“Sure, precious.” He made a gesture to Evric and Josef, who immediately turned to the right. They would meet up with them after she and Gaetano were inside. “Alright,” He whispered, “Now’s the time to bat those pretty eyes. Tits out. Howdy, gents!”
They had reached the prison. “Gaetano! What have you got for us tonight?” One of the guards hailed him.
“Boys, meet Lorelei. Brand new skin, not even in rotation yet.” Ceyrabeth, newly christened Lorelei, felt her cheeks flush but she swept her eyes up, blinking her lashes at them in a motion that felt ridiculously coquettish.
“Lorelei,” The younger of the two asked, “Like the song?”
“And, oh, will she make you sing Sir Brandon.” The boy, he couldn’t have been much more than eighteen, flushed to the roots of his blonde hair. Gaetano saw and immediately capitalized. “What’s this I see? Blushing like the most vestal virgin I’ve ever seen! Could it be…a virgin I see before me?! Oh, oh my sweet Lorelei,” He braced one hand on her shoulder, put one hand over his heart. “Go and make this boy a man, I beg you!”
Ceyrabeth just barely managed to not roll her eyes again as she followed an awkward Sir Brandon into the prison. They stopped in an empty block of cells near the entrance; he still couldn’t manage to look her in the eye. “Look, I’m sorry, I’m just not…”
But the woman was already moving. Taking hold of his head, she planted his forehead squarely into the iron bars and Sir Brandon was down. She tied his hands and feet together and relieved him of his keys before skimming the prison log, sighing in relief when she saw Mischa and Keiran’s names. “Block C.”
She sauntered back out through the door. “Back so soon?” Gaetano raised his eyebrow.
“You know boys,” Ceyrabeth let the Dolorian accent she had spent years trying to rid herself of slip back into her voice. “A slip here, a squeeze there and pop!”
“I guarantee it won’t be slip, squeeze, pop with me girlie,” The other guard leered. “Where is the little bastard now?”
Ceyrabeth glanced at Gaetano, thought fast. “I may have…left him a little dazed. He was having trouble with his legs.”
“I’ll go get him…” Gaetano offered.
“You know that you flesh peddlers don’t go into the prison,” The guard said. “I’ll get him. You come with me, girl. I’m not wasting my time because some kid can’t control himself. I’ll fuck you on top of him if I have to.”
If looks could kill, the man would be not just dead but flayed alive. Luckily, in his haste to get through the door, he didn’t notice.
“There you are,” Gaetano said as she returned a second time a few moments later. She was spattered in blood and carried a short sword and small targe, plus another, taller sword and shield and a mage’s staff. “He gave you a little more trouble than the kid?”
“No,” Was all Ceyrabeth said. She pursed her lips and whistled. Evric and Josef emerged from the corner of the building. Wordlessly she distributed the weapons and led them into the prison.
But as they passed Sir Brandon, who was just waking up, she found her voice. “You…” She smacked him none too gently across the cheek and he looked at her with wide eyes. “You are much too nice of a boy to listen to this idiot!” She flung her arm out to indicate his very battered comrade. “The next time something like this comes up, do yourself a favor and don’t do ridiculous things like almost sleep with a woman you don’t know! Train hard, find better friends, and make your family proud! Don’t let anyone bully you into anything! Got it?” The young man was gagged but he nodded. “Good. I’m going to leave you there. Start kicking up a fuss and you’ll end up like Sir Pummeled Pig-Shit, am I perfectly clear?”
Another nod and Ceyrabeth stalked away, Gaetano sniggering behind her. “By the Six…did you walk off the damn recruiting posters?”
“Shut up.” She muttered. Now that they were a force, they could afford to sacrifice silence for speed. “Knockouts only.” She commanded. She had always been good with using her shield offensively, and all it really took was a quick feint and a well-placed shield bash to subdue the few guards they came across.
“Do you even need us?” Josef asked sometime later after the third guard fell.
“No,” Evric answered for him. He had been training with her since she became an official part of the Legion, and had seen her fight before. “Just stay out of her way.”
“Lazy,” Ceyrabeth muttered. She unlocked a heavy wooden door. “This should be it.”
