The Phoenix King: The Thunderheart Chronicles Book 2

by Alexander Brockman

  This troll couldn’t have been very old, because it was only a few feet taller than Aidan. That didn’t make it any less dangerous. It was coated in a hide of fur and scales that seemed to be haphazardly thrown together. Its face was flat, and its catlike eyes were coupled with massive tusks and long holes that must have been nostrils. Two horns like a ram’s protruded from the top of its head, and though it stood on two legs its hands were padded and clawed.

  Aidan had just thought of the perfect spell to incinerate the beast when a screech pierced the air, so loud that all of the travelers had to drop their weapons and cover their ears.

  The troll cried out in terror, but too late. Three massive talons ripped the creature from the top of the bridge into the air, and then gargantuan wings flapped down. The force of the air knocked Aidan and all of his friends to their backs and flattened a few young trees.

  Aidan looked up in time to see a massive bird of prey soar up into the sky. The young wizard stopped breathing as his mind tried to comprehend the sheer size of the bird. It could easily lift the largest dragon in its talons. It gave on another screech, and though it spoke no words the message was clear. Stay away.

  The creature flapped once more and disappeared over the tree line.

  There was a moment of silence while Aidan tried to understand what he had just seen.

  “So that’s a roc,” he breathed.

  Timothy’s eyes were wide. “That troll weighed at least three hundred pounds. It picked it up like it weighed nothing.”

  “And somehow ambushed us. Maybe used a cloud?” Aaliyah said, already retrieving her bow. Aidan could feel their heartbeat racing, and knew that this time it wasn’t completely his fault.

  Kyra and Eleanor, who had never been in situations like the rest, were both shaking so hard that they needed help to stand up.

  “If that thing has the egg … I don’t know if we can do anything about it,” Eleanor said. “Can we rest and think for a little?”

  “Let’s cross the bridge first,” Aaliyah said. “I see a dry clearing on the other side.”

  Aidan was amazed that the stonework had held up, but the bridge held strong as they stepped across. When they reached the other side a mountain suddenly shimmered into view, peeking out over the trees. It seemed very out of place in the middle of the forest, especially since there was a giant hole about halfway up.

  The clearing Aaliyah had spotted was indeed dry, and perfect for setting up camp. Sticks and branches were in no short supply, and with a little bit of magic they soon had a fire going.

  Aidan felt exhausted, weak, and scared as he laid down his sleeping mat.

  “I’ll watch first,” Timothy said, already opening the prophecy book Derrin had given them. Aidan was grateful for the rest; he had a lot to think about. The roc was bigger than he ever could have imagined. There was no spell or magic that he knew of that could defeat an animal of that size. If it was indeed intelligent, as Derrin claimed, then Aidan couldn’t help but feel that his little party was doomed to fail.

  And then there was the ring. Aidan rolled it around his finger under the sleeping mat. He felt like every time he came close to understanding how it worked, the jewelry would trick him. Right now he needed Marcus more than ever.

  Maybe that’s it. Maybe I need to convince the ring I need him. Aidan thought.

  He fell asleep listening to the crackling fire, and the faint sound of a familiar voice calling his name.

  ***

  “Aidan. Aidan, wake up.” The young wizard gasped and lunged forward. He was in a familiar little room that he knew belonged to Marcus Thunderheart.

  The hero knelt next to him, but Thunderheart’s eyes were on the other side of the room. For there, leaning against the wall, was a middle aged man with graying, messy hair sticking out from underneath a tall hat. One green eye was situated above a crooked nose. The other eye, or whatever was left of it, was covered by a leather eyepatch. He wore sorcerer’s robes that were longer in the back than the front, black pants, and a leather coat. In one hand was a staff that looked like it was designed for walking and hitting things, not magic.

  Aidan’s heart dropped to his stomach.

  “Hello Aidan. I have been waiting for this moment for a very long time,” the stranger said.

  “Aidan,” Marcus said, “I would like you to meet my oldest adversary, Malcommer.”

