Until now, he had not been able to even think of his brother’s name.
The portrait was a good one, and he remembered the shame he had felt as Uthien Sablehand had first revealed the result of his labours. Now it was a reminder of happier times, and Eldain felt a moment of wistful pleasure at the sight of his younger brother. Yet even the thought of happiness was too much for him, and he turned away from the picture, unwilling to allow even a single ember of joy to lodge in his heart.
Winter closed a fist around Ellyr-Charoi, and the ice in Eldain’s heart was no less bitter.
Now, as always, Eldain wrapped himself in furs and a heavy cloak before venturing outside. The freezing temperatures were like nothing he had known, and there was no end in sight to the winter. Snow fell every day, wreathing the villa in a chill blanket, but through the windows of his tower, Eldain could see nothing but the golden light of summer.
It seemed this winter was for him and him alone.
It was no less than he deserved.
Until, one day, a visitor came to Ellyr-Charoi.
He was a warrior, but a warrior like none Eldain had ever seen.
He arrived one morning as the snow was falling within the walls of the villa, and presented Eldain with a token of his authority: a golden phoenix set in an amulet of jade. Clad in a shimmering hauberk of orange-gold and silver, he was a head taller than Eldain, and carried a long-bladed halberd. His robes were of cream and azure, and tailored with exquisite care.
He came alone, and his forehead bore the glittering rune of Asuryan, but it was in his eyes that Eldain saw the truth of his identity. The warrior’s eyes were dark pools of hurt and unasked for wisdom. They were eyes that had seen too much, but which had not shied away from that knowledge.
Eldain saw a terrible weight of sorrow in those eyes, and understood all too well what that could do to a soul. He saw the same expression every day in the mirror.
Though the warrior spoke no words, Eldain knew exactly what was required.
He dressed in simple travelling clothes and followed the warrior from Ellyr-Charoi.
He left the gates open, and together they walked east over the sunlit hills and grassy meadows of Ellyrion. Eldain turned for one last look at the villa that had been his home for so many years, and felt a sudden pang of regret as he saw the first signs of spring breaking around the snow-locked walls.
A black horse led a wildly galloping herd in the distance.
Eldain knew this was the last time he would ever see the land of his birth.
They crossed the sea in a ship named Dragonkin, commanded by a venerable captain named Bellaeir who welcomed Eldain with great warmth.
‘I dreamed I would see you again,’ said Captain Bellaeir, but Eldain did not reply.
The ship sailed east across the waters of the Inner Sea, and Eldain did not venture above deck during the journey. He felt the presence of the Isle of the Dead, but could not bring himself to look out over that mist-shrouded rock for fear of what he might see.
At last, the ship docked in an island harbour of tall pillars and masked statues.
In the centre of the island stood a vast pyramid, and the fire burning at its peak lit the waters for miles around.
The silent warrior led him into the pyramid, along high, fire-lit corridors of red marble and golden carvings of the many aspects of the Creator God. They had not spoken during the entirety of their journey from Ellyr-Charoi, and Eldain found nothing unusual in that. The temple was home to many other silent warriors, and Eldain felt a kinship with them he had not felt with any other soul in a long time.
At last his silent guide brought him to a huge chamber at the peak of the pyramid, its walls golden and lit by a thousand torches. It had the feel of a temple, and Eldain knew he was standing in one of the most sacred sites of Ulthuan. A masked statue of Asuryan sat on a glassy throne at the far end of a long processional, and a wide portal was carved into the statue’s legs, tall enough for a giant to walk through.
A host of armoured warriors lined a marble-floored path towards the portal, and the warrior that had brought him from Ellyrion led him between them. Golden doors led beyond, though what lay on the other side was a mystery. Curling runes lined the coffered panels, and Eldain saw many contradictory ideas represented there. He saw Urithair next to Harathoi, Elthrai abutting Quyl-Isha, but foremost among the runic concepts was Saroir, the symbol representing eternity and infinity, the flame of love that burns all it touches. He blinked as the runes seemed to pulse with their own heartbeat. Eldain had the prescient notion that the runes he was seeing were different to the runes another supplicant might see.
Supplicant…?
Yes, he supposed that was exactly what he was, though he had not thought so until now.
The golden doors swung wide and warm light shone from within the chamber beyond. It grew brighter than the sun, spilling out into the temple, and Eldain looked to his guide.
The warrior nodded and gestured towards the doors.
Until this moment, Eldain had not been afraid, but as the warm light beckoned him in, he dreaded taking even a single step into the chamber at the heart of the pyramid. The warrior gestured again, and this time Eldain obeyed.
Golden light enfolded him, and he felt the warmth of a nearby flame. He entered the chamber as the great doors closed behind him with a soft brush of metal. The light dimmed to a level where he could see, and he looked around at the vast space he found himself within. It was enormous beyond imagining, surely too vast to be contained within the top of the pyramid. A vast circle of black marble filled the centre of the chamber, and a towering flame of the purest white burned at its heart.
The walls of the chamber tapered inwards and were covered from top to bottom with runic script. A thousand lifetimes worth of words were written on the walls, maybe more, and Eldain marvelled at the wealth of information inscribed here.
This was the Chamber of Days, a living record of all the Phoenix Kings who had ever lived and ever would. The walls told the story of Ulthuan as it was known, and the story of Ulthuan that was yet to be written.
Even as he understood what was chronicled here, he felt the flame at the heart of the chamber burn hotter and brighter. A chorus of song issued from the fire, and Eldain closed his eyes as the dead and unborn spoke to him with one voice, the echoes of all the Phoenix Kings of the past and the voices of those yet to be crowned.
This was history and legend combined, a tale of days that had no beginning and no ending.
The kings spoke to him of their reigns, and Eldain lived their lives in a heartbeat.
He learned of their loves, their joys, their sorrows and their great deeds. He lived the history of an entire land and its people in one bright and shining moment. Eldain felt Caelir and Rhianna within the grand sweep of the tale, and wept as he relived their final sacrifice on the Isle of the Dead. His remembrance of them had grown cold and lifeless, but in this chamber of eternal life, they burned as bright as stars.
The heart that does not want to heal cannot be remade…
Eldain finally understood those words, and with that understanding, he was made whole.
He had seen all that had ever been and all the future held; the wonders yet to come to pass, the resurgent glory of the asur and the last great battle for the fate of the world.
Eldain would be part of that, though he would never speak of it.
The temple doors opened and the Phoenix Guard awaited the return of their chosen warrior.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Hailing from Scotland, Graham McNeill worked for over six years as a Games Developer in Games Workshop’s Design Studio before taking the plunge to become a full-time writer. Graham’s written a host of SF and Fantasy novels and comics, as well as a number of side projects that keep him busy and (mostly) out of trouble. His Horus Heresy novel, A Thousand Sons, was a New York Times bestseller and his Time of Legends novel, Empire, won the 2010 David Gemmell Legend Award.
G
raham lives and works in Nottingham and you can keep up to date with where he’ll be and what he’s working on by visiting his website.
Join the ranks of the 4th Company at
www.graham-mcneill.com
To everyone who kept demanding I finish this story. Thanks for waiting for me...
A BLACK LIBRARY PUBLICATION
Published in 2011 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd., Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK
Cover illustration by Marek Okon.
Map by Nuala Kinrade.
© Games Workshop Limited 2011. All rights reserved.
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ISBN 978-0-85787-172-5
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Graham McNeill, Sons of Ellyrion
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