The Enduring Flame Trilogy 001 - The Phoenix Unchained

by James Mallory

Tiercel wasn’t sure how much horses cost, but even if he didn’t have enough money left in his purse to cover the cost, there was a bank here, and he was sure he could get an advance on his allowance there. And maybe Simera would know what they’d need to buy for an extended trip to . . . nowhere.

  It was summer, so the horse-market would not close until First Night Bells: the Second Hour of Night, as it was otherwise reckoned, though in summer it would be only an hour or so after sunset, and the sky would still be light. They had a little time to look around before going to meet Simera for the evening meal at the Temple Guesthouse.

  As they walked, Tiercel asked the prices of riding horses, and realized that a Golden Sun—he had two left—would be more than enough to buy two of most of the animals here.

  “These look good,” Harrier said uncertainly.

  They were stopped before a line of horses whose coats all gleamed. Knots of ribbon were braided into their manes and tails, and they wore halters of brightly-dyed leather. As Harrier stepped forward, the nearest animal tossed his head and stepped back.

  “The finest animals in all Sentarshadeen, young sir,” the horse-seller said, coming forward and placing a hand on the skittish animal’s neck. He was a burly Centaur of middle years, with a full russet beard as elaborately-braided as any of his charges’ tails.

  “In fact, I venture to say, you could find no faster nor more spirited beast were you to venture to Vardirvoshanon itself! You seek a fine riding horse?”

  “Two horses, actually,” Tiercel said.

  “And not these horses, Garan,” a familiar voice said behind them.

  “Simera,” Garan said. He sounded disappointed.

  “ ‘Simera,’ you old horse-leech,” she agreed, stepping forward. “Still glossying up wind-broken nags and attempting to pass them off as prime stock, I see?”

  “Now, Simera,” Garan said coaxingly, “you know I would never—”

  “Oh, certainly not,” she agreed. She glanced at the horse Harrier had first approached, the one who was still sidling and tossing his head. “Sometimes you offer up half-wild beasts with no manners at all. Of course, their new owners don’t realize that until whatever potion you’ve given the poor beast has worn off. But that’s hardly your fault, is it? Come on, boys. There are other dealers in the market to buy from.”

  “But isn’t that dishonest?” Tiercel asked, when they were walking back the other way.

  Simera shrugged. “Only a fool goes to the horse-market to buy without knowing anything about horses. And Garan’s reputation is well-known.” She glanced sideways at Tiercel, raising her eyebrows in a silent question.

  “The Preceptor at the Temple said I’d need to go farther north to find a Wildmage,” he said. “Since we need to send the mules back to Armethalieh, I thought we could buy some horses here.”

  “I know someone who will have what you need. I’ll take you to her tomorrow,” Simera said. “Halyon’s beasts aren’t cheap, but they’re gentle, steady, and reliable. We’ll need that, if we’re traveling north.”

  “Ah . . . ‘we’?” Harrier asked, raising his eyebrows.

  “I said I wanted to be there for the end of your story, and it doesn’t look as if it’s over yet,” Simera replied. “Properly, you should hire a Forest Guide here; one of the Forest Watch’s duties is to protect people in the Wilderness, and I know exactly how much experience you two have. So I’m offering my services.”

  “But what about your Year? And being alone?” Tiercel asked.

  “Oh, this will count toward that,” Simera said. “I’ll have to spend a little more time finishing my Circuit at the end, but I really don’t want to miss this. Besides, I’d like to see a Wildmage myself, and if Tyr is going to set anything else on fire, at least I’ll be there to put it out. So tomorrow we’ll buy horses, and then we’ll buy the rest of what you need. Those boots you have wouldn’t do for a walk in the city park, and your cloaks are already in rags.”

  Tiercel shook his head. It was one thing to drag Harrier along on this crazy journey—especially since he couldn’t see any way of making him go home—but he had no intention of involving anyone else.

  “Thank you, Simera,” Harrier said. “We’ll need your help, and we accept.”

  “Good,” Simera said, with a smile. “Now, let’s go back to the Temple Guesthouse where you can treat me to an exceptionally fine dinner and we’ll make our plans. And tomorrow morning I’ll meet you and bring you back to the market and introduce you to my friend Halyon.”

