The Record of the Saints Caliber (42 page)

A loud uproar drifted through the window, breaking Brandrir from his thoughts. He clomped over to the open window. It was dark now. He poked his head out into the cool air and craned his neck around. He could see the torches all lit in the courtyard and the crowds all gathering in the bleachers. He could hear somebody shouting words to the crowd but couldn’t quite make out what was being said. Then the crowd cheered again. Brandrir pulled his head back in and sighed deeply, thinking that the ceremony would start any moment. His stomach began to flutter and he found his head flooding with the same doubts he had told himself he would not think about. The omen of the Jinn sat heavily upon him. What if it were true? What if he would bring Duroton to ruin? What if the phoenix did not rise for him? Brandrir bit his lip. His foot began tapping on the floor again.

There was a knocking at his chamber door. “Your Grace, it is time.” It was the voice of Egret, Commander of the Durotonian Guard.

Brandrir strode to the door and opened it. There was a procession of Royal Guardsmen lined up in the hall. They all wore lacquered, white armor trimmed in gold and had long, red capes and helmets crested with red phoenix feathers.

Egret stood before the door, draped in his black shroud. “Your Grace, it is time.” Brandrir nodded his head and Egret patted him on his shoulder, his gauntlet clanging on Brandrir’s armor. “You shall make a fine King, Brandrir.”

Brandrir looked at Egret and forced a small smile. “Thank you, old friend.”

“Your father, brother and all of the Council are seated and waiting.” said Egret.

“Is Etheil with my brother?” asked Brandrir.

“I have not seen him with your brother,” said Egret. “Come, your Grace. Almost all of the nobles have come and there are crowds of people from the very reaches of the Lands.”

Brandrir sighed and shook his head. From the window he could hear another muted roar of the crowd.

Egret patted him on the shoulder again. “We have all heard the omens. Do not worry about the words of the Jinn. They are mortal men like me and you. Let the Lands decide their new King and rise the phoenix in your name.”

Brandrir looked into Egret’s blue eyes and nodded his head. He forced another smile. “Thank you again, Lord Egret.”

“Come, your Grace.” said Egret. “It is time for the phoenix to rise in your name.”

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Hidden beyond the castle corridor, just within the open portcullis, Brandrir had the perfect view of the long walk to the courtyard arena. For the ceremony, walls and extra bleachers had been constructed along the entire 100-yard length from the portcullis to the arena proper, and from above Brandrir could hear the crowds cheering and roaring. The pathway to the arena was lined on either side with braziers sculptured like phoenixes set atop tall pikes, burning with coals. In the far distance, in the arena proper, a million points of light twinkled from the stadium benches where the overflowing crowds of people all sat holding candles in the night. At the center of the arena Brandrir could see the great, risen stage where the seven High Jinn were all gathered. They stood before a giant, bronze dish sculptured like the very crown of Duroton.

Brandrir breathed deeply. Upon either side of the corridor stood the ranks of Royal Guardsmen waiting to escort him to the stage. At the front, just inside the portcullis, Egret sat high upon his proud Icelandic Great-Hoof named Snowbreaker. Of all the Icelandic Great-Hoofs kept at the castle, Snowbreaker was perhaps the largest and strongest and was perfectly suited for towing the heavy chariot harnessed to him.

The chariot was glossy and red with the phoenix crest of Duroton proudly emblazoned in gold on all sides. Within the chariot was a squat, silver pedestal and sitting upon it was a large nest of thick, interwoven copper bars. Within the nest sat an egg the size of a man. It was rough and black and flaking as if it had been made of stone and charred within some volcanic lair.

Phoenix eggs were rare and the bird was known only within the Lands of Duroton. They laid their eggs within thick, pine forests and covered them with a black, sappy excretion that turned to a stoney crust over the ages. The egg would lie dormant until an inevitable forest fire would one day set the bird free. Such forest fires were few and far between.

