Revelation
n/b: This was written nigh on 3 years ago, it is not a modern piece but a piece from the first online campaign held here, yet it is also part of the Dark Empires saga. I found it in the depths of my Hard Drive today, so enjoy.
VM


Tor Anlec. The immense fortress-city dominated the barren plain that spread about it, vast and monolithic. Layers of fortifications encircled it, massive black pinnacle-towers and shell upon shell of fortress. Even large than the great capitol of Tor Anroc, wealthiest city in the world, Tor Anlec was almost prehistoric in scale. It seemed impossible to believe that a citadel so vast could have been anything less than the abode of gods, and not the construction of mere mortals. Smoke rose from within that dreadful place, and about the walls scarred and pitted with the wars it had weathered. Even daemons had found it an impregnable fortress. Even more minute than ants seemed the ever-flowing river of elves that swept over the plains around the city, which poured into the city, engulfed within it. They had been summoned.
Alith Anar turned to gaze upon the small band behind him, feeling suddenly faint from the futility of it all. The greatest fortress ever constructed, with the largest army ever mustered gathering within it. And he, he and six other, would single-handedly attempt to defeat this? It seemed lunacy.
But some things have to be done, despite the odds, the Prince of House Anar reminded himself. Certainly no army could ever hope to breach that dreadful place, not now, but where an army would falter, seven elves might succeed. It seemed a propitious number, with the weight of legend behind it. Seven elves against the black heart of the war which wracked this land. And those with him were worthy of legend ? Enarlion Whisperblade, Tanilas Nightflower, Irithar Moonsinger, Jadia Windspell, Salenar Ravenseye, and Ashnari Doomsong. The seven greatest warriors of House Anar, all assembled to enter Tor Anlec - and to kill its master.
?We split up and each join a different group entering the city. It should be easy enough to gain entrance. Once in, stay with those you joined with ? we?ll reunite in the Peler Khaine just before the assassination attempt.?
They nodded. None of them would let him down, he knew. They would achieve their goal, or perish in the attempt.
Except, in the darkest hollows of his being, he knew the truth. None of those assembled would escape alive. He had not voiced this to the others, but knew it as an inevitability.
Looking in their eyes now, he knew that they, too, had realised this.
?Irithar, you?re first. Loec be with you.?
The short she-elf nodded curtly, and then, rising, began her descent towards the city. With so many armies, it would be easy for her to slip unnoticed amongst one of them. Hopefully.
They waited for another seven hours. Every hour, another of the small band would rise and leave, the next to enter the city. Harsh-featured Jadia was the next to go, shouldering her mighty longbow. Then Enarlion, blademaster, his black ponytail swinging behind him. The mage Salenar, austere and sternly handsome, the fourth to depart. Tanilas Nightflower embraced the band before she left, leaving behind her only the scent of her dusk-rose perfume. And finally it was Ashnari Doomsong who left to enter the city, leaving Alith Anar alone to gaze over the arteries of armies pumping soldiers into Tor Anlec?s foul heart.
His mind wandered as he gazed at Asuryan?s flame in the sky, watching the fiery orb sinking in the sky. Its dim presence behind the stormclouds that had begun to roll in off the sea was the only means he had of telling the time. The clouds were thick, and held the promise of a future thunderstorm ? maybe tonight it would strike. If his guesses as to what would unfold tonight were correct, it would match perfectly. The gods must have a sense of the melodramatic, he concluded, and laughed humourlessly to himself.
He gazed up infrequently, at the gradually disappearing sun. Finally he determined that an hour had passed since Ashnari?s departure, and that it was time for him to go.
?Loec, guide me now. Guide us now. We are going to need all the help you can spare us,? he prayed briefly, sincerely. Then he, too, rose and started down the path towards the armies.
His plan for gaining entry was simple ? the simpler it was, the less room for error, or so he thought. Clad in the armour of one of Lord Morgukai?s slain bodyguards, he would join up with the hosts entering Anlec, and lose himself within their numbers. He could see the point where he would join them already ? an outcrop of rock at the edge of the cleared field about Anlec, past which the armies were marching. Slowly, he worked his way there. Timing was important ? he could not move too slowly, for haste would have him spotted. Slowly he worked his way across the barren field, reaching the boulders. He stood up there, his back to it. No one had noticed him yet. Good.
The tide of warriors swept past the rock, and without hesitation Alith Anar left his position, slipping into their ranks. He was borne away by the throng and swept deep into the fortress.

It was some time before Alith Anar found a chance to slip away, for there was always another elf around, always a set of eyes upon him, and he could not draw attention to himself ? not yet, at least. There would be time enough for that later. For now, he strode confidently along the small side-streets that wended their way through the fortress-city. It took mental discipline to do that much ? surrounded by so many enemies, his instincts were telling him to run, to hide. Fortunately instincts could be sublimated, for attempting to use stealth would draw more attention to him, now that he was in Tor Anlec. He had to look as if he belonged there. He had been to Tor Anlec before, a long time ago, before Malekith had revealed himself as the vile murdering traitor that he truly was. Using that knowledge, he now sought to find the Peler Khaine, where he knew the meeting would be taking place. Memory served him well; the Peler Khaine was the great field outside the Temple of Khaine and the High Prince?s Palace, at the heart of the city. It was there this night that the lords and generals of the traitors had been summoned.
Anlec had changed since he was last here. It had always been a grim place, dark and gloomy, the elves withdrawn and wary. But under the golden age of Bel Shanaar, Alith Anar remembered the colour of great festivals to the gods, dancers and revellers wearing brightly hued robes and sashes. He remembered the smell of exotic foods, from all over Ulthuan, being offered for sale at the side of the streets. He remembered the calls of the market vendors, offering wares and pleasures legal and illicit, familiar and unfamiliar.
All of that was gone now. He remembered, just a child, eating a piece of sticky fruit-bread which his father Eothlir had bought for him from the markets. The vendor he remembered vaguely, at best ? he remembered the vendor?s warm smile. The vendor would be dead now, or amongst the soldiers battling against the forces of Caledor. Perhaps the vendor had been present when Athel Anar was razed, when Eothlir was butchered, when his grandfather Eolaran taken and tortured to death. Perhaps Alith Anar had killed him.
He shook his head. No point thinking about has-beens and could-have-beens; there was too much in the here and now which he must focus on. When he died and went to Morai-Heg?s halls, then he could think about regrets.
He looked up. He had reached the walls of the central compound. Another stretch of bleak grey fortifications, with a small gateway inset into them. A steady stream of elves moved through it, slowed by the handful of guards who moved amongst them, stopping an elf every now and then.
Random checks, of course, Alith Anar realised. Fortunately, he had come prepared for them ? opening his belt pouch, he found the summons which he had taken from the body of Lord Morgukai. That would be his safeguard should he be stopped. Boldly, the Prince strode out from the alleyway and approached the gate.
As fate would have it, he was not stopped; instead, he joined the stream of warriors and moved through the gates, into the Inner City. It stretched before him now ? the Peler Khaine, a vast field flanked by the massive and imposing Temple of Khaine on the left and the High Prince?s Palace on the right. It was here, two thousand years ago, that Aenarion the Defender had mustered his armies for the war against Chaos. Malekith seemed keen on proving himself his father?s heir ? had to be, since it was the only shred of legitimacy he could provide to his claim for the throne. He would muster his forces at the same place.
The storm clouds had filled nearly all the sky now. The last rays of the sun seemed weak and very far away, as they penetrated the few gaps in the roiling black morass of the sky. Rain began to fall ? a light moist mist that sizzled in the light of the great brazier-torches set up about the Peler Khaine, and rose back into the air as smoke. Already the field was filling up with the assembled warriors, the nobles and generals of Malekith?s forces and their chosen few. Alith Anar slipped amongst them. It was time to find his men. There was not much time.
But there were too many ? well over a thousand elves were standing in the Field of Khaine, waiting for the revelations they had been summoned to witness. He cast his keen gaze through the crowd, but there was no sign of his compatriots. A flush of worry swept through him ? had they been found? Was Jadia Windspell, for intance, even now revealing the plan to the tender ministrations of Anlec?s expert torturers?
Worry was an emotion Alith Anar did not permit himself. He blocked it off. Either his mission would work, or... it wouldn?t. That was all.
He was nearing the front of the crowd, gazing out at the huge granite platform at the head of the field, flanked by flaming braziers, when he heard a new noise. Heavy and rhythmic, it was the sound of footsteps. The ceremony had begun. Lines of halberd-wielding warriors marched on to the stage. They were clad in evil-looking armour of black plate and iron chain, covered with spikes and blade edges, and holding serrated halberds of the finest ithilmar. The prince of House Anar had never seen them before, but their very bearing spoke of their skill, and their intimidating equipment was of the finest quality. He swept his eyes over them, counting quickly ? he had not survived this long by not paying close attention to his enemies. There were in total twenty seven of the warriors, and he recognised their leader, who did not wear one of the large horned helmets. It was Narkathe Fenix, one of the leaders of the traitors in Caledor. Alith Anar had heard word of the butchery this one had committed at Vaul?s Anvil, and of his prowess as a leader and a warrior. That one would be a truly dangerous foe.
