Phoenix Rising (the New Age Saga Book 3)

by Timothy A. Ray

  The magicians, well spent past exhaustion, simply stood by his side, hands on their knees, looking like a gust of wind from the storm raging around them would simply push them over with ease.

  “My Lord, I should check in with my druids, see how they are faring,” Revan finally managed and he looked at his magister with a grim smile. The elf had arrived in the nick of time and he couldn’t begrudge the man for wanting to return to his duties; he had done enough.

  Looking at the bloodied, barely standing druid; he nodded his accent. “Take a moment to rest while doing so, do not openly engage in combat again until you are ready.”

  “Yes, your Majesty,” the blue-haired elf replied as he bowed, leaned heavily on his staff, and moved away.

  Serix was sitting on a corpse pile and images of them rising and dragging him under came to mind. He had to force down the chill snaking up his spine. The necromancer looked wiped and barely awake.

  “Maybe it’s best we get him back behind the walls,” he told Merlin, who had come to stand by his side, eyes searching the battlefield for who knew what.

  The mage didn’t even bother to glance at the younger man, simply nodded. Looking to the sky, his eyes searched the heavens and moments later a Pegasus struck ground to their rear. Working together, they were able to get the necromancer up into the saddle and strapped in. The man’s eyes looked glazed over, as if not really seeing what was going on around him and with a pat on the horse’s rear, the wings lifted and sent the both of them back towards the towering wall behind them.

  Now, alone amongst the surge of men swirling around them, the two old friends took a long breath, letting the afternoon sun stroke their skin and prepare them for what came next.

  “Can you see what’s going on out there?” he asked the mage after a few moments.

  Merlin’s eyes met his and he thought he saw a smile lifting at the corner of the man’s lips. “Hope has arrived.”

  Chapter 18

  Sacrifice

  I

  There was nothing that Willow could do to intervene between Amysta and her daughter; no way she would be fast enough to prevent them from coming at one another. Her heart filled with sorrow at the thought of what might happen; especially upon looking at the dead dwarf by her feet.

  The Queen of the Elves had her weapon drawn and was preparing to lunge at the waiting Horseman that used to be her daughter, when a loud growl erupted from behind; giving the three women a slight pause as they jerked to a semi-halt.

  Green fire lanced forth and struck Pestilence in the chest, driving the young girl back a couple of steps—eyes wide. Pouncing between her and the Queen was an orange tabby, which suddenly began to shimmer and shift. Exploding into view was a large orange cougar, maw wide, claws reaching as it pounced on the stunned Horseman.

  Amysta stepped forward immediately as if to protect her daughter from the newcomer, but quickly brought herself to a halt, remember that just moments ago, it would have been her flinging herself at the girl.

  Shirl flew in and hovered over Willow’s shoulder, eyes intently watching the ground battle being fought, and Willow knew where the magical interruption had come from.

  “Thank you,” she whispered and the sprite absent-mindedly nodded as she silently watched the exchange; eyes filled with worry.

  A howl of pain erupted from the cougar and she watched in horror as the cat’s body began to show signs of plague and decay. The body was constantly shimmering, as if fighting it off, but more and more yellow pus began to ooze beneath the fur. Amysta wasn’t sure if she should interfere and Willow didn’t even know how that was possible. The only way to prevent what was happening was to kill the girl from long range, and she knew that her mother would never sanction such an action.

  She looked at the sprite and felt a certain amount of peace instill itself within her mind. This was the moment the fairy had warned her against. In moments, Trek would be dead or dying and Pestilence would rise again.

  A choice would have to be made. She had been told that if she sacrificed herself that she could save the little girl being used as the Phoenix’s pawn, that she could ultimately save them all. After all, once this plague began to spread amongst the people it might very well, destroy everything in its path. Bella had become the harbinger of death and a sacrifice had to be made in order to stop her.

  That, had fallen upon her.

  Thinking of her time spent with Revan, studying the ancient book Nimue had given her, she recalled the last spell they’d been practicing and knew that if done right, might put an end to the evil magic that transformed the young maiden into such a horrific creature of death.

