The Phoenix Unchained (56 page)

Maybe, at least, if he actually went to the Lake of Fire, that would prod the Wild Magic into doing something a little more useful than almost turning one person into a High Mage. The Wild Magic never did anything for you if you didn’t at least try to do something for yourself; he’d been taught that all his life. So Tiercel was going to do anything he could think of, even if he didn’t think it would do any good.

Of course, he thought with resignation, the Elves were probably telling themselves the same thing right now.

But to go to the Lake of Fire meant he had to figure out where the Lake of Fire
was
. Rilphanifel had said that it wasn’t anywhere inside the Elven Lands, and Tiercel knew by now that the Elves were great Mages. They’d certainly know if there was something Dark within the borders of the Veiled Lands. But if the Lake of Fire wasn’t here, the Elves had excellent maps, and should at least be able to give Tiercel some idea of where to look for it.

He’d made the mistake of mentioning something along these lines to Harrier a few days ago. He’d known that Harrier didn’t have much to do here, but it hadn’t really occurred to him until he’d started talking to Harrier again that Harrier would be spending his time wandering around Karahelanderialigor talking to everyone he met, including dragons. Or that Harrier—who by now knew almost as much about Tiercel’s visions as Tiercel did—would be determined to be helpful. Harrier had cheerfully assured Tiercel that he’d find out where they needed to go next—not that Tiercel intended to take Harrier with him—and last night he’d told Tiercel that while not even the dragons recognized the description of the place, the Madiran Desert seemed like the best place to start looking.

For one thing, the Lake of Fire had to be someplace deserted, and there were no people in the Madiran Desert. For another, it had to be someplace where there was nothing that could burn, and
there was nothing but sand in the waterless wasteland of the far south.

How Tiercel himself was going to survive in a place where there was no water and no people, he didn’t know. That was something he’d have to figure out later. For now, it was enough to have a plan and a destination. So he might as well stop sitting around here, pretending he might turn into a High Mage, and go back up to the house to find somebody to tell.

He was walking up the low hill that concealed the “schoolhouse” from the main house when he looked up and saw that there was a dragon in the garden—and not just any dragon. Ancaladar. It was difficult to miss something the size of a full-rigged sailing ship that glittered like a piece of black glass, and for a moment Tiercel stopped to admire the sight, though part of him wondered why Ancaladar was here. He hadn’t seen Ancaladar since the day they’d arrived, and he was pretty sure Harrier would have mentioned it if
he
had.

But admiration quickly gave way to discomfort. Ancaladar was just going to . . . die. Not because he was old or sick—because apparently dragons didn’t get either old or sick—but because Jermayan was dying of old age. For a moment, Tiercel thought about just going back to the schoolhouse until Ancaladar had left, but he thought that would be like cheating somehow. As if he were afraid to meet him. Or ashamed to.

So he kept on walking up the lawn and into the garden, and only when he’d gone too far to turn back did he realize that Ancaladar wasn’t alone. He was talking to someone Tiercel couldn’t see.

“I don’t even like him,” Ancaladar said.

Tiercel stopped. Ancaladar’s head was turned away from him, and whoever he was speaking to was completely concealed by the bulk of the dragon’s body.

“You will grow to love him, Bonded,” a familiar voice answered.

Jermayan!
Tiercel thought. Now would be a really good time to leave. Or hide.

“I won’t have time. He’ll be dead in less than a century. And so will I,” Ancaladar answered.

“Better then than now. And you are needed,” Jermayan answered. Though his voice was thin with age, it was still uncompromising.

He’d already heard too much of this. Tiercel turned to retrace his steps, hoping Ancaladar was too involved in his conversation to notice, but he couldn’t help hearing Ancaladar’s next words as well.

“I won’t do it. And whether I consent or not is irrelevant. It can’t be done. If it could—” There was a moment of silence. “And here is Tiercel now,” Ancaladar added, in a different tone entirely. “You might as well stop trying to slink off. You aren’t very good at it.”

Tiercel sighed and came back, walking around Ancaladar. One of the large cushioned couches had been brought outdoors, and Jermayan lay upon it with Ancaladar coiled around him.

“I’m sorry,” Tiercel said. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop on a private conversation. I was just . . . I’ve made up my mind what I’m going to do, and I thought I should tell someone, and when I realized that Ancaladar wasn’t alone, it was too late to leave.”

“It does not matter. And to learn of this decision would make good hearing,” Jermayan said. “Ancaladar and I were speaking of decisions just now as well.”

“
You
were speaking of decisions, Bonded.
I
was not listening,” Ancaladar said.

“I am rebuked,” Jermayan said. “Yet if Tiercel wishes to speak, we will both listen.”

There didn’t really seem to be a lot of way around it.

“I really appreciate all you’ve done for me,” Tiercel began hesitantly. “But I’m not sure that I can do very much more with the material you’ve gathered for me, and so, well, I really think I need to go find the place I see in my visions. So I guess I should leave.”

He’d expected a long argument—certainly he would have gotten one back home—but Jermayan simply nodded.

“A quick decision, but perhaps not a hasty one. It would be good to know the direction in which your search takes you.”

“There’s a place called the Madiran Desert. It’s outside the Elven Lands, but it’s on your maps.”

“I know it well, though it is far from here. You will need a wagon and supplies for your journey, and they will take perhaps another moonturn to arrange. And now, I fear, my ambitions for the day have exceeded my strength.”

