Bane of Malekith Read online

  Within minutes it was over, the mage storm had cleared the Chaos force from the river. Those humans who had made it to the far side were killed by the remaining elves. Teclis allowed the sky to clear and waited by the riverbank. It did not take long for the elves on the far side to emerge. He waved to them and they waved back. Teclis invoked a spell that let him walk across the water. He swayed as if walking on a fluffy mattress but managed to keep his balance. The elves cheered him as he came towards them.

  ‘Greetings, wizard,’ their leader shouted. ‘We thank you for giving us victory. Hathar Ford is a name the forces of Chaos will long have cause to remember.’

  ‘My name is Teclis. I am a wizard from Hoeth. I come seeking my brother, Tyrion, and the Everqueen. Perhaps you have heard news of them.’

  The elf looked wary for a moment. ‘Join us in our camp and I will tell you what I have heard. It is not much, but it may be of some help.’

  ‘I thank you for the offer. I have spent a long time wandering these forests on my own. Some company for the night would be welcome.’

  Teclis warmed himself by the fire and drank wine, an honoured guest of the elves of Avelorn. For the first time in his life, he felt like a hero. Many elves came over to thank him for his intervention, and many more offered him drinks from their flask or some of their pitifully small supplies of food.

  He wandered among them, healing those he could, brewing medicines for the sick, drawing poisonous humours from the wounded. He was touched by their gratitude but he found himself becoming colder and more distant with every word of thanks.

  He did not know how to behave in situations like this. He was not used to being popular. No one had commented on his pallor, his thinness or his limp. Everyone present had endured a great deal of hardship – perhaps they merely assumed he had done the same. Or perhaps it was something about all being in this fight together. They seemed prepared to overlook his shortcomings. The only one present dwelling on them was himself, he thought sourly.

  Alanor, the leader of these elves, sat down at the fire across from him. ‘You saved us all today. We miscalculated. We thought we could hit the Chaos warriors when they crossed Hathar Ford and melt away into the woods before they could catch us. We never counted on Ferik Kasterman and his Coven of Ten showing up.’

  ‘Ferik Kasterman?’

  ‘He was the leader of those sorcerers, a twisted and evil human if ever there was one.’

  ‘It seems like every twisted and evil human in the world has descended on the shores of Ulthuan.’

  ‘You are right,’ said Alanor. ‘What are they doing here?’

  ‘Helping the druchii, it would seem.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it suits their daemonic masters to do so.’

  ‘What could they possibly want here?’

  Teclis looked at the Avelornian. It seemed impossible that he did not understand what was happening here, but it was quite obviously the case. He sometimes forgot that not every elf was a magician or had access to the libraries at Hoeth. They did not encounter the maker of the Vortex in their dreams either. ‘Nothing good,’ Teclis said. The truth could not do any good here and would only help spread fear. ‘You said you had something to tell me of my brother and the Everqueen…’

  ‘Not very much, I am afraid.’

  ‘Every little helps.’

  ‘I know the druchii are still looking for them. Some of our scouts sneak in so close to their positions that they overhear them talking sometimes. We have our own people looking for them, but it is difficult for them to break through and seek among the dark elf soldiery. The last I heard, some dark wizardry was being used to hunt our queen. I do not know what.’

  ‘They are sure of this?’

  ‘Believe me, if General Dorian or his army had found the Everqueen, we would hear them celebrating all along the Everflow.’

  ‘I guess you are right.’

  ‘The druchii have split their forces in the hunt. It’s the only thing that lets us strike at them, but they are getting more cautious. More and more of the humans are finding their way here as well. How are they doing so?’

  ‘Some of them by magic, like Kasterman and his coven. The rest must be coming on foot.’

  ‘How? How can they get through the mountains?’

  ‘I think this is an invasion long planned. They have scouted well. The fortresses are besieged. It would be easy enough for warbands to slip by them under the circumstances.’

  ‘Are things really so bad?’

