The dark marble absorbed every bit of Sun's scorching heat. It grew hotter and hotter, paralyzing the life on the upper deck, stern, and masts. The rock refused to radiate the energy, and over the day, it made some parts of the ship uninhabitable. After dawn, Malekith could hear Black Arks cracking, as chill winds and waters collided against the marble and shattered the material. For the last couple of days, Kouran have been reporting him the rumors and panic that spread amongst the Black Guards of Naggarond, Witch King's most disciplined and skilled soldiers. They could not train with or without their black armor, could not see the sunlight and take care of regime, could not even sleep. Malekith was there when every of the Black Arks he now commanded was built, and he knew the cracking rock would not be of any danger, as dark incantations keep the gargantuan colossi afloat. Yet it was not fear, but noises, that kept him awake. The hard material did not let any tiniest cracking on the opposite side of the ship went unheard. After noises disappeared for some brief moments, he hoped this will be the time he falls asleep. The moments of silence backstabbed the Witch King with cracking, leaving no hope for any rest. During days, he would unequip his suit of armor and take heed in his tower. He thought of staying in deep mazes of Black Ark dungeons, but they turned out to be too stuffy and too exposed to the terrorizing cracking. The Witch King stayed atop the Ark, waiting for yellow strips to appear on the horizon. He walked in a thin cloth, covering his ravaged body, as the armor rested in the corner of the room. Kouran or the Witch Elves he used for pleasure would help him to equip it when Malekith needed to leave the tower. Thankfully, for the last two days it didn't happen, so the Witch King would enjoy a greater freedom of movement, especially during his twisted carnal sessions with volunteers from the Ark. Little did the enthusiastic girls knew they would never leave the tower, as from all of the personas on the ship he trusted only Kouran to see his body. He made sure to deliver the striking blow with ungodly precision, sending his servants to Khaine swiftly and without terrorizing them with the fear of sudden inevitable death. Normally they would conserve the bodies among the glacier cubes in lover decks, but the ice melted as they approached Coast of Araby, so Malekith had to prevent the stink of bodies decomposing in hot environment from poisoning the air on the ship. After he ordered to throw the third beautiful body of a young girl into the sea, he decided to stop it. The last one was an abnormally pale Druchii from Clar Karond. Midnight eyes, sharp chin, bright-snow hair, small breasts, a scar sliding from chest and over the ab muscles to the pubis. What was her name, he wondered, sitting at the table. He was wearing the only piece of white cloth that his servants could find on the Ark. Looking at the golden pattern, a merwyrm devouring the maiden, he realized he did not remember it. Did I ask her? He remembered how she looked at him. She was happy as if she ascended to her God. He was not the Elven god, but he might have been hers. The way she looked at him. How she screamed when he put her against this very table and pounded until his breath ran out. She enthusiastically guided his burnt fingers where they could feel the moisture of her body; she looked at him with undying passion; she moaned his name and titles. She has even forgotten who is in charge for a brief moment, forcing her dreaded majesty on the table. The Elf sat on top, grabbed his legs, and rode him as furiously as her body possibly could. He knew he had to do it, especially after allowing himself to be submitted to his loyal servant. After the dagger pierced her throat from one side to another, he saw her smile, before her eyes suddenly stared into nothingness. Was she happy to die this way? Was it about fucking her King or being killed by him?
The drops of sweat ran down his face. It was not because of the staggering heat. It was her face in his head. The blood that squirted from her mouth and all over his face. He has killed so many Elves: Asur, Asrai, Druchii; but her face refused to leave his imagination. Did the heat poison my mind? Such weakness, he murmured, for too long have I rested in Naggarond. Soon I will unleash my fury on the fools that dared cross the Mother of the Druchii. He smiled at the thought of her riding him the way his toy did not so long ago. A strange feeling suddenly pierced his mind. Now, where his cheeks touched cold sharp metal, there was nothing, nothing preventing him smile from ear to ear.
