Ceyrabeth released her grip on her weapon and sighed, inwardly relieved. This ‘Ulak’ radiated barely constrained violence, more a beast than a man.
As if reading her thoughts, the orc whirled around and impaled her with a green-eyed stare. “Who in blazes are you?”
“Calm yourself,” Sul instructed quietly, “This is Ceyrabeth Vallorin. She is a former Witchhammer and newest member of the Legion.”
“And you trust her?”
Sul smiled as if enjoying a private joke immensely, “Oh, I trust her with my life.”
Ceyrabeth felt something begin to tickle in the back of her mind at his tone; like spiders inside her head. She was missing something again, she knew it, and she gritted her teeth in frustration as Atiya leaned over Ulak to pour the wine.
“Gods!” The orc cried as he noticed the mirthac woman’s scarred features, “A Winnowling?”
“What makes you say that?” The blind man asked mildly.
“Ply your tricks elsewhere, Sul!” Ulak pointed at Atiya’s face, “Those scars around her mouth; Mithrac stitching. As they do with all their kind when they lose their minds and become fiends!”
“The Mithrac sewed your mouth shut?” Ceyrabeth exclaimed aghast.
“They did,” Atiya replied tonelessly as she finished filling Sul’s goblet and took her place behind him, “It is the will of our gods and the law of our tribe. Imposed upon all born with magic who fail to control it and lose touch with their humanity. The Winnowing: the process in which a mage who pushes their powers past their limit goes mad, losing all emotion.”
“That's so... barbaric!”
“The Captain said you were a former Witchhammer?” Ulak raised a pointed eyebrow.
“Yes…”
“So, you've only captured mages humanely then?”
“Witchhammers don't trap mages,” Ceyrabeth countered archly. “A Virago and a law- abiding mage are completely different thing.”
“Anyone can be a Virago if the Church hates him enough…”
“Former Virago,” Sul interjected, “She’s no enemy of yours Ulak, nor yours Lieutenant Vallorin.”
Ulak frowned, “But how-?” His eyes went wide, “The Winnowing,” He breathed, “I did not think the Mithrac allowed mages who succumb to it to survive!”
“As a rule, they do not,” Sul informed him calmly.
“Then how--?”
“Drink your wine, old friend.”
Ulak narrowed his eyes over his goblet then took a long pull, his eyes going wide in surprise, “Is this the-?”
“The same wine we shared last time? Yes.” Sul smiled as he lowered his hawkish nose towards his own goblet. He inhaled deeply before taking a measured sip, his expression relaxing, “Taken from the royal vineyards of the last kings of Daymore.”
“You know,” the orc mused, “I haven’t had this since-“
“The meeting with Praetor Quintus?” The blind man interjected smoothly.
“Stop doing that!” Ulak snarled good-naturedly, “It makes you look ridiculously pretentious.”
Sul held up a hand to placate the other man, his lips curled back in a faint expression of amusement.
“I remember that night,” Ulak continued, “You insisted that I drink with the rest of you: a slave to sit at the same table as his master,” Ulak shook his head at the memory, “You, a senator, an apprentice mage and my master all seated at the table and you decide to have me join you.”
“Former master,” Sul corrected gently, “You are not a slave. Not any longer.”
Ulak raised his glass in silent toast to that sentiment and began to chuckle throatily, “I still remember the look on the Lucita and Retzel’s faces; they looked ready to have an apoplexy. As I recall, Retzel refused to drink at all and his apprentice looked very disappointed!”
Sul nodded sagely, “Praetor Quintus was totally out of his element; attempting to coerce Retzel the way he would a street peddler.”
“So why did you do it?” Ulak asked leaning forward eager with curiosity, “Was it just for your own amusement?”
“Deliberately pissing off a powerful senator from Daymore, just for a laugh?” Ceyrabeth interjected, “Sounds like him.”
“You can tell a lot of a man from how he treats those he considers his lesser,” Sul shrugged, “I wanted to see what I could learn.”
“And what did you learn, pray tell?”
“I learned that your former master Retzel is a rat bastard.”
