The Enduring Flame Trilogy 001 - The Phoenix Unchained

by James Mallory

  “See what I’ve got?” he said, holding up the large paper sack invitingly. All the Fauns stopped and looked at him.

  “What?” one of them said.

  There was a chorus of “What’s?” It sounded like a flock of birds.

  “I’ve got candy,” Tiercel said temptingly. He hadn’t grown up as the eldest child in the Rolfort household without learning a thing or two about diplomacy and outright bribery. “And I’ll trade you.”

  A short time later, he’d traded pieces of lump sugar for Harrier’s knife and map, for his pen-case, for the empty jam jar, and for a couple of other things that the Fauns had gotten from their belts and pockets that the two boys hadn’t noticed at the time.

  “And I’ll give you the rest of the candy—look, it’s a whole sack—if you promise not to ever touch—or take—any of our things again.”

  All of the Fauns began chattering at once, but by now Tiercel was getting used to the way they talked, and could figure out what they wanted to know. For how long?

  “Forever,” he said firmly.

  He was pretty sure the Fauns wouldn’t get the idea if he said anything more equivocal. Or they’d find a way around it somehow.

  The deal was made, and Tiercel handed over the rest of the sack of sugar lumps. He was a little surprised that the Fauns didn’t fight over them, but they didn’t. They carefully shared out the contents of the sack equally. There was enough to go around. He’d counted before he’d offered it to them, taking out the extras and slipping them into his pocket.

  With their mouths stuffed full of candy—and obviously seeing no more entertainment to be gained from the strangers—the Fauns ran off over the hill and were quickly gone from sight. At least most of them did. Their leader—for lack of a better term—hung back, gazing at Tiercel and Harrier unreadably. He looked puzzled.

  “Other road,” he said firmly, pointing. Then he ran on to join the others.

  “Well, that was interesting,” Harrier said, getting up to retrieve his things from the saddlebag in which Tiercel had stashed them for safekeeping.

  “I think it was partly our fault,” Tiercel said. “If we’d told them not to touch anything before we offered them food, they probably would have behaved themselves. A little better, maybe.”

  “Huh,” Harrier said, unconvinced. “And what about all this danger in the forest?”

  “Well, what’s going to be dangerous for a Faun probably isn’t going to be dangerous for us,” Tiercel said, thinking it over. “And it’s the Delfier Forest. Not that far from the Delfier Highway, if your map is right. What can possibly go wrong?”

  And it couldn’t be, Tiercel told himself, as they headed off down the Old War Road, that “nobody” took this road to Sentarshadeen, as the Fauns had said. Not only was the road itself bare and level—which meant that somebody was keeping it in repair—but it was clear of felltimber. Obviously the road was in use. It just wasn’t as heavily traveled as the Delfier Highway. And that suited the two of them just fine.

  “THE map says we’ll find a side-trace that should lead us over to the inn we want to stop at tonight,” Harrier said.

  “That’s good,” Tiercel said obligingly. He was looking forward to a hot bath and a soft bed—and somebody else to take care of the mules.

  It was quiet and peaceful along the Old War Road. If it was traveled, there wasn’t anyone else in view just at the moment. The only sounds were the birds in the trees and the wind rustling the forest canopy. If he pretended—not very hard—Tiercel could imagine that he was a thousand leagues from anywhere. Not going to Sentarshadeen because he was in real and mysterious trouble, but an ancient hero out of the wondertales with no problems of his own, going off to solve the problems of other people. It was a comfortable fantasy.

  They’d ridden for about four chimes—long enough to be well along the trail; not far enough for Harrier to start hinting that this would be a good time to stop and dig further into their supplies for another little snack—when three men stepped out onto the trail ahead of them and stopped. Automatically, Tiercel and Harrier stopped, too.

  Tiercel vaguely remembered seeing the men ahead of them on the Delfier Highway, and thinking that they must make the trip often because all three of them had heavy walking boots and equally-heavy walking sticks. The three looked very much alike, and Tiercel had automatically assumed they were a family.

  “Can we help you?” Tiercel asked.

