The Enduring Flame Trilogy 001 - The Phoenix Unchained

by James Mallory

  “You were speaking of decisions, Bonded. I was not listening,” Ancaladar said.

  “I am rebuked,” Jermayan said. “Yet if Tiercel wishes to speak, we will both listen.”

  There didn’t really seem to be a lot of way around it.

  “I really appreciate all you’ve done for me,” Tiercel began hesitantly. “But I’m not sure that I can do very much more with the material you’ve gathered for me, and so, well, I really think I need to go find the place I see in my visions. So I guess I should leave.”

  He’d expected a long argument—certainly he would have gotten one back home—but Jermayan simply nodded.

  “A quick decision, but perhaps not a hasty one. It would be good to know the direction in which your search takes you.”

  “There’s a place called the Madiran Desert. It’s outside the Elven Lands, but it’s on your maps.”

  “I know it well, though it is far from here. You will need a wagon and supplies for your journey, and they will take perhaps another moonturn to arrange. And now, I fear, my ambitions for the day have exceeded my strength.”

  “Both always exceeded your wisdom,” Ancaladar scolded fondly.

  “If, of your courtesy, you would seek out Farabiael and tell her I would rest, she will know what needs to be done,” Jermayan added, and Tiercel hurried to obey.

  One of the other Elves who’d been with Farabiael—Tiercel was never quite able to decide whether they were all members of Jermayan’s family, or servants—was able to tell Tiercel that Harrier was probably down at the stables at this time of day, and Tiercel made that his next stop, since he might as well tell Harrier his plans before Harrier learned them from somebody else. Until they’d left Armethalieh this summer, neither of them had really been much for horses, but they’d both learned a lot of new skills since, and he guessed that Harrier had decided he liked riding.

  Tiercel had never actually been in the stables, since he’d walked to Karahelanderialigor, and had gone no farther after that than the workroom at the bottom of the garden. It was an airy building on the eastern side of the house, as large as the stables in the largest inn they’d ever stopped at, and as lavishly-finished as if it were a house, and not a stable. Less than a third of the stalls were filled. As he walked in, he barely smelled horse at all, only flowers, leather, and grass.

  “Stay away from the ones at the end,” Harrier said as he came in. “Those are Elunyerin and Rilphanifel’s horses, and they’re war horses. I suppose they aren’t mean, but they have nasty senses of humor. And I’m pretty sure they understand everything you say.”

  Tiercel walked down the line of stalls, glancing curiously into the ones Harrier mentioned. Two large gleaming animals regarded him placidly, one grey, one roan.

  “They look harmless,” he said.

  “That’s what I thought,” Harrier answered darkly.

  He was currying a cream-colored gelding, working slowly and carefully from the neck back to the tail. The animal turned its head and regarded Tiercel as he walked into the stall.

  “Reilafar is perfectly calm, which is why he’s mine. If you want to go for a ride, I can find someone to get you a horse.”

  “No. I’ve come to tell you that I’ve decided what I’m going to do.”

  “We’re going to the Madiran Desert? When do we leave?”

  “I’m going to the Madiran Desert. You should go home. You can be there by winter if you leave now,” Tiercel said.

  “That’s your plan? It’s a stupid plan. Have you told anybody else this stupid plan?” Harrier asked in bored tones. He didn’t interrupt his even grooming at all.

  “I saw Jermayan while I was walking back to the house. He likes my plan. Ancaladar likes it, too,” Tiercel said stubbornly. He didn’t know why fighting with Harrier seemed like such a good idea right now, except that it did.

  “Uh-huh. And you’re doing this why?”

  “I have to do something.”

  Harrier stopped, set the currycomb down on an upturned bucket, and turned to look at him. “You know, Tyr, if the Endarkened, or whatever, is this much of a threat—and you know it is—you don’t just let it get stronger. You throw everything you can think of at it the moment you notice it. You don’t send a kid like you off to wander around hoping he’ll think of something useful. Even Kellen Knight-Mage did his wandering around with the whole Elven Army at his back.”

