Feeling that he would arouse less attention on the main roads than if he were seen skulking through alleys and side streets, Alith took the most direct route to the central plaza, coming at the palace of Aenarion from north-west. Here were many of the homes of Anlec’s rulers, most empty while their noble owners commanded troops on the wall or were with their soldiers far to the south. Leaping over garden walls and flitting past bubbling fountains, Alith looked for a means by which he could gain entry to the citadel.
Where once the spire of Anlec had stood alone in the centre of the city, the passing centuries had brought more buildings, each getting closer and closer to the palace. Though the square south of the citadel was open, generations ago the houses of the nobles had joined to the northern wall of the palace and it was here that Alith headed.
As easily as he had once jumped from rock to rock on the mountainsides of his home, Alith leapt into the bare branches of a tree close to the porch of one of the manses. From here he jumped onto the roof. Sliding past an open dormer window, Alith stooped low to avoid being seen and ran along the angled tiles at the ridge of the steep roof. There was some distance between the manse’s gable and the wall of the citadel and Alith took the leap at a run, hurling himself over the drop. His fingers found a hold on the age-worn stones of the wall and, after a moment of scrabbling his naked toes also found purchase. Spiderlike, Alith shimmied to the top of the wall. After peering over to ensure he was unobserved, he slipped through the tall crenellations onto the rampart beyond.
His vantage point was no better than that elsewhere and he could see no further than the curtain wall of Anlec. He needed to climb higher if he was to get a good view of the surrounding plains and witness the arrival of Malekith.
Keeping to the western side of the citadel, still shrouded from the rising sun, Alith climbed up turrets and minarets, sidled along ledges and clawed his way up steepling roofs until he was far above the city. Pausing beneath the sill of an arched window, Alith glanced down and saw figures on the streets below, made incredibly small by distance. There was a great throng in the central plaza and the street of temples was full of people. Elsewhere there were very few elves. Alith could see over the walls, but only to the dark west, the direction least likely to reveal Malekith. He needed to look east, to confirm that Malekith’s army indeed approached from that direction.
Crawling along a narrow gutter, Alith came to the edge of a roof overlooking the top of an open turret below.
Three warriors stood guard at the door beneath him, but their eyes were looking outwards, seeking the same thing he was. Ignoring the soldiers, Alith pulled himself across the gap above their heads and silently climbed higher.
The sun bathed Alith with its warmth as he rounded the golden pinnacle of a minaret. The sensation gave him a sudden flash of memory. He remembered lying on the lawn of the manse with his mother, talking about Ashniel. It was with guilt that Alith realised he had not thought of Ashniel since leaving Elanardris, so possessed had he been of the coming mission. The memory heartened him, for if they succeeded today, Malekith would regain his throne and Ashniel would no longer be bound to her safe retreat in the mountains.
Spurred on by his desire, Alith looked around for surer footing and saw a balcony not far above him. With a spring, he grabbed hold of the curving stone supports beneath the balcony and pulled himself up to an elegant balustrade. A huge windowed door stood open, leading into a darkened chamber.
Alith heard voices and froze.
After a moment, he relaxed as the voices receded into echoes. Standing to one side of the door so that he could not be seen from within, Alith had the chance to look out properly. Everything to the south and east was laid out before him. The roads running from the gates travelled directly away from the city as far as the horizon, broken only at the raised bridges across the fire moat.
For some time Alith stayed there, seeking some clue that would confirm Malekith’s approach. As time dragged on, doubt gnawed at Alith’s resolve, his expectation slowly leeched from him as the sun rose higher and higher. On occasion there would be the sound of footfalls within the citadel and Alith held his dagger ready in case someone came upon him.
Even as the last of Alith’s hope was waning, he spied a flashing to the south-east. Shading his eyes, he looked more carefully. It was the unmistakeable glint of sunlight on metal. Dust rose on the horizon and Alith watched in awe as the host of Malekith marched towards the city.
