—<FIFTEEN>—

The Clarion Sounds

Though their hands were not bound, Alith was in no doubt that he and the others were prisoners of the Ellyrians. They had ridden south with an escort of a hundred knights, who constantly darted suspicious glances at the Naggarothi. Anataris and Durinithill had been taken away, despite the wailed protestations of their mothers. Though it was a callous act, Alith knew he would have done the same.

Five days after their capture, the Ellyrians brought them to Tor Elyr. To the east the Inner Sea sparkled in the afternoon sun, waves crashing upon a steep pebble shore. Two glittering rivers wound towards the coast from the north and west, converging on the capital of Ellyrion.

The city was unlike anything Alith had ever seen. Built upon the confluence of the rivers and the sea, Tor Elyr was a series of immense islands. These isles were linked by bridges, graceful arches covered with turf so that it seemed as if the meadows rose up of their own accord and spanned the water.

The towers of the Ellyrians were like ivory stalagmites, open at the base, soaring high upon circles of carved columns above spiralling stairs. Not a paved path or road could be seen, all was grassland, even under the platforms of the towers.

White horses roamed freely within and without, gathering in herds to crop the lush grass, trotting over the bridges alongside their elven companions. White ships with figureheads of horses with golden harnesses bobbed on the water, their huge triangular sails reflecting the sun. It was as different from bleak Nagarythe as the summer is from winter. All was warmth and openness, even the skies were cloudless, their deep blue mirrored in the waters of the Inner Sea.

There were many looks at the group as their captors led them through the wide, winding avenues of Tor Elyr, crossing from island to island. There was a babble of talk as they passed and the Ellyrians were not restrained in voicing their disapproval as insults and curses followed Alith.

They came to the great palace, alone upon an isle at the mouth of the rivers, larger than the manse of Elanardris, though not nearly so grand as the citadel of Tor Anroc. The palace was shaped as an amphitheatre, a huge enclosed field surrounded by an arch-broken wall and six towers built upon hundreds of slender pillars. At the centre of the arena rose a stepped hill, runes of white carved into the turf, a circular stage of dark wood and silver at its summit.

About this circle stood tall banner poles, each hanging a standard from one of the great houses of Ellyrian. Blue and white and gold fluttered in the gentle breeze, topped with streaming tails of horsehair. At their centre were two thrones, their backs carved in the likeness of rearing horses that appeared to be dancing with each other. Ellyrian nobles were gathered upon the stage and hillside, some on foot, some upon the backs of haughtily stepping steeds. All turned to look at the new arrivals, their expressions unwelcoming.

The rightmost throne was empty save for a silver crown upon its seat. On the other sat Princess Athielle, and the sight of her stirred within Alith feelings he had thought gone forever. Her hair reached to her waist, spilling across her shoulders and chest in lustrous golden curls, braided in places with ruby-studded bands. She wore an elegant sleeveless gown of light blue, garlanded with dark red roses and embroidered with golden thread and more red gems. There was also a golden hue upon her skin, glowing in the sunlight.

The princess’ eyes were a startlingly deep green flecked with brown, beneath a brow furrowed with anger. Lips pursed, Athielle regarded Alith and the others with a smouldering ire that did nothing to abolish Alith’s admiration; if anything her intemperate expression only served to display a fiery disposition that attracted him more.

“Dismount,” commanded Anathirir, the captain who had taken them prisoner.

Alith duly slipped from the back of his horse and immediately stepped towards the thrones. Knights closed in swiftly, placing themselves between Alith and their co-ruler, their speartips directed towards him. There could be no danger, for Alith and Elthyrior had no weapons.

“Bring them,” said Athielle. “Let me see them.”

The knights parted and, urged on by the presence of the riders, the group walked towards the princess. She stood as they stopped a few paces short, and strode from her throne. Taller than Alith, arms folded across her chest, Athielle walked back and forth in front of them, her eyes taking in every detail.

Alith bowed briefly and opened his mouth to speak but Athielle recognised his intent.

“Say nothing!” she snapped, a finger raised to silence him. “You will speak only to answer my questions.”

Alith nodded in assent.

“Who here is your leader?”

The captives exchanged glances, and the eyes of the others eventually fell upon Alith.

“I speak for all of us, Lady Athielle,” he said. “My name is—”

“Have I asked your name?” Athielle interrupted. “Is it true that you took from our herds by the ford of Thiria Elor?”

Alith darted a glance at the others before answering.