Narkathe led his warriors on to the great platform, where they took up positions. The guards, Alith Anar realised, as he surreptitiously worked his way further forward. From the corner of his eye he caught sight of something, and, turning, saw Tanilas Nightflower. She nodded gravely at him. So, at least one of the others was here as well.
The rain redoubled in intensity. The armour of the guards on the stage was slick with water running off it. Alith Anar?s hair was becoming soaked. The great braziers hissed and sputtered, and steam rose in clouds off them. On the horizon, the great rumble of thunder echoed. A near palpable atmosphere of anticipation was growing amongst the spectators ? soon, they knew, they would witness the reason they were summoned here.
It happened too fast for Alith Anar?s eyes to fully comprehend its arrival, rather than its presence. Suddenly, a crackling ball of incandescent light was crackling upon the dais. The elves strained to look upon it, but had to avert their eyes, so bright was the light. It roared, louder than the thunder?s roll, and resolved itself into the shape of an elf, still glowing a brilliant white, too bright for any to see details of it.
Alith Anar gaped. This was Malekith? This angelicly radiant apparition? He had never seen magic so blatantly powerful. The Cripple King had truly recovered. Surely only the gods could have blessed him so!
For a heartbeat his resolve hung in the balance, but no more. The memory of his father?s severed head and mutilated body at Athel Anar, the weight of his grandfather?s corpse in his arms as he carried it to the funeral pyre, these were enough to dispel all doubts.
And as he realised this, the form changed from some avatar of the heavens, to an image of the purest hell.
The luminous being dimmed, and changed, and now Alith Anar could see the form truly. Massive and imposing, it strode forth, a cloak of shimmering purple-stained ithilmar weaving about it. Its armour was dark, almost black, form fitting, spkied and bladed like that of the guards ? or rather, that of the guards was but an imitation of this, the master suit. As Alith Anar stared at it he could see purples and blacks and blues melting and bending into each other, moving in ways armour should not ever be able to move. It was like a symbiotic skin rather than the magnificent shimmering construction that it was. The left hand continually clenched and unclenched, terrible and taloned.
But most imposing of all was the eyes. No skin, no sign of the wearer of this terrible living armour could be seen, save in the midst of the ithilmar stag-horned helmet. There, alone, two eyes burned out, powerfully, feverishly.
They were entirely green, blazing with a horrific energy.
An aura, physical in its force, swept over the assembled elves. Fear and awe assailed them. Alith Anar knew he was in the presence of a force primordial in its pure, unadulterated evil, and his very soul shuddered and screamed at that realisation. And yet in the wake of that force, all he wished to do was to fall on his knees, recognising and worshipping that terrible, awe-filled image.
Calling upon all the depths of the hatred of this force he had ever found within him, all the considerable willpower he possessed, Alith Anar fought that aura. About him the other elves did not. ?Malekith! Malekith!? they chanted, and fell on their knees, worshipping this dreadful, wondrous spectre that had appeared before them. Alith Anar fell to his knees too, mindful that to stand would draw too much unwanted attention to himself. He toppled to the grassy field, prostrated himself, hated himself as he did it, and screamed out, ?Malekith! Malekith!?
And then it spoke.
Its voice was harsh, rasping, metallic. It was strained and hoarse, yet powerful. It sounded as though the throat which issued it forth should never have been able to form speech again, and every word uttered from that shadowed maw was torture to the one who spoke it.
Raising his right hand, Malekith hushed the crowd immediately. They were his, body and soul, and hung open his words as they began to come forth.
?I have returned!? Malekith said, his bellow scarcely more than another man?s whisper, and all the more audible for it. ?The pretender Bel-Shanaar tried to destroyed me ? and failed. The very gods have tried to destroy me ? and yet, I am here!?
The crowd roared its assent. Alith Anar could see on his right another dark elf staring at Malekith with a look of pure, mindless adulation on his face. He shivered.
?You, the chosen people, have been without a lord too long. You have been persecuted for your loyalty, tormented and slain by the minions of the Traitor King Imrik, who dares call himself Caledor! It is time your faith was rewarded!?
