The Phoenix King: The Thunderheart Chronicles Book 2

by Alexander Brockman

  She crept up behind him and stood, knife in hand. He finished his business and turned around, completely unaware of the danger.

  Aaliyah’s left arm went up to his mouth and pushed his head against the tree.

  “Boo,” she said, and thrust her dagger into his neck, which had been left sorely unprotected by his helmet or breastplate. The mace-man died almost instantly.

  Aaliyah ripped his weapon free of his belt and ran back into the woods, then, after wiping her hands to make sure she didn’t leave a trail of blood, climbed the tree she had been sitting in prior to her attack.

  It took about ten minutes for the oldest crossbowman to stand up. “Peter should have been back by now. Probably passed out somewhere in the woods. You, come with me just in case.”

  One of the swordsmen stood and followed his elder into the woods. A moment later, Aaliyah heard a lot of swearing as the soldiers came crashing back into the site.

  “They got Peter. He’s dead.”

  The youngest crossbowman tried to load a bolt, but dropped it because he was shaking so hard.

  “Stay in the firelight, stay awake. I don’t think there are that many of them. You, new blood, keep your bow trained on the brats, but don’t pull that trigger. They’re probably just some people we missed at the village, they won’t risk the kids.”

  Aaliyah bit her lip. The oldest man would be the next to go. But not until the morning. She closed her eyes and settled back in her tree. There were a few holes in the foliage through which she was viewing the camp, but she was hidden from underneath, and unless they had perfect vision they probably wouldn’t notice her until morning. The amogh closed her eyes and tried to rest. She doubted the soldiers would sleep much that night, so if she could get some rest she would have an advantage the next day. But as much as she tried to relax, her heart kept pounding. It reached an apex as the moon overtook the sun in the never ending race. Aidan was out there somewhere, running for his life. Aaliyah could only pray that he would live through the night.

  11

  We’re not going to live through the night, Kyra thought. She and Aidan, had been running all day. They had slowed to a walk several times, but the barking had quickly caused them to rush forward again. Just like before, the hounds were taking their time and playing with their prey, probably waiting until nightfall to attack. The two had run out of water long ago, and Kyra was panting with thirst as the sun fell beneath the cover of the trees.

  Kyra saw Aidan fall. It was not the first time he had done so. They’d both tripped over something in the road earlier. When they had made it to their feet they saw the soldiers they had been following, their throats ripped out and bodies half buried in the sand.

  This time, though, Kyra could see that Aidan didn’t have anything left to run with, and neither did she. The witch grabbed the sorcerer’s wrist and pulled him to his feet, then guided him to a tree. Kyra knew this was what the hellhounds wanted. They would burn the tree from the ground up, until two roasted humans fell to the ground. The witch didn’t know what else to do though, so she grabbed the first branch and pulled herself up off the dirt.

  She and Aidan climbed until they reached a thick branch, high enough off the ground that no dog would be able to reach them.

  Kyra shed her last tear. She wished she could say it was a tear for the children or the elderly people of the village, or for those she had lost, but those would be lies. No, this was a tear of fear.

  “I don’t want to die,” she whispered, turning to Aidan. The sorcerer seemed to understand her words and gripped her hand.

  The hellhounds came out of the trees. They made no attempt at a stealthy approach. Fire rolled over their skin, around their tails and paws. Their eyes glowed in the rising moonlight, and their teeth gnashed white against the blackness of the forest.

  Kyra feebly reached into her bag. She had done so several times that day, and knew there was no power source there, but it was the last hope she had. Aidan had the amogh’s bow and a little bit of magic, but only enough for one or two spells. Both had knives made of that weird metal that pushed away magic, but the witch didn’t know how they would use those against an army of crazed hellhounds.

  There were about a dozen of the beasts circling the tree now. Even from where she sat, Kyra could feel the heat of their fire as they drew ever closer to the vulnerable wood.

  Kyra closed her eyes and grasped Aidan’s hand tighter. Hopefully it would be over quickly.