“We took horses, it is true,” he said. “We were—”

“Did you have permission to take these horses?” Athielle continued.

“Well, no, we needed—”

“So you admit to being horse thieves?”

Alith stuttered for a moment, frustrated by the princess’ interrogation.

“I’ll take your silence as agreement,” said Athielle. “In these times, save for the slaying of another elf there is no greater crime in Ellyrion. Even now my brother fights to free our lands from the Naggarothi menace, and we find you in our borders. You came across the mountains to spy for Morathi, did you not?”

“No!” said Heileth. “We were fleeing Nagarythe.”

“But you are Naggarothi?” Athielle turned her full intent upon Heileth, who shrank back from her wrath.

“I am not,” said Lirian. She cast a plaintive glance back towards the knights. “Please, princess, they have taken my son.”

“And how many sons and daughters of Ellyrion have been taken by this Naggarothi war?” Athielle retorted. “What is one child amongst so much destruction?”

“He is the heir of Bel Shanaar,” said Alith, drawing gasps from the Ellyrian nobles. Athielle turned her glare back upon him, her expression doubtful. Then she laughed, without humour.

“The heir of Tiranoc? Out of the wilderness with a ragged party of Naggarothi? You expect me to believe that?”

“Highness, look at me,” said Lirian, her voice growing in insistence. “I am Lirian, widow of Elodhir. We have met before, at Bel Shanaar’s court, when Malekith first returned. I was not so unkempt then as I am now, and my hair was almost as long as yours.”

Athielle cocked her head to one side as she studied the Tiranocii princess. Her eyes widened with recognition.

“Lirian?” she whispered, covering her mouth in horror. Athielle skipped forwards and threw her arms around Lirian, almost crushing her with the intensity of her embrace. “Oh, my poor child, I am so sorry! What has become of you?”

The princess of Ellyrion stepped back.

“Bring the children here,” she snapped, her sudden anger focussed upon Anathirir. Shame-faced, the captain hurriedly gestured to his knights and within moments two rode forwards and handed the babes back to their mothers.

“And who are you to have delivered this gift to us?” Athielle said, looking at Alith.

“I am Alith,” he said solemnly. “Last lord of House Anar.”

“Alith Anar? Son of Eothlir?”

Alith merely nodded. To his surprise, Athielle then hugged him tight as well, squeezing the breath from his body.

“You fought beside Aneltain,” Athielle whispered. “I have so longed to meet a lord of the Anars to thank them for their aid.”

Alith’s hands hovered close to Athielle’s back, unsure whether he should return the embrace. Before he had decided, she broke away, a tear in her eye.

“I am so sorry,” she said, addressing all of them. “Such wickedness as Morathi has unleashed has spawned a darkness in all of us! Please forgive my suspicions.”

Alith almost laughed at the transformation in the princess. Faced with such earnest contrition, there was little else he could do.

The hostility with which the group had been greeted was matched by the Ellyrians’ hospitality once Athielle had given her blessing. Spacious chambers were given over to them in the palace, and Alith found himself attended by several servants. He found their constant presence a distraction and despatched them on pointless errands so that he could be by himself. His quest for solitude was waylaid by an invitation from the princess to attend a feast that night.

Alith was conflicted as his servants led him out into the great arena. Deep within, he longed to leave Tor Elyr having discharged his duty to Lirian and the others. The memories of razed Elanardris haunted his thoughts and he nurtured this bleak remembrance, drawing resolution from his bitterness. Yet the thought of spending more time with Athielle, of forgetting the woes that had burdened him, teased him. This desire made him feel weak and selfish, so it was in a sour mood that he stalked from the palace to join his hosts.

The meadow-hall had been filled with long tables and hundreds of lanterns glowed with a rainbow of colours, dappling the ground with green and yellow and blue. Ellyrian knights and nobles strolled along the tables, sampling the many drinks and delicacies on offer. Their chatter was light and drifted out into the evening sky, and there was much laughter. Alith cast his gaze across the crowd, seeking a familiar face, but saw nothing of Elthyrior, Saphistia or the others. Athielle had not yet arrived.

A few of the Ellyrians tried to engage him in conversation, wandering over in small groups to meet their strange guest. His civil yet curt replies soon rebuffed their attempts at friendship, and the sympathetic looks of the departing nobles did nothing to ease the residual anger he felt. To Alith, it seemed impossible that such a banquet could be held while elves fought and died not so very far away, the future of Ulthuan hanging in the balance. It was such a far cry from what he had left in Nagarythe that he was taken by the urge to leave immediately. He wanted no part of this false display of gaiety and wellbeing.

