—<SIX>—

Anlec Restored

 

 

The night was torn by the screams of sacrificial victims and the screeching entreaties of wild cultists. Alith stood at the window of the abandoned garrison tower and looked over Anlec. Fires of different colours broke the darkness, while bloodthirsty mobs ran amok in the streets below, fighting each other and dragging off the unwary to be sacrificed to the dark gods of the cytharai.

The Shadows had made their lair in a deserted building not far from the northern arc of the city wall. Once it had been home to hundreds of soldiers, but they had been moved south to confront the threat from Tiranoc. Like many parts of Anlec, the area was eerily quiet, the cultists preferring to keep to the centre of the city where the great temples were found. There was strength in numbers as the cults vied with each other for dominance.

There were chambers below the tower that the Anars had not ventured into since their first exploration, appalled by bloodstained floors and barbed manacles, broken blades and wicked brands. Shuddering at the thought of the torments that had been visited upon fellow elves, they had closed the doors and kept to the upper storeys.

“I had no idea that we could fall so low,” said Eoloran, appearing at Alith’s shoulder. “In this place of all, where once there was such dignity and honour, it pains me to look upon what we have become.”

“We are not all the same,” said Alith. “Morathi has spread weakness and corruption, but Malekith will bring strength and resolve. There is still a future worth fighting for.”

Eoloran did not reply and Alith turned to look at his grandfather, to find that he was gazing at Alith with a smile.

“You make me proud to be an Anar,” said Eoloran, touching Alith’s shoulder. “Your father will be a great lord of the house, and you will be a fine prince of Nagarythe. When I see you, memories of the ancient past disappear and pain goes away. It is for the likes of you that we fought and bled, not these wretches that cavort through Aenarion’s city.”

Eoloran’s words warmed Alith’s heart and he grasped his grandfather’s hand.

“If I am so, it is because I have your example to follow,” said Alith. “It is the fine legacy that you will leave us that stirs me, and I call myself Anar with such pride that I cannot put it into words. Where others faltered and fell into the darkness, you have stood unflinching, a shaft of light for all to follow.”

Eoloran’s eyes glistened with tears and the two embraced, drawing comfort upon each other’s love and putting aside the horrors that lay outside.

Breaking away after some time, Eoloran turned his eyes back to the window and his expression hardened.

“Those that have perpetrated these atrocities must be punished, Alith,” he said quietly. “But do not confuse punishment with revenge. It is fear and anger, jealousy and hatred that feed these cults, stirring those darkest emotions that lie within us all. If we stay true to our ideals, the victory will be ours.”

 

For nine days the Shadows concealed themselves within the heart of the enemy. For the most part they stayed out of sight, but singly and in pairs they dared the city on occasion, to gather information and food. The daytime was less perilous than the night, for the orgies and sacrifices of the night before left the cultists sated for a while and the streets were quieter.

While the cultists ruled the night, the garrison of Anlec held sway in the daylight, patrolling the streets vigorously to ensure that total anarchy did not consume the city. It became clear that Morathi held the various forces in balance, indulging the cults to retain their support, yet reining back their excesses enough to ensure that some semblance of order was maintained.

It was late afternoon on the ninth day when Alith and Casadir took their turn to go out into the city and find out what news they could. Garbed in their elegant robes, swords concealed beneath the folds of cloth, the pair headed for the main plaza outside the palace. There was a guard of soldiers upon the steps that led up to the huge doors of the citadel, and a throng of elves was massing in the square.

There was a hum of conversation, an edge of fear to the atmosphere that drew Alith’s attention.

“Let us split up and see what we can hear,” he said to Casadir. “I will meet you back here in a short while.”

Casadir nodded and headed off to the right, passing in front of the steps. Alith turned left, towards the market stalls that had been set up on the edge of the square. He moved along the stalls, seemingly browsing the sellers’ wares yet he was alert to the hubbub around him.

