—<EIGHT>—
A Dark Plan Revealed
Tiranoc was certainly warmer than Elanardris. The wind kept steady from the west, bringing air from the hot climes of Lustria across the seas and holding the wintry chill at bay. The sky was overcast though and the square that adjoined the great palace of the Phoenix King was all but empty. A few elves hurried from one place or another, eager to spend little time out of the warmth of the city’s thousands of fireplaces.
Alith sat on a marble bench close to the wall surrounding the plaza, looking at the ceremonial gateway that led into the palace. Two white, circular towers soared above, each with a pointed gilded roof and capped with braziers that burnt with magical blue fire—a sign that the Phoenix King was in residence.
The city was utterly different to Anlec. Tor Anroc had been built and rebuilt in times of peace, of winding roads and open spaces, while the Naggarothi capital clung to its warlike past with its forbidding walls and garrison houses. Built around and into a solitary mountain that speared up from the plain of Tiranoc, Tor Anroc was partly opened to the sky and partly a maze of winding tunnels lit with silver lanterns. There was colour and light everywhere Alith looked, utterly unlike the grim greys and black of Anlec’s naked stone.
He didn’t like it at all. The city was for show and little else, like the enormous gatehouse to the palace. The city was dominated by the manses of princes and other nobles and vast embassies containing lords and ladies from the other kingdoms of Ulthuan. Most of the folk of Tiranoc dwelt in towns that surrounded the capital, riding in by wain and horse each day and returning home at nightfall. Only those close to the Phoenix King could afford to stay in the city.
Alith had been in Tor Anroc for three days. He had followed Elthyrior’s instructions and travelled along the roads from Eagle Pass. He had been relieved if not also a little disturbed that his entrance into the city amongst a group of merchants went unremarked. It was fortunate for his personal circumstance, but it was clear that after so many travails across the isle the vigilance against the cults and their agents was weak, even here where the ruler of the elves lived. There were guards at the gates and on the walls, but they watched the masses passing with only vague interest.
For three days Alith had come to the plaza and thought on how he might enter the palace and contact the Phoenix King in secret. He had listened to the market stall traders gossiping and the exchange of rumours between the visiting nobles picking at the merchants’ wares. Fashions in clothing and literature, talk of the colonies and the romances of the princes and princesses of Ulthuan dominated, and there was little spoken about Nagarythe, or Prince Malekith. It occurred to Alith that the Naggarothi were treated like distant cousins, occasionally wayward and attracting attention but otherwise left to their own means. If one did not pry too hard, one would not see things that might be unpleasant.
The hosts of Tiranoc camped close to the banks of the Naganath told Alith a different story and he was astounded that having such a garrison in place caused so little remark amongst the Tiranocii. Even Morathi’s imprisonment was old news and Alith had not heard her name spoken once in the time he had been in the city.
Alith admitted that he was at a loss concerning what to do next. His paranoia was such that he was loath to announce himself to any but Bel Shanaar, though as a prince of Nagarythe he could have simply walked up to the gates and demanded an audience with the Phoenix King. He had caught word that Bel Shanaar regularly held open sessions during which any elf could petition him, but also had detected an undercurrent that such audiences were not truly open and all petitioners were questioned and vetted prior to being allowed to come before the Phoenix Throne. A public audience would do Alith little good even if he could gain entry—the hall would surely be full of others to see Bel Shanaar and he would have no privacy to express his concerns to the Phoenix King.
As midday came, the market began to fill with elves as they made their way in from the towns and farms around the city. Alith wandered amongst the growing crowds, his grey and brown wilderness clothes at odds with the swirling robes and gaily coloured dresses of the urbane elite of Tiranoc. Fortunately most took him for a servant of some kind and paid him no attention as individuals in power often do when close to those of lesser station.
It was this invisibility that gave Alith an idea.
That night he stayed in the city, though the boarding house cost him a good proportion of the silver coins his father had furnished him with. After dark, when the gates were closed, the city took on a different life. Lanterns of red and blue sprang into life and those more modest elves who still lived in Tor Anroc finished their labours and came out. The wine houses threw open their doors and cellars and the merchants packed up their stalls to patronise these establishments.
Alith entered one of these drinking halls close to the palace and was pleased to see a variety of customers in the livery of the Phoenix King. Some were ageing retainers, most were young pages, maids, ostlers, cleaners, cooks and other mundane chore-workers looking for a way to establish themselves in court life. Alith picked a likely group—three male elves and four female—and bought a generous pitcher of hot spiced wine. This cost most of his remaining money and he hoped the expense was not in vain. He filled a tray with eight red-enamelled clay goblets, and the jug and sat down with the palace servants.
“Hello,” he said, handing out the cups. “I’m Atenithor. I’m new to the city and I’m wondering if you could help.”
“Is that an Ellyrian accent?” asked one of the maidens as Alith began to pour the wine. She was petite, for an elf, and her smile was warm and genuine. Alith took her to be a little younger than him, but only by a decade or so.
“Chracian,” he said, feeling that if someone knew the difference they would already have known he was Naggarothi. He guessed that few folk of Nagarythe would be found in the city.
“I’m Milandith,” said the girl, extending a hand. Alith shook it and there were peals of laughter from those around the table.
“One kisses the hand in greeting,” said one of the male youths. He took Alith’s hand and quickly pursed his lips to the middle knuckle. “Like so. I am Liaserin. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Atenithor.”
Alith returned the gesture, trying not to look self-conscious. In Naggaroth, a simple handshake was considered sufficient greeting, and perhaps an embrace for those who were family or well-regarded.
“It seems I have already displayed my ignorance.” Alith laughed off his embarrassment. “It is a good job that I have some friends to steer me straight. I was a hunter, you see, and one does not get much time to learn the niceties of city life on a mountainside.”
He then went around the table kissing the hands of the others, nodding his head in deference as they told him their names.
“What brings a hunter to Tor Anroc?” asked Lamendas, a female elf that Alith judged to be a little older than the others, perhaps in her eightieth or ninetieth year.
