The Phoenix King: The Thunderheart Chronicles Book 2

by Alexander Brockman

  “You are going to tell your captain that you found the village destroyed by a wyvern, and just barely managed to escape with your lives. The scorch marks on your armor should make it believable.”

  “Yes madam, thank you,” the older soldier said, stumbling to his feet. “You won’t regret this. I swear it on my mother’s head.” He ran into the forest, and his younger counterpart hobbled after him. Kyra had left his knees stuck together.

  As soon as they were gone, the villagers silently dispersed to their daily lives. Kyra turned and walked to the biggest hut, opened the door and went inside.

  As soon as she reached her chair she fell into it and let the sob that had been building escape her lips. Kyra was not a warrior by any means, and knew that every escaped recruitment was just a delay of the inevitable. Every two years the soldiers came, demanding supplies. They rarely took food, but demanded something far more precious: coal.

  Their village was covered in ice for at least three months out of the year. Without the heat provided by the black rock, the villagers would quickly die.

  The soldiers always demanded far more than the village could supply, but offered an alternative. Give up anyone between ages twelve and forty for recruits into Malcommer’s army, and keep the coal. They took Kyra’s father when she was four, her mother when she was eight. Kyra still remembered how her mother had hid her under a cabinet and gone to face the two dozen soldiers who came to collect the last of the ElderBorn witch coven.

  Kyra had been adopted by the village elder at the time, Derrin, who had raised her as his own. When he fell ill, the village had no leader. That year was one of the coldest and hardest, until Kyra found her mother’s old book. It contained every recipe, spell, and curse that the ElderBorn witches had ever used. That very day, Kyra found a spell that could keep an entire house warm with just the right ingredients and only half the coal. It had been a little fickle and burned down two homes, but the village had survived. By the time the soldiers came, Kyra was strong enough to deceive them. The villagers had never officially made her the leader, but it was clear they all depended on her magic, for everything from healing to farming.

  She knew it was only a matter of time before one of the soldiers she had scared off over the years fessed up to his captain, and then they would come for her. She would either have to fight in the upcoming war or be tortured to death. And her village would be left entirely defenseless. She doubted it would survive a month.

  Kyra put her head in her hands, her black curtain of hair falling around her face. What am I doing here? She thought.

  Even if she did survive, she would die alone. The boy in the village closest to her age was Tommy, who was only eight. Even if Kyra felt like waiting for someone almost ten years her junior to grow up, he would most likely be taken from the village the moment he turned twelve. Her mother would laugh at her, she knew.

  Strong women don’t complain, Kyra. They take what life gives ‘em and turn it into something beautiful.

  Derrin would have sighed and shook his head. He knew that Kyra longed to be somewhere else, free, and truly wished he could have given her a chance at life outside this world. Now, though, he was incapacitated, living upstairs in the large house.

  Kyra shook her head before she could cry. “They call this place the Golden Land. More like Golden Chains.” Maybe it was odd that she talked to herself, but the other villagers were terrified of her. They would never admit it and knew they needed her, but they also knew she could kill them with a reach into her mother’s leather bag.

  “Get over it Kyra,” she said, “The soldiers are gone. You can live in peace for another two years.”

  That was when she heard the griffin scream.

  3

  Three days. That was how long it took for their supplies to run out. The packs had been loaded with weapons, dried meat, water, some cooking utensils, books of magic for the wizards, and, most importantly, ranger cloaks for both warm and cold weather. Aidan smiled as he ran the strong material between his fingers. Until he learned of his hidden potential to be a wizard, Aidan had wanted nothing more than to be a ranger. Now, he couldn’t imagine being anything but a sorcerer. Aidan had also found a neatly wrapped package in his supplies. Inside was a communication crystal that was linked to two others, one in Timothy’s pack and one in Eleanor’s. There was also a beautifully made knife. When Aidan picked it up, the metal felt as familiar as his own hand. His old staff had been destroyed in the Battle of the Isle, but clearly someone had salvaged the blade that was hidden in the bottom of the scepter.

