Phoenix Rising (2 page)

Then the doors were yanked open from the inside, two figures facing them; the grim fury on their faces gave way to disbelief and shock of recognition.

As one, the two invaders lunged forward.

1

The huge double doors of Victoria Vantage’s ballroom thundered with the three ceremonial strikes:
Strength, Faith, Wisdom
, they seemed to say, and were flung open from outside. Kyri was already on her feet, along with Urelle, as six armored figures trooped in, three on each side and halted. “Assembled of Evanwyl!” Thornfalcon’s voice rang out. “Human and
Artan
, Children of Odin, T’Teranahm and all of the assembled races, the Justiciars of Myrionar greet you!”

Mist Owl’s precise
Artan
tones continued from the other side of the doorway. “In the name of Justice and Vengeance, in the name of Truth and Wisdom, in the name of the Creator of All and in the name of all spirits that live, we bring you greetings and glad news!”

Condor and Shrike stepped forward, one from each line, and turned, facing the open doorway. “The Sword is now balanced. On the one hand is Justice. On the other is Vengeance. But between them is Choice and Judgment. A choice and a judgment have been made this day, and where one has gone to the Sword, another has stepped forward to become the Sword of Judgment itself.” They extended their arms as one as a figure became visible, striding in from the darkness outside. “Evanwyl and all its people behold! This day we are whole once more, for we and Myrionar give to you—the Silver Eagle, reborn to us again as he has ever been!”

Into the light he came, the Eagle-helm shining like a beacon, the silver and black pattern like wings on the armor and cape that streamed behind, towering dramatically over all the others except Condor, longsword at his hip, walking with a measured solemn step; she could see the mouth beneath unable to restrain a joyous grin. She led the cheer of “Silver Eagle!”, but then Urelle burst from her seat, tears streaming down her face, shouting “Rion!”, and the entire room dissolved in laughter and cheers. Rion pulled off the Eagle helm and swept his little sister up into his arms. “Now, now, I’m
Silver Eagle
now, Uri!”

“Lad, it might be too much t’ expect that your family will be forgettin’ your name soon,” Shrike said with a chuckle. “Most o’ us haven’t family, but we all had names, and still have them. Sometimes, we even use them.”

“Rion . . . let me have a look at you.” Victoria put her hands gently on the shoulderguards and stood there silently for a moment, then embraced him hard. “Oh, dear, if only your parents
could
be here to see you, Rion. I know how proud they would be, as proud as I am this day.”

Rion—
Silver Eagle, Justiciar of Myrionar!
—blushed and looked over at Kyri. “What about you, Kyri?”

She tried to say something, but settled for hugging him so hard the armor creaked, feeling something in her finally completely opening like spreading wings, and crying happily. “I knew you’d do it.”

“That’s more than
I
knew.” He hugged her back, then looked back at Aunt Victoria. “Two parties in a week? You’ll go broke, Auntie!”

“Nonsense. Your great-grandmother used to say that one should always have a party just before a great trial, because if things go wrong you at least
had
a party, and if things go right, you have
two
. And so now you have your second. And Kyri actually agreed to dance this time instead of stand around in the corners talking with former adventurers, warriors, and priests!”

Kyri tried not to look embarrassed. But Watchland Velion, the Arms, the other Eyes, and the Justiciars had so many fascinating stories to
tell
. . .

“Now that we are in the home of a brother Justiciar,” Thornfalcon said with a smile, “we are allowed to be . . . more ourselves.” He swept off his own helmet, revealing a long poet’s face that seemed naturally mournful until he smiled, a face framed by long straight brown hair.
And that smile . . . well, I guess I know why he has that reputation with the ladies!

“Indeed.” Mist Owl followed suit, showing the features of the
Artan
, that some called Elves, with surprising black-blue hair around a delicate heart-shaped face with eyes almost as large as his namesake’s. Kyri was startled by his beauty; Lythos, the Vantage household’s
Sho-ka-taida
or Master of Arms, had much of the delicacy of his people in his figure, but a hardness of feature that denied the possibility of beauty being a consideration.

“You won’t be dancing in your armor, I assure you,” Victoria said, interrupting. “Unless you intend to flatten your partners’ feet.” She pointed to the side, where one of her servants held a door open. “Change in there.”

