Forgery of the Phoenix
Book Five of ‘Fantasy & Forensics’
Michael Angel
Copyright 2016
Michael Angel
Includes a sneak preview of
the sixth book in the
‘Fantasy & Forensics’ series,
Assault in the Wizard Degree,
also by Michael Angel.
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COLOR AND B&W MAPS OF ANDELUVIA
Forgery of the Phoenix
Book Five of ‘Fantasy & Forensics’
By Michael Angel
Chapter One
Sometimes, what looks like a knight in shining armor turns out to be an idiot wrapped in aluminum foil.
And that’s just what happened when I crossed the palace courtyard during one especially frigid morning. Actually, the knights in question were wearing armor, not tinfoil. The ‘idiot’ part still applied, though.
My feet crunched through the ankle-deep snow that had fallen last night. I pulled my fur-trimmed cloak close about me as I made my way towards the entry leading back to my demesne. It’s hard to explain, but my heart glowed a little whenever I heard people referring to it as the ‘Dame’s Tower’.
The clink of armor and the sound of booted feet on stone resolved itself into the form of a tall, armored knight. Encountering a person dressed like this in Andeluvia was about as commonplace as bumping into someone wearing spandex in Los Angeles. But the fact that the man intentionally blocked the walkway made me stop in my tracks.
This knight had curly locks of straw-blond hair and a decidedly fervent look in his dark-brown eyes. I didn’t recognize him off the bat, but that didn’t surprise me. Like many of the knights at court, he wore a steel helm with a nose guard and a long-sleeved hauberk made of chain mail. His sword hung in a scabbard at one hip, while the natty red-and-black cloak that draped his shoulders snapped in the cold breeze.
“Dame Chrissie, I must speak with you!” he declared in a firm voice.
“All right,” I said, after a pause. “King Fitzwilliam’s holding court later this morning, maybe we can talk then?”
“Unacceptable! I shall speak with you now!”
With that, he drew his sword from his scabbard. The sound of steel on leather whispered in my ears. My hand reflexively slipped under my cloak and grasped the handle of my semiautomatic.
I don’t normally act like a western gunfighter spoiling for a shoot-em-up. But Andeluvia could be a dicey place. Especially for someone who wasn’t prepared to defend herself.
“I am Sir Strickland,” the knight announced grandly. He knelt before me while balancing the flat side of the sword across both of his palms. He presented the weapon as if preparing to propose marriage. “I ask, nay, I demand that I be granted the opportunity to fight in the Spring Tournament as your favored champion.”
Well, this was unexpected.
“Uh…” I said intelligently, “I’m not sure how this is supposed to–”
“You fobbing lout!” came a cry, and two more knights’ came jogging up, their chain mail clinking in time with their steps. The pair’s heavy breaths steamed in the frosty air. One was broader-chested than Sir Strickland and sported russet-colored muttonchop sideburns. The other was shorter, with a badly pockmarked chin only partly hidden by a raggedly grown black goatee.
“Who dares call me a lout?” Strickland shot back, though he didn’t rise from his kneeling position.
Muttonchop glowered at him. “I, Sir Odell, dares! I dare, when you leave your post to ‘make the royal squat’ at the privies, only to slip away dishonorably!”
“Ignore these two miscreants, Dame Chrissie,” the goateed one said smoothly. He then drew his sword and presented it as he knelt before me. “I am Sir Ghaznavi, and only I am worthy to fight in the Spring Tournament as your favored champion.”
“A man who serves her worst nemesis, Lord Behnaz? She would sooner kiss a pig’s tail!” Odell sneered. Then Odell drew his sword and knelt in turn. “A true Dame must have a knight unsullied by serving with her enemies. Allow me to fight in the Spring Tournament as your favored champion, and I shall smite all challengers.”
My brain was still playing catch-up. Most of the knights I’d dealt with up until now had treated me like something to be scraped off the bottom of their shoes. This sudden change of attitude caught me totally and utterly off balance.
“Look,” I said quickly. “I’m not familiar with this whole ‘Spring Tournament’ thing. How about you three let me jot your names down and I can decide later. Like in the...um...spring?”
“And who might you be ‘smiting’, Odell?” Sir Ghaznavi growled, as he got up, gripping his sword menacingly. “Dame Chrissie should at least get someone who knows how to fight!”
“You think either of you can lecture me about fighting?” Odell flared. “A pissant little man and an over-tall boy whose father bought him a toy sword?”
Odell and Strickland rose in turn. Strickland said, “Both of you should tuck tail and slink back to the post, before I am forced to deal you some hurt.”
“You or your father, knave? That post is yours as well, or did that slip your mind?”
I tried to interject one last time. “Guys, come on! Can’t we settle this like –”
That was about as far as I got before the first clang of sword-on-sword rang out. I shook my head and gave the trio as wide a berth as I could as they began their combat in earnest. There was a crunch and a grunt of pain as someone landed a blow, but I didn’t bother turning to look. Instead, I made my way into the palace proper letting the door swing closed behind me. The heavy wood muffled the sounds of battle from the courtyard, and that was about all the blessing I could hope for at this point.
