Aislinn, still smarting from the losses at the Island of Flame, was enraged by the fall of his home city and threw his flotillas at the druchii reavers with vicious abandon. The coast of the Inner Sea was littered with debris and corpses following these bloody naval conflicts but the Sea Lord came no closer to uniting with his ships trapped beyond Lothern in the Great Ocean and was eventually forced to take shelter in inlets and bays along the shore of Ellyrion.
This news pleased Malekith greatly, as did affairs at Vaul’s Anvil. Hotek’s work was progressing well; the shards of Urithain made fine material for his new sword. However, the priest was canny enough to avoid any promises regarding when the work would be complete, talking instead of cosmic convergences, spheres of power and opening portals.
The Phoenix King was not vexed by this, for his wounds at the hands of Tyrion, and the poison from Shadowblade’s dagger, still left him weak and dizzy after any considerable exertion. Asuryan’s rebirth had been more cosmetic than he had hoped. He would have died rather than admit to his allies that he was incapable of fighting, but the tale of waiting for Hotek’s sword granted him valuable time to convalesce. It was of some concern to Imrik, but Teclis, who was likely not fooled at all by Malekith’s talk of biding time and striking at the most opportune moment, revealed that his brother was similarly afflicted, leaving others to prosecute the war on his behalf.
Until, that was, summer started fading into autumn.
‘And of the war in the east, Tyrion has withdrawn his forces from Yvresse’s coast.’ Teclis’s sources, both mystical and physical, were the equal to the network Ezresor had once boasted, although those agents were now for the most part ranged against Malekith, reporting to Morathi instead. The age-long game of assassination and espionage continued; the pieces had simply changed sides. ‘The daemon-haunted fogs make keeping any troops there costly, in casualties and morale.’
‘Imrik moves on Saphery then? How fares the battle for your homeland?’
‘My call for Imrik to be aided by the local militias has carried some weight. Imrik has agreed to respect the neutrality of the White Tower of Hoeth, and so far Tyrion does the same. I take it you concur with this approach?’
‘If the loremasters and swordmasters of Hoeth wish to let us settle their differences without interference I commend them. There is little else in Saphery that can hope to resist dragonfire and lances. What else?’
‘It seems my brother’s convalescence has been concluded,’ Teclis said quietly. He did not add ‘faster than yours’, but Malekith inferred the comparison anyway. ‘He marches for Tor Yvresse. I think he means to press Imrik to open battle.’
‘Of course he does – we expected this,’ said Malekith. Teclis’s concern at this turn of events was itself a source of unease for the Phoenix King. ‘Imrik’s campaign in your brother’s absence has gone well – we have made great gains in the time afforded us.’
‘He claims the title of Phoenix King,’ said Teclis. ‘Tyrion no longer pretends to be regent, but names himself ruler of Ulthuan.’
Malekith considered this, his ire rising.
‘And they follow him? The princes?’
‘Some do, others say that he has not passed through the flame of Asuryan and cannot be king, but they are afraid to openly dispute his word.’
‘Hypocrites!’ howled Malekith. He crushed a wine ewer in his fist and hurled it the length of the hall, causing a spasm in his wounded shoulder. ‘Worthless, baseless cretins! He bears the Widowmaker openly? He consorts with Morathi in front of them?’
‘He does, your majesty,’ admitted Teclis, stepping back as fire crackled and enveloped Malekith’s raised fists. ‘Is that important?’
‘Usurpers!’ shrieked Morathi, raising up her staff. Malekith leapt forwards and snatched the rod from her grip.
‘No more!’ the prince of Nagarythe cried out. ‘I would not have the realm forged by my father torn asunder by this dispute.’
Malekith laid a comforting hand upon the cheek of his mother and when she was calmed, returned her staff to her. With a last venomous glare at Yvraine and Bel Shanaar, the seeress turned her back upon them and returned to the Naggarothi contingent to glower and sneer.
‘I do not seek the throne of Ulthuan to become a tyrant,’ said Malekith. ‘It is to honour my father and see his legacy fulfilled that I would become Phoenix King. I do not claim this as a right of birth, but surrender myself to the judgement of those here. If it is the decision of this council that Bel Shanaar should wed my half-sister and become king, I will not oppose it. I ask only that you consider my petition this one last time, for it is plain that we have allowed division and misconception to cloud our minds.’
The princes nodded in agreement at these well-spoken words, and gathered together under the eaves of the Avelorn trees. They talked for a long time, until dawn touched her red fingers upon the treetops and the morning mists drifted up from the fertile earth. Back and forth swayed the debate, for some were heartened by Malekith’s gentle entreaty and believed that though he was his father’s son, he had not wielded the Godslayer and so was not touched by its darkness. Others reminded the council of Imrik’s prophecy that Aenarion’s line was touched by Khaine, and argued that a child of Anlec could never be freed from its curse.
‘We have made our decision,’ Thyriol informed the Naggarothi. ‘While Malekith is a fine prince, he is yet young and has much to learn about the world, as do we all. Now is a time for wisdom and guidance, not iron rule, and for these reasons we remain committed to the investiture of Bel Shanaar.’
Morathi gave a scream of derision, but Malekith held up a hand to silence her.
‘The fate of Ulthuan is not for a single elf to decide, and I accede to the wisdom of this council,’ Malekith declared. He crossed the glade and, to the amazement of all, bent to one knee before Bel Shanaar. ‘Bel Shanaar shall succeed my father, though he cannot replace him, and with his wisdom we shall herald a new age for our people. May the gods grant our new king the strength to prosper and rule justly, and know that should ever his will falter or his resolve waver, Nagarythe stands ready.’
‘They would not choose me because the darkness of Khaine lay upon me.’ Malekith’s laugh was shrill, rebounding from the vaulted walls in mocking echoes. ‘A shadow of Khaine? A shadow? A hint? There were times, times of weakness, when my strength was withered and my ambition stunted, when I wondered if they had been right. I would think that the blood and mayhem was the curse of Khaine as Caledor foretold and the First Council had chosen wisely. Now the wisdom of elven princes is truly revealed. Pathetic! Had I taken the Sword of Khaine they would have quailed and begged for me to be king and we would have been doomed to slaughter ourselves into history and then extinction. Is that what they want? Do they really think this blood-hungry usurper will lead them to sanctuary?’
‘They do not think,’ Teclis said, his hands raised to calm Malekith. ‘At least, they cannot think clearly. Their ancient enemy has invaded, swift on the heels of daemons that nearly destroyed their homes. Tyrion protected them then, and he bears the armour of Aenarion and his blood. The Widowmaker, it taints their thoughts, making them warmongers also, but it is fear rather than blood-thirst that drives them.’