Sword of Caledor

Chapter EIGHT





Weary almost beyond belief, Tyrion and his companions emerged from the swamp. The last few leagues had been the worst part. They had wandered from the jungle into the marshes surrounding Skeggi. The ground had become treacherous quicksand, mud and stagnant pools filled with the spores of the worst diseases.

All of them except Teclis were covered in filth. His magic had protected him from that. Yet, despite the weariness, despite the dirt, despite the loathsome nature of their surroundings, all of them were triumphant. They had made it all the way back from Zultec without losing anybody else. And the humans were filled with the knowledge that they were rich, while the elves knew that they were going to be even more famous very soon.

Ahead of them they could see the strange wooden longhalls that made up the bulk of the dwellings in Skeggi. They resembled the halls of the Norsemen back in the Old World, but in one important respect they were different – they stood upon stilts that raised them above the mud. Those buildings on the outskirts of the city needed them. Some of them sat in small algae-scummed lakes that resembled moats. The only way to get to them was either by small boat, rope-bridge or by jumping across the stumps of chopped down trees that made up a kind of stepping stone.

Right now the party was up to their waists in muddy water and starting to draw attention from the natives. They were very conspicuous – two tall elves and a small group of survivors from what had been a much larger party when it set out. Some of those present recognised Tyrion, some of them recognised Leiber. All of them were curious as to what the party had done and how they had survived.

Now came the tricky part. Skeggi was a dreadful place, lawless, ruled by feuding warlords and bandit gangs. It combined the worst aspects of Norse society and that of the theoretically more civilised Old World. Some of the people greeting them now might decide to rob them in a few moments, once a sufficiently large gang of allies had assembled.

They would make formidable foes too. Most of those present were tall, strapping warriors descended from the Norse. They were blond-haired with golden, tanned skins and broad-shouldered, muscular bodies. All of them were armed with heavy axes or sharp swords. After the rigours of the past few weeks Tyrion should not have been too bothered, but he knew the perils of over-confidence and he did not want to fall victim to a random robbery when he was so close to returning to Lothern in triumph.

‘If we are attacked, burn as many as possible with the most spectacular magic you can summon,’ he said to Teclis in elvish. ‘If you should happen to set a few buildings alight in the process so much the better.’

‘And what will you be doing while I commit these theatrical acts of arson?’

‘I will be killing as many people as I can in the most disgustingly bloody fashion I can manage. If we make an example of enough of them, the rest will leave us alone.’

‘It’s nice to hear you being so cheerful now that we are so close to safety.’

‘No one is safe in Skeggi,’ Tyrion said. ‘The priests of the goddess of mercy will pick your pocket while they stick a dagger in your back.’

‘They are somewhat unorthodox in the way they practise their faith,’ said Teclis. ‘It’s always the way. Heretical sects breed in these out of the way places.’

‘Joke about it all you like but be ready…’ Tyrion said.

In the distance, Tyrion could see the monstrous brutal structure of the fortress. It was the size of a small town and had been built by a dozen generations of raider lords on the site of the original keep of Losteriksson, the town’s legendary founder. The only thing that came close to being as noticeable was the giant barrow that had grown over the spot where Losteriksson had first set foot on this land.

As they progressed deeper into town, more and more people swarmed around them. Some were menacing-looking Norse warriors, others were the sort of shipwrecked wharf rats from the Old World. A few tired looking prostitutes shouted half-hearted terms of endearment at the elves and their companions.

‘Leiber, you made it back, I am surprised,’ roared someone who obviously recognised their guide. ‘You finally find all that lost gold you always raved about?’

It was a leading question if Tyrion had ever heard one, and it was the one most likely to trigger a bloodbath if the wrong answer was given. They had talked about this all the way back but there was no telling what the humans would do now that they were back among their own kind.

In a way Tyrion was glad they had only taken the sword and a few keepsakes. There was not very much for their companions to kill them over. The humans were more likely to get themselves into trouble than the two elves. Of course, that would not make very much difference if they got dragged into a needless fight.

‘I got more than enough to buy your mother,’ said Leiber. ‘But then that only ever cost a couple of coppers anyway, and she would give change.’

It was a good answer. It told the listeners that it was none of their business what Leiber had found and that they could expect only insults if they asked. The question was whether it would be enough to ensure they were left alone.



They pushed through the teeming streets of the town, trying to ignore all of the people staring at them. The fortress loomed over them, bringing back memories of a previous visit that Tyrion would have preferred to forget. He had spent some time in chains in that horrible place and he was determined that it would never happen again.

