Phoenix Rising

by Alec Peterson

  “Just the lads having a bit of fun,” Maul answered with a grin, “Our Crimson Vanguard, blowing off the last of the battle lust,” The scarred man gave her a wicked grin, “Care to join us?”

  “Um—“

  “The answer to that question is ‘no’,” Sul replied without looking up from the map.

  “Seconded,” Pellinore commented hoisting his own glass in silent tribute, “The Vanguard fights hard but tends to play rough with their…” He eyed Ceyrabeth warily, “…’toys’.”

  Ceyrabeth's eyes narrowed, “I am no one's toy, Commander.”

  “Which is why I recommend against participation.”

  “Think I’ll join my mates,” Maul said, nosily draining the contents of his mug and tossing it outside the tent before making his exit…

  …and jerking to a stop as Sul took ahold of his splinted arm with an iron grip.

  “Boss?” Maul swallowed a yelp of pain, “Something I can do for you?”

  “Your former kinsmen of the mountains are or soon will be coming into contact with a person of great personal value to the Legion and to me. He is to be kept intact until such time as he is taken into custody of our Outrunners.”

  Maul swallowed, “Begging your pardon, Cap’n, but will my ‘former kinsmen’ be expected to live through taking possession of this man?”

  “That depends entirely on their discretion and your ability to ensure the man in question is of sound mind and body when we arrive.”

  Maul exhaled hard, “I’ll be heading north then, if that suits you cap’n.”

  “Enjoy your evening. You’ll receive further instructions by bat.”

  Maul gave the shorter man a grave bow and Sul released him without word.

  “So, who is this person of great value?” Ceyrabeth asked.

  “A historian, scholar and writer of unparalleled insight and talent,” He paused for a moment, “And he is a friend.”

  “I wasn’t aware you had any ‘friends’,” Ceyrabeth scoffed, still provoked by Sul’s earlier ruthlessness.

  “Not many.”

  “So, you’d wipe out a village for a friend?”

  The silence that answered spoke volumes.

  “Of course, you would,” The elven woman refilled his glass, even though she much would have preferred pouring the wine into his lap. “How do you sleep with all that blood on your hands?”

  “The same way you do I imagine, “ Sul rejoined. “Fitfully.”

  Ceyrabeth slammed the wine pitcher down with a thunk. “My sleeping habits are absolutely none of your….”

  “If I may,” Pellinore cleared his throat diplomatically, returning focus to the matters at hand, “After Reaper Maul has successfully completed his assignment, where should he reconnoiter and await further orders?”

  “Send him to the Winking Wererat and remind him not to kill any of the patrons in drinking contests. He can assume the responsibilities of whomever we currently have stationed there.”

  “Yes sir,” Pellinore made a note. “With Reaper Maul gone, we will need someone to coordinate the removal of our dead from the battlefield so they can receive proper rites.”

  “I’ll do it,” Ceyrabeth volunteered. It was a hard, thankless job but it would be easiest for her; since she hadn’t been with the Legion long, she wasn’t as close to the fallen as the others were. She knew she wasn’t imagining the relief in the other’s faces.

  “The White Shepherds and many of the Chalicemen are already on the field searching for survivors.” Sul replied. “You may join their efforts, Lieutenant. Report to the stable for the necessary equipment.”

  “Sir!” Ceyrabeth stood, snapped a salute, and exited.

  Hours later, Ceyrabeth heaved yet another body on to a broad cart. She took a moment to straighten, stretch her aching shoulder. Between Sul’s healing potion and Mother Reiko’s strengthening exercises, it was getting better but still was not up to full use. She had given up hope long ago that it ever would be, so the thought didn’t crush her. She would just find a way to work around it as she always had.

  She surveyed the battlefield thoughtfully. The fighting had been intense but, crushed between the infantry bulwark and the cavalry charge, the Horde had broken and fled. Once she and Pellinore’s lancers had met in the middle of the field they could have chased them all the way back to the Underwilds if they’d been so inclined, but the order had been to let the Taintbrood quit the field after they retreated past the range of the Legion’s distance archers.

