Blood of Aenarion

chapter twelve



‘Good of you to join us,’ said Korhien Ironglaive. The big elf was stripped to his tunic and looked as if he had just finished some hard sparring with wooden swords. A group of younger-looking elves stood nearby with their weapons in the guard positions.

Korhien tossed him a wooden practice blade. Tyrion caught it easily by the hilt as it tumbled through the air. ‘If you would be so kind as to demonstrate your technique in the practice circle.’

Tyrion saw that a chalk circle had been marked in the centre of the courtyard. He strode into it, sword held ready. Korhien coughed. The other students laughed. Tyrion looked at Korhien.

‘You don’t lack for heart, lad,’ Korhien said. ‘I am not so sure about your wisdom but your courage is impressive.’

He indicated a stand which contained a suit of padded armour just like the others were wearing. Tyrion smiled at his mistake, strode over and laced it up. He did not need to be shown how. It was as if he was born knowing how to tie the stays in the correct way. When this was complete he returned to the circle.

Korhien said, ‘Atharis! You shall spar with Prince Tyrion.’

‘As you wish, sir,’ said a blond haired, good looking elf, stepping forward into the practice circle. He was not as tall as Tyrion, but he was well-muscled and lithe. His nose had been broken and not badly set, and his mouth had a cruel twist to it. He looked as if he took this whole thing very seriously.

‘I shall try not to hurt you,’ he said in a very low voice. His tone implied that he meant to do exactly the opposite of what he said.

‘That’s very kind of you,’ said Tyrion. He moved more slowly and clumsily than he normally would. He saw Atharis sneer, as Tyrion deliberately held the practice blade incorrectly. ‘I shall endeavour to do the same.’

‘Begin,’ said Korhien.

Within three strokes, Tyrion had put Atharis on his back. The other student seemed very slow to Tyrion and his moves very predictable. Korhien looked at him from the corner of his eye.

‘As you can see, Prince Tyrion is not quite as simple as he chooses to appear,’ he said.

Korhien strode forward into the circle and spoke to the watching group of students. ‘In case you are in any doubt, Prince Tyrion has exceptional gifts. You would do well not to underestimate him as Atharis did. There is a lesson here about combat in general. Don’t judge your foe by what you are told about him. Don’t judge him by his appearance. Don’t judge him by what he says about himself. Judge him by how he fights against you. You might live longer if you do.’

He gestured for Tyrion to leave the circle and join the other students. Tyrion did so, helping Atharis up as he went. The other elf grinned at him ruefully.

‘You are all here to learn to fight,’ said Korhien. ‘I am taking time to teach you. There are not so many elves that we can afford to lose any. Bear that in mind. Every asur life lost is a terrible blow to our people and we can ill afford such losses. It is your duty to see that you live. It is your duty to see that you are fit and that you are capable. It is your duty to learn from your mistakes and master your weapons. All of you, and I include the gifted Prince Tyrion in this statement, have a good deal to learn, but you have the time to learn it, and learn it you shall. I intend to see to that.’

‘Still giving that same old speech, Korhien,’ said a mocking voice from under the colonnaded arches.

‘Why not, Prince Iltharis? It is a good one and there is truth in it.’ Korhien did not seem to mind the mockery.

Tyrion studied Prince Iltharis as he came into view. He was a tall, slender elf, dark-haired and fair-skinned with piercing grey eyes and a languid manner. He was garbed in a very elaborate, scholarly fashion. He carried a bunch of scrolls negligently under one arm.

He sauntered over to inspect the students, smiled and bowed to Korhien. ‘Indeed it is, and who can disagree with the sentiment?’

‘I sense that you do.’

‘Not in the slightest, my dear fellow – I just wish you would express them less pompously and with slightly more originality.’

‘I see you are determined to undermine my authority with my students, Iltharis.’

‘You were doing that quite well enough without my help, Korhien. I am surprised that they could keep from laughing at you.’

Tyrion was surprised that an elf as fierce as Korhien would put up with this banter, but he saw that the White Lion was not put out by it in the least, in fact appeared to enjoy it.

‘Perhaps you would care to instruct them instead.’

‘I am not in the least suited to being a teacher of weapons,’ said Iltharis. ‘Poetry or history are more my forte. When it comes to teaching, anyway.’

