[Sundering 01] - Malekith

by Gav Thorpe - (ebook by Undead)

  More out of instinct and natural savagery than bravery, the closest orcs charged towards the prince, their weapons upraised, guttural shouts tearing the air. The prince moved in a blur of speed and motion, slicing and thrusting with his gleaming blade, felling an orc with every heartbeat. Within a few moments, all but one of the orcs were running from the wrath of Malekith.

  The creature that remained was a gigantic beast, almost twice as tall as the elven prince. It was clad from head to toe in thick plates of armour painted with dried blood. It regarded Malekith with small, brutish red eyes and flexed its clawed fingers on the haft of the great double-headed axe it carried.

  With a grunt it hefted the axe above its head and swung down the blade with terrifying force. Malekith stepped nimbly aside at the last moment, and the axe bit deep into the ground where a moment before the prince had been stood. His sword held idly by his side, Malekith took a few steps to his right as the orc warlord ripped its axe free from the earth in a shower of bloody clods.

  With a bellow of anger, the orc swung its axe two-handed, but Malekith easily ducked the wild blow and cut his sword across the shoulder of the warlord, sending shards of armour spinning away. As the orc recovered its balance, the lord of Nagarythe spun around behind it and slashed at its legs, drawing his blade across both thighs, hamstringing the monstrous greenskin.

  Falling to its knees, it gave a roar of rage and lunged wildly towards the prince, who stepped backwards as the orc fell flat upon its face. With a deft thrust, Malekith sheared his blade through the exposed shoulder of the orc, and then brought the edge of the blade down upon the wrist of the other arm. The orc howled as its axe fell to the ground, one fist still gripped around its rough wooden haft.

  Malekith paced back and forth, eyeing the orc with a contemptuous smile. Helpless now, the orc could do nothing but shout and froth at the mouth. With a flourish, Malekith whipped his sword around for a final time and the orc’s head spun into the air with a fountain of blood. It fell to the hard earth at Malekith’s feet in a spatter of gore. The prince dug the point of his gleaming blade into the still-helmeted skull and lifted it from the ground for all to see.

  The remnants of the orcs were fleeing through the woods, abandoning their war machines, and a great roar of triumph rose up from the ranks of the Naggarothi. Thrice they shouted the name of their prince, each time lifting up their spears and bows and lances in salute. As the knights made sport of chasing the fleeing greenskins through the forest, Malekith returned to his city.

  When news reached Ulthuan of Malekith’s actions, there was much debate and confusion. Prince Aneron travelled to Tor Anroc with many allies and demanded audience with the Phoenix King. The benches around the throne chamber were thronged with nobles and courtiers, and the air throbbed with heated discussion.

  A respectful hush fell upon the entry of the Phoenix King, who paced from the great double doors, his long cloak of feathers sweeping across the marble floor. As soon as Bel Shanaar was seated upon his throne Aneron stepped forwards and gave a perfunctory bow.

  “Malekith must be punished!” Aneron rasped.

  “Punished for what crime?” Bel Shanaar asked calmly.

  “He has seized my lands, sovereign territory of Eataine,” Aneron said. “The city of Athel Toralien was founded by my father and passed to me. This Naggarothi villain has no rightful claim.”

  “If you allow Malekith to keep his stolen prize, you set a terrifying precedent,” added Galdhiran, one of the lesser Eataine princes. “If we can seize each other’s lands and claim right of conquest, then what is to prevent us all from doing as we please? Only Nagarythe and Caledor, with their large armies, are served in this manner. You must end this before it begins!”

  There were boos and scoffing cries from some amongst the court, and cries of encouragement from others. The tumult continued for some time until Bel Shanaar raised his hand and silence once again descended.

  “Are there any that speak on behalf of Malekith?” asked the Phoenix King.

  There was a gentle cough, and all eyes turned to the uppermost tier of benches to the Phoenix King’s left. Morathi sat amidst a small entourage of grim Naggarothi. She stood languidly and paced slowly down the steps to the floor of the audience hall, her gown billowing behind her like golden dawn clouds.