Amongst the usual fare of a market there were more sinister goods on sale. Ritual daggers inscribed with evil runes, talismans of the cytharai and parchments filled with incantations to the underworld gods. As he eyed a silver amulet forged in the shape of Ereth Khial’s sigil, Alith heard a passer-by mention the name of Malekith. Turning he followed the group of elves across the square. Amongst the languid strolls of the other elves, these five moved with purpose towards the street of temples that lay to the west.

“Riders came in early this morning,” one was saying. Though the air had not yet thrown off the full chill of winter, she was dressed in a diaphanous veil that was wound loosely about her body, her pale flesh exposed for all to see. Upon her back were scars in the shapes of runes, and her flesh was pierced with rings of gold. “My brother was at the south gate and overheard what was said to the guards. The riders told the garrison that Prince Malekith advances on Anlec with an army.”

This was greeted with twitters of fear from the other elves.

“Surely he won’t attack the city?” said one.

“Are we safe here?” asked another.

“Perhaps we should flee,” suggested another.

“There is no time!” said the first, her voice shrill. “The riders say that the prince is but a day’s march away. His wrath will fall upon us ere sundown tomorrow!”

A thrill of excitement pulsed through Alith on hearing these words. He longed to follow the group further but they had turned up the steps that led to the shrine of Atharti and he had no desire to enter that damned place. Cutting down a side street, Alith circled quickly back towards the square and there he found Casadir waiting for him.

“Malekith is close,” Casadir whispered as Alith came up to him. “I heard a captain of the guards sending his company to the walls to make ready the defence of the city.”

“He is but a day away,” said Alith as the two of them walked together back towards the abandoned barracks. “Or so some believe.”

“Morathi is keeping this news secret for the moment,” said Casadir. “She fears that there will be panic if the people find out that the prince is about to besiege Anlec. Perhaps we should spread the word, and hope that we can cause fear and confusion and hinder her plans.”

“That might be a good idea, but I would speak with my father first,” said Alith.

“I will linger a while longer and see what else I can learn,” said Casadir. “I will return to the tower before dusk.”

“Be careful,” said Alith. “As this news spreads, I fear hysteria will grip many of the cultists. The sacrificial fires will burn high this night.”

Casadir nodded reassuringly and disappeared into the gathering crowds. Alith headed for the Shadows’ lair at a brisk pace, keen to move quickly but fearful of attracting attention. If Malekith was indeed but a day away, his approach having been kept secret by Morathi’s warriors, the Anars had little time to prepare their plan of action. Though the prospect filled Alith with excitement, he felt an underlying dread that the Shadows would fail and the prince would be destroyed upon the city’s walls.

 

As Alith had predicted, the night was punctuated by much rowdy behaviour, the beating of drums and the blare of horns as word spread of Malekith’s approach. Amongst the mayhem of the cultists’ tribulations and celebrations, the tramp of marching feet reverberated around the city as the garrison turned out and such forces as were near at hand were brought back to Anlec. The Shadows kept to their dark tower whilst this hysteria gripped the druchii, fearful of being set upon in the streets.

Alith spent a sleepless night with the others, alternating between keeping watch for intruders and discussing the coming events with his father and grandfather. When the rosy haze of dawn crept across the horizon, barely glimmering over the stone wall of the city, Alith was in the highest chamber of the tower with Eothlir and Eoloran. In the light of the dawn and by the fires of torches along the ramparts, they could see a great many warriors standing ready to receive an assault.

A singular question had vexed Eoloran since their arrival at Anlec and he gave voice to it again as the sun crept onto the sill of the window.

“From which direction will Malekith attack?” he asked, though posing the question to nobody in particular. “We must know which gate needs to be opened.”

“I have heard conflicting reports,” said Eothlir. “Some believe he marches direct from Tiranoc and comes from the south, while others have said that he comes from Ellyrion in the east.”

“From his messages, we know the prince intended to muster his army in Ellyrion,” said Alith. “The east seems the most probable direction.”

“That does seem likely, but such is the confusion that I have even heard tell that he comes from the west, having landed at Galthyr. While I suspect that you are right, Alith, it is not beyond the bounds of reason to wonder if his plans have changed, either through his own decision or forced by the actions of the druchii. A wrong assumption would not only cost us our lives but could damn Nagarythe to this torment for many more years to come.”

