Sword of Caledor

Chapter TWENTY-TWO





By the light of the full moon, Dorian watched the long columns of troops filter through the forest. The woods were dark and spectral, the trees huge and ancient. The druchii went without lights, relying on moonlight to illuminate their way. They moved mostly silently save for the occasional hissing of a Cold One. The great reptiles had been muzzled to stop them from bellowing.

Up ahead the assassins would be killing the sentries guarding the tournament grounds. Dorian looked over at Cassandra. Whatever doubts she might have had last night, there were none showing on her face. She looked calm and poised. Power glowed within her. She was ready to unleash deadly magic at the first sign of trouble.

Dorian felt unease in the pit of his stomach. He had to work hard to conceal it. If anything was going to go wrong, it would go wrong now. All it would take would be for one assassin to make a mistake, for one sentry to give the alarm…

And then what, he asked himself? What did it matter? This army was a huge force, disciplined and well-trained. Even if the alarm was given, what could the asur do against them? Individually they might be great warriors, but this was not going to be single combat.

Dorian knew that on the field of battle individual bravery counted for little if the tactics and formations were wrong. Even the greatest of warriors could be surrounded and cut down, or be shot from a distance or immobilised with spells or poisoned crossbow bolts. His force was well-equipped with all of those.

Perhaps the Everqueen would work some strange sorcery, or the enchantments that were said to surround her would overcome his troops. Dorian discounted that possibility. That was why Malekith had equipped them with those protective amulets.

The greatest danger was that some warning might reach the Everqueen and her bodyguard might spirit her away out of reach. If that happened Dorian had better fall on his sword, for the vengeance of Malekith would be swift and terrible. The Witch King rewarded failure with painful death.

Again and again, he went over things in his mind. He had prepared for every contingency he could think of. At least six companies would converge on the Pavilion Palace of the Everqueen. More warriors waited in the woods to scoop up anyone who fled.

The worst thing that was likely to happen was that the snatch would be bungled and the Everqueen would be shot down while trying to escape. He doubted Malekith would be overjoyed with that eventuality. Still, it would be preferable to letting Alarielle escape.

Be calm, he told himself. Nothing can possibly go wrong.



The night seemed astonishingly quiet after the clamour within the Everqueen’s Pavilion. Tyrion strolled through the darkness towards his tent. He felt odd after his defeat by Prince Arhalien. He was not used to being beaten, and beaten in such a public way. He had been subdued at the feasting and had not even risen to Prince Perian’s taunting. Fortunately the other elf did not seem to have much heart for it either. His defeat by Tyrion had put him well out of the running. His sneers did not have their usual confident edge.

All around, the elves were still revelling. A group of dancers skipped by, flowers wound into their hair, male and female intertwined. They had wineskins in their hands. One of them carried a lute. They begged Tyrion to accompany them but he turned them down as gracefully as he could. Tyrion wondered if he should seek out Lyla and distraction, but he was not in the mood. He wanted to return to his own tent and simply sleep.

Tomorrow, he would feel better. He looked up at the great moon that filled the sky. It seemed brighter here in Avelorn than it did elsewhere in Ulthuan. This place was so peaceful, he thought, so different from the hustle and bustle of Lothern. There were aspects of that he liked, that calmed his mind in a way that he had never felt it needed to be calmed before. It occurred to him that he would miss this place when he went away.

Atharis raised a goblet to him as he approached the tent. He lay there on a rug with the other members of Tyrion’s retinue, drowning his sorrows with narcotic wine. Tyrion smiled at them all and walked past. He was not in the mood for company.

He entered his tent and threw himself down on his sleeping mat. He pulled a blanket across him and lay there listening to the sounds of the night. After the events of the day sleep would not come.

Being within the silken walls of the tent did something to him. By restricting his field of vision it made his other senses more keen. He lay there in the dark, thinking about his life and what he was going to do with it after this.

If the Everqueen preferred Prince Arhalien, and it seemed only logical that she would, then he would return to Lothern and take up trading once more. He needed to rebuild his fortunes and some raiding of the coasts of Naggaroth seemed like a good way of doing that.

Druchii were on his mind, as he drifted off the edge of sleep’s precipice.



Dorian’s force exploded into the tournament camp. Many of the high elves were asleep alone, in pairs or in groups. Others were revelling still, drunk on wine and laughter. Most of them had no idea what was happening even as they witnessed it.

