“And, it would be good to know, of your courtesy, what it is that is supposed to happen tonight,” Harrier said.
Rilphanifel glanced at Tiercel, then away. “The Great Spell will be cast at moonrise. Greatfather’s health is too uncertain to wait.”
Oh. Tiercel had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He’d thought he was going to have a little more time to get used to the idea of becoming Ancaladar’s new Bondmate, but apparently not.
THEY rode out to the Sunning Terraces, and there, on one of the enormous flat floors of stone, the two Elves spread out a blanket and unpacked the contents of the saddlebags as the sun rose over the field.
It must be strange knowing exactly when you’re going to die, Tiercel thought. Even though the Elves hadn’t told him much—he hadn’t seen Jermayan again since the breakfast meal yesterday, and Idalia had been evasive when he’d pressed her for more information later that day—he was pretty sure he knew what was coming. When King Sandalon cast the Great Spell, he and his dragon would die. Jermayan would probably die too, though nobody had said so, but Tiercel couldn’t believe that severing the link with Ancaladar would result in anything less.
Two people and a dragon were going to die. And that was just if the spell worked. If it didn’t work . . .
“I want—I need—to ask you some questions,” he said.
Elunyerin was brewing the water for tea on a small brazier. Tiercel had gotten used to Elven tea in the last several sennights, but he couldn’t say he really liked it.
“The time for questions has passed, Tiercel,” Rilphanifel said gently.
“No,” Tiercel said immediately. “What if—What if—I want to stop this. Now. I can’t do this. I can’t let all of them die just for me.”
Rilphanifel bowed his head for just a moment before he spoke. “Tiercel, Greatfather is dying, no matter what choice you make. Idalia is a great Healer. It was so in her last life, and it is so in this one. It is her word that he will die before the snows come, and Ancaladar with him. But I think you would speak of Sandalon Elven-king and Petrivoch, who will also die.”
“Yes,” Tiercel said tightly.
“Sandalon is our king. I think the stories in human lands do not speak of him, but know this: as a child, he saw the Elven Lands ravaged by the Endarkened, and his father, Andoreniel, who was king before him, brought low by the Shadow’s Kiss. Along with the other children of the Elven Lands, he flew to the Fortress of the Crowned Horns upon Ancaladar’s back to seek what safety there might be, and though he had seen only a few summers, he was an Elven Prince, and he knew full well that he might die there, should the Armies of the Light not defeat the Darkness. He has lived all his years knowing that the peace he reigns over is a gift bought with blood and tears. To attempt to preserve it beyond its time would be to dishonor those who gave it to him. Since the ancient days when the Houses of the Elven-born sang songs of praise to the Starry Hunt, we have stood against the Shadow when it rose up against the Light, and it is for Sandalon to do all that he can, as Andoreniel King did before him, to save us all from its return. This is his choice, and his gift to you.”
It was a long and impressive speech—the longest Tiercel had ever heard Rilphanifel make—and somehow it seemed to make everything worse.
“But . . . But I can’t do anything!” Tiercel blurted out. It was his greatest fear, and it had only gotten worse in the face of the Elves’ calm trust that somehow he would stumble into a solution through nothing more than blind ignorance of the entire problem.
“You do not yet know that. The Wild Magic only asks that you try,” Elunyerin said. The water had boiled, and she poured it into the waiting pot. “Now we will eat, and drink tea, and soon you will see the beauty that is one of the Light’s great gifts to the world.”
Tiercel didn’t really feel a lot like either eating or drinking tea, but both the Elves coaxed him, and Harrier simply nagged him, and he ended up eating a great deal more than he intended. It actually made him feel better, and—not for the first time—he wondered if Harrier was right, and a good meal was the answer to most of Life’s problems.
As Rilphanifel was packing away the remains of the meal, the horses, which had been placidly grazing up until now, all lifted their heads at once.
“They come,” Elunyerin said. “Look.”
At first the boys could see nothing in the direction she indicated, then faint specks appeared against the light of the eastern sky. They had to squint against the sun to see, but soon the specks grew larger. It was an entire flock of dragons in all the colors of the rainbow. Even Ancaladar was there.
The flight of dragons was the most beautiful sight Tiercel had ever seen. Red—blue—green—gold—black—the sunlight glittered off iridescent scales and shimmering wings. He kept trying to count them and failing. More than a dozen, anyway. They soared and wheeled through the still morning air like great kites, and their flight was absolutely silent. Soon they were overhead, then beyond, then circling back.
“It is time for us to go,” Rilphanifel said, breaking the spell.
“I . . . What?” Harrier said. He sounded as if he’d been hit over the head, and Tiercel could sympathize. He dragged his gaze away from the skyful of dragons with an effort. “I mean—”
“Deshtariel Chamberlain comes now to greet the king and to bring him and his court to House Malkirinath so that they may rest and be refreshed,” Rilphanifel said kindly. He gestured, and Tiercel could see where a long column of horses—only a few with riders—and a couple of brightly-decorated wagons moved slowly toward the field. “We shall depart, so that you may greet him later, and properly.”
“Come on,” Harrier said, sighing as he took a last look at the dragons. They were circling in close formation now, obviously preparing to land. “I guess you’ll be seeing a lot of them soon enough, Tyr.”
TIERCEL was a little surprised that he and Harrier were allowed to attend the evening meal at all, since, wouldn’t it be a banquet for the King of the Elves? But an hour before their usual dinner time, Farabiael came to their rooms with an armful of clothing—they’d spent most of the day more-or-less hiding out there—and told them to dress themselves and, in the name of Leaf and Star, arrive at the table on time!
When they sorted through what Farabiael had brought, they discovered that they’d been given special clothing for the occasion. And since, compared to the Elves, they dressed very simply, tonight’s costumes were elaborate indeed.
Harrier’s outfit was in shades of green and violet. He’d almost refused to wear the clothes at all until Tiercel had pointed out that the Elves had picked out blue and pale orange for him, and if Harrier called it “peach” they weren’t going to have to worry about the banquet at all, because neither of them would be attending. Aside from the colors—and why did the Elves seem to always want to dress up like flowers?—the outfits were identical: a pair of heavy silk trousers and a long-sleeved tunic over which went a long sleeveless see-through vest that fell to midthigh, closed halfway down its length by a long row of small jeweled buttons. Over the sheer vest went a wide-sleeved robe—equally transparent—that fell to mid-calf, and fortunately by now both of them had gotten a great deal of experience with the mysteries of Elven sash-tying, because the robe had no buttons, but was held closed with another of the long wide sashes that the Elves seemed to favor instead of belts. They even had new boots to finish off their new outfits, of brightly-gilded leather that shone like metal.
It took them both a long time to bathe and dress.
HARRIER poked his head in through the door of Tiercel’s room. “Whoa,” he said, giving Tiercel’s finished outfit a startled look. The combination of colors and the translucent layers gave the costume the iridescent look that the Elves favored, though by Elven standards the garb was severely plain: the only ornamentation was on the jeweled buttons of the vest and the metallic embroidery on the belt and along the edge of the robe.
“I don’t want to go,” Tiercel s
aid, looking at his reflection in the mirror. A stranger stared back, a stranger wearing peculiar clothes much finer than anything he’d ever worn back home. He glanced toward the window. In a few hours the moon would rise. And it would be time for the spell.
“Tough,” Harrier said unsympathetically. “If you didn’t want to go, you shouldn’t have said ‘yes’ to this stupid idea in the first place. Then I wouldn’t have had to get dressed up like a girl.”
“Don’t you even care that they’re going to die?” Tiercel said, looking at Harrier. For all his protests, Harrier looked nothing like a girl. A really dangerous flower, maybe, but not a girl.
“Everybody keeps saying they’re going to die anyway, Tyr. And I guess that’s supposed to make it better. But no, I don’t like it. But I think you’re forgetting something.”
“I don’t think I can be,” Tiercel said, staring out at the twilight again.
“Simera died for you, too,” Harrier said quietly.