My eyes adjusted to the dim interior lighting as I made my way up two flights of stairs, finally arriving at my quarters. A shield-shaped image of my recently selected heraldry adorned the door’s surface. The faint mineral oil essence of the paint tickled both my nose and tongue. Shades of burgundy, bright gold, dark green, and black still gleamed wetly from the surface. The artist even gave a three-dimensional curve to the gray tower sitting in the center of the design.
Yet more changes greeted my eyes when I pushed through the door, taking care not to touch the fresh paint. Similar four-toned shields had been painted on or sewn into the furniture, the window shutters, over the hearth, even on my seat cushion. I wasn’t sure what statement that last decoration was supposed to make, but it was still better than the chair I had at court, so I let it slide.
The lengths of bright purple rope still hung from a hole cut into the ceiling so I could summon Pages as needed. Now, the ceiling holes had been joined by a much larger hole in the floor towards the back of the circular room. The palace masons were building a stone stairway up from below to link the two floors, so I could make use of both levels.
The masons were making slow progress, but I expected that. I’d asked for work to be done only a few days per week, when I expected to be away from Andeluvia. Not only did this spare me the noise and dust
, it also kept a measure of privacy for me. Only my three closest friends, the small group of royal pages – and the King, who had the authority to go anywhere he wanted – were allowed access at any time.
Speaking of my closest friends, the two with the most fur and feathers lay spread out by the blazing hearth, their eyes closed in expressions of serene satisfaction as they soaked up the warmth. But, as usual, they still verbally sparred with each other.
“Thou couldst pay off thy debts to me in food instead of gold,” Shaw was saying. “I am partial to fire-charred meat, though I know thy species lacks the ability to cook with any real expertise.”
“I still say that I never formally placed those bets with you,” Liam countered, though in a decidedly mellow manner. He cracked open an eye – his green one, as a matter of fact – and made a little deer smile as he caught sight of me. “It seems we’re in the presence of the newly raised.”
“Newly raised by the King, and newly fought over,” I grumbled. “Liam, if you have a moment?”
He got up on his long stag’s legs, sleepily flexing each in turn. “Surely, I always have a moment for a friend. That would be true even if said friend was a griffin.”
“Especially if thy friend is a griffin,” Shaw put in, as he got up and out-flexed Liam by arching his back and stretching out his leonine forepaws like a giant golden-furred cat. “Spare a thought to thy other words, Dayna. Why art thou newly fought over?”
“Three of Fitzwilliam’s finest demanded to be my favored champion when they fight in the Spring Tournament,” I explained. “Apparently it’s some kind of big deal.”
“Aye, ‘tis quite a big deal! Among thy species, fighting and winning as a favored champion puts a knight in the ideal position to court his lady.”
“Wait, what?” I stared at the griffin incredulously as he turned to preen a stray wing feather. “I never asked for – I mean, I already have a boyfriend. This is ridiculous!”
“Thou speakest true. Drakes only fight for the right of being first in line.”
Shaw had me there. Griffins not only looked like felines from below the head and wings, they also mated like them. A single female typically took on multiple lovers except in very special circumstances.
“Well,” I admitted, “at least the two of us are in agreement over how ridiculous it is.”
“Make that the three of us,” Liam said. “Males fighting over a single female is unseemly! Among the fayleene, males fight for dominance because there are multiple females at the core of the issue.”
“Regardless,” I pressed on stubbornly as I sat at the table, “my point was that it’s ridiculous to draw swords over someone’s favor at some future contest. They’re still at it!”
“They are?”
Liam and Shaw leapt eagerly to the window. The griffin tugged the shutters open so that he and the Fayleene Protector of the Forest could peer out. The clash of sword-on-sword echoed up from the courtyard.
“Now’s my chance to win back this supposed bet,” Liam chuckled. “The one with those tufts of red-brown facial fur looks tough.”
“Nay, not tough enough! ‘Tis the black-haired one that I shall back.”
“Then I shall pick the gold-haired fellow. Why would you pick the darker-haired one? The other is taller and has more reach.”
“Tis not the size of the drake in the fight,” Shaw opined sagely. “Tis the size of fight in the drake.”
I sighed, dropping my head into my hands. Just another typical day in Andeluvia, broken up by either evil magic, monster attack, court treachery, or swordplay.
But it did beat sitting in the OME’s weekly staff meetings back in Los Angeles.
Chapter Two
Normally, I didn’t care in the slightest how my friends entertained themselves. If anything, I normally had to call an end to a late game night, or try and smooth out any harsh feelings that might crop up, usually after a bout where Grimshaw won most of the matches. The drake wasn’t only reflexively competitive, he was simply damned good at everything from board games to memory tests and physical contests.
But I really did need to speak with the Protector of the Forest, so I decided to break up the fun.
“Liam,” I called. “This is kind of important.”
“Right,” Liam replied, as he reluctantly turned away from the window. Shaw nudged his shoulder with a wingtip.
“Never fear,” the griffin assured him. “I shall keep thee apprised of the contest.”
