‘Let us play.’

Chapter One

All around them the ancient forest burned. Shadows danced like mad ghosts at a daemonic revel. The air reeked of the fiery death of trees older than empires. The shrieks of the dying, the raped and the tortured mingled with the roar of the flames.

Instinct screamed at Tyrion to put as much distance between themselves and those awful sounds as they could while night lasted.

Those were his people being put to the sword. Those screaming voices belonged to asur, high elves. Their blood enemies, the druchii, had come upon them in the night. If he had not rescued Alarielle from the grasp of the dark elf general, the Everqueen herself would be in the hands of her most deadly enemies.

They needed to get out of here now, to flee, so that she might be spared capture and humiliation by her foes. That was the reason to run.

He glanced across at the Everqueen. He doubted that anyone would have recognised her as the proud and beautiful ruler of Avelorn now. Like him, she was garbed as a druchii soldier. Her face was bruised and her body blood-spattered. Her green eyes held fear and a courage that kept that fear contained, if only just.

Until a few hours ago she had been the pampered ruler of her people. The only fighting she had seen was at tournaments where warriors fought for her favour. Yesterday, he had been one of those warriors, if an ambivalent one, fighting in the great tournament to be her champion.

Today the position seemed to have fallen to him by default. All of the others sworn to her protection were dead, killed by a druchii army which had somehow, impossibly, managed to erupt into the very heart of the forest kingdom of Avelorn without any warning being given.

Other sounds interrupted the shrieks of torment – the blaring of horns and the bellowing of orders. Pursuit was being organised. He needed to get Alarielle to safety. Another chilling thought struck him. If a dark elf army could reach the heart of Avelorn, where else could it reach? Perhaps no place was safe any more.

The Everqueen looked at him, as if frightened by what she read on his face as by the possibility of pursuit.

‘You look thoughtful, Prince Tyrion.’ He could tell she had wanted to say something else but she was being tactful.

He caught her by the wrist and pulled her along behind him, his elven eyes following the shadowy path without difficulty. ‘I was thinking that Avelorn might not be the only place the Witch King has attacked. In fact, it is very unlikely.’

Alarielle looked troubled. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Avelorn is not the centre of the world.’

‘Ah but it is, at least as far as the elves are concerned, your serenity,’ said Tyrion. ‘That’s why we must get you as far away from here as possible come dawn.’

He was not sure how long these disguises would hold once the dark elves really started looking. He doubted either he or Alarielle could pass as druchii under even the most cursory of inspections.

As if summoned by that thought, a group of at least a dozen figures emerged out of the gloom, all of them dark elves and all of them female. They were beautiful in a savage sort of way – their garb consisted of leather straps, quivers, scabbards and very little else. Their hair was long and matted. Intricate, evil-looking tattoos marked their skins with shocking runes.

Crimson smeared their pouting lips as if they had been drinking the blood of their victims. Each of them bore two blades, and those bloody blades had seen use. Runes on the blades mirrored the ink on their skins.