The sundering, p.1
The Sundering, page 1
The Sundering
By
GavThorpe
Product Description
Malekith, betrayer and usurper, architect of the great war that will forever divide the race of elves. Alith Anar, wrathful avenger whose spirit will forever haunt the traitorous druchii. Caledor, reluctant leader, the one elf who can hold back the darkness and restore peace to Ulthuan. Witch King, Shadow King and Phoenix King. Their deeds are legend. This is their story.
No act from the Time of Legends is so profound, so despicable, as the fall of Malekith. His is a story of great battles, fell magic and a world conquered by sword and spell.
There was once a time when all was order, now so distant that no mortal creature can remember it. Since time immemorial the elves have dwelt upon the isle of Ulthuan. Here they learnt the secrets of magic from their creators, the mysterious Old Ones. Under the rule of the Everqueen they dwelt upon their idyllic island unblemished by woe.
When the coming of Chaos destroyed the civilisation of the Old Ones, the elves were left without defence. Daemons of the Chaos Gods ravaged Ulthuan and terrorised the elves. From the darkness of this torment rose Aenarion, the Defender, the first of the Phoenix Kings.
Aenarion’s life was one of war and strife, yet through the sacrifice of Aenarion and his allies, the daemons were defeated and the elves were saved. In his wake the elves prospered for an age, but all their grand endeavours were to be for naught. All that the elves strived for would be laid to ruin by another of Aenarion’s legacies—his son, Prince Malekith.
Where once there was harmony, there came discord. Where once peace had prevailed, now came bitter war.
Heed now this tale of the Sundering.
Table of Contents
Map
Introduction
Aenarion
Malekith
Part One
One: Broken Legacy
Two: Voyage to Elthin Arvan
Three: Slaughter at Athel Toralien
Four: Unheralded Allies
Five: The High King
Six: Beasts in the Mountains
Seven: An Alliance Forged
Eight: The Passing of an Age
Nine: A Delayed Departure
Ten: The Call of Khaine
Eleven: The Finding of the Circlet
Twelve: Primordial Foes
Part Two
Thirteen: The Malaise of Luxury
Fourteen: The Phoenix King’s Court
Fifteen: A Bold Oath
Sixteen: A Journey to Darkness
Seventeen: The March to Ealith
Eighteen: A Foe Revealed
Nineteen: Malekith’s War
Twenty: The Battle of Anlec
Twenty-One: A Destiny Manifested
Twenty-Two: The Wheels of Power Turn
Twenty-Three: A Council Convened
Twenty-Four: An Act of Infamy
Twenty-Five: The Wrath of Asuryan
Glossary
The Bloody Handed
One: A Cruel Slight
Two: Lord of Murder
Three: The Path of Blood
Four: Anointed in Battle
Five: The Cult Grows
Six: Khaine’s Legacy
Shadow King
PART ONE
One: The Young Hunter
Two: Darkness from Anlec
Three: The Prince Returns
Four: Herald of Khaine
Five: Clothed in Darkness
Six: Anlec Restored
PART TWO
Seven: A Bitter Parting
Eight: A Dark Plan Revealed
Nine: Darkness Descends
Ten: A Loyal Traitor
Eleven: A Beacon of Hope
Twelve: Dark Fen
Thirteen: The Fall of House Anar
PART THREE
Fourteen: Pursued by Darkness
Fifteen: The Clarion Sounds
Sixteen: Blood on the Plains
Seventeen: A Bitter Fate
Eighteen: The Call of Kurnous
Nineteen: Child of the Wolf and the Moon
Twenty: The Taming of the Wolf
Twenty-One: An Oath Fulfilled
Twenty-Two: Blades of Anlec
Twenty-Three: The Night of Dark Knives
Twenty-Four: Strength of Elanardris
Twenty-Five: Return to Anlec
Twenty-Six: The Witch King
The Dark path
Caledor
PART ONE
ONE: Pride of Caledor
TWO: The Prince Returns
THREE: The Flames are Fanned
FOUR: The Council of Princes
PART TWO
FIVE: A King is Chosen
SIX: The Hunters Set Forth
SEVEN: The Road to Chrace
EIGHT: A New Legend
NINE: From the Flames
TEN: Lothern Attacked
ELEVEN: The Black Dragons
TWELVE: Avelorn Withers
THIRTEEN: An Age Ends
PART THREE
FOURTEEN: Rivers of Blood
FIFTEEN: The Hammer of Vaul
SIXTEEN: A New Power
SEVENTEEN: More Blood on the Plains
EIGHTEEN: The Phoenix Resurgent
NINETEEN: A Deadly Dance
TWENTY: A Fateful Clash
TWENTY-ONE: The Sundering
EPILOGUE
Never Forgive
About The Author
Introduction
The creation of The Sundering began a couple of years before it was published, before there was a Time of legend series to give it a home. It started when I was still working in the Games Workshop Design Studio. I was heading up the new edition of Warhammer Armies: Dark Elves, and part of my self-appointed brief was to present a more dark elf-orientated perspective on the events that are portrayed in this book, because frankly most of this stuff had only previously been related in terms of the high elves.
