Not today. Today there would be no intervention to spare Malekith’s foes. He fixed this new Imrik with his dread gaze and lifted Urithain.
Cries of surprise and dismay sounded from the mountainsides as Imrik saluted with his lance and the two dragonriders turned towards Eagle Gate, the lord of Caledor following behind the Witch King of Naggaroth. In their wake came the gold and silver and red and blue scales of Caledorian mounts, but amongst them more ebon-hued beasts raised by the masters of Clar Karond and Karond Kar.
There was already fighting on the walls as Caledorian knights that had been part of the garrison revealed their true loyalty. Even as the dragons descended with claws and deadly breath the great portal of Eagle Gate’s seventh wall was opening.
The druchii roar of glee was almost as thunderous as the cries of the dragons as Malekith’s followers surged into the pass, intent on the doomed fortification.
Eleven
An Alliance of Necessity
‘You have betrayed us all,’ hissed Imrik as Teclis stepped aside to reveal his companion. Even though Malekith’s avatar bore his original unmutilated form, his features were well known to the descendants of Caledor Dragontamer. ‘You invite… that thing into the heart of my city?’
‘Put down your weapon,’ Malekith said calmly. He waved an incorporeal hand through one of the alabaster pillars that held up the domed roof of the private audience chamber. ‘Even your ensorcelled blade will not harm this projection.’
Imrik pivoted, the point of his sword towards Teclis. ‘This traitor is real enough for blood to be drawn.’
‘Did you not receive my gift?’ said Malekith, continuing to approach. ‘I trust my ambassador was convincing in his entreaties.’
‘The dragon eggs?’ Imrik’s sword arm wavered. ‘I could not believe it was by your hand that they were returned.’
‘This must be far harder for you than it is for me,’ Malekith admitted in a conciliatory tone. ‘I know that I have had many conflicts with your ancestors, starting with your namesake, the first Imrik of Caledor, but I have never harboured any hatred for your kingdom or your people.’
‘So easily lies spill from your lips, kinslayer,’ Imrik snarled. His attention moved back to Malekith, allowing Teclis to retreat several steps, content at the moment to allow the two elves to continue without interruption. ‘You waged war upon Caledor as much as any other realm.’
‘I resent the accusation,’ said Malekith, genuinely offended by this claim. ‘Never once did I send my armies into the mountains of the south. My agent, Hotek, was given explicit instructions never to cause direct injury to your forefathers or their realm.’
‘You did not invade because you knew you would lose,’ Imrik said boldly. He sheathed his sword and folded his arms, but Malekith could already sense that the prince’s indignation was now more by habit than deeply felt.
‘I did not invade because I knew I would have to destroy Caledor to achieve victory.’ Malekith’s apparition shrugged. ‘When I gain my rightful place as ruler of our people, the dragonlords will be the vanguard of my army. Only lesser kings would desire peasant woodsmen from Chrace as their personal guard when they could have the dragon princes of Caledor.’
Imrik’s defiance wavered and his gaze slid to Teclis.
‘You have told him of what we discussed before? Concerning the visitation of my ancestor?’
‘I have not,’ said Teclis. ‘I wished Malekith to seek his own bargain with you, and that is why he is here.’
Imrik slumped into his chair, a gauntleted hand held to his forehead for several moments. When he looked up his expression was pained, directed at the mage.
‘There is no other way?’
Malekith answered before Teclis could reply. ‘It takes a great leader to wage war, but it takes a greater leader still to forge peace, Imrik. None should claim to have greater grievance than I. Six thousand years I have borne the weight of my deeds without regret.’ Malekith paused, suddenly aware of the emotion he was feeling. He had intended his words to be a salve to Imrik’s pride but as the Witch King spoke, the truth of his claim choked his speech. ‘Millions have died, but we have the chance to end that now. It is easy to cling to history, to be popular. It is far harder to be right.’
The thought that his heart’s desire, his birthright, was so close to his grasp focused Malekith’s thoughts, but it was with a surprisingly tired sword arm that he hewed his blade through the defenders of Eagle Gate while Seraphon gouged and slashed her way into their ranks.
Tower after tower tumbled under the assaults of the dragons while poisonous gas and dragonfire scoured the ramparts of life. Malekith’s attacks were methodical, machine-like, and as he cut down a Tiranocii captain the Witch King wondered why he did not take more delight in the moment of victory.
He cast his gaze towards the dragon princes, where Imrik led the charge into a regiment of Ellyrians, though his lance seemed bereft of blood for the moment. Was the victory tainted by the Caledorians’ betrayal? Did it somehow rob Malekith of the sense that it had been fought for and earned? Was it the deeper feeling that Imrik’s alliance was driven by something other than loyalty, Malekith’s unease fuelled by an inherent distrust of Teclis who had arranged the pact? Malekith had come too close to allow his future triumph to be built on such shallow foundations.
Or was it something even more fundamental that robbed the Witch King of joy at the very moment he overthrew the bulwark that had kept him at bay for so long? Perhaps a momentary acknowledgement that had he not bided his time a little longer, sought to woo the Caledorians and others more strongly, he might have legitimately succeeded Bel Shanaar?
But this Imrik was not the same as his forefather. He was wrought of softer mettle, though he did not realise it. Caledor the First had never been prideful. Stubborn, taciturn and often ill-mannered, but ambition had never been a weakness to be exploited. The first Imrik had never wanted to rule. Already disenfranchised and distanced by the Phoenix King, ignored by Prince Tyrion, the current Caledorian ruler had been ripe for the turning.
He saw Imrik pause, his dragon alighting on the ruins of a gate tower less than a bowshot away. He was shouting directions to his warriors, calling off the attack as the defenders fled by the thousands along the pass to Ellyrion. Malus’s forces were ill-placed for pursuit either into the mountains or towards Tiranoc, and the Caledorians bore up such knights and warriors of their own realm from the ruins of the gate, carrying them out of the path of the encroaching druchii.
Malekith hacked his way out of a press of defenders caught on a battlement, as content as Imrik to see his fellow elves escape. As much as he had wished them dead before the fortress had fallen, now Malekith viewed them as future subjects. When the Rhana Dandra engulfed the world he would need as many warriors as possible and the spear- and bow-armed militia of Ulthuan would make a fine first wave to absorb the venom of any Chaos attacks.
He directed Seraphon to land alongside the Caledorian prince, pulling tight on her chains before she lunged for the other dragon. Cowed, the black dragon hung her head and lapped at the puddles of blood on the wall.