  “Maybe they’re doing what they’re doing because they do know so much about the problem. Maybe they think this is the only thing that will work. Maybe they’ve already tried other things—and failed—and won’t tell us. We don’t know. Anyway, I’m going to be here for a while yet. Jermayan is going to give me a horse and wagon for my journey, and he says it will take a while to get them.”

  “Well, I think they’re idiots,” Harrier said simply. “And when you get this horse and wagon they’ve promised you, we . . .” He sighed, and picked up the brush again without finishing his sentence.

  Tiercel knew what Harrier wanted to say. We should take it and go back to Armethalieh. But even Harrier couldn’t bring himself to say that. Even if the Elves were trying to solve this problem in exactly the wrong way—a frightening thought, considering how much older and wiser they were than either Harrier or Tiercel—the problem itself was real, and not something either of them could bring themselves to just walk away from.

  “So we go,” Harrier said. “Together. And, oh, Light and Darkness, don’t explain to me how much safer I’d be back in Armethalieh trying to explain all this to your mother—and I beg you, don’t suggest I stay here, either. I’m sick of Elves. Elf food, and Elf clothes, and Elf manners. Get me out of here before I lose my mind, Tyr.”

  Tiercel grinned in spite of himself. He supposed he could manage to leave Harrier behind, but only by tying him up and locking him in a dungeon. And even that, he suspected, wouldn’t work for very long. “Okay. You want to come see a desert that will probably kill us before any Endarkened creatures get around to it?”

  “Sure. You want to go for a ride before dinner?”

  “Sounds good.”

  WITHOUT any need to spend his days studying something he couldn’t possibly learn, Tiercel finally got the chance to see more of Karahelanderialigor. Harrier took a great delight in showing Tiercel a city that had grown familiar to Harrier over the last sennights—the markets, the houses, the fields, even a stream that could be swum in—Harrier said with off-handed smugness that he’d asked the selkies living in it to make sure it was all right first. Despite his constant protests that he found everything in the Lands Beyond the Veil strange and something he was looking forward to leaving as soon as possible—though Harrier never said any such thing except when they were alone, of course—Tiercel thought that Harrier had adjusted to Karahelanderialigor very well.

  But the one thing Harrier had most wanted to show off was absent. No matter what time of day they rode out to the Sunning Terraces, there were no dragons anywhere to be seen.

  “I don’t know,” Harrier said a day or two later. “Something’s going on.”

  “What?” Tiercel asked.

  They were staying in today. It had rained once or twice since they’d arrived in Karahelanderialigor, but those had been brief showers in the late afternoon, over quickly. This morning, when they’d awakened, the sky was overcast and the rain was coming down in a steady patter that indicated it intended to rain for quite some time, and neither of them was really interested in riding in the rain. Armed with one of the books from the shelves, Tiercel had suggested they try to learn xaique, and Harrier was just bored enough to go along with the idea—but not bored enough to actually concentrate on the game.

  “Well,” Harrier said, “Elunyerin and Rilphanifel usually practice swordplay in the mornings, and Idalia gardens. We haven’t seen any of them at all for the past few days. Not even at meals. And Ithoriosa hasn’t been out on the sunning terraces, which means there isn’t anybody I can ask about it.”

  �
�Not really,” Tiercel admitted. Because when the Elves didn’t want to tell you things, they just . . . didn’t.

  “So what do we do?” Harrier asked. “Because you know I’ve been thinking, Tyr, it seems like a moonturn is an awfully long time to wait to get a horse and cart, don’t you think?”

  Tiercel shrugged and frowned down at the book on his knee. “Maybe. I don’t know. All we can do is wait for them to tell us, I guess. Or—not.”

  BUT the following morning, when the boys came down to breakfast, they found that an enormous dark blue silk canopy had been erected in the lawn beyond the garden, now that the rain had passed. Carpets had been laid down over the grass, and the breakfast table had been carried outside.

  “It looks like we’re having breakfast with Ancaladar this morning,” Tiercel said. From the windows of the now-empty breakfast room they could see that the great black dragon was coiled most of the way around the outside of the blue pavilion.

  “I wonder if he’s hungry?” Harrier said uneasily.

