Chapter 1
Marked For Death
Year 870
The sound of carnage echoed through the cavernous space of the desert canyons where Sanbreque's Imperial and Dhalmekia's Republican armies clashed. The rancid smell of sweat and blood permeated the air. More bodies were added to the growing number of decaying corpses - all for the sake of obtaining the dwindling supply of crystalline resources.
The sound of bones being cleaved apart by clanging swords was overwhelming to the senses. Immersed in the brutality of the battle, the soldiers remained oblivious to the towering stone cliffs and the azure sky that overlooked their fierce engagement. A fine day that contrasted with the miserable scene beneath.
A solitary, hooded figure stood atop the precipice, a silent spectator to the gruesome scenery unfolding below. In typical circumstances, this figure clad in a uniform of scarlet, black, and gray would be concealed among the shadows but with soldiers from both sides thoroughly engaged, there was no need to hide.
Eyes concealed beneath the hood pensively surveyed the gory scene until a glint of fire swiftly caught the periphery of his vision, ceasing the breath in his lungs and bringing a wash of dread over him. The unmistakable flamed wing of none other than the Phoenix arched from a young Imperial soldier's back. And branded with the mark of a Bearer on his left cheek. The hooded man examined the young Imperial soldier with keen interest and bated breath. He turned over the implications in his mind as he examined the soldier unleash the Rising Flames, a devastating display that propelled a Republican foe skyward.
The Phoenix Shift followed, enabling the soldier to seamlessly teleport to a new set of enemies and a blazing Scarlet Cyclone decimated all in its path as he slashed in several circles with his flaming sword. With every laceration of the soldier's scorching weapon, memories of the past flooded the hooded man's thoughts.
Memories of his brethren gravely describing what they found on the Night of Flames at Phoenix Gate in Rosaria ten summers prior – more specifically who they discovered and the state he was in. How one person had heard faint shallow breaths amidst the rubble littered with the remains of long dead Rosarian soldiers.
Suddenly jolted back to the present, the hooded man realized he had lost track of time and space. In so doing, he had uncharacteristically made himself vulnerable.
Despite the jumbled chaos, several undeniable truths became crystal clear in the hooded man's thoughts - the rumors were no longer mere whispers. The young soldier imbued with the Phoenix's Blessing does exist. He is an Imperial soldier of Sanbreque. He bears the mark of the Branded. And he is the most formidable threat to the hooded man's savior.
"I must tell Cyril immediately of this matter," the hooded man muttered to himself, urgency lacing his words.
The young soldier had just dashed to a nearby Republican soldier and disintegrated him with the Heatwave – a projectile of liquid fire that tossed him several meters away. The flames disappeared and the young soldier paused to shove his sword into the ground, resting for a moment to steady his breathing. His comrades were also doing the same as the last Republican soldiers fled the battlefield. A temporary victory for today.
For a moment, the young soldier with the Phoenix's Blessing had the strange feeling of being watched. He tilted his head upwards to glance at a certain spot on the cliffs high above. But there was nothing there except for the rusty rock façade and the endless blue sky.
Even before crossing under the rock bridge to see the split canyon, one could smell the tendrils of sundried leather of the secluded town of Tabor in Dhalmekia. The natural cleft in the canyon acted as a secret doorway with its crisscrossing tapestries high above – bidding its visitors a quiet welcome.
Today there were many leather hides of various colors – green, blue, red, and tan - strung out to dry on poles in the circular village of Tabor. The shaded village with its concentric rock terraces, arched pavilions, endless stairs, and numerous ladders seemed the ideal place to keep well-concealed secrets.
As the lapidaries and the tanners demonstrated their craftsmanship in open aired spaces, a scholar was turning over philosophical musings in his mind behind closed doors. In the residence of The Undying. A society so enigmatic that not even Tabor's natives knew of its existence save for a few - most unknowingly conversed with its members on a daily basis.
Through the heavy door of the Undying's abode revealed a large room and through the hallway, one could see a set of doors. One of the closer doors held a humble room with a modest wooden table. The Bearer of the Burning Quill sat upon this table as he drew the feathered plume thoughtfully across the parchment. Dusk was gently falling upon the desert landscape outside and the orange hues of the setting sun could barely reach the inner basin that was the village. Most of the rooms of the Undying were built inside the mountain bereft of sunlight. Cyril relied on the wall sconces and the candles perched upon the table for writing.
Some of his brethren were bringing in supper ingredients through the main entrance and the sound of knives chopping on a board could be heard along with quiet conversation from a distance. In a house of nobility, these would normally be the servants preparing their master's repast but in the house of the Undying, everyone was a servant. A servant, that is, of his Grace.
Cyril continued his chronicling until the hum of conversation outside of his door swiftly ceased upon the sound of footsteps crossing through the main entrance.
"I didn't expect to see you here, Agni," said one of the Undying acolytes in a perplexed tone.
"I need to speak to Master Cyril regarding a crucial matter immediately. It pertains to his Grace," Agni replied in a measured but urgent voice.
There was an immediate shift in the air as wooden chairs scraped across the floor. Some of the Undying acolytes had been seated doing their respective tasks while others were standing. The atmosphere in their residence became heavy as everyone ceased their work and became immobile. No one ever expected Agni, the Undying's assassin scout, to be present at the headquarters…unless there would be forthcoming death. Those times were few and far in between.
"Is his Grace well?" Cyril had promptly appeared in the main room the moment he heard Agni's voice.
"His Grace is safe at the present moment, yes, Brother Cyril. But may we exchange a word in private?" inquired Agni.
"Yes, let us make haste to the council room," Cyril responded in a subdued voice.
Agni and Cyril strode through the darkened hallway, leaving the handful of their fellow brothers and sisters behind. The acolytes heard the council room door close down the hallway. No matter how dire the situation, the Undying had an ability to speak swiftly and yet softly. They were people of the shadows and were taught how to become one with the darkness though they worshipped the light of the Phoenix. Afterall, they were in close quarters with the other unsuspecting residents of Tabor – who knew what sorts of ears would be eavesdropping in this small community. Hence there was not one sound heard through the council door or the main room despite the building tension.
It was not even a few moments when the door opened - Cyril and Agni hastily strode back into the hall, their steps were uncharacteristically loud. Those in the main room had barely moved when Cyril stood at the passageway's threshold and pierced each person intensely with his steel gray eyes. The silence seemed to draw on forever.
"A council session will be held immediately. Tern and Gannet – find all of the Elders and bring them to council room. Azar, retrieve Brother Sulien – he is located in the Krozjit Echoes with his Grace and Jote. In the presence of his Grace, tell Sulien that I require his assistance. Only after you have departed from his Grace's company may you tell Sulien of Agni's arrival. He will understand," commanded Cyril.
An ominous sensation eddied its way around the room through each individual. What business is this that it must involve our indomitable assassins? That was the question in everyone's thoughts. Upon viewing Cyril's deadpan expression for few moments, everyone scrambled as they adjourned from the room, preparing for this unanticipated seminar.