Sword of Caledor

Chapter NINE



‘So what now?’ Teclis asked.

Tyrion stared off into the distance. The sea stretched as far as the horizon, black, oily, reflecting the moon and the night sky. Already Tyrion felt better for being out of the jungle. He was wearing clean clothes for the first time in months. He was not being eaten alive by mosquitoes as he slept. He had eaten shipboard rations and even though it was very basic by most standards, it was food that he liked. He could hear elvish being spoken all around him, and he was reassured to be once more surrounded by his own people.

For the first time in a very long time he felt like he could go to sleep securely, and not have to fear waking in some terrible peril. And of course, because this was the case, for the first time in months he was having difficulty sleeping.

It did not surprise him to find his brother upon the deck. Teclis was a night person. He liked to be awake and studying while others slept. It was a habit he had acquired in their youth when he had difficulty falling asleep because of his numerous illnesses. It had never left him, even now after he had used alchemy to acquire almost normal health.

He was glad that Teclis was awake. He felt the need to talk to someone about what troubled him and his brother was one of the few people that he could do that with, even though they were no longer as close as they had once been when they were children.

‘I could not sleep,’ said Tyrion.

‘That is strange,’ said Teclis. ‘Normally by now you would be lying there snoring, keeping the rest of us awake. Do you miss the jungle? Is the alarming absence of danger getting on your nerves?’

‘Something like that,’ said Tyrion. ‘I have been thinking about the future.’

‘I know how thinking always disturbs you. I am not surprised that you cannot sleep. My advice to you is give up on that. Thinking is not something that suits you. Doing is more your style.’ Normally Tyrion would not have minded his brother’s teasing but right now he was not in the mood for it.

‘I am serious,’ he said. ‘I am not sure that I like being summoned home in order to be put forward as a candidate in some political contest.’

He spoke softly so that no one might hear them. He did not want word of his doubts getting back to the ruler of House Emeraldsea, at least not until he was certain that he wanted them to.

‘Would it be so bad being the champion of the Everqueen?’ Teclis asked. ‘It is a great honour. One of the greatest that any elf could ever aspire to.’

Tyrion considered his words carefully. He had rarely even hinted at his secret ambitions to anyone, even his brother, over the past century. He was not sure that he wanted to do so even now. His grandfather had been the only elf he ever really talked to about them, and Lord Emeraldsea had shared them. ‘I know. It’s just that I am not sure it is an honour I want. I have been thinking about other things.’

Teclis raised an eyebrow. ‘Such as?’

‘You remember when we were young, you dreamed of being a great wizard. I dreamed of being a great warrior. I wanted to be a hero.’

‘You are a hero,’ said Teclis. For once he sounded serious. There was no mockery in his voice. Tyrion was surprised and rather touched.

‘That was the dream of a boy,’ said Tyrion ‘I have other dreams now. I want to lead armies. I want to do something to help our people in this world.’

‘You want to write your name in the history books,’ said Teclis.

‘Not just that.’

‘You have… political ambitions? You have set your sights on the Phoenix Throne?’

‘What if I have?’ Tyrion asked.

‘I am not judging you, brother,’ said Teclis. ‘I thought you were happy to be a simple warrior. I had not dreamed that you aimed so high.’

‘Neither did I, not really. And I’m not even sure about them myself. I would just like to keep my options open.’

‘And you think that becoming the champion of the Everqueen would limit you in some way.’

‘You know it would! The champion must be at the Everqueen’s side. The only time he can ever leave it is when she dispatches him on a mission. Being the champion of the Everqueen is to be nothing more than a glorified lackey. That is not what I imagined my life would be like.’

‘Then don’t do it. You don’t have to. You don’t even have to enter the lists if you don’t want to.’

‘You’re being very naive, brother. House Emeraldsea has made an investment in us. They want to see it repaid.’

‘I am astonished to hear myself say this but I think you are being too cynical. You are an ornament to the House. You add a certain lustre to their name just by existing. You are a hero of the blood of Aenarion. Without you they would be known only as the wealthiest merchants in Lothern.’

