The Enduring Flame Trilogy 001 - The Phoenix Unchained

by James Mallory

  The

  Phoenix

  Unchained

  BY MERCEDES LACKEY AND JAMES MALLORY

  THE OBSIDIAN TRILOGY

  The Outstretched Shadow

  To Light a Candle

  When Darkness Falls

  THE ENDURING FLAME

  The Phoenix Unchained

  ALSO BY JAMES MALLORY

  Merlin: The Old Magic

  Merlin: The King’s Wizard

  Merlin: The End of Magic

  TOR BOOKS BY MERCEDES LACKEY

  Firebird

  Sacred Ground

  DIANA TREGARDE NOVELS

  Burning Water

  Children of the Night

  Jinx High

  THE HALFBLOOD CHRONICLES

  (written with Andre Norton)

  The Elvenbane

  Elvenblood

  Elvenborn

  The

  Phoenix

  Unchained

  Book One of The

  Enduring Flame

  Mercedes Lackey

  and James Mallory

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously.

  THE PHOENIX UNCHAINED: BOOK ONE OF THE ENDURING FLAME

  Copyright © 2007 by Mercedes Lackey and James Mallory

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.

  A Tor Book

  Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC

  175 Fifth Avenue

  New York, NY 10010

  www.tor.com

  Tor® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Lackey, Mercedes.

  The phoenix unchained / Mercedes Lackey and James Mallory.—1st ed.

  p. cm.—(The enduring flame ; bk. 1)

  “A Tom Doherty Associates book.”

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7653-1593-9

  ISBN-10: 0-7653-1593-9

  1. Magic—Fiction. 2. Magicians—Fiction. 3. Elves—Fiction. I. Mallory, James. II. Title.

  PS3562.A246P5 2007

  813’.54—dc22

  2007019647

  First Edition: October 2007

  Printed in the United States of America

  0 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  TO DIOGENES, MY CONSTANT COMPANION

  —JM

  The

  Phoenix

  Unchained

  One

  The Flower Festival

  IT WAS FESTIVAL Sennight in Armethalieh, and even though spring was sennights away, the entire city was garlanded in flowers of every kind. The City’s greenhouses were always kept busy for moonturns in anticipation of the demand, for what was the anniversary of the Great Flowering without flowers?

  Though the City streets were still crusted with the remains of a late snow—it was barely Kindling, and the only flowers to be seen in the natural world were snowdrops and a few hardy early daffodils—every house on the street was garlanded in evergreen swags and bright glass and metal flowers. Even the lampposts had been decorated. Indoors, where it was warmer, every home’s Light-shrine was filled with flowers dedicated to the Blessed Saint Idalia and her brother Kellen the Poor Orphan Boy, who had broken the power of the Endarkened over ten centuries before.

  When he’d been a baby, Harrier Gillain had been sure that all this celebration was entirely for him. After all, he’d been born during Festival Sennight, and his Naming Day was the first day of Festival. His three older brothers had been happy to contribute to his confusion for as long as possible, assuring him that yes, indeed, the City-wide celebration was entirely for him, and certainly it all meant that he would grow up to be a great Wildmage, perhaps even a Knight-Mage like Kellen the Poor Orphan Boy.

  Even as a baby, Harrier had found that hard to believe. Everyone knew that Knight-Mages belonged to the Time of Legend. You might as well hope to see a dragon or an Elf. And while everyone knew that they were both as real as Wildmages, it was also true that they’d withdrawn to the lands far to the East only a century or two after the Great Flowering. Harrier had more chance of meeting a Wildmage, and he had about as much chance of that as he had of . . . well, of becoming the Chief Magistrate of Armethalieh, Highest of the Nine.

  But that was something he’d actually stopped thinking about a very long time ago. These days, Harrier knew exactly how his future would go. Once he’d finished his schooling, he would do exactly as his father had done, and his father, and his father, for more generations than Harrier could count. He would do just as his brothers had already done, and go to work for their father, Antarans Gillain, the Harbormaster of Armethalieh.

  His eldest brother Eugens worked in the Customs House. His second-eldest brother Carault was apprenticed to a captain who plied a packet (one in which Antarans Gillain owned shares) between the Harbor and the Out Islands; some day, Carault vowed, he would earn his Sea Mastery and captain a Deep Voyager to the Selken Lands at the far side of Great Ocean.

  And then there was Brelt.

  Harrier sighed.

  Brelt was twenty—three years older than Harrier—and the Gillains had thought that he would be their last child. Everything would have worked out very well if he had been, for that would have meant one for the sea, one for the land—in this case, the Customs House—and the youngest child to follow in his father’s footsteps and be trained up to assume his position, as was the tradition in the Gillain family. Brelt Gillain absolutely loved everything to do with the work of being Harbormaster: the details, the diplomacy, the need to have the customs and rules not only of Armethalieh the Golden, but of every land she traded with, constantly at the forefront of his mind.

  But then Harrier had been born. And later this year, when Harrier graduated Armethalieh Normal School, he would come to work as Apprentice Harbormaster, and Brelt would move over to the Customs House to begin an apprenticeship under Eugens. It really didn’t seem fair. But as Brelt had told Harrier cheerfully, Harrier was even less suited to the Customs House than he was to being Apprentice Harbormaster. Brelt assured him he would be happy enough in the Customs House. Much of the work was similar, after all.