“Then we must see for ourselves what is the truth,” said Alith.

“And from where would you look?” said Eothlir. “The walls are full of warriors and no tower save for the citadel is high enough to see any distance.”

“When faced with only one path, no matter how dangerous, that is the route we must take,” said Alith. “I will scale the citadel for a vantage point that will give us sufficient warning of Malekith’s approach. We need time to order ourselves and reach whichever gatehouse he assaults, and for that we need to know his intent as soon as possible.”

“If only there were some way we could send or receive word from the prince,” said Eoloran. “A bird, perhaps?”

“I fear that Morathi’s eye will be alert to such things, and we risk revealing ourselves for only an uncertain gain,” said Eothlir. He paced to the window and back, obviously distressed. “It seems unwise to send out a solitary spy, Alith.”

“Better that only one is caught than all, and I would not ask any other to risk themselves,” said Alith. “Do not be too disheartened. Anarchy still holds sway over much of the city, though I am sure before long Morathi will instil a greater fear in her followers than Malekith. The shadows are still deep at this early hour and a lone figure moves unseen where many would attract attention.”

“I am still not certain,” said Eoloran.

“Then you’d best bind me and leave me here, for I intend to go!” snapped Alith, who then fell silent, taken aback by his own determination. He continued in a more measured tone. “I promise I will not take any unnecessary risks, and if I hear word that confirms Malekith’s plan I shall return immediately and dare nothing. All eyes are outwards at this moment, none will see a solitary shadow.”

Eoloran said nothing and turned away, giving his assent yet not able to say as much. Eothlir stepped in front of Alith and placed a hand upon the back of his son’s head. He pulled him closer and kissed his son upon the brow.

“May all the gods of light watch over you,” said Eothlir, stepping back. “You must be quick, but in your haste do nothing rash.”

“Believe me, I would like nothing more than to return whole and unharmed!” said Alith with a nervous laugh. He waved away his father’s concerns and headed for the door.

Alith stripped off the cumbersome Salthite robes he had been wearing and adorned himself with a simple loincloth and red cloak, such as might be worn by a Khainite. He wrapped a ragged sash around his waist in which he placed a serrated knife. Thus disguised, Alith slipped from the tower without a word to his fellow Shadows.

The street directly outside was empty and the tower itself concealed the view from the walls. Hugging close to the side of the street, where tall-roofed buildings had once housed thousands of warriors, Alith headed for the centre of the city.

Feeling that he would arouse less attention on the main roads than if he were seen skulking through alleys and side streets, Alith took the most direct route to the central plaza, coming at the palace of Aenarion from north-west. Here were many of the homes of Anlec’s rulers, most empty while their noble owners commanded troops on the wall or were with their soldiers far to the south. Leaping over garden walls and flitting past bubbling fountains, Alith looked for a means by which he could gain entry to the citadel.

Where once the spire of Anlec had stood alone in the centre of the city, the passing centuries had brought more buildings, each getting closer and closer to the palace. Though the square south of the citadel was open, generations ago the houses of the nobles had joined to the northern wall of the palace and it was here that Alith headed.

As easily as he had once jumped from rock to rock on the mountainsides of his home, Alith leapt into the bare branches of a tree close to the porch of one of the manses. From here he jumped onto the roof. Sliding past an open dormer window, Alith stooped low to avoid being seen and ran along the angled tiles at the ridge of the steep roof. There was some distance between the manse’s gable and the wall of the citadel and Alith took the leap at a run, hurling himself over the drop. His fingers found a hold on the age-worn stones of the wall and, after a moment of scrabbling his naked toes also found purchase. Spiderlike, Alith shimmied to the top of the wall. After peering over to ensure he was unobserved, he slipped through the tall crenellations onto the rampart beyond.

His vantage point was no better than that elsewhere and he could see no further than the curtain wall of Anlec. He needed to climb higher if he was to get a good view of the surrounding plains and witness the arrival of Malekith.