All they saw were warriors who looked like them coming out of the forest. No alarm had been given so they could not be a threat. But why then did the newcomers have naked blades in their hands…

The scene repeated itself a hundred times on Dorian’s way to the Pavilion Palace. Asur looked up surprised, dazed, a little confused. Sometimes they would smile as if they were witnessing a joke or a hallucination. Only a few looked frightened. Even fewer reached for weapons. Why should they? They were safe at the Everqueen’s court. No enemy could possibly reach them, and certainly not in such force.

Dorian had seen similar things countless times in the past on slave raids along the coasts of the Old World. It took time to adjust to bad news and no one wants to believe that terrible things can happen, even as the event unfolds before their very eyes.

The difference was that this time it was elves being taken off guard, knowing fear and surprise. It did not really make all that much difference. Taken off guard, most living things behave like sheep.

He led his guard company towards the great Pavilion, ignoring those who scrambled to get out of his way, knowing that the companies following him would deal with those.

Beside him, Cassandra’s face was calm. A slight smile played on her lips. Like him, she could see that this was going to work, that everything was going to be all right. Her hand still played with the amulet that Malekith had given them though.

He pushed on towards the tent, proud of the way his warriors marched in lockstep, spearing those asur who got too close, but otherwise concentrating on the objective and trusting in their comrades behind them to watch their backs. It was a very fine display of druchii discipline.

Somewhere off to the right someone screamed. There was a smell of burning on the wind. Things were starting to get out of control, he realised. People were starting to emerge from the tents to see what was happening. Many of them gawped. A few were cut down by crossbow bolts slashing out of the darkness. None of them seemed to have quite grasped what was going on yet.

The great Pavilion rose out of the darkness ahead of him. By Khaine, it was immense, the sort of thing Malekith might have taken into the field with him if he wanted to banquet his whole court. It was not a practical structure, not military, but it was beautiful. He could appreciate that as he looked upon it. The thing had been created with magic and with love to contain the living goddess of the asur.

A cruel smile twisted his lips. After tonight they would mourn the loss of their deity. She would be a slave of Malekith, bound to obey the Witch King’s every whim. Dorian wondered what it would be like to have a goddess as his slave. Perhaps he would find out for himself, if only for a short time.

Female warriors guarded the entrance of the Pavilion. They looked up as they saw Dorian’s force approach. Even at this distance he could see their eyes widen and read the expression on their faces. They were not quite sure what they were seeing, but they at least were on guard and they knew their duty. They raised warning horns to their lips to give the alarm. Crossbow bolts cut them down before they could sound it.

Dorian strode on, heading towards the entrance, pausing only to let his own guard precede him. As he did so, Cassandra gestured for him to halt, and cast a spell. The air glowed then she gestured for him to proceed. He was not sure what had happened but he had seen enough examples of her work in the past to know she did nothing without reason.

As they passed within, she said, ‘No deadly wards, only alarms. The Everqueen is too kind-hearted to risk the chance of any harm accidentally befalling her subjects.’

Dorian nodded to show he understood. The same could certainly not be said of their own rulers. He wondered what it must be like to live in a world where the kings and queens did not fear violent death at the hands of their subjects. He guessed he would never know.

After this campaign Malekith would rule the world and his word would be law everywhere.



Tyrion awoke from a troubled sleep, wondering what was happening. He could hear screams coming from all around him. He could smell burning, which seemed somehow obscene in this part of the sacred woods. Then he heard something else, something that chilled his blood, something he had heard in other parts of the world but that he had never thought to hear here – the war cries of dark elves.

His first thought was that it was some sort of joke. It did not seem possible that the sons of Naggaroth could’ve been able to penetrate so far into Ulthuan without any warning being given. In fact, it was impossible. Unless an entire army had been cloaked by some sort of invisibility spell, it could not be done. Even then he was fairly sure that magic on that scale would have been detected by the wizards of Ulthuan.

He shrugged. It was all very well telling himself that what he was hearing was impossible, but he was still hearing it. He had known warriors to die from simply standing around trying to decide how to react during a surprise attack. He was not going to be one of those.

Having come to a decision, the rest was easy. He buckled on the armour that was within his reach, unsheathed Sunfang and stepped out into the burning darkness. Corpses lay everywhere. Two of his companions lay with spear wounds in their sides. Atharis stared at the sky. He looked as if he might have been drunk, but there was a huge gash in his throat from which blood poured.

