‘THE ARTEFACT MUST BE SEIZED,’ Nagash rasped.
‘Middenheim is too far, liche,’ Malekith said. ‘Too much territory to cover, and too many enemies between us and it. The worldroots have withered, and we do not have the manpower to make such an invasion feasible.’ The Eternity King sank back into his throne. ‘The daemon is right. We lost this fight before we even drew our blades.’
Silence fell. Teclis tried to think of something. He had always had a plan, even in the darkest moment. But nothing came to him now. There was no path to take that did not lead to destruction. He felt a hand on his back, and turned as Lileath stepped past him. She was shaking slightly, and he wondered again what had passed between her and Jerrod, before Be’lakor’s attack. He had had no time to ask, and he doubted she would tell him.
‘Impossible or not, it must be accomplished,’ she said, her voice cold and hard. ‘The artefact must be destroyed. Together, you have the power to do it, and to thwart this madness before it overtakes us all.’
‘Were you not listening, woman? There is no way,’ Malekith snarled. He thumped his throne with a fist. ‘We do not have the troops or the time.’
‘Then use magic to make up for both,’ Lileath said coolly, not looking at him.
‘I know such magics – I used them to help us escape Averheim – but I cannot transport so many such a distance,’ Gelt said. ‘And even if I could, to unleash such magics in close proximity to the rift might prove disastrous. We might precipitate the very catastrophe we hoped to stop.’
‘Nonetheless, it must be done,’ Lileath said. ‘There are no more options. There is only this path, this certainty – if we do not act, the world dies.’
‘The world is already dead,’ Be’lakor said. ‘You merely seek to postpone its burial.’ He looked up at Malekith. ‘Well, Witch-King? Have I bargained for my life satisfactorily?’
Malekith sat silently for a moment. Then he laughed harshly. ‘Oh yes, I’d say so. You will have life, of sorts.’ He gestured. ‘You shall be broken on the Anvil of Vaul, daemon, and sealed in ithilmar.’ He looked at the Everqueen.
Alarielle reached up, and plucked a ruby from her crown. She handed it to Malekith and said, ‘This ruby shall be your cell. The essence of you shall be sealed within its facets, once my… husband has cracked your bones and stripped you of your flesh.’
If Malekith had noticed Alarielle’s hesitation in referring to him as her husband, he gave no sign. Instead, he held up the ruby and continued, ‘Thus bound, you shall be sealed away, deep beneath the Glade of Starlight, in a prison of root and stone which shall outlast even the Rhana Dandra. You shall live, in the dark and the quiet, while the world lives or dies about you.’ Malekith leaned in. ‘Your story is done, daemon. It has come to its final ignominious conclusion.’
Be’lakor snarled and made as if to lunge up the dais, but the halberds of the Black Guard flashed and the creature fell, squealing. He cursed and screamed as he was dragged away, Caradryan and Malekith following in his wake to see to his imprisonment. Teclis watched them go. The council had broken up without making a decision, but he had expected as much.
‘Fools,’ Lileath said, watching as the Incarnates drifted away to discuss events with their advisors and allies. ‘Can they not see what is made plain?’
Teclis did not reply. He took a deep breath. The air was thick with the dry smell of changing seasons, as winter overtook the forest. Finally, he said, ‘You told me that we could win. Is that still the truth?’
Lileath looked away. ‘No.’
‘Was it ever the truth?’ Teclis asked softly.
Lileath looked up. ‘I knew from the first that this doom would come upon us.’ She laughed bitterly. ‘What sort of prophet would I be otherwise?’
‘You lied to me,’ Teclis said, fighting to keep his voice even.
‘You told me once that you could not fight without hope,’ Lileath said. She looked at him. ‘So I gave it to you. I needed you, Loremaster.’
He felt sick. ‘It was all for nothing then.’
‘Not at first,’ Lileath said. She spoke hurriedly, her words clipped and forceful. ‘By the sacrifices you made, I wrought a great working – a Haven. A place of safety that would have seen your people – our people – through the coming storm.’ She smiled sadly. ‘But… I cannot feel it any more.’
‘What happened to it?’
She turned away. ‘I do not know. Maybe it still exists. Maybe the Dark Gods found it, and have already consumed it and the untold souls within, including my brave Araloth and… our child. My daughter.’ Her voice cracked. ‘I cannot feel my daughter, Teclis.’
Teclis stood helplessly as she began to weep. Then, without a word, he turned and walked away.
‘You will not stay, then?’ the Emperor said, as he helped Jerrod onto his horse. ‘Your sword will be missed, Duke of Quenelles.’
It had been several days since Be’lakor’s interrogation and imprisonment. The elven healers had done what they could in that time for Jerrod, but the marks of the daemon’s claws remained. His face was a ruin, one eye covered by a ragged length of cloth torn from a standard. His leg was almost useless, a lump of dead meat held together only by his armour. Even so, Jerrod felt he had got off lightly.
Jerrod looked down at the other man, and smiled sadly. Volker and Hammerson were there as well to see the Bretonnians off. The dwarf looked glum, and Volker looked drunk. Jerrod thought it was appropriate, seeing as they’d looked much the same when he’d first met them. He shook his head. ‘We cannot stay. I have told you why.’ He looked out at the western edge of Athel Loren, where the trees grew thin and gave way to the vastness of Quenelles, and felt his heart grow heavy.
‘I know,’ the Emperor said. He reached up and clasped Jerrod’s forearm. ‘And I do not begrudge you your anger. I hope… I pray that you find some sanctuary in this world, Jerrod. I hope your people survive and flourish, and that one day, we again feel the ground tremble beneath the hooves of the true sons of Bretonnia.’
‘Thank you, my friend,’ Jerrod said. The Emperor nodded and stepped back. Jerrod looked at Volker and Hammerson. ‘Goodbye, my friends. It has been an honour to fight beside you. Both of you.’
Volker clasped his hand, and stepped back to join the Emperor without speaking. Hammerson glared up at Jerrod for a long moment. Then, with a sigh, he said, ‘If you ever have need of the Zhufbarak, lad, you have my oath that we will come. So long as your kith and kin exist, we shall stand at their side.’
‘And will you lead them, then?’ Jerrod said, smiling.
‘If I don’t die in the next few days, certainly,’ Hammerson said. He hesitated, and then patted Jerrod’s leg. ‘Maybe I’ll even make you a new leg, eh?’
Jerrod laughed softly. ‘I look forward to it, Master Hammerson.’
Hammerson nodded tersely and stepped back. Jerrod watched the three of them return to the forest, and did not feel slighted at their departure. There were plans to be made and a war to be won or lost. But it was not his war, not any longer. The elves had lied to them, and no knight in his company wished to fight alongside those who had used them so.