Blood of Aenarion

chapter Four



‘What do you know of the Art?’ Lady Malene asked.

She had knocked this time before entering Teclis’s chamber. She still looked around distastefully though, then went over to the windows and threw the shutters open, letting in fresh air and the unaccustomed sunlight.

It was morning then, Teclis thought. He had lived through another night.

‘Just what I have read in my father’s books of theory and what I have picked up from talking to him. He will not let me read his spellbooks yet.’ Teclis coughed and could not stop coughing. His lungs felt full of something and made a horrible wheezing sound.

Malene looked at him with distaste. She was not used to being around the infirm. Few elves were. It made him want to limp away and hide.

‘One of the things your father and I have been talking about is your education,’ she said at last. ‘He feels that you would be better apprenticed to one such as I than to him. He says your gifts are more suited to an active school of magic. You are sixteen today. You are of an age to begin proper study of the Art. If you wish to be taught.’

Teclis looked at her with wonder. He tried to push himself upright. The effort made his shoulder ache and left him feeling exhausted. Even that could not dim his excitement. Was it possible that Malene really would teach him to work magic? He forced himself to look her in the eye and say, ‘I want to learn all you can teach me.’

‘That may take a very long time,’ she said.

‘We are elves. We have time.’

‘I am not sure you do.’

‘You do not want to waste your time teaching one who might not live to be grateful for it, is that it?’ Teclis could not keep his bitterness from showing. He felt as if someone had shown him a treasure he had desired all his life and then snatched it away.

Lady Malene shook her head. ‘No. I will teach you what I can, in whatever time you have to learn it, once the Seers have pronounced you fit to be taught.’

‘So I must await their permission?’ He could not keep the sourness out of his voice. Another barrier between himself and his heart’s desire. ‘That is not fair.’

He wanted so hard to be a mage. He knew he could never be like Tyrion, swift and strong and certain, but he felt he had it in himself to be a mage like his father. He could see the winds of magic perfectly when they blew and felt the tug of power whenever his father used the slightest of cantrips.

‘There are certain secret societies and cults who believe that one of the Blood will draw the Sword of Khaine and bring about the end of the world,’ she said this as if she was imparting a great secret.

‘It won’t be me. I want to be a mage. What use have I for a sword?’

She smiled at that and her face was lovely for a moment but then it became serious again. ‘The Art can be a terrible weapon and a mage under the Curse of Aenarion can be a terrible foe.’

Teclis cocked his head to one side. ‘There have been such then?’

‘Of course.’

‘How is it that I never read of them?’

Lady Malene’s smile showed her amusement at his arrogance. ‘So in your sixteen years, you have become acquainted with everything written in seven millennia of asur history? You are quite the scholar.’

Teclis felt his face flush and he started to cough again. The spasm wracked his body painfully. He realised how foolish and arrogant he must sound to Lady Malene, when really he was just frustrated. ‘I have not. But I want to. Where can I find these books?’

She reached out and ruffled his lank hair. It was a gesture of affection that surprised and touched him as well as embarrassed him. He was not used to such things. He looked away. ‘You will not find them here, or in any library outside of the Tower of Hoeth. It’s the sort of knowledge that the Loremasters keep to themselves.’

‘You have been to Hoeth?’

She nodded.

‘You have seen the library?’

‘I have seen the parts of it I was allowed to see.’

‘Allowed?’

‘The library is a vast, strange place, like the Tower itself. There are sections that some people never see and yet others can visit every day. Sometimes, a mage will find a chamber full of books just once in his life and never be able to find the way back. The library is part of the Tower and the Tower has a mind, of sorts, of its own.’

‘It sounds wonderful and terrible at the same time,’ said Teclis.