  FOR the next three nights, Tiercel slept in Preceptor Maelgwn’s Robing Room. He drank a dose of the terrible-tasting cordial every evening before he went to bed, for Preceptor Maelgwn assured him it would do him no harm, and might do him much good. Sleeping there was a little embarrassing, but nothing terrible happened, so he supposed that embarrassment was a small price to pay for safety. In addition, he had heard the Litany of the Light so many times over the last three nights that not only could he recite it by now without thought, he probably wouldn’t need to enter a Light Temple again until his thirtieth Naming Day. Of course, he liked Light Temples.

  With Simera’s help, he and Harrier purchased two gentle geldings; neither the youngest nor the prettiest animals in the Sentarshadeen horse-market, but—according to Simera’s friend Halyon—they were steady well-trained animals, good for inexperienced riders, who were also what Halyon called ‘easy keepers.’ Simera explained that this meant they would be happy with forage and a little grain, and not require the quarts of rich food each day that some animals needed to stay in condition.

  Halyon had also advised them on the purchase of a pack-pony to carry their supplies, for while their horses would carry small packs, they would not be able to carry everything that Tiercel and Harrier would require. And so, in addition to Cloud and Lightning (who was named for the blaze on his forehead, and not for any turn of speed) they now possessed a small black pony named Thunder, who had apparently been named for his disposition. Thunder tended to kick, and had snapped at Harrier more than once, but once he was harnessed, he would follow Cloud and Lightning docilely wherever the two horses went. And since Halyon had assured them that the pony was strong, sound, and a willing worker, Tiercel and Harrier could only hope he would eventually grow fonder of them.

  Making the rest of their purchases took every last coin the two boys had, since Tiercel had no idea of how long they’d have to travel, and Simera said it was always better to prepare for a long journey than a short one and end up with more than you needed. Tiercel was able to get the advance on his allowance that he’d hoped for at the counting house, so they wouldn’t be traveling on without coins in their pocket, but the amount of money he had to spend in Sentarshadeen worried him. His parents had never stinted him, but they’d always made sure he knew what things cost, too. What he and Harrier had spent to equip their expedition . . . well, it would keep a working-class family in food for a year, back home, or pay his first-year’s tuition to the University.

  The hardest part of everything he had to do was write his letter explaining why he wasn’t coming home. He really didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t told his parents about the High Magick back in Armethalieh, and he didn’t think the explanation would sound any better on paper. But not telling them—now, when he knew he was a High Mage, or something like it—and when he was certain that things were becoming worse than they had been in Armethalieh, seemed so dishonest that he couldn’t bear it. Finally he settled on a compromise.

  Dear Mama and Papa: I am writing to tell you that I am not coming home for a while, but that I am safe and well, because Harrier is with me, and he will be writing to his parents to tell them that he will be staying with me until I can come home again.

  I know you have been worried about me since Kindling, and hoped that this trip to Sentarshadeen would make me feel better. Believe me when I say that I hoped for the same. I came to believe that I needed to find a Wildmage to help me, and when I reached Sentarshadee
n, I consulted with Preceptor Maelgwn at the Main Temple of the Light here. He said that no Wildmages have come to Sentarshadeen for many years, but suggested I look farther north. I am being very careful, and Harrier and I are traveling with a member of the ForestWatch to guide us (this was not precisely a lie, as Simera was an Apprentice) so we will have no trouble on the roads. She has helped us buy a pair of good horses, so we are returning the mules.

  He chewed on his pen for a moment, considering, but he really couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  My love to you all. I shall write again when I can, but it may not be for a long time. With Harrier to look after me, you can be sure I shall be perfectly safe. All my love.

  There was really nothing to add to that.

  IT was Second Dawn Bells when Tiercel came to their room. Harrier—of course—was already up and packed, and they did not need to meet Simera at her Guildhouse until two chimes past Morning Bells.

  “I guess sleeping in the Temple agrees with you?” Harrier said with a grin.

  “If I’d known I was going to be doing that, we could have gotten a smaller room,” Tiercel grumbled.

