The Phoenix Unchained (58 page)

Oh
. Tiercel had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He’d thought he was going to have a little more time to get used to the idea of becoming Ancaladar’s new Bondmate, but apparently not.

THEY rode out to the Sunning Terraces, and there, on one of the enormous flat floors of stone, the two Elves spread out a blanket and unpacked the contents of the saddlebags as the sun rose over the field.

It must be strange knowing exactly when you’re going to die
, Tiercel thought. Even though the Elves hadn’t told him much—he hadn’t seen Jermayan again since the breakfast meal yesterday, and Idalia had been evasive when he’d pressed her for more information later that day—he was pretty sure he knew what was coming. When King Sandalon cast the Great Spell, he and his dragon would die. Jermayan would probably die too, though nobody had said so, but Tiercel couldn’t believe that severing the link with Ancaladar would result in anything less.

Two people and a dragon were going to die. And that was just if the spell worked. If it didn’t work . . .

“I want—I need—to ask you some questions,” he said.

Elunyerin was brewing the water for tea on a small brazier. Tiercel had gotten used to Elven tea in the last several sennights, but he couldn’t say he really liked it.

“The time for questions has passed, Tiercel,” Rilphanifel said gently.

“No,” Tiercel said immediately. “What if—What if—I want to stop this. Now. I can’t do this. I can’t let all of them die just for me.”

Rilphanifel bowed his head for just a moment before he spoke.
“Tiercel, Greatfather is dying, no matter what choice you make. Idalia is a great Healer. It was so in her last life, and it is so in this one. It is her word that he will die before the snows come, and Ancaladar with him. But I think you would speak of Sandalon Elven-king and Petrivoch, who will also die.”

“Yes,” Tiercel said tightly.

“Sandalon is our king. I think the stories in human lands do not speak of him, but know this: as a child, he saw the Elven Lands ravaged by the Endarkened, and his father, Andoreniel, who was king before him, brought low by the Shadow’s Kiss. Along with the other children of the Elven Lands, he flew to the Fortress of the Crowned Horns upon Ancaladar’s back to seek what safety there might be, and though he had seen only a few summers, he was an Elven Prince, and he knew full well that he might die there, should the Armies of the Light not defeat the Darkness. He has lived all his years knowing that the peace he reigns over is a gift bought with blood and tears. To attempt to preserve it beyond its time would be to dishonor those who gave it to him. Since the ancient days when the Houses of the Elven-born sang songs of praise to the Starry Hunt, we have stood against the Shadow when it rose up against the Light, and it is for Sandalon to do all that he can, as Andoreniel King did before him, to save us all from its return. This is his choice, and his gift to you.”

It was a long and impressive speech—the longest Tiercel had ever heard Rilphanifel make—and somehow it seemed to make everything worse.

“But . . . But I can’t
do
anything!” Tiercel blurted out. It was his greatest fear, and it had only gotten worse in the face of the Elves’ calm trust that somehow he would stumble into a solution through nothing more than blind ignorance of the entire problem.

“You do not yet know that. The Wild Magic only asks that you try,” Elunyerin said. The water had boiled, and she poured it into the waiting pot. “Now we will eat, and drink tea, and soon you will see the beauty that is one of the Light’s great gifts to the world.”

Tiercel didn’t really feel a lot like either eating or drinking tea, but both the Elves coaxed him, and Harrier simply nagged him, and he ended up eating a great deal more than he intended. It actually made him feel better, and—not for the first time—he wondered if Harrier was right, and a good meal was the answer to most of Life’s problems.

As Rilphanifel was packing away the remains of the meal, the horses, which had been placidly grazing up until now, all lifted their heads at once.

“They come,” Elunyerin said. “Look.”

At first the boys could see nothing in the direction she indicated, then faint specks appeared against the light of the eastern sky. They had to squint against the sun to see, but soon the specks grew larger. It was an entire flock of dragons in all the colors of the rainbow. Even Ancaladar was there.

The flight of dragons was the most beautiful sight Tiercel had ever seen. Red—blue—green—gold—black—the sunlight glittered off iridescent scales and shimmering wings. He kept trying to count them and failing. More than a dozen, anyway. They soared and wheeled through the still morning air like great kites, and their flight was absolutely silent. Soon they were overhead, then beyond, then circling back.

“It is time for us to go,” Rilphanifel said, breaking the spell.

“I . . . What?” Harrier said. He sounded as if he’d been hit over the head, and Tiercel could sympathize. He dragged his gaze away from the skyful of dragons with an effort. “I mean—”

“Deshtariel Chamberlain comes now to greet the king and to bring him and his court to House Malkirinath so that they may rest and be refreshed,” Rilphanifel said kindly. He gestured, and Tiercel could see where a long column of horses—only a few with riders—and a couple of brightly-decorated wagons moved slowly toward the field. “We shall depart, so that you may greet him later, and properly.”