“Ambition!” Alith declared with a grin and raised eyebrows. “My father is a famous hunter in the south of Chrace, but it seems that the princes don’t value his work as much as when he was young. I realised that if I am to make a name for myself it was either Tor Anroc or the colonies, and I’ve never been one for ships!”
There was more laughter, friendlier. Alith could feel his new companions warming to his presence and continued.
“Naturally, I am looking for a position at the palace. Might I enquire how one goes about securing such employment?”
“Well, that depends on what you can do,” said Lamendas. “Not much need for a hunter in a palace.”
“Butchery,” Alith replied quickly. “A hunter learns to use a knife as well as a bow, and so I thought perhaps I might make myself useful in the kitchens.”
“You might be in luck,” said Achitherir, a boy of perhaps no more than thirty years. “The cooks are always looking for more help. Every banquet the Phoenix King holds is attended to by more guests than the last. You should speak to Malithrandin, the Steward of the Fires.”
“Malithrandin?”
Milandith, who was sat on Alith’s right, leaned close to him and pointed towards a table close to the fireplace. There were six elves of more senior years arguing intently over a piece of paper. Her other hand brushed Alith’s thigh gently but deliberately as she sat back.
“My father, he sits with the other stewards,” she said, placing a hand on Alith’s knee beneath the table. “I could introduce you if you like.”
“That would be most helpful,” said Alith, making to stand. Milandith’s grip on his knee tightened and forced him to stay seated.
“Not now, the stewards would be most perturbed to have their leisure interrupted by us,” she said. “I will take you to him in the morning.”
“Where might I find you in the morning?”
“Well, if you pour me another glass of wine,” Milandith purred, “you’ll find me lying next to you…”
Magical light flickered from the lantern in the corner of Milandith’s small room, dappling everything in a muted yellow and green. Alith lay staring at the ceiling, feeling the warmth from Milandith beside him. He wondered if he had made a terrible mistake. It would have been unforgivable for him to sleep with Ashniel before they were wed and Caenthras would have been right to demand serious reparations for such an act, not to mention the dishonour Alith would have brought to the Anar name. Perhaps things were different for the lower orders? There had certainly been no hint of reproach or suspicion from the other servants when Milandith had brought him back to her quarters in one of the palace’s long wings.
A thought occurred to Alith that brought a smile to his face. What would be Milandith’s reaction if she learnt that she had bedded a prince of Ulthuan, heir to one of the most powerful families in Nagarythe, no less? As he dwelt on this, his mood darkened again. The encounter, passionate and honest, had been nothing like his dealings with Ashniel. There had been none of the coquettish flirtation and implied physicality, simply the mutual desire of two people. Maybe Ashniel had deliberately held back her attentions, to lead him on and tease rather than fulfil?
He felt Milandith stir next to him and looked to his left, letting his gaze linger on the smooth curve of her naked back and her thick curls of brown hair spilling onto the golden pillow. She rolled towards Alith, eyes half-opened.
“I would have thought your exertions would have left you ready for sleep,” she murmured, stroking a hand across his bare chest.
Alith leant across and kissed her on the cheek.
“I have a lot to think about,” he said. “The city seems to offer many charms that a simple hunter is not used to.”
Milandith smiled and stretched, allowing herself to fall onto him, her head on his chest. She curled her fingers into his hair.
“The city has many delights to be enjoyed, but I would have thought that this one was not new to you,” she said sleepily.
Alith did not reply and she looked up at his face. Her eyes widened in shock and she covered her mouth, suppressing a light laugh.
“I did not know Chracian hunters were so chaste!” she giggled. “Had I known, I would have been more… gentle.”
Alith laughed with her, feeling no embarrassment at his inexperience.
“If you could not tell that this was my first time, then I must have some natural talent!”
Milandith kissed him on the lips, cupping his face in her hands.
“Beginner’s luck, perhaps?” she said. “Of course, there is a simple way to find out.”
Any other thoughts fled Alith’s mind as he held Milandith close; Nagarythe, Caenthras, Ashniel, the cults, all banished in a moment of peace and contentment.
Alith worked hard in the kitchens and, when time allowed, learnt as much as he could about the Phoenix King’s palace. When not preparing boar or venison or rabbit or wildfowl for the cooks, his attention was divided between exploring the layout of the palace and socialising with the other staff, particularly Milandith. In this last case, Alith learnt a great deal of gossip over goblets of wine and in whispered, dreamy conversations lying in bed late at night. Milandith was naturally inquisitive and outgoing, and seemed to know much about the routines and rituals of palace life, as well as a good number of the hundreds of servants and guards that populated the citadel. Alith felt a little guilt about exploiting their relationship in such an underhand way, but Milandith seemed always ready to teach her new lover about Tor Anroc and its ways, and was honest about her own desire for companionship and intimacy without deep commitments required from either of them.
What Alith had learnt did not fill him with confidence. Bel Shanaar was only rarely alone, his days filled with audiences and meetings with persons of importance. His family—his son Elodhir principal amongst them—were also a constant presence during less formal occasions. When matters of state or family did not require his attention, the Phoenix King was shadowed by his chamberlain, Palthrain. Much as Gerithon managed many of the affairs of Elanardris for Eoloran, Palthrain was Bel Shanaar’s chief advisor and agent. He oversaw the running of the palace, and every member of the staff from the maids to the captains of the guard ultimately owed responsibility to him. His dealings were not confined purely to the domestic, and he was pivotal in many negotiations between Tiranoc and the other kingdoms.
One other figure attracted Alith’s attention, mentioned in passing by Milandith one evening. His name was Carathril, a slightly melancholy elf who served as the Phoenix King’s chief herald. He was from Lothern and as Alith inquired more he learnt that Carathril had once been a captain in the Lothern Guard and had acted as Bel Shanaar’s emissary when Malekith had first tried to retake Anlec and been thwarted at Ealith. That Carathril knew a little about Nagarythe and the prince intrigued Alith and he decided that he would attempt to make the acquaintance of the herald at the earliest opportunity.
