[Sundering 02] - Shadow King

by Gav Thorpe - (ebook by Undead)

“It is a letter,” said Eoloran. He scanned the elegant script for a moment and then began to read aloud, his voice breaking with emotion.

  For the eyes of Eoloran Anar, beloved of Aenarion, true protector of Nagarythe. First I must thank you, though words cannot do justice to the debt I owe you for your support. I have heard that you marched to my aid at Ealith, and though that endeavour was ultimately to fail, I escaped and that is due in no small part to the presence of your army. I understand the great risk that you took in showing such support and assure you that you will be honoured and repaid when I reclaim the rule of Nagarythe. Truly you were a friend to my father and, I hope, an ally to me.

  Eoloran paused, clearing his throat, a tear forming in his eye. He swallowed hard, brushing away the memories with a wipe of his hand across his brow. He continued in a clearer voice, his calm demeanour returned.

  Alas that I must entreat further aid from you at this time. What I ask is dangerous in the extreme and I will not hold it against you should you feel unfit to comply. Please respond through my messenger, Calabrian, who can be trusted with the deepest of secrets. However, I must ask that you tell no more of your people than necessary of what I now request, lest word of it reach the ears of Morathi, by conventional means or via other, more deceitful paths. I march upon Anlec with the first thawing of the spring. Even now, my army assembles in Ellyrion, far from the prying eyes of my mother and her spies, while other forces loyal to the Phoenix King draw their gaze southwards. I am confident that I will reach Anlec, but the defences of the city are little short of impenetrable.

  I ask that you take such warriors as you deem utterly trustworthy and infiltrate Anlec, there to stand ready for my attack. I cannot say at what time the stroke shall fall, so you must set out for the city come the first sun of the spring. No army can breach the gates of Anlec, but should they be opened before me I stand ready with a host of warriors the likes of which have not been seen upon Ulthuan’s shores for an age. I wait with anticipation for your speedy reply and wish you the blessings of all the gods.

  I remain your loyal ally and grateful prince.

  “Then there is the rune of Malekith and his seal,” Eoloran finished.

  “That is a considerable request,” said Eothlir as Eoloran passed the parchment to him.

  “We are going to help, aren’t we?” said Alith.

  “Yes we are,” replied Eoloran, surprising Alith with the speed of his answer. It was unlike Eoloran to take such a decision with so little consideration. “Had the prince commanded us to hurl ourselves at the walls of Anlec, I would comply. For the sake of Nagarythe, and all of Ulthuan, Morathi cannot be allowed to continue as ruler. The prince must be restored if we are ever to know peace again.”

  Eoloran stood in thought for a moment, rubbing at his chin. He looked at Calabrian, who had stood meekly listening to the contents of the letter he had carried on such a dangerous journey.

  “How much of Malekith’s intent do you know?” asked Eoloran.

  “No more than you,” the messenger replied. “I left Malekith in Tor Anroc and knew nothing of his plan to move his army to Ellyrion. Nor of his intent to assault Anlec.”

  “Then I shall write a reply to your master, and you will be taken across the mountains to Ellyrion,” said Eoloran. “With Anar guides to lead you, I am sure that your return journey shall be less fraught than the one that brought you here.”

  “Who shall we send with him?” asked Eothlir. “Perhaps more importantly, who shall we take with us to Anlec? And by what means will we get there unheralded?”

  “Anadriel and the other scouts who met Calabrian already know of his presence here,” said Alith. “They are all trustworthy, kin to the Anars each of them. Anadriel knows the mountains as well as I, perhaps even better. I can think of no better guide, nor a more skilful warrior.”

  “I would have you take Calabrian, Alith, and then return to the manse to keep our lands safe for our return,” said Eothlir. “To risk every lord of the Anars on this one quest seems careless, and to abandon Elanardris would be perverse.”

  “No,” said Eoloran, cutting across Alith’s protest. “Alith has proven himself in battle, and a finer eye cannot be found in Elanardris. If he is to have a future as a lord of the Anars, he fights with us. There are many who can see to the defence of Elanardris in our absence, and if Malekith marches on Anlec I would say that our foes’ priorities will quickly change!”