Shadowy figures erupted from the bushes around him. Bloody blades stabbed out at him. A warrior less quick of reflex would have died in that moment. Tyrion sprang lithely to one side, twisting to avoid a blow that should have gutted him.

Sunfang lashed out in response, leaving a blazing trail through the darkness. It crashed into the helmet of one dark elf warrior, cleaving it in two and splitting the skull beneath. Blood and brains flew everywhere, splattering against Tyrion’s chest and arm.

He did not let it slow him down. He kept moving, shifting his position to confuse his enemies, sending his blade flickering across their fields of vision, knowing that its light would ruin their night-sight and give him some slight advantage in the ensuing melee.

He was certain that his foes were dark elves now. They spoke with the accents of Naggaroth and their wargear bore its unmistakable stamp. They fought with the disciplined organisation so typical of the inhabitants of their dreary northern land.

These were hardened veterans. They responded to his actions quickly and well, not in the least taken aback to find themselves facing an opponent of his skill. The fury of his onslaught did not dismay them. They fell back before him, not panicking despite the fact that he slaughtered another two of them as they did so.

Lesser troops would have fled under the circumstances, to have the table so suddenly turned on them in the darkness, but these warriors held their ground as best they could and fought back with the fury of maddened panthers.

The foes he faced were only one small part of the attacking army. All around him he could hear the sounds of butchery taking place in the darkness and he could tell from the screams of the victims that most of those people dying were his own folk.

How many dark elves were there out there? Far more than there should have been, of that he was certain. Once again the thought returned to him that this was impossible, that these ruthless foemen could not be here and yet they were.

Even as he killed and killed again, the sheer impossibility of it bothered him. An army could not move in secrecy the way this one had done. Not unless sorcery was involved and sorcery on a scale that had rarely been seen in this world since the time of Aenarion.

There was something about the situation that nagged at him though, something familiar and yet strange that he felt he should be able to remember, and that he might possibly be able to do so if he were not fighting for his life.

Mere heartbeats had passed since he heard the first screams. It seemed much longer, in the way that it always did when he was in combat. Time always seemed to dilate under the circumstances. He struck down another dark elf and tried to work out what was going on.

Why were the druchii attacking here and now? Forget about the impossibility of it – that was obviously an illusion. They were here for a reason and in that moment it struck him what that reason was.

They were after the Everqueen. It was the only possible reason why they would attack here and now. Their intelligence gathering must have been extraordinarily effective, he thought, to know her whereabouts and be able to dispatch such a force to find her.

Once again, that was irrelevant. All that mattered was that he prevent them from achieving their goal, no matter what the cost. If the Everqueen fell into the hands of the dark elves, it would be the most terrible blow to afflict his people since the time of Aenarion.

Nothing quite so dreadful had ever happened before. If the Everqueen was to die it would wreak havoc with the morale of the high elves. If she was to become a prisoner of the Witch King it would be even worse. With her as his hostage, he would be able to dictate terms in any subsequent peace that would be enormously to his advantage. That was if there was a peace and he was not seeking an outright victory and the total annihilation of the forces of Ulthuan.

Tyrion knew that whatever happened, he must find Alarielle and save her. His personal feelings counted for nothing under the circumstances. He must do his duty to his people. He must save the Everqueen.



Dorian burst into the inner chamber of the great Pavilion. Dead elf maidens lay sprawled on the floor, their swords close at hands. They had died like warriors, he thought approvingly, their wounds to the front. He hoped when his own time came he would be able to do the same.

At bay in the centre of the room, back to the great central pole, standing on a great carpet woven with scenes of grace and beauty, was the single most beautiful woman Dorian had ever seen, perhaps excepting Morathi. Even through the wards of the amulets protecting him, he felt the tug of reverence and even love.

He knew he was committing a sacrilege by being here and he wanted to beg her pardon and ask her forgiveness. He realised how clever his master had been launching the attack now. If this was how it felt before the new Everqueen possessed her full power, even through the protective spells of his amulet, what would it be like to enter her presence once she had her full strength?

Ruthlessly Dorian quashed his feelings of awe. ‘Good evening, your majesty,’ he said in his coldest parade ground voice. ‘I bring you greetings from my master, Malekith the Great, true king of all the elves.’

The realisation of her predicament flashed across that beautiful face. In that moment, and just for that moment, she was no longer a living goddess but a frightened young elf woman realising that she was in peril, alone and surrounded by enemies who could not but mean her harm.