Alith had been in the palace for nearly twenty days before such a circumstance arrived. Most of his labours in the kitchen, which he found surprisingly pleasant to perform for they were not taxing and gave him time to cogitate on other matters, were usually finished by mid-afternoon. This gave him until the evening to conduct his shadowy investigations before the expectations of social interaction required him to spend time with his fellow servants after dark. On this particular day, Alith was presented with the chance to enter the Phoenix King’s great hall.
It was an open audience, as Alith had heard about, and such members of society as were able to beg bribe or sneak their way into the hall were allowed to observe the proceedings. Dressed in his nondescript white robes, Alith was easily able to join a group of elves as they made their way into the central chamber, and then split from them to take a seat on the benches at the top of the tiers of seats surrounding the auditorium.
As he made his way up the steps, Alith spied a lonely-looking figure sat somewhat apart from the others, far from the crowds who jostled for places on the lowest benches nearest Bel Shanaar. From his appearance, livery and disposition Alith guessed this to be Carathril, and he walked around the top tier of the seats and sat down beside the elf.
“Are you Carathril?” he asked, deciding it was better to speak plainly than try to elicit what he needed by subterfuge.
The elf turned in surprise, and then nodded.
“I am the Phoenix King’s herald,” he said, extending his hand towards Alith.
“You can call me Atenithor,” said Alith, kissing Carathril’s hand. The herald took it away a little too quickly and Alith judged that he was as uncomfortable with this Tiranoc convention as Alith. “I find it strange also.”
“What’s that?” said Carathril, who had turned his attention back to the procession of elves making their way through the open doors.
“The hand-kissing,” said Alith. “I’m not from Tiranoc either, and I find it most peculiar.”
Carathril did not reply and instead raised a finger to his lips for quiet and nodded towards the doorway. Alith looked down and saw Palthrain enter, dressed in a coat of deep purple with a wide blue belt studded with sapphires. He stood to one side and bowed.
Alith laid eyes upon Bel Shanaar for the first time. The Phoenix King was stood erect and proud, dressed in a flowing robe of white decorated with golden thread in the design of phoenixes rising from flames. Upon his shoulders he wore a cloak made of white and black feathers that trailed behind him. His austere face looked straight ahead, and atop his head he wore a magnificent crown of gold that sparkled in the sunlight that came from the windows surrounding the dome of the hall. Bel Shanaar paced evenly along the chamber and came to his throne. Pulling his lustrous cloak to one side, he sat down and gazed around. Even from this distance Alith could see the Phoenix King’s sharp eyes passing over those in the hall, missing nothing. He resisted the urge to flinch when that steely stare fell upon him.
“Bring forth the first of the petitioners,” Bel Shanaar declared, his voice deep and carrying easily to every part of the hall.
“It’s really not that exciting after twenty years,” Carathril said quietly. “It’s not as if anyone asks anything of import at these events. Usually the petitions are nothing more than an excuse to highlight some new trade opportunity, or announce a marriage or death. It’s just for show, all of the real business happens when the doors are closed.”
“I would dearly like to see that some time,” said Alith, also keeping his voice low. The benches around them were not quite full but there were plenty of other elves close at hand who would have little difficulty hearing the conversation. “I hear that you have been to Nagarythe.”
“I once had the honour of marching with Prince Malekith, it is true,” said Carathril. “That is also old news, though once my exploits were remarked upon by the greatest of princes.”
“I too have fought with Malekith,” said Alith, his voice the barest whisper.
Carathril directed a sharp look at Alith and leaned closer.
“You come clothed as a servant, yet you claim to have fought with the prince of Nagarythe,” said the herald. “One or the other, or perhaps both, are a deceit.”
“Both are true,” Alith replied. “I serve in the palace kitchens, and I have met Prince Malekith. I would like to speak to you, but this is not the place.”
Carathril darted a suspicious glance at Alith but then nodded.
“There is more to you than a simple kitchen serf,” Carathril said quietly, his eyes fixed upon Alith. “You are clearly not exactly what you say you are, even if what you have told me already is true. I do not know what your interest is in me, but you should know that I am but a messenger, I bear no power in the palace.”
“It is simply your attention that I desire,” said Alith. He sat back and breathed a sigh. “I know that you have no reason to trust me, and I can make no argument here that would convince you. If you would agree to meet me soon, name the place and time of your choosing and take whatever precautions you see fit—though we must be able to speak alone.”
“I do not like intrigue,” said Carathril. “It is one of the things that mark me out from everyone else in the palace. I will speak with you, but if I do not like what I hear I will call for guards and you will be turned over to Palthrain. My agreement to see you is no promise.”
“And I ask for none,” said Alith. “When and where shall we meet?”
“There will be an interval soon enough, you can come with me to my chamber,” Carathril said. “I see no point in waiting any longer than that.”
Alith smiled in thanks and turned his attention back to the proceedings below. Carathril had been right, it was a dull affair as petitioner after petitioner came to give praise to the Phoenix King and ask for his blessing for some venture or other. Others came to complain about the taxes levied by Lothern for passing the Sea Gate, while one thought it most important that Bel Shanaar knew of his intention to sail to Lustria to secure timber for his village in Yvresse.
After the tenth such meeting Palthrain announced that this session was ended. Servants came into the hall bearing platters of sliced meats and trays laden with small cups and decanters of fragranced waters and the juices of exotic fruits. These were then passed into the audience so that they might refresh themselves.
“Time to go,” said Carathril, standing.
Alith followed the herald down the steps onto the main floor, where Carathril turned and bowed to Bel Shanaar. The Phoenix King nodded in greeting and darted an inquisitive look at his herald’s companion. Alith bowed also, avoiding Bel Shanaar’s gaze lest he react in some way that aroused suspicion. When Alith straightened he saw that the Phoenix King had turned his attention to his son.
Carathril led Alith towards the northern towers of the palace and up several winding flights of stairs. This area had been out of bounds for Alith, for only those servants that possessed the seal of the Phoenix King could enter, something far above a lowly kitchen worker. Carathril passed between the guards at the doorway of the fourth storey without incident, Alith following meekly behind. A few steps along the corridor, Carathril shot a warning glance at Alith: a reminder that the Phoenix King’s soldiers were close at hand should Carathril need them.