  She took stock of the battlefield with a critical eye. She saw the familiar faces of good men and women amongst the dead: mostly within the ranks of the infantry that had held the phalanx against the Horde. The Crimson Vanguard had lost nearly a third of their berserkers (though not, she remembered with a rueful smile, Sergeant Maul) and she herself had lost a pair of knights to a combination of Taintbrood ferocity and simple bad luck. But such were the spoils of war and not outside the realm of expectation.

  What was unexpected was how relatively few injured and dead they had suffered and how catastrophic the Taintbrood losses had been. Some of the injured members of the Legion had to be almost dug free from the crush of the enemy dead; in some cases, the corpses of the Horde were piled five or six high. It was as complete and devastating a defeat for the enemy as any military engagement she had heard of or participated in.

  Outnumbered five to one and it was a massacre. Ceyrabeth would not have believed it unless she had seen it herself. Like Velasgate in reverse. What would have happened if it had been Sul in command of her brethren that day?

  “I would have waited for the reinforcements from The Ghenlands as well the remainder of the Daymore’s forces from the outer provinces.”

  She started at his voice but congratulated herself silently on not jumping, “How could you possibly know what I was thinking?” she asked without turning around.

  “It is the most common thought of those who have survived a terrible defeat in one battle and then stand upon the field of victory in another.”

  “And that is?”

  Sul stood beside her now, ramrod straight hands clasped behind his back. An effigy of perfect military poise. “‘What if’?’”

  She just smiled and shook her head, past the point of being impressed with his deductive reasoning. Instead she focused on the rapidly approaching dusk and the post battle chaos around them. “How did you find me in the dark amidst all this?”

  “Were I cast into the Void, I would still find you,” He shrugged slightly.

  She felt a flush of heat come to her cheeks but was determined to not allow herself to be affected by his words, “Your magic glass eyes would make such a task quite easy I should think.”

  Sul turned his head slightly, and the intensity of his presence was palpable. “Radiance can be felt upon the skin; it can be smelt in the air and tasted upon the tongue. So, it is with the light of the sun, the cast of the moon and the brightest of stars,” He turned his attention back to the field, “And so it is with individuals such as yourself. Eyes are not required. Merely the ability to perceive radiance and experience the warmth it brings.”

  This time she could not prevent an electric current from running through her body. She squeezed her hands into the fist so tightly that the dragonhide creaked. She felt the twinge of her old wounds and the pain grounded her.

  “Thank you, Sir,” She whispered.

  “It is a simple truth. Much like that final battle of your former fellows itself.”

  “How so?”

  “That battle was lost before it was ever fought.”

  Ceyrabeth frowned and shook her head, “The Church and the forces of Daymore—“

  “The high clerics of Imperius had no business being upon the field of war. Certainly not in addition to a legatus of Daymore,” Sul interrupted coolly, “When you are given command, it is total and complete. One leads or one follows and it is the man…or woman” He added with a nod towards her, “…with the ability to
strategize, maintain long term focus and discipline amongst both himself and the forces in his charge that is in command,” He shook his head slightly, “And not simply a man born with his god’s “blessings’.”

  “Meaning the clerics?”

  “I am curious to know precisely what they would have done if the Daymorian leader had not made himself such an easy target for assassination by the enemy,” Sul considered before turning his attention back to her, “But no, the clerics was not fit to lead either.”

  Ceyrabeth bristled a little, “They had many victories against the Ghen and helped protect the independence of Daymore.”

  “They fought against the Ghen,” Sul acknowledged evenly, “grown complacent after a ninety plus year occupation of that province and lead by a man who was both universally despised by the people of the land they were tasked with ruling as well as being incompetent in all matters military. A petty despot who cared more about the trappings of rulership than its proper execution, who deferred the majority of matters to a mage whose only interest was practicing magic outside the scrutiny of the powers that be,” Sul’s smile was scornful, “No, Ceyrabeth, the only advantage the Ghen had against the ‘Divine Commander’ of Imperius was numbers,” He nodded towards the decimation of the battlefield, “An advantage that is far from a guarantee of victory,” He turned to face her, “And that was is why The Church, for all its cunning, reputation and confidence is doomed against the Taintbrood: they are beyond them. The clerics are not kings, as much as they may want to be, there are not even leaders.”