Keeping to the western side of the citadel, still shrouded from the rising sun, Alith climbed up turrets and minarets, sidled along ledges and clawed his way up steepling roofs until he was far above the city. Pausing beneath the sill of an arched window, Alith glanced down and saw figures on the streets below, made incredibly small by distance. There was a great throng in the central plaza and the street of temples was full of people. Elsewhere there were very few elves. Alith could see over the walls, but only to the dark west, the direction least likely to reveal Malekith. He needed to look east, to confirm that Malekith’s army indeed approached from that direction.

Crawling along a narrow gutter, Alith came to the edge of a roof overlooking the top of an open turret below.

Three warriors stood guard at the door beneath him, but their eyes were looking outwards, seeking the same thing he was. Ignoring the soldiers, Alith pulled himself across the gap above their heads and silently climbed higher.

The sun bathed Alith with its warmth as he rounded the golden pinnacle of a minaret. The sensation gave him a sudden flash of memory. He remembered lying on the lawn of the manse with his mother, talking about Ashniel. It was with guilt that Alith realised he had not thought of Ashniel since leaving Elanardris, so possessed had he been of the coming mission. The memory heartened him, for if they succeeded today, Malekith would regain his throne and Ashniel would no longer be bound to her safe retreat in the mountains.

Spurred on by his desire, Alith looked around for surer footing and saw a balcony not far above him. With a spring, he grabbed hold of the curving stone supports beneath the balcony and pulled himself up to an elegant balustrade. A huge windowed door stood open, leading into a darkened chamber.

Alith heard voices and froze.

After a moment, he relaxed as the voices receded into echoes. Standing to one side of the door so that he could not be seen from within, Alith had the chance to look out properly. Everything to the south and east was laid out before him. The roads running from the gates travelled directly away from the city as far as the horizon, broken only at the raised bridges across the fire moat.

For some time Alith stayed there, seeking some clue that would confirm Malekith’s approach. As time dragged on, doubt gnawed at Alith’s resolve, his expectation slowly leeched from him as the sun rose higher and higher. On occasion there would be the sound of footfalls within the citadel and Alith held his dagger ready in case someone came upon him.

Even as the last of Alith’s hope was waning, he spied a flashing to the south-east. Shading his eyes, he looked more carefully. It was the unmistakeable glint of sunlight on metal. Dust rose on the horizon and Alith watched in awe as the host of Malekith marched towards the city.

Alith had never seen so many warriors. Thousands upon thousands of knights, spearmen and archers advanced, spreading far to either side of the southern road. As the army came nearer and nearer, Alith saw white chariots pulled by fierce lions, and the banners of other realms flapping above the endless ranks of warriors: Ellyrion, Yvresse, Tiranoc and Chrace. Front and centre were the silver and black standards of Nagarythe, the warriors of Prince Malekith. At this distance, Alith could see nothing of the prince, though his black-armoured knights were visible. Winged creatures circled in the clouds above the army: three pegasi and a mighty griffon with riders on their backs.

It was clear that Malekith marched for the southern gate, his army forming up towards the drawbridge in that direction. Relieved, Alith was about to start his long climb down when raised voices from within the citadel attracted his attention. He risked a glance into the chamber and found it was empty. However, through an archway at the far side of the room he could see an inner hall and his heart skipped a beat when a tall figure crossed into view.

She was tall, majestic, her black hair spilling down her back in languid curls. She wore a purple gown of gossamer cloth, which wreathed about her white skin like smoke. There was a strange shadow about her, a barely visible miasma of darkness that seemed to teem with a life of its own. Alith fancied he saw tiny glaring eyes and fangs appearing in that shadowy mist. In her hand the matriarch held an iron staff topped with a strange horned skull and her hair was bound by a golden tiara set with diamonds and emeralds.

Morathi!

Alith was spellbound by her beauty, though he knew in his heart that she was utterly wicked. Her back was to him but the curve of her shoulders and hips stirred a passion inside Alith that he had not known he possessed. He longed to lose himself in that lustrous hair and feel the touch of that smooth skin beneath his fingers.

