It was then that she heard the rumbling and saw the first glimmer of surf in the distance. She knew immediately what it meant and hastily returned to the pentacle drawn in blood at the centre of the chamber.
The magic was a wild, bucking stallion that refused to be broken to her will, slipping and rearing from her grasp as she chanted madly, trying to reach into the maelstrom of energy for the power needed to cast her spell.
She finally latched on to a straying aura of dark magic. Slitting her breast with her sacrificial dagger, she offered up her own blood to seal the conjuration. Dark magic rushed into her, as the sea rushed to fill the gap that had been made along the shore.
Drutheira plunged her spirit down into the foundations of the tower, carrying with her the formless cloud of dark energy. She allowed herself to seep down into the rocks and tunnels on which the tower stood, breaking them free from the strata of the earth beneath. Further and further she stretched her spell, opening up massive cracks around the outer wall of the citadel, lifting the entire structure from the bedrock.
Returning to her body, she stared out of the window and saw that she had cast the spell just in time.
Malekith turned, gripping the rail of the balcony tight as the palace swayed on its foundations, turrets and towers crashing down onto the buildings below in a flurry of broken stone and tiles.
To the north was a wall of white. It looked like fog at first, a bank of cloud swiftly approaching from the north-west. It brought an odd hissing, which deepened as the cloud came closer.
Malekith felt a moment of dread as he realised it was not a cloud that approached, but a wall of water.
As though the ocean had heaved itself up in protest, a tidal wave stretched across the horizon, shining in the moonlight, as high as the tallest tower of Anlec.
The wave buried Nagarythe under its titanic assault and crashed across the Naganar into Tiranoc. Sweeping everything before it, the onrushing ocean crushed towns, flattened forests and cast down city walls.
In Elanardris Alith Anar looked on in horror as the kingdom he had claimed as his was drowned. The water surged up the mountain valleys, washing away the remains of the manse of the Anars. The foaming surge drove up the river valleys, obliterating everything in its path.
Shouting warnings to his followers, the Shadow King led them higher up the slopes, abandoning their rude huts and cave dwellings to the encroaching sea. Many on the lower slopes had no time to escape. Tents and campfires were engulfed by the frothing mass, which swallowed up hundreds of elves, young and old, dragging them to their deaths and crashing their bodies with uprooted trees and grinding boulders.
The ruins of Tor Anroc were drowned. Water coursed along the ancient tunnel-streets of the city and poured through the shattered remnants of the palace. The great white cliffs crumbled and the orchards of cherry and apple were obliterated. Bel Shanaar’s throne room filled with water, the benches and throne rising with the water, swirled and smashed together by the torrent raging through the broken windows.
The alleys and passageways became swirling rivers, the rising sea smashing through doors to fill the subterranean workshops and stores, the walls and buildings of the noble manses pulverised by the deluge. The great towers at the gate were cast down, crumbling stone by stone into the all-encompassing flood.
Finally the great pinnacle of Tor Anroc toppled. Magic flaring as the needle-like structure fell, for a brief moment the blue fire of the Phoenix King burned again, before it too was drowned by the incoming waters.
Far to the south, Dorien was awoken from a deep sleep during which he had dreamed of an army of daemons besieging Tor Caled. Roused from his slumber, he sat up in bed, haunted by the strange voices that lingered after the dream had passed.
He felt the first tremors shaking the bed and was filled with foreboding. Pushing himself to his feet, he was hurled off the ground as the whole of the palace rose and fell in a moment, followed by an ear-splitting crack.
Alarm bells and gongs were ringing all across the city. The prince fumbled his way to the great windows that led onto the balcony overlooking Tor Caled. Throwing open the doors, he moved out to the rail and turned to look back at the mountains, which shouldered up over the city.
Fire burst from the peak of Anul Caled. Flame and smoke wreathed the mountaintop and burning rocks sailed high into the skies. Cracks were opening up on the mountainside, venting flame and vapour, rivulets of lava beginning to pour from the breaches.
There were shouts and screams from the city below. Dorien looked down across the levels of Tor Caled and saw torches and lamps moving in the darkness as elves fled from their homes. The fortifications were tumbling down and buildings collapsing as Tor Caled continued to buck and heave alongside the volcanoes’ eruptions.
