The Enduring Flame Trilogy 002 - The Phoenix Endangered

by James Mallory

  But no matter how inconvenient it was to make sure Tiercel was safely out of the way (or well-shielded), Harrier kept working at both spells. He supposed he should practice at more and different spells of his new magic (whether he wanted to or not), but it seemed somehow ungrateful to the Wild Magic to just play around with it as if it were a toy sent to entertain him. He decided that for right now he’d mostly stick to practicing the thing that he knew needed to be practiced—getting better at flailing around with a pair of wooden sticks.

  And the days passed.

  Macenor Telchi was a reliable and even-tempered companion. Nothing flustered him—not even the information that they were heading to the Madiran to seek out a place where the Endarkened sought rebirth.

  “THIS DOESN’T BOTHER YOU?” Harrier asked.

  They were sitting cross-legged in front of the fire. It was several hours before dawn, but Tiercel’d just had the vision again, and he never wanted to go back to sleep afterward, and neither did Harrier. From the position of the moon, Harrier thought it might be almost First Dawn Bells, and if he were home he’d be getting out of bed and dressing up warm and heading down to the docks for the day. Before Tiercel had his latest vision, he and Harrier hadn’t quite made up their mind whether or not to tell Macenor Telchi everything about who they were and where they were going, but Tiercel’s nightmares really did require a lot of explaining, and they always reminded Harrier that there might be something else out here after them. It wasn’t fair not to give the Telchi as much warning as they possibly could. And so far, he’d taken everything calmly: Ancaladar, and the news that Tiercel was a High Mage, and—now—the news that they were following Tiercel’s visions into the Madiran in search of Darkness Reborn.

  Harrier stared at the sky again. He wondered if it was Kindling already, and if he’d missed his Naming Day and Flowering Fair.

  “It would bother any man of sense,” the Telchi replied calmly. “But it would bother me more if no one were doing anything at all.”

  Harrier laughed shakily. The idea that he and Tiercel were actually “doing something” required more of a leap of faith than he was capable of at the moment.

  “I think, my apprentice, that you value yourself and your friend too lightly. I cannot speak to the magic which either of you may hold. But I know something of courage, and of honor. And I know that both of you have left the safety of your homes to set yourselves against a peril thinking that you have little hope of victory, merely because you feel that you must.”

  “I just—” Harrier protested.

  “Have followed your friend past the end of your world. Risked your life to help a dying man. Go now, into what you believe is certain death, for friendship’s sake. Have taken up obligations which you did not wish, because you felt they were your duty. I am proud to teach you all that I can.”

  Harrier ducked his head, embarrassed into speechlessness. Macenor Telchi made it sound as if he was a hero. As if he was someone like Kellen the Poor Orphan Boy. And he wasn’t. He was just … him.

  “WE’RE GOING TO have to figure out what to do about Ancaladar,” Tiercel said seriously.

  They’d been on the road for another moonturn and a half. The Bazrahils would soon be behind them completely, and Macenor Telchi said that another moonturn after that—at most—would see them at the walls of Tarnatha’Iteru. Though he had not recognized the Lake of Fire from Tiercel’s description of it, he had agreed that such a place might well exist. There were many learned men in Tarnatha’Iteru who might know for certain, and—better than scholars—traders. Scholars might wish to know the history of a place, but traders wished to know its geography. If anyone had ever seen such a place as Tiercel described, the tradesmen of Tarnatha’Iteru would know of it.

  “Why is it that I must have something done about me?” Ancaladar asked with mild interest.

  Tiercel and Harrier exchanged looks. Harrier smirked.

  “It’s not as if dragons are exactly … common … outside the Veiled Lands,” Tiercel said carefully.

  Ancaladar blinked slowly, amused. “You fear my presence will disturb them.”

  “Send them running screaming in all directions, more likely,” Harrier said bluntly. “Until you open your mouth and say something. Then they’re likely to just drop down dead from shock.”

  “You do not feel I could convince them of my peaceful intentions?” Ancaladar asked innocently.