  “You two really should try to get along,” Tiercel said, amused. “Come on. I’m sure Farabiael will want us to carry something out.”

  The table was already set, and by the time they arrived from the kitchen—Harrier with a jug of cider and Tiercel with a basket of still-warm bread—everyone had gathered. Even Jermayan was present, carried out of his rooms on a litter to be set at the head of the table.

  There was an air of expectancy over the meal—and not, Tiercel thought, simply because Jermayan was present.

  “You will rejoice to know that the King comes to visit, with his Council and all his court,” Idalia said at last, when the platters had gone around and everyone had been served. “Sandalon, King of the Elves, with his dragon Petrivoch, and his daughter Vairindiel, the Heir to the Veiled Lands, will come to Karahelanderialigor to cast a Great Spell, do matters unfold as some here wish. They will arrive within the fortnight.”

  “Ah, that’s . . . nice,” Tiercel said uncertainly.

  “No it isn’t,” Ancaladar snapped.

  “It is my wish,” Jermayan said.

  His voice was barely a whisper, and Tiercel realized, with a shock, that Jermayan was weaker than he had ever seen him before. “If you can Bond with a dragon, Tiercel, the power to work the Greater Spells of the High Magick will be yours. And so I wish for Ancaladar’s Bond to be transferred to you.”

  “But hey, I—Wait a minute! Isn’t that—You can’t—Somebody explain to me why people don’t go around saving dragons this way all the time!” Harrier sputtered, dropping the bread he was holding onto his plate.

  Ancaladar actually snickered, a peculiar sound from a creature so large. “Yes, Jermayan, do explain to the boy how what you propose is different than the bargains the Endarkened struck with the Wildmages so long ago, for I fear he has been listening to idle gossip.”

  Idalia put a hand over Jermayan’s, and turned toward Harrier. “It is a thing that has never been done, for the cost is high; we shall not conceal that. One Great Spell is given, once in a lifetime, to any Mage who is Bonded to a dragon to cast. The casting of this spell consumes the caster and his dragon utterly. This is the spell Sandalon has come to cast, the spell which, if it works, will transfer Ancaladar’s Bond. All that is required is Tiercel’s consent.”

  “So they’ll die? The—the—other two?” Tiercel said. “No.”

  Idalia sighed. “Tiercel, Sandalon is very old. He and Petrivoch have both agreed to this, and so has Ancaladar. It will gain you the power you need. Without it, I . . . do not think you will survive your coming journey.”

  Tiercel set down his cup. A moment ago he’d actually had an appetite for breakfast. It would have been nice, he thought, if they could have sprung this on him somewhere a little more private. In addition to Jermayan and Idalia and Elunyerin and Rilphanifel, there were another dozen Elves at the table—all people he knew slightly, all close members of Jermayan’s household, perhaps even family, though apparently Elves didn’t think it was important to specify exact relationships. He did his best to keep his head. There must be a good reason Jermayan wanted to make this discussion so public.

  “You know, don’t you?” he said to Idalia. “Whether I’d survive or not?”

  The moment after he’d spoken, he realized he’d been unforgivably rude—asking a direct question—but Idalia didn’t seem to mind. She only smiled sadly.

  “I have looked into the eyes of the Queen of the Endarkened as she ripped the beating heart from my chest,” Idalia said quietly. “I do not wish to do so again. Nor do I wish that fate on any other.”

  Tiercel stood up.

  “Do you think this is a good idea?” he asked Ancaladar. “They say you’ve said ‘yes.’ ”

  The black dragon raised his head just enough to be able to stare directly into Tiercel’s eyes.

  “From my point of view, it isn’t going to last very long,” Ancaladar snapped sullenly. “I saw the Second Endarkened War start, and I wasn’t a young dragon then. Think of yourself. It’s going to last for the rest of your life. What little there is of it.”

  “But you can give me the power I need to do . . . whatever I need to do,” Tiercel said. Whatever that is.

  “Yes,” Ancaladar answered, his voice softening. “I can do that. It’s what my Bonded wishes, and I will not deny him.”

  “Then I’ll do it,” Tiercel said.

