NONE SO BLIND
by Nathan Long


IT HAD BEEN a great and terrible day. Great because Alith Anar stood once again on the shores of Naggaroth, his destined home, the true home of his people, the land that was, by right, his to rule, and his blood sang with the joy of it. Great because the handful of Asur and Nagarythe that had landed on the rocky beach below the Blood Cliffs - the first fighting force to reach the Witch King's domain since the beginning of the long war - had this morning won an almost impossible victory against a force four times their size. Terrible because the victory had come at a dreadful cost. Terrible because it seemed that, having come so far, they might, with their target not more than a few hours' march away, sail home again with nothing accomplished.
Alith Anar stood in the brazier-lit interior of Eltharion's tent listening to the great Swordmaster's stifled moans as an assassin's poison tore at his insides. Eltharion's blind eyes were hidden, as always, by a tied red scarf, but pain showed in every line of his face.
Belannaer, the venerable Loremaster of Hoeth, one of the greatest sorcerers of Ulthuan, knelt over the fallen hero, whispering spells of strength and healing, as elf field surgeons practised more mundane remedies.
Alith Anar knew that he and Eltharion should be grateful to Belannaer, for without his timely arrival with two companies of Lothern Sea Guard at his back, the day could have gone very differently indeed. But he could muster no love for the Loremaster, for it was he who was urging retreat when their dagger was but an inch from Malekith's throat.
'I beg you, Eltharion,' said Belannaer as he finished his incantation, 'return to Ulthuan. You are too stricken to continue.'
'Then say your spells again,' rasped Eltharion, 'for I will not leave here without facing Malekith, no matter what my strength.'
'Even knowing you cannot hope to prevail?'
'If you would aid me instead of badgering me, I might yet do so.'
Belannaer sighed and stood, looking down at the elf who had once been his student. 'I chased you from Ulthuan to dissuade you from this folly, not to aid you in it. It is too great a risk: the odds too slim, the cost too high. Already you have pushed your luck beyond reason. It amazes me that you have won this far.'
It amazed Alith Anar too, truth be told. The venture had had the whiff of noble folly about it from the beginning, when Eltharion, refused ships and support by the Phoenix King, had come to ruined Anlec and knelt before the shattered throne of Nagarythe, asking like the humblest supplicant for Alith Anar's help to strike at Malekith in the heart of his land.
Eltharion had not knelt in vain. Malekith's death was Alith Anar's most treasured dream. With Malekith dead, Naggaroth would shatter into warring shards as the Witch King's generals slaughtered each other for the chance to sit on the barbed throne. How easy then for the true king of Naggaroth to sweep them away with his army of avenging shadows and take his rightful place on the throne. At long last would the war between Ulthuan and Naggaroth be ended, and the two families of the Asur reunited. At long last the vagabond sons of Nagarythe would be able to call some place home, and Alith Anar could allow himself to rest.
With these visions glittering before his eyes, Alith Anar had granted Eltharion's every boon: a company of Shadow Warriors to act as scouts for Eltharion's Swordmasters, a ship to carry them, and Alith Anar himself to guide them to the Witch King's doorstep.
They had sailed just before mid-summer. Alith Anar, who had slipped in and out of Naggaroth almost half as many times as the stories said he had, led them the long way around Karond Nar and through the Witch's Knives, a route he had used without detection many times before. From there they had quickly crossed the Sea of Chill, so as to avoid the druchii's shipping lanes, then hugged the east and south coasts of the Sea of Malice all the way to the Blood Cliffs, less than two days' march from Naggarond.
The first boats had grounded on the shore of the hidden cove a few hours after a moonless midnight, and within an hour all had disembarked: a hundred Hoeth Swordmasters in shining ithilmar mail, a hundred grey-cloaked Nagarythe skirmishers in cloaks like shadows. They had broken their fast on the beach, and then started single file up the narrow, winding path that scaled the sandy cliffs.
A red dawn had been bleeding over the jagged peaks of the distant Iron Mountains when the last Swordmasters topped the cliff and took their places in the order of march. But there would be no marching, for though Alith Anar could have sworn that never in their journey had they been close enough to any druchii settlement to be observed, glinting spear tips and martial banners had emerged from the blood tinged morning mist, and hovering above them like a piece of night that refused to cede to the dawn, an enormous black dragon and its rider - Malekith.
It was the strangest battle of Alith Anar's life, for, on both sides, the threat most feared fought the least, while the most hidden threat did the most to turn the tide. On the druchii side, Malekith's dragon, which could have won the battle with one strafing breath, never attacked, only circled above, leaving Eltharion to call in vain for the Witch King to dismount and face him. On the high elves' side, Eltharion slew not one druchii. Although the grim-visaged Har Ganeth Executioners closed with Eltharion's Swordmasters, they gave the blind champion a wide berth. While all around him Swordmasters and Shadow Warriors fought Malekith's Dark Riders and his spear companies, Eltharion stood stymied in an open circle with no one to fight.
Then Eltharion fell.
Looking up from killing a Naggarond spear captain, Alith Anar saw the Swordmaster collapsing before a black-clad druchii. Anar roared and charged as the druchii raised his curved blade for the kill, then cut him down as he turned to defend himself. A dagger fell from the assassin's hand. It was crusted with black venom.
Things looked grim. Eltharion's collapse heartened the dark elves, and they redoubled their attack, pushing the raiders back to the cliff, but just as it seemed the high elves would be driven over the edge, up the winding path from the beach charged Belannaer and two hundred Lothern Sea Guards, trumpets blaring and blue and white uniforms blazing in the sun.
It was the strangest moment of a strange day, for it was impossible that the Sea Guard were there. It had taken nearly two weeks for Alith Anar's ship to travel from Ulthuan. Any ship following them would have been seen days ago, and Anar's sailors had seen nothing. Yet here they were.
The Sea Guard punched into the flank of the druchii spears and routed them, then closed with the Executioners. Malekith had had enough. The retreat was sounded and the druchii fell back. Anar shouted to his Shadows to chase them down, but the Sea Guards' trumpet called ''hold ground'' and the charge faltered, allowing the druchii to withdraw. It was then that Alith Anar's relief at Belannaer's timely rescue turned to anger at his untimely interference.
It was sunset, and his anger had not subsided. It seemed Belannaer had chased them all the way from Ulthuan just to wag his finger at Eltharion!
'You have forgotten the most basic lessons of the Swordmasters art,' Belannaer was saying. His voice quavered with exhaustion, for the explanation for the miraculous appearance of the Sea Guard was that the Loremaster had used his magic to hide the ship from mortal eyes. He had been chanting a spell of concealment unceasingly since their ship entered the Sea of Chill, and it had enervated him. 'A blow struck in anger as often strikes the attacker. You come here seeking vengeance, not tactical advantage, and you are nearly killed for it.'
