Home » Great Library at Hoeth » Book of Tales » Voice of the Phoenix » Voice of the Phoenix, Chapter Five
| Voice of the Phoenix, Chapter Five |
| by Calarion Sapherior |
Howell emerged on to the small platform, and the light of Asuryan streamed around him, a golden glow suffusing the air. After so many days inside, the sunlight’s return was as that of an old, much-missed friend, and he greeted it as the golden motes danced and played around him, welcoming him back to the fresh air. He breathed in, and the stale air from inside the Shrine was replaced by that swept by the breeze off the Sea of Dreams and up to where he stood, high on the side of the golden pyramid. He looked out into the last sunlight, and then out towards the heart of Ulthuan, the pristine undisturbed waters stretching a serene blue, and the land green around it. The sky was blue, and white clouds stretched languidly along the horizon. It was as if the land had no idea of the catastrophe that had occurred in Avelorn.
Howell’s grey eyes turned as he heard footsteps coming closer, and then a familiar-looking elf had joined him – Regulus, his brown hair framing his cheerful face. Behind him, one of the Phoenix Guard walked slowly and far more silently, his booted feet barely making a noise.
“The Phoenix Guard just admitted me in a minute ago,” the Caledorian said, “and brought me up here. What’s happened?”
“I received a vision from Asuryan,” Howell said placidly and somewhat distantly. “In Avelorn, a Tear of Isha has been captured by the druchii. We must go there and retrieve it from them.”
“No!” Regulus gasped, his face slack with astonishment. “But...but how? The Tears were supposed to all be safe from the Witch King. How could he...how could this happen?”
“I do not know. I just know I must go.”
Regulus blinked in amazement at the tone in Howell’s voice.. “How are we going to get to Avelorn in time to save it? It’s on the other side of Ulthuan? And how does this help with your quest?”
Howell shrugged. “Asuryan has commanded it, I must trust and go.”
“It’s not that easy! You can’t walk there, or ride there, and by the time we found transport fast enough, the dark elves will have escaped back to their master and the Tear is lost to us! We don’t even have weapons, for Isha’s sake!”
There was a noise. Both turned to see the purple-robed monk standing at the doorway. The elf bowed, and then silently gestured for the two to follow him.
“What is it?” Regulus asked, before realising to n could not respond. But Howell was already sweeping past him, and the Caledorian Prince stood a moment longer before hurrying into the claustrophobic stone corridors of the Shrine of Asuryan behind him.
They moved through the corridors in silence save for the faint crackle of fire, their shadows lengthening and shrinking and then growing again as they passed by the line of ensconced torches upon the wall. Up a flight of stairs, and then another, and Regulus realised that they must be being led to the pinnacle of the massive edifice.
But before the summit, the silent acolyte of the sun-god led them away from the stairs and through another corridor filled with guttering torches. Doorways beckoned, and Regulus peered in. Secrets beyond comprehension were hidden in those rooms, and he could feel them beckoning him. He would know if Howell would achieve his quest, he would know if the war for the Old World would be won. He would know of the passing of the elves, and of their coming, and of other secrets so arcane and time-wracked that they had passed completely from the mind of man and elf and dwarf.
But the Phoenix Guardsman led him passed the doorways, and only darkness could be seen within, and so Regulus continued to follow along behind the other two.
And then they were being beckoned through one of the doorways, and Regulus gasped when he saw what was within, and the implications of it. He turned to look at his friend, and saw Howell’s face showed he was deeply shaken, shocked free of the divinely induced lethargy which had gripped him.
A selection of weapons and armour lay against the wall, and the guardsman walked over to a hauberk of ithilmar scale and plate, lifting it to show it to Regulus. It was exactly the style that Regulus liked, covering his torso and forelimbs, but light and unencumbering. A greatsword in a plain leather sheath was laced to the back of the armour, clearly forged at the White Tower by the warrior-mystics there, and Regulus could tell despite the simple appearance of the scabbard that the sword was of exceptional quality. He ran his eyes over the rest of the weaponry – another heavier suit of armour, for Howell surely, a long leaf-shield, a one-handed broadsword, a bow and red-fletched arrows...
“They knew,” Howell whispered. “Teclis knew, the Phoenix Guard knew, Asuryan knew. Have I chosen to do any of this, or have I just been following in the steps chosen for me millennia ago?”
The monk smiled, gently and inscrutably.
Regulus and Howell helped each other into the red-lacquered armour, aided by the monk, and soon stood resplendent in their silver and red. Silver glimmered as Regulus drew the greatsword. The blade was long, vaguely leaf-shaped, and extremely light. The Caledorian spun it swiftly around, testing its balance. It fitted his hands like it was made for them. True, his soul did not sing with the power and majesty that was inspired by the antiquity of his own ancestral blade back at the Halls of the World Dragon, but this sword was amongst the best mortal hands could forge, though the magic weaving around it was far weaker. He sheathed the blade, nearly reluctantly, and hung the quiver of red arrows at his back with the ashen longbow. Next to him, Howell too made some practice slashes through the air, and grunted contentedly with his weapon.
The monk led them on, but Regulus was already expecting the next surprise, and the noises made it obvious. The sounds of mighty wings, and the terrifying cawing shriek. “Rigel?” Regulus whispered, but shook his head. His own griffon was back in Caledor still – this was another, provided by whatever agency.
Howell was shaking his head, as the massive beast lashed out with its talons. “I can’t ride a griffon,” he said. “I have not the talent.”
“Don’t worry,” Regulus said slowly, “I know. And the griffon is big enough that you can ride behind me. Whoever prepared this, knew that I would be with you.”
Howell nodded. “You’ve set everything up very finely,” he said to the monk. “I thought your order was not allowed to interfere with the world, or use your knowledge.”
The Phoenix Guardsman smiled again, and his face was as unreadable as ever.
“Thank you, anyway,” Howell said, and smiled.
Regulus strode towards the griffon, careful to avoid its claws. Even the best trained amongst them were more than half wild, and he had no desire to be mauled by the talons. He swung himself lightly up on to the saddle, and laid one hand firmly on the eagle-head, calming the beast somewhat. Howell followed suit - tentatively, cautiously.
“Strap yourself on!” Regulus advised him. “Falling isn’t very pleasant!”
“I thought it wouldn’t be,” Howell replied wryly, and fastened the leather straps of the harness tightly about himself.
And then the griffon flung itself forward, and the doors of the aviary were flung open. Golden sunlight rushed in as the griffon shrieked again and flung itself into the air. The strong winds buffeted the two Asur, and their locks trailed out behind them. The immense muscles of the griffon rippled along its back as it gained altitude, rising higher and higher into the vivid purple sky of twilight.
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