Home » Great Library at Hoeth » Book of Tales » Voice of the Phoenix » Voice of the Phoenix, Chapter One
| Voice of the Phoenix, Chapter One |
| by Calarion Sapherior |
The elf sat himself in the sturdy chair with a grunt. He was not old, not by the prodigious standards of his kindred, but measured in events rather than years he surpassed nearly all of them.
One calloused, long-fingered hand reached for the quill pen which rested to one side, while the other took a piece of delicate white parchment and unfurled it with a crackling noise before him. Grey-blue eyes rested on it for a second, approved of it, and then shifted to where the pen was now being delicately dipped into a small pot of ink. Moving the quill swiftly, he brought it over to the paper and began to write. The pen made a light scratching noise as it moved across the desk and the page.
Although we have fought for many years, the pen wrote, the darkness cannot be held back by the strength of our arms alone. Only four hundred years ago we flung it back, called it destroyed forever, and already it musters again in the north. The darkest storm hangs on the horizon, and who can tell when it will break? The storm of Chaos is upon us, and the black clouds shall blot out Asuryan’s light ere they are extinguished. And if – when – the light comes again, what shall be left to greet its return?
The author stopped, raising the pen from his delicate calligraphy, and thought for a moment. Then again, scratch-scratch-scratch, the words flowed again.
I intend these words to serve as a memorial to this turbulent time. Even if we should fall this day, my words shall live forever and we shall live forever in them. My last tale was a story of the Asur alone, but this is a testament to the courage of all people who stood true against the darkness. Let none forget when all the peoples of this world united in arms, laid aside their petty quarrels, and turned to face the north as brothers.
And with this brief preface completed, hesitation fled, and the elf remained, writing by the flickering light of a single glowing lantern, long into the night and the early hours of the morning...
Asuryan’s rays burnt in beams of golden fire down through the sky, turning the choppy waters into a kaleidoscope of light. The strong tailwind propelling the ship made the waves break into incandescent foam that whipped over the deck of the elven vessel. They landed lightly on the deck and those working on it, moving swiftly and efficiently, securing ropes and tightening sail. They were used to this beauty.
But their passenger was not, and as he leant over the rail at the edge of the ship and gazed into the water the vibrant beauty he saw there amazed him. The waters illuminated by the setting sun was one of the few things that had managed to distract him from his grim thoughts, but now those whispers of doom were left behind in this simple paragon of perfection, leaving his mind free and relaxed for the first time in weeks.
“Prince Howell?”
The elf shook himself, and long golden hair plastered into strands by the spray lashed against his face. But the voice calling his name had restored him to the present time and place.
“Yes?” the Caledorian asked without turning of the mariner who stood behind him.
“Captain Talitharan wishes you to know that we shall be reaching Lothern imminently.”
Howell nodded. “Thank you for telling me,” he said, and the mariner left him to return to his own business. Alone again, Howell attempted to return to the placid serenity his mind had reached before in its contemplation of the water, but with little success, for now the thoughts of his mission dwelt again foremost in his thoughts.
It had been over a month ago when he had emerged from his small but comfortable home in Tor Ytheran, to find a most unexpected visitor waiting calmly outside for him. Him, a noble of no great lineage or distinction! But that one had come – the High Loremaster himself, Teclis, waiting patiently in the street for him to emerge. Why such an august personage should be there for one such as him he did not know, and Teclis had never bothered to explain it, but Howell became part of the embassy travelling to the Old World, to attend the founding of the Conclave of Light. And then Teclis had disappeared, and Howell took ship back to the lands of the elves. And soon, his journey would be over and he would return to his old life.
Except Howell knew it was never going to be so easy.
A cry went up from one of the sailors, and Howell’s head jerked upright in time to see the silhouette of Lothern’s towers and citadels appear, and the innumerable ships moving through the central lagoon. The sight cheered him – it was good to be home again.
And then the sun’s fading rays sunk further, and the water became dark – and Howell shivered, though not from cold.
The little craft sped forward, magical winds in its sails, and the massive bulk of Lothern’s second gate loomed overhead. It seemed more ominous now, and for a second as they travelled under it the light vanished completely as they were caught in its shadow. Then they were out and past it, and elven villas were on either side of them, first sparsely scattered but becoming thicker and higher. Other ships, from Tilean merchantmen to Imperial galleons, and small Elven pleasure craft, skittered around the sides of Howell’s ship as it glided on, the wind fading now and letting the sail hang limply from the mast.
Howell could see the dock ahead. It was lit only by a few magelight lanterns and empty save for shadows. No one had come to greet him, but he had not expected anyone to appear.
After a month of travelling, Howell’s ship anchored in a small dock in Lothern in the evening, and the Prince set foot upon Ulthuan again. Behind him, his few retainers carried the small chest of his belongings that he had taken with him. Howell’s tastes were simple, extremely so for a Caledorian, and he had travelled light. He paused briefly to bid farewell to Captain Talitharan, and then set off into the streets of Lothern. He would need to find accommodation for this night, and in the morning take a horse home to Caledor.
His shadow weirdly distorted by the lights, Howell tiredly walked deeper into Lothern. The streets were far cleaner and emptier than those he remembered in Altdorf, which had been filled with refuse of both the animate and inanimate forms, and the peaceful streets of the most civilised city in the world were a welcome relief after that.
A light shone from a door, and a swaying sign, illuminated by the pale light, announced it in both Eltharin and Common to be the WAYWARD LORD, offering both FOOD and ROOMS. Too tired even to draw some comparison between himself and the name of the inn, Howell flung open the door and staggered in, and his two servants followed him. Golden light lit up the street from the open door, and then the door shut behind the two elves holding the chest, returning the street to its original dim light.
By the time Asuryan’s light had returned to Lothern, replacing the faded glow of magelight lanterns, a trail of dust was settling on the road to the west, into the mountains of Caledor, the last legacy of Prince Howell’s visit to Lothern. The Caledorian had risen early, despite his body’s insistence in remaining longer in the comfortable bed he had rented, and left his two servants to come at their own pace as they took the well-deserved sleep he too was owed. And now he was crouched down over a dun-coloured Ellyrian steed, feeling the strong wind around him as the horse cantered along the road, the land rough and rocky around him, brown save for the copses of tall pines. The road was deserted at this early time of the day save for him.
The horse slowed to a trot as the road split in twain before it, and Howell knew by his rumbling stomach that breaking his fast was in order. One hand plunged into the deep saddlebags that he had fortunately remembered to bring with him, finding an apple within. He brought it to his lips and took a bite as he cast his gaze around.
Back to home? He longed now more than ever to return to the small white manor in Tor Ytheran where he lived, but...well, that was it. He’d been to the conference for whatever reason Teclis had wanted, he’d represented the Asur, and now surely he could go home?
Instead he turned his horse and continued down the other path, towards Elithayar Yliaren-Caledaiyar, the Halls of the World Dragon.
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