“That sounds…nice?” The young girl's voice vibrated between bewilderment and a giddy awe.
Sul nodded once and turned his attention to Ceyrabeth, “And as for you, lieutenant, you disobeyed a direct order. You were commanded to release me. Your priority was to return to the Phoenix Legion and warn them.”
Ceyrabeth’s features flushed, this time with anger, “Yes and I’d do it again! What in the Green do you think I could warn anyone about?! That the Hoard is moving and ravenous? Things we already know?” She raked her fingers though her hair, “Shit, Osen would probably eat me thinking I threw you off the cliff myself! You're the one with the knowledge, you're the one with the plan, and your life had better well start meaning something to you because it means something to the rest of us!” she stopped for a moment before adding, grudgingly, “…sir.”
They stared at each other for the span of a few heartbeats, “Ceyrabeth, you are insubordinate, reckless and you question my decisions relentlessly. Your actions today only prove what I have long already known.”
“Do they? And what is that?” She blinked hard, once, then again, her chin told tilted just a shade higher than it needed to be despite her practiced look of stubborn surety.
“That I chose my lieutenant well,” A slow smile crept upon his lips.
“I----what?”
Reaching out, Sul placed his hand upon her shoulder, “Thank you for saving my life and for your continued loyalty to the Phoenix Legion. Rest assured, it has not gone unnoticed.”
With that, he strode towards the waiting Banshee below.
“What just happened?” Janessa asked as the pair of them started after him.
“I have no idea,” Ceyrabeth replied.
“Me neither…but I really want to find out.”
“Same here. Let’s go.”
With that, both women hurried behind the departing form of their enigmatic captain.
They headed down the hill to where their mounts were tethered, a bay gelding joining Eregost and Banshee. Janessa swung up into the bay’s saddle as though she weighed nothing, the Captain only slightly less agile as he mounted Banshee and began rewrapping his eyes. That left Ceyrabeth, flat footed and staring at the side of a horse that suddenly seemed miles tall instead of feet.
She could not raise her right arm. Bringing it a few inches up made her want to howl. The other side wasn't much better- not injured but weak with strain. There was no way she was going to be able to haul herself onto the horse's back with one semi-working arm. If she ordered Eregost to belly down, they would know she was injured. For some reason, she did not wish to show weakness in front of Janessa.
“I believe,” said Ceyrabeth with carefully studied nonchalance, “That I will walk.”
“Walk? Ceyrabeth, there is an army of Taintbrood right on the other side of the hill and…” Janessa studied her carefully. “You're joking? Is she joking?”
“I think not.” Sul turned his rebandaged gaze to Beth, studied her a moment, and slipped off Banshee’s back. Ceyrabeth stiffened as he came to stand beside her, almost close enough to bump elbows.
“
He spoke druidic, oddly enough, his voice barely a whisper. Ceyrabeth had learned the dying language as a little girl. How he had come to know it, or how he knew she knew it, she had no idea. “
She felt something small and cold press into her hand and then, with a swirl of aubergine fabric, Sul was settled on Banshee again, “If you're certain, Lieutenant. Come, Janessa.”
They were almost out of sight when Ceyrabeth looked at what Sul had handed her. A tiny crystal bottle, stoppered with a unique filigreed silver rune. She uncorked it and a glimmer of light welled up, making her finger tips tingle.
“Healing potion…” She was barely aware that she had spoken aloud. And not one of the cheap, wyrmscale knock-offs that kept the Dolor city patrol so busy-no, this was the real thing. She’d seen legitimate healing potions only a few times in her life. The one in her hand probably cost more than she and Eregost put together, with her sword thrown in for good measure.
The second it hit her tongue she wanted to laugh. She could practically feel the torn muscles knitting themselves together. The pain was eradicated instantly. No longer did the horse seem an insurmountable obstacle- she could leap over his head, in full armor and suddenly walking didn't sound like such an idiotic plan after all, really, or maybe she'd just run the whole way…
“Good of you to join us,” Janessa said dryly as Ceyrabeth came galloping up. The other woman shot her a two fingered salute, nodded at Sul and dropped back into her place, just behind Banshee's shoulder on his left side.
