They came for her in the deepest reaches of the night.
She jolted awake as several hands seized her wrists and ankles, pinning her flat into the bed. In the same instant, a filthy cloth was shoved down her throat and held on her face. She gagged. Her cries of alarm were muffled completely.
The darkness was too thick to see who her attackers were. She writhed, trying to wriggle free of the claws tightening around her but it was no use. She began to panic.
She screamed through the cloth. There was no one coming to help her.
Only then did she notice the strange smell of the cloth clogging up her airways. It was subtle, bitter, and all too familiar.
It was maranol. It was a drug for sedation.
She continued to thrash. Her attempts grew weaker and weaker.
Her mind gradually faded away.
She awoke on the floor.
Not the floor of her bedroom. This was stone- cold, hard, and with a mountain range of sharp edges jabbing into her.
She kept her body deathly still except for the slow rise and fall of her breathing. If she could stop them from knowing she was awake, she might have the upper hand.
She swept her situation as best she could with her eyes closed. She wasn’t bound- handy for her captors to leave her untied, certainly, but surprising. And stupid.
There was a flickering red light that found its way in through her eyelids. There was no sound. So little sound, in fact, that it made her shiver.
Oh, right. And it was cold. So cold that her energy leeched right off her bones.
Deciding there was nothing more the be gained from just lying there, she slowly opened her eyes.
She was in a dungeon cell. The walls were like obsidian. There were thick metal bars lacing the front of the cell and a door that was decidedly closed.
The light was coming from an oil lantern placed on the ground outside, and next to it was a man, sitting on the ground with his back leaning against the wall. He appeared to be asleep.
She sat up. For the first time, she realised how badly she was shaking from the cold. She was wearing only the light shirt and pants that they had presumably carried her from her bed in.
She heard footsteps from around the corner. They approached slowly and deliberately, hard soles tapping on the ground.
“Croael,” said a voice that was dreadfully familiar, “Croael, curse you!”
The fat man sitting on the ground jerked awake. He had the decency to look sheepish. “Sorry, General Sabril. I must have… dozed off…”
Sabril rolled his eyes. “Thank you, Croael, I can see that.”
Sabril turned to her, a grin spreading across his face. He had replaced his usual uniform for tight-fitting assassin’s clothes under a black cloak. He said, “Why hello there, Phoenix. What brings you to such an inhospitable part of town?”
Phoenix smiled sweetly. “That’s General Phoenix, thank you.”
The lamplight flickered, sending shadows across his face. “Why of course. My mistake, my mistake. It’s just… you’re so unusually young to be a General. So young and so… inexperienced. One might even say that you’re too inexperienced. It just seems best to leave such things up to us- more knowledgeable people. Being a General is not an easy job, believe me, I should know.”
Phoenix got to her feet. She raised an eyebrow. “You’ve only been one for a month.”
“Which is twice as long as you, young lady.”
“Age isn’t always a good thing.”
His lips curved into an unnerving smile. “That may be true… but in this case, youth is certainly not in your favour.”
“How’s that?”
Sabril laughed coldly. “The others, all us other generals, we don’t respect you. I’ve helped them recognise your worthlessness, your inability to lead our guild with anything short of irresponsibility. You know, you think that the moment you get your fourth scar then you suddenly get to start making decisions around here? That’s not true. Power must be earned.”
She didn’t let his words get to her for even a second. She knew she’d earned every scrap of power and respect she’d accumulated. Her hardened body and mind proved it. Her years of training, exhaustion, mistakes, and perseverance proved it. She said, “Ha. You talk to me like I’m inferior to you but that’s not true anymore, is it? I’ve earnt my rank with unprecedented speed, unlike some.”
Sabril was unruffled. “You know, the thing that you think is your greatest strength is about to become your greatest weakness. Yes, you have risen through the ranks with impressive, even suspicious speed. So it will be no one’s surprise when they find out that you’ve been cheating this whole time. When they find out that your actual loyalty lies elsewhere.”
Phoenix laughed. “You feel threatened by me? Seriously? So you kidnapped me to try and intimidate me into submission with your ‘superiority.’” She scoffed.