Liam joined me. The table came to an even lower point on his chest than a few days ago. The former fayleene princeling was still growing at close to an inch a month.
Looking closely, I even noticed a couple of spots on his antlers that threatened to ‘bud’ into an additional pair of points. All this, and without so much as a spot of acne. Maturing as a super-enhanced magical deer apparently came without any of the drawbacks familiar to adolescent humans.
“First off,” I began, “I need to thank you for helping me get my firearm back.”
I patted the holster under my arm. While I’d been able to get to the spare in my garage, I was still more comfortable with the weapon I’d lost outside the Sepulcher of the Eight Talons. A loose firearm could wreak havoc in a world like Andeluvia.
Liam bowed his head. “Think nothing of it.”
“The blond and dark-haired knights have turned on the one with the face tufts,” Shaw reported from the window. “‘Tis quite a beating they are handing out!”
“In that same fight,” I continued doggedly, “Xandra and her friends from the Roost of the Star Child managed to smash Wyeth’s replacement antler. Did Galen get a chance to run tests on the pieces we found from that thing?”
“Our wizard friend confirmed that the antler was composed of magically charged crystal,” Liam said. “And to answer your next question, yes, I was able to get a trace of Wyeth’s magical spoor off the remains.”
A clang came from far below. “Tuft-face is on his knees,” Shaw reported excitedly. “Now back on his feet. Here comes the next blow. Ouch! It doth seem that facial hair provides but little cushioning. He’s out of the running and face down in the snow.”
“Any luck in tracking our rogue fayleene?” I asked.
“Ardan and my other rangers were able to follow, at least for a while,” Liam said. “Both his magic spoor and a blood trail.”
“Aye, give it to him!” Shaw shouted from the window. “‘Twas a good block there, sirrah!”
“Wyeth was wounded by the Hoohan,” I mused. “I was hoping that he’d be badly hurt. But scalp wounds are minor, even if they bleed a lot.”
“Evidently, he was still healthy enough to travel at speed for a good quarter league. After that...the trail just stopped. Vanished. Just like with the stone dragon, Sirrahon.”
I stared at him. Liam’s guileless eyes met mine, and he nodded mutely.
“Fie!” Shaw cried. “‘Tis a piece of knavery to hit a fellow below the codpiece!”
“Grimshaw!” I growled. “Can we please hold off on the reportage for a moment?”
“Oh, aye, the contest is over now.” The drake made his way over to stand next to Liam. He looked smug as he spoke to his friend. “Thy champion fell in battle. Thou hast another debt to pay me now.”
Liam gave a delicate deer snort. “As Dayna would say, put it on my tab.”
“We were discussing the whereabouts of the mad fayleene prince,” I pointed out sternly. “He came within an ace of choking me to death and finishing off the Albess back at the entryway of the Noctua’s sepulcher.”
“I too wish I knew thy foe’s location,” Shaw agreed. “Yet I feel sure in mine own gut that Wyeth is wherever Sirrahon has chosen to conceal himself.”
That made me look up in surprise. “How do you figure that?”
“As I have said, even a simple warrior such as I sees a hand of darkness moving the pieces on the board. Wyeth and Sirrahon’s disappearances doth strike me as similar. They were magically done and
very convenient. My guess is that the two are in league with this ‘Him’ thou hast spoken of. Perhaps he is a magical creature who can both rescue and heal others. We saw a demon, the one called ‘Rocky,’ transport Wyeth before.”
“And the healing?”
“Having shared labor and combat with Protector Liam, I have learned two things. First, that fayleene magic doth affect energy and living things, but hath little power over stone and crystal. Wyeth could not have crafted that replacement antler. A different kind of being must have done it for him. A being with the power to create magical artifacts could surely transport and heal Wyeth with ease.”
I leaned back, impressed. “That’s actually some damned good reasoning there.”
“I always suspected there was something besides the odd acorn kicking around inside our drake’s head,” Liam remarked. “What was the second of the two things you learned?”
“That one such as I can learn to appreciate the friendship of the fey,” Shaw admitted. “Even if the fey in question looks absolutely delectable as a menu item.”
Liam shot the griffin a sharp glance. “Then again, maybe I was wrong about the odd acorn rattling around inside –”
Shaw chuckled. “I jest, I jest!”
I ignored the byplay as I stood, moving over to the chalkboard. Belladonna’s prophetic phrases still remained where I’d written them down. I tapped my finger under one key line: The greatest of the dragons passes into realms beyond the sight of all.
“Sirrahon and Wyeth may indeed be together,” I said quietly. “They’ve both passed into realms ‘beyond the sight of all’. Where could that be?”
My thoughts cut off as the tower door opened with the heavy clunk of wood. My centaur friend Galen came trotting in, looking tired but strangely pleased with himself. Herald, the Lord of the Pursuivant, trailed along in his wake like a skinny and brightly-colored balloon. The man was dressed in his typical peacock-bright rainbow of colors, from his green hose to his checkerboard-shaded doublet and shiny purple hat. He held a bundle of cloth in his arms stacked so high that he had trouble seeing over it.
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