All is as They have Seen, and all will be as They Will. The silent prayer brought her a measure of comfort. It was her mother’s answer to everything difficult. Her faith in her gods had been completely unshakeable, and if ever there was a time Ceyrabeth needed solidarity, it was now.
The tent had become very quiet. Captain Sul’s expression remained utterly inscrutable. If only I could see his eyes, Ceyrabeth thought, trying not to shift her weight. The silence continued to stretch, transitioning from uncomfortable to unbearable. Several of the members of the Legion exchanged looks as they contemplated what form the coming apocalypse would take.
Casually, Sul reached for another strip of dried ham and fed it to the purring cat on his lap. He smiled faintly at the sight and scratched the cat lightly under the chin. It was clear whatever the Captain was going to say, he was going to say it in his own way and time. The silence continued to persist on and Ceyrabeth felt her unease reach the breaking point,
“Well?!” she demanded then cursed herself silently for allowing her patience to be broken. Sul calmly turned his attention to her.
“Well what?”
That bastard. He knew exactly what. “Do you acknowledge my grievance, or don’t you?” She ground out as she felt the heat rush to her cheeks.
"I’m curious to know how you intend to pursue your demand. Your circumstances are unique, to say the least."
“I—” The young woman stopped. What in the Void could she do about it, really? Don’t let him intimidate you! She thought, and stuck her chin out defiantly, “The Order dictates— “
“Very well then, Sir Knight, I acquiesce to your claims.”
"You...wait. What?" Ceyrabeth stopped short again, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.
"It means I'm going to give you what you want, in plainer terms."
"I know what ‘acquiesce’ means!" She hissed. She knew she hadn't imagined the faint amusement in his tone. "I meant, ‘why’, which you well know."
"Ceyrabeth, let's not look a gift horse in the mouth, shall we?" Corellan insinuated.
“Sir Ceyrabeth Vallorin; if the Order demands justice...if you demand justice,” the blind man spread his arms magnanimously, “Claim it.”
Claim it? Claim what? Did he really think that she was going to draw her sword and attack him in the middle of his bodyguards? How truly stupid did he think she was? Ceyrabeth cast about in desperation. She was missing something, something important. She knew that words meant more than what was on the surface, had had it pounded into her head from the moment she entered that Tower. What was he truly offering?
And then, it began to sink in how truly alone her and her brethren really were. She was foundering, and she knew it. “In the name of the Daymorian Empire, I…I demand that you disband your forces and surrender to the rightful authority of the Witchhammers!”
“No,” The word was delivered with shocking finality.
"No?" Ceyrabeth yelped, "What do you mean, ‘no?!’ You said..."
“The word is self-explanatory,” He stroked the cat at his lap with practiced ease, “I should think that the implications are as well. What the Witchhammer order, or the Diocese of Imperius, or your vaunted Imperial Hierophant himself dictates is not my concern,” he explained evenly, “If the gods wish to make a request in person, I will consider it...should you feel compelled in your faith to call down the god Imperius upon us all," Sul leaned forward in his chair, "Your strength no doubt flows from your faith and piety, does it not, Sir Knight?"
Her strength flowed from strategic doses of the powerful, but addictive, wyrmscale but he didn’t need to know that. Ceyrabeth narrowed her eyes, "You, Sir, are a murderer and a traitor, and your arrogance boggles the mind."
“I am a warrior,” Sul interjected firmly, “And I claim no allegiance to the Imperium, the Witchhammer Order or any monarchy of Aegreas, I have betrayed nothing and no one.”
“A child says ‘I did not trip him’ when his brother steps on a toy he deliberately put in his brother’s way…but still, he is punished for it.”
A dark shadow settled across Sul’s face, “You may dispense with the platitudes. Do not presume to moralize to me, Sir Ceyrabeth Vallorin,”
Ceyrabeth felt a shiver work its way down her spine as for the first time she clearly understood the kind of man that could command creatures like Chirak and Reaper Maul. The kind of man that she should be very careful of if she wanted to get her brothers out of this place alive.