About every two or three years a great wave of summer storms might strike fire upon a forest, and in Duroton it was cause for great excitement. Men and women from miles around would gather at safe vantage points near the forest fire, hoping beyond hope to see a phoenix rise from the burning tree tops and fly off into the heavens. It was said that a phoenix could live for a hundred years, though none knew where they went after hatching. On the rarest of occasions a hunter or woodsmen might catch a mated pair affixing their precious egg to the top of a tall pine. Once the egg was secured, the couple would fly off to Lands only know where.

Obtaining a phoenix egg for the Rising of the Phoenix ceremony was always quite difficult and the hunt for an egg usually started soon after the new King was crowned. This particular egg had been found about ten years ago and had been locked in the castle’s vaults ever since. It had been considered more precious than the gems and gold that surrounded it.

Brandrir exhaled loudly and tapped his foot nervously. He peeked out around Snowbreaker and the chariot. In the far distance, upon the risen stage, he could just see the Jinn as they addressed the audience. Slowly the crowds fell silent, their thousands of candlelights flickering like a sea of stars in the night. Brandrir could just barely hear the words of the Jinn as they spoke the opening rites of the ceremony, calling for the Lands to bear witness and asking their consent to crown a new King. The Jinn then asked all to rise for the Call of Duroton. All at once, everybody within the stadium stood like a clap of thunder, their candlelights wavering and sparkling. After a brief pause the Jinn began reciting the Call of Duroton, and even Egret, the Royal Guardsmen, and Brandrir himself spoke along to it, placing their right hands upon their hearts.

When the Call of Duroton ended, cheers erupted from the bleachers and rattled the very night air. After a very long moment the crowd settled down and the orchestra began to play the March of Duroton. The bass drummers began beating on their drums in a metered throb. Slowly, the double-basses and cellos began in, followed by the tubas and bassbellows. Finally, the trumpets, snare drums and violins started in, all playing the deep and driving music of the March of Duroton.

“Your Grace,” said Egret from atop his horse. “Are you ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” said Brandrir.

Egret spurred Snowbreaker forward. With a creak, the chariot gave way and he led the procession of Royal Guardsmen from the castle portcullis as the droning music played out. After the last of the Guardsmen had left, Brandrir gave about a fifty-foot pause before he himself stepped out. Like thunder the crowds from above erupted all around him, drowning out the music. Their cheers spread until the entire arena was filled with their voices. With each step Brandrir took the people tossed the fiery red blooms of the phoenix chrysanthemum upon his path. It was the national flower of Duroton and the red, yellow and orange petals were perfectly reminiscent of the feathers of the phoenix for which they were named.

Brandrir marched slow and steady, being sure to keep the fifty-foot break between the last Guardsman and himself. As he neared the stadium he could see the royal seats at the fore of the arena. They were done up with flags and banners, brightly illuminated by torches. He could not see his father or brother from this distance, but he knew that they were there, surrounded by all the Councilmen and their attendants. Honored guests and high-ranking nobles would be there with them too. Surrounding them were all the people of Duroton who had come from near and far to bear witness of the phoenix. To say Brandrir was nervous would be an understatement. He had prepared for bloody battles countless times, but never before had his stomach ever felt this fluttery.

Brandrir tried to breathe slow and deep as he marched toward the risen stage to the music of the March of Duroton, which played out somewhere within the thunder of the crowds. The Jinn stood there, watching and waiting. A wide ramp led up to the top of the stage, and as Egret rode his horse and chariot up the ramp, the Royal Guardsmen broke off, forming up lines on either side.

When Egret neared the top of the stage, two of the Jinn opened a latch on the front of the giant, bronze crown. Egret rode his horse into it. Once inside, a pair of Guardsmen quickly unhooked the chariot from Snowbreaker and then unlatched a door at the opposite side. Egret and Snowbreaker exited the crown, leaving the chariot and the phoenix egg within the center of it. The Jinn and their assistants closed both doors, sealing the giant crown back up, just as Brandrir began his march up the ramp. Once he made it to the top of the stage the crowds went wild, and their candles ebbed and flowed in the bleachers.

Brandrir looked out toward the royal seats. He could just barely see his father sitting slumped in a large chair, padded with pillows and blankets. His brother Dagrir sat next to him. Around them he could make out all the Councilmen, and nearby were also a number of Dark Star Knights. Brandrir bit his lip and exhaled deeply. He could not see Etheil or Solastron amongst them. He looked up for a brief moment, to the black sky of night where just a handful of stars twinkled and the crescent moon loomed in the north.

