The Exodus Sagas: Book II - Of Dragons And Crowns

by Jason R Jones

  “King Richmond, you asked for me?” her tone was playful and quiet, as usual. The king knew that she knew things unseen and unheard. He did not care how, and had no desire to find out. The only female Knight of Harlaheim was as deadly as any man, save perhaps Savanno or Sulian, but her skills at gathering the right information when needed were the real reason she was with title.

  “Yes, what have your ears heard, Florin? I know what your glances mean, and I am aware that you have knowledge of this scroll and the ones that carry it. How much?” the king whispered through his teeth, still gritting from the audacity of the old arcane teacher’s questions. The wizard must have someone on the inside that knows about his payoff from the south, but who? he thought. The king had been sent a large sum of gold to ensure no assistance came to the aid of whomever the Altestani ship would be hunting down. That gold, from Prince Johnas of Chazzrynn, had bought him some new chambermaids he was particularly fond of.

  “The scroll issue? Five thousand in gold. However, I have something better.” she rose and whispered into his ear, teasing the skin on his neck with her short curls of dark brown. “Shame upon your best knight and lord, perhaps Kalzarius as well since they are in league. Or, would you prefer just the scroll of Annar that dozens of men crave already?”

  “I care not about some relic of ancient history, burn it. I want those in power before me, my elders, to be gone so that my rule can rise higher than my fathers once did. I want Caberra, Shanador, Chazzrynn, and Altestan to fear and respect Harlaheim and me as they should. How much, Madame?” his whispers were filled with ambition and pride, angry and powerful.

  “Perhaps, we can get them all at once. Your enemies at court, the scroll, the foreigners who hide, and even your queen to behave as a queen should. All the while you reaping the silent glory and pulling power beneath you, my king. The price is twenty five thousand coin.” Florin dangled the sweet offer, and threw a number large enough so that he took her seriously. Also, it was large enough for her to retire on a villa in Caberra should she succeed, and she always did.

  “Agreed. When will this take place?” his impatience made him jitter in the throne. The vaults of Harlaheim were deep, vast and wealthy from many centuries of trade taxes and powerful cities that paid heavily for the protection of the kings that had ruled previous.

  “Today your majesty. But half to my keep, and blood first.” the lady knight, secretly the domenarch of the White Spider in Harlaheim , had always shook her deals with bloodstained hands. It was for sealing the agreement and effect, a reminder that breaking deals would result in bloody consequences, whether king or kin. She drew a dagger from her boot.

  Both cut their hands and shook as the blood hit the blue carpet in small drops that soaked into the lush velvet. “I will send someone to clean that up your highness.” Florin walked behind the throne and waited for the king to leave to the dining hall.

  Alec bowed to his superior, Madame Florin, his face still red and swollen, cut from jaw to ear across his nose from his duel with Shinayne T’Sarrin, and pain in his chest as well from the recent laceration. “What must I do, Florin.”

  “By hell you look awful, what happened to your face?”

  “A duel with the highborne elf. Lives up to her name, for now. Killed five of my men as well. You needed me, Madame?”

  “Are you capable in this poor form?”

  “Very.”

  “Then head to the balcony by the queen’s chambers, I will take my guards to her door and demand entrance. When Savanno comes out, challenge him. He will be out of sorts from his little romance and not ready for you. Kill him in view, but make it look honorable, Alec. I will have the queen arrested, then we make for the tower to take the rest. I know a way to get in, from underneath. Are you well enough to for this, or perhaps the elven woman’s cuts require more time to heal?” her smile was enough to scare children from fifty feet away.

  “I am well, Florin. I will have my blades in her chest very soon.” Alec was still burning inside, despite the healing ointments for the outside he had received. His playful smiles seemed to have vanished with this scar to his handsome face and pride.

  “Use that anger you have there, the anger on your pretty nose, and head to the balcony.” Florin knew that this one, her best swordsman, would do anything for her at any time. She had trained him for almost fifteen years since she was in her twentieth season and rising already through the ranks of the White Spider.

  “Yes Madame, consider it done. What of the other knights, his nephew Sulian?” the young scarred swordsman backed up, uncomfortable with her grin.

  “Once I am Lady Knight Errant they will not matter. I will serve the kingdom and strengthen both us and our patriarch. Now go.” Florin turned to the great hall to find her guards and expose the nobility of L’Herrim castle. My master Johnas Valhera will be most pleased as well, she thought.

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  They both heard it, someone outside on the balcony, moving slow and drawing a blade. Savanno rushed out of bed, throwing his clothes on as fast as he could, quietly. Rosana did the same, assisting her knight with his armor, neither speaking a word. The knock at the door came, a woman’s voice followed in a demanding tone that they ignored. It had only been an hour, hardly near the time the two had hoped for.

  “They know about us, what do we do?” Rosana tried to remain calm, her eyes darting back and forth, tears welling and her breath shortening.

  “I will go to Kalzarius’ tower and remain hidden, they know nothing and have no proof. I must meet my cousin, Cristoff outside the city. Once that is done, I will come and get you and we leave for Shanador. I promise.” the lord strapped on his blade, kissed his wife, and made for the closet. “Deny anything, say nothing. I love you Rosana.”

