Sword of Caledor (18 page)

Another idea occurred to him. They had got on well enough when they were adventuring on their own. Since they had returned to Lothern, they were at odds.

It was the situation, not them. Now they had returned to the homeland of the elves, he was once again accepted and his brother was once again an outsider. The centre of power in their relationship had shifted and they were both responding to it.

He suddenly understood why Teclis was so much happier travelling and adventuring and why he spent so much time isolated. At least he partially understood. He doubted he could grasp all of the situation because he was not his brother.

Teclis smiled at him and the tension was broken. They both laughed, but both of them knew that things were different now that they had come back to Ulthuan. Tyrion knew that it was because he had returned home and Teclis never could.

‘Since you have asked me, I will try and be civil to Atharis,’ Teclis said. ‘Watch and see what happens.’

Tyrion said nothing. He felt that Teclis was right. Atharis would not be his friend. He would go on being an outsider. Whether by reason of his appearance or his manner, or because he now chose to be. It was his brother’s role in life.

He thought about what Korhien had said about destiny and he was more troubled by it than he ever had been before.

After days at sea, Tyrion was glad as the ship approached the harbour at Cairn Auriel. The sun beat down on the deck. It was not as warm as it had been in Lustria but it was still very warm. A cool breeze blowing in off the sea gave some relief from the heat. Tyrion stood in the shadow of the command deck and watched the shore come closer.

Cairn Auriel was not a large port by the standards of Lothern but it looked like a pleasant place, a natural harbour cut into the high cliffs on the western coast of Saphery. A silver lighthouse watched over it. Long marble piers protruded outwards from a beach of golden sand. The town itself was a place of graceful white towers tipped with golden domes. Dock workers helped moor the ship and get the gangplanks into place so that Teclis could get off.

Tyrion strode over to where he stood. He let his smile widen and said, ‘Once again, brother, we must say farewell.’

‘We shall see each other again,’ said Teclis. ‘All that remains is for me to wish you good luck in the upcoming tournament. See that you do not disgrace our family too badly.’

‘I shall do my best,’ said Tyrion.

‘Doubtless I shall hear how well you have done from passing minstrels and other travellers,’ said Teclis. ‘You might even consider sending a messenger to let me know how things go.’

‘I’m sure the wizards of the White Tower have ways of receiving news much more swiftly than letter,’ said Tyrion. ‘But I shall write.’

‘It always comes as a pleasant surprise to find that you’re capable of it,’ said Teclis. The ship was tied up now and the gangplank was firmly in place.

Teclis’s baggage had been carried down by sailors and lay on the white marble of the pier. The two brothers clasped hands. The wizard left the ship and strode off in search of horses.

Tyrion watched him go until he was out of sight. By that time, the crew had cast off the moorings and the ship was being washed back out to sea.

Tyrion was suddenly struck by the ominous foreboding that it might be a long time before he saw his brother again.

Morathi stood on the prow of the great wooden ship and watched as her followers raced ashore. Tens of thousands of the Chaos-worshipping barbarians leapt from their ships into the roaring surf and raced up the black sand beaches. Behind her, thousands more ships crowded the seas. Most of them carried humans and beastmen and less wholesome followers of the Dark Gods. Some of them were packed with her own followers, from the Cults of Khaine and the Cults of the Pleasure God. They were the druchii who would form her bodyguard amid the humans. Not that she needed one.

The chieftains of the great horde gazed upon her with worshipful eyes. They would do what she required of them in return for her approval and her caresses. They would fight with each other for her favours if she wanted. Perhaps she would have them do so at some point, but right now she needed them to co-operate.

There were elven fortresses nearby that needed to be taken, and elven cities that needed to be conquered and enslaved. Soon she would set this land ablaze from end to end and teach the people to fear and adore her as they had done in the past. In an odd way it felt good to be home.

Naked, she plunged into the sea and let the cool water flow over her. Like a goddess she emerged dripping from the surf, aware that all eyes were upon her. In the distance she could see a beacon fire had been lit. It looked as if the asur were aware of her presence.

And so it begins, she thought. She was curious as to how it would end.

Chapter Fifteen

Teclis found the agent of the White Tower easily enough. The elf recognised him at once and knew what he needed. Swiftly he provided Teclis with a satchel of supplies, a saddle and two horses which he could use in relay.

Teclis rode up the pathway out of Cairn Auriel and followed the trail that he knew would eventually lead him to the Tower of Hoeth. It felt odd – for the first time in months he was on his own. Ever since he and Tyrion had set out on the quest to find Sunfang, he had been in company with his brother and quite often many others. He had not had time to think or to study or to brood or to plan. As he rode along, he found that he quite enjoyed the quiet of the woods and the respite from having to constantly deal with other people.

He felt better now that he was on his own. He enjoyed Tyrion’s company but several months spent daily with his twin had proven tiresome in the end. It was simply too much for an elf as solitary as he was. He loved his brother but he did not want to spend every waking hour of every waking day in his company.