‘I do not think the mages who built the Tower entirely understood what it was they were creating. I think the spells they cast had unforeseen consequences. It is often the way with magic.’ She sounded a little sad when she said that, as if she had direct personal experience of such a thing. ‘A thousand years in the building, a millennium of work by hundreds of the greatest mages of the elf people. Webs of geomantic power spun within webs of geomantic power, monstrously powerful spells layered upon monstrously powerful spells, built in a place that was already sacred to the God of Wisdom and a font of awesome power. It is the greatest work of the elves, I think it will most likely endure after we have gone. I sometimes think that it will endure the wreck of the world and that it was intended to do so.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I believe the Tower is a vault as well as a repository of knowledge. When the elves are gone, it will still be there, preserving our knowledge, all that we are, all that we were, all that we will be. There was never a place like it built before and there never will be again. Bel-Korhadris, its architect, was the greatest geomancer since Caledor Dragontamer and I doubt there are any living now who can fully compass his design or his intention.’

Her words started a great blaze burning in Teclis’s heart. A desire to look upon this place and to walk through its library and penetrate its secrets, insofar as he might, filled him. He had never heard of anywhere so attractive. He wondered if they might take him there, even in the meanest capacity, as a sweeper or scribe or a warden. He felt like he would do anything required to look upon this place and be part of it.

‘My father never talked of the Tower as you do,’ he said. He had never heard anyone talk of any place with such passion. She sounded like his father when he talked about the dragon armour of Aenarion or Tyrion when he talked about warfare.

‘All elves who see it, see it slightly differently. All elves who go there experience it slightly differently. I am not so sure your father’s experience was as pleasant as mine. Or it may be that he does not like to talk about it the way I do. Some people are secretive that way. In general I do not speak of my time there much. It is odd that I feel compelled to discuss such a thing with you, Prince Teclis. I wonder why that is?’

Teclis could not answer because he did not know. He did feel that in Lady Malene he had found a kindred spirit. Perhaps she felt the same. ‘Why did you ask me what I know of the Art?’

‘Because there is a very great power within you. I can sense it, your father has sensed it, any mage with the Sight can sense it. If you live and are not accursed you may become a very great wizard one day.’

‘Will I get to see the Tower of Hoeth?’

‘Most assuredly.’

‘That would make me very happy,’ said Teclis and once more he fell into a long fit of coughing until he felt like he was almost unable to breathe.

‘Poor child,’ said Lady Malene. ‘Not much has given you happiness, has it?’

‘I do not want your sympathy,’ Teclis said at last. ‘Only your know-ledge.’

‘I may be able to give you more than that.’

‘Really?’

‘I may be able to help you with what ails you.’ Teclis looked at her disbelievingly.

‘That would be a gift beyond price,’ he said.

‘Well, it is your birthday after all.’

‘Yes, it is,’ he said, surprised. He had not expected to live to reach sixteen years of age.

‘I make no promises,’ she said. ‘I will see what I can do.’

She left the room. For the first time in a very long time, Teclis felt like crying. It was odd. He had thought there were no tears left in him.

‘I have a birthday gift for you, doorkeeper,’ said Korhien. Tyrion looked at the giant warrior, not sure whether he was being mocked. He glanced around the courtyard but all of the soldiers who had come with Lady Malene were busy about their own business. If this was a joke no one could see him being the butt of it.

Korhien loosed the belt and scabbard at his waist, folded the leather strap neatly and handed the equipage over to Tyrion.

‘What do you want me to do with this?’ Tyrion asked.

‘It is yours,’ said Korhien. ‘Unsheathe the blade.’

Tyrion’s heart leapt as he obeyed the White Lion. He drew the longsword from its scabbard. It was a true elven blade, long and straight and keen edged and it glittered in the mountain sunlight. Runes were etched in the metal. A blue sunstone inscribed with a dragon glinted from the pommel. He held it easily in his hand although it was heavier than he had imagined such a thing would be.

‘I cannot take this,’ said Tyrion, although he very much wanted to keep it. He was too proud to accept such an expensive and beautiful thing from a stranger. It was a charity he did not require. He might be poor but he was of a most ancient lineage. His father had taken the time to instil that knowledge in him.

He slid the blade back into the scabbard and presented it, hilt first, scabbard held over his left forearm back to Korhien. Tyrion felt the wrongness of his words even as he said them. He knew that in some way he was insulting Korhien but at the same time he did not want to be beholden to any elf for something as important as his first sword.