  “Of course,” Ancaladar added, “there’s always the possibility it won’t work at all. Which would be entertaining for all five of us.”

  Tiercel opened and closed his mouth several times. He knew there were a lot of things he ought to say right now—polite things, diplomatic things, even things that might somehow get him out of this situation. He couldn’t think of a single one.

  “Ah, I’m afraid I don’t really have much of an appetite this morning. I think—if everyone doesn’t mind—I’ll just go for a walk instead.”

  He turned away from the pavilion and walked quickly away. He had no idea where he was going, and right now he didn’t care.

  “ARE you crazy?” Harrier asked him almost an hour later.

  Harrier had caught up to him a few minutes after Tiercel had left the breakfast table—Tiercel hoped Harrier’s apologies to their hosts had been more polite than his had been—and the two of them walked in silence for a while, almost the whole way down to Tiercel’s schoolhouse. Eventually, by mutual consent, they’d turned back toward the house, ending up at the stables.

  “I guess,” Tiercel said. “I mean . . . it’s not as if someone’s asking me to kill a young dragon by Bonding to it for just a few years—well, my whole life, but it would be just a few years from the dragon’s point of view, and . . . Ancaladar’s going to die anyway. Soon. At least this way he won’t have to die right now.”

  “You’re going to have a dragon. A permanent dragon,” Harrier said. “I mean . . . what are you going to feed him?”

  “I don’t know,” Tiercel said, shaking his head. “I guess he’ll have to tell me.” If we both live through it. From what Ancaladar had said, that wasn’t certain.

  He’d had more time, now, to get used to the idea of having a dragon—being Bonded to a dragon. It was still as mind-boggling, really, as it had been almost a moonturn ago when he’d come up with the idea as the solution to the problem of gaining the power to cast the spells of the High Magick. He really had no idea of what it would be like. But at least he could pretend to think about it now.

  “I don’t like it,” Harrier said stubbornly.

  “I know.” Tiercel sighed and leaned against the wall of the stables. He wasn’t even sure how he felt about it, only that it seemed as if this was where he’d been heading from the moment he’d ridden out of Armethalieh. To find out about the High Magick, and then to find a way to use it. If he were Bonded to Ancaladar—he still couldn’t quite make himself believe in the idea—he’d have the power he needed to cast the spells. And maybe Jermayan would let him take some of the
Spellbooks with him.

  “It doesn’t change anything. I still have to go find that place.”

  “Even if you get turned into a High Mage?” Harrier asked.

  “Especially then, I guess. You heard what Idalia said. I know they must have sort of been planning to do this even before I made up my mind to go, but I think they guessed I would go—somewhere—eventually. And they figure I can’t survive wherever I go without being able to do magic.”

  Harrier thought about that for a while. “So . . . either it better take us twenty years to get to the Madiran Desert, or you’d better learn how to be a High Mage really fast.”

  “I guess.”

  “Okay.” Harrier sighed and seemed to relax. It wasn’t that he’d come to a decision—Harrier rarely reached decisions quickly—but Tiercel knew that Harrier had known, long before he’d been willing to admit it to himself, that this was the only decision Tiercel could make: Bond with a dragon. And in a way, it was a relief for both of them that Tiercel had accepted his . . . fate.

  Tiercel only hoped it was something they could all live with. Literally.

  “Do you think there are any leftovers in the kitchen?” Harrier asked. “Because—you know—I missed breakfast.”

  Fifteen

  A Necessary Sacrifice

  ON THE FOLLOWING day, the Elven Court arrived from Githilnamanaranath on the wings of dragons.

  Elunyerin and Rilphanifel had come to waken Tiercel and Harrier early that morning, telling them that there was a sight to see that they would not wish to miss. The boys had dressed and the four of them gone directly to the stables, where their horses had already been saddled and made ready for them.

  “Don’t worry,” Elunyerin had said, noting the look of dismay that Harrier could not completely conceal. “There is breakfast waiting in the saddlebags. But I do not know precisely when they will arrive—there is much to do before tonight—and you will not wish to miss this.”

  “Tonight,” Tiercel said. He hoped it didn’t sound too much like a question.