The gem in the centre of the perfect sphere glittered with magical energy. He muttered the spell, and it rose into the air and swooped down to circle the Chaos warrior. Kelmain shut his eyes and concentrated on the link. His point of view shifted to that of the gem. It was his eye and he could see through it now.

“This will lead you to that accursed dwarf,” said Kelmain, and the spell allowed his voice to emerge from the Eye. “And allow us to witness your great victory! Go kill Gotrek Gurnisson,” said Kelmain.
A little tired from the strain of the ritual, Kelmain yawned. His brother did likewise. A small significant feeling of triumph filled Kelmain as he prepared to shift his consciousness into the Eye. One way or another, Gotrek Gurnisson was as good as dead. And so was anybody with him.
Grume and his warriors were already heading out of the antechamber into snow.
“You do not think that Grume can overcome Gotrek Gurnisson?”
“He is tough and his force is very numerous, but even if he does not, it will serve our purposes. If they fail to overcome the Slayer, they will lure him here — there are things within the Paths of the Old Ones which can kill even him.”

 

CHAPTER 3



The servants looked at him with awe as he entered the stable Teclis was garbed for battle, wearing the war crown of Saphery and bearing the staff of Lileath. Ignoring their stares, he inspected the griffon. It was a magnificent beast, a winged eagle-headed lion, large enough for an elf to ride. It opened its mouth and let out an ear-piercing scream that caused the courtesans to shriek nervously and then giggle. It was a warcry that down through the ages had terrified the enemies of the elves. Now that the great dragons lay mostly dormant, these mighty magical creatures were the favoured aerial steeds of the elves. Of course, they were rare. This one, a champion racer, would have cost the ransom of a human king. The great breeder Ranagor had reared it with her own hand from an egg she had taken from the highest slopes of Mount Brood.
There were times Teclis wished he had learned to properly master a griffon, but he never had. It was a skill that only the strongest of elves could learn, and it was an art that had to be learned young. In his youth he had been too sickly. He would never be able to ride one of these magnificent creatures into battle without first paralysing its fierce will with magic, which would defeat the whole point. He would need to use a spell of stupefaction to make the thing docile enough to ride.
A spasm of dizziness passed through him. They were getting worse. He counted slowly to twenty and there was no surprise when the earth shook and the building quaked. His uncanny sensitivity to fluctuations in the level of magical energy around him, a side-effect of the spells he used to give himself normal health and energy, had forewarned him of the quake. He knew that he needed to get busy, that time was running out for his land and his people and, if the binding spells failed, for himself too, most likely.
He took a deep breath of the stable air. It held the overpowering stink of animal flesh and dung, and of feathers. His aged servants hooked the great saddle to the creature’s back, all the while trying to be careful of its mighty claws and great scimitar-like beak. They checked the girth and the bridle and then looked at him.