Forgery of the Phoenix

by Michael Angel

  “How might I be the issue at hand, Sire?” I asked.

  “Are you aware, Dame Chrissie, that I am short of experienced knights to man and defend my demesne?” Fitzwilliam asked sternly. “Many left for home at the peak of our fiscal crisis. Then combat with the dragons and owls depleted us still further.”

  “I am aware of the shortage, Your Majesty.”

  “Then perhaps you should be made aware of the fact that three of my men are now being treated by the palace physicians.”

  “Sire?”

  “I have received multiple reports that you are the party responsible for setting a trio of veteran knights into combat to the death,” he fumed. “And all to win your approval to fight in the Spring Tournament as your favored champion.”

  My voice stuck in my throat. I almost reeled at the accusation. The snakes in the Royal court were blaming me for these idiots trying to chop each other up into stew meat? Before I could say anything, Fitzwilliam went on.

  “The tally comes to one broken leg, one fractured jaw, two broken arms...and it seems that one of my knights won’t be able to vault into a saddle for at least another two months! So, would you kindly tell us which of these poor fellows you have chosen to bestow your favor on, and spare me both heartburn and the loss of manpower?”

  More creaks as every man (and the two or three women who were also present) leaned forward expectantly. I felt my face flush with embarrassment, and not a little annoyance. Didn’t these ‘great lords and ladies’ have anything better to do with their time than find out who was being courted by whom?

  “Sire,” I said, trying to keep my tone neutral, “I chose none of the three. I did not ask for the combat. I wanted none of this!”

  An old noblewoman sitting towards the end of the table to my left shouted in my direction. “Well, my son is in the infirmary because of you!”

  I spotted Lady Behnaz’s face across from King Fitzwilliam’s. Her look was excited, expectant. It took me a moment to realize that she was happy simply because I hadn’t been foolish enough to promise anything to a landless knight as opposed to the deep-pocketed suitors she’d listed off to Herald.

  Her husband, Lord Behnaz, suddenly guffawed and leaned forward. His fat belly and heavyset jowls made him look like a bulldog that had been let loose at a buffet. His voice held a jovial note that I hadn’t expected to hear from the man.

  “Much as I appreciate Dame Chrissie’s service to the throne,” he began pompously, “this proves what I have told you, Your Majesty. She needs to be planted in a bed to start popping out children, not sitting on this court!”

  His wife shot daggers at him with her eyes and I heard a couple of boos, but by and large that was drowned out by a sea of laughter. King Fitzwilliam let the noise rise and fall like a wave before calling for silence. His voice still sounded annoyed, but to my eyes his expression was one of relief.

  “Just as you delayed me on accepting a position on this court, so too you delay on choosing a mate. Leaving aside the issue of offspring, are you not aware of the duties you have been granted?”

  And that was Fitzwilliam’s subtle way of reminding me of how I was a quarter-million crowns in arrears. I steeled my voice to sound firmly in control.

  “My apologies, Your Majesty. In my world, such matters are normally a less...public matter.”

  I suppose that was only partly true. In Los Angeles at least, the public figures – movie and television royalty instead of blood nobles – got about as much attention. But I wasn’t about to give out that tidbit of information.

  “As for my duties,” I continued, “I am aware of the debts incurred by my induction into the knightly Order of the Weasel. It was an unexpected burden. But I fully intend to pay those debts in order to keep my status as a Dame of this Royal court.”

  That was as far as I could get for a minute or two. Conversation bubbled and swirled around me as my words sank in. Most of what I heard wasn’t all that flattering.

  “That’s the order of welshers!”

  “Disbanded bunch of incompetents.”

  “Fitting they would take her, you know.”

  “Fie on that, she has more mettle than any of them.”

  “Ha! One of those ilk was famous for falling off his horse!”

  I raised my voice to be heard over the chatter. “In order to make good on my intent, I must ask a favor of the crown.”

  “Let us hear it,” Fitzwilliam said. “I am genuinely curious as to what you need.”

