Sword of Caledor Read online

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It does not matter.’

  ‘I can assure you it does.’

  ‘Your life will be long, Tyrion. You can’t predict how things will turn out.’

  ‘I can predict that if I do not do what is asked of me now then Malene will never support me, nor will any of her successors.’

  ‘Then do what she asks, go to the tournament and lose.’ Tyrion looked at his brother in wonder. Was it possible that even after all these years Teclis did not understand him?

  Teclis smiled again. ‘No, you could not do that, could you? You have never liked to lose at anything. Is that what is really bothering you? The possibility that here is a competition you might not win.’ The mockery had returned to his voice.

  Tyrion shook his head. ‘The thing that bothers me is the possibility that I might win.’

  Teclis lay on the deck and stared up at the stars. The gentle rise and fall of the ship helped him relax. He remembered how, long ago, he had been plagued by seasickness and what a torment that had been. Now, like most of the other ailments, it was just a memory. It was odd how things that had dominated his life for so long could just vanish, leaving behind only strange dream-like recollections.

  Of course, yesterday he and his brother had been in the jungles of Lustria. Now they were aboard the Eagle of Lothern scudding across the ocean. The jungle was the dream now, the ocean the reality.

  Strange thoughts raced through his head. What was time? How did it work? What is this process that keeps us moving inexorably into the future at the same rate every day? Is it true that gods and daemons live outside time and are aware of multiple selves, in all places, at all times? Is that how their prophets are sometimes given glimpses of the future?

  He considered Tyrion. To most people his brother always seemed the very epitome of the devil-may-care warrior, living life to the fullest now, because tomorrow he might be dead. Teclis knew his twin was cleverer than that, and much more thoughtful.

  Did Tyrion really aspire to the Phoenix Throne or was this about something different entirely? Was he simply afraid of being tied down, of assuming responsibility? Teclis doubted it was the latter. Tyrion had commanded troops in the field. He was not frightened by that sort of responsibility at all. Perhaps it was the loss of freedom of action that he feared, of being drawn into the web of social entanglements that all elves eventually found themselves ensnared in.

  Both he and Tyrion owed House Emeraldsea a debt. Their kindred had aided them, supported them, paid for their education, given them their start in life. Lady Malene had seen to it that Teclis had gotten the best training at the White Tower. Both of them were aware that one day those debts would be called in and need to be repaid, his own as much as Tyrion’s.

  Teclis was not troubled by that. When the time came he would worry about it. Right now he had other things to think of. Perhaps that was Tyrion’s problem. He could lose himself only in action, in doing. When he was not, he fretted. His was not a nature suited to being at rest. He craved action, distraction.

  Perhaps his brother was not really suited to be Phoenix King because of that. The elves did not need another war-seeking ruler. The thought seemed disloyal but it haunted Teclis for the rest of the night.

  ‘I would like to look at that sword,’ Teclis said. He had entered his brother’s cabin in the dawn light. Tyrion was already awake, lying on the bunk, staring at the ceiling.

  Tyrion shrugged, unfastened the sword-belt and passed it over to him. He did not seem particularly self-conscious about disarming himself in the way most warriors would. Teclis supposed it was because his brother trusted him, and also because he had no doubts he could get the weapon back if it was needed.

  Teclis pulled the blade from its scabbard. For a moment, it felt as heavy to him as it really was. He had managed to restore his health by the use of alchemy but he would never be strong. He could feel Sunfang straining his fingers and his wrist. Only for a moment though, then the blade glistened, glowing as if flames were trapped within the metal, and it felt light enough even for him. Teclis smiled with pleasure.

  ‘So it works for you too,’ said Tyrion.

  ‘Of course,’ Teclis replied. ‘Very useful.’

  ‘It takes some getting used to,’ said Tyrion. ‘The weight and balance seems to adjust as you wield it. It’s like a living thing.’

