“Taren and I have talked now and again about Jehangli legends. Some are very eerie,” the bard said. “Yet, somehow, this still doesn’t feel right.”
Lleld sighed. “How very strange about Leet. I daresay we’ll never know why, will we?”
“Not likely,” Otter agreed. “I’d be the last person he’d confide in.”
“Damn,” said Lleld. “I hate not knowing.”
“Are the pigeons ready yet?” Pah-Ko asked Deeh as he watched the scribes finishing the last few message strips. Each bore the same cryptic words: Grey Lands—send on.
“The pigeon girl is putting them into their baskets now, Holy One.”
Said Pah-Ko, “Good. Then I shall await them upon the tower.” He gestured, and two sturdy male servants hastened to him. They formed a chair with hands and forearms; he sat, bracing himself with a hand on each man’s shoulder. He hated moving about the temple this way, but he was in too much pain these days for the long walk to the tower and its steep stairs. They set off, Hodai pattering along behind.
When they reached the top of the tower, the pigeon girl was already there with her helpers. Little baskets covered most of the small floor of the tower. Gentle cooing filled the air; Hodai smiled in delight and knelt by the nearest, peering inside the tiny opening in the lid.
The girl and her helpers bowed when they saw the nira. Pah-Ko had the men set him down. The air up here was brisk; it revived him, though he knew that if he stayed too long, the cold would settle in his twisted joints.
Just then one of the scribes arrived, carrying the narrow strips for the pigeons’ legs in a small, open box. The girl took one and bound it to the leg of a pigeon an assistant gently withdrew from its basket.
“Where, Holy One?” she asked, cradling the pigeon in her hands. It snuggled contentedly against her.
Pah-Ko said, “The temple at Mount Rivasha.”
The pigeon girl nodded, then held up the sleek bird before her face. The pigeon turned its head to meet her gaze with one dark eye. They stood so for many moments, the girl trilling softly to the bird. Then she tossed it into the air. It circled once, then flew away as swiftly as an arrow. Once it reached Rivasha, and its message was read, Pah-Ko knew more pigeons would be sent out to the next temples in the relay, and on and on until every temple in Jehanglan, large or small, was alerted.
Her assistants had the next bird ready, a message already bound to its leg. Once again Pah-Ko named a temple; once again the girl communed with her charge, impressing its destination upon it.
“Holy One,” Deeh said quietly, “it grows colder. I beg you, go inside where it’s warm, and rest. You’ll have need of all your strength when you go into the Grey Lands tonight. I know the destinations.”
The younger priest was right; journeys into the Overworld, the place between waking and sleeping where only a trained mind could venture, could be tiring, especially when one spent a great deal of time there.
As he would do, when each temple received the message in its turn, and each head priest went into the trance needed. Nor did it help that the tidings he bore were dark.
His heart heavy within his breast, Pah-Ko beckoned his bearers once again. “To my rooms,” he said. “Come, Hodai.”
As they paced the halls to his rooms, the nira wondered how many would die—and if he would be one of them.
What will happen to poor Hodai then?
Fifteen
Morlen did not understand it. And he liked it even less.
The great truedragon rose above the army of dragons nearing the coast of Jehanglan in the cold dark before sunrise and floated on the currents of air that offered themselves to his wings. He hovered and thought as his kindred passed below him. The more warlike, Aumalaean and Nalarae chief among them, were already venting their flames.
Talassaene veered off from the band and spiraled up to meet him. In the waning starlight her amethyst-hued scales looked black.
*Thee are troubled,* his granddaughter said.