They walked down a long carpeted corridor—the passageways of the servants’ quarters were bare stone—and Carathril turned to the right into another passage. He opened a broad door on the left of the corridor and waved Alith inside.
The herald’s quarters consisted of two rooms. The first was a square reception area with low couches and tables and a small fireplace. Through an open archway beyond, Alith saw the bedchamber, which was sparsely furnished.
“I spend very little time here,” Carathril explained, noticing the direction of Alith’s gaze. “I have found it best not to make my chambers here too home-like, otherwise I would be doubly homesick.”
“Doubly?”
“I already miss Lothern greatly, though my service to the Phoenix King is an honour and a duty I would not relinquish on a whim,” said Carathril, closing the door and motioning for Alith to sit himself down. “I return there often enough to remind me of what I love about the city, but not frequently enough to satisfy my desire to be there.”
“Yes, it is a hard thing to leave behind our homes,” Alith said with true sympathy. He had been away from Elanardris for only a short time but had frequently found himself wishing to return swiftly. Leaving aside the painful memories of Ashniel, he still found he loved the mountains as much as anything else in the world.
“Yes, and there is a curious thing,” said Carathril, sitting down opposite Alith. “I have travelled across all of Ulthuan, and I have learnt many things that other, less cosmopolitan observers might miss. You call yourself Atenithor, which I believe is Chracian in origin, yet your voice betrays that you are not from there. If I am not mistaken I would say you were Ellyrion, perhaps.”
Alith smiled and shook his head.
“Close, but not correct,” he said, leaning against the back of the couch with one arm. “I am Naggarothi. You would not recognise my accent as such though, as I come from the east, close to the mountains.”
“I have never been there,” said Carathril.
“That is a shame, for not only have you missed the breathtaking beauty of Elanardris, but also the counsel and friendship of House Anar,” said Alith.
“I am bid to go where the Phoenix King pleases, not to choose my destinations,” replied Carathril with a sigh. “If my duties have not taken me there, it is because Bel Shanaar has no cause for me to visit.”
“That may well change,” said Alith. “I think that the Phoenix King’s interest in Nagarythe is going to increase greatly in the near future.”
“How so?” asked Carathril, frowning as he leaned forwards.
“I shall speak the open truth now, for I trust you, though I do not know why, and I wish you to trust me,” said Alith.
“Bel Shanaar says that I have an honest face,” Carathril said, and a smile played on his lips, the first sign of humour Alith had seen from the herald. “I am his most trusted subject after his family and chamberlain. Anything you tell me will be taken in full confidence provided that it does not threaten the Phoenix King. My position here is entirely founded on my reputation for absolute discretion.”
“Yes, I have heard the same from others,” said Alith. He stood up to address Carathril. “I am Alith, son of Eothlir, grandson of Eoloran Anar. I am a prince of Nagarythe, come to Tor Anroc in secret to seek the aid of the Phoenix King.”
Carathril said nothing. He sat and looked at Alith for a long while, the smile gone from his face. Then it returned, broader than before.
“You have a tendency for the dramatic, Alith,” he said. “You have my attention.”
Alith crossed the room and sat beside Carathril.
“I must speak with the Phoenix King in private,” said Alith. “Can you help me?”
Carathril leaned away from Alith’s earnest plea and again sat in silence for some time, scrutinising his guest. Eventually he stood and moved to a cabinet against the wall. From this he drew out two crystal goblets and a bottle of silvery wine. He poured two measures, precise in his actions, and placed the bottle back in the cabinet. He offered one of the glasses to Alith as he sat down again. Alith took the drink but did not sample it. Instead he studied Carathril’s face for some sign of his intent.
“You put me in a very difficult position,” said the herald. “I cannot take your claims at face value, not yet. However, if what you say is true and your coming here is a secret, then I am severely limited in what inquiries I can make without revealing your presence.”
“I have a letter of assurance from my grandfather, in my room,” offered Alith, but Carathril waved away the suggestion.
“I am in no position to judge the veracity of such a document,” he said.
Again the herald pondered his decision, staring at Alith with the tenacity and vigilance of a hawk trying to guess the next movement of its prey. Alith remained silent, knowing that there was nothing he could say that would sway Carathril’s choice.
Eventually Carathril nodded to himself, having reached a decision.
“Bring me this letter and I will deliver it—unopened!—to Bel Shanaar,” he said. “If the Phoenix King assents to see you, then I have performed my duty. If not, then I fear that things may go ill for you. Though from outside you might think that we are complacent of the cults and other wrongdoers, in truth our watch has not faltered nor have our suspicions waned.”
Alith put down his goblet on the floor and grasped Carathril’s hand.
“I cannot thank you enough for this kindness,” said Alith. “I will bring you the letter at once, and hope that the Phoenix King judges it to be true.”
“I will wait for you outside the south-east dining hall,” Carathril said, standing up. He opened the door to indicate the conversation had ended.
Alith strode to the door, eager. Remembering his manners he stopped before leaving and turned to bow to Carathril. The herald returned the bow with a nod and waved Alith away.
Nearly a whole day of fretting followed Alith’s encounter with Carathril. The heir of the Anars was distracted during his evening revelry with Milandith and the other servants that formed the clique of the kitchens, and he decided to retire early—and alone—to his room. The next morning he set to his work in the kitchens, glad of the distraction yet unable to clear his thoughts of his concerns. Had he been right in trusting Carathril? Would Eoloran’s letter convince the Phoenix King? Even if Bel Shanaar consented to a meeting, how could it be arranged without being observed?
Every time the kitchen doors opened, Alith looked up sharply, not sure whether to expect a messenger or soldiers. His diverted state drew scowls from the chief cook, a domineering elf called Iathdir who ran the kitchen as a captain of the guard commands his company.
At mid-afternoon word came down that Bel Shanaar had requested a light meal in his chambers. Much to the concern of Malithrandin, no kitchen servants were free as all were in attendance for a feast being held by Princess Lirian, Eothlir’s wife. Malithrandin commanded Alith to carry the tray of herb-crusted meats and spiced bread the Phoenix King had requested, and led the way towards the heights of the palace where the royal quarters were found.
