Home » Great Library at Hoeth » Book of Tales » Voice of the Phoenix » Voice of the Phoenix, Chapter Six
| Voice of the Phoenix, Chapter Six |
| by Calarion Sapherior |
The lush forests of Avelorn lay all around the two Caledorians, undisturbed and inviting. Sunlight made dappled patterns upon the fallen leaves that coated the forest floor, penetrating through the canopy of thick green foliage. Brighter colours came from the brown leaves, a panoply of reds and blues and yellows and whites from the brilliant-hued wildflowers. It was a living shrine to growth and nature, the fecund and bountiful paradise of Isha’s blessing upon her favoured race. Even as absorbed as he was by the gravity of his quest, Howell could not help but feel overcome by the smooth grey wood of the tree trunks, or the multitudinous shades of green suspended in the leafed boughs of the trees, or the hauntingly sharp music of birdsong.
It was strange, too, he realised. He had grown far more contemplative after his vigil at the Flames of Asuryan, and he could see the inconsistency at the heart of Avelorn. Isha loved all her children, wept for all her children, but she did not share her blessings with them all. Only the Asur were so blessed.
“What now?” Regulus asked from behind him. The young prince’s red cloak swirled slowly about his form as he picked his way through the undergrowth. “How are we going to find the Tear now we’re here?”
Howell spoke slowly, laying out the thoughts that had formulated themselves during the long flight to Avelorn. “When I received the vision, I saw through the eyes of a she-elf ranger...I even know her name, though it was never uttered by any. Eilinel Moonleaf. My heart tells me that I saw through her eyes for a purpose, that before we can find the Tear we must find her, and she will lead us to the Tear.”
Regulus grunted. “Sounds good,” he said noncommittally, “How are we going to find her?”
Howell said, with a little embarrassment, “I haven’t figured that one out yet.”
“Oh,” Regulus said in the same deadpan tones.
“I guess that Eilinel Moonleaf will be pursuing the druchii too. So, if we head west towards the Shadowlands, we might encounter her.”
Regulus bit his lip to stop from mentioning the obvious problems with Howell’s plan. The problem was, as idiotic as it was – there were no other options. There were many pathways through the labyrinthine trees, and the chance that the two, unskilled at woodscraft as they were, could somehow find a skilled ranger was – preposterous. Best to hope that she would find them, really.
“That way is west, correct?” Howell asked briefly. Regulus could tell from his cold voice that some of his doubt had been picked up on by Howell, despite his efforts to hide his thoughts. He did not wait for a response, but began to move through the trees with long, loping strides. Regulus jogged lightly after him, soon catching him and meeting his pace. For a while – neither could tell how long – they jogged without speaking along the soft loamy ground of Avelorn, around the massive boles of the trees and the outstretched roots. Summoned by the sound of a small stream, they ran for a time over the stones, worn smooth by the water’s gentle flow over time immemorial, the water slowly saturating the supple leather of their boots. Then the stream turned away to the north, and the two were forced to leave it, climb up the small bank, and continue across the hard forest floor. Their breath whistled between lips in tight gasps, and their feet ached, their legs were tired and screaming, and they rested for a while.
It was as they leant against treetrunks that Howell noticed the first sign of their quarry. Chance or fate, it had brought them to this place where a few droplets of crimson blood were spattered along a smooth grey-barked root. Slowly, as if movement would dispel the image before him, Howell fumbled at his glove, pulling it off and then running fingers over the three dots were. They smeared into a paler red streak.
Howell turned to Regulus. “Fresh blood,” he said.
Feeling slightly foolish, Regulus turned his head – they both did – and gazed down at the leaves on the forest floor. The signs of the passing of a large group were unmistakable now they looked at them, and they knew the trail had been found at last.
Refreshed from the discovery, the two scrambled to their feet.
A calm, slightly amused voice said, “I wondered how long it was going to take you to notice that stampede.”
What happened next was too fast for Howell’s amazed eyes to register. There was a silver flash, the sound of a bowstring being released, a loud metallic ring and a yelp of pain. And then Regulus standing, dumfounded, his greatsword lying three feet from his hand.
“You should not draw weapons,” the melodic woman’s voice said, “until I’ve decided who you are, and whether you’re friends.”
Howell’s voice was his own again. “Eilinel!” he shouted. “Eilinel Moonleaf!”
A pause. “How do you know my name?” the hidden observer demanded, clearly rattled. “Who are you?”
“Howell of Caledor,” the Asur called to the forest in general. “And Regulus of Caledor! We seek to aid you in retrieving the Tear of Isha.”
Another pause, and then a lithe form dropped from the trees, brown hair flowing around her like a second cloak.
“We must have words,” she said softly, and gracefully walked towards the two men.
The succulent scent of slowly roasting deer wafted tantalisingly up Howell’s nostrils. It slowly turned black before him in the fire he had set up as Regulus and Eilinel hunted for dinner. Thinking of her made Howell’s eyes rise almost unintentionally, to peer across the tops of the flickering fire to gaze again upon her face. It was cast into sharp contrast now by the flame, both revealing and shadowing. A bird cried out overhead, and crickets sung their dirgelike hymn in the long grass.
Eilinel’s hair was long and brown, and the flowing tresses stretched nearly halfway down her back. Several tendrils ran over her face, luminous-skinned like Lileath’s light which had just pierced the canopy, turning the light which had previously glimmered through silvered and ethereal-seeming. It was a delicate-features face, high-boned and classically beautiful, with two almond-shaped eyes, hazel-hued, set in it like precious stones. Her body was trim and slender and possessed of a lean strength.
Eilinel turned amused eyes to Howell, noticing his stare and meeting it, and embarrassed the Caledorian dropped his eyes to the fire, where the venison cooked.
“I’m surprised you two even managed to follow me,” the Avelorian said. “Really, Master Regulus...a red cloak in the forest?”
Regulus’ face went the colour of his cloak.
“But what I want to know is...how do you two know about the Tear?”
“I saw a vision in the Flames of Asuryan,” Howell said without looking up. “I saw the Tear being stolen, and knew then that I had to come aid in its recovery.”
“We arrived by griffon-back earlier this day,” Regulus added.
Eilinel was quiet for a while. “Lady Isha’s fate,” she finally said.
“What can you tell us?” Regulus said suddenly. “How did it come to be that a Tear was captured?”
“Ever since the Druchii attacked the Evercourt...their raiders have been prolific throughout Avelorn. The Tear itself was hidden well – we thought – but somehow they pierced the magic protecting it and came for it. I lead a small group of foresters and took the Tear before they could reach it – only to lose it to them. I sent runners to the nearby Asur – to the Evercourt, and the Sapherian army on our southern border – but they will arrive too late to help us. I took after the dark elves myself – and that is where we are now.”
“How far ahead of us are they?” Howell asked, and unconsciously raised his eyes to study Eilinel’s beauty again.
“Not far at all,” Eilinel replied. “Two hours or so, and moving slower than we do – though what we shall do when we catch them I do not know – there are maybe forty of them.”
Howell shrugged. “There is always a way.” |
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