For such a clever elf, Teclis could be astonishingly naive when it came to politics. ‘Our beloved relatives are playing a very long and deep game. Like all the great Houses, they seek power not just prestige. You and I are counters in that game, pieces on a board. They want us where we will be most useful.’

Teclis steepled his fingers and smiled coldly. ‘And you think you would not be useful as Phoenix King.’

‘I have never said I want to be Phoenix King.’

‘You have all the qualifications. You have the looks, the charisma, the intelligence, the reputation…’

‘The gold? The political support?’

‘So you do want to be Phoenix King.’

‘What male elf does not?’

‘I, for one.’

‘You are a special case. You love nothing more than magic.’

‘There are many other special cases.’

‘Look, brother. I do not know whether I want to be Phoenix King, or whether I have what it takes to be one. I do know that in order to become Phoenix King, you need a lot of powerful political allies and a lot of money. A good deal of horse-trading goes into the making of our ruler. If I wanted to be Phoenix King, I would need the support of Emeraldsea, and a great deal more.’

‘I understand.’

‘I will never get that support if I alienate Lady Emeraldsea now.’

‘I understand that also. What I don’t understand is why you think she would not want you to be Phoenix King.’

‘I don’t think that. What I think is that Finubar is young and already a powerful ally of our kin. He is not likely to die any time soon. And in the meantime I think she would prefer to have a definite hold on the Everqueen than a warrior who might never become Phoenix King many centuries hence.’

Teclis nodded slightly, as if he was finally seeing the point. ‘A bird in the hand beats a Phoenix in the future.’

‘Yes.’

‘It does not matter.’

‘I can assure you it does.’

‘Your life will be long, Tyrion. You can’t predict how things will turn out.’

‘I can predict that if I do not do what is asked of me now then Malene will never support me, nor will any of her successors.’

‘Then do what she asks, go to the tournament and lose.’ Tyrion looked at his brother in wonder. Was it possible that even after all these years Teclis did not understand him?

Teclis smiled again. ‘No, you could not do that, could you? You have never liked to lose at anything. Is that what is really bothering you? The possibility that here is a competition you might not win.’ The mockery had returned to his voice.

Tyrion shook his head. ‘The thing that bothers me is the possibility that I might win.’



Teclis lay on the deck and stared up at the stars. The gentle rise and fall of the ship helped him relax. He remembered how, long ago, he had been plagued by seasickness and what a torment that had been. Now, like most of the other ailments, it was just a memory. It was odd how things that had dominated his life for so long could just vanish, leaving behind only strange dream-like recollections.

Of course, yesterday he and his brother had been in the jungles of Lustria. Now they were aboard the Eagle of Lothern scudding across the ocean. The jungle was the dream now, the ocean the reality.

Strange thoughts raced through his head. What was time? How did it work? What is this process that keeps us moving inexorably into the future at the same rate every day? Is it true that gods and daemons live outside time and are aware of multiple selves, in all places, at all times? Is that how their prophets are sometimes given glimpses of the future?

He considered Tyrion. To most people his brother always seemed the very epitome of the devil-may-care warrior, living life to the fullest now, because tomorrow he might be dead. Teclis knew his twin was cleverer than that, and much more thoughtful.

Did Tyrion really aspire to the Phoenix Throne or was this about something different entirely? Was he simply afraid of being tied down, of assuming responsibility? Teclis doubted it was the latter. Tyrion had commanded troops in the field. He was not frightened by that sort of responsibility at all. Perhaps it was the loss of freedom of action that he feared, of being drawn into the web of social entanglements that all elves eventually found themselves ensnared in.

Both he and Tyrion owed House Emeraldsea a debt. Their kindred had aided them, supported them, paid for their education, given them their start in life. Lady Malene had seen to it that Teclis had gotten the best training at the White Tower. Both of them were aware that one day those debts would be called in and need to be repaid, his own as much as Tyrion’s.

Teclis was not troubled by that. When the time came he would worry about it. Right now he had other things to think of. Perhaps that was Tyrion’s problem. He could lose himself only in action, in doing. When he was not, he fretted. His was not a nature suited to being at rest. He craved action, distraction.