*I am,* he said. *I know we have no other way to free Pirakos or Varleren, but for dragonkind to war …*
*At least it is not with our kind,* she said. *For that small mercy we can thank the gods. These truehumans had no right to do what they did, to use Pirakos’s or Varleren’s magic that way, and to imprison him and the other one, the phoenix.*
Her words rang in his mind with righteous anger. He sighed in agreement. *True. And it is also true that truehumans sometimes seek our blood for their black mageries. For all that, though, I am still not happy with what we do. But more than that, I feel something is wrong, very wrong. I should be able to sense whichever dragon it is. Yet try as I might, I cannot tell just where he is. I have an idea—but only that. I do not have knowledge. And that troubles me greatly.*
*Thee think he is warded, then.*
*Iknow he is warded. But still … * Morlen shook himself until his scales rattled. *Still I should sense him.* He stretched his wings and flew once more to the head of the army.
Talassaene raced after him. *Thee worry too much.*
Perhaps. But something was wrong, and until he knew what it was, he would continue worrying. And watching with eyes and with magic.
The nira stood before the altar in the holiest of chambers in the temple of Mount Kajhenral. It formed the symbolic linchpin of the fell beast’s prison as he, Nira Pah-Ko, was its living one.
Radiating from the base of the altar the symbols of power were arrayed in gold, the sacred metal of the Phoenix. Already the ones beneath his bare feet were warm, humming with power. Clouds of incense curled around him.
His Oracle crouched against his right leg; Pah-Ko did not need his eyes to know that Hodai was caught in the grip of the Phoenix. He felt the child tremble and twitch.
The nira stood, eyes shut, running mental fingers over the latent power of the lesser priests, allowed this once in the room with him. Throughout the empire the priests had been alerted to aid in this ceremony from their own temples. The ones here with him were the fortunate ones, privileged to be at the ceremony’s very heart. Chief among them stood Deeh, the man Pah-Ko felt was Jehanglan’s only hope when he died at last.
When Hodai’s breathing changed, Pah-Ko laid his hands upon the altar. Carved with its brother stones from a single enormous boulder of white quartz found in the caverns below more than a thousand years ago, it was the largest of the Stones of Warding; the others rested in temples to the south, east, and west. Now it pulsed under his hands, drawing energy from the magic of the unholy—unfortunate, his mind amended—creature chained in the cavern below.
Pah-Ko began the chant. One by one, in a carefully orchestrated dance of voices, the others joined in. In his mind’s eye, the priest imagined the voices as threads, filaments in a tapestry that only he could weave.
With one part of his mind he reached into the Overworld, the Grey Lands that were normally only visited in dreams or trance. As he waited for the rising power from the other temples, he felt first one, then another, presence in the Overworld.
Are you certain you wish to do this? a disembodied voice asked. Pah-Ko recognized Zhantse, the Seer of the Tah’nehsieh, and a gentle adversary.
This is not the Way, another voice snapped in his mind; Ghulla of the Zharmatians, this one was, and less gentle. Let them have their kinswyrm.
Let it end now, Zhantse urged. Admit it, Pah-Ko—you have been considering freeing both dragon and phoenix.
So I have, Pah-Ko agreed heavily. But not this way; this is too abrupt. Calamity upon calamity will fol—
Ghulla said, There is no gentle way of doing this. The wild magic has been imprisoned far too long. Let things unfold as they should.
I do what I must, Pah-Ko replied. I protect Jehanglan. He turned his mind from them, for now he “saw” the strands of power raised by the other temples. Zhantse and Ghulla lingered a moment longer, then disappeared. Though he knew they were right, Pah-Ko was relieved; he needed all his attention for the task before him.
The tapestry of power began to unravel. Here and there a voice faltered. Hodai whimpered in terror.
Gasping, Pah-Ko cast the hideous image of his Oracle’s death from his mind and seized the threads of magic. Once more the voices returned, true and strong, swelling in a chant that carried him before it. The hands of his imagination flew swift and sure, warp and weft growing, growing, until the image of the Phoenix filled his mind, shining like the sun.
And like the sun it both warmed and burned. He bore the pain without complaint. He was the nira. He would hold the power. Forever, if needed, until his Oracle bade him unleash it.
Or until it reduced him to ashes.
