The sundering, p.38
The Sundering, page 38
He swung the knight around into the path of another blade, which lanced between his captive’s shoulders and jutted from his chest just a hand’s span from Carathril’s face. Hurling the dead knight backwards, Carathril snatched up the fallen sword and parried another blow. Risking a look over his shoulder, Carathril saw that he was still more than a hundred paces from the shrine, and everywhere the Phoenix Guards fought against the knights. The only noise they made was the clash of their halberds upon sword and armour. With a grunt, Carathril shouldered aside another foe and made a break for the entrance.
‘It is my right to be Phoenix King,’ growled Malekith. ‘It is not yours to give, so I will gladly take it.’
‘Traitor!’ screamed Elodhir, leaping across the table in front of him, scattering goblets and plates. There was uproar as princes and priests shouted and shrieked.
Elodhir dashed across the shrine, and was halfway upon Malekith when Bathinair intercepted him, sending both of them tumbling down in a welter of robes and rugs. Elodhir punched the Yvressian prince, who reeled back. With a snarl, Bathinair reached into his robes and pulled out a curved blade, no longer than a finger, and slashed at Elodhir. Its blade caught the prince’s throat and his lifeblood fountained across the exposed flagstones.
As Bathinair crouched panting over the body of Elodhir, figures appeared at the archway behind Malekith: black-armoured knights of Anlec. The priests and princes who had been running for the arch slipped and collided with each other in their haste to stop their flight. The knights had blood-slicked blades in the hands and advanced with sinister purpose.
Malekith was serene; all trace of his earlier anger had disappeared. He walked slowly forwards as his knights cut and hacked at the princes around him, his eyes never leaving the sacred flame in the centre of the chamber. Screams and howls echoed from the walls but the prince was oblivious to all but the fire.
Out of the melee, Haradrin ran towards Malekith, a captured sword raised above his head. With a contemptuous sneer, the prince of Nagarythe stepped aside from Haradrin’s wild swing and thrust his own sword into Haradrin’s gut. He stood there a moment, the princes staring deep into each other’s eyes, until a trickle of blood spilled from Haradrin’s lips and he collapsed to the floor.
Malekith let the sword fall from his fingers with the body rather than wrench it free, and continued his pacing towards the sacred fire.
‘Asuryan will not accept you!’ cried Mianderin, falling to his knees in front of Malekith, his hands clasped in pleading. ‘You have spilt blood in his sacred temple! We have not cast the proper enchantments to protect you from the flames. You cannot do this!’
‘So?’ spat the prince. ‘I am Aenarion’s heir. I do not need your witchery to protect me.’
Mianderin snatched at Malekith’s hand but the prince tore his fingers from the haruspex’s grasp.
‘I no longer listen to the protestations of priests,’ said Malekith and kicked Mianderin aside.
His hands held out, palms upwards in supplication, Malekith walked forwards and stepped into the flames.
Carathril leaned against a column, catching his breath. He had seen several knights enter the shrine, but the fighting outside was almost done. White-robed corpses littered the plaza alongside black-armoured bodies. Pushing himself upright, his heart hammering, Carathril took a step towards the shrine.
At that moment the ground lurched and flung Carathril from his feet.
The earth beneath him shook violently and columns toppled around him as the Isle of Flame was gripped by an earthquake. The isle heaved violently, tossing Carathril to the left and right before sending him hurtling into a falling pillar. He narrowly rolled aside as more masonry showered down from the cloister, crashing upon the cracking marble tiles.
Overhead dark clouds instantly gathered, swathing the island in gloom; lightning flickered upon their surface and a chill descended. Thunderous growling shook the earth underfoot as the herald forced himself back to his feet. Amongst the roaring and crashing, Carathril heard a terrifying shriek: a drawn-out wail of utter pain that pierced his soul.
Within the shrine, prince, priest and knight alike were tossed around by the great heaving. Chairs were flung across the floor and tables toppled. Plaster cracked upon the walls and fell in large slabs from the ceiling. Wide cracks tore through the tiles underfoot and a rift three paces wide opened up along the eastern wall, sending up a choking spume of dust and rock.