  The banging continued, Madame Florin’s voice more stern and accusatory with each moment. The queen of Harlaheim got dressed in her evening gown, and noticed the armband of her knight on the bed. She quickly picked it up just as the door unlocked revealing several guards and the lady knight.

  “Where is he?! Lord Knight Errant Savanno Lisario, where is he?!” the lady domenarch of the White Spider drew her rapier and searched the queen’s chambers with her men. She noticed the queen hiding something behind her back, and moved to take it from her.

  “Don’t you dare, Florin. The king shall hear of this at once. Now leave my chambers! You are but a knight with a false title! You wish I was not here as queen, however I am here, and you will be punished. The king will know of this!” Rosana stood firm, balling the armband into her fist to hide it.

  “He already has, your majesty. Why do you think I am here?” the knight looked at the queen’s hands, seeing nothing, and continued to search the room.

  “I know not what you speak of, and you shall pay dearly for your false accusations!” Rosana saw the manacles come off Florin’s hip. She quickly tossed the armband of her husband’s to the floor and kicked it under the bed, knowing they would ask for her hands.

  “You can explain your adultery and lies to his majesty, save your breath.” the Harlian woman opened and bound the queen’s hands, and motioned for the guards to take her. Florin searched every window, doorway, piece of furniture, and even the latrine. The she saw it, under the bed that smelled of lust, the armband of Alden that the Lord Savanno wore. She picked it up, placing it in her belt. Florin smiled, and opened the drapes. She spotted Alec running down the stairs quickly, in obvious pursuit of someone that had made it to the streets. “Get him my scarred swordsman, get him and kill him.” she whispered in silent victory.

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  Savanno marched faster than he had ever marched before. He wondered how they had caught on, what it was after all these years. The only men that knew were Cristoff and Kalzarius, and even they knew little. He felt as though he should return and face whatever lack of evidence they would produce, but had a sense that he was being trailed. Savanno put his hand on his rapier, then felt som
eone at his side that was not there a moment earlier. He turned with his guard up, only to see the bearded master of the arcane floating alongside at the rapid pace he was keeping.

  “By Alden’s wings Kalzarius, I could have killed you right there!” he kept marching, sheathing his blade once more.

  “No, you could not have. They have arrested your lover, the queen.” the black robed professor continued to float inches from the ground, people parting ways for the two known men of Harlaheim. His words were sharp and full of disappointment at his old friend’s son.

  “My wife, wizard. We married in Caberra before she was given to Richmond many years ago.” his face stayed forward, emotionless and focused.

  “Secrets always reveal themselves in the wrong fashion, do they not? Stay on this street, you have an assassin behind you. Do not look, we need to get to the safety of the tower.” the wizard concentrated on Cilano, his best student. He uttered a few arcane words, and alerted him to raise the alarm throughout the tower.

  “What should I do Kalzarius?” Savanno seemed lost, lost like never before. No war, no outnumbered battle had ever dug in his chest this deep.

  “Do? About what? Your secret wife imprisoned, the scroll and it’s bearers in mortal danger, or the fact that the queen bears your child?” the old man had no reason to hold back at this point. “Wizards know these things, I assumed that you did not.”

  “Oh dear God. I must go back and get her now.” he began to break composure, to show worry and fear on his face.

  “No. They will kill you, they are waiting and hunting for you now. Florin has your armband, you will be charged, and the queen as well.” Kalzarius put his hand on the lord’s shoulder to keep him from turning around.

  “Then what do I do, and how do you know these things so quickly?”

  “You take the four companions to Soujan Mountain, to Ansharr. Cristoff and I will get the queen while Cilano holds the tower and you are away from the danger and drama. We will meet at Bradswellen Castle in Saint Erinsburg after the scroll is safe and the queen as well. Trust me, I can get her out of there, but I will wait till the time is right. Be patient. You will be followed, so you will need to keep off of the main roads.” the wizard raised his staff, which opened the gates to his stronghold, the guards taking positions as they walked in.

  “You swear you will get her out, promise me?!” Savanno looked behind him now, trying to spot the assassin and seeing nothing but city folk swarming the streets as normal.

  “It was not on my list of things to do today, but yes, I assure you. You and the queen will be fine. Just remember, you have the worst timing of any man I know, Savanno Lisario. Now get prepared with the others. You leave at nightfall from under the tower.” Kalzarius raised his staff again, the portcullis closed on it’s own, and he looked behind him as well. He knew that many were arrayed against him, too many this time.

  “Guards, seal the walls, the gates, and bar them. Get the archers to the courtyard, and prepare for siege.” it had been many years since Kalzarius had been under attack. No matter how many times he had survived it, the feeling was never a good one.

  Cristoff II:I

  Bradswellen Castle, Saint Erinsburg, Harlaheim

  Another wave of arrows loosed from behind him, sending his hair whipping into his face from the close proximity of the projectiles. They were not aimed at him, but ordered by him to fire into the enemies approaching the city he was titled and ordered to protect for the kingdom of Harlaheim. Hundreds fired again as the Lord of Saint Erinsburg and his mount remained motionless, like one statue overlooking the great marshes of Kar Nossos. Soaked and cold from the morning rains with the city wall well behind he and his men, Cristoff Bradswellen the Third watched as more and more of the rotted beasts rