Blood of Aenarion

chapter nine



Lothern, 10th Year of the Reign of Finubar



At first it was a day like any other. They followed the coastline of Ulthuan as it grew steadily more rugged. The breeze was strong, the weather warmer than Tyrion was used to. It had been getting steadily hotter as they made their way south.

In the mountains of Cothique, winter was still present but here in the south it felt like spring. Tyrion sat on the highest cross-spar on the ship and watched the sun spring over the horizon and the day grow ever warmer. The sea and the sky were of almost matching blue. In the distance, he could see more and more ships, converging from every point on the horizon, all of them heading towards the same goal.

There were mighty elven warships and larger, slower but still sleek cargo clippers. There were ungainly looking vessels that he guessed must belong to humans. There were small fishing boats and huge galleons and every size of sea-going craft in between. He felt as if the Eagle of Lothern was becoming part of a great crowd of pilgrims all heading towards the same holy spot. He had been keeping his eyes open for pirates but this interested him just as much. He would not have guessed there were so many ships in the world. Just the vessels he could see and count probably held as many people between them as the population of a city in Cothique.

It was not long before he caught sight of what he was waiting for. On the horizon, rising like the masts of a ship heaving into view, he caught sight of first one huge tower and then another. They were tall and slender, tipped by elongated minarets and swirling spires. Flags fluttered on their tips. He looked over at the sailor occupying the crow’s nest. It was Karaya, the pretty one who he had seen many times before. He had not had a chance to talk to her since the storm.

‘Lothern?’ he asked.

‘Your eyes are very good,’ Karaya said, once she lowered her spyglass. ‘Yes, those are the towers of Lothern. We shall pass through the sea gate this evening – wind, weather and the favour of the gods permitting.’

Tyrion grinned at her. ‘The last time I was here, I was a small child. I don’t remember much about the place.’

‘I am surprised you could forget,’ she said with a teasing smile. ‘Lothern is the greatest seaport in the world, the greatest city of the elves as well. And I am not just saying that because it’s my home. I have seen many cities here and in what the humans call the Old World and in Naggaroth too, although I went there only to burn them.’

‘You have seen the land of the Witch King?’ Tyrion asked, envying her all of her experiences. He got up and walked along the cross-spar until he reached the crow’s nest then dropped in beside her. Their bodies were very close. She did not object. ‘What was it like?’

‘Cold and bleak and harsh and full of people who did not like us very much. Their hospitality was execrable and we did not stay for long.’

Tyrion laughed. ‘I have heard that said.’

‘It is nothing but the truth. We would give Malekith and his people a warmer welcome if they chose to come visiting us.’

‘I do not think that is very likely.’

‘Nor do I. Their land was empty. There were few dark elves to see. I think the druchii are dying out more quickly even than our people.’

‘I had heard that Lothern was a lively place.’

‘That it is,’ she said. There was sadness in her voice. ‘But even Lothern is not as populous as it used to be, and it is by far the most populous city in Elvendom.’

‘I look forward to seeing it.’

‘You will be made welcome there.’ She reached out and touched his arm. It was as if a sudden electric shock passed between them. ‘Whatever your business is.’

‘I am to be presented to the Phoenix King.’ He leaned forward, moving his head closer to hers. Their breaths seemed to mingle in the air before them.

‘Then you have nothing to fear. There was never a fairer nor more open-handed ruler than Finubar. He is from Lothern you know. The first Phoenix King ever to come from our city and our land. It is a sign of the times.’

‘How so?’ He looked directly into her eyes.

‘You have the strangest eyes,’ she said. ‘There are gold flecks in them, the colour of the sun.’

‘You have very lovely eyes,’ he said. ‘Like the sea.’

She pulled back a little as if suddenly aware of their closeness. ‘You asked me about the times.’

‘I did,’ he said, knowing that delay before gratification was part of this game.

‘Our land grows in power and wealth and influence in proportion to the growth of our trade with the humans. I do not doubt it is the richest city in Ulthuan.’

‘Surely wealth isn’t everything,’ Tyrion said. It was what his father would have said and it seemed right to him.

‘No,’ the sailor agreed. ‘But it counts for a lot. It takes a heap of money to pay for our fleets and build our ships and equip our armies. It is not something to be despised.’

She sounded almost defensive and Tyrion could guess why. The elves of Lothern were often looked down on by the inhabitants of the other elven lands. They were seen as money-grubbing merchants, not proud warriors or noble wizards. Now did not seem like a good time to mention this though.