Perhaps his brother was not really suited to be Phoenix King because of that. The elves did not need another war-seeking ruler. The thought seemed disloyal but it haunted Teclis for the rest of the night.

‘I would like to look at that sword,’ Teclis said. He had entered his brother’s cabin in the dawn light. Tyrion was already awake, lying on the bunk, staring at the ceiling.

Tyrion shrugged, unfastened the sword-belt and passed it over to him. He did not seem particularly self-conscious about disarming himself in the way most warriors would. Teclis supposed it was because his brother trusted him, and also because he had no doubts he could get the weapon back if it was needed.

Teclis pulled the blade from its scabbard. For a moment, it felt as heavy to him as it really was. He had managed to restore his health by the use of alchemy but he would never be strong. He could feel Sunfang straining his fingers and his wrist. Only for a moment though, then the blade glistened, glowing as if flames were trapped within the metal, and it felt light enough even for him. Teclis smiled with pleasure.

‘So it works for you too,’ said Tyrion.

‘Of course,’ Teclis replied. ‘Very useful.’

‘It takes some getting used to,’ said Tyrion. ‘The weight and balance seems to adjust as you wield it. It’s like a living thing.’

Teclis swept the sword through the air. It left a glowing trail behind it, faintly visible even without use of his magesight. He smiled with pure pleasure.

‘Careful,’ said Tyrion. ‘I don’t want you taking my head off accidentally.’

‘It might make you smarter,’ said Teclis.

‘Think of the pain it would cause the ladies of Ulthuan.’

Teclis would have responded but he was too busy concentrating on the sword. The enchantments designed to make it easy to wield were only one part of the complex web of magic pinned in place by the runes on the blade.

There were other spells present, fascinatingly complex ones which hinted at great power. Filled with curiosity, he extended his thoughts and activated one. A jet of flame blasted from the point of the blade. Only Tyrion’s lightning reflexes kept him out of the way. He sprang to one side and the flame hit the porthole setting it to glowing.

Panicked, Teclis sought to bring it under control. The jet of flame set the bedding alight before he managed to douse the fire blazing from the point of the blade.

Tyrion threw the porthole open, picked the burning blankets up and cast them through the window. He blew on his slightly burned hands. His face was sooty, his jerkin singed.

‘How much is House Silverbright paying you for my assassination?’ Tyrion asked. ‘Tell me, I will double it.’

It was a line from a melodrama popular in the theatres of Ulthuan when they had left. He was smiling as he said it.

Teclis was anything but amused. He was embarrassed and frightened by what he had done. He could easily have hurt his twin, possibly injuring him permanently. ‘I am so sorry,’ he said. ‘I did not mean to do that.’

Tyrion grinned. ‘If I thought you had, you would not be holding that blade. Nor would you be conscious.’

He did not say it as a threat, simply as a statement of fact. Teclis knew that it was exactly the case as well.

Tyrion spoke more softly now. ‘Learn a lesson. I saw that look of concentration come over your face, the one you get when you are lost in the contemplation of the wonders of magic and I knew you were about to do something extremely stupid. When the point of the sword started glowing I was certain of it. Was that you or the sword that did the trick with the flame, by the way?’

‘It was the sword. There is a spell woven into it. At the blade’s heart, Caledor trapped one of the elemental spirits of the volcano. It burns in there, its life force powering the blade. You can unleash part of it by contacting the spirit.’

‘Useful. Having a sword that lets you breathe fire like a dragon, I mean. Nice to know the trick is still possible. I had always thought the ancient tales exaggerated.’

‘You would not want to do it too often. You might over-draw the life force of the elemental and unravel all the magic in the sword. If you use it, you need to give the sword time to regain its health. Using its magic in that way is like an elf losing a lot of blood. It takes time to recover.’

‘You think I could learn to use it then.’ Teclis knew his brother had noted away what he was saying but as always seemed concerned only with his own purposes. They were very alike in that way.

‘Undoubtedly. It was intended for use by a warrior, not a wizard.’

‘Excellent.’ Tyrion sounded genuinely pleased. ‘How do I do it?’

‘I will endeavour to find out if you will allow me to concentrate.’

