by William King
He began breathing exercises to enable himself to relax, to drift off into sleep. It was a long time before he could stop listening to the small noises of the forest and allow himself to slumber. Before he fell into sleep, he thought he felt again some taint to the magic around him. He hoped it would not affect the wards that he had placed on the other spells that he had worked for its protection.
He opened his eyes after what seemed like only a moment. The fire had burned down but he sensed a presence. It was odd because his wards had not woken him. He looked up and a shadow figure loomed out of the darkness, tall and slender, with a high forehead and a receding hairline unusual in an elf.
There was something immeasurably ancient and immeasurably sad about the stranger. He did not appear to be threatening. He was staring off into the distance, as if looking for something. When he turned to look at Teclis, it was a shock. He had no eyes. Where they should have been was only darkness, inside which something blazed.
Teclis felt as if he was falling into those eyes, and as he did so he could see that the lights formed a pattern, enormously large and astonishingly complex. It reminded him in some ways of the layout of Zultec. He could see that the pattern was flickering and unstable and starting to unravel in parts, and for some reason Teclis found this to be hugely threatening, as if his life depended on that not happening.
For a moment, everything appeared to be on the brink of dissolution, and he shouted for it to stop. He came awake with the echoes of the shout ringing through the forest. Panicking he glared around, seeking the tall stranger, but there was nothing there and his wards were undisturbed.
‘Just a dream,’ he told himself as he rose to see to his disturbed horses. He felt sure that was not all it had been.
As he rode, Teclis could feel the magic all around him. It was subtle, sly, hidden from most people, even the most sensitive of elves, but it was there. The defences of the Tower of Hoeth were ancient, powerful and strange.
There were no walls. Daemonic guardians did not patrol the woods around the tower. Spectacular magic did not blast intruders from the cloudless sky. Instead, the ancient wizards who had built the tower had protected it in a manner befitting their cleverness.
If you were a threat to the tower, you simply would not find it. You would wander lost in the woods, sometimes catching a glimpse of the mighty structure but never arriving at it.
Teclis had often wondered how this effect had been achieved. He could understand some of the components of it. Obviously there was an enchantment of divination present. The spells that guarded the tower needed to be able to detect any evil intention in those who approached it. They needed to be able to reach into an enemy’s mind, or perhaps even their very soul, to find this out.
And after that they needed to be able to twist that person’s perceptions so that they could not find a way into the heart of the wood. The basic theory was simple enough.
Like many other scholars at Hoeth, he had pored over Bel-Korhadris’s notes. He had caught glimpses of the workings of the Scholar-King’s mind, but he had not been able to follow the whole process. No one had.
Bel-Korhadris had been the greatest geomancer since Caledor Dragontamer, with a gift amounting to genius when it came to the building of magical structures. When Teclis looked at his notes he was in the position of a peasant looking at a pile of bricks and an architect’s plans for a mansion and then at the mansion itself.
He could see that the two things were connected, that they could somehow be used to create something magnificent. He just did not understand how.
Yet.
One day he would. Just as one day he would understand how Caledor had created the Vortex. If he lived long enough he would manage it. His thirst for knowledge was so great that it would not be denied.
Always when he studied the work of the great ancients, he felt this nagging sense that if only he worked harder, was just a little bit cleverer, understood just the tiniest amount more, he would gain the insight that he needed. So far it had not come, but he felt that one day it would.
He had heard some people claim that there were sophisticated teleportation spells involved in the tower’s defences, but that seemed like nonsense to him. He knew that it was possible to warp time and space but it took an enormous amount of energy, which would be detectable by the most unsophisticated mage. Working on the minds of travellers would be far more efficient and far more difficult to detect. Of course, understanding the basic principles of how such a thing could work did not qualify him to be able to work the spell.
There were other things to be considered about it. The spells covered an area of leagues around the tower. They were always in effect and had been ever since the tower was built.
Something maintained them and there were no obvious runes or points of focus that he had ever found. Perhaps elementals or daemons had been bound into the spell. After all, something at some point was making a judgement as to whether the approaching traveller was hostile or not. One possibility was that the judgement was left up to the traveller themselves. After all, who would be in a better position to know?
In any case it was magic of enormous sophistication and power. In its way it was a feat that was quite the equal of the building of the Tower of Hoeth itself, or of the creation of the vast web of spells that covered the Eastern Sea approaches to Ulthuan. The fact that it had been woven so discreetly into the fabric of this normal-seeming forest made it all the more impressive.
He tried to avoid thinking about the magic and simply concentrate on enjoying the ride. The woods were beautiful in a quiet way. It was cool under the shadow of the trees and the air smelled fresh. Birds sang among the branches and the brilliant sunlight of Ulthuan poked its fingers through the canopy of leaves. It was all enormously different from the jungles of Lustria. It lacked the smell of rot and the overpowering heat and humidity against which the only protection had been his magic.
