by Gav Thorpe
‘To allow ourselves to be divided would bring about a terrible age of anarchy,’ warned Thyriol, who had begun to pace back and forth beside the king’s throne. ‘The rule of the realms is fragile still, and the greatest of our leaders are beyond these shores in the colonies across the ocean.’
‘The greatest of our leaders sits upon this throne,’ said Elodhir, his eyes narrowing.
‘I spoke not of one individual,’ said Thyriol, raising a placating hand. ‘Yet I would wish it that Prince Malekith were here, if only to settle the matter of his people in Nagarythe. In his absence we are reluctant to prosecute investigations within his realm.’
‘Well, Malekith is not here, while we are,’ said Bel Shanaar sharply. He paused for a moment, passing a trembling hand across his forehead. ‘It matters not. Thyriol, what is the counsel of the mages of Saphery?’
The mage-prince ceased his pacing and turned on his heel to face the Phoenix King. He folded his arms, which disappeared within the sleeves of his voluminous robe, and pursed his lips in thought.
‘You were correct to speak of dark magic, your majesty,’ Thyriol said quietly. ‘Our divinations sense a growing weight of evil energy gathering in the vortex. It pools within the Annulii Mountains, drawn here by the practices of the cults. Sacrifice of an unnatural kind is feeding the ill winds. Whether it is the purpose of the cults or simply an unintended result of their ceremonies, we cannot say. This magic is powerful but dangerous, and no mage will wield it.’
‘There is no means by which this dark magic cannot be spent safely?’ asked Imrik. He thought of the sacrifice of his grandfather, trapped forever in the eye of the vortex so that such dark magic would not pollute the world.
‘The vortex dissipates some of its power, and would cleanse the winds in due course were the dark magic not fuelled further,’ explained Thyriol. ‘Unfortunately, there is nothing we can do to hasten this, other than to stop the cults practising their sorcery.’
‘And so we return again to our main question,’ sighed Bel Shanaar. ‘How might we rid ourselves of these cults?’
‘Firm action,’ growled Imrik. ‘Muster the princes; send out the call to arms. Sweep away this infestation with blade and bow.’
‘What you suggest threatens civil war,’ Thyriol cautioned.
‘To stand idle threatens equal destruction,’ said Elodhir.
‘And would you lead this army, Imrik?’ Bel Shanaar asked, turning in his throne to stare intently at the Caledorian prince.
‘I would not,’ Imrik replied sharply. ‘Caledor yet remains free of this taint, and I seek to maintain the peace that we have.’
‘Saphery has no generals of renown,’ said Thyriol with a shrug. ‘I think that you will find the other realms reluctant to risk open war.’
‘Then who shall lead the hunt?’ pleaded Elodhir, his exasperation clear in his voice.
‘Captain Carathril,’ said Bel Shanaar. Carathril jolted in surprise.
‘How might I be of service, your majesty?’ Carathril asked.
‘I dispense with your duties to the Guard of Lothern,’ said Bel Shanaar, standing up. ‘You are loyal and trustworthy, devoted to our people and the continuance of peace and just rule. From this moment, I appoint you as my herald, the mouth of the Phoenix King. You will take word to the princes of the fourteen realms. I will ask if there is one amongst them who is willing to prosecute the destruction of these intolerable cults. This peril that besets us is no less than the division of our people and the destruction of our civilisation. We must stand strong, and proud, and drive out these faithless practitioners of deceit. The gratitude of our lands and this office will be heaped upon the prince that delivers us from this darkness.’
Imrik saw Thyrinor’s brow raised at this unprecedented declaration.
‘Your change of heart is welcome,’ said Finudel. ‘What has caused it to be altered?’
‘A prince is dead,’ said Bel Shanaar. ‘There can be no path that is not shadowed with darkness from this time on. The path will grow longer if we wait, and Imrik is correct. Matters are reaching a head, and who can say what fresh turmoil in Nagarythe might spread into the other kingdoms. We must act swiftly lest more become lost in the darkness. We cannot give our enemies the winter to move against us.’
‘Yet you do not have a general,’ said Thyriol.
