[Sundering 01] - Malekith

by Gav Thorpe - (ebook by Undead)

  It was here in the bitter cold of the northlands that Malekith first encountered the tribes of men. Some were savage in the extreme, and either took flight at first sign of the elven and dwarfen host, or sallied forth from their caves and crude huts to wage pointless battle against their far superior foes. At first Malekith took them to be nothing more than another barbarian people, no different or better than the orcs or beastmen.

  However, as Snorri and Malekith led an army of dwarfs and elves into the very north of the Saraeluii, a group of humans came forth timidly from their rough dwellings to greet them. The humans brought with them gifts of simple bread and roasted meat. Though they had little more than stone weapons and heavy sticks, they confronted Malekith and Snorri without fear, grunting in their basic language.

  The High King took the proffered food and in return gave the human chieftain a golden band from his wrist. The man took it and held it up, admiring the gleam of the metal, and a smile cracked his grimy, bearded face. With a shuffling gait, the tribal leader beckoned for the two to follow him back to their caves.

  Malekith at first ignored the man, but Snorri was as inquisitive as ever and followed the elder. Relenting, Malekith walked after them, gesturing for his warriors to stand ready should anything untoward occur. Barriers of crudely split wood and curtains of woven grasses and raw animal hides barred the entrance to the largest of the caves, and smoke billowed out of the entrance from the cooking fires within. Ducking through the skins, Malekith found himself in a high, deep cavern.

  Half a dozen human females were clustered within, suckling their young. Older women tended a fire over which roasted half the carcass of an enormous deer. The humans looked at their visitors with curious, intelligent eyes, and immediately Malekith recognised that these creatures were not like the orcs or the beastmen. There was something in their gaze that spoke of wisdom and emotion, utterly unlike the unthinking enmity of an orc’s stare.

  Snorri tugged at Malekith’s arm and pointed excitedly to the cave walls. They were painted with many different scenes, interspersed with abstract symbols and crude pictograms. In particular the High King drew the prince’s attention to a painting of a small figure, rotund in form and wielding what looked to be an axe. He had a shock of red hair and a long red beard, and fought against a band of daemon-like stick figures with horns and long claws.

  “Grimnir,” Snorri said with a grin, and Malekith nodded.

  The daubings did look somewhat like the Ancestor God of the dwarfs, who had dyed his hair a fiery orange and wielded a rune axe as he had ventured into the Realm of Chaos to fight the daemons. That had been more than a thousand years ago, but the cave paintings seemed no more than a few years old. Had these humans passed down what they had seen all those centuries ago, Malekith wondered, leaving paintings and tales for the next generation? If it was true, it spoke loudly about their character and intelligence, and Malekith was quietly impressed.

  The pair spent a mostly wordless afternoon with the humans, sharing their food and showing them various trinkets and weapons that they carried. The humans were awkward and filthy, but Malekith could see in them a certain nobility of spirit. After they left the camp, promising through signs and gestures that they would return, Snorri and Malekith fell into a long debate concerning what to do with these people.

  “They are children of the Old Ones, just as we are,” the High King said. “They are not creatures of Chaos or darkness, though they are simple and have little civilisation yet.”

  “Yet?” said Malekith.

  “For sure,” said Snorri. “Without guidance or protection, they have survived the fall of the Old Ones and the coming of the Dark Gods. With but a small amount of education from us, they will no doubt become useful. They are quick to learn, I reckon, and will be attentive to our lessons.”

  “And to what purpose would you educate them?” laughed Malekith. “Would you have them as clever labourers, or is there a greater intent to your proposal?”

  “I would teach them language and writing,” Snorri replied earnestly. “Not the language of the dwarfs perhaps, but a tongue that we can all understand. They are here for a reason; I can feel it in my bones. It is our duty to shield them from the worst perils of the world and ensure that they prosper.”

  “Who are we to judge what should and should not happen?” countered Malekith. “They have survived thus far by their own wit and strength, and perhaps it is right that we leave them to find their own path. We cannot know the will of the gods and the Old Ones, and I agree that they have a purpose here, but we cannot guess at what it might be. Is it our place to interfere, or to let things take their course?”