  Trek suddenly went limp, shimmered back into his natural form, and was thrown effortlessly aside by the young armored women beneath him. A large claw mark was etched down the girl’s cheek as she forcibly rose to greet them once more.

  “Your pet fairies are nothing compared to the magic of the Phoenix. They will fall, as will you all; to be ground beneath her boot,” Pestilence snarled at them, the hideous transformation complete, as nothing remained of the girl that was. “Now, where were we? I think we were about to embrace—isn’t that right mother?”

  Glancing to the west, she sent a silent message to her husband, her love flowing out of her, as she took a step forward and faced the awaiting Horseman. The girl’s eyes flittered her way, not expecting her to interfere, and the corner of the girl’s mouth lifted with surprise. “Aww, you want to go first? I promised War that I would dispatch you quickly, but I did get side-tracked by the family reunion. But hey, I made a promise, why not see it done?”

  She said nothing as she stepped into the open arms of the Horseman’s embrace, the evil magic immediately starting to work on her. There was a gasp of horror from the Elven Queen and she forced it out, focusing intently on what she was about.

  With both arms gripping the young girl, she whispered, “tanka harwar.” Opening her heart, she let every ounce of magic summoned flow through her and into the girl she was embracing. Her arms held the armored figure tightly as the white magic attacked the black essence of the Horseman, working its way through and around the permeating darkness.

  “What are you doing?” came a horrified whisper in her ear, then an open mouth scream as Pestilence realized that she was under attack. She tried to wiggle free, but Willow held on as tightly as possible; refusing to let the young girl go.

  The plague was starting to weaken her body. She was unable to let go and flee; having to hold the girl to her as the magic continued to sweep through them. Gripping the Horseman tightly, she chanted a low prayer that she had learned from the book of magic, and added strength to the already writhing magic surrounding them.

  “Do not interfere!” came the stern voice of the fairy and the realization that Amysta must have attempted to separate them.

  “She’s pregnant you little gnat! She’s going to kill the baby!” the Queen’s voice screamed in panic. The thought had crossed her mind as well, but what choice did she have? It was their lives against the lives of how many innocents that would be murdered by the Horseman’s plagues? Was it really a question of what mattered more?

  Submitting herself completely to the magic, she let it take everything she had, as it wound its tendrils around the struggling girl; incapacitating her. The white light increased in intensity, and even through her shut eyes, she was blinded by the glow.

  Weaker by the second, she held on with everything she had, feeling the diseases working through her and slowly eating her strength away. She had the briefest thought of her soon to be mourning husband and sent a silent I love you upon the wind.

  Then she collapsed onto the cobblestones below; dead before she even hit the ground.

  A young elven girl stood shaking in the storm, youthful appearance restored, her armor gone. She was in white robes, her former full brown hair streaked with white, tears falling in streams from the corners of her eyes. Lips trembling, she looked at the dead pregnant woman at
her feet, then lifted her eyes to the Elven Queen paralyzed nearby.

  “Mommy?”

  II

  “Get off me!” Tristan bellowed, as soldiers refused to let him close to where the Queen and her daughter stood embracing; the body of his wife, lifeless at their feet. “I will kill you all if you do not let me go! I swear it on my ancestors!”

  Kylee had her hands on his shoulders and was adding to the others that were keeping him at bay. “You can’t, Tristan. You can’t.”

  “How dare you?” he roared, struggling against their grip. “That’s your sister over there, your niece! How can you just stand here?” He was losing his sanity the longer he struggled, his heart rending in pain. The ranger’s eyes reflected his anguish and he felt bad for his actions, but couldn’t help it. The love of his life had just died and his soul was breaking into pieces.

  Her eyes misted over and a tear streaked down her cheek.

  “Sir, she has been riddled with the plague. We cannot allow you to approach. You might infect others. We need to quarantine and sterilize!” an elf commander informed him, nodding at another soldier who was approaching with a torch.