'Do you say killing Malekith would not give Ulthuan an advantage?' snarled Alith Anar. 'It would be the end for the druchii.'
'If you could accomplish it,' said Belannaer, turning, 'but you cannot. Your presence is known. Your goal is known. Malekith has a thousand troops in Naggarond, and thousands more within five days' march. He rides a dragon that could turn your entire force to ash in one pass if he so wished. I know not why he has failed to strike with all his might, but while you have been given this reprieve, use it! Return to Ulthuan and use this impossible victory to win support for a real invasion. Do not waste the small advantage you have achieved by snatching futilely at the impossible.'
'No,' croaked Eltharion, struggling to sit up, 'we have achieved nothing.' He levered himself out of the cot, feebly pushing his physicians away. 'We did not sail from Ulthuan to kill a few Executioners, and I will not return until we have won a real advantage.' He glared at Belannaer. 'Anar's Shadows say that Malekith and his troops have fallen back to a watch tower not three hours march from here. Even if Malekith eludes me again, with the Sea Guard bolstering us, we can at least destroy the tower.'
'The Sea Guard are not yours to command,' said Belannaer, 'and I will not join you in your folly.'
Eltharion growled. 'Then I will not command them, only ask them.' He turned and lurched unsteadily through the flap of the tent.

'BROTHERS!' CALLED ELTHARION, his voice hoarse, as he limped into the late afternoon sun and faced the companies of Swordmasters, Sea Guard and Shadow Warriors that were making camp in the field above the cliff. 'I come before you to ask you your will.'
Belannaer and Alith Anar remained in the shadow of the Swordmaster's tent and watched as the troops stopped their labours and turned to listen.
'Belannaer has urged me to count today as a victory,' Eltharion continued, 'and to return to Ulthuan with my head high. He says that there is safety behind us, and only death before us. In this he is right. The chances of any of us surviving if we press on are slim indeed.' He coughed and drew a ragged breath, then lifted his blind eyes again. 'But what of your wives and daughters and sons in Ulthuan? Will they be safe if we choose safety? No! They will be dead unless we choose death! If we return home, if we save ourselves and leave him alive, Malekith will come again, as certain as winter, and we will fight this battle on our own shores.' He spread his arms. 'Sons of Nagarythe, do you wish to see your lands laid waste again? Your women at the mercy of your savage cousins? Brothers of Hoeth, do you relish defending fair Saphery from Morathi's hags? Do you wish to see your kin poisoned in mind and spirit? Elves of Lothern, will you wait until the Cursed One again knocks upon the Phoenix Gate before you take up arms against him?'
A rousing chorus of ''no'' rose from the ranks, and Alith Anar smiled. Who would have thought the dour Swordmaster such a fine speechmaker? Belannaer's knuckles were white on his gilded staff. He looked as if he wanted to hit Eltharion over the head with it.
'Or will you follow me now! Here!' cried Eltharion, his voice cracking with strain. 'And strike down the Witch King on his very doorstep, where only our lives are at stake?'
The elf troops thrust their swords and spears in the air and roared their approval, the Sea Guard of Lothern loudest of all.
Eltharion turned to Belannaer with a crooked smile. 'You may give your orders now, Loremaster.'

ALITH ANAR SHOULD have been with his skirmishers, starting the attack by setting fire to druchii tents and raining arrows on their occupants as they ran out to escape the flames. But he wanted to see Malekith die, so he had joined Eltharion in the second wave, charging into the burning camp and chopping down unprepared druchii right and left. While the Swordmasters and the Sea Guard pressed their enemies back on all sides, Eltharion and Alith Anar, and a handful of picked Hoethi made directly for Malekith's tent. The only signs that the assassin's poison still flowed through the blind champion's veins were his clenched teeth and an occasional angry hiss.
Belannaer ran with them, cursing as he fought. Though he had been furious with Eltharion for undermining his authority with the Sea Guard, and had wanted nothing further to do with the raid, in the end he had decided that he could not abandon his troops, even to folly.
Through the smoke, Alith Anar could hear druchii captains calling to their troops to form up. Horns blew ragged rallies. To his left, two Executioners fought back to back in a ring of Lothern spears. To his right, a druchii general fired a repeating crossbow at a Swordmaster. The angry roar of Malekith's dragon could be heard somewhere ahead of them. Anar cut down a druchii with a spear and leapt his corpse, trying to stay abreast of Eltharion, who moved like a white ghost; a ghost with a killing touch, for wherever he passed, dark elves fell, blood spraying from cuts so swift that Alith Anar never saw when they had been struck.
At last Eltharion's company saw Malekith's lavish pavilion emerging from a veil of trailing smoke: a tent like a palace, with wings and cupolas, all of violet silk as dark as their owner's heart. Four guards in dragonscale mail protected the entrance, but they were dead by Eltharion's sword before they could call their challenge. Eltharion stepped over their bodies into the brazier-lit vastness of the interior, Belannaer and Alith Anar at his sides.
The central tent was palatial indeed. Thick carpets hid the ground, tapestries depicting excruciating pleasures hung before the black canvas walls, tables overflowed with food and drink, naked slaves cowered in the shadows and hid behind the curtains that led to the other rooms, and in the centre stood an ebony throne, carved with dragons and harpies. It was empty.
Eltharion raised his chin, like a wolf sniffing the wind. 'He is not here.' He turned in a circle. 'Coward!' he cried. 'Did I cut you so deeply that you fear to face me again?' He hacked down tapestries and sliced open door curtains. 'Come out, craven! Is this the bravery of the druchii? Is the spirit of the warrior that they hold so...?'
He stopped and looked up. The thunder of enormous wings filled the air. A powerful downdraft buffeted the tent's silk roof, making it billow and snap. Alith Anar froze, expecting the walls to burst into flames around them. Eltharion didn't seem to care. He raced outside, sword pointing at the sky. 'Coward! Come back and face me!'
Belannaer and Alith Anar stepped out after him, just in time to see a massive black shape bank around the curve of the stone watchtower, before disappearing into the night. After a moment Eltharion lowered his sword and sheathed it his face cold and still. 'We continue to Naggarond.'

'NO, MY LORD,' said Belannaer, a short while later, 'you must not persist in this folly.'
The druchii had been routed, retreating in disarray towards Naggarond, leaving their dead behind. The Shadow Warriors busied themselves smashing the tower's signal lamps and digging out the earth under the east wall so that it would topple like a tree. The rest of the Ulthuan force were seeing to their dead and wounded and, much to Belannaer's dismay, preparing to march again.
'Can you not see that this is some ruse of Malekith's?' persisted Belannaer as Eltharion stared sightlessly into the night. 'We have won no victories. We have been allowed to succeed. Twice the Witch King might have set his dragon upon us and ended this adventure in an instant, and he did not. Why? Because he wants us to come further in. He has some use for us.'