  ‘Worse.’

  ‘You are not giving me much hope.’

  ‘My brother is the great inspirational leader. I am merely a wizard.’

  ‘There is nothing merely about that. You saved all of us today, and we are grateful. And we are grateful to you for helping the wounded as well.’

  ‘Do you know where this General Dorian and his men are centring their hunt?’

  ‘To the east of here. The trail always seems to lead in that direction.’

  ‘Do you have any idea why that would be? What is in that direction?’

  ‘The Winterwood Palace.’

  ‘Could you spare me a guide to take me there?’

  ‘I will ask for volunteers. If no one can do it, I will take you myself, although I think these people need me.’

  ‘If I can find my brother and the Everqueen, I can save them.’

  ‘If you can do that, you will be more than a wizard, you will be a miracle worker.’

  ‘Will you help me?’

  ‘I will do anything within my power.’

  ‘Then let us set out in the morning. Now I need my rest.’

  ‘Sleep well. You have earned it.’ Teclis felt a sudden sharp stabbing pain in his side. He knew that his twin was feeling it too.

  ‘What is it?’ Alanor asked.

  ‘Nothing good.’

  Urian entered the presence of his ruler for the first time in many decades. It had been a long hard ride to the waystone. He had not trusted the daemon sent to collect him or the strange portal through which they had passed, but now it seemed at last he was here in the great hall the Witch King had commandeered for his headquarters.

  He stepped forwards with what he hoped was the correct air of humility. It would have been when he left Naggaroth, but Malekith was given to shifts of mood and formality. Sometimes he wished to be treated as if he were a barbarian potentate, at others with the formal courtesy of an elven lord. There were times when he played the simple warlord that he thought his father had been. There were times when he oversaw revels that would have put Morathi to shame, indulging vices by proxy that he could not any other way.

  Today it looked like he was the warlord. He was surrounded by soldiers, generals and mages. Messengers bearing dispatches came and went, and the great mirror through which he communicated with distant corners of his empire stood uncovered in the middle of the chamber.

  They had gathered in a palace on the outskirts of Mancastra, the first city of Ulthuan to fall to Malekith personally in centuries. The full panoply of the conqueror had been unfurled. The banners of hundreds of druchii lords hung outside, and pens full of weeping, captured slaves filled streets, plazas and courtyards.

  Urian enjoyed the shock that rippled across the vast audience hall as his name was announced. Everyone here thought him dead for centuries. The only ones who knew differently were Malekith and the mages who had transformed him. Malekith rose from his throne and gestured in welcome. It was an almost unheard-of sign of favour. The murmur of conversation died immediately. Everyone smiled at him, knowing that he was, at least for the moment, the favourite of their king and thus a personage to be cultivated while he enjoyed access to Malekith’s favour.

  ‘Welcome, Urian,’ Malekith boomed. ‘Step forwards that we may embrace you.’

  Urian did as he was commanded and was raised from the ground by Malekith’s vast metal arms. It was the greeting of a comrade for a comrade, a mark of Malekith’s approval unheard o
f in the lifetimes of any of those present.

  ‘Let everyone hear the words of Malekith the Great,’ the Witch King boomed. ‘Urian Poisonblade has returned from long and secret service among our rebellious subjects of Ulthuan. All marks of our disfavour are erased. He is our chosen champion, our herald, and when he speaks, he speaks with our voice and is to be obeyed. He has been our instrument in matters of policy deep and subtle – he has slain many enemies of our cause. All hail him and salute him as we do.’

  The Witch King placed Urian back on the ground and banged his armoured fist against his breastplate in warrior’s applause. All of the other druchii present did the same. The women looked at him with smiles, the men with calculation. All of them applauded, for it was their lord’s desire. Urian smiled ironically as he accepted it for what it was worth – the mark of a momentary approbation.

  Tomorrow, he would find out what Malekith’s favour was really worth. Today, he might as well enjoy it.