  Teclis swept the sword through the air. It left a glowing trail behind it, faintly visible even without use of his magesight. He smiled with pure pleasure.

  ‘Careful,’ said Tyrion. ‘I don’t want you taking my head off accidentally.’

  ‘It might make you smarter,’ said Teclis.

  ‘Think of the pain it would cause the ladies of Ulthuan.’

  Teclis would have responded but he was too busy concentrating on the sword. The enchantments designed to make it easy to wield were only one part of the complex web of magic pinned in place by the runes on the blade.

  There were other spells present, fascinatingly complex ones which hinted at great power. Filled with curiosity, he extended his thoughts and activated one. A jet of flame blasted from the point of the blade. Only Tyrion’s lightning reflexes kept him out of the way. He sprang to one side and the flame hit the porthole setting it to glowing.

  Panicked, Teclis sought to bring it under control. The jet of flame set the bedding alight before he managed to douse the fire blazing from the point of the blade.

  Tyrion threw the porthole open, picked the burning blankets up and cast them through the window. He blew on his slightly burned hands. His face was sooty, his jerkin singed.

  ‘How much is House Silverbright paying you for my assassination?’ Tyrion asked. ‘Tell me, I will double it.’

  It was a line from a melodrama popular in the theatres of Ulthuan when they had left. He was smiling as he said it.

  Teclis was anything but amused. He was embarrassed and frightened by what he had done. He could easily have hurt his twin, possibly injuring him permanently. ‘I am so sorry,’ he said. ‘I did not mean to do that.’

  Tyrion grinned. ‘If I thought you had, you would not be holding that blade. Nor would you be conscious.’

  He did not say it as a threat, simply as a statement of fact. Teclis knew that it was exactly the case as well.

  Tyrion spoke more softly now. ‘Learn a lesson. I saw that look of concentration come over your face, the one you get when you are lost in the contemplation of the wonders of magic and I knew you were about to do something extremely stupid. When the point of the sword started glowing I was certain of it. Was that you or the sword that did the trick with the flame, by the way?’

  ‘It was the sword. There is a spell woven into it. At the blade’s heart, Caledor trapped one of the elemental spirits of the volcano. It burns in there, its life force powering the blade. You can unleash part of it by contacting the spirit.’

  ‘Useful. Having a sword that lets you breathe fire like a dragon, I mean. Nice to know the trick is still possible. I had always thought the ancient tales exaggerated.’

  ‘You would not want to do it too often. You might over-draw the life force of the elemental and unravel all the magic in the sword. If you use it, you need to give the sword time to regain its health. Using its magic in that way is like an elf losing a lot of blood. It takes time to recover.’

  ‘You think I could learn to use it then.’ Teclis knew his brother had noted away what he was saying but as always seemed concerned only with his own purposes. They were very alike in that way.

  ‘Undoubtedly. It was intended for use by a warrior, not a wizard.’

  ‘Excellent.’ Tyrion sounded genuinely pleased. ‘How do I do it?’

  ‘I will endeavour to find out if you will allow me to concentrate.’

  ‘Just don’t concentrate too hard. I don’t want you stumbling on some new way to accidentally
kill me.’

  Teclis nodded. It was not a mistake he was going to make again. ‘If I do find a way to kill you, it won’t be accidental,’ he said. It came out more ominously than he meant it to. Tyrion just grinned his idiot grin, as if certain that nothing in this world could really harm him. Teclis sincerely hoped that really was the case.

  He was embarrassed and angry at himself and displacing it onto his twin, which was not fair. ‘I did not mean that,’ he said.

  ‘I know,’ said Tyrion. ‘Just find a way to let me use the sword. I will leave you to it. Try not to set fire to the ship. It’s a long swim to Ulthuan.’

  ‘I can’t swim,’ said Teclis.

  ‘All the more reason for being careful then,’ said Tyrion as he left the cabin.