  “I speak not for Malekith, nor Nagarythe,” the seeress said, her voice gentle yet strong. “I speak for the people of Athel Toralien, left to die in their homes at the hands of the savage orcs by Prince Aneron.”

  “There was not room—” began Aneron.

  “Be silent,” snarled Morathi, and the Eataine prince stuttered into acquiescence. “It is not your place to interrupt your betters when they are speaking. Prince Aneron, and the realm of Eataine, forfeited all right to Athel Toralien when they abandoned their duties to protect their citizens.”

  Morathi had been speaking to Bel Shanaar but now turned to address the chamber as a whole.

  “Prince Malekith usurped no throne,” she declared. “No blade was lifted against the warriors of Eataine, no blood of fellow elf spilt. The lord of Nagarythe conquered an abandoned city in the grip of the orcs. He saved hundreds of elven lives by his action. That those lands had once belonged to Prince Aneron is of no bearing. If we are to argue ownership in that manner, then perhaps we should ask a representative of the orcs to attend, for they lived there long before we arrived!”

  Laughter rippled around the hall at Morathi’s suggestion, for Ulthuan had been awash for years with tales of the orcs’ brutality and stupidity. The former queen of Ulthuan turned her attention back to the Phoenix King.

  “No wrong has been done here,” she said. “Malekith asks not for reward nor praise, but the simple right to keep what he has fought to claim. Would you deny him that right?”

  A greater part of the assembled nobles applauded Morathi’s argument. Bel Shanaar considered his position. A large number of Ulthuan’s citizenry even now lauded the prince and his heroic defence of the colony city. Prince Aneron had never enjoyed much popularity, even amongst the elves of Eataine, and many enjoyed the snub implicit in Malekith’s annexation. The Phoenix King had heard jeers from a large crowd of elves outside the palace during the arrival of Aneron in Tor Anroc.

  “I have here one other piece of evidence,” Morathi added.

  She gestured to her retainers and one strode down from the benches and passed her a rolled-up parchment. Morathi handed this to Bel Shanaar, who did not open it but merely looked inquiringly at the Naggarothi seeress.

  “This is a letter from the people of Athel Toralien,” she said. “It is signed by all four hundred and seventy-six survivors of the orc attack. They swear loyalty unconditionally to Prince Malekith. Further, they invite their kith and kin to join them in the new lands and are confident that under Naggarothi protection the city will prosper greatly. So, do not simply listen to my opinion, but hearken to the views of the city’s people.”

  At this there were some cheers from the watching courtiers and princes. Aneron scowled as even some of his fellow Eataine joined in the mockery.

  “It appears that a precedent is indeed set,” said Bel Shanaar when the clamour had quietened. “A prince who quits his property and leaves it unprotected abandons all rights to ownership. We were raised to our station for protecting Ulthuan alongside Aenarion, and we must maintain our rule as guardians of her people. Thus, I make this proclamation. Prince Aneron deserted his lands and his subjects. As Phoenix King, I consider Athel Toralien to have been an abandoned land, and thus suitable for reconquest by any prince. Prince Malekith has established his rightful claim and that shall be recognised by this court. Let this be a warning to all who seek the riches and power available for those in the new world. Go forth in the name of Ulthuan, but never forget your duties.”

  Thus was Prince Aneron shamed. With little support for his position, the Eataine prince sheepishly quit the shores of Ulthuan and sailed west to the jungle-crowded coasts of Lustria
. Malekith was invested as ruler of Athel Toralien and his conquest of the colonies began in earnest.

  ——

  Unheralded Allies

  Athel Toralien was but the first in a long line of great victories for Malekith and the Naggarothi. They subdued the greenskins of the forests around the city and forged eastwards across the new continent. After almost half a century, Athel Toralien having grown into a teeming port along with other settlements such as Tor Alessi and Tor Kathyr, Malekith looked to found another city further to the east.

  Over the years more Naggarothi had made the journey to the colonies, and Malekith’s host now numbered over twenty thousand warriors. With this army, he marched along the great river Anurein, which flowed all the way from the mountains to the sea for hundreds of leagues. He put goblin camps to the torch and forced back the beast-men and other vile creatures of the deepest woods.