‘It takes a mountain of gold to fight a war,’ said Tyrion. ‘Caledor the Conqueror said that, and he was one of the greatest generals who ever lived.’

‘And he was right. Although it takes swords and spells also.’

‘I am going to be a warrior,’ said Tyrion.

‘I do not doubt it. You have the look of one,’ she said. ‘You will be made a White Lion at least, if Master Korhien has his way. He is very proud of you.’

Tyrion laughed. He was pleased and flattered to be told this. ‘That would be a great honour.’

‘It would be, but if it’s battle you want you should join the Sea Guard of Lothern. My brother is one and he has fought in many frays.’

‘I will be happy to join any company of warriors,’ said Tyrion. ‘It is what I have always wanted to do.’

‘Isha rewards those who follow their dreams, or so I have heard say.’

‘I sincerely hope so,’ said Tyrion. He stared into the distance intently. He could hardly wait to reach the city. At that moment, it felt as if he only needed to stretch out his hand and whatever he wanted would fall into it.

He reached out for her and pulled her to him. Their lips touched. They shed their clothes swiftly. Soon their naked bodies moved in time to the motion of the ship and the gulls were not the only things who cried out.

‘Look at that,’ said Tyrion barely able to keep the wonder from his voice. To their left, the titanic tower of Lothern lighthouse loomed out of the sea. Its lights already blazed even as the sun started to slide below the horizon.

Ahead of them were the vast sea gates of the city, open at this moment to let ships pass through into the harbour beyond them. They were enormous things, cut out of the huge sea walls of the city, large enough for a tall-masted ship to sail through with room to spare.

‘You sound happy,’ said Teclis. ‘And have sounded so since you climbed down from the crow’s nest.’

‘I am always happy,’ said Tyrion.

‘Then you sound even happier than usual.’

Tyrion did not doubt that Teclis knew what had happened between him and the sailor girl. He could sometimes sense such things.

‘I am happy to see Lothern,’ said Tyrion.

‘Of course,’ said Teclis sourly. ‘That must be it.’

All around them ships moved in stately order towards the gate. There were human vessels with elf pilots aboard to guide them through the correct channels and to give the signals that would prevent the mighty siege engines on the walls from opening fire.

There were elven trading vessels returning from every part of Ulthuan and beyond. Fresh painted, gleaming clippers that traded along the coast moved alongside battered-looking vessels that had made the long haul from the Old World, Araby, Cathay and beyond. Ships from Lothern traded with every part of the planet. There was no sea into which they did not venture, no land they were afraid to visit.

When they emerged from the maze of channels that lay beyond the gate, Tyrion could see the vast harbour. It was large enough to shelter all the fleets of every nation. Even without the sea walls it would have provided a safe haven and deep water anchorage for visiting vessels. The walls sheltered it from the worst of weather as well as all incoming marauders. In the centre of the harbour, upon a plinth as large as a small island, the gigantic statue of Aenarion glowed in the last light of the sunset.

Tyrion looked at it, seeing it as if for the first time. It was a titanic figure, a hundred times the height of a normal elf and carved so brilliantly as to appear almost alive. It was a very disturbing thing for him to gaze upon.

He heard Teclis gasp as he looked at it.

Looking up at the statue of the first Phoenix King, Teclis felt only wonder. It was an astonishing work of art. It captured in full the grandeur of Aenarion and his nobility and his tragic loneliness. The huge stone warrior leaned on a great sword around which flames seemed to writhe. He gazed outward, the line of his vision passing far over the heads of the viewers as if he was looking into the distance and seeing things further and higher than any mere mortal might view.

‘Do you think he really looked like that?’ Tyrion asked. He sounded genuinely curious.

‘They say this statue was made from drawings and paintings saved from before his fall. Those who knew him say it was accurate. Even Morathi remarked it was a likeness to the life, or so the historian Aergeon claims.’

‘I don’t see the supposed resemblance,’ said Tyrion. He sounded piqued. It took Teclis a moment to realise what his brother was talking about. He glanced from the statue to Tyrion and then back to the statue.

‘You do look like him,’ Teclis said eventually. ‘A lot like him.’

‘I don’t see it.’ Tyrion shook his head for emphasis.

‘Then you are the only one.’

‘His chin is nothing like mine and his ears are a different shape.’

Teclis laughed. ‘Those are very small differences.’

‘Not to me. They are as clear as day.’

‘You have the great privilege of staring at yourself in the mirror for hours every day – such being your vanity, of course – you can spot the small differences that might be invisible to the eye of lesser and less beautiful mortals like myself.’