  “Ah … eventually,” Tiercel said. “I’m sure you could convince them eventually. But maybe you won’t have to. I mean, if we find out we aren’t staying in Tarnatha’Iteru very long, we …”

  “And perhaps, Bonded, it is best if you go first to this city and see what you may see,” Ancaladar said. Harrier knew perfectly well by now that Ancaladar possessed his own odd dry sense of humor, but the great black dragon also never teased Tiercel for very long. “Indeed, I am well aware that it has been many centuries since my kind has been seen in the lands of Men, and it is kind of you to concern yourself with my safety.”

  “Which brings us right back to the question of what we do with you,” Harrier said firmly, because he’d learned from bitter experience that if he let them, Ancaladar and Tiercel were perfectly capable of discussing a subject for hours and never coming to the point. “It’s not as if we can stuff you inside the wagon. And the Telchi says that from here south, we could start to run into people.”

  “I’m pretty sure I could keep them from seeing us,” Tiercel said. “At least, from seeing Ancaladar and me. People don’t look up, you know. And—at night, while we’re camped—Ancaladar could just take off.”

  “Tiercel,” Harrier said warningly.

  Tiercel sighed and ran a hand through his hair. It was damp, and clung to his forehead and neck—even though it was deep winter, they were far enough southward that even their lightest clothes were too heavy. “I know,” he said, sighing. He looked up at Ancaladar. “You must have had this problem before.”

  “Not precisely, Bonded,” Ancaladar said. “But I remember how to hide.”

  Harrier saw Tiercel wince. “I don’t want you to have to—”

  “Be practical?” Ancaladar and Harrier said, almost in chorus—though in entirely different tones. Harrier stopped, and Ancaladar continued.

  “This time, my concealment shall serve quite a different purpose than it did a thousand years ago. I shall merely make it more … convenient… for you to enter a city you have never visited before, and to learn all it may have to teach you. And when you are ready to proceed, it will be a simple matter for you to let me know, for you and I can never truly be separated. I shall know when it is time to rejoin you.”

  “But … what will you do?” Tiercel asked. Harrier thought he sounded a little bewildered.

  “I shall take a nap,” Ancaladar said reassuringly. “I have seen many promising caves in the landscape over which we have flown. I shall find one and wait for you to summon me.”

  “See?” Harrier demanded.

  BY A FORTNIGHT later they’d left hills and trees and anything that looked even remotely familiar to either Tiercel or Harrier far behind. The landscape was broad, and dun-colored, and hot, and the fact that the Telchi said that it was winter—and comparatively cool—didn’t make either of them feel any better at all. They rationed their water carefully, and were fortunate to have the Telchi with them, or they would never have found the traveler’s wells along the way, for they were nearly always covered with a large slab of stone to keep the precious water from evaporating. While this wasn’t the Trade Road that led across the Armen Plains, into the Delfier Valley, and—eventually—to Armethalieh the Golden—it was a road, and a well-traveled one. The Telchi said that rich merchants from the Iteru-cities often sought the cool of the Tereymil Hills in high summer, and that healers and perfumers would send apprentices there to gather the ingredients of their mixtures.

  All traffic along the road depended upon the wells for its survival, and Harrier had no trouble understandi
ng why. At midday the air shimmered with heat, and the only ones who were really comfortable were Ancaladar and the Telchi. Ancaladar had taken to spreading his wings to give them all a little sheltering shade through the midday heat, and they’d adopted what the Telchi said was the local custom of a long midday halt to spare the horses, starting earlier in the morning and going on for several hours after dark. At night, Harrier led the team, because no matter how much more sensible it was to travel at night, horses were happier when they could see where they were going, and they just couldn’t see very well at night.

  The idea that they were going to have to—eventually—go someplace that was even hotter than this was now was worrying Harrier, but there wasn’t much he could do about it at the moment. He couldn’t imagine why anybody would want to live here if they had a choice. Sometimes, he thought, people were idiots.

  But apparently goats had more sense than people, because twice now they’d encountered boys heading northward on the road insisting—upon encountering the wagon—that they were in search of a lost goat.