  “Hmm, there is much in what you say,” said Snorri. “However, whatever their destiny, I cannot see that it was to be consumed by hideous creatures nor swallowed up by the dark legions of Chaos. Does it not strike you as odd that they thrive here, under the very shadow of the Chaos Wastes? I know from kin who have travelled further north that there are many of these tribes, in the mountains and upon the icy plains. Is it not preferable that we guard against their corruption, so that perhaps they might become a bulwark against the armies of the Chaos Gods?”

  “I would sooner see them as backward friends than clever enemies,” said Malekith. “What if they take what we can teach them and turn our own knowledge against us? With stone axes and flint-tipped spears, they are no threat to us, but who can say what would happen if they learned the means to work metals, to grow into a nation that might one day look upon our domains with envy?”

  “There is much we do not know,” agreed Snorri. “This is no matter to be decided in the course of a single day.”

  So the two were in accord, and decided that their peoples would wait and watch. There was much promise in the race of men, but also much that could be perverted and turned to darkness. The elves and the dwarfs would treat their barbaric neighbours with a light touch, allowing them the shelter of their two empires but otherwise only guiding and shaping their future with their presence alone.

  For an age the world turned and Malekith was content. War and adventure were plentiful and he returned only seldom to Athel Toralien, preferring the wild lands to the increasingly managed and austere realms of his colony. The Naggarothi prince was lauded across all of the colonies, and here he was king in all but name, for even the other princes admired what he had achieved.

  Let Bel Shanaar rule over dull Ulthuan, Malekith would tell himself. Let the Phoenix King fill his days settling the arguments of spoilt princes. Glory and renown forever beckoned to the prince of Nagarythe and he grasped his opportunities with both hands.

  All was to change.

  * * *

  For more than twelve hundred years the colonies grew and endured, and in that time Malekith’s power abroad knew no rival, except perhaps in Karaz-a-Karak. Then came word that Bel Shanaar, now rich beyond measure upon his trade and taxes, planned to travel to the dwarfen capital to meet his peer, the High King. For most in the cities of the forests this was heralded as an event worthy of much celebration. However, Malekith was not pleased.

  “What is his purpose in coming?” Malekith demanded of Alandrian. He had just received a letter from Morathi warning of Bel Shanaar’s intent.

  The two of them sat in a wide chamber at the heart of the prince’s winter palace, Malekith’s retreat during the season of ice when his armies could no longer march. A fire burned in the dwarf-built grate, and the two elves reclined upon long couches, wrapped in warm woollen robes.

  “I cannot know his intent, highness,” replied Alandrian.

  “Do not be coy with me,” snapped Malekith. “What do you think he is up to? My mother claims his rule is weakening on Ulthuan and he seeks to bolster his popularity.”

  “Your mother is better placed than I to judge events on Ulthuan, highness,” said Alandrian, and then quickly continued after receiving a cold stare from his master. “What she says confirms my own belief. Though Tiranoc grows rich, there are
some princes who feel that Bel Shanaar does not lead his people. The true glory of our people is in the colonies. On Ulthuan, life has become so luxurious that none need fight nor labour. Fields are not tilled, no game is hunted. All she now desires is sent from the cities across the world: sacks of grain, spiced meats, cut gems and dwarfen trinkets. Ulthuan grows indolent and her people lose themselves in poetry and song, wine and debauchery.”

  Malekith frowned and stroked his chin.

  “I cannot refuse him directly,” the prince said. “The other cities are keen for his patronage still.”

  “Many are jealous of you, beneath their smiles and plaudits,” said Alandrian. “They seek strength from the Phoenix Throne so that they might become more independent of Athel Toralien.”

  “They simply swap one master for another,” snarled Malekith. “I helped build them. I keep their lands safe. How do they repay my dedication? They cry to Bel Shanaar and hope that he will shield them from the cruel reality of the world.”

  “Perhaps there is opportunity here,” said Alandrian. “If the dwarfs see Bel Shanaar as weak compared to your greatness, your position grows stronger.”