He found that he was humming an ancient tune to himself. In some ways he was nearing the closest thing that he had to a home in the world. The tower was a place where mages gathered to study together and work spells and use the ancient library, easily the best in the world. It was a community of kindred spirits all sharing goals and ideals. It was a place where everybody understood him in a way that was simply impossible for the non-magically adept to do. It was the one place in the world where he was not an outsider, and where his physical handicaps were not held against him, at least some of the time.
Nonetheless, he found himself ambivalent about the place sometimes. He had grown accustomed to being an outsider, even enjoyed it in a perverse sort of way. It was, to a certain extent, the core of his own identity, of his view of himself.
Of course, sometimes having other people around could be pleasant. He was going to enjoy the sensation caused by his announcement that he had found the sword of Aenarion. He was going to enjoy talking about his discovery of its enchantments with his colleagues. He was going to enjoy sharing with them the knowledge that he suspected was in the ancient slann inscriptions he had brought back with him, even if that was knowledge of the disaster. There was something about being the centre of attention that he sometimes enjoyed, and he knew that he did not really care how he became the centre of attention when he was in this sort of mood.
Whistling to himself, smiling happily even though he carried news of impending disaster, he approached the White Tower. For whatever reason, the defences did not turn him away.
Teclis could really see the White Tower now. It was an enormous ivory spear, aimed at the underbelly of the clouds, easily the tallest structure that he had ever seen, quite possibly the tallest building in the world. It stood astonishingly high, immensely thin, tipped with a pointed cupola from which the High Loremaster could look down upon the vast width of his domain.
It was an awe-inspiring sight, at once fragile-looking and monumentally impressive,
the sort of thing that could only be created by magic of the highest order. Many claimed that this was the crowning achievement of architecture and Teclis was not inclined to disagree.
Ever since he had first seen this building, he had loved it. It symbolised to him everything that was good and worth preserving about his people. When people talked about being willing to die to save their country, Teclis had never understood it. He could understand talking that way about this place though.
The Tower of Hoeth was not just a tremendous feat of architecture. It was the centre of learning for the entire island-continent of Ulthuan, the greatest repository of knowledge that the elves had ever created, greater even than the fabled library of Caledor the Archmage back in the dawn of the world. Hundreds of the greatest sorcerers from all across the continent came here to consult the library and to talk with colleagues and to share their knowledge with the students, among whom Teclis had once been numbered.
He was no longer a student. He rather missed that. In some ways it had been the happiest time of his life. He had had nothing to do but to study ancient texts and scrolls, to learn magic under the tuition of its greatest practitioners. There had been a time when every day revealed a new wonder and every night had been given over to learning how to work the small miracles of magic.
It had been an innocent time when he had nothing more to think about than which area of study he wanted to dive into next. He had been flattered by the attention of great wizards who found it worth their time to school him. He had been overcome by the sheer scale of the library, whose shelves and corridors filled the entire bottom of the tower, and the huge labyrinth of tunnels and cellars beneath it. He had been even more impressed by the complex labyrinth of spells that made the experience of studying in the library different for every person who visited it.
He knew he had seen shelves that had not been visited since the library was built and he knew that other people had found their way to parts of the library that he never would. The library showed each scholar what they needed to find when they needed to find it. It was as if some guardian spirit presided over it and gave to each student what was required.
As he wound ever closer to the tower, he began to notice the other guardians. In the shadows of the trees and bushes the Sword Masters of Hoeth waited. Each of them was equipped with a huge two-handed sword and each of them knew exactly how to use that weapon. Tall helmets shaded their eyes and heavy leather armour covered their bodies. One or two of them waved to Teclis as he rode by but most of them ignored him, concentrating on watching the approaches to the tower, even though no threat had ever managed to penetrate this far.
If one should perchance manage to do so, they would find armed warriors waiting for them and that would not be the least of the defences that they would encounter.
Potent spells walled the tower, protection against supernatural intrusions and divinations. The Loremasters did not want anyone spying on them and it was within their power to see that that did not happen. The spells were almost unnoticeable when they were dormant save, perhaps, to a wizard as perceptive as he was, but they were there, omnipresent and ready to be activated at the slightest sign of an intrusion.
As he got closer and closer to the tower, he found himself moving through larger and larger clearings. In some of the clearings were the glasshouse farms which provided food and drink for the wizards. In others were the small villages where the retainers lived. Nearer to the tower, the open spaces held small groups of wizards. Some of them were scholars gathered together to discuss matters of research. Others consisted of a Loremaster and his students, engaged in the business of teaching and learning magic.
A few of them noticed him as he passed and pointed to him. He was well-known here, recognised as one of the most powerful of the new generation of wizards. His deeds were already discussed where mages gathered and he was sure that when word of his latest exploit got around, he would once again become the focus of all attention in the White Tower of Hoeth.
He waved at one or two of the academics that he knew and acknowledged others with a nod of his head. There were people here that he would need to talk to soon – scholars of ancient slann lore and wizards specialising in their odd means of divination.
