The Malkieri


The Malkieri




The blood-crudling cry of a Trolloc tore through the black night as the wretched Shadow Spawn made it final death-rattle. In the dark night, all that could be seen of the Trolloc’s slayer was the silver band of moon on steel and the burning amber-gold orbs suspended in the darkness. The heavy boar-snouted Trolloc fell with a heavy thud on the mud-sodden earth, just bearing its first snow. The slayer of the Shadow Spawn stepped out of the shadow and into the light of the full moon. al’Rath, the Wolf Son. His long and oil black hair fell naturally over his shoulders, the band of leather holding it out of his face for the most part. Rath’s eyes where that of a wolf, glowing like a furnace in the night, giving him his surname, Myraadyr, the Wolf Son. Rath had a very rare and ancient gift. He is what is called a Wolf Brother, he could speak with the wolves, become one with them and learn from them, but his gift has a heavy price. Just like the wolves, Rath knows no middle ground. He is driven by moral codes and emotion. He either loves or hates, which makes him an excellent killer and desired by many women.

Rath stood, his blade shimmering in the moonlight at his side. The stone-faced Malkieri closed his glowing eyes and reached out with his mind, touching every wolf in the mountains around him. Thirty five wolves or more, all screaming with anger at the fast-approaching Trolloc horde, the beasts had slain another pack a few leagues away, and the wolves cried a song of revenge in the air. Rath let the song carress him, his hatred for Shadow Spawn and his love for country and his wolf-kin mixed in him. Creating a furious Battle-Wrath that was like a cornered beast within Rath, demanding release.
Suddenly, a twig snapped a few paces behind Rath. Within less than a second, the Malkieri Warrior spun on a heel and brought his sword to bear.

“Shain, Rath alantin.” Peace, Brother Rath. The newcomer said in a familiar voice, stepping out from the shadows of the trees. al’Lan Mandragoran, the Crownless King of Malkier, his last name meaning “The King of the People”, was befitting in every way. Lan did not see himself above the average commoner, he saw his people as equals, children that he must care for.

“Da’Shain, al’Lan.” True Peace, Lord Lan. Rath spun his sword in his right hand until the tip faced the ground. Rath knelt and bowed his head. Lan chuckled and patted his friend and most valuable soldier on an armored shoulder.

“Rise, Rath. You need not bow to me.” Lan said in a fatherly fashion. The King was difficult to see in the night, his cloak shifting colors as it moved, making Lan blend into the night like a ghost. Rath stood and gave a flicker of a smile to his lord before turning to look back down the mountain pass.

“Trollocs are coming, my lord. The wolves say that a Fist is on the way.” A Fist of Trollocs, fifty of the snarling, twisted beasts, lead by a Myrdraal. Lan hissed a sigh through his teeth and sat down on a log.

“Nothing you haven’t handled before, Rath.” Lan said with a smile. Rath nodded matter-of-factly, no smile on his face. Rath was never one to smile much, he simply never had reason to. The wolf-eyed Malkieri sat on a stump across from his lord. The warrior and the king sat in silence for a long while, Rath cleaning the blade of his sword and keeping his keen ears perked and ready. Lan spoke up suddenly,

“Rath, how old are you? I have lost count.” Rath’s lips flickered in a smirk for a second again, laying his sword across his lap.

“My lord, I don’t see how that is relevant.”

“It is plenty relevant, now answer the question.” Lan responded. Rath let out a chuckle for a split second, then spoke in his deep and commanding voice,

“It is my twenty-eighth year, my lord.” Rath responded quietly. Lan’s eyebrows lifted lightly on his forehead, then smirked.

“A good year, a good year indeed. Have you found a suitable wife for yourself, Rath?” The wolf-eyed warrior shifted uncomfortably on his seat, rubbing his hands together for warmth. Rath looked about, wishing that the Trollocs would arrive sooner so he would not need to have this conversation again.

“Have you?” Lan prodded some more. Rath sighed,

“No, my lord. I have not. Burn me, I have had many offers, but they are not for me… How fares your daughter, Elnore.” Rath said, looking back up the pass, staring into nothingness. Lan laughed heartily,

“Why Rath, if I did not know better, I would have taken that as a subtle offer of betrothal to my daughter. It is not, is it?” Lan’s face grew stern and Rath’s heart sank, leaving his chest feeling empty.

“No my lord. Of course not. Is it too much for me to ask about a friend?” Rath kept a emotionless face, but he knew he was lying to himself. He had been near Elnore his whole life, being a few years older than her. He was always the ‘big brother’ figure to her. He would play with her when they where children, take the flak when she broke something, saying it was his fault. He had protected her for his whole life, he cared for her dearly. He loved her, even. She was beautiful and young, like her mother. Brown hair and bright green eyes, just like her mother. Lan spoke up once more,

“Of course not. Elnore fares well. She is learning how to channel the One Power from her mother. I have chosen a perfect suitor for her, she is very excited.” Hearing these words, Rath’s heart sank even further. Through his bond with the wolves, they howled out in heartache. Lan looked around the peaks of the mountains, as if trying to locate the source of the howl, then looked back to Rath with a smile. The wolf-eyed warrior stood and sheathed his sword.
“My lord, the Trolloc horde approaches.”
“And you think me incapable of fighting, Brother Rath?” Lan said with a grin, standing and drawing his sword. Rath just bowed and offered his apologies, drawing his sword afterwards.

