Blood of Aenarion

chapter TEN



When they passed through the great gates of the House they entered a different world. Green paper-lanterns hung everywhere, illuminating a courtyard that contained a pool the size of a small lake. In that pool were fountains carved in the shape of dolphins and sea-drakes and other legendary creatures of the ocean. Around the courtyard, the mansion rose a full five storeys high.

Retainers in the livery of the House went about their business. Richly dressed elves strolled around discussing tonnages and rates of interest and market prices. Even though the hour was getting late, they conducted business with the intensity of farmers haggling over sheep at a morning market.

Tyrion had no idea what was meant. For all he knew these serious-looking elves could be discussing magic spells. Some of them paid attention to him, particularly the women. They stared quite openly. He smiled and was smiled at in response. The male elves noticing this sometimes glared, sometimes smiled knowingly.

‘I see you are going to be popular,’ said Lady Malene, riding close to him.

‘What makes you think that?’ he asked, although he already knew the answer.

‘I think you’ll find out for yourself soon enough,’ she said. ‘For the moment, let me enjoy your country-born innocence. I am sure the ladies here will.’

He was conscious of the fact that elf girls in Cothique considered him good-looking, but there was very little to compare himself to: his father, Teclis and the uncouth villagers. But he lacked the sophistication and polish of these city-bred elves. He was not nearly so well-dressed or so well-groomed. It had never occurred to him that the mere fact that he looked different might be considered a point of attraction, not a strike against him. It was something to bear in mind.

Live and learn he told himself. If he was going to survive and thrive here, he was going to have to, and he saw no reason not to enjoy himself at the same time.

Retainers helped the riders dismount, and led away their horses to the stables. The warriors who had escorted them noticed acquaintances around them and shouted greetings and went their separate ways. Soon, only Tyrion and Teclis, and Lady Malene and Korhien were left, standing together in a small group near one of the fountains.

Korhien looked around at them. He smiled broadly. ‘I must go soon and present myself to Finubar. He will want to know I have returned.’ He leaned forward and kissed Malene. He stretched out his hand and clasped Tyrion’s arm just below the elbow. Tyrion returned the gesture. He was surprised. It was the grip that warriors used for comrades and for friends. He bowed to Teclis and then turned and strode away.

Tyrion paused for a moment and considered what had just been said. He had known Korhien was a White Lion, but it was one thing knowing that and another hearing him speak so casually of reporting to Finubar. Tyrion wondered what he was going to tell the Phoenix King about himself and Teclis.

From under the arched walkway at the west end of the palace, Tyrion noticed a small group of extremely well-dressed young elves were studying him. They wore the long loose robes favoured by the upper class at leisure, all trimmed with silk and gold.

They were attempting to look nonchalant but he sensed that they were more interested in him and his brother than they would have cared to admit. He smiled easily and waved at them. They did not wave back. He laughed, honestly not caring, and noticed that Lady Malene was watching him from the corner of her eye. A young elf girl in the tunic of a retainer approached. The girl looked at Tyrion as if seeing a god.

‘Yes, indeed,’ Malene said. ‘You will get on very well here.’

The girl whispered something to her. She looked suddenly a lot more serious. ‘Your grandfather will see you now,’ she said. ‘You would do well to watch your manners around him. He is not as tolerant as I am.’

‘Welcome to my home,’ said Lord Emeraldsea. He did not look very welcoming, Tyrion thought. He looked as if he were inspecting a couple of very dubious cargoes he was considering investing in.

‘Thank you for having us here,’ said Tyrion, with all the politeness he could manage. Teclis murmured something inaudible.

Lord Emeraldsea sat at a huge desk piled high with documents awaiting his inspection and signature. His study was on the topmost floor of the house. Out of his window, he had a fine view of the harbour below. His balcony held a bronze telescope on a metal tripod. Tyrion guessed he took a proprietorial interest in the ships arriving in the harbour.

Lord Emeraldsea was tall and thin and quite the oldest elf that Tyrion could ever remember seeing. Blue veins were visible in the ancient hands that toyed with a small set of scales. His hair was the colour of spun silver, his eyes cold and grey as the northern sea before a storm.

It took Tyrion a moment to accept the fact that this was his grandfather. In the elf’s manner there was no real suggestion of any familial relationship. There was distance, the implication of hostility, perhaps a suggestion of contempt or dislike.

Lord Emeraldsea rose from his hard wooden chair, walked round the desk and stood before them. He walked with a very straight back and the same air of command Tyrion had noticed in Captain Joyelle. There was something in Lord Emeraldsea’s manner suggestive of the sea. He was very tall, taller even than Tyrion. For the first time in a very long time, Tyrion experienced the sensation of being looked down upon. Cold eyes measured him, calculated his worth and placed it on the scales at the back of his grandfather’s mind.

