its back. A huge vulture-like head, gazed down with eyes that held more than elven wisdom. The appearance of this greater daemon, this mighty Lord of Change, halted the rout.
‘Long have I wanted to meet you, Phoenix King. Now the hour of your death is at hand.’ The daemon’s voice was high-pitched and shrieking and it would have broken the nerve of a less bold warrior than Aenarion just to listen to it.
‘What is your name, daemon,’ Aenarion said, ‘so I can have it etched on my victory stella that all may know who I conquered?’
The daemon laughed. There was madness in its mirth that would have blasted the sanity of most mortals. ‘I am Kairos Fateweaver and I will send your soul to Tzeentch so he may use it as a bauble for his pleasure.’
It stretched out its taloned hands and ravening streamers of multi-coloured light flashed towards Aenarion. Whatever they touched, living or unliving, warped and changed. Beastmen devolved into protoplasm, hardened stone ran like water. Aenarion raised his blade in front of him and the ribbons of light parted on either side of him. He pushed forward, like a swimmer against a strong tide.
The Lord of Change bellowed its rage and fury and invoked another spell, but by the time it was complete Aenarion was upon it, and the black blade bit home into its flesh. Where the weapon struck, chunks were hacked away and ectoplasm swirled forth in a choking cloud. The daemon screamed, unable to believe that anything could cause it so much pain. Its mighty taloned hands reached out to grip Aenarion.
Such a feast, whispered the voices in his head. More.
Sparks flickered where the daemon’s grip bit into Aenarion’s breastplate. The Lord of Change was a being of awful magical energies and not even the potent spells woven into the elf’s armour could completely resist it. The talons bit flesh and drew blood as they sought out the Phoenix King’s heart.
Aenarion stifled his own cry of pain, and, knowing he had only one chance to live, struck a blow with the black blade, piercing the daemon’s head and striking its jewelled brain. It exploded into a thousand pieces. The force of the blast hurled him through the air to land sprawling on the steps of the temple. He felt ribs break on impact.
Behind him the Vortex surged, and a high-pitched keening roar filled his ears. The air stank of ozone. A thousand voices screamed in unison as death overtook them. Another archmage had fallen. Who could it be, Aenarion wondered? Rhianos Silverfawn? Dorian Starbright? Undoubtedly it was someone he had known and now did not have the time to mourn.
He glanced around him dazedly and caught sight of another gigantic figure slaying the last guardians of the doorway beyond which Caledor and his mages still struggled to maintain their spell. The warding spells could not stop it. The guardians were not even trying to. They were throwing themselves willingly onto the monster’s claws, and greeting death as they would a newfound lover. There was something obscene about the way they went to meet their doom.
Aenarion’s heart sank. He knew this four-armed creature. It had taken all his strength to kill it once and now here it was again. This was N’Kari, the Keeper of Secrets, one of the deadliest of all the servants of the Gods of Chaos, the leader of the forces of Slaanesh, Lord of Pleasure.
‘I see I must slay you again,’ Aenarion shouted to get the daemon’s attention. ‘Or will you escape your just doom by some new trick as you appear to have done in the ruins of Ellyrion?’
N’Kari laughed its beautiful woman’s laugh, and the wind bore its pungent erotic aroma to Aenarion’s nostrils. Normal mortals would have been bemused, but Aenarion was hardened against any temptation it might have borne.
‘Arrogant mortal, I let you live once so I might experience the sensation of defeat. Now I am gorged on ten thousand souls and I am invincible. Be honoured! Your soul will learn agony and ecstasy under the lash of the Dark Prince of Pleasure once I send it to meet him.’
N’Kari sprang, and its huge crab-like claw snapped together where Aenarion had been standing a moment before. It was a feint, and it caught Aenarion with its other hand. Aphrodisiac poisons poured from its nails. Its cloying perfumed breath filled Aenarion’s nostrils. For a moment, he was dizzy and his legs threatened to give way beneath him.