  Urian looked down at the armour Malekith had presented him with. It was, in some ways, a smaller replica of the Witch King’s own. It was just as invulnerable. It amplified his strength in a similar way.

  ‘You are my champion now, Urian,’ Malekith said. His voice was confiding. They were alone in his huge pavilion aside from the Witch King’s servants and slaves. No other druchii nobles were present. ‘You must be armed and equipped as such.’

  Urian bowed to indicate his gratitude. Malekith gestured for slaves to bring forward his gifts. Two hulking humans, blinded with their eyes sewn shut, brought forth a massive lead-bound, heavy wooden chest. They opened it and Urian saw two long black blades etched with runes that glowed greenly from within.

  Malekith indicated that he should pick them up. ‘Be most careful with these. Do not touch the blades with your unprotected hands.’

  Urian would not have done so, even without the warning. There was something about the way the rune-embossed metal shone that reminded him of warpstone, the terrible substance that some said was the crystallised form of pure Chaos magic.

  He took the blades by their hilts and lifted them. They were feather-light and razor-edged; he knew without having to be told that they would cut through the heaviest steel armour. Malekith pointed to the massive armoured slave and made a chopping gesture. Urian tested the edge of the blade on the slave’s huge, metal-encased form. As he had suspected it went right through the armour, the flesh and the bone, shearing cleanly through. It had another unexpected side-effect. The victim writhed, his skin blackening where the blade had touched, liquefying and becoming corrupt.

  ‘Now you are Poisonblade indeed,’ Malekith said. It seemed like he had actually put some thought into this gift. It was flattering as well as frightening.

  ‘I thank you for the honour you do me, sire,’ he said.

  ‘You have earned it. These weapons will overcome the strongest healing magic. Once you inflict a wound, it will not be healed and the victim will die in extreme and very educative agony.’

  There was no need to ask who would need to be taught such lessons. Anyone who earned the Witch King’s displeasure must be subject to the harshest punishment.

  General Dorian awoke knowing that there were others in his tent. He sat bolt upright, reaching for his scabbarded blade. A strong hand grasped his wrist, immobilising it. Another hand covered his mouth. A very sharp blade nicked his throat. Was he the prisoner of some sort of mutant? Did the intruder in his tent have three hands?

  ‘Hush, general,’ said a quiet voice near his ear. It belonged to a woman. It was husky and sensual. Despite his position, or perhaps because of it, Dorian found himself becoming aroused.

  ‘The Witch King sends his regards,’ said another voice. This one was male, deep and resonant. It sounded somewhat familiar.

  ‘Lord Vidor?’ Dorian said. He knew he was in trouble. At least two of Malekith’s pet assassins were in his tent – not a good sign.

  ‘None other,’ said the male voice. ‘Our master has dispatched us to make enquiries.’

  ‘It seems that you have not contacted him,’ said the female voice. ‘He’s curious as to what you have been doing.’

  ‘I have been seeking the Everqueen,’ said Dorian.

  ‘There have been rumours,’ said Lord Vidor. ‘People have been saying that you found the Everqueen and then lost her again.’

  Dorian felt his mind racing. He was not sure what to say. He was not sure of what these deadly assassins knew. He was sure this was the way they had intended it. He decided it would probably be safest to tell the truth. ‘I captured her as I was ordered to do. I had her bound at my feet.’

  ‘Very erotic,’ said a female voice. She sounded as if she meant it.

  ‘We were surrounded by my warriors. There was at least a score of us.’

  ‘And yet she managed to escape?’

  ‘She was rescued. A warrior came in–’

  ‘One warrior?’

  ‘One warrior. He was armed with a magical blade. It burned, like Sunfang, the legendary blade of the first Phoenix King.’

  ‘So one hero entered the pavilion and snatched her from your grasp.’

  Dorian could not miss the fact that Lord Vidor knew that the rescue had taken place in the pavilion. Someone had obviously been talking. ‘Quite so.’

