The Phoenix Endangered (41 page)

At the steps, Harrier abandoned his last hope that Tiercel would simply be thanked and dismissed. The Consul gestured, obviously expecting all three of them to follow him up the broad steps. Since they still had half-a-dozen soldiers behind them, there was little doubt that they would.

Harrier had never been inside the Consul’s Palace. Tiercel had been here several times, since a number of the maps and records he’d consulted in the past sennights were located here, but Harrier had never gone. He’d gotten the impression, though, from everything that Tiercel’d said, that the place was kind of … spacious.

If it was, there was no way to tell right now, because it was as jammed full of people as the main marketplace at the height of selling time. Every noble and rich merchant in the entire city—and probably every member of their families, and most of their servants—were here, jammed into the outer courts of the Palace, and all of them were talking at once. The Consul’s personal guard shoved through them ruthlessly—Harrier had to admire their efficiency, even while something inside him cringed every time someone went sprawling because of a too-enthusiastic shove. Their methods worked, though. Soon enough the Consul’s party had worked its way through several sets of rooms—each set less crowded than the last, though there were people in all of them—until finally they were in rooms that were—nearly—empty.

At least they were empty of
people.
They were furnished with a degree of opulence that would have made Harrier blink if he hadn’t been a guest in an Elven household where the plates laid out on the table for dinner each evening were probably worth more than the contents of this entire palace.

“I thought you would be more comfortable here,” the Consul said, turning to them.

Than in our own home?
Harrier wondered.
Yeah, right.

“Are we prisoners?” Tiercel asked, looking around. A footman stood quietly just inside the door. The Consul’s personal guard waited outside in the corridor. The Light-Priest and his retinue—and the City Guards—had left them at the last set of rooms. It was just them now—Tiercel and the Telchi and Consul Aldarnas and him—and it should have been reassuring, but somehow, Harrier had felt less nervous when there’d been more guards.

“Could I hold you prisoner if you did not wish to be held?” the Consul asked.

“No,” Tiercel answered simply. “Please believe me. I only want to help.”

“Of course,” the Consul said, and Harrier felt faintly uneasy. “But I must ask you, with this great power that you possess, why did you not come forward sooner? Why conceal yourself among my citizens?”

He did not even glance toward the Telchi, but Harrier knew that Consul Aldarnas was perfectly aware that the Telchi had brought them to Tarnatha’Iteru and sheltered them and he probably suspected that the Telchi knew far more than he’d told.

“What difference would it have made?” Tiercel answered. “Either you’d think I was crazy, or—maybe—you’d think I was the reason the army was coming here in the first place. Which doesn’t make much sense if they’ve been destroying cities for at least four moonturns and I only got here a moonturn and a half ago.”

“If you aren’t allied with them, how do you know how long they’ve been attacking the
Iteru
-cities for?” the Consul asked.

“Because they’re Isvaieni,” Harrier said, taking half a step forward. “And when we arrived, people were saying that nobody had seen any Isvaieni since Snows—if not longer.”

The Consul turned and looked at him, and Harrier saw in his eyes the knowledge that Harrier wasn’t telling everything he knew. He had a sudden mad impulse to confess, to tell the Consul that no, he wasn’t a High Mage, but he
was
a Wildmage. A moment later he realized with a feeling almost of panic that his Three Books were back at the Telchi’s, and he probably wasn’t going to be able to go and get them, or even send the Telchi to get them, because the Telchi was certainly under as much suspicion now as he and Tiercel were, and there was no one else he could possibly send. But he kept silent with an effort, and after a moment, the Consul merely nodded.

“The city is … unsettled,” he said. “I shall tell my people there is nothing to fear, and that the light they see in the sky will defend them.” He paused, regarding Tiercel. “It is said that the High Mages of old had many other spells at their command. Is there more you can do to save this city?”

Tiercel hesitated for a long moment. “I know what you’re thinking,” he said finally. “I’ve read those stories too. The old High Mages slew the Endarkened, and called down lightning out of the sky. Those aren’t spells I know. I’m sorry. If I did know them, I might be able to use them. I’ll try to think of something that will help.”

“I hope—for all our sakes—that you can,” the Consul said. He nodded to both of them, and walked from the room.

