“I can tell Sir Quinlan, if you’d rather not.”
“I’m not worried.” But she was. It was safe to say that without Quinlan, she would not be alive to have this conversation. It seemed like the worst kind of betrayal to send him out to face Carmilla by himself, not to mention joining a group he had severe misgivings about right under his nose.
“Do you want me to come along?”
“No thank you.”
She was severely regretting the lack of backup when she was standing at the entrance to Sir Quinlan’s tent some ten minutes later. Ceyrabeth took a deep breath, straightened the hem of her shirt once more, and entered.
“So it’s true.” The disappointment on his normally stoic face made Ceyrabeth’s chest ache.
“Quin, don’t look at me like that,”
“Why not? Seems like you’ve done nothing but make a scene since you got here.”
Her brow furrowed. “That’s not fair. We didn’t know...”
“But then you did. And you still chose to join up. I expected it from Keiran. But you’ve seen things, Ceyrabeth. You know exactly what their captain is.” He had been pacing as he spoke but he whirled on Ceyrabeth. “He’s no different than Carmilla, Ceyrabeth. He will throw you away when you don’t serve his purpose anymore!”
“We don’t know that!” Ceyrabeth defended.
“Don’t be naïve, girl. You’re chasing power, just like you did with Carmilla.”
“I’m not! Quit dragging her into this!” Her words sounded like the words of a petulant child, but her stomach was a knot of anxiety. There wasn’t one thing Quinlan had said that she hadn’t thought herself. But how could she explain the compulsion that led her to pledge her allegiance? That in that moment, when he spoke of honor and duty, Captain Sul had reminded her so strongly of her father that she had seen his ghost? She couldn’t. “Don't go back, Quinlan. You could join!”
The words hadn’t even fully left her mouth before Quin was talking over her. “Ceyrabeth, have you lost your mind entirely? Never. Never. I took vows to my order and I will die under those vows. That's what a vow is, little girl. Not negotiable, unbreakable.”
“But Carmilla will…”
“Give me a little credit, Ceyrabeth. I do have a few friends left that could maybe just maybe stand up to Carmilla the Lioness.” The faintest ghost of a smile passed Quin’s lips. “Besides, who was my squire at one time?”
“She was…”
“That's right. Don't sulk. You'll wrinkle your pretty face and with eyebrows like that, you'll need to preserve your complexion or nobody's going to want to marry you.”
Ceyrabeth stuck her tongue out at him and his smile became a bit more genuine. “That's a girl.”
“We'll be enemies Quin. What if he gives me the order to kill you?”
“Then you decide what's more important. What is more important, Ceyrabeth?”
She knew what he wanted to hear- duty. Duty was always more important than emotion. But the words stuck in her throat. “You and the others are to be released. Captain Sul told us to meet at the edge of the bog at daybreak. It's the fastest way to the main road.”
“If you say so, girl.” Quinlan sat, his broad hands resting on his knees palm up. A hum started in his throat and Ceyrabeth knew he was preparing for prayer. It was a blatant dismissal but it could have been so much worse. She turned to go, but felt a tug on the back of her shirt. Quinlan, still humming the start of the Canticle of Imperius, nodded his head toward the spare chair. Ceyrabeth sat beside him and turned her palms up.
.::.
Dawn was early enough without having to function enough to tell your only friends goodbye, Ceyrabeth reflected the next morning while trying to stifle a yawn. Quinlan hadn't helped by running through the entire Hymn of Imperius…they hadn't finished until the shattered moon had faded utterly from the morning sky. Ceyrabeth's voice was a wreck even after the canteen of honey lemon tea that Pellinore had handed her before they had collected Mathias, Tregan and Corellan and started walking.
Captain Sul and his Mithrac servant had met them at the edge of the bog. Ceyrabeth was a bit surprised- he took the time to hand each man directions and a saddlebag filled with provisions. Tregan had just cracked a joke about “having a long walk ahead of them with a heavy back” when the Captain shook his head.
“I have mounts ready for you,” Sul gestured at someone unseen from behind him and continued to speak, “Head north along the Imperial Highway until you reach the Danoth Tanis, the Western Road.”