To do this meant going back to the original source material, written by the great William (aka Bill) King. Immersing myself in the ancient history of the elves again, I was struck by how epic and cool this tale was, and was determined to make it as epic and cool from the perspective of Malekith and his followers.
At this point, my thoughts started stretching beyond the background for the dark elves army book, coming up with the notion of a series of Black Library novels that detailed the events of the Sundering and the time that led up to this catastrophic event. I sketched out a rough plan for how the trilogy might work, and prepared a more detailed synopsis for the first novel and sent them down to Black Library (after getting an okay from the Powers That Be that dabbling in this sort of ‘historical’ fiction was acceptable).
Interesting fact #1: The first titles were somewhat different, being Flames of Treachery, Vengeance of the Witch King, and Rise of the Phoenix King.
Not a lot happened straightaway, though the Black Library editors liked the idea in principle.
I got on with my life and other work, wrote some other novels and continued with the dark elves army book and other projects.
Maybe a year later (it might not have been quite that long). I had a meeting with the editors in which they explained this idea they had for a Warhammer series that would, in a way, mirror what was happening with the Horus Heresy in the Warhammer 40,000 universe. The Sundering would fit right in with their plans for the Time of Legends, so we returned to the original proposals and the series was commissioned.
Everything was peachy and I was making good progress on the first book. As anyone with any experience of life (and in particular publishing) will know, that is just when a wheel is likely to fall off. In case of The Sundering it began with a discussion about the tittle of the first book.
The folks at Black Library were very keen to call the book Malekith. This would fit with the titling principles of the other novels being planned, and would be a strong marketing hook amongst the Warhammer fans. I had a problem with this, because the character of Malekith did not really emerge until the final third of the novel, and I thought it would be disingenuous to name the novel after him when he wasn’t a major character.
Interesting fact #2: The main viewpoint character of the trilogy was originally Captain Carathril of the Lothern Guard. He still features in the series but nowhere near as prominently.
The cordial but tense discussion that followed resulted in a bit of a standoff. Ultimately it is up to the publishers what tittle they want to put on a book, but I was feeling uncomfortable about the situation. The wheel was wobbling but it was still on the axle…
It was then that I had a revelation. I was writing the wrong book!
In fact, I was writing entirely the wrong series, and committing a grievous tie-in writing sin that I had, in private, moaned about encountering in the work of a few other writers. You see, Warhammer fans would want to read all about the characters they know and love/hate from the existing history. In the other series for Time of Legends they were learning about Sigmar, Nagash, and other luminaries, and I was telling the story of my own character—Carathril—rather than the figures of legend that the series was supposed to feature.
Black Library, editors and salesmen alike, were right. It was time to go back to basics and re-plan the trilogy from scratch. Unlike the other Time of Legends series that each focus on the exploits of one character over several novels, I thought it would be good to see the events of the Sundering from differing perspectives. I have always been keen to show that there is rarely a definitive line b etween good and evil, right and wrong. Events are shaped by people and their goals, ambitions, and personality, and the Sundering presented an opportunity to look at, in particular, the three major players of elven discord: Malekith, Alith Anar the Shadow King, and Prince Imrik of Caledor.
Suddenly everything made more sense. This was not so much a series of novels about an historic event, but instead I would be writing something a bit more personal, examining the motives and exploits of three very different characters.
There was a lot of the text I had written that was still useful across the three books, about 30,000 of the 45,000 words I had in place, and as it turns out I have probably enjoyed writing this series far more than I would have done under the initial plan.
And there is still so much more that could be written—other characters to explore and other events to detail. The Sundering is a beginning as much as an end, and I hope to return to the great history of the elves at some point in the future.
I hope you enjoy this journey through the dark days of Ulthuan as much as I had fun writing it.