  “What are they then?”

  “They are zealots, forever seeing the world as an opposing heresy to be smote,” Sul answered in that calmly modulated voice, “Much like a hammer sees all the world as a nail…,” His tone turned slightly sardonic, “…whether that happens to be the case or not. But the Horde…I have seen their will now. It is singular, united. One could almost admire it’s ‘purity’ if such a word could be used for them: survival, conquest, consumption, unclouded by an enforced conscience, manufactured remorse, or an imposed sense of morality from an obsolete and burdensome religious institution.”

  He removed a small pipe that he lit with bit of tinder. The embers caused the glass fragments of his eyes to glow scarlet and golden as he inhaled, “I imagine if The Church had ten divisions of such men who possessed such conviction then perhaps they would stand a chance against the Horde,” He exhaled slowly, a cloud of smoke trailed away lazily, “But that isn’t what I see, not in this world as it is.”

  He paused a moment in his musings, “The kings of old saw things differently. They were leaders for they saw the world both as it was and how it could be.”

  “And you, Captain Sul,” Ceyrabeth challenged, “What do you see when you see the world?”

  Sul was quiet for a long time, so long that she feared he would not answer her question. Then, slowly he scooped up a handful of dirt.

  “I see discord, Commander,” His voice so soft it was almost lost on the wind, “Targeste, the Underwilds...I see battles that extend beyond this one and wars that extend beyond all of them,” He turned to face her, his foot resting near a freestanding puddle of blood, whether human or Taintbrood, Ceyrabeth could not tell in the fading light, “I see struggle and dispute beyond one man’s bid for the throne….”

  He tossed a stone into the puddle. It sank with a thick plop.

  “…one nation’s struggle for survival…”

  Another stone was tossed into the ichor.

  “…or even one Horde threatening to consume an entire continent.”

  And another.

  “I see The Ghenlands, Reaverlund, Nevaraak and Sahath. I see Daymore, Raynia’s Rock and Al-Salahd,” He stared past the horizon to points that Ceyrabeth could neither see nor fully understand, “And I see death, lieutenant, and such terrible suffering. I see all the world on the precipice of change ready to plunge into the flames to either be consumed whole or remade,” He gestured to the battlefield, “This? This isn’t the sweeping victory you believe it to be, Ceyrabeth. This a step forward in a long journey many years in the planning and years still in the undertaking,” He tapped out the pipe, his face shrouded in darkness, “And there is only one direction that leads to any point beyond extinction: forward.”

  It was in the stillness of that moment that Ceyrabeth contemplated the awful truth of the man she had chosen to follow: there would no peace, no rest in his world and there never would be. He had received some vision so terrible to behold that it propelled him towards a destiny that he could neither deny nor even share: a road of ash and fire and scorched earth that he was forced to trod: unceasing, unending and unyielding. Alone.

  But…

  Help me. Please. Sul’s plea in her dream.

  You remarkable child. Mother Reiko’s praise when Ceyrabeth had decided to preserve the memory of Sul’s suffering rather than cast aside and forget.

  He is NOT alone. Ceyrabeth told herself firmly before speaking aloud. “As you say, sir. And speaking of forward...if we are to finish before nightfall, I should get back to it.”

  Sul nodded agreement and Ceyrabeth took Eregost’s reins, leading the reanimate and his heavy burden back toward camp. When she was out of sight, he turned to his left with a faint sigh. “You can come out now.”

  Tarah emerged from the shadows, skin still glimmering as she shed her shielding

  magic. "Answer me something, Uncle. What is your plan for that one?" She nodded her head in the departed Ceyrabeth’s direction.

  "The same plan I have for all of my soldiers."

  Tarah rolled her eyes, "Really? So you tell all your soldiers that they're radiant and you could find them if they were cast into the Void? I never knew."