'Use me?' scoffed Eltharion. 'Let him try. I am a tool that turns in the hand. We march.'
'Did you lie then?' asked Belannaer. 'Did you not say you would be satisfied with the destruction of the tower?'
'I would have, had I killed Malekith. But he ran, so we march.'
'You may march. I will return to the ships, and this time I will not let you sway me from ordering my troops away. I will play Malekith's game no longer.' He started down the slope towards the Sea Guard who were forming up, their wounded on litters behind them.
Eltharion's fists clenched. He growled. Alith Anar wasn't sure if from anger or pain. Anar watched Belannaer go with mixed feelings. He hated him for a being naysayer and a nag, and for taking away half their fighting force when they most needed it, but at the same time the old Loremaster was right. The high elves should not have won the two battles they had fought this day. Malekith's dragon could have burned them all to cinders and turned the tide in both. Why had the Witch King stayed his hand? What devious plan was he concocting?
Belannaer had almost reached the bottom of the slope when Eltharion called after him. 'Loremaster, wait. I have reconsidered.'
Belannaer turned, a suspicious frown on his brow. 'Reconsidered?'
'Yes.' Eltharion started down the slope. 'You are right. We are toyed with. We cannot hope to succeed. As much as I wish to kill Malekith, I cannot force him to face me.'
Belannaer looked relieved. 'You see it at last.'
Eltharion turned to Alith Anar. 'Instruct your warriors to take the armour, cloaks and helms of the fallen druchii. My Swordmasters will do the same. We will at least have trophies of this brave venture to show those who dare doubt us that we truly made it to this fell shore.'
Alith Anar tried to hide the disappointment in his voice. 'As you wish, Swordmaster.' Though he knew it was the wiser course, he was crushed. Eltharion's fiery righteousness had made victory seem inevitable. There was nothing his rage couldn't conquer. No wall was high enough, and no army strong enough to stand in his way. To hear the Swordmaster speaking reason was strangely heartbreaking.
Belannaer took Eltharion's hand. 'Thank you, old friend. I am glad to see that vengeance has not clouded your wisdom after all.'
'Come away, my lords,' said a dirt-covered shadow captain. 'The tower is about to collapse.'

THE CLIFFS WERE an hour away and dawn still invisible beneath the thick roof of the forest through which the soldiers of Ulthuan trudged, when Liss, Alith Anar's chief scout, emerged from the shadows and gave her report. All was quiet.
As she faded away again, Eltharion fell into step beside the King of Shadows. 'We are unobserved, then?'
'Aye, Swordmaster,' said Alith Anar. 'No scouts observe us. No harpies circle above us. The way ahead is clear.'
'Good.' Eltharion nodded curtly. 'Then call a halt. We have come far enough.'
'Far enough for what?' asked Belannaer, turning. Eltharion paid him no mind. 'Alith Anar, instruct your Shadows to don the druchii cloaks and armour. My Swordmasters will do the same. We will wait here until nightfall, and then approach Naggarond as a returning company of druchii.'
Alith Anar's heart leapt. The Swordmaster had not given up after all!
Belannaer was less pleased. 'Another deceit!' he cried. 'Would you lie to your oldest friend?'
Eltharion ignored the interruption. 'Loremaster, you and the Sea Guard will return to the ships as you have wished all along. You will sail them out to sea, making it seem that we are in full retreat. Return tomorrow at dawn. If we are not on the beach within an hour, return to Ulthuan and tell them we died bravely.'
'I will tell them you died foolishly!' said Belannaer. 'By Aenarion's sword, your rage blinds you more fully than the wounds Malekith gave you ever did!'
Eltharion drew himself up. 'You were no part of this venture until you thrust yourself into it. Those of us who conceived it knew from the beginning that we would die here. If you have no wish to help us, then go. Take your ship and leave ours, but do not try to hinder me again. Malekith will die by my hand before I leave this shore.'
Belannaer glared at Eltharion for a long moment, fury in his ancient eyes. Then he turned to Alenael, captain of the Sea Guard. 'Take the Guard to the ships and sail them both out to sea, making it seem that we are in full retreat. You will return tomorrow at dawn. If we are not on the beach within an hour, return to Ulthuan and tell them... tell them that Belannaer was the greatest fool of all.'

WHATEVER BELANNAER'S MISGIVINGS, having agreed to come, he did all he could to ensure that the raid succeeded. While the companies of Swordmasters and Shadow Warriors slept and prepared their disguises, he murmured a constant incantation to ward off unwanted attention.
It was clear that his efforts, coming so soon after performing the same service all the way across the Seas of Chill and Malice, wore on him. His face was drawn, his movements those of a sleepwalker. One of the four Sea Guard who had remained behind as his retinue stayed at his elbow at all times, keeping him steady.
Yet Belannaer continued his litany into the night as the Swordmasters and Shadow Warriors, dressed in the peaked helms and black scale dalakoi of druchii city guard, moved swiftly through the woods towards Naggarond. The Loremaster brought up the rear on a captured druchii warhorse, while Eltharion, his bandaged eyes hidden behind the visor of a druchii helm, limped stoically at the head of the column.
Alith Anar walked beside him, his thoughts pulling his heart this way and that. He was glad that Eltharion had not given up, and the Swordmaster's cunning pleased him. He too had often used misdirection in his war against Naggaroth. Had he not danced with Morathi in the Witch King's fortress disguised as a druchii reaver? Had he not stolen the Stone of Midnight from her treasury? But there was a difference between his previous exploits and this one. His infiltrations had been entirely solo, not because he didn't want to share the glory, but because he knew that what he did was mad, and he didn't want to be responsible for the death of any but himself.
Eltharion, on the other hand, brought a hundred elves along with him to his ruin. It was true they had gone willingly, prepared to die in order to slay the Witch King, but Alith Anar was no longer certain that killing Malekith was possible; not here, not now. And yet Eltharion persisted, apparently without any plan but to fight through every obstacle. He seemed more intent on smashing himself against the walls of Naggarond than actually accomplishing what they had come to do.
So Anar's heart and mind fought. His heart wanted nothing more than to follow the hero of the Dragon Gate to glory and victory. His mind knew that Belannaer was right, and that they should be returning to the ships and sailing back to Ulthuan. Despite this certainty, he marched on, letting inaction lead him ever closer to inevitable destruction.
Shortly before nightfall the forest ended, and the elves marched through the open lands that surrounded Naggarond. The fortress city's towers jutted up before the distant peaks of the Iron Mountains like obsidian daggers. A chill ran down Alith Anar's spine at the sight. They were so few, against the greatest city of Naggaroth. It was insane. Yet still he marched on.
