The Phoenix Ring (The Thunderheart Chronicles Book 1) (23 page)

              Soon the middle of the stone road was the only place not touched by the flames.  When they reached the griffin stables almost all of the creatures had broken their harness and scattered, as had the stable boys and merchants.  The hay on the ground was burning swiftly, drawing ever nearer to the stable's only occupant, the practically untamed griffin.  It was already saddled, the stable boy had explained to Aaliyah that the last person to attempt to unsaddle it had received a claw mark in gratitude.

              Aaliyah ran to the creature, who was letting out frightened mewing noises, and guided Aidan to its side.  He was somehow aware enough to climb up onto its back and curl into a ball.  Aaliyah drew a knife and slashed harness holding the griffin in place.  She was about to leap onto its back when a wave of pain ran from the base of her spine to her neck.  The griffin was about to leap into the air and leave the girl when she felt a hand grab her wrist.  She just barely managed to pull herself onto the beast as it leapt into the air, shattering the stable ceiling.

              Aidan sat up above the saddle to look down on the fast retreating city.

             
What have I done?
he thought.

              For half the city of Argentah, from the main road west, was burning.

15

              Argentah was no stranger to disaster.  From raiders to earthquakes, the city was remarkably resilient.  Fire was a common problem, due to the shabby construction of most of the city.  After a large blaze had consumed most of the city five years back, the people of Argentah had formed an efficient system for quenching the flames, each person with a specific task.  Whether it was to fetch water, man the well, or stifle the fire itself, each person knew where they were supposed to be.  It was because of this system that most of the fire was contained within one hour after the first two buildings fell.  As the men began to walk back to their houses, or what was left of them, two hooded figures joined them on the road.  They fell into place behind John Abbot, a griffin merchant who had lost more than anyone else.  Most merchants could afford to lose some of their wares, but a griffin merchant could spend his entire life savings on one beast, hoping to get a better return.  John had lost all but one of his griffins, who he was going home to care for.  It was a class two, and might offer enough reward for John to move out of town and away from angry creditors. 

              He never noticed the two men following him into his stable, nor did he feel anything when the taller one slid a dagger between his ribs. 

              The men saddled and mounted the griffin and took to the air without a word, leaving John Abbot lying on the ground, motionless.

              A griffin’s saddle is shaped more like a bowl than any other saddle, which was a good thing for Aidan.  He had imagined that riding a griffin would feel exhilarating and free, but instead the constant up and down motions of the wings only made the young mage nauseous.  He spent most of the ride curled up in the back of the four foot long basin, while Aaliyah took the reins and fought with the stubborn beast, who had decided that it would rather fly south than north.  About three hours before dawn they arrived at the northern seashore. 

              The first thing that struck Aidan was the smell.  It was salty and fresh, carried by a cool breeze over the waves lapping quietly on the sand.  The second was the water.  Never in all his life had Aidan seen so much water, shining as the light of the moon and stars bounced off its rough surface. 

              Aaliyah steered the griffin downwards onto the seashore, and then made the beast walk the last few feet to the tree line, all the time never seeming to notice the raw power of the ocean that so overwhelmed Aidan.

              She hopped to the ground, landed a little unsteadily, and then wrapped the reins three times around a tree.  Aidan managed to jump/fall off the griffin, careful not to land on his left arm, as the amogh gave the creature water from her flask. 

              Aidan knew that, in the absence of food, a griffin could survive on pure magic, and so he had periodically given the creature a burst of power from his staff.  As he got off, he gave the creature one last stream of magic.

             
I wish Timothy was here
.  Aidan thought.  The spell he was using was far too basic, most of the magic was lost into the atmosphere, leaving Aidan completely drained and the griffin still hungry.  Aidan was sure his friend would know how to conserve energy and still feed the beast. 
I wonder where he is now.

              “What trees do you want for your hammock?”  Aidan asked Aaliayah, who was sitting on a rock overlooking the ocean. 

              “I don’t care,” the girl answered, her voice barely audible.

              Aidan sighed and went to sit down beside her.  Neither spoke for a few minutes as a warm breeze blew from the ocean. 

              “You knew that wizard, didn’t you,” Aidan said.  Aaliyah didn’t respond.

              The mage looked at the amogh and was surprised to see tear tracks streaking from her eye, following the path of the scar down her face.

              Aidan closed his eyes.

              “I know you like to be strong,” he said, “I know you don’t want to show any weakness or anger.  That you feel if you do show weakness then you won’t be contain it, that it will flood out and consume you, I-“ Aidan had to stop and steady his breath.  “I have the same burn in me.  But if you hold it in, then it will just keep building up until you explode.”

              For a moment, Aidan felt a rush of red hot power run through his chest.

              “I know it’s hard.  But you don’t have to do it alone.”

              They sat in silence for a few minutes.  Just when Aidan was about to stand to set up the hammock, Aaliyah began to speak.

              “My parents passed away when I was a baby…”
 

              Eric and Leonor Brennon trudged through the forest, the latter bearing the most precious thing a person could hold.  A human life.  The child was small, but already strong, as all amoghs were. 

