great altar.
Teclis’s face was pale and Tyrion could sense his twin’s fear and agony. Its distant echo made his stomach churn and his muscles tense. Teclis’s brow was knotted in intense concentration. His eyes stared off into the far distance as if he was looking out on things others could not see. His thrashings had stopped and he seemed to have regained some control over himself.
Images of what might be happening outside intruded themselves into Tyrion’s mind. He pictured elves being torn apart by ravening daemons, and the hordes of Chaos rampaging through the most sacred shrine of the elves.
He realised that he was not afraid. He was angry. He was angry about the desecration of this holy place, of the threat to his brother’s life, about the strange twists of fate that had brought him to this place to die.
Anger and fear are two sides of the same coin, he told himself. Both can get you killed. He forced himself to breathe deeply, to remain calm. Now was not a time when he could afford any emotion-driven mistakes. He saw one of the wounded soldiers looking over at him with something like admiration.
‘I wonder that you can remain so calm, Prince Tyrion,’ he said. The effort of keeping his voice steady showed in his speech. His voice seemed about to crack when he mentioned Tyrion’s name.
‘We are in the keeping of Asuryan,’ Tyrion said, gesturing to one of the massive statues. He was remembering the way Lady Malene and Captain Joyelle and the officers of the Eagle of Lothern had stood on the deck in the storm and given their confidence to the crew.
‘Your faith is inspiring,’ said the soldier, with only the faintest hint of irony. What he obviously wanted to say but did not dare do in this holy place and in earshot of his comrades was that he did not share Tyrion’s faith.
Tyrion smiled at him and the soldier squared his shoulders and gripped his weapon tighter. As Tyrion had suspected he was not about to show himself less brave than an untried sixteen-year old. Tyrion looked away. He had been glad to deal with the soldier’s doubts, they had distracted him from his own dark thoughts. Deep in his breast he felt a titanic rage building once more, an anger that could consume him if he let it, the sort of rage his ancestor Aenarion might have felt when he confronted the hosts of Chaos.
Is this how the Curse manifests itself in me, he thought? Am I a child of rage, like those elves who followed Aenarion in the dark days after he lost his wife and children? Is that why I can kill without conscience? Am I chosen by Khaine in that way?
He knew he might not live to find out. The leader of the remaining Phoenix Guards gestured to the warriors present. The Guards and the wounded alike moved to place themselves between the twins and anything that sought to get at them. Tyrion knew they had no chance of doing it, but he was touched by their bravery anyway.
Something enormous bellowed outside the door.
‘Whatever you’re going to do, do it soon,’ Tyrion told his twin.
Teclis stared sightlessly at the ceiling.
The great wooden doorway of the sanctum crashed open. A four-armed form stood there, brandishing an enormous greatsword in one oddly delicate arm. A huge claw clicked at the end of another. With its remaining two arms it wove potent spells. The last twenty of the Phoenix Guard faced it.
Tyrion wondered if there would be any of the order left after this battle. It was said that each of the Phoenix Guard was granted knowledge of his own death during the intricate rituals performed when they were raised to the status of member. He wondered if the proud warriors around him had always known that this moment would come.
He studied their faces. All of them were grim. None of them showed fear, even in the face of the horror confronting them. Tyrion looked back at N’Kari. He had always known the daemon was going to be massive, what he had not conceived of was how oddly beautiful it would be. It was not that the creature’s form was lovely, rather it was that it moved with the lithe grace of a dancer and the beckoning, seductive movements of a high-class courtesan. It should and did look obscene, but it was also fascinating.
Magic, he told himself. The daemon’s aura was working on him. He