The Phoenix Unchained (5 page)

TIERCEL Rolfort had grown up in a world with magic.

Of course, you almost never saw it, but everyone knew it was there. Pretty much like Wildmages; everyone knew that
they
were there, but a person could go their whole life without seeing one—or knowing that they’d seen one, at least—because it wasn’t like a Wildmage to announce his or her presence unless it was absolutely vital to the task at hand. And—according to the stories—they often swore the people they helped to secrecy.

And certainly he’d grown up in a world full of Otherfolk. Fauns and Centaurs and Brownies at least, and Harrier swore that there were merfolk in the deep ocean and Selkies on some of the more secluded Out Islands, though they hardly counted as magic.

And everyone knew that far to the East was the Kingdom of the Elves, and that even though the Elves had no magic, they shared their land with numberless races that did: unicorns and dryads and dragons and the Light knew what else. But this was something else entirely. If Tiercel was reading this book properly, once, long ago, there’d been another kind of magic besides the Wild Magic. A kind that you could, well,
learn
. The way you learned Maths or Geography or dancing. Something called High Magick.

And that—not the Wild Magic—had been what the High Mages who had ruled the City in the Time of Mages had practiced. They’d ruled Armethalieh for a thousand years before the Great Flowering.

Knowing that, realizing that, gave Tiercel an unsettled feeling, like standing in a room and suddenly realizing that it was twice as big
as he’d thought it was. Of course he’d heard of the Time of Mages, and of course he’d known that the world didn’t just
start
on the day of the Great Flowering, but for the book in his hands to speak so casually of events that took place so many years before that, well . . .

It was fascinating.

He wondered if anyone, anywhere, still knew anything at all about the High Magick.

ON his next free afternoon, Tiercel went down to the Great Library. The Library had always been one of his favorite places in the City. First his nurse, then his tutor, had brought him here, introducing him to the wonders of a building filled with books on every subject there was.

Though the Great Library had been rebuilt and expanded many times over the centuries, parts of it were as old as the City itself. When the “new wing” had been added a few centuries ago, it had been at about the same time the old City walls were being taken down, and several sections of the wall had been incorporated into the new wing, blending old and then-new together. Tiercel liked to go into the New Wing just to admire the brightly glazed and ornamented stones. The ancient Armethaliehans must have loved beauty above all things if they’d surrounded their city with such a highly-decorated wall.

On most days he wandered aimlessly through the library galleries, seeing what was new and then visiting the sections that held his favorite subjects. Today, however, he didn’t dawdle. He was on a mission: research. Quickly he sought out Master Cansel.

Master Cansel was the Chief Librarian of the Great Library, and ordinarily he would have little time for someone Tiercel’s age, but Tiercel’s persistence in seeking out books far beyond those one of his years would normally be interested in had long ago piqued Master Cansel’s interest, and the two of them, the aged scholar and
the young student, had become friends. Master Cansel often said it was a great pity that Tiercel was bound for a clerkship, for he would have made an excellent librarian, and more than once Tiercel had been tempted to agree with him.

“I’m looking for some books on history, Master Cansel. Really ancient history. From before the Great Flowering. I’m wondering if you have—” Tiercel pulled a scrap of paper out of his pocket and consulted his notes “—a copy of something called
A History of The City
? It’s in six volumes. It’s supposed to be from then.”

Master Cansel looked puzzled for a moment, then smiled. “You’re interested in pre-Flowering History, Tiercel? Have you decided to study that at University?”

“I, um, well, I’m not sure. I think so. But I thought I’d read some of it now to make sure.”

Master Cansel smiled indulgently. “Well, we do have some, of course. There’s not much call for the books in the general collection. Let me get you a pass, and we’ll go down to the closed shelves.”

A few minutes later, with his new pass hung securely around his neck, Tiercel accompanied Master Cansel into the Closed Collection. The rooms were completely dark.

“This is the Old Building,” Master Cansel said, holding his lantern up high. “As you’ll note, there are no windows here. Scholars believe that in the Time of Mages, the building was kept lit by Coldfire, though no one is quite sure why anyone would waste magic in lighting a building.”

“Armethalieh was the City of Mages,” Tiercel said.

Cansel smiled. “I see you’ve already been doing a bit of reading. Yes, so they say. But it’s hard to imagine that Wildmages would have been so wasteful. Of course, it is certainly fortunate that they
spent so much time preserving the books. They’re in better condition than many published only decades ago.”

