03 - Caledor Read online

  “They are raiders, pure and simple,” the princess said. “They come across the mountains and take unattended herds. It is the worst kind of theft, to steal the horses of Ellyrion.”

  “Yet you offer no proof of this larceny,” said Bel Shanaar. “Your herds go missing and you spring to blame the Naggarothi, when a more likely explanation is some monstrous hunter from the Annulii. A feral hippogryph perhaps, or a hydra?”

  “And Nagarythe is not a poor kingdom,” added another prince. Imrik knew him to be Elodhir, the son of Bel Shanaar. “If the Naggarothi desired horses, they would buy them.”

  “Not from us,” said Finudel. “We have concern that they do not treat their herds well. Their arrogance has become overbearing, their attitude to their beasts verging on cruelty.”

  Palthrain made known the arrival of the princes as Imrik, Thyrinor and Thyriol entered the hall. The others ceased their conversation and waited for the arrivals to join them. Palthrain made formal introductions, though all the elves were known to each other.

  “It is an honour to welcome the representatives of Caledor to this chamber,” said Bel Shanaar, dismissing Palthrain with a casual wave. “I hope that your kingdom fares well, and Caledrian also.”

  “Our fortunes are as usual,” said Imrik. “My brother is worried by the rise in the cults that taints much of Ulthuan. Caledor remains free of these sects, but it is not an easy task.”

  “And there are those who have laboured in vain to halt the progress of the cults,” said Athielle. “It is not from lack of watchfulness that these cults prosper. Caledor perhaps owes as much to the patrol of our common border as it does the vigilance of its leaders.”

  “No accusation was meant,” said Imrik. “What has happened cannot be changed. What we do next, that is what must be decided.”

  “Imrik has a proposal I believe worth hearing,” said Thyriol, his robes glinting in the sunshine streaming through the high windows. The mage turned to Imrik and nodded.

  “Each kingdom alone has attempted to halt the spread of the cults, and failed,” said Imrik. He offered a shrug of apology to Finudel and Athielle. “It seems to me that this is a problem for all of Ulthuan. Only you, the Phoenix King, can claim authority over the whole isle. Use your position to assemble an army drawn from every kingdom. Appoint a general, or lead the army yourself, and purge the cults from each kingdom in turn.”

  The Phoenix King and princes said nothing, perhaps waiting for Imrik to elaborate on his plan. He had nothing else to offer at the moment and stayed silent. Eventually Bel Shanaar stirred, leaning forwards in his throne.

  “An army?” he said, quiet but firm. “That is your solution?”

  Imrik glanced at Thyrinor, but received no assurance from his cousin’s blank expression.

  “The cults are a threat,” said Imrik. “They need to be dealt with. An army may be uncivilised, but it will be effective.”

  “Violence has never been the cure for any ill,” said Bel Shanaar.

  “The orcs and beasts of Elthin Arvan disagree,” said Imrik. “To avoid violence is laudable; to shirk your duty as the defender of Ulthuan is not.”

  “Be careful with your remarks,” snapped Elodhir. “You address the Phoenix King! Do not forget the oaths you swore before the sacred flame of Asuryan. Caledor is yet part of Ulthuan and one of the Phoenix King’s domains.”

  “I remember my oaths,” Imrik said in return, turning his fierce gaze from Elodhir to Bel Shanaar. “Does the Phoenix King? He remembers the darkest days of our people. Harsh times that needed harsh answers. The cults have festered too long.”

  “Such disrespect will not be tolerated,” Elodhir replied, but Imrik ignored him, his attention focussed on the Phoenix King.

  “Silence, my son,” said Bel Shanaar. “Imrik has some cause for complaint, though he chooses not to sweeten his bitter message with softer words. He is right; I swore oaths to defend Ulthuan against all enemies and perils. That this peril is of our own creation does not make it any better than those that assail us from beyond our borders; in many ways, it is far worse.”