The moat of lava surged and raged against the magical wards holding it in check. The bridges across the fiery river swayed and fell, their stones disappearing into the red depths. Dorien looked on in horror as those trying to flee the city were plunged to their flaming deaths.
They were trapped inside the city.
A cloud of hot ash swept down from Anul Caled, a billowing miasma of darkness and death that engulfed the city in moments. Dorien fought for breath in the superheated air, choking on the fumes and heat of the cloud. Along with thousands of those over whom he had been guardian, the prince was quickly engulfed by the ash, his clothes and hair burning, his skin peeling away even as his flesh petrified.
To the east, across the great expanse of the Inner Sea, the mages of Saphery had been lending their weight to the duel for control of the vortex. In the palace of Saphethion, Menreir and a cohort of fellow mages chanted and channelled, seeking to avert the disaster befalling their isle.
They too felt the reappearance of Caledor Dragontamer and paused in their incantations, wondering at the import of the event. As they watched the counter-vortex begin to take shape, the crystalline nervous system of Saphethion started to resonate with the new wave of magic pouring into the world. The diamondlike heart of the city quivered and shook in its golden nest, vibrating in tune with the whirling storm of magic and anti-magic raging through the vortex.
With a detonation that resounded in the minds of the mages, the crystal heart shattered, rocking the city from within. Magic exploded along the crystal lodeways, splitting rock with showers of fire and lightning.
Saphethion seemed to sag in the air.
Horrified, the mages could do nothing as the floating city descended towards the foothills of the Annulii. The streets outside the palace were quickly thronged with elves, screaming and shouting, while eagles and pegasi launched from the stablehouses, taking their riders to safety.
Menreir and the others did what they could to slow the city’s descent, but it was too little. Towers and buildings were flattened as Saphethion crashed into a hillside, roofs collapsing, filling the streets with debris, crushing hundreds of elves with falling masonry and beams.
Secondary magical detonations rocked the city, causing blazes to spread through some quarters as tanneries and workshops caught fire. The palace itself was wreathed in magical energy, lightning forking from tower tops to walls, while within the building the many magical artefacts and devices of the Sapherians burned and glowed, hissed and spat with more magic than the world had seen for an age.
In Nagarythe, Malekith’s sorcerous followers watched in horror as the tidal wave engulfed their lands. They used the last of their dark powers to protect their citadels, casting enchantments that sundered the foundations of their towers, allowing them to be lifted up by the wave like immense ships.
In Anlec, Morathi wreathed the palace of Aenarion with her magic, though she could not protect the rest of the city. Water crashed against the towering pinnacle, smashing away stone and brick. Calling upon her daemonic allies, the sorceress ripped the immense palace free from the city, the water boiling and frothing below it as the massive edifice rose up above the waves and Anlec was tumbled into ruin.
>
EPILOGUE
Thousands had been slain by the catastrophe. Whether slain during the brief but deadly daemonic incursion, drowned by the tidal wave or crushed by the earthquakes, all of Ulthuan had suffered the wrath of the vortex’s detonation. Caledor made his way immediately to the Isle of the Flame, knowing that it was to the Shrine of Asuryan that the princes would come.
Over time they did, each bringing tales of woe and loss from their kingdoms. Thyriol did not arrive though, and Caledor sent an expedition to seek him. They returned from the Isle of the Dead with the grim news that they had found the Sapherian prince, locked in stasis surrounded by Caledor Dragontamer and the other mages of old.
Of the druchii there was no sign.
Word was sent to Alith Anar, who despatched Carathril back with a bitter message full of grief and hatred. Western Nagarythe was destroyed and the east ravaged by the vengeful wave. It was a dead land now, laid to waste by the hubris of Malekith. Tor Anroc and the surrounding countryside was now a chain of islands, surrounded by treacherous waters that still spumed and boiled.
The druchii sorcerers who had managed to escape had steered their towers north, towards the ocean.
“And of Malekith and Morathi, the Shadow King believes that they still live,” concluded Carathril. “Anlec is a ruin, but there is no sign of Aenarion’s palace. What do you think that means?”
Caledor’s reply was simple. “The war is not over. We shall never know peace.”
