CARAAMON: moved Legend of the Phoenix, The (book) to Legend of the Phoenix (book)

2011-09-20T18:19:09Z

moved Legend of the Phoenix, The (book) to Legend of the Phoenix (book)

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CARAAMON: The Legend of the Phoenix (book) moved to Legend of the Phoenix, The (book)

2009-01-28T18:54:28Z

The Legend of the Phoenix (book) moved to Legend of the Phoenix, The (book)

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Maintenance script: Book:MxxLP moved to The Legend of the Phoenix (book): standardization

2008-05-05T05:27:12Z

Book:MxxLP moved to The Legend of the Phoenix (book): standardization

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Maintenance script: New page: Category:Book To Master Bard Tarnost with congratulations and best wishes for a long and joyous life. It is unknown whether the tale be true, however it is our wish th...

2008-04-05T23:01:43Z

New page: Category:Book To Master Bard Tarnost with congratulations and best wishes for a long and joyous life. It is unknown whether the tale be true, however it is our wish th...

New page

[[Category:Book]]

To Master Bard Tarnost with congratulations and best
wishes for a long and joyous life. It is unknown
whether the tale be true, however it is our wish that
the story contained herein, long regarded in our
family as reflecting our own divine heritage, might
provide its message of faith to a greater audience by
its inclusion in the new Bardic library.

With kindest felicitations,
Lady Isaebella Fenbrokken

The Legend of the Phoenix

My beloved and I began our day, as was our custom,
with a walk to a small stone altar that rested
beneath a great overhang of water-worn rock.
Rosamynde delivered her offering of bread still warm
from the hearth and I, my beaker of sweet tangy
mead. Kneeling in prayer we watched as the sun
rose, its rays marking the carvings upon the stone,
illuminating them as if from some spiritual source.
For some twenty years we had begun our day just so;
Happy and content in each other and our tasks. One
season flowed into the next, smooth and seamless, as
if blessed by an unseen hand.

I remember her eyes -- soft and warm upon my face as
she smiled across the common room in the midst of her
chores. Her hands ever busy, though she lacked the
talents of an Empath, she worked tirelessly at
tending and comforting the injured and ill. If only
I had known...

The stranger burst into the room haggard and short of
breath. His skin was the color of mustard flowers
laid over deep purple bruises. I knew at once it was
the fever. I rushed forward only to be met by his
out-stretched hand warding me off. "No! Stay back!"
he shouted wildly. I persisted, trying to get
closer, but he drew his sword. "Stay back! I seek
only aid for my family and my friends -- it is too
late for me." With a gasping breath he continued,
"Lord Tenowith laughs while we die all about him.
Please, I beg you! Help us!" He collapsed in a fit of
coughing, blood spattering his hands and the cold
grey floor.

He had been right... it was too late for him. We
burned his body and all that we wore while preparing
it within the hour. The elders gathered, debating
long into the night about what aid, if any, they
should send. While they argued and chattered and
bickered, Rosamynde silently packed our things,
sorting herbs and preparing potions. Remaining apart
from the conversations flowing around her, it
appeared that she knew where to go, while no one else
had ever heard of Lord Tenowith and his lands.

We rose early the next morning, and left before the
sun rose. For five days we traveled deep into
forests and lands I doubted many had ever seen.
Rosamynde hiked on tirelessly. She had not been
young when we wed -- many would have called her old,
a woman well past her prime. Yet, her strength
was ever-present, her faith unshakeable. She bore
many qualities I both admired and loved; yet it was
her startlingly white hair that I found to be her
most beautiful physical feature. It was not the dull
white of age, but a pristine white, bold and
shining. It fell to her ankles in soft, silent
waves. My greatest personal pleasure was to brush it
in the evenings before we retired. I would hold her
in my arms, stroking her hair and treasuring
the feel of it as it slipped through my fingers.

On the sixth day the forests ended abruptly at the
foot of a jagged, dark range of mountains. I glanced
at Rosamynde as we stopped to rest, uncertain I could
continue. My body was worn to exhaustion by the
constant unrelenting pace she had set for us. Softly
she motioned upwards, taking my hand in hers as we
began to climb. The path was steep and treacherous,
littered with loose bits of rock and wide yawning
crevices that seemed to be waiting for some
unsuspecting wayfarer to fall haplessly into their
grasp. New strength filled me at her touch and I
leaned into my staff as we strove ever upwards.

When we reached the summit I saw for the first time
signs of civilization. Smoke hung in the distance
where my eyes could discern the shape of squat towers
nestled amid a verdant green bowl of fields and
forest. Shifting her pack, Rosamynde sighed.
Surprised, I glanced at her -- it was so unusual that
she made any indication of her discomfort. In fact,
while I had groaned and moaned and muttered she had
retained her usual stoically silent demeanor
throughout our travels.