Not Wildmages
, Tiercel thought to himself.
High Mages
.

As they entered the main room, Cansel stopped to light several lanterns that hung from brackets on the walls. As their flames grew and steadied, they provided enough light to allow Tiercel to see that the entire room was filled with books. Along one wall, directly under the lanterns, were several small desks.

“When the scholars from the University come here to do research, of course we light more of the lamps,” Cansel said. “But this should be enough light for you to find a few books to read. Come, let’s see if we can find that
History
for you.”

A moonturn and a half later, Kindling had given way to true Spring. As Tiercel exited the Great Temple of the Light one Light-Day morning, he was surprised to see Harrier waiting for him at the foot of the steps.

There were many Temples to the Light in Armethalieh; the Gillains attended Light-Day at the one near the Port, where the main Light-Day service was held much earlier in the morning than at the Great Temple in the center of the City. Harrier had obviously already been and gone to Light-Day Litany; he’d changed from his Light-Day best back into his everyday clothes.

“Tyr!” he cried as he spotted Tiercel standing with his family in the press of the crowd. Harrier shouldered his way through the press of Light-Day worshipers clustered in front of the Temple steps, and—obviously too excited to make his polite greetings to Tiercel’s parents and sisters, began talking at once. “A ship came in—late last night—and they swear it was attacked by a
kraken
. Come and see!”

Lord Rolfort cleared his throat meaningfully and Harrier flushed at his own rudeness, hastily greeting Lord and Lady Rolfort and Tiercel’s four younger sisters, who giggled at his discomfiture until Lady Rolfort regarded them sternly in turn.

“I’ll come,” Tiercel said hastily. “In a bell. Or two.”

A chime less than two bells later, Tiercel arrived at the Port. It didn’t matter that this was Light-Day; the business of the Port must go on. Ships could not be asked to stand out in the Harbor and wait until the next day to dock, after all, so he was not in the least surprised to find Harrier waiting for him at the Portmaster’s office.

“So,” he said, sticking his head in the doorway. “About this ship?”

Harrier looked up from a table in the doorway. He pushed his russet hair out of his eyes and grinned. “The
Marukate
limped into the harbor just after Watch Bells this morning.
Swearing
absolutely that she’d been attacked by a kraken. And everybody knows that there aren’t any kraken, but something tore up her hull; Da had to send them over to drydock before they sank in the slip. Come see.”

Harrier came to join him, and the two of them began to walk down the dock.

“No kraken?” Tiercel said lightly. “You might as well say there are no unicorns—though I grant neither of us is ever going to see one. But there certainly are kraken—at least there used to be before the Great Flowering, although since they were creatures of the Endarkened, I admit there probably aren’t any now.”

“Been reading Uncle Alfrin’s book have you?” Harrier asked with a relieved grin.

“Ask me anything. Or . . . did you know that there used to be
another kind of magic besides the Wild Magic? A kind you don’t have to be born with, or Called to by the Gods of the Wild Magic? A kind almost anybody can learn? They called it the High Magick. There are books about it in the Library. They used to call Armethalieh the Mage City.”

Harrier regarded him with a combination of exasperation and disbelief. “Is that why you’ve been spending so much time down at the Great Library these days? I thought you were just studying for your entrance exams for the University.”

“Oh, I’m doing that too. But the books I want to read are delicate, and Master Cansel let me borrow some of them, but he won’t let me borrow the ones I want to read now. Still, I have to pick a subject to study at school, and I might as well pick ancient history.”

“Because it doesn’t really matter?” Harrier asked.

Unfortunately, that was a little too close to the truth. “One subject’s as good as another,” Tiercel answered lightly.

By now they’d reached the area of the docks where the ships that needed more extensive work than could be done on them while they stood at anchor were brought. When a hull needed to be scraped clean of growths—or otherwise repaired—the ship was brought to dry dock, where even the largest hull could be lifted free of the water to be worked on. There were several ships here at the moment, but it was obvious which was the
Marukate
. Her hull was still damp.

And it was obvious why Portmaster Gillain had been in such a hurry to get her into dry dock, even to someone like Tiercel. Her hull looked as if it had been clawed.

There were long white scars in the dark salt-seasoned oak. Deep ones, too, running nearly the length of the ship.

“Could be anything,” Harrier said dismissively, startling Tiercel.
He
thought the gouges in the hull were pretty impressive. “Rocks—even whales.”