“I shall share with you a lesson that I have learned,” Sul interjected. He had not raised his voice, but for some reason Ceyrabeth found her words withering on her tongue. “Orders and other institutions that feel it within their power to dictate the actions of others tend to have two tools at their disposal: the coin or the sword,” Sul reclined in his chair, “You have neither. You and your Order can neither buy me with treasures nor bully me with threats. I will not be reasoned with nor negotiated with in such a fashion.”
“Then you lied.” Ceyrabeth forced out. “Why are we standing here, if you never meant to listen?”
Sul’s expression darkened further, “I never lie. And never under a banner of parlay. I shall indeed listen, but do not think that your position or affiliations can be used to coerce any manner of concessions from me.”
He rose to his feet, dislodging the cat from his lap, “Here, in this place, before me and before the eyes of the gods themselves, there is no Imperial Legion nor holy Witchhammer Order. There is only the will of the Phoenix Legion. My will,” He turned his back on the woman and returned to his chair, “You may not believe that we are the ‘rightful’ authority, but as far as you and your comrades are concerned, I am the sole authority,”
He steepled his fingers, “You are alone, Crusader, and you have no power here. The sooner you realize this, the better it will be for you.”
And then she understood. He was the king of his particular hill. At this moment, she was the ant at the bottom. He had the power to crush her, crush them, and it wouldn't even be hard. What he was asking for was no more than his due- respect. Ceyrabeth sank to one knee. Withdrawal, exhaustion, the weight of her armor, the horrors she and her men witnessed- the weight became titanic and the burden bore her down.
“Please,” She whispered.
“Speak freely,” Sul replied no trace of gloating in his voice. The surprising act of humanity helped her gather up the remaining shreds of her dignity, and raise her eyes to face him.
“Please spare my men.” She looked back at them, “Parette has paid for his treachery with his life. The rest of my men have been absolved. Spare them. Let them go home.”
“You said you had no interest in begging for your life.”
“I’m not begging for my life,” She growled as her voice took back some fire and she got to her feet, “I’m begging for theirs,” she pointed at the other knights, “And whatever price I need to pay, I’ll pay.”
“You would be willing to do anything for them?” Sul asked, his curious tone oddly respectful.
“Anything.” The woman declared.
“They must be men of unassailable valor to warrant such loyalty.”
“No. They’re not perfect men by any stretch of the imagination. But they’re my men,” She countered, “Surely, I don’t need to explain loyalty to the welfare of one’s forces to such an illustrious leader as yourself,” Her tone was too tired to be caustic, but she was surely trying.
“Indeed,” The blind captain actually smiled slightly, “You do not need to explain your devotion to your men,” He got to his feet, “You will be given provisions, fresh mounts and set on your way back. I believe we’ve kept you from your home for long enough,”
Ceyrabeth heard the collective sigh of relief, but she knew. She knew that nothing came without a price. "Out of the goodness of your heart, Captain Sul? Because I've learned another truth in my life...that nothing is free."
"Ceyrabeth!"
"No," Captain Sul held up a hand and Tregan
stilled, "Knight-Lieutenant Vallorin is correct. Everything has its' price. In this case, your freedom hinges upon the honest answer to one question."
"And that question is...?" Quinlan asked warily. Sul ignored him; his bandaged face riveted on Ceyrabeth.
"Tell me...how long have you been masquerading as human, Lieutenant Vallorin?"
Ceyrabeth felt the world tilt underneath her feet. “I don’t know what you’re—“
“Do not presume to lie to me,” His tone returned to that earlier temperature which spoke of the unfathomable dark void where light cannot reach.
Ceyrabeth stopped, unwilling to speak further. A shadow flickered across Sul’s features and he rose and approached her.
“Reveal your ears.”
“What? No!”
“I am not in the habit of repeating myself,” Sul’s tone brooked no further argument.
Her jaw took on a stubborn set that was becoming painfully familiar. “No!”
“Beth?” Keiran asked puzzled, “Just show him your ears.”
“Or, you know,” Maul cracked his knuckles with undisguised malice, “Don't.”
With a shaking hand, Ceyrabeth drew back her copper hair to reveal her ears. What should have been a normal ear was a roughly cut mass of scar tissue set close to her head.
