‘Hotek?’ Malekith whispered the name, knowing it was impossible that the ancient High Priest of Vaul could be in the same chamber, there and then. He glared at Imrik. ‘This must be some kind of trick?’
‘This is Hotek?’ replied the prince, his surprise as genuine and as deep as Malekith’s. He looked at the prisoner with wide eyes. ‘How can that be possible?’
The old priest laughed, the lines on his face deepening, but there was no madness in the sound as Malekith had feared, only humour. Hotek stood up, setting aside his studies to appraise each of his visitors in turn with blind eyes. He sneered at Fovendiel and bowed his head to Imrik, and then stopped as his unseeing gaze fell upon Teclis.
‘Another godhead,’ said the priest, cracked lips twisting into a smile. ‘I smell moonlight and mystery. Lileath has touched you, my friend.’
‘More than that,’ Teclis replied. He reached out a hand and laid it on Hotek’s shoulder, but drew it back sharply when sparks erupted from the mage’s fingertips. ‘Vaul fills you with the Wind of Chamon.’
‘I am his vessel,’ Hotek said with a nod. ‘I tried to tell these fools but the words would not come properly until now. It is as though a gag was lifted from my lips.’ He looked at Malekith and moved splayed fingers towards the king’s armour. ‘May I?’
Malekith hesitated, but consented. The priest ran his hands over the armour of midnight, the cracks and welds, the scars and rivets, almost caressing the king, his fingers long since inured to the heat of furnaces and forge. When he was done there was a look of satisfaction on Hotek’s face.
‘It has lasted well,’ said the priest, ‘but alas my sense of time has become a little unfocused. I know that when I last set eyes on you, a thousand years had passed since the fall of Nagarythe. I came back here to reclaim the notes I had abandoned during my flight, and the rest is very hazy.’
‘More than four millennia have passed since you left Naggaroth,’ said Malekith.
‘I see,’ said Hotek, receiving this news with admirable calm. ‘I see that my master’s works take time. He came to me, Vaul, and said that I had despoiled his legacy, and that I had to make amends, on my behalf and his.’
‘Is that so?’ said Teclis. ‘How are you to achieve this feat?’
‘By forging the blade that can match the Widowmaker,’ said Hotek. ‘Vaul has gifted me his power and I can sense that you have brought me his hammer. There is something else I will need.’
Teclis was about to reply when Imrik stepped forward, standing between the priest and the other elves. He looked intently at Malekith.
‘We cannot trust this traitor,’ said the prince. ‘He has betrayed Caledor before, to great detriment. What guarantee can he give that he will not do so again?’
‘Because I am willing to pay the price for my previous ill-dealings. Always Vaul loved the mountains and dragons. Oh, I will need a dragon, if you can arrange it, while it occurs to me. Nothing smelts magical steel like dragonfire! Anyway, you will cripple me and chain me to the anvil, and my last deed will be to make the blade that can stand against the Sword of Khaine.’
‘You seem very sure of this,’ said Malekith, pushing Imrik aside to confront the priest. ‘You served me before because you were promised the secrets of the dwarfs, to be wrested from their holds by our conquering armies. What do you want from me now?’
‘All that is ancient history, my king,’ said Hotek, dropping to one knee. ‘You are Asuryan and I am Vaul, and you will need a blade fit for the king of kings. It will happen as I have seen.’
‘You seem awfully quiet, nephew.’ Malekith glared at Teclis. ‘Your mistress did not reveal this to you?’
‘No, but she did speak to you of this moment, did she not?’ the archmage replied. ‘Do you recall her third prophecy?’
‘And comes forth the Crippled One’s bane, the forgotten maker shall be found. On mercy’s anvil shall hope be forged, and silence shall be unbound.’
Malekith hated this talk of gods and avatars, even though he had been through the flame of Asuryan and become one himself. The mythic tales were cycles, and he had no desire to repeat the war of the gods on the mortal plane, not at the dawn of the Rhana Dandra. But that was perhaps the whole point, to be mortal and to break the old cycles of treachery and death. He had been granted the opportunity to be the hub around which the spokes of the future might revolve.
‘Very well,’ he told Hotek. ‘It will be as you say. Forge me a blade worthy of Asuryan.’
The Phoenix King stalked away, Imrik close on his heel while Teclis remained with the priests of Vaul.
‘So you will ride to war when the sword is ready?’ the prince asked. Malekith wondered why Imrik was so keen to see Malekith risking his life in battle, but it was not the moment to question his ally’s motives. ‘How long do you think it will take Hotek to make his weapon?’
‘It took Vaul a year and a day to make the Sword of Khaine. Let us hope that Hotek is swifter.’
‘Until then?’
‘You must be the figurehead. Just as your ancestor stepped up to my challenge, you must be the visible opponent to Tyrion. The Dragon of Cothique is bewitched by Morathi and enamoured of Khaine, and there are those that will see the truth. He will become a warmonger, there is no other destiny for the chosen of Khaine. Your defection at Eagle Pass will be seen as a great moment of foresight – be sure to include Teclis in your accounts, the brother of Tyrion that has disowned him will lend further weight to your argument.’
‘Very well, but it will take more than words to stop Tyrion. When do we fight?’
‘When I sought to take this isle, I knew that my army could crush any force opposed to it, save for the dragons of Caledor. Your forefather knew that his dragons could defeat me but that they could not be everywhere at once. Neither he nor I was willing to place success or failure in a personal confrontation, and so our armies danced across the kingdoms like unwilling partners. As it was then, so it must be again. This is not a war one can win in a season, but it is a war that can be lost in a day. Give Tyrion no single enemy to destroy, but rouse up all opposition to him so that his forces must watch their backs, guard every town and garrison every fortress they take.’
‘Any other lessons of grand strategy you wish to share?’
‘Stay out of Nagarythe,’ Malekith added, ignoring the prince’s sarcasm, just as he ignored Imrik’s continued refusal to call him king. Deference would come in time – all the Phoenix King required for the moment was obedience.
Malekith stopped and held a hand to halt Imrik. He stared at the prince, intent.
‘Whatever happens, do not confront Tyrion directly. If you meet him in battle, you will die and all chance of victory will be lost.’
‘And if I should happen to be on the same battlefield as he, you expect me to avoid him?’
‘I expect you to run away, Imrik,’ said Malekith, clenching his fist. ‘Your pride is already spent – it has no value now. You are no good to me dead, and neither are your dragons. He wields the Godslayer, and you are not even a god.’
‘What if he brings the war to Caledor? We would have nowhere left to retreat.’
‘You had best make sure he does not come here, hadn’t you? I suggest you start by taking Lothern.’
Twenty-Seven
A Tale of Two Kings
As Malekith predicted, the opening stages of the war were characterised by caution. Imrik swiftly secured neighbouring Tiranoc, what little remained of the kingdom after the floods of the Sundering, and in a daring assault seized both eastern and western Eataine to lay siege to Lothern from both directions. The port capitulated quickly and within days black arks and Naggarothi corsair fleets were, for the first time in the long history of Ulthuan, passing through the harbour gates to bring war to the Sea of Dreams.