“But Mat and I are headed the other way…” Tregan interjected. Sul kept speaking as though the interruption had never occurred.
“You will encounter refugees fleeing from Torvalen in an attempt to avoid the Taintbrood. I would ask that you aid them in this.”
“And why would you care about the well-being of refugees?” Quinlan asked suspiciously.
Sul shrugged slightly, “Their deaths serve no purpose and I have no interest in seeing them added to the ranks of the Taintbrood.”
Quinlan’s eyes narrowed, “The ranks of the Taintbrood? What do you mean by that?”
“A story for another time. You must hurry however.”
A squat man with aristocratic features led several horses out from behind the trees behind Sul. They were clad in heavy barding from face to hooves, yet moved surprisingly lightly.
“Eregost!” Quinlan cried out, overjoyed as he recognized his mount’s familiar coloration on the small patch of hide that showed between the gaps in the armor, “I thought I’d lost you in that damn bog,” He reached up and under the armor to stroke the mare’s nose, then frowned: the horse showed no signs of recognizing him or even acknowledging his presence, “What’s wrong girl--?”
A thunderous bellow tore through the relative quiet of the swamp as an enormous beast flew over their heads. The flapping of its enormous wings sounded like thunderclaps. It threw back its head and roared so loudly that the trees shook.
“That’s a dragon!” Mathias cried out as he and the other Witchhammers dove behind cover, hands on their weapons.
Sul and Atiya by contrast did not appear startled in the least. Sul lifted his face to the sky and smiled, “Good, she got my message.”
Ceyrabeth had also stood her ground as she peered intently at the horses: they had remained stock still during the entire encounter and even now, completely unrestrained, remained eerily calm. Carefully she approached Eregost.
“Ceyrabeth, what are you doing?” Mathias asked as he tried to clear the ringing from his ears.
Ignoring him, Ceyrabeth reached up to the straps holding Eregost’s chamfron to its face. The scent of cinnamon and pitch overwhelmed her and she coughed, turning her face away.
“Eregost…?” Quinlan whispered, his face going pale as snow.
Ceyrabeth registered the scent of death a moment before she turned to face the creature, “Gods!” She gasped, dropping the horse’s helm to the ground.
Eregost’s flesh had been almost completely stripped from its head. What little remained was thin and desiccated. Large bandages had been applied over various portions of the creature’s face and body which only added to its ghastly appearance. Green pinpoints of light glowed profanely from deep in its eye sockets.
“May I introduce Narl-Shu the Third,” Sul offered by way of explanation, motioning to the squat man who was just now coming out from hiding after the dragon had flown by overhead. “An extremely talented necromancer from the land of Nevaraak.”
“What have you done?!” Ceyrabeth demanded furiously.
“You are running out of time,” Sul countered, “No living mounts could get you to the refugees in time to save any of them. These mounts require neither food nor rest. They will gallop tirelessly for as long as is required.”
“They are possessed!”
Sul shook his head and gestured to the Atiya. Placidly she handed him an apple.
“Eregost!” Sul called out and he lobbed at apple towards to r
eanimated creature. Eregost leapt forward, nimbly caught the apple, and began chewing on it.
“No demon inhabits these creatures. Each has retained a portion of its original self.”
“That’s not—“
“It’s time to ask yourself what you believe,” Sul hissed, his tone becoming glacial, “What is more important to you: your lying, timid morality or making it to those refugees before they are butchered to the last child?”
Ceyrabeth swallowed an angry retort, digging her fingernails into the palm of her hand so hard that it drew blood, “I loathe you.”
Sul nodded, “You have that right,” His tone went colder as he approached the elf, “But you will obey my commands for as long as you serve within the Phoenix Legion. Are we clear?”
If Ceyrabeth could have drawn her sword and cut his head off right then and there, she would have done so with a song in her heart. Instead she carefully knelt before Sul, “What is thy bidding...” She glared daggers up at him, “…my Captain?”
“You evil bastard!”
Ceyrabeth was bowled over as Quinlan charged Sul, his fists raised, “Quin no!” She tried to call out.