‘That is something we can both agree upon, my friend. Perhaps you would care to leave me to giving the lessons then?’

‘Indeed. Perhaps I shall remain and watch. I might pick up a few pointers.’

Korhien laughed.

‘I somehow doubt that, Prince Iltharis, but you are welcome to remain.’

‘Well, I am interested in your latest pupil anyway. I am writing another monograph on the Blood of Aenarion.’

Tyrion spend the next few hours sparring, losing himself in physical activity, learning everything Korhien had to say. He was aware all the time that Prince Iltharis was studying him with a watchful eye. He found that he was getting a little bit tired of being inspected so closely all the time.

Prince Iltharis eventually said, ‘Your new pupil is quite exceptional, Korhien.’

‘Indeed,’ said the White Lion. Tyrion was annoyed at this fop passing judgement on him.

‘Perhaps you would care to try a turn with the blades,’ Tyrion said. Iltharis looked at him and smiled mockingly.

‘It is not something I would usually do, but in your case I shall make an exception.’

He sauntered over to the sword rack, examined the wooden blades like a connoisseur selecting a bottle of wine and picked up the one that he liked the most. A moment later he was strapping on the practice armour.

Tyrion could not help but notice that for all his languid manner there was muscle there. Iltharis stretched like a big cat to get the kinks out of his muscles, saluted Korhien and then turned to face Tyrion. ‘When you are ready, young prince,’ he said. The rest of the students watched with interest. Some of them smiled. One or two laughed. Tyrion wondered what he had gotten himself into.

He approached Prince Iltharis, sword held ready. They exchanged two blows and his sword was out of his hand. Tyrion replayed what had happened in his mind. Iltharis had used a similar trick to the one Korhien had played when first they duelled, but had done it much faster. His speed of reflex was uncanny. Tyrion suspected that for the first time in his life he had encountered someone even quicker than himself.

‘That was a pretty trick with which you disarmed me. I will wager you could not do it again.’

Iltharis raised an eyebrow. ‘What will you wager?’

Tyrion felt his embarrassment deepen. He owned nothing, not even the clothes he was wearing. ‘It was a figure of speech,’ he said lamely.

‘Prince Iltharis is also very wealthy,’ said Korhien. ‘Or his family is, which comes to the same thing.’

‘Your plebeian roots are showing, Korhien. One would think you almost jealous.’

‘The only thing I envy you, prince, is your skill with a blade.’

‘Well, it’s always nice to be envied for something. But I was talking to your young friend here about the terms of a wager.’

‘I have nothing to offer,’ said Tyrion, thinking as always that honesty was for the best. ‘As I said, it was a figure of speech.’

‘I will lend him a gold piece,’ said Korhien.

‘Are you sure, my friend? I know it is a large sum of money for you.’

‘I do not want it,’ said Tyrion.

‘You may not have the wealth of Aenarion, but you have some of his pride,’ said Iltharis. ‘I can set a term for the wager that I believe will be acceptable.’

‘Go on,’ said Tyrion.

‘If I win, you will do me one favour when I request it. If you win, I will do the same.’

‘Fair enough,’ said Tyrion.

‘I would not be so quick to accept, doorkeeper,’ said Korhien. ‘You do not know what the favour might prove to be.’

‘Nothing dishonourable or hurtful to your ancient pride,’ said Iltharis. ‘Be sure of it.’

‘Very well,’ said Tyrion.

They fell into fighting stances again. This time Tyrion’s attack was less reckless and he watched for Iltharis to try the same disarming technique. When it came, he was ready for it. His response was swift and sure and almost successful. Instead of being disarmed himself, he almost disarmed Iltharis.

Only the other’s cat-like quickness of reflex saved him. He sprang backwards, aimed a blow at Tyrion’s knee, paralysing it and then knocked him off his feet with a powerful blow to the chest.

Ruefully, Tyrion picked himself up. His leg felt numb from the nerve-strike. ‘I guess I lost the bet,’ he said.

Iltharis shook his head. ‘No. You won it. I could not disarm you with the same technique again. You were quite right.’ He raised the wooden blade in an intricate salute and then returned it to the rack. ‘I congratulate you, Korhien. Your pupil is everything you claimed and more.’