Lan watched Rath make his leave, admiring the devoted and skilled youth. Rath had always served without question and without fail. Lan would reward him greatly for it. The beating of crude battle drums reached his ears, meaning Rath had heard them coming from a long ways away. The tall and twisted shapes of Trollocs came into view, their scythe bladed swords and spiked axes catching the moonlight faintly. Fifty Trollocs was enough to ransack a fort in the wilderness, even without a Myrdraal leading them. Snow began to trickle down from the heavens slowly, making everything seem surreal and mystical. Lan looked about for Rath, but the youth had vanished. Surely planning an ambush.

Rath stepped out of the cover of the trees confidently, the Trolloc horde but paces from him. He stared at them all with his furiously burning eyes, feral hatred and his oath-sealed duty to defend Malkier made the fire in his eyes and his soul show as if the wolf-eyed warrior was actually on fire. The Trollocs stopped in their tracks, some even taking a step back as they saw the burning gold gaze of the lone warrior before them. Rath felt an icy chill run through him as the eyeless gaze of the Myrdraal settled on him. The maggot-white skin of the Myrdraal shone in the moonlight, bloodless lips drawn back into a black-gummed and rotten-toothed smile of cruelty. The Myrdraal’s cloak did not move in the breeze at all, giving the creature an aura of not belonging in a realm of sanity. The Mydraal chuckled a cruel laugh, sounding like dry leather rapping against stone, the Fade thought he was triumphant, seeing the youth not move. The Mydraal’s laugh was cut off at the knees when the wolf-eyed youth laughed with it.

“Come now… I am just one man. Surely you can kill me.”  Rath taunted, spinning his sword in casual figure eights around him. The Mydraal snarled and hissed an order to the Trollocs, demanding they charge and devour the warrior alive. There was a pause between the Mydraal’s order and the Trollocs’ actions, as if they contemplated running instead. The twisted and tall figures of the Trollocs lumbered forward, ready to rip and kill and devour.

Lan observed Rath as the Trollocs charged. The youthful warrior danced a deadly dance, the forms of the Blademasters. Wolf Pounces on Elk, Eagle Soars Above, Hummingbird Kisses the Honeyrose, all of these forms executed masterfully. With each step of Rath’s dance, a Trolloc screamed and fell to be silent forever. Lan almost yelled out a curse when Rath was caught on the shoulder by a Trolloc sword, but the Malkieri armor prevented any limb loss. The attacking Trollocs where slowly pushed back, a finger of their Fist cleaved off by Rath Myraadyr. The Mydraal hissed and dismounted, drawing a blade as black as the Dark One’s taint. The blade seemed to devour light, making it hard to see. Rath took his strongest and fastest battle-stance, knowing that Mydraal had the mobility of a serpent.

Rath offered up a prayer to the Creator for this fight, Mydraal lived off of death; to kill one is a feat that must be celebrated. Rath knew how dangerous that Black Blade was, a single cut could kill him, the blade was so poisonous. The Mydraal moved with the slow and purposefulness of a deadly serpent, its cloak barely moved at all with its steps. Rath took a breath before the clash started. The Mydraal and the Malkieri clashed in a flurry of steel and cloak as each danced their own dance, countering each other, blocking and dodging.
With a howl of agony, Rath fell, his left sleeve sodden and damp, a long and red gash that stretched from shoulder to bicep. The Mydraal stepped closer with the same confidence and serpentine grace, as if it knew it had already won. Lan had left his spot, sword in hand, charging towards the Mydrall, but stopped at Rath’s words,

“Elnore! Cuebiyar cuaranyar! Mi mashiara!” Elnore! Heart of my heart! My beloved of heart! Lan felt a tear swell in his eye as the youth rose, stubborn and furious, his eyes burning hotter than the unforgiving sun in The Blight. Even the Mydraal was taken aback, and that was all Rath needed. The Malkieri charged and performed Wolf Howls to The Moon, blade rising up, severing the sword hand of the Mydraal. Hawk Descends on The Hare, the blade falling on the crook of the Shadow Spawns neck, the master crafted blade sinking into the chest of the Mydraal. The eyeless creature hissed and squirmed as it fell to a knee, still clawing at its assailant with it’s one hand. Rath wrapped his hands around the Mydraal’s head and began to wrench and tug until a sickening snap was heard, the eyeless and soulless creature’s head hanging limp on it’s shoulders. Re-gripping his sword, Rath pulled the blade free and perfomed Hummingbird Kisses the Honeyrose and Wolf Howls at The Moon, stabbing the blade down into the Mydraal and wrenching the blade up, the eyeless head hurled from the Mydraal’s shoulders. The creature was finally dead. Behind it, all of the Trollocs fell to the ground and writhed as they too shared the fate of their master, the lot of the twisted Trollocs finally lying still.