The sound of voices broke the enchantment and Alith realised the sorceress-queen was not alone. Black-robed figures passed back and forth across the archway, their heads shaved bald and tattooed with strange designs. He could not hear the words being said and against the promise he had made his father, Alith slipped into the chamber to come closer to the hated Witch Queen.

From this new position Alith could see more clearly into the central hall. He recoiled from what he saw. Beyond Morathi burned a multi-coloured flame, which recalled to Alith the tales of the Flame of Asuryan that had blessed Aenarion at the dawn of time. Yet there was nothing holy about these fires, their licking tongues strangely jagged and angular. A half-formed shape dwelt in the middle of the twisting flames. Though indistinct, made up from but also not part of the flames, it looked like the face of a bird, perhaps an eagle or a vulture, shifting between two different appearances. Its eyes glittered with power and to Alith the flames looked like a pair of immense wings furled around some otherworldly creature.

“Their time will come,” intoned a solemn, deep voice that resounded around the hall. The words came from the flames, but did not seem to be elvish, though Alith understood them easily. It was if the words came from a language that bound all other languages together, utterly recognisable and yet totally different.

“The winding road forks many rimes,” warned another, with a cackle.

“And we see where all paths lead,” said the first voice.

“But not when,” responded the second.

Alith was confused, for both voices seemed to come from the flaming apparition, yet they had about them the tone of an argument.

“And in return for this undertaking, I shall expect to be rewarded.” Morathi cut across the bickering, her voice as luxuriant as her body. “When I call, I will be answered.”

“It makes demands,” said the screeching voice.

“Demands,” echoed the deeper voice with a guffawing laugh.

“I do not fear you,” said Morathi. “It is you that came to me. If you wish to return to your infernal place with no bargain made, I shall not stop you. If you wish to return with what you came for, then you will treat me as an equal.”

“Equal?” the creature’s shrill voice bit like splinters inside Alith’s ears and he winced at the sound.

“Equal in all things, we are,” said the deep voice, reassuring and gentle. “As partners we make this trade.”

“Remember always that there are things a mortal can do, places a mortal can go, that are beyond your reach, daemon,” said Morathi. A trickle of dread ran down Alith’s spine at the mention of daemons and he was gripped by the urge to flee. Shaking, he mastered his fear and forced himself to listen on. “It was our kind that bound you to the prison that holds you. Should you wish to reach beyond that prison, it is with mortal hands that you must work.”

“Always so arrogant,” mocked the sharp voice. “Mortals imprisoned us? You would do well to know that no prison can keep us for all time, and no barrier holds us wholly back. There will come a reckoning with mortals, oh yes. A reckoning.”

“Shut up, you stupid old crow,” said the other voice. “Do not listen to his idle chatter, queen of the elves. Our deal is set, our pact is made. Your followers shall go into the north and teach the humans of the sorcerous ways and in exchange the power of the Everchanging Veil shall be yours.”

“I mark this pact with blood,” said Morathi. Her staff tip lashed out towards one of the sorcerers and he was suddenly swathed with blood from hundreds of small cuts, his screams echoing around the hall. With a contemptuous sweep of her staff, Morathi hurled the still-shrieking acolyte into the fires. The flames burnt brightly for a moment, almost blinding, while harsh laughter resounded from the walls.

“Your fate is woven,” said the daemon. With another flash the flames disappeared, leaving the hall in darkness.

Alith blinked to clear the spots from his vision. It was a moment before he realised Morathi had turned and was heading towards the archway. In a panic, Alith sprinted back out onto the balcony and threw himself over its rail, grasping hold of the supports as he dropped. He clung there, grimacing, as he heard the tap of narrow-heeled boots clicking on the stone above. When Morathi spoke next, her voice was almost on top of Alith and his skin crawled at being so close to the sorceress-queen.

“How remarkable,” Morathi said. “I thought the fires beyond him. It seems as if my son has grown up finally.”

“Do you not feel its presence, majesty?” hissed one of the sorceresses. “The circlet upon his helm, it burns with the ancient powers.”

