“Then the Anars and their allies will march with him!”
“No,” said Elthyrior with a sorrowful shake of the head. “Morai-heg has shown me something of what will come to pass. Malekith will not reach Anlec. He is not yet ready to reclaim his lands from the rule of his mother.”
“Perhaps, with our help…” started Alith.
“No. The time is not yet right. All of those in Nagarythe that would see Malekith restored to the throne rest at Elanardris, but the hope that they hold will be dashed if they march now.”
“I cannot make this decision, why come to me?”
Elthyrior looked to leave but then stopped and turned back to Alith, his stare intent.
“I go where I am bid, though I know not all of the reasons,” the raven herald said softly. “You have a part to play in these events, but what they are I cannot say. Perhaps fate itself does not yet know your role, or it will be for you to decide. I cannot ask you to simply trust me, for you do not know me at all. All I can give is the warning I bring: do not march with Malekith. But you cannot say these words came from me.”
“You give me this knowledge and then expect me to keep it hidden? My father and grandfather, they should hear this.”
“Your grandfather has little love for my kind, and none for me,” said Elthyrior. “Words from my lips would be as poison to his ears, for he still blames me for the death of your grandmother.”
“My grandmother?”
“It is not important,” insisted Elthyrior. “Know only that I am not welcome at Elanardris, and nor will be my words. The Anars must not march yet. Your time will come.”
Elthyrior saw the conflict in Alith and leant forwards with earnest intent.
“Can you swear that all who live under the banner of the Anars can be trusted?” asked the raven herald.
Alith thought about this, and though it pained him to realise, he could not in all honesty say that there were no agents of Anlec at Elanardris. There were simply too many elven nobles—and their households—for him to be sure of anything. Elthyrior recognised the consternation in Alith’s face.
“If not for the reasons I have given, than for the secrecy desired by Malekith I ask you not to speak. This news will come to your family soon enough, but let it be from the lips of others. If the prince desires to come unheralded, it is for us to acquiesce to that wish. Every warning that our foes have may turn things against us. I tell you this only so that you might guide your family to the correct decision.”
Alith shook his head, casting his gaze to his feet for a moment while he collected his thoughts.
“When will…” he began, but when he looked up, Elthyrior had gone. There was no sign of the raven herald, only the shadows beneath the trees and a single crow swooping over the tips of the pines.
—
Herald of Khaine
Once again Alith found himself returning to Elanardris with a secret to keep, one which burned at him more than ever. Elthyrior’s revelation that Malekith had returned had stoked the fires in Alith’s heart and he longed to announce to his family that the war for Nagarythe had begun. Yet for all his desire, Alith was haunted by the sincerity in Elthyrior’s face and tone. It was as a messenger bringing grave news rather than cause for celebration that Alith remembered the raven herald and so he kept his silence.
It was not long before Alith was relieved to hear a messenger from the lands westwards had come to Elanardris bearing the tidings of the prince’s return. The manse was abuzz with activity as word spread to Caenthras and the other allied princes at the home of the Anars.
Three days after Alith’s meeting with Elthyrior, Eoloran called the princes and nobles into the great hall to discuss their plan of action. This time Alith sat at the high table with his father and grandfather, though he was uncertain what he would say. Elthyrior’s warnings to stay in Elanardris were at the front of his mind, but he sensed that the others were keen to march forth and meet with the returning prince.
“This is joyous news indeed,” exclaimed Caenthras. “The day long hoped for has arrived and the cruel shackles of Morathi’s reign can be cast aside. Though we have chafed at those bonds placed upon us by concern for the safety of our kin, now we can let loose our spirits and fight.”
There was much approval to this from the gathered elves, not least from Eothlir. Alith’s father stood up and cast his gaze over the hall.