  Harrier knew that Brelt was right. And both of them loved the Port and the Docks—they’d grown up there, having been brought to work by their father from the time either of them could walk. It was just that Harrier knew, deep down inside, that Brelt had the potential to be a far better Harbormaster than he would ever be. Brelt was glib and diplomatic, and always knew the right thing to say.

  Harrier? Well, even Harrier’s best friends called him stubborn.

  But Da is a good man, and a smart man. He’ll do what’s best for the City. If I am a hopeless apprentice, why, he’ll see that. He’ll have Brelt back out of the Customs House so fast it’ll steal the wind from the sails of every ship from here to the Out Islands. And then . . .

  What then? Harrier certainly couldn’t take Brelt’s place in the Customs House.

  Well, Da will think of something. And today’s too fine a day to worry about something that’s moonturns and moonturns away. Not with a whole sennight of holiday from lessons, and me with a day of liberty from chores.

  In fact, Harrier not only had a day of liberty, he had a day of exile, since he’d been strictly banished from his own home, forbidden to return before Evensong Bells. His mother had assured him that the preparations for his Naming Day party would proceed much more smoothly in his absence. And so, as he often did, Harrier went seeking his best fr
iend to share his rare day of freedom with.

  HARRIER’S household rose at First Dawn Bells—even though his father, as Portmaster, was one of the most important men in the City, Antarans Gillain’s family still kept Tradesmen’s hours. Harrier knew that in contrast to his family’s habits, most of the rest of the City—especially the Nobility—preferred to lie abed and miss the best part of the day. But even though the Rolforts were members of the Nobility—minor nobility, Tiercel always corrected him, whenever he mentioned it—the Rolfort household stirred to wakefulness only a bell after Harrier’s did, for even during Festival Sennight, when the Port was quiet, and many of the shops were closed, the administration of the City must go on. As he headed in the direction of the Rolfort townhouse, only two Bells after his own awakening, Harrier was confident he would not only find them all awake, but that Lord Rolfort would already have departed for the day to his duties in Chief Magistrate Vaunnel’s office.

  When Harrier reached his destination, he took a moment to admire the Festival Sennight decorations that bedecked the front of the Rolfort townhouse before entering the small neat courtyard. The great stone unicorns at the gates had been garlanded with evergreen wreaths studded with the traditional glass flowers. His nurse used to tell him wondertales about the Time of Mages, when all the statues in Armethalieh were alive, and could walk and talk. It was a pretty story, though he’d long since outgrown wondertales. He didn’t believe it, anyway. Not even a Wildmage could bring stone to life. But the stone unicorns with their garlands were pretty enough.

  In the little courtyard between the unicorns and the front door, tall evergreens in pots had been brought from the back garden and arranged in front of the pillars. Each one had been carefully garlanded with brilliant glittering swags of tinsel—Harrier recognized Hevnade’s work; the eldest of Tiercel’s four sisters was always the one who took charge of the Festival Sennight decorations. Under her direction, the little courtyard of the Rolfort townhouse had been turned into a spring forest in full magical bloom.

  Over the door of the house itself, a representation of the Eternal Light had been hung, its golden rays sparkling in the early morning sun. More garlands of green framed the door itself and, as a final touch, an enormous wreath was attached to the door, the evergreen interwoven with sweet-scented herbs and bright berries. With only a little difficulty, Harrier located the door knocker in the midst of it—a large brass object in the shape of a cheerful, fatbellied Faun—and knocked loudly.

  “I knew it would be you!” Doreses said, opening the door. She was the second-youngest of Tiercel’s sisters, claiming the door-duty today because, like most of the noble households of the City, the Rolforts had given their servants the day off. “You spend more time here than in your own home.”

  Harrier didn’t bother to dignify the gibe with a response. Instead, he focused his attention on the squirming bundle in her arms. “And how is the man of the house today?” he teased.

  “You hold him,” Doreses said promptly, depositing baby Priadan unceremoniously into Harrier’s arms and walking off.

  There was a moment of chaos while Harrier juggled his giggling kicking burden—fortunately he was already an uncle several times over, and not in the least afraid of babies—before settling his unexpected charge securely in the crook of his arm and kicking the door shut with a backward jab of his boot.

  Priadan’s birth, just a bit over a year ago, had come as a great surprise to the Rolforts, for after Brodana’s birth, the Healers had told Lady Rolfort that there would be no more children, and that had been eight years ago. With five children—and four of them girls—the Rolfort family had seemed entirely complete. Priadan had come as a complete surprise to everyone.

  But a good surprise, as Tiercel—the eldest—insisted. It gave his younger sisters something to fuss over. And—as he told Harrier—he no longer had to worry about being the only one to carry on the Rolfort family name. Though as Priadan was only a little over a year old, it would be quite some time before they could expect much from him. With the baby in his arm, Harrier followed the familiar path to the breakfast room.