Gav Thorpe
Nottingham, November 2011
Aenarion
The world had been torn asunder. Across the isle of Ulthuan the elves quailed in their towers as the skies burned with purple and blue fire and the fields and mountains heaved. Nightmare voices howled and bellowed while leering faces tortured the dark clouds that swirled around the mountain peaks and snarled in the waves of the Inner Sea.
The daemons came in their thousands—a horde of baying, shrieking slaughter. Against such ferocity and spite the elves had no defence. They fell to infernal blade and savage claw: elder and babe, lords and ladies, dragged screaming to their deaths by the minions of the Chaos Gods.
The world seemed fated to an eternity of torment.
Out of the madness arose Aenarion. He would not see his people destroyed and so called upon the gods to deliver the elves from destruction; but the gods were silent. Aenarion could see nothing but doom for the world and so he offered himself to Asuryan, lord of the gods. He strode into the Eternal Flame with oaths of sacrifice upon his lips. The flames burned bright and Aenarion was consumed. Yet the elven lord was spared the wrath of Asuryan and received the blessing of the gods. He emerged from the fire filled with a fey light and took up spear and bow to fight the daemons.
The elves proclaimed Aenarion the Defender, the blessed Phoenix King of Asuryan, and where he led others followed; where he fought, the daemons were thrown back. Great were his victories and many are the tales told elsewhere of the Phoenix King’s battles. Mighty heroes rallied to Aenarion’s banner; elves such as Caledor the Dragontamer, greatest of the elven mages, and Eoloran Anar who first raised the Phoenix King’s standard; names forever entwined with the legend of the first Phoenix King.
After much war, peace settled upon Ulthuan again. Aenarion came to the court of the Everqueen, Astarielle, ruler of the elves from the time before Chaos. The two were wed and lived in happiness, bringing into the world their son Morelion and their daughter Yvraine.
Yet legends are not born in times of prosperity and contentment, but are created in ages of woe and strife. The peace for which Aenarion had fought so hard did not last forever, and so it was that the daemons returned to ravage the land. This time there was no surcease from the bloodshed. For a hundred years the daemons assailed the isle of the elves. Aenarion and his armies were ever hard-pressed, fighting many battles across Ulthuan. It was at Caethrin Gorge that the future of the elves would be changed forever.
Laughter cackled on the unnatural wind that swept down between the slopes of Tir Alinith and Anul Caethrin. The sky was heavy with clouds of purple and green, blazes of black and red flashing across the Chaotic storm. The stench of sulphur and decay carried along the gorge, heralding the daemonic host boiling up from the plains towards the mountains in the south of Ulthuan.
On the dark volcanic slopes stood Aenarion. Gold shone from his armour, his tapered shield and the tip of his long spear. Around him were arranged the lords of elves, swathed in scales of silver, adorned with sapphire and emerald. No less shimmering were the scales of the dragons that circled overhead, watching for the approaching Chaotic horde; red and blue, bronze and ebon.
Aenarion gazed down the long valley, lifting a long-fingered hand to shield his dark eyes against the magical glare above. Black hair trailed from beneath the Phoenix King’s gilded helm and whipped across his scarlet cloak. Behind him stood Eoloran, a golden stave in hand from which flew the banner of Aenarion; the white of death embroidered with a phoenix rising from multi-coloured flames. The lord of the Anars watched in silence as Aenarion turned to his left, where stood Caledor the Dragontamer, mage-lord of Ulthuan. It was by Caledor’s hand that the Phoenix King’s armour and weapons had been forged, in the temple of the Smith-God Vaul, hidden amongst the fires of the volcanoes behind the elven army.
The Phoenix King spoke calmly, showing no sign of apprehension.
‘The time has come for you to unleash such enchantments as you possess, Caledor.’
The Dragontamer turned his gaze upon his king, eyes alight with mystical energy.
‘’Tis a dangerous path to tread; to turn the powers of the foe upon them. That power that keeps your speartip keen and your armour sure is the same that brings forth these abominations. I fear that the more we delve into that well, the greater the horrors we bring forth. This is not the gentle magic that our ancestors learned, but a dangerous sorcery that it would be wise to diminish.’
The Phoenix King replied quickly.
‘It is not the time to speak again of this plan of yours. Battle is at hand and I would no more ask you to keep your incantations unsaid than I would lay down my spear. All that matters this day is that we are victorious. Should we fail, the Anvil of Vaul would fall to our foes. How then will your mages and priests arm us for this war?’
Caledor shook his head and took a deep breath. His blue robes fluttered in the wind as he stretched wide his arms. At the foot of the valley the daemons could be seen; a mass of riotous colour in many sizes and forms.