As they walked on, a sense of ending came over him. He was soon going to have to say goodbye to the humans. Most likely he would never see any of them again. The people he had known on his previous visits to Skeggi were all dead or withered ancients. Human lives were so brief that once their paths separated he was unlikely to come across them again, or if he did they would be so changed as to be almost unrecognisable to him.

He was not sure why this troubled him. He felt a certain attachment to these men as he would to any comrades with whom he had shared dangers. It seemed that the humans felt the same way because one or two of them were staring at him sidelong.

He sensed that they were at once relieved and saddened by this parting of the ways. They had found what they were looking for. They were wealthy men. Perhaps they felt grateful to Tyrion and his brother for providing them with this wealth or perhaps it was something else entirely, he could not be sure. All he knew was that by the time they had reached a crossroads at the centre of the town, all of them knew that their quest together was over. They were walking more slowly, starting to look at each other in a vaguely embarrassed way.

Leiber was the first to speak. ‘It looks like we will be going our separate roads. I just want to say that it was an honour and a privilege travelling with you. I hope one day that we might be able to do it again.’

If he did not sound entirely sincere, at least he was trying to be polite, Tyrion thought. He felt like he was being called upon to answer on behalf of himself and his brother so he said, ‘We could not have asked for better travelling companions.’

The humans all nodded and Tyrion found himself shaking hands with his companions. A few moments later they had started to drift apart, most of the humans heading towards one of the low taverns which filled the streets of Skeggi. Tyrion looked at Teclis and smiled sourly, ‘It will not take long before word of our discovery is common knowledge in this port.’

‘What do you propose that we do about that, brother?’

‘There is nothing we can do. We just need to hope that the local robbers don’t decide to pay us a visit. It would not surprise me to find out that Leiber and the other lads were found in the gutter with their throats cut by this time tomorrow.’

‘And you want us to avoid that fate?’

‘It would seem sensible, wouldn’t it? After all, it would be bitterly ironic if we survived all our adventures only to get ourselves killed in some back alley in this gods-forsaken place.’

‘Then I think the first thing we should do is look for a ship out of here.’

‘That might just be putting ourselves at the mercy of one of the local pirate captains. They are as much cutthroats as most of the people around here, probably more so.’

‘Then perhaps we should look for a trading ship that will take us all the way back to Ulthuan.’

‘I suppose that means that you’re going to suggest we head down to the docks right now.’

‘No time like the present!’



The harbour at Skeggi was a makeshift place of rickety wooden piers flanked by the local longhouses. There were no great warehouses, only the fortified dwellings of the local chieftains. There was a white sand beach on which long ships were drawn up.

Looking as out of place in the harbour as a swan among a flock of ducks was an elven clipper bearing the arms of House Emeraldsea, a golden ship on a field of green. Tyrion was even more surprised by the fact he recognised the vessel. It was the Eagle of Lothern, on which he had voyaged during that long ago time when he and his brother had first been summoned back to Lothern.

It was the last thing he would have expected to see in this shabby human town. There was only one reason for one of the great trading vessels belonging to their mother’s family to be here – it was seeking himself and his brother. Then he noticed something else. The vessel was flying a black flag.

Someone very important had died.

A sudden shock passed through him as he wondered who it could be? He hoped it was no one in his own house. He had not seen such a flag since his grandfather had died. He hoped it was not someone else that he loved – like Lady Malene.

Two other possibilities sprang immediately to mind – it might be the Phoenix King or the Everqueen. It seemed unlikely that Finubar was dead. He was still very young for an elf and it was unlikely that anything but violence could have killed him.

It was not unknown for a Phoenix King to be assassinated or to be killed in battle but, as far as Tyrion knew, the elves were not at war with anyone. At least they had not been when he and his brother had left Lothern. Had some major conflict blown up that he had missed? It galled him that he might have lost a chance to win glory for himself and his family.

He saw that someone on the crow’s nest was waving at him. They had already been spotted through a spyglass and it looked like someone on the ship wanted to make contact with them.

Teclis came up beside him and spoke softly, ‘This does not look good.’

‘I fear you are right, brother. Let us find out what the bad news is.’

‘Captain Joyelle, it is a pleasure to meet you once again,’ Tyrion said as he pulled himself over the side of the ship. He could tell that the captain was pleased that he remembered her. He was quite famous now and he supposed that meant something.

‘I wish it was under more pleasant circumstances,’ she said. ‘I bear terrible news.’