  A short letter had been prepared by each of the wizard’s masters. Bartemus’s letter for Aidan was a short list of things to look for and avoid in Aranumis. Malachi had prepared similar notes for Timothy and his newest apprentice, Eleanor, who had requested a transfer from her old master after receiving her wand.

  If Aaliyah received anything from Borin, she did not mention it. Aidan felt elation come from her as they flew away from Beganor, but since then she had blocked off any connection to him. He could probably break through if he wanted, but he imagined Aaliyah would not be pleased.

  The water was the first to go. Only Borin seemed to have realized that a journey of several hundred miles would require more than a skin full of water. Aaliyah shared what she had, but it wasn’t much.

  After that was the food. The wizard’s portions were magically enhanced for taste, but clearly not for keeping. They had gone bad by the end of second day. Aidan was beginning to wonder if his master was testing him.

  On the third day the wizards could no longer keep the griffin in the air. The beast could survive, for a time, on magic instead of food, but no animal could survive without sleep. The creature was finally pushed to her limits about a half hour after sunset.

  She screamed as she started to lose altitude, a warning to its riders. Aidan, Eleanor, and Timothy poured all the magic they had into the beast, but she slowly careened downwards until she landed in some thick pine woods. Two flattened trees later, the great bird made its own clearing.

  The four friends fell off of the griffin, who was already dreaming, and tried to pitch one of the elven tents that had been prepared for the voyage. They quickly gave up when they realized that the tent was actually made to be hung in the branches of a tree.

  “Well, we’re in the Nefarious Lands.” Timothy said. The joy that had blessed them at the beginning of their trip had been replaced with the sort of mood that one acquires after living on the back of a flying cat for three days.

  “How far did we make it?” Aidan asked.

  “Impossible to tell with the fog,” said Aaliyah, who would have been the best at judging distance. It was true, the mist had plagued them as soon as they passed the Dragonback range, and had not ceased until the previous night. Aidan had no doubt that it was some scheme of Malcommer’s.

  Eleanor had pulled out her book of magic, which seemed to hold far more pages than was physically possible. “Well, according to this, these pine forests don’t start until we’re out of Malcommer’s territory.”

  Aidan let go of some worry he hadn’t realized he was been holding.

  “Of course, that was sixty some years ago. Things may have changed, so we still need to be careful.”

  “How are we going to get supplies?” Timothy asked, eyeing the woods like they wanted to eat him.

  “We can worry about that in the morning.” Aaliyah said. “For now, I’ll take first watch. Try to get some rest.”

  Aidan threw out his winter coat and fell on top of it. Sleeping on a griffin’s back was far more difficult than he would have thought. Within a few moments, the wizard was asleep.

  ***

  Aidan woke to the sound of howling. A hand clamped over his mouth before he could move.

  “Don’t make a sound,” Aaliyah whispered. “These aren’t normal wolves. They’re hunting us.” Timothy and Eleanor were already sitting up, gripping their wands. Aidan had been subconsciously holding his wh
ile he was sleeping, and his other hand now slipped around the handle of his knife.

  It was the griffin that absolutely gave them away. It suddenly rose its head and, with a scream, took off into the air.

  “The egg!” Eleanor shouted, then realized her mistake and covered her mouth. All four jumped to their feet and stood back to back. Aidan felt anger and frustration grip his senses. They had left the egg in the box where the elves had placed it, and had never removed it from the griffin when they landed. Now, they were stranded with only their packs, sleeping mats, weapons, and a dysfunctional tent.

  The first beast stepped out of the woods in front of Aidan. It was far thicker and taller than a wolf, and appeared to be made more for fighting than running. Its fur was jet black, and its eyes literally glowed red. Where its massive paw touched the ground, tiny flames licked the earth before dying out.

  “Hellhound,” Timothy whispered.