  After breakfast, they went looking for the Guesthouse steward to settle their accounting. After that, they would head for the stables, where their new animals and most of their equipment was, and from there they would go to collect Simera. After three days in Sentarshadeen, both boys knew their way around the central city well enough to avoid getting lost. A few questions of a passing acolyte got them directions to the steward’s office.

  “Ah, young Lord Tiercel, Master Harrier. You are leaving us so soon?”

  Tiercel kept himself from making a face with an effort. It was true that since his father was Lord Rolfort, he was actually “Lord Tiercel,” but no one ever used his title much and it sounded very odd to hear it.

  “Yes, Steward Fairgan. It’s a very nice place, but . . .”

  “But your business in Sentarshadeen is completed. I understand. And you will wish to receive an accounting for your records.” Steward Fairgan opened a drawer of his desk and pulled out a heavy bronze cashbox, opening the lid.

  “Here you are, Lord Tiercel,” he said.

  He placed the Golden Sun—the entire amount Tiercel had given him to begin with—atop the desk.

  “At the request of Chief Priest Maelgwn, there will be no fees for your visit with us.”

  Tiercel blinked. Harrier cleared his throat.

  “I. Ah. That’s very kind.” But it isn’t fair.

  He thought about what Brother Kelarnen had told him; how the money to run the Temple came from the Guesthouse. And then he thought for a moment more. “Can you tell me how much our stay would have cost?”

  When they left the steward’s office, they passed by a tall jar. Such jars were commonplace around the Temple grounds—and, in fact, all over the city. They were used to collect money for the Temple. The money was used to feed the poor and to care for the sick, and to perform other works of compassion in the name of the Light.

  Tiercel stopped beside the jar and dug in his coin-pouch. He pulled out a handful of silver unicorns—a few more than would have covered the cost of their stay—and tipped them into the jar. It was a heavy handful; the coins clattered to the bottom of the jar.

  “Ah . . . What are you doing, Tyr?” Harrier asked.

  “We don’t need the Temple’s charity,” Tiercel answered. “And there are others who can use it. Come on. Simera’s probably already waiting for us.”

  FROM an alcove near the doorway where he could see but not be seen, Preceptor Maelgwn watched the two boys walk out of the Guesthouse in the direction of the stables. As they left, he felt a sense of release. His Price was paid.

  He had paid harder ones, over the years, and lighter ones. Serving the people of Sentarshadeen as both Light-Priest and Wildmage was sometimes a difficult task, and often called for him to tell far less than he knew.

  To lie to that troubled, terrified child, however—to drug him with the cordial that kept the magic in his blood from resonating to the presence of the Wild Magic . . .

  It had been Maelgwyn’s Price. And he had Paid it. He dipped a hand into the pocket of his robe and ran a hand lovingly over the worn leather of the Three Books there.

  Yet it had troubled him enough that he had done something he had rarely done before. He had asked the Wild Magic why such a Price should be set. He had received no clear answer—nor had he expected any—just the suggestion of a test he might set for young Tiercel, if he chose to.

  If Tiercel Rolfort had not passed that small test, would he have found some way to call him back? To keep him in Sentarshadeen? Even . . . convince him to return home?

  No.

  Danger was coming, such as the world had not faced in a thousand years. He must trust the Light and the Wild Magic to deal with it in Their own way. This small test had been only for the peace of mind of an old man whose part in Tiercel’s story was over. And, perhaps, to strengthen Tiercel, just a little, for the greater tests to come. There would be many others.

  Maelgwn could Sense it.

  AT half-past Morning Bells, the three of them rode out along the Old War Road. Simera was leading Thunder, as the pony seemed to like her better than it did either of the others.

  “Lunch?” Harrier suggested cheerfully.

  “It isn’t even Midmorning Bells yet,” Tiercel said with a groan.

  “And we’re not stopping until we reach Fort Halacira,” Simera said firmly. “We’ll have lunch there, see Kellen’s Bridge, ask about the condition of the road east, and go on.”

  “And ask after Wildmages,” Tiercel said with a sigh. He didn’t think they’d find any just waiting around at Fort Halacira, though.