The Jinn all raised their hands and slowly the crowd began to die down, until at last silence overtook the stadium. Brandrir could feel a palpable tension amongst the people, and even from the Jinn. Everybody had heard of the prophecies foretold by the Jinn and Brandrir knew that some part of the gathered crowds was expecting the worst. This was the most anticipated Rising of the Phoenix that had been held in two centuries.

Brandrir stood straight and tall in his armor as the Jinn surrounded him in an arc. They looked at him through their gleaming, emerald lenses.

“Brandrir Thorodin,” they began in unison, their strange, metallic voices reverberating through the arena. “The Lands of Duroton have called you here this day to be appraised by all who would take witness. Do you stand here freely, by your own will, beneath the Duroton sky, to be judged worthy by the Lands?”

“I do.” said Brandrir loudly. All around him, from the silent bleachers, he could see the thousands of points of flickering candlelight. Part of him couldn’t help but think that that was what the Duroton sky had once looked like.

Here, one of the Jinn stepped to the fore and stood before Brandrir, holding his father’s crown. It was an ancient thing, having been passed from King to King, Thorodin to Thorodin, for a thousand years. “Brandrir Thorodin, first-born son of Garidrir Thorodin, do you accept the Crown of Duroton, and with it, all the burdens the Lands may ask of you?”

“I do.” Brandrir said as loudly as he could.

“Do you swear beneath the Duroton sky to faithfully uphold the Oath of the Throne?”

“I do.”

“Then, beneath the Duroton sky, and before all here who take witness, take a knee to the Lands and swear upon Her your Oath.”

Brandrir inhaled deeply and touched his right knee to the ground and bowed his body, placing his palms up and flat upon the stage floor. He craned his neck to the starless, black sky and spoke as loudly and certainly as he could. “I, Brandrir Thorodin, son of Garidrir Thorodin, do swear beneath the Duroton sky to take the Throne of the King on behalf of the sons and daughters of Duroton. I shall hold no office higher than the Lands themselves; I shall seek no greater reward than I bring upon the Lands themselves. My very will shall be to the Lands and Her People. I ask that Duroton and Her Sons and Daughters judge me this day and rise a phoenix in my name, should I be found worthy to wear Her crown.”

Here, six of the Jinn took up places around the large, bronze crown at the center of the stage. The Jinn who held the crown stood before Brandrir and said, “Rise and be judged by the Lands.”

Brandrir stood up. The Jinn took up a place at the front of the large crown where the chariot bearing the phoenix egg within the copper nest sat. Brandrir could hear some valves beneath the stage being turned and then the hiss of gas. The Jinn held the crown high above his head just as a fire erupted beneath the chariot, consuming it and filling the bronze crown. The roaring fires engulfed the copper nest and began licking at the blackened egg.

“On behalf of the sons and daughters of Duroton, we ask that the Lands accept Brandrir Thorodin, first-born son of Garidrir Thorodin, as Her King.” said the Jinn, holding the crown high before the roaring fires. “If the Lands so accept him as Her King, we ask that this phoenix be risen in his name.”

Brandrir stood watching as the fires swirled around the egg, lapping at its shell. There was a breathless awe in the air that Brandrir could feel coming from the audience, and it surrounded the entire stage. Brandrir breathed deeply.

Slowly, the black outer crust of the egg began to pop and crack and then peel away and flake off into the fires. A sulfuric smell began to emanate and the shell began to show veins of pulsing heat. By degrees the egg began to rock within the fires. A crack appeared near the top of the egg. Through the dancing flames Brandrir caught the first glimpse of the creature’s beak. It was as black and glossy as polished obsidian, shaped like a wedge with a wicked curve. It poked it’s beak out again, then again, its motions becoming more frantic as the fracture began to creep down the shell’s length. Now Brandrir thought he caught sight of one of the bird’s large, black eyes and perhaps its crimson feathers. Then, all at once, the egg split down one side.