She gazed back at me, her normally warm, grey eyes
filled with grief. My shock must have shown upon my
face, because she turned from me. Reaching for her
arm I opened my mouth to question her, only to close
it once more as I recognized the all too familiar
stubborn set of her jaw. It is not as if she could
speak, but she communicated well without her voice
when she wanted to. We walked on.

The town wall stood unguarded. Smoke filled the air,
along with the rank stench of unburied dead and
burning bodies. Coughing, I covered my nose and
mouth with part of my robe, but nothing could ease
the stinging in my eyes from the acrid clouds. We
traveled through the streets with practiced ease --
twisting and turning back upon ourselves so many
times I was soon hopelessly lost. Yet she continued
on, undaunted in her familiar silent stride. Again
and again I wondered how it was that my beloved wife
seemed to know this place.

As dusk struck we stood in the center of an open
square, what had once been a beautiful temple
towering before us. Dead and dying lay about its
open doors and in the streets. We were soon lost in
the work of saving those we could and preparing those
we couldn't to meet their fate upon the Starry
Road. We worked through the night; as time passed
others appeared and added their efforts to our own.
The town's only remaining cleric had amassed all
the dead he could find from outside the gates, and
had begun the final prayer as dawn illuminated the
sky. Rosamynde and I stood watch over those who
struggled against the fever. Exhausted as we were,
water and prayer were all we had remaining to offer
them.

At mid-day, we were resting inside the temple when
the sound of hooves upon stone rose in the streets.
Drawing ever closer it grew to a deafening wall of
sound before ceasing almost instantly outside the
door. Rosamynde dragged herself to her feet with an
air of finality. Fatigue had claimed every graceful
line of her face, rimming her eyes in dark, bruised
circles. Sudden, unexplained fear gave me strength I
did not normally possess as I reached for her.
Pulling her close, I held her to me like a man
possessed.

She raised her fingers to my face, running her hands
over my cheeks, smoothing back the faint wisps of
hair across my nearly baldpate. Tenderly she kissed
me, as tears slipped down her cheeks. Her eyes spoke
to mine, of love stronger then any foe, of
commitment, devotion and bonds of the soul. Almost
begging me to understand what she could not say, she
was gone, out the door, a pale shadow in the faint
smoke-filled light.

The courtyard was full of men on horseback, most of
them in leather armor. They parted like waves of
grass as Rosamynde approached. I rushed to her side,
pulling a staff from a nearby pile of kindling. One
rider moved closer and then stopped beside Rosamynde,
gazing out at those of us assembled there; his nose
and mouth covered by a silken scarf. "What have we
here?" he sneered from behind the cloth, nudging
Rosamynde with his boot as she stood defiantly. She
swayed, but her eyes never left his face.

I reacted with a sudden, fierce anger. "We are
healers from beyond your mountains. One of your
people came to us for help!" I yelled up at him, my
voice almost a growl. Laughter echoed around us.
For a moment it shocked me to silence. The rider
dismissed the town's people with a flick of his
hand. "You should not waste your time with them.
They are lazy, ignorant fools." He continued on as
the other riders snickered, "Dirty peasants,
they have no blood of worth, let them die in the
street." Rage -- cold, hard and unyielding -- welled
up within me. Without a thought I struck out
with my staff, knocking him from the saddle. Then
the world went dull red as a gauntleted fist smashed
into my face. Nausea washed over me, and something
darker, as my healer's oath exacted its price.

I crawled to my feet, reeling as if drunk, before
strong arms pinned me to the wall. The man with the
scarf approached; what I could see of his face
was a dark mask of bemused malice. Almost
indifferently, he spoke. "There is no one here to
stand against me, healer. I am Lord Tenowith; my
word is law." He shrugged. "Not one hand shall be
raised to save them unless they agree to my wishes."
Gesturing towards an armor-clad rider to my left he
sniffed, "If he raises a hand again, kill him."

Somewhere in the crowd a woman sobbed, a child
wailed; my love was lost to my sight. Searching with
my eyes I prayed fiercely that she was safe. One
man, a smith by the look of him, stepped forward,
ragged and half-starved. He yelled, "We will never
accept you as Baron!" Faceless hands dragged him
backwards into the growing crowd. Laughing, Lord
Tenowith mounted his horse, his armored pack of
guards clustering around him. His voice rang out
over the crowd, "Then my plague will kill you all,
one by one." He gazed at me once more, his eyes
filled with warning. "There are NONE here that will
stand against me, healer."

"I will." A voice spoke out so low I was not sure I
had heard it. Whispers and gasps of surprise rose
around me as the crowd parted. Once more the voice
spoke. "I will stand against you, Lord Tenowith." I
stared in slack-jawed horror as she continued, "On
the new moon's morn five days hence, I will meet you
upon a field of honor to claim retribution for all
you have done." Through eyes filled with my own
blood I watched as my wife, who had not uttered a
sound in the twenty years of our union, challenged
this man to battle.