For a moment silence filed the tent and then Ceyrabeth’s jaw dropped. He swears like a commoner...was the first thought in her head.
Ulak threw his head back and roared with laughter, tears were streaming from his eyes as he slapped his thigh, “Brilliant!”
“Every now and then,” Sul gestured to Atiya, “More wine?”
“Gods, yes!”
Atiya dutifully poured the wine and Ulak took a long pull from it, “That was also the night,” He began quietly, “That Lucita’s child was found driven mad.”
“’Virstania’ was her name,” Sul replied.
“That’s right, that was her name,” Ulak shook his head, “Evil little shit, all six years of her miserable life,” He muttered.
“Hey!” Ceyrabeth snapped, “We’re talking about a little girl here. A child,” She emphasized firmly. “If she was less than kind, the fault rests squarely with her parents.”
Ulak’s expression curled disdainfully, “I had no idea, Drachaen, that you had enlisted such a moralistic crusader. So eager to play mommy to all those poor, lost and broken children.”
Ceyrabeth’s cheeks flushed crimson and she got to her feet; her face twisted with anger.
“Sit down,” Sul’s voice cracked like a whip.
She started to obey but instead shook herself and whirled on the blind man, “You condone what he did?!”
“Ulak did nothing.”
“Then who—?” Her face drained of all its blood, “….you?” She managed to gasp out, “You...drove a child mad?”
“When I first scented blood, I left my meal and proceeded into the courtyard,” Sul’s voice was soft but devoid of any trace of warmth, “I found Virstania: She had broken the back of a kitten and was busy pulling the eye out of another,” Sul’s tone became colder still, “I remember that, after I made her stop, I asked her why she had done this. Do you know what she said to me, Lieutenant Vallorin?” She slowly shook her head.
“’Because I could.’”
Ceyrabeth winced. “Ancestors,” Ulak hissed, “Then what?”
“Then I kicked the child in the chest, pinned her to the ground with my boot, crushed several of her ribs as well as her arm and proceeded to do what needed be done,”
“Why not just kill her?” Ulak asked.
“Her mother required a lesson in what is acceptable and unacceptable behavior. Pain is a useful teacher: its lessons are understood by all and are never ignored.”
“I remember Lucita when they found her,” Ulak shook his head, “She was beside herself, hysterical. I think that might have been the only time I ever actually felt sorry for her,” He lowered his goblet, “You’re very lucky that Retzel didn’t learn you were responsible.”
“Don’t be naive, my old friend,” Sul admonished, “Retzel was perfectly aware who was responsible for Virstania’s condition.”
Ulak’s mouth sagged open, “Then why didn’t he confront you?”
“Why should he?” Sul shrugged, “He is a pragmatist; what was done was done and he wasn’t about to jeopardize any potential dealings we may have had in the future over something as trivial as his apprentice’s daughter. What care he for a child at any rate?” Sul sipped his drink.
“That’s cold.”
“Such is the way of this world, currently at least.”
Ceyrabeth finally found her voice, “Did Lucita—did she have any more children?”
Ulak drained his cup and peered into it unhappily, “No,” he finally replied, “Lucita had b
een pregnant at the time but she miscarried and her womb was destroyed, though that could have just as easily been from her abuse of sanguinary rites.”
“The loss of Lucita’s bloodline will not be keenly felt by the world,” Sul commented dryly.
“True enough,”
“What happened to the kittens?” Ceyrabeth interjected softly. “Did they die?”
“Actually no,” Sul replied, “I was able to repair the damage done to the kitten’s spine using alchemy and relinquished him into the care of the groundskeeper at the time.” Sul leaned back in his chair, “I oft wonder what happened to that kitten.”
“And the oth—?”
There was a crash of metal outside, screams and Maul’s voice booming outside.
“Cap-tain!”
“What in blazes?!” Ulak leapt to his feet and raced out of the tent; Sul rose from his chair more calmly.
“Did you do it?” Ceyrabeth’s whisper was raw, “Did you do something to that woman and her baby?”
Sul reached towards a shelf and removed a small bag.
