“Armethalieh,” Tiercel said. He felt a thrill of excitement. She was telling him the same story—in a different way—that he’d read in the Compendium of Ancient Myth and Legend. Of the Time of Mages, and just before it, and of how—and why—the City had come to be.
“But why would they bother, if they thought the Endarkened were all dead?” Harrier asked.
Elunyerin made an exasperated noise at the question, and Jermayan smiled.
“People who have been badly hurt are not always logical,” Idalia answered kindly. “The Second War was won at only the greatest of costs, and went on for the lives of many generations of Men. The Elves and those possessed of the Wild Magic were certain of their victory—and, as it happens, wrong to think so—but others only looked to their losses and betrayals. And if Armethalieh had not been built, certainly those who were needed in the dark times to come would not have been born at all. The Wild Magic goes as it wills, and it is not always easy for us to understand. Despite the pain the High Magick caused to so many, if Armethalieh had not done precisely as it had, all would have been lost.
“Armethalieh endured for a thousand years, becoming very set in its ways. And when the Endarkened struck again, They chose stealth, and not great armies. It took a very long time for anyone to realize that Light and Shadow were at war once more, and without my brother Kellen, we would not have known until it was too late. But we did have Kellen, and once again the Endarkened were defeated—and this time, all the land which They had blighted and destroyed was made green and fertile once more.”
“Which means they were gone forever this time,” Harrier said insistently. “The Great Flowering proves it.”
“No,” Tiercel said slowly, his voice troubled. “They’re coming back, aren’t they? Somehow.”
“The Wild Magic is a magic of balance,” Jermayan said reluctantly. “It transforms, but it does not destroy. To destroy something outright would be anathema to everything that the Wild Magic does and is.”
“So Idalia didn’t kill the Queen of the Endarkened?” Harrier asked. “I mean—” He stopped in confusion, realizing who he was talking to.
Idalia laughed. “The Demon Queen is certainly dead, Harrier, though it was Jermayan who killed her, not I. No. It is that there can be no Light without Darkness . . . or at least, the freedom to choose Darkness. Or create it.”
“And the Wild Magic does not give gifts without need,” Jermayan added.
There was a long silence. Tiercel realized that the liquid in his cup had grown cold, but he drank it anyway. It tasted a lot like grass. He swallowed it anyway.
Much of what Idalia had said—the later parts, anyway—matched up with what he’d read in the book back in his rooms. After the Second, or Great War—the one that had left so much of the land as a desert—the High Mages had built Armethalieh and sealed it off from everything and everyone, ruling it by magic, until the Great Flowering. His power—the High Magick—had evolved from the War Magick, which had been designed to be something the Endarkened couldn’t touch.
“Greatfather says that you’re the first High Mage born in almost a thousand years,” Elunyerin said. From the tone of her voice, she was trying to be helpful.
“Wait-wait-wait,” Harrier said. “You think that because Tiercel’s a High Mage the Endarkened are back? But . . . you couldn’t have known he was going to be a High Mage.”
“We could indeed,” Jermayan answered. “For when he was an infant, Wildmage Maelgwn not only Healed him of a sickness, but, recognizing what he was to be, set spells upon him so that when his Magegift began to wake, it would not do so in the disastrous fashion that such gifts had done in centuries past.”
It took a moment for the name to sink in.
“Maelgwn?” Tiercel said. “The Preceptor in Sentarshadeen? But he was Priest of the Light, not a Wildmage.”
“There’s no rule—now—that says you can’t be both,” Idalia answered.
“So if we can ask you all these questions, I’ve got some,” Harrier said belligerently. “If Maelgwn was a Wildmage, why did we have to come all the way here, and why did Simera have to die, and why do we still not know what’s going on, since Tyr could have just gotten help back in Sentarshadeen?”
“As the Wildmage who did eventually find you helped you?” Idalia asked tartly. “It would not have mattered whether it was Roneida or Maelgwyn who said it. The words would have been the same.”