  A howl made the witch’s eyes snap open. It wasn’t a noise that a hellhound could made. It was far too wolfish, far too mystical. When the hounds heard it, their tails dropped between their legs and they let their fire die out.

  For a brief second, all was still. Then, Kyra saw two red eyes appear in the bushes. They were massive and unblinking, full of rage and anger. The creature they belonged to stepped into the moonlight.

  Kyra’s heart filled with hope and fear at the same time. The beast was as tall as her, easily. It was shaped like a wolf, tall and regal. It was difficult to tell where the creature ended and the night began, save for those powerful red eyes.

  Kyra knew this creature. She had seen it time and time again in the book her mother left her. It was the protector of the weak, slayer of the strong. A single look meant death to those who had earned it. The beast walked somewhere between this world and the next, a harbinger of judgment. It was a Black Dog. And for sport, it hunted hellhounds.

  It moved so fast Kyra couldn’t follow it. She saw a hellhound go down in a ball of fur, blood, and flame, and then another fell without a sound. The rest of the hellhounds jumped on the black dog, reigniting their blaze simultaneously. All of them fell on nothing, save for the one who landed on its back, dead.

  One by one the hellhounds fell. Whenever they got close to the Black Dog it seemed to melt back into the shadows. Eventually there were only three hounds left. Two of them were bleeding, and the largest was backed up against the tree, burning fire as brightly as it could.

  The Black Dog struck again, ripping out one of the smaller beast’s throats before lunging at the largest.

  As it drew into the light, the creature seemed to gain more substance. It was smaller than Kyra had thought, almost as small as the hellhound. Its fur changed colors as it moved, camouflaging it against the backdrop of the forest.

  It latched onto the larger hellhound’s throat, as it had to the rest. This time though, its shroud of darkness was gone. The smaller hound saw its chance and attacked the Black Dog’s hind legs.

  Kyra saw an arrow whistle through the air in the corner of her eye. The witch had almost forgotten that Aidan had the weird anti-magic girl’s bow. It was a terrible shot. The dogs were only a few yards away, and the arrow barely clipped the smaller hound’s haunch. It was enough though. As the hellhound yelped and turned, the Black Dog spun, teeth bared, and delivered the finishing blow. As the last of its enemies died, the Black Dog looked up at Kyra with those big, unblinking red eyes, then staggered back towards the forest. The hellhound had done some damage before it was killed. The Black Dog only made it halfway across the path when it fell, its leg held underneath it at a crooked angle.

  Kyra let herself down from the tree. She was still shaking, and her heart was doing somersaults. Aidan plopped down next to her in an undignified heap. They were surrounded by the smoking bodies of hellhounds and guided by only the moonlight. Kyra picked her way over the dead beasts until she came to the Black Dog. Her heart was beating faster as she drew closer, but not with fear. This was a rare opportunity, rarer perhaps than seeing a unicorn or Pegasus. There was only one legend in the Elderborn book about a wounded Black Dog. The creature had lived hundreds of years ago, long before the Great Wars. One the members of the coven had found a Black Dog, dying of some disease. The witch had used his potions to cure the beast, and it remained loyal to him and his descendants until the day he died. Kyra wasn’t sure if the story was true, but she was willing to find out.

  She knelt down
next to the Black Dog. It growled at her gently, but allowed her approach. It was as if the creature was saying “You can come, but if you hurt me I’ll kill you.”

  Aidan joined her, though he was clearly more cautious of the beast. From the claw marks on his chest, Kyra was willing to bet he didn’t get along well with animals or magical creatures.

  The witch gently touched the Black Dog’s leg. The beast yelped and pulled away. It was difficult to see the creature, even though the moonlight was strong. It seemed to quiver in reality, not quite real and not quite a ghost.

  Kyra pulled out her bag. She had plenty of ways to tell the magic that she needed healing, and all off it was already powdered. She was only missing a power source. She glanced around the path, hoping to see a fire salamander or even a plant that she could mix into a potion. Of course, there was no such luck. Then her eyes fell on Aidan. He had been slowly rebuilding his magic all day, and probably had enough arror to survive on.