  “What I need is time, Your Majesty.” I glanced challengingly to each side as I went on. “I understand the crown’s urgent needs for funds at present. I want to do my part, like all the lords, ladies, and knights at this court. So of course, I shall pay my tax bill early.

  “But the debt from my knightly Order is a much greater amount. I need time to figure out how to pay these sums. As such, I request at least until this time next year to work out a schedule of payments drawn up according to my ability to meet them.”

  More muttering from the court, which Fitzwilliam cut off with a wave of one hand.

  “Payment and schedules are your own business, which you must hammer out with the Hoohan. However, I am inclined to accede to much of what you ask. I cannot give you a full year. But what is planted in spring may be harvested in the fall. So, I shall grant you until next autumn’s harvest season to begin your debt payments in earnest.”

  This time the court erupted in shouts instead of mutters. More than half of the lords erupted in fury, demanding to have their own debts canceled or delayed. Once again, Lord Behnaz’s voice overrode all the others.

  “Your Majesty, this is an outrage!” he cried. “I have debts to the crown as well, all of which hobble my abilities to run my lands as well as arm my household’s knights!”

  I bit back the first remark that came to mind: that the debt obviously hadn’t affected his ability to put dinner on the table, and then some. That would have been satisfying, but the equivalent of throwing gasoline on the fire.

  “Given Dame Chrissie’s excellent, repeated service to the crown, I find that I must be generous,” Fitzwilliam said evenly. “If you object to that, then you must serve as loyally and with as much dedication.”

  The shouting from the assembled lords resumed, even louder this time. Most of the landless, debtless knights simply remained seated and looking uncomfortable. Fitzwilliam gestured for silence again, but this time his order was ignored.

  Commander Yervan stepped to his monarch’s side. The older knight rapped on the metal rim of his shield with his plate mailed fist. The sharp clanging cut through the cacophony of voices and began to smother it.

  A loud HISS came from the hearths across the room, silencing everyone.

  It wasn’t the hiss of a snake. It was steam escaping a vessel filled with boiling liquid. Or the hiss of cold water thrown on a griddle.

  The hiss turned into the throaty roar of a forest fire. Suddenly, the andirons shone a brilliant, otherworldly blue. Smoldering embers popped out onto the floor like sparks from a blacksmith’s forge. The fire itself convulsed as if it were in pain, as if it were giving birth.

  The flames bulged outwards, and a gigantic bird shape erupted forth from the dragon mouth of the largest hearth. Wings that were easily a dozen feet from tip to tip stretched out, making the pages scatter. Taloned feet the iron-red of hot steel landed on the stone floor.

  A sharply pointed beak jutted out from a face that could have done a griffin justice. Yellow and crimson feathers that rippled like little jets of flame covered tangerine-colored flanks. Smells of hot metal and sulfur rolled off the creature.

  I could do nothing but stare in awe at the impossible reality of the beast.

  King Fitzwilliam’s court now played host to a majestic, fiery Phoenix.

  Chapter Seven

  The light and heat from the phoenix decreased noticeably as the creature kicked on an internal dimmer switch. The scents of charcoal and freshly struck matches, so
vivid that I could taste them, faded away to almost nothing. Finally, the creature sat glowing softly before us, an avian shape outlined in shimmering coals.

  On second glance, the raptor’s beak looked more slender and delicate than a griffin’s. It also lacked the predatory eagle-like ‘hook’ at the end, tapering instead to a sharp point. The phoenix’s face was similarly sharp, its eyes tiger skin orange. A crest made up of multiple plumes topped the back of its head. The plumes radiated colors on the scarlet edge of the spectrum, ranging from the purple-red of Merlot wine to the bright cherry-red of a candied apple.

  Most interestingly, a faint roiling sound emanated from the creature. I wasn’t sure what caused that. Hot air rising from around it, possibly.

  I was awestruck. Mesmerized, even. This was a type of creature even more impossible than a dragon. It did more than breathe fire – it seemed coated in it!

  To his credit, King Fitzwilliam managed to look only mildly interested. While the rest of his court sat frozen in either fear or astonishment, he rose to stand before his throne. A slight frown creased his face, and I saw him glance downward. I followed his line of sight, spotting what had attracted the King’s attention.