“For too long we have suffered, afraid of Morathi and her cults,” he declared. “We have been slaves to that fear, but no longer! Word comes to us that Malekith marches for the fortress at Ealith, and from there he will retake Anlec. It is not only our duty but our privilege to aid him in this endeavour. This is a battle to reclaim not only our own lands, but all of Nagarythe.”
Again there was assent from the others and Alith struggled to remain silent. The mood in the hall was martial, the assembled Naggarothi given a vent for years of frustration. Alith could not think of the words that could turn such a rising tide of anger, not least in part because he felt it himself. He was torn between his own desires and the warning of Elthyrior.
Alith suddenly became aware that all eyes had turned to him and realised that he had stood up. He glanced at his grandfather and looked out at the hall filled with expectant faces. If he were to speak against his father, he would invite scorn, perhaps pity. They would not listen and would think him a coward. He was heir to House Anar and all expectation was that he would raise his own voice in defiance of Anlec.
He stood in silence a moment longer, tortured. There was a whisper of disquiet and frowns appeared on the faces in front of Alith. He swallowed hard, his heart beating fast.
“I too feel the desire for retribution,” Alith announced. There were nods of approval from the crowd and Alith held up a hand to forestall any optimism. “This is a grave time, and calls for measured heads not fiery hearts. I have learnt much wisdom from my grandfather, not least the virtue of patience.”
There were a few heckling complaints but Alith continued.
“If Prince Malekith himself had called for our aid, I would proudly ride out on this campaign. Yet, he has not. It is presumptive of us to raise our blades against our fellow Naggarothi without invite from our true lord. If we take it upon ourselves to exact vengeance for the wrongs done against us, what difference would there be between those of us who hold true to the ideal of freedom and those who would enforce their tyranny with warriors?”
The grumbled complaints turned into derisive shouts. Alith dared not look at his father and instead focussed on one of the elves at the front of the crowd.
“Khalion,” said Alith, reaching out a hand. “What has changed between yesterday and today? Do you not trust in our prince to restore your lands and bring back the rule of law we desire? Why would we be so ready to unleash the cloud of war now, when under the sun of yesterday we strove for peace? Our grief consumes us, eats at our spirits, but we must not feed it with the blood of our fellow elves. Only by leave of the prince did we claim our lands and we owe it to him to respect that authority. Draw blood and we may yet start the war we have so long wished to avoid. We must temper our feelings with caution, lest our actions have consequences beyond what we see.”
There was disgust clearly written on the faces of the elves and many waved dismissive hands and sneered at Alith.
“Care not for their scorn, Alith,” declared Caenthras, striding to stand beside him. The venerable lord glared at the other elves, cowing their disrespect. “I value your reasoning and admire your courage and honesty. I do not agree with your arguments, but I think no less of you for voicing them.”
Alith let out his breath in a long sigh and sat down, closing his eyes. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see his father.
“The youngest of us might yet speak with the greatest wisdom,” said Eothlir. “I know that none here will march forth unless it is beside the banner of the Anars, and so we face a tough decision. Long we have pondered what might
become of us in these dark times. For my part, I would have us go forth to whatever destiny awaits, rather than hide here while it sneaks upon us. I am not the lord of the Anars, though.”
All attention turned to Eoloran, who was sat with one elbow on the table, his chin cupped in his hand. His eyes swept the room, spending more time upon Alith than any other. Straightening, he cleared his throat and laid his hands palm downwards on the table.
“My instinct has ever been to avoid conflict, that much you all know of me,” said the head of House Anar. “Long we have endured turmoil and darkness, and it seems that stability and light can return to our lives. Though I hear your words, Alith, I am left with a singular fear. Malekith makes his bid now, and I cannot have it be said that the Anars stood by and watched it fail. It is beholden upon us to ensure the prince’s success, for the peace and prosperity of all our people in the times to come. Long we have watched and waited, biding our time for the prince’s return. That time has come. Unless you have some greater argument to make, I have reached my decision.”
