—<TWENTY-TWO>—

Blades of Anlec

As the legions of Anlec had brought misery and dread to Ulthuan, so Alith’s shadow warriors visited terror and woe upon the druchii. They ranged across Tiranoc and Nagarythe, sometimes even daring Anlec itself to kill members of the courts and mutilate their bodies with symbols of dread: shadow and vengeance. Rarely did they gather in any numbers, so that the Naggarothi armies could not know whether to march south or north, to patrol the mountains or sweep the marshes and plains.

Alith would sometimes call a halt to the attacks, for dozens of days at a time. The first time he did this, the druchii believed that perhaps the mysterious Shadow King had been caught or slain. They were wrong, and in one night Alith unleashed coordinated attacks across the druchii-held territories, assassinating commanders, burning camps and stealing supplies. The next time there was a lull, the druchii were more fearful than when they were being attacked. The dreaded anticipation of what the Shadow King would inflict upon them next occupied their waking thoughts and tormented their dreams.

They were not disappointed. On midsummer’s day, an army marching east towards the Eagle Pass vanished. It set out from Tor Anroc and never made it to the garrison at Koril Atir. No bodies were found and there was no sign of ambush; five thousand warriors were simply never seen again.

The wailing of the elf maiden diminished quickly to a whimper and then fell silent as her blood spilled from her throat and spread into a pool upon the marble floor. Morathi contemplated her crimson reflection for a while, pleased with what she saw. Six years of constant war might have taken their toll on her underlings but she remained as fresh and beautiful as she had been on that momentous day so many centuries before.

She smiled at the recollection of her own naiveté of youth even as she recalled the thrill of power she had felt during that first sorcerous bargain. She had not known then quite how far that fateful encounter with the daemons would take her, but she regretted not a single step along the path. It was true that the swift victory she had once envisaged was now beyond her grasp, but nevertheless the war progressed well.

She dismissed the distracting thoughts with a shake of her head, her long curls of hair sending a thrill through her body as they tickled her shoulders. She fought back the urge to indulge in the sensation and lifted the bloodstained knife in her hand. Delicately, she pricked the tip of her thumb and allowed a single droplet of her own blood to fall into the pool made by the sacrifice. Where it touched the offering her blood spread in a slow ripple, forming shadows of deeper red. The shadows became more defined, showing a scene of the mountains. Clouds scudded across the red sky and hung about crimson peaks. With a word she focussed the vision, zooming in to Eagle Pass. Her magical eye swept over a column of warriors and knights as they marched eastwards to confront the army of upstart Imrik. They would not be victorious but they would distract the usurper king long enough for other parts of her plan to be set in motion.

A discreet cough pulled her attention towards one of the archways leading into the chamber. A functionary dressed in silken robes bowed low and the sorceress beckoned him in with a beringed finger.

“Your guest awaits your pleasure, majesty,” said the servant.

“Bring him up immediately,” Morathi replied. She turned back to the scrying pool, instantly forgetting the servant’s presence.

“Who is it?” someone asked from one of the adjoining rooms. His voice was hoarse, a whisper wracked with pain. “Is it… Hotek?”

“No, it is not,” Morathi replied. “He labours still, but his work will be complete soon enough. No, our guest is someone else, who brings very good news indeed.”

The scrape of a metal-shod foot on stone announced the arrival of Morathi’s guest. He stood in the archway clad in armour that had been tested much, scratched and dented in many places. His black hair was swept back with a silver band and the right side of his face was livid with a long scar, his eye on that side a blank white orb.

“Prince Alandrian, how good of you to come,” Morathi said huskily.

“Milady,” replied Alandrian with a bow. “It is my honour to finally come here and see you in person after all these years.”

“Yes it is,” said Morathi. “But it is one that you deserve. What news of my reinforcements?”

“I have left a strong garrison at Athel Toralien and the siege is ongoing, majesty,” said Alandrian, unconsciously lifting a hand to his ruined face. “The other colonies have been emptied of troops who now sail for Ulthuan. Five hundred thousand of your bravest and noblest warriors will be on these shores before winter.”

The prince’s smile was mirrored by Morathi.

“That is good,” she said. “While you await your troops, there is a small matter I want you to deal with.”

“I understand you wish to be rid of the so-called Shadow King,” replied Alandrian. “With your support, I will have his head on a lance by the time the fleet arrives.”

“You will have all the support you need,” said Morathi. She looked through the archway from which the other voice had come, her expression suddenly pained. “It vexes us that all is not well in Nagarythe. I expect you to restore stability as you did in Athel Toralien.”