The storm-wracked seas crashed against a harsh shore of rock pinnacles, foaming madly. The skies were in turmoil, blackened by dark magic. Through the spume and rain dark, massive shapes surged across the seas; towering edifices of battlement and wall.
The castles of Nagarythe followed in the wake of the largest floating citadel, upon the highest tower of which stood Malekith. The lashing rain steamed from his armour as he turned at the sound of Morathi’s voice from the archway behind him.
“This is where we flee to?” she said, anger flashing in her eyes. “This cold, bleak land?”
“They will not follow us here,” replied the Witch King. “We are the Naggarothi, we were born in the north and in the north we will be born again. This land, bleak as it is, shall be ours. Naggaroth.”
“To build a new kingdom?” sneered Morathi. “To accept your defeat and start afresh as if Nagarythe had never existed?”
“No,” replied Malekith, flames leaping from his iron body. “We will never forget that which has been taken from us. Ulthuan belongs to me. If it takes a thousand years, ten thousand years, I will claim my rightful place as king. I am the son of Aenarion. It is my destiny.”
~DRAMATIS PERSONAE~
AERENIS - friend of Carathril, lieutenant in the Lothern Guard, cultist dedicated to Ereth Khial. Aerenis has turned to the cult of the dead in an effort to contact the maiden he loved (Glaronielle, killed during the raid by Carathril and Aerenis in “Malekith”). When Lothern is besieged by the druchii, the cultists attempt to rise up within the city and Aerenis’ allegiances are revealed.
ALITH ANAR - the Shadow King of Nagarythe. Alith is an avowed enemy of the druchii, but also a strong advocate of Naggarothi independence. He is distrustful of Caledor (both the realm and the king) and refuses to swear allegiance to the Phoenix Throne. However, he concedes that while the druchii exist, he has more enmity for them than the Phoenix King, and fights alongside other elven armies on several occasions.
ATHIELLE - princess of Ellyrion, horse mistress. An even more able rider and warrior than her brother, Finudel, Athielle is the true heart of the Ellyrians. While her brother is utterly devoted to her, she places the pride and safety of their people above Finudel. Often hot-headed, she nevertheless understands best of all the princes and princesses what sacrifices need to be made in order that Nagarythe and its allies are stopped.
BEL SHANAAR - Phoenix King of Ulthuan, ruler of Tiranoc. Bel Shanaar was chosen for his calmness and wisdom to succeed Aenarion, and becomes the object of Malekith’s hatred. Knowing that the Naggarothi will never truly bend their knee to him, Bel Shanaar allows Nagarythe to go into self-isolation, but is taken aback when the cults of pleasure surface with so much vehemence. He ultimately pays the price for his complacency when Malekith poisons him before the massacre at the shrine, though not soon enough to prevent Bel Shanaar sending a letter to Imrik naming the prince of Caledor general of Ulthuan’s armies.
CARATHRIL - originally a captain of the Lothern Guard, now herald to the Phoenix King. Before his assassination, Carathril is entrusted by Bel Shanaar to carry a message to Imrik, nominating the Caledorian prince as general of Ulthuan’s armies. After the massacre, Carathril must seek Imrik in the wilds of Chrace, and arrives shortly after the attempted slaying by Morathi’s assassins. After this, Carathril breaks off his service to the Phoenix King and returns to Lothern, but when the city is besieged by the druchii, he is swept up in the fighting. Trapped in the city, Carathril ends up facing his friend in the fighting, after which Carathril is all but broken.
CARVALON - prince of Yvresse, grandson of ruling prince Haradrin. Slain by Malekith during the Battle of Maledor.
CHARILL - ruling prince of Chrace. Charill is amongst those princes slain at the Shrine of Asuryan, leaving Koradrel as ruling prince. Carries the weapon Achillar, whose double-headed blade crackled with lightning in his hands. His son Lorichar bears the banner of Tor Achare; the head of a lion in silver thread upon a scarlet background. Present at the assault on Anlec, both were killed in the massacre.
DORIEN - younger brother of Imrik. Arrogant and tactless, Dorien is all for defending Caledor and leaving the rest of Ulthuan to its fate. Fights at the first battle of Ellyrian Plains, where he breaks his leg and briefly meets Alith Anar.
