Phoenix Rising

by Alec Peterson

  For a long time, Ulak regarded the man before him and then the vial. Sul held out his arm and Ulak grabbed his forearm without hesitation, “I have never known a truer friend, nor a nobler soul,” The orc rasped.

  “Take heart, Ulak,” Sul offered him with a solemn smile.

  “Varghak shen shiel,” Ulak whispered.

  “And you as well,” Sul replied releasing the orc. For a moment, the two men simply looked at each other.

  “Does it speak ill of me that I am afraid?” Ulak asked.

  “Only the dead are without fear,” Sul replied, “But there comes a time when you stop running, when you turn and face the tiger.”

  Ulak smiled faintly, “I like that. I will remember that, if nothing else.”

  “If anyone could…”

  There was another long moment of silence between the two men. Then orc bowed deeply, his hand over his heart, turned and departed without a word.

  Sul remained where he stood watching as Ulak faded from view and a prolonged silence followed.

  “What did that mean?” Janessa asked curiously, seeking to break the pall that had settled over them, “Varg-”

  “Varghak shen shiel,” Sul corrected.

  “Which means…?”

  “Boundless glory,” The blind man answered softly, “A pledge between brothers who are to enter battle and do not expect to see each other again in this life.”

  “…oh,” She looked down at her hands and then back to regard the man, “He was important to you.”

  “He was…my friend.”

  A long pause and then Sul turned away, “Come, we have work to do.”

  “Yeah, about that,” Janessa rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly, “It’s been fun and all but I really need to be on my-”

  “You are directly responsible for the injury of two of my soldiers and have incurred a debt to the Phoenix Legion,” Sul cut her off, his tone utterly devoid of the humanity that had been present a moment before, “That debt will be repaid. Follow.”

  “Aye, aye” Janessa swallowed noisily and, repressing a shiver as she got to her feet, followed the blind man from the tent.

  Chapter 10

  The True Threat

  ‘It is under adversity that the weak and slow minded are broken and the strong and quick-witted flourish. These opportunities may come from unexpected places but must be capitalized upon. The wise warrior does not question potential because the form is unfamiliar. They find the best to turn it to their advantage’ – A passage from ‘Victor Vinguardis’ (Way of Victory) translated from Daymorian. Author unknown. Currently banned by the Church of Imperius

  "Lieutenant Vallorin, welcome back."

  "Hello, Lieutenant Pellinore." Ceyrabeth smiled down at Pellinore and Keiran from atop Eregost. She was rather surprised at how much seeing them, and the rest of the Legion, felt like coming home. "What's the news?"

  "The Captain wants to see you in the command tent, Lieutenant. Immediately."

  "Immediately. Of course, he does." Ceyrabeth sighed. She had ridden hard for days. A bath had been the only thing on her mind for roughly the last hundred miles. She felt like less than half a human. But...it was Sul, and she could not defy him. She handed Keiran the reins. "Take Eregost for me, will you?”

  Ceyrabeth followed Pellinore through camp, astonished at the number of smiles directed at her, and the number of times she heard, “Welcome back Lieutenant!” or “Glad you’re back, Lieutenant!”

  Sul echoed the trend. She found him in his usual place; poring over a map in the command tent, “Welcome back, Lieutenant,” He greeted her without looking up.

  Ceyrabeth bowed at the waist. “Thank you, Sir.”

  He straightened and folded his hands behind his back. “Your report?”

  “Yes Sir.” Ceyrabeth thoroughly laid out the events of the last weeks. When she mentioned Gaetano’s name, she was surprised to see Sul’s lip curl with scorn. “He doesn’t think much of you either, Captain.” She informed him dryly.

  “No, I imagine he does not. Is he in camp?”

  “No, Sir,” She replied with a grimace. “Thank the gods for small favors.”

  “Indeed.” Sul steepled his fingers. “Still, I’m curious about this artifact he’s managed to acquire.”

  “I’d just as soon never see it-or him- again.” Ceyrabeth huffed. “So, if my next mission is to retrieve it Captain, I respectfully submit my resignation.”