Again they roared their support. Thunder bellowed in the sky, sheets of lightning stabbing accusingly at the earth.
?This night,? Malekith hissed, ?this night, is the end of the dark age that has enshrouded this country for so long! We shall go forth! We shall carry the battle to the minions of Imrik, and drive them before our righteous wrath!?
A new sound could be heard now. The beating of gigantic, leathery wings. Unimaginably vast, an inky silhouette dropped from the sky, perched on top of the High Prince?s Palace. Immense wings spread, the dragon opened its mouth and bellowed, deep and powerfully. Alith Anar was screaming, but he could not hear it over the painful, deafening noise. About him, many of the others were doing likewise. The roar went on, and Alith Anar suddenly felt a piercing pain in his left ear. Moving one hand to it, he felt the flow of a small trickle of blood. One eardrum had burst, and crimson fluid was slowly leaking down his cheek and chin.
Malekith raised his hand again, and all sound ceased. Even the dragon was still, upon the great tower.
?For now,? he said softly, ?I have the power.?
And suddenly the dragon was roaring again. But this time, it sounded different, a scream not a roar. The sound tremored up and down octaves fluidly, weirdly. Alith Anar was looking square at it when its head burst in two. Showers of gore rained down as the skull exploded down the middle, splitting clean asunder and continuing down the neck. The dragon?s head ? two heads ? still writhed in agony, and it beat its wings as if trying to move, but some great force held it in place, as it methodically finished the torture. The next was now tearing apart, as if some great spectral scalpel was making a clinical incision.
And where it had already split apart, more gore was showering forth, but stopping, solidifying, caking on. Twisted and malign, the dragon?s visage was now. Both heads opened their terrible fanged maws and screamed again, belching twin plumes of flame into the air.
And on the ground, there was a stunned silence, and then someone in the front row screamed out, ?Malekith! Malekith!? and the chant began again. Malekith turned from his contemplation of the tortured dragon, and gazed about him at the worshipping dark elves. His metallic helmet gave no hint of his expression, but his whole posture spoke of one thing only ? triumph.
?Once again,? Malekith bellowed, his whisper like the sound of waves crashing upon the cliffs of Nagarythe. Magically amplified, Alith Anar realised, and he shuddered at the power of a being who could mutate a mighty dragon so easily, hold it in place, and still have enough power left to project his voice that it could be heard by all of Anlec.
?Once more, you shall have a king!?
From either side of the rostrum, two bands entered. Upon the left, from the Temple of Khaine, came forth a woman, wild-eyed and savagely beautiful, wearing a scant costume of metallic plates that barely managed to cover any of her lush form. Behind her, another, clad in the armour of an Ithiltaen knight, but sable-hued. Upon the right, another woman, clad in a purple dress of simple yet elegant design, and yet infinitely more attractive than her voluptuous counterpart by her peerless features, her deportment, her hauteur. She was accompanied by a handful of elves of both genders, chosen for their incredible beauty.
Morathi ? the woman on the right ? held forth an item she had been carrying. The Crown of Nagarythe. Malekith fell to his knees, while the two processions of Khaine and Slaanesh moved to flank him. The two she-elves grasped the crown between them, over Malekith?s head. The throng screamed out his name, again and again.
It was time for Alith Anar to act.
One second the crown was suspended above Malekith?s head, held in the hands of the two elfwoman. The next, it was flying free, and Alith Anar lowered his bow.
?You are king of nothing but hell,? the prince sneered. ?Let me help you to your true kingdom!?
Chaos reigned. About Alith Anar, his six compatriots burst forth from the crowd, upon the stage. Narkathe shouted something, and the Black Guardsmen ran forward, to engage the enemy. Morathi and the Slaaneshi turned and swiftly quit the scene, while the voluptuous Hellebron and her sable-armoured companion readied weapons and charged the heroes of House Anar.
And yet for all their speed, the battle was almost over instantly. Alith Anar set a second arrow to the Moonbow, great artifact of his grandfather, and with barely a second?s thought released it. It hummed through the air, between the ranks of the Black Guard. Malekith turned his head and looked straight down the shaft of an arrow moving straight for his forehead. There was no time to react ? the arrow struck his helmet immediately, and the world held its breath.
The arrow shattered.