  Purity slipped free of its bindings and flashed into view, breaking the hold the men were exerting over him. “I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you torch my wife!”

  “What’s going on here?” a voice commanded to his rear, and he jerked his head in that direction, eyes red, swollen, and full of hate.

  Erik was striding into view, Merlin at his side. The two figures looked weary, their armor bloodied, their faces drawn with exhaustion and some unknown source of excitement. The stern commanding voice of the Elven King snapped the soldiers together and they stopped trying to force him away.

  The storm overhead was starting to lift, the winds backing off, and the rain began to slack in intensity. A ray of sunshine struck them and he glared up at the sun, pissed at the intrusion.

  They came to a halt at his side, eyes glaring at the men before them. “Explain yourself,” the King commanded the Elven Captain.

  “My Lord, we have a plague victim that must be dealt with. We cannot allow anyone to approach who might spread the contagion. Your wife and daughter must be quarantined as well, I’m sorry, Sire. This has been ordered by the Council and I must abide by their wishes,” the elf stated firmly, eyeing the newcomers with challenging eyes.

  “Wife and daughter? Bella?” Erik suddenly asked, working to look beyond the soldiers barring his path.

  “Erik, we’re here, she’s safe,” came the Queen’s voice and he saw the look of surprise flash across the Elven King’s face.

  The King’s brows drew together as he faced off against the soldiers. “I am your King and I’m ordering you to withdraw or I’ll let my friend here have his way with you. I will see my wife and daughter.”

  “My Lord,” the elf protested, fidgeting. He was not used to defying his King’s orders but he looked steadfast in his resolve.

  Merlin stepped forward, putting a hand on the King’s arm, which had begun reaching for the sword strapped to his side. “If I may? I should be able to cleanse them of any possible toxins and neutralize the situation. If you will allow me, of course,” he addressed the soldier, his eyes taking on a hypnotic look that was hard to look away from.

  Seeing an opportunity to fulfill his duty without enraging his sovereign, the elf finally relented and ordered his men to part; allowing the mage access to the three figures beyond.

  He looked through the gap and saw his wife laying on the ground, her body at a weird angle, the rise of her chest absent—his heart broke in two. Standing just behind them stood the Queen and her daughter, the younger girl’s head buried in her mother’s chest, tears streaming from her eyes. He wanted to hate her, but the sorrow filling the girl’s visage was too much to be ignored.

  A sprite flew to his side and he glared at the fairy. “You knew this was going to happen! That’s why she’s been so distant, so reserved. You told her of this and what? She just did it? What have you done?” he thundered at the smaller woman.

  Shirl flinched under the onslaught. The ranger moving to glare at her kept Shirl’s eyes frantically searching for what to say. “A sacrifice had to be made and she chose to make it,” the fairy managed after a moment, face fearful of reprisal.

  “Was it really a choice? Or did you back her into a corner?” came the ranger’s voice; hate dripping off every word. Albino eyes widened as the top of her tattoos drew together, her face filled with anger. “Why her? Why not any of us? Why did it have to be her?”

  “There was no other,” Shirl responded after a moment’s hesitation; fearful for her life.

  Erik was bursting with excitement mixed with sorrow at the scene beyond and he hated the look of elation of the elf’s face. His daughter restored to him or not, Tristan’s wife lay dead at their feet, all for the sake of saving that girl from the Phoenix. Why did he have to suffer for another man’s happiness? What made Erik so damn special that Tristan had to lose everything he ever cared about and the future he thought assured would happen.

  Nimue had lied to him.

  There would be no future with Willow. His sacrifices, his journey, the growth he had experienced; it had all been for nothing.

  “It’s safe,” Merlin called to them and the soldiers parted as both men and the white-haired elf surged forward. Erik ran into the awaiting arms of his wife and daughter as Tristan skidded to his knees next to his wife, the mage hovering overhead.

  Pulling her to him, he felt all the anguish and pain leave and flow unending forth. A howl of rage escaped unbridled as he hugged her tight. Kylee was kneeling across from him, eyes bursting with tears, a hand on Willow’s arm.