Alith had never seen so many warriors. Thousands upon thousands of knights, spearmen and archers advanced, spreading far to either side of the southern road. As the army came nearer and nearer, Alith saw white chariots pulled by fierce lions, and the banners of other realms flapping above the endless ranks of warriors: Ellyrion, Yvresse, Tiranoc and Chrace. Front and centre were the silver and black standards of Nagarythe, the warriors of Prince Malekith. At this distance, Alith could see nothing of the prince, though his black-armoured knights were visible. Winged creatures circled in the clouds above the army: three pegasi and a mighty griffon with riders on their backs.
It was clear that Malekith marched for the southern gate, his army forming up towards the drawbridge in that direction. Relieved, Alith was about to start his long climb down when raised voices from within the citadel attracted his attention. He risked a glance into the chamber and found it was empty. However, through an archway at the far side of the room he could see an inner hall and his heart skipped a beat when a tall figure crossed into view.
She was tall, majestic, her black hair spilling down her back in languid curls. She wore a purple gown of gossamer cloth, which wreathed about her white skin like smoke. There was a strange shadow about her, a barely visible miasma of darkness that seemed to teem with a life of its own. Alith fancied he saw tiny glaring eyes and fangs appearing in that shadowy mist. In her hand the matriarch held an iron staff topped with a strange horned skull and her hair was bound by a golden tiara set with diamonds and emeralds.
Morathi!
Alith was spellbound by her beauty, though he knew in his heart that she was utterly wicked. Her back was to him but the curve of her shoulders and hips stirred a passion inside Alith that he had not known he possessed. He longed to lose himself in that lustrous hair and feel the touch of that smooth skin beneath his fingers.
The sound of voices broke the enchantment and Alith realised the sorceress-queen was not alone. Black-robed figures passed back and forth across the archway, their heads shaved bald and tattooed with strange designs. He could not hear the words being said and against the promise he had made his father, Alith slipped into the chamber to come closer to the hated Witch Queen.
From this new position Alith could see more clearly into the central hall. He recoiled from what he saw. Beyond Morathi burned a multi-coloured flame, which recalled to Alith the tales of the Flame of Asuryan that had blessed Aenarion at the dawn of time. Yet there was nothing holy about these fires, their licking tongues strangely jagged and angular. A half-formed shape dwelt in the middle of the twisting flames. Though indistinct, made up from but also not part of the flames, it looked like the face of a bird, perhaps an eagle or a vulture, shifting between two different appearances. Its eyes glittered with power and to Alith the flames looked like a pair of immense wings furled around some otherworldly creature.
“Their time will come,” intoned a solemn, deep voice that resounded around the hall. The words came from the flames, but did not seem to be elvish, though Alith understood them easily. It was if the words came from a language that bound all other languages together, utterly recognisable and yet totally different.
“The winding road forks many rimes,” warned another, with a cackle.
“And we see where all paths lead,” said the first voice.
“But not when,” responded the second.
Alith was confused, for both voices seemed to come from the flaming apparition, yet they had about them the tone of an argument.
“And in return
for this undertaking, I shall expect to be rewarded.” Morathi cut across the bickering, her voice as luxuriant as her body. “When I call, I will be answered.”
“It makes demands,” said the screeching voice.
“Demands,” echoed the deeper voice with a guffawing laugh.
“I do not fear you,” said Morathi. “It is you that came to me. If you wish to return to your infernal place with no bargain made, I shall not stop you. If you wish to return with what you came for, then you will treat me as an equal.”
“Equal?” the creature’s shrill voice bit like splinters inside Alith’s ears and he winced at the sound.
“Equal in all things, we are,” said the deep voice, reassuring and gentle. “As partners we make this trade.”
“Remember always that there are things a mortal can do, places a mortal can go, that are beyond your reach, daemon,” said Morathi. A trickle of dread ran down Alith’s spine at the mention of daemons and he was gripped by the urge to flee. Shaking, he mastered his fear and forced himself to listen on. “It was our kind that bound you to the prison that holds you. Should you wish to reach beyond that prison, it is with mortal hands that you must work.”
