Bane of Malekith Read online

  ‘Fortunately, we have provided for that contingency,’ the High Loremaster said.

  ‘I suspected that you might have,’ said Teclis. He did not entirely succeed in keeping the sour note from his voice.

  ‘The saddle of a pegasus rider is not like a normal saddle. It contains an arrangement of straps designed to restrain the rider in place as much to keep it attached to the pegasus.’

  ‘That goes some way towards reducing my reservations,’ Teclis said. ‘But I am forced to confess that I have some more.’

  ‘Doubtless you’re wondering how you will guide Silver Wing.’

  ‘You show an understanding that verges on the telepathic.’

  ‘Silver Wing is very old and very wise and will respond to voice commands. If I may say so, he is considerably more intelligent than many elves although he cannot speak.’

  ‘I suppose you will have ready answers to any other objections I might raise.’

  ‘I would deem such an eventuality very likely. Pegasus is undoubtedly the fastest way for you to get Avelorn unless you propose inventing a spell of long-distance teleportation within the next few hours.’

  ‘Would that I were capable of such a prodigy of research.’

  ‘I have taken the liberty of not only providing you with the special saddle, but also with saddle bags containing rations and enough space for any medicines that you might need to carry.’

  ‘It seems that you have thought of everything. I wish I could find suitable words to express my gratitude.’

  ‘You have done quite well enough so far,’ the High Loremaster said.

  ‘When do you propose that I depart?’

  ‘Once again, I was under the impression that there was not a second to be lost. You seemed most insistent upon this the last time we talked about this matter.’

  ‘Forgive me for saying so, but you seem to be taking some pleasure in using my own words to discomfit me.’

  ‘When you reach my age,’ the High Loremaster said, ‘you will understand that one must take one’s pleasures from what one can, no matter how petty those enjoyments may seem to those younger than you.’

  ‘I hope that when I reach your age I should be somewhat more generous of spirit.’

  ‘A noble wish, but I fear it will not be the case.’ The old elf was smiling. ‘I would like to be here to wish you a safe journey, but I do not have an infinite supply of time to take off from my duties.’

  ‘It seems that you have prepared all that I need. All that remains for me to do is to wish you farewell.’

  ‘And to mount your new steed,’ the High Loremaster suggested.

  ‘Indeed,’ said Teclis. ‘I would not wish to deprive you of the pleasure of witnessing that.’

  Cautiously Teclis approached the pegasus. As he got closer, he realised exactly how massive it was. Its head was taller than his own. Huge muscles bunched as it moved. He reached out to gently stroke its muzzle, and it lowered his head as if accepting him and his touch. His hands trembled as he stroked the creature’s cheek and looked into the huge, deep black eyes. There was an intelligence in them greater than in that of any horse he had ever encountered. The pegasus whinnied softly and stopped prancing.

  The High Loremaster himself came forwards and fixed the saddle onto the beast. It was larger than a normal saddle, with far more straps holding it in position. At front and back, it was higher and the saddle posts were larger. As it was fixed in place, Teclis could see that there were a number of straps left unbuckled. Doubtless these were intended to hold the rider in place. Carefully, he put one foot in the stirrup, threw a leg over the saddle and got himself into position. The High Loremaster showed him how to fasten the restraining straps that would hold him in.

  The beast shifted below him as it adjusted to his weight on its back. Its wings flapped. Teclis was all too aware of their motion very close to him, of the great muscles moving in the beast’s flanks. Mighty as the creature was, he could not see how those wings alone could get it airborne. There had to be magic involved. He sensed a reservoir of energy within the pegasus and he suspected that it was as much needed to get the winged steed aloft as its pinions.

  ‘Very good,’ the High Loremaster said. ‘You look as if you were born to do this.’

  ‘I don’t feel like it,’ Teclis said.

  ‘Desist from complaining and learn to simply enjoy the circumstances you find yourself in. That would be my advice to you.’