  It would have to do. Kyra grabbed his hand and put it on the Black Dog’s leg, then threw her powder at the beast and whispered “Soneh-ha.”

  The Black Dog’s torn flesh began to mend itself. The spell was much less complicated than the one Kyra had used save Aidan. Like most healing spells, it simply sped up the body’s natural processes over the affected area. As she watched, the wound closed and scarred.

  The Black Dog rose to its feet, slowly letting weight down on its newly healed leg. Kyra gently reached a hand towards its snout.

  The ghost wolf pushed its head into Kyra’s palm. It was like touching a thick, living fog. It filled the witch with dread and excitement at the same time.

  Then the beast turned and sprinted into the woods, never rustling a leaf as it entered the trees. According to legend, if Kyra called the beast, it would come.

  She looked around at the carnage on the path and felt her stomach grumble. She hated herself for it, but suddenly imagined one of the dead hellhounds on a spit. Aidan drew his knife and approached on of the hound’s carcasses; clearly he had the same idea

  Kyra shook her head. She supposed there were worse things to eat. And, now that she thought about it, she could feel magic emanating from the beasts. She drew her own knife and went to shave some of their hair to use as a power source in her spells.

  The young witch sighed as she approached the first stinking, dead body. It was going to be a very long night.

  ***

  Timothy and Eleanor walked along their own path, hand in hand. They were taking their time, as the soldiers couldn’t be moving very fast with a bunch of elderly people to transport. From what Timothy had been able to see of the map before leaving it with Aidan, the two wizards had the shortest path. It crossed one stream, and after that one small area of the path had several “X” symbols drawn on it. Timothy assumed these would be landmarks, maybe potential stopping places for the night. So he was surprised when they almost stumbled into the soldier’s camp, placed right before the river.

  The squad had set up their tents further back from the river, and tied all of the elderly citizens of Kyra’s village to a tree right on the banks.

  Thankfully, these soldiers didn’t seem to be too wary of what was behind them, and none of them noticed two wizards peeking out of trees behind the campsite.

  Timothy had to strain his ears to hear the soldiers talking, and even then he only picked up on a few words. It was enough. Wraith, ghost, hag, and other words that Timothy did not want to hear.

  The wizard had done a bit of reading before coming to the Nefarious Lands. Well, that was an understatement. The moment Aidan had mentioned a quest to find his dad, Timothy had been reading every book he could get his hands on, long before actually making the journey. The roc and hellhounds had been a bit of a surprise to him since they weren’t in the books, but he knew a lot about the creatures the soldiers had mentioned.

  There were certain spells that would allow a soul to be temporarily released from the body. On their last adventure, Aidan had used one of them, the vahailen spell. If a sorcerer’s body was killed while his soul was roaming, then he would become a ghost until his arror ran out.

  A hag was a creature who lived on arror. No one was sure whether they had once been human or if they were something else. They could take a ghost and make it permanent by binding it to a soulrock. The newly bound ghost was called a wraith. With enough wraiths, a hag could become immortal.

  Unfortunately, an undefended person could easily be taken by a hag and turned into a wraith, especially those close to death. Looking at some of the elderly people, Timothy realized they would be prime targets.

  He and Eleanor went back up the trail about half a mile to set up their own camp. He hoped that would be far enough away to avoid the soldier’s attention. They chose a little spot hidden in the bushes. The canopy above their sanctuary blocked all the light, so the only thing that grew on the ground was soft moss. Timothy and Eleanor set up their sleeping mats and sat down on top of them.

  They had barely spoken all day. Timothy could tell Eleanor was thinking deeply about something, and his own mind had been occupied with the Dark Angel.

  Eleanor spoke first, her voice soft against the harsh chirping of hundreds of crickets. “What do you think the prophecy means?”

  Timothy tensed. Had Aidan told her? He hadn’t seen them say anything before their paths split.