He did not feel sorry for her. He felt only contempt for one whose pampered existence had not prepared her for even the possibility of an experience like this.

The confusion and fear was only there for a moment before command reasserted itself. For an instant something infinitely old and wise looked out of her eyes. She opened her mouth to say something, perhaps speak a spell. At that moment, two of his guards grasped her, immobilising her arms. Another placed his hands over her mouth. Cassandra swiftly gagged her. She was cast down on her sleeping silks, limbs bound with whipcord.

Dorian and Cassandra exchanged triumphant looks. For both of them this was the supreme moment of their lives. They had captured the Everqueen. Malekith would reward them with kingdoms. His mouth felt dry. His heart raced. His dark druchii nature asserted itself. He wanted to howl with exultation. Instead he clenched his fist and placed his foot on the recumbent form of the bound goddess. Part of him wanted to kick her until she was a bloody corpse, but that would not fulfil the terms of his orders.

Outside, screams filled the night. Smoke drifted on the air. There was the sound of weapons clashing. The massacre had truly begun. It would not end till morning.



Tyrion ran towards the Everqueen’s Pavilion. He could see that the dark elf troops were densest around about it. The bodies of the Maiden Guard lay sprawled everywhere, staring at the sky with sightless eyes. Tyrion had no time for regrets, to feel sorry for the dead. His business was with the living, assuming that the Everqueen was still alive. He believed that she would be, for that was what would make more strategic sense.

Charging into a horde of armed soldiers would not serve either Alarielle or himself. All that was likely to happen is that he would die a quick death and that the Everqueen would remain in captivity, assuming that was what had happened.

He needed a plan and he needed to come up with one quickly if he was to avert disaster. Mighty warrior though he might be, potent magical blade that Sunfang was, they were no match for an army. What was needed here was intelligence, not a strong arm.

He doubled back, moving away from the vast body of dark elf troops. He remembered the bodies of the warriors he had slain. They were wearing the armour of his enemies and that was something he could put to good use.

Swiftly he chose the armour belonging to the corpse whose head he had split and stripped it off. It was bloody, but on a night like this that would not matter. It would simply add to the authenticity of his disguise. He took the helmet from another dark elf corpse and put that on.

He wished he had a mirror so that he could check how he looked, but that was like wishing for an army of high elves to come out of the forest and save him – it was not going to happen. He was going to have to trust in the darkness and confusion all around him and hope that he was not cut down by any surviving high elves who might mistake him for one of the enemy.

He took a deep breath, stepped out of the shadows and began to move confidently towards the Pavilion as if he had every right to be among the attackers. He kept his shoulders pulled back and did his best to imitate the marching stride of one of the sons of Naggaroth.

In the howling confusion no one questioned him. No one paid the slightest attention to him being there. The fighting was all but over. The dark elves were triumphant. They grinned at each other like warriors who know they are in possession of the field. There was an exultant look in their eyes and cold smiles on their lips. That more than anything chilled Tyrion’s heart. He knew those expressions from his own career as a soldier. He’d worn similar ones when he was victorious in battle and noticed them on the faces of his comrades.

If ever he had had any hope that the situation might be salvaged, it vanished then. He was on his own. If he wanted to, he could probably escape now, using his disguise to get clear of the dark elf force and vanish into the woods.

He considered it for a heartbeat, but knew that he could not do so if there was even the slightest chance that Alarielle was being held captive. He could not abandon this place without finding that out. It was the least he could do.

All around him, discipline was starting to break down even among the hardened druchii. The certainty of victory affected even the cold-hearted children of the uttermost north. Soldiers were starting to collect loot and slaves. He could hear the screams of prisoners being tortured and raped.

Tyrion hardened his heart. Even if he could rescue those who were in pain, he could not do that now. He had a mission of the utmost importance and he could allow nothing to distract him from that. But he swore in his heart that the dark elves would pay with interest for every scream they extracted from the lips of one of his own people.

Much to his surprise, the Pavilion was still upright. It was surrounded by druchii warriors who still looked alert and disciplined. They had the aura of elite troops, ones who might be entrusted with a mission of the gravest importance. Not for a moment did Tyrion doubt that he was in the right place. The question was how he was going to get inside.

One of the soldiers stared at him. It would be suspicious of him to back away now and he might be remembered if he returned in the future, so he squared his shoulders and strode confidently forward, as if he had every business being there, was on a mission of some importance.

