Phoenix Rising

by Alec Peterson

  “Your sword and your life are not your own,” He nodded towards Ceyrabeth and Quinlan. “They are theirs; your commanders. And I will not be a party to desertion.”

  Right then, Ceyrabeth forgot how to talk and Keiran wasn’t much better. He recovered first, though he still sounded stunned, “But…but there must be hundreds of people who’ve joined you that deserted!”

  “Those that you speak of did not have their commanding officer present at the time, as one would expect,” Sul gestured again to Quinlan and Ceyrabeth. “Your commanders are here, however. If you wish to enlist, you will do so with their permission or not at all,” Sul smiled faintly, wearily, “We are still abiding by the rules of war, no?”

  “But…but—“Keiran spluttered.

  “I'd just as soon run them all through at the moment,” Quinlan commented drily, “So I'll leave it up to Lieutenant Vallorin.”

  Ceyrabeth looked into Keiran’s liquid-dark eyes as he looked up at her. Years before, Keiran had posed a question to her, stammering but earnest. If she had answered that question differently then, she might have the right to hold him back now. But she hadn’t, and the tenuous link they had as temporary commander and soldier didn’t seem strong enough. “I give it,” Ceyrabeth whispered.

  “You…. What?” It was Tregan who spoke, stunned into the exclamation.

  Ceyrabeth lifted her head, “If his loyalty is here, I'd rather he not be forced to bring a diseased heart back to the Towers. Sir Keiran may join the Phoenix Legion.”

  Keiran smiled, hugged Ceyrabeth before she could dodge. “Thank you, Beth.”

  She didn’t even bother to correct his familiarity or rebuke him for the sudden pain in her aching ribs his embrace caused. “Captain, I…” She swallowed, her next words tasting like ash on her tongue. “I ask the right to stay as well.”

  This time, every face in the tent locked shocked…. Every face except Sul’s. “Why?” He asked quietly.

  “Because I…”

  Sul held up a hand, “Sergeant Maul,” He said simply.

  “How does he always know?” Came an unpleasantly familiar voice as Maul stepped out from behind the tree he’d been watching the entire proceedings from. He stood in front of Sul and saluted, “Sir.”

  “Sergeant Maul, I want you to hear this,” Sul turned his attention back to Ceyrabeth “If the next words out of your mouth are not the unadulterated truth, I will have Reaper Maul break every bone in your body. Am I clear, Lieutenant?”

  Maul cracked his knuckles, grinning as Ceyrabeth licked lips that had suddenly gone dry before nodding, following it with a “Yes.” When she realized that he couldn't see the gesture.

  “You may proceed.”

  “I don't want to join your freak show, gods forbid. But I know you're dangerous and I believe that the best place to keep an eye on you is right here. Know your enemy…”

  “...As you would know yourself.” Sul finished for her. “First ‘crownsbane’ and now the teachings of war put forth by King Elloran. Where did you come by your knowledge, Sir Ceyrabeth?”

  She frowned at his tone of faint surprise, “I read.”

  “A lot,” Mat murmured.

  “Pretty much constantly,” Keiran interjected with a grin.

  “Curiouser and curiouser,” Sul murmured before returning his attention to the elven woman before him, “So, you intend to stay in my camp as a spy for the Witchhammers do you?”

  Ceyrabeth shrugged. “Not a spy...a reminder.”

  “Of?”

  “That there are those who have seen your beasts… And still, stand.” Ceyrabeth shrugged. “You did ask for the truth.”

  “I demanded it, yes,” Sul admitted. “But how far are you willing to go?”

  “Meaning?”

  “It’s your intention to protect the world from me and mine, correct? You are a self- appointed guardian against what you call my ‘beasts and monstrosities’?”

  “Yes.”

  “Through any means necessary?”

  “Yes.”

  “Even through my death?”

  Ceyrabeth closed her eyes, knowing that her next words could very well be her last, “Yes.”

  “Bitch!” Maul roared as he stormed towards the girl, “I’m going to fold you in half!”

  “Cease,” Sul instructed in a calm voice infused with steel.

  “But Cap’n--!”

  Sul shifted his attention from Ceyrabeth to Maul and raised a single eyebrow.