“Ceyrabeth!” Mathias, startled out of his fear, came forward to examine them. “These...these were cut! Were you tortured…?”
“She was tortured,” Sul nodded. He reached out to take hold of her face and she found that she could not pull away, “But the angle of these cuts tells us that it was by her own hand.” Ceyrabeth’s breath came faster as she shook her head, mutely begging him to stop. “You docked your ears, like a beast, so that you could be counted amongst the ranks of Imperius’ faithful without prejudice, as their wretched ministry dictates.”
His touch was feverishly hot and it seared Ceyrabeth’s skin like a branding iron. She stared into the folds of his bindings and was certain she saw movement beneath them. “Why must it be thus?” Sul whispered as he ran his fingers lightly over the mutilated tissue. Ceyrabeth noted that his hands appeared oddly smooth and young-looking for a man his age, “Why must they take all that it is fair, all that is natural and good, and diminish it for the sin of uniqueness?” The woman was not certain if it was his words or his tone but it made something wounded inside herself ache in kind.
“This I will not abide,” He turned his bandaged gaze away from her, dropping his hands. She gasped as if splashed with cold water, “Chirak?”
“Captain?” Atiya's placid veneer showed concern for the first time, “Are you certain you are strong enough?”
“Master calls and we answer. Master calls and we answer,” Chirak scuttled towards the Captain and Ceyrabeth, its hands upraised palm up. Sul removed a knife from his belt and drew a bloody gash across the exposed skin of the creature. Ceyrabeth retreated at the sight of it, her breath keening in her throat.
“What are you doing?" Quinlan demanded.
“Ceyrabeth Vallorin. Do you still maintain to value your life and the lives of those under your command?”
A beat, then she forced her feet to carry her forward until she was face to face with Sul again. She knew what he was really asking- or rather, demanding. This was the price for their freedom. “Yes.” She choked out.
“Admirable,” Sul gripped Chirak's thin wrist, quickly smeared its blue-black blood across his hands, “Then I would advise you to hold still, Witchhammer Vallorin. And brace yourself; this will hurt a great deal.” Atiya moved to stand behind her, gripping her shoulders in her massive hands. And then Sul put his hands on her ears.
At first, Ceyrabeth couldn't see, couldn't think through the agony that was reporting that the world was ending. Her brain felt as if it liquefied into molten lava. When the world swung back into focus, she could see Quinlan and Keiran struggling to reach her, screaming something over and over...her name? But Maul had one grappled, while Pellinore and two guards barred the other, and neither one could save her from the sickening darkness roiling just at the edge of her mind. Only her unbridled screaming helped, as though the sound kept the beast at bay. Atiya held her tightly in her oversized grip; no matter how vehemently Ceyrabeth thrashed she could not break free. Sul tossed the dagger into a fire and even through the pain, the young woman thought she could hear it…screeching?
Finally, she sagged in Atiya's grip. There was a fresh blast of pain as Sul sprinkled a powdery substance over each side of her head, “Purified Iron to keep the transformation clean,” She couldn't even pretend to understand his words, even without the searing agony.
“Beth!” With a mighty heave, Quinlan broke free of his captors and wrenched Ceyrabeth free of Atiya's grip.
“No! Don’t touch me!” Ceyrabeth screamed. She wrapped her arms around herself for protection and to her shame, she began to cry- hard, painful sobs that felt like they tore her throat with each pull. Nothing- nothing- she had ever felt came close to this, this sense of utter and complete violation.
"Ceyrabeth! It's Quin! You know me!" The man shouted into her ear as she frantically fought to regain her senses. Leather. Cloves. The oranges he couldn't get enough of. Yes, she knew Quinlan. The sobs gradually ceased, but not the fury.
“What did you do to me?!” Ceyrabeth screamed at Sul.
“No worse than what you had already done to yourself,” Sul replied wearily, “Had you even bled as a woman yet before you carved apart your own body to appease them?”
“Beth,” Keiran whispered in shock and pointed at her head. Ceyrabeth’s hands hurried back up to her ears: They were long and perfectly shaped, tapering to a delicate point.