Now at last he had time to think. He was pleased with the way the adventure had turned out. After decades of searching they had finally found Sunfang. His brother now had a weapon that was worthy of him and had burnished his reputation as a hero of Ulthuan.

Teclis did not really care how this victory affected his own reputation among the general populace. It might redound to his credit amongst the wizards of the tower but only insofar as it reflected upon his scholarship. His theories as to the sword’s whereabouts had been proven correct. He felt certain that many of his fellow wizards would be as interested in the slann text that he carried as the details of the search for the sword. Of course, he would leave a record of that at the library so that future generations would have access to the knowledge. That was part of his duty as a scholar.

At the moment it was the slann text that troubled him. There were people at the tower who knew far more about slann hieroglyphics then he did and he wanted their help translating it. He had understood enough of what was on the thing to know that its portent was ominous. More than that, since he had returned to Ulthuan, he had started to sense that time was running out. He was uneasy and he did not know why. He was a wizard, though, and he trusted to that strange sixth sense that had so often warned him of trouble in the past.

He was not the best of riders and he had to concentrate on following the trail through the woods. Occasionally, he paused to re-weave his protective spells. The forests of Saphery were not without their dangers.

There were subtle protective spells woven onto the milestones that marked this pathway. They would keep the most dangerous beasts away and ward off some of the strange magical dangers that were to be found in these forests. He did not want to stray too far from this trail though and he did not want to rely on its magic alone to protect him.

In some ways, he was pleased that Tyrion was not here. It meant that he would need to rely upon himself. His brother had a genius for organisation that would show up in even the littlest of things, such as making a camp or pitching a tent. While Tyrion was around there had been very little need for him to do anything and now he would need to do everything.

He was quite looking forward to that. He was not good at any of it but he enjoyed the practice. When he thought about how sick he had been in his youth and childhood, this was not an unexpected pleasure. He could never have foreseen that one day he would be riding alone through this distant, dangerous forest with nothing but his spells to protect him.

It was quite something. He meant to take advantage of every single moment of it while it lasted

Teclis gathered up some moss and twigs to make a fire. He came back to where he had staked out the horses with a bundle of kindling held in his robes. He opened his hands and let it fall to the ground and then started to arrange the sticks in the same way as he had seen Tyrion do, although not so neatly or so well. Tyrion would have used a flint to get the fire going but Teclis did not have to do that. He spoke a word and called upon the winds of magic and the moss and twigs burst into flame.

He sat down by the fire and opened the satchel of supplies that the agent had given him. Inside he found dried fruit and beef jerky along with a selection of waybread. He never had the greatest of appetites at the best of times, so he took the tiniest morsel of waybread and began to chew it. He had already filled his canteen from the nearby stream when he had chosen the campsite. As he ate, he pondered the odd thing he had sensed when he lit the fire. It made him even more uneasy than he had been all day.

The winds of magic were tainted even here. He was not sure that most wizards would have noticed this thing – few of them were as sensitive as he was. His skin tingled slightly when he worked a spell and he had felt a twinge, only the faintest of twinges, of nausea. He suspected that the alchemy he used to maintain his health made him more susceptible to such things.

What was happening, he wondered?

It was possible that there was something nearby, some trace of old Dark Magic from the first Chaos incursion that still tainted the area. That might explain why it was so weak. Such influences had been fading for a very long time. That was the best case he could think of. He did not like to think what else it might portend.

He lay on his back, with his hands behind his head, and stared up at the stars visible through the gaps in the branches overhead. The woods did not seem as quiet at night as they did during the day, but he knew that that was an illusion. It was simply that his hearing was keener because his sight was dimmer.

It was good to be beneath the familiar stars of Ulthuan again. He could see one of the constellations that his father had taught him to recognise when he was a boy. Aenarion’s Sword Belt it was called. It glittered above him cheerily.

He could hear something moving off in the woods. Most likely a fox he thought, certainly nothing larger. Not that he was any expert on such things, he thought sourly. It could be a beastman attempting to creep up on him for all he knew. He sat upright and rummaged in his saddlebags until he found a small group of stones that he had etched with runes.

He placed them around his campfire and spoke the words of an old spell. The runes on the stones glowed and small rainbows of light arced from one to the other and then faded. The wards would protect him and alert him if anything passed between them, bringing him awake instantly if it was larger than a rat.

Of course, that would not protect him if it was an arrow or a spear. He told himself that he was being unnecessarily cautious but that was his nature. He arranged his saddlebags under the blankets and then spoke the words of another spell so that to any onlooker they would look like a sleeping elf.

He positioned himself a lot further from the fire and wrapped himself up in a blanket and wove an illusion that would make him blend into the landscape. He lay there in the darkness thinking if there was anything that he had missed, if there was something that he should do to increase the security but nothing came immediately to mind.