He must have looked the part because no one questioned him as he strode within and made his way to the central chamber of the tent. There were several high officers, he recognised their rank from their garb. He had fought against that type before on many battlefields. In the centre, lying prostrate with her arms bound behind her back, and a gag on her mouth, was Alarielle. She stared at him with hate-filled eyes as he came in. She did not recognise him.

One of the high staff officers turned to look at him. Tyrion strode forward.

‘What do you want?’ the officer asked. ‘What are you doing here, sergeant?’

‘I bring a message from the commander,’ said Tyrion. He was almost within striking distance now.

‘What?’

‘It is of the utmost importance,’ said Tyrion.

‘It had better be or I will have you flayed alive,’ the officer said.

‘I do not doubt it.’

‘Then spit it out,’ the officer said.

‘It concerns the Everqueen. There’s been a change of plans.’

‘Impossible!’

‘No,’ said Tyrion. He drew Sunfang and decapitated the officer. With two more quick strokes he chopped down his companions. In a flurry of blows, he struck down the remaining dark elves within reach. Most of them died clawing for their weapons, desperately trying to react to the sudden fury of his onslaught.



Dorian wondered what was happening. A burning blade chopped down Captain Aeris and slashed off half of Captain Manion’s face. The stench of seared flesh suddenly filled the Pavilion. Had one of the druchii gone mad, he wondered, or was this some kind of sorcery? Were the Everqueen’s powers still at work?

Even as that thought occurred to him, Alarielle rolled away from beneath his feet, sending him tumbling backwards. That action probably saved his life, unintentionally, for he fell out of the way of that blazing sword. He felt the red heat of it mere fingers’ breadths from his face. He saw the warrior wielding the blade leap among his guard, slashing left and right as he went.

Maniac or not, the newcomer was eye-blurringly swift. He made the hardened veterans of Dorian’s guard seem like children. They could do nothing to stop him. They did not even seem to be trying. They had been taken completely off guard by the sudden, stunning savagery of the stranger’s attack. He recalled his own thoughts about how people responded to surprise attacks earlier. It seemed his own troops were no more immune to it than anyone else. Sheep, he thought.

Cassandra raised her hand as she attempted to cast a spell. Somehow the stranger was aware of it before she even half began. He pounced like a great cat springing. The brilliantly glowing blade slashed downwards. The protective spells surrounding Cass overloaded, burning out in a blaze of power. The sword smashed into her, snapping bones like twigs, cauterising flesh as it passed through.

‘No,’ Dorian shouted, rising to his feet. This could not be happening, he thought. Life and victory could not be snatched away from them so quickly. He remembered Cass’s forebodings of the previous night. It seemed they had come true, since Alarielle had summoned this daemonic warrior to her aid.

He ripped his sword from its scabbard and just managed to parry as the stranger was upon him. Dorian was gifted with a blade, and he knew it. He was considered among the best in the entire druchii army.

Somehow though, he instantly found himself on the defensive. It was all he could do to parry the newcomer’s weapon. The light from it dazzled his eyes in the gloom.

The fury of the stranger’s attack was astonishing. He struck with the speed and power of a lightning bolt. Dorian’s arm was numb just from maintaining his increasingly desperate parries. He would have liked to have gone on the offensive. He would have liked to have avenged Cass but there was no chance of it. He could barely find the time or the energy to shout for help. It took all of his concentration merely to stay alive.

There was something about the newcomer’s style that reminded Dorian of his brother Urian. It had the same fluidity, and the same tricky manner of placing a feint within a feint, so that you never knew where the true attack was going to come from. It was almost as if this newcomer had been a pupil of his brother. Was it possible that this was some incredible feat of treachery?

Even as the question entered Dorian’s mind, the stranger’s sword found its way past his guard. Volcanic agony erupted in Dorian’s side and he fell forward into darkness.

So this was death at last, he thought, come when he least expected it.

‘Quickly! Stop him! He’s getting away,’ Tyrion shouted, to send the guards outside sniffing down the wrong trail. He strode over to the Everqueen, tore off the gag, and slashed her bonds. She stared at him for a moment then her eyes widened and he saw the flash of recognition. ‘Prince Tyrion!’ she said.

‘None other.’ He strode to the opposite side of the Pavilion and slashed it with his sword. ‘Come with me,’ he said. ‘We are getting out of here.’

She nodded, and dived through the gap he had created. He followed her out into the night.