  “No, that will not do,” said Malekith. “King Snorri believes our people to be united, as are his. If Bel Shanaar is seen as weak the High King will see all elves as weak, including me. He believes that all of Ulthuan and her princes are as strong as Nagarythe and me. We cannot undermine that useful illusion by showing him otherwise.”

  “I cannot see how we can turn this to your advantage, highness,” admitted Alandrian.

  “Why now?” Malekith mused to himself. “Why, after one thousand two hundred years does Bel Shanaar visit us now?”

  It was a question that was to vex Malekith over the long winter months as he brooded in Athel Toralien. The prince was painfully aware that all the talk in the colonies was of the Phoenix King’s visit, his own exploits and glory now forgotten by the fickle, gossiping elves of the other cities.

  The prince was further insulted by the news that Bel Shanaar planned to visit the city of Tor Alessi first. Taken at face value, this was reasonable, for the city had been founded by princes from Tiranoc, the Phoenix King’s own realm. Yet Malekith knew that this was in fact a subtle slight, for Athel Toralien was paramount in size and power in Elthin Arvan. Athel Toralien was a capital in all but name, more than equal in power to Tor Anroc. Bel Shanaar’s intent was to show that despite this, there were lands still beyond Malekith’s control.

  It was mid-summer when the Phoenix King and his entourage arrived at the Naggarothi city. Malekith ensured that his welcome of the Phoenix King left Bel Shanaar in no doubt as to where the rule of Elthin Arvan truly lay. He recalled the greater part of his army, some two hundred thousand Naggarothi, and lined the road to the city with regiments of black-clad archers, magnificently armoured knights and grim-faced spearmen.

  Such military spectacle had never before been seen, on Ulthuan or anywhere else. The Naggarothi host dwarfed the guard of the Phoenix King, even bolstered as the Tiranoc force was by troops from Tor Alessi. Malekith hoped the comparison between the two armies was not lost on the other princes.

  Not to be outdone by the Phoenix King’s wealth, Malekith lavished his guests with the finest gifts and hosted banquets in their honour for thirty days. Herein was another subtle snipe, for Malekith dedicated each night of festivities to a different guest: one for the Phoenix King and one each for the twenty-nine princes who accompanied him. Malekith’s message was clear: Bel Shanaar was the first amongst equals, no greater than any other.

  The day before Bel Shanaar was due to leave, Malekith invited the Phoenix King to inspect the warriors of Athel Toralien. They drilled before the city walls, where Malekith stood with his rival upon the massive northern gate tower with his rival. A dozen other princes watched with them, forcing Malekith to choose his words carefully.

  “I see that you are impressed, majesty,” said Malekith.

  “Against what threat do you maintain such a force?” asked Bel Shanaar, turning his gaze from the marching columns of spearmen filing past far below the gatehouse.

  “The lands of Elthin Arvan are still home to beasts and orcs,” Malekith said. “I maintain garrisons in dozens of citadels between the ocean and the realm of the dwarfs. There is also the ever-present threat from the north.”

  “Bands of marauders, scattered tribes of thuggish humans?” Bel Shanaar laughed.

  “The Dark Gods and their daemonic legions,” said Malekith, and was pleased to see the princes momentarily fearful.

  “Caledor’s vortex remains strong,” Bel Shanaar said dismissively. “Such caution is unnecessary.”

  “I inherited a duty from my father,” Malekith said, his voice pitched so that it easily carried to the gathered nobles. “I shall protect my people against any threat, and stand ready to do the same for Ulthuan.”

  Bel Shanaar cast a sideways glance at the princes and said nothing. The Naggarothi continued their manoeuvres until the sun was setting over the ocean.

  “Well, that was enlightening,” said Bel Shanaar with a clap of his hands. He turned towards one of the gate towers and then spun back on Malekith. “I regret that I must depart so soon, but there are others who have begged me to attend their cities and palaces. The Naggarothi cannot have me all to themselves, you know.”

  Before Malekith could retort, the Phoenix King had moved away and was surrounded by a gaggle of princes.

  The Naggarothi prince stormed off in the opposite direction. He felt the need to vent his frustration and wondered where Alandrian would be hiding.

