Phoenix Rising (the New Age Saga Book 3)

by Timothy A. Ray

  Kore and Riska were stepping forward and Willow remained where she was, Kylee smirking over her shoulder.

  “I have blamed you because you were our leader and an easy target. But you were right, the person responsible is the Phoenix. She hides in shadow and lets others do her dirty work. There is an army out there, the largest that has marched since the Freedom Wars, and I guarantee you that she is not present among their ranks,” the black knight continued, her voice firm and measured.

  It was the longest speech he’d ever heard her make.

  “You, on the other hand, are right here on the vanguard, the same place you have been from the start,” Reyna stated, looking at him with a weird look in her eyes. For the first time, it wasn’t hate, but almost admiration.

  What the hell was happening?

  “You could have given us our mission and departed, seen to other things, not take part in it yourself. But you chose to stay, to take charge, to do everything you possibly could to see the task got done, and protect as many of us as you could in the process. That is what marks you as different; you have honor,” she paused for effect, looking at the others and nodding her head. “I choose to stay. I’ve yet to avenge my brother and if defeating this army will lead to us marching on the Deadlands and taking the fight to her, then I’m here until the very end.”

  “My family still needs avenging,” Kylee told him, her eyes catching his.

  “Orcs not free,” Kore added, giving him the same firm glance.

  Riska shuffled his feet, then nodded his head as well. “I’ve bin exiled fur daein' th' reit hin' it ay misplaced fear. If Ah can prove myself worthy, mebbe a body day Ah can gang haem.”

  “I have a family to protect, and I can’t do that hiding within a castle while the war rages on without me,” Tristan stated with a quick glance in Willow’s direction.

  Willow smiled at him. “We all have individual reasons to continue on, to fight the good fight. You are absolved of your guilt. You might have goaded us to come with you, but now we are here by choice.”

  “You’re not getting rid of us that easily,” Tristan snickered, clapping the mage on the shoulder.

  Merlin looked to Erik, who only shrugged. “You’re the one that chose them, and it was obviously for a reason. Trust in your choices, that is how you reward their sacrifices on the altar of what’s right and good,” the King finished, then gave a quick laugh and shook his head. “I had it at four minutes, couldn’t you have paused a moment longer?”

  Exasperated, he threw up his hands and shook his head; which broke them all into fresh laughter.

  “So, what’s next boss?” Reyna asked with a mischievous grin.

  That got to him, and he laughed at last, feeling complete, and that everything was going to be all right. For the first time in a long time, he was feeling optimistic about their chances and the future looked that much brighter than it had before.

  As if in answer, a dragon roared across the sky and horns began blasting their way from all across the fortress.

  “What the hell?” Reyna blurted, eyes following the creature across the heavens.

  “Weel, sae much fur a guid night’s sleep,” Riska snarled as he moved to the rampart and watched as the red dragon swept across the grasslands and landed in the field beyond.

  Three other flying monstrosities landed beside the dragon and Merlin’s breath caught in his throat.

  The Four Horsemen had arrived.

  IV

  Tristan watched as Merlin muttered words of magic and gestured towards the eastern forest. A messenger had been dispatched to warn of the Horsemen’s arrival and to alert the army to stand ready for attack. He glanced the Elven King, then at the horse’s tethered nearby. He wasn’t about to run, he would stay and face this, but that didn’t mean Willow had to.

  “You should go,” he told her, giving her hand a squeeze.

  She nodded and gave him a crooked smile. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

  “You know me,” he responded and she laughed in return.

  Mounting her horse, she looked down at him with a smile upon her lips. Then it faded, as she remembered what was waiting for them out in the grasslands beyond. “You’re right, I do. Be careful.”

  He acknowledged her command and patted her on the leg. “I’ll see you soon.”

  “You’d better,” she replied, then nudged her horse and began riding for the palace.