  A smile flickered over Sul’s lips; just a second before it was gone, but Ceyrabeth knew it had been there. “No, Lieutenant. We have bigger issues at the moment.”

  Ceyrabeth frowned, “Sir?”

  “Follow me,” He said, turning without even waiting to check if she was actually following and striding away from her, a heavy cloak of dark purple flaring out behind him.

  “Yes, Sir,” Ceyrabeth muttered and with a sigh trudged after him. At the stables, the Captain ordered Banshee saddled and the shell-shocked stable hand had it done in less time than it took to blink. They hadn’t even had time to unsaddle Eregost as Ceyrabeth swung back up.

  They rode out of camp to the south, the road packed firm by the tramp of many feet. It made for easy riding and after about an hour, they were facing a steep incline.

  Sul dismounted and so did Ceyrabeth. “Leave Eregost,” He commanded. “I would rather not have your mount spooked.”

  “Yes, Sir.” She said automatically, but then a thought nudged its way into her mind. “Wait…how do you spook the undead?” Sul made no reply. “You know,” She puffed, cursing the fact that she was being forced to march uphill in armor. “The Taintbrood have to be close on our heels.”

  “You are mistaken, Lieutenant,” Sul replied, not sounding the least bit out of breath as he crested the peak and gestured out to the vista, “They are already here.”

  Ceyrabeth’s eyes went wide and the blood drained from her face, “Green preserve me,” The Taintbrood were swarming over the ground like an upended ant hill, clamoring over everything that moved. They were a hissing, snarling mass of horror and her stomach turned at the sight of them. Even as she watched she could see the ground and vegetation wither and blacken from their blighted presence. The smell slammed into her with the force of a war hammer: heat and rot and decay, like a bloated corpse left to putrefy in the sun.

  “Their scent was on the winds a day and a half ago,” Sul stated impassively, giving no outward indications of discomfort, “But you can feel the presence of the horde from further still.”

  “Fe—feel?” She swallowed back bile.

  Sul turned to regard her coolly, his eyes hidden by the samite bindings, “What you’re experiencing right now? That feeling of filth that never washes away? Anyone who cares to can detect it, at a cost.”

  “And the cost is...?”

  “For the remainder of your days, Ceyrabeth, you will never be able to forget how the horde got inside you blood, wormed its way behind your bones….and made you experience their corruption,” He looked back out upon the roiling mass of filth and carefully began to unwind the samite bindings around his eyes.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Tarah told me that the Brood’s threat was greater than any realized,” The final wrapping came undone and Sul looked at Ceyrabeth with eyes colored yellow, streaks of green and violet running through them, “That the evil behind it is the true threat.” He removed a small ornate half mask from his cloak, adorned in blue and yellow jewels.

  “What is that?” Ceyrabeth asked. The mask looked like something out of a royal masquerade ball. It seemed very out of place here.

  “A gift,” He placed the mask over his face, “Something to increase one’s perceptions and reveal that which is hidden.”

  As the seconds passed, Ceyrabeth got restless. “Is your plan for us to stay here until I can experience the worming corruption for myself? Because I have to tell you, that would really--."

  A scream, agonized and bestial, cut her off. Sul was stumbling abo
ut, his hands over his face. He was making that awful sound, like all the pain in the world was being inflicted upon him. “Captain Sul!” Ceyrabeth cried out and reached out for him.

  “Don’t touch me!”

  Ceyrabeth gasped. His eyes were pools of swirling blackness. The blackness quickly overflowed from his eyes to spread through his face; his forehead, his cheeks, through his nose and down his neck, across his lips and mouth…in his mouth… she could see it forcing itself down his throat like liquid tar and his throat bulged obscenely. He pushed himself away from her and stumbling, he pitched forwards…

  …and fell from the precipice.

  “No!” The elven woman cried out and she lunged and dove, her armor scraping across the dirt. Frantically she clawed forward and nearly threw herself over the edge after him. By blind good luck, she seized his wrist and he jerked to an abrupt halt. Beneath him, not fifty meters from his feet was the roiling horde of the Taintbrood, ravenous and bloated, teeth and claws and swords and death.