“Come on,” Harrier said, sighing as he took a last look at the dragons. They were circling in close formation now, obviously preparing to land. “I guess you’ll be seeing a lot of them soon enough, Tyr.”

TIERCEL was a little surprised that he and Harrier were allowed to attend the evening meal at all, since, wouldn’t it be a banquet for the King of the Elves? But an hour before their usual dinner time, Farabiael came to their rooms with an armful of clothing—they’d spent most of the day more-or-less hiding out there—and told them to dress themselves and, in the name of Leaf and Star, arrive at the table on time!

When they sorted through what Farabiael had brought, they discovered that they’d been given special clothing for the occasion. And since, compared to the Elves, they dressed very simply, tonight’s costumes were elaborate indeed.

Harrier’s outfit was in shades of green and violet. He’d almost refused to wear the clothes at all until Tiercel had pointed out that the Elves had picked out blue and pale orange for him, and if Harrier called it “peach” they weren’t going to have to worry about the banquet at all, because neither of them would be attending. Aside from the colors—and why did the Elves seem to always want to dress up like flowers?—the outfits were identical: a pair of heavy silk trousers and a long-sleeved tunic over which went a long sleeveless see-through vest that fell to midthigh, closed halfway down its length by a long row of small jeweled buttons. Over the sheer vest went a wide-sleeved robe—equally transparent—that fell to mid-calf, and fortunately by now both of them had gotten a great deal of experience with the mysteries of Elven sash-tying, because the robe had no buttons, but was held closed with another of the long wide sashes that the Elves seemed to favor instead of belts. They
even had new boots to finish off their new outfits, of brightly-gilded leather that shone like metal.

It took them both a long time to bathe and dress.

HARRIER poked his head in through the door of Tiercel’s room. “Whoa,” he said, giving Tiercel’s finished outfit a startled look. The combination of colors and the translucent layers gave the costume the iridescent look that the Elves favored, though by Elven standards the garb was severely plain: the only ornamentation was on the jeweled buttons of the vest and the metallic embroidery on the belt and along the edge of the robe.

“I don’t want to go,” Tiercel said, looking at his reflection in the mirror. A stranger stared back, a stranger wearing peculiar clothes much finer than anything he’d ever worn back home. He glanced toward the window. In a few hours the moon would rise. And it would be time for the spell.

“Tough,” Harrier said unsympathetically. “If you didn’t want to go, you shouldn’t have said ‘yes’ to this stupid idea in the first place. Then I wouldn’t have had to get dressed up like a girl.”

“Don’t you even care that they’re going to die?” Tiercel said, looking at Harrier. For all his protests, Harrier looked nothing like a girl. A really dangerous flower, maybe, but not a girl.

“Everybody keeps saying they’re going to die anyway, Tyr. And I guess that’s supposed to make it better. But no, I don’t like it. But I think you’re forgetting something.”

“I don’t think I can be,” Tiercel said, staring out at the twilight again.

“Simera died for you, too,” Harrier said quietly.

Tiercel turned back, his eyes wide with shock and betrayal. He knew Harrier still grieved for their friend. Thinking about her
death hurt so much that he did his best not to think about Simera at all.

“She died so you could get here. So this could happen. And I think this is really stupid, but I also can’t think of anything else we can do. We can’t go hide.”

Tiercel shook his head very slightly.

“And . . . I don’t know. You’re the one who always knows all the right words, Tyr. I just think the Elves must think this is important.”

Tiercel nodded reluctantly. “I don’t think I’ll be able to eat anything.”

Harrier shook his head. “I guess . . . me either.”

THERE were few things to mark the meal as different from an ordinary evening meal in House Malkirinath, other than that everybody’s clothes were a little more formal than usual and there were a number of strangers present. Because of the extra people, there were two tables laid in the dining room instead of one—some of the furniture had been moved to make room for the second table. Tiercel and Harrier were introduced to Sandalon and Vairindiel—as well as to a number of people who seemed to make up the King’s Council, and several people who were apparently Mages—but “Sandalon” and “Vairindiel” were the only names they were really able to remember.

To Tiercel’s dismay, he and Harrier were seated at the same table as the King. He was trying not to think about what was going to happen later tonight, and sitting with a man—an Elf, and the King of the Elves, at that—who was cheerfully awaiting what amounted to his own execution would have destroyed his appetite completely, if he’d had any left.