‘Just don’t concentrate too hard. I don’t want you stumbling on some new way to accidentally kill me.’

Teclis nodded. It was not a mistake he was going to make again. ‘If I do find a way to kill you, it won’t be accidental,’ he said. It came out more ominously than he meant it to. Tyrion just grinned his idiot grin, as if certain that nothing in this world could really harm him. Teclis sincerely hoped that really was the case.

He was embarrassed and angry at himself and displacing it onto his twin, which was not fair. ‘I did not mean that,’ he said.

‘I know,’ said Tyrion. ‘Just find a way to let me use the sword. I will leave you to it. Try not to set fire to the ship. It’s a long swim to Ulthuan.’

‘I can’t swim,’ said Teclis.

‘All the more reason for being careful then,’ said Tyrion as he left the cabin.



Urian stared into the mirror and waited for contact to come. How many times had he stood here over the past few centuries, he wondered? How many times had he made the strange pilgrimage through the underground labyrinth beneath the Silvermount Palace to find this place? How many more times would he have to do so?

The answers did not come. At the moment, his master did not seem to want to put in an appearance either. Urian made himself look devoted and alert. He was never sure exactly how the magical mirror worked, whether Malekith could see him even when he could not see the Witch King. Knowing the way his master’s mind worked it seemed entirely possible.

Suddenly the colours in the mirror swirled, Urian’s sardonically smiling reflection vanished to be replaced by the monstrous armoured figure of his master. He lounged like a massive, animated statue on his gigantic metal throne.

Standing beyond and behind Malekith, held on chains like a hound on a leash, was the second most astonishingly beautiful elf woman Urian had ever seen. Only Morathi was more lovely and she was not there to be compared, so it was possible this one’s beauty exceeded even hers. She looked much younger and much more innocent than Morathi, but that meant nothing. Urian was well aware of how deceptive appearances could be.

There was something about the chains on this one’s limbs that worried him, a magic that dazzled the eye and tired the brain. He let his eyes linger on her, wondering who she was. From behind Malekith’s back, she winked at him. So she could see him and was aware of who he was. That might prove to be a bad thing in the long run.

‘You are to be congratulated, Urian.’ Malekith’s voice emerged from the mirror with perfect cold clarity. The Witch King sounded as pleased as Urian had ever heard him. ‘The Everqueen is dead. Your reward will be extraordinary.’

‘Serving you is reward enough, my liege.’ Urian was proud that he managed to keep any trace of irony from his voice. There were times when he could get away with that in front of his master but instinct told him that now was not such a time.

‘Please, Urian, let us not even pretend that is so,’ said Malekith. ‘I am your liege, and it is my duty and my pleasure to reward my favoured vassals.’

‘In that case, I await your magnanimity with breathless anticipation, my lord.’

‘You shall not have to wait too long. Within this year I will have vast new estates to disburse to my most loyal subjects.’

Despite the fact he had long awaited this moment, excitement stabbed at Urian’s vitals. So it was finally going to happen then – the long awaited invasion of Ulthuan for which secret preparations had been going on for centuries. ‘I am thrilled to hear it, my liege.’

‘It pleases me that you managed to carry out your last task without being discovered. It means you will be in place to exceed yourself when our forces come to Lothern.’

‘You have given the orders for the re-conquest of Ulthuan, sire?’

There was an eerie, evil joy in Malekith’s voice that Urian had never heard before. ‘I have. Hold yourself in readiness for further instructions. Within a moon, the world will be changed forever for the better. Perform your duties well and I will give you Lothern for your fief.’

It was astonishing generosity on Malekith’s part. He would be satrap of the richest and most glamorous city in the world. The opportunities to become wealthy would be limitless and he was already intimately acquainted with the citizens. They would hate him of course, as a traitor and a turncoat, even more than they hated the Witch King. He wondered how long Malekith had planned this for. From the beginning was Urian’s guess.

‘What do you have to say, Urian?’ It was clear that an answer was required.

‘My apologies, liege. I was simply overwhelmed by your generosity. It rendered me speechless.’

‘Then I have been generous indeed to achieve such a miracle,’ said Malekith laughing. His good humour was even more terrifying than his wrath.