Sul waited calmly as Atiya stepped away from him. When the enraged knight was almost upon him, the Captain pivoted on the balls of his feet and slapped his palm hard against the back of the man’s head as he charged past. The extra momentum of the strike was enough to set him off-balance. He overstepped and tumbled forward in a heap of rage and metal, plowing through a thick bed of reeds and landing in a large pool of bog water.
Ceyrabeth clamored to her feet as Sul calmly turned to regard the rapidly sinking knight, “Quin!” Shooting Sul a murderous look, she raced to the edge of the pool and stretched out her arm, “Take my hand!”
“I can’t--,” The rest of Quinlan’s words were lost as he swallowed a mouthful of water as Sul regarded the entire drama dispassionately.
“Captain,” Atiya pointed at the pool, her tone suddenly strained: something that resembled an oil slick was noiselessly gliding over the surface of the water towards Sir Quinlan’s flailing.
“Quinlan. Get out of the water. Now!” Sul’s voice betrayed a hint of stress that made Ceyrabeth’s blood run cold. She had not seen him display the slightest note of anxiety in her presence much less the urgency that that now filled his tone.
She looked past Quinlan and frowned at the oily thing, “What is that?”
“Ceyrabeth, get him out of there,” His tone was still carefully modulated but the undertone of urgency was rapidly becoming dominant.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Ceyrabeth removed her dagger and with a few quick cuts, slashed the straps holding her armor in place. She clenched the dagger between her teeth and dove into the water towards Quinlan. The oil slick had gathered speed and was writhing back and forth, slowly becoming more substantial as it drew closer to them.
Focus! Ceyrabeth grit her teeth, driving the image of the oily writhing darkness from her mind and directing all her attention to saving her friend. She reached the man and began sawing at the straps to his armor while keeping his head above water and half-swimming, half-wading towards the shore away from the slithering menace.
“We’re not going to make it!” Quinlan cried, “Leave me!”
“Never!” Ceyrabeth dragged the man closer to the muddy earth that marked the edge of the pool. They were so close….
The oil slick reared back up like a serpent and hissed at them, opening something that resembled a wide mouth. Bits of slime and detritus drippled from it and she was reminded forcefully of her nightmare.
We’re not going to make it. Ceyrabeth thought bleakly. Gods….
There was a blur of movement and a loud splash. Suddenly, Sul was in the water between them and the malevolent entity in the water. He brandished a large red crystal towards the gelatinous creature.
“Ínvoco nomine Neriah ille qui stabat coram urente!” The red crystal flashed with light and Ceyrabeth suddenly felt lightheaded and strangely overheated. A pulsing sensation went through her body that set her teeth on edge, “Voluntas non valebit Vyrantus te!”
The crystal flashed crimson and the creature shrieked with a sound like a thousand claws across stone as it began to flow rapidly away from the red light.
“Ínvoco nomine Corin qui prohibuit rubiginem!” Sul advanced relentlessly upon the shrieking entity. The water in the pool had begun to bubble and foam as if it were boiling away. Ceyrabeth hoisted Quinlan out of the water into the waiting arms of the others and turned to watch Sul, “Voluntas non valebit Krayvan te!”
The creature shrieked long and loud and rose looming high above the pool.
“Gods preserve us…” Mathias whispered in dread at the sheer size of the creature towering over them. It lunged….
And with a chittering roar that nearly rivaled that of the dragon and froze the blood in their veins, a writhing mass of flesh and claws burst from the trees.
“You shall not have him!” Chirak shrieked in a chorus of gibbering voices that emitted from all over its’ contorting body. Ceyrabeth was shocked to see her former lieutenant's head dangling from a stray portion of tissue. His eyes were wide open and his mouth emitted a steady gurgling wail.
Tentacles burst from Chirak’s rapidly shifting form and wrapped around the oily creature, pulling it close. Arms and legs and other limbs that couldn’t be identified exploded from Chirak’s twisting flesh to propel it forward, colliding into the viscous creature in the pool of water. Sul dove out of the way as gibbering flesh and oily putridness tore and clawed at each other. Mouths and horns tore their way free from Chirak to bite and stab at the thing. Parette’s head began wail louder as the flesh bubbled and then split apart, bone and blood spraying the ground as the bisected face became another set of jaws that sank deeply into the other creature.