He would also need to talk to artificers about what he had learned about the spells woven into the forging of Sunfang. He had an idea that he wanted to implement. He wanted to make his own blade using some of the techniques he had learned from the study of Caledor’s work.
He did not want to copy that ancient masterpiece, though there were things that he could use, and possibly even improve on. He was being arrogant when he thought that, but a certain self-confidence was the mark of the true master wizard. After all, it was not enough to simply duplicate the work of the ancients, one had to engrave one’s own signature on the work and leave one’s own mark in the history of magical scholarship.
He dismounted from the steed and it was led away by a retainer, who seemingly had materialised there just for the purpose of doing so. He walked into the tower and made his way to the chambers that had been assigned to him. They were as he had left them, his books still strewn on the table, a scroll on which he had been penning magical formulae partially rolled up beside them.
He limped over to his bed, threw himself down upon it and looked up at the ceiling, knowing that above him the spire of the tower raced towards the sky. He was home. He had time to rest and gather his wits before he began to face the challenges awaiting him.
There was work to be done, and, for some strange reason, he did not feel like he had much time left to do it in.
Malekith strode up to the waystone. Tens of thousands of eyes were upon him. Most of those present were confused, wondering why so great an army had come ashore at this remote spot. They had expected to be besieging a city like Lothern by now.
Let them wonder, he thought. They would find out what the plan was soon enough.
He surveyed the land, drinking in the landscape of Ulthuan from which he had been so long away. He had a fine view out to sea where his ships lay at anchor and the Black Ark of Naggaroth sat like a volcanic island newly emerged from the waters of the bay. He could see the local farmers his warriors had captured and crucified for entertainment.
He shook his head at the stupidity of it. What a waste! Those elves could have been sold as slaves or made servants, or even simply put to death if they had committed some crime against Malekith’s laws. It was not the way with the druchii though; they had to outdo themselves in proclaiming their decadence and cruelty. He blamed the influence of his mother and the cults she had introduced so long ago for that. The time would soon be here when he would bring them to heel.
Let them have their sport, they would be fighting soon enough and under the iron discipline he expected from the soldiers. They could indulge themselves – for now.
He inspected the waystone, studying the ancient runes marked in its side. He could feel the power surging through it, tapping into the ancient spell Caledor had cast on the last day of his life.
He could only see a tiny part of the vast network of energy that radiated out from the spot but he understood how it worked and just how awesome the concept was. This was probably the greatest feat of magic ever achieved by elves. It was difficult to see how it could be surpassed, although that would not stop him trying.
Once he had reunited the elves he would need to find some great projects to unify them behind him. Wars against the rest of the world would do to begin with but after that, once the world was reconquered, he would need to find some other great works to keep his subjects busy and prevent them from plotting against him, as elves always would if given the time and the opportunity. There had to be a way to improve on what Caledor had done, to use it against the powers of Chaos. If there was, he would find it.
That was for the future though. Right now he had other things that he needed to be doing.
He gestured for N’Kari to approach. ‘This is what you need, isn’t it?’ he said.
The daemon nodded. ‘From here I can do all you require.’
‘Then I suggest you proceed,’ Malekith said. ‘The sooner you are done, the sooner you can have vengeance on those you hate.’
‘Let it be as you say,’ N’Kari said, a measure of irony showing in its tone.
The daemon set to work, weaving a very intricate spell around the waystone that somehow tapped into its energies and the energies of something beneath it. Malekith watched fascinated, trying to understand what was being done.
Even with his vast knowledge of magic it was not quite possible. He wondered how much of what the daemon was doing was true magic and how much of it was deception, purely for show. He did not doubt that some of it was a trap that would have fatal consequences for anyone who tried to emulate the spell exactly as it was being performed now. It was what he would have done under the circumstances. He could expect no less from a Keeper of Secrets.
Soon a shimmering gateway glittered in the air before them. The assembled ranks of dark elf warriors eyed it uneasily. They did not quite understand what was going on here, although they could see some powerful magic being cast. Only his generals were completely familiar with the plan and he suspected that even they had not really believed it was possible until they had witnessed it.
Malekith turned his cold gaze upon his army. He let them feel the power of his will. Not a single soldier present could hold his glance for more than a heartbeat and none of them dared even attempt it. All of them were thoroughly cowed. It pleased Malekith to note the result. It was possible for one being such as himself to intimidate tens of thousands. All it took was courage and iron will.
He raised his hand and gave the signal that the first phase of his great plan was about to begin.
His generals gave orders to the officers. His officers gave orders to their warriors. One by one, a unit at a time, the soldiers advanced into the gateway the daemon had opened and disappeared. Malekith turned his glance upon N’Kari. If the daemon planned treachery, this would be the time to attempt it. It would cause the maximum damage to Malekith’s plans. Once again, he ran over all of the binding spells and oaths he had placed on the daemon, looking for a flaw, but he could not find one. It was too late now anyway if there was.