Home » Great Library at Hoeth » Book of Tales » Voice of the Phoenix » Voice of the Phoenix, Chapter Two
| Voice of the Phoenix, Chapter Two |
| by Calarion Sapherior |
By the time Howell had entered the Halls, after five days without rest of hard riding along the road from Lothern, had passed up the broad flight of marble stairs, past the massive stone pillars of the facade, and entered through immense double-doors into a grand entrance hall, his identity had already been ascertained by some means by the industrious servants. A long-faced Asur in simple red robes was waiting for him.
“Greetings, my Prince Howell,” the servant murmured softly. “Welcome to the Halls of the World Dragon.”
Howell didn’t look at him. “Can I speak to Prince Imrik?” As the words came out he winced at how rude he sounded, but there was little time for such concerns.
In any case, the servant did not give indication of this. “I am sorry, Prince Imrik is not here. Would you care to see Prince Regulus instead?”
Regulus...Howell’s brain, tired from stress and long travel, took a second to fit an Asur to the name, but it came eventually, a slender young elf with a cheerful face – the heir to Imrik, should something happen to him.
The servant still waited patiently. “Yes, take me to Prince Regulus,” Howell said, and then added belatedly, “Please.”
The long-faced elf nodded deeply, and with a, “Follow me, please,” was striding away, his red robes billowing behind him. Howell followed him, through the corridors and hallways, deeper into the mountain in which the Halls were situated. Finally they arrived before a wooden door. The servant rapped sharply on the door with his knuckles twice, and then slid the door open.
The room inside was simple. A few works of art hung around the wall, and Howell glanced at one curiously. It was abstract, and while he could pick no definite image out of it the sense that came from the painting was one of serenity. There was also a marble statue, a lithe elfwoman of surpassing beauty and sadness – Isha Elfmother.
And in the centre of the room, behind a large desk covered with paperwork, an Asur was sprawled comfortably in a high-backed wooden chair, feeding scraps of meat to a red drake perched on his shoulder. His left hand held a knife, with a scrap of raw meat on the tip, which he moved over. The drake’s long red neck extended as it darted for the meat, tearing it off and then swallowing it in a single bite. It made a growling noise, and the elf laughed and reached up to scratch its crest, resulting in even greater growling.
Unperturbed, the servant calmly announced, “Prince Howell is here to see you, my lord,” before disappearing, leaving Howell to enter the room slowly. Regulus’ eyes widened and a happy smile came over his face, as he pushed himself more upright in his seat. The drake spread its wings, extended its serpentine neck, and jumped off Regulus’ shoulder, landing on the table to walk slowly towards Howell. It growled at him and sniffed inquisitively.
“Don’t mind Minaith!” Regulus said cheerily. “Take a seat!” He gestured at another chair, which had been pushed over to one side. Howell dragged it over and took a seat. The drake sniffed him again, then lost interest in Howell – it glided off the table, and went to curl up in a corner.
“So, Prince Howell, what brings you here today?” Regulus’ face was a study in open geniality.
Howell paused for a second, the words becoming stuck in his throat as he opened his mouth to speak. Why was he here? What had he come to say? He had no clear purpose, no meaning, nothing, no reason.
As he thought this, the words came out of his mouth, unconsciously brought up by his soul. “I wish to seek your aid in an endeavour,” he said, the words sounding awkward to him.
Regulus nodded. “What sort of endeavour?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.
Howell felt nervous, but pushed the feeling aside. This was not the time to pay heed to misgivings. “What do you know about the situation in the north?” he asked.
Regulus blinked. “Eltharion’s expedition has returned unsuccessfully, I know that. And the Druchii are still assailing the Gates.”
“No,” Howell said, his eyes fixed firmly on Regulus. “I’m talking about Archaeon.”
“Who?” Regulus said, but his voice quavered with the grim tone of Howell’s pronouncement of that name. In the corner, Minaith uncurled, and his golden eyes peered unreadably at Howell.
“Do you remember the Great War Against Chaos? We came so very close to being completely destroyed, losing everything to Chaos – and the Dark Elves – and yet already the same conflict is rising again. Archaeon is the Chosen One of the Chaos Gods, and has mustered hosts beyond your imagination to wipe all civilisation as we know it from the face of the world. If we do not stand united, then we will all surely be lost.”
“You might understand I am not very happy with the idea that I have to go to war again,” Regulus said coldly. The last time he went to war, during the Tilean campaign, he had lost a many good friends, and even he was slowly becoming less reckless and ruthless with the years that passed.
“Neither am I, my lord.” The reply came swift. “However, I do not believe we have much of a choice this time,” Howell continued. “I have been a warrior myself, just like you. I have been a commander, just like you. I know what war can do. However, I also know what will happen if we do not go to war this time. You know that as well Regulus.”
In a quiet voice, Regulus said, “If we lose...then we lose everything. That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it.” It was not a question, and Howell didn’t reply.
Regulus nodded. “The problem is, what can we do about it? I can’t just muster a Legion and go to the Old World.”
Now it was Howell’s turn to feel despondent. He slumped forward, weariness catching up with him. “I don’t know. All I do know is...the Conclave of Light has been formed in Altdorf, in the Empire. I accompanied the High Loremaster there, and was present when the alliance was forged between all goodly races.”
And then something came together in his mind, and Howell realised why he had been invited to come to the conference, an unknown lord of no standing. “Teclis!” he hissed. “He knew that I would come here, and seek to rally aid. Did he set all this in motion?”
Regulus did not respond, not understanding what Howell spoke of.
“We must return to Lothern,” Howell said. “There we will find more support for this crusade, and there we will find the only one who can let this happen – the Phoenix King himself.”
Regulus nodded. “Shall I have horses saddled?” he asked.
“Yes, immediately!” Howell tried to stand, and swayed on his feet. Exhaustion was overwhelming him, the lack of sleep and the long travel.
Regulus stood, pushing back his own chair, and put a hand on Howell’s shoulder to steady him. “Are you sure now? You could do with some food first.”
Howell shook his head, though his body screamed at him for his stubbornness. “I do not know if we have much time to waste – and I suspect not. It is best that we leave for Lothern immediately.”
Regulus shook his head in despair, but he went out the door and began to arrange the steeds that would return them to Lothern. Howell moved to follow, but another wave of dizziness swept over him and he sunk back into the chair.
Minaith looked up, golden eyes gleaming. At the table, an elf was slumped, his chest slowly rising and falling with the inhalations and exhalations of much-needed sleep.
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