"She ain't no Hammer, not with those ears." His companion interjected. He was just barely taller than Beth, broad but reedy, as though he hadn't always been as sure of a square meal as he currently was. Red cheeks and nose hinted long nights and strong drink. "Hey, girlie, are those ears for resting your heels on when you get ba..."
It happened in the span of seconds. Ceyrabeth had stopped walking as soon as she heard him question her placement in the Hammers. She rolled her head on her neck, took a deep breath...and rushed him with a chillingly loud undulation of the throat that could only be described as a yowl. As his back hit the dirt, her fists met his face twice before he even knew what was happening.
"I...earned...every single bit..." She roared, punctuating her words with blows, "...of my rank, you miserable mud licker!!"
As he lay groaning on the ground, Ceyrabeth thought to look for his friend. He had his back up against a nearby tree, arms crossed and a grin plastered over his craggy face. She rolled to her feet. "Don’t you ever question me, worthless sack of idiocy," Ceyrabeth stated. Crag-face held his hands up, still grinning.
"Whoo, Maul said you were a wildcat." The big man hoisted his friend up and held him as though he weighed nothing more than a doll. "Now I believe him. She really drew steel on the Captain, Lieutenant Pellinore?"
"She did."
Ceyrabeth whirled to see Pellinore approaching from behind, taking in the scene with his usual poise.
"And you're still alive?" Crag-face commented incredulously.
Ceyrabeth put a hand to her side, wincing. Apparently, not even healers could fix everything. "Mostly."
Crag-face roared with laughter while hauling his friend toward the infirmary tent. "Taarok Limensne." Pellinore supplied. "One of Reaper Maul's...brothers. And speaking of brothers, I'm assuming you want to see yours?" Ceyrabeth nodded. "Very good. Follow me, please. Most everyone should be at dinner."
“Oh, and Berserker Limensne,” Pellinore’s tone was cool and carried with it the regal weight of what had to be centuries spent as an officer.
“Sir?” Limense stood ramrod straight, towering over his superior.
Pellinore nodded fractionally towards the unconscious form in the other man’s arms, “Remind your cohort that Captain Sul insists on civility within the ranks, especially towards those who remain under the banner of parley, even from berserkers,” Pellinore’s blue-gold eyes narrowed, “And that a tongue is not necessary to successfully fulfill the front line duties required. If this is in question, I am certain that the Captain would be more than happy to arrange a demonstration. Do I make myself clear?”
Limense swallowed around a dry throat and nodded, “Yes, sir. It won’t happen again, sir.”
Pellinore held the man’s gaze a moment longer then nodded, “Very well. Dismissed.”
Limense saluted smartly, “Thank you, Sir,”
Pellinore turned his attention back to Ceyrabeth, “If you are ready to proceed, ma’am?”
The tent that served as the enlisted mess hall was buzzing with activity, loud with the sound of cutlery on tin plates and omnipresent banter. The banter quieted when a young man standing near the door saw Lieutenant Pellinore, snapped to attention and trumpeted, "Captain’s Hand present!"
Benches scraped the dirt as roughly a hundred people rose to their feet and stood at stiff attention, eyes unwaveringly planted forward. “Captain’s ‘Hand’?” Ceyrabeth commented.
Pellinore nodded acceptance, “I serve as Captain Sul’s second in command; his ‘Hand’. Any orders issued by me are considered to be from him for all intents and purposes,” He raised his voice just loud enough to be heard by all. "Eyes front." One hundred pairs of eyes turned to face them. "I would prefer anyone not associated with these two soldiers,” He gestured to Ceyrabeth and Quinlan, “to vacate the premises temporarily." When people looked at their neighbors questioningly, Pellinore emphasized, "Immediately."
It took surprisingly little time for the room to clear and then, there were seven. Mat had been closest to the door, head down and doing his best not to look anywhere near Ceyrabeth, Quinlan, and Pellinore, face crimson in shame. Keiran and Corellan had been in the middle, surrounded by a knot of people that had left with truly sympathetic looks. Tregan was off to the side, stoic, but tapping his fingers on the hilt of his sword.