When some of the Justiciars blinked in surprise, she straightened, giving them the same glare she used to give Kyri and Urelle when they failed to wipe their feet properly. “And
immediately
, if you please!”

Mist Owl looked scandalized, but Thornfalcon backed up a pace. It was the short, squat Shrike who took action. “Come, lads!” he said with a chuckle, leading the way at a double-march pace. “Choose your battles wisely, or the battle may choose you.”

Rion stared at her as he was half-dragged away by his new comrades, and Kyri tried to repress a giggle—not altogether successfully.

The crowd did not repress giggles or outright laughter, and spontaneous claps rang out around the room. Kyri, looking around, realized there were even more people here than had been for Rion’s “Good Luck” banquet—the great hall of Vantage Fortress was
crowded
.
There has to be at least one person from every family in Evanwyl for twenty miles! Maybe five hundred, six hundred, more? You
will
go broke if we do this again, Auntie!

But now the ruler of Evanwyl was addressing her aunt. “That . . . was quite impressive, Lady Victoria,” said Jeridan Velion, the Watchland. His long blond hair was bound back in a careless-seeming tail; having fairly long hair herself, Kyri was aware of just how very much effort, and probably a little magic, went into making that simple style work without becoming a mass of tangles or an impediment.

“Not so much,” Victoria said, acknowledging the compliment. “They’re civilized, after all, and would be far too polite than to gainsay a woman in her own house. They just needed a bit of firmness to recognize that they should be acting like guests rather than Myrionar’s moving statues this evening.”

“I am more impressed by the fact that you must have appropriate clothing waiting for them—as I am sure they did not come prepared.” The Watchland’s smile was warm this evening.
It’s odd,
Kyri thought to herself.
Some days I’ve felt very comfortable around the Watchland, other days . . . he seems very cold.
There wasn’t anything she could put a finger on, but he did seem to go through different phases; she reminded herself to ask Urelle if she’d ever noticed anything like that.

Victoria laughed softly. “I should have known you would be thinking a step farther ahead, Watchland. When you’ve been an Adventurer for, oh, thirty years before settling down, you learn to be very prepared indeed. I would expect you would be similarly ready, eh, Jeridan?”

An incline of the Watchland’s head acknowledged the compliment. “Perhaps, perhaps. But you have a far more . . . formidable reputation than I.”

Victoria looked pleased. “Thank you.”

“As would be expected,” Byll Kontrul said affectionately, then his tanned farmer’s face shifted to a mischievous grin, “from the V—”

Aunt Victoria’s narrowed gaze cut him off before he could quite complete the phrase—as she had managed to successfully avert it every other time someone had tried to say it in Kyri’s presence. She had
guesses
as to what the rest was, but no one would ever confirm or deny, and Aunt Victoria staunchly refused to elaborate. It had
something
to do with her Adventuring days, of course.

Politely ignoring the byplay, Watchland looked over at Kyri. “And will you be following in your aunt’s—and your parents’—footsteps? Or will Arbiter Kelsley’s hopes be fulfilled?”

“The Arbiter?”

Her obviously confused response caused Jeridan to smile apologetically. “I seems Kelsley told me things more private than I had thought.” He glanced over, where the Arbiter—highest priest of Myrionar—was speaking to Melni Andris.
Oh, Balance, they lost Elodi in one of the patrols.
The memory
hurt
; she and Elodi were the same age, had played together a lot when they were young; her death was the one dark blot in this wonderful week.
And Melni still
came
? I can’t imagine coming to someone’s party if my daughter was killed!

But the Watchland was continuing and she forced herself to listen. “He has been very pleased with your attentiveness in the Temple, with your memorization of the Way of Justice, and other work in Evanwyl, and it’s clear to me that he is hoping you will become a Seeker soon.”

He is?
The thought made her feel warm inside, despite the lingering empathic ache for what poor Melni must be feeling. “I . . . I am honored that he would want me as a Seeker. But I haven’t decided my path yet.”
I really need to speak to her.
“Would you excuse me, Watchland?”

He followed her gaze, nodded emphatically. “Of course, Kyri. Please, go.”