Here the corridors were wide and stately, lined with mosaics of cut gems and sculptures both classical and modern. Alith had no time to admire the art, not that he had much inclination to do so, as Malithrandin strode purposefully along the passageway casting impatient glances over his shoulder. They also passed guards dressed in light mail and breastplates of gold, with pairs of swords—one short, the other long—hanging at their hips. They ignored Malithrandin but gave Alith disdainful glares as he hurried past. At the end of the long corridor was an unassuming door of white-stained wood. Malithrandin knocked lightly and then opened it, waving in Alith.
The rooms within surprised Alith. Beyond the unadorned door lay the opposite of the flamboyant decoration and dress of court. Here was the simple beauty of the dove compared to the strutting grandeur of a peacock.
The Phoenix King’s personal chambers were minimally but exquisitely furnished, and even Alith’s awkward eye could recognise the elegance of design and craftsmanship in the fluted legs of the high tables, the delicate juxtaposition of geometry and natural shapes in the carvings around the fireplace. All was white, including the carpeted floor. The only colour was the Phoenix King himself, who sat close to the fire in a robe of shimmering scarlet, a weighty book open on his lap. Out of his robes of office and crown, he had a more approachable air, and reminded Alith of his grandfather, though Eoloran’s expression was usually more severe.
“Put it down there,” Bel Shanaar said, pointing to a low table to one side of the Phoenix King.
Alith did so, with a bow. Bel Shanaar leaned forwards, examining the contents of the platter. He carefully picked up a slice of cooked meat between thumb and finger and as he straightened the Phoenix King glanced at Alith, unobserved by Malithrandin who was still stood by the door.
“Is this Yvressian loin?” asked Bel Shanaar, waving the sliced meat in front of Alith.
“That is Sapherian loin, your majesty,” replied Alith.
“Really?” exclaimed the Phoenix King. “And what is the difference?”
Alith hesitated and glanced towards Malithrandin.
“Oh, you might as well leave us, steward,” said Bel Shanaar with a dismissive wave of the meat cut. “My guards can escort your companion back to the kitchens when I’m done.”
“Yes, your majesty,” Malithrandin said stiffly, bowing as he left, though Bel Shanaar had already returned his attention to Alith.
“Well?” said the Phoenix King. “What is so special about Sapherian loin?”
“It is smoked for three years, your majesty, over chips of mage-oak and whitegrass,” replied Alith, who was glad that Iathdir had taken it upon himself not only to improve Alith’s butchery skills but also his general knowledge of meat preparation. “After that, it is soaked in—”
“You can dispense with the pretence, Alith,” said Bel Shanaar. He delicately folded the thin meat into a small packet and popped it into his mouth. Alith waited patiently while the Phoenix King chewed deliberately. Swallowing, the Phoenix King smiled. “Your acting is as good as your carving. Tell me, why should I not call my guards and have you arrested as an assassin?”
Alith opened his mouth and then shut it, taken aback by the accusation. He quickly rallied his thoughts.
“Have you not read the letter from my grandfather?”
“I am addressed as ‘your majesty’,” Bel Shanaar said calmly. “Even if you are a prince, I am still your king.”
“Of course, your majesty, my profound apologies,” Alith replied hastily.
“This letter indeed comes from Eoloran Anar, of that I am certain,” said the Phoenix King, pulling out the parchment from inside his robe. “It makes assurances of the bearer and requests that I offer you every assistance that I am able. Other than that, it tells me nothing. It tells me not of your intent, nor of the loyalties of your grandfather. I know Eoloran Anar of old, and respect him very much, but it appears he does not extend me the same courtesy. It has been more than seven hundred years since I have seen Eoloran in my court. How do you explain this?”
Again Alith was unsure what to say.
“I cannot speak for my grandfather, your majesty, or his actions, or lack of them, your majesty,” he replied. “I know only that he has also shunned the court at Anlec and has withdrawn from a public life to enjoy introspection and the comforts of Elanardris.”
“Yes, that sounds like the Eoloran I fought with at Briechan Tor,” said the Phoenix King. He thrust the letter back into his robe and waved Alith to sit down on the chair opposite. “Nagarythe is an enigma to me, Alith, and I cannot say that I wholly trust you. You come in secret to my palace and masquerade as a servant. You waylay my chief herald and arrange a meeting in which only you and I should be present. My only comfort is that enchantments are woven about this chamber and any blade that passes the door would be revealed to me. So, I feel safe enough, I suppose. What is it that you want me to do?”
“I am not sure,” confessed Alith. “All I know is that the Anars, a loyal family of Nagarythe and Ulthuan, are victims of some political game or vendetta, and we cannot withstand this on our own.”
“Tell me more,” said Bel Shanaar.
Alith then related the recent history of the Anars, from before the return of Malekith and the travails with Morathi, to their recent indictment and arrest as suspected cultists. Alith was not much of a storyteller and frequently he related events in the wrong order, forcing the Phoenix King to ask questions or press Alith to highlight some pertinent point that he had skipped earlier. Throughout, though, Alith kept secret the existence of Elthyrior and was vague when Bel Shanaar quizzed him on how he had come by a certain piece of information or other.
“You know that there is little I can do to act directly in the lands outside Tiranoc,” Bel Shanaar said when Alith was finished. “The people of the kingdoms answer to their princes and the princes answer to me. Perhaps if it were some other realm than Nagarythe I might be able to intervene, but there has never been anything less than cool relations between the Phoenix Throne and Anlec.”
The Phoenix King stood and paced to the high, narrow window, the afternoon sun bathing his face. He did not turn around as he spoke, perhaps unwilling to look at Alith as he delivered his decision.
“I cannot act unless your grandfather petitions me directly,” he said. “Or perhaps your prince, Malekith, though that would seem unlikely. Your opponents have woven their tapestry of lies with considerable skill it would seem, and nothing has occurred that would threaten the authority of my position.”
Bel Shanaar turned and there was sympathy written across his face.