It was the sword that did it. None of the others were wearing their blades, but Tregan was- the hilt etched with the Everburning Flame, the one all Witchhammers were gifted with at their knighting. "How dare you?!" Ceyrabeth exploded at him with the force of a thousand suns, "How dare you wear that blade, you traitorous...!"
"Beth...," Keiran spoke up safely.
She whirled on him, fists clenched. "Don't you 'Beth' me, Keiran Ehingen! You're just as bad as he is. You sang like a songbird when that eyeless monster put you to the question, didn't you? Watching him like he's the second coming of Baris Longsight..."
"Maybe he is."
"Fairy tales." Quinlan snorted derision.
"What if it's not?" Keiran challenged.
Ceyrabeth glared at him, "Oh, so now what? You're going to follow that...that...freak, with delusions of grandeur? Renounce your vows? Everything you've worked most your life for?"
"I am," Keiran stated boldly. "I've announced my intention to join the Phoenix Legion."
"You what?!"
"Ceyrabeth, please keep in mind that if you murder someone in the mess hall, the Captain will have no choice but to execute you." Ceyrabeth blinked...Pellinore. Pellinore had spoken. He also had her arm. Quinlan had her other one. She nodded terse understanding and Pellinore released her. She felt something tickle her nose, and when she raised her hand to wipe it away, it came back bloody. Mathias was suddenly at her side with a handkerchief.
"Here," He was no longer sheepishly afraid, but still cautious. "Pinch the middle and push back. It'll stop in a second. You shouldn't be up anyway. Regeneration magic is hard to get over."
“Mat…tell me he didn't convince you to join too.” Ceyrabeth pleaded.
“He didn't ‘convince’ us of anything, Beth.” Mathias replied gently.”He offered us a choice. I choose not to spend the rest of my days hunting virago and being set on by demons.”
“After what we saw, you feel safer in this camp of horror?!”
Mat grimaced, “I'm not staying here, gods forbid. Captain Sul found me a position as a physician’s assistant in Daymore Kharas. I was just waiting to see if you were ok.”
Ceyrabeth was simultaneously heartbroken and touched. “And you?” She asked Tregan.
“Accepted a spot as a guard for the Longmoor Rangers.” He replied, naming a prestigious guild known for producing intricately detailed maps of hard to reach places. “I want to see it all, Ceyrabeth. I want to prove the world is round.”
“Corellan?”
“Dunno.” The young man shrugged. “I'd like a break for a while. War and Taintbrood and watching your commander get eaten kinda took it out of me.”
“What did you expect it to be, a fancy dress ball? You all chose your vows to the Witchhammers! Nobody forced you to…”
“Chose them over what Ceyrabeth?” Tregan interjected. “Dying in the streets? Getting my hand cut off for stealing food? I was already getting scouted to spy for the gangs...There's no choice there.”
“My family gave me to the church,” Mat interjected, the sadness in his voice a direct contrast to Tregan’s bitterness. “I wanted to repay the Church for taking me in. And I have. I've given them as many years as they've sheltered me. But I don't want to hurt anyone else, Beth.”
“I was an Acolyte.” Corellan stated, “My choice was put up with filthy hands on me all the time, or join the Militant arm. I ran to enlist. Hammers got their own living space, you know?”
Ceyrabeth hadn’t known, hadn't even suspected. She could imagine what a beautiful child the handsome Sir Corellan had been, what a temptation to filthy beasts like Parette and those whose appetites he catered to. She wr
apped her arms around her middle, the ache that had been mere annoyance before threatening to engulf her.
“I joined because it was something so big, so grand,” Keiran said, spreading his arms wide. “Saving the world from demons and virago! Cleansing the world from evil! But even good men like Sir Quinlan and a few others can’t save something if it's diseased to the core.”
“I can sure as hell try,” rumbled Quinlan.
“I figured you and Ceyrabeth would go back. But it's a damned waste, Quin! You're both…”
But Sir Quinlan was shaking his head, “Not Ceyrabeth. She can't go back, not now that that wretched demon-worshipping scum violated her.”