Korhien seemed to understand.

‘Keep it for a season and if you do not want it, return it to me in Lothern. You are going to need it now, for how else I am going to give you a lesson with it? That will be my birthday gift to you if your pride will not allow you to accept more than a loan of the sword.’

Tyrion smiled back. It was a compromise his pride was prepared to accept and his father would too. And he really, really wanted the sword. It fitted in perfectly with his image of himself and his unspoken dreams of glory. ‘Very well. I thank you for your loan.’

‘Don’t be so quick to thank me, doorkeeper. I mean to repay you for your lessons in chess-play,’ Korhien added. ‘Your father has told me you have not been schooled with a sword.’

Tyrion shrugged. He did not want to say there were no swords in the house. It seemed shameful to admit that his father had sold them for the money needed to continue his research. ‘I know how to use a bow and a spear well enough,’ Tyrion said.

‘I am sure you do,’ said Korhien seriously. ‘But the sword is the weapon you will be called on to use in Lothern, if you have any cause to use a weapon there at all.’

Tyrion did not need to ask why. Duels were not fought between asur nobles with spear or bow, not unless the situations were very unusual.

‘So when do we begin?’ Tyrion asked.

‘No time like the present.’

Tyrion shrugged and unsheathed the sword and fell into the stance he had always imagined wielding it. Korhien looked at him puzzled.

‘I thought you told me you had no training with a sword.’

‘My father has never given me any. Swords were not his weapon when he was in the levies. He says he is more likely to cut himself with one than any enemy.’

Korhien walked around him, inspecting his stance. ‘That is nothing less than the truth. Your father was the worst sword-bearer I have ever seen. Better to have no training at all than be taught incorrectly. That said, who has been teaching you?’

‘No one,’ Tyrion said.

‘Why did you choose that stance, that grip?’

‘It just seemed right.’

‘It most assuredly is, perfect for fighting one-handed with that blade, and without a shield.’ The big warrior looked at him thoughtfully. ‘A moment if you please.’

He walked away and returned. He returned with his enormous axe. ‘I would not normally allow another to bear this weapon, but show me how you would hold this axe.’

Tyrion shrugged and took the weapon, holding it two-handed across his body, feet apart, left in front of right.

‘Like you had been training with it for years,’ Korhien muttered. He seemed perplexed.

‘You say you can use a bow. Show me!’

‘I thought you were going to teach me how to use a sword,’ Tyrion said.

‘Time enough yet for your first lesson,’ said Korhien. ‘For the moment, indulge me.’

Tyrion brought his bow and strung it, strapped on his quiver and aimed at the target he had set up on the western wall of the villa. He breathed easily and loosed three arrows one after the other, placing them easily in the central ring he had made. They were not difficult shots and yet Korhien seemed impressed. A small crowd of warriors had begun to gather around them. They had begun to talk quietly among themselves.

‘Technique with a bow... perfect,’ he said, as if he had a list in his head and he was checking something off against it. ‘Spear now.’ He handed Tyrion one from the rack. ‘Cast it at the target.’

Tyrion smiled and turned, throwing the spear as part of the same motion he had taken the weapon. He was showing off now and he knew it. The spear landed in the central ring of the target and buried itself there, among the arrows. Korhien’s eyes narrowed.

‘I think I have seen enough,’ he said.

‘Enough for what?’ The warrior considered his answer for a long moment, as if undecided as to what he should actually say.

‘Enough for me to see that you will not be as difficult to teach as your father.’

‘I am glad to hear that. Shall we begin?’

‘Are you so anxious to learn how to kill?’ Korhien asked.

It was a serious question, and Tyrion sensed that more depended on his response than at first appeared. He decided, as he inevitably did, that honesty was the best policy.

‘I already know how to kill,’ he said. ‘I am anxious to learn to use a sword.’

‘Who have you killed?’

‘I have killed deer,’ said Tyrion, a little embarrassed now.