“Roneida told us to come here because you’d tell me about High Magick,” Tiercel said slowly. “If Maelgwn had told me the same thing, well, maybe I wouldn’t have come. But she didn’t say you’d tell me what was going on. Will you? Do you know about my visions? Can you make them stop? Or . . . tell me about them? If the Dark is coming back, and you know it, why won’t you do something to stop it?”
There was silence. Several times Harrier opened his mouth to say something, and just as many times, Tiercel stopped him, because everyone in the room—even Idalia—was waiting. Finally Jermayan spoke.
“There is . . . difficulty,” Jermayan said at last. “Certainly I never expected you to undertake this journey. In a year, or two, when you were older, I meant to send a message to you and ask you to come to the Elven Lands. I would have sent Ancaladar to you to make your journey easy and quick. I had forgotten how impetuous humans could be. For that, I beg your forgiveness. When I discovered you had already set your feet upon your road, I took counsel of others who had also suspected that this day must come, and all agreed that it was now best to let you find your own way as much as possible. Once before, you see, Kellen saw danger to the races of the Light when no one else did because he was untainted by our ancient preconceptions. If there is, indeed, great danger abroad in the world now, we feel it is best for the Chosen Champion of the Light to discover it himself, rather than to be guided—and perhaps misled—by others.”
Tiercel stared at Jermayan in stunned disbelief. Harrier gave a yelp of disbelieving laughter, stifled an instant later when he realized, just as Tiercel had, that Jermayan was utterly serious. With a dawning sense of horror Tiercel realized that they’d come all this way, lost a dear friend, and now the Elves were telling him that he was just going to have to figure things out for himself?
“So you’re not going to help?” Tiercel said. “You brought me all this way not to help? There are Goblins out there. And worse things. I’ve seen them.”
“We will give you all the help we dare,” Jermayan answered quietly. “I have faced the armies of the Endarkened in battle and I truly wish, Tiercel, that I saw another way.”
Blindly, Tiercel reached out and set his cup on the table. He rubbed his face with his hands. “This doesn’t make any sense. You knew—you say you knew—that there was trouble coming. You say you knew that the Endarkened were coming back. And you just sat here?”
“We did not know that, Tiercel,” Idalia said quietly. “We knew that the power of the Endarkened had been broken when the Great Flowering came to pass, never doubt that. But it is the first law of the Wild Magic that all that lives is free to choose to live its life for good or evil. The Wild Magic is a magic of balance, and there is both dark and light in every balance. When you were born, we suspected the balance had shifted, but—”
“But you still weren’t going to do anything,” Harrier said roughly.
Tiercel looked at him in surprise. Harrier had been sitting fairly quietly—for Harrier—all through Idalia’s long history and even through the stunning declaration that the Elves had known perfectly well for decades that the Endarkened—or something very much like them—were returning and didn’t intend to do anything about it.
“The lessons of the last war were hard ones,” Jermayan answered softly. “What we knew was what Idalia has told you: that the ancient evil might return. Perhaps not in my lifetime, or even within my greatson’s lifetime. That creatures of Shadow again walk the land—and I promise you, Goblins are the least of these—that Tiercel has been born with his gifts, and granted his visi
ons, are signs, nothing more. The greater Darkness could sleep for centuries more. It could already be poised to strike. We have seen too much to be certain of anything but our own fears. Only one who looks without expectation can see what must be seen.”
“So you want Tiercel because he’s an idiot,” Harrier said after a moment.
“I would not, myself, choose to express it in precisely those words,” Idalia answered calmly.
“You want to get him killed,” Harrier said stubbornly, and Tier-cel recognized all the signs of Harrier working himself into a temper.
“Harrier, come on. I’m sure they didn’t bring me all the way here just to get me killed. And it’s really rude to say so, don’t you think?” Tiercel said.
“I have seen too much death,” Jermayan said quietly, and Idalia put a comforting hand over his.
“I’m sorry,” Harrier said quickly, “but I really don’t understand—”
Elunyerin shook her head slightly and Rilphanifel got to his feet. “Come,” he said. “We will walk in the gardens.”
