Free The Phoenix Unchained by James Mallory Page A

War Road passes by Fort Halacira and Kellen’s Bridge. Maybe we can ride up and see them if everything works out. Kellen’s supposed to have built that bridge himself, you know. By magic.”
    “You sound like a guidebook,” Harrier said good-naturedly. “And I don’t believe anybody ever built a bridge by magic. Kellen Knight-Mage was a Wildmage, and Wildmages don’t do that. But I’d like to see Fort Halacira. Say, if it’s a fort, do you think there was ever a battle there?”
    “I don’t know. But since I’m going to study Ancient History at University, maybe I can find out and tell you.”
    “You’re still going to study Ancient History?” Harrier asked in disbelief. After all this? his expression said plainly.
    “Why not?” Tiercel said stubbornly. “It’s not as if I’m going to be studying magic. Although . . . that’s what they used to teach there,” he added teasingly.
    “No.”
    “Yes.”
    “No.”
    “Really.”
    “You can’t teach magic. When a Wildmage gets his—or her—Three Books, that’s it. They just have their magic.”
    “And I keep telling you, that’s not how the High Magick worked. It was like Maths, or, or, or training to be a Ship’s Pilot. You studied for years. At the Mage College. Which was where Armethalieh University is now. And only Mages went there. To study magic.”
    “Well, you didn’t study for years. So how come you were able to cast that spell?” Harrier demanded to know.
    “Well, you see—”
    But Tiercel’s explanation—not that he expected to be allowed to get all the way through it before Harrier interrupted him—was cut short by a sudden commotion in the forest.
    A troop of Fauns—Fauns rarely traveled alone—came tumbling out of the forest. It was hard to say how many there were. Five? Eight? They were constantly in motion, their child-sized bodies—human to the waist, though with long caprid ears and small curling horns, and entirely goatlike below—caroming off one another with the exuberance of a tumble of puppies.
    Fauns were one of the races of Otherfolk who had elected to remain in the west when most of the Bright Folk had gone off with the Elves. Not that Fauns were particularly bright—in any sense of the word. Cheerful and good-natured, yes. But scatterbrained was the kindest word that could describe them. Those who were feeling less kind called them “thievish” and “destructive”—but having no possessions of their own, so far as anyone had ever discovered, it was hard to expect them to care very much about the possessions of others. In fact, even after having lived in close proximity to the Fauns for so long, no one knew very much about them. No one was even really sure how long—or where—they lived. They just seemed to show up anywhere there was food and drink and music—if anyone had ever seen a Faun village, they’d never mentioned it.
    “Saw you—”
    “—heading for the forest—”
    “—down the old road—”
    “—nobody takes the old road—”
    “—not for a long time—”
    “—some people do—”
    “—not many people—”
    “—but some—”
    “—and you have food—”
    “—tasty food—”
    “— lots of food—”
    The Fauns gathered in a group at the edge of the blanket and regarded the contents of the hamper hopefully. Tiercel looked at Harrier and shrugged. They’d barely started on their meal, and the Fauns would certainly eat it all, but neither boy would starve for missing a meal. He picked up a loaf of bread and tossed it to the Fauns, who grabbed it and divided it eagerly, stuffing it into their mouths with absolutely no regard for table manners. Now that they were holding fairly still, it was possible to count them. There were six of them.
    “Here. You can have some more if you like.”
    As Tiercel had been pretty sure they would, the Fauns took that as an invitation not only to have some food, but all of it. They clambered onto the blankets—swarming over Tiercel and