[Sundering 01] - Malekith

by Gav Thorpe - (ebook by Undead)

  “If I could make a suggestion, your highness,” Alandrian said delicately. “Perhaps five hundred and one companions would be better for you.”

  “Five hundred and one?” said Malekith, and then he gave a laugh and a nod of understanding. “You wish to offer your service?”

  “I do, highness,” said the lieutenant. “Yeasir accompanies you, and so would I.”

  “It cannot be done,” said Malekith. “Yeasir has no family. You have a beautiful wife who has borne you two equally beautiful daughters. I could no more rob them of their father than I could cut off a limb.”

  “You are destined for great glory,” said Alandrian. “I have served well and attended my duties with vigour and loyalty. I ask only that I be allowed to continue my service.”

  “Your time of service is no more,” said Malekith. He held up a hand to stop Alandrian’s protest. “I have had papers drawn up, declaring you a prince of Nagarythe and the ruler of Athel Toralien.”

  “A prince?” stammered Alandrian.

  “That is right,” said Malekith, laughing at his friend’s stunned expression. “I was going to wait a while before making an announcement but you have forced my hand. You will be my regent in Elthin Arvan. Yeasir is a soldier first and last, and I will name him commander of Nagarythe, the title I once held when my father was alive. You are a leader, with a patience to match your wisdom and your gift with words. You can best serve me not with spear point but with quill point. Rule Athel Toralien in the finest traditions of Nagarythe. Be ever ready to come to the aid of your homeland. Most of all you must enjoy yourself and take what reward you can from the life the gods have given you!”

  Malekith raised his goblet in toast to his companion, who half-heartedly lifted his own, still shocked by the prince’s declaration.

  ——

  A Delayed Departure

  In the months of preparation before his departure, Malekith received an unexpected visitor. He was sitting in the uppermost chamber of his tower overlooking the harbour of Athel Toralien, reviewing an agreement on the succession of power to his followers. Though he had a palatial mansion, several in fact, within the city and out in the forest, he chose to conduct his business here, in a tower built over the part of the old wall where he had first defended the city against the orcs.

  Malekith was just re-reading a particularly complex passage for the third time when he was disturbed from his study by noise from the street far below the open window. There was also much commotion from within the tower, as doors slammed and he heard a great many feet pounding upon the stairs. He tried to ignore the excited shouts and concentrate on the legalistic wording of the document he held, but the ruckus persisted and in frustration he threw the parchment onto his desk and stood up. At that moment there was a hurried knocking at the door. “What?” he demanded.

  The door was flung open by Yeasir, who stepped into the room with a hasty bow.

  “I am trying to concentrate,” the prince growled.

  “Forgive the disturbance, your highness,” said Yeasir breathlessly, bowing again with more decorum. “Please look out of your window.”

  “My window?” said Malekith.

  The prince turned and strode to the open casement and stepped out onto the small balcony beyond. He stared down at the street below and saw crowds of elves hastening through the streets towards the docks, some of them running in their excitement. Raising his head, Malekith looked out over the roofs of the warehouses to the harbour beyond.

  It was a sunny spring day and the calm waters of the bay glittered in the afternoon light. Dozens of ships bobbed at anchor in the middle of the port, but all seemed calm and Malekith could see nothing amiss. Then he turned his gaze further to the south and saw a line of black sails approaching past the harbour wall.

  Shielding his eyes against the glare, Malekith looked at the approaching ships. There were ten of them, nine unremarkable but for the fact that they flew silver and black pennants of Nagarythe at their mastheads. The tenth was what caught Malekith’s attention, and the cause of so much interest from the city folk below.

  It glided across the waves without effort, four huge lateen sails filled with the breeze, surf crashing around the gold-plated ram at its prow. It was larger than any ship Malekith had ever before seen, in size as large as a castle keep, spread over three hulls—one central structure flanked by two outrigger hulls that were each the size of a warship. Upon its deck stood high towers of dark-stained wood banded and trimmed with shining gold. It was the finest vessel ever to have crossed the seas, and Malekith was dumbstruck by its majesty and elegant lines.

