The Record of the Saints Caliber Read online

  When the Call of Duroton ended, cheers erupted from the bleachers and rattled the very night air. After a very long moment the crowd settled down and the orchestra began to play the March of Duroton. The bass drummers began beating on their drums in a metered throb. Slowly, the double-basses and cellos began in, followed by the tubas and bassbellows. Finally, the trumpets, snare drums and violins started in, all playing the deep and driving music of the March of Duroton.

  “Your Grace,” said Egret from atop his horse. “Are you ready?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.” said Brandrir.

  Egret spurred Snowbreaker forward. With a creak, the chariot gave way and he led the procession of Royal Guardsmen from the castle portcullis as the droning music played out. After the last of the Guardsmen had left, Brandrir gave about a fifty-foot pause before he himself stepped out. Like thunder the crowds from above erupted all around him, drowning out the music. Their cheers spread until the entire arena was filled with their voices. With each step Brandrir took the people tossed the fiery red blooms of the phoenix chrysanthemum upon his path. It was the national flower of Duroton and the red, yellow and orange petals were perfectly reminiscent of the feathers of the phoenix for which they were named.

  Brandrir marched slow and steady, being sure to keep the fifty-foot break between the last Guardsman and himself. As he neared the stadium he could see the royal seats at the fore of the arena. They were done up with flags and banners, brightly illuminated by torches. He could not see his father or brother from this distance, but he knew that they were there, surrounded by all the Councilmen and their attendants. Honored guests and high-ranking nobles would be there with them too. Surrounding them were all the people of Duroton who had come from near and far to bear witness of the phoenix. To say Brandrir was nervous would be an understatement. He had prepared for bloody battles countless times, but never before had his stomach ever felt this fluttery.

  Brandrir tried to breathe slow and deep as he marched toward the risen stage to the music of the March of Duroton, which played out somewhere within the thunder of the crowds. The Jinn stood there, watching and waiting. A wide ramp led up to the top of the stage, and as Egret rode his horse and chariot up the ramp, the Royal Guardsmen broke off, forming up lines on either side.

  When Egret neared the top of the stage, two of the Jinn opened a latch on the front of the giant, bronze crown. Egret rode his horse into it. Once inside, a pair of Guardsmen quickly unhooked the chariot from Snowbreaker and then unlatched a door at the opposite side. Egret and Snowbreaker exited the crown, leaving the chariot and the phoenix egg within the center of it. The Jinn and their assistants closed both doors, sealing the giant crown back up, just as Brandrir began his march up the ramp. Once he made it to the top of the stage the crowds went wild, and their candles ebbed and flowed in the bleachers.

  Brandrir looked out toward the royal seats. He could just barely see his father sitting slumped in a large chair, padded with pillows and blankets. His brother Dagrir sat next to him. Around them he could make out all the Councilmen, and nearby were also a number of Dark Star Knights. Brandrir bit his lip and exhaled deeply. He could not see Etheil or Solastron amongst them. He looked up for a brief moment, to the black sky of night where just a handful of stars twinkled and the crescent moon loomed in the north.

  The Jinn all raised their hands and slowly the crowd began to die down, until at last silence overtook the stadium. Brandrir could feel a palpable tension amongst the people, and even from the Jinn. Everybody had heard of the prophecies foretold by the Jinn and Brandrir knew that some part of the gathered crowds was expecting the worst. This was the most anticipated Rising of the Phoenix that had been held in two centuries.

  Brandrir stood straight and tall in his armor as the Jinn surrounded him in an arc. They looked at him through their gleaming, emerald lenses.

  “Brandrir Thorodin,” they began in unison, their strange, metallic voices reverberating through the arena. “The Lands of Duroton have called you here this day to be appraised by all who would take witness. Do you stand here freely, by your own will, beneath the Duroton sky, to be judged worthy by the Lands?”

  “I do.” said Brandrir loudly. All around him, from the silent bleachers, he could see the thousands of points of flickering candlelight. Part of him couldn’t help but think that that was what the Duroton sky had once looked like.