“All I can offer you at the moment is the sanctuary of Tor Anroc and my palace,” he said. “I will keep safe your secret, and in fact I will do what I can to make your life here as pleasant as possible without revealing who you are or drawing attention to your presence. You are, of course, free to return to Nagarythe whenever you wish, and I will provide papers and escort to the border to ensure your safety if you do so. I will also make discreet inquiries with Malekith as to his current plans and thoughts, though I will leave out any direct mention of the Anars. If you wish, I can arrange for a message to be delivered to your grandfather, and perhaps he will come to Tiranoc and speak openly of these problems with me. Whatever pressures I can bring to bear on the matter will be brought, but I can offer no promises.”
The winter passed slowly for Alith, though it was not without event. Bel Shanaar was careful not to reveal Alith’s true identity, but by subtle means was able to extend his patronage to the young prince. It was made known that the Phoenix King deemed his new servant too old and too sophisticated to work as a kitchen boy, and so Alith was, through the stewards, elevated to a member of the court staff, attending to the ruler of Tiranoc and his family. In particular, Alith’s duties were directed towards the comfort of Yrianath, Bel Shanaar’s eldest nephew. This new position required that Alith had the seal of the Phoenix King and he found his freedom to explore the palace greatly increased.
Alith’s ascent was something remarked upon by the other servants for a short while, but it was not the first time Bel Shanaar had shown favouritism to a particular elf in the household and most of the staff speculated that Alith’s star would soon wane. Though graceful and diligent, he was considered somewhat uncouth for a future career at court, and those jealous of his sudden rise in esteem put down Alith’s promotion to an eccentric fondness of the Phoenix King for the rural, oafish mannerisms Alith occasionally exhibited.
With his rise in position Alith felt a change in his relationship with Milandith. A bearer of Bel Shanaar’s seal, Alith was privy to parts of the palace his lover was not, and so frequently she interrogated him on the latest gossip from the royal family. Alith became acutely aware that the passion that had brought them together was diminishing, and where once Milandith had viewed him as a source of pleasure she now regarded him as a bottomless well of information. The irony that their expectations of the relationship had been exchanged was not lost on Alith. Milandith’s constant delving disturbed him, through a combination of his natural reticence and discretion, and growing feelings that any gossip might be a disloyalty to the family of Bel Shanaar.
Alith was keen not to draw attention to himself nor make an enemy of Milandith and her friends, so over the course of the winter Alith saw less and less of her and began to feign disinterest in her advances. Sure enough, as midwinter passed, he heard rumour that Milandith had abandoned her pursuit of Alith and turned her amorous attentions upon one of the guards. Over a pitcher of Yvressian wine, Alith and Milandith agreed that what they had enjoyed had now passed and they were to go their separate ways with no ill-feeling.
Though his secret was now safer, Alith’s loneliness increased. He felt trapped in the palace and missed his home. The mountains of Tiranoc were several days away, and even though the winter was far less harsh here than in Nagarythe, he could not spare the time to go hunting there.
His isolation was not helped by the absence of any news from the north. Bel Shanaar assured Alith that he had despatched a messenger to Elanardris, but Alith feared that the herald had been waylaid, or that his family found it impossible to reply. Information from Nagarythe was sparse, and during the winter months the icy waters of the Naganath seemed to separate the kingdom from Tiranoc as much as any ocean.
So it was a frustrated, lonely Alith who wandered the corridors of the royal palace, or could be found upon the walls of Tor Anroc at dawn, gazing to the north. A few of his new friends expressed concern for this behaviour but Alith was quick to assure them that he was simply feeling a little weary and homesick and promised that he would be more entertaining when spring returned.
Yet when spring came, there was no surcease to Alith’s worries. Merchants who had tried entering Nagarythe had been turned away at the border without explanation. What little news that came south was startling. There was fighting between the army of Anlec and pleasure cultists, and even in Anlec it seemed as if Prince Malekith struggled to maintain his rule. Some of his princes had turned against him and supported the cults, while others remained neutral, waiting to see where this latest power struggle would leave Nagarythe. Alith became quite agitated and enquired as to the names of those families involved, but not once were the Anars mentioned, for good or ill.
* * *
As these disturbing tidings found their way to the capital, Alith resolved to head back to Elanardris. By means of Carathril, he sent word to Bel Shanaar of his intent and in reply was brought again to the Phoenix King’s chambers.
Bel Shanaar’s expression was drawn as he stood beside the high arched window that looked out over the south of Tor Anroc. He turned as Alith closed the door.
“I cannot allow you to leave Tor Anroc,” said the Phoenix King.
“What?” snapped Alith, forgetting his manners entirely. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that it would be unwise of me to allow you to leave my protection at this time,” said Bel Shanaar. “And I do not think it would be to your benefit either.”
“But my family will need m—”
“Will they?” said Bel Shanaar, his expression stern. “Are you so great a warrior that if they are involved in the fighting you will swing the tide in their favour?”
“That is not what I meant, your majesty,” said Alith, regaining some of his composure.
“Then perhaps they think you are unsafe here, away from this violent dispute, and would be better protected in Nagarythe?”
Alith shook his head, confused. He knew he should return to Elanardris to help, but Bel Shanaar was distracting his thoughts with these questions.
“I am sure they think me safe, your majesty,” said Alith. “It is my duty to aid my house if they are in peril.”
“Is it not also your duty to keep alive the future of that house?” said Bel Shanaar, his expression as unrelenting as his words. “Though it pains me to say this, you may already be the last of the Anars. Would you see that name die to satiate curiosity? Would you risk every future generation of the Anars because you are afraid of your uncertainty?”
Alith did not answer but his expression made it plain that he would indeed do such things. Bel Shanaar frowned deeply.
“Let me make myself as clear as a mountain lake, Alith,” said the Phoenix King. “I am not allowing you to leave these palaces until there is more clarity in this matter. I have given you the benefit of my patronage but these new developments in Nagarythe are disturbing—open fighting between Malekith’s soldiers and the sects—and I wish to know where you are at all times.”
Alith guessed the intent behind the words.
