Lost History of The End Times by Various

Author:Various
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2015-11-21T05:00:00+00:00

The vortex at last faded away, but the tremors did not. Waystones rumbled, and great slabs of alabaster stone cracked away from their flanks. At the island’s lip, the seas grew angrier, and waves reared high before smashing down on the desolate shores.

This, at last, was too much for Tyrion’s host. The elves’ madness had begun to fade even as their prince had died, and now they fled. Some, realising the terrible deeds they had committed in Tyrion’s name, begged for forgiveness, and thus earned swift deaths, whilst those who fled met only with the chill embrace of the storm¬laden seas. As for those who had fought for Malekith, most clustered beneath their banners as the island collapsed, and prayed for salvation.

Alarielle picked her way through the falling stones and hastened to the spot where Tyrion and Malekith lay. Her face was distant and unreadable, her thoughts - perhaps her very being - far afield. Araloth went with her, though he knew that the Everqueen no longer needed his spear for protection. As he walked, Araloth felt fresh energy in his tired limbs, saw his wounds close as if they had never been. The eyes of elves who had hovered on the brink of death snapped open as the Everqueen passed, their broken bones reknitting and their agonies receding.

Alarielle stooped briefly at Malekith’s side. Araloth watched as her fingers brushed the arrow-shaft protruding from the Phoenix King’s back, and started in surprise as the wood burst into a fine cloud of seeds.

They hung in the air for a moment, gossamer against the light. Then the wind scattered them across the rocky ground. The seeds sprouted with impossible speed wherever they landed, questing roots bursting from the husks to burrow into cracks.

Alarielle’s presence was all the nourishment the seedlings required.

Decades of growth occurred in seconds, and soon a thin but glorious glade of oaks stood at the isle’s heart.

Malekith’s fists clenched and unclenched as the strange forest unfurled about him, but otherwise made no move. Alarielle paid him no further heed. Without a word, she knelt in the dust beside Tyrion. Araloth watched as a single tear spilled from the Everqueen’s cheek, splashing across the prince’s brow.

In death, all the malice and cruelty had faded from the prince’s face, and his aspect was again that which had brought hope to his people. Araloth lingered a moment, but then saw Teclis standing silently amongst the rocks, and left the Everqueen to her private sorrow.

The ground rumbled once again, more forcefully than before. A short distance from where Alarielle knelt, a waystone collapsed, showering the ground with dust and shards of stone. The rock where the vortex had once stood fell away, replaced by a seething cauldron of white water.

Malekith, at last roused, staggered to his feet. No one moved to help.

Not all of the Phoenix King’s wounds were healing. The shaft of the arrow had been transmuted by Alarielle’s touch, but the tip remained, lodged close to his heart. Every motion was agony, but then Malekith was no stranger to pain.

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