Scrivener's Contest 2008 entry - Lethalis

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Lethalis
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Location: that place between darkness and light

Scrivener's Contest 2008 entry - Lethalis

#1 Post by Lethalis »

I was sort of planning on trying to get this in the D.net monthly but seeing as they won't have a new issue before Gav's book comes out (if at all, ever...) I'll just try to see what people outside Ruerl and Voodoo think of it. If it appears cramped, well... it is :P



Prophecy - A Different View



”And lo, he shall rule with a dark hand and his shadow shall touch upon every land. Steel will be his skin and fire will be his blood, in hatred will he conquer all before him. No blade forged of Man, Dwarf or Elf shall endure him fear.”

The parade was easily audible from all corners of the city, the indulgence of it well justified to the homecoming of one of the country’s most celebrated heroes in the time of dire need. The melodious music of the hero’s entourage was bolstered by the victory hymns of musicians from far and wide of the Elvish kingdoms to give praise, to lend their skills as their tribute and thanks for the return of this most gracious and skilled individual. Harps, flutes and enchanting Elvish voices complemented the general feeling of triumph in Tor Anroc, the misery of the past would be washed away in a tide of enlightenment and righteousness. Rejoice, oh folks of Tor Anroc, rejoice and fear no more.

Malekith the Fair has returned to you.

***

From the spiralled towers of their palaces, the King and his entourage stood, stood and watched how the Elven hero rode his ceremonial chariot through the city streets, an unforced smile on his face, his hair flowing slowly. The scars of countless battles that seemed to befall all those who travelled abroad to struggle against the minions of the Four, as well as the numberless abominations that fouled the areas around the colonies had not yet found their way unto the Son of Aenarion, a sure sign of unmatched skill with sword, spear and bow. The glittering armour that was the tell-tale sign of so many of Ulthuan’s much feared armed hosts shone all the clearer in the noon sun and marked its wearer out as the enlightened beacon of hope amongst all Elves that had gathered around him.

The prying eyes were watching this figure with great interest. Plans and ideas raced through the scheming mind, plots and possibilities unfolded in his mental visions. A feared enemy, a blessing in disguise, a gamble and a chance. He needed words. He needed words of power and weakness, of reason and idiocy, of truth and illusion. The eyes flickered, a solution. The eyes lit up.

***

The old Elf watched impatiently as the doors opened smoothly, revealing an opulent throne room. The guards bowed as he walked in, then closed the doors and all eyes were fixed. The eyes of many Elves, heads of the noble families and courts in the entirety of Ulthuan and beyond. But Malekith had no mind to pay heed to those, he observed the throne which was his father’s once, the throne he had coveted so, the throne occupied by one elected by all those noble Elves now standing in front of him. He hid his contempt for those who denied him well, bitterly smiling inside as those very same petty princes now needed his aid. Vividly indeed were his memories although the events had been over 1500 years ago. How they mocked the young prince, oh how they dared doubting the one single Elf to which they owed their very existence, their first Phoenix King. Inexperienced as he was, even then the Nagarythe prince knew that their attitudes and their narrow vision would bring unrest on all of Ulthuan. Yet few would listen, less would openly dare to agree even though they knew it was the inevitable truth. For all his desire to engage in releasing the built-up spite, his mother had cautioned him and truly did he recognise the value of wisdom. Thus he would come to the aid of those effete fops in the knowledge they would see refusing the Heir of Nagarythe was a great injustice to him, themselves and all Elves.

“By the grace of Asuryan and the mercy of Isha I greet you Malekith, son of Aenarion, and by the grace of Asuryan and the mercy of Isha do I welcome you into this gathering,” spoke the Phoenix King, “and let not my hope of your guidance may indeed have been misguided by ill tongues and false voices. Let it be known that my court readily accepts you amongst us!” Many a loud praises from all directions entered Malekith’s ears and he smiled with closed eyes, keeping his mind clear and true while his blood boiled in his veins. Swallowing silently he addressed his reply to the Elf on the throne.

“May Asuryan bless you with peace Bel Shanaar, and I thank you for your invitation which I shall most humbly accept. Before we discuss what I was summoned for I would apologise for delaying my presence here for so long – let us hope not too long – for I left to the north before the messenger could reach the King of Dwarfs in an attempt to investigate our foes. I found much knowledge there, but nothing so urgent as the distressing situation I was described by my kin. Tell me now exactly, what has befallen glorious Ulthuan?”