Shei-Luin woke as the man beside her stirred. He rolled over and slipped an arm around her waist.
“Beloved,” she whispered in his ear as she pressed herself against him. “The dawn comes soon.”
Yesuin’s eyes blinked open. “And I must go back through the tunnels once more. I hate it when we have to leave each other, Shei-Luin.” He nuzzled her neck.
“And I hate it as well. But come, my love, we still have some time for us.” She slid her hand down his body and stroked him.
He was on her in an instant. Shei-Luin laughed softly and met him as a tigress would her mate.
Images, horrible images, like nightmares in his waking mind.
Morlen closed his eyes for a few heartbeats as he flew and let his senses range outward, seeking an essence that he once knew. It came in tantalizing bursts, never enough to satisfy, never enough to be able to say, “There!” and race arrow-swift to a destination. But now and again he caught something, something that shone out like sunlight from behind scudding clouds and was gone again as quickly. Here, it said. Barely enough to give him a direction; yet it sufficed. It had to.
He angled his wings and turned.
The chanting continued, welling up around him like a fountain. Pah-Ko held the power of the Phoenix steady; though it seemed the flesh would melt from his bones any moment, he would not let the power slip away from him again.
Their goal: one peak rising above many dropping sheer into a narrow valley that wandered between the mountains. It put Morlen in mind of Dragonskeep, though there was no castle here, but a complex of buildings of an unfamiliar design instead.
But similar though it was, what he felt from this place made that resemblance a mockery. For now he sensed the captive’s full agony, the pain of a dragon kept from wind and sky and freedom for a millennium and more. A dragon chained to the ground like an animal. Nay, not even that—chained under the ground, away from the life-giving sun and air, unable to fly among the moonlit clouds and the winds of dawn.
Fear and rage and terror blasted into Morlen’s mind. He reeled under the onslaught, battered by the madness underlying all else in the maelstrom that was the captive’s thoughts.
But underneath the storm, Morlen sensed a tiny thread of a mind he once knew: Pirakos, a truedragon. So much for the old tales of Jehanglan, Morlen thought.
*Savemesavemesavemesavemesaveme.* Terrifying, tangled visions of smothering beneath tons of earth, chains so tight they scored through scales into the tender flesh beneath. The frantic need to soar on the winds once again. A nightmare spectre: a great golden bird that filled the sky, emerald eyes filled with hate, fire dripping from its wings, sinking its talons into his breast, tearing, ripping … (No! Not mine—Pirakos’s! Morlen’s mind cried.) A sick, raging need to bathe in the blood of that enemy, to crush its heart beneath vengeful claws.
But even worse than the madness was the fleeting moment of lucidity.
*Destroy me. It is the only way.*
Could a dragon weep, Morlen would have done so. His old wings, already tired, faltered in grief.
Bellows of horror exploded around him. Morlen was not the only dragon blasted by Pirakos’s torment. Flight after flight of the great wyrms dove for the mountain, screaming their rage in the breaking dawn.
So suddenly that the nira jumped, a new voice added itself to the chant. It rose above the others like pure molten gold above the dross of its refining. There were no words in its song but none were needed. High and wild it rang, heartbreaking in its sweetness. It was the cry of the Phoenix that Pah-Ko had been blessed to hear in his most precious dreams. He trembled at its beauty.
The voice paused and its absence was pain. Suddenly it rang out once more; this time there were words in it.
“It is time,” Hodai sang. “Unleash the Phoenix.”
It had never been like this. Yes, making love with Yesuin had always been pure joy, but this!
There was power here; she felt it. Felt it rising in her, felt it in the thrusting of the man who took her.
It was rising and there was naught she could do to stop it. Nor did she want to.
Shei-Luin surrendered herself as she had never done before.
A Seeing burst into flame inside his mind. Never before had one come upon him like this; this was the purest agony, like dragonfire inside his head.