  In the wake of his advance, the Naggarothi cleared the forests and built fortified farms. To the south, other cities were also prospering greatly, and their rulers were eager to seek alliance with the prince of Nagarythe. The forces of other elven lords joined the move eastwards. There were others, too, who were soon to learn about this brilliant general and charismatic leader: the dwarfs.

  It was in the third year of Malekith’s great eastward push that he first came across the folk of the mountains.

  The forests of Elthin Arvan began to thin as the foothills of the mountains rose up amongst their boughs, and scouts from the Naggarothi host returned to Malekith to report that they had found something unusual in the woods. Large areas of trees had been cut down, not by the crude hacking of beastmen or orcs, but smoothly sawn and felled. They noted that the tracks of booted feet were plentiful, and evidence of large, well-built campfires had been found in the clearings.

  Malekith assembled a company of his finest warriors and for several days they marched further eastwards, following the trail as it led towards the mountains.

  The elves found the remains of encampments and marvelled at the precision with which tents had been aligned, fire pits dug and the trees hewn to form clearings of almost uniform squares. The ground was trampled by many feet, and there was also evidence that temporary palisades and ditches had also been dug and then removed or filled in. That the strangers were organised was in no doubt, and Malekith ordered his scouts to remain vigilant, day and night.

  It was another three days before the elves came upon a path, or rather a road. It began at the largest campsite that they had encountered, and from the tracks that led to the north, west and south, this had been used as some sort of staging area for forays in all directions. The earth was not merely trodden down, but deliberately packed and seeded with stones to make the footing more secure. The road itself was of similar build, stretching away to the southeast, cutting through trees and hills without deviation for as far as the eye could see.

  Malekith ordered his warriors to stay off the road, but they followed its course from a little way into the forest, their stealthy advance concealed by the trees. As night fell, the elves saw the glow of bonfires in the distance, several miles away, and plumes of smoke rising across the stars.

  Malekith was torn as to what course of action to take. If these unknown woodcutters were hostile, then it would be far better to surround their camp at night. On the other hand, coming upon the strangers in the hours of darkness could possibly lead to surprise and cause the force they were trailing to respond with justified hostility.

  In the end, Malekith decided to compromise. He left a few of his swiftest runners near to the road, and ordered them to return with all speed to warn the colonies if he did not return or otherwise send word by daybreak. His most cunning archers Malekith despatched to circumnavigate the camp and wait in ambush should their unknown quarry attempt to fight. They climbed into the branches of the trees and moved above ground from bough to bough, so silent and unnoticed that not even the birds were disturbed at their passing. The others he brought alongside the road and told them to wait a short distance from the camp, ready to provide reinforcements if things went ill.

  With two of his lieutenants, Yeasir and Alandrian, Malekith approached along the road, weapons sheathed, their cloaks thrown back across their shoulders so that they concealed nothing that might cause suspicion. As they neared the camp, the elves saw two large braziers burning on either side of the road, casting a wide illumination.

  In the light stood a handful of diminutive beings, the head of the tallest no higher than an elf’s chest; in build they were stocky, their shoulders and chests broad with muscle, their guts solid and of considerable girth. They were extremely hairy; each sported a beard that reached his waist, and two of them had facial hair hanging almost to the tips of their weighty boots.

  Each of them wore a heavy coat of chainmail tied with a thick leather belt with a broad iron buckle. Their arms were bare but for golden torques twisted into intriguing designs, and the noseguards of their helms covered much of their wide faces.

  Atop the helms were small crests of leaping boars, or stylised dragons, and three had horns protruding. It was only after careful consideration that Malekith assured himself that these horns were indeed attached to the strangers’ headgear and not sprouting from their skulls and passing through holes in their helms. Each held a single-bladed axe, of design unlike anything Malekith had seen before. They each also had a large round shield, rimmed with riveted iron and emblazoned with extraordinary designs of coiling wyrms, anvils and winged hammers.