‘This way,’ Tyrion said. He grabbed her by the hand and began to drag her through the undergrowth.

‘We need to keep low and not be seen. If we are lucky they won’t pick up our trail for a while. I can’t imagine they brought hounds with them and there’s been so much chaos around here, it will be difficult to pick up our tracks.’

‘Sorcery,’ she said. ‘They will have wizards.’

‘I was rather hoping you could do something about that.’

She stared and he saw the black hopelessness in her eyes. ‘Why? What chance have we got of getting out of here, Prince Tyrion? The dark elves are already in Avelorn. They have killed my guard, my friends, my people. I have already failed in my trust.’

Tyrion shook her. ‘You are alive. And while you are alive there is hope. What chance do we have? I don’t know. I do know we will have no chance at all if we give up.’

She nodded but she did not seem to understand. Tyrion had seen the same look and same reaction written on the faces of young warriors after their first battle in which they had lost friends and comrades.

It must be worse for her. She was the Everqueen. She had grown up in luxury. She had never expected to see war or its aftermath.

‘Listen to me,’ he said. ‘You are our queen. You were chosen by the gods. You are the heart of our realm. If you give up, we may as well all just surrender to Malekith. He will become king after all these millennia of waiting. Is that what you want?’

Slowly understanding came back into her eyes. He saw a powerful will begin to reassert itself. The moment of weakness and panic had passed. She was herself again.

‘There is no need to clutch me so tightly, Prince Tyrion. You have made your point.’ He let go of her arm. He could see he had grabbed her so tightly that he had left his the print of his hand on the flesh of her arm. ‘You have a plan?’ she asked.

Tyrion shrugged. ‘I never thought beyond making sure you were alive and getting you out.’

‘I have heard people say you had a gift for strategy,’ she said. ‘That you are a war leader of great cunning.’

‘I did get you out,’ he said.

She seemed to come to a decision.

‘Where did you get that armour?’

‘I stripped it from a corpse.’

‘We need another set.’

Tyrion nodded. He understood what she was thinking.

‘They might take us for deserters.’

‘It will be enough if it gets us clear of this awful place. And I would feel somewhat less vulnerable.’

‘Have you ever worn armour before?’

‘I can learn.’

Tyrion knew how easy it would be to allow themselves to stand here discussing things until they were captured. It was a natural reaction. They had found a small island of safety. Their instincts told them to cling to its shores. Tyrion knew how easily such instincts could betray them.

‘Wait here!’ he told her. ‘I’ll be back.’

‘What?’

‘If someone sees me, I am just another dark elf soldier. If they see you…’

He did not need to explain any more. Behind him he could hear the sound of one voice rising over the babble. It seemed like someone was taking charge of the situation. It would not be long before the hunt began in earnest.



Dorian rolled over. His side hurt immensely. When he touched it, it was wet but with a clear pus instead of blood. The burning blade had cauterised the wound even as it made it.

He had no idea whether he would live or how much internal damage there really was. Looking around the chamber he could see he was lucky to be alive. Every other druchii that had been present was dead, including Cassandra. She lay on her back, eyes open, but glazed as if she was staring in wonder at the tent ceiling. Her face looked normal but her body was ruined.

Dorian crawled over to where she lay and took her hand. It was cold. Soldiers flooded into the room, glaring around at the scene of carnage.

‘What happened, general?’ one of them asked. Dorian struggled to answer them.

‘An elf with a burning sword,’ he said. ‘He killed us all and took the Everqueen.’

His soldiers looked at him as if he were raving, but they could not see any other explanation. ‘Find him,’ Dorian ordered. ‘Find him or you are all for Malekith’s torturers.’

He was already for that himself, he realised. The stranger had done him no favours letting him live. He lay there on the ground, holding Cassandra’s cold hand, and found that he did not care all that much.

‘Put those on,’ Tyrion said.

He pointed to the body of the dead elf soldier he had dragged into the undergrowth. Alarielle looked at the corpse in distaste but she began to strip it of the wargear.

‘Did you kill her?’ she asked.

‘I cut her throat,’ said Tyrion. She looked at him with distaste.

‘That was not very chivalrous,’ she said. He understood why she was saying it. She understood the necessity of what he had done but she was still shocked by it. She felt the need to vent her feelings, to do something to relieve her tension and fear. If that meant she despised him, so be it. He could live with that.

‘This is not a tournament,’ he said. ‘This is war. People will die. You will send them to their deaths and you will smile while you do it.’