  “A show of determination will be enough for many in the cults,” said Athielle. “Their leaders, those that ensnare the desperate and unwary, they need to be dealt with by the full force of justice. Those who follow, those who simply seek some other meaning to their existence or to lose themselves in senselessness, can be shown the error of their ways without punishment.”

  “An army invites resistance,” said Elodhir. “The threat of violence will prompt the cultists to defend themselves.”

  “They have already committed violence,” said Thyriol. The mage’s slender fingers tugged at the sleeves of his robe as he spoke. “Sacrifices have been made, lives taken. There are stories from every kingdom of cults choosing to fight and die rather than subject themselves to the mercy of their prince and his warriors.”

  “And that violence will escalate,” said Bel Shanaar. “The cults are scattered, disorganised and of more spiritual than physical threat.”

  “I disagree,” said Finudel. “They are aided by Nagarythe, of that I am sure.”

  “Sure, but without evidence,” said Bel Shanaar. “You would have me outlaw an entire kingdom based on rumour.”

  “Not rumour,” said Athielle, her temper flaring. “Bodies we have found, of herdmasters slain. Others have disappeared without trace, and the elders of remote towns have been intimidated and murdered.”

  “And the Naggarothi dead from these raids?” said Elodhir. “You have found them?”

  The silence of Athielle and Finudel was the only answer they could offer. Elodhir shook his head and looked at his father.

  “It seems that we have been offered no greater insight into the problem,” said the Phoenix King. “We are no closer to a solution than at this time yesterday.”

  “Action is required,” said Imrik. “It is inaction that has allowed the cults to flourish.”

  “I will make no hasty decision,” said Bel Shanaar. “The situation grows more volatile and I would not risk provoking it without good cause. I will consider your position, Imrik. Please take refreshments and rejoin me this evening.”

  Imrik was about to offer further argument but saw that the others were already bowing and turning away, accepting the Phoenix King’s dismissal. He did the same, choosing not to risk Bel Shanaar’s anger, keeping his sharp words to himself for the moment.

  When they had left the hall, Thyrinor beckoned for Imrik to leave the others and the pair found an unoccupied chamber not far from the audience hall. Murals depicting the Tiranoc coast decorated the walls, moving from placid summer shores to winter storms as the scene subtly changed as one looked around the circular room.

  There were cushioned benches, and side tables laden with fruit, wine and water. Thyrinor picked up a jug and poured golden wine into a crystal goblet, and then remembered to offer the same to Imrik, who declined.

  “I need a clear head,” said Imrik, slumping onto one of the benches. He took an apple from a platter near at hand and bit deeply, savouring the freshness of the fruit. “Bel Shanaar is too cautious. Yet the more I push him, the less I will achieve.”

  “It is for your forcefulness that you were chosen, cousin,” said Thyrinor. He took a mouthful of wine, eyes closed. He opened them after a moment. “This is really rather good wine. Anyway, it is not Bel Shanaar that you need to worry about for the moment. His concern is the reception he will receive from the other delegations. Finudel and Athielle will back you, of that I am sure. Thyriol too, I would think, as he has offered no counter to our plan. You must persuade the others.”

  “How do I do that?” asked Imrik, finishing off the apple. “It seems to me that no kingdom wishes to take responsibility.”

  “Then show them the leadership lacking in Bel Shanaar,” said Thyrinor. “Why not offer to lead the army?”

  “No,” Imrik said immediately. “I have no desire to do that.”

  “Why not? You are a natural
general, and you have the respect of many other princes, if not their friendship.”

  “I cannot lead the warriors of other kingdoms,” replied Imrik. “I cannot trust them.”

  “But you would trust another to lead them?”

  Imrik left the question unanswered. His only concern was the safety of Caledor. That meant ridding the rest of Ulthuan of the pernicious cytharai cults, just as it had meant destroying the greenskins and the forest beasts that threatened the colonies of his kingdom. It was not a role he relished, though it was one he filled with pride. The thought of being answerable directly to Bel Shanaar troubled him; the prospect of working closely with the princes of other kingdoms unsettled him.