  Like a lion amongst scavenging dogs, the ship surged through the surf at the heart of its fleet, before trimly tacking across the wind and gracefully gliding towards the longest pier. The sound of clarions rang out from across the waves from the other nine ships, heralding the arrival of their leader.

  Malekith fought the urge to leap straight from the balcony and run to the docks, and instead turned and instructed Yeasir to fetch his cloak and sword. He stood there tapping his fingers impatiently on the curved parapet of the balcony, watching as the immense ship slid closer and closer. He could now see the crew upon the deck, dressed in smart smocks of red and white, straining at stays to keep the sails full. At some unheard command, they jumped into action to furl the mainsail, slowing the ship’s passage as it neared the wharf.

  Yeasir entered again and fixed Malekith’s scabbard to his belt and hung his purple cloak from his shoulders. Perhaps more hurriedly than he realised, Malekith strode from the room and descended the long winding stair at the centre of the tower. Guards at the doors flung them open at his approach, and Malekith swept past them without a glance, intent on the street outside.

  It was thronged with people, and though many parted as they saw him approach, some were so intent upon reaching the docks that they did not note his appearance. Yeasir trotted ahead of his lord to clear them out of the way, and as they realised their error they fell to their knees in apology, and begged Malekith’s forgiveness as he strode past. In this way, Yeasir swiftly cleared a path to the docks, but upon arriving at the wharfs found the route utterly blocked by the press of elves who had gathered here from all over the surrounding buildings.

  A few realised the unmannerly obstruction they were causing, but could only shrug and bow in apology, as they attempted to get out of the way but could not due to the crowds behind them. Such was the hubbub that Yeasir’s shouted commands were barely heard, and in the end Malekith resorted to drastic measures.

  Drawing Avanuir from its sheath, he held the fabled sword aloft, its tip pointed towards the cloudless sky. With a word, the prince sent a pulse of magic along the blade. The sorcery erupted into a bolt of flame that shot high up into the air with a piercing screech, attracting the attention of all.

  Thus warned of their ruler’s approach, the elves began to make way as best they could for the prince, some of them awkwardly leaping onto boats that stood at the water’s edge, others pushing into buildings or climbing onto awnings and balconies. As the waves parted before the prow of the approaching ship, so the elves parted in the path of their prince. With a satisfied nod, Malekith sheathed his sword and strode forwards along the widening line between him and the docking vessel.

  Malekith walked to the end of the curving pier of white planks and stood with his hands on hips as the immense ship slowly slid around and came alongside. Elves with thick hawsers in hand leapt lithely over the side to the quay to secure the vessel. Amidships, a length of the gunwale soundlessly swung upwards and a wide set of steps slid out of the gap to touch down upon the pier. Malekith walked along the quay to stand at the foot of the docking stairs.

  Looking up onto the ship, the sun was behind the vessel, throwing the sails and rigging into stark silhouette. A figure appeared at the top of the ramp, tall and elegant, draped with silky ribbons that danced in the sea breeze. As she strolled cat-like down the ramp, Malekith could see his
visitor more clearly, as young and beautiful as he had ever remembered her: Morathi.

  The widow of Aenarion walked languidly down from the ship and stopped before Malekith, holding out a hand for him to help her down the last step. He kissed the back of her hand and led her onto the quay, sweeping his cloak out of the way as he did so. Morathi turned her face towards him as they walked along the pier back to the dockside, and she smiled.

  “My wonderful son,” she purred.

  “Precious mother,” replied Malekith with a formal nod of the head.

  As the crowd upon the harbour side could see more clearly, there was shocked whispering, which spread from the end of the pier and out through the assembled elves. A respectful silence then descended and the only sound that could be heard was the cry of gulls in the air and the lapping of the waves against the piles of the quays. Now the elves surreptitiously crowded forwards again, those further back leaning forwards and straining to get a look at the queen-regent of Nagarythe. Many had been born in Athel Toralien and had never seen the seeress.