  ‘It is easy enough for you to say that,’ Teclis said. ‘You’re the one standing with his feet on the ground while I am trussed up like a prisoner awaiting torture.’

  ‘Believe me, I wish I could take your place. There is nothing quite in comparison with the sensation of racing through the sky with the wind tugging at your robe and the ground a thousand feet below.’

  ‘I find that I am inclined to let you take my place if you desire the experience so much.’

  ‘My heart has already thrilled to that particular delight. I shall leave the joys of flight to you. And there’s no time like the present – Silver Wing, take to the skies!’

  On the High Loremaster’s command, the pegasus raced from the stable. Its wings beat steadily and Teclis felt the build up of magical energy within the creature’s breast. It took a dozen strides and then sprang. At first, Teclis thought that it was actually going to be in the air. The leap went on for longer than any normal jump by a normal horse, but the pegasus returned to the ground, took three more strides and then sprang again. This time it stayed airborne for a dozen heartbeats before returning to the ground. It made a third attempt to get aloft, wings thrashing, and this time it stayed aloft.

  Teclis watched the trees of the surrounding forest race ever closer. He feared that his career as a flier was going to be cut short by the brutal impact of their branches. At the very last second, Silver Wing gained height and skimmed just over the treetops. Teclis clung on desperately, his knuckles white against the saddle post.

  Silver Wing circled, gaining altitude as it flew round and round the tower. At first, it was all Teclis could do to hold on. He kept his eyes resolutely closed and fought against dizziness and nausea. When he looked down, the ground seemed a long way below and the faces of those who stared up at him appeared tiny.

  His weight strained against the harness that held him in the saddle. The fear that he was going to fall or that the leather straps would break and send him tumbling to the earth far below dominated his mind.

  Every little creak that the harness made seemed an ominous warning that it was about to snap and send him to his doom. It felt impossible that an animal as large as Silver Wing could be kept aloft merely by the thrashing of its wings. At any moment the power of the spell could run out and the two of them would be sent tumbling earthwards…

  After a few minutes, he managed to keep his eyes open despite the tears from the roaring wind that threatened to blind him. He had enough presence of mind to speak a shielding spell. It was the same cantrip he used to protect himself against the heat of the jungles of Lustria, but it served just as well to protect them from the passing breeze.

  He saw that they had climbed far above the trees but still had not managed to equal the height of the great Tower of Hoeth. It loomed enormously before them. Seen from this angle he was able to appreciate both its massive size and its astonishing grace. It was indeed true – there never had been a structure built upon the face of the world to match this tower in beauty or scale.

  The High Loremaster waved to him. Teclis did not dare let go of the saddle posts to wave back.

  Silver Wing soared northwards towards the distant forest of Avelorn.

  It was mere minutes before the area surrounding the tower faded from view and Teclis found himself flying over the dense woods of Saphery. It was strange to see the world from this angle, to look down upon the tops of trees and watch the clusters of leaves swaying in the wind, to see the birds rising up from beneath him as they were startled by the passage of the pegasus’s
shadow. It was odd to find himself flying alongside flocks of starlings.

  Teclis was not sure how long he was airborne before he started to get used to the sensation of flight. He doubted that he would ever become totally accustomed to it, but eventually his stomach settled and he lost some of the fear of falling to his doom. Silver Wing had managed to stay aloft for a sufficient length of time to reassure him that it was not an accident and that the pegasus was actually capable of flying for long distances.

  He had grown accustomed to being able to work the most powerful spells of the magical art, but he was upset by simply being mounted upon a flying horse.

  He had a suspicion as to the reason why that was. When working magic, control of the ritual was his. Flying this way, he was utterly reliant on the ability of his steed. He knew that there were spells that would slow the fall of anyone dropping from a great height, but he had never taken the trouble to learn any of them. He made up his mind to rectify this omission as soon as he was given the opportunity, if he ever was. It had been a lamentable oversight in his magical education. In fact, he thought, as he flew he would do his best to derive some from first principles.

