth sense that had so often warned him of trouble in the past.
He was not the best of riders and he had to concentrate on following the trail through the woods. Occasionally, he paused to re-weave his protective spells. The forests of Saphery were not without their dangers.
There were subtle protective spells woven onto the milestones that marked this pathway. They would keep the most dangerous beasts away and ward off some of the strange magical dangers that were to be found in these forests. He did not want to stray too far from this trail though and he did not want to rely on its magic alone to protect him.
In some ways, he was pleased that Tyrion was not here. It meant that he would need to rely upon himself. His brother had a genius for organisation that would show up in even the littlest of things, such as making a camp or pitching a tent. While Tyrion was around there had been very little need for him to do anything and now he would need to do everything.
He was quite looking forward to that. He was not good at any of it but he enjoyed the practice. When he thought about how sick he had been in his youth and childhood, this was not an unexpected pleasure. He could never have foreseen that one day he would be riding alone through this distant, dangerous forest with nothing but his spells to protect him.
It was quite something. He meant to take advantage of every single moment of it while it lasted
Teclis gathered up some moss and twigs to make a fire. He came back to where he had staked out the horses with a bundle of kindling held in his robes. He opened his hands and let it fall to the ground and then started to arrange the sticks in the same way as he had seen Tyrion do, although not so neatly or so well. Tyrion would have used a flint to get the fire going but Teclis did not have to do that. He spoke a word and called upon the winds of magic and the moss and twigs burst into flame.
He sat down by the fire and opened the satchel of supplies that the agent had given him. Inside he found dried fruit and beef jerky along with a selection of waybread. He never had the greatest of appetites at the best of times, so he took the tiniest morsel of waybread and began to chew it. He had already filled his canteen from the nearby stream when he had chosen the campsite. As he ate, he pondered the odd thing he had sensed when he lit the fire. It made him even more uneasy than he had been all day.
The winds of magic were tainted even here. He was not sure that most wizards would have noticed this thing – few of them were as sensitive as he was. His skin tingled slightly when he worked a spell and he had felt a twinge, only the faintest of twinges, of nausea. He suspected that the alchemy he used to maintain his health made him more susceptible to such things.
What w
as happening, he wondered?
It was possible that there was something nearby, some trace of old Dark Magic from the first Chaos incursion that still tainted the area. That might explain why it was so weak. Such influences had been fading for a very long time. That was the best case he could think of. He did not like to think what else it might portend.
He lay on his back, with his hands behind his head, and stared up at the stars visible through the gaps in the branches overhead. The woods did not seem as quiet at night as they did during the day, but he knew that that was an illusion. It was simply that his hearing was keener because his sight was dimmer.
It was good to be beneath the familiar stars of Ulthuan again. He could see one of the constellations that his father had taught him to recognise when he was a boy. Aenarion’s Sword Belt it was called. It glittered above him cheerily.
He could hear something moving off in the woods. Most likely a fox he thought, certainly nothing larger. Not that he was any expert on such things, he thought sourly. It could be a beastman attempting to creep up on him for all he knew. He sat upright and rummaged in his saddlebags until he found a small group of stones that he had etched with runes.
He placed them around his campfire and spoke the words of an old spell. The runes on the stones glowed and small rainbows of light arced from one to the other and then faded. The wards would protect him and alert him if anything passed between them, bringing him awake instantly if it was larger than a rat.
Of course, that would not protect him if it was an arrow or a spear. He told himself that he was being unnecessarily cautious but that was his nature. He arranged his saddlebags under the blankets and then spoke the words of another spell so that to any onlooker they would look like a sleeping elf.
He positioned himself a lot further from the fire and wrapped himself up in a blanket and wove an illusion that would make him blend into the landscape. He lay there in the darkness thinking if there was anything that he had missed, if there was something that he should do to increase the security but nothing came immediately to mind.