  The phoenix’s talons cradled a foot-long metallic cylinder, glowing red-hot from its contact with the creature’s foot. Before I could speculate on what that might be, a deep-throated masculine voice echoed in my head as if it were backed by a subwoofer.

  “Korr of the Seraphine I be,” the phoenix intoned. “The king of the humans, in the court of the Scriveners, who be he?”

  Murmurs of ‘amazing!’, ‘the fire-creature speaks!’ and ‘I hear it in my head!’ ran the length of the room. Aside from the strange sentence structure, Korr’s mode of speech reminded me of the thought-communication style used by Destry and the other pouquelaye. But based on the heat the phoenix put out, I’d definitely classify it as a corporeal creature.

  The King spoke above the whispers around him, identifying himself proudly. “I rule here. I am King Fitzwilliam, son of the Good King Benedict and line of Julian the Conqueror. All creatures who speak man’s tongue know of my rightful ascension.”

  The creature let out a strange steel-scraping-on-steel sound. If I wasn’t mistaken, the phoenix had just made its equivalent of a laugh or dismissive snort. The next words it spoke confirmed my suspicions.

  “From the Seraphine, from the Ones Who Burn and Rise Again, I be,” Korr said. “Like stray sparks in wind do the decades and centuries pass. Know we not who or what in this kingdom rules. Even one such as I has risen anew for only a single turn of the sun before my travel to this old and sacred place.”

  Korr may have literally only been born (or re-born) yesterday, but this creature was no fool. In fact, there was a lot one could infer from his words. Julian the Conqueror founded both the Kingdom of Andeluvia and Fitzwilliam’s bloodline around seven hundred years ago. Could Korr know more about this country’s history? The hairs on my arms pricked up as a thought struck me.

  Could Korr have been alive during the Old War?

  Now I really wanted to hear what the phoenix wanted. Maybe I’d get a chance to speak with him one-on-one. Or perhaps I could ask him if I could speak to a different phoenix, for his speech implied that his people, the ‘Seraphine’, still existed.

  “If you have only recently risen from your last dark slumber,” Fitzwilliam stated, “then this visit must be of great importance. State plainly what you wish from me, creature of legend.”

  “Bear I now a summons from Pirr, the Quondam Seraphine.”

  The phoenix released the still-glowing cylinder. With surprising grace, he flicked one talon and sent it rolling across the floor. The metallic cylinder made a series of delicate clinks as it rolled and bumped its way to a stop at the base of the stairs leading up to the throne.

  For the third time today, a series of creaks echoed through the throne room as everyone present leaned forward to gawk at the item resting before the King. I followed suit and immediately saw why the thing had bumped along instead of rolling smoothly. Instead of a flat, even cylinder, I spotted a bunch of knobs or rings along the side, like a lock or seal on the side of a secured package.

  Whatever the ‘package’ consisted of, it must have been extremely heat resistant. A sizzle rose up from where it lay on the stone. Fitzwilliam looked up, spotted the nearest page, and snapped his fingers at the young man.

  “Bring water in a pail, and a pair of coal tongs,” he ordered. “Be quick about it.”

  I had to hand it to whomever handled the staffing at the palace. We only spent a minute or two staring at the resplendent phoenix as it remained where it sat, looking as patient as a stone.

  Now that Korr had dialed back on the fire effects, I made out little cadmium-yellow whorls that appeared along the outer layer of his ‘feathers’ before churning and disappearing. The process reminded me of a nature documentary I’d seen on the latest eruption of Mauna Kea in Hawaii. The feathery-looking surface of the phoenix resembled nothing more than the deadly swirl of a lava pit.

  A pair of pages returned, carrying the tongs and a large bucket of water between them. At Fitzwilliam’s brusque nod, one set the bucket down and the other used the tongs to pick up the glowing tube. For his part, Korr continued to look on impassively as the object was placed into the cool liquid.