‘Killing another elf, or even an orc or a human, is not the same thing,’ said Korhien.

‘In what way?’ Tyrion asked, genuinely curious. He did not doubt for a moment that Korhien possessed personal knowledge of this subject.

‘For one thing they are intelligent beings who know how to fight. They will try to kill you in turn.’

‘I have killed mountain lions and monsters come down from the Annulii.’

‘Monsters?’

‘Mutated creatures with the forms of animals all mixed together, or so the other huntsmen assured me.’

‘You take me aback, doorkeeper. I came here expecting sheltered and scholarly princes, like their father once was, not someone who speaks quite so casually of killing.’

‘Is it a bad thing?’ Tyrion asked, well aware that his father found him coarse, violent and unruly, and was often embarrassed by his behaviour.

‘Not in the world we live in,’ said Korhien.

Tyrion was relieved. He had already discovered that Korhien’s good opinion was important to him, and he felt the big warrior was capable of teaching him about those things that were important to him, not just to Father and Teclis. He had long ago outstripped the local hunters in his ability with bow and spear.

‘You said you were going to teach me how to use a sword.’

‘And I am an elf of my word,’ said Korhien. ‘I thought I would need to begin by telling your father’s son which end of a sword was which, and which parts were used for doing what, but I suspect that in your case this might prove redundant. So let us move on to the practice swords.’

‘Wooden swords,’ said Tyrion, disappointed.

‘Everyone has to start somewhere, even you, doorkeeper. Do you have some around here?’

‘In the stables, on the rack.’

‘Typical... of your father I mean... to keep them there.’

Tyrion laughed at the obvious truth of what Korhien was saying and went to fetch them. The wooden swords were much more like clubs than real blades. They had handles and cross-hilts but where the blades would have been on a real sword were circular wooden poles.

Korhien weighed them in his hands critically and said, ‘These will do, to begin with, anyway.’

He handed one to Tyrion and then saluted; unconsciously Tyrion mimicked the moment. It was Korhien’s turn to laugh.

‘Did I do something wrong?’ he asked, face flushing.

‘No, doorkeeper, you did not.’

‘Then why did you laugh?’

‘Because like everything you do connected with fighting you do it so well.’

He took up a guard stance, and Tyrion mimicked it too.

‘Try and hit me,’ Korhien said.

Without any further prompting, Tyrion sprang forward. Korhien parried his blow, but did not riposte. Tyrion kept attacking, lunging and swinging. At first he was not trying too hard, not wanting to take a chance of accidentally hurting Korhien as he had done with Teclis and local hunters when he had tried using the wooden swords on his own. Soon he realised that Korhien was having no difficulty parrying him and he speeded up his attack, striking with greater force and precision.

‘Surely you can do better than this, doorkeeper,’ Korhien taunted.

‘Indeed,’ Tyrion murmured but did not allow himself to be provoked. He kept on attacking, looking for weak spots in Korhien’s defence, areas where his guard came up too slowly, where his responses were a beat behind. To his surprise, he did not find any. He kept on attacking, and Korhien kept on parrying, and then suddenly the sword was knocked from his hands. When he replayed the action in his mind, he saw the trick that Korhien had used, and was surprised that he had not thought of it himself.

‘That was embarrassing,’ said Tyrion.

‘In what way?’ Korhien said.

‘In that you disarmed me so easily after I could not lay a blow on you.’

‘Trust me, doorkeeper, you did not do so badly. There are elves with a century of practice who have done worse than your first efforts here.’

‘My father, for one,’ said Tyrion sourly.

‘No. Elves who would kill your father in the first passage of blades.’

Tyrion found this talk of anyone killing his father disturbing. It made him uncomfortable, and it must have showed on his face.

‘It’s something you need to know, doorkeeper. Anyone you fight will be someone’s father or mother, someone’s son or daughter or brother. That’s what makes it difficult. That’s why some elves, like your father, to his credit, never really learn.’

‘Why do you say to his credit?’ Tyrion asked.

‘Because the loss of any elf life is something to be mourned.’