  Aidan raised his wand at the creature and said the first spell that came to mind, one of his favorites. “Ingo.”

  The white flames completely encircled the creature, and would have incinerated any other animal. The hellhound seemed to smile.

  “Timothy, how do we fight these things?” Aidan asked, starting to feel nervous. More eyes were glowing all around them.

  “I don’t know,” Timothy said. Aidan could feel by the magic in the air that his friend had already tried his own spells, and none seemed to be working.

  Aidan saw an arrow sprout from the side of the beast, and it fell with a howl.

  “Run!” Aaliyah yelled, already pulling back her bow for a second shot.

  They took off into the woods, Aaliyah bringing up the rear.

  Aidan could feel the blood rushing through his ears. He imagined this was how a rabbit felt as it fled for its life from a pack of dogs. He could see the animals on both side of them, and could hear their excited barks and howls coming from behind. For the time being, Aaliyah’s bow kept the hounds back, but Aidan knew it wouldn’t be long before they were surrounded.

  The trees were not making things easier. More than once the group had to split to round a large trunk, and Aidan was almost surprised when they were all present on the other side.

  A ball of flame slammed into the ground in front of Eleanor, who dove to the side, swearing.

  “They breathe fire?” Aidan yelled. “Somnulae!” The animal he targeted didn’t slow. Aaliyah felled it with an arrow.

  They stopped to protect Eleanor while she climbed to her feet, but moved too slowly. Timothy screamed as a beast leapt on him from the side. Thin, razor sharp claws raked Timothy’s arm before the beast fell, Aaliyah’s last arrow sticking out of its eye.

  Aidan was quickly running out of spells. He had heard his friends even try black magic, the Morka and Nergaldok spells, to no effect.

  The beasts, about twelve in all, had begun to circle the four friends. The ground where they stepped formed a taller and taller ring of flames.

  “They were … created by Malcommer during the Great Wars,” Timothy gasped through the pain. “They are built to hunt sorcerers. They will slowly make the ring smaller until we are cooked in the fire.”

  Aidan glanced at his friend. The cuts on his arm were not bleeding, probably because they had been burned closed. The pain must have been excruciating.

  Indeed, the creatures drew closer, and the blaze grew hotter. Aaliyah had already drawn her longest knives.

  Suddenly, the obvious answer clicked into place in Aidan’s head. “Freegaea.” He said, allowing all of his power to be expelled. He felt the usual tidal wave of exhilaration rise to his chest and then blast outwards.

  The wolves howled in pain as a freezing cold wind washed over them, extinguishing their flames. They were by no means killed, but the cold seemed to scare them enough to make them turn and flee.

  Aidan fell down next to Timothy, dots swimming over his vision. I can’t black out now. I need to— His head hit the leaves before he could even finish his thought.

  4

  Kyra heard the griffin scream for the second time an hour before morning. She had stayed up at Derrin’s table the entire night, occasionally replenishing her energy with a draught from a special potion. It had been so long since she had heard the cry of the cat-bird. The witch groaned as memories flooded her mind. Her mother, hiding her in a cabinet. The clanking of metal as swords were drawn outside their little house.

  Eight-year-old Kyra had opened the cabinet where she had been hiding and ran to the window as soon as her mother went outside. The ElderBorn witch radiated power on that day, and twenty soldiers fell before they could scream. That was when the griffin cried out. It landed in the village, and a man in black robes leapt from the top of the beast. On his forehead was the glowing symbol of a hellhound. And his eyes … oh his eyes. They bore no white or color, just eternal black, with actual flames glowing in their bottom half. When Kyra’s mother saw him her face went white.

  He said something, Kyra didn’t know what, and then raised his hand. Kyra’s mother fell without a sound. Kyra had almost made the fatal mistake of running outside, but a hand had closed over her mouth. Derrin. He held her down until the sorcerer flew away, leaving the bodies as they were.