“Yes,” said Morathi with a sigh. “Has he the will to wield that power though? We shall soon see. It is an artefact from before Ulthuan was raised from the seas. Be wary, my darlings, or we shall all suffer the consequences.”

“Prince Malekith has crossed the fires, your majesty,” said another acolyte. “What if he takes the city?”

“Send your familiars out to spread the word to the others, our agents in the mountains and the cities,” purred the queen. “A single battle does not win a war. Should he enter Anlec, he will come to me.”

Footsteps receded into the citadel and Alith let out his breath in an explosive gasp, almost losing his hold on the pitted stonework. There was too much to think about and not enough time to consider everything. Alith focussed on what was important: the Shadows had to open the southern gate, and quickly.

 

There were few elves on the streets of Anlec, and those that were spared no second glance to thirty Naggarothi garbed in short mail coats and cloaks of black who marched along the road with bows in hand and grim looks on their faces. Shouts and cries echoed down from the walls, but from within the city it was impossible to know how the battle progressed. Now and then Alith saw one or other of the pegasus-riding mages sweep down to the ramparts unleashing magical fire or forks of lightning. The screams of the dying grew in number as an elven prince atop the back of a majestic griffon crashed into the soldiers upon the walls. His icy lance and the claws of the monster gouged great wounds in the druchii regiments. All else save for the clouds of arrows that passed back and forth was hidden from view.

“Wait!” hissed Eoloran as the Shadows came into sight of the wide plaza behind the south gate. The open square was filled with elves howling and screaming: Khainites. Their priests and priestesses moved amongst the shrieking mob, sprinkling them with handfuls of blessed blood, exhorting them to slay the city’s attackers for the glory of Khaine. Hateful oaths to slay Malekith echoed from the gate and surrounding buildings. Some of the Khainites fell to their knees, wailing and snarling, dousing themselves with blood from silver chalices, slicking their hair and painting runes upon the flesh with the blood of their companions. Bodies littered the flagstones where the most frenzied worshippers had fallen upon their fellows with knives and bare hands. The skin and flesh had been torn from them, their organs plucked free and devoured by the demented cultists.

Looking up towards the high towers of the gatehouse, Alith could see a great deal of activity. Archers were gathering from the surrounding walls, pouring their arrows into some foe close at hand.

“We must take the gatehouse!” hissed Alith, taking a step.

“We will be butchered,” replied Eothlir, grabbing Alith by the arm and dragging him back as the other warriors took shelter in the shadow of the wall.

“Malekith’s soldiers will all be killed,” said Alith, snatching his arm from his father’s grasp.

“And so will we,” snarled Eoloran. A bell rang out three times from the direction of the citadel. A moment later a loud grinding echoed across the courtyard. Eoloran pointed towards the gate towers. “Look!”

The huge gates of Anlec swung open with a rattle of heavy chains. On the gate towers, naked slaves were bent to two great wheels as their druchii masters lashed their backs with barbed scourges. Like a dam being opened, the Khainites flooded out of the city, whooping and screaming with murderous delight.

The gates closed with a shuddering thud as the last of the Khainites passed through. The courtyard was empty and silent, save for the distant battle cries and clash of war from beyond the walls.

“Now is our chance!” said Eoloran, waving Alith and the others forwards.

Bows and arrows readied, the Shadows ran swiftly across the gate square. As had been discussed before setting out from their hiding place, Alith and Eothlir led half of the Shadows towards the eastern tower while Eoloran took the rest towards the western tower. Eoloran’s group disappeared through the doorway whilst Alith was still a dozen paces from the other tower.

A figure clad in chainmail appeared at the doorway right in front of Alith. The druchii’s eyes widened with shock a moment before an arrow from Anadriel took him in the cheek, hurling him against the stone of the tower. Alith leapt past and was engulfed by the torchlit gloom.

The stair spiralled to the right and Alith dashed up the steps in bounding leaps, the other Shadows closely on his heels. No other druchii came down and as Alith burst from the door at the top he found himself looking out across the plains of Anlec and the army of Malekith.