When they returned to camp, Sul acknowledged no one. He dropped out of the saddle at the entrance to the command tent as Ceyrabeth and Janessa followed suit. Sul stalked in, his purple cloak billowing behind him like a storm cloud with the woman flanking him in his wake.
Janessa’s eye caught sight of the bejeweled half mask still clutched in Sul’s fist as he moved to the opposite side of the war table, “Those are blue sand sapphires and royal topaz.” She whispered to Ceyrabeth, “it's worth a small fortune…”
Wordlessly, Sul hurled the mask full force to the floor, slammed down his boot, and the delicate piece of art detonated into a shower of gold and shards of jewels.
“Goddess!” Ceyrabeth gasped, stopping in her tracks. She felt her emotions shutting down, her mind clearing in the defense mechanism that had served her well in her time with the Hammers and especially with Parette who never spoke moderately if he could lose his temper instead.
Meanwhile Janessa stared at the pile of twisted metal and broken gems that had once been a priceless artifact, “That hurt me on so many levels,” she murmured forlornly.
Sul’s hands were gripping the edge of the war table so tightly the women could hear the wood creak and his fingernails scraping against its surface. His head was hung but his shoulders remained hunched and tightened like a coiled snake ready to strike.
“Captain…” Janessa reached out to touch him and froze as Sul jerked his head up to face them. The expression of on his face could only be described as a feral mask of fury and anguish. If he’d had eyes, she was certain that they would be filled to the brim with murderous intent. As such they were twin pools of yellow glass.
“Janessa, to me.” Ceyrabeth ordered, her voice carefully neutral. The young human wordlessly did as she asked, slowly, as one would when backing away from a dangerous animal.
Sul took a long, deep breath exhaling slowly and stood up straight. His expression became calm once more, “Atiya?”
“Sir?” The Mithrac woman appeared at his side with such speed that she may have teleported there.
“Double the sentry patrols and summon the war council. I want the inner council, the highest-ranking officers, the division commanders. Everyone.”
Atiya frowned slightly, “Everyone, Sir?” All the women in the tent wore identical expressions of confusion.
The air in the room abruptly went cold again as Sul locked his glass gaze on his servant,
“Eve-ry-one,” he emphasized each syllable and his tone was lethal.
Atiya blinked and then nodded, “Yes Sir.”
“Well,” Janessa whispered to Ceyrabeth, “I certainly don’t need to use the privy any longer.”
Ceyrabeth was too engrossed in what she was witnessing to comment. “He looks pissed,” Janessa continued.
“He certainly does,” The other woman admitted. The part of her that was not responsible for holding her unease in careful check could not help but wonder how the man would channel his rage. She suspected it would not bode well for the Taintbrood.
Or for anything else that got in his way.
Fifteen minutes later the spacious tent was packed full. Sul sat at the head of the war table. Atiya stood behind him. To his left sat Lieutenant Pellinore and then arranged around the table was Peloquin, Ravenna, Narl-Shu, Maul and a m
an that Ceyrabeth did not recognize who wore the emblem of the Chalicemen. Ceyrabeth, her face carefully and thoroughly blank, sat across from Pellinore on Sul’s right. The rest of the tent was filled with various men and women who represented the leadership of the Phoenix Legion in its entirety. The elven woman only recognized a few faces but each and every person there radiated both competence and confidence.
Sul held up his hand and all idle chatter ceased as those assembled awaited the commands of their leader.
“There has been a miscalculation on my part,” Sul began softly, “I have underestimated the strength of the enemy’s forces. This mistake is mine and it is my responsibility to correct it.”
Everyone in the tent exchanged mute looks of shock. It was possible that few of them had ever seen any evidence that the brilliant strategist that led them was in fact capable of making a mistake let alone being willing to admit it in front of his subordinates.
“We will implement evacuation protocols upon the conclusion of this meeting.”