They encountered no troops, and saw no druchii except for whip-wielding overseers in the furrowed fields to either side of the road, herding their human field slaves back to their barracks after a day's labour. They paid them no heed.
A few hours later, as night fell, the forward scouts came back to the main force, carrying a barely conscious Swordmaster. He had been horribly tortured, his sword arm mutilated with surgical precision. They had found him lying beside the road, nearly dead from loss of blood.
Eltharion halted the column and knelt beside the elf. Belannaer and Alith Anar joined him.
'How did you come here, Swordmaster?' asked Eltharion.
'My lord,' said the elf weakly, 'I was captured by a druchii, at the watch tower, a general. He took me to Naggarond. His torturers tried to wrest our plans from me but... but, Asuryan be thanked, I resisted, and later slew my tormentors and escaped.'
'Escaped Naggarond?' Eltharion raised an eyebrow.
'Aye, lord,' gasped the elf, 'and with news you must hear.'
'Speak then.'
The young Swordmaster drew a feeble breath. 'While at their mercy I heard the general speak to a lieutenant. He asked after the defence of a sally port known as the Brass Portal, on the east side of the city. He said it was the weakest point in Naggarond's defences and wanted to be sure it was well guarded. His lieutenant assured him it would be.'
Eltharion frowned. Alith Anar exchanged a glance with Belannaer.
'Thank you, Swordmaster,' said Eltharion. 'This is valuable information.'
Eltharion stood as physicians tended to the elf, and moved away with Alith Anar and Belannaer. 'This is a trap,' he said.
'Indeed, Swordmaster,' said Alith Anar. 'No elf so wounded could escape the fortress city undetected. He was allowed to leave, so that he might speak his tale. Be certain, if we attack this portal, they will be waiting for us.'
'Then we must find another way,' said Eltharion. He turned to Belannaer. 'Loremaster, perhaps your art?'
Belannaer shook his head. 'There would be no swifter way to draw Malekith's attention, and, were I to try, I might not have the strength to protect us, or take us away after the deed is done.'
'My lord, I have it!' said Alith Anar, interrupting. He smiled, at ease at last, for in an instant he had found a way to satisfy both heart and mind, if only Eltharion would agree.
'Speak then,' said Eltharion.
'We will attack this Brass Portal,' said Alith Anar, 'just as they wish, and when they spring their ambush, we will fall back in confusion and return to the coast, defeated.'
'Defeated,' said Eltharion, flat.
Alith Anar nodded. 'That is how it will appear. The druchii will see Eltharion and Alith Anar and Belannaer repulsed from their walls and think we have lost heart. In reality, we will have dressed our best captains in our armour while we and a small picked squad slip into the city at another point, dressed as druchii.'
Belannaer frowned, and then shrugged. 'It is still folly, but it holds at least some chance of success. A small force might slip unnoticed through the city where a larger force would fight every step of the way, and they will not be searching for us if they think we have retreated.'
And, thought Alith Anar, the majority of their troops will have been spared the certain doom that waited for Eltharion, Belannaer and himself.
'But is there another way in?' asked Eltharion.
'Aye, swordmaster,' said Alith Anar. 'I have used it once before. It is easy for one elf, but impossible for an army. A few might just manage it.'

A FEW HOURS later, while the high elf raiders hammered in vain upon the Brass Portal, a slave barge spun lazily down the canal that connected Naggarond to its mines in the foothills. The barge did not answer the challenges from the guards of the wharf, nor did it stop at their orders. Only when it ground against the submerged chains stretched before the portcullis that guarded the port did it halt, bumping them in the sluggish current.
The guards on the gate towers called down, and then murmured in confusion as they saw that its crew was nowhere to be seen. A squad of harbour guards rowed out to investigate, covering the barge with their crossbows as the portcullis was raised.
The last thing Alith Anar heard before he allowed the weight of the druchii armour he carried to pull him under the water behind the barge, were the baffled voices of the guards as they searched the barge and found no enemies on board. With his companions swimming behind, he kicked under the barge and into the port, a satisfied smile on his lips.

THE THING HE had not taken into account, thought Alith Anar as he clenched his chattering teeth, was that even in high summer, Naggaroth was a cold, windy place, and the gusts that moaned through the maze of Naggarond's stone streets were colder than the breath of an ice wyrm, at least it felt that way to elves dressed in damp clothes and wet armour.
The high elves marched openly through the city, Alith Anar dressed as a captain of the city guard, Eltharion and Belannaer in visored helmets as his sergeants, and their retinues - four Swordmasters each for Eltharion and Belannaer, and four Shadow Warriors for Alith Anar - dressed as their guard company, all carrying druchii spears, swords and crossbows.
The streets had so far been empty but for the occasional patrol, which they had avoided. The houses of the city were dark and shuttered. It seemed Malekith had ordered Naggarond to lock down in anticipation of the high elves' attack. An over-reaction, Alith Anar thought, in light of how few the invaders were.
As they crossed a broad square, Alith Anar looked with distaste at the huge fountain in its centre. A monolithic statue of Khaine rose from the pool, slitting the throat of Caledor, the Phoenix King. Red liquid poured continuously from Caledor's throat and splashed into the pool, and from the thick, coppery reek of it, Alith Anar was certain that it was real blood.
Beside him, Belannaer stopped, staring above the grisly fountain. 'Look,' he said.
Alith Anar followed the Loremaster's gaze. Malekith's tower rose in the distance, and at its top, silhouetted against sickly green Morrslieb, the Witch King's dragon stretched and flapped its wings like an unsettled crow.
'Is there trouble?' asked Eltharion.
Belannaer shook his head. 'No, but we know that Malekith is at home. His dragon roosts upon his tower.'
'Anything to report, captain?' asked a female voice to their left.
Alith Anar whipped around, his heart banging. Eltharion, Belannaer and their retinues went on guard. Coming from a side street, as silent as cats, was a squad of masked druchii, twelve warriors led by three women, one with the silver hadrilkar of a captain. Alith Anar stiffened as he took in the druchii's elaborate armour and identical, daemon-faced masks. These were Immortals, Malekith's fabled personal guard, elite warriors and witches charged with the defence of the Witch King and his fortress.
He willed his heart to slow, and saluted, trying to put the proper druchii sneer into his voice. 'All quiet but for the wind, lady.'
The masked witch nodded, and her squad turned down the street from which the high elves had just come. 'Carry on.'
Alith Anar let out a breath and motioned the others on. He couldn't believe their luck. Their disguises must have been better than he thought.
'Captain?' came the witch's voice again.
Alith Anar stopped and turned.
The witch was bending over dark spots on the plaza's flagstones: a trail of wet footprints. She looked up. 'Have you been swimming?'