“You are keeping me hostage, in case the Anars are traitors.”
Bel Shanaar shrugged.
“I must consider all eventualities, Alith,” he said. “While at this time I believe that you and your family are loyal, that loyalty is to Anlec and Nagarythe. Where the loyalty of the kingdom resides is as yet uncertain. It would be foolish of me to allow a potential spy, one who knows much about Tor Anroc, to return to Nagarythe. It would be foolhardy not to keep what means I have for negotiation with your house. Your house decided to bring me in as a player of this game and so my fate is woven into yours. I will use all of the pieces at my disposal.”
Alith stared dumbfounded at this statement, quite unable to believe what he was hearing.
“I demand your word of parole that you will not attempt to leave my palace. If you refuse, I shall have you imprisoned,” said Bel Shanaar. His expression softened as he crossed the room to stand in front of Alith. “I bear you no ill-will, Alith, and I give my prayers to the gods that your family is safe and that Nagarythe swiftly overcomes this current turmoil.”
It was plain to Alith that he had little choice in the matter. If he refused to give his oath, he would be thrown into the cells beneath the palace. Not only would he lose his freedom, even amongst such momentous times this scandal would not go unseen and questions would be raised over his identity. That risked his life and his family’s fortunes. He took a deep breath, collecting his thoughts.
“By such gods as might bear witness, I swear as a prince of Nagarythe and Ulthuan to remain under the protection of Bel Shanaar, and to make no attempt to leave Tor Anroc until such time as he gives me leave or circumstances change.”
Bel Shanaar nodded.
“I wish it were otherwise, and when you become lord of the Anars you will understand that with power come hard decisions. If I learn of anything, I will pass this on to you, and you must promise to do the same for me.”
“I will, your majesty,” said Alith with a formal bow. “Is there anything else that I might attend to whilst I am here?”
Bel Shanaar shook his head. “No, that is all.”
The last fingers of summer were struggling to keep their grip on Tor Anroc when Alith began to overhear reports from Bel Shanaar’s commanders at the northern border, telling of how the skies above Nagarythe were filled with smoke. They sent scouts over the river and found villages in ruins, burnt to their foundations, corpses littering their streets. Seers proclaimed a great darkness was sweeping down from the north, and these rumours soon rooted themselves in the populace of the city.
Word came via the heralds of other princes that the cults were on the rise once more. For twenty years they had stayed hidden, plotting and growing. At some unheard command they attacked the soldiers of Ulthuan’s rulers, desecrated shrines and temples to other gods, and kidnapped the unwary.
Even in Tor Anroc there were small sects found practising rites to Atharti and Ereth Khial, and their members fought to the death rather than be taken prisoner. Paranoia gripped the palace at the resurgence of the cults, and hundreds of soldiers were brought back from the border to police the citadel and the surrounding city.
Fifteen days after the violence began, Alith received a message telling him that his presence was required by the Phoenix King. Alith hurried to the south hall as he had been instructed, and entered to find a great many of the princes of Tiranoc and their households gathered there, along with a small army of attendants and councillors. Alith could not see what was happening and surreptitiously made his way to the front of the crowd.
Bel Shanaar and his son Elodhir were stood beside the throne at the end of the hall, and Alith could see that Carathril was also in attendance. But it was the figure standing with them that drew Alith’s eye. He wore a suit of golden armour, decorated with the design of a coiling dragon, and a long purple cloak that hung to the floor. The warrior wore a long sword at his waist—unusual in that most elves were not allowed to bear arms in the presence of Bel Shanaar—and under one arm he held an ornate warhelm decorated with a silvery-grey crown. His features were severe, his hair black and his eyes glittered with a dark light.
It was Prince Malekith.
“I have three thousand soldiers and knights that need billets,” the prince was saying. “Once again I find myself putting practicality before pride, and must ask for sanctuary and the hospitality of Tor Anroc.”
Bel Shanaar regarded Malekith calmly, no hint of his thoughts betrayed.
“This is a grave situation indeed, Malekith,” said the Phoenix King. “Doubtless the woes of Tiranoc are not of the magnitude of Nagarythe, but here also the cultists seek to usurp just rule. I am afraid that such aid as I may have been able to provide in times past is now impossible.”
“I need nothing from the Phoenix King, save his patience and understanding,” said Malekith with a slight dip of the head. “Those that seek to oust me from power have revealed their hand, and this time when I strike back my blow will find every mark. There are many in Nagarythe that fight to protect my rule. Anlec is currently denied me by these wretches. I need a place to rally those forces loyal to me. Soon enough I will commence a new campaign to free Nagarythe of this vileness, for good this time.”
Malekith’s expression was severe, his manner exuding anger, a deep rage that set his jaw twitching his eyes fierce. Alith had seen that expression once before, when Malekith had spoken of seeing his mother after taking the gate of Anlec.
“Though surprise has garnered some victories for my enemies, they haven’t the means or the courage for a true war,” the prince continued. “I offered clemency before. Now I offer only swift retribution.”
“It is in the interest of all of Ulthuan that Nagarythe returns to stability as soon as possible,” said Bel Shanaar. “I cannot deny you the right to shelter, but I must warn you that no other Naggarothi may cross the border without invitation. Is that understood?”
“I agree,” said Malekith. “At a time when it is difficult to know friend from foe, I commend your caution. Now, with your pardon, I must see my mother.”
At this Bel Shanaar paused. Alith knew that Malekith had visited Morathi on several occasions since her incarceration two decades earlier, and it seemed an expected request considering Nagarythe was in such disarray. Even so, the mere mention of the former sorceress-queen sent a shiver of fear through Alith, mixed with a deep-rooted hate. The hall was silent as the elves waited in expectation of the Phoenix King’s reply.
“Of course,” Bel Shanaar said eventually. “Though I have no love for Morathi, I would not deny you.”
Malekith again bowed in thanks and, accompanied by Elodhir, strode from the hall. Bel Shanaar and Carathril left by another archway, and as soon as the Phoenix King had gone chattering broke out amongst the crowd.
