DAWN OF THE PHOENIX

by A. J. STRICKLER

  “Yes, I understand, Your Grace.”

  The duke gently pushed Greyson towards the door. “Then go, get it done, Captain.” Greyson put his head down and left, his footfalls echoing from the hallway.

  William was pleased with this turn of events. He would have the queen killed and blame it on Cain. And after hanging his own people for nothing but his own vanity, no one would question the prince’s guilt. After the people found out that he had their beloved queen murdered, they would tear Cain apart. All he had to do was keep provoking the boy, and that seemed all too easy. Once Cain and Raygan were dead and Havalon was defeated, that would leave Bandara to be controlled by the Blackthorn family. He smiled to himself. He would rule Bandara yet.

  The church was quiet. The five priests still tending to the magnificent cathedral worked in silence. Dracen had heard that the late king had built a fantastic church here in Turill, but he had no idea of its size and opulence. The church was one of the largest and most ornate he had seen in his travels. Gold and silver icons adorned the walls and the pews were solid oak, and images from the Holy Tome were carved into the back of every one. Plush carpets covered the floor of the sanctuary and the stained glass windows were magnificent.

  King Aaron had spared no expense on the impressive church. Dracen smiled to himself, all the riches belonging to the Church were still here. The Abberdonians had not touched them. Havalon was not a fool, no one stole from God, not even a king.

  One of the young priests entered the sanctuary and gave the lord justice a slight bow. “There is a man here that wants to see you, Your Eminence.”

  “Who is he, Father?” Dracen could tell the priest was nervous. He had most likely never been in the presence of a Church official of the lord justice’s lofty stature.

  “He said he is the royal healer to Queen Raygan, his name is Finn Selmac.

  “Why does he want to see me? One would think if he was the queen’s physician, he would have fled to the south with her. What did he say?”

  “Well, Your Eminence, he said he has information for you and you alone.”

  Dracen shook his head. “Ah, of course he does.” Everywhere he went it was like this. There was always one that felt it was best to inform on his friends before they did the same to him. “Send him in, Father.”

  The priest bowed and stepped out. A few moments later, he returned, escorting the healer.

  Dracen thought the man looked every bit the informer, beady eyes and a narrow rat-like face. “What do you want to tell me, Finn? Is it alright I call you Finn?” the lord justice said as charmingly as he could. Dracen had always used an informant’s first name and tried to appear very personable and caring. It made them feel more at ease and more willing to tell what they knew.

  “Yes, of course, Your Eminence, you can call me whatever you like.” The man seemed scared. He must think his information was important, perhaps even dangerous.

  “Well, what do you want to talk about, Finn?”

  The healer swallowed hard. “I wanted to tell you about the witches that were here and the people with black blood.”

  The lord justice’s smile faded from his face. “Tell me everything you know, Finn, and don’t be afraid. I’m quite interested in the people with the strange blood. Tell me all about them.”

  Over an hour had passed as Selmac told Milara what he knew about the queen’s General K’xarr and his companions, the powerful sorcery that was used against the Abberdonians, and the monster called Kian.

  Dracen kept a blank look on his face while Finn told his tale, although he was filled with a terrible anxiety as the healer went on with his story.

  When Selmac had finished, the lord justice’s anxiety had turned to near panic, although he was still hiding it well. Things were much worse than the Holy Father thought. The Church itself was in grave danger. “You are sure those are the names they used?”

  Finn nodded his head. “Yes, one night as I spied on them, I heard those witches call someone the Mistress and mention the Reaper. Aren’t they old Death Gods, Eminence? Eminence, are you alright?”

  Dracen realized he had lost himself in the ominous names. “They are old myths, nothing more.” The lord justice ran his hand through his hair, he was sweating and wished he had time to pray. “Wait here, Finn, I shall return.” Dracen rose from the pew and headed towards the door. “Keep an eye on him and don’t let him leave,” Milara told one of the priests as he walked out of the sanctuary.