Belannaer was first to react, with Eltharion only an eye blink after. While Alith Anar was still struggling to think of some story, Belannaer sang out an arcane phrase and the air around the two groups was suddenly close and dead, as if they were in a small room instead of an open square. At the same time, Eltharion sprang for the witches, drawing his two-handed Hoethi blade from his back.
The Immortals were just as fast. The warriors surged forward to protect the witches as the masked women hissed wards and counter spells. Two warriors fell instantly to Eltharion's shining sword. The others closed around him.
Alith Anar charged in with the Swordmasters. His Shadow Warriors needed no orders to do their part. Even as Alith Anar crossed swords with one of the towering Immortals, a crossbow bolt sprouted from the druchii's neck, having found a tiny gap between his bevor and daemonic mask. The thrum and thud of loosed bolts was all around.
Alith Anar kicked the dying druchii aside and thrust at another. The Immortal's riposte was so fast that it hit Anar before his hand could move to parry, a screeching scrape across his hadrilkar collar. He shivered. Had he been wearing his usual skirmish kit, the blade would have pierced his throat. He backed off and took up a more cautious stance. To his left, a Swordmaster fell sideways, his head rolling off his shoulders and thudding to the ground.
Eltharion whirled within a circle of Immortals, his stolen black armour making him a blurred shadow, out of which shot white lightning that struck sparks and sprayed blood wherever it touched. One Immortal fell, and then another.
'On the witches,' croaked Belannaer, behind them. 'I cannot keep them penned for long.'
The Shadows turned their crossbows on the witches. The results were disastrous. Their bolts glanced off the air around the masked women and flew instead at the Swordmasters. One gasped as a shaft pierced his leg. His druchii opponent cut him down.
Eltharion strove towards the witches, fighting off five Immortals at once, but though they could not touch him, neither could he advance. His Swordmasters ranked up beside him, pressing hard.
The witches rasped as they tried to mouth their spells, fighting to draw upon their dark energies within Belannaer's sphere of confinement. With a supreme effort, the witch captain spat out a torrent of syllables, and the Loremaster staggered, grunting.
'Go! Fly!' she shrieked at one of her sisters. 'To Malekith!'
With a word, the witch rose off the ground like a dandelion seed. Belannaer recovered, and his sphere snapped closed again, but too late. The witch floated up into the night sky.
'Stop her!' hissed the sorcerer, fighting desperately to keep the others contained.
Alith Anar disengaged and leapt up onto the knee of the statue of Khaine, then to its shoulder. He drew the Moonbow and aimed at the witch floating over the rooftops at the edge of the square. He flexed the ithilmar-cored bow to its limit, tracking her, and then let fly. The black arrow vanished in the darkness, but Anar was rewarded a second later with a harsh cry, and then two thuds as the witch dropped to a sharp peaked roof, and slid off to smash against the street.
Alith Anar looked down and discovered that the battle was over. The witch captain was crumpling before Eltharion, her head split, her silver daemon mask falling away in two perfect halves. The other Immortals lay sprawled at Eltharion's feet like discarded black cloaks.
But there were too many Swordmasters among the dead: three of Eltharion's four, and one of Belannaer's. Liss, Alith Anar's most trusted scout, was dead too, frozen to death by some witchery. Icicles grew from her eyes and mouth like glass daggers.
Not one of the survivors was unwounded. Eltharion had a gash on his left leg. Belannaer had to be helped to his feet by his guards. He looked as fragile as old parchment.
'Swiftly,' said Eltharion. 'Hide the bodies in the fountain.'
Alith Anar and the others hurriedly lowered the bodies of foe and friend alike into the bubbling red pool. Anar shivered as he let go of Liss's wrists and watched her ice-violated face disappear beneath the blood. It felt wrong, as if they were performing some dark sacrifice to Khaine.
As they resumed their journey towards Malekith's tower, Belannaer spoke up. He was moving more slowly than ever, and wheezing with every step. 'Do not rely on me further for sorcerous assistance,' he said. 'If I am to whisk us away after you dispatch Malekith, I must conserve my strength. Indeed, I pray I still have enough.'

'THIS IS WORSE than the assassin's poison,' said Eltharion, cringing.
He, Alith Anar, Belannaer and their surviving guards watched from a dark archway as a long column of druchii warriors passed them, marching towards Malekith's fortress, singing bloodthirsty parodies of old Ulthuan victory songs.
'Truly,' said Belannaer, leaning wearily against the wall, 'I have heard dwarfs sing better.'
The druchii strode past proudly, some limping, some carrying their comrades, but all with chins held high. 'You'd think they had defeated all of Ulthuan,' Alith Anar growled, 'not chased off two hundred unsupported elves. But this may provide an opportunity.'
He looked at his companions, and then nodded. 'We are all convincingly wounded. Loremaster, if you would consent to being carried on crossed spears, I believe we will pass muster. Only one thing more is necessary to complete the masquerade. We must sing.'
Eltharion and Belannaer groaned.

ALITH ANAR'S THROAT was raw and his nerves frayed by the time they reached the barracks, but the ruse had worked. They were inside Malekith's fortress. As they had marched through the gates and under the thick black walls, carrying Belannaer on crossed spears between them, Anar had felt as if every eye was upon him, that he and his companions stuck out like dragons in a sheep pen. But, to his great relief, guards had not called for them to stop, alarms had not sounded, and Morathi had not appeared and blasted them into dust.
From the shadow of a temple of Khaine, the high elves watched Malekith's tower, the tallest in all Naggarond, and as wide as a castle keep at its base. It was connected by only a single enclosed corridor to the sprawling palace where his courtiers lived and where he conducted affairs of state, and had its own private entrances and defences. A tall stone wall surrounded it, with one main gate facing east, and two smaller gates north and south. The tower had three corresponding entrances, the main doors, and two smaller entries that led to a stables and a garden respectively. All were guarded. Alith Anar had sent his Shadows to reconnoitre and they had reported that a company of Black Guard watched each door, with crossbow guards on balconies above them.
'This will require some subtlety,' said Alith Anar, looking thoughtfully from gate to gate and up and down the tower. The gates were open at least, with guards going in and out, but they would close at the first sign of trouble, and the tower doors appeared to be locked tight. 'A distraction, perhaps. A fire? A feint?'
'The time for subtlety is past,' said Eltharion. He stepped from the temple's shadow and strode towards the main gate.
Alith Anar cursed.
'Eltharion!' hissed Belannaer. 'Stop! The doors are locked!'
It was too late. The guards at the gate were turning to see who approached.
'Asuryan take him!' said Alith Anar. 'Fall in!'
Anar and the others hurried after Eltharion, forming up behind him as if they were his retinue. We will die here, Anar thought, without ever entering the tower. No sword would cut through those iron-banded doors, not even one wielded by as great a hero as Eltharion.