All eyes turned to Imrik.
‘No,’ said the Caledorian. ‘There are others who have waged war in the colonies, and even a few princes who fought beside Aenarion. They will be capable of leading your army.’
Not wishing to discuss the matter further, Imrik strode from the hall, content that he had achieved his goal. Thyrinor hurried after him and caught up just as the doors were closed behind them.
‘This is a great opportunity for Caledor,’ said his cousin. ‘Be sensible, Imrik. You know that the princes will choose a general from amongst their number, and there will be great prestige attached to the position. Other ranks of importance will be filled, and the esteem of that kingdom will grow further. Bel Shanaar is nearing the end of his natural span, and there are princes that already position themselves to claim the Phoenix Throne.’
‘What has that to do with me?’ said Imrik.
‘Imagine what Caledor could achieve if Caledrian was to become the next Phoenix King?’
Imrik stopped in his stride and turned on Thyrinor.
‘And that is your only thought?’ he snapped. ‘Or perhaps it is your own prestige that occupies your plans? Caledor does not need the Phoenix Crown to be the greatest of the kingdoms.’
‘Your accusations are harsh, cousin,’ declared Thyrinor, though his embarrassed countenance betrayed his guilt. ‘The empowerment of Caledor is to the benefit of all our princes, you included.’
‘I want nothing more than I have,’ said Imrik, resuming his long stride along the corridor. ‘Had I desired more glory, I would put myself forward as Bel Shanaar’s general.’
‘You are being selfish, to rob your brothers of this opportunity,’ said Thyrinor.
‘Yes, I am,’ replied Imrik. ‘Since my coming of age I have done all that has been asked of me without complaint. I have spent most of my life earning riches and glory for Caledor. Now I wish to have the time to see my son grow and learn, and perhaps even give him a brother or sister.’
Exasperated, Thyrinor turned away, leaving Imrik to depart the palaces alone. Imrik crossed the plaza outside the palaces to the house that had been set aside for the Caledorians. The chief of the servants, Lathinorian, met him as he stepped over the threshold.
‘A messenger from Prince Caledrian arrived,’ said Lathinorian. ‘He awaits you in the second chamber.’
‘I have no need to send a message,’ said Imrik. ‘Send him back to Caledrian with the news that we have been successful. I shall convey the rest myself when I return.’
‘We are leaving soon, prince?’ said Lathinorian. ‘Shall we begin preparations for our departure?’
‘We leave tomorrow,’ said Imrik. ‘I am tired of Tor Anroc.’
With that, Imrik headed upstairs to his bedchambers, and left instruction that he was not to be disturbed.
Nothing broke Imrik’s thoughts; he heard no sound save the wind whistling across the mountains. He looked out of the window and watched Anatheria with Tythanir; the boy was holding a wooden sword and shield and under the instruction of Celebrith making strikes at a small straw dummy set up in the middle of the lawn. The boy had insisted he be allowed to train with a sword. Anatheria had worried her son had been caught up in the dark talk of cults and war that had filled the palace corridors of late, but Imrik had been in no mood to deny his son what he wanted.
The prince knew the peace of the scene was an oddity. Tor Caled had hosted heralds from one kingdom or another for a considerable time; many of them coming to entreat Caledrian or one of his princes to take up the office of the Phoenix King’s general. All had been declined. Caledrian had no more desire than Imrik to leave his kingdo
m during these troubled times, and had forbidden any other prince of the realm from answering the call. He was insistent, with Imrik’s support, that Caledor was not entangled in the politics of this new army. When a suitable candidate was appointed, the kingdom would send such warriors as they could spare to fight under another elf.
Thyrinor and Dorien had argued differently, and with some cause. They had claimed it was foolish to allow the other kingdoms to choose a general without Caledor having a say in the matter. If Caledorian warriors were to fight, their princes should know who they would follow. Caledrian had asked if Imrik would return to Tor Anroc to take part in the selection debates, but Imrik had flatly refused.
Having returned once and been sent away again, Imrik was determined that nothing would disrupt his time with his family. His relationship with Anatheria had improved significantly, and Tythanir was growing fond of his father. Imrik was not about to risk these developments by abandoning them again, even if only for a little while.