“It will be done,” Alandrian replied with another bow. “I will bring you the head of the Shadow King myself.”

“I trust that you will,” said Morathi.

“Yeasir was a traitor,” the husky voice said from the adjoining chamber, its wavering tone hinting at delirium. “You would not betray us, Alandrian?”

“Yeasir was once strong, but when asked for true sacrifice he weakened,” said Morathi. “Alandrian has already proven his loyalty in that matter, haven’t you, Alandrian?”

“Khaine called to my daughters and they answered willingly,” said Alandrian. “That their mother did not agree was unfortunate for her, majesty. I regret her lack of wisdom but I cannot regret her death.”

“I am told that your daughters’ studies go well and that they have progressed far in the arts of Khaine,” said the sorceress-queen. “I can barely recall their demure attendance to me in Athel Toralien those many years ago. Tell me, are they as devoted to their father now as they were when last we met?”

“Not as devoted as they are to the Lord of Murder,” said Alandrian, his scarred face creasing into a wry smile. “I am very proud of them and I do not doubt that one day they will make all of Nagarythe similarly proud.”

Morathi took a few steps towards Alandrian and laid a gentle hand upon his ravaged cheek.

“I could fix that for you, my dear,” she said. “You could be as handsome as you were when we first met.”

“Thank you, majesty, but I must decline,” said Alandrian. “My scars remind me of the price of overconfidence. A mistake I will not repeat.”

“You always… had the most sense… of us all,” the whisper announced between hissing intakes of breath.

Alandrian said nothing for a moment, but dared a glance towards Morathi. The sorceress was distracted, still with a hand on his cheek, staring into the adjacent room. He turned slightly to follow her gaze but Morathi stepped in front of the prince, obscuring his view. She drew her hand back slowly and shook her head.

“Not yet,” she said quietly. A golden tear formed in her eye. “Soon enough you can see him.”

The cries of gulls and crash of waves masked what little noise was made by the shadow army. The tang of salt on the air reminded Alith a little of Tor Elyr, a taste unfamiliar to one who had lived most of his life far from the sea. The Shadow King felt ill-at-ease. The headlands of Cerin Hiuath, less than a day’s march south of Galthyr, were relatively exposed in comparison to the shadow warriors’ usual hunting grounds. The moorlands to the east provided cover for the two hundred warriors to approach the coastal road, but the tops of the cliffs were all but devoid of features to offer concealment.

Despite his misgivings, Alith had brought a force here to strike at a worthy prize. Word had come to the Shadow King that several of Morathi’s court, leaders of the various cults that vied for power within Nagarythe, were to take ship at Galthyr and sail north to join the druchii armies in Chrace. Knowing that the route direct from Anlec would be closely watched, the cult magisters were to take a more indirect route, travelling south-west before heading up the coast to the port. The possibility of killing or capturing these influential cultists was too tempting to pass up, and so Alith had hurriedly put out the command to several of the shadow warrior cadres to join him in the west.

For two days since they had gathered the shadow warriors watched the coast road for signs of the entourage. Alith expected them to be travelling with little protection: any large force moving out of Anlec would have attracted unwanted attention. If his two hundred warriors were not enough for the task, they would simply withdraw without being seen. Although the shadow warriors’ daring had become part of the myth surrounding the Shadow King, the truth was that Alith thought himself a cautious commander, risking his warriors only when the odds were in his favour or, as now, the gains of victory warranted additional gambit. In this way the shadow warriors had suffered only a few dozen casualties since they had begun their campaign.

If the cultists were as careful as Alith thought they would be, they would travel fast and light, hoping to avoid detection. The fact that the course of the war in Avelorn and Cothique had lured these primates out of Anlec was in itself a victory of sorts, upon which Alith intended to capitalise as much as possible. The disappearance of the cult leaders would send their followers into disarray for some time, the power struggles and internal conflict ravaging Anlec and leaving the druchii vulnerable to further attacks. It was pleasing to Alith to turn the cults’ weapons of disorder and fear against them, inflicting upon them the woes they had engineered for the princes of Ulthuan for several centuries. As they lived, so would they die.

Shortly after midday, one of the shadow warrior scouts came running hard from the south. He breathlessly reported his news to Alith and Khillrallion.

“Riders, lord, coming fast along the road,” the scout told them. “I would say no more than thirty of them.”

“Are they the counsellors?” asked Khillrallion. “Are they the ones we hunt?”