  6

  Aidan had heard more about Malcommer than any other historical figure, save perhaps Marcus. The king of The Nefarious Lands was said to have no mercy, no love. The only things he understood were power and revenge, though for what Aidan had never been told.

  In all honesty, he was vastly less impressive than Aidan had imagined he would be. Malcommer was roughly the same height as Marcus, and, indeed, except for the eyepatch and the age difference, Aidan would have had trouble telling the two apart.

  “How is he here?” Aidan said, scrambling to his feet. He wasn’t sure if magic would work inside the ring, but he was ready to try.

  “He isn’t here,” Marcus said, never removing his gazew from his old enemy. “He can’t hurt us. This is just an apparition. He’s been trying to find a way into the ring for months, but I’ve been able to hold him back—”

  “Until you came!” Malcommer said, tipping his hat. “Thank you for that, Aidan. It was oh so hard constantly fighting your hero for just a moment of conversation with the both of you.”

  “What do you want, Malcommer?” Aidan asked, trying to sound threatening.

  “Mostly just to meet you, and discuss business. Of course, we can’t do that with him sitting here, now can we?” the one-eyed man said, gesturing to Marcus.

  The hero of the ring stepped in front of Aidan.

  “Malcommer, don’t you dare do what—”

  “Oh hush, hush,” the older warlock said, waving his hand.

  Marcus and the entire room seemed to blur and spin, until Aidan squeezed his eyes shut and fell to the floor. his mind swirling with questions and panic.

  How is he doing this? How did he get in the ring? Can I kill him in here?

  When the wizard opened his eyes, he was in a completely different room. It was square, and occupied by a single wooden table. The walls, also made of wood, extended up into darkness. A ball of light floated six feet above the ; it must have been conjured with magic.

  Malcommer stood over him, his cane over his shoulder. Aidan lunged forward, attempting to tackle his enemy. He passed through the King of The Nefarious Lands as if he held no more substance than a ghost.

  Malcommer laughed. “I was told you had problems listening. As Marcus has already said, I am an apparition. I can’t hurt you, and you can’t hurt me either. Of course, I have a feeling you want me dead far more than I want you dead. Come, sit down.” He snapped his fingers, and two chairs blurred into place around the table.

  Aidan didn’t really seem to have a choice in the matter, so he sat. There was no escaping this room, and he could somehow feel that his magic wouldn’t work here. Besides, he didn’t have his wand.

  Malcommer sat down at the other side of the table and leaned his cane against it.

  “Despite what you may have been told, Aidan, I do not believe that you and I have to be enemies. In fact, I believe we may one day be good friends.”

  The young wizard laughed darkly. “I’ve been told about you. About the people you killed. I’ll never have anything to do with you.”

  Marcus frowned like a child who had been sentenced to his room. “Yes, I’ve also heard what people are saying about me. But what about Marcus? Do you know how many brothers, sons, and fathers he killed on that final day of battle? How many lives he snuffed out as if they were no more than objects? Do you know how many men Borin has gutted, how many throats your friend Aaliyah has cut? And even you, Aidan, have killed in cold blood. You and Marcus and I are not so different, and one day I will show you that. But for now, I would like to start off small.”

  Guilt stabbed at A
idan as he remembered Edwin, the warlock who had betrayed vital information about Sortiledge to Malcommer. At the Battle of the Isle, Aidan had killed Edwin even after the evil warlock was disarmed. Aaliyah had tried to convince the young wizard that it was a justified execution, but Aidan still felt it had been wrong.

  It was then that Aidan felt a small voice in his head. Relief washed over him as he recognized Marcus. Hold on Aidan, keep him talking. I’m trying to pull you out of there.

  The young wizard looked up at Malcommer. “When you say start small, what do you mean?”

  The warlock smiled. He had taken off his hat and was picking dirt and hairs off of it. “I have made a bit of a … miscalculation regarding one of my generals. His name is Garret.”

  Aidan’s eyebrows creased. “What’s wrong with him?”

