The Phoenix Thief

Chapter 30

"Aha!" Turick declared, loud enough to rouse Joakim from his misery. The sun had fully risen now, and already the heat of summer threatened. Joakim looked around glumly, but saw nothing to raise his hopes–no monks, no Erstas, no sign of life beside himself and his two captors. The naked earth of the plateau stretched as far as the eye could see.

"Aha what?" Restus gazed at a flask of dark liquid he'd pulled from his pocket. "There is no 'aha'. There is no hope. As soon as Varrus learns of this, our lives will belong to the skrivers. Better to end it now, better to die painlessly."

"Coward." Turick snorted. "We aren't dead yet. There's a way we can get out of this."

"How? Run? Varrus will follow us to the end of After!" Restus said.

"Naturally." Turick nodded. "But he, too, serves a master. In the end it is the Emperor we answer to."

"And you think he'd spare us? He'll slit our throats himself for this failure."

"You're right, but there's something he wants more. A path to the phoenix will not save us, but a phoenix itself? If we return with one, there'll be no end to his Majesty's gratitude."

Restus sneered. "A phoenix? How? We've searched for years! Do you expect to find one simply because we need to?"

"I don't expect anything, but I'm not prepared to surrender my life without a fight. According to the book, a phoenix is not far, only thirty leagues to the north. We could have it in our hands within a few days."

"And Varrus? He expects our report immediately." Restus sounded as miserable as Joakim felt.

"But he needs us to anchor the contact. We can claim a problem on our end."

"Guile, Turick? Guile from you? I thought the tutors trained you better than that. 'We live at the Emperor's pleasure'–so you toadies always say."

"We don't all have a sprite's luck supporting us," Turick replied. "Some of us have to toe the line to survive. It's surviving this that concerns me. You're not a fool, Restus. Arrogant, perhaps, but not a fool. Varrus will take the Zorran's loss out of our hides. The only way we can survive is to go above him. With a phoenix in hand, we'll have the Emperor's favour. Varrus won't be able to touch us!"

"And if the maps are wrong? If the phoenix isn't where it says it is?" Restus asked.

"Then we're already dead," Turick replied. "Face it, we've nothing to lose. We find a phoenix, or we die trying. Those are our choices."

"What of the monks?" Restus asked. "A cabal of magicians is news that his Majesty must know."

"Must he?" Turick ran his hand across his scalp. "This very instant? With the phoenix in hand we will be heroes. We can explain what happened then."

What a terrible plan, Joakim thought, floating. Varrus's face lingered behind his eyes. That man lived for his pride. He watched Restus pause long, then nod.

"Alright," Restus said. "Let's try it. Come boy, the camp won't strike itself." He waved at Joakim.

Joakim's muscles, so long useless, lurched into service. He stood with the firmness of a paper doll.

"I don't know why you're bothering with him," Turick said. "Better to slit his throat right here. He'll only slow us down."

"Mind your own business. He's mine now, and I'll do with him as I wish."

Joakim spent the next half hour in movement, stamping fires, and striking tents, all with a dullness he could not overcome. The two men, still bickering, tended to the two horses. What did the Zorran ride?