He had only time to register rank upon rank of spears and knights and archers before movement to his left caught Alith’s eye. There were dozens of warriors on the wall next to the tower and the closest were turning towards him.

Without thought, Alith aimed and loosed his first arrow, which punched through the gilded breastplate of the closest warrior. As he nocked and shot his next, Eothlir and the other Shadows fanned out around him to add their own missiles to the volley. Within moments, two dozen druchii lay dead and wounded upon the stones.

“The gate wheel,” said Eothlir, pointing up to the next level of the tower above the parapet.

“Five with me, the rest hold the door,” ordered Alith, running to a flight of steps atop the gatehouse wall. He rammed his bow into its quiver and drew his sword as he bounded up the final few steps to the roof of the tower.

The slavemasters were ready and a cracking whip lashed out to greet Alith as he ran onto the open space. Pain bit through his left arm and he glanced down to see the sleeve of his shirt in tatters, a bloody wound on his forearm. Snarling, he ducked beneath the flailing barbs that snaked out towards him and launched at the whip’s wielder. The druchii drew a knife with his free hand but Alith was too quick, driving the point of his sword into the slavemaster’s bare chest.

More burning pain screamed across Alith’s back as another wicked blow tore at his cloak and flesh, ripping through to the muscle. He stumbled but Casadir was there, dashing past to cut the whipmaster’s arm at the elbow. A reverse slash took the elf’s head clean off.

The emaciated slaves at the wheel threw themselves at their tormentors, battering and swinging with the chains of their manacles. As Anadriel helped him to his feet, Alith spared a glance across to the other tower and below. He could see black-armoured bodies tossed over the parapet by the Shadows. Much further down, in the killing ground between the outcrops of the walls, a phalanx of spearmen pressed towards the gate, their shields raised against the arrows falling upon them.

“The gate!” shouted Alith, grabbing the nearest slave and pushing him back towards the capstan. “Open the gate for your freedom!”

Alith lunged onto the nearest bar of the wheel and heaved, the weeping slaves taking their places around him. Fire burned along Alith’s spine and he bit back a scream of pain as he bent all of his strength to the task. With a clank-clank-clank the chains tightened and gears turned.

“Keep going!” yelled Casadir from just behind Alith. “The gate’s opening!”

The wheel gathered momentum and within moments ran freely as the gate beneath swung open on its own weight. Alith flopped to the ground with a curse. Casadir dragged him sideways from under the feet of the following slaves as the wheel continued to spin.

With a thunderous crash, the gates slammed against the walls.

Shouts of joy and laughter echoed up from the spearmen below and Alith pulled himself up with Casadir’s help and staggered to the parapet. Thousands of warriors streamed into the city. On the wall, Eothlir stood upon the battlement, the unfurled banner of the Anars held high in his hand.

 

As Casadir bound Alith’s wounds with the remains of his cloak, a cry of dismay came from the other Shadows atop the tower. Looking down into the square inside the gate, Alith saw that the druchii beastmasters had unleashed their monstrous creatures upon the army of Malekith. Two enormous hydras advanced on the spearmen, smoke and fire billowing from their jaws.

As the first of the monsters closed on them, the spearmen formed a shield wall, their weapons jutting like silver spines. With a clatter of wheels on stone, the chariots of Chrace charged through the gate and swung around the spearmen. Drawn by white lions, the chariots headed straight for one of the hydras; their prince, a tall elf wielding a gleaming double-headed axe, led the charge.

To the right, more cages were opened and a stream of unnatural beasts loped, skittered and slithered across the stones. Taken from the Anullii and the wastes across the sea north of Ulthuan, the Chaotic monsters lurched forwards, driven by the goads and whips of the beastmasters. More spearmen moved up beside the Naggarothi, their blue banners marked with the symbols of Yvresse.

Alith turned his attention back to the Naggarothi warriors as the flicker of flames and the roars of the lions echoed across the courtyard. The other hydra was almost upon the spearmen. The creature drew back its heads and a shouted command cut across the cacophony filling the square. As one, the spearmen dropped down, raising their shields above their heads. Fire spewed from the hydra’s heads, lapping against the shields of the warriors. Some fell, wreathed with smoke and fire, their cries shrill. As the flames dispersed a bank of charnel smoke drifted away from the scorched warriors.