Malekith rose to his feet, and strode towards the closest of the band of heroes. Irithar Moonsinger levelled her spear at the prince of darkness and with a defiant cry thrust it at him, aiming for the glowing green eyes. Malekith seized the spear with one hand, shattering it like brittle driftwood. Irithar?s eyes went wide in horror, and then the great taloned left hand descended over her face, held her head, and squeezed. There was a terrible scream, and her body dropped. Gore splattered off Malekith?s hand.
There was no time for shock ? the Black Guard were upon him. Alith Anar managed to let off another shaft, and one of the warriors toppled, a silver arrow embedded neatly in his heart. Then he was dropping the fabulous bow into his left hand, sweeping out his longsword with the other, and the warriors were upon him. Three halberds thrust at him, and he fell back, his sword singing a metallic harmony as it worked furiously to keep them at bay. At his side, Ashnari Doomsong was likewise holding back the guardsmen with his short and long blade, while Jadia Windsong levelled her longbow at the wild-eyed Narkathe and fired a steady volley at him. The captain of the Black Guard advanced slowly, at barely more than walking speed, his halberd spinning over his head. Deflected arrows were flung aside, as he reached the archer and then lashed out at her. Jadia fell, struck solidly in the solar plexus by the butt end of the halberd. She rolled down the edge of the plinth, and the captain followed catlike, stabbing down at her with the blade. Ashnari howled, flung himself aside, and crossed blades caught the halberd between them and forced it back.
Behind Alith Anar, he heard a loud whumph! and the pressure of a great wall of fire spreading behind him. Salenar Ravenseye had created a barrier of flame between the stage and the crowd, and so the rest of the elves could only watch the savage melee that unfolded. He turned his attention back to the black guard. Salenar moved in to engage one, staff crashing against halberd, and so for the time being Alith Anar fought but two. A halberd thrust at him ? Alith dodged, spun behind the attacker, and tripped him with one foot, into the second guard. This one was swift on his feet, darting out of the way. Alith Anar charged him, seizing the initiative, and hammered down at him with a serious of powerful blows. His enemy was good, no doubt about it ? he caught all the blows on the steel shaft of his weapon, turned them all aside. But not good enough ? Alith smashed out with the pommel of his blade, impacting heavily against the side of the warrior?s helmet. The guardsman staggered, and Alith Anar ran him through. The first guard had risen again; a swift serious of blows were exchanged before Alith Anar separated his head from his body and charged another knot of warriors. Moments later, another three of Malekith?s guards lay, hewn and bloody, at his feet. He cast his eyes about him, at the others, and knew that his intuition had been correct ? this was a suicide mission. Ashnari Doomsong still held out against the captain of the Black Guard, both circling each other, looking for an opening. Both bled from numerous light wounds, but they were too evenly matched for any advantage to be apparent. Tanilas lay, writhing, at the feet of the nearly nude Bride of Khaine, who stabbed down with both blades, screaming her triumph to the heavens. Enarlion Whisperblade still fought against the spear-wielding paladin, scoring another ineffectual hit upon his foe?s armour. Jadia lay where she had fallen, a trickle of blood running out of the corner of her mouth. Dead also, he knew, and could see the wound over her gut where one of the Black Guard had slain her as she lay stunned. At his side, Salenar struck a Guardsman over the head, and then channelled a burst of energy into his body, killing him. The two stood alone in the heart of the melee for a moment.
And then a terrible spectre emerged from the fray, blood soaked, swinging one clawed fist still soaked with Irithar?s brains at his chest. Parrying would be ineffectual ? Alith Anar threw himself down, bent double, and felt the air stir just above him as the gauntlet whistled all too fast above his back. He straightened, and pulled himself back, again narrowly missing the return sweep. Malekith pressed him back, punching and jabbing with the terrible horned gauntlet, and all Alith Anar could do was give way before his furious advance.
And then Malekith was flung aside, as a torrent of flames struck him with all the force of a huge fist, sent sprawling to the ground. Salenar approached, his staff pointed at Malekith, sending a stream of power from it to batter the fallen lord. But Malekith staggered up, holding out his right palm at the flames, and they died away as they met it. The two stared intently at each other for a time. Sweat began to bead upon the mage?s forehead. Then Salenar screamed. The flames rushing between them changed in hue to a horrible sickly black, rushing from Malekith?s palm up through the fire and up the staff, and consuming the spellcaster. Salenar stumbled back, engulfed in midnight fire. Within seconds it had engulfed him and only a small pile of charred flesh and bone was left.