*Back!* Morlen cried. *Back or we are undone! They know!*
But it was already too late. Far too late. For the air above the dragons rippled and the colors of the dawn melted together. Like a ghost came the shimmering figure of an enormous bird like none Morlen had ever seen.
The Phoenix of Jehanglan.
Its wings spanned the sky; emerald eyes glittered in rage. It was both beautiful beyond words and terrifying beyond imagining. Then, shrieking, it fell upon them, fire trailing in streamers from its wings and tail.
As was her custom before breaking her fast, Jenna went to the library to open the window hangings. To her astonishment, a lone figure sat at one of the tables, poring over a book. It was rare indeed that anyone came here so early.
Even more astonishing was who.
“Good morning, Jenna,” Lleld said, looking up from her book.
By the redness of the little Dragonlord’s eyes and the slump of her shoulders, Jenna guessed that Lleld had been here most of the night. She also recognized the book that had captivated Lleld’s interest: the journal of Lady Ardelis the Traveler.
Before Jenna could reply, Lleld shut the book and carried it back to its proper place.
“Did you find your answer?” Jenna asked, wondering what the question had been.
“Yes,” said Lleld. “I did.”
Morlen had never known such agony.
And he’d barely been touched in the strange bird’s onslaught. Others had not been so lucky.
For the fire that dripped from the Phoenix’s wings clung and burned through scale and flesh and the muscle beneath if one caught the full force of it, then ran through the bones like the harvest-fires the truehumans set to clear the fields of dead straw when the grain was in. Like that straw, bone turned to ash.
Many—too many—dragons died in the first attack, tumbling through the air like shooting stars, ending their lives in a shower of ashes on the cold, hard earth below. The rest scattered in confusion.
All but Aumalaean. Spouting red flames, he flung himself straight at the Phoenix. For a moment Morlen thought the rash young dragon might succeed; Aumalaean’s claws tore into the Phoenix’s breast—
And passed through. As did the rest of Aumalaean, unable to stop his headlong flight. With a scream of agony the like of which Morlen prayed he’d never hear again, Aumalaean burst into flames. He fell, tumbling end over end through the cool air of dawn, burning like an oil-soaked torch. Then, mercifully, his screaming ended. Moments later he crashed into the ground.
One final thrust, and it was over.
Yesuin collapsed on her, his chest heaving, his body hot and sweaty against her own. Shei-Luin lay gasping. Her hands ro
amed blindly over her lover’s body.
Then Yesuin rolled off of her and fell heavily to the cushions. His eyes were closed as he fought to catch his breath.
She turned her head on the pillow to look at him. Her gaze devoured him, willing herself to remember everything about him at this moment, the line his dark, heavy eyebrows made, how a strand of his long black hair curved around one high cheekbone.
How she loved this man … .
A sudden swift, sharp pain in her womb made Shei-Luin sit up, hands clasped to her belly. “Oh!”
At once Yesuin was on his knees beside her. “Shei—what is it?”
Wonder stayed her tongue. For beneath her hands, it was as if a sun glowed in her womb for an instant and she knew. Joy bubbled up inside her.
“Yesuin,” she whispered, hardly able to speak for sheer happiness, “I am with child again. It happened just now—I know it!”
“Are you certain? Can such a thing—”
An urgent knock at the door interrupted him. “Lady,” Murohshei called, low-voiced, “someone comes!”
At once Yesuin was out of the bed. He snatched up the clothes he’d let fall to the floor the night before and was running for the entrance to the secret tunnels before she could say a word. She saw the red-and-gold lacquered panel slide back under his fingers, watched mutely as Yesuin disappeared into the dimness beyond and the panel slid shut once more.
All that was left was the knowledge of what lay under her spreading fingers, and what it might bring her.
At last Morlen understood what they faced. This was not the Phoenix itself. This was a Sending built of magery, a concerted effort of a kind he’d thought impossible, using the magical forces of the Phoenix and Pirakos to fuel it. His heart went cold within him.
Dragon and Phoenix Page 17