  Later, the girl had learned that the warlock’s name was General Garret. He controlled the massive populations of inhumans— trolls, goblins, and the like—that lived in Aranumis. Kyra had sworn on that day to kill him. If he was here now, on the griffin that had kept her up all night, she fully intended to keep that promise.

  There was no possibility that the griffin was feral. All the weaker magical creatures in the area had long since gone extinct, as they were prime targets for the hellhounds, wraiths, and other creatures of the night.

  Whoever these griffin riders were, they clearly didn’t understand the behavior of hellhounds. The dogs mostly left the village alone, since there were no magical creatures to feast on and humans fought back more than other prey, but would pursue a griffin relentlessly. Kyra heard howling and baying start before the griffin called out, and was surprised to hear it continue long after the dark shadow disappeared into the sky.

  As the sun was beginning to rise, Kyra suddenly sensed a massive release of magic. It felt so strange. It was like Garret’s, but also like her mother’s. Her heart felt like it was wrenched between hate and love at the same time as her body tried to comprehend this new force.

  A moment later, a blast of cold hit her in the face, and she realized with alarm that the sorcerers were far closer to the village than she had thought. She gave a shout, and the men in the village came out of their houses, armed with kitchen knives, shovels, and even stones. Some wore half a suit of leather armor, but Kyra knew they were mostly for show. A few of these men had been soldiers in the Great Wars, but none had seen combat. All of the fighters had been slain by a monster named Marcus Thunderheart.

  Kyra had already warned the villagers about the threat, though she doubted there was much they could do. They were far too old, and far too frail. Maybe they would provide a few moments of distraction.

  Kyra knew that the fighting would be left to her, as it always was. She was clothed in a somewhat tight shirt with sleeves to her elbows and a long skirt. They were her mother’s, and both had been built to allow a woman to look elegant, yet not restrain her movements. For her weapons, the girl had her bag around her neck and a long, one-edged knife at her side. It was a simple weapon with a worn, bone handle, but Kyra had found that the blade resisted her magic.

  In her hands she held a powder made from three crushed plants and just the right amount of cow’s blood. If she had measured correctly, it would remove a sorcerer’s power.

  Of course, it would also remove her own, but that mattered little. Kyra was not a being of magic any more than the other villagers, she had simply learned how to use the power around her. A sorcerer, on the other hand, would be rendered physically helpless without their magic.

  The trees rustled, and Kyra
’s grip on her powder tightened.

  The first to emerge was a girl. Kyra had never met a female her age, but immediately felt jealous. This girl’s features were absolutely perfect, from her wind-blown brown hair to her lithe figure. Her eyes shone fiercely from underneath long eyelashes. A thin scar ran up her left cheek to the edge of her eyebrow. At her side were various knives and a short sword, and strapped to her back was a bow. She was supporting a half conscious boy with brown, messy hair and bright green eyes. Kyra immediately felt that he was the one who had powered the blast of cold air.

  The next to emerge was a dirty blonde girl and a platinum-blond boy. The boy had clearly borne the brunt of the hellhound attack. Claw marks ran up his arms, with painful blisters erupting around them.

  The blonde girl said something, and to Kyra’s great surprise it was in a language that she had never heard.

  One of the villagers had. “They’re from Sortiledge!” he yelled.

  “The Great Wars have started again!” someone else called.

  Kyra heard makeshift weapons hit the dirt saw her tiny army flee.

  The witch struck first.

  ***

  Aaliyah was having another awful day. She had fallen asleep on watch, something that would have gotten them all killed if the hounds hadn’t been so loud. Now Aidan was incapacitated (again), Timothy was wounded, and Eleanor was exhausted from casting so many spells.

  The ground was covered in frost, and even Aaliyah, immune to magic, was unable to stop shivering. She was thankful that somehow Aidan had managed to avoid freezing the other two wizards into blocks of ice.

  She thought she was finally going to get a break when she saw the smoke reaching into the sky as the sun rose.