  “Will you at least speak with the representatives of the other kingdoms?” said Thyrinor, pouring himself a second glass of wine. “If you gain their backing, Bel Shanaar will have no choice but to support our proposal.”

  “And how do I do that?” said Imrik. “They will see it as Caledor trying to gain more power. They see everything through eyes tinted with envy.”

  With a heavy sigh, Thyrinor put his goblet to one side and crossed his arms.

  “Are you regretting your decision to accept this duty?” he said. “I find your negativity arduous to endure, cousin, and others will feel likewise. You bring them doom instead of offering hope. Give them something to put their trust in. If you are to succeed you must support Bel Shanaar and make the others believe in his ability to lead our people.”

  “A belief I do not have,” said Imrik. “Would you have me lie?”

  “You can be intolerable!” Thyrinor threw up his hands. “Why are you here at all, if you have no belief that we can succeed?”

  “It is my duty,” replied Imrik.

  “Is that all? Do you not fear for the Ulthuan in which your son will grow up?”

  “While Caledor remains strong, he will be untouched by this malaise,” said Imrik. “That is my only concern.”

  “Caledor cannot resist the rest of Ulthuan forever,” said Thyrinor, taking up his wine and drinking swiftly. “The dragons cannot fight against the whispers that scratch at the spirit of our people. The mountains are no bulwark against the insidious nature of melancholy and boredom. If Caledor is to remain free, the rest of Ulthuan must be freed first.”

  “I understand,” said Imrik, confused by his cousin’s misplaced frustration. “I see your point. With the backing of Caledor, the Phoenix King will command the authority he deserves.”

  “So, will you speak with the others?”

  “Yes,” said Imrik, standing. “But not at the same time. I must speak with each delegation in turn. I cannot stand to be dragged into their bickering.”

  “Then I will organise things,” said Thyrinor, finishing his drink. He took a few steps towards the door and stopped. “Please try to be civil to them.”

  For the whole afternoon, Imrik tried as hard as possible to be civil, ignoring the veiled slights directed at Caledor and the innuendo cast upon the delegations of the other kingdoms. He spoke with each group of representatives, outlining the Caledorian plan for a campaign against the cults. Thyrinor did much of the speaking, taking care to emphasise the importance of each kingdom in the grand scheme, ensuring that it was the listeners that believed they would have the most control. By the time Palthrain found the pair in the late afternoon, at least five other kingdoms had indicated their support and promised to make representation to Bel Shanaar; none had yet been willing to declare their support openly.

  As before, Imrik found Bel Shanaar, Elodhir, Thyriol, Finudel and Athielle in the king’s audience chamber. There were a few other elves around, sitting on the great amphitheatre of benches that surrounded the Phoenix Throne. Imrik ignored them and strode up to Bel Shanaar.

  “Have you decided?” said Imrik.

  “You have been busy,” replied Bel Shanaar. “Since our last conversation, I have had constant visitors proposing the idea of an army drawn from all of the kingdoms.”

  “I intend no trickery,” Imrik said quickly, sensing he was being accused of some subterfuge.

  Bel Shanaar smiled, though he did not deign to share the reason for his amusement. He gave Thyriol a nod and the mage held up a rolled parchment.

  “This is the first draft of a declaration,” said Thyriol, handing the scroll to Thyrinor. “It declares the open worship of the cytharai to be illegal and calls upon all elves to renounce the undergods.”

  “That is all?” said Imrik. “What of the army?”

  “One thing at a time,” said Elodhir. “First we must get agreement that action needs to be taken. When that has been secured, we can discuss what form that action will take.”

  “Winter will come swiftly,” said Imrik. “If we do not strike now, it will be next spring before we can move. It will take many days to gather warriors from the whole of Ulthuan. The call must be sent out immediately.”

  “Your presumption is incredible,” said Elodhir. “We will not let you bully the other kingdoms into agreeing with you.”