The captain of the guard raised his hand as they neared. 'Halt, captain. What is your business?'
Eltharion stopped before him, and then reached up and removed his druchii helm, letting his white hair fall around his shoulders and revealing the red scarf that hid his eyes. 'I am Eltharion of Yvresse, and I come to kill Malekith the Cursed.'
The guards gasped and stepped back, astounded, and in that moment they died. In one smooth movement, Eltharion dropped the helm, drew his double-handed blade from his back and swept it in a wide arc. It cut down four druchii, slicing through their black armour as if it were candle wax.
Belannaer and Alith Anar and their retinues fell upon the others as Eltharion sprinted forward. The guards died screaming for the gates to be closed, but Eltharion was already through, and Alith Anar and the others were right on his heels.
They sprinted for the main doors. Forty heavily-armoured, full Black Guard blocked their way, elite warriors armed with cruel, hook-backed halberds. The guards above the door fired down with repeater crossbows. Eltharion knocked bolts out of the air with his sword, and Belannaer did his best to turn aside the rest, but too many got through. A Shadow Warrior stumbled and fell. A Swordmaster vomited blood around the shaft of a bolt that had found his mouth. Only three remained alive.
'Into the melee,' called Alith Anar to his last two Shadows, 'or they will pick you off one by one.'
The Black Guards set their halberds to receive the high elves' meagre charge. Eltharion leapt over them like a gazelle and dropped in their midst. Halberd heads and severed arms spun through the air behind his blurring blade. Those in the front rank turned their heads, amazed, and in that moment of distraction, Alith Anar and his companions hit them, cutting them down before they could recover. Belannaer drew his sword, but stayed back, too weary to fight.
Alas, the shock of Eltharion's attack did not last long. The Black Guard were hardened warriors. They quickly surrounded the high elves, and Belannaer found that he must fight after all. Eltharion fared well enough, moving like flowing silk through the Guard and leaving falling bodies and sprays of red in his wake, but the others did not have his skill or strength. Belannaer might have been one of the greatest swords of Hoeth, but he was too tired to do more than defend himself. Alith Anar faced a bristling thicket of halberds and found that his sword wouldn't reach beyond their slashing hooks and stabbing blades. In desperation he took up a fallen halberd and flailed inexpertly with it. He did little damage, but at least it kept the druchii a little further away.
The three Swordmasters managed better, their long swords chopping through the shafts of the halberds and finding the arms and knees of their opponents, but this was the wrong sort of fight for the Shadow Warriors, and to Alith Anar's grief and fury he saw his last two faithful Nagarythe fall with throats cut and chests split. It was all for naught. There were too many guards, and more were coming. Eltharion's mad raid would end here in pointless slaughter.
A black form flashed above the melee. Alith Anar thought for an instant that it was Malekith's dragon, diving to incinerate them. But no, it was Eltharion. He had leapt over the heads of the Guard and caught hold of the baroque ornamentation that bordered the enormous doors. The druchii shouted and surged after him as he swarmed up the wall and onto the balcony. The surprised crossbow squadron died before the onslaught of his gleaming blade like shadows before the sun, and then he was gone, through the balcony door and into the tower.
Alith Anar stared, and almost took a halberd through the heart for it. By Asuryan, he thought, his mind reeling as he returned his attention to the fight, the revenge-mad lunatic had abandoned them, left them to die while he went in search of Malekith. The blind Swordmaster's companions had been nothing to him but another way to distract his enemies. The arrogance of it! The cold-heartedness! The...
With a muffled rattle of chains and gears, the great doors swung open. Eltharion charged out through the widening gap, slashing at the backs of the Black Guard.
'Hurry!' he called. 'To me!'
Alith Anar, Belannaer and the three Swordmasters surged forward with renewed energy as Eltharion kept the door clear. Alith Anar scolded himself for his unworthy thoughts. The blind elf might be mad, but perhaps not as callous as he had painted him.
With a last push, Alith Anar and the Swordmasters fought through to Eltharion, then ran through the door with the Black Guard behind them. Eltharion spun to the side, and with a single blow slashed through the chain that operated the door mechanism. The doors boomed shut with a rushing clatter, crushing several druchii between them.
Eltharion, Alith Anar, Belannaer and the Swordmasters quickly slew the few Black Guards who had made it through, but even as the guards died, they heard the tower's north and south doors opening, and the thunder of running boots.
'To the stairs!' said Eltharion, leading the way to the basalt spiral that twisted up into the cross-vaulted ceiling as the boot steps rang closer. Belannaer hobbled after the others as fast as he could, leaning upon his staff as if it was a crutch. Blood seeped from gashes in his khaitan.
Before they had climbed thirty steps, a black tide of druchii flooded into the entry hall from the north and south archways. They saw the high elves on the stairs and surged after them, bellowing.
'Faster,' said Eltharion, 'or they will overwhelm us.'
'I cannot,' said Belannaer. 'I am at the end of my strength.'
'Then I will carry you,' said Eltharion.
The Black Guard were at the base of the stairs and swarming up.
'Then how will you fight those we will meet above?' asked Belannaer, shaking his head. 'No. I will stop them.'
The Loremaster faced down the stair and raised his staff. The Black Guard swarmed towards him like a glittering black centipede. Belannaer took a deep breath, then called out an ear-splitting phrase and struck the butt of his staff sharply on the step before him.
With a deafening crack, the spiral stairs below the wizard shattered into a thousand pieces. The druchii upon them fell screaming in a shower of basalt boulders that smashed upon the floor in a billowing cloud of black dust.
Belannaer stepped delicately back from what was now the stairway's last step, forty feet above the floor, then swayed and nearly fell. One of his Swordmasters caught his arm.
'Well done, master,' said Eltharion, as the companions turned and continued up the stairs.
'No,' said Belannaer, glaring wearily at Eltharion, 'poorly done, for I now have no strength to carry us away.'

BY THE TIME they reached Malekith's throne room, only Eltharion, Belannaer and Alith Anar were left alive, for though Belannaer had neatly cut off pursuit from below, the upper floors of the tower had been defended by a host of Black Guards, Immortals and diabolical traps. The last three Swordmasters had died one by one, their corpses left to lie beside the druchii they had killed as Eltharion pressed remorselessly on.
At last they came to the throne room's iron doors, Eltharion striding tall and proud, and Belannaer barely conscious, his arm draped over Alith Anar's shoulder. The halberds of the two throne room guards shook as they lowered them at Eltharion. Alith Anar could well understand their fear, for Eltharion looked more daemon than elf as he approached them. His stolen black armour was crimson with the blood of a hundred druchii, and his white face was streaked with gore.
'For Malekith!' cried the first guard as he charged. 'For the Witch King!' cried the other. Those were their last words.