It was now the turn for Bel Shanaar to close his eyes, breathing in deeply. At last he turned his head to all the gathered nobles, ordering all but the council’s best known opponent of the insidious groups who had taken on a wide range of names but were commonly grouped together under the innocuous name of Cult of Pleasure, an experienced noble by the name of Imrik of Caledor. From his grandfather came his natural suspicion of the kingdom of Nagarythe but as the Cult of Pleasure had sprung up all over Ulthuan it was hard to call out accusations.

As the doors elegantly closed, Bel Shanaar remained quiet yet as if he were nervous in his own throne room, almost aware of another presence which was not requested but had lingered, unfelt and unbeknownst by the others. Then at least did he speak to the remaining Elves:

“Anguish has beset Fair Ulthuan, oh Malekith. We are once more a nation under siege, albeit this time the most hated of foes has assaulted from within. From our kingdoms, from our very cities, even from within our harts do they strike at us and allow us not to strike back at them.

The power of Chaos which your father so vehemently battled has once again turned its eye unto us, in a more subtle although by no means less destructive fashion. It is in fact the very absence of war which has made our people so receptive of what they call a new way of life… A new way of praying, a new way of fighting although they do not know it, or care about it. Names of those who should not be named are uttered daily and openly in some places. Sacrifice of kin is commonplace if that means the murderer will enjoy more pleasure, granted by the daemonic entities which sought to destroy us when Aenarion and Caledor Dragontamer,” he nodded to Imrik, “united their strengths to save Ulthuan and only barely succeeded against the might of the Host of Darkness.

We battled this Host before, Malekith. I will not lie to you. The kingdom of Nagarythe, obviously lacking your illustrious leadership, appears to be under the heaviest influence. Without wanting to accuse anyone, for I have little knowledge about the roots, vindictiveness or leadership of this group of traitors to Elvenkind –for it is most certainly sure that that is what they are - I am of the belief that combating them in your lands will drain them of strength, supplies and support and will thus deal a heavy blow upon their heads.

Many years ago, you were first to pledge your allegiance to the Phoenix King, oh Malekith. Now I ask of you that you will repeat this fashion, by means of taking the fight to the worshippers of the Ruinous Powers in our own realms. Dismantle their organisation, imprison or kill their leaders… You have been at war with many enemies, Malekith, and you have excelled in this. Do not mistake my words for something they are not – I am weary of asking you to potentially wage war against your own people, but they have already begun to wage war on us. I plead with you now, stand by us and join our struggle. Together, we are sure to emerge victorious once more.”

“Your words are unfitting for a Phoenix King, Bel Shanaar,” replied Malekith the Fair, “that one of such a stature speaks of his subjects in this manner. Wound me you did, but not as you were afraid of, if you indeed were, for as you recalled well my wish is for a peaceful rule swaying across our mighty island. Those who defy the sacred edicts brought about by my wise father,” Imrik faintly coughed, “are readily my enemies and opponents by their choice and even had I wanted to leave them be I am bound to fight them until they are no more, until their filth washes away with the final waves as the tide wanes and the beaches are cleansed.

You should have no fear, Bel Shanaar. No fear that my father’s laws will go abated, that the peace we have so desperately struggled over shall be lost at the hands of our misguided kin. I promise you, even it takes ten thousand years I promise you I will rid Ulthuan of those who resist me. You said my kingdom was infected, as it were, the worst and the most. Therefore I will travel there now to oversee the situation, make sure no messengers get sent out. I might surprise them yet.”

As soon as he had spoken his words, the Naggarothi prince turned around and in a high pace walked towards the doors. A shout from the voice which had remained silent followed him however, causing him to cease his movement.

“Hastily you speak and hastily you leave, Son of Aenarion. Yet it does occur to me that, in pure Naggarothi fashion some might say, perchance even those who lived under the shadow of Tor Anlec’s rule which did not go some form of suffering for all as stories go, you refuse all help even though there may be others who have investigated upon the matter at hand and gained knowledge more than you would admit them to have acquired. I speak as a messenger of warning to you now, Malekith: you have fought mindless hordes before and lie I cannot, you proved yourself more than worthy against the beasts which this world has seen spawn all across its hurt surface. But your opponent will be your own kind, dare I even guess at the possibility, may Asuryan do all in his power to forbid it, your own kin, and…”

“And I suppose you are going to tell me how I may rule the kingdom that is mine by right better than I do now, or did you have a poorer choice of words in store for me?” Malekith snapped back at the Caledorian grandson. “If I sensed worry in your voice, be it for me or, considering your lineage, the people who lived under the shadow as you so fondly dubbed the realm of my father, then know that I have fought more than slaves to a power with little ability to think. If you are to underestimate the enemies of our people then I will gladly escort you to them so that you may find out how innovative they can be, at your own peril I will add. Imrik, if you feel you can speak from experience how I should run the kingdom which my father created for us, or if you think I will be less wise than my father and you wiser than your grandfather then my interest will be of course sparked. Until then, it might be better if you were to show more prudence in the sounding of your words and watch my actions before judging them.”