With obvious distaste she hurled a worn leather
gauntlet to the ground at his feet. Her eyes glared
at him defiantly. Lord Tenowith just laughed. The
riders surrounding him laughed. Nervous coughs,
whimpers and moans echoed from the crowd. I could
not speak; it was as if my tongue had been torn from
my mouth. Rosamynde smiled, her lips a thin hard
line. "You delay, Lord Tenowith. Do you decline my
challenge honorably given? Do you fear to fall
at the hands of a worn and grey-haired woman?"

Tenowith sputtered in anger as titters of laughter
crept through the crowd. His guard coughed behind
gloved hands and averted their eyes lest their
amusement be confused with disrespect. "In five days
at dawn, woman!" Lord Tenowith spat at Rosamynde's
feet before climbing on his mount and disappearing in
a thunderous roar of hooves.

I stared at my wife in utter confusion -- she could
speak! Elated, I pulled her to me, our current
dilemma lost in my sudden joy at the sound of her
voice. With a thousand questions I sought her eyes
only to find hers suddenly hidden in the curve of my
neck. She clung tightly to me, every bit of her
slender frame shaking like a leaf.

That night, we lay in the small sleeping space we had
made for ourselves to one side of what remained of
the altar. When I tried to question her, she quieted
my words with a brush of her fingers or a gentle
kiss, refusing to speak again no matter what I did to
entice her. Much later, when the moon was full, she
rose, took my hand and guided me down the dark narrow
alleys and empty streets to the remains of what
looked like an old guildhall. We walked in near
total darkness, yet her step did not falter. Sure
and true she led us beneath the remains of an altar,
down long twisting stairs to a simple cell.

Dust tickled my nose as a torch flared to life.
Blinking, I cast my gaze about the tiny room. Aside
from a stick cot over which hung a battered shield,
all that remained in the room was a worn wooden
chest, its lid thick with dust. Age hung about the
room in long drifting cobwebs.

"You know you are my heart and soul," she spoke
softly, reverently. "Never have I been happier than
at your side." She curled her arms around me,
laying her cheek against my chest. I nodded then,
enraptured by the soft, sweet sound of her voice even
as my soul filled with dread. "Long ago I swore an
oath and now is the time of its fulfillment." She
gazed up at me, pale grey eyes so filled with love
they took my breath away. With my hands I sought her
hair. Lightly I stroked it, letting it slip through
my fingers like a silken waterfall. "Cadfaul, I ask
only this one thing of you, Beloved. Do not ask more
of me."

For the first time I noticed the lines upon her face,
the touch of years as they had passed. She was
nearing her 50th year and my mind boggled at the
sheer impossibility of what she intended to do.
"Rosamynde, you cannot do this thing!" My voice
echoed in the utter silence. Rosamynde shook her
head gently, her eyes filling with tears as she
whispered, "Faith. You must have faith." We slept
there, in that small, quiet place, curled against
each other as young lovers would. Our limbs entwined
as if merely touching could not convey the depth of
our affection.

When I awoke, she was gone. I somehow knew she would
be. Gone too was the chest, yet no marks marred the
dust of the floor to explain its passing. I slowly
found my way back to the cathedral. The next six
days passed in an endless blur of healing, funerals
and deep despair. I prayed endlessly, hopelessly,
and angrily. I berated the gods for their seeming
disinterest in such horrible suffering and for the
crushing weight of my own fear.

Dawn rose bright and clear on the Day of Justice. A
brisk spring wind had driven the smoke from the air,
leaving the smell of flowers and damp earth in its
place. I, along with a motley crowd of others,
waited hopefully, praying soundlessly that Lord
Tenowith would not appear. But appear he did,
in an angry cloud of dust, with at least a dozen
retainers trailing behind him. His armor gleamed
with gold and silver. Gems adorned his helm, which
also sported brightly dyed plumes that fluttered and
danced in the breeze. He raised his visor as he
reined his mount to a stop before me. He regarded
me, and those about me, with a sneer. To my eyes his
face rivaled Idon's in its cruelty and disdain.

[[Book:MxxLP2|Part 2]]

Legend of the Phoenix (book) - Revision history

CARAAMON: moved Legend of the Phoenix, The (book) to Legend of the Phoenix (book)

CARAAMON: The Legend of the Phoenix (book) moved to Legend of the Phoenix, The (book)

Maintenance script: Book:MxxLP moved to The Legend of the Phoenix (book): standardization

Maintenance script: New page: Category:Book To Master Bard Tarnost with congratulations and best wishes for a long and joyous life. It is unknown whether the tale be true, however it is our wish th...