As he resolved to depart, Athielle made her entrance. Flanked by a bodyguard of knights, she rode into the arena upon a high-stepping white stallion, her long tresses flowing behind her like a cloak. Diamonds glittered in the harness of her steed and flashed like stars from the threads of her blue gown.

The crowd parted before the princess and she rode quickly up to her throne while her knights wheeled away, picking their way easily through the mingling elves. Athielle dismounted with a flourish and sent her horse running with a whispered word. Servants were on hand with platters of food and goblets of wine, but she ignored them, casting her gaze across her assembled subjects. Her eyes stopped when they fell upon Alith, who was stood away to her left, far from the rest of the elves.

Athielle beckoned him to approach. Taking a deep breath, Alith strode up the throne hill, ignoring the looks directed at him from the other Ellyrians. His eyes were fixed upon Athielle, as hers were upon him. The princess smiled as Alith reached the stage and extended a hand in greeting. Alith took her hand in his, bowed and kissed her slender fingers.

“It is my pleasure to see you again, princess,” said Alith. To his surprise he realised that he meant these words, all his misgivings having been dispelled by her warm smile.

“And it is an honour for me, prince,” Athielle replied. She turned and whispered something to one of her retainers who slipped away.

“I hope that you are finding your stay in Tor Elyr more comfortable than your journey here,” she said, gracefully withdrawing her hand before sitting upon her throne.

Alith hesitated before replying, not wishing to be dishonest but cautious not to voice his misgivings.

“The hospitality of your city and people are a great credit to Ellyrion,” he said.

Servants returned carrying high-backed chairs, which they arranged around the throne. As Athielle waved for Alith to be seated, she looked away with a broad smile.

“You need not suffer my company alone, Alith,” she said.

Before Alith could dispute that such an encounter was anything but pleasant, Athielle pointed past him. Alith turned to see Lirian, Heileth and Saphistia walking up the hill, clad in flamboyant dresses of silk and jewels. There was no sign of the children, or Elthyrior. Alith’s companions seated themselves around him, looking comfortable in their finery, pleased with the attention being heaped upon them.

“Our vagabond maidens have been restored to their glory,” said Athielle. “Like fine steeds that need to be well-groomed after a long ride through briar and wood.”

Alith murmured his agreement, for his companions looked every part the nobles that they truly were. Still, there was something stiff about the beauty of Lirian, like a finely rendered statue, which reminded Alith too much of Ashniel. Heileth and Saphistia were more familiar, being Naggarothi, but even they had taken on an otherworldly air with the pampering of their attendants. Alith returned his gaze to Athielle, admiring all the more her natural beauty. Though her appearance was as meticulously designed and styled as the others, Alith saw a light within her, a glow of life that couldn’t be swathed by all the gems and cloth in Ulthuan.

Alith tried to dismiss these thoughts but Athielle leaned forwards towards him, her scent enveloping him. It was the perfume of Ellyrion itself: of fresh sea air and grass, of open skies and rolling meadows.

“You seem uncomfortable, Alith,” said the princess. “You are not at ease.”

“I am perplexed,” said Alith. “If you will pardon the question, I must ask how it is possible that so many Ellyrians can be brought here, while the Naggarothi wage war upon all of Ulthuan?”

A scowl marred Athielle’s perfect features and Alith felt a stab of regret at his words.

“You come to us in a brief moment of respite. Even now my brother fights in the north, defending these lands.” Her tone and expression relented as she continued. “Is it wrong to enjoy these fleeting moments of peace? If we do not treasure our lives as they can be without war, what is it that we fight for? Perhaps it is a failing of the Naggarothi that they could find no contentment within themselves, that only in action and not quiet do they measure the success of their lives.”

Athielle’s words stung Alith and he looked down, shamed. He had no right to bring his own darkness here, to taint the light of the festivities of others, but for all his misgivings, a part of his soul protested against acquiescence. This was an illusion, a fake revelry that tried to defy the blights of Ulthuan, hollow and meaningless.

Alith curbed his tongue, wishing to cause no further offence. Athielle was speaking to the others, but her questions and their replies were faint in Alith’s ears. Only after some time did he look up, stirred by movement. Lirian, Saphistia and Heileth were leaving the throne-stage. Alith stood and mumbled a few parting words, and then he was alone with Athielle and her court.