‘You do look like him,’ he said, and Tyrion had no doubt as to who he was. ‘You look a little like my poor daughter too. I am pleased to see that you have grown up into such a fine figure of an elf.’

He strode over to Teclis and loomed over him. ‘I wish I could say the same for you.’

‘Why don’t you try, out of politeness,’ said Teclis with poisonous sweetness.

Lord Emeraldsea looked taken aback. Tyrion could tell he was not used to being mocked. His smile was wintery and not without humour. Like many people before him he was being forced to reassess his opinion of the sickly young elf standing before him. The two of them locked gazes and the air fairly crackled between them. Here were two elves of very different ages and enormously strong wills.

‘You look like my daughter,’ Lord Emeraldsea said. ‘And like your father. But you seem somewhat... firmer of character.’

Tyrion wondered what his grandfather meant by that. In any case, Lord Emeraldsea did not seem displeased to discover that Teclis was not some sort of feeble half-wit. ‘I like that, lad, but don’t push my goodwill too far.’

‘I am a prince,’ said Teclis.

Lord Emeraldsea’s stare was cold, a captain looking at a disrespectful cabin boy. ‘That remains to be determined. We will know soon enough if you are blessed or cursed by the Blood of Aenarion.’

There was a strong emotion in his voice when he said that that Tyrion did not recognise at all. He followed the old elf’s gaze to the wall behind him and saw that he was looking at a portrait of their mother. He looked back at Lord Emeraldsea’s lined face and he knew then the emotion was grief. Lord Emeraldsea caught Tyrion’s glance and for a moment there was flicker of genuine emotion between them.

‘It’s an ill thing for a parent to outlive a child,’ Lord Emeraldsea said. Tyrion could see that took Teclis off guard. His mouth shut just as he was about to say something sardonic again. Perhaps he understood that their appearance here must be difficult for their grandfather.

‘My other daughter tells me that you have a gift for sorcery. Let us hope you live long enough to enjoy the use of it.’

Tyrion wondered if there was threat implicit in his grandfather’s words. Perhaps it was only a warning. They were in a place now inhabited by elves that would kill you if you provoked them. Tyrion was grateful for one thing. No one would ever call his brother out to duel because of rudeness. There would be no honour in it. Perhaps the old elf was merely making a reference to Teclis’s sickliness.

Lord Emeraldsea returned to his desk and sat down. He lifted a quill, sharpened the end with a small knife, dipped it in his inkwell and made an inscription on one of his scrolls, as if acknowledging the delivery of a cargo with a receipt.

‘Rooms have been prepared for you,’ he said. ‘Go to them.’

It was clear they had been dismissed. A servant appeared from somewhere to show them out. Tyrion had no idea how she had been summoned.

‘This is very nice,’ said Tyrion, looking around the chamber.

Very nice was something of an understatement; the apartment they had been installed in seemed as large as their father’s villa and considerably more luxurious. It had windows of polished crystal. Murals depicting sea-scenes covered the walls of the reception chamber and numerous busts of proud-looking elves stood on columns in the alcoves.

There was a small library of books, mostly about the sea and ancient lands. The furnishings were lovely and lovingly crafted. A small table of Sapherian dragonwood sat in the middle of the reception room. A number of carved chairs were placed around it. They were well-upholstered and comfortable in a way that nothing had been back home.

Tyrion had taken the bedroom that overlooked the street outside. It contained a large bed, and more books, a mirror and paintings of ships and sea battles executed by a painter with a gift for detail. The bed was massive and draped with a gauze curtain for keeping out night-biting insects. There was a balcony with a fine view of the street two storeys below. When he stood on it he had wondered if this was how the Phoenix King felt when he looked down on his subjects.

Teclis was installed in the bedroom that faced the inner courtyard. It was quieter and cooler and smaller. There was a painting of a sea-wizard summoning a wind to propel a ship across the ocean. It was the presence of this painting more than anything that had influenced his brother’s choice. Teclis lay on the bed exhausted, but his gaze was bright, and Tyrion could tell he had absorbed everything about their surroundings, and would remember it.

‘What do you think?’ Tyrion asked. He was excited. There were chambers in the apartment he had no more than glanced at. Teclis even had his own sitting room which Tyrion had not seen yet. Apparently it had a mirror in it. This was luxury indeed.

‘I think our relatives are very rich,’ Teclis replied.

‘As ever, brother, your powers of observation astonish me.’

‘I wonder why they feel so compelled to show interest in us now. They paid no attention whatsoever for nearly sixteen years.’

‘I am guessing the fact that we are summoned to the court of the Phoenix King may have something to do with it.’