“Kill the handlers!” gasped Alith, drawing his bow.

A shower of arrows fell upon the beastmasters behind the hydra and each fell, pierced by several shafts. As the Shadows turned their missiles upon the other druchii emerging from the cages, Alith watched the hydra.

Suddenly free of the goading whips and spears of its handlers, the hydra slowed. Three of its heads bent back to examine their unmoving corpses, the other four rose into the air, nostrils flaring as they caught the scent of basilisks and khaltaurs. Fiery venom dripping from its maws, the hydra heaved around its bulk and spied its enemies from the mountains. With hisses issuing from its many throats, the hydra lumbered into a run, heading for the other monsters.

“Alith!” Eoloran called up from below. “Come down here.”

Casadir tightened the knot on the makeshift bandages around Alith’s torso and then took off his own cloak and fixed it around Alith’s shoulders. With a nod of thanks, Alith trotted down the stairs. The pain had subsided but his back was numb, and twice he almost stumbled as he hurried down the steps.

Coming out onto the rampart, Alith found his father and grandfather in conversation with a majestic elf lord clad in golden armour. He was dark of hair and eye, taller and broader than both Eoloran and Eothlir. He turned as Alith walked out of the tower, a smile on his lips.

“Alith, I would like you to meet a very special person,” said Eothlir, laying an arm across his son’s shoulders and pulling him forwards. “This is Prince Malekith.”

Alith bowed out of instinct, his eyes not leaving the prince’s face. Malekith leaned forwards and took Alith by the arm, pulling him upright.

“It is not you that should bow, it is I,” said Malekith, and then he did so, sweeping aside his cloak and lowering himself to one knee for a heartbeat before standing again. “I owe you a debt that will not easily be repaid.”

“Free Nagarythe and I will consider us even,” said Alith.

“Alith!” snapped Eoloran, but Malekith waved away his rebuke with a laugh.

“He is of the Anars, that is for sure,” said the prince. He turned his gaze back to Alith and his expression was earnest. “I agree to my part of the bargain. The tyranny of Morathi will end today.”

The prince’s attention was drawn to a captain of the spearmen who was striding up the steps to the wall. Malekith waved him forward.

“This is the noble Yeasir, commander of Nagarythe and my most trusted lieutenant,” said Malekith. Yeasir nodded his head in greeting, somewhat uncertainly. Malekith clapped a hand to the shoulder of his second-in-command.

“Well done!” the prince exclaimed. “I knew you would not let me down.”

“Highness?” said Yeasir.

“The city, you fool,” laughed Malekith. “Now that we are in, it is only a matter of time. I have you to thank for that.”

“Thank you, highness, but I think you deserve more credit than I,” said Yeasir. He looked at the Anars. “And without these noble warriors, I would still be stood outside, or perhaps lying outside with an arrow in my belly.”

“Yes, well I have thanked them enough already,” said Malekith. “It would be best not to give them too much credit, otherwise who knows what ideas they might get.”

“How did they come to be here?” asked Yeasir.

“Malekith sent word to us many days ago,” said Eoloran. He went on to explain the plan devised with Malekith and how the Anars had infiltrated the city.

“Well, you have my gratitude, prince,” said Yeasir with a deep bow. He turned to Malekith with a frown. “I must admit to being somewhat hurt that you did not feel that you could trust me with this counsel, highness.”

“Would that I could have,” said Malekith airily. “I trust you more than I trust my own sword arm, Yeasir. I could not divulge my plan to you lest it affect your actions in battle. I wanted the defenders to know nothing was amiss until the gates were opened, and foreknowledge of the Anars’ presence may well have meant that you held back until the gates were already flung wide. We needed to keep the pressure on so that all eyes were turned outwards rather than inwards.”

Malekith then turned to Eoloran.

“If you would excuse me, I believe my mother is waiting for me,” the Naggarothi prince said, now empty of all humour.