‘They are not small differences,’ said Tyrion. He sounded genuinely troubled now. Teclis wondered what was really disturbing him.

Surely it could not be something so simple as the fact that there was a physical resemblance between himself and the first Phoenix King? That was something that would please most elves; should, in fact, please him. He was the one who had always dreamed of being a legendary hero like Aenarion.

Perhaps that was it. Perhaps he was being confronted by the reality of what that really meant carved in stone, a hundred times life size.

Aenarion did not look like the common idea of a hero. His brow was furrowed in thought, and there was a haunted look about his eyes that the sculptors had somehow caught. He did not look merely bold or complacently self-confident or simply brave. He looked lonely and a little lost and burdened by the weight of an awesome responsibility.

Looking on that proud handsome face brought things into focus for Teclis. Here was an elf who had carried a burden too great for any mortal to bear for longer than anyone could be expected to carry it, who had faced daemons within himself as well as outside, who had carried on when all seemed lost and who had, in the end, given his life to save the world and his people. Perhaps Tyrion was coming face to face for the first time with the reality of what it meant to be a hero, and he was finding it not quite what he had expected.

‘Is that the Sword of Khaine?’ Tyrion asked.

Or perhaps Tyrion felt no such thing, Teclis thought wryly. He now seemed merely curious about a sword. A glance at his brother showed he was still in a thoughtful mood and had changed the subject to try and distract himself.

‘No. That blade is never represented anywhere.’ said Teclis. ‘This sword is Sunfang.’

‘The first blade? The one Caledor forged for him in the fires of Vaul’s Anvil? The one that blazed with fire and could shoot jets of flame like a dragon?’

‘The very same.’

‘Do you think it is an accurate representation?’

‘Again the historians say yes. The elves took care about these things in those days.’

‘Whatever happened to it?’

‘No one knows. They say Aenarion gave it to Furion, one of his favoured commanders. It remained in his family for generations. They say Malekith coveted it and schemed to get it on many occasions. They say it was carried off by Nathanis, the last of Furion’s line on his great ship, Farwind, and was never seen again, for the ship never returned. They think it was lost somewhere on the coasts of the Old World, but no trace of it was ever found.’

‘You think the blade still exists?’

‘It might.’

‘It was made by Caledor. Surely the spells he wove would endure for as long as the Vortex does, at very least.’

‘It might be at the bottom of the sea. Or in some dragon’s hoard. Or in Malekith’s treasure vaults for all we know.’

‘It would be something to find it though, would it not?’ Tyrion sounded excited and the grim mood that had fallen on him when he looked at the statue of Aenarion was lifting.

‘It would indeed. If it still exists it would be one of the few fully functioning artefacts created by Caledor in the world. It would be a thing well worth studying.’

‘I was thinking more of using it as a weapon.’

‘Naturally! Of what possible use could it be to study the handiwork of the greatest mage that ever lived? Better to bang people over the head with it instead.’

‘It is the purpose it was made for.’

‘The sheer literal-mindedness of your response is irrefutable.’

‘Anyway, I was thinking more of blasting them with its flames. That would be a useful power on the battlefield.’

‘There might be something about it that would allow our father to complete his work. If the spells on the sword still function, they might give some clue as to how to remake the armour. They were both made by the same elf. They would both carry the same type of magic.’

Teclis could see that idea really caught Tyrion’s imagination. With that thoughtful look on his face he resembled Aenarion more than ever, although a bright, merry Aenarion, not nearly so grim. Perhaps Teclis thought, that was what Aenarion had looked like when he was young.

They continued to look at the statue in silence and in wonder, as they passed into the waters beyond. At some point, the sailor girl Karaya came down and joined them. She did not seem compelled to say anything either.

Around the edges of the harbour were many more giant statues all on the same scale as that of Aenarion and all of them sharing something of his statue’s power and pride and dignity.

On the western edge of the docks, a massive new statue was rising. Scaffolding still surrounded it. Masons laboured away unremittingly. At the moment it was faceless and somewhat shapeless, but Tyrion knew that within the next few decades it would take on the aspect of Finubar. The statue had only just begun to rise at the start of his reign, a mere ten years ago. It would be some time until it was completed. But what did that matter, Tyrion thought? If there was one thing that elves did not lack it was time.