“I believe so,” said the shadow warrior. “There are some twenty knights, the others are armed but dressed in fineries. One of them has long white hair braided with black roses, which matches what we know of Diriuth Hilandrerin, the magister of the cult of Atharti. He is responsible for the massacres at Enen Aisuin and Laureamaris. Another rides under a red banner marked with the dagger of Khaine, which was borne by the warriors of Khorlandir during the first siege of Lothern. I do not recognise the others but they wear many of the profane symbols of the cults.”

“They are our prey,” said Alith. He half-turned his head for a moment as he heard the faintest of whispers from the moonbow in the quiver upon his back. “I can feel it in my bones. Their darkness comes before them like a wave.”

“Make ready for the ambush,” Khillrallion told the shadow warrior. “Send a hawk to us when our quarry have passed your position. We will come at them from north, east and south and trap them.”

Alith nodded his assent; this was the plan he had outlined to the shadow-walkers a few days earlier.

“I want prisoners if possible,” the Shadow King reminded his companions. “These creatures may be able to tell us much of what passes in Anlec, and of forces loyal to them in the other kingdoms. For the violence and suffering they have unleashed upon us, their deaths should be neither swift nor painless.”

The messenger set off at a run as Khillrallion departed to bring news of the imminent attack to the other shadow-walkers. Alith stayed where he was, in the shadow of an outcrop of rock directly overlooking the road. The coastal path was broad and paved with white stone, winding its way along the edge of the land less than a bow’s shot from the crashing seas. He had picked a stretch of the road where the coast heaped into rough hills and dropped away sharply to jagged rocks at the water’s edge. The ambushers had not only the advantage of surprise but also position. The shadow warriors had the ambush site well scouted, and despite the scarcity of cover most of them could be concealed within a few hundred paces of the road and would strike before being seen. The rest were to remain out of sight further east, to move in as a reserve should resistance be stronger than anticipated.

Alith drew forth the moonbow and gave it a loving stroke.

“More blood for you today,” he whispered as he fitted an arrow to the string.

Alith heard the riders before he could see them. Hooves pounded on the cobbles of the road as the druchii made a dash for the comparative safety of Galthyr. He waited, fighting back tension and excitement, and cast a glance behind him to ensure that none of his warriors could be seen. In this regard the Shadow King was very pleased. Even though he knew where each shadow warrior lay in wait, not a single one caught his eye.

A troop of ten knights were the first to come into view, their silver armour gleaming in the summer sun, their black uniforms and banners streaming in the sea breeze. Alith let them pass without hindrance. A short distance behind, perhaps only a few dozen paces, the rest of the party galloped: ten more knights formed up around a knot of lavishly dressed nobles and retainers.

When the magisters and their bodyguards were almost level with Alith, he rose from his hiding place, moonbow ready. He was a heartbeat from letting loose the string when a shout from behind him drew his attention. Furious that one of his warriors had betrayed their presence, Alith turned to see what had happened. His anger quickly became alarm when he saw what had caused the cry.

Along the hills to the east a line of warriors appeared, regiment upon regiment of warriors in black and purple advancing beneath long banners. Crossbowmen formed into lines on the flanks as spearmen and swordsmen advanced in the centre. On and on they came, thousands of druchii.

Alith spared no time trying to answer the question that hammered into his brain at the first sight of the army: how did so many warriors come to be here? Rather than ponder that which he could not answer, Alith leapt immediately to a more pressing issue: how to escape?

The twenty knights had come together in a single squadron on the road and faced eastwards, barring any route to the north; their charges continued along the road and were quickly disappearing from sight.

Running figures from the south—shadow warriors shouting warnings as they approached—told Alith they there was no sanctuary in that direction either.

“To me!” Alith called out. “Rally to me!”

The Shadow King watched the wave of black-armoured warriors advancing from the east as the shadow warriors gathered around him. A glance at the sun told him that the druchii had timed their attack well; they would be at the road some time before the first evening shadows fell.

“We have been lured into a trap,” Alith said hurriedly as the shadow warriors clustered around him. They crouched in a circle, partially concealed by the grass of the hills. Some stared intently at Alith with desperation in their eyes, others cast nervous glances at the knights on the road or allowed their gaze to be drawn to the army in the east. The riders close at hand seemed content to stay out of bow’s reach. Why would they not? Alith thought, there is no need to attack with so many reinforcements on the way.

“The sea is our only escape,” Alith said. “We must reach the waters and then swim south and come ashore at Koril Thandris. From there, we separate and make our way east, to meet again at Cardain.”