  Mother and son walked serenely towards the tower where the prince had been working, Morathi’s hand upon Malekith’s. Neither looked at the other, but both gazed out to the crowd with beatific smiles. Malekith’s expression was a mask hiding his true feelings, for inside he was in turmoil but he could not show weakness.

  Morathi’s arrival was most unexpected, and he feared what news she brought. He could think of no reason that was pleasant why she would have abandoned the comforts of Anlec for the colonies. Had she finally driven Bel Shanaar too far and been forced into exile with her son? Was Nagarythe threatened? The ship too was an enigma. It was clearly of Naggarothi design, but no shipyard outside of Lothern was capable of building such a behemoth. How had she come by such a prize, and what was her intent?

  Craving the answers to these questions, Malekith forced himself to pace slowly through the streets, accepting the bows and waves of the adoring crowds that were even now still growing in number.

  The prince detected a certain smugness in his mother’s manner: a pride that he felt was not wholly down to a mother meeting her son. Certainly she had caused quite a stir with her arrival, and Malekith suspected that this was in great part the source of her pleasure. Ever since Malekith had been old enough to notice his mother, he had seen how attention focused upon her, and how only Aenarion’s light had shone brighter than hers. As a rock absorbs the heat of a summer midday sun, so Morathi bathed in the quiet adulation of the elven masses of Athel Toralien.

  It was some time before they reached the tower overlooking the bay. Glancing over his shoulder as they passed though the doors, Malekith saw that Alandrian had joined Yeasir. He waved Morathi to proceed him up the stairs and turned to his lieutenants.

  “Leave us for the moment,” Malekith instructed them. “Do not go too far, I will be calling for you shortly. Yeasir, please send someone to the docks to ensure that my mother’s luggage and servants are taken to the Palace of Stars. We will join her entourage there this evening.”

  As the pair bowed and turned to leave, Malekith thought of something else.

  “Best send word to my servants at the palace too, and the farmers,” Malekith said, drawing confused looks from Alandrian and Yeasir. “My mother will have brought many hangers-on, advisors and other menials. There will be a lot of mouths to feed.”

  Nodding in realisation, the pair left Malekith, who closed the doors to the tower behind them, shutting out the gaping crowds.

  Turning, he leapt up the stairs three at a time, chasing after his mother. Despite his haste, Morathi was already standing beside the balcony window by the time Malekith reached the top of the tower. She turned and smiled as he strode into the room, and held out an arm for him to hold. Sighing, the prince allowed his mother to lay her hand upon his, and led her out onto the balcony. This time, the seeress-queen and prince of Nagarythe were greeted with rapturous cheers and applause. The streets were packed with elves in every direction, and windows and balconies were full as the people of Athel Toralien sought the best vantage point to see their mysterious, glamorous visitor.

  “What are you doing here?” Malekith whispered as he waved to the adoring crowds.

  “I have come to visit you, my wonderful son,” replied Morathi, not turning her smile from the masses below. “A mother worries, you know that. Word came to me that you were heading off into the wilds for some ridiculous adventures, so I thought it best that I finally visit your new home before you left.”

  “You will not dissuade me,” Malekith warned her. “I am ready to leave within days.”

  “Dissuade you?” said Morathi with a faint laugh. “Why would I not want you to go? Was it not me that stood upon the quayside when you left Nagarythe, and told you to earn glory and renown for yourself and your people? Have you not done so, and have I not looked upon all that you have achieved with great love and pride?”

  “Forgive my misunderstanding,” said Malekith. “If you are here to lend your support, then I am very grateful.”

  Morathi did not reply straightaway, but instead indicated discreetly that they should retire inside. With a final wave and a grin, Malekith stepped off the balcony and his mother followed. Closing the window, Malekith rounded on his mother.

  “So why is it that you are here?” he asked, not with accusation but with genuine curiosity.

  “It is not my support that you need, at least not in any physical way,” Morathi replied.