  The saddle creaked. He tried to push thoughts of the straps coming undone from his mind.

  After many hours of flight, Teclis saw the curve of a vast silver river below him. From his memory of the maps he had once studied in the tower he reckoned this was the Everflow, which at this point marked the ancient boundary between Avelorn and Saphery. Here the rule of the wizard-princes gave way to that of the Everqueen. He knew the river ran a long way northwards to its sources in the mountains of Chrace, but it was at least a landmark to navigate by.

  The forests beneath him were changing. The woods seemed deeper, older, the trees taller and darker. These woods were quieter than those of Saphery. There was a magic here just as deep but more still and subtle. In Saphery the magic felt like the product of intelligent intervention, of spells, old and well woven. Here the land itself was magical. Power flowed through it and sometimes formed deep pools. Not all of those pools were pure. In some places, Teclis sensed the taint of an evil as ancient as the world. It seemed somehow appropriate. No place was entirely free of the taint of darkness, not even ancient, noble Avelorn. He wondered if Tyrion had found this out yet.

  The thought struck him that Tyrion might have found this out and died. He pushed that thought to one side. Such a contingency was simply not possible. He would know if it had happened. Another thought, just as discouraging, replaced it. This was a quest that was more difficult than looking for a needle in the proverbial haystack or a single grain of sand on a beach. Avelorn was a vast land, mostly wilderness, and he was no woodsman. How was he going to find his twin? Looking down from above, he could see almost nothing through the canopy of leaves and branches. Even being mounted on a pegasus was not going to be much of an advantage.

  He could try a spell of location. Normally he would have been dubious of its efficacy over so wide an area, but he had some hope that given the strength of the bond between him and Tyrion he could make it work. Of course, that would mean returning to the earth and sacrificing the advantage of speed and mobility that flight gave him. The best bet seemed to be to head towards the tournament grounds and try and pick up the trail there.

  He found that in an odd and half-scared way, he was coming to enjoy the sensation of speed, of skimming over the surface of the world and being able to see to the distant green horizon. He doubted that he would ever get used to it, but he was starting to find the wonder within the terror. As if in response, Silver Wing snorted, almost derisively.

  ‘You stick to flying, and leave the sarcasm to me,’ Teclis said softly. Onwards they flew over a land that was now in the hands of the enemy.

  Chapter Eight

  Tyrion lay gasping on the bank of the Everflow. His mail shirt felt as if it was made from a ton of rusting metal. His clothes were sopping wet. Water had almost doubled the weight of the tabard. It dripped into his eyes through the eye pieces of the helmet. His side burned, and with more than the effort of swimming.

  He pushed himself upright with both hands and looked around. On the far side of the river, somewhat upstream, a company of Cold One riders had come into view. Their beasts were screeching with frustration. One of them, obviously the leader, started bellowing orders and they split up into multiple parties, some of them heading north along the riverbank, some of them heading south, some of them starting to swim across the river. They had obviously underestimated the strength of the current, for it started to sweep even the great beasts away, bringing them in Tyrion’s direction. More and more dark elves came into view on the far bank of the Everflow. They halted, reluctant to press on across the water in the fading light.

  The cold water seemed to have leeched all strength from Tyrion. He struggled to pull himself into the undergrowth before he could be spotted. He had to dig his fingers into the soil to gain purchase. Pain stabbed his side. His knuckles were scratched and the palms of his hands had friction burns.

  He was not in any state to fight. Somehow, with as much effort as it would once have taken him to run several leagues, he managed to fight his way in among the roots of a bush. Twigs scratched against the outside of his helmet, monstrous fingers scraping against metal. He let himself lie there, more exhausted than he had felt in a very long time.

  The Cold Ones emerged from the water upstream but still closer to him than he would have liked. He wondered if they were already on his trail, catching his scent with sensitive, bestial nostrils.