  “You’ll be wanting to get down off those mules, now, boys,” the eldest—probably the father of the other two—said.

  “I, um, what?” Tiercel said.

  “No,” Harrier said comprehensively.

  The man smiled an ugly smile. “Oh, ‘no’ is it, young master? And I say, we’re three to your two, and my sons are men grown, and you’re a long way from Armethalieh. And if you don’t want to add a good thrashing to the rest of your misery, you’ll get down now.”

  Harrier opened his mouth again. Tiercel held up his hand. “But the mules aren’t ours. We really can’t give them to you. It wouldn’t be right. If you’ll just tell us what you really need, we can certainly help you, though. We have some food we can give you, and I think we have some blankets and some clothing. And if it’s money—”

  “Spoiled brat! I’m not bargaining with you!” the man growled. He raised his staff threateningly and lunged forward.

  HARRIER reached out to grab the headstall of Tiercel’s mule, hoping he could turn both beasts and make their escape before the brute reached them. But he’d forgotten about the pack mule behind them, blocking their retreat. It simply wasn’t going to happen. They were trapped.

  Just then, a flurry of small stones came whizzing out of the forest, striking the three men—hard—with unerring aim. They yelped with pain and shock, recoiling from the rain of missiles, but they couldn’t defend themselves from an attacker they couldn’t see. One of the flying stones had struck the oldest of the three men on the temple, and he was bleeding freely.

  “There’s more where that came from!” Harrier shouted furiously, but he was shouting to an empty path. Almost as soon as the stones had begun to fly, the three men had turned tail and run, directly up the trail. The hail of stones followed them until they were out of range, then suddenly the forest was quiet again.

  “What do we do now?” Tiercel asked nervously.

  “I don’t know! Light and Darkness, Tyr, you were the one who wanted to talk to them! Offering them half our things! And money, too!” Harrier said in exasperation.

  “Well if they were so badly-off that they had to steal, all I thought was—”

  Harrier was prevented from attempting to throttle his friend by the arrival of yet another person at the edge of the path. She was obviously the source of the recent hail of stones, as she still held a sling in her hand. As she stepped further out onto the path, Harrier saw that she was a Centaur.

  “Not that it isn’t interesting listening to the two of you yell at each other, but I think we ought to move along before they pluck up their courage and come back. My name’s Simera, by the way. Who are you?”

  Harrier grinned at her. “I’m Harrier Gillain. My idiot friend is Tiercel Rolfort.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you. I’m a Student Forester—and you’re lucky I am, by the way, or I might not have been armed.”

  “We’re glad that you were,” Harrier said politely, since Tiercel was still just staring. Now that she’d mentioned being a Student Forester, he could see that her outfit—a forest-green leather tunic and vest, and matching panniers slung over her withers—were a plainer version of the distinctive uniform worn by the Forest Watch. Her flaxen hair and tail—Simera had the chestnut coloring common to many of the Centaurs who lived near Armethalieh—were both bound firmly in webs of matching dark-green leather to keep them from getting tangled in the tree branches and the undergrowth through which she might need to pass. In addition to her sling, she carried the short Centaur bow, and a belt-knife that was large
r and heavier than Harrier’s.

  “Come on, then,” she said.

  THOUGH they proceeded cautiously—and Simera kept a sling-stone nocked and ready for use—they saw nothing further of the three men who had troubled Tiercel and Harrier. As they traveled, the boys learned that Simera had seen the brigands earlier, but had doubted her ability to pass them safely. She’d also been more than a little worried about the safety of any travelers the thieves might encounter, so, rather than simply going through the forest to avoid them—something she could easily have done—she’d waited at the side of the road, hoping to give them a good scare and to find companions whose numbers would allow her to travel along the road without trouble.

  “They’re bullies, you see, and will only attack if they’re sure of an easy victory. Frightening them off this way should make them think twice about attacking anyone else,” she said.

  “I still wonder why they were attacking us,” Tiercel said musingly. “We aren’t even a day from Armethalieh. There’s work there. And almshouses, too.”

  Harrier sighed. Sometimes Tiercel could be unworldly to the point of insanity. “Tyr, some people just don’t want to work.”

  Tiercel darted him a disgusted glance. “Maybe. But it seems to me that attacking people in the forest is a lot harder work than, well, working. And more dangerous, too, considering that you can be hanged for it. Wouldn’t you do something honest if you had the choice?”

  “Tyr, some people just don’t—” Harrier began again.

  “Maybe so,” Simera said. “But they don’t want to be hanged, either. And these roads are very well patrolled; the Watch comes along here at least twice a sennight, and you can almost always find someone at the larger inns. If they hadn’t killed you, you’d have reported them. If they had killed you, someone would have found your bodies within a day or two at most. And the Watch wouldn’t stop until it brought them in. This has to be the first time they’ve tried this, because I haven’t heard a single report of outlaws. We should stop at the next inn, so I can leave a warning for the Watch there. And I’d better go on to Sentarshadeen and report this in person to the Guildhouse, too, because I saw them myself.”

  “That’s where we’re going,” Tiercel said. “We could travel together, if you liked. I suppose we’ll have to cut back over to the Delfier Highway, though, if you’re in a hurry,” he added, sounding reluctant.

  Simera swished her bound tail in amusement, never breaking her swift, even stride. “The War Road can be just as fast—faster, since we won’t have to keep pulling off the road to let the freight wagons have right of way. And if you don’t mind taking a few short-cuts through the forest. Don’t worry. I won’t let you get lost.”

  “That sounds like fun,” Tiercel said eagerly. “Right, Har?”

  “More fun than losing our mules to a bunch of bandits,” Harrier said.

  Tiercel was doing it again.

  He’d lost count of the times he’d gotten dragged into some wacky adventure by Tiercel’s conviction that everybody he met was his new best friend. Granted, most of them turned out perfectly fine. And—granted again—not only had Simera gotten them out of a bad situation, but the Forest Watch was known to be a force for Good, doing much the same thing outside the Nine Cities as the City Watch did within them, though over a much larger area.

  As they made their way toward the Bell and Horn—the nearest inn on their route—they exchanged stories—including the puzzling matter of the warning the Fauns had given Tiercel and Harrier—and soon knew as much about each other as any of them cared to tell.

  Simera was about their own age, and like Harrier, in her Apprenticeship year. In Simera’s case, since she intended to enter the Forest Watch, this meant she would be spending the next year on her own, traveling through the forests that the Watch traditionally guarded, both in order to get to know them, and in order to learn to survive on her own in every season.

  THE Bell and Horn was a large and busy place. Tiercel stayed with the mules at the edge of the inn yard while Harrier went in to buy them cider and cold pies, and Simera went to look for someone to whom she could report their encounter in the forest.

  When she came back, Harrier had already returned with food. Simera took her share, saying that she’d only been able to leave a message, and that the Watchman had been through here only yesterday, so it would be almost a sennight before someone from the Forest Watch would receive it. But certainly the landlord would tell the story to everyone who stopped—if for no other reason than it was an exciting one—and word would spread swiftly up and down the Delfier Highway.

  “And he hadn’t? . . .” Harrier asked, around a mouthful of mutton pie.

  Simera made a rude noise. “Heard of any such trouble as this? My great-grandmother hadn’t been foaled the last time there were bandits in these woods, Harrier Gillain! Oh, beyond Sentarshadeen, yes, you’ll see outlaws in the Avribalzar Forest and parts east now and then, but here in the Delfier? The Delfier is an old tame forest.”

  “I wonder why now?” Tiercel said.

  “Well don’t go trying to find out,” Harrier said hastily, and Simera looked at both of them curiously.

  But by the time they reached the Three Trees, they discovered that the master of the Bell and Horn had been ignorant, or over-cautious, or a combination of both.

  The Three Trees was filled to overflowing. It was the second inn they tried, pushing on till much later in the day than they’d intended to stop, as the first one they’d tried, the Happy Faun, was so crowded they simply hadn’t bothered to seek beds for the night once they saw the condition of the innyard. Now Harrier wished they had.