  The lord justice entered what had been Bishop Lyfair’s private chamber. A man was there, leaning against the wall and cleaning dirt from his nails with a thin-bladed dagger. He wore the garb of a Hand of God. “Zachariah, I see you found your way in.”

  The short man smiled, showing his rotten teeth. “Of course I did, Your Eminence, I always do.”

  Dracen despised the man, always filthy and slovenly dressed. His breath smelled like a goat’s and he knew the man’s dirty mouse-brown hair had to be full of lice, but Zachariah was one of the best assassins in the Order of the Hand. “There is a man in the sanctuary, kill him and get rid of the body, and then we will have to talk about you paying the Queen of Bandara a visit. Duke Blackthorn made the request and he is doing a favor for me in return. There are several others that need to be dispatched as well. I will have a list made for you.”

  Zachariah pulled an apple from his pocket and began to eat it, letting its juice running down his chin. “Why the man in the sanctuary?” the assassin asked, munching on the apple.

  “It’s just important that it’s done.”

  “I would like to know why, Your Eminence. I’m curious that way. You know I can keep a secret.”

  Dracen was getting irritated with the Hand’s lack of respect and bizarre behavior. He hated dealing with the insane killer, but the pope insisted he take Zachariah on his holy mission. “If you must know, he stumbled onto some things the Church feels do not need to be known by any common man.”

  Zachariah threw the apple core on the large desk that sat in the center of the room. “Good a reason as any. I’ll be back for the list.” The dirty assassin wiped his sticky hands on his pants and walked out of the chamber. Dracen could still smell him, even after he shut the door.

  Zachariah looked at the priest and nodded towards the door. The young father almost ran out of the sanctuary. The repulsive assassin had a certain reputation, even within the Church clergy. Many of the priests feared the filthy killer.

  The healer sat in a pew rubbing his hands on his thighs. Zachariah thought the narrow-faced man seemed jumpy. “How are you, friend? What brings you to God’s holy sanctuary today?” the assassin said as he slid into the pew beside the frightened man.

  “I’m waiting for the lord justice to return. We have business together,” Finn replied, trying to sound important.

  The assassin smiled and nodded, letting the healer see his nasty teeth. “What’s your name?”

  “Finn Selmac. I am the royal healer.”

  Zachariah clasped his hands together as if he was about to pray. “I knew a healer once, he tried to save my baby brother, but it didn’t work. He died anyway. All my brothers and sisters died. Isn’t that odd?”

  The healer looked back at the silver inlaid doors of the sanctuary. By the look on his face, he hoped someone would come and get him out of this conversation.

  “Do you mind if I pray?” Zachariah asked, his hands still clasped together.

  “Not at all,” Finn said.

  The assassin bowed his head. He could tell the healer was trying not to look at him, but couldn’t stop himself. Zachariah closed his eyes and sat quietly for a moment, feigning prayer. The filthy man slowly opened his eyes and turned his head towards the royal healer. “Do you know what God just told me?”

  “No,” the healer said, slowly scooting down the pew away from Zachariah.

  “He said it was time for you to die.” The assassin pulled a hidden dagger from his sleeve and thrust it into Finn’s throat so hard he cru
shed the healer’s wind pipe. Over and over, he stabbed the healer. Blood flew all over the beautiful oak pews of the holy sanctuary.

  The assassin closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He could smell the blood in the air. He pulled Finn’s body up to a seated position, and then he sat down in the pew beside the dead man with his arm around Selmac’s shoulders. Zachariah slowly sank the dagger into both of the healer’s eyes. He always stabbed their eyes when he could, but he didn’t really know why. He stood up and watched as the healer slumped down and rolled onto the floor. The assassin looked down at Selmac’s butchered body and considered his handiwork. “Amen,” Zachariah said. After taking care of the body, the assassin walked out the side door of the sanctuary, humming his favorite hymn.

  The snow was gone from Braxton Bluff when K’xarr and the others arrived. The sky was overcast and looked as if it might rain. The travelers didn’t care about the weather, they were just glad to have gotten to their destination.