  Alith was profoundly grateful for his grandfather’s opinion, but remained quiet lest an outburst change Eoloran’s mind.

  “For the moment,” said Eoloran with a look at Alith, “he can ran down to the house and bring me back parchment, ink and a quill.”

  “Of course,” said Alith, bowing his head in thanks. As he left the summer house, he heard his father’s voice quiet but angry, but his words were lost as Alith headed down the path towards the manse.

  The winter days dragged on as heavy cloud sat upon the mountains, the snow sometimes coming in blizzards and at other times in more gentle flurries. Anadriel took Calabrian across the mountains to where the borders of Nagarythe, Chrace and Ellyrion met, and sent him south to Malekith.

  By secret paths and unknown vantage points, the scouts of the Anars spied upon the enemy camps, noting their numbers and positions. All of this was passed to Eoloran to chart the disposition of his foes. With Alith and Anadriel, the lord of the Anars plotted the route by which a small group of warriors could evade the enemy and leave Elanardris unseen. Twice more Calabrian dared the dangerous route across the mountains to confer with the Anars, bringing assurances from Malekith that his attack was ready and returning with the renewed promises of Eoloran. Then the winter’s grip tightened, blizzards ruled the peaks and there came no further word from the prince.

  Thirty warriors were chosen by Eothlir, as those most trusted and most capable. All had served the Anars for centuries, several of them distant cousins to Alith.

  Amongst them were Anadriel, Anraneir, Casadir and Khillrallion. Eothlir began to refer to these warriors as the Shadows, as it would be in secrecy rather than strength that they would succeed.

  The Shadows met each other every few days, to discuss the route from Elanardris to Anlec. Khillrallion tested the pathways out of Elanadris and returned several days later to confirm that he had not seen another elf in all of that time. While these practical steps were taken, Eoloran turned his hand to a different form of subterfuge: promulgating a falsehood to his allies that would explain his coming absence.

  Through Caenthras, the ruler of the Anars spread the word that he had been in contact with Prince Durinne of Galthyr, a port in the west of Nagarythe. Eoloran let it be known that the two were arranging to meet, and would confirm their alliance and mutual support in the spring. Caenthras took this news with enthusiasm, and would often speak of how he wished for Malekith’s return. Eoloran kept his silence on this matter, uncertain of Caenthras’ reaction should he know the truth. The old warrior had been invigorated by the fighting against the Khainites and was clearly chafing at the imprisonment imposed by the besieging army. It was Eoloran’s fear that Caenthras would march out to join Malekith if he knew the truth, leaving Elanardris unprotected, though it pained him to lie to his friend.

  Each day Alith would awaken and look to the skies, hoping to see the first sun of spring. In Nagarythe, the winters were deep and harsh, but once the north wind turned to the west and the clouds broke, spring and then summer would come quickly. The sign that Malekith was ready to attack grew closer with every morning.

  Alith was curled up on a bed of leaves at the back of a cave, at one of the watch positions overlooking the druchii army. A slight noise caused him to wake instantly reaching instinctively for the naked sword that lay beside him. Someone was silhouetted against the slightly paler circle of the cavern entrance. A smokeless lamp glowed into life to reveal the face of Anraneir. He was smiling broadly.

  “Come, sleepy one, and look at this,” he said, stepping aside.r />
  Alith sprang up and strode to the opening, guessing Anraneir’s cause for happiness. There was an almost imperceptible warmth on the breeze, which came from the west. Looking to the east he saw the first red rays of the sun cresting over Anulir Erain, the White Mother who was the tallest of the mountains south of the manse.

  “The first spring sun!” laughed Alith. Anraneir hugged Alith in his joy, and the young Anar shared his enthusiasm. The sun signalled a very perilous time for them both, but the prospect of action after such a bleak winter was exciting.

  “We should head back to the manse today,” said Anraneir. “Your grandfather will no doubt wish to leave tonight.”

  “Best wait for Mithastir to replace me here,” said Alith. “Someone still needs to keep an eye on the enemy. You should go now, since it would raise questions why you are here and not at your post.”