“The knights will charge if we attempt to cross the road,” said Khillrallion. “We cannot outrun warhorses.”

“Then we must kill the knights first,” said Alith with a shrug.

“Bows against fully armoured knights?” asked one of the shadow warriors, a young elf called Faenion.

“There are only twenty of them,” snapped Alith. “Shoot at their horses; on foot they will be little match for us. When the road is clear, we head down to the shore a little way to the south, where there is a shingle beach.”

At this the shadow warrior who had come from the south before the ambush spoke again.

“There are more knights moving up the road from that direction,” he said with a shake of his head. “At least fifty of them. I do not think we can reach the sea that way before they cut off the road.”

Alith growled in frustration. It was not just the fact that he had been caught out that upset him; he had enjoyed so many successes of late his luck had been bound to run out at some point. What worried him more was the precision with which the trap had been set. The bait had been irresistible and the enemy had guessed exactly where and when he would strike. The Shadow King wondered for a moment if he had become too predictable, but dismissed the notion as soon as it came. Whoever had masterminded this particular trap had simply got the better of him this time.

“We’ll have to climb down the cliffs,” Alith said at last. “Slay the knights at hand and get to the clifftops. From there we’ll just have to take our chances amongst the rocks.”

The shadow warriors exchanged worried glances and there were a few murmurs of dismay.

“The enemy will not wait for you to regain your courage!” snarled Alith, pointing a finger towards the lines of black steadily closing from the east. “Follow me, or stay here and die.”

Alith stood up and strode purposefully towards the Anlec knights on the road. He lifted up the moonbow and sighted along the shaft, his aim settling on a rider at the front of the formation. The arrow leapt from the string and took the knight full in the chest, punching through iron and tearing from his back to pass through the throat of the rider behind him.

Startled, the knights took a moment to collect themselves ready for a charge, in which time Alith felled three more with another shot. Lowering their lances, the knights urged their steeds into a full gallop and thundered towards the shadow warriors. Alith watched them coolly. On the Ellyrion plains and in the forests of Avelorn, he had learnt the reputation of these deadly riders was greater than their actual strength. When he might once have trembled at the armoured warriors bearing down on him, he felt only contempt.

Another shot from the moonbow sliced through the neck of the lead horse and buried itself in the chest of the following steed, sending both crashing to the ground. The other shadow warriors sent their own arrows arcing into the knights in a series of deadly volleys and before the knights had crossed half the distance from the road all were dead or lying wounded in the grass.

A look over his shoulder confirmed to Alith that the approaching army was now closing fast.

“To the cliffs, follow me,” he shouted, stowing the moonbow and breaking into a run directly towards the sea.

Alith led the retreat, casting glances over his shoulder towards the approaching druchii host as the shadow warriors reached the road. The enemy were advancing quickly but Alith and his warriors would be at the cliff edge before their repeater crossbows were in range. A look to the south revealed the knights coming along the road; they too would not reach the shadow warriors before they were safely moving down the cliff. Though the situation was not good, Alith was more confident than when he had first seen the banners rising over the hills. Despite this he did not allow himself to relax.

“Keep moving!” Alith ordered as several of his warriors took up positions to shoot at the oncoming druchii. “No rearguard will hold them back.”

When he was a few dozen strides from the cliff edge Alith caught his first glimpse of the sea. He marvelled at the unending dark blue horizon but as he continued forwards he saw the wider expanse of the ocean. High waves rolled in towards Ulthuan, far stronger than the tides of the Inner Sea he had witnessed at Tor Elyr. Ignoring his own command, he stumbled to a halt, mesmerised by the spectacle. As far as he could see in every direction stretched the Great Ocean, dwarfing him with its size. Far beyond lay the jungles of Lustria, where the descendants of the Old Ones’ servants clung to civilisation. Ruined cities and steaming mangroves, treacherous swamps and ancient treasures awaited bold adventurers and explorers.

Alith realised how little of the world he had seen. He had never been to Elthin Arvan to the east, or the colonies of Elithis, or the towers of the elves far to the south. Had it not been for the civil war, would he have ever visited Ellyrion or Avelorn?

Shouts from his shadow warriors broke Alith’s reverie and he snapped back to the current situation. His companions were pointing down to the seas and there he saw something that sapped his confidence as quickly as it had returned: three black ships at anchor not far from the shore.

Reaching the cliff edge, Alith looked down to gauge the difficulty of the descent. The cliff was not quite vertical, the strata of rocks pronounced in light and dark bands, the surface pitted with many holes and ledges. It was not the most difficult climb Alith had attempted. The cliff was not the problem, the greatest dangers were at their feet where surf crashed against jagged rocks and swirled in strong currents through jutting piles of tumbled boulders.