“Ceyrabeth!” Mischa lurched up to the bars, frowning through a split lip. “You have to go get Keiran! The Witchhammers just took him!”
“Where?” Ceyrabeth asked him. She pointed out the far door. “Evric, see to Mischa.” Ceyrabeth freed her before wrenching open the door, Josef and Gaetano hot on her heels a moment later. She heard their voices before she saw them; they were discussing something that made her stop in her tracks.
“Why in the Void did they send that thing here? Why didn’t they send it by bird straight to Arcus?”
“You don’t send a Call-To-Arms by bird, you idiot! What happens if they get shot down? It’s hand to hand from the clergy to the Witchhammers until it gets where its’ going.”
“But why is it here in the ass end of nowhere?”
“I dunno. Some problems along the line, I guess. We have to take it up to the Archbishop when we’re done with our pal here.”
The Call-To-Arms: The order of assault on Arcus Meier. The actual writ was not two feet beyond that door. No order, no assault. “Josef…Gaetano…” She hissed. “For love of the gods, stay behind me.”
“Shield,” Josef replied, and a violet dome shimmered up and around them. Ceyrabeth nodded her thanks…and kicked open the door with a bloodcurdling screech. Between Ceyrabeth’s rapid assault and Josef’s magic the Witchhammers were completely overwhelmed.
Keiran was strapped to a table, battered and bloody but alive. “Hey,” He slurred up at Ceyrabeth as she moved to release him. “You look great.”
“Don’t you even start.” She told him.
Josef stepped up, looked into Keiran’s eyes, “A concussion. I should have just enough power left to help.”
“Gaetano, find the orders,” Ceyrabeth commanded and the man immediately obeyed, coming up with a very official looking piece of paper from the older Witchhammer’s belt pouch. Ceyrabeth took it…and handed it to Josef. He cocked his head at her. “I thought you might like to do the honors.”
Understanding flooded Josef’s gaze and suddenly the writ of assault disintegrated with blinding, white-hot flashfire. He spat into the ashes on the floor.
“So, I really hate to rush you…” Gaetano interjected, holding something that smoked and hissed firmly wrapped in a cloth. “But we gotta stick this somewhere now or we’re gonna have a pissed off demon on our arses!”
“And you didn’t know this before?!” Ceyrabeth slung Keiran’s arm around her shoulder and hauled him off the table.
“Well, excuse me, precious!” Gaetano shot back. “There wasn’t enough sunlight when I sealed it!” He moved to one of the downed Witchhammers and opened the cloth to reveal the crystal cube. It was no longer clear but black as pitch with flickers of violet lighting striking angrily inside.
“What are you doing?!”
“Deporting the demon!”
“Not them!!” Ceyrabeth grabbed the cube from him. Gaetano went to protest…and caught sight of her hand. The left was normal but the right was webbed with black lines. She took off running toward the entrance, Gaetano following close behind, a look of consternation fixed on his features.
“Him!” Ceyrabeth commanded, pointing at the knight she had dubbed Sir Pig-Shit.
“Fine!” Gaetano took the cube from her again, started manipulating the symbols on the side. “Make me an entrance!”
“What?!”
“The blade, the blade!” He yelled. “Use the bloody blade! Now!!”
Ceyrabeth didn't give herself time to think; she pulled the
blade from the sheath on her thigh and plunged it into the knight’s belly. His eyes flew open, too surprised to even try to scream. Gaetano slammed the cube into the wound and backed far out of reach, “Get out of the way!” Ceyrabeth obeyed, dragging the terrified Sir Brandon with her.
They watched in horror as Gaetano started chanting…then the ground below the frantic knight opened, roiling and seething with tendrils of black smoke that formed hands and dragged him into their embrace. Inch by inch, with the eerie sounds of Gaetano's chanting and the infernal wailing coming from the pit assaulting their ears, Ceyrabeth and Brandon watched the knight get dragged into the Void.
Ceyrabeth got the gag off Sir Brandon’s mouth just in time to watch him heave the contents of his stomach all over the prison floor.