Tiercel turned back, his eyes wide with shock and betrayal. He knew Harrier still grieved for their friend. Thinking about her death hurt so much that he did his best not to think about Simera at all.
“She died so you could get here. So this could happen. And I think this is really stupid, but I also can’t think of anything else we can do. We can’t go hide.”
Tiercel shook his head very slightly.
“And . . . I don’t know. You’re the one who always knows all the right words, Tyr. I just think the Elves must think this is important.”
Tiercel nodded reluctantly. “I don’t think I’ll be able to eat anything.”
Harrier shook his head. “I guess . . . me either.”
THERE were few things to mark the meal as different from an ordinary evening meal in House Malkirinath, other than that everybody’s clothes were a little more formal than usual and there were a number of strangers present. Because of the extra people, there were two tables laid in the dining room instead of one—some of the furniture had been moved to make room for the second table. Tiercel and Harrier were introduced to Sandalon and Vairindiel—as well as to a number of people who seemed to make up the King’s Council, and several people who were apparently Mages—but “Sandalon” and “Vairindiel” were the only names they were really able to remember.
To Tiercel’s dismay, he and Harrier were seated at the same table as the King. He was trying not to think about what was going to happen later tonight, and sitting with a man—an Elf, and the King of the Elves, at that—who was cheerfully awaiting what amounted to his own execution would have destroyed his appetite completely, if he’d had any left.
Since Jermayan wasn’t there, Sandalon was the oldest person in the room—older even than Idalia, though by only a few years. He teased her as if they were family, and watching the two of them talk quietly together, Tiercel discovered after a moment that they were.
“If this is indeed what is required to cause you to come and visit us, brother, then perhaps I should have sent Ancaladar to steal Tiercel out of his cradle, so you would come to us sooner,” Idalia said.
“I am pained to discover that Githilnamanaranath has become such a distant journey for your aged bones, sister, when once you roamed not only the Nine Cities That Were, but all the Wild Lands as well, in not one lifetime, but two.”
“Those days are gone, Sandalon, both the good and the bad of them. There are few moments in all my years that I would see undone, for the Wild Magic goes as it wills, and none among us can truly understand its weaving,” Idalia answered.
“As always you speak no more or less than the truth, Idalia. I have seen the rebirth of the Flower Forests, and desert turn to meadow. I am content.”
Tiercel wasn’t sure whether he should be listening to any of this, even though he was seated at Idalia’s right hand and the two of them weren’t doing anything to keep their voices down. He wasn’t quite sure how Idalia could be Sandalon’s sister and Kellen’s sister both, and he didn’t think that was a story she was ever going to tell him even if he could figure out how to ask.
“But I am lacking in courtesy to a guest beneath your roof,” Sandalon said, turning his attention to Tiercel. “And you have come from a farther place than any I have ever seen. It would please me greatly to hear of Armethalieh, for many of the friends of my childhood once called it home. I fear, though, that it will have changed much since the days when Kellen and Cilarnen knew it.”
Beside Tiercel, Harrier choked on his cup of cider, and Tiercel frantically searched his mind for changes to Armethalieh in the last thousand years that might interest the King of the Elven Lands. For a moment he couldn’t think of what to say. Don’t you know you’re going to die tonight? his mind cried.
But of course Sandalon knew that. Rilphanifel had told Tiercel that he’d been alive during the last war, and might even have seen the Endarkened in the flesh. If Tiercel had been willing to leave home and come here to keep something like the Fire Woman from gaining power—and Tiercel had been born after centuries of peace—how much more likely was it that Sandalon was willing to die to destroy her?
First Simera. Now Sandalon. How many more people are going to have to die hoping I can do something I don’t know how to do?
Tiercel took a deep breath. “Well,” he began, “they’ve taken down the City walls. And they’ve rebuilt the Great Library. It’s bigger now. . . .”
AFTER the meal, everyone gathered outside in the garden. The Elves, the boys had already noticed, decorated nearly everything outdoors with tiny colored lanterns that were lit at dusk, so the garden was as brightly-colored by night as by day.