Vessels lying at anchor crowded the harbour. Many were tied up at the long piers belonging to the great mercantile houses. The flags of their owners flew over ship and warehouse alike. Off to the west, on a walled complex of islands shut off from the rest of the city and accessible only through a series of bridges, walls and small forts was the Foreigners’ Quarter, the only part of the city where the humans were allowed to dwell and to wander freely without special permission from the Phoenix King or his representatives.

‘I can remember when that place was only the size of a fishing village,’ said Karaya. ‘Now they say there are almost as many humans living there as there are elves in the city. It will not be long before we are outnumbered in our own land.’

‘The humans breed quickly.’

‘It is not just that. More and more of them come here every year, seeking to trade. They bring us their goods. They buy our wares and the goods our ships bring in from the far corners of the world.’

‘What could they sell us that we could possibly want?’ Tyrion asked.

‘They bring dwarf-made clockworks from the Worlds Edge Mountains. The dwarfs still refuse to trade with us directly. They bring gold and silver and gems that cannot be found here on Ulthuan. They bring ores and wool and tobacco. They bring preserved meats and grains and books of lore.’ She seemed to be working her way through a long list.

Tyrion laughed. ‘I believe you. I had not thought there were so many things they had that we could want.’

‘I can tell you come from the old kingdoms of Ulthuan, Prince Tyrion. No one from Lothern could possibly think that way.’

In the early dusk, the ship glided towards an enormous warehouse over which the Emeraldsea flag fluttered, propelled by a gentle magical breeze Lady Malene had conjured. The crew dropped anchor. Guards in house colours waved to the arriving sailors.

Gangplanks were run down from the side and longshoremen with hooked staves and hooked knives ran aboard when given permission. The ship’s captain bowed to Lady Malene. The horses of Korhien’s guard were raised from the hold using levered cranes and dropped kicking onto the pier. Their riders stood nearby waiting to gentle them with words and softly spoken charms. Korhien observed the whole operation with satisfaction. Tyrion noticed that others watched from nearby, and ran off when they saw him watching.

‘What was that about?’ he asked.

‘All of the houses spy on each other. The watchers saw Lady Malene and you and ran off to report to their masters.’

‘What possible consequence could our appearance here have?’ Tyrion asked.

‘Twins of the Blood of Aenarion? It could have incalculable consequences. Who knows what gifts you might possess or what importance you may have in the future?’ He seemed to be talking as much to himself as Tyrion and he looked very thoughtful. ‘Also Lady Malene and myself are both personages of some consequence in the city, believe it or not.’

Tyrion smiled at the big warrior. ‘That I can believe.’

He turned around looking for Karaya to say goodbye, but she was already gone, without taking leave, after the manner of elf maids and strangers they met a-journeying.

They took the road from the docks, joining the evening traffic making its way into the great city. They rode alongside wagons full of silk bales, and fish on ice, and piled high with fruit. They passed vendors selling everything from snacks to bits of jewellery.

The escort bantered with passing traders, purchasing bits of fruit to eat. A fresh-faced elf maid offered Tyrion a peach, causing the warriors to whistle knowingly. Tyrion accepted with all the good grace he could muster and fumbled for his purse.

‘A gift,’ said the girl, touching his hand gently. Tyrion was glad, for he had no money to offer her anyway.

The inner gates of the city lay ahead. Soldiers in the tabards of the Sea Guard of Lothern watched them enter. It was obvious from their manner that they knew most of the elves coming in, and were known by them in turn. Their easy manner altered perceptibly as the group rode up and Korhien’s white lionskin cloak became visible. They stood taller, looked sterner, and saluted smartly. The White Lion responded in kind.

It occurred to Tyrion then that there was being known and being known. The guards knew who Korhien was in a different way from the friendly manner in which they acknowledged the local traders.

The White Lion was obviously an elf of some consequence. It was only natural, he supposed; Korhien was one of the Phoenix King’s elite guard. It was more than that though – people looked at him with awe and his name was whispered among strangers as they passed along. It had never occurred to him that Korhien was famous.

He wondered if Malene or any of the others were too but got no hint of it from the demeanour of the people around them. He noticed that he was coming in for a lot of attention as well, then he realised it was his resemblance to that statue in the harbour that was the cause of the attention. He wondered if ever he would be judged here for himself.

They rode beyond the inner walls. Immediately there was a sense of age and beauty. Lampposts lit by incandescent magic kept the night at bay. Long streets wound up tree-clad hills. Many flights of stairs ran up the steeper slopes. There were palaces with towers and spiked minarets. There were fountains everywhere. It seemed like a legion of sculptors had been kept busy for many ages of the world beautifying the city. There were statues of mages and warriors and kings, as well as people he did not recognise but guessed were lawmakers and orators and poets. He pointed out these wonders to his brother; stone worked to look life-like, auras of glamour and ancient warding sorceries protecting the work from the ravages of time and weather.