  “What do you mean?”

  Eleanor frowned at him. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten. You know, the ancients going to war, the world torn asunder, lots and lots of bad things. Do you think we can really prevent it?”

  Oh right, Timothy thought. The first prophecy.

  “Well, the book Derrin gave us implies that if we can prevent the second part from happening before the first part begins, then the whole thing will fall apart.” As the boy wizard spoke, he couldn’t help but remember that the first part of the second prophecy had come true years ago.

  “I know what the book says,” Eleanor replied. “I want to know what you think. Do we actually have a chance? With any of this? I mean, it was pretty crazy from the start. And whoever Aidan’s father is … Timothy, I don’t know if we belong here. We’re barely wizards.”

  Timothy sighed and put his hand on top of Eleanor’s.

  “I don’t know how things are going to turn out. But as long as we’re together, I believe in us. We’ll make it through.”

  Eleanor grinned. “You sound like Jonathan. He always told me we’d be okay, even when we were in the middle of a really bad situation.”

  Timothy forced himself to smile. Eleanor rarely spoke of her dead brother.

  Eleanor scooted her mat right up next to Timothy’s and leaned her head on his shoulder.

  “Don’t ever leave me, Timothy.”

  The boy put his arm around her and turned his head so she couldn’t see the tear rolling down his face.

  “Only if you promise the same, Eleanor,” he whispered. “Wherever we go, we go together.”

  They sat like that, quiet and content, for a few minutes before they heard a wail echo through the forest. Timothy felt Eleanor reach for her wand as he grabbed his own.

  “It’s a wraith,” Timothy said. “It’s still far away. I think it will attack the soldiers before it comes for us. Try to get some rest, I’ll watch for the first part of the night.”

  He felt Eleanor let go of him and watched her snuggle into her mat.

  Timothy stood and walked around to keep himself awake. He glanced over at Eleanor, and felt an anger building in his chest. Somewhere out there were people who wanted to kill her. There was a part of him that hoped Aidan would fail, and call for his help.

  He wanted to be there when Garret died.

  ***

  Aaliyah had to admit, the soldiers were efficient. The entire second day of their journey, they hadn’t separated. They forced the children to walk in a loose circle around them, and they carried their weapons at all times. The older crossbowman was definitely the on
e in charge; whenever one of the others started to lower his weapon or lag behind he would yell at them until they fell back into formation.

  By midday, Aaliyah decided it was time to use the sling she had made. She waited until they stopped at one of the numerous tiny streams flowing down the mountain to make her move.

  Aaliyah could hope for no stealth with the sling. The sound of the stone hitting metal would alert everyone in the camp to her presence. She would have to make her shot and disappear into the forest.

  In case she failed, the amogh hid the egg high in a tree where no one could find it unless they knew where to look. Its magic would eventually draw sorcerers, but maybe Timothy or Aidan could get to it first.

  Aaliyah set herself up at the edge of the path. Her clothing helped her blend into the forest, and all of the soldiers had their backs turned to her. She easily identified the older crossbowman, and to her relief he was standing just a little ways apart from the children. If she missed, at least she’d be unlikely to hit them.

  Aaliyah began swinging the sling over her head, picking up more and more speed with every rotation. Just as she was about to take her shot, the crossbowman turned and looked right at her. His eyes widened, and he instinctively covered his face with his shield.

  Aaliyah’s amogh ability kicked in, and she sent the stone where she knew he’d be in the next moment, even though it meant aiming for the empty air between his legs

  The crossbow man stepped backward, putting his knee right in the path of a palm sized stone flying faster than the human eye could follow. Aaliyah heard a crash and a loud, sickening snap, then the crossbowman fell, screaming.

  The amogh turned and ran into the forest. She heard swearing and screaming behind her, and some of the children crying, but she didn’t stop until she came to the tree where she’d hidden the egg. With practiced precision, she climbed hand over hand until she reached the precious white and red ball, still tucked into the cleft where she had left it.