‘I already caused a death, didn’t I?’ She indicated the dead warrior with her foot. ‘I killed her when I sent you to get me a disguise.’

‘Get used to it,’ he said, knowing he was being brutal, but knowing also that he needed to make her understand the reality of the situation. ‘It will be the first of many.’

‘You enjoy this, don’t you, Prince Tyrion?’

The answer was too complex to be gone into here so he just said, ‘Yes. It is what I was born for.’

‘Blood of Aenarion,’ she said softly. He was surprised to hear pity in her voice. She stripped and put on the soldier’s undergarments then her leather tunic and then her armour. Tyrion stood close and helped her do it. She had no experience with this sort of gear, so much was obvious. As he helped lace up the jerkin, they were close as lovers. He was suddenly very aware of her presence.

They stepped apart. ‘We need to go,’ he said. ‘They will be looking for us now.’



What had been a place of pleasure had become a place of terror. Corpses were strewn everywhere, cut down in flight, in combat, while they had slept, while they had been drunk. The dark elves had spared no one. They had killed like maniacs, as senselessly as a wolverine in a henhouse.

Tyrion felt his heart become colder. A great rage was building up in him. This was not how a war should be fought. His expression became as cold and grim as a true son of Naggaroth. The Everqueen looked upon his face and shuddered. He did not care and he did not want to explain to her how he was feeling.

‘This was not war,’ she said. Tyrion agreed with her. This had gone far beyond war. It was a murderous venting of long suppressed rage.

‘It is now,’ he said. ‘This is what war looks like now.’

She shot him a sidelong glance. ‘Do they really hate us so?’

‘Apparently.’

They followed a path deeper into the woods. Tyrion had no idea where they were going. He was not familiar with this place. He was merely trying to get as far away from pursuit as possible. ‘Do you know where we are?’ he asked.

She nodded. ‘We are on the old game trail to the Glade of Promises.’

‘Beyond that?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘We must find refuge for you. A place where you will be safe.’

She looked as if she wanted to cry. ‘Avelorn was safe. If I was not safe in the heart of my own realm where will I be?’

‘I don’t know,’ Tyrion said. ‘But we will need to find somewhere.’

‘You sound very angry, Prince Tyrion.’

‘And you are not?’

‘I have not had time to feel very much of anything, except afraid.’

‘It is our enemies who will be afraid by the time we are finished,’ Tyrion said. He knew he sounded petulant, like a small boy telling his friends that one day he would get even with a bully, but he meant it. One day there would be a reckoning for the carnage here. He would make the Witch King and all his minions pay.

‘How could this have happened?’ Alarielle asked.

‘We were too confident,’ Tyrion said. ‘We thought the threat of Naggaroth had ended. It had not. There is only one way it ever will be. When the Witch King and all who follow him are dead.’

‘I meant how did they find me? How did they get such a force into the heart of Avelorn? It should have not been possible. Our scouts should have seen them. The Eagles would have spotted them from afar.’

‘Magic would be my guess, but what sort I do not know. It is a subject I know very little about. My brother would know more.’

‘Chaos has returned to the world,’ Alarielle said. ‘I feel it. It is always there now, far in the distance, a great cancer eating away at the heart of the world. The winds of magic are tainted. Shadows lengthen, even here in Avelorn.’

‘You think this has something to do with the invasion?’

‘All things are connected. There is more power and more evil in the air than there has been for a very long time.’

How would you know? Tyrion wanted to ask. You are younger than me and I am not old as elves measure time. He kept his mouth shut. He would have sounded foolish anyway, for the Everqueen inherited more than a title when she was crowned. Who knew what hidden knowledge was available to her? Who knew what magical powers?

‘Can you help us? Can you use your magic to shield us?’ he asked.

‘I will do what I can,’ she said. ‘My powers were not intended for warfare.’

‘Anything you could do would help. We are on our own here.’

She seemed to realise the pressure that was on him. ‘You have done your best for me, Prince Tyrion, and I will be forever grateful.’

‘My best may not be good enough. There is an army out there and they are hunting for you. Who knows what they will do when they find you?’

‘Let us pray I never find out,’ she said.

‘Who shall we pray to?’ Tyrion asked. ‘Our gods seem to have deserted us.’

‘One of your gods is still with you,’ she said.

‘Let us make sure it stays that way,’ he said. They set off deeper into the dark woods. Behind them Avelorn burned.