  Kylee watched her go, then came to Tristan’s side. “Well brother, now what?” She was nervous, having seen first-hand what one Horseman was like when not at full-strength. What could all four of them do when fighting as one?

  He jerked his head in Merlin’s direction. “Best to ask him.”

  Merlin’s eyes were on the sky and within a moment, he heard a cry echo across the heavens. He prepared himself for a fight, hand falling to his pommel, muscles tense. Then a familiar form came into view and Kallen pounced onto the pavement, three of his kin close behind.

  The griffin’s mighty eagle head craned to look at them, his scaled tale swinging back and forth, the great lions’ paws stomping the ground with vigor. “You called?”

  Had they been here the entire time?

  Merlin smiled at him as if reading his mind, then stepped forward. “Care to meet the enemy?”

  “If that infernal red is out there, then we’re in,” Kallen returned, hatred flaring in the griffin’s eyes.

  Erik was amazed by the beasts in front of him and he looked wide-eyed in the mage’s direction. “You’ve been holding out on me, old man.”

  A rider came to a halt before them and he looked up to see his brother in full battle armor, his face stern, his hand upon his sword. “I’m going out there with you,” he told Merlin, who only nodded and silently motioned for John to dismount.

  “You’re going too,” Merlin told him and Tristan’s breath caught.

  “It makes sense that the three of you are going, but what good am I going to do out there. Better to take Reyna with you, she has more experience dealing with their kind than I,” he returned after a moment’s pause.

  Erik laid a hand on his shoulder and forced Tristan to look at him. “Trust me old friend. There is nobody else I’d rather have by my side. Come on, let’s get moving.”

  The Elven King joined his brother and mage as they began mounting the Griffins. After a shake of his head, he slowly followed after. “Jebediah?” he asked, seeing a familiar color to the awaiting Griffin and forced a smile.

  “Well-met Tristan of Griedlok,” the griffin remarked, bowing his head. “Shall we ride?”

  The young prince saw that the others were waiting for him and quickly swung himself into the saddle. “Let’s go.”

  The four griffins lifted into the sky and began the short flight into the grasslands beyond. As brief as it was, it still felt exhilarating. But then he looked upon what was awaiting them. His smile swiftly faded, and the horror of what was to come slammed quickly home.

  Three figures were mounted, one had flown himself there on his own power. The red dragon was sitting on the left, a warrior in red spiked armor astride its back. The next was a figure wearing dark green and black armor; mounted on a creature that Tristan had never seen before. However, he did notice the same kind of mismatched body shape that the Griffins had. It was a large three-headed monster, one of a goat, a reptile, and a lion. The front right paw was the same color as the goat head, with a large hoof planted in the ground, the other scaled and dragon-like, matching the reptilian head on the right. The rest of the body matched that of the lion with the exception of the brown, bat-like wings.

  “Chimera,” Jebediah cursed, hackles rising. The griffin was readying himself for battle.

  The third figure was wearing brown armor, had dark red fur, and a steer head mounted on its neck. He had read fables of creatures living in the northern lands beyond the Blackedge Mountains, but had never seen a minotaur in person. He was wielding a lance and looked skinnier than he should have been. Th
e creature snorted, steam rising from its snout, as it watched the four newcomers with disgust. He rode a black horse with flaming red eyes and feet, fire raging upward from where the hair should have been. It was straight out of a nightmare.

  A gargoyle was the last Horseman, and he required no mount as his long black wings folded in and moved slightly with the pulsing of breath. White eyes stared at them, a black slithering robe flowing in the breeze. A large scythe was held with boy hands and the creature looked ready to strike.

  A piercing roar filled the air and a large thud made the earth quake beneath them. He turned and grinned at the silver dragon; Wyrddlin had decided to join them after all.

  “Good of you to make it,” he teased and got a scathing look in return.

  The rider in red dismounted and pulled a greatsword free as he stepped forward to greet them. “Your Queen has ordered you to disband your armies and present yourself for immediate return to slavery.”