‘Even dark elves?’

Korhien nodded even if he could not bring himself to say the words. ‘There are not so many elves left in the world, doorkeeper. The loss of any one of us is a grievous loss to our people.’

‘It’s a pity Malekith’s subjects do not feel the same way.’

‘Who is to say they do not?’ said Korhien. ‘We are all still kin after all, even after all these centuries of Sundering.’

‘Perhaps someone should tell them that,’ said Tyrion.

‘Perhaps you are right,’ said Korhien. ‘Or perhaps they already know.’

‘It has not stopped them from raiding us.’

‘Nor us them, doorkeeper. It’s worth remembering that it takes two sides to make a war.’

‘You do not sound much like I expected a warrior to sound,’ said Tyrion.

Korhien laughed. ‘I am sorry to disappoint.’

‘That is not what I meant.’

‘What did you mean?’

‘You talk less of glory and more of reasons.’

‘I have heard too many people talk about glory, doorkeeper, and usually they meant their own. Normally when you hear an elf talking about glory and the spilling of blood, they mean their glory and your blood.’

‘You are doing it again.’

‘I am telling you this, doorkeeper, because I suspect you will turn out like me,’ Korhien’s voice was softer now and sadder. ‘I suspect you will end up spilling a lot of your blood and other people’s for causes not your own, in places you would rather not be.’

‘Why?’ interrupted Tyrion, now genuinely curious and quite excited. He did not think turning out like Korhien would be such a terrible thing.

‘Because you are already very good with weapons and you will become very much better unless I am greatly mistaken. And our rulers have need of warriors, our world being the sort of place it is.’

Again, Tyrion suspected he was missing something. He did not find the idea that there was a place where an elf like him might be needed as saddening as Korhien appeared to. He found it hopeful. It meant that there might yet prove to be something he could do with his life, and there would be people who were not disappointed with him.

‘Do you really think I could be a White Lion like you?’ Tyrion asked. He had promoted himself in his own imagination, he realised, and he felt as if he were overstepping the mark.

‘You will be whatever you choose to be, doorkeeper. You have that in you. I suspect it is your destiny to be something more than me. You are of the Blood of Aenarion, after all.’

‘Is that why you are really here?’ Korhien considered his answer very carefully and seemed to come to a decision.

‘Yes,’ he said. He threw his arm around Tyrion’s shoulder and took him to one side, out of earshot of the other soldiers. It looked like a casual thoughtless act, but Tyrion knew that it was not.

‘My brother thinks they will kill us if we turn out to be cursed.’ Tyrion felt as if he had truly overstepped the mark this time, particularly given what Teclis suspected. Korhien’s eyes widened. Tyrion guessed he had never expected to hear this.

‘He might well be right. Or you may find yourself in some isolated tower or dungeon.’

‘Would you kill us?’ Tyrion asked, feeling the sword heavy in his hand, not sure of what he planned to do if he got the wrong answer. He knew that if he wanted to Korhien could kill him quite easily for all that they were of the same size and strength. Korhien was silent for a very long time.

‘No,’ he said eventually.

Tyrion was uneasily aware that Korhien had taken the question very seriously and was giving a truthful answer. ‘I would not. But they would find others who would try.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Because I am sure you would not prove so easy to kill, doorkeeper.’

‘They might be right to kill us if we are truly accursed, as Malekith was.’

‘They might be. If you were. I do not think you are.’ Korhien smiled again and there was genuine humour in it. ‘This is a very morbid conversation and I am sure your aunt would be very disturbed to know we have had it.’

‘She shall not hear of it from me,’ said Tyrion.

‘Nor from me,’ said Korhien. It felt as if they were partners in a conspiracy, and Tyrion knew in that moment he had found another person in the world he could trust.

‘We should return to our lessons. You have a long way to go yet before you are a blade master,’ said Korhien. He never seemed to doubt for a moment that Tyrion would become one. Nor at that moment, did Tyrion. He picked up the wooden sword with the sudden seriousness of a boy who had just found his vocation.