  “This hopped-up little pious rat says she’s going to murder you because her Church doesn’t like you! I’m not going to let--!”

  “That is correct, Sergeant,” Sul’s voice cracked like a whip, “It is not your duty to ‘let’ anything happen. You are a soldier under my command. And if you wish to remain so, you will calm yourself and stand down.”

  Maul’s expression crumpled under Sul’s scorn, “Cap’n, I—“

  Sul held up his hand, “You are a loyal man, Reaper Maul, and that loyalty is appreciated,” He returned his attention to Ceyrabeth, “Take heart, I have no intentions of being assassinated. Not by her or anyone,” Sul raised his voice to be heard by everyone else, “My duty to Aegreas remains and so I shall remain,” His tone became more pointed, “Regardless of the wishes of the Imperium, The Hierophant, or a certain ex-Witchhammer, however dedicated she may be,” Sul returned his attention to Maul, “Return to your post, Sergeant.”

  Maul saluted smartly, grinning madly, “Yes, Sir!” He spun on his heels and leveled a finger at Ceyrabeth, “Touch him and I’ll make you beg for death before the end. Got that?!”

  Ceyrabeth swallowed nervously at the zeal in the elf’s expression: he meant it. It didn’t halt her conviction, didn’t change her wishes in the slightest, but it did make her aware of just how carefully she would have to tread.

  Maul gave Captain Sul a slightly embarrassed shrug and backed off as Ceyrabeth’s brain caught up with Sul’s words, “‘Ex-Witchhammer’?” She hazarded.

  “Keiran’s petition to join the Legion is approved,” Sul informed her, “As is yours to remain in camp.”

  Pellinore spoke up, “My Captain, are you certain that is wise?”

  “No,” Sul replied with a small smile, “But it should be interesting. Sir Keiran, if you would come with me please.”

  Keiran followed the Captain and Pellinore. Ceyrabeth didn't dare look at any of her former brothers but bolted toward the side exit. She would have to face them, eventually, she knew but right then….

  The point became moot as she stopped a moment later to empty the contents of her stomach behind a tree. “‘A reminder’,” She mocked herself bitterly between heaves. “A reminder of how stupid a person can be, perhaps. Let me just keep an eye on you, oh mighty warlord, but please wait until I can stop hurling my guts out…”

  “I told you, regeneration magic is nothing to play with.” Of course, Mat had followed her. He gathered her long hair in his thin hand and held it out of her way until the queasiness passed.

  “As though I had a choice…”

  “I know.” He replied, face properly sympathetic. “Let's get you back to Mother Reiko. Davis, you've got her other side?”

  The question was answered when Corellan slung her left arm around his shoulder. Both ignored the tears streaking down her face as she heard Quinlan fall into step behind them. Mother Reiko clucked like an old hen when she saw her but that was ok. Sort of comforting even.

  Even more comforting was the potion she was given that brought beautiful, dreamless sleep. “I'm sorry I accused you of being a monster…” Mathias was saying sheepishly to Quin, Corellan, and Tregan.

  Ceyrabeth smiled as she drifted off.

  Chapter 5

  Legacies and Revelations

  ‘The greatest weapon is the truth. It undoes all deceptions, exposes the weak and fortifies the strong.’ – A passage from ‘Victor Vinguardis’ (Way of Victory) translated from Daymorian. Author unknown. Currently banned by the Church of Imperi
us

  "March! All march!" Ceyrabeth's feet hit the floor before the last notes of the horn blast that had reverberated through the walls had faded. In her groggy state, she had forgotten all about Mother Reiko's potion and would have pitched forward onto her face had the Ghen healer not heard her cry and came to reassure her.

  "That is a summons for our people," Mother Reiko soothed, guiding Ceyrabeth to sit back on the cot. Ceyrabeth's face flooded with color- of course she knew the difference between 'gather' and 'march', but she had been so deeply asleep that she had forgotten where she was.

  The sides of the tent had been raised and the door flap stood open to catch the evening breeze. Ceyrabeth could see Sul's Mithrac shadow raise a large ornate horn to her lips and blast a series of sharp notes. The resonance of the sound made Ceyrabeth’s bones vibrate.