‘It’s amazing,’ he told Teclis, as they passed a row of towering warriors garbed like Korhien. ‘Just think of the work that went into this.’

‘Think of the ego and the pride,’ said his twin.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You don’t think these were put up just to beautify the streets, do you?’

‘What other purpose could they have?’

‘Your brother is right, doorkeeper,’ said Korhien riding up beside them. ‘These statues and fountains were all put up for political reasons. They represent the power and the wealth of the people who paid to have them created. They praise the ancestors of those people, or in many cases the living elves themselves.’

Tyrion laughed.

‘I am serious, doorkeeper. Politics is a serious business in Lothern, although you are right to laugh at it. Every one of the statues on the pedestals on the roof of that palace represents a glorious ancestor of the occupants. It reminds the mass of the citizens of the power and greatness of the family, just in case its members have not performed any worthy deeds lately.’

Teclis squinted at Korhien with something like respect. He obviously had never expected to hear such words coming from the White Lion’s mouth.

‘Not everyone who wields a blade is brainless, Prince Teclis,’ said Korhien with the elaborate courtesy with which he always treated Teclis and which Tyrion suspected concealed a genial contempt. ‘You will soon find that out in this place. You will need to, if you are to live and prosper here.’

‘I would settle just for living at the moment,’ said Teclis. ‘This odious beast has half-killed me on the ride.’

‘Not much further, prince,’ said Korhien. ‘Soon you will have a bed for the night. In the bosom of your loving family.’

There was a subtle irony in his tone that Tyrion could see Teclis appreciated.

‘Where do you come from, Lord Korhien?’ Teclis asked. There was an edge to his voice but he was curious too.

‘I was born in a barn in the mountains. My father was a freeholder. My mother was the local archery champion. No ancient high blood there, I am afraid. Well, no more than any other elf.’

‘You are allied to Emeraldsea though, aren’t you?’

‘I am allied to Lady Malene,’ said Korhien with a wink. ‘She is my only entanglement with House Emeraldsea. My loyalty is to the Phoenix King. As is only right for an elf of my position.’

Why was there tension between the two of them, Tyrion wondered? Perhaps his twin sensed a rival for his loyalty. Tyrion had never looked at the matter in that light before. Perhaps Teclis feared being abandoned in this vast city with its palm trees and roof gardens and endless streets full of echoing, half-empty palaces.

Now they were away from the gates, the crowd had thinned out and the streets seemed much emptier. Some of the houses, not too far from the main thoroughfare, had patched and crumbling roofs. Some of the people who gazed at them out of half-shuttered windows had a lean and hungry look to them, although as far as Tyrion knew there was no hunger or famine in Ulthuan.

What then could they be? Were they diseased? Was it true that some of the human plagues could jump to elves? He had heard some of the mountain villagers claim such things, that humans should never have been allowed into Lothern, and should be sent packing back to their homelands.

For himself, Tyrion was curious to see one of the semi-legendary savages. He knew he would find the opportunity soon. They were mostly associated with the dark elves who kept them as slaves and occasionally allied with their daemon-worshipping medicine men. As he had seen, many of them lurked down by the harbour, living in the area of land set aside for them and quarantined from the rest of the city. He found himself unwholesomely curious about them.

They turned a corner and entered a massive plaza. On one side of the square was a huge mansion, made from green-tinged stone, topped with emerald towers. Flags with the emblem of a mighty elf warship on them fluttered above the entrance. Gigantic lanterns set atop corner towers lit the entire street with a green-tinted light.

‘You’re home,’ said Korhien. ‘This is the Emeraldsea Palace.’

Tyrion felt overwhelmed by awe. The building was on the scale that he had imagined a city would be built. It looked large enough to house the population of an elven town, and unlike many of the surrounding buildings it did not seem deserted. Small armies of people seemed to come and go from it. Korhien caught his look.

He rubbed thumb and forefinger together. ‘Lothern is built on the wealth of its merchants. House Emeraldsea is one of the wealthiest of the merchant houses.’

He rode closer and spoke so quietly that Tyrion was not sure he caught the actual words, ‘And the most hated.’

Tyrion knew better than to ask about that now. He resolved that he would have some questions for Korhien later.