  Here, one of the Jinn stepped to the fore and stood before Brandrir, holding his father’s crown. It was an ancient thing, having been passed from King to King, Thorodin to Thorodin, for a thousand years. “Brandrir Thorodin, first-born son of Garidrir Thorodin, do you accept the Crown of Duroton, and with it, all the burdens the Lands may ask of you?”

  “I do.” Brandrir said as loudly as he could.

  “Do you swear beneath the Duroton sky to faithfully uphold the Oath of the Throne?”

  “I do.”

  “Then, beneath the Duroton sky, and before all here who take witness, take a knee to the Lands and swear upon Her your Oath.”

  Brandrir inhaled deeply and touched his right knee to the ground and bowed his body, placing his palms up and flat upon the stage floor. He craned his neck to the starless, black sky and spoke as loudly and certainly as he could. “I, Brandrir Thorodin, son of Garidrir Thorodin, do swear beneath the Duroton sky to take the Throne of the King on behalf of the sons and daughters of Duroton. I shall hold no office higher than the Lands themselves; I shall seek no greater reward than I bring upon the Lands themselves. My very will shall be to the Lands and Her People. I ask that Duroton and Her Sons and Daughters judge me this day and rise a phoenix in my name, should I be found worthy to wear Her crown.”

  Here, six of the Jinn took up places around the large, bronze crown at the center of the stage. The Jinn who held the crown stood before Brandrir and said, “Rise and be judged by the Lands.”

  Brandrir stood up. The Jinn took up a place at the front of the large crown where the chariot bearing the phoenix egg within the copper nest sat. Brandrir could hear some valves beneath the stage being turned and then the hiss of gas. The Jinn held the crown high above his head just as a fire erupted beneath the chariot, consuming it and filling the bronze crown. The roaring fires engulfed the copper nest and began licking at the blackened egg.

  “On behalf of the sons and daughters of Duroton, we ask that the Lands accept Brandrir Thorodin, first-born son of Garidrir Thorodin, as Her King.” said the Jinn, holding the crown high before the roaring fires. “If the Lands so accept him as Her King, we ask that this phoenix be risen in his name.”

  Brandrir stood watching as the fires swirled around the egg, lapping at its shell. There was a breathless awe in the air that Brandrir could feel coming from the audience, and it surrounded the entire stage. Brandrir breathed deeply.

  Slowly, the black outer crust of the egg began to pop and crack and then peel away and flake off into the fires. A sulfuric smell began to emanate and the shell began to show veins of pulsing heat. By degrees the egg began to rock within the fires. A crack appeared near the top of the egg. Through the dancing flames Brandrir caught the first glimpse of the creature’s beak. It was as black and glossy as polished obsidian, shaped like a wedge with a wicked curve. It poked it’s beak out again, then again, its motions becoming more frantic as the fracture began to creep down the shell’s length. Now Brandrir thought he caught sight of one of the bird’s large, black eyes and perhaps its crimson feathers. Then, all at once, the egg split down one side.

  Brandrir had never seen a phoenix hatch before. Like most people in Duroton, he had seen one or two fly up into the heavens from a distant, burning forest. His father had told him a long time ago that when a phoenix egg cracks it sounds like fracturing stone, and that the shell breaks cleanly apart and falls off in two large halves. But that wasn’t happening here. The egg remained together but entirely cracked, as if something near its base was preventing its full separation. From beyond the wall of licking flames B
randrir could see the large bird struggling. It kept forcing its black beak through the fracture, but it was not fully breaking open. And each time the creature retracted its head back in, the egg closed back up.

  All around the flames lapped at the egg or swirled in a fiery vortex. The bird became more frantic and Brandrir could see it writhing about within the shell. One of the wings slipped through the crack. Beautiful crimson, orange and yellow feathers splayed out within the fire. Then, from the top of the egg, the creature’s beak broke, and a moment later its entire head popped out. The flames licked at its face but did not burn it. The phoenix was born with its feathers coated with a temporary protective film that allowed it to escape the fires it was born within. The bird cried out, its shrill voice piercing the night sky. It struggled, its wing flailing in the fires, its neck struggling and stretching, trying to force itself from the shell.

