The fighting moved to the mountains of Saphery, where the vortex of magic swirled strong and beasts of all size and manner were brought to the battles by both sides – manticores and chimeras, griffons and hydras. While spell and counter-spell lashed across the peaks the roars and bellows of the beastmasters’ charges heralded a deadly confrontation of fangs and claws, scorpion-stings and petrifying stares. The skies were split by thunderbolts and the earth trembled with the summoning of elementals.
The threat of assassination and treachery was rife. Though the direct attempts on Malekith or Alarielle were few, greater were the desertions and small coups. Garrisons would hail for Tyrion and ambush supply caravans destined for the armies, while ship’s captains and town elders would transport and hide the agents of Morathi, conveying the spies into the heart of Malekith’s holdings in return for promised riches and power when Tyrion was victorious.
Word often reached Malekith’s ear of a prince’s wavering loyalty or of seditious words spread through the companies of a particular general. Having learned from the fiasco of Brackblood’s execution Malekith did not act overtly against these naysayers and faint-hearts, but sent them to the areas where the fighting was hardest, allowing Tyrion’s warriors to cull the dissenters.
And throughout the war Malekith and Tyrion avoided matching each other blade to blade. Both knew that they were evenly matched. Malekith had fresh experience and his pride still smarted from his last confrontation with the Dragon of Cothique, while Tyrion was wary of Malekith’s new-found power and reforged blade, reminded that in the old myths Khaine was laid low by Asuryan’s wrath.
Even when by miscalculation or poor fortune the two found themselves on the same battlefield they would be circumspect in their fighting, such clashes becoming brief skirmishes before both sides withdrew.
At Tor Ellian Malekith’s army faced a disastrous defeat and only the arrival of warriors and spirits from Athel Loren along the World Roots allowed the Phoenix King’s forces to disengage in any semblance of order. Alarielle herself had almost been slain and the elves from beyond the Great Ocean vowed that they would never leave her side.
Tor Ellian signalled a shift in fortunes for Malekith. No matter what he tried, still Tyrion’s forces prevailed more than they lost. Engulfed by the Shadow of Khaine they would fight to the last, selling their deaths dearly while Malekith’s warriors were forced to retreat again and again to fight another day. With each encounter the Shadow of Khaine spread to more soldiers and princes once loyal to Malekith, sapping the strength of his hosts even more.
Thirty-Three
A New Ending
His desperation growing, Malekith sent Teclis across Ulthuan, demanding of the princes not yet committed to show themselves loyal to the Phoenix Throne, in battle. A great many of the nobles finally sent forth their households, but as many that declared for Malekith were matched by the number that moved to the camp of Tyrion, and an equal number refused to pick between two equally bloodthirsty tyrants.
No matter how bloody a pursuit became, nor if an army was outmanoeuvred and on the brink of destruction, there was one kingdom of Ulthuan that neither side violated. Nagarythe, a fog-shrouded desolation, was home to the Shadow King and his aesenar and neither side dared the borders of Aenarion’s ancient realm for fear of rousing the wrath of Alith Anar. Now Malekith risked the Shadow King’s neutrality and despatched Teclis to seek audience with the self-appointed ruler of Nagarythe.
It was with some trepidation that Malekith awaited his emissary’s return. In the guise of a flock of crows Teclis came back to the camp of the Phoenix King as the army was camped on the shore of the Inner Sea close to the border between Eataine and Saphery. Malekith knew immediately from Teclis’s expression that his advances had been rebuffed.
‘The ranks of the aesenar swell, as they did when the Anars first raised their banner in opposition to Morathi before the Sundering, your majesty,’ said the mage. ‘Tens of thousands of refugees from across the kingdoms have sought sanctuary under his banner, turned aside from the other kingdoms.’
‘A force that could swing the war yet he sits on his hands like a coward,’ snarled Malekith. ‘Does he not know that Tyrion and Morathi will slaughter them all once they have secured Ulthuan?’
‘He does not care, I think,’ admitted Teclis. ‘He is a bitter spirit, and your treachery still burns cold in his heart.’
‘My treachery?’ The king’s protest was like iron scraping on stone. ‘The Anars swore their oaths to me, delivered Anlec to me, and then they turned on me. He owes me an army!’
‘Nevertheless, there will be no army from Nagarythe, your majesty,’ said Teclis. The two of them walked to Malekith’s pavilion and stopped under the shade of the great awning over the entrance. Servants brought Teclis wine but he waved them away and instead imbibed one of his constitution restoratives.
‘We are being beaten, nephew,’ Malekith said quietly. ‘The time fast approaches when I must risk all or we shall lose by degrees everything we have until there is no army left to fight with.’
‘Personal combat?’ Teclis flexed his fingers as though they were stiff and rolled his shoulders with a pained expression. As much as anyone the war had taken its toll on him. ‘Do you think you can win?’
‘I think the first problem is drawing Tyrion into a fight he cannot avoid,’ said Malekith. ‘His army grows stronger every day, and with each the reasons to match his blade against mine lessen. I have misjudged this war. The Shadow of Khaine lies too deeply over our people, and loyalty to the Phoenix Throne is scarce.’
‘What do you suggest, your majesty?’
‘Do not be coy, nephew.’ Malekith stepped inside the pavilion and Teclis followed. He did not speak again until they were alone in his audience chamber. ‘You have always harboured a grander plan for the conclusion of this effort, have you not? Do not seek to dissemble any longer – the time is upon us for frank discussion.’
‘You speak of the vortex, your majesty.’ The mage did not look at the Phoenix King but busied himself at a platter of meats and breads on a side table. ‘An attempt to harness the winds of magic to end forever the threat of Chaos and the daemons.’
‘I knew it would be grandiose, nephew, but I never quite thought you could have such a high ambition! Ultimate victory over Chaos? Peace and love in our times? Wolf and lion living in harmony? I am surprised you waited this long before making your confession.’
Teclis turned but before he could speak Malekith stopped him with a raised hand.
‘You are aware that I have some personal experience in this matter, yes?’ said the Phoenix King. ‘Interfering with the vortex, I learned at great cost, can have severe consequences.’
The throne room at the heart of Aenarion’s palace was shrouded in darkness. The only light came from the glow of the Witch King’s armour, casting flickering shadows from the twelve figures that stood before him.
The humiliation hurt more than his wounds, though they were grievous; the blows of the Phoenix Guard had reignited the fire of Asuryan that had been set in his flesh. Malekith did not retreat from the pain as he had done before. He embraced it. He nurtured it. The agony in his body fuelled the rage in his spirit.
‘I will not be denied,’ Malekith growled.
‘We are defeated, master,’ said Urathion, the sorcerer-lord who ruled over the citadel of Ullar. ‘There are barely enough troops to defend the walls and the army of the accursed Anars will surely come soon.’