“You mean her ears?” Keiran asked, aghast. “So, you just explain that it was blood magic...”
“Kei, I’m an elf.” Ceyrabeth interjected wearily. “Well, half-elf. The Captain didn’t arbitrarily choose a feature to rearrange. This is...how I would look.”
“So you really did… cut off your own ears?”
“That was my fault.”
“Javan Quinlan, don’t be ridiculous.” Ceyrabeth snapped at him. “I knew I’d never be a Hammer with my ears waving like a banner for all to see, and I made it so they wouldn't. And now, it doesn't matter. I'm barred. Once Carmilla sees me with these ridiculous pointy accessories,” Ceyrabeth flicked the tip of her right ear derisively. “I'll be lucky if I'm not executed on the spot. You all can go home, and I never can.”
“It's no home to me,” Tregan insisted.
“Maybe you're quick to throw away the Church, but you could have at least stood with your brothers!” Ceyrabeth snapped. “You should have been looking out for each other and instead you're scattered like strangers!”
“You're a fine person to be calling us out for being strangers!” Tregan countered, “You've let us believe you were someone different all this time…. And maybe you still are!”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
And then she saw it. How none of them, save Quin, would look her in the eye or each other, their shoulders were hunched and their faces tense with watching, with worry. This wasn't anger, she realized: this was fear.
"So it's true," she whispered with a strange ache in her chest, "You've all turned against each other because of the creature."
"It's not our fault!"
"We’ve been separated!" Mathias pointed at Keiran, at Corellan, at Tregan. "They could be anyone! Anything!”
“So could you!” Corellan shot back.
“And you had its blood all over your head! We watched your ears grow right up out of your head, just like it grew Parette!” Tregan snarled, gesturing to Ceyrabeth. “I'm not winding up like that idiot!"
“You spineless lot of damned fool cowards!” Ceyrabeth spat at him. “If you're so scared why don't you just…”
"I believe I might be of service," A soft voice interjected from behind Ceyrabeth. She closed her eyes and sighed even as everyone else around her went ramrod straight before turning to face the speaker.
"I would ask if you the hospitality of my camp finds you well," Captain Sul began, "But at this point, the question would be largely rhetorical."
"You!" The elven woman hissed, low and lethal, "This is your fault! The monsters, the fear, people abandoning their oaths, all of it!" She took one step towards him before the Lieutenant interceded between them.
"Hear the Captain out," and that's when her brain caught up with her. Sul was without his bodyguards and from the look of him, something was wrong. He looked thinner than before. Not frail but spent. His entire demeanor was that of a dry leaf: brittle and curled in on itself.
"What in the name of-" she stopped herself and then tried again, "Are you all right?" As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. She was far too angry at this human to be overly concerned for his welfare.
"In order to attend to the matters of the camp --including you and yours- certain more personal responsibilities have gone by the wayside. Day and night, there are still only so many hours available.”
"What are you doing here then?" Ceyrabeth asked him.
"I'm here because you have all been here long enough to be afraid. You're too perceptive to not be," His voice was a dry rasp but it still held command, "By now it's occurred to at least one of you that a member of your company or indeed several members may have been consumed and replaced with an imitation by Chirak.”
"The thought had crossed our minds,” Tregan growled.
"I imagine it's taken hold of said minds and eroded the bonds of trust that you once all held so sacred amongst yourselves."
There were enough guilty looks between them to confirm as much.
"I've come to remedy that," Sul took the large box Pellinore was carrying and set it on a nearby table. Opening it revealing several vials of what appeared to be clear water.
"Holy water?" Mathias inquired.
"Chirak is no demon. The creatures that it enslaves are not possessed, they are consumed and assimilated. What is spawned has the appearance of a man or woman; their every mannerism, their every facial tick, every gesture. An imitation that knows its subject better than anyone else anywhere. But there is no tormented soul to save. Nothing of the original person remains. They are dead and gone forever beyond all reach and aid."
"By the Hammer...." Quinlan whispered making a sigil of protection over his heart.
"This is you helping?" Ceyrabeth bit out.