  “The Captain would speak!” Atiya’s voice boomed across the camp. Ceyrabeth winced.

  "Is her voice naturally that loud or are they amplifying it somehow?"

  "Atiya generally makes herself heard one way or another," Mother Reiko smiled. "You needn't go, child, if you are still feeling unwell."

  But Ceyrabeth had caught sight of Keiran, in a dark shirt, pants and boots with edgings of silver, next to Sul and was already rising. She saw Mathias and Corellan standing next to each other off to the side and went to stand beside them.

  It didn’t take long before men, women, and even a few children huddled around as Atiya led Sul to a raised earthen mound. Pellinore stepped forward and removed a small vial from his belt. He tossed it upon the ground and a large plume of green flame exploded into existence with a loud whoosh that silenced the crowd at once.

  “Thank you Atiya,” Sul said before turning his attention to the vast crowd that had gathered the green bonfire, “Brothers and Sisters of the Phoenix Legion. Some time ago we were accused of acting in defiance of the Imperium and by default in defiance of the Hierophant of Daymore, and his master: the god Imperius himself. These accusations were levied against us by our newest guests: Witchhammers from Eastern Daymore in service to said god,” The crowd began to scowl at Ceyrabeth who kept her face carefully neutral, determined to stand her ground. “I have meditated for several days on these charges and would now answer them. May I speak for you as well?”

  A roar of approval answered him.

  “Thank you.” Sul cleared his throat, “I derive a great deal of consolation that you have decided to allow my voice to represent your will. The severity of these charges cannot be overstated,” He bent down to pick up a handful of stones,

  “Heresy,” He tossed a stone to land at Ceyrabeth’s feet.

  “Blasphemy.”

  Another stone.

  “Treason.”

  The final stone lay at the elven woman’s feet.

  “According to canon law of the Imperium, there is only one sentence for these crimes: immediate execution. A slow death wrought with humiliation so that our suffering may serve as an example to those who would dare follow. No peace in the next world, only an existence in the dark, banished from the sight of the church and Imperius in whom they serve. Unwanted. Unmourned. Damned. What are we to do about this?” Sul asked the crowd.

  The few suggestions offered were extremely graphic. Every word out of their angry mouths made Ceyrabeth stand straighter, her muscles tense. Quinlan, emerging from the shadows of a nearby tent moved to flank her, his mismatched eyes wary.

  “Why are we here?” Sul’s tone became quieter yet still somehow carried to all assembled, “How is it that this ragtag band of heretics, pariahs, and outcasts have now come to form the largest privately administered military force in Daymore and now finds itself declared the adversary of the most prominent institution within its borders? Do we fear that if we do not take up arms that those in power will see fit to destroy us for our defiance? Or is it because we have seen the state of this world with eyes unclouded by privilege, hypocrisy, or sanctimony, and have found it wanting?”

  He cleared his throat again and Atiya handed her his waterskin from which he took a long drink.

  “Thank you,” He coughed once, “Here we stand together, from all corners of the world in defiance of tyranny. You are all free men!” He roared suddenly making those in his vicinity jump, “You have not been bought or bullied to risk all that you are in this world, not for me, nor for yourselves, but for each other! For the world itself!” He took another drink and his tone reverted to its earlier quiet intensity, “The Imperium, The Order of Witchhammers, The alliance of guilds, the nobility, and every power and order from Daymore Kharas to the Volca Sea would label us ‘rebels’, ‘malcontents’ and worse. Why? What is it they fear? We possess only a fraction of their numbers, their wealth, their influence. Do they fear our methods? Our ideals? Our way of life? Or do they fear something far more dangerous than any of these things?”

  “The truth,” He turned his bandaged gaze out amongst the assembled throng, “The truth. The fact of the matter is that those who would condemn us would also have us disregard the truth, even as it stands there proudly for all the world to see, mighty and unassailable. The truth which has been obscured and twisted, perverted and corrupted until it is almost unrecognizable. And not through any foul Nevaraakese plot from the east or unholy alliance of virago and demons, no. No, not through these means, but by the unyielding arm and unforgiving gaze of the Imperium who has declared the truth to be blasphemy and us damned beyond redemption for believing in it.”

