Magician’s End (47 page)

The elves did not have gods in the human sense, though they venerated Killian, the human goddess of nature, but the elf-queen understood that he was speaking of fate. ‘You are my heart,’ she whispered.

‘And you mine,’ he said. He rose and went to the wardrobe which had been carved into the bole of the massive tree in which the royal apartment was situated. He opened the curtain and there waiting was his armour of white and gold.

Minutes later, he was dressed in battle armour he had not donned since flying down to greet the taredhel, and hadn’t worn in combat for what seemed ages. As fierce a warrior as existed on this world, Tomas was by nature a man of peace who enjoyed nothing more than the small, quiet moments he spent with his wife, his son and his friends in Elvandar.

He turned and saw that Aglaranna had removed her sleeping gown, and was now wearing one of the simpler robes she preferred when not at court. He smiled. ‘That shade of green is my favourite on you.’

‘I know,’ she said.

Ages of life and loss, wisdom beyond that of mortals, experiences few could imagine: the queen was wise beyond all but a very few in the world. She held herself poised and showed nothing of the pain she was feeling, but he was her husband and could read the small signs. All life ends, they knew, and loss was inevitable, but now was the moment of parting, and this perhaps was the last parting.

‘If I can, I will return,’ he whispered as he gathered her into his arms, kissing her head lightly.

She rose up on her toes and kissed him on the mouth, holding him close as if unwilling to let him leave. They lingered long in this embrace, parting at the same moment, knowing it was time.

Aglaranna led him out of their apartment and found Calin and the most senior members of the council waiting there. Janil said, ‘I felt it too, Tomas. The dragons are crying out.’

Calin added, ‘And I bring word of the moredhel.’

Tomas looked at his wife’s eldest son. ‘What of the moredhel?’

‘Liallan sent us word that the Snow Leopards and their allies are moving to E’bar to aid the taredhel and will pass within our traditional boundaries. They are entering the woodlands to the north-east now.’

Tomas nodded. The woods around Elvandar were considered part of the eledhel’s territory and for any moredhel to enter would be considered a hostile act at any other time. ‘What is their disposition?’ he asked.

‘As they promised, riding with weapons sheathed and on a direct route to the south. They make no threatening moves or gestures.’

Queen Aglaranna spoke softly. ‘So many things to wish for, born out of greater threat: that the dark elves enter our woodlands without violent intent, that we allow them safe passage, and no blood spilled.’ She looked up at Tomas and said, ‘I fear for us all.’

‘I will do all that I must, to the end, to ensure that you are safe,’ said Tomas.

Janil said, ‘I would speak with Cetswaya.’

‘You have no need to ask permission,’ said the queen.

‘I will send an escort,’ said Calin. ‘But you need to move quickly, for they will be across the river before you can reach them on foot.’

‘There will be no need,’ said Aglaranna. She turned and raised her voice. ‘Belegroch! Belegroch! Attend us.’ She turned back to Calin. ‘They will bear you willingly, for I know you will go with Janil.’

‘Mother,’ he said, bowing. Turning to Tomas, he said, ‘If this be farewell, I can only say how honoured I have been to know you.’

‘Let us hope it is not farewell,’ said Tomas. He gripped Calin’s hand. ‘You bear my love, Calin, as you bear my son’s.’ They embraced briefly, then Tomas said, ‘We must all depart.’

‘Will you summon a dragon?’ asked the queen.

‘None will answer,’ said Janil. ‘They are singing and crying, and foretelling the end of time as we know it.’

‘I have no need,’ said Tomas. He raised his arms and took to the sky using his own magic. ‘Farewell all of you!’ he cried.

Arching high above the canopy of trees, he looked to the north-east, and in the distance could see the might of the northlands – Liallan’s Snow Leopards and their allies, followed by other clans, moving across lands traditionally claimed by the eledhel. He felt the wind blowing in his face and for a moment rejoiced in his own power.

The Valheru had always been creatures of incredible might. Their name in the ancient tongue meant ‘Lord of Power’, and many arts were theirs at whim. Flying on the backs of mighty dragons was both a vanity and a useful practicality; for while the Valheru were capable of many feats, the dragons possessed one skill no Dragon Lord could duplicate: they could navigate the void.