  “We?” Imrik looked hard at Bel Shanaar. “Only one elf is Phoenix King.”

  “And I speak as prince of Tiranoc also,” said Bel Shanaar. “Mine is a double burden of rulership. Would you have me declare war on my subjects?”

  Imrik heard the noise of others entering, but paid no heed to the newcomers. Anger warred with disappointment in his heart. Before returning to this hall, he had thought progress had been made; in reality very little would be agreed any time soon.

  “Captain Carathril of Lothern, your majesty.” Palthrain’s voice rang down the hall.

  “Thank you, Palthrain,” Bel Shanaar said, still not looking at the arrivals.

  Imrik glanced over his shoulder and saw Palthrain bowing and departing, leaving two elves in armour, wearing the colours of Lothern. Both appeared to be officers, but he did not recognise them from the Eataine delegation. He dismissed them from his thoughts as irrelevant.

  “We cannot show mercy,” said Imrik with a shake of his head. “The people need our strength.”

  “But many of them are victims as much as they are perpetrators,” cautioned Bel Shanaar. “They are brought low by their own terrors, and the priests and priestesses play on their fears and manipulate their woes. I have spoken with some who claim that they did not realise how debased they had become. There is dark magic in this, some more evil purpose that we have not yet seen.”

  “Then we must find their ringleaders and question them,” suggested Elodhir. The prince took a pace towards his father. “We cannot simply allow the cults to spread unchecked. If we should allow that to happen, our armies will be eaten away by this menace, our people consumed by their own desires. No! Though it is perhaps a harsh judgement on some, we must prosecute your rule with firm determination and relentless purpose.”

  Imrik was taken aback by Elodhir’s sudden change of heart. He was not sure what game was being played by Elodhir, and was certain he did not like it. For a moment, he preferred the other prince’s opposition to his support, but then realised this was immature.

  “That is all well and good, Elodhir, but against whom must we prosecute it?” asked Thyriol. As always, Thyriol’s words were quiet and meaningful. As he carefully considered his next words, the mage ran thin fingers through his copper-coloured hair. His deep green eyes fixed on each of his fellows in turn. “We all know its root, yet there is not one of us speaks its name. Nagarythe. There, I have said it and yet the world turns.”

  “Tales and rumour are no basis for policy,” replied Bel Shanaar. “Perhaps our guests bring tidings that will aid our discussions.”

  The Phoenix King and princes looked at the new arrivals, who stood for a moment with their mouths open, surprised to be so quickly drawn into such a discussion. The guard captain, who had been named Carathril by the announcement, cleared his throat and paused for a moment before speaking.

  “I bear ill tidings, your majesty,” Carathril said quietly. “I and my companion
have ridden hither with all haste to bring you the news that Prince Aeltherin of Lothern is dead.”

  The news did not bode well and Imrik scowled. A death amongst the ruling princes was bound to cause even more delays.

  “It is our misfortune that the great prince fell from grace, your majesty,” continued Carathril. “I know not how, but Prince Aeltherin became a member of the pleasure cults. For how long, we do not know. It appears that for some time the prince was in league with the dark priestesses of Atharti, and from his position misdirected our efforts to uncover the plots of the cult. Only a chance happening, a name whispered by a prisoner in her sleep, started us on a sinister path that led to the doors of the prince’s manse itself.”

  “And how is it that Prince Aeltherin does not stand here to defend himself against these accusations?” asked Elodhir. “Why is he not in your custody?”

  “He took his own life, highness,” explained Carathril. “I endeavoured to reason with him, implored the prince to put his case before this court, but he was gripped with a madness and would not consent. I know not what caused him to act in this way, and I would not dare to speculate.”

  “A ruling prince party to these covens of evil?” muttered Thyriol, turning to the Phoenix King. Imrik growled at the thought. Caledrian had hinted at such treachery, but to hear it confirmed was grievous news to the Caledorian. Immediately his thoughts went to the other members of the court and which, if any, could be trusted.