The Phoenix King, sensing this display of hostility between his two mightiest warriors, hurried to step in between. With soothing tones he spoke: “Hush now, please. I am aware that this is a tense subject but please do try to remember in this court, we are all each other’s allies.”

Imrik frowned at the haughty Elf who had not been in his throne room for many, many years. Malekith sneered at the impetuous Elf whose grandfather had looked down on hunting and duelling, the very sports this heir of his practiced fondly. With such thoughts on their minds, they parted.

***

“Though it will come to pass that the firstborn son of noble blood shall rise to power.”

The memories were all so clearly etched in his mind. So clear, as if it all had happened but the day before and what he felt then did he feel as much as now when those memories returned to him every single time. The grief, the anger, the humiliation. Coursing through his very veins, how could he ever forget, how could he ever think of forgetting. He was not able to. He clenched his fist, feeling adrenaline pumping through his now ancient body and bloody visions clouded his mind. Battles fought in a distant past. Oaths taken and broken, betrayal. Death.

Death all around him, Elf and Beast. He lamented few. What cause did he have to mourn those who made an attempt at his life. Who were they that they even tried. It mattered not, they were dead now. And Elves who served him, were they not ready to die? By now they should be, he had fought cowardice more than anything else he had faced. And as their lord, he was fully in his right to command them to their deaths. The other princes… they committed folly when they denied his right to rule and command them, the right paid for with so much bloodshed and even the ultimate price by his father, and yet they denied him time and again. Were they such cowards themselves? Little credible did it sound, that leaders of Elves were befitted with such attitude and yet they did little to stop their enemy even as it gathered in their midst.

Would it be possible? No, that was a stupid question to ask, he knew the answer. He had seen it in their eyes and words.

As it gathered in their midst.

How possible could it be, would it be? His mind raced, his forehead sweating, his eyes looking for invisible answers.

As it gathered in their midst.

As it gathered. In their midst.

***

With a fell blow the large sword slid through flesh, tissue and bone. Blood fountained for a little while, even after the limp body slumped, the knees giving way to dead weight. The spectators watched quietly as the remains were burned at the square so that merely the ashes of this evil person may once stain the surface of Ulthuan, but not their rituals and murder. Never again.

Years had passed since Malekith the Fair had started to focus his energy on the strife within his lands. Executions had become rather commonplace as more Cultists were revealed by Nagarythe’s soldiers and all inhabitants of the city or village or farmstead, where ever they might be discovered, were rounded up to watch the event. Children or elderly, male or female, Malekith cared not. The weak would die so that the strong prevailed.

The Naggarothi Prince walked away from the scene, his staged show was over for the moment and there were enemies at large yet, hiding from his wrath and plotting petty plans. Had he not been schooled by his mother, he may have revealed a smile as he pondered their ideas, their baseless, fruitless, worthless inventions to achieve success against one such as him. Had he not heralded the turning point in this war those liars had so foolishly sought themselves? Malekith shrugged it off him, such rhetorical questions had become a simple waste of time, a source of amusement if nothing else. He should have more important issues on his mind: he planned to ask for permission to expand the war throughout Ulthuan, assailing this Cult from every direction. Chaos would find no safe haven.

A scream caught the attention of him and his guards, causing the Heir to turn his head. A knife flashed past, letting blood escape from the cut it had made in his ear, smashing into a guard’s armour moments later. The assailant was probably a younger Elf, Malekith thought, to be so inexperienced in the arts of killing. Drawing another knife, the would-be assassin made ready his final stand, revealing the Mark of Slaanesh on his chest. The Heir cared not. Before his soldiers could disarm the masked Elf Malekith spoke but a single word of power, pointing in his opponent’s direction. Pain followed instantly, the knife fell harmlessly on the floor, the paralysis preventing the victim from but even voicing his agony.

Calling upon his soldiers to stand down, he slowly marched to the frozen Elf, not smiling, not angered. His ancient face would betray no emotion to such weaklings, he did not permit it. He reached out his armour arm and grasped the young Elf’s neck, tightening his grip as slowly as he could and pulling his ear to his mouth. But a whisper emerged, though the trapped youngling heard and understood the chilling voice well.

“You will say but one word, a name. If it is not the one I need, you will suffer much, much longer than I would necessarily allow.”

His stomach crawled, but it pushed out enough air to let a single word escape his lips. Malekith dropped him less gently than was courteous and rushed over to his guard’s captain.