He smiled. As if the thought of meeting his mother has overshadowed his malice, arrogance, and ambition. He missed her, he wanted to save and see her; it now appeared that his trip to Coast of Araby was not the mere demonstration of power to the betrayers, not an act of vengeance. As he sailed from Naggarond, he felt his blood boil. He wanted to kill the Asur, and he wanted to punish his mother for falling into their hands so stupidly. But now he knew he wanted nothing but to be at her loving hands and submit to her twisted desires. She was the only close person he had. Perhaps the only thing he loved. He was capable of love a long time ago, but now he sincerely did not have the faintest idea if cruelty and strive for power have left any kindness and love in his ragged soul.
He looked into the corner of the room, where the large mirror stood. He remembered how he first saw the playfulness and desire in Morathi's eyes, looking in this mirror. He saw her hand slide between the thighs of his armor and slightly lift the plates on his pubis. He stood, paralyzed; his mother was taking off his armor. The Black Arks drifted away from the burning Nagarythe into the frozen wastes, inhabited by barbaric Northern tribes, as Morathi welcomed him to the place he came from.
Malekith remembered every word she told him, every muscle moving on her face, her smell, and his passion. He found himself standing at the exact same position as he stood thousands of years ago. He looked at the exact same spot where her lips whispered, seducing him into carnal pleasures. He was paralyzed once again, shrinking his field of view into the empty spot on the dark surface of the mirror. Finally gathering his conscience, he dared to look away, into his own eyes. He did not recognize himself. The face in the mirror resembled one of his own, though it was not burnt and scarred. Then the bright eyebrows arched, the eyes piercing the Witch King with judgment. Caught off-guard, Malekith fell backward, covering the alien eyes with his palm. He realized it was the sight of Aenarion. 'Father?' he called, putting the hand away. Aenarion the Defender was nowhere to be seen. He ghosted away as fast as he appeared. 'Father?' Malekith asked much more mildly. He looked all over the room, seeking any sight of the sudden guest. Nothing. Surely, a cruel trick of the heat?
He was sick of it. He could not stay awake, he could not sleep, and he could not feel comfort in his own tower. 'Kouran?'
'My dreaded majesty,' the captain walked in.
'Help me to put my suit of armor.' I will examine the soldiers and end the rumors with a couple of swift killing blows.
…
He threw the heads into the sea. Malekith could not risk the horrendous smell of three rumorous heads, rotting on pikes, even at the furthest of observable corners of the ship. The inevitable battle with the Asur was close, and even as he knew it must result in a decisive victory, he still needed the best of his mean rested, healthy, and disciplined. No more awfulness on the Black Ark.
The Black Guards cheered at the sight of their recently alive and capitated comrades lying in their own blood. 'My men!' he turned to face his soldiers, 'I shall not ask any more resilience than each one of you can have, but I do ask this: are you not the black-hearted dread of the seas?'
'Aye,' the Black Guards answered.
'On your King's mission to save the mother of the Druchii?'
'Aye.'
'I never heard our hostile kin crumble going through the obstacles of the journeys south. Are we not their bane?'
'Aye!' his people roared.
'Aye! Sharpen your halberds and bear away, stave on ahead to Coast of Araby!' He took off back to the tower. I hope that my mother will still be alive when we get there.
…
The thin steppe stairs in a hot thin corridor did not shatter his stamina. Even after days without rest, he still managed to walk five hundred-and-twenty-eight steps up and never feel pain. Thousands of years of existence in the toughest conditions made him invincible to almost any physical stress.
Before the captain of Black Guards closed the doors to Malekith's chamber, the Witch King called his servant.
'Kouran?'
'My King?' he bowed.
'How much of your men do I have now?'
'Six thousand one hundred and ninety-seven, my King.'
'Great,' Malekith looked in the mirror. 'Bring me my battle mask.' In the mirror, Malekith saw Kouran bow and leave him alone in the tower. The Witch King stood still, staring into the eye sockets of his current mask, trying to see his father's eyes. No sapphires to be seen, only the emeralds of his mother. He must have been looking for at least half an hour before Kouran returned.