Entertained by his son’s antics, Imrik barely heard the door opening behind him, guessing it to be a servant. It was with surprise that he turned at the sound of his older brother’s voice.
‘Imrik, I must speak with you,’ said Caledrian.
Caledor’s ruler was grim of mood, and Imrik could tell from his brother’s expression that he was not anxious to have this conversation.
‘What is it?’ said Imrik. ‘You could have sent for me.’
‘This is not a discussion between ruler and prince, but between brothers,’ said Caledrian, sitting on a couch and looking past Imrik, out of the window. ‘I have received Carathril, the Phoenix King’s herald. The princes are finally gathering at Tor Anroc to choose a general. Not only that, rumour spreads, that there is outright war in Nagarythe, between Morathi and others who would see her reign ended.’
‘Grave news, but to be expected,’ said Imrik, turning his back to the window to rest against the sill. ‘What of it?’
‘I want you to go to Tor Anroc.’ Caledrian looked away as he said it, casting his eyes downwards.
‘No,’ said Imrik. ‘Go yourself, or send Dorien or Thyrinor.’
‘I cannot,’ said Caledrian. ‘Dorien will undo all progress made with his rashness and Thyrinor is too willing to accommodate Bel Shanaar. It must be you.’
‘Why can you not go? The other ruling princes will expect it.’
‘And they will seek to settle past disagreements,’ said Caledrian. ‘I have not protected Caledor’s prosperity by endearing myself to my fellow rulers. My presence would be as disruptive as Dorien’s.’
‘You said you come as brother, not lord,’ said Imrik. ‘This sounds like a command.’
‘It is not,’ said Caledrian. ‘I will not force you to go.’
‘Nor could you,’ said Imrik.
‘This will not be like last time,’ promised Caledrian. ‘Bel Shanaar is on the brink of brokering an agreement between the kingdoms to deal with Nagarythe. This is far more than just a campaign against the cults. The Phoenix King wants to persuade the others to unite and force Nagarythe into negotiation. If Caledor is not present, Bel Shanaar believes the others will baulk at the prospect.’
‘What happened to your vow not to interfere in the other kingdoms?’ said Imrik. ‘Now you speak of invasion.’
‘Not a prospect I desire, but one that is forced upon us,’ said Caledrian. He crossed the room and laid a hand on Imrik’s arm. ‘With the revelation of Aeltherin’s treachery, it has the other princes distrusting each other more than ever. However, none doubt the integrity of Caledor and her princes. They know that we would never fall under the influence of Nagarythe. More than that, it is you that commands their respect, even if few are willing to admit it. Brother, we are on the brink of war and I need your help. Your presence will reassure our allies and cow those who would seek to oppose action.’
Imrik pulled away his arm and stared out of the window, watching as Tythanir made a clumsy hack at the dummy, Celebrith helping to guide his blow.
‘What manner of world will your son see?’ Caledrian said behind him. ‘Our grandfather gave his life to protect us from the daemons. Our father put his trust in Bel Shanaar, and sacrificed himself for the prosperity of this kingdom. What I ask is not so great a price; just a little of your time.’
The mention of Imrik’s forefathers rankled him, but he could not deny what Caledrian said. What reason could he give to refuse? All sounded as vain excuses; in truth they were and Imrik despised himself for clinging to them. Yet the simple fact remained that he did not wish to be Caledor’s ambassador, and had even less inclination to get involved with a war against the Naggarothi.
Confrontation was inevitable. Even if Bel Shanaar lacked the courage to act directly against Nagarythe, the purge of the cults would be a blow to Naggarothi esteem. Even if only half of the rumours concerning the strife in Nagarythe were true, it was still far from a stable kingdom.
As he watched Tythanir pretending to be a warrior, Imrik felt a moment of disgust. Of course he wanted his son to grow up skilled with sword and lance and bow; but what right did Imrik have to make that choice for him? There was a good chance that Bel Shanaar would pull back from his utter commitment to eradicate the cults and bring the Naggarothi to heel. Fifty years had passed since Malekith had abandoned his own people; anything could happen in the next fifty if nothing changed.
