Home » Great Library at Hoeth » Book of Tales » Voice of the Phoenix » Voice of the Phoenix, Chapter Three
| Voice of the Phoenix, Chapter Three |
| by Calarion Sapherior |
While Howell may have intended to press further until his body collapsed with exhaustion, the weather conspired against him. By chance – or fate – the skies above Caledor were filled with a raging thunderstorm for the next two days, with rain beating down on the slopes of the mountain in a continuous river, the rumble of lightning echoing nearly constantly through the Halls of the World Dragon, and storm clouds so thick the sun could scarcely reach through them. Regulus noticed all this, and knew it was the worst storm he could remember seeing in his life, but Howell was insensate to the whole thing, for as soon as he realised there could be no progress towards Lothern until the rain died down, he found himself a bed and slept so deeply he seemed unconscious. So when he woke at last, and ravened down all the food set before him, the sky had cleared, Asuryan’s light illuminated the sky once more, and all that was left of the storm was a strong wind which tugged Howell’s robes about his form as he stepped onto the portico to survey the rugged landscape.
“What are we going to do when we reach Lothern?” Regulus asked from behind his right shoulder.
Howell shrugged. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I have nothing planned, you realise. I’m making this up as I go along.”
The other elf nodded. “Someone once said that plans are for the common man, the most great and the most foolish do without them.”
“Well I have no idea which one I am,” Howell said. ‘Who said that, anyway?”
“I have no idea,” Regulus said with a grin, and laughed. “I just remember it from when I was at the White Tower.”
Howell smiled. “The weather’s improved, we should be on our way.”
Regulus said, “You’re really motivated, aren’t you? No rest unless the gods force it upon you, no delay...” he shook his head in disbelief.
Howell turned his head, and his eyes blazed with determination. “Considering what is at stake, I don’t think you’d do any differently.”
“No,” Regulus said, “No, I don’t think I would.”
The two took horses and rode back towards Lothern. Howell set a quick pace, through the blasted landscape of Caledor. The storm had done its damage, uprooting trees and tearing the loose rocks from their anchoring, scattering debris across the landscape. Frequently they had to slow down as they reached landslides covering the road so their horses could pick their way through the gravel. It was a long journey, and
so the two were grateful when they reached the scattered vineyards and estates of Eataine’s hinterland, and more grateful, a few days later, when the first of the spires of Lothern appeared shimmering before them.
The great western gate opened, and the two wended their way between the buildings. Unlike the last time Howell visited, the sun burnt bright alleyways through the streets, which were full of life and colour – Elves in their multicoloured robes, red and blue and green and white, and amongst them also humans, smaller and broader than their graceful hosts. There was a rumble as a group of wagons passed them, piled high with silks, those leading them clad in the strange fashion of distant Cathay.
Regulus pulled his brown stallion closer to Howell, avoiding the crowd, and shouted over the noise, “Where to now?” The other Caledorian pointed ahead of them, to a massive white tower which tapered up until it seemed to nearly pierce the sky, covered with minarets and a massive glass dome in the centre through which golden light coruscated lazily, which rose imposingly from the central island of Lothern’s lagoon. The Phoenix Palace.
The two left their horses at a small stable, and then continued on foot through the crowd. With their attire plain as it was, simple red and white robes, the two blended in flawlessly. Then finding a small boat, they soon were being propelled across the waters of Lothern, weaving between the ships of the Seaguard, pleasure craft, and the larger trading vessels of the elves and of the humans. They soon reached the shore of the island, and left the boat behind. The massive ornate bulk of the Phoenix Palace loomed above them; pillars covered with twisting vines of white ithildin and the massive facade dominated by the two huge flanking towers. In the centre, broad steps led to a wide doorway, by which stood a group of guards, clad in white robes with bright red and orange cloaks. Their armour and spears glimmered nearly white, and their shields were emblazoned with the image of the rising Phoenix.
“Hail!” Regulus said calmly, walking across the open plaza before the palace. “We are Princes Regulus and Howell of Caledor, and we wish to speak to the Phoenix King.”
One of the guards stepped forward. His helmet was the most ornate, with large red feathers rising in a crest from either side. “Greetings, my lords,” the captain said. “I shall arrange an escort to take you to the Court.”
Howell nodded. “Very well,” he said.
The captain dropped back, and soon four of the elite spearmen guards of the Phoenix Palace had been singled out to escort the Princes. They ascended the steps and entered the main hall of the Phoenix Palace. Red light washed over Howell, and he looked up to see a massive stained-glass window of a phoenix, the light coming in a solid red ray through it and making the symbol again on the floor. The whole room was washed in gentle red hues from the light, though behind a row of massive pillars the light faded into shadow. They continued along it, and then into a smaller room, with huge gold-rimmed oak doors before them. Two of the guards hurried forward and pulled the doors open, and beyond them Howell could see a clustered nobles of the Court.
“Greetings!” Howell cried in a great voice, as he strode confidently into the massive room. “I seek your aid against the forces of Chaos! Even now, our most ancient enemy musters in the north of the Old World, and soon shall sweep down upon all peoples! For the good of the world, we must raise an army against them!”
The response was silence, and Howell’s voice faltered. He opened his mouth to speak, as the nobles turned to look at him, but shut it again, feeling extremely silly and embarrassed.
“A very dramatic entry,” a voice said, and a tall elderly elf with a long face emerged, clad in fine robes of white and grey-blue. His gloved hands let out a series of short staccato claps.
“Very dramatic,” he repeated, smiling pleasantly. The smile did not reach his eyes. “I don’t recall seeing you here before. Tell me, who are you?”
Howell tried to ignore the laughs that spread across the court. “I am Prince Howell of Caledor...”
He was cut off. “Howell of Caledor. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of a Howell of Caledor. Have you been off fighting against the druchii?”
Howell gritted his teeth. “No...”
“You haven’t? Where have you been? You want us to entrust an army to you, evidently, but no one has heard of you before, or heard of your achievements. A bit presumptuous, no?”
Howell’s face flushed as the laughter spread. “All legends begin somewhere.”
A bad choice of words. “Legend?” the courtier jeered. “Do you consider yourself a legend? More like a dirty vagabond trying to muster support for some foolish crusade.”
“It is no foolish crusade,” Howell said, trying to rally himself before the onslaught of words. “The Old World will fall if we do not help it.”
“And?”
He blinked. “What do you mean, ‘and’?”
“So if we do not help them, the humans and the dwarves will be gone. Even if this is true, what does it mean to us? Let them die – they are weak and inconsequential.”
Howell’s jaw dropped. “You’d sacrifice them all? Let them all die? And do you think that Chaos will stop there? Once they have reduced the lands of Men to smouldering ashes, they will take ship and come over here!”
The courtier yawned. “Let them come. The Shifting Isles will stop them from being able to land, and the Vortex prevents the daemons from ever existing here again. And if they do come, what then? We shall defeat them as we have every other time.”
“There are none so blind as those who will not see,” Howell grated.
“Exactly so,” the courtier snapped, his voice now harsh. “You’ve provided enough laughs for us today, boy. Leave this place and do not return unless you have something important to say.”
Howell could feel his throat raw. This was it? His mission was over now, before it had even begun. No, surely not...no, it could not be.
“I will return!” he howled at the uncaring courtiers in their silks and fineries. “I will return, and you shall know that my cause is just!” Then he spun and strode from the court, the mocking laughter of the elderly courtier ringing in his ears.
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