  Tiercel had seemed fine all day—well, after that little bobble while they were leaving the central City this morning—and in the high spirits of the trip, Harrier had really managed to forget that Tiercel was actually sick. But as the day wore on, Tiercel had gotten very quiet. And then, after they passed the Happy Faun, he’d started swaying in his saddle as if he’d been riding for days instead of hours. So, although the Three Trees was even more crowded than the Happy Faun had been, Harrier was determined: they were stopping here if he had to unroll their bedrolls behind the stables.

  “No room!” the landlord said, catching sight of them as they crowded into the Common Room. Every table was filled, and so many people were standing in the spaces between that it was hard for the servants to make their way from the kitchens with platters and mugs. “I can give you feed and water for your animals, but I have no beds. A corner of my hayloft, though, at a fair price. I won’t turn you away,” he said kindly, looking at Tiercel.

  “What’s going on?” Harrier asked, raising his voice to be heard over the sound of too many people talking all at once.

  “Trouble on the road ahead,” the landlord said, wiping his hands on his apron. “I see there’s just the three of you, and one in Forester Green besides. Watchman, have you not heard the news? The Watch says it isn’t safe for parties of less than twenty to travel. Warning was just set by the Watch this morning for all travelers along the Delfier Highway.”

  “We came by the War Road,” Harrier answered.

  The landlord stared at him as if he’d gone mad.

  “Well,” he finally said, “the War Road’s no worse than the Delfier. But I wouldn’t take it.”

  “But that’s outrageous!” Now Simera had forced her way through the press of people and had come to stand beside Harrier. “When has the forest ever been unsafe?”

  “Since Kindling, Forester,” the landlord said simply. Though the inn was busy, he obviously relished the chance to rest and impart his tale to those who did not know it.

  “Oh, nothing that the Watch could rightly speak to. Just accidents. Trees falling. A woodsman’s axe going awry. Just what you’d see in any springtide, but never so many as this year. Then folk started wandering off. At first it was just them getting lost and going astray that never had before. And soon enough found. And if a few more pigs and dogs an
d deer disappeared than normal and weren’t found again, nobody noticed that . . . until people started vanishing too; and last night, a whole caravan in a lay-by not half a mile from here—well, they came to me for supplies three days ago and bespoke breakfast, and when I sent my boy out with the breakfast hampers the next morning, there was nothing there at all but their carts. It’s worse east of here; there’s been travel proscriptions on the road since Kindling, but now they’ve extended them into the Delfier. Until the Forest Watch finds out what’s wrong, well, nobody’s going to be going anywhere alone. You’ll find every inn along the road as crowded as mine—or more. Folk stop until they find enough others heading for their destination.”

  Harrier glanced at Tiercel. Tiercel was swaying on his feet, looking as if he’d be on the floor in another moment. “We’ll take the hayloft,” he said quickly.

  THE innkeeper was as good as his word, and fortunately the season was mild, for their animals, along with those of a number of other latecomers to the Three Trees, could not be properly stabled at all, but would spend the night hitched to hastily-constructed hitching-posts at the back of the innyard. So close to the Delfier Highway, there was no danger that the inn would run short on provisions, but the idea that foot travelers, caravans, and even freight wagons must queue together for safety was more than disturbing. It was frightening.

  “It started at Kindling,” Tiercel said, as Harrier led him out of the Common Room.

  “Is that supposed to mean something to me?” Harrier said. His mind was on the problem of getting their gear into the stable, and the pack-mule’s gear into the hayloft, for with so many people in the inn, they would have to do most of the work themselves. Fortunately, he was no stranger to hard work.

  “Kindling was when I—”

  “Shh!” Harrier said, for just then Simera arrived to join them.

  “We can’t get dinner for at least an hour,” Simera said with a sigh. “That’s half a bell, Armethaliehan time. That should give you time to get the mules settled. You might as well do a good job of it. Who knows how long you’ll be here waiting to make up a traveling party? I wish I’d known. If I’d been on the roads—instead of in the forest—I would have known. Then I could have warned you to—”