She reached Melni and the Arbiter just as the holy man of Myrionar was bowing his farewell. “Melni—”

Melni’s tired, red-rimmed eyes met hers, and the sting of tears overwhelmed her. “Oh, Myrionar and Terian, I’m so
sorry
, Melni . . .”

The older woman embraced her, and Kyri heard a small sob before Melni caught herself and pulled gently away, brushing back her gray-streaked brown hair. “Thank you, Kyri. And don’t you tell me I shouldn’t have come,” she said, as Kyri was about to say exactly that. “El . . . El would have been
furious
if I didn’t come to Rion’s celebration. And Balance knows I need some light and cheer in my life now, really.”

Kyri smiled and blinked the tears away. “I . . . thank you. Melni.”

“Besides,” Melni continued, with a deliberately light tone, “I have so many customers showing off here. Business, you know.”

If she wants things to be normal, I certainly won’t stop her. I suppose she’s already done a lot of the crying.
“Of course I do,” Kyri said, and gave a little showoff spin of the long-sleeved green and aqua dress. “Look, your dresses makes even a mountain like me look good.”

The laugh was weak, but it wasn’t forced. “Oh, fishing for compliments, are we? Balance, child, you’re impossible to make look
bad
. I could put you in a pile of
leaves
and you’d make most of the others look as though they were wearing
sacks
.”

Kyri felt her cheeks go warm.
I’m not
nearly
that pretty, and the way I tower over everyone . . .
Fortunately, she saw movement at the far side of the room. “Oh! Here they come.”

The Justiciars emerged to renewed applause, which she joined enthusiastically. Thinking on it, she realized that she’d never seen any of the Justiciars without that mystical, ancient, ceremonial armor that was both their badge of office and, it was said, the source of much of their power and protection against many forms of harm. What was most surprising was Condor;
he can’t be much older than Rion . . . well, four or five years older, I guess
, she thought,
which makes him no more than eight or ten years older than me
. He and Rion were almost of identical height, six foot six inches, although Condor was considerably broader across the shoulders, past which fell brilliant red hair. Shrike, Condor’s constant companion, was a grizzled bear of a man, nearly a foot shorter than his friend but if anything slightly heavier, with none of it fat. She saw Condor glance at her and mutter something to Shrike, who grinned and said something back; she thought she caught the ancient word
sirza
.

Skyharrier was also startling; he was one of the
Saelar
, the Winged Folk, but the armor usually restrained the great white, bronze, and gold wings that now stretched wide as he bowed to the applause, hair of the same bronze-white-gold shades tumbling around his face as he did. Bolthawk, as compact and strong as his namesake, was one of the
Odinsyrnen
, Children of Odin, the shortest of the Justiciars by far but no less formidable, with a sharp, pointed little black beard, short-cut dark hair, and twinkling black eyes like polished onyx.

Everyone was seated mostly according to plan (there were always a few people who decided to switch seats), the huge ballroom filled with multiple tables to hold all the guests. The largest table, of course, was reserved for the Justiciars, the Watchland, and a few others, including of course the family of the newly chosen Silver Eagle. Kyri also kept an eye on the two large tables on either side; those were the traditional Server’s Tables—set aside for those who spent time serving the other people attending. Serving was hard work, but those doing the work were supposed to take shifts and had some of the best food set aside for them. Vanstell, the Master of House, saw her looking and gestured for her to pay attention to her own table. She smiled and nodded at the small, perfectly dressed pale-skinned man.
Van will make sure everyone gets their share.

Rion was at the head of the table, of course, with the Watchland to one side and Aunt Victoria on the other. This put her next to the Watchland and across from Urelle, who sat beside their aunt, bracketed by Thornfalcon on the other side. Sasha Rithair, one of the Watchland’s Arms and also Evanwyl’s only summoner and trained mage, sat on Kyri’s left. The others ranged down the table, ending with Skyharrier at the foot of the table so that his wings would not crowd anyone else.

Thornfalcon smiled at her with green-brown twinkling eyes. “I am indeed blessed,” he said, with a comical exaggeration that made her laugh. “Here I am with a lady on one hand and two across from me; what other man at this table is so fortunate? Save, of course, you, my lord,” he added to the Watchland, “as is only proper.”