“Elnore, mi mashiara’an.” Elnore, my love lost. Rath said as he stumbled towards Lan, but eventually fell to the ground. Lan ran over to his fallen comrade, picking the wolf-eyed youth up into his arms.

“Rath. Rath Myraadyr, you stay with me, soldier. Rath!” Lan tore off a piece of his cloak and wrapped the wound the Mydraal had left, which was now blackened and pus ridden.

“Rath! Do not embrace death! Do not! Do you have any idea how hard it will be to find another suitor for Elnore? Do not embrace death, my son!” Lan took Rath’s hand in his, looking him in the eyes. The wolf-eyed Malkieri nodded faintly, and then closed his eyes, a smile on his face.



*       * *


Rath awoke in a soft bed with fur blankets, his arm wrapped and bandaged. His yellow eyes scanned the room, it was his room, he could tell by the scent. The Malkieri warrior sat up slowly, laying a hand on his muscular chest and on the blankets as if he did not believe that he was actually alive.

“You had me worried, al’Rath Myraadyr. You had the entire family worried.” Rath jerked his head to look at the sourced of the voice. There in his room, stood his Queen. Queen Nynaeve of Malkier, wife of al’Lan Mandragoran and mother of Elnore, her long brown hair and her stunning green eyes made her look like an older version of her daughter, though not much older, Aes Sedai had an ageless quality to them. Rath struggled to exit his bed and bow properly, his discipline overtaking common sense. He eventually fell off of the bed onto his knees, bowing deeply. Nynaeve huffed a sigh and shook her head at him,

“Men. Stubborn and wool-headed, the lot of you.” She smiled before walking over to Rath and helping him back up on the bed, but not without protest,

“al’Rath Myraadyr, if you don’t let me help you, I’ll thump you harder than you wish to imagine. Rath stopped protesting afterwards. Nynaeve smiled at him in a motherly fashion as she undid his bandages, the Mydraal wound now little more than a scar that traversed his shoulder and upper arm. He kept his head humbly bowed.

“My husband has told me of your deeds in the mountain pass. Brave, stupid and wool-headed, but brave.” Nynaeve smiled to herself as she watched the warrior’s face slowly redden.

“I also hear about your battle cry as you killed that Mydraal.” Nynaeve smirked deviously at the wolf-eyed youth before her, his face red as if he were burnt by the sun. She couldn’t help but laugh as she watched his mouth move wordlessly as he searched for something to say in defense.

“Oh, don’t look so terrified, Rath. I would not harm the strong young man soon to be my son. I am not so cruel to my own daughter, besides, she would have my skin if I did anything more than give you a thump.” The wolf-eyed Malkieri placed a hand over his heart, swearing that it must have done a back-flip in his chest. Rath was speechless, trying to tell himself that this was not a dream, it all seemed real enough. He was so preoccupied that he did not notice Nynaeve’s slight movement from her chair, nor the entrance of four other people in the room. Small, soft hands cupped his face, lifting his golden gaze up. Gold met green, Elnore stood there before him, wearing a white silk dress with a belt of silver around a waist that Rath could wrap his large hands around. Elnore’s beautiful features seemed to hold Rath more frozen than any gaze of a Fade. She had a kind smile on her beautiful and youthful face, a smile so kind and loving that Rath could not help but smile back.

“So, he can smile.” Elnore said with a voice so angelic to Rath he thought he might be dead. The Malkieri princess drew closer to Rath, placing a gentle kiss on his lips, letting the kiss linger for a long moment. Rath now knew he was not dead, and thanked the Creator and the Light for it. The wolf-eyed youth’s ears picked up Nynaeve sobbing into her husband’s shoulder. It was not until now that Rath realized that Lan’s entire family was present in the room. His son and youngest daughter by him, any other time, Rath would have bowed to them, so far as to touch his brow to the floor, but he was preoccupied at the moment. Elnore broke the kiss reluctantly, standing by Rath’s side. The Malkieri warrior stood slowly, he stood head and shoulders taller than Elnore and half a head taller than Lan. The Royal Family of Malkier was in his room all at once, an honor to any citizen anywhere, but this was different. Rath knew that his highest hope had been realized. He was part of Lan’s family, he was Elnore’s husband.
“al’Rath Myraadyr, welcome to the family, my son.” Lan said, dipping his head in a bow. Lan walked forward, the rest of his family close behind him, each of them embracing him as family in turn.



















All locations, creatures, terms, and most of the characters and plot © 1990 Robert Jordan and TOR productions. Rath Myraadyr and writing © 2009 Alex Maxwell.