  He just lay there, thinking that he ought to do something, but not sure what. The most logical thing to do was to lower himself back into the water so that they could not catch his scent, but he was not sure he had the strength to hold on if he did that.

  He feared for Alarielle. She was alone.

  What was she doing right now?

  Hopefully she had sense enough to take cover or flee. He told himself not to worry. She had grown up in these woods. She was better at this sort of thing than he was, as she had already proved. He was the one he needed to worry about right now. He doubted that the magic sword was capable of saving him twice in one day. It seemed mostly luck that he had been able to trigger it in the first place. He had no confidence that he would be able to do so again.

  He could hear massively heavy forms crashing through the undergrowth nearby. Something enormous bellowed its hunger and its hate. He had no choice. He had to get away before it caught his scent. Steeling himself against the cold, he pushed off, sliding down the bank back into the water with a splash that was louder than he would have liked. The cold water closed over his head again. Bubbles of trapped air emerged from his helmet and clothing. Instinctively, he pushed himself to the surface, making even more splashing noises that sounded as loud as the trumpets of an army in his ears.

  Very good, Tyrion, he thought. Very stealthy.

  He reached out and grabbed the root of a nearby tree to hold himself against the current. The cold of the water already seemed to be seeping into his fingers, paralysing them, numbing them, making it more and more difficult for him to hold his grip. He could see the vague outlines of massive forms moving through the undergrowth, displacing it. He could hear the jingle of harnesses and the bellows-like breathing of the monstrous animals.

  Once, he saw the cold glitter of one of their eyes turned on him. He did not move, fearing that any motion would simply draw their attention.

  Yes, he could see the outline of one of those great reptilian heads. It was turning backwards and forwards, nostrils flaring, as if attempting to catch his scent on the wind. Tyrion considered letting himself drop back under the water, but he resisted the impulse although his heart was pounding and his breath was coming in short, shallow gasps.

  The beast stood there for a very long time, and he felt certain that it knew he was there. It made a small mewling noise as if it was confused, then its rider hit it with the butt of his sword and it mov
ed on, followed by a long line of its scaly brethren. It seemed to take hours for them to pass although it could not have been more than a few minutes.

  When they were finally gone, Tyrion pulled himself back out of the water and lay there, too exhausted even to think about what might have happened to the Everqueen. He knew that he had to do something. He had to take off his soaking clothing before he caught a chill. He needed to look after his armour or it would rust. He prayed the dark elves would not cross the river and find him.

  Tyrion pulled off his metal jerkin and place it on the ground beside the tabard. He stripped off his shirt and britches and began to wring them out. Water sopped over his scraped knuckles and abraded palms. He was shivering from the cold and wet. He could hear the dark elves receding into the distance but that did not mean he was safe. It was possible that there were other silent hunters nearby. It would be foolish to assume that the Cold Ones were the only things looking for him.

  He drew Sunfang from its scabbard and placed it on the ground. Its flames blazed up, not as bright as usual but still enough to give some heat. He drove the tip of the blade into the ground and sat down beside it, letting its warmth heat his body and dry his clothes.

  He draped his shirt and britches over a piece of wood so that they would catch the heat and form a small windbreak which he hoped would also shield the sword from view. He inspected the chainmail shirt he had taken from the dead dark elf what seemed like a lifetime ago. It had been well oiled, but the water had removed that protective coating and he could see that some of the links were already beginning to rust. There was nothing he could do about it since he did not have the tools needed for maintenance. Instead he put the mail shirt to one side and thought about what he was going to do next.

  He had become separated from the Everqueen because of his own weakness – even now she might be in the hands of the druchii and he would not even know it. He had to fight down the impulse to rise and run off into the woods and begin searching for her immediately. He was even tempted to shout her name, although that would be madness since it would alert the children of Naggaroth to his presence and possibly to hers as well.