‘What is it?’ Teclis asked. He was being lifted up on a bosun’s sling. He did not like to scamper up the web of ropes draped over the side of a ship unless he absolutely had to. ‘Nothing has happened to Lady Malene, I hope?’

‘No, Prince Teclis, the lady of the House is well and sends you her greetings. The bad tidings are that the Everqueen is dead.’

‘The Everqueen?’ Tyrion’s mind reeled. He felt grief well up within his heart. She had been the spiritual leader of the elves for as long as he had been alive and considerably longer. Her blessing was invoked at the start of every major venture, every voyage, every season’s crop planting.

‘That is terrible news indeed,’ Teclis said. ‘It is a strange coincidence that you should be waiting here to give it to us.’

‘It is no coincidence at all, Prince Teclis,’ said the captain. ‘I was dispatched to bring the news to your brother and to summon him home.’

Tyrion tilted his head to one side as he concentrated upon the captain. ‘Why?’

‘A new Everqueen will soon be crowned and a new Everqueen must have a new champion.’

‘And what exactly has this to do with my brother?’ Teclis asked. These days, he really had not the slightest sensitivity to any of the nuances of politics outside those of the Tower of Hoeth.

Tyrion understood at once. House Emeraldsea wished to have a candidate of their own be the champion of the Everqueen and he was the best possible candidate that they could put forward.

Even for one so comparatively young for an elf, he was already a famous warrior. He was good-looking, well spoken, intelligent, diplomatic and he knew all of these things about himself. As the Everqueen’s champion he would be ideally placed to help influence her decisions and that would give him, and through him House Emeraldsea, considerable political influence. He understood at once exactly why he was being summoned home.

He was not sure how he felt about this himself. He had plans of his own. There were things he wanted to do with his life. The position would entail a great deal of responsibility and an enormous curtailment of his freedom.

Wherever the Everqueen went her bodyguard went. Her champion was always at her side, ready to protect and fight for her honour. The position had existed ever since the reign of the second Phoenix King. Prior to that no one had ever thought that the Everqueen needed a bodyguard. But the first Everqueen, Astarielle, had been slain by the followers of Chaos and ever since then the Everqueen had had a champion at her side.

‘Our family wants me to enter the great tournament,’ he said. Captain Joyelle nodded. Teclis’s expression suddenly changed. He understood now. He smiled at Tyrion.

‘It is a very great honour,’ he said.

‘I am fully aware of that fact,’ said Tyrion. His sour expression must have told his listeners that he was less than thrilled by the honour implied. Teclis’s eyes narrowed. Captain Joyelle looked slightly embarrassed.

‘I was instructed to bring you this news and to take you home to Lothern. Lady Malene told me you would eventually find your way back to Skeggi.’

It was the only possible place they could get a ship out of this part of Lustria so it was a fair bet. Not that Lady Malene was incapable of locating them by magic if she wanted to. She was a mighty sorceress.

‘Fortunately,’ said Teclis. ‘Our business in the jungles of Lustria is concluded and we have found what we came for.’

‘You have found it?’ Captain Joyelle asked.

Tyrion drew Sunfang with a theatrical flourish. Fires danced along the length of the blade. Captain Joyelle’s eyes widened and her mouth fell open. All of her officers looked stunned. As well they might, thought Tyrion. They had just come face-to-face with one of the great legends of the first and mightiest kings of the elves.

‘Is that…’ asked Captain Joyelle.

‘It is Sunfang,’ said Teclis. He could not keep his satisfaction from showing in his voice. ‘The sword of Aenarion, forged by Caledor Dragontamer himself at Vaul’s Anvil in the dawn ages of the world.’

‘I never thought that in my lifetime this blade would be recovered,’ said Joyelle. ‘You have brought us some happiness in this time of great distress, Prince Tyrion. May Isha bless you.’

Teclis’s sour expression showed that he understood what was going on. He was used to the fact that his brother would get the credit for any of their joint ventures. Tyrion wondered if he really cared about it all that much. He supposed that it might get annoying, but there was nothing either of them could do about it. It seemed sometimes as if there was a conspiracy among the elves to ignore any of the achievements of his brother and heap praise upon him. There were times when Tyrion felt very guilty about that.

He did not have time to feel that way now. There were other things he needed to consider.



Morathi strode into her son’s audience chamber aware that all eyes were upon her. The courtiers stared. The assembled warlords of the great Houses looked at her with lust. She kept her face impassive, giving no clue to her inner turmoil.

When she had heard the stories she had left the Chaos horde and her own army and taken the fastest ship she could find back to Naggaroth. She needed to know whether the tales her spies had brought were true and one glance was enough to tell her that they were.