  The water bubbled, steam rising from the bucket. Once it subsided, the page retrieved the cylinder with the tongs, shaking off the remaining droplets of water. He ascended the steps, knelt before the King, and held it out.

  Fitzwilliam turned to his right. “Court Wizard, if you please.”

  “Of course, Your Majesty,” Galen replied promptly.

  Galen trotted a step or two forward and bent his knees to receive the now cool cylinder. The pages collected the bucket and tongs, then moved out of the way as the wizard fiddled with the package. A clack, and the item unfurled in his large centaur hands into a single, green-tinged surface covered in writing.

  I felt curiosity and a strange feeling of déjà vu as I watched Galen handle the document, which flexed like a thick piece of parchment. It puzzled me. Why would something carried by a phoenix, a creature I’d never seen or even knew existed, look in the slightest bit familiar?

  “Are you able to read the message inscribed, Wizard?” Fitzwilliam asked after a few moments.

  Galen nodded, though he didn’t take his eyes off the strange ‘paper’. “Yes, Sire. Though it is taking me some time to comprehend the message’s meaning.”

  “Explain.”

  “The message has been inscribed using magic symbols more commonly associated with my spell books. Many of the concepts utilized in spells are being ‘repurposed’ here for general communication.”

  King Fitzwilliam took a moment to digest this information. “Very well. Take the time you need.” He gestured to the still figure of the phoenix. “It does not appear that our guest is going anywhere for now.”

  Soft murmurs rose up from around us as Galen pored over the message. The mood was expectant, but cautious. After a short while, the wizard looked up from the document and cleared his throat. The room went silent in an instant.

  “This is a summons on behalf of “The Quondam One”, whom our visitor referred to as ‘Pirr’,” Galen began. “It says that the one who brings this message – that would be ‘Korr’, I presume – is magically equipped to bring the one chosen as the ‘Quester’ to the Vale of the Seraphine.”

  “Bring them to...does it say for what reason?” the King asked.

  “It is for a matter most urgent, for the Seraphine fear the end of their sacred cycle of birth, death, and rebirth. In essence, they ask for help before their worst fears are realized: the cessation of the Seraphine’s survival as a species. The message concludes that the Quondam One fears they are doomed without the help of this Quester.”

  “The phoenix have not been seen in Andeluvia for a long while,” Fitzwilliam mused. “I feel that there could be tr
uth behind the request, and its urgency.”

  “Indeed, Your Majesty. According to our local records, a phoenix has not been seen within the boundaries of Andeluvia since the very beginning of your father’s reign. The Good King Benedict spoke of the phoenix as bringers of luck and good fortune, much like the fayleene are thought of today.”

  “Then I am inclined to help these Seraphine, if we are able,” the King said, before turning back to Korr and raising his voice. “Who do you wish to be your Quester?”

  The phoenix flexed its wings as it answered. “One such as I must defer to the will of Pirr. The Quondam One spoke of the one we deemed as Quester at the end of the summons.”

  “Well, then.” Fitzwilliam looked up at Galen. “Since you are the only one present who can read this message, I need you to puzzle out who the Quondam One wished to be the Quester.”

  “That is easily done, Your Majesty,” Galen said. “The name cited is the only part of the message that is not written in the manner of magical spellwork.”

  Fitzwilliam gave the centaur an amazed look. “Then tell us, Wizard!”

  Galen coughed uncomfortably into his hand.

  “That would be the newest member of our Royal Court, Dame Dayna Chrissie.”

  Chapter Eight

  I probably should have known that was coming.

  Even as I sat stock-still in the Worst Chair in the Kingdom, feeling the blood rush to my cheeks, I figured this was a natural consequence of my reputation. And no, my bad luck wasn’t the only thing to come into play here.

  On the whole, I was well known around Andeluvia for two things. One was tenaciously holding to a job until it was completed. The other was my ability to help out others in need, even if the party in question wasn’t human. In the world of Andeluvia, I was pretty sure that took an additional third to half the population into account. After all, if an ethereal species like the Pooka had heard of me, it made sense that the phoenix would have as well.