The Incarnates were not alone in the glade. Besides Jerrod, Hammerson and Volker, there were elves of every description, huddled in scattered groups, or standing alone, like Teclis, who watched Nagash like a hawk. Jerrod’s eyes were drawn past Teclis, however, to the pale, radiant figure of the elf woman called Lileath, who stood nearby. It was not the first time he had found his attentions fixed on her. She was beautiful, but it was not her beauty which caught him. Instead, it was the vague, nagging sense that he knew her. That he’d always known her, somehow. Where she had come from, or who she represented, was a mystery. The elves seemed to defer to her, though she was no Incarnate.
‘Stop staring at that elgi witch, lad. She’ll have your soul out of your body like that,’ Hammerson grunted, snapping his fingers for emphasis. Jerrod looked down at the runesmith.
‘You know who she is, then?’
‘Don’t have to. She’s an elf. Only two types of elves, manling… the ones that’ll gut you, and the ones that will steal your soul before they do the gutting.’ Hammerson crossed his arms. ‘Heed me well, you stay away from that one.’
‘Are we allowed to associate with any of them, then?’ Jerrod asked, with as much innocence as he could muster. Volker snorted, stifling a laugh with the mouth of his jug. Hammerson glared first at the other man, and then at Jerrod.
‘This is no laughing matter, manling. We’re in their realm, and make no mistake – we’re not guests. We might not be prisoners either, but that’s only because they’re more worried about him.’ He pointed at Nagash.
Jerrod was about to reply when a hush fell over the glade, stifling each and every murmured conversation. Malekith rose from his throne of tangled roots, stone and metal, and said, ‘Enough.’ The word hung in the air like the snarl of an animal. ‘Our path is obvious. We have the beast caged… Why not simply dispense with him once and for all? Let us scour this abomination from the face of the world, while we have the chance.’
He looked about him, as if seeking support from the other elven Incarnates. Caradryan remained silent, which didn’t surprise Jerrod in the least. The silence of Alarielle and Tyrion, however, did. Only Gelt spoke up.
‘I agree,’ Gelt said. ‘Nagash is as much a danger to us as the Dark Gods themselves, and he will turn on us in a heartbeat, if it suits him.’
‘You’re one to talk, sorcerer,’ Mannfred said. Gelt flinched. The vampire smiled, and made to continue. He fell silent, however, as he glanced at Nagash, who had not moved, and did not seem inclined to do so.
Jerrod tensed, and his hand dropped to his sword. Nagash had said nothing, but Mannfred had obviously heard him nonetheless. The creature seemed disinterested in the debate, as if he were above the petty concerns of the living. Part of Jerrod longed to confront the beast – here was the living embodiment of the corruption which had so devastated his homeland, and he was barred from drawing his sword against it.
Frustrated, he drew his sword partway from its sheath and let it drop back with a rattle. He caught Lileath looking at him, and felt a flush of shame for his loss of control. Her eyes seemed to pull him in, and open him up. It was as if she knew everything about him, and somehow found him wanting. She looked away as the Emperor spoke up, and Jerrod twitched in relief.
‘And if we destroy him, what then?’ Karl Franz said. His voice carried easily through the glade. ‘The foundations of the world crumble beneath us as we argue. We have no time for this. He is here, and his might, joined with ours, might yet win us the world.’
‘Oh, well said, well said,’ Mannfred crowed, clapping briskly.
Teclis spoke up. ‘He is right, Malekith. It was only thanks to Nagash’s theft of the Wind of Death that I was able to imbue you all with the powers you now wield. Though I wish it were otherwise, his presence is as necessary now as it was then. He is the Incarnate of Death, for better or worse. His destruction would serve only to weaken us,’ he said. He looked at Nagash and met the Great Necromancer’s cold, flickering gaze without flinching. ‘And he knows, whether he admits it or not, that treachery will avail him nothing, save that he meets his ending sooner rather than later. Is that not so, O Undying King?’
Nagash said nothing. He merely stared at Teclis. Malekith, however, was in no mood for silence. ‘Oh yes, and you would know all about treachery, wouldn’t you, schemer? More even than myself, I think, and I am no novice in that regard.’ Malekith laughed harshly. ‘I never imagined to find myself here, the lone voice of reason in a world gone mad. The beast must die. This I command.’ He sliced his hand through the air.
‘Are you deaf as well as spiteful?’ Teclis spat. ‘Did you not hear me?’
‘I heard,’ Malekith said. ‘I heard what you didn’t say, as well. We need only the Incarnate of Death, not Nagash. The solution seems obvious to me.’ He looked at Nagash. ‘We slay him, and bind Shyish to another… Someone more trustworthy.’
‘More tractable, you mean,’ the Emperor said.
‘And what if I do? Better a weapon under our control than a maddened beast which might turn on us at any given moment,’ Malekith said. He looked at Teclis. ‘Tear Shyish from him, wizard. We shall bestow it on another, of our choosing.’
‘Aye, that’s the way,’ Hammerson muttered, nodding slowly. Jerrod looked down at the dwarf. Hammerson met his questioning gaze. ‘My folk have grudges aplenty against the liche-lord. The spirits of our ancestors will know peace, once that skull of his is pounded into dust.’ He blinked. ‘Though, come to think of it, Malekith has just as many.’ He frowned and shook his head. ‘Isn’t that always the way? The wolf-rat or the squig, which is worse? Both want to gnaw on your beard, so which do you kill first?’
‘Squig,’ Volker said, absently, as he stared at Nagash.
Hammerson and Jerrod looked at him. Volker shook himself and returned their look. ‘What?’ he asked.
‘Why the squig?’ Hammerson said.
‘Bigger mouth, obviously.’ Volker gestured to his face. ‘Fit more of the – ah – the beard in, as it were.’
Hammerson was silent for a moment. Then his broad face split in a grin. ‘Ha! I do like you, for all that you smell like a wolf den in winter, manling.’ He gave Volker a friendly slap on the arm, almost knocking him from his feet. Jerrod shook his head and turned back to the debate.
Teclis stood between Malekith and Nagash. The elf looked tired. His robes were torn and faded, and his face was white with exhaustion. Jerrod felt a moment of pity – they were all worn down by constant battle, but something in Teclis’s face told him that the elf’s battles had started much, much earlier than their own, and that even here, he found no respite.
‘There is no being in existence capable of containing so much death magic, who would not be as dangerous as Nagash,’ Teclis said. He leaned against his staff. ‘Human, elf or dwarf… it matters not. Shyish would change them, and for the worse, into something other. Also, like calls to like.’ He looked at each of the Incarnates in turn. ‘In each of you, there was something – some kinship – with the wind which chose you as its host. Like calls to like.’ He glanced at Nagash. ‘Nagash is the first, and the greatest necromancer the world has seen. Master of an undying empire, and ruler over the dead.’ He glanced at Malekith. ‘And all because your followers had the bad luck to wash up on the shores of Nehekhara so many centuries ago,’ he added, waspishly.