FINUDEL - prince of Ellyrion, horse master. Typically carefree and adventurous like his people, Finudel is an optimist with a great faith in his fellow princes. He is the most shocked by the turning of Malekith, whom he adored, but comes out of his shock as one of the fiercest opponents of the Naggarothi, if somewhat lacking in wisdom and forethought. Utterly devoted to his sister, Athielle. Slain by Malekith during the Battle of Maledor.
ILLEANITH - daughter of Thyriol, mage of Saphery. Illeanith is corrupted by the teachings of dark magic and flees Saphery to join the druchii. She is killed when Malekith’s attempt to overload the vortex is thwarted.
IMRIK/CALEDOR - prince of Caledor, dragonlord, grandson to Caledor Dragontamer, future Phoenix King. Imrik has none of the magical aptitude of his grandfather, but is possessed of the same stubborn will. He is not talkative, sometimes downright taciturn, and is immensely practical in his outlook. It is to Imrik that the other princes turn when Malekith betrays them, and he takes his grandfather’s name upon being crowned as Phoenix King. After the sacrifices his family have made protecting Ulthuan from the daemons, he will go to any lengths to protect the isle and its people against the renegades. He leads by example, sacrificing his own pleasures and future to become a defiant warleader. His father is Menieth, who attended the First Council and died fighting in the colonies to the east. Wields the sword Lathrain (Wrathbringer).
HELLEBRON - a young, ambitious priestess of Khaine with a secret desire to overthrow Morathi. Utterly ruthless and dedicated to the Lord of Murder; after “slaying” the Shadow King Alith Anar, she is a scourge of the elves in Cothique but is forced to flee with the other druchii during the Sundering.
HOTEK - high priest of Vaul. Hotek and some of his followers are corrupted by the druchii and begin to fashion magical weapons for the dark elves in secret. When they are discovered, Hotek abandons his minions and flees to Nagarythe with the Hammer of Vaul. There he forges the Armour of Midnight that turns Malekith into the Witch King.
KORADREL - prince of Chrace, cousin of Imrik. Pragmatic and fiercely loyal, it is Koradrel and his hunters that save Imrik from Morathi’s assassins. After this, Koradrel convinces Imrik to accept his fate to become the Phoenix King of Ulthuan. Present at the assa
ult on Anlec. When Charill and Lorichar are slain, Koradrel takes up the mantle (literally—he wears Charill’s lion cloak) of ruling prince of Chrace, fighting in the north of Ulthuan while Caledor concentrates his efforts to the south.
MALEKITH - son of Aenarion, prince of Nagarythe, dwarf-friend and elven general beyond compare. Malekith was passed over to succeed his father as Phoenix King, and Bel Shanaar was chosen in his place. At first it seems that Malekith stays true to his loyalties to the Phoenix Throne, but in his heart he is wracked with bitterness and disappointment. He believes that only a son of Aenarion can replace his father, and fears that Phoenix Kings not of his line will diminish the power of Ulthuan. He feels he remains true to the elves and their future, but in his quest to regain his throne he is eventually corrupted by Chaos, and becomes utterly bitter and vengeful against those who rejected him. Attempting a coup, Malekith traps the other princes in the Shrine of Asuryan while he walks through the sacred flames—and is hideously burned. He is believed dead for the following twelve years, while being nursed back to health by Morathi, before returning as the immortal Witch King armoured by Hotek. In his twisted mind, Malekith is still the true Phoenix King—after all he has walked through the sacred flames and survived like his father, albeit almost killed by the experience.
MAEDRETHNIR - dragon of Caledor. Following the death of Aenarion and the demise of Caledor Dragontamer, the dragons of Caledor returned to their slumber, save for a few, chief amongst them the dragon Maedrethnir. Maedrethnir is reluctant at first to become embroiled in the woes of the elves, but Imrik convinces the dragon to bear him into battle. Seeing the danger posed by the druchii and the affront of the Naggarothi black dragons, Maedrethnir rouses others of his kind to aid the dragon princes against Malekith. Maedrethnir is wounded by Malekith’s dragon, Sulekh, at the Battle of Maledor but survives the encounter when Imrik slays Sulekh.
[Sundering 03] - Caledor Page 43