“What has happened?” Alith demanded, grabbing the arm of the nearest elf. The page looked at him with astonishment.
“Cultists have retaken Anlec and Prince Malekith has been deposed,” said the elf, with a haughtiness held by those who consider themselves important for having heard news moments before any other. “It seems those Naggarothi fiends are fighting amongst themselves again.”
Alith stayed his tongue at this remark and instead walked quickly from the hall. He made his way back to his room in the servants’ quarters and there sat on his bed, staring at the stone floor. He could make no sense of it. How could the cults have gathered such power unseen? How had they survived Malekith’s diligent purging? Unable to comprehend what had occurred, Alith’s mind was blank, numbed by the dire news.
For three days the palace was chaotic. Rumours and claims spread through the residents and servants alike. Lodgings were found for the small army Malekith had brought south with him, and Alith was busy attending to the errands of his masters and mistresses. Yrianath was preoccupied with matters pertaining to Tiranoc’s trade and how it might be affected by the situation in Nagarythe, which held considerable power in the Elthin Arvan colonies. Distracted, Yrianath often overlooked Alith’s presence, allowing the heir of the Anars to overhear things that in normal times would have remained secret.
Malekith called upon the Phoenix King to assemble the princes of Ulthuan in council. They were to meet at the Shrine of Asuryan upon the Isle of Flame: the most sacrosanct of places where Aenarion and Bel Shanaar had been elevated to Phoenix King. Alith watched Carathril leave along with many other messengers, the chief herald’s expression grim and distant.
Alith had his own distractions. His ignorance of how affairs in Nagarythe were unfolding was driving him to the point of madness and he spent each night unsleeping, toying with the idea of breaking his oath to the Phoenix King and fleeing Tor Anroc. Yet each morning he realised that the means by which his house might be saved lay here at the capital, not in the north, and so he remained.
Preparations were made for the Phoenix King’s expedition to depart for the Isle of Flame. Elodhir had already departed and when Bel Shanaar left, control of the palace would fall to Yrianath, as the next prince of mature age. This made for much work for Yrianath’s councillors and servants, who were kept busy at all hours to apprise themselves of every development. Despite his exhaustion, Alith still found no solace in sleep and became so irritable that others avoided him when they had the chance.
Frustration almost spilled into violence when Alith overheard a group of nobles speaking foully of the Naggarothi, blaming them for every ill that had befallen Ulthuan in recent centuries. It was only the accidental intervention of one of the stewards, calling upon Alith to attend to Yrianath, which prevented the young Anar from striking the nobles.
All of this frenetic activity reached a calm equilibrium the day before the Phoenix King was due to leave. In a rare moment of peace, Alith was in the gardens, staring wistfully at a marble sculpture of a waterfall. It was refined and finely detailed, but lacked all of the majesty of the real thing. Rivers cascaded down the mountains of Elanardris with thunderous power, sending spray and fog across the surrounding slopes. The gentle tinkling of this fountain seemed ludicrous and trite in comparison. “There you are.”
Alith turned and found Milandith sitting beside him on the white bench. She wore a green silken dress, her braids woven into showers of hair that spilled across her shoulders. In the autumn sun she was as pretty as Alith had ever seen her and for a moment he was lost in admiring her beauty.
“Why such worries?” asked Milandith, running a hand across Alith’s brow as if to smooth away the creases of his frown.
“Do you not think these are dark times?”
“They are,” she said, grasping Alith’s right hand in both of hers. “Yet what is there that we can do? The princes will meet to decide, and we will be ready to help them.”
She laughed, a peculiar sound to Alith’s ear given the grimness of his mood.
“I would not like to have such responsibility,” she said. “Can you imagine? Trying to decide what to do about all of this? Raising armies and waging wars are not in my nature.”
But they are in mine, Alith thought. He was a son of House Anar and if battle was to be waged, he would be there to wage it. He looked at Milandith, soaking in her innocence and beauty. How simple it would be, he thought, to make the masquerade real. He could live in peace as Atenithor of Chrace, a servant to Prince Yrianath and nothing more. He could renew his relationship with Milandith, and perhaps they would wed and have children. Bloodshed and murder, darkness and despair would be the realm of princes and he would live out his life as a simple soul.
But that could not be. Not only did guilt gnaw at his heart, duty ingrained in him since he had been born stiffened his resolve. He could no more hide from this than a rabbit could hide from one of his arrows. He was Alith Anar, heir to a princedom of Nagarythe, and he could not pretend otherwise.
“You are distracted,” said Milandith, unhappy. “Perhaps I am boring you?”
“I am sorry,” said Alith, forcing a smile. He ran his fingers lightly over Milandith’s hair and cheek, his fingertips coming to rest on her chin. “I am distracted, but not by the sort of distraction I would like.”
Milandith returned his smile and stood, pulling him up by the hand.
“I think I can find just the sort of distraction you need,” she said.
Alith dozed, feeling the heat from Milandith beside him. In his half-asleep state he could hear doors banging elsewhere in the servants’ quarters and feet running outside but he chose to ignore them. The moment had passed though, and the real world was beginning to intrude again upon the blissful ignorance brought about by Milandith’s attentions. Hoping to set aside his pain for a while longer, Alith leaned across the bed and nestled his face in her unkempt hair, kissing her lightly on the neck. She murmured wordlessly and, eyes still closed, laid a hand upon his back, gently stroking his skin, tracing the whip-scar with a finger.
Suddenly there was a furious knocking at the door. A moment later it crashed open. Both of them shot upright as Hithrin, Steward of Halls, burst into the room. There was a wild look in the elf’s eyes, bordering on terrified hysteria. His wide gaze settled on Alith.
“There you are!” he cried, running across the room and grabbing Alith by the arm. “Your master calls for all his servants to attend!”
Alith snatched his arm away and shoved Hithrin backwards, though the steward was supposedly his superior.
“What?” snapped Alith. “Can I not have a moment’s peace? What could be so urgent?”
Hithrin stared dumbly at Alith for a moment, his mouth opening and closing without sound. He swallowed hard and then blurted out his news.
“The Phoenix King is dead!”