There were more than a few gasps of shock from those assembled. Ceyrabeth and Pellinore exchanged looks of stunned disbelief. Evacuate? Ceyrabeth frowned and fought down a rising tide of confusion and frustrated. Hadn’t he just said we were going to engage the enemy?
“We will withdraw to the northern regions. The foothills there will provide additional cover against the Brood and by keeping to the river we will be able to move more quickly and keep our provisions well stocked.”
“Those lands are the territory of Duke de Chalon,” Peloquin spoke up, his tone lacking its usual mirth, “If we’re going to be moving our forces there, we need to make certain that the ruling nobility is amicable. May have to grease some palms…or slit some throats,” he finished his statement with a grin and a chuckle.
That chuckle died before it was halfway done as Sul focused on him, “Then grease palms and slit as many throats as is necessary. You will have access to as much funding and personnel as you require but you will succeed in this mission by whatever means necessary. Am I clear, Peloquin?”
The one horned Mithrac swallowed and nodded, “Perfectly clear, mon capitan.”
Sul turned his attention to the unfamiliar man displaying the sign of the Chalicemen, “Wallach.”
“Sir?” He was a middle-aged man with a prominent mustache, his head shaved to the skin. He looked to be about twenty years older than Ceyrabeth, maybe more. Normally competent, Ceyrabeth decided, but at the moment he looked very nervous.
“You and your Chalicemen know more about engaging the Brood more than anyone else. I want you to assemble your most proficient riders and rangers. Arm them with bows and enough provisions to survive on their own for an extended period of time.”
“Skirmishers, Sir?”
“That’s correct. Your men will act as a rear-guard diversionary force. It will be their job to draw the Brood’s attention away from the Legion whilst we make our way north. Under no circumstances are they to attempt to engage the main force directly. Harassment and diversionary tactics only. I expect you to have multiple routes of attack and twice that many routes of escaped planned out in advance.”
“Yes Sir. When do you want them by?”
“Within the hour.”
“Sir that’s-“Wallach’s protest died in his throat at Sul’s demeanor, “Yes Sir, a plan within the hour. How long do I have to assemble my forces?”
“One day.”
“Yes Sir.”
Sul held his gaze a moment longer then nodded before shifting his attention, “Narl-Shu.”
The necromancer managed a shaky smile, “What are your orders…” and then as an afterthought, “…Sir?”
“Our route will pass through the barrows of Valak, Jenhyme, and Corrus.”
“Yes Sir. The entombed remains of men and dwarves who fought together against the Nevaraakese incursion of the previous age.”
“I want them.”
Narl-Shu looked confused for a moment before his mouth fell open, “You mean, you want them reanimated?”
“I do.”
“With all due respect, Sir, you’re talking about hundreds of entombed dead. It would require every last necromancer in my cabal and even then, it would be almost impossible.”
“Then I expect you to use every last necromancer at your disposal and achieve the impossible.”
The Necromancer opened his mouth but no words came out.
“The penalty for breaking into those crypts is death,” Peloquin said softly, “If they are discovered, it would mean war with the dwarves and several of the prominent noble families whose relatives they would be stealing away.”
“Then they best not be discovered,” Sul said calmly, “I want these corpses reanimated and instruct them to head south.”
“You want them to cover our escape,” Ceyrabeth spoke up suddenly as Sul’s plan became clear to her, “That’s why we’re headed through this region: you need disposable forces to defend our rear ranks.”
“Just so, Lieutenant.”
“Breaking into those crypts in broad daylight,” Narl-Shu shook his head, “I don’t believe it’s possible.”
“Anything is possible,” Sul countered as he shifted his attention to Ravenna, “With the right support.”
“Sir?” The bronze skinned woman looked confused and more than a little apprehensive.
“Gather your best illusionists and have them accompany Narl-Shu and his cabal.”
“You want us to use our spells to make Narl-Shu and his graverobbers more difficult to detect?” She purred in sudden comprehension, endlessly excited by the man’s cunning.
“Cloak them in whatever enchantments they will require to access the barrows without drawing attention to themselves.”