  The family was still gathered around the table: Lady Rolfort, her four daughters—ranging in age from fourteen to eight, and all completely beneath Harrier’s notice—and their elder brother, Tiercel.

  Theirs might have seemed an unlikely friendship. Harrier was the sturdy bluff son of the Harbormaster of Armethalieh. Tiercel was the son of a member of the minor Nobility, destined, as generations of his family before him had been, for a secretaryship on an administrative council as soon as he had completed his schooling. But the boys had been inseparable since the day they had met. It was one of Harrier’s first vivid memories. He’d been three years old.

  THE day was bright and warm. Harrier Gillain sat outside his Da’s office, watching the sun sparkle on the water of Armethalieh Harbor. He was filled with pride that his Da trusted him to play out here all by himself and not go wandering off. But he knew perfectly well that the Docks were a dangerous place for little boys, and Da had told him exactly where to stay. He concentrated on his wooden ships, racing them against each other over the wooden planks. Suddenly his eye was caught by a flash of movement. A little boy had come running out the back door of the Harbormaster’s Office, and he was running down the wharf toward the water just as fast as he could go.

  “Hey!”

  The little boy didn’t stop. He ran all the way to the end of the wharf, and Harrier was sure a grownup would appear, but no one did. That was wrong. He wasn’t allowed out on the wharf at all unless Carault or Eugens or a grownup was with him.

  “Hey!” he yelled again, setting down his wooden ship and getting to his feet. What should he do? There didn’t seem to be any grownups around, and the little boy with the white hair was teetering on the edge of the wharf. In another minute he’d fall into the water, and while Harrier didn’t quite believe his older brothers’ tales of boy-eating sea monsters lurking in the water, he certainly believed his Da’s stern warnings that little boys must not, on any account, go down to the edge of the wharf.

  He got to his feet and ran toward the other boy.

  He reached the end of the planks just about the time the stranger had decided to lie down on his stomach and squirm out as far as he could in order to see what he could see. And then wriggle out just a little farther. And then a little farther still. And just as he was slipping into the water, Harrier managed to grab his ankle.

  And hold on, just long enough, for his Da and the boy’s nurse to get there.

  And that was how Harrier Gillain met Tiercel Rolfort.

  It was the first time he saved the younger boy from trouble, but not the last, for Tiercel possessed an abiding curiosity about, well, everything, as well as a conviction that nothing could possibly go wrong during his explorations—a conviction that Harrier had disproven more than once down through the intervening years.

  “HARRIER.” Tiercel looked up as he entered the room, blue eyes glinting with amusement. “Is it Evensong Bells already? Come to escort us to your Naming Day party?”

  “Cast out of my own home so they can prepare for it in peace, as you know perfectly well,” Harrier answered cheerfully. “So I thought I’d come and bother you instead.”

  “You know you’re always welcome here,” Lady Rolfort said kindly from her place at the head of the table. “Especially as you’re so good as to take over those duties that Doreses seems to feel are too much for her.”

  “Mama!” Doreses protested. “He asked to hold the baby!”

  Lady Rolfort simply held out her arms, and Harrier crossed the room and deposited Priadan into them. The toddler promptly squirmed to get down from his mother’s lap, taking an unsteady step before sitting down with a thump on the gently-worn carpet.

  “Thank you, Gentle’dy,” Harrier said politely.

  “Have some tea, Har,” Tiercel said. “And I’m sure you wouldn’t mind another breakfast.”

  Harrier grin
ned. There were some advantages to visiting a Noble household. Breakfast in his own home had been almost two bells ago, and he had no objection at all to another one. He collected a clean plate and cup from the sideboard, helping himself from the wide variety of dishes laid out upon the sideboard before seating himself beside Tiercel.

  As he ate, he made polite conversation with Lady Rolfort, assuring her that his mother looked forward to seeing them all this evening at the party (which was certainly true) and telling her anything he knew of the Port gossip that he thought might interest her.

  “You begin your Apprenticeship this summer, don’t you?” Lady Rolfort asked.

  “Yes, Gentle’dy. As soon as I graduate from the Normal. Of course, Tyr has a much grander future before him.”

  Tiercel kicked him under the table.

  Lady Rolfort smiled. “University. You really must choose a course of study, Tiercel. You shouldn’t leave it till the last instant.”

  Tiercel ducked his head. “No, Mama. I promise. I’ll choose something soon.”

  Lady Rolfort laughed. “He has been saying that for the past year, of course! But I am certain that whatever you choose, it will be perfectly suitable. And now, since I am also certain that Harrier did not come here to spend the day indoors with you, why don’t the two of you run along? Just be certain to be back here no later than Second Afternoon Bells, so you have plenty of time to wash and dress for the evening.”

  “Are you sure, Mama?” Tiercel said, gesturing at his sisters. “I mean—”

  “I am quite certain that I can keep four girls occupied for the day,” Lady Rolfort said firmly. “And if I don’t decide to sell them to the Selken Traders, I might even take them to see the Festival Fair later.”

  The squeals of “Oh Mama” and “Yes, please” were quite loud and shrill enough to make Harrier want to cover his ears—and to be grateful that his nieces were not old enough to be quite so—enthusiastic.