Tomas extended his sense and felt instantly that all the dragons were gathering in an isolated region to the south-west of the Empire of Great Kesh, called Dragon’s Eyre, where a ring of mountains, called the Watchmen by those who lived nearby, surrounded the Great Lake.

Tomas sped south and turned in the direction of E’bar, the better to judge what was occurring there on his way to find the dragons. The gold-and-white figure sped across the sky high above the trees of the place he loved most in the world, the place he might never see again.

The tiger-men prostrated themselves as their master emerged at last from the throne room in the heart of the Great South Forest. More than a century past, another Ancient One had passed this way with a black-robed human, but this was the first time in countless ages their master had been among them.

Draken-Korin, Lord of Tigers, emerged from his palace which was now covered in millennia of dirt, lianas, ferns and shrubs. His body had once belonged to a human named Braden – a mercenary, bandit, smuggler, and murderer. Memories of that mortal life lingered, but to his soul he was the remaining Dragon Rider who had dared to take to the skies and confront the new gods.

But there was another of his kind out there somewhere, and he sensed him. It was a presence as familiar to him as any of his kindred: Ashen-Shugar, Ruler of the Eagle’s Reaches, his Father-Brother and mortal enemy.

Much of the time during which Draken-Korin had lingered deep within the hall below the surface of this world had been devoted to the mere act of survival, as ancient magic possessed the mortal body, healing wounds that would otherwise prove lethal, and integrating ancient powers and knowledge.

Memories that were oddly distant also came to him, memories of a time when the sky tore open and he descended into a dark chamber wherein resided a glowing green gem of impossible power. The Lifestone. He remembered …

The gods had been too powerful and the Valheru had served only to turn them one against the other, or else they would have perished. They had thought themselves so clever, giving up all their life essences to the Lifestone, that engine of power that was to have propelled them to godhood, holding back only a tiny part to maintain their corporeal bodies during the last battle of the Chaos Wars.

Instead, Draken-Korin had found himself facing his most feared rival: his own father, Ashen-Shugar.

Fleeing the conflict within the void, Draken-Korin had been no match for Ashen-Shugar and his last memories were of lying broken on the hard soil of this world, his father standing over him.

Draken-Korin had looked up at his attacker and whispered, ‘Why?

Pointing with his golden sword at the chaos seen through the massive tear in the sky, Ashen-Shugar said, ‘This obscenity should never have been allowed. You bring an end to all we knew.’

Draken-Korin looked skyward to where his brethren battled the gods. ‘They were so strong. We could never have dreamed …’ His face revealed his terror and hate as Ashen-Shugar raised his golden blade to end it. ‘But I had the right!’ he screamed.

Ashen-Shugar severed Draken-Korin’s head from his shoulders, and suddenly all was darkness.

Now, Draken-Korin took a deep breath, for the memories were painful. Primal rage and bitterness rose up within him, but in his mind there was another voice that found his feelings repellent. A low intelligence, a weak soul, yet still Braden abided, a voice of flawed humanity.

Draken-Korin looked at the prostrating tiger-men and said, ‘Rise.’

They did so. He motioned for their leader – Tuan, as every leader of these people was named. ‘I must depart.’

‘Will you return, Ancient One?’

In a gesture never seen before in the history of the tiger-men, Draken-Korin put his hand on Tuan’s shoulder, and smiled. ‘Probably not.’

‘What shall we do?’ asked Tuan.

‘As you did after I last departed, and before I returned. Live.’

Draken-Korin closed his eyes and heard dragon song in his mind, punctuated by screams and cries. He remembered …

Their haven had been turned into a trap. Below the deepest dungeon in the city of Sethanon lay a chamber constructed by the Valheru before the coming of man to Midkemia.

Odd voices had whispered to Draken-Korin and he had felt power surge through him such as he had never possessed before.

The Lifestone.

And when the skies tore and madness engulfed the universe, the Valheru had battled the new gods, realms far apart in nature crashing together in violent upheaval. Barriers had tumbled and re-established themselves by the moment, dividing the Dragon Host and weakening their resolve.

Draken-Korin had known fear. Dreams of conquest, ascension to godhood fled before the spectre of complete annihilation. This was more than two Valheru in a contest for power and territory in which one would fall and the other emerge victorious: this meant the total obliteration of the race.