Eltharion stepped over their bodies and thrust open the iron doors. Three highborn druchii generals in elaborate black armour whipped around as they entered, and drew their weapons.
Alith Anar surveyed the room quickly, looking for hidden assailants. It was octagonal, and smaller than he expected, but no less grand. Stone dragons lined the walls, all bowing towards the raised throne that dominated the far wall. Green witch light glowed from tall braziers, but their light was dim by comparison to the terrible white glare of the pulsing, boulder-sized crystal that hung in an iron cage from a heavy chain in the centre of the room. The light stung the eyes like poison, and Alith Anar could not shake the feeling that the crystal was looking at him.
There was no one but the generals in the room. The Barbed Throne was empty.
Eltharion sensed it. 'Where is Malekith?' he demanded.
The three highborn exchanged glances. One was a grizzled veteran, horribly scarred on the left side of his face, who carried two short swords in the fashion of the warriors of old Nagarythe. The second was high-browed and sneering, with a nose like a hawk's beak. He held a delicate, deadly duelling sword. The third was bald, and gripped the curved sword of a Cold One cavalry officer.
'So much for your grand plan,' the bald one said, glaring at the scarred veteran.
'We can still make something of this,' the veteran replied. 'If we kill Eltharion when the Witch King ran from him, who will they follow then?'
The hawknosed one shrugged. 'Why not,' he said. 'It will be a cleaner death than Malekith will give us.'
'For Naggaroth!' roared the scarred one.
'For Naggaroth!' echoed the others.
They charged as one.
Alith Anar pushed Belannaer unceremoniously away and leapt with Eltharion to meet them. He closed with Hawknose, exchanging thrusts and parries. Eltharion flowed right, slipping between the veteran and the bald one and ducking their swings, his white sword trailing behind him. It seemed almost an accident that its keen edge caressed the bald one's neck in passing, a chance collision.
A red line appeared on the bald one's throat, between visor and bevor. His eyes went wide. He clutched at his neck instinctively. Red mist sprayed between his fingers and he crumpled, choking on his own blood.
Alith Anar beat aside Hawknose's sword and lunged, only to find that the lighter blade had slithered back into guard and was aiming at his neck. He twisted away at the last possible second and stumbled past the highborn, off balance.
Hawknose smiled as he turned and pressed his advantage. 'So, they are not all wizards of the blade.'
Anar backed and parried desperately, finding it almost impossible to follow the highborn's flickering sword. It appeared that Eltharion had found a worthy opponent as well. Remarkably, the scarred general had not died in the first pass, and was in fact holding his own.
The hawknosed druchii slipped on his bald comrade's blood. An opening! Alith Anar feinted and lunged. The highborn turned like a dancer, letting Anar's sword stab harmlessly past him, and then slashed down. Anar ducked and veered. A deafening clang rang in his ears and his head was knocked sideways. His stolen druchii helm bounced noisily across the marble floor. He spun and returned to guard, his black hair spilling down his back.
The highborn sneered. 'Nagarythe, eh? A traitor to your own kind.'
'It is you who are traitor to me,' said Alith Anar, 'the True King of Naggaroth.'
For a moment the highborn didn't understand. Then his eyes glowed. 'Blessed murderer!' he said. 'The White Sword and the King of Shadows in one blow? We will be heroes!'
He sprang forward, avoiding Alith Anar's sword with ease and lunging for his heart. But in his eagerness to kill the holder of the Shadow Crown, he neglected to see that Alith Anar had drawn a dagger with his off hand. Anar parried with it and thrust up between them with his sword. The tip stabbed through the underside of the druchii's jaw and into his brain. He fell against Alith Anar's chest, eyes dimming, and slid to the floor.
Alith Anar freed his sword and turned to assist Eltharion, but there was no need. Eltharion stood with his arm at full extension, his sword buried in the scarred general's chest up to the quillions.
The scarred general stared at him as he slid slowly backward off the blade. 'Well struck, Swordmaster,' he rasped, blood bubbling from his lips. 'May you do the same to Malekith one day.'
'Today,' said Eltharion.
The general dropped from the sword and sprawled, slack limbed, across the black marble floor. Eltharion cleaned his blade with a fold of his khaitan and turned in a slow circle, ears cocked and chin lifted, hunting for sign of Malekith.
'Well struck indeed,' said a voice like iron on stone.
The high elves looked up, for the voice seemed to come from above them, but all they could see was the eye-blistering light of the caged crystal.
'I owe you a debt, Swordmaster,' said the voice again, and Alith Anar was certain this time that it came from the crystal. It seemed to ring from it like an echo from a cave.
'Malekith!' hissed Eltharion.
'You have done me three good turns this day,' continued the voice, ignoring him. 'You have exposed traitors in my court. You have disposed of them for me, and you have trapped yourself. The death you have so eagerly sought approaches, Swordmaster. May it be all you hoped for. Farewell.'
'Malekith!' shouted Eltharion. 'Show yourself!' The stone did not answer.
With a curse, Eltharion raised his sword and made to leap up and strike the stone.
'Eltharion! No!' cried Belannaer from where he leaned against a pillar. 'It would destroy us all.'
Eltharion stayed his hand. 'Destroy us?'
Belannaer stood. 'It is the Ainur Tel, the Eye of Fate, an ancient and powerful scrying stone. With it, one can see through the eyes of another, no matter the distance, and twist his mind, even destroy it if one has will enough. It is a thing of pure Chaos, taken from the Wastes in the days when the world was young, and were you to strike it, it would explode and the dread energy within it would kill us all. Indeed, it would murder the whole city, and poison this place for generations to come.' He shuddered. 'It is a terrible thing.'
'The whole city,' echoed Eltharion.
There was a rumble of swiftly approaching boots outside the throne room. The Black Guard had apparently found a way past the broken stairs. Alith Anar ran to the iron doors and locked them, setting the bolts and bars, and not a moment too soon. Boots and raised voices sounded right outside, and the doors flexed inward. Alith Anar hurried back to Eltharion and Belannaer.
Eltharion's face remained raised to the Ainur Tel, his expression inscrutable.
'Come, Eltharion,' said Belannaer, looking uneasily at the door. 'If you still mean to find Malekith, we must...'
'The Eye of Fate,' interrupted Eltharion, 'it is well named, for it is fate that I find it here. It is a gift from Khaine, a glorious gift. With it I will kill not only Malekith, but Naggarond itself. The war will be ended.'
He turned eagerly to Belannaer and Alith Anar. 'Come, assist me. We must all strike together, so that we assure its destruction. With one blow we can end the power of the druchii for once and all.'
Alith Anar stared at him, open mouthed.
Belannaer looked too shocked to speak.