The flame of Asuryan burned paler and paler, moving from a deep blue to a brilliant white. At its heart could be seen the silhouette of Malekith, his arms still outstretched.
With a thunderous clap, the holy flame blazed, filling the room with white light. Within, Malekith collapsed to his knees and grabbed at his face.
He was burning.
He flung back his head and screamed as the flames consumed him; his howl of anguish reverberated around the shrine, echoing and growing in volume with every passing moment. The withering figure silhouetted within the flames pushed himself slowly to his feet and hurled himself from their depths.
Malekith’s smoking and charred body crashed to the ground, igniting a rug and sending ashen dust billowing. Blackened flesh fell away in lumps amidst cooling droplets of molten armour. He reached outwards with a hand, and then collapsed. His clothes had been burned away and his flesh eaten down to the bone in places. His face was a mask of black and red, his dark eyes lidless and staring. Steam rose from burst veins as the prince of Nagarythe shuddered and then fell still, laid to ruin by the judgement of Asuryan.
Soon, all of Ulthuan would burn.
Glossary
Aeltherin—Prince of Eataine who oversaw the construction of the first dragonships.
Aenarion—The first Phoenix King, saviour of the elves.
Aerenis—Lieutenant to Carathril of Lothern.
Aernuis—Prince of Eataine, one of the first to sail across the Great Ocean.
Alandrian—Lieutenant of Malekith.
Alith—Grandson of Eoloran of House Anar.
Anlec—Principal city of Nagarythe and location of Aenarion’s palace.
Annulii Mountains—Chain of mountains separating the Inner and Outer Kingdoms of Ulthuan. Laced with magic, it is the home to many monstrous beasts.
Astarielle—Everqueen and first wife of Aenarion.
Asuryan—The Allfather, greatest of the elven gods.
Athel Toralien—Colony in Elthin Arvan.
Athielle—Princess of Ellyrion.
Avanuir—Magical sword carried by Malekith.
Avelorn—Oldest of the kingdoms of Ulthuan, ruled by the Everqueen. Its forests are home to many fey creatures.
Bathinair—Prince of Yvresse.
Bel Shanaar—The second Phoenix King, and ruler of Tiranoc.
Blighted Isle—Lifeless island to the north of Ulthuan, site of the Shrine of Khaine and resting place of the Widowmaker.
Caledor—Mountainous kingdom of Ulthuan, home to the dragons.
Caledor Dragontamer—Mighty mage, founder of the kingdom of Caledor and creator of the great vortex.
Carathril—Captain of the Lothern Guard.
Charill—Prince of Chrace.
Chrace—Wild kingdom in the north of Ulthuan, famed for its white lions.
Circlet of Iron—Ancient artefact of immense power, discovered by Malekith in the frozen northlands.
Cothique—Kingdom in the north of Ulthuan.
Cytharai—The twilight pantheon, gods embodying the darker aspects of the elven psyche.
Drutheira—Priestess of Atharti.
Durinne—Prince of Galthyr.
Ealith—Fortress in Nagarythe, south of Anlec.
Eataine—Kingdom of Ulthuan. Its riches come from the great city-port of Lothern.
Ellyrion—Kingdom of Ulthuan, famed for its horses.
Elodhir—Prince of Tiranoc and son to Bel Shanaar.
Elthin Arvan—Landmass across the Great Ocean, home to the dwarfs.
Elthuir Tarai—Site of the battle where Aenarion first wielded the Widowmaker in battle.
Elthyrior—One of the raven heralds of Nagarythe, agent of Malekith.
Eoloran—Prince of House Anar, a powerful faction in Nagarythe.
Everqueen—Title held by the chief priestess of Isha. Before Aenarion the Everqueen ruled all of Ulthuan.
Finudel—Ruler of Ellyrion, brother of Athielle.
Galthyr—Chief port of Nagarythe.
Great vortex, the—Magical siphon located on the Isle of the Dead at the centre of the Inner Sea, where the winds of magic drain from the world.
Grimnir—Dwarf Ancestor God who travelled north to close the gate of Chaos.
Grungni—Dwarf Ancestor God, who taught his people mining and smithing.
Haradrin—Prince of Eataine.
Imrik—Prince of Caledor and grandson of Caledor Dragontamer. A famed warrior, noted for his lack of diplomacy.