  The small town’s population was not more than five thousand, but it was well kept and well built. The group could see the keep that was built into the rock bluff that gave the town its name. Castle Blackthorn was not huge, but it looked almost impregnable.

  The queen and Rufio came out to meet them as soon as they arrived. They were all exhausted. K’xarr had pushed them and their horses to the limit in order to beat Havalon to the town. The queen ordered food, drink, and hot baths to be prepared for the weary group. Everyone dismounted but K’xarr. He stayed on his horse watching all of them as they greeted each other. Endra and Kian were met by her brood of children, Rhys and the queen embracing each other like long-lost lovers, as the queen’s friend Isabella watched with a smile on her face. Rufio and Cromwell were laughing most likely at something foolish Cromwell had said. Though he would never admit it or tell them, they had become more of a family to him than his own had ever been. K’xarr had little sense of family, but he would protect these people with his life.

  His arm was hurting badly and he had gotten a little dizzy on the ride here. Rhys needed to take a look at it now that they had made it to the Bluff. Rhys could patch him up and he could take command before the Abberdonians showed up. His head swam as he slid from the saddle and collapsed on the ground.

  The castle was cool and having half the windows of the palace in Turill, it was dark as well. Most of its hallways were lit by candles or torches. It was not as beautiful as the queen’s palace, but Rhys could see it was strongly built. William Blackthorn’s castle was too damp for his tastes, but that was not the only thing that troubled him. The young healer was very uncomfortable staying in the ancestral home of Raygan’s husband. Rhys had not been alone with her since he arrived at Castle Blackthorn. He wasn’t sure what was in the queen’s mind, but he knew his. He loved her more than life itself, but he just couldn’t come up with a way they could be together. She was married, and if that was not enough, he was just a commoner. Even though Raygan had given him the title of lord, he was still not noble by birth. It all seemed so impossible. He needed to stop thinking about what could never be and keep his mind on his patient. K’xarr was still very ill. His love life would have to wait.

  “How is he?” Raygan asked as she glided into the room.

  “He will live. I just hope I can save the arm, it is badly infected, but at least the fever is down,” the healer said, touching K’xarr’s forehead.

  Rhys felt the queen’s hand wrap around his bicep and give a gentle squeeze. “I missed you terribly while you were gone. I prayed every night for your safe return.”

  Rhys looked at the small young woman. Motherhood agreed with her, she was more beautiful than ever. “I thought a lot about you and our situation while I was gone. Your husband will be returning soon, what are we going to do about that?”

  She looked deep into his eyes. Rhys had a hard time thinking straight when she did that and she knew it. “Well, he’s not here now and I’m not sure what will happen if he does return. That is a problem for another day.

  "Havalon may put an end to that question anyway. If Ansellus doesn’t get here very soon, I don’t think it will matter what Talorn does."

  She stood on her toes so she could reach up and kiss him. He took her in his arms and slid his hands down over her hips.

  “Would you two do that somewhere else? There are sick people in here,” K’xarr said, trying to rise.

  “By God, you people are very durable,” Rhys said, letting the queen go and feeling K’xarr’s head again. “Your fever is gone. With a little rest, you should be out of that bed in a week.”

  K’xarr rubbed the stubble of his short cropped beard. “Is Havalon here yet?”

  The queen shook her head. “No, but Rufio said it will be a day, maybe two. He is taking his time, letting his men have a leisurely march. He knows I have nowhere else to go.”

  “Rhys, I will stay until Havalon gets here, not a moment longer.”

  Rhys rolled his eyes. They never listened to his advice. “Of course that’s what you will do. I don’t know why I even give my opinion. What do I know about wounds, I’m just a healer.”

  K’xarr laughed and began to cough. Rhys handed him a cup of water from the bedside table. “I’m sorry, but duty calls. I promised Her Majesty a kingdom, and I don’t like to break my word.”

  “When your fever comes back and you die out there, we will give you a fine funeral,” Rhys said, looking at his stubborn patient.

  “Go spend some time with the queen, my friend. When the Abberdonians get here, you will be too busy.”