“Both always exceeded your wisdom,” Ancaladar scolded fondly.

“If, of your courtesy, you would seek out Farabiael and tell her I would rest, she will know what needs to be done,” Jermayan added, and Tiercel hurried to obey.

One of the other Elves who’d been with Farabiael—Tiercel was never quite able to decide whether they were all members of Jermayan’s family, or servants—was able to tell Tiercel that Harrier was probably down at the stables at this time of day, and Tiercel made that his next stop, since he might as well tell Harrier his plans before Harrier learned them from somebody else. Until they’d left Armethalieh this summer, neither of them had really been much for horses, but they’d both learned a lot of new skills since, and he guessed that Harrier had decided he liked riding.

Tiercel had never actually been in the stables, since he’d walked to Karahelanderialigor, and had gone no farther after that than the workroom at the bottom of the garden. It was an airy building on the eastern side of the house, as large as the stables in the largest inn they’d ever stopped at, and as lavishly-finished as if it were a house, and not a stable. Less than a third of the stalls were filled. As he walked in, he barely smelled horse at all, only flowers, leather, and grass.

“Stay away from the ones at the end,” Harrier said as he came in. “Those are Elunyerin and Rilphanifel’s horses, and they’re war
horses. I suppose they aren’t mean, but they have nasty senses of humor. And I’m pretty sure they understand everything you say.”

Tiercel walked down the line of stalls, glancing curiously into the ones Harrier mentioned. Two large gleaming animals regarded him placidly, one grey, one roan.

“They look harmless,” he said.

“That’s what I thought,” Harrier answered darkly.

He was currying a cream-colored gelding, working slowly and carefully from the neck back to the tail. The animal turned its head and regarded Tiercel as he walked into the stall.

“Reilafar is perfectly calm, which is why he’s mine. If you want to go for a ride, I can find someone to get you a horse.”

“No. I’ve come to tell you that I’ve decided what I’m going to do.”

“We’re going to the Madiran Desert? When do we leave?”

“
I’m
going to the Madiran Desert. You should go home. You can be there by winter if you leave now,” Tiercel said.

“That’s your plan? It’s a stupid plan. Have you told anybody else this stupid plan?” Harrier asked in bored tones. He didn’t interrupt his even grooming at all.

“I saw Jermayan while I was walking back to the house. He likes my plan. Ancaladar likes it, too,” Tiercel said stubbornly. He didn’t know why fighting with Harrier seemed like such a good idea right now, except that it did.

“Uh-huh. And you’re doing this why?”

“I have to do something.”

Harrier stopped, set the currycomb down on an upturned bucket, and turned to look at him. “You know, Tyr, if the Endarkened, or whatever, is this much of a threat—and you know it is—you don’t just let it get stronger. You throw everything you can think of at it the moment you notice it. You don’t send a kid like you off to wander around hoping he’ll think of something useful. Even Kellen Knight-Mage did his wandering around with the whole Elven Army at his back.”

“Maybe they’re doing what they’re doing because they
do
know so much about the problem. Maybe they think this is the only thing that will work. Maybe they’ve already tried other things—and failed—and won’t tell us. We don’t know. Anyway, I’m going to be here for a while yet. Jermayan is going to give me a horse and wagon for my journey, and he says it will take a while to get them.”

“Well, I think they’re idiots,” Harrier said simply. “And when you get this horse and wagon they’ve promised you, we . . .” He sighed, and picked up the brush again without finishing his sentence.

Tiercel knew what Harrier wanted to say.
We should take it and go back to Armethalieh
. But even Harrier couldn’t bring himself to say that. Even if the Elves were trying to solve this problem in exactly the wrong way—a frightening thought, considering how much older and wiser they were than either Harrier or Tiercel—the problem itself was real, and not something either of them could bring themselves to just walk away from.

“So we go,” Harrier said. “Together. And, oh, Light and Darkness, don’t explain to me how much safer I’d be back in Armethalieh trying to explain all this to your mother—and I beg you, don’t suggest I stay here, either. I’m sick of Elves. Elf food, and Elf clothes, and Elf manners. Get me out of here before I lose my mind, Tyr.”

Tiercel grinned in spite of himself. He supposed he could manage to leave Harrier behind, but only by tying him up and locking him in a dungeon. And even that, he suspected, wouldn’t work for very long. “Okay. You want to come see a desert that will probably kill us before any Endarkened creatures get around to it?”

“Sure. You want to go for a ride before dinner?”

“Sounds good.”

WITHOUT any need to spend his days studying something he couldn’t possibly learn, Tiercel finally got the chance to see more of
Karahelanderialigor. Harrier took a great delight in showing Tiercel a city that had grown familiar to Harrier over the last sennights—the markets, the houses, the fields, even a stream that could be swum in—Harrier said with off-handed smugness that he’d asked the selkies living in it to make sure it was all right first. Despite his constant protests that he found everything in the Lands Beyond the Veil strange and something he was looking forward to leaving as soon as possible—though Harrier never said any such thing except when they were alone, of course—Tiercel thought that Harrier had adjusted to Karahelanderialigor very well.

But the one thing Harrier had most wanted to show off was absent. No matter what time of day they rode out to the Sunning Terraces, there were no dragons anywhere to be seen.

“I don’t know,” Harrier said a day or two later. “Something’s going on.”