After Hellebron came two more from the blood cults: Tullaris, most infamous of the Executioners, and Satikha, Handmaiden of Shards, priestess of Eldrazor the god of blades. They each offered obeisance to what seemed to them the image of Malekith on his throne.
The last empty chair became the next subject of attention, until Lord Saesius of Karond Kar informed everybody that his sister had been slain during a northlander ambush en route to the capital.
‘So now we must await the pleasure of our august majesty, as usual?’ said Darkblade, sitting down. ‘I wonder how long it will be before he graces us with his presence.’
Unseen by the Tyrant of Hag Graef, the Black Guard standing behind him took a pace closer, hands shifting grip on her halberd.
Malekith allowed his essence to burst forth, opening eyes like two pits of fire. Darkblade visibly flinched, hands grabbing the arms of his chair.
‘Not long, my good friend Malus,’ said Malekith, standing up to his full height, glaring down at the assembled council. ‘Not long at all.’
Nine
A Salutary Example
To his credit, Darkblade calmed his squirming and offered no defence or apology. Malekith regarded the master of Hag Graef carefully, seeing something writhing in the dreadlord’s heart, some daemonic power granted by illegal rite the Witch King suspected. There were whispers that the title Daemon’s Bane was not mere affectation but also not entirely truthful.
Malekith looked away, assuring himself that Malus would receive his justified fate soon enough. Malekith’s gaze swept over the others and finished upon Hellebron, who was staring with suspicion at Drusala, eyes narrowed like a cat’s.
‘Welcome back to Naggarond, chosen bride of Khaine,’ Malekith said slowly, extending a hand of greeting to the leader of the Khainites. ‘I offer my regrets that your temples have been so despoiled and your city ravaged.’
‘Had your bitch mother played her part we would have seen the human cattle slaughtered at the walls.’ Hellebron shuddered with excitement, eyes closing fully for a moment. She composed herself. ‘No matter. The temples of Khaine have been anointed in battle. It is a dedication, not a desecration.’
Malekith accepted this with a nod and took a moment, one hand upon the hilt of his sword.
‘Lord Vyrath Sor shall not be joining us,’ Malekith’s voice echoed across the chamber. ‘He was slow to answer my summons and only arrived this morning. I reminded him of his obligations to the Circlet of Iron. The harpies should carry what’s left of him back to his tower by sunset. It would pain me if the garrison of Nagrar were to think their master had fallen victim to some lesser fate.’
To emphasise his story, Malekith tossed an object onto the obsidian table. The gold chain clattered as it came to rest. Though caked in blood and shreds of flesh, there was no mistaking the sigil that had represented Vyrath Sor etched onto the chain’s clasp.
Malekith stalked about the periphery of the chamber, drifting between the shadows like some prowling tiger. ‘Do not mourn Vyrath Sor,’ the king advised with mock sympathy. ‘He decreed his own doom when he placed the defence of his miserable outpost before his duty to his master. The same doom any one of you might have earned by defying me.’
‘Nagrar is lost, then?’ the question was uttered by Venil Chillblade.
The Witch King made a deprecating wave of his hand.
‘An inconsequence,’ he declared. ‘The garrison will fight to the last because they have no choice. They will die as druchii should, shedding their blood on behalf of their king. When the tower falls, the advance of the barbarians will falter. They will be some time plundering their conquest and slaughtering such captives as they take. It will take their warlords still more time to gather their animals back into a fighting horde.’
‘But they will continue their advance, your highness?’ The hesitant voice of Thar Draigoth, the great flesh-merchant, sounded more like a rodent’s squeak than the words of Naggaroth’s most infamous slaver. Like Venil, he had extensive holdings in Karond Kar. After seeing his interests in Clar Karond massacred by the triumphant invaders, he was doubly worried about protecting the rest of his property.
Malekith came around behind Lady Khyra’s seat, one of his iron claws reaching down to stroke the shoulder to which her false arm was attached. The king glanced along the table, sweeping his gaze across each of his dreadlords.
‘The Rhana Dandra is coming,’ he announced. ‘The End Times are upon us and the moment for action is nigh. You have all felt it, I am sure, and we have certainly all witnessed it as daemons and northlanders bayed at the gates of our cities. Ulthuan stands on a precipice. Usurpers and faint-hearts defend our ancient isle against a foe they cannot defeat. If our people – all of our people – are to survive the coming onslaught they will need strong leaders. Leaders only Naggaroth can provide.’
‘The weakness of our cousins shall finally be their downfall,’ said Lady Khyra. ‘As soon as our city’s defences have been repaired, we shall assemble the fleets and await your command.’
‘Karond Kar suffered also,’ added the dreadlord Eillhin, eyes flicking towards his rivals, ‘but you can count upon our ships and warriors no less than any other city.’
‘Once the northlanders have been driven back, all of Naggaroth will heed the call to arms,’ said the male watch commander, whose name Malekith had not bothered to learn.
‘You misunderstand my intent,’ the Witch King told them, stilling their enthusiasm. ‘The End Times are coming. The Realm of Chaos seeks to devour the world and the Chaos Wastes expand. The northlanders will pillage everything that has not been warped by the storm of magic descending upon us, and will squat in our fallen towers where they will be preyed upon by daemons sent by the masters they seek to serve.’
He stepped down from the throne dais and paced along the hall. All eyes followed him until he stopped upon the seal of Aenarion set in gold and malachite in the floor. The sigil began to writhe, infused with the heat from Malekith’s tread, seeming to come to life to light the Witch King with an auric glow.
‘This blasted wilderness has never been our home. It was a refuge, nothing more, and it has become an anchor to our ambitions. It is time to cast free ourselves from its cold burden, and direct our fullest intention to the only home we have ever desired.’
‘The defences of Ulthuan are considerable, even if our cousins are busy fighting daemons,’ Ezresor said carefully. ‘Lines of supply and retreat…’
‘There will be no retreat.’ Malekith’s words echoed along the hall like tomb-slabs of mausoleums closing on the council. ‘Naggaroth will die and any that remain or try to return will die also. Do not mistake necessity for vanity. We must reclaim Ulthuan or perish in the Rhana Dandra. Put all other thoughts from your minds. There is no failure on this expedition, only death or victory.’
This announcement was greeted with outbursts of disbelief and horror. The Black Guards stood ready and Kouran’s eyes were fixed on Malekith waiting for the simplest of signals, but Malekith gave no indication of his displeasure. The Witch King saw his captain cast his gaze about the room, no doubt noting who protested the most, or did not, either perhaps a sign of a deeper plotting. Kouran turned his halberd in his hands, unnoticed by the others, until the blade pointed towards Ezresor, who was sneering and shaking his head at the posturing nobles.
Malekith would have killed any for such dissent only a year earlier, but his resources were dwindling rapidly and he needed these leaders of druchii society to support him. He allowed protests and veiled threats to wash over him, salving his pride with the knowledge that despite their haranguing every elf present would do exactly as Malekith commanded. Voicing a difference of opinion was one matter, openly disobeying the Witch King’s orders another.