He began breathing exercises to enable himself to relax, to drift off into sleep. It was a long time before he could stop listening to the small noises of the forest and allow himself to slumber. Before he fell into sleep, he thought he felt again some taint to the magic around him. He hoped it would not affect the wards that he had placed on the other spells that he had worked for its protection.

He opened his eyes after what seemed like only a moment. The fire had burned down but he sensed a presence. It was odd because his wards had not woken him. He looked up and a shadow figure loomed out of the darkness, tall and slender, with a high forehead and a receding hairline unusual in an elf.

There was something immeasurably ancient and immeasurably sad about the stranger. He did not appear to be threatening. He was staring off into the distance, as if looking for something. When he turned to look at Teclis, it was a shock. He had no eyes. Where they should have been was only darkness, inside which something blazed.

Teclis felt as if he was falling into those eyes, and as he did so he could see that the lights formed a pattern, enormously large and astonishingly complex. It reminded him in some ways of the layout of Zultec. He could see that the pattern was flickering and unstable and starting to unravel in parts, and for some reason Teclis found this to be hugely threatening, as if his life depended on that not happening.

For a moment, everything appeared to be on the brink of dissolution, and he shouted for it to stop. He came awake with the echoes of the shout ringing through the forest. Panicking he glared around, seeking the tall stranger, but there was nothing there and his wards were undisturbed.

‘Just a dream,’ he told himself as he rose to see to his disturbed horses. He felt sure that was not all it had been.

As he rode, Teclis could feel the magic all around him. It was subtle, sly, hidden from most people, even the most sensitive of elves, but it was there. The defences of the Tower of Hoeth were ancient, powerful and strange.

There were no walls. Daemonic guardians did not patrol the woods around the tower. Spectacular magic did not blast intruders from the cloudless sky. Instead, the ancient wizards who had built the tower had protected it in a manner befitting their cleverness.

If you were a threat to the tower, you simply would not find it. You would wander lost in the woods, sometimes catching a glimpse of the mighty structure but never arriving at it.

Teclis had often wondered how this effect had been achieved. He could understand some of the components of it. Obviously there was an enchantment of divination present. The spells that guarded the tower needed to be able to detect any evil intention in those who approached it. They needed to be able to reach into an enemy’s mind, or perhaps even their very soul, to find this out.

And after that they needed to be able to twist that person’s perceptions so that they could not find a way into the heart of the wood. The basic theory was simple enough.

Like many other scholars at Hoeth, he had pored over Bel-Korhadris’s notes. He had caught glimpses of the workings of the Scholar-King’s mind, but he had not been able to follow the whole process. No one had.

Bel-Korhadris had been the greatest geomancer since Caledor Dragontamer, with a gift amounting to genius when it came to the building of magical structures. When Teclis looked at his notes he was in the position of a peasant looking at a pile of bricks and an architect’s plans for a mansion and then at the mansion itself.

He could see that the two things were connected, that they could somehow be used to create something magnificent. He just did not understand how.

Yet.

One day he would. Just as one day he would understand how Caledor had created the Vortex. If he lived long enough he would manage it. His thirst for knowledge was so great that it would not be denied.

Always when he studied the work of the great ancients, he felt this nagging sense that if only he worked harder, was just a little bit cleverer, understood just the tiniest amount more, he would gain the insight that he needed. So far it had not come, but he felt that one day it would.

He had heard some people claim that there were sophisticated teleportation spells involved in the tower’s defences, but that seemed like nonsense to him. He knew that it was possible to warp time and space but it took an enormous amount of energy, which would be detectable by the most unsophisticated mage. Working on the minds of travellers would be far more efficient and far more difficult to detect. Of course, understanding the basic principles of how such a thing could work did not qualify him to be able to work the spell.

There were other things to be considered about it. The spells covered an area of leagues around the tower. They were always in effect and had been ever since the tower was built.

Something maintained them and there were no obvious runes or points of focus that he had ever found. Perhaps elementals or daemons had been bound into the spell. After all, something at some point was making a judgement as to whether the approaching traveller was hostile or not. One possibility was that the judgement was left up to the traveller themselves. After all, who would be in a better position to know?

In any case it was magic of enormous sophistication and power. In its way it was a feat that was quite the equal of the building of the Tower of Hoeth itself, or of the creation of the vast web of spells that covered the Eastern Sea approaches to Ulthuan. The fact that it had been woven so discreetly into the fabric of this normal-seeming forest made it all the more impressive.

He tried to avoid thinking about the magic and simply concentrate on enjoying the ride. The woods were beautiful in a quiet way. It was cool under the shadow of the trees and the air smelled fresh. Birds sang among the branches and the brilliant sunlight of Ulthuan poked its fingers through the canopy of leaves. It was all enormously different from the jungles of Lustria. It lacked the smell of rot and the overpowering heat and humidity against which the only protection had been his magic.