'Quickly!' snapped Eltharion, impatient. 'They will soon be through the door. We will die regardless, but this way it need not be in vain. It will be the greatest sacrifice in the history of Ulthuan. Though we perish, our kin will forever more be free of the menace of Naggaroth.'
Belannaer finally found his voice. 'No, Eltharion, you must not do this. What you propose is evil. You will kill thousands of innocent slaves and corrupt this land for generations to come. You will make this place a festering wasteland of Chaos energy. It will breed more evil than you destroy.'
'Evil in Naggaroth does not concern me,' said Eltharion, 'so long as it stays in Naggaroth.'
Alith Anar jerked as if slapped. 'My lord,' he said, stiffly, raising his voice over the pounding from outside the doors. 'My lord, I have followed you from Anlec and put my warriors at your disposal, because you said that your goal was the death of Malekith. We vowed to die if it meant his distraction, and I am still willing, but you will remember that I am the True King of Naggaroth. This is the home of my people. It has always been our plan to return here once Malekith and his ilk have been defeated. I would not have my home poisoned.'
Eltharion looked about to speak, but Alith Anar pressed on. 'Why not use the Eye to target Malekith? Surely the hate we two have for him would be enough to destroy his mind.'
'It is not enough,' said Eltharion. He pointed at the dead generals on the floor. 'Look at the filth we have just despatched, all plotting for the Witch King's throne. There are a thousand Malekiths here, an entire race of them. Were we to kill only him, another would take his place, just as devious and bent on our destruction as the last. No, they must be wiped from the face of the earth, all of them. Any evil, any sacrifice, is worth the death of their vile breed. If innocents must die, if children must die, if I must poison Naggaroth for a thousand generations, so be it. At least Ulthuan will be safe, and I will be avenged.'
Alith Anar stood straight, his eyes blazing. 'Ulthuan might indeed be safe from Naggaroth,' he snarled, 'but it will have created a new enemy in Anlec.'
'What?' cried Eltharion, levelling his sword at Alith Anar's chest. 'Do you turn traitor? Does Nagarythe reveal its true colours at last? Only druchii by another name?'
'Lords!' called Belannaer. 'Control yourselves.'
Alith Anar slapped the tip of Eltharion's sword away. 'Is that how you think of us? Black hair does not presume a black heart, my lord, nor white hair a pure one. You look more suited to that throne than I at the moment.'
Eltharion went rigid. 'What did you say?' He returned his sword point to Alith Anar's breastplate.
'My lords,' Belannaer said again, hobbling forward in an attempt to get between them.
The oak bars locking the throne room doors were splintering.
'I said,' spat Anar, 'that it is well you mean to kill yourself when you kill Malekith, else you would take his place ere long.'
'Infamy!' cried Eltharion, thrusting forward.
The tip of his blade skidded across Alith Anar's black armour and plunged into the gap betwixt chest and shoulder piece, gashing him horribly under the arm. He cried out and clutched at the wound. Blood pumped through his fingers.
'Anar!' cried Belannaer.
The True King of Naggaroth staggered and fell against a pillar. 'Well struck, Swordmaster,' he mumbled, and slid to the floor.
Eltharion stepped back, staring sightlessly at his fallen companion. He dropped his sword with a clang. 'What have I done?' He fell to his knees beside him. 'Asuryan's mercy, what have I done? What madness came over me?' His long fingers began unlacing Anar's pauldron with a dexterity a sighted elf might have envied. 'My friend, forgive me. Belannaer is right. I have been blind. For the first time in my life I have been truly blind, and worse, I struck him who would have removed the caul from my eyes.' He tore his black silk khaitan into strips and began wrapping Alith Anar's wound. 'We must get you away.'
Alith Anar looked up at him. 'You no longer wish to kill Malekith?' he asked weakly.
'He will not face me, and I haven't the power to force him. I should have seen this from the battle on the cliffs. I am blind. Blind!'
He raised his head, apparently becoming aware of their situation for the first time. The iron doors were bulging in. The three companions would be overwhelmed in moments. Eltharion cursed. 'My blindness has trapped us here. We cannot fight through the whole city, and Belannaer is too weak from protecting us from my follies to spirit us away.' He took up his sword and faced the door. 'Forgive me again, friends. I will die defending you, but there is no honour in it, for it was I who endangered you in the first place.'
'No,' croaked Belannaer, 'I will find the strength.' He pulled himself to his feet with his staff. 'Take up Alith Anar and prepare yourselves.' He smiled grimly. 'If we die, it is only a different death.'
Murmuring in an ancient tongue, he gripped Eltharion's shoulder as the Swordmaster lifted Alith Anar into his arms. He raised his staff, trembling with fatigue. The winds of magic buffeted him cruelly as he opened up to them. His frail voice lifted in a high quaver and the amber globe at the tip of the staff glowed brighter and brighter.
With a crack like a cannon firing, the bars on the throne room doors split at last, and a phalanx of Black Guard poured into the room, howling for high elf blood.
Belannaer swept his staff in a circle and cried a final syllable. The throne room exploded with golden light that knocked the druchii back to the walls. When the light faded, Eltharion, Alith Anar and Belannaer were nowhere to be seen.

BENEATH MORRSLIEB'S SICKLY light, Alith Anar's sleek cutter and the Sea Guard's sturdy warship sailed north and east across the Sea of Malice.
Alith Anar lay in a narrow cupboard bed in the captain's quarters of the Lothern ship and eyed Eltharion with concern. The Swordmaster sat slumped upon the long bench under the stern window, staring blindly out into the night. His left leg stuck straight out before him, splinted and stiff. Belannaer lay in another built-in bed on the starboard bulkhead, his eyes closed, as still and unresponsive as he had been since their escape.
The Loremaster's spell had worked, but not well. The golden fire of the staff had whirled them out of the tower in a confusion of wind and motion, and then winked out like a snuffed candle some two hundred feet above the waters of the cove of the Blood Cliffs. When the Sea Guard and the Nagarythe had fished them, unconscious, out of the water, Alith Anar had a broken arm in addition to the wound Eltharion had given him, Eltharion had a broken leg, Belannaer's staff was snapped and its amber globe shattered, and the Loremaster had not regained consciousness.
'Why could I not see?' asked the Swordmaster for the hundredth time that day. 'My lust for vengeance did more than blind me, it corrupted me. I so wanted revenge on Malekith that I nearly became him. I was willing to sacrifice my friends, my honour, and the present and future of an entire city, to kill one man. How could I have so completely lost my way? By Isha,' he cried, turning towards Alith Anar, 'had you not worn that breastplate, I would have killed you!'
'It was the Eye,' said Anar. 'Its emanations maddened us both. Do not torture yourself so.'
'Aye, perhaps,' said Eltharion, 'but the Eye came at the end. What explains the rest?' He turned back to the dark window, his face disappearing in shadow. 'What explains the rest?'