“Always so arrogant,” mocked the sharp voice. “Mortals imprisoned us? You would do well to know that no prison can keep us for all time, and no barrier holds us wholly back. There will come a reckoning with mortals, oh yes. A reckoning.”
“Shut up, you stupid old crow,” said the other voice. “Do not listen to his idle chatter, queen of the elves. Our deal is set, our pact is made. Your followers shall go into the north and teach the humans of the sorcerous ways and in exchange the power of the Everchanging Veil shall be yours.”
“I mark this pact with blood,” said Morathi. Her staff tip lashed out towards one of the sorcerers and he was suddenly swathed with blood from hundreds of small cuts, his screams echoing around the hall. With a contemptuous sweep of her staff, Morathi hurled the still-shrieking acolyte into the fires. The flames burnt brightly for a moment, almost blinding, while harsh laughter resounded from the walls.
“Your fate is woven,” said the daemon. With another flash the flames disappeared, leaving the hall in darkness.
Alith blinked to clear the spots from his vision. It was a moment before he realised Morathi had turned and was heading towards the archway. In a panic, Alith sprinted back out onto the balcony and threw himself over its rail, grasping hold of the supports as he dropped. He clung there, grimacing, as he heard the tap of narrow-heeled boots clicking on the stone above. When Morathi spoke next, her voice was almost on top of Alith and his skin crawled at being so close to the sorceress-queen.
“How remarkable,” Morathi said. “I thought the fires beyond him. It seems as if my son has grown up finally.”
“Do you not feel its presence, majesty?” hissed one of the sorceresses. “The circlet upon his helm, it burns with the ancient powers.”
“Yes,” said Morathi with a sigh. “Has he the will to wield that power though? We shall soon see. It is an artefact from before Ulthuan was raised from the seas. Be wary, my darlings, or we shall all suffer the consequences.”
“Prince Malekith has crossed the fires, your majesty,” said another acolyte. “What if he takes the city?”
“Send your familiars out to spread the word to the others, our agents in the mountains and the cities,” purred the queen. “A single battle does not win a war. Should he enter Anlec, he will come to me.”
Footsteps receded into the citadel and Alith let out his breath in an explosive gasp, almost losing his hold on the pitted stonework. There was too much to think about and not enough time to consider everything. Alith focussed on what was important: the Shadows had to open the southern gate, and quickly.
There were few elves on the streets of Anlec, and those that were spared no second glance to thirty Naggarothi garbed in short mail coats and cloaks of black who marched along the road with bows in hand and grim looks on their faces. Shouts and cries echoed down from the walls, but from within the city it was impossible to know how the battle progressed. Now and then Alith saw one or other of the pegasus-riding mages sweep down to the ramparts unleashing magical fire or forks of lightning. The screams of the dying grew in number as an elven prince atop the back of a majestic griffon crashed into the soldiers upon the walls. His icy lance and the claws of the monster gouged great wounds in the druchii regiments. All else save for the clouds of arrows that passed back and forth was hidden from view.
“Wait!” hissed Eoloran as the Shadows came into sight of the wide plaza behind the south gate. The open square was filled with elves howling and screaming: Khainites. Their priests and priestesses moved amongst the shrieking mob, sprinkling them with handfuls of blessed blood, exhorting them to slay the city’s attackers for the glory of Khaine. Hateful oaths to slay Malekith echoed from the gate and surrounding buildings. Some of the Khainites fell to their knees, wailing and snarling, dousing themselves with blood from silver chalices, slicking their hair and painting runes upon the flesh with the blood of their companions. Bodies littered the flagstones where the most frenzied worshippers had fallen upon their fellows with knives and bare hands. The skin and flesh had been torn from them, their organs plucked free and devoured by the demented cultists.
Looking up towards the high towers of the gatehouse, Alith could see a great deal of activity. Archers were gathering from the surrounding walls, pouring their arrows into some foe close at hand.