Gods of majestic visage and incredible power had picked up flaming stars and hurled them. Thousands of angels and demons had risen in furious conflict, and time itself became a weapon.

Draken-Korin commanded his dragon to flee and the terrified mount had wheeled, and the heavens spun as the Dragon Host’s combined might attempted to tear open a wound in the sky above Midkemia, so that they might slip away from this conflict.

‘Foolish,’ said a voice.

Screaming worlds died behind him as Draken-Korin had shouted, ‘Who speaks?’ He had looked behind and seen a presence, a massive black shape, following him. It was a thing of hopelessness and anger, and it had reached for him as if to pull him back, to drag him into a pit from which even light could not escape.

‘Home!’ commanded Draken-Korin and the universe had shattered.

Macros said, ‘When we were in the chamber below Sethanon, holding back the rift that was forming, and Draken-Korin slipped through, a Dreadlord followed.’

‘Yes?’ Pug nodded, curious as to why Macros was reminding him of events he had lived through.

‘In the aftermath of that conflict, did you ever wonder why they came together?’

‘Many times,’ said Pug, ‘and in discussions with Tomas afterwards, and with a few others who understand the lore of the Valheru, and the even fewer who know something of the Dread, I still came to no conclusion.’

‘Then it is time for you to see the truth of that moment.’

They stood in a featureless realm of white light which seemed to come from every direction. They felt as if they were standing on a solid floor, but looking down, all they saw was white. ‘Where are we?’ asked Nakor.

‘In the middle of a metaphor,’ said Macros. ‘I’m creating this to illustrate something impossible to show you.’

He waved his hand and a spinning ball appeared to hang in the air before them at chest height. ‘This is … everything.’

Pug whispered, ‘You said “size and distance have no meaning”.’

‘Yes,’ said Macros with a smile. ‘You remember.’

‘How could I forget?’

‘Pug, Tomas, Ryath the dragon, and I witnessed this,’ said Macros.

‘What?’ asked Miranda, peering at the orb.

‘It’s featureless,’ said Macros, and he also leaned close to inspect it. ‘It seems to have shape and substance, but yet reflects no light. This is a metaphor for what really happened, and it’s my creation. I haven’t the means to take you back to the Garden at the time we witnessed what I’m about to show you. More, I’m controlling this so I can manipulate a few things so you may understand better what it is you need to know, about the Dread and the coming battle.’

He moved his hand and the sphere moved as well, rising to eye level. All around them the light faded until they were floating in darkness, with a single light around the sphere illuminating their faces. ‘Behold,’ Macros said quietly.

In an instant the sphere vanished and a light erupted and filled every point of view with blinding brilliance so that they all had to avert their gaze. With the light came a surge of feeling, an almost overwhelming sense of completion and perfection, that left them weeping for joy. Then the light was gone, shattered into billions of tiny lights, and on every side around them were stars, masses of stars, speeding away.

Macros cried, ‘Hold!’ and all motion halted.

Moving through the void, he walked in a circle around a solitary point where the sphere had been. ‘Can you see this?’ he asked.

They saw a flicker in the dark, a swirling mass. ‘It’s … something,’ said Nakor, ‘but I can’t make out any features.’

‘Here,’ said Macros, and a blazing light shone down from above and brought the tiny mote into view. It was a thing of utter darkness, and no matter the bright light hitting it, nothing was reflected back. Rather, it was seen because of its lack of features, a negative presence amidst all the glory of stars all around it. It was given definition only by where the light could not be seen, where the stars behind it were rendered invisible.

‘What is it?’ whispered Miranda, the alien nature of the object prompting a mood of trepidation in her.

Nakor said, ‘I think it’s the Dread.’

Macros said, ‘There was at the beginning … everything. Matter, energy, space, time, all were one thing. That was the sphere you saw.’

‘It was massive when we saw it in the Garden,’ said Pug.

‘Perspective,’ answered Miranda.

‘Now you are beginning to understand the lessons,’ said Macros. ‘Watch,’ he said. He moved his hands and the dark speck expanded till its irregular surface was finally revealed in detail, reflecting so very faintly the distant stars, offering an impression of movement, of change, something that looked almost like writing.