  On the first occasion it had been early in the morning, and Ancaladar and Tiercel had been airborne, so their unexpected company hadn’t been much of a problem. And the boy had certainly smelled like someone looking for a lost goat. Possibly for a whole herd of them. But the second time they’d all been stopped for their midday meal, and Harrier had cause to be grateful that apparently all of Tiercel’s practicing had been of some use, because even though he and Ancaladar were in plain sight—and Harrier could see them clearly—the boy who gabbled out his panicky explanation of seeking the goat of his master plainly didn’t notice them at all.

  “Do you think there was a goat?” Harrier asked curiously, when the boy was gone and the wagon was moving again. He hadn’t even stayed long enough to be fed—Harrier would have at least given him a piece of roast meat. It was about all they had left after so long on the road, and while it was better than starving, Harrier was looking forward to arriving somewhere that he didn’t have to eat roast meat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

  “It is possible that there is a goat,” the Telchi answered after a moment’s consideration. “Or perhaps the boy has fallen out of charity with his master for some reason and feels he will have a better life elsewhere. It is not often that such a resolution endures beyond a moonturn or so.”

  “What will happen if he goes back?” Harrier asked. The idea of someone running away from his indentures was hardly a new one to him—Da had always grumbled that half the duty of the Port Watch seemed to be keeping the disgruntled youth of Armethalieh from stowing away on anything that would float, and the other half involved keeping them from stealing anything that wasn’t nailed down.

  The Telchi shrugged minutely. “Certainly he could not expect to escape punishment. If he is a bondservant or apprentice, he may be turned out of his place, and his family will forfeit what they have paid—or been paid. If it is his own family that he runs from, he may, if he has the wit, throw himself upon the Consul’s mercy. Such children are taken from their families and set to a trade in another household. But perhaps he has already done that.”

  “Maybe,” Harrier said. He was just as glad Tiercel wasn’t here for this conversation. Tiercel would have insisted on going after the boy, and finding out everything about him, and doing something about it. And Harrier wasn’t sure that would work out at all.

  “It is just as conceivable, you know, that he is on a secret errand for his master that he does not wish us to know,” the Telchi said reprovingly. “You must learn to look beneath surfaces, young Harrier. All things are possible.”

  “I’d rather not,” Harrier said glumly. “I liked everything a lot better when they had surfaces. Lots of surfaces.”

  BUT THAT WAS the evening that Ancaladar—gently but firmly—said that he must go. He had already delayed longer than was absolutely safe.

  “We have been fortunate twice, Bonded. We cannot hope for as much a third time—and should you be seen in my company, questions will be asked that you will perhaps find it uncomfortable to answer. Harrier and Macenor Telchi will keep you safe while you discover where we must go next.”

  “Be careful,” Tiercel said. He wanted to say more—a lot more, to tell Ancaladar to stay, that they’d come up with a different plan, something that didn’t involve Ancaladar having to go off and hide in a cave somewhere for Light only knew how long. But he just couldn’t think of anything. Ancaladar was right. And this had seemed like a good idea when it wasn’t happening right now.

  Ancaladar turned away and trotted a mile up the road in an unlikely silence, and then the great shimmering wings swept out—a darker shadow against the darkness. There was a faint snap as they filled with air, and then Ancaladar sprang into the sky. Tiercel wanted to think that he heard the sound Ancaladar’s wings made as they beat against the air, though he knew he didn’t. The moon hadn’t risen yet, so he didn’t even see him as he flew away.

  And that night he dreamed again.

  At first he thought it was an ordinary dream, because he was dreaming about a dragon. He hadn’t wanted either Harrier or Macenor Telchi to know how much letting Ancaladar leave affected him. Having Ancaladar gone. He knew Harrier and Ancaladar were friends, but it wasn’t the same. Not for Harrier—Harrier thought of Ancaladar being gone the way Tiercel was supposed to think of it: that Ancaladar was going off to stay out of sight for a few sennights, and as soon as the two of them had finished their business in Tarnatha’Iteru, he’d come back.

  But for Tiercel, it was more as if something that was supposed to be right there suddenly … wasn’t. And the feeling was made all the worse by the fact that he could still sense his Bond to Ancaladar. But—not being either a dragon or a great Elven Mage—that was about all there was to it. A faint reassuring thrum in the back of his mind. Not like having Ancaladar here to see and talk to.