It was more of an order than a suggestion, and the two boys got to their feet and allowed themselves to be ushered out.
THEY followed Rilphanifel out of the house in silence, this time out through a set of sliding glass doors that led, first to a sunny stone veranda, and then down a broad flight of steps to the gardens Tiercel had seen from his windows.
The plantings in the garden were wide and low rather than tall, beds of flowers and herbs interspersed with broad pathways of small smooth stones laid down in patterns that mimicked the carpets indoors. Stone benches carved to match indoor furniture, exact down to tasseled stone pillows set at the corners, were set at angles along the pathways to provide places to rest. The sharp scent of herbs mingled pleasantly with the sweeter scent of flowers, and for a few minutes there was no sound but that of their footsteps on the path as the three of them walked away from the house.
“Greatfather tires quickly these days. But he and Idalia Great-mother wished to see you immediately. In a day or two, he will see you again, but know that he has already told you nearly as much as it is possible to tell. What he has said is as new to me as to you, and I am no Elven Mage, to understand the necessities of the Wild Magic, but every child of the Veiled Lands learns the story of Kellen’s War, and how we nearly lost it through our own blindness.”
“I’m sorry I lost my temper. But still . . . it’s not much of an explanation,” Harrier grumbled.
“Indeed,” Rilphanifel answered, “one must suppose it is not. One must also suppose that all round-ears are as incredibly rude as you two are.”
“I guess so,” Harrier said, stopping. “Are all Elves as vague as you are?”
“I would say rather that we have proper manners, as you obviously do not. It will be well for you to learn polite and appropriate speech in your time in Karahelanderialigor, as War Manners are all very well—in time of war. Greatfather is a forgiving man who has seen much in his life, but if you must go out into the city and meet others, it will be desirable for you not to give offense the moment you open your mouths.”
“Is he your Grandfather?” Tiercel asked, staring off into the distance, because wondering about Rilphanifel’s family was easier than thinking about all the things he’d just learned.
Rilphanifel sighed. “Just for today, round-ear, I will answer questions as if we were both in the House of Sword and Shield, so you may ask all the questions you can think of—just don’t ask anyone but Elunyerin or me. And not where anyone else can hear you, if it pleases you. It would be well for you to be able to pretend to be civilized later. Tomorrow you will begin to learn proper manners, or you shall never be able to leave your rooms. And there is much to see in Karahelanderialigor. Look.”
Rilphanifel pointed upward, and both boys looked.
High above in the summer sky, three dragons wheeled, one around the other. None of them was Ancaladar—two were green, and the third was a gold so bright that it blinded them to look at it.
“Karahelanderialigor is the city of dragons, where the Elven Mages live. I am certain you will wish to meet them—the dragons, if not the Mages. And now, to answer your question, Jermayan Greatfather is not my father, nor my grandfather, nor my grandfather’s father. Five generations of House Malkirinath lie between us, of which my sister and I are the youngest.”
“Why wouldn’t we want to meet the Mages?” Harrier asked, still watching the dragons.
“Perhaps you would. You seem to wish to do a great number of foolish things,” Rilphanifel replied.
Harrier looked at him. “I . . . Wait. The Mages can’t be bad. So they must be scary. But can they help Tiercel become a High Mage?”
“Only another High Mage—so the stories go—could truly do that, but much of the High Magick can be gained from the study of books, and that help Greatfather has always meant to provide.”
“Books?” Tiercel asked hopefully. “Books that explain the High Magick?”
“Come, and I will show you. It is not far.”
RILPHANIFEL led them down through the garden and across the lawn beyond.
“Everyone keeps saying this is a city,” Tiercel said as they walked. “But I don’t see any buildings.”
“Karahelanderialigor is all around you,” Rilphanifel said reprovingly. “I have heard that in human lands houses are so close together that you can see all of them at a glance, yet this seems to me a very odd way to live. There are several houses beyond those trees, and the marketplace is just beyond that. Go further in that direction—” he pointed off toward their left”—and you will encounter yet more houses. A day’s walk would show you all of the city, and two days would show you the whole of the farms beyond. And now we come to the place which Jermayan has prepared.”