“I--” Shock robbed her of her words as she removed the small piece of metal that she kept for sending signals from her tunic and examined herself in the reflection. The metal distorted her image but there was no ignoring the two elven ears that now adorned either side of her head.
“Captain, calm yourself,” Atiya’s voice broke in. Ceyrabeth turned to look and could not suppress a gasp of horror. The bandages around his eyes were soaked with blood and soon twin rivulets ran down his pained face.
“Why must it be thus?” He whispered his tone raw and his fists clenched.
Atiya was at his side in an instant, holding him steady, “Captain,” She said in her even tone.
It seemed to shake Sul out of whatever reverie he had fallen into. The ghost of a sardonic smirk crossed his features as he wiped the blood away with his sleeve, “The perils of age, I fear, old friend,” He placed his hand over her larger one “I am well, Atiya, thank you. Release me,” she did so and Sul continued as if nothing had occurred.
He turned his head, “Lieutenant Pellinore.”
“Sir?” The elven Lieutenant stepped forward.
“See to our friends and then report back to me,” He pointed at Ceyrabeth who was still shaking like a leaf, “Consider it a ‘request’ that you do not go out of the way to hide your heritage any longer. Perhaps a new haircut is due.” Sul turned his attention back to the serene bull-woman, “Atiya, take me back to my tent.”
“Yes, Sir,” Carefully, Atiya helped the slighter man away, resting the majority of his frame against her larger body.
“What have you done to me?” Ceyrabeth cried out.
Sul did not turn, “Corrected an error in judgment. One of many such corrections to come.”
“You...you...crownsbane!"
Sul stopped dead in his tracks. "What did you call me?"
"Crownsbane!" Ceyrabeth spat. She advanced, regardless of Chirak, of Atiya and Maul standing near, her dark eyes reflecting the fire as though infused with the blaze. "Forked-tongue, demon-dealing crownsbane!”
It was an insult from a time far before the current age, the deepest kind of vile traitor. One who would stand against all that was good and who dealt in chaos for chaos’ sake. And Ceyrabeth would have bet her sword arm that he knew exactly what it meant.
Sul stare
d at her for a moment longer, his posture ramrod straight, apparently undeterred by the twin cascades of blood running down his cheeks like tears. Then he began to cough, a deep, hacking sound that sent a shiver of revulsion up Ceyrabeth's spine. The Captain gave her a small bow of his head of acknowledgment or maybe a parting blessing and turned his back on her, heading back towards the tent.
Everyone has a breaking point and Ceyrabeth Vallorin had reached hers: pain, fear, exhaustion, the terror of what she had witnessed and the horror she had just personally suffered robbed her of her last shred of reason.
“Don’t you dare turn your back on me!” She screamed. She tore her blade free from its scabbard, angling it away from her face to avoid the powder trap and charged Sul.
She closed the distance quickly but before she could strike, she heard something growl,
“No…..hurt…..mass----terrrr!”
A shape streaked out of the darkness, colliding into the woman with the force of a golem and sending her sprawling to the ground. She was dimly aware of claws raking deep furrows into her armor and snapping teeth trying to get to her face as whatever was attacking her hissed and spat. Ceyrabeth thrust her sword out blindly only to have it knocked out of her hand with such force that she felt her wrist break.
She brought her other arm up in a desperate attempt to defend herself, getting her first clear look at her assailant. Sul’s pet cat proceeded to plunge its fangs into her armor, penetrating the mail as if it wasn’t there. Its’ one eye glared and began to glow a dim red. Then his other eye opened slowly and revealed a burning orb of roiling fire. Ceyrabeth felt her gauntlet begin to inexplicably heat up. The heat spread to her breastplate, and soon she couldn’t help but scream as she was cooked within her own armor.
Suddenly, the cat yowled deafeningly and Ceyrabeth tore her arm free. She clamped both hands over her ears as the high-pitched scream rolled over her like a wave.
“That will do.” Came Sul’s soft voice.
The cat ceased its attack turned to face him, its ears flat against its skull, “Kill for Massss-ter!” It hissed, “Eat its’ face!”
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