  “Give me your other hand!” She screamed, dangling over the edge at the waist. The scream was as much pain as urgency. In the heat of the moment, she had reached with her dominant hand, her wounded shoulder howling agony as the injured muscle ripped under Sul’s weight. Ceyrabeth set her jaw against the pain, “Please, I can’t hold on.”

  Sul’s mangled features peered back down at the Horde and then once more into Ceyrabeth’s face.

  “Release…me,” He croaked.

  “No, I’ve got you! Just give me your other arm!” The weight of her own armor was starting to drag her forward toward death.

  “Release me,” He commanded again his voice stronger, “You can do nothing for me.”

  “I can save your flaming life!”

  “The life of a heretic? A vile blasphemer? A man you yourself swore to kill?”

  Ceyrabeth gritted her teeth, her wounded shoulder on fire with the strain of supporting his weight and trying to stop her own descent, “This is not the time for this conversation! For the love of the all that is Holy, give me your other arm!”

  “By all that is holy, as decried by the Imperium, release me!”

  “To the Void with the Imperium! Give me your arm!”

  Time stood still in that moment and for the first time Ceyrabeth could recall, she saw surprise register across Sul’s mutilated features. With a grunt he swung his free arm up. She reached and made contact…

  …and the ground beneath her legs gave way.

  “No!” She screamed. She slid forward…and jerked to a stop, something pulled tight around her ankle.

  “I’ve got you!” A voice called out from above her. Ceyrabeth dared to look back, the angle giving her vertigo.

  It was the elf girl: Janessa. She smiled as she wove a stout length of rope through the waist straps of Ceyrabeth’s armor, another length already wrapped around Ceyrabeth’s ankle and anchored somewhere above. “Have you out in a lick,” And then her face vanished from view and She felt the rope near her waist pull taut. Her armor dug into her shoulders and neck, but Ceyrabeth felt her center of gravity begin to shift as she and Sul were hauled back from the cliff. As soon her torso was on solid ground, Ceyrabeth focused on pulling Sul up, every muscle in her body on fire.

  There was a snarl and a jerk, and Ceyrabeth gasped: a scrambling, chittering Taintbrood had broken away from the hoard and attached itself to Sul’s leg. She howled as the motion ripped against her injured shoulder again, spots dancing across her vision.

  “Janessa!” Ceyrabeth screamed. “They’ve got him!”

  “One moment please,” Janessa said in a voice that spoke of tremendous strain yet attempted nonchalance. There was a brief pause, “Alley-oop!” and then, “Look out below!”

  With a heave that made her choke on another howl of agony, she brought Sul up far enough that he could throw his left arm around the back of her neck, grasping her pauldron for purchase. Ceyrabeth twisted her head around as far as she could to see what was about to…

  A dagger soared up into the air over her head, lazily spinning end over end.

  What is that girl—?

  The dagger finished its ascent and began to plunge down towards them

  She couldn’t possibly-

  Gasping, Ceyrabeth jerked her head to the side quickly as a familiar dagger with a heavy looking pommel plunged past them and collided hard into the creature grasping at Sul, shattering its nose. It shrieked and clutched its face as it plunged back into the teeming mass below.

  “We’re clear! Pull!”

  “Quatas!” Janessa swore as her body flexed, “What in the name of Seeress Edaya do you think I’m doing?!”

  Ceyrabeth hazarded a look back: Janessa had the rope holding her and Sul slung over the branch of a tree, forming a crude pulley. She had it wrapped around both arms was pulling down with her entire body. She clutched it like the lifeline it was, her feet braced against the solid root that the rope was anchored to. She looked far too small to be holding so much weight, but with a growl and a curse she heaved and brought Ceyrabeth back onto solid ground. The other woman wasted no time, even as she felt Janessa’ hold go slack, to hoist Sul all the way up. She dragged him a solid two feet away from the edge before releasing him.