  “What have they done to you?” he wailed at the heavens. “Take me in her place! Please? God please? Let me die for her, let her live!”

  Cradling and rocking his beloved, he let all of his grief consume him; anger and sorrow intermixed until one couldn’t be distinguished from another. Through his tears, he looked upon the mage and felt hate fill his heart. “Why did you have to enter our lives? We were happy! We would be together and planning our lives, and none of this would have ever happened! Have you ever thought that maybe this army marched here because we got Excalibur? That you are the trigger behind all of this? That your meddling is why all those that died here today perished? Are you so self-absorbed that none of the people that die in your crusades matter?”

  “Tristan,” Kylee stated, reaching for him, but he shook it off.

  “No, he’s right,” Merlin stated, a look of grief plain on his face, as he looked down upon them. “If I had not approached them, they would be happily married and living in Griedlok even now. The army would not have marched on Forlorn, and neither one of them would be here. I cannot deny that; it is the truth. However, they would have marched eventually and today would have ended with the total destruction of the eastern Elves. With Forlorn and the other elven cities destroyed; she would have marched her armies south and Griedlok would have fallen anyways. You are correct, by not meeting me, you would have gained another year, maybe—but the end would have been far worse than what is taking place now.”

  He would not be talked down.

  His wife’s head in his arms, he continued to rage against the mage, prepared to strike the man down with the hatred burning through his veins. “You can’t know that. You have said so yourself—choices are what direct the future. There are a million things that could have happened between now and then to divert the Phoenix from her path. This didn’t have to be one of them!”

  The mage frowned, eyeing him closely. “You are talking through grief, unable to see the full picture of what is going on. I understand that. But you need to understand me. Had we not arrived here at this moment—in this way, things would have turned swiftly against us and none of us would have survived the year. The Phoenix would grow more powerful with every victory and the southern lands would have been dead or enslaved by the followi
ng fall. There is no stopping her unless we destroy that infernal book once and for all. And to do that; we need Excalibur, and we needed today to happen.”

  “So, my wife is just another sacrifice in your crusade? Just like Jared, Tuskar, or Riska?” he thundered back.

  Another figure strode into view and he saw his grime covered brother march into view. “And Bordin,” John added, coming to stand with them.

  “What?” Kylee asked in shock, her eyes darting towards the Human King.

  “I’m sorry,” John said in a lower voice. “I did everything I could, but I could not save him. Your father has fallen.”

  The ranger tried to look impassive at the news, but he saw something naked in those eyes; sorrow welling up within.

  “Kylee?” came the voice of another elf rushing into view. It was the man from the previous night and Tristan growled audibly at the interruption.

  The ranger drove herself to her feet and flung herself into the awaiting elf’s arms, sobs escaping from her as she allowed the man to comfort her. He looked battle-worn and exhausted, barely standing as he tried to comfort her and Tristan’s mind sneered at them unwillingly as his fingers stroked Willow’s hair.

  “Tristan,” Merlin’s voice interrupted his thoughts, pushing to be heard. “Do you not understand what is happening? The Orcs have risen against their masters! Kore defeated Famine and word of his heroic deed spread like wildfire through the enemy ranks. The slaves rebelled, inspired by Kore’s bravery, and took an axe to the whipmasters driving them forward. The Orcs made up a very large portion of the enemy army and it is still ripping itself apart even now! The army would be in full retreat if another hadn’t arrived behind them; cutting them off. The Dark Elves have left their caves and Melissa is leading them even now to decimate what remains of the Phoenix’s forces. Don’t you understand? We won!”

  “How can you say that? This isn’t a victory! Look at what we have lost! What have we gained from what we’ve sacrificed? A few more months? A year? Then we will be back here once more, and how many will have to die then?” he returned, anger continuing to rise. He could give a rat’s ass what was going on out there; all that he cared about had died right here. Thoughts of joining her quickly surfaced and he had to constantly fight the urge to end his existence as well.