  They were gathered in a group about one of the braziers, talking amongst themselves. The prince’s keen hearing caught snatches of a guttural tongue, much like gravel rolling down a slope or the crunch of shingle underfoot. It grated on Malekith’s nerves and he just managed to stop his hand straying to the hilt of his sword.

  The sentries saw the three elves approaching and turned as one to stare at them. Malekith and his two companions stopped where they were, just inside the circle of firelight, some fifty or sixty paces from the guards. The strange warriors exchanged hurried glances, and then nods from four of them sent the fifth running back into the camp, moving surprisingly swiftly on his short legs.

  The two bands stood and simply eyed each other. They remained in this stalemate for some considerable time.

  Eventually a party of the dwarfs came marching up the road from the camp, over a dozen of them. One was obviously their leader, his beard braided into four long plaits bound with many golden clasps. Underneath this expanse of bristle Malekith could see a blue jerkin embroidered with gold thread in angular knotwork designs. The others walked deferentially a few paces behind him, their eyes wary, their grips tight on axes and hammers.

  Malekith held his hands far out to his sides, to show no hostile intent, though he knew full well that he would still be capable of drawing his blade in the blink of an eye. Yeasir and Alandrian did likewise. A surreptitious glance to the left and right revealed several of the elven scouts hidden amongst the leaves, arrows bent to bows trained on the camp leader as he stomped forwards.

  He stopped between the braziers and gestured for the three elves to approach, and then stood with his arms folded solidly across his chest as they walked slowly up the road. Malekith waved his lieutenants to stop about ten paces short of the dwarfs, and took a few more steps. The leader looked at the prince with a frown, though Malekith could not tell if this was an expression of displeasure or the dwarf’s natural demeanour—all of them appeared to be scowling.

  This close, Malekith could smell the dwarfs as well as see them. He quelled a sneer as an offensive mixture of cave dirt and sweat assaulted his nostrils. The dwarf leader continued to look Malekith up and down, and then turned his head and barked something to his underlings. They relaxed slightly, lowering their weapons a fraction.

  The leader proffered a grimy hand and spat something like “Kurgrik”. Malekith looked down at the grubby paw extended towards him and fought to keep the disdain from his expre
ssion.

  “Malekith,” the prince said, giving the dirty hand a quick shake before swiftly withdrawing his grip.

  “Malkit?” the dwarf said, finally breaking into a thin smile.

  “Close enough,” Malekith replied, fixing his face with a pleasant smile learned from many years spent hiding his frustration in the courts of Ulthuan.

  “Elf,” Kurgrik said, pointing at Malekith, and the prince could not keep the surprise from his face. The dwarf broke into a wide grin and let out a gruff laugh and then nodded. “Elf,” he said again.

  With a wave, the dwarf leader invited the three into his camp, and as Malekith stepped forwards, the Naggarothi prince gave the most imperceptible nod to the warriors in the trees. Without disturbing a single leaf, they withdrew from sight.

  The layout of the camp was as Malekith had surmised from the evidence they had found in the forest. Five rows each of five tents were spread out across a square glade cut into the woods on one side of the road. At the end of each row burned a small and neat fire in deep pits lined with stones.

  The dwarfs had all gathered to look at the newcomers, and shamelessly gaped at the tall, slender elves as they walked into the camp, keeping their pace steady so as not to move quicker than their hosts. Dark, inquisitive eyes glared at them from every angle, but Malekith could feel that the looks were of curiosity, not enmity.

  For their part, the elves regarded the dwarfs with neutral expressions, nodding politely as they caught the eye of one camp member or another.

  The dwarfs led them to the far side of the camp where a large fire was burning, surrounded by low wooden benches. Here the elders sat themselves down, flanking their leader, who gesticulated for Malekith and his comrades to do likewise. Malekith tried to sit down with as much dignity as possible, but on the low dwarfen seat his knees were well above his waist and so he reclined to one side to assume a more comfortable position. For some reason this raised a chortle amongst some of the dwarfs, but it seemed good-natured enough.