  Malcommer set his hat on the table. “Contrary to popular belief, I am not a king. I am the head of a council, much like yours, that rules over the Southern Lands, though your people call them the Nefarious Lands. General Garret, also known as the Dark Angel, is one of the oldest members of this council, and he has recently been making some decisions that I don’t appreciate. I want him eliminated.”

  Aidan smirked. “Why would I be your assassin?” He could feel Marcus’s presence growing stronger.

  “Because his latest act of rebellion is to hunt you and your friends down. I have convinced him that it is necessary for you to stay alive, but the rest of them … the amogh, the two wizards, even the witch, I was not able to save. If you kill Garret, the council will withdraw from Aranumis, and your friends will be safe, so that you may continue your little quest to find your father.”

  Aidan’s heart sank as Malcommer spoke. His enemy knew far too much about their mission.

  A bead of sweat dripped down Malcommer’s cheek. Whatever Marcus was doing, it seemed to strain the one-eyed warlock. “You’ll find Garret surrounded by his beasts, the hellhounds. Your witch friend can tell you more about him.”

  Malcommer stood and turned around. “It seems Marcus wants you back. I’ll be seeing you again, Aidan, very soon. And perhaps by then we can see eye to eye. Well, eye to eyes.”

  Aidan felt his room begin to change again, and this time covered his face before the dizziness started.

  When he looked up he was back in the study room. Marcus slumped against the wall, drenched in sweat, with a bead of blood dripping from his nose.

  Aidan stumbled over to the fallen hero, his own heart racing.

  “Marcus, are you well?”

  “I’m fine,” the warlock panted. “But that drained me. I can’t keep you here long.”

  “Can I give you some of my magic?” Aidan asked. It was a method that worked well with Timothy and Eleanor.

  Marcus laughed. “Aidan, there is something you need to know. When I volunteered my spirit for the ring, I had to use my arror as a power source. And that source is finite. In a living body it would recharge, but here … Well, it’s only a matter of time before it runs out. And there’s nothing you can do to stop it.”

  The panic that had slowly been releasing its hold of Aidan’s chest suddenly gripped it again.

  “How long do you have?”

  “I don’t know. But every moment I spend with you is less energy I can use to fight Malcommer. This is the last time you can see me, at least for a while.”

  The warlock looked up and saw Aidan’s distraught face before the wizard could hide it.

  “There is a gem of hope,” Marcus said. “If things get … bad outside, I can expend all of my energy to project an illusion of myself and defend you for a short time. If you need me, just call for me.”

  “I could never do that to you,” Aidan said.

  Marcus laughed weakly. “I’ve lived far longer than I should have, Aidan. I will be more than happy to give what’s left of my life in your defense.” The hero grimaced. “Malcommer just resumed his attack. It’s time for you to leave. I can keep your location veiled from him. Once you get far enough north I may be able to shake Malcommer enough to talk to you again. Good luck, Aidan.”

  The wizard felt the room start to blur again.

  “Wait Marcus, I need to ask—”

  Aidan’s vision went black, and then his mind succumbed to darkness.

  ***

  Aidan’s eyes snapped open as his ears were filled with a horrendously loud screech. Timothy and Eleanor were already awake, leaning together against a tree. Aaliyah was nowhere in sight, and Kyra had somehow managed to sleep through the roc’s cry.

  Aidan rolled out from his bag and grimaced as he stood. The ground had not been soft. He walked over to his friends and sat down against a tree near theirs.

  “Where’s Aaliyah?”

  “She went to scout the path ahead. She said it will be daytime in an hour or so.”

  Aidan leaned his head back against the tree. He felt as if he hadn’t slept at all, and he was not looking forward to telling his friends what he had learned from Malcommer. He had just closed his eyes when the roc screeched again, jolting him awake.

  “It’s been doing that all night,” Eleanor said without looking up. She was writing in her notebook. Probably the last bits of whatever spell she was working on. “I’m amazed you managed to sleep as long as you did. And I don’t think there is anything in this world that can wake Kyra.”