“We must take the gatehouse!” hissed Alith, taking a step.
“We will be butchered,” replied Eothlir, grabbing Alith by the arm and dragging him back as the other warriors took shelter in the shadow of the wall.
“Malekith’s soldiers will all be killed,” said Alith, snatching his arm from his father’s grasp.
“And so will we,” snarled Eoloran. A bell rang out three times from the direction of the citadel. A moment later a loud grinding echoed across the courtyard. Eoloran pointed towards the gate towers. “Look!”
The huge gates of Anlec swung open with a rattle of heavy chains. On the gate towers, naked slaves were bent to two great wheels as their druchii masters lashed their backs with barbed scourges. Like a dam being opened, the Khainites flooded out of the city, whooping and screaming with murderous delight.
The gates closed with a shuddering thud as the last of the Khainites passed through. The courtyard was empty and silent, save for the distant battle cries and clash of war from beyond the walls.
“Now is our chance!” said Eoloran, waving Alith and the others forwards.
Bows and arrows readied, the Shadows ran swiftly across the gate square. As had been discussed before setting out from their hiding place, Alith and Eothlir led half of the Shadows towards the eastern tower while Eoloran took the rest towards the western tower. Eoloran’s group disappeared through the doorway whilst Alith was still a dozen paces from the other tower.
A figure clad in chainmail appeared at the doorway right in front of Alith. The druchii’s eyes widened with shock a moment before an arrow from Anadriel took him in the cheek, hurling him against the stone of the tower. Alith leapt past and was engulfed by the torchlit gloom.
The stair spiralled to the right and Alith dashed up the steps in bounding leaps, the other Shadows closely on his heels. No other druchii came down and as Alith burst from the door at the top he found himself looking out across the plains of Anlec and the army of Malekith.
He had only time to register rank upon rank of spears and knights and archers before movement to his left caught Alith’s eye. There were dozens of warriors on the wall next to the tower and the closest were turning towards him.
Without thought, Alith aimed and loosed his first arrow, which punched through the gilded breastplate of the closest warrior. As he nocked and shot his next, Eothlir and the other Shadows fanned out around him to add their own missiles to the volley. Within moments, two dozen druchii lay dead and wounded upon the stones.
“Five with me, the rest hold the door,” ordered Alith, running to a flight of steps atop the gatehouse wall. He rammed his bow into its quiver and drew his sword as he bounded up the final few steps to the roof of the tower.
The slavemasters were ready and a cracking whip lashed out to greet Alith as he ran onto the open space. Pain bit through his left arm and he glanced down to see the sleeve of his shirt in tatters, a bloody wound on his forearm. Snarling, he ducked beneath the flailing barbs that snaked out towards him and launched at the whip’s wielder. The druchii drew a knife with his free hand but Alith was too quick, driving the point of his sword into the slavemaster’s bare chest.
More burning pain screamed across Alith’s back as another wicked blow tore at his cloak and flesh, ripping through to the muscle. He stumbled but Casadir was there, dashing past to cut the whipmaster’s arm at the elbow. A reverse slash took the elf’s head clean off.
The emaciated slaves at the wheel threw themselves at their tormentors, battering and swinging with the chains of their manacles. As Anadriel helped him to his feet, Alith spared a glance across to the other tower and below. He could see black-armoured bodies tossed over the parapet by the Shadows. Much further down, in the killing ground between the outcrops of the walls, a phalanx of spearmen pressed towards the gate, their shields raised against the arrows falling upon them.
“The gate!” shouted Alith, grabbing the nearest slave and pushing him back towards the capstan. “Open the gate for your freedom!”
Alith lunged onto the nearest bar of the wheel and heaved, the weeping slaves taking their places around him. Fire burned along Alith’s spine and he bit back a scream of pain as he bent all of his strength to the task. With a clank-clank-clank the chains tightened and gears turned.
“Keep going!” yelled Casadir from just behind Alith. “The gate’s opening!”
[Sundering 02] - Shadow King Page 11