  ‘And you were the only survivor of this rescue attempt?’

  ‘The guards saw him enter. He was dressed like one of us. He was wearing our armour.’

  ‘Is it possible he was one of us? Is it possible that he was a dark elf? A spy?’

  ‘Of course it is possible, but I don’t think it likely. I suspect he was one of the asur. I think he was wearing stolen armour – I think he took it from a warrior he killed.’

  ‘That is certainly a possibility,’ said the female voice. Dorian recognised the pattern now. The male voice was mocking and had no sympathy for anything he said. The female voice sounded as if she believed him, as if she wanted to be convinced by his words. It was one of the oldest interrogation techniques in the book. That did not make it any the less effective.

  ‘So, this one warrior, with his legendary magical blade, slaughtered your entire high command and their bodyguards, unbound the Everqueen from where she lay at your feet, and then casually departed from the tent while none of your guards did anything to stop him. Have I stated matters correctly?’

  ‘I would not have placed the emphasis where you have, but yes. He slaughtered everybody present and damn near killed me. I’m sure you’ve noticed the wounds in my side. Inspect them closely and you will note that they were partially cauterised. His blade did that. He shouted instructions to the guards to confuse them, slit the side of the tent and departed.’

  ‘And what were you doing all this time?’ Lord Vidor asked.

  ‘I was bleeding on the carpet of the Everqueen’s tent. I suppose I could have attempted to make him slip in a pool of my blood, but I was drifting in and out of consciousness at the time and the thought did not occur to me.’

  ‘When did you come to consciousness?’ the female voice asked.

  ‘It was only minutes later. My guards found me and helped revive me. Once I was up and about I gave orders for pursuit, but the Everqueen and the one who rescued her were long gone.’

  ‘I am given to understand that they slaughtered some witch elves on the way out,’ Lord Vidor said.

  ‘That is correct,’ Dorian said. ‘We think the witch elves tried to stop them.’

  ‘And got chopped down for their pains.’

  ‘Quite.’

  ‘So this warrior also killed a dozen witch elves on his way out.’

  ‘So it would seem.’

  ‘It’s almost like one of the ancient heroes of legend has come to life and fights against us,’ said Lord Vidor, the sarcasm obvious in his voice.

  ‘Almost,’ Dorian agreed.

  ‘There are, of course, alternative explanations.’

  ‘I would be glad to hear them.’

 
‘There may well be traitors in your force who have betrayed us to the enemy. They might even be very high in the command chain.’ Vidor’s tone left no doubt that the suspicion rested on Dorian himself.

  ‘An interesting theory,’ said Dorian. ‘If a little fanciful.’

  ‘Perhaps then it was simply incompetence on your part or the part of your officers that let the Everqueen escape.’

  ‘Then my officers paid for their incompetence with their lives.’

  ‘You have not.’

  ‘I suspect you are about to change that.’

  ‘No. I am not, general. I believe your story. I have seen the tracks of this warrior. I have noted the fact he was capable of killing a group of our strongest knights all but single-handed.’

  There was no need to ask why Lord Vidor had performed the interrogation. No druchii would have passed up such an opportunity to humiliate another. Dorian suppressed his anger. He still had no idea where he stood with these assassins. They might kill him yet. They could do it before his guards could respond to a cry for help, and disappear into the night to escape vengeance.

  ‘You have authorisation from our king?’ Dorian asked. He was already trying to work out how to have the pair of them killed if he could. They were not the only ones who were capable of cruelty here.

  A black ring, the seal on which Dorian recognised only too well, was shoved under his nose. There was no question of having them assassinated then. Malekith would make him pay very dearly indeed for that.

  ‘We are here to help you recover the Everqueen,’ said Lord Vidor.

  ‘That will not be necessary. Our sorcerers have already located them. Even now the net closes around them.’

  ‘Perhaps they will perform another miraculous escape,’ said Vidor.

  ‘Their luck cannot last forever.’