Chirak wrapped itself around the creature, bones stretching and then breaking before being reabsorbed into its body. Flesh melted and flowed like wax, tearing and then reforming as it coiled around the oily entity which continued to thrash and shriek. Chirak constricted, its prey thrashing within the confines of its prison of flesh and tissue to no avail. It squeezed and squeezed, the sound of skin bursting as jagged pieces of bone erupted from the seething cauldron of tissue filled the air.
And over all of that; the hissing of the dark entity and the chittering guttural roaring of Chirak, deafening in its intensity.
With a final wail, both creatures disappeared beneath the surface of the water and silence descended upon the scene like a pall.
Ceyrabeth didn't even have time to steady her shaking hands before she noticed a strange sight: Sul was half-draped over a log, making no effort to pull himself back to shore. And even stranger: neither Atiya nor the necromancer were making any move to help him. She could clearly see the red bloom of his blood spreading rapidly over the water. He was going to be in serious trouble if he didn't get out of there soon. She was just opening her mouth to comment when Sul lost his grip on the log and soundlessly slid under the water. She waited for Atiya or the necromancer to make a move, but neither did- Narl-Shu just shifted from foot to foot, wringing his hands, and Atiya stood there placid as a pastured cow, "He'll drown!" She finally expostulated.
Atiya nodded, "Yes."
"Let him, and good riddance." Quinlan muttered.
Ceyrabeth felt the moment shimmer with startling clarity- she could let him drown. Just stand and do nothing, walk away from the Phoenix Legion knowing that a dangerous man- possibly the most dangerous man she’d ever known - was gone from the world. There were two extremely horrifying creatures lurking beneath the depths- an excellent reason in itself to stay on land. But....
"Beth?" She barely heard Quinlan's questioning voice. A thought was screaming at the edges of her consciousness, drowning almost everything else out, a fact, a truth, unavoidable...
...She owed him. She owed him her life, and now Quin's too. She teetered on the edge of indecision for two ticks of a
second and then...
“Damn it!" She exclaimed furiously before diving back into the vile, malodourous water.
It took three tries but Ceyrabeth finally came up triumphant. She hauled Sul up onto the bank, Tregan and Mathias helping her. "He's not breathing," Mathias noted. Ceyrabeth immediately flipped Sul onto his stomach and slammed both her hands down on his back.
"I...am not...breathing air...into your lungs!" She informed him between blows. "So you...had better...breathe, Gods damn you!"
Almost as though responding to her demands, Sul seized under her hands and expelled a gush of bog water from his lungs, following it up with great, hacking coughs as his body tried to rid itself of the foreign material. "That's it," Unconsciously, Ceyrabeth ran her hand up and down his back in comforting strokes. "Steady..."
"That wound looks nasty," Mathias crouched beside her. He gingerly pulled cloth away from Sul's side and examined what looked to be a claw wound.
Coward though he normally was, irritating and weak-willed, the second someone was injured Mathias transformed into a steady stomached, utterly exceptional field medic with a spine of iron. Ceyrabeth threw him her pack before she stood. "Patch him up," She commanded. He nodded acknowledgement but she didn't even see- she was already stalking across the short distance toward Atiya and Narl-Shu.
"What in the Void was that?!" Ceyrabeth, delayed fear and rage pumping adrenaline through her veins, exploded with the force of a thousand suns. "You completely, utterly useless sacks of steaming bull dung! Traitorous, cowardly, weak-willed...that was your Captain out there! Your leader! And you were just going to let him drown like the moony-eyed, minstrel maidens that you are....by the Goddesses’ Ever Holy Tits, I could just flay you both alive...!"
"Violette..." The name was almost too soft, but somehow Ceyrabeth heard it through her tirade. "Violette!" She turned and saw that Sul had pushed himself up to a sitting position. He was facing her, and what she saw made the blood drain from her face. Mathias had removed the sodden bandages around Sul's eyes to keep filthy bog water away from a jagged cut on Sul's hairline, and Ceyrabeth caught full sight of the scar tissue that proliferated the top half of the Captain's face. The sight, along with the pleading tone of his voice, drained the rage right out of her. "You shouldn't talk like that...in front of...the baby. Promise me...” The light caught his eyes and Ceyrabeth gasped.
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