Tyrion glanced at the White Lion. It seemed that he and Iltharis had been talking about him in private and Iltharis’s appearance was not mere happenstance.

‘It is good of you to say so.’

‘No, Korhien, it is honest of me to say so. Now I must thank you for an interesting morning’s entertainment and bid you adieu.’ With that Prince Iltharis bowed and strolled away across the courtyard.

The other pupils were looking at Tyrion now with something like awe. It appeared that Prince Iltharis was well-known and respected among the young warriors of the Emeraldsea Palace.

‘Who was he?’ Tyrion asked Atharis, after Iltharis was out of sight.

‘Prince Iltharis is one of the deadliest swords in all Ulthuan. He has killed more elves in duels than anyone in living memory. Some whisper that he is an assassin for his House.’

‘An assassin?’

‘Sometimes duels are fought over more than points of honour. Sometimes they are fought to remove political inconveniences or as part of political manoeuvres.’

Tyrion stared at him for a long moment then smiled. ‘I start to understand why you all take this practice so seriously.’

‘It is, as Korhien said, a matter of life and death. Sometimes it has larger consequences for our House and our families. I doubt you have very much to worry about though.’

‘I do if Prince Iltharis comes after me. Or anyone nearly as good.’

‘There are very few that good in Ulthuan and his House is allied to our own.’

‘Alliances can always be broken,’ said Tyrion.

‘I see you have a swift grasp of politics as well as how to use a blade,’ said Atharis. ‘We could be useful friends to each other.’

Tyrion extended his hand and clasped the others’. ‘I can always use a friend,’ he said.

Teclis woke to find Malene sitting by his bed. She looked a little worried.

‘What happened?’ he asked. The last thing he could remember was watching Tyrion leave for his fencing lesson. He had walked over to the table and bent over to pick something up. Then he had felt dizzy...

His heart sank. It seemed like his illness had returned.

‘You were taken ill,’ she said. She looked rueful. ‘I think you have been over-exerting yourself recently. You have not recovered as much as you appeared to have. It seems I am not quite as good an alchemist as I thought.’

‘Yes, you are. I have never felt better in my life than the past few days,’ Teclis said.

‘Nonetheless you must be careful not to push yourself too hard. You are still far from healthy.’

‘I believe I am in a position to understand that,’ said Teclis, gesturing at his recumbent form. Malene smiled. There was a knock on the door, an odd double tap that sounded unlike any knock Teclis had heard before. Malene seemed to recognise it. She made a face.

‘Come in,’ she said.

A tall, lithe looking elf entered. His hair was dark and his eyes a piercing grey. His skin was pale compared to the elves of Lothern. His manner was quite exquisite. His clothing had the elegance of the dandy. A faint lingering perfume billowed in advance.

‘Ah, the delightful Lady Malene. I was told I would find you here,’ he said. ‘And this will be your new pupil. Let us hope that he is as good a student of magic as his brother is of the blade.’

‘Prince Iltharis,’ said Lady Malene smoothly. ‘It is a pleasure to see you as always.’ She did not sound as if it was a pleasure. Her expression was reserved as it normally was.

‘I am Prince Iltharis,’ said the elf, bowing formally and smiling. It was a very charming smile, open and friendly. ‘Since Lady Malene has not seen fit to introduce us, perhaps you would do me the favour of telling me your name.’

‘I am Prince Teclis.’

‘Excellent. As I suspected, you are the brother of that splendid specimen down in the courtyard.’

‘I heard you were teaching him a lesson with the sword,’ said Lady Malene.

‘News travels fast around here. He does not need too many lessons from me, or anyone else for that matter. He is a natural with the blade.’

Prince Iltharis brought a chair over to beside the bed. He carried it one-handed although it was made from heavy carved wood. He was stronger than he looked, Teclis thought.

‘That is quite a compliment, coming from you,’ said Malene. She did not sound convinced. She turned to Teclis. ‘Korhien says Prince Iltharis is the best elf with a blade in Lothern, possibly Ulthuan.’

Teclis filed away that information. Iltharis did not look like a warrior. He looked like a scholar. There was a great deal that was deceptive about this elf, he decided.