Morathi stared at the daemon that looked like a girl and found that it was as bad as she had feared. She could not quite believe what her son had done. She did not know whether to be proud or angry so she settled for both. Malekith had bound a Keeper of Secrets to his will. It was a feat of astonishing boldness. Such creatures were treacherous and powerful beyond belief and could turn on their summoners with fatal consequences in the space of a heartbeat.

And yet, he had done it.

The daemon was there and appeared to be under control, standing amid a crowd of dark elves who had no idea of how close death hovered.

The infernal thing was well bound by those strange alien shackles and yet Morathi still did not feel entirely secure. It was like being in the same room with a chained lion. The beast might not be able to get free, but you still would not want to put your hand into its mouth. Morathi glanced around at the elves present.

‘Beloved son, I would have words with you in private.’ All eyes moved from her to Malekith. She could see the druchii present were afraid and rightly so. None of them wished to offend her, but disobeying her son would be instantly fatal.

Malekith nodded. The elves began to filter out of the chamber, leaving mother, son and bound daemon alone. Morathi looked at the daemon and then at Malekith. She kept her anger under control, not a thing she would normally have any cause to do, but it was always counter-productive to rage at her son. He only became more icy and controlled.

‘What have you done?’ she asked eventually.

Malekith merely loomed over her. The armour gave him awesome presence. He seemed less like a living being than the daemon he had bound. He said nothing. It was obvious he was going to force her hand.

‘You have bound a greater daemon of Slaanesh to your service. Do you know what that means?’

‘It means I have found the key to unlock the defences of Ulthuan.’

‘Maybe. It also means you have acquired the eternal enmity of an infernal being.’

Malekith surprised her by laughing. ‘I had that anyway. This is the creature that had sworn to wipe out the line of Aenarion. That is what makes this so amusing.’

‘You find this amusing?’

‘N’Kari, Chosen of Slaanesh, meet my mother, Morathi, consort of Aenarion. The two of you should be friends. You have much in common.’

The daemon and the sorceress exchanged looks. Malekith’s metallic laughter grew louder and colder. It was worse even than she had imagined. This was the creature that had led the Rape of Ulthuan, who had twice been beaten by Aenarion, who had every reason to hate her son and work his undoing.

‘You will destroy us all,’ said Morathi.

‘I think, dearest mother, that is your plan, not mine.’

Morathi gave Malekith a searching look. How much did he really know? How much had he guessed? The fact that he had bound this abomination showed one thing. He had come a very long way as a wizard. He was to be numbered among the greatest mages, living or unliving, since these days one had to take into account certain undead abominations when making the calculation.

The daemon merely looked at them and smiled. She guessed that Malekith might be doing the same beneath his metal mask but she could not be certain.

‘Oh yes, mother, I know of your schemes. I just wanted you to know that I will not allow them.’

‘You will not… allow them!’ Her anger showed in her voice this time. At once she knew it was a mistake but she could not help herself. Her pride and her fear had both been aroused. Any other living thing in the world would have cowered before her unveiled wrath. The metal monster her son had become just stood there impassive as a statue. ‘Who are you to forbid me to do anything?’

‘I am your king. I think you forget that sometimes. I am the absolute and unchallenged ruler of Naggaroth and soon of the whole elven world.’

Morathi wanted to rage, but something about the confidence that gleamed in his voice gave her pause. ‘And when did you propose to tell me how this will be accomplished,’ she said.

‘In good time, mother, although I am sure you can work it out for yourself given your undoubted knowledge and your gift of foresight. Or your spies will tell you. I just want to make sure there are no misunderstandings between us.’

‘I am sure I do not know what you mean?’

‘Let us say that if I find you have been disturbing the pattern of Caledor’s work, I will give you to my pet here as a plaything. You would like that, wouldn’t you, N’Kari?’

The bound daemon smiled and nodded.

‘You will have to forgive her for not being more conversational,’ Malekith said. ‘I have forbidden her to speak until I am convinced she will be civil.’

Rage and fear warred within Morathi but she let neither show on her face. The fact that her son knew or had guessed her plans made no difference to her determination to carry them out. It would only make the process more difficult and the stakes higher. She smiled a genuine smile this time. This only made things more interesting.

‘Return to your barbarian army, mother, and see that it carries out its duties well.’

‘Of course, beloved son. How could I do otherwise?’

‘Soon the invasion of Ulthuan begins. You will be queen once more in Ulthuan.’

And more than queen, my son, Morathi thought. The daemon smiled as if it understood what was going through her mind.