‘I’ll go,’ said Imrik, his knuckles white as he gripped the window sill. ‘Tonight. No delay will make the parting any easier.’
‘I love you, brother, and would not ask of this of any other,’ said Caledrian, placing his hand on Imrik’s shoulder. ‘Ensure that Bel Shanaar will see through this campaign to the end, and help the other princes choose a good general. When that is done, I will ask no more of you.’
There was no doubting Caledrian’s honest intent, but Imrik knew that such a promise would never be kept. A war was about to be waged on Ulthuan and until it was concluded, there would be no peace for Imrik or any other prince.
The atmosphere of Tor Anroc was even more fevered than during Imrik’s last visit. He had left behind Dorien and Thyrinor, wanting no distractions. They had complained bitterly, as Imrik had expected, until he had made it clear he would consider their presence an irritation and a hindrance. Dorien was slightly mollified by Imrik’s request that he stay as guardian to Anatheria and Tythanir; as yet he had no family to care for. Thyrinor had been even more stubborn, and only when Caledrian had commanded his cousin to stay in Tor Caled had the matter been settled.
Much had already been decided before Imrik’s arrival, for which he was grateful. Having determined to prosecute a campaign against the cultists, it appeared that Bel Shanaar was fully committed, despite Imrik and Caledrian’s misgivings on this point.
Several princes had already announced which of their noble houses would bring their warriors to the effort, though Imrik had no such promises from his brother. If all went well, the princes of Caledor would not be required; it had been long years since the dragons of Caledor had fought upon Ulthuan’s soil and all in the kingdom desired that such a thing remained a memory. The deployment of such force was not only impractical in a campaign against scattered, small cults, it would incense the Naggarothi without question and force their hand.
So Imrik spent his time in the hall of Bel Shanaar and listened as noble after noble and prince after prince staked their warriors to the cause and their claim to the generalship. Most were given short shrift by the Phoenix King and princes; untested leaders who had not seen battle. It was a problem for all of the kingdoms; their most warlike folk and most accomplished commanders had long quit these shores for a more adventurous life building and guarding the colonies.
On the second day after his arrival, Finudel and Athielle came to the court and pledged the support of Ellyrion. Thyriol made oaths on behalf of Saphery, and volunteered his own magical prowess to the cause. From Yvresse and Chrace and Cothique princes offered themselves in
response to Bel Shanaar’s call.
Yet for all the martial talk and posturing, two questions remained: who would lead the army, and where would it be sent? There seemed to be an ongoing struggle between the princes, unspoken but no less tenacious than any battle with armies. Even within the camps of the different kingdoms there was division: some who committed troops wanted to be the first to benefit, while others saw gain in the upheaval falling elsewhere first.
Again and again Imrik turned away those that would see him raised up as the Phoenix King’s general. The idea was proposed again by Finudel, two days after he had arrived.
‘There is none of us so well equipped for this honour as you,’ said the Ellyrian prince, when the council had gathered in Bel Shanaar’s hall. ‘Save perhaps for the efforts of Malekith, none has achieved greater deeds of arms in recent history.’
‘That makes it somebody else’s turn,’ replied Imrik.
There was some laughter at this, but Imrik’s scowl showed he had intended no joke and silenced them.
‘We could bring back Aerenthis, perhaps?’ suggested Thyriol. ‘As warden of Athel Maraya he is experienced in war.’
‘He has already declined,’ said Bel Shanaar with a long sigh. ‘As have Litheriun, Menathuis, Orlandril and Cathellion.’
‘Then if no other will take this burden, I shall do it,’ said Elodhir.
‘A noble offer, but one I cannot accept,’ said the Phoenix King. ‘I have told you before that the general cannot be of Tiranoc. If this army is to fight under my authority, it must be led by a prince of another kingdom, so that no accusation can be levelled that I favour my own kingdom above any other.’
‘There must be some way to resolve this,’ said Finudel. ‘In Ellyrion, twenty thousand cavalry and ten thousand spears await the command of a general. Who is to lead them?’