'My majesty,' he bowed and passed Malekith the shiny piece of armor. 'Commander of the Blessed Dread told he would like to speak to you about the attack from the sea.'
'Why would the Krakenlord consult me about such matter?' he murmured, changing the faces. 'If anything, I should be the one asking.'
From behind the door, a pair of shining red eyes appeared. 'Because the Krakenlord seeks to toy with two tiny Elves who dared cross him.'
'Kouran,' Malekith allowed his disappointment to slip through the voice, 'I thought you will make sure our mutual friend will wait on his Ark or at least downstairs…' he looked at the captain. 'Do you perhaps want me to order to bring my disappointed-in-Kouran mask?' he smiled under the battle mask.
'My liege!' Kouran fell on his knees. 'Lord Fellheart was too enthusiastic about a meeting with you. Please-'
'Go, Kouran, we shall talk about that later. Don't bring the mask…for now.'
As scared captain retreated from the room, the sudden guest watched with confusion.
'I see you have picked up a new ancient artifact, Lord Fellheart,' Malekith looked at corsair's golden mask. 'Have you decided to follow the footsteps of old Druchii nobility?' Malekith put his right hand on the chest plates, his smile shining under the grim metallic face.
'How witty!' the Krakenlord seemed to be too exhausted, confused, and desperate to stomach the Witch King's teasing. Realizing he might have gone too far, he quickly changed his temper to a more calm and formal one. 'My King, I came here to ask your permission to captivate Prince Teclis and his whore.'
'Did they sell you this helmet for twice the price?' Malekith couldn't hold himself.
Irritated, but forcing himself to behave, Lokhir removed his mask. 'They made me wear it for the rest of my days.' Malekith saw a burnt and scarred face, black bone surrounded by moist red flesh. Unable to resist, he burst into laughter.
'Welcome to my realm, Lokhir Fellheart!'
The Krakenlord's face twisted in a sad smile as he stood still, holding the Kraken Helm in his left hand.
'I believe, my Lord Malekith, I would be wearing it in every scenario. Such tricks of fate…' the red eyes looked into the eye sockets of the newfound helmet. By that point, Malekith was genuinely interested how young Mage could have burnt the renowned corsair that hard. 'Chupayotl, the Sunken City,' sensing his King's attention, Lokhir began. 'After what Teclis did to me, the Helm must have been a gift of Mathlann.' The story continued, as Krakenlord still looked into eye sockets of the helmet. 'I almost got them. A dozen of my men chasing down the cunts and their soldiers to the coastline, where their petty little ship awaited. The cripple ran so fast, and the whore was raining arrows at us with unparalleled precision. I almost cut her throat, my liege,' he looked at Malekith with his raging red eyes, 'when a Fireball hit me straight in the face.' He came closer. 'I don't care for the treasures of this shithole of a city. I have had enough of my loot. But these two… are mine. Can you promise me that?'
The Witch King laid his hand on the Krakenlord's shoulder. 'You have proven yourself as a warrior of great prowess and a pirate of great talent. Sure, you shall have Teclis and his concubine.' Lokhir nodded respectfully and put his helmet on. When he almost left the room, Witch King decided to stop him. 'Lokhir?' He took a pause. 'I am sorry. I am very deeply sorry. We shall have our revenge.'
'We shall, King Malekith.'
Some seconds passed, and the tread of corsair's boots vanished down the staircase. 'Oh, Kouran?' Malekith playfully called. From the door, the scared captain appeared. 'You know, I think my battle mask will do just fine. Will you make sure to rest? As the corsair officers report, we arrive in two nights.'
'Yes, my King.'
'Oh, and before you leave downstairs,' Malekith thought, 'make sure my best soldiers do not cry about the weather. Or you will have to bring me the disappointed-in-Kouran mask, savvy?'
'Yes, my King.'