  Erik had slid down off the Griffin in response to their adversaries’ approach and he now drew Excalibur as he walked forward to treat with the enemy. “We do not answer to the Phoenix. If she wishes to dispute that, let her show herself. Or will she simply cower behind her castle walls and send others in her stead?”

  “You’re one to talk,” the other answered, gazing at the fortress behind them. “How long do you think these walls will seriously keep us out? Why not do the smart thing, lay down your arms and kneel. She might show mercy on you. Well, some of you at least.”

  He recognized that voice and John was off his mount, sword free, moving to stand by Erik’s side. “You murderous bastard!” his brother yelled, mouth open in rage, weapon ready for attack. “Poison is a coward’s weapon! Are you brave enough to meet me in combat or will you hide in the shadows like the piece of shit you are!”

  “Ah, I can see that the pleasantries will not be exchanged. Such a shame. I had hoped to offer terms and be back home by supper,” the man responded as he removed his helm and looked upon John with scorn. Clint had become the Horseman of War.

  He smiled as he yelled back “What home? I killed your father, your mother, and burned Kershaw to the ground!” He dismounted and strode to Erik’s other side, his hand on his pommel. “Your father begged for his life before he died, but that did not keep me from doing what had to be done. A rabid beast must be put down, no matter how much you distaste the work. But I’ll tell you a secret, I got great pleasure out of it.”

  It wasn’t true, Willow had killed the old man, but there was no point in telling Clint that. He would say just about anything to wipe that smug smile off that bastard’s face.

  Clint looked at him, at first not recognizing him, then realization dawned on his face and the man took a few steps in his direction. “You son of a bitch! I will kill you for that. I will see your corpse—”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Merlin interjected, finally stepping forward with the rest of them. “I’ve heard it all before. If you want to fight, let’s fight.”

  Wyrddlin let out a ferocious roar and the griffins looked ready to pounce.

  Clint hesitated, eyes shifting amongst them, not sure of what his next move was.

  “Pestilence, why not say hello?” the black gargoyle interrupted, calling to his fellow Horseman, and Tristan had a sinking feeling he was not going to like this; not one bit.

  Pestilence slid from the Chimera and came to a halt by Clint’s side. The man was ready to charge across at them, but when Pestilence took his elbow, he glanced her way, then smiled. Stepping forward, the armored female took off her helm and a pale elf smiled at them, eyes fixed on the Elven King.

  “Hello, Father,” she sneered at the stricken elf.

  “Bella?” Erik called in disbelief, his voice faltering. He was about to run to her when John reached out and grabbed him by the arm. Taking his lead, Tristan did the same. The last thing they needed was the Elven King racing over there with Excalibur and literally handing it over to the Phoenix.

  “Let me go!” Erik raged, struggling mightily within their grasp.

  He grunted with the effort and watched as Merlin stepped closer to the Horsemen, calling upon his magic and sending it to light the grass between them. “Get him on the Griffin,” he commanded John and Erik refused to be budged. “Bloody hell,” the mage muttered, stepped forward and put a hand on the King’s forehead. “Somnum.”

  Erik’s head immediately fell and the elf was fast asleep. The two brothers worked together as they moved the monarch to his griffin, strapped him in, and patted the beast on the rear. “Fly,” Merlin commanded and the griffin immediately responded and took to the air.

  When they turned, the Horsemen were back on their mounts, their helms back in place. “Well, it was worth a try,” Clint called to them and Tristan seethed at the smile he knew was hidden underneath that helm. “Don’t worry, his time will come, as it will for you all. And you,” he paused, pointing his sword in Tristan’s direction, “I will be coming for you personally.”

  “Why wait?” he thundered, weapon ready.

  “I want to kill that elf girl of yours first, rip the baby from the womb, and make you watch as I feed it to my dragon,” Clint responded and if not for the fire burning in front of him, he might have charged over there himself and put an end to that jackass for good. Then War nudged his mount and the red dragon raised his head and bellowed a long gust of flame in their direction.

  He had to cover his face against the heat of it and he could hear John cursing on his right. Wyrddlin roared in response and the griffins added their cries to his as well.

  When it subsided enough for him to lower his arm, the Horsemen were gaining altitude and moving away from them. “Your time is coming! And when it gets here, I’ll personally put my sword through your heart!” he yelled after the rising dragon.

  All he got was laughter in return as their enemy disappeared from sight.

  V

  “You two should get out of here,” Merlin told them and John quickly nodded and started backing out of the room.

  He lingered for a moment, eyes on the sleeping King. Jarel had attempted to remove the monarch’s armor, but Merlin had advised the aide the King would not be in bed long after waking, and he’d just have to put it back on again.

  “It had to be Clint, didn’t it,” he remarked, shaking his head. The mage’s eyes turned to look at him and he felt the certainty of it all click into place. “She sent Clint and Bella, knowing that either would draw someone into open conflict, alone, undefended on the plains before the castle. Had one of us died—”

  “The morale of the people would be shaken and had we lost Excalibur—” Merlin trailed off, watching the elf with concerned eyes.

  “It all would have been for nothing,” he finished with a frown. “We’re not going to all get out of this alive, are we?” he asked suddenly, the feeling of dread heavy upon the air. Why did it have to be Clint?

  Merlin took a moment to respond, then shook his head no. “I’m not going to lie, some will die. With a battle such as this, that is unavoidable. But you need to remember, they will die so the rest of us will live, and that makes their sacrifice worth it.” His friend turn to face him and Tristan noticed that John was still hovering in the background, waiting on Tristan to join him.

  “Think on why the Horsemen did not attack,” Merlin commanded and he let his thoughts drift, going over what had happened, but came up empty. The Horsemen were formidable. He couldn’t think of a reason they didn’t—other than to taunt them; prolong their misery. “Even they aren’t sure of the power of the sword, how it might react, what they would be facing. Remember, those are not mindless zombies out there, they feel fear too. That’s why they turned and fled, back to the army they’d left behind. They are not as powerful as we are made to think.”

  “What are you talking about?” John asked, returning to the bedside, giving up on their leaving and wanting to take part in the conversation.

  “These Horsemen are pale imita
tions of the ones she sent before. They are more formidable in that they are reasoning, intelligent creatures, but she did not create them as powerful as she did last time,” Merlin explained, taking a pipe from his robes and lighting it with a finger.

  He shook his head in confusion. “Why would she do that? Why not try to make them more powerful rather than weaker?”

  Merlin chuckled. “My boy, they aren’t weaker, they just aren’t fully Horsemen of the Apocalypse either. Famine was so driven by hunger that she left her assigned escort in order to ravage the northern plains; feeding endlessly until an armed convoy came across her alone and undefended. Pestilence constantly fed by spreading his plague, and ended up killing more of his own men than the enemy’s. Death immediately turned on her and disappeared, refusing to obey her commands. The only Horseman that lived up to her expectations was War. Which, the both of you faced and walked away from,” he acknowledged with a small grin.

  “I’m just sorry I didn’t end him when I had the chance,” John cursed, having been filled in on what happened after the orc fled Lancaster.

  “That’s not your fault,” he told his brother, eyes firm. “It was mine.”

  There was a groan from the bed and the King had begun to stir. “No. It was the Phoenix; all of this has been the Phoenix,” Erik muttered, opening his eyes and looking upon them, a small tear leaking from his right eye. “Look at what she did to my daughter.”

  “Maybe we should—” John began.

  The two brothers turned and came face to face with the Queen of the Elves. From the look on her face it was apparent that she had heard what had happened on the grasslands and it broke Tristan’s heart to see the tears in her eyes.

  “My Lady,” he bowed, then discreetly made his exit, Merlin and John fast on his heels. They closed the door, leaving the two grieving parents to console one another and he looked to the mage. “I could use a drink.”