Alith opened his mouth to speak but realised he had nothing else to say, no further argument he could put forwards to keep the Anars safe in Elanardris. He shook his head and sat back. Eoloran nodded and looked at his son and grandson.
“The Anars march at dawn!”
It was with a sense of foreboding that Alith marched with the other warriors of the Anars. From across the hills and mountains the army had gathered, responding to swift-riding messengers despatched by Eoloran to muster just south of Elanardris. The host marched west, numbering some twenty thousand warriors, heading for the ancient citadel of Ealith.
The Anars went forth on foot, the rough terrain of their lands not suited to cavalry; since the time of Aenarion they had fought with bow and spear rather than horse and lance. The elves moved swiftly nonetheless, and would reach Ealith in four days.
Alith strode alongside his father at the head of a company of bowmen, the honoured guard of House Anar. For the most part they walked in silence, Eothlir’s mood grim as was the atmosphere of the whole endeavour. Never before had the elves marched to war against other elves.
As twilight was spreading its shadow across the hills, Alith spied a crow flying overhead, towards the west. He followed its path and saw, just for a moment, a black-swathed rider silhouetted atop a ridge. The rider vanished into shadow in a moment, but Alith was left in no doubt that it was Elthyrior.
When the army stopped to make camp, Alith excused himself from his father, promising to bring back some game for their supper. Bow in hand, Alith picked his way quickly through the growing lines of tents and headed westwards.
Leaving behind the fires of the camp, Alith found his way lit by starlight alone. After some time, he reached the ridge upon which he had spied the dark rider and nimbly climbed its steep slope, jumping from boulder to boulder until he reached the summit. The white moon, Sariour, was rising and by her light Alith looked all about, seeking some sign of the raven herald. Some distance away on the far side of the ridge he caught sight of a black steed, standing docilely in a hollow. He took a step towards it but then stopped as he heard the sound of a whetstone on metal.
Turning around, Alith saw Elthyrior sitting on a rock just behind him, sharpening a serrated dagger. As before the herald was swathed in his cloak of raven feathers, his face all but hidden. Moonlight shone from his bright eyes, which followed Alith closely as he walked over and sat beside Elthyrior.
“I am sorry,” said Alith.
“Perhaps some things cannot be changed,” replied the raven herald. “Morai-heg weaves across the skein of our lives and we must do the best we can with the threads she leaves us. None will hold you to account for the decisions of others.”
“I tried,” sighed Alith.
“It is of no matter,” replied Elthyrior. “The path is taken; we cannot turn back, though your army must do so.”
“It is too late, my grandfather is resolute on marching to Ealith,” said Alith.
“He will not reach the citadel,” said Elthyrior. “Malekith will take Ealith but it is a trap set by Morathi. Even now, tens of thousands of warriors and cultists close in on him. If you march to his rescue, you will also be caught. I warned that it was not yet time and nevertheless the Anars have stirred Morathi’s wrath.”
Alith was incoherent for a moment, trying to comprehend what Elthyrior had said.
“Malekith trapped?” he finally managed to say.
“Not yet, and the prince is canny enough to avoid the snare,” said Elthyrior with a slight smile. “I ride now to warn him of the danger. By dusk tomorrow, others will come from Ealith, sent by the prince. Be sure that your grandfather listens to what they have to say. Add your voice to theirs if need be. The Anars must turn back now or you will not see Elanardris again.”
Alith bowed his head and clasped his hands to his cheeks as he tried to think. When he sat up he expected Elthyrior to have gone, but the raven herald had not moved.
“Still here?” asked the young Anar. Elthyrior gave a shrug.
“My steed is swift and I have time enough to enjoy the night air for a while.”
Alith took this without comment and stood up. He started down the slope and turned at a call from Elthyrior.
“I’ll save you some time,” said the raven herald and tossed something towards Alith. He caught it out of instinct and found it to be a bundle wrapped in several broad leaves bound with strands of grass. Looking back to the ridge, he saw that Elthyrior had disappeared this time.