  “Of course,” said Anraneir, deflated by Alith’s practicality. With a waved hand and a whispered word he dimmed his lantern and disappeared into the gloom.

  Alith sat cross-legged on the ledge outside the cave, gazing down at the pinpricks of campfires far below. He whispered a chant in praise of Kurnous as he waited for Mithastir to arrive, thanking the Lord of the Hunt for bringing the early spring. Alith took it as a good sign from his patron.

  * * *

  Singly and in pairs, the Shadows gathered in a small copse of trees known as the Athelin Emain close to the southern border of Elanardris. Alith was one of the first, and waited in the darkness for the others to arrive. As the moons glowed from behind thin clouds, Eoloran and Eothlir finally made their appearance, clad in dark cloaks like the rest. It was the first time Alith had seen his father and grandfather dressed in this fashion, entirely unlike the statesmanlike robes or shining armour he was accustomed to seeing. The ruler of the Anars gathered his warriors beneath the boughs of a great tree, the dim moonlight streaming through the naked branches to cast dappled shadows on the ground.

  “We must pass the druchii line before sunrise,” said Eoloran, looking at the thirty Shadows. “We all know the path which we take, and the danger should we be discovered. I offer you one last chance to return to your homes. As soon as we set foot beyond these trees we are committed to this journey, all the way to Anlec and whatever fate Morai-heg has reserved for us. Some of us, perhaps all of us, may not return from this fight, and it may be a fool’s errand that we run.”

  There was silence from the others. Alith was eager for them to start out, to put an end to the waiting and planning.

  “Good,” said Eoloran with a grim smile. “We are as one mind. Lauded shall be those that march with me today, and great shall be the gratitude of the Anars and Prince Malekith.”

  With that, Eoloran turned south and the Shadows began their perilous quest.

  It was not long before the Shadows encountered their first difficulty. Casadir had moved ahead of the main group as lead scout and returned just as Eoloran and the others were leaving the cover of Athelin Emain. They had planned to head directly westwards before turning north, but Casadir brought alarming news.

  “The druchii have shifted the southern boundaries of their camp,” he reported as the others gathered at his surprise return. “Cultists have moved south of the road.”

  “Can we go around them?” asked Anadriel.

  “Certainly,” replied Casadir. “Though if we wish to remain out of sight we would have to travel through the fens of the Enniun Moreir. Who can say how many days that would add to our journey?”

  “Arrive at Anlec too late or risk discovery, that is no small choice,” said Eothlir. He looked at his father. “I would put my vote on speed and directness. The risk of being seen is one that we can control, while the delays are beyond our measure to manage.”

  “I concur,” said Eoloran. “It would be of little use to arrive too late and be trapped outside the walls with Malekith.”

  “Perhaps there is even an opportunity here,” suggested Alith. He turned to Casadir. “How large would you say is the cultist camp? How close are they to the others?”

  “Two hundred cultists, maybe less,” said Casadir. “They are camped on the lee side of the hills, on the banks of the Erandath, some distance from the bridge at Anul Tiran.”

  “What are you thinking?” asked Eothlir as Alith stayed silent for a moment.

  “We can address two problems with one solution,” said Alith. “I say we kill the cultists in their camp, and take on their guise. Clothed as cultists we can move freely along the roads rather than avoid them, speeding our journey by many days.”

  “What if the alarm is raised?” asked Eoloran. “What you suggest risks a battle that we cannot win and an end to our journey before it has begun.”

  “The cultists will be unprepared and we will use stealth as our weapon,” replied Alith, nodding as a plan resolved in his mind. “From what we saw of the Khainites, they have no military discipline. They expect no attack, and more than likely will be lying in their tents stupefied and unaware.”

  “I saw very little movement,” added Casadir. “It would be very simple to come upon them unseen, if we choose confrontation.”

  “Kill them in their sleep?” said Eothlir. “What you suggest fills me with a deep distaste. We are not assassins, we are warriors.”

  “And what of those that have fallen beneath their blades already, and those that would be sacrificed in the years to come should Malekith fail?” growled Alith. “Too long has justice been absent from Nagarythe. It is all well and good to march out gloriously with banners flapping and clarions blaring, but in this war there are battles to be fought unseen by others. Are we not the Shadows for a reason?”

  Eothlir’s expression showed his uneasiness, but he turned to his father rather than reply. Eoloran shook his head slowly, unhappy with the decision he faced.

  “You did not see what we saw in the Khainite camp,” Alith said. “Though you may think it cold-blooded murder that I propose, we at least will have the dignity to give our victims a clean and painless death. They will not be tossed screaming onto fires nor have their living bodies desecrated by abuse! Does the hunter regret every life he takes, or does he know that it is the way of the world that some die so that others may live? He cannot pity the stag or the bear, no more than we can pity those that have chosen to prey upon their own kind.”

  “You make a powerful argument, Alith,” replied Eoloran. “To move cloaked in the guise of the enemy would be a great advantage, especially when we come to Anlec. Though we have pondered long on our journey to the city, this gives us a means by which we might enter unknown. We must accept that there is darkness in all shadows, and take strength from the promise that such deeds as we are about to commit are so that others may not know such sacrifice.”

  With attack decided, the Shadows broke into groups of three and set out, circling around the cultist encampment. It was past midnight when they had come to their positions, and all about the camp was quiet. The orgy of celebration Alith had seen with the Khainites was absent, but clouds of narcotic vapours drifted from bone-wrought braziers. That the cultists were in a dragged stupor seemed likely.

  Coming to the closest tent, a high pavilion of purple cloth, Alith moved to the front at a crouch, dagger in hand. There was no movement from within and only the sound of slow breathing. With a glance around to ensure he was unobserved, Alith opened the flap and slipped inside.

  There were seven elves within, all entwined in nakedness upon a huge carpet made of several furred skins sewn together. A lamp with red glass glowed in one corner, bathing everything in vermillion. Two of the elves were male, the others female, the bare flesh of all marked with runes drawn in blue dye. Amongst the swirls and shapes, Alith recognised the rune of Atharti, a goddess of pleasure.

  They were utterly still as Alith crouched above the closest. He could smell the fragrance of black lotus, a powerful narcotic that gave vivid dreams when smoke from its burning petals was inhaled. Drawing up his scarf acros
s his mouth and face, Alith leaned forwards and brought his blade up to the sleeping maiden’s neck. The dagger shone in the ruddy light and Alith paused.

  To kill in the heat of battle was one thing, but to purposefully slay a defenceless victim was unlike anything Alith had ever done. His hand began to tremble at the thought and a sudden fear gripped him. Then the memories of the Khainite ceremony resurfaced in his mind and his hatred for what he had witnessed quelled all revolt.

  With a smooth, almost gentle motion, Alith drew the knife across the side of the elf maiden’s neck, slicing the artery. Blood spurted from the wound, a crimson shower that soaked the fur underfoot and pooled on Alith’s black boots. Fighting down his disgust, Alith moved to the next, and the next, and the next.

  It was soon over and without another glance at those he had slain, Alith left the tent and moved on, blood dripping from his dagger.

  “By whose leave do you travel on the road?” demanded the Anlec captain, his sword half-drawn from its sheath. Behind him stood several dozen warriors armed with barbed spears and covered from neck to knee in long coats of blackened mail, their faces hidden behind heavy aventails that covered their noses and mouths.

  It was not the first patrol the Shadows had encountered on the road to Anlec, and each meeting had been a fraught experience for Alith and the others. Dressed in the garb of Athartists and Khainites and other cultists, the Anars had hidden their weapons in swathed bundles upon their packs and had no means to defend themselves if their enemies attacked.

  The whole journey had been nerve-wracking, the masquerade a thin defence against inquiry. The group of elves had travelled along the main road to the capital for seven days, avoiding other parties where possible. Though they looked the part of cultists, they knew nothing of the rituals and workings of the cults and were forced to avoid others on the road. This had led to several instances of the Shadows being forced into the wilds at night so that they were not asked to share camps.