But Salenar?s horrific death had given Alith Anar time to recover. He howled and flung himself forward, and now it was Malekith who was being driven back by the frenzied assault. Mindful of the incredible armour that the son of Aenarion wore, Alith Anar feinted ever at the hidden face, and the lord of Anlec withdrew from him, next to the melee between Enarlion and the dark paladin of Khaine. Enarlion glanced aside for a second, and his foe struck, impaling him. Whisperblade howled, and hung suspended on the spear. His sword fell from his limp hand, and as the Khainite withdrew the spear the corpse fell.
Swiftly, Malekith seized the falling blade from midair, and swept it into a parry.
?Shall we dance?? the dark lord hissed in his tortured voice, and assumed the one-handed stance of a fencer. Alith Anar held his blade in both hands, his bow having been long since returned to his back, and watched, waiting for Malekith to make the first move. In the time of Bel Shanaar, Malekith had been accounted the greatest swordsman in Ulthuan. Since his terrible maiming, would he still be able to fight with the same incredible skill?
Malekith moved. His sword swung and then hacked at Alith Anar?s leg. Alith Anar pulled his own blade over and down, a swift backhand parry. Blades locked and disengaged, and Malekith was already striking again, thrusting at his chest. Alith Anar stumbled aside, parried. Blades flashed and parried, and the thunder roared about them.
And Alith Anar knew he was losing. Whenever he managed to claim the initiative, launch his own attacks, Malekith swept them aside, parried and dodged, and immediately returned to the attack. And they were terrible attacks, swift and powerful. It took all of Alith Anar?s skill and reflexes to keep him from harm. His arms felt numb as they absorbed the shock of the blades. He could not keep this up for much longer.
And he did not. He brought his blade into a parry, only to have Malekith twist suddenly, and then the sword sunk into his right bicep, tearing the muscles and sending a rivulet of blood mingling with the rainwater that soaked him down his arm. His sword was lost, skittering away across the platform. Malekith advanced again, kicking out, and Alith Anar gave a faint cry as he toppled heavily to the ground. About him, the black guard watched as their master strode forward, levelling his blade to claim his would-be assassin?s head.
And Ashnari, eyes wide in fear, still exchanging blows with the Captain of the Black Guard. Malekith?s blade swung down for Alith Anar?s throat, and Ashnari moved with the speed of a cat. One sword caught Narkathe?s halberd on the descent while the other smashed into the captain?s face. The nose shattered, blood and teeth went flying, but Ashnari was already away, leading with his long sword. He caught Malekith?s sword an inch before it struck Alith Anar?s neck, and launched a furious barrage against the dark lord, whose own sword wove between them, fending off the attacks.
Alith Anar staggered up and retrieved his sword. One blow, that was all it would take. None of the others were attacking now ? all watched their lord battling the last of Caledor?s assassins.
The duel between Ashnari and Malekith was swift and ferocious, and over almost within a heartbeat. Blades locked, Ashnari lashed out with his shortsword at Malekith?s face. The terrible gauntlet seized it before it could go further and shattered it. And then Ashnari was flung to the ground as Malekith flung the locked blades back. Malekith strode forward as Ashnari rose to a crouch and delivered two swift blows. The first Ashnari parried, but it left him wide open for the second. The second struck Ashnari?s gut and went straight through.
Ashnari Doomsong spat out a bright crimson gobbet of blood. Then, gracefully, he fell.
Alith Anar screamed and flung himself forward once more. All six of his comrades were dead now, all slaughtered. They had been unprepared for the sheer power of Malekith reborn, and being unprepared had killed them. Finishing the mission was futile ? escape was the only option now. The Phoenix King had to know what he would be up against.
Alith Anar struck a powerful one-handed blow at Malekith. The lord of Anlec spun, pulling his blade free from Ashnari?s body, and parried. But the Shadow Prince was ready. His spare hand seized Ashnari?s discarded short sword, and he stabbed forward with it like a dagger with all his might, and all his rage and hatred. The weapon snapped, but the force of the blow caught Malekith off guard, hurling him off his feet and sending him spinning to the edge of the platform, and off it.
The black guard were moving again. Malekith was rising. The time for escape was now. Alith Anar dodged between advancing warriors, and seized the fallen Crown of Nagarythe.
?A monster like you,? the Shadow Prince screamed over the thunder, ?shall never be the true King of Nagarythe! False pretender, betrayer of your people and your gods! There shall be enmity between us until the end of the earth, Witch King!?
And then he was gone.