  The queen smiled at K’xarr and took Rhys by the hand, tugging him towards the door. The healer pointed his finger at K’xarr. “I will be back to check on you.”

  K’xarr smiled. “I hope not too soon.” Rhys grinned as he went out the door. He liked the young general, but it was a mystery to him why.

  Kian lay in bed beside Endra, both still covered in a fine layer of sweat from their lovemaking. They had put the children to bed early so they could be alone. His hand lay on the small bump of her stomach. “It is so small. Is Rhys sure it will come soon?”

  Endra lay with her eyes closed in relaxed bliss, but she had to grin at her lover’s apprehension. This man who had never shown any fear and had faced death many times seemed almost scared of his child’s birth. “You have asked me that three times. Rhys said by spring.”

  Kian looked at her wide-eyed. “It is almost spring, and war is coming, what are we going to do when the baby arrives?”

  Endra rolled over on her side and pushed her backside against him, maybe that would take his mind off the child.

  “Is it okay? Does Rhys know how to deliver it?”

  Endra sighed. “I told you he said the baby was fine, everything was fine, it just seems to be coming in a much shorter time than most babies.”

  “Did he say if it was a boy or girl?”

  “Kian, relax, I have had children before. Everything will be alright.”

  She felt him scoot closer to her and begin to stroke her firm hip lazily. “I wish the war was over.”

  She turned over to face him. “Kian, make love to me or go to sleep.” He moved on top of her, looking into her dark eyes. Endra pulled him down on top of her and they both stopped talking.

  Rufio stood on top of the castle’s gatehouse, looking down at the city. Night was starting to fall and the citizens of Braxton Bluff were heading to their homes for supper. He took off his helmet with its horse-hair crest. He had brought it all the way from Dragita. The liner need to be replaced and some of the dents needed hammering out, but all in all, it was still in good shape, and so was he.

  Rufio was damned glad to see K’xarr ride in, sick or not. He calculated the Abberdonians would be here within a day or two, and it was good to have the Camiran back in command. The morale of the men had been boosted as well. Many had started to like the tough young general with the mysterious black blood. They would give Havalon hell now, no matter how outnumbered they wer
e.

  “What are you thinking about with that tiny brain of yours, Rufio?”

  The captain knew the owner of that bear-like voice without having to turn around. “Cromwell, you’re so thick-headed, I couldn’t begin to explain to you what I was thinking about. I thought you were supposed to be resting?”

  The Toran laughed heartily. “To hell with Rhys’s nursemaid advice. I’m not a woman like you, Rufio. I’m from the Harsh Coast, a Toran, I will rest when I die.” Rufio had found insults were the way Cromwell showed people he liked them, so he took no offense to the barbarian’s abuses.

  “Look what I found down in the castle armory.” Cromwell held up the biggest ax Rufio had ever seen.

  “That could cut an ox in half, you’re not going to use that heavy thing in battle, are you?”

  Cromwell looked at the ax almost lovingly. “Of course I am, it’s only heavy to weak men like Dragitans. It is a fine weapon and I won’t have to hit any of the Abberdonians more than once with it. The first blow will surely kill them."

  Rufio looked out toward the road that led to the city of Braxton Bluff. “I don’t think you will have to wait long.” In the fading light, the two men could see the dark snaking line of soldiers coming down the road. Rufio’s calculations were wrong. The Abberdonians had arrived.

  K’xarr and the queen decided to give Havalon the city, they didn’t have the men to defend it anyway. The plan was to hold the castle and hope Ansellus and the Asconans came in time.

  The defenders had taken as much food as they could from the city without leaving the people to starve, and there were two wells inside the castle walls. K’xarr felt if Havalon threw his whole army at them, they could hold out a week, maybe ten days, no more and that was a generous estimate. Everything depended on Ansellus getting there before the castle fell. K’xarr had sent riders out to find the old general and tell him that Turill had been lost and that the queen was here in the Bluff. That might save time and keep Ansellus from riding to the capital before he came here. The problem was they didn’t know where Ansellus was or even if he had convinced the Asconans to aid the Bandarans. For now, they were on their own.