The Phoenix Unchained (2 page)

“
You
hold him,” Doreses said promptly, depositing baby Priadan unceremoniously into Harrier’s arms and walking off.

There was a moment of chaos while Harrier juggled his giggling kicking burden—fortunately he was already an uncle several times
over, and not in the least afraid of babies—before settling his unexpected charge securely in the crook of his arm and kicking the door shut with a backward jab of his boot.

Priadan’s birth, just a bit over a year ago, had come as a great surprise to the Rolforts, for after Brodana’s birth, the Healers had told Lady Rolfort that there would be no more children, and that had been eight years ago. With five children—and four of them girls—the Rolfort family had seemed entirely complete. Priadan had come as a complete surprise to everyone.

But a
good
surprise, as Tiercel—the eldest—insisted. It gave his younger sisters something to fuss over. And—as he told Harrier—he no longer had to worry about being the only one to carry on the Rolfort family name. Though as Priadan was only a little over a year old, it would be quite some time before they could expect much from him. With the baby in his arm, Harrier followed the familiar path to the breakfast room.

The family was still gathered around the table: Lady Rolfort, her four daughters—ranging in age from fourteen to eight, and all completely beneath Harrier’s notice—and their elder brother, Tiercel.

Theirs might have seemed an unlikely friendship. Harrier was the sturdy bluff son of the Harbormaster of Armethalieh. Tiercel was the son of a member of the minor Nobility, destined, as generations of his family before him had been, for a secretaryship on an administrative council as soon as he had completed his schooling. But the boys had been inseparable since the day they had met. It was one of Harrier’s first vivid memories. He’d been three years old.

THE day was bright and warm. Harrier Gillain sat outside his Da’s office, watching the sun sparkle on the water of Armethalieh Harbor. He was filled with pride that his Da trusted him to play out here all by himself and not go wandering off. But he knew perfectly well that the Docks were a dangerous place for little boys, and Da had told him exactly where to stay. He concentrated on his wooden ships, racing them against each other over the wooden planks. Suddenly his eye was caught by a flash of movement. A little boy had come running out the back door of the Harbormaster’s Office, and he was running down the wharf toward the water just as fast as he could go
.

“Hey!”

The little boy didn’t stop. He ran all the way to the end of the wharf, and Harrier was sure a grownup would appear, but no one did. That was wrong. He wasn’t allowed out on the wharf at all unless Carault or Eugens or a grownup was with him
.

“Hey!” he yelled again, setting down his wooden ship and getting to his feet. What should he do? There didn’t seem to be any grownups around, and the little boy with the white hair was teetering on the edge of the wharf. In another minute he’d fall into the water, and while Harrier didn’t
quite
believe his older brothers’ tales of boy-eating sea monsters lurking in the water, he certainly believed his Da’s stern warnings that little boys must not, on any account, go down to the edge of the wharf
.

He got to his feet and ran toward the other boy
.

He reached the end of the planks just about the time the stranger had decided to lie down on his stomach and squirm out as far as he could in order to see what he could see. And then wriggle out just a little farther. And then a little farther still. And just as he was slipping into the water, Harrier managed to grab his ankle
.

And hold on, just long enough, for his Da and the boy’s nurse to get there
.

And that was how Harrier Gillain met Tiercel Rolfort.

It was the first time he saved the younger boy from trouble, but not the last, for Tiercel possessed an abiding curiosity about, well,
everything
, as well as a conviction that nothing could possibly go wrong during his explorations—a conviction that Harrier had disproven more than once down through the intervening years.

“HARRIER.” Tiercel looked up as he entered the room, blue eyes glinting with amusement. “Is it Evensong Bells already? Come to escort us to your Naming Day party?”

“Cast out of my own home so they can prepare for it in peace, as you know perfectly well,” Harrier answered cheerfully. “So I thought I’d come and bother you instead.”

“You know you’re always welcome here,” Lady Rolfort said kindly from her place at the head of the table. “Especially as you’re so good as to take over those duties that Doreses seems to feel are too much for her.”

“Mama!” Doreses protested. “He
asked
to hold the baby!”

Lady Rolfort simply held out her arms, and Harrier crossed the room and deposited Priadan into them. The toddler promptly squirmed to get down from his mother’s lap, taking an unsteady step before sitting down with a thump on the gently-worn carpet.

“Thank you, Gentle’dy,” Harrier said politely.

“Have some tea, Har,” Tiercel said. “And I’m sure you wouldn’t mind another breakfast.”

Harrier grinned. There were some advantages to visiting a Noble household. Breakfast in his own home had been almost two bells ago, and he had no objection at all to another one. He collected a clean plate and cup from the sideboard, helping himself from the wide variety of dishes laid out upon the sideboard before seating himself beside Tiercel.

As he ate, he made polite conversation with Lady Rolfort, assuring her that his mother looked forward to seeing them all this evening at the party (which was certainly true) and telling her anything he knew of the Port gossip that he thought might interest her.