Something black and heavy blurred through the air close by Alith, quickly followed by other projectiles. Several shadow warriors were thrown from their feet with long shafts jutting from their bodies as the ships loosed their deadly bolt throwers. The swish of spear-sized missiles filled the air as more shadow warriors were cut down by another volley.

Along the cliff face warriors threw down their weapons to lighten themselves, some of them tearing off their cloaks and boots as well. Many hesitated, staring in horror at the black ships lurking out to sea or transfixed by the bodies of the slain.

“Keep moving!” Alith yelled again, unfastening his cloak and tossing it to the ground. Looking left and right he saw his followers pulling themselves over the cliff to begin the long descent. He grabbed the quiver from his back, ready to cast it aside, but hesitated. The moonbow gleamed in the sunlight. He could not abandon such a hard-won prize. Pulling it free, he passed the moonbow over his shoulder, threw away the quiver and then swung himself over the clifftop.

The shadow warriors were nimble and well-versed in climbing, and soon most of them were halfway down the cliff. Bolts from the lurking vessels hammered into the grey stone, some of the shots finding their mark, sending shadow warriors tumbling down to the frothing surf below. Rock shrapnel splintered from the iron heads of the bolts as they crashed into the cliff face, shredding Alith’s clothes and grazing skin. One bolt missed his foot by the smallest of margins, pulverising the rock on which he had been stood. Alith scrabbled to find a new grip as he swung dangerously from one hand.

Panicked shouts and cries of pain mixed with the sound of the waves as Alith dropped from one handhold to the next, swinging from ledge to outcrop, his fingers finding purchase in small cracks, his toes making solid footing out of striations no wider than a finger.

More and more of Alith’s warriors were falling to the bolt throwers, their screams drowned in the thunder of the sea as they plummeted into the swirling waves. Perhaps a quarter of their number had already been lost.

“They’ll kill us all!” Alith bellowed to his followers. “Leap into the water!”

The shadow warriors were too fearful of jumping to their possible deaths, but to Alith it was more certain that their doom would come if they remained on the cliff face.

“With me!” he cried, letting go his handholds and pushing out with all of the strength in his legs.

Wind battered Alith’s face and tore at his hair as he fell towards the seas. He saw the foaming spume hurled into the air by the sharp pinnacles of the reefs, but it was the rocks below the water that he feared more. He closed his eyes and angled into a dive with a silent prayer to the sea god Mannanin upon his lips.

Hitting the water was like being kicked by a horse, forcing all of the air from Alith’s body. He banged his right arm against something and immediately lost all feeling in his hand. He was engulfed by a storm of bubbles, tossing him this way and that, threatening to dash him against the rocks. He was turned upside down, twisted back and forth by the fierce eddies, the water colouring red from his wounds. Light and dark whirled as he rolled between the surface and the forbidding depths. Coldness seeped into his flesh and gnawed at his bones.

Alith struck out, fighting against a surge that threatened to drag him deeper and deeper into the water. One-handed he clawed his way to the bubbling surface, buffeted and buoyed by the heaving waves. Twice more the current snapped at his legs, pulling him under, filling his mouth with salt water. He coughed and spluttered, and gave a howl of pain as he was thrown into the sharp edge of a spire-like reef, a long gash torn across his stomach. The current tugged at the moonbow, its string cutting deep into Alith’s arm. It tangled with his legs and batted against his face, but Alith would not relinquish his prized weapon.

Stroke by painful stroke, the Shadow King forged through the waters. He managed to gain his bearings and turned south, away from the druchii ships. A look back to the cliffs confirmed that the druchii army had arrived. Crossbowmen unleashed a storm of quarrels from above, picking off those shadow warriors who did not possess the courage to make the leap into the sea.

Slicks of red stained the water, and Alith had no idea how many warriors had been lost. He saw several, Khillrallion among them, clinging to the rocks, gasping for breath. They were sheltered in the lee of a giant pinnacle that stood apart from the rest of the cliff like a huge grey needle. Alith swam over to them and grabbed a handhold in the cracked surface of the rock.

“We cannot stay here,” Alith panted. He pointed upwards, to the gathering druchii troops, too breathless to say anything further. Khillrallion nodded in understanding and signalled for the others to follow.

Exhausted, Alith pushed away, unable to spare any more thought for his followers. He needed all of his strength and focus just to stay alive.