“Actually, no. I’m here to employ much more substantial means than just intimidation.” He turned on his heel and walked back up the corridor. She could hear him demanding, “Come on, you lazy brutes. Get over here.”
Phoenix’ stomach was churning and her hands were trembling but not from cold this time. She had no idea what he intended but whatever it was, it was not going to be good.
There were five of them. All men, all looking at her like she was a meal. She stood her ground, eyeing off each of them and trying hard to appear nonchalant.
It was what Sabril then carried around the corner that made her knees go weak.
It was a metal rod, about half a metre long, its handle decorated with ornate swirls. On the end, perpendicular to the handle, was a metal circle with a jagged line through it, like a lightning bolt.
It was the symbol of the Raguel.
The metal was glowing red-hot.
Realising what Sabril was intending, Phoenix’ stomach started sinking through the floor.
“Sabril-” she said quietly, “Sabril, you don’t want to do that!”
His cronies opened the door of the cell and approached her. Her eyes were glued to the brand that he was carrying. His grin was wicked.
One of the men reached out to grab her wrist. She lashed out, sloppily kicking him in the gut. She could do better than that, but she was panicking far too much to concentrate. The brute wheezed and bent over.
Another two came at her and she backed up slowly. These were not good odds. Very not good.
She ducked and lunged and managed to land a hard punch to the jaw of another of the men. A hand locked around her elbow and she shoved back. There was a crunch and a sharp pain in her elbow.
By this point, she was crazed with panic and full of adrenaline. Her eyes were wide and her foremost attention was still on that poker in Sabril’s hands.
She downed another man with a kick to the balls. She clawed and punched and raged but it was not enough.
Suddenly there were thick hands around her neck. She was dragged backwards and pinned to the ground. A man, breathing hard, was sitting on top of her.
Knowing that it was too late but unable to give up, she still thrashed and shoved with all her strength. The man just glared and didn’t budge.
Sabril prowled over to her. She cringed away from the end of the poker, still glowing.
“Sabril,” she growled, trying to keep any tremor from her voice, “Surely you realise that this is a terrible idea. If Master Jazenon was to catch wind of this… you’d be kicked out on your ass. Do you really want that? What if a little birdy told Aserion or Trontara that you kidnapped and assaulted a fellow general?” She smiled with as much swagger as she could muster, “I don’t think that would end well for you, would it, Sabril?”
He laughed softly. “My dear, I don’t think you’re in any position to be making threats. Besides, nobody is going to care about any such things when you have a Raguel brand on your arm. Nobody is going to listen to a second word. You won’t just lose your rank, you’ll be an instant enemy to the guild. You’ll be lucky to make it out of Priscalion territory alive!” He paused, “Don’t you think?”
Phoenix wasn’t afraid anymore. She was furious. There was no way she was going to let him ruin her years of gruelling perseverance and desperate determination in one night. There was no way she was letting this happen. She just couldn’t accept it.
“Excited to have another brand?” He crooned, “And so soon after the last one…” He leaned down and brushed back the collar of her shirt to reveal four detailed circular marks in a row on her collarbone, nearly to her shoulder. They were the twin to the scars on his own collar, the ones he liked to flash around at every opportunity. The marks of a general.
He smiled mockingly again.
She screamed at him. She tried and tried to haul off the captor weighing her down but it was no use. The brand descended towards her.
No. NO!
Another man seized her wrist and held it in an iron grip. He held it steady, no matter how hard she thrashed against his grip.
She screamed again, unable to accept this. Surely there would be a fairy tale ending. Surely one of her friends would burst through that door, or maybe a long lost family member. Surely one of the men would suddenly switch sides and save her from this unthinkable fate. Surely.
Sabril was still grinning. She locked eyes with him raged every scrap of hate and ferocious anger she had at him. I will kill you for this. She vowed silently. There is no coming back from something like this.
She knew he understood her silent rage. Knew he understood just what she meant.
It didn’t stop him lowering the glowing red brand onto the soft inner skin of her wrist.
It sizzled as she screamed.
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