‘Korhien does me too much honour,’ said Iltharis.

‘You are in an unusually modest mood this afternoon,’ said Lady Malene.

‘Perhaps I am daunted by the grandeur of my surroundings,’ said Iltharis mockingly. ‘The Emeraldsea Palace is looking particularly imposing. You are spending a lot of money to celebrate this Feast of Deliverance. Is there any particular reason why?’

He looked pointedly at Teclis.

Of course, Teclis thought, if House Emeraldsea wanted to stress its ties with the Blood of Aenarion then this was exactly the time of year to remind people of them.

‘It has been a good trading season,’ said Malene. ‘All of our vessels have returned home laden with precious cargoes. Some of the gold is being used for the entertainment of the Families.’

‘So, it’s not true then, you are not making a statement.’

‘What statement would that be, Prince Iltharis?’

‘The usual one that the elves of Lothern always feel compelled to make. That they are wealthier than the rest of us and that they have the support of the Phoenix King. And, of course, they are directly related to the most famous elf of all.’

‘I doubt we are any wealthier than your family, Prince Iltharis. The House of Silvermount is fabulously rich.’

‘And prodigiously ancient as well,’ said Teclis. ‘Its members have won renown in the service of many Phoenix Kings and the line has produced many great sorcerers.’

Iltharis tilted his head to one side and smiled again. ‘I see you are quite the scholar Prince Teclis. You number genealogy among your interests?’

Malene smiled but did not say anything. Teclis was beginning to recognise Iltharis’s style now. He enjoyed provoking people, getting them to say more than they intended, to reveal themselves. And he did not fear being challenged either. For all his languid manner, he seemed to have perfect poise and self-confidence. Teclis found himself torn between admiration and dislike.

‘I have many interests,’ said Teclis blandly.

‘Rumour has it that one of them is magic, and that Lady Malene is teaching you.’

‘Why are you here, Prince Iltharis?’ Malene asked. She sounded almost rude. ‘Prince Teclis is sick.’

‘I had heard he was a scholar so I brought him some reading material.’ He took the scrolls out from beneath his arm and handed them to Teclis. Despite his unease, Teclis took them and studied them becoming more and more excited as he read.

‘This is an original of the History of the Mages of Saphery,’ he said, unable to keep his enthusiasm from his voice. ‘Written by Bel-Hathor himself.’

Iltharis nodded. ‘It is from my library,’ he said. ‘You can return it when you are finished.’

‘Thank you,’ said Teclis, genuinely pleased and not a little troubled. ‘But why are you lending it to me? You do not know me.’

‘I knew your father, and your mother. They were both special friends of mine. I thought it might be pleasant to make the acquaintance of their sons. And I confess a personal interest. I am writing a monograph on the Blood of Aenarion, and it seemed like a good idea to make the acquaintance of the latest members of that line to be presented to the Phoenix King. Who knows what great deeds you and your brother will eventually perform?’

Malene was studying the prince closely now. Her face was colder than ever.

‘I am sure Prince Teclis is grateful for your gifts, prince. But it might be better if we left now. He needs his rest if he is to regain his strength.’

‘I am not as strong as my brother,’ said Teclis, coughing uneasily. The fit grew stronger until he was almost bent double.

Lady Malene produced a small bottle of a coloured cordial which she handed to him. He drank it and the fit passed, leaving him red-eyed and wheezing. Teclis was used to elves moving away from him dring such bouts, but Iltharis did not. Teclis was surprised to see something like sympathy in his eyes.

He seemed to be about to say something but at that moment Korhien Ironglaive entered through the nearby archway. He smiled at Lady Malene and kissed her hand, then bowed to Prince Iltharis in his usual exuberant way. He nodded to Teclis. ‘I see you are all enjoying yourselves,’ he said.

‘I suspect Prince Teclis is enjoying himself less than the rest of us,’ said Iltharis. ‘Perhaps we should take ourselves elsewhere.’

‘Perhaps we should,’ said Lady Malene.

Prince Iltharis bowed to Teclis as he departed. ‘I look forward to discussing those scrolls with you at some future date. It will be nice to have someone civilised to talk to around here.’

Teclis opened the scrolls. Weak as he was, he could not stop himself from reading them.