“Aren’t hordes of undead shambling their way out of the earth going to attract attention as is?” Ceyrabeth asked.
“Not if we do it one barrow at a time,” Narl-Shu replied as understanding flooded him, “We move from burial mound to burial mound. Ravenna’s illusionists cover us. We reanimate those interred and send them south. In small groups of five to twenty and then we move on. If we keep their numbers small, they should be able to avoid notice.
“What are bands of five to twenty undead going to do against an army? Such small numbers, any attack is doomed,” Scout leader Mischa shook her head.
“Because those bands will all meet in one place, someplace hidden, perhaps underground. Once we’ve got enough assembled, we’ll send them to attack the Brood and keep the attention focused on themselves instead of our living forces.” Narl-Shu explained, his tone bordering on contemptuous.
“Remind your people not to take any unnecessary risks beyond gaining access to the burial mounds,” Sul instructed, “Raise the dead, send them south. At no point should you or anyone under your command be within sight of the Brood itself,” Sul nodded at the necromancer, “Get your forces together, plot your route to the barrows, select the most promising ones and find a rendezvous point where the dead can assemble in secret before sending them against the Brood.”
“And how long do I have to put this together?”
“Two hours to plot your route. Another twelve to assemble your cabal and start heading south. Take a detachment of rangers to accompany your forces; you’ll need their help navigating the wilds.”
Narl-Shu relaxed slightly, even as he and Mischa acquired similar looks of irritation at being stuck together. The prospect of he and his group of mages stomping through the wilderness in search of the burial mounds without any kind of support had seemed like suicide. Having a company of experienced woodsmen made the entire idea much more palatable.
“Beggin’ your pardon cap’n,” Maul rumbled, “But is all this necessary? They’re the Brood: mindless bloody rabble of ugly and the like. Just massacre the lot of them and send them packing”
“You are mistaken, Sergeant,” Sul explained calmly, “These is not a ‘mindless rabble’ as you put it. The Taintbrood have gained
a focus and a direction I cannot fully explain. Until I find out how—and I will find out—I will not waste troops or resources on an enemy I am not prepared to defeat.”
Maul held the captain’s eyeless gaze for a few heartbeats, then slowly nodded, “Okay boss, where do you want me and mine?”
Sul pointed to a spot on the map, “Here. You will serve as the forward vanguard traveling at least a day ahead. You will eliminate any threats you come across and take special care that Shu’s and Ravenna’s forces do not encounter any unwelcome surprises.”
“Shouldn’t Maul and his men stick close to us if they’re supposed to be our escort?” Narl-Shu asked, concerned.
“Cap’n knows what he’s doing,” Maul offered, “My berserkers and I do better given free run of the battle instead of leashed to a single spot,” he gestured to the necromancer, “Me and mine can outpace you lot three to one. We can cover more ground and we can take out anything that gets in our way before you ever see them,” Maul turned his attentions back to the Captain, “I assume that’s the plan yeah? Wipe out anything nasty on our way?”
“If they can’t be reasoned with, yes,” Sul nodded before adding, “You have a keen grasp of the tactical capabilities of your warriors. Well done.”
To Ceyrabeth’s astonishment, the enormous elf actually blushed. “Umm, yes Sir, thank you Sir.” He kept his flushed grin focused on the table.
“Obviously speed is of the essence. I will not waste time going through an unnecessary chain of command,” He turned his attention to the Royal Elf sitting beside him, “Lieutenant, I am hereby promoting you to the rank of commander. You will coordinate our retreat and act with my authority during this matter and other such matters that may arise in the future. You may assemble your staff at your discretion.”
There were more than a few gasps—including from Pellinore, “Yes Sir!” the elf swallowed hard, “I—Thank you Sir.”
“Congratulations Commander Pellinore,” Sul turned his attention to the assembled officers and the stunned silence of the tent, “Janessa, Lieutenant Vallorin, remain. The rest of you have your orders. Dismissed.”
With crisp salutes the assembled officers filed out of the tent, some offering congratulations to Pellinore; who was still in a state of shock and awe.
Phoenix Rising Page 23