“What in the Void happened to him?” Evric asked as he, Mischa, Josef and a very unsteady Keiran approached, but Ceyrabeth just shook her head. Gaetano cautiously approached the blackened circle where the knight had disappeared and retrieved the cube, which was crystal clear again.
“Whew, that was a close one!” He grinned.
Ceyrabeth stood, her hands shaking, and slammed him by his collar against a wall. “Get us…out of here…now.”
Gaetano held up his hands in a placating gesture, “Sure thing, precious. One safe exit, coming up.”
.:*:.
Lieutenant Pellinore watched the bat flutter down from the sky. It was one of the animals they sent with agents in the field, and unless he missed his guess, it held news of Ceyrabeth's mission. He had held some qualms about sending Ceyrabeth, especially with the other former Witchhammer added in; could they be trusted to act against the Witchhammers? But he had kept his concerns to himself. The Captain seemed to trust her and that was enough for Pellinore. As he skimmed the note, which was two lines on a piece of paper in a slanted, feminine hand:
Strike entirely halted…leaving Corbray immediately. C. he found himself smiling.
He reported the letter to the Captain immediately. “Adjusting for distance and the speed of the bat, if she left Corbray three days ago, her team should be back tomorrow.”
“Yes,” Pellinore couldn’t tell if the Captain was pleased or not from his tone, but that was no real surprise. “I wish to see Lieutenant Vallorin the moment she arrives back in camp.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“And what of the rest of the army?”
“All present and accounted for, Captain.” Pellinore’s was the last satellite unit of the Legion to check in, point of fact; the army was once again whole. Now, they could begin the not-insignificant task of setting permanent camp.
Sul nodded his approval, “Thank you, Lieutenant. Dismissed.”
“Yes Sir,” He spun on his heel and departed.
Ulak took that opportunity to emerge from behind the tent’s rear curtain, pulling at his new, unfamiliar armor, “Are you certain that this is entirely necessary?”
“Does it not fit well?”
“It’s fine. But are all these spikes actually useful?”
“It presents an image. All of warfare is deception, Ulak. And a fearsome appearance can serve as a preemptive measure. It helps you avoid unnecessary confrontations and keep a lower profile, at least more so than open violence would.”
The orc frowned and looked down at the armor then back up at Sul, “So it…really makes me look fearsome?”
Sul smiled and nodded his assent.
Ulak frowned and peered past Sul at Janessa for confirmation.
“Oh definitely!” Janessa piped up, “Seriously, I have chills.”
“Really?” Ulak considered and then nodded, “Well then, thank you Captain.”
“You’ll still need a weapon,” The blind man reached down by the table and with a heave dragged an enormous sword onto the table. It landed on the hard wood with a definitive thud!
Ulak eyed the weapon incredulously, “You can’t possibly be serious.”
“It’s called ‘Harkon’s Tooth,” The other man informed him, “Use it in good health.”
Ulak took hold of the massive weapon and heaved it off the table, “Gods, how am I supposed to fight with this thing?”
There was a sudden hum in the air and the armor on Ulak’s body began to glow faintly. Suddenly the sword weighed nothing at all. He heaved the blade up in one hand and began to twirl it experimentally.
“The armor acts as a conduit,” Sul explained, “Much like water conducts lightning, the metals in the armor and the way it is cut and etched corresponds with residual magical energy a sort of sympathetic resonance.”
“A what?!”
“The armor powers the sword and the sword returns that power to the armor.”
“Why didn’t you say that in the first place?” Janessa commented wryly.
Ulak looked stunned as the power of his new arms allowed him to do the impossible, “How did you do this?” He breathed in wonder.
“With great care,” Sul gestured at him, “Put that down for a moment. I want to show you one other useful talent,” The blind man walked around the table to face the other man, stopping only to pick something off the ground, “You spent enough time in the company of Retzel to understand the relationship between wyrmscale and the astral plane?”
“All too well,” Ulak growled.
“In sufficient quantities, wyrmscale can be used for rites to enter the astral plane physically.”
“Yes, yes,” The elf bristled, “So what?”
“So this.”
Sul thrust a large snake into the orc’s face. Ulak shrieked and lashed out blindly…
…and his hand passed through the snake. In a flash of blue light, the serpent went rigid and then completely limp.
“I see you’re still afraid of snakes,” Sul tossed the dead creature to the ground.
“Don’t you ever—,” Ulak couldn’t speak as he tried to catch his breath, “What in the name of the Ancestors’ Tusks was that?!”
“That was awesome!” Janessa cried out
“The armor is tempered with heavy quantities of various types of wyrmscale powder. It allows portions of yourself to enter the Astral Plane for a few moments. It makes a useful first strike weapon or interrogation. In time, you’ll gain enough control to augment your combat skills: making yourself more resistant to magical assault or become more difficult to hit,” Sul smiled faintly. “A useful talent for a fugitive. And helpful considering where you’ll be headed.”
“Yes,” The elf murmured, “You haven’t actually told me where I’m going.”
"Daymore Merenia by way of the Carnifain Passage,” Sul replied.
“And what’s in this Daymore Merenia exactly?”
“A ship that will take you to Gloomvale, in the eastern part of the empire. From there you’ll make your way to Daymore Dolor.”
“Daymore Dolor,” Ulak scoffed, “You’re sending the former mage’s slave to the city known as ‘The City of Curses.’?”
“I’m sending the former slave of a mage to a city where there are enough Witchhammers to give even Retzel pause.”
“…All right, fair point.”
“When you arrive in Dolor you’ll be meeting with one of my agents: a dwarf that goes by the name Piotr.”
Ulak grinned ruefully, “Ah, some sort of master assassin or spy no doubt.”
“Piotr possess a singular ability to appear completely ineffectual. He plays the role of a buffoon expertly.”
Ulak frowned, “Why would I need a buffoon?”
“There are many uses for a man who can appear much more foolish than he actually is.”
“That’s actually true,” Janessa pointed out.
“I’ll take your word on that,” Ulak replied skeptically.
“Take this as well,” Sul placed a heavy pouch in his hand, “That will cover all of your expenses in addition to procuring room and board in the city.”
Ulak gaped at the pouch; it contained more coin that he had ever seen in his entire life. Then his tra
in of thought caught up with him, “Eastern Daymore” He spat.
“Is that a problem?” Sul asked politely.
“If the rest of the world turned into orange slime, I would still prefer that to living in the Eastern Empire,” His voice slipped into a bad Eastern accent “’Oy! I’m a bloody idiot with the brains and table manners of a sodding goat!’” He shook his head disdainfully.
“Hey, that’s pretty good,” Janessa laughed.
“I’ll grant you that Daymore Dolor isn’t a bastion of intellectualism,” Sul admitted, “Rampant ignorance and barbarism seems to be symptomatic of pervasive Imperium influence.”
“Huh?” Janessa said frowning.
“Stupid people are easier to control, especially if they’re too busy fighting each other to fight the people in charge,” Sul’s tone dripped with spite, “And the Imperium does so love having control.”
“Oh.”
Ulak smiled and shook his head,” You’ve chosen a worthy adversary, I’ll give you that much,” He cleared his throat, “Thank you for all your help. Is there any way in which I may repay you generosity?”
“There is,” Sul said softly and held up a small vial filled with a purple liquid, “I need you to drink this before you go.”
Ulak frowned, “What is it?”
“It is an elixir, one that will erase a very specific set of memories.”
“Are you joking?” The orc exclaimed,
“No, I am not joking.”
Ulak scowled, “Which specific set of memories exactly?”
“This elixir will erase all recollection of a single individual from your memory.”
Ulak’s brow furrowed as he tentatively took the vial, “Which individual?” He asked as he held the bottle up to the light and peered within.
“Me.”
Ulak nearly dropped the bottle, “What?!” He asked aghast.
“The elixir will remove all memory of me from your mind. To you, it will be as if we never met.”
“But wh—?”
“Retzel will not stop hunting you Ulak. We both know that his ego is too large to allow him to simply cut his losses,” Sul gestured at his people, caught in the bustle of setting camp. “If the unthinkable should happen, he will not hesitate to ravage your mind to uncover how you managed to escape,” Sul’s tone became regretful, “As much as our friendship means to me, the lives of those I am responsible for must take priority.”
Phoenix Rising Page 21