  Something isn’t right. That was all Brandrir could think. Even the Jinn seemed to notice it, and he caught them turning their heads at each other, as if they too were trying to figure out what was happening. Brandrir could sense tension in the crowd too. He couldn’t hear it, but he could almost feel the murmur rippling out amongst the bleachers.

  Then the bird’s other wing poked through. It opened its beak wide and another tremulous screech rang out, but it sounded nothing like the first. It sounded somehow more desperate. The phoenix thrashed about and struggled and finally the two halves split apart fully, allowing the bird to free itself, though the two halves of the shell remained curiously connected in the bottom of the copper nest. The creature flapped out its wings, presenting its amazing span. Its dark eyes looked out to the night sky and its slender, crimson body stretched out. It screamed again and flapped its wings, sending waves of fiery heat toward Brandrir.

  All around the bird the flames licked at it, and Brandrir began to notice the edges of some of its feathers starting to singe. It flapped again and again, its body flopping clumsily inside the copper nest. And that’s when Brandrir noticed its feet. Its black legs, devoid of feathers, did not end in long feet or talons. They were deformed clubs of misanthropic flesh, fused by bloody tissues to the sides of the egg.

  The creature flapped and flopped but did not rise. The feathers upon its wings and body now began to smolder, and instead of sulfur Brandrir now got the unmistakable reek of burnt hair. The creature shrieked and flapped and fell clumsily out of the nest and into the fires of the giant, bronze crown. An audible gasp coursed through the stadium and even the Jinn backed up. The giant bird emerged from the flames, flapping, sending embers of burnt feathers wafting out in all directions. It screamed and screeched and struggled to rise, and then all at once was engulfed in a ball of fire. The bird crumpled and fell into the flames, lifeless, smoldering, popping and crackling as embers of feathers swirled up into the night sky.

  In all of Durotonian history, never before had a phoenix failed to rise. As shock and horror spread through the stadium, the Jinn all began looking at each other in a stunned befuddlement Brandrir had never seen from them. The one with the crown clutched it to his chest and they all began exchanging glances amongst themselves and at Brandrir. He could hear chaos among the bleachers. The thousands of candles all began moving and flickering, many of them being extinguished. There were random shouts and screams. Brandrir looked to the seats where his father and brother and Council were. He could see the Councilmen all pointing toward the stadium, all of them in an uproar, with his brother struggling to keep the peace.

  The Jinn now approached Brandrir, forming an arc before him. The one who clutched the crown to his breast looked at Brandrir, its emerald eyes sparkling in the firelight. It raised a gloved finger to him. “The Lands have denounced you!”

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  Etheil sat in the corner of his cell, Solastron sitting at his side. The Black Cells were a particularly lonesome section of the dungeons, far removed from the rest of the castle. They were made exclusively to hold Dark Star Knights, and to Etheil’s knowledge, he was the first to be locked in one in over a hundred years. Here, in the very roots of a forgotten basement, the walls were all made of black bricks, each one cast with a particular rune that glowed green in the darkness. There was a rumor amongst the Dark Star Knights that the bricks were black because they were made of fallen stars. Etheil didn’t know if it was true or not, but the bricks did all have a metallic feel to them and the cell smelled of spent gunpowder. The windowless, steel door was painted black as well and bore the same glowing rune on it. Here, in a Black Cell, not even the strongest Dark Star Knight could break free. The magic infused into the cell by the runes prevented any Dark Star power from taking hold and Etheil was as powerless and impotent as any man.

  In the soft, green glow of the runic bricks Solastron’s shiny, blue fur seemed more turquoise and his purple stripes brown. Etheil saw his ears twitching and the giant wolf cocked his head slightly. “What is it your ears hear, old friend?”