  Seeing his mother wave a hand towards the bottle upon the desk, Malekith took a clean glass from one of the many cabinets in the room and poured wine for Morathi. She took it with a nod, had a sip and then continued.

  “You have been away from Ulthuan for too long. I was of a mind to persuade you to return rather than gallivanting across the wastes, but then I realised that such a course of action would be a fool’s errand and only earn me your enmity, perhaps even your disdain.”

  “You are right, I will not return to Ulthuan,” said Malekith. “Why do you think it is so important that I do so now?”

  “Not now, but soon,” Morathi said. “I sense that Bel Shanaar’s rule is fading. His usurpation of your relationship with the dwarfs was an attempt to bolster his flagging fortunes. Now that the colonies are well established, all of the kingdoms enjoy the comfort and wealth that the realms overseas bring to us, Tiranoc no less so, nor more so than any others. Nagarythe’s most adventurous spirits have departed the shores of the isle, for new generations look to the likes of you to emulate, not to the staid, overly sincere Bel Shanaar. In comfort there is frailty, for a sword must be forged in the burning fires before it can rest in its scabbard. There is no more fire in Ulthuan. Even as her empire continues to grow, Ulthuan herself is diminishing.”

  “If Ulthuan has become lessened, then it is the fault of the princes who rule there,” said Malekith, pouring himself some wine.

  “That is my point,” snapped Morathi. “There is none capable of succeeding Bel Shanaar; his court is as weak as he is. Your achievements here have been rightly lauded, but your success has been copied and appropriated and demeaned by others. If only you had returned to us before Bel Shanaar accorded himself and his rule with the dwarfs and stole your victory. It is time to create a new legend for yourself, and return in triumph to reclaim what is rightfully yours.”

  “What would you say if I told you that I wish never to return to Ulthuan?” said Malekith. “What if I have decided that my life is out here, away from the coddling embrace of Ulthuan?”

  “Then I would curse you for a fool and cast you out of my life,” said Morathi. “But that is not really how you think. You do not like Ulthuan, and I cannot blame you. She is like a maiden that you love, gripped tightly within the arms of a less-deserving amour. But, just as you turn away from that sight, within your heart still lingers that love for the maiden, no matter what she does.”

  “You are right, of course,” admitted Malekith. “She is like to me as a lover wh
o has spurned my attentions many times, and yet her gaze lingers upon me always, tempting me with the notion that one day she will accept my advances. However, if what you say is true, then perhaps it is too late for me; the beauty of youth has faded and Ulthuan perhaps is on the decline into infirmity and then a swift passing away. Perhaps it is better this way, that we break our ties to that small isle, and reach out to the wider world.”

  Morathi strode across the room, her face a mask of fury, and slapped Malekith across the cheek. In instinct he raised his hand to reply in kind, but Morathi was as quick as a serpent and snatched his wrist in her fingers, her long and sharpened nails digging so deep into the flesh that blood trickled across her hand.

  “How dare you!” the seeress hissed. “Your father gave his life for Ulthuan, and it took his death to save her! I thought I had raised you better than this. I thought that you had not become one of those prancing, preening fools that pass as princes in Bel Shanaar’s court. How dare you condemn Ulthuan to death by indifference! Your father laid down his life to protect our isle, who are you to do different?”

  Malekith snatched away his wrist with a snarl and made to turn, but Morathi was relentless and grabbed his arm and spun him around to face her.

  “You dare to turn your back on me, just as you turn your back on your homeland!” she snarled. “Perhaps the First Council was right not to choose you; not because of a darkness upon you, but because you are weak and undeserving.”

  “What more could I do?” demanded Malekith. “I have conquered new lands in the name of Nagarythe, and brokered the greatest alliance our people will ever see. What more can I give to Ulthuan?”

  “Yourself,” said Morathi. “When Aenarion died, he left Ulthuan a legacy, and you are part of it. To rule is also to serve, Aenarion understood that. He served Khaine, for there was no other master worthy of his fealty. You must be prepared to serve a high purpose, a great power.”