  Urian stared into the mirror and waited for contact to come. How many times had he stood here over the past few centuries, he wondered? How many times had he made the strange pilgrimage through the underground labyrinth beneath the Silvermount Palace to find this place? How many more times would he have to do so?

  The answers did not come. At the moment, his master did not seem to want to put in an appearance either. Urian made himself look devoted and alert. He was never sure exactly how the magical mirror worked, whether Malekith could see him even when he could not see the Witch King. Knowing the way his master’s mind worked it seemed entirely possible.

  Suddenly the colours in the mirror swirled, Urian’s sardonically smiling reflection vanished to be replaced by the monstrous armoured figure of his master. He lounged like a massive, animated statue on his gigantic metal throne.

  Standing beyond and behind Malekith, held on chains like a hound on a leash, was the second most astonishingly beautiful elf woman Urian had ever seen. Only Morathi was more lovely and she was not there to be compared, so it was possible this one’s beauty exceeded even hers. She looked much younger and much more innocent than Morathi, but that meant nothing. Urian was well aware of how deceptive appearances could be.

  There was something about the chains on this one’s limbs that worried him, a magic that dazzled the eye and tired the brain. He let his eyes linger on her, wondering who she was. From behind Malekith’s back, she winked at him. So she could see him and was aware of who he was. That might prove to be a bad thing in the long run.

  ‘You are to be congratulated, Urian.’ Malekith’s voice emerged from the mirror with perfect cold clarity. The Witch King sounded as pleased as Urian had ever heard him. ‘The Everqueen is dead. Your reward will be extraordinary.’

  ‘Serving you is reward enough, my liege.’ Urian was proud that he managed to keep any trace of irony from his voice. There were times when he could get away with that in front of his master but instinct told him that now was not such a time.

  ‘Please, Urian, let us not even pretend that is so,’ said Malekith. ‘I am your liege, and it is my duty and my pleasure to reward my favoured vassals.’

  ‘In that case, I await your magnanimity with breathless anticipation, my lord.’

  ‘You shall not have to wait too long. Within this year I will have vast new estates to disburse to my most loyal subjects.’

  Despite the fact he had long awaited this moment, excitement stabbed at Urian’s vitals. So it was finally going to happen then – the long awaited invasion of Ulthuan for which secret preparations had been going on for centuries. ‘I am thrilled to hear it, my liege.’

  ‘It pleases me that you managed to carry out your last task without being discovered. It means you will be in place to exceed yourself when our forces come to Lothern.’

  ‘You have given the orders for the re-conquest of Ulthuan, sire?’

  There was an eerie, evil joy in Malekith’s voice that Urian had never heard before. ‘I have. Hold yourself in readiness for further instructions. Within a moon, the world will be changed forever for the better. Perform your duties well and I will give you Lothern for your fief.’

  It was astonishing generosity on Malekith’s part. He would be satrap of the richest and most glamorous city in the world. The opportunities to become wealthy would be limitless and he was already intimately acquainted with the citizens. They would hate him of course, as a traitor and a turncoat, even more than they hated the Witch King. He wondered how long Malekith had planned this for. From the beginning was Urian’s guess.

  ‘What do you have to say, Urian?’ It was clear that an answer was required.

  ‘My apologies, liege. I was simply overwhelmed by your generosity. It rendered me speechless.’

  ‘Then I have been generous indeed to achieve such a miracle,’ said Malekith laughing. His good humour was even more terrifying than his wrath.

  Chapter Ten

  Tyrion strode into Lady Emeraldsea’s audience chamber. It was his grandfather’s old office and little had changed since that ancient elf had occupied it.

  Malene looked up from the account book she had been reading as he entered, her amber eyes hidden behind copper-framed bi-focals. She was as beautiful and severe-looking as ever but there was something different about her, something that made her seem older, even if she did not look it. She had been that way since her father died and she had taken over the running of the House. The responsibilities pressed down heavily on her.

  ‘You wanted to see me as soon as possible and here I am, aunt,’ Tyrion said. ‘I have come straight from the ship. My brother has gone to our old house since you stated you wished to see me alone.’