Indraugnir—Greatest of the race of dragons, and mount of Aenarion.
Indraugnir – First of the dragonships, a gift from Aeltherin.
Isha—Elven goddess of fertility.
Isle of Flame—Located in the Sea of Dreams, site of the Shrine of Asuryan.
Isle of the Dead—Located at the centre of the Inner Sea, the epicentre for the great vortex that drains magic from the world.
Ithilmar—Extremely rare metal found in the mountains of Caledor. It is used to make resilient yet light armour.
Karak Kadrin—Dwarf hold located at the head of Peak Pass in the north of the dwarf lands.
Karaz-a-Karak—Greatest city of the dwarfs and home to the High King.
Khaine—Elven god of murder, whose shrine lies on the Blighted Isle.
Kurgrik—Dwarf thane of Karaz-a-Karak.
Kurnous—Elven god of the hunt.
Lorhir—Captain of the city guard of Athel Toralien.
Lothern—City of Eataine, Ulthuan’s greatest port.
Malekith—Prince of Nagarythe, son of Aenarion and Morathi.
Menieth—Prince of Caledor, son of Caledor Dragontamer and father of Imrik.
Mianderin—High priest of the Shrine of Asuryan.
Morathi—The seeress-queen of Nagarythe, Mother of Malekith and widow of Aenarion.
Morelion—Son of Aenarion and Astarielle, half-brother to Malekith.
Naganath—Border river in the south of Nagarythe.
Nagarythe—Kingdom of Ulthuan, founded by Aenarion and ruled by Malekith.
Oakheart—Treeman who rescued Morelion and Yvraine when Avelorn was invaded by daemons.
Palthrain—Chamberlain to Bel Shanaar.
Phoenix Guard—Guardians of the Shrine of Asuryan, who hold a vow of silence.
Phoenix King—Title held by the ruler of Ulthuan. Aenarion was the first Phoenix King.
Redclaw—Griffon ridden by Bathinair, prince of Yvresse.
Saphery—Kingdom of Ulthuan, famed for its mages.
Snorri Whitebeard—First High King of the dwarfs.
Sutherai—Lieutenant of Aernuis.
Sword of Khaine—The Widowmaker, the deadliest weapon of all time and said to bring ruin upon any who wield it.
Throndik—Son of Snorri Whitebeard.
Thyriol—Prince of Saphery and a mighty mage.
Tiranoc—Kingdom of Ulthuan, homeland of Bel Shanaar.
Tor Anroc—Principal city of Tiranoc, and home to Bel Shanaar.
Ungdrin Ankor—Extensive tunnel network connecting the dwarf empire.
Valaya—Dwarf Ancestor God, protector of the holds.
Vaul—Elven smith-god.
Yeasir—Lieutenant of Malekith.
Yvraine—Everqueen of Ulthuan, Daughter of Aenarion and Astarielle, and half-sister of Malekith.
Yvresse—Kingdom of Ulthuan.
In the two hundred and fifty-fifth year of the reign of Phoenix King Bel Shanaar, the citizens of Athel Toralien became elves of Nagarythe. Abandoned by their princes and left to the depredations of an orc siege, the city and its people were delivered from death by Prince Malekith and the grateful populace swore fresh oaths of loyalty to their Naggarothi saviour.
Under the command of Prince Malekith, Athel Toralien grew; in size, in population, in riches, in esteem and in power. From the western coast of Elthin Arvan, the armies of the Naggarothi marched eastwards and behind their shields and spears the elves of the city built towns and farms, laid roads and bridges, raised up castles and citadels; taming the wilderness of the colonies and fashioning the land into a likeness of their ancestral homes back on the isle of Ulthuan.
For more than thirteen hundred years, Athel Toralien prospered under the guidance of Malekith. When the prince declared that he was to leave the colonies and seek his destiny in the harsh wastes of the North there were many that feared for the future fortunes of the city.
In the docks and wine houses, forest mansions and farms, there was much speculation; elves are naturally disposed to rumour and politics and such a momentous event was a topic even the most introverted spirit felt required comment. In a high tower upon the wall above the harbour, the gossip was no less animated, though there was one amongst the small group of elven maidens who was full of confidence.