  He knew it would hurt Harrier’s feelings if he said any of that aloud, because, well, Harrier was still right here. And he and Harrier had been inseparable for as long as Tiercel could remember, and for Tiercel to say that he felt alone now would be more than rude, it would be insulting. So he’d just gone off to bed and hoped he could get used to this as quickly as possible. And that it wouldn’t last very long.

  And he dreamed.

  He was flying over the desert—alone, alone! Only he wasn’t exactly alone. That was—somehow—the problem. He was alone, and he wasn’t.

  And he was terribly, terribly unhappy.

  He soared through the hot winds that rose off the baking sands. During the day, the heat made strong updrafts, childishly easy to ride—alone, alone!—but at night, it took skill to ride the upper air, for the temperature dropped fast and hard. Safety lay in height, but to hunt one must fly low. And alone. Grieving, hoping, unable to die, unable to rebel. Trapped, oh, trapped, perhaps forever, helpless, and alone, alone, alone….

  He woke up with a yell because Harrier was shaking him.

  “You were making noises,” Harrier said tightly.

  “I was … a dragon …?” Now that he was awake, the dream was hard to hold onto. It hadn’t quite been a dream, but it hadn’t been his vision either. Something strange and in-between.

  “Well, that’s new,” Harrier said gruffly. He sat back on his heels and ran a hand through his hair. “Any particular dragon?”

  “I don’t know. I mean …” He tried to remember the dream, but all there was, was the sensation of flying—nothing new there, after so many hours spent on Ancaladar’s back—and the feeling of wild desperate grief. He rubbed his eyes.

  “Hey, are you okay?” Harrier asked. “Is Ancaladar okay?” he added in an entirely different tone. “Is this some kind of, I don’t know, High Magick vision or warning or something?”

  “Ancaladar’s fine.” Tiercel didn’t even have to think about it before answering. He just knew. “And bizarre as I know you’re going to find this, I’ve never found one single thing anywhere in anything I�
��ve read about the High Magick about visions of the future. Seeing over distance yes—and no, I can’t do it except under certain conditions. Seeing the future with dreams and visions and warning prophecies, no.”

  “So the prophetic visions you’ve been having … you aren’t having,” Harrier said, perfectly deadpan.

  Even barely awake from a highly disturbing dream, Tiercel had to laugh. “I wish,” he said. “I didn’t say they don’t exist. But I think they’re more your kind of Wildmagey thing than mine—didn’t Roneida have to have had one to know where to find us? And I guess anybody who wanted to could send me all the prophetic dreams they wanted to.”

  “And they are,” Harrier said, sighing. But he sounded more reassured now. “Why you? Tiercel, out of all the people in the Nine Cities—why you? And don’t say it’s because of the Magegift. Because yeah, that made sense—until the Light decided to turn me into a Knight-Mage.”

  Tiercel rubbed his eyes wearily. A few feet away there was a quiet clatter and a shower of sparks as the Telchi built up the fire and began to brew tea. They were down to their last canister—when it was gone, there wasn’t any more, but they’d probably be at Tarnatha’Iteru by then. Probably.

  “I’ve thought about that a lot, believe me, Har,” he said. “I’m not sure you’ll like what I’ve thought of.”

  Harrier snorted rudely. “Well, I haven’t liked a lot of things since we got to Karahelanderialigor—I mean, I could go back farther than that, but we’d be here till dawn. So why not tell me anyway?”

  “Ass.”

  “Book-nose.”

  “Lout.”

  “Noble-brat.”

  “Dock-rat.”

  “Proud of it,” Harrier said promptly. “Where were we?”

  “I was about to explain, and you were about to ignore me. As usual.”

  “Not ignoring,” Harrier protested, smirking.

  “Right. As far as I understand it—and remember, you’re the only Wildmage I know, and I know exactly how much you know—the ability to do the High Magick—the ancient War Magick—is innate. You’re either born with the Magegift, or you aren’t. If you aren’t, you can do the spells forever, and they won’t work. Why this should be, when as far as everyone knows, the War Magick came later than the Wild Magic, don’t ask me, because you know everything I know, just about. Maybe once upon a time everyone had the Magegift, and later they didn’t. I have no idea. Anyway, that’s the High Magick.”