  The culmination of this tour was the Phoenix King’s arrival at Karaz-a-Karak. Wishing to display his splendour and power, Bel Shanaar arrived with an entourage of three thousand elves, and a bodyguard of ten times that number. The most high-ranking were housed by the dwarfs, and the others lived in a huge camp that spread for miles along the road that led to the hold.

  The greeting ceremony was like nothing either dwarf or elf had ever seen before, as both sides attempted to outdo each other in grandiosity and spectacle. The High King summoned all the kings of the holds to gather to greet Bel Shanaar; hundreds of lesser princes and nobles and every ruling prince of Ulthuan attended the Phoenix King—including Malekith. It was Snorri’s wish that Malekith introduce him to the Phoenix King, and out of friendship Malekith therefore attended the reception of the Phoenix King, backed by five thousand of his Naggarothi knights.

  The procession was almost a mile long, and more than a hundred banners fluttered above the column as it made its way up the road to Karaz-a-Karak on the appointed day. The dwarfs lined the highway cheering and dapping, and many had been drinking for days on end beforehand to get in the right spirit. Five hundred kings and thanes stood as guard for the High King, each accompanied by his banner and shield bearers, while great runelords and master engineers stood proudly with their guild standards, surrounded by the clan elders of every hold?

  As was to be expected there was a huge feast and many speeches, so that the whole thing took more than eight days to complete, for every king and thane had to meet and be formally introduced though many had fought and even lived beside each other for hundreds of years.

  Throughout the celebrations Malekith was on hand to offer whatever advice and information the Phoenix King required; he deigned to act as translator for Bel Shanaar. The climax of all this activity came on the eighth night, as the High King and Phoenix King finally stood together upon the throne dais of Snorri’s audience hall. Bel Shanaar spoke at length upon the benefits of the alliance and the splendid welcome of the dwarfs. He praised the princes for the creation of this corner of the vast empire, and concluded with an announcement that tested Malekith’s tolerance to the limit.

  “Elf and dwarf shall be bound forever in immortal friendship,” Bel Shanaar declared. “As long as our empires endure, may we know peace between us. As a sign of our dedication to this common cause, we shall appoint an ambassador to
this court, one of our greatest sons. He is the architect of my empire and the forger of this alliance, and his authority in these lands shall be as mine. His words will be my commands. His will shall be my wish. I name Prince Malekith as embassy to Karaz-a-Karak, and bestow the blessings of all the gods upon his endeavours.”

  Malekith fumed inside at these words, and had to fight to keep his expression one of gratitude. “My empire,” Bel Shanaar had said. “His will shall be my wish,” a voice raged inside Malekith’s head. All that he had laboured and fought to create these many centuries, Bel Shanaar had taken from him with those few words. What right did the Phoenix King have to claim anything that Malekith had made possible?

  Ambassador? Malekith already had absolute authority over these lands; he needed no permission from Bel Shanaar. The colonies had been his, wrested from the wilderness and the hordes of darkness by his own hands. Blood he had spilt and agonies he had known in the birth of this great empire, while Bel Shanaar had sat upon his throne in Tor Anroc and gorged himself upon the spoils of Naggarothi endeavour. Holding his ire in check, the prince turned and bowed stiffly to the Phoenix King, avoiding Snorri’s gaze lest he recognise some hint of the anger that burned within.

  For the remainder of the visit, Malekith excused himself from Bel Shanaar’s company, claiming that he was needed back in Athel Toralien. In reality, he sought the sanctuary of the forests, for such was Malekith’s anger he could not look upon the face of another elf for several months.

  Eventually the prince calmed and tried as best he could to return to a normal life. In the five decades that followed Bel Shaanar’s visit Malekith sent messages to Morathi frequently, and she replied with equal regularity. Always she was keen to praise her son for his achievements, but there was also gentle admonishment that he ignored his father’s legacy on Ulthuan. Ever she had insisted that he return to the isle to take up his birthright, and her writing became even more strident following Bel Shanaar’s visit to Karaz-a-Karak. She too had felt the slight caused by the Phoenix King’s words and deeds, and Morathi had ranted at length in her next letter, decrying the hypocrisy of Bel Shanaar, who spoke out against supposed decadence in Nagarythe.