  Malene looked a little hurt. She had always preferred Teclis to him. ‘Prince Tyrion, how good of you to join me. We have been wondering where you were.’

  ‘We were in Lustria, aunt,’ said Tyrion. ‘As well you know.’

  ‘And I trust you found whatever was so important as to take you there at this critical period in history.’

  ‘Yes, my lady, we did. We found Sunfang, the sword of Aenarion, believed lost centuries ago.’

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘Teclis has it. He wished to inspect it, to divine its mysteries. You know what he is like when it comes to new magic.’

  ‘It has been a long time since anyone saw that blade,’ said Malene. ‘May it bring you more luck than it brought its previous bearers.’

  ‘I was grieved to hear of the death of the Everqueen,’ said Tyrion, wanting to get down to the true business of the evening.

  ‘As were we all, Tyrion,’ said Malene. ‘We are all deeply grieved by the loss. However, life must go on. A new Everqueen has been crowned and her new champion must be chosen.’

  ‘And you believe me to be a suitable candidate for that position,’ said Tyrion.

  ‘There is no one in our House better qualified. It is a great honour to be the champion of our new queen. Do you consider yourself worthy of it?’

  Tyrion did not like Malene’s tone. ‘I should think that there is no honour in Ulthuan that a descendant of Aenarion is unworthy of.’

  ‘It is good that you take such pride in your lineage. However, these are new times, and being of ancient blood is no longer sufficient qualification for any position in our realm. Merit counts for something as well.’

  ‘I believe my deeds speak for themselves,’ said Tyrion.

  ‘I’m glad that you feel that way – you will soon have a chance to prove those words.’ He felt inclined to rise to the challenge just so he could prove her wrong, but he fought down that urge. If he was going to do something, he was going to do it because he wanted to, not because someone had played on his emotions.

  ‘I take it then that you wish me to enter the lists,’ said Tyrion.

  ‘You take it correctly,’ said Malene. ‘I don’t think it would do you any harm to be settled down in a position of responsibility. You have developed a reputation for being something of a rake and a brawler recently and it reflects badly on both yourself and this House. And there is no greater responsibil
ity in all of the realms than the safety of our queen.’

  Tyrion was not pleased by her comment about his being a rake. It stung a little, not least because there was some truth to the accusation. He knew his relationship with the Lady Valeria had put one of his family’s oldest and most precious alliances in peril. Of course, he was not the only party who had caused that particular crisis.

  ‘But there is more to the position than merely being her bodyguard, isn’t there?’ Tyrion said.

  His aunt gave him a wintry smile. ‘I don’t think you will find some of those duties particularly onerous. Many would consider them a pleasure, in fact. They say the new queen is very beautiful. But then they always do.’

  ‘But that is not why you want me to seek this position, is it?’

  ‘Of course not, Tyrion. If you become champion, you will spend a lot of time in the company of the Everqueen and your opinion will become of considerable importance to her. The new Everqueen is very young and very impressionable and you are a very impressive elf.’

  ‘And I should make sure that her opinion of House Emeraldsea is a good one.’

  ‘As ever, your understanding of the situation is swift and accurate. But there are other good reasons for wanting you to take this position.’

  ‘And what would those be?’

  To his surprise, Malene lowered her voice. A worried look flickered across her face. ‘Something bad is happening, Tyrion. I can feel it. I don’t know what it is yet but I want us to be ready when it comes.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘We insure a lot of ships. The number of ships lost on the northern routes is so low that we have made more money than at any other point in my lifetime even after reducing the premiums.’

  ‘And you think this is a bad omen?’

  ‘It is unnatural, Tyrion. We normally count on losing some ships to druchii piracy. We have lost nothing for years. Nothing at all.’

  ‘They say the druchii are dying out.’

  ‘I do not believe it. I think the Witch King is merely quiescent.’