  The witch snored happily, her face buried in her own bag. It was far better insulated than the ones Aidan and his friends had brought, but she did not have a warm ranger’s cloak.

  “I’ve had some time to look over that book of the ElderBorn coven prophecies that Derrin gave us,” Timothy said. “Eleanor, do you have Kyra’s prophecy?”

  The wizard girl opened her notebook to a different page and read aloud.

  The phoenix awakens, the hellhounds bray,

  When the Ancients go to war,

  Love will be torn, and friendships frayed,

  When the Ancients go to war,

  The Guardian falls, the Dark Angel will rise,

  When the Ancients go to war,

  The Demon will be the King’s demise,

  When the Ancients go to war,

  Blood will be spilt, a choice must be made,

  When the Ancients go to war,

  The world torn asunder, forever changed,

  When the Brothers go to war

  Timothy nodded. “Thanks. Anyways, the book says that a prophecy is like a fire. Once it starts coming true, it can’t be stopped. And the first line is the tinder.”

  “So if we hatch the phoenix egg, then the prophecy is bound to come true?” Aidan asked.

  “Right.” Timothy answered. “Unless, of course, we make it impossible before we hatch the egg. Remove the wood, and the fire can’t burn.”

  Aidan shook his head. “How would we do that?”

  Eleanor spoke up. “We need to know what some of it means. Like this part, about the Guardian falling. The amoghs called you the Guardian of The Light, but if we were to destroy the Dark Angel, then you would be safe. Well, as safe as you are now.”

  Aidan frowned. He really missed the days when the most complicated thing he’d do was shoot a makeshift bow. “Malcommer mentioned a dark angel …”

  Timothy and Eleanor both froze and looked up at him. “What mate? Because it sounds like you just said Malcommer told you something.”

  Aidan relayed everything that had happened while he was supposedly asleep.

  Eleanor bit her lip. “That’s not good. If Malcommer knows that much about us, he must be close to breaking Marcus.”

  Timothy shook his head. “What did Malcommer say about the dark angel thing?”

  “It’s not a thing, it’s a who,” Aidan answered. “Malcommer said his name is General Garret. And I have to kill him.”

  ***

  Timothy felt himself falling, deep into a place that only Eleanor knew about. He was ten years old again on that blasted merchant ship. His father and Malachi had sent him to bed and gone to the
captain’s quarters to grieve. They had told him nothing, except that his mother wouldn’t be coming home. For a while he had tried to sleep through the pain, but eventually gave up and began to pace the ship. A storm had slowly picked up that night, and Timothy let the rain mingle with his tears as he walked along the hard, wet deck, his mind filled with confusion and sadness. At length he found himself outside his father’s room and heard voices inside. He knew eavesdropping was wrong, but in the moment he didn’t care, and pressed his ear up against the door.

  His father spoke first. “So I won’t be able to see her at her—” he stopped and Timothy heard a sob. It was all the boy could do to keep from breaking down and making his presence known. “At her funeral?”

  “We may still have an open casket, but everything below her neck must be covered. If people were to see the wounds, there would be outrage,” Malachi answered.

  Timothy heard a cup hit the table. His father normally abstained from the rum when not on a voyage, but no one could blame him for wanting to drown out the grief that night.

  “Where is her body now?” Timothy’s father asked.

  “I brought her with me. I hope you don’t mind, she’s in the carriage next to your ship. I have protected her body with numerous spells against the elements.”

  Timothy had heard enough. He knew where his mother was, and he could say goodbye. He ran to the edge of the docked ship and saw a grand carriage fit for a king, right next to where the ship’s ramp would be lowered in the morning. Lights shone in the city and reflected off the water, funeral pyres to honor his mother.

  Timothy stood up on the ship’s railing and jumped. When he hit the wooden dock he fell and scraped his knee, but kept running towards the carriage, tears and rain dripping into his mouth.

  He could feel the magic around the carriage protecting his mother, but none of it was the familiar touch that only she had. The horses were nowhere in sight. He reached the door and screamed a word his mother had taught him.