They had reached a single-story building that stood all by itself at the edge of the lawn. A few hundred yards beyond, a line of trees began—beyond that must lay more of the houses Rilphanifel had spoken of.
As they approached, Tiercel was relieved to see that the structure seemed perfectly normal, and not like something that might either appear or vanish at a moment’s notice. It was a simple building made of smooth brown stone, and some care had been taken to encourage moss to grow over the stone, so that it blended in with its surroundings, but it was unambiguously there. Like House Malkirinath, it had a deep porch with a sheltering roof, and the wooden pillars that supported it were carved—very realistically—in the likeness of tree trunks encircled by twining flowering vines.
“This place contains all those items which Jermayan has gathered touching upon the High Magick. It will be yours, do you wish it, for refuge and study, for as long as you remain among us,” Rilphanifel said, opening the door.
“Um, I hate to ask, but how long is that going to be? Because aren’t we kind of in a hurry?” Harrier asked.
“I do not know,” Rilphanifel said simply. “Only Tiercel can say.”
“I . . .” Tiercel said. “There was something chasing me. Back in Ysterialpoerin. I don’t know what it was.”
Rilphanifel actually smiled at Tiercel’s words. “Fear it not. The armies of the Shadow at the height of their power did not overset the ancient protections of the Elven Lands, and the land-wards are stronger now than they were in that time.”
“OH, that’s good,” Tiercel said as he followed Rilphanifel into the little bungalow. He sounded vaguely harassed, and Harrier couldn’t blame him. They’d both figured that once they got to the Elven Lands the Elves would hear out Tiercel’s story and fix things—not tell him he was supposed to be the one solving the problem himself because they were afraid to meddle.
When Harrier got inside, he saw that the room he’d entered was the same size as the building itself, and looked reassuringly . . . normal. Harrier wasn’t sure what it was about the Elven house that struck him as so odd; maybe it was the idea that if he even moved one chair, he’d be messing up somebody’s grand design. This looked more like what he
thought of as a real building. There was a fireplace along one wall, of the same stone as the exterior of the building, and it was simple and plain and not made up to look like anything else. A stone-topped table at standing height dominated the center of the room, and there was a reading desk in one corner. The walls were lined with bookshelves and closed cabinets.
“Use what is here just as you wish,” Rilphanifel said, gesturing around the room. “Jermayan Greatfather gathered them together knowing that someday they would be needed.”
“By me?” Tiercel asked.
“He has been gathering them since long before you were born,” Rilphanifel answered chidingly. “Some of these items belonged to the High Mage Cilarnen himself, so you will know that Greatfather has been gathering them for a very long time.”
“High Mage . . . High Magistrate Cilarnen? The first Magistrate of the City? A thousand years ago?” Harrier said, gulping.
“Indeed. And should Tiercel wish to know which items they are, he must say to Jermayan that it pleases him greatly to see the items gathered here, and it would be good to know their history.”
“Uh . . . that’s it? And he’ll tell me?” Tiercel stammered.
“Should he choose to. If he does not, you will not know. To ask a question is to demand that it be answered, which is why civilized people consider it rude,” Rilphanifel said blightingly.
“Oh,” Tiercel said, “I see. It is good to know that, though I would be very unhappy if I did not find out what I wished to know.”
“You are learning,” Rilphanifel said, with a small approving smile.
“So now I just stay here and study,” Tiercel said, “and hope I can turn myself into a High Mage before the Endarkened come back. Not that one High Mage will be much use, from what I know.”
“Indeed, you must do whatever you think you must do,” Rilphanifel said.
“But that’s just it!” Tiercel burst out. “I don’t know! The only thing I know is that the Endarkened are coming back—are maybe already here! Somewhere! I might know where, if—if somebody will interpret my visions for me! But what do I do about it?”
The Enduring Flame Trilogy 001 - The Phoenix Unchained Page 31