  “Might as well ask after unicorns,” Harrier said.

  “If you want to,” Simera said.

  FORT Halacira had once been a storehouse or a barracks—nobody was quite sure which—centered around extensive mines that were no longer worked. These days, Fort Halacira was a mill town. The River Angarussa gave power to the machines that ground grain and milled lumber for half the villages around, and they heard it long before they saw it.

  “It’s louder than the Docks,” Harrier said, wincing.

  “Just be glad we’re on the War Road and not the Delfier Road, or we’d have been run down by freight wagons half a dozen times already,” Simera pointed out. The road between Fort Halacira and Sentarshadeen was even more heavily-traveled than the road between Armethalieh and Sentarshadeen. “There will be less traffic north and east of here.”

  “And fewer inns,” Harrier pointed out.

  “The War Road goes as far as Ondoladeshiron, if you want to follow it,” Simera said. She looked at Tiercel.

  He shrugged. “I have no idea.” But I think I know how I can find out.

  Fort Halacira was used to travelers—both those who came on business and those who came to view the remains of the ancient monuments at the center of the town. The three of them stopped for a meal, then, at Tiercel’s insistence, went to see the old mine.

  “It was built by Elves thousands of years ago,” Tiercel said.

  “It’s a mine,” Harrier said.

  Mine it might be, but it had been one of the Ancient Wonders of the Elven World, and the Compendium had mentioned the Jeweled Caverns in the chapter about Elves.

  But when they got to it, there wasn’t much to see. Only a very large stone building that identified itself as the Fort Halacira Granary Stores and Office of the Magistrate. In front of the building’s imposing façade was a tall stone monument, crowned with the shape of the Eternal Light, which stated that upon this site had once stood Fort Halacira, an ancient stronghold of the Elves, where the Knight-Mage Kellen had fought a great battle against the Endarkened.

  “So much for ancient history,” Harrier said with a rude snort.

  “It was a very long time ago,” Simera said gently, looking at Tiercel’s face. Tiercel just shook his head. He knew h
e was stupid to be disappointed. It was ridiculous to think it would all still be here. He just needed it to be.

  “Can I help you?” a young man asked, walking down the steps. He was dressed in clerk’s robes, not a laborer’s tunic. Obviously he worked in the Magistrate’s office here, and was leaving the building on his way to his midday meal.

  “Oh,” Tiercel said, blushing faintly. “I was just wondering. My friends and I . . . we’ve come from Armethalieh and we were wondering . . . is any of the old Fort left inside? The part that was built by the Elves?”

  The young man smiled at them. It was obviously a question he was used to hearing. “Oh, no,” he said. “All that was cleared away a long time ago.”

  KELLEN’S Bridge was less of a disappointment.

  It was less than an hour’s ride north along the river, but the town had not grown in that direction, and though the Avribalzar Forest had long since vanished into the sawmills of Fort Halacira, the meadow that played along the Angarussa’s banks was sunlit and peaceful. Even the Light-shrine that stood beside the bridge was deserted at the moment.

  “Made by magic,” Simera said. Even she sounded impressed.

  “Huh,” Harrier said. He dismounted from Lightning and walked forward to take a closer look. “It looks like one piece of stone. Think you could do that, Tyr?”

  “No.” Tiercel didn’t even have to think before he answered. Everyone knew the story of Kellen’s Bridge, where ice had turned to stone when Kellen had led his troops across the river to fight against the Endarkened. He wasn’t exactly sure, anymore, that it was true. It was a pretty story, though.

  “Well, the War Road is on the other side,” Simera said firmly. “Let’s go.”

  Unlike the War Road farther south, which was little-used and had few travelers, the War Road between Sentarshadeen and Ondoladeshiron was the road that took most of the light traffic. The Avribalzar Road—wider and with a good stone foundation—had been constructed for heavy freight wagons and for driving the herds down from the northern pastures. This meant that while the road wasn’t exactly clogged with travelers, they met—and were sometimes passed—several times that day, and both Tiercel and Harrier had plenty of cause to be grateful that they had quiet gentle mounts. Horses who took exception to every cart—or other horse—on the road would have made things difficult.