  Sul turned his eyeless gaze to Tarah "Pray tell, niece: what is your sudden interest in my lieutenant?"

  She shrugged. "Just trying to discern your mind. You chased her and her squad to you deliberately. You manipulated her into joining the Legion. You took her to view the Brood, at great peril to your secrecy. And then," She motioned out over the field, "this battle. Pellinore could have led forty lancers by himself well enough, and yet you handed her-an unproven Lieutenant- half. You kept her in your inner circle while you put her fellows down in the lines. I'm concerned, Uncle. And others are starting to notice."

  “Ceyrabeth Vallorin is one of the most competent soldiers I have encountered and she is a valuable asset to the Phoenix Legion.” He turned to face her, "Do you or these 'others' have some concern with the military efficiency of how I am waging this campaign?”

  “Your strategy is sound enough, as always. It’s your personal actions...”

  "I endure your concerns because we are family," His tone became quieter, colder. "and because of who it is you protect and hold dear."

  "You needn’t bristle at me," Tarah met his bandaged gaze fearlessly. "I just hope you're not forgetting what you went through to get this far for a doe-eyed lightning rod for disaster. Especially not when you could crook your little finger and have someone who could hand you the means to achieve your goals, fight beside you while you do it, and has no parallel for beauty besides. You should go to Reaverlund. Meet with the queen. She is most anxious to see you again."

  Sul scoffed, “You're a terrible liar niece. The queen has not given me a thought since she was a babe. Whatever impression I may have left upon her then, I'm certain her ambition and the appetite for domination left such things cold and ashen."

  Tarah snorted a dark chuckle, “And they say dragons are out of touch with the emotions of man...”

  "She has much larger concerns than nostalgia over a dead man," He interjected, "A man whose deaths and executions you witnessed first-hand, lest you forget." Tarah blanched just a little...but enough that it proved his point had hit home. "And we do as well. We've wiped out a large force of Brood. Noble a goal as that is, several thousand Brood turning up as corpses on the open field will generate significant attention. Power, like natu
re, abhors a vacuum "

  “I suppose you’re insinuating that I should...” Tarah stopped mid-sentence, and her head whipped around. Her nostrils flared. "What is..."

  *SILENCE*

  The word rumbled through the air, made the ground below them shake with the force of it, underscored with the angry scream of what might have been a horse. Tarah grimaced when the spell hit, hissing her displeasure, and suddenly a red dragon stood where she had been. For a second, Sul was truly blind as the shards in his eyes went an ominous smoky grey. He reached out a hand, steadying himself on Tarah’s broad side. Then the glass shards in his eyes reformed, exploded into a rapidly shifting tapestry of gold, ruby, and emerald.

  Tarah lowered her neck without being told and Sul quickly climbed aboard. Her broad wings ate the distance across the battlefield until they were directly over the tableau that had brought them there. “Land now!” Sul commanded, and Tarah, with the briefest hesitation, complied. On the way down, he wrapped his eyes with quick, sure motions.

  “Captain!” Ceyrabeth looked up with a start as he strode toward her. “Stay back! The creature could be dangerous!”

  The creature was a Taintbrood. On its knees, it was almost level with Ceyrabeth’s head but she showed no signs of fear or faltering as she held her blade on it.

  “A taintbrood mage?” Tarah was back in her human form, staring at the creature.

  “I don’t know if it’s a mage or not,” Ceyrabeth replied, eyes back on her prisoner. “But it’s certainly a Taintbrood.”

  “But the Silence...” Tarah studied the elf’s profile, “YOU cast that muting spell?”

  “Well,” Ceyrabeth’s voice was even, but the corner of her mouth was twitching with the effort of suppressing her amusement at Tarah’s surprise, “It surely wasn’t Eregost.”

  “Why a Silence, Lieutenant?” Sul asked her.

  “It speaks, Captain. Actual words, not hissing and growling, like the rest of his kind.”

  “And so, you muted it with the force of a thousand suns?” Tarah scoffed. “How very...Imperial.”