“Apparently this fool wanted me not to hear that well,” pointing to his ear, “let the prison guards know that. Let them be creative. Also, arrange it so that I may travel to my palace in Tor Anlec immediately. Do not notify her but I wish to have a meeting with my beloved mother.”

He drew his sword, and judged it battle worthy. He could not help but smile now.

***

“The child will be learned in the darkest arts and he will raise an army of terrible beasts. Thus will the Dark King fall, slain by neither blade nor arrow but by a sorcerous power of darkest magic and so shall his body be consumed in the flames and for all eternity burn.”

The King turned to his most competent general. “Are you sure this is absolutely necessary? Visiting this room is a hazardous task after all, foreknowledge of what is to come has been proven to be very weighing on the minds who see in here. Now our war has gone the right way I… we cannot afford to lose the grand architects of this battle.” His face displayed a most certain genuine sign of doubt as he realised the perils that waited beyond the doors. “I know that I fulfilled your request of demanding the presence of all High Princes but from the reports you gave me you did verily give me the impression you had enough condemning evidence to strike the most fell blow against the Cult.”

Malekith did not answer.

The doors opened on Bel Shanaar’s command and together they entered the marvellous room. Yet short of their objective, Bel Shanaar stopped walking, whispering in the darkness as Malekith strode forth, to the Stone of Destiny. The fiery letters shone bright on the dark stone in the otherwise barely lit room and Malekith read intently, with a focus that only Elves of all creatures were in possession of, transfixed on what was written to come to pass. He stood there, rooted to the spot, as if he was a stone that had risen from the ground himself and had been there for centuries.

“And what does the Stone say about the future of Elves, about the battle against Chaos, about… me?” The King spoke, all hesitance removed from his voice and each word uttered with flair. The fire of the few candles flickered as an invisible wind flowed through the room, soft, inhuman voices whispering calls to names which should have remained forgotten.

Malekith replied not.

“I knew of your distrust of me, I knew you would come in here alone. Unguarded. Eager to redeem yourself and your father.

And owe other Elves no part in your revenge of what wrongs have been done.

Your mind is twisted, your hatred depraved, Malekith. Borne upon the thrones of the Four I would lead our people into a glorious future. My vision is clear by virtue of love for our own, your vision clouded by the vice of hatred.” Bel Shanaar spat out the last words, utter contempt in his voice.

“You may think me misguided perhaps, but I have studied under your mother, with your mother, who saw it fit to serve my needs,” he grinned. “I cannot help but wonder how you felt when she told you this when you arrested her. Yet I linger, and must move on with my offer. Yes, I have an offer for you Malekith. We both know it is power you are after. I know someone who will give it to you. All that is requested on your part is to join sides with the winner.

Most of Ulthuan has already fallen under influence of the Dark Prince. You know this to be true. As much as you exceeded my expectations it is obvious now that I have the upper hand. I could slay you with a word but it will be so much more pleasurable to have you join us and utterly crush the truly misguided ones. The Stone you are reading must certainly tell you which option would be the most wise, my friend.”

A steady aura of raw magic formed around the Phoenix King Bel Shanaar as if to emphasise his words. At last the Heir slowly turned around.

“You haven’t been here before.”

Bel Shanaar’s reply was equally short and swift. “Why would I.”

“Fool. Come take my place before you attack me so you can read the words yourself. They speak of you… and how you will be not the rescue but the downfall of our people. Asuryan’s wrath for your betrayal shall be horrendous.”

Malekith stepped aside and slowly walked away, leaving the path for his King.

Bel Shanaar stepped forward quickly, letting his eyes roam past the burning texts that spoke the future. It seemed that for each word he read, a drop of sweat appeared – for each sentence that shone upon his face, more doubt entered his mind. Had he… had he really strayed so far? He had so much to think about and yet his mind was so empty…

A whisper.

Bel Shanaar’s stomach spun. His face was pale, his body shivering. Malekith’s crown would protect him against his sorcery, it was written. His beloved Elvenkind would be doomed by his actions, it was written. Malekith would not spare him…

His hands went down, as if defeated. But before Malekith could prevent him he grabbed a tiny bottle from his robes and gulped down its contents. The Heir just stood there, watching his former King grin one last time, though arrogance had made place for doubt. Shaking his head, the Elf walked away from the scene. He would meet the Princes and finally accept his crown.

He walked all the way to the throne room, and closed the doors.

Nothing.

Then, shouts. The sound of accusations being made, swords being drawn, blood being spilt.

Nothing.

Then…

A fiery scream.

Knowing his spells on the Flames had done their work, Bel Shanaar, the second Phoenix King, passed away. Long may he be cursed by we who follow the True Way.
[size=184]السلام عليكم[/size]
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