‘Of course, Tyrion, but why did Lord Emeraldsea send Lady Malene and her riders and a White Lion? Why draw attention to our presence this way?’ He appeared to have been giving the matter some thought since their ride through the city.

‘Why not?’ said a girl’s voice from the door.

Both twins looked around. A young elf maiden stood there, garbed in a simple but expensive gown of greenish silk trimmed with cloth of gold. Her hair was elaborately coiffed. Her features were extraordinarily beautiful. ‘Everyone knows about you anyway, or will do soon. You are our kin. Whatever we do and however we treat you, it will be talked about.’

‘Hello,’ said Tyrion, smiling.

‘I thought it was polite to knock,’ said Teclis.

‘I thought it was impolite to be ungrateful to your hosts,’ said the girl seemingly unabashed by his tone.

‘So we are supposed to be grateful to you?’ said Teclis, caustic as ever.

‘My name is Tyrion,’ said Tyrion. ‘The rude, ungrateful one is my twin, Teclis. And you, our impolite host, would be...?’

He said it without malice and both Teclis and the girl laughed.

‘I am Liselle. I am your cousin. I came up to welcome you but the door was open and I overheard you speaking. I was wondering what you were like, so I listened.’

‘We don’t have a lot of experience with great houses, I am afraid,’ said Tyrion. He did not feel at any disadvantage because of this. He would learn his way around. But he felt the need to explain the situation so there were no misunderstandings.

‘So I gathered,’ said Liselle. She walked over and looked up at him. Her eyes were a very beautiful shade of green. Her skin was very pale, her beauty willowy. Tyrion reached out and moved a strand of her hair that had come loose as if it was the most natural thing in the world. She did not object. Teclis stared.

‘Has your curiosity been satisfied?’ he asked.

‘Not yet. I have never met twins before. You are not what I expected. I thought you were supposed to be identical.’

‘Not all twins are identical. Those are quite rare.’

‘There have been only twenty-five recorded pairs of identical twins in elven history,’ said Teclis. ‘Out of three hundred and fifteen recorded births of twins.’

It was the sort of thing he would know. His knowledge of the obscure facts of genealogy was incredible and he forgot nothing. Liselle looked less than impressed. She kept looking up into Tyrion’s eyes.

A handclap announced another visitor. Tyrion saw Lady Malene standing in the doorway. ‘Liselle, pray give our guests some time to settle in before disturbing them with your curiosity.’

‘She was not disturbing us,’ said Tyrion.

‘Ah, but she will,’ said Lady Malene. ‘Liselle, if you would be so kind as to leave us alone for a moment. There are things I need to talk about with your cousins.’

‘Yes, mother,’ said Liselle, departing with good grace.

‘What is your wish, mistress?’ the chief cultist asked. He was a tall, stately elf of considerable dignity. He had emerged from the group of twenty or so naked elves gathered in the grove of pleasure.

N’Kari wore the form of a beautiful elf maiden with hooves instead of feet and small curling horns emerging from her head. Her appearance and sensuous aura caused lust and a desire to obey in dedicated followers of the Lord of Pleasure.

And these were certainly all elves who followed the Way of All Pleasures. She had sensed their corruption from afar, smelled their decadence like the odour of a rich and corrupt night-blooming orchid. She had surprised them and filled them with wonder and terror by materialising at their orgiastic rites to celebrate their devotion to Slaanesh.

These were some of those who had been summoned by N’Kari’s original dream-spell who had made their way into the mountains seeking to answer its call. N’Kari smelled her spell on them like the last lingering remnants of some old perfume. Their rite had already provided a morsel of sustenance, and before this night was over they would provide a great deal more.

N’Kari studied their leader closely in the light of the moons. ‘I require your obedience,’ she said.

She sensed their confusion. These elves had been playing a dangerous game, performing rites of pleasure for their own gratification, thinking that there was no price to be paid, that nothing would come in answer to their summons. They had discovered they were wrong and they were at once exalted and terrified by what they had done.

‘We are your slaves, mistress. We live only to abase ourselves at your feet and give our lives for your slightest pleasure.’ At the moment, the elf believed this. He had no choice under the impact of N’Kari’s presence. The nodding of heads, licking of lips and shining bright eyes of the rest of the cultists told of their agreement.

N’Kari looked upon them and found everything to her liking. She needed an army to work her vengeance, and here she had the core of one. It was a small start to be sure but it was a beginning on which she could build, and she would make the elves of Ulthuan tremble when they heard her name before it was over.

‘What is your name?’ N’Kari asked.

‘Elrion, great mistress.’

‘And your purpose?’

‘I exist only to obey you, great mistress,’ said Elrion.

‘I know,’ replied N’Kari. ‘Come now. We have matters to attend to nearby. There are those I have ancient business with.’