  The Witchhammers former and present shifted their gaze to their feet uncomfortably save for Ceyrabeth, whose fists were so tightly clenched that it sent jolts of pain through her entire arm.

  “I say unto all of you that this is no mere peasant uprising or heretical movement, rather that this is the most important crusade since mankind’s united march against the Golden Hegemony of the elven slave lords from ancient times. Because what it deals with is the very nature of man and the gods.”

  Many eyes widened at the boldness of the last statement. Atiya handed Sul a stack of papers and an amulet depicting a woman holding aloft a flaming sword in a finely detailed ivory inlay. Ceyrabeth gasped before she could stop herself; the idol was that of Mother War, a goddess of battle predating the rise of Imperius, now usurped and fallen into obscurity. Possession of such an artifact alone was grounds for excommunication.

  “I have here transcriptions of letters, a correspondence between a Mother…,” He frowned and ran his fingers over the letters, “…A Mother Dario in which she states her concerns about the treatment of mages and other ‘lesser citizens’ as they are referred to in other correspondence, residing in the city of Daymore Kharas These letters were addressed to Lord Marshal Vijav Forianus of the Justicars . For those of you who are unfamiliar with this entity, The Justicars are a form of secret police that answers to only the highest-ranking members of the church of Imperius. They are tasked with investigating Witchhammers and other holy knights for signs of corruption or abuses of power,” Sul smiled slightly, “I imagine those assembled here would have much to discuss with them given the opportunity.”

  There was a roll of laughter that was equal parts scorn, contempt, and amusement.

  “Now, in these letters, Mother Dario cites several cases of misconduct amongst the clergy ranging from harassment and persecution of non-believers to accounts of rape, torture, and murder amongst the very people they are sworn to protect. Men, women, and children too poor or too frightened to protect themselves. And even against one another: knights and priests of conscience, of righteousness, murdered by their own for daring to question those in power.”

  Sounds of disbelief rippled through the crowd as he continued running his fingers across the page. “Here, Mother Dario quotes a passage from the Tome of Lordly Might, the holy book of Imperius” He cleared his throat, “'Those in power must maintain their power through dignity and understand their responsibility. In exchange for their submission, the faithful and meek shall be protected by the righteo
us and strong.’ Mother Dario quotes this passage and asks the Lord Marshal why this does not apply to mages, elves, dwarves, and others asking him ‘Are we not all worthy to either protect or to be protected in accordance with Imperius’ laws? In his just nature and righteousness?’” Sul looked out among the crowd, “Are we not indeed?”

  He took another drink of water,cleared his throat again, “I shall now read to you the Lord Marshal’s reply. He starts by quoting a different passage; ‘Power is the most sacred truth of Imperius. Those who hold power, either having earned it through their actions or received it as a blessing are free to exercise that power in accordance to the will of Imperius’. Those assembled here may be familiar with this passage. It is the one that the church cites the most often to justify whatever action they have taken no matter how brutal,” Sul frowned at the parchments in his hand, “I cannot help but wonder if their actions are what those who fought and died for the freedom of our kind all those ages ago intended or not, but I digress: Lord Marshal Forianus continues with the following,

  “’What you consider to be compassion is nothing more than naiveté and fool idealism. Mages and others so ‘afflicted’ cannot be treated the same as people. Each and every one is a threat to the safety of themselves and those around them. Each and every one; a virago waiting to happen’,” Sul smiled bitterly, “I’ll pause a moment to let everyone ponder that sentiment.”

  The crowd’s mood continued to darken. Hands tightened on sword hilts, bows, and staffs.

  “He goes on to repeat that term ‘Fool idealism’ many times in these letters when Mother Dario talks about caring for those who cannot care for themselves or when allowing mercy or pity to dictate their actions. Well, what ideals would the Lord Marshal prefer, I wonder? Ideals that instead embrace intolerance, violence, and fear? I think so and here is the crux of the matter,” Sul leaned forward in earnest, “What the Lord Marshal wants is for the church and those within in it to behave as The Witchhammers do and as the Justicars do. A church that will do what it is told: A church that does not question, a church that is filled with the devout in perfect lockstep, fueled by nothing more than righteous anger and blind obedience,”