  Solastron rumbled a low growl, as if in contemplation. After a long moment he looked at Etheil and said very softly, “I believe the guards have gone.”

  Etheil raised an eyebrow and stroked Solastron’s head. “You sure it’s safe for you to speak?”

  The wolf’s ears twitched some more and Etheil could see his black nostrils flaring. “They are gone. All of them.”

  Etheil and Solastron had a pact that was as old as their friendship. It was a simple one. Solastron had saved Etheil from the long night in the Blue Wilds, and in return, Etheil would keep Solastron’s secrets. In many ways, Etheil knew he had the better end of the bargain. Not only was his life saved, but he got an amazing companion out of the deal. As an 8-year old boy, having a giant blue and purple wolf who could speak would have been the envy of every child. All Etheil had to do was keep the speaking thing to himself. Even still, having a giant blue and purple wolf who (so far as anybody knew) couldn’t speak still proved to be the envy of everybody. So envious, in fact, that shortly after his return the kids all started calling him dog-boy, a monicker that stuck even to this day.

  Etheil stood up and stretched out. He was still in his shroud and his armor but they had taken his sword, Firebrand, and the cell prevented any of his Dark Star powers from working. He could see many things were troubling his old friend and this was the fist time they could talk openly since they arrived in Durtania a few days ago. They had accompanied Brandrir to the city, and upon arriving Solastron bounded off, something the wolf was apt to do whenever they came to a new place or a location they had not been in a long time. The first time he had seen Solastron since arriving at the castle was when he burst through the King’s bedroom window.

  “There is a great commotion outside,” rumbled Solastron. He released a slow, contemplative grumble.

  “The Rising of the Phoenix has probably begun,” said Etheil. He walked over to the steel door and placed his ear to it, but he could hear nothing. “I’m sure the guards couldn’t help but sneak off to go see the phoenix hatch.”

  “No,” said Solastron, padding over to Etheil. “Something is amiss.” He began sniffing at the bottom of the door, his ears focusing as if they could hear far beyond the steel barrier. He rumbled again and looked up. “There is much commotion outside the castle.”

  Etheil placed a hand on Solastron’s head and rubbed his soft ears. He couldn’t help but think about the prophesy of the Jinn and the fact that the Council was vehemently opposed to Brandrir taking the throne. His mind flooded with a million different ideas about what all the commotion Solastron could hear was about.

  “Do you remember the early days of me and you?” rumbled Solastron softly.

  Etheil looked down at the sitting wolf. “Of course.”

  “At first you thought I was the spirit of the Blue Wilds,” said Solastron. “But in time I told you the truth of who I am. We have not spoken of that truth in many years.”

  Etheil nodded silently.

  Solastron looked up at h
im with those frosted, sapphire eyes of his. “I fear that I hear the echo of my call to duty.”

  Etheil’s brow furled as he tried to grasp Solastron’s meaning. He knew that Solastron had been Aeoria’s watchdog before the age of the Great Falling. It was said that if the Goddess was not awakened before the last of the stars faded from the sky, that a new age of death and destruction would come to pass. It was no secret that few stars remained. Most believed that the last of the stars would blink out within the next ten or fifteen years. Etheil wondered if what the Jinn prophesied of Brandrir played into that, and if Solastron was somehow alluding to it now.

  “I have told you the history of the Mard Grander, have I not?” said Solastron.

  “You have,” said Etheil. “I remember it well.” Even before his father, Fameil, betrayed King Garidrir, Etheil had always loved history and the tales of legend and myth. But of all the books he had ever read—of all the tales he had heard from his father and mother—no records had ever been so complete as the ones told by Solastron. The giant wolf loved to reminisce, and it was something of a torture to Etheil that he was not allowed to share the stories with anybody. History was Solastron’s secret, and Etheil was bound by their pact to keep it that way. The wolf’s roots in history ran nearly as deep as the tales of the ancient Dragon Kings, and Etheil had lain awake many nights listening to him recount forgotten histories and tales.