Tiercel looked at the Telchi. “You could …” he began, and the Telchi smiled. “Yeah, I guess not,” Tiercel said, sighing. “Wait outside,” he said to the footman. The servant bowed and withdrew, and Tiercel walked over and closed the door.

The Telchi was in motion, walking through the inner rooms, opening the shutters and peering out, closing them again. “We are alone,” he announced, returning.

Harrier sat down on the nearest chair, feeling suddenly exhausted. “Are you all right?” he asked, looking at Tiercel.

Tiercel shrugged, sitting down as well. “Sure. It isn’t hard to hold the spell, not with Ancaladar’s power to draw on. I just have to be … awake.” His voice flattened on the last word, and Harrier glanced at the Telchi. The man’s
face was grim, and Harrier knew they were both thinking the same thing: that Tiercel had bought the city a little time, but not very much.

“I do not think this spell will drive them off,” the Telchi said quietly.

“Not since they seem to think we’re the Darkspawn,” Tiercel said in frustration. “I don’t know where they could have gotten such a stupid idea.”

“From the Endarkened, where else?” Harrier said irritably. He didn’t want to be angry at Tiercel, but he didn’t think he’d ever been so frightened in his life—not even when they’d been facing the Goblins and he’d been certain he was going to die within the next few minutes. “Think about it, Tyr. You don’t even have to subvert them if you can just convince them that the people you want them to destroy are evil. They’ll go out and do it thinking they’re doing good.”

Tiercel laughed raggedly. “Oh, that’s just great! Even if I
did
know how to call down lightning—which, fortunately, I don’t—how could I possibly use it against a bunch of innocent people?”

“The inhabitants of Kabipha’Iteru and Laganda’Iteru would perhaps disagree with you as to the innocence of this army,” the Telchi said. “Were any of them still alive. And if this army is not stopped, the people of Tarnatha’Iteru will join their fellows in death. And so will we.”

Tiercel looked from one to the other of them, wild-eyed. “What do you want me to do?” he asked desperately. “What do you want me to
do?”

“We will think, together, calmly, of what you may do,” the Telchi said. “And then we will plan.”

But as it turned out, there wasn’t a very great deal that Tiercel
could
do in defense of the city beyond what he was doing now. Ancaladar and Tiercel had been working—very hard—at the High Magick ever since they had Bonded. And nearly all of their work had been on shields.

“And wards,” Tiercel said, with the air of one who knew it wasn’t very helpful. “Which means if we were to be
attacked by a High Mage, an Elven Mage, or certain sorts of Otherfolk, I’d be all set.”

“And why was he having you learn something that… useless?” Harrier demanded.

“Because the Endarkened are classified as Otherfolk, Har,” Tiercel said, sounding defeated. “He was teaching me to protect myself against the Endarkened.”

“Do not apologize for being prepared to do battle, even if you are not prepared for the battle that has been offered,” the Telchi said.

“Well, you weren’t just casting a bunch of wards and shields at Blackrowan Farm,” Harrier said.

“Transmutation,” Tiercel said. He smiled painfully. “If we were the attacking army, that would actually be useful. I could turn the walls to water. As it is, no.”

“Can this spell be used on living flesh?” the Telchi asked.

“No!” Tiercel said in horror. Then: “No,” more quietly. “It can’t. And even if it could … it would kill them.”

“Sometimes some must die so that others may live,” the Telchi said.

“You aren’t talking about ‘some,’” Harrier said grimly. “Unless they’re all killed, whichever ones aren’t dead will just go on with their attack. So you’re talking about killing almost five thousand people.”

“There are nearly that number within this city,” the Telchi said remorselessly. “It seems a choice must be made.”

“Not by me,” Tiercel said. He got to his feet and strode away.

Harrier wasn’t sure what to do, not really. He’d hoped, when he’d first heard the word “army,” that it would be, well,
smaller
—if there was one thing he’d learned growing up on the docks of Armethalieh, it was how much a tale grew in the telling. He’d hoped, too, that no matter what size this army was, it would be something that Tiercel could frighten away. Because that had been a
good
plan: to convince the enemy that Tarnatha’Iteru was a place that just wasn’t worth their trouble.

But now that he’d seen the army and listened to Zanattar, he just didn’t think that it was going to work. And it wasn’t … fair … that Tiercel should have to make decisions like this (because the final decision was Tiercel’s, Harrier knew; nobody could force him to cast a spell). The trouble was both Tiercel and the Telchi were right. In one sense, it didn’t matter how many people the Isvaieni outside the gates had killed. They’d been tricked into doing it, so killing them just because you could was wrong. They deserved a trial, a sentence, the same protection of law that anyone else living in the lands ruled by the High Magistrate got. And in another sense, if they
weren’t
killed immediately, by anyone who could (and the only one who might be able to was Tiercel, Harrier knew that perfectly well), they’d kill everyone in Tarnatha’Iteru as soon as they could. And they weren’t going to just go away.

“I’m hungry,” he said, because he realized he was. It might be ridiculous to think about breakfast at a time like this, but he’d already been up for hours, and his stomach didn’t care whether there was an army outside the city or not.

“I do not think the Consul means to starve us,” the Telchi said. “I shall go and see what may be arranged.”

When the Telchi was gone, Harrier went and found Tiercel. He was in one of the inner rooms, staring out the window through the closed lattice. The room was set up for sleeping; the coverlet on the single low bed was heavy silk—the most expensive sort there was, the kind that shifted between colors depending on how the light hit it. Most silk of this kind only showed one other color: this silk showed three—there were gold and blue and even pink highlights in the green, and it was another slightly-unwelcome reminder of how rich and powerful the man was who currently had them as so-called guests beneath his roof.

“Hey,” Harrier said, sitting down on the bed. His clothes
were dusty and smelled of horse, and he realized it didn’t really matter if he ruined the expensive silk or not. One way or another, nobody was going to care.

“What?” Tiercel said sullenly.

“Breakfast’s coming,” Harrier said. “And … I figured you were going to explain to me, oh, why you didn’t want to call up Ancaladar to chase those guys off.”

“It wouldn’t work,” Tiercel said, flopping into a chair. It creaked alarmingly, but he didn’t even wince.

“You could try.”

“If MageShield didn’t scare them off, what in the name of the Light
will?
They might scatter for a day or so, but they’ll regroup and come back. And they have javelins. I’ve read about the Isvaieni. In the desert, they hunt using spears and arrows and a kind of heavy curved sword called an
awardan.
They throw their spears.”

“Ancaladar has scales.”

“He has wings, too. And if he flies low enough to scare them at all, he flies within javelin range. If his wings are badly damaged enough, he can’t fly.”

“So—really—you’re saying there’s pretty much no point because he wouldn’t really scare them anyway,” Harrier said. Tiercel flashed him a grateful smile, then turned back to the window.

“Tyr,” Harrier said, hating himself. “The Telchi won’t think of it because he wasn’t there—at Windy Meadows—but … you could cast Fire.” He knew Tiercel didn’t want to think of it. He didn’t want to think of it either. But the words had to be said.

“No,” Tiercel said.

“Tyr
—” Harrier said desperately.

Tiercel turned away from the window again. “They won’t leave! You know they won’t! And you said it yourself—unless they’re all
dead
, the survivors will attack the city! I’d have to set five thousand people on fire,” he finished quietly. “I can’t. I’m sorry.” He gazed at Harrier, and his expression was suddenly more bitter and angry than Harrier had ever seen. “Could you?”

“Me?” Harrier asked in shock.

Tiercel smiled coldly. “Fire. The first spell. The simplest spell. Of the High Magick and the Wild Magic both. If I can set the Isvaieni army on fire, Har, so can you. You’re already pretty good at Fire. Still, you might need to practice for a day or two, on little things. Stray dogs, maybe, or horses—”

“Stop it.”

“Why? Easy enough for you to ask me to do. Do you think they wouldn’t scream as they died? The Goblins did.”

“They killed Simera!”

“I know!
I know,” Tiercel said again, more quietly. “If I could have—if I’d thought, if I’d known—I would have killed them sooner. But I can’t stop hearing their screams.” He turned away, back to the window, and Harrier saw him bring his hands up to rub his eyes.

Tiercel would have killed the Goblins. If Harrier had possessed the Three Books—and the power—back at Windy Meadows, he would have done it too. But this was different. This was five thousand
people
, and Tiercel was right. They’d been tricked into doing this.