“Have you heard of ‘The Tribe of Ecstasy’?”
“Should I have?”
“Probably not,” Sul conceded, “They were an orgiastic cult back in Emperor Tiberius’s day that believed the greatest form of worship they could offer the gods was to preach love and sensual delight to the world.”
Ceyrabeth’s expression morphed into revulsion, “An orgiastic cult. Why do I need to know this?”
“In the end, they were hedonists and harmless but that didn’t stop The Emperor from exterminating thousands of them down to the last child in his bid to secure his throne.”
“They sound like heretics.”
“They also happened to be pacifists,” Sul countered, “They offered no resistance when they were put to the blade.”
“Does this all have a point?”
“Just this,” Sul tossed the bag at Ceyrabeth who caught it deftly, “The Tribe of Ecstasy knew they could not provide for every child that would be conceived during their frequent couplings so the women would swallow one of these seeds. It would, in essence, prevent pregnancy.”
“What does that—?” She stopped, “What would happen if someone took one of these seeds if they were already with child?”
Sul’s calm expression told her everything.
Ceyrabeth’s eyes went wide, “How could you—?”
“One day you will learn that sacrifices must be made,” The blind man replied, “Victory comes with a cost. Do not be so quick to judge one’s methods without first considering what is sought to be accomplished.”
“I can’t—”
Sul reached into his jacket and removed his pipe which he lit with the flame of a nearby sconce, “You need to put your personal feelings aside, Ceyrabeth. Make no mistake; we’re at war. Nobody wants to admit it, but the world and all who inhabit it are under attack. Our world is far more fragile than we’d like to think. If the world- our world, Ceyrabeth- is to be saved change must be affected through whatever means we have at our disposal.”
There was another loud crash outside followed the sounds of violence, “Sir,” Atiya whispered quietly.
“Now,” Sul reached up and removed his bindings, his crystal eyes shifting in a dizzying array of red, yellow, and violet, “Let’s see who desires the attention of the Phoenix Legion.”
They exited the tent to find the immediate area in a state of disarray: two guards were down, one sitting propped upright nursing a badly dislocated shoulder and the other seemed to be barely clinging to consciousness.
“See to them,” Sul whispered to Atiya, taking a cloak from a sentry and drawing the hood up over his face. She nodded and directed men to tend to the wounded. He reached out and put his hand on the dislocated shoulder of the wounded guard.
“Magrom’s flaming ass!” The guard hissed, “Watch what you’re—” He then looked up and immediately turned fish-belly white, “Captain!” He blanched.
“Be still,” Sul replied quietly, giving his shoulder a quick examination, “This will hurt.”
“Sir—?”
Sul twisted his grip on the man’s shoulder and yanked it forward hard. There was an audible *pop*.
“By the gods!” The wounded man gasped.
Sul reached out, took the man’s hand in his and heaved him to his feet. Clearly the older man was stronger than he looked, “Thank you Captain Sir.”
“Report to the medics and then inform the quartermaster that you and any other wounded man is to receive two portions each of officer’s rations.
“Yes, Sir! Thank you, Sir!”
“Dismissed.”
The man started to draw his arm up then winced and saluted awkwardly with the other arm before limping away, clutching at his arm.
Sul turned to scrutinize the captive: she was a small, thin human with short dark hair clad in rags. She was, for all appearances, one of the former slaves. Maul had both her arms pinned behind her back. Ulak had collected a fallen sword from one of the guards and had it trained on her, his green eyes narrow and suspicious. Ceyrabeth flanked him, sword and shield at the ready.
“Well, well,” Sul murmured quietly, “What have we here?”
The girl smiled brightly, “Uh, hi! I think there’s been some kind of mistake.”
Sul smiled fractionally although Ceyrabeth could not discern if he was genuinely amused or simply attempting to disquiet the girl, “That is reasonable,” He admitted, “Perhaps if you were to explain yourself, an understanding could be reached.”
The girl looked confused at the cordiality she was being shown and Ceyrabeth couldn’t suppress a smile of her own: The Captain could do more to intimidate with good manners than anyone else could manage with any amount of bluster or threatening.