As he picked his way down the slope, Alith opened the parcel: two snow hares trussed together by their hind legs.
As Alith made his way back down the ridge, something to the north caught his eye. Looking closely, he saw the telltale flickers of many fires on the horizon. Not knowing the portent of this discovery, he hastened back to the camp, running directly to his father’s tent.
Eothlir was deep in conversation with Caenthras, Eoloran, Tharion and Faerghil. They looked up angrily as Alith breathlessly burst through the door flap.
“The enemy are close,” blurted Alith, discarding the brace of hares upon the ground. “There are campfires to the north.”
“Why have our pickets not seen them?” demanded Eoloran, glaring at his son.
“They lie beyond a ridge to the west,” Alith intervened to save his father’s shame. “It is only by chance that I saw them.”
“How many fires?” asked Caenthras.
“I cannot say for sure,” said Alith. “Dozens.”
Eoloran nodded and gestured to Tharion to hand him a hide tube. He pulled a broad parchment from within and laid the chart out upon the table.
“Roughly where did you see this encampment?” Eoloran asked, beckoning Alith closer.
Alith looked at the map and found where he was currently stood. He traced his path westwards to his clandestine meeting with Elthyrior and located the area of the ridge he had been on. His finger then followed a line roughly northwards while he recalled the scene to his mind. The trail stopped upon a line of hills that stretched from north-east to south-west.
“They made camp somewhere at the base of these hills,” he said. “I do not think they will have seen our fires unless they are looking for them.”
“Then we still have the element of surprise,” growled Eothlir. “We should make ready to strike as soon as dawn rises.”
“What if they are a foe we cannot face?” asked Alith, recalling Elthyrior’s dire warning.
“We must ascertain their strength first,” said Eoloran with a nod, more cautious than his son. He looked at Tharion and Eothlir. “Assemble a small group of scouts and spy upon our foes so that we might know their strength and disposition.”
“Alith, you will guide us to where you saw these fires,” said Eothlir and Alith nodded, glad to have been included in his father’s thoughts. “Tharion, pick out the keenest-eyed warriors in your company and send them to me. Then ensure that all will be made ready t
o march come the rise of the sun.”
Tharion nodded and picked up his tall helm from a side table. He grinned briefly and then left.
“Beware of sentries,” said Eoloran. “If the enemy are unaware of us, it should remain so. Count their numbers and observe them, but do nothing else without my command.”
He stared intently at Eothlir to ensure his point was understood, and Alith’s father nodded in agreement.
“Do not worry, lord,” said Eothlir. “I’ll not scare them away and deprive you of the chance to lead the Anars in battle again.”
Eothlir assembled a handful of elves at the edge of the Anar encampment. Swathed with dark cloaks, they set out before midnight, following Alith’s lead. He took the small group westwards up the ridge, heading slightly north of where he had met Elthyrior. Though he doubted that the raven herald had remained close by—or that he would be seen against his wishes—Alith thought it best not to risk any discovery.
From the top of the ridge the campfires could clearly be seen. Alith took the time to count them. There were more than thirty fires, two of them exceptionally large. The undulating nature of the foothills meant that the enemy camp would be out of sight until the party was almost on top of it, and so Eothlir marked the direction by the stars in the clear sky and headed north-east.
After a short time the second moon ascended in the west, a sliver of bright green that spilled its sickly light over the Annulii foothills. The elves travelled swiftly over the rugged hillsides, no more distinct than the shadows of the rocks and trees around them. Sariour had set and the shadows had deepened by the time the sounds of the enemy camp came to them on the wind.
The enemy made no pretence of secrecy; piercing shrieks sounded occasionally, accompanied by roars of approval. Harsh laughter drifted towards the scouts and Alith cast an anxious glance towards his father, worried by what they would find. Crouching low, the group crested a low hill and saw the Naggarothi camp laid out before them.
[Sundering 02] - Shadow King Page 4