In Armethalieh, important ceremonies, such as the investiture of a new Magistrate or Light-Priest, or the Parading of the Guard, or the ritual Opening of the City Gates in the moonturn of Seed-time, were conducted with great formality and stateliness. This was obviously the most important thing the Elves could think of to do, but there was an odd casualness about it. People gathered in Jermayan and Idalia’s garden, and more and more of them showed up, and after a while Jermayan was carried out of the house on a litter, and then they all started to walk down through the garden. All around him Tiercel could hear the Elves talking to each other about the same things people might talk about back home—their gardens, and the weather; horses, and clothes, and people he didn’t know. Nobody talked about the Endarkened or magic.
They didn’t walk all the way to the Sunning Terraces, as he’d halfway expected, but they walked a good distance past the little house where he had spent so many long and useless hours attempting to learn the High Magick. He suspected now that Jermayan and Idalia had known all along that he’d never be able to master it without Bonding to a dragon, but if they’d suggested a Bonding the moment he and Harrier had shown up, he’d simply have refused. He’d needed to learn for himself that there was no other way.
Now, when he’d thought he’d be most upset, Tiercel felt strangely calm about what was to come. None of the Elves seemed at all upset, and that soothed him a little. He hadn’t thought that would be possible, but somehow he couldn’t be distressed in the face of Sandalon’s cheerful acceptance of his fate. The ancient Elven King might have been going to a dance instead of to his death. He’d sought out the Elves because he trusted their judgment and hoped for their counsel. Now that he’d gotten both, he’d just have to go along with things a little further.
The dragons were already assembled in an enormous circle when they arrived. In the darkness their colors were muted, and they looked almost like enormous gleaming metal statues, until one shifted a wing, or twitched a tail, or blinked. The space that the dragons made with their bodies was large enough to contain two more dragons, and Ancaladar was already waiting in the center, curled up like an enormous unhappy cat.
Jermayan was carried on his litter into the center of the space and set down at Ancaladar’s head. He reached up one thin hand to touch the dragon’s gleaming nose, and Tiercel angrily blinked away sudden tears. No matter ho
w hard he tried to accept this, he still couldn’t feel that separating the two of them was fair!
Idalia followed Jermayan into the circle. She bent low over the litter for a moment, her long pale hair hiding Jermayan’s face from sight. When she straightened up, she stroked Ancaladar’s brow-ridge gently. When she stepped away from the two of them, all the rest of the Elves began to move into the circle, walking through one of the gaps between the dragons. Rilphanifel was standing directly behind Tiercel, and urged him gently forward into the ring.
Idalia joined the waiting Elves as they arranged themselves in a semicircle around Jermayan. For a moment Tiercel wondered why—since the dragons were in a circle—but then another dragon—a blue one—came forward to crouch beside Ancaladar, furling his wings in tightly.
“I am Petrivoch,” the blue dragon said to Tiercel. “I thank you for making it possible for my Bondmate and I to serve the Land beyond our deaths.”
Tiercel swallowed hard. Though Rilphanifel had insisted it was true, and he’d been trying to make himself believe it for days, somehow hearing the words from Petrivoch convinced him far more than even Sandalon’s calm demeanor had. This was the right thing to do. The price was terribly high—for all of them—even for him and Ancaladar if they survived—but it was right. “I just hope I can,” he said shakily.
“Have faith in the goodness of Leaf and Star,” Petrivoch said gently.
Now Sandalon entered the circle, leaning heavily on his long carved walking staff. Vairindiel walked beside him. Sandalon reached Tiercel’s side and stopped. He set his walking staff carefully down upon the grass and lifted both hands to his head, carefully removing the coronet of green stones and white pearls he wore and placing it on Vairindiel’s head. Next he removed a large ring from his finger that was set with a stone of the same pale luminous green, and placed it upon her hand. He kissed her gently upon both cheeks, his hands upon her shoulders.
The Enduring Flame Trilogy 001 - The Phoenix Unchained Page 35