“Okay well—” She began
Sul shook his head, “No, first there is another matter to attend to,” Sul’s shrouded head lifted slightly, “Sergeant: please position her arms upon her chest, fists up tight under her chin.”
“Aye cap’n!” The enormous man grunted and began to push the girl’s hands into position. The girl surprisingly put up a great deal of resistance; she was also stronger than she looked.
“If Maul is forced to break both your arms, it will make further negotiations that much more difficult,” Sul commented softly.
The girl blanched, “Okay, yeah that’s not creepy at all,” But she relented and soon her fists were wedged under her chin.
“Thank you Maul,” Sul replied, “Now, squeeze the underside of both of her wrists twice in rapid succession and then step away as quickly as possible.
Maul looked confused but obeyed. The elf girl’s eyes went wide with terror, “No-!”
There was a sharp hissing sound and Maul managed to duck out of the way as a cloud of green powder shot out from the girl’s sleeves and coated her face. She began to cough violently and fell to her knees, hunched over as Maul backed away from the toxic cloud.
“I thought so,” Sul said gently, “You are a long way from home, yes?”
There was a flash of movement and a dagger flew from the girl’s hands towards Sul.
“Captain!” Ceyrabeth cried out.
Sul’s hand lashed out and caught the dagger by the blade, a millimeter from his face, his expression utterly placid.
“Gods!” Ceyrabeth blurted. She had seen duelists who could move quickly before, but that was…uncanny.
The human girl meanwhile looked crestfallen, “Oh, well…shit,” She sighed. Then she cried out as Maul hauled her up by the back of the neck.
“Miserable little bitch!” He spat, “I’ll break you in half!” He lifted the girl above his head and began to fold her. The girl’s body began to crack and her eyes were wide, panic stricken at the ungodly strength that had her in its grasp.
“That will do, Sergeant,” Sul instructed softly, “You may release her now.”
Maul looked at the captain in shock and opened his mouth to protest.<
br />
“Sergeant,” Ceyrabeth interrupted, “You heard the captain.”
“Sod it!” Maul grumbled and he threw the girl to the ground so hard that she bounced. She cried out in pain and lay still: her spine a howling inferno of agony.
Sul stretched out his hand to the girl, “Are you prepared to resume negotiations civilly or should I ask Maul to break you in two?”
The girl looked up at Sul, unable to see past the darkness of his cowl, “I think I’d like to try talking now,” She confessed.
“Wise decision,” Sul hauled the girl up to her feet. The girl cried out in pain and nearly toppled over before the man caught her.
“That really hurt!” She exclaimed.
“Yes, I imagine it did,” Sul replied calmly.
The young girl composed herself, “Well, I guess I should introduce myself.”
“No need,” He reached under his hood and removed his bindings though his features remained hidden from view, “You’ve colored your hair with fermented indigo. I smelled it when you first arrived: Indigo only grows in wettest, hottest climates, such as those found in the south. You are armed with Mindleech poison, but have clearly inoculated yourself against its effect as you are currently neither raving nor dying,” He held up the knife she had thrown at him, “Your dagger is composed of blue steel and onyx with traces of wyrmscale,” He handed the knife back to her, “And it’s a half gram heavy on the back end.”
The girl caught the blade looking thoroughly gob-smacked, “How—?”
Sul pulled back his hood and his shifting glass eyes stared directly into the girl’s face,
“Greetings, servant of the rakshasa” He said calmly, his eyes transforming into pools of glittering yellow glass.
The girl blanched at the sight, her horrified expression reflected back to her in a thousand golden shards, “Are Nahin!”
“Just so. Your name?”
“Janessa,” She answered him more by reflex than anything else, “My name is Janessa.”
“Very well,” Sul gestured to a nervous looking sentry. As Sul locked eyes with the man, the yellow faded from his crystalline gaze and was replaced with shades of green and blue with only a faint yellow at the center, “Issue the command to break down the last of the tents, make certain that all auxiliary personnel have been evacuated and then summon my mount. We ride in a few hours.”
Phoenix Rising Page 17