‘My father is every part the city ruler,’ declared Hellebron.
Her maid, Liannin, murmured assent as she brushed her mistress’s long hair. Hellebron’s father, Alandrian, had been newly named a Prince of Nagarythe and she was enjoying the sudden but deserved elevation in status. ‘Princess Hellebron’ had a fine sound to it.
‘He has run Athel Toralien in all but name for fifty years, while Malekith has busied himself with his battles and adventures,’ the young princess continued. She straightened the gold chain around her pale throat, centring its large ruby pendant. The sunlight cast a glow from the gem, dappling Hellebron’s slight face with scarlet. ‘You will see that this can only be a change for the better.’
‘For you, perhaps,’ said Ariendil, a dark-haired elf maiden ten years Hellebron’s senior. Hellebron’s two other friends, Mithalindin and Druithana, kept their expressions neutral, though their eyes flicked between Ariendil and Hellebron, watching carefully. ‘No doubt the sun of your house continues to rise. I hope that you do not leave the rest of us in darkness.’
Hellebron giggled. ‘How poetic!’
The princess stood up and shooed away her maid, smoothing the creases in her silk dress. ‘I am sure my father’s patronage for your families will continue. You are still my friends, after all. Perhaps we can all be princesses in the future.’
As Liannin was leaving, the door to the chamber flew open, crashing against the white wall. The maid stumbled back as Lirieth strode into the room. Though twenty years younger, Hellebron’s sister was so like her that the pair might have been mistaken for twins. Her dark gaze roved around the room, taking in each of the elves in turn before settling on Hellebron.
‘Ah, sister, there you are!’ Lirieth’s voice was mellow, even in her excitement. ‘Do you never spare a glance out of the window?’
‘What is it?’ asked Druithana.
‘Have a look,’ said Lirieth.
Hellebron said nothing. She pushed Ariendil gently aside and stepped up to the high window overlooking the harbour.
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. A line of black sails approached the harbour wall. There were ten ships, nine unremarkable but for the fact that they flew silver-and-black pennants of Nagarythe at their mastheads. The tenth was the cause of so much interest.
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. Hellebron had seen many great ships pass in and out of Athel Toralien, but none matched the majesty of this vessel. In size it was 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. Hellebron caught her breath and knew at once that such a ship must bear the most noble of passengers. She wondered if the Phoenix King had returned, but it seemed unlikely that such an event would go without announcements and preparation.
Like the most graceful maiden at a dance, the ship glided through the rest of the fleet before trimly tacking across the wind towards the longest pier. The sound of clarions rang out across the waves from the other nine ships, heralding the arrival of their leader.
‘Who are they?’ Ariendil asked, peering over Hellebron’s shoulder.
‘They bear flags of Nagarythe,’ said Druithana, standing on tiptoe to see past the much taller princess.
‘We will not find out by staying here,’ said Hellebron. She spun away from the window, forcing her companions to step back, and turned to her maid. ‘Go and fetch our cloaks and outdoor shoes.’
‘Yes, mistress.’ Liannin hesitated, an unspoken hope lingering on half-parted lips.
‘Yes, you can come with us,’ said Hellebron. ‘You would only pester me with questions if you did not.’
‘Thank you, mistress.’ Liannin smiled, bobbed a curtsey and hurried out of the room.
‘We’ll have to be quick,’ said Ariendil, back at the window. ‘It looks like every person in the city is coming out for a look.’
Refraining from unseemly haste, Hellebron readied herself for when Liannin returned, sweeping a crimson cloak about her shoulders and fastening it with a silver clasp in the shape of a dragon’s head. She pulled on black calfskin boots, picking off a few stray threads clinging to the brushed hide. Liannin proffered a mirror and helped Hellebron pin up her hair so that it fell in a cascade down her right side.
‘Let us see what this fuss is about,’ Hellebron announced when she was presentable. She looked at the others, who were watching her expectantly. ‘Come on, no time for dithering.’
Liannin did her best to forge a path through the thickening crowds, but further progress became impossible a few streets from the docks. Hellebron and Lirieth gave a commentary on what was happening, the sisters a head taller than their friends and able to see further over the sea of elves.
