‘Welcome to Lothern,’ said the Phoenix King, standing up to offer his hand.
Alarielle looked at it, and Malekith realised that the glamour had no effect on her. She saw the truth of what he was, a haggard half-corpse in blackened armour. He left the hand out and tried to smile, though his helm hid his withered lips.
Alarielle took the hand without comment and stepped beside the Phoenix King, turning her radiant smile on the crowd. Their cheers shook the buildings as she nodded regally, her gaze passing over everyone in her audience, seeming to touch all present with a glance of wry humour or earnest intent as their expectations warranted.
Releasing her grip, Alarielle moved to the front of the stage and held out her hands for quiet. A break in the clouds bathed her in golden sunlight and a still descended, so that not even the birds nesting in the eaves made any sound. Her voice when she spoke was as clear as running water, calm but strong, carrying on the wind easily.
‘Great are the tribulations that have troubled our lands of late, and the turmoil to come is greater still. Yet in adversity can also be union, and so it is that with profound pleasure I can tell you that the houses of Avelorn and Athel Loren have been united once again. Those that were estranged are now as one.’
She gestured to the wood elves that had followed her into the square, and there was a ripple of polite applause for them. Alarielle straightened, her hands resting lightly on her girdle, and took a deep breath. Malekith could sense her nervousness now, though she did not look back at him, and knew what troubled her thoughts.
‘And of other unions I must speak. Divided are the kingdoms of Ulthuan, and divided are the loyalties of their princes. This must end, and so I have sent my maiden guard to roam wide across Ulthuan bearing the declaration I speak to you today.’ She then turned a little and beckoned to Malekith, who dutifully stepped forward. ‘As is the right and proper tradition, Malekith of Nagarythe, prince of Ulthuan, heir to Aenarion the Defender, has entered the sacred fires of Asuryan and been reborn. When his prosecution of the current war has successfully driven out the dark forces that would see us plunged into a nightmare of blood and eternal night, we shall be united in marriage, Phoenix King and Everqueen as ever it has been since the time of Aenarion.’
More rapturous cheers and claps thundered across the plaza. Someone started to chant Malekith’s name, and the shout was taken up by others. To hear voices raised in praise of him in such a fashion was something he had not experienced for a long lifetime. Spears and halberds were raised, swords clashed against shields, adding to the tumult of adulation. Yet for all the noise of his supporters there were many in the plaza that did not join the celebration. He saw elves slinking away through the streets and alleys with backwards glances, concern and distaste on their faces. Kouran had noticed them too, it seemed, for almost imperceptibly groups of former Black Guard broke from the crowd and followed these dissidents.
When the clamour had died down, Malekith and Alarielle walked together back to the Sapphire Palace, but once concealed within the gates the Everqueen took her leave of the Phoenix King and retired with her handmaidens to the south halls. Malekith returned to his chambers to assimilate the day’s events and before long the guards called out the arrival of Teclis and Imrik.
Malekith sent for refreshments for his advisors and sat silent in his throne while they debated the course of events that had led to Alarielle’s arrival. Orion was dead, all reports claimed, slain by Tyrion but not before the King in the Woods, the incarnation of Kurnous the Hunter, had gravely wounded the prince with his spear. Many other heroes of Avelorn and Athel Loren had died in the forests of Withelan, but a great toll had also been taken of Tyrion’s forces. Morathi’s attempt to claim the power of the Everqueen had again been thwarted though Avelorn itself was now abandoned.
‘Alarielle remains uncertain,’ Malekith declared. ‘Why else would she pronounce that the war will end before we are wed? It is a soft proclamation, one that our rivals will seize upon as proof that Alarielle only backs me out of coercion.’
‘Her words are more significant even than that, your majesty,’ said Teclis. ‘She talked of reuniting Ulthuan with Athel Loren. All three of our split kindreds are again becoming one. Druchii, asur and asrai, all of them returned to Ulthuan now, under your rule.’
‘It is inevitable, is it not?’ Malekith tapped his fingers on the arm of the throne. ‘I am Asuryan reborn, Aenarion’s heir, the king of kings. Not for me the false throne of Ulthuan. When I prevail I shall be ruler of all the elves.’
‘A war still lies between us and that eventuality,’ said Imrik. ‘The endorsement of the Everqueen stands in our favour and her troops are well-received, but the greater part of Ulthuan is still loyal to Tyrion. While he is wounded we would do well to strike fast and make what ground we can, spreading the word of Alarielle’s blessing.’
‘Summon the princes and generals to council tonight,’ commanded Malekith. ‘Come dawn the last war for Ulthuan will begin.’
The next morning the combined army of Malekith and Alarielle marched forth from Lothern, the Phoenix King and Everqueen at its head, one a figure of dark majesty, the other the embodiment of life and light. The banners of Ulthuan, Naggaroth and Athel Loren streamed behind them and the host that followed numbered tens of thousands.
The war that followed was a terrible time, fought as bitterly and savagely as when Malekith had first attempted to seize the Phoenix Throne. Wherever Tyrion rode the Shadow of Khaine followed, filling elves with a bloodlust and desire for battle that brought them flocking to his banner. To counter this Malekith and the Everqueen seemed to be everywhere, calling on the elves of Ulthuan to swear allegiance to the new Phoenix King.
Malekith’s army had one great advantage over Tyrion’s, and that was Alarielle’s mastery of the World Roots. These ancient magical paths were the means by which the warriors of Athel Loren had come to Avelorn, and they allowed bodies of troops to move from kingdom to kingdom, across the mountains and Inner Sea, undetected and unopposed.
It was well that the Phoenix King’s host had such advantage. Though victories and defeats seemed in equal measure between the two sides, always it seemed that Tyrion’s army was swelled by every conflict and Malekith’s diminished.
Too many are the tales to be told of that bloody affair, of armies routed and scores of dragons duelling in the skies. Morai-heg laid many a twist and turn on fate’s path over the coming seasons, so that the battle for Ulthuan was marked as much by treachery and rebellion as it was valour and sacrifice.
Most notable of these events was when Korhil, who had led Tyrion’s army to the walls of Lothern, broke free of Tyrion’s grip and Morathi’s enchantments. In a daring episode, the captain of the White Lions took the Widowmaker and attempted to bring it to Malekith’s camp.
Morathi’s hunters scoured the wilds for Korhil and the stolen Sword of Khaine but in a twist that would have made Morai-heg cackle with joy, they were set upon by rival Khainites under the command of Hellebron. The hag queen had finally abandoned Har Ganeth, and having learned that her favoured assassin Shadowblade had been ensorcelled by Morathi when he attacked Malekith, sought to avenge herself on the Hag Sorceress and her consort. Long was the rivalry between Har Ganeth and Ghrond and now that enmity was given full freedom. Cothique and Yvresse were awash with blood as the two sects of devotees to the Lord of Murder tried to outdo each other in their dedication and bloody sacrifice, but it availed Korhil nought, for he was captured and the Widowmaker returned to Tyrion. For his bravery the Lionmane was beheaded with his own axe.