“Chirak is a disease. Those it consumes can leave to infect others like a plague. By now I’m certain the idea of one or more of your infected fellows returning to your watchtower only to transform everyone within has occurred to you.”
“It certainly has now,” Tregan commented, face pale.
“Fortunately, there is a solution,” Sul motioned to Ceyrabeth, “Lieutenant Vallorin, choose a vial and give it to me please.” Ceyrabeth raised an eyebrow before choosing one in the middle and handing it to him, “Thank you. Every disease has a cure or antidote of some kind. This is a form of that.”
“What will it do?” Mathias asked his professional curiosity piqued.
“If anyone of us is not who we say we are, what we are. This solution will reveal that.”
“How?”
A pause, “Graphically.”
“Wait. ‘Us’?” the elven woman, “What do you mean---?”
“I already know that I am not infected just as I know that none of you are. But nothing I will say will make you believe that and so proof is needed. It’s not enough that I know this. You must know it” Sul removed the top with his thumbnail, proceeded to drain its contents. They waited in breathless silence for a few seconds, watched as Sul put the bottle on the table.
“I will not be responsible for the dissolution of your brotherhood,” Sul commented in that same dead leaves voice, “If your time here weakens your bonds with the Witchhammers so be it, but the bonds between each of you is far more important than that and I would not see it consumed by fear or by any action on the part of me or mine.”
“That's very… good of you.” Ceyrabeth admitted.
Sul shrugged, “Even in war, there are rules and room for honor. Perhaps especially in war. Try not to sound so astonished at this concept.”
Ceyrabeth deigned not to reply to his light sarcasm. If this could convince her friends to not turn on each other and ease their terror then she was grateful. She removed a vial from the case, took off the top and with a deep breath drank it all. It tasted cold and faintly metallic but that was all. A few seconds of waiting she let out a relieved sigh, “I guess I’m okay.”
“If this process can be trusted,” Tregan growled.
“Would you prefer to remain afraid or have a bit of faith?” Quinlan commented as he reached for a vial, “To the Hammer and the Shield” he raised in a toast before drinking its contents. There was a pause and then…nothing at all.
Quinlan extended a shaky breath, “Thank you Lord-Father.”
One by one the othe
rs took their potions and drank them. Keiran was the last. His hands shook as he tried to open the vial but he succeeded and quaffed its contents. He counted to ten through trembling lips, his eyes closed before he stopped and opened his eyes and looked around, relief spreading across his face like a deluge, “I’m okay!”
“As I said,” Sul reiterated, “It wasn’t enough for me to know that you were all right.”
With a whoop, Keiran threw himself into Corellan’s arms, slammed him on the back. Tregan joined them and soon the whole group was laughing in relief.
“Wait a second,” Ceyrabeth pulled herself free, “What about Tol---?”
“My spies intercepted him at a nearby tavern and administered the elixir. He’s fine and passes this along,” Sul handed her a large ring “and he reminded you not to eat any snails.”
A laugh rippled through the group at the shared memory. “His favorite ring,” She smiled a little and some of the ache of his sudden departure abated.
“Pardon me, Captain,” Keiran asked, “But what would have happened if one of us had been…not us if we drank that?”
“In all likelihood, Claws would have burst out of your skull attempting to slaughter those within reach. Your chest would have exploded with teeth-laden tentacles to devour those who had not been immediately slain. And your arms would have ripped themselves free and slithered like eels into your friends’ bodies to consume them from within,” Sul considered a moment then added, “Speaking only from previous experience.”
A long pause, “Oh.”
“We have a matter to discuss,” Sul informed them. He gestured to Keiran, who straightened. “This man has petitioned for enlistment into the Phoenix Legion,” Captain Sul explained.
Ceyrabeth felt tears burn in her eyes but she simply nodded.
Keiran took a deep breath- A nervous habit, Ceyrabeth knew- before striding confidently forward and prostrating himself at Sul’s feet, “I pledge myself to your cause, Captain Sul. My sword and my life are yours.”
“Noted,” Sul said, “Your petition is refused.”
“What?!” Keiran’s head whipped up at the same time Ceyrabeth's jaw dropped.
Phoenix Rising Page 8