“You begin your Apprenticeship this summer, don’t you?” Lady Rolfort asked.

“Yes, Gentle’dy. As soon as I graduate from the Normal. Of course, Tyr has a much grander future before him.”

Tiercel kicked him under the table.

Lady Rolfort smiled. “University. You really must choose a course of study, Tiercel. You shouldn’t leave it till the last instant.”

Tiercel ducked his head. “No, Mama. I promise. I’ll choose something soon.”

Lady Rolfort laughed. “He has been saying that for the past year, of course! But I am certain that whatever you choose, it will be perfectly suitable. And now, since I am also certain that Harrier did not come here to spend the day indoors with you, why don’t the two of you run along? Just be certain to be back here no later than Second Afternoon Bells, so you have plenty of time to wash and dress for the evening.”

“Are you sure, Mama?” Tiercel said, gesturing at his sisters. “I mean—”

“I am quite certain that I can keep four girls occupied for the day,” Lady Rolfort said firmly. “And if I don’t decide to sell them to the Selken Traders, I might even take them to see the Festival Fair later.”

The squeals of “Oh Mama” and “Yes, please” were quite loud and shrill enough to make Harrier want to cover his ears—and to be grateful that his nieces were not old enough to be quite so—enthusiastic.

THE two boys stood in the courtyard of the Rolfort townhouse. But despite a pocket jingling with silver unicorns and copper demisuns—more money than most boys his age saw in a moonturn—Tiercel’s mood was somber.

“I don’t see why Mama is so convinced I will somehow figure out what it is I want to study at Armethalieh University between now and Harvest moonturn,” Tiercel said, sounding uncharacteristically glum.

“Well, it hardly matters what you study, does it?” Harrier answered bluntly. “It’s not as if they teach anything
practical
at University.”

“Why does everything have to be
practical
with you?” his friend retorted.

“See how far you get when things aren’t. I like things I can see, hear, feel, and touch,” Harrier said firmly.

“You always have,” Tiercel responded with a smile. “So, we have time and money. Where shall we go?”

“The harbor?” Harrier suggested, as the two friends walked off down the street.

If the City was grandly decorated for Festival, then the Port was even more grandly decorated, for it was there, according to legend, that the unicorns had run across the water to save the City. Every ship in Port flew a unicorn pennant at Festival time, and competed to see which ship could produce the most elaborate unicorn decoration upon its bow.

“We always go to the harbor,” Tiercel said dismissively. “We could go to Temple Square.”

“The Great Library?
Bor
-ring,” Harrier sing-songed. “And
you
always go to the Library.”

“The University? The grounds are decorated for the Festival,” Tiercel suggested.

Harrier took a deep breath and huffed it out in a snort of exasperation. “You’ll see enough of it come autumn, won’t you?”

“I suppose,” Tiercel agreed.

It had been three years since the two boys had attended the same school. Those bound for University transferred to the Preparatory School at thirteen, to spend three years there before entering University at sixteen. Those who were going into Apprenticeships stayed at the Normal School until the end of the school year in their seventeenth year, and then signed Articles with a Master in their field.

As they argued amiably over all the places they
could
go, their steps took them from the streets of the Noble Quarter and into the Tradesman’s District, which bordered it. Here the streets were busier, even on the first day of Festival.

Suddenly a shower of snow rained down on them from above. Harrier—who had gotten most of it down his collar, hopped and swore, looking around for his attacker. Tiercel danced out of reach of his frantic thrashings, laughing and pointing upward. Harrier looked in the indicated direction. On a second floor ledge, an industrious Brownie housewife was sweeping away at the snow with a tiny broom. Tiercel waved up at her, and the little creature paused in her labors to wave back before continuing to sweep the ledge free of snow.

Brownies were one of the few Otherfolk races who had elected to remain among humans when most of the Otherfolk—at least the ones that people could see—had gone Eastward with the Elves. Their lives and ways were a mirror of the humans they so closely resembled, and it was said that to have a Brownie family living in the walls of one’s house brought luck. Both the Rolforts and the Gillains had had Brownie families—perhaps even the same set of Brownies—living with them for as far back as their family records stretched.

“She could have picked a better time,” Harrier grumbled, still shaking himself free of snow, and skipping back to dodge a fresh shower of it. “It’s Festival. Nobody works on Festival.”

“Brownies do,” Tiercel said inarguably. He stepped out into the street, motioning for Harrier to follow. “Did you know that there didn’t used to be Brownies in Armethalieh?”

Harrier snorted. “I suppose that next you’ll be telling me that there didn’t used to be
Centaurs
in Armethalieh,” he said, grabbing the collar of Tiercel’s cloak and hauling him back onto the walkway, out of the path of a troop of Centaurs who were trotting up the street in the other direction. This particular troop had undoubtedly come for Festival Fair; by the end of the sennight the
City would be jammed with visitors from all the Nine Cities, and there wouldn’t be a bed to be had in a hostel from here to Neren-dale. While every city had its own Festival, the one in Armethalieh was the oldest and best.