“I see that my attempts to lighten your mood have been for naught,” said Athielle. “Please, sit, and we will talk of matters that are perhaps of more concern to you.”

“Forgive my mood, princess, I am not ungrateful for your kindness,” Alith said, taking his seat again. “I have suffered more than any from this war and it is not in me to put aside my woe. I would have it that every day could be spent as this one, but wishing it will not make it so.”

“I will not deceive you, Alith,” said the Ellyrian ruler, her mood serious. “The war has not gone well of late. King Caledor’s gains of the summer have been reversed and we expect the Naggarothi to march again for Tor Elyr before the end of the season. I do not know if we can hold them this time, for they seem reckless in their hatred and determination to crush all opposition.”

“There is no alternative but to fight,” Alith replied. “I have seen the horror of Morathi’s rule, the wickedness of her followers. It is better to fight and die than submit to such barbarous slavery.”

“And how will you continue to fight, Alith?” asked Athielle. “You are a prince without a realm, a leader without an army.”

Alith said nothing, for he had no answer to the question. He knew not how he would fight, only that he must.

He refused to entertain the hopelessness that churned within him; refused to consider any thought of surrender. The blood in his veins burned, his heart set to racing at the merest contemplation of the druchii and the wrongs they had heaped upon him.

He looked up at Athielle and she shrank back from his piercing stare.

“I do not know how I will fight,” Alith said. “I do not know if any will fight with me. While I still draw breath, I will not suffer a single druchii to live. This is all that is left of me.”

The seasons passed differently in Ellyrion, the weather far milder than in Nagarythe, and Alith became unsure how long he had spent in Tor Elyr. The passing days melded into an interminable limbo, and Alith felt the same frustrations that had beset him in Tor Anroc. He had no plan, no course of action to follow, only the burning desire to do something.

He spent little time with the others he had arrived with; Elthyrior had disappeared soon after their coming, and the rest were quickly adjusting to court life in their new home. Alith found the Ellyrians intolerable company, even more garrulous and overly friendly than the serving folk of Tor Anroc. The wide meadows surrounding the city had none of the bleak charm of Elanardris, the sundrenched fields only serving to throw his own cold feelings into stark contrast. The Inner Sea held no appeal for Alith either, nothing more than a means to travel further east, away from Nagarythe.

So it was that he spent much of his time alone, brooding on his fate. The Ellyrians soon came to shun his company, and he encouraged this. He even turned down requests from Athielle to join her, driven by a self-torturous need to deny himself any form of pleasure. Alith came to hate and love his own suffering, taking comfort from his bitter thoughts, confirming his own dark suspicions about his fellow elves.

When even the clement weather within the Annulii began to grow colder, Prince Finudel returned from his campaign. Alith joined the Ellyrian court to welcome the prince, and was introduced by Athielle that evening. The three of them met alone in the prince’s chambers, high within one of the palace’s towers. Alith again related the circumstances surrounding his exile from Nagarythe.

“All that I desire is to strike back at those who have destroyed my family and my lands,” Alith concluded.

“You wish to fight?” said Finudel. The likeness between him and his older sister was remarkable, though Finudel was even more animated and prone to changes of mood. The prince paced to and fro across the circular room, his hands in constant motion, seeking activity.

“I do,” said Alith.

“Then you will soon have the opportunity,” replied Finudel. “You were not the only Naggarothi to have crossed the mountains. They joined with us as we pursued an army of cultists. Many spoke highly of you, Alith, and they will be heartened to hear that you are alive.”

“I am glad that others have evaded the clutches of Kheranion and his army,” said Alith. “How many have made the crossing?”

“A few thousand in all,” said Finudel. “They are camped to the west with my army. It would do me a great service if you would lead them into battle beside me.”

“Nothing would give me more satisfaction,” said Alith. “Against whom are we to fight?”

“The druchii have retaken the Pass of the Eagle, its eastern reaches no more than three days from here,” Finudel said. “I ride out again tomorrow.”

“And I ride out as well,” said Athielle. “We cannot allow our foes to approach Tor Elyr. As you see, our city has no walls to defend, no keeps to hold the druchii at bay. We must meet them in open battle, and must do so with all of our strength.”

“We must deal with this threat,” added Finudel. “In the north, there are still those who were once our subjects who have been swayed by Morathi. They are a blight within Ellyrion but they cannot be swept away whilst the threat from the west remains.”

“I will fight for Ellyrion as if they were my own lands,” said Alith. “The druchii will pay a bloody price for their treachery.”