  “Not…giving me grief about that dagger’s balance, now are you?” Janessa panted as she sagged to the ground next to Sul, shaking out arms that were already starting to show bruises. “What happened to him?”

  “I’m…not sure,” She was suddenly leery about the captain’s privacy.

  “I’m fine,” Sul said calmly and got to his feet. Ceyrabeth was shocked to see that his features had returned to normal, his glass eyes now a combination of yellow with streaks of violet and green.

  Suddenly something occurred to Ceyrabeth. “Janessa…don’t think I’m ungrateful.” She started. “But what in the name of the Green Lord were you doing all the way out here?”

  “The stable boy and I are…friends.” She said with a wink. “I asked him to keep me up to date on who leaves. I thought it was weird that you and the Captain would be heading out alone, so I followed you. I didn’t think I’d be running a rescue mission. So…really though. What happened?”

  “I was told by someone that it was the evil behind the Brood that was the true threat,” Sul reiterated as he turned his gaze back out to the edge of the cliff, careful not to look directly at the Horde again, “And she was right,” He turned back to face the women, “Our plans must be accelerated. This faction of the horde cannot be allowed to rejoin the rest.”

  “This isn’t the whole horde?” Janessa asked agape.

  “No, this is but a single arm of it,” He turned his glass gaze to Ceyrabeth, “You know it well, Lieutenant: it was the faction that decimated your forces at Velasgate.”

  The woman’s eyes narrowed dangerously, “So, what do we do about it?” she whispered. Her tone was unmistakable. She was a woman out for blood.

  Sul considered a moment, “I believe that the time to engage our enemy upon the field of battle is drawing near.”

  “Finally,” Her expression transformed into one of predatory glee.

  “Come,” Sul started to descend the hill but then stopped as he ran his hands over the rope.

  “Sir?” Ceyrabeth asked, still concerned for his health.

  Turning, he faced Janessa, “Two people plus armor. How much would you say that weighed?”

  The girl shrugged, “I don’t know. Maybe a few hundred pounds or so.”

  “And how much do you weigh?”

  Janessa laughed, “Come now, you know better than to ask a girl her weight-,” The rest of her joke died as she watched his face, “Less than a hundred pounds,”

  “You sound confident of that answer.”

  “I am,” she smiled a little, “I was always good at figuring these sorts of things out. Helps to know by heft whether something is brass or gold when it comes time to make some quick coin.”

  “I would imagine so,” Sul
replied his tone taking her by surprise with its complete absence of the judgment she’d always received regarding her methods from everyone else, “And the dagger? Throwing it blind up into the air and having it come down exactly where you need?”

  “Wasn’t blind,” She tapped her head, “I remembered where you were and the rest of it was just, you know, making sure I picked the dagger with the right heft and got the right kind of throw.”

  “You mean calculating weight, trajectory and angle, all from memory?” Sul’s tone took on an admiring note.

  Janessa blushed, “I…guess? They taught us a lot about how to fight without seeing our opponent back home.”

  “How is that possible?” Ceyrabeth gaped, “I thought for sure that was magic!”

  “”Magic’ is just a word for knowledge we have not yet encountered,” Sul looked thoughtful, “You’ve shown initiative with by having the stable boy provide you information,” he gestured at the rope, “The way you set up the pulley and anchored the rope to precise points on Lieutenant Vallorin’s armor demonstrates both ingenuity and expertise, especially given how little time you had to come up with it,” He smiled faintly, “And your skill with a dagger is certainly above question.”

  “Umm,” Janessa gave a little laugh, “Thank you?”

  Sul nodded, “Thank you for saving the life of someone I value greatly,” he nodded towards Ceyrabeth. Her copper eyebrows furrowed and she studiously avoided Janessa's gaze.

  “Not to mention yourself,” Janessa winked, “Or do you not value your own life as well?”

  “Not particularly,” The matter of fact coldness of his tone brought both women up short.

  “Oh,” Janessa managed.

  “You did well today, Janessa. The Phoenix Legion has need of quick and creative minds,” His tone thawed slightly, “If you are going to insist on being so useful, then I am under an obligation to find use for you.”