              “Are you sure we are doing the right thing?” Leonor asked her husband. 

              “Yes,” Eric said, helping his wife over a log that had fallen on the path.  “Borin may be a little rough around the edges, but my older brother is brave and strong.  I trust that he will care for our girl, with the help of Camp Ward.  Besides, our life is far too dangerous for a little girl, and far too important to abandon now.”

              “I know,” Leonor said, “but I’m just not sure if he’s the parenting-“

              She was cut off as a large man wearing a tattered, dusty deerskin stepped onto the path.  Eric’s hand immediately fell to his sword.

              “Who are you?” he asked, as Leonor unsheathed a dagger under her cloak.  Neither saw any weapons on the man, but that meant little if he knew how to hide them.

              “Just a traveler passing through.” the man said with a large smile full of rotting teeth.

              Eric’s eyes narrowed.  “Why would a traveler be going on an old side path through a forest in the middle of nowhere?”

              The strange man laughed.  “I could ask you the same thing, friend.  I’m a hunter, and I find it easiest to find the deer when no one else is around.  Is it a boy or a girl?”

              Eric didn’t remove his hand from his sword, but he did let the hunter see his child.

              “Her name is Aaliyah,” Leonor said.

              The man smiled.  “Aaliyah.  She’ll fetch a fine price.”

              A slower man would have pondered the hunter’s words or at least taken a moment to register what had been said, but not Eric.  The amogh had drawn his sword and thrust it into the hunter’s side before he had time to react.  But the small family had no time to rest, for at that moment ten more men stepped out from the brush, completely surrounding the amoghs.

              Eric managed to stab the first one before three more pinned him down, but his actions gave his wife the time she needed to roll away from her would-be captors. 

              “Stop!” one of the men restraining Eric yelled.  Leonor whipped around, as the baby started to cry.  “All we want is the child.  If you give her to us, your husband will live.”

              Leonor stared at Eric, his face pressed to the ground and blood leaking from his nose.  If she had been older, maybe she would have ran.  As it was, the girl was only eighteen, and her husband one year older. 

              She stepped forward one grueling step at a time until she reached the first of the ambushers, who snatched the baby from her hands.

              The man who had spoken last laughed.  “Stupid girl,” he said, and brought the sword down.  Eric never blinked.

              Leonor screamed a moment before she was impaled by different sword.  The last thing she remembered was her screaming child, held upside down by a ruthless amogh slaver.

              Borin ran into the clearing from which he had heard his sister’s in law distinct echoing scream.  By the time he got there it was too late.  Eric’s head was held up by a spike in the center, and Leonor sat propped against a tree, blood leaking from her stomach.

              The amogh warrior wasted no time lamenting his little brother, but ran to the fallen girl.

              “Leonor, where is the baby?” he asked.  He knew she didn’t have much time.

              “Th-they took her,” she mumbled, struggling to keep her eyes half opened.

              “Who?  Who took her?”  he asked, pressing his hands against  the wound in her stomach in a futile attempt to staunch the blood flow.

              “I don’t know. He-“ she had to stop to cough up even more blood, “he was dressed in deer skins.  Go find her, now,” she said, feebly trying to push him away.

              “I will, I promise,” he answered, keeping his face as straight as he could.  “Just tell me one more thing.  What was her name?”

              “A-Aaliyah,” Leonor said, and then breathed her last, joining her husband in silence.

              Borin stood slowly.  “I’ll find you, Aaliyah,” he said, as his hands clenched into fists.  “I swear I’ll never stop searching until you are found.”

              And so he did.  It was three months later that he killed the man clothed in deer skin and all his followers.  He used poison to do it, making sure to let the solution be diluted enough to keep them in pain at least as long as they had let Leonor suffer.  By the time he found them Aaliyah had already been sold, but to whom he never learned.

              From there he spent six years of his life tracing the girl, always one step behind, leaving a string of bodies in his wake.  Then, one day, she vanished.

              He searched a whole year with no luck.  It was then that he started drinking in the bars of Argentah.  Fate would have it that he was sitting at the corner table of one such bar when he looked up and saw her.  He was so used to seeing her in his dreams, in the face of every little girl he met; especially when he was drunk, that he was no longer surprised.  The apparition would go away in a moment, and she would be replaced by a perfectly normal girl sitting with her wizard father.

             
Wait, a wizard?
  Borin thought, his senses suddenly on full alert, or at least as alert as they could be in a drunken stupor.

              He looked up again.  Though he had never seen her in the flesh, he had seen so many drawings, so many “Slave for Sale” posters, that her face would be forever ingrained in his memory. 

              For a moment he just watched her, feeling excitement replace disbelief.  She was strong and graceful, even at seven years old.  She was as beautiful as her mother, and as confident as her father, though her life had been filled with misery.

The wizard, also drunk, was having a very loud conversation with another man.  Eventually, both ran out of ale and pushed their mugs into the girl’s hands.  She turned and walked to the keg, her face devoid of any expression.

              Borin saw his chance and stood, though it took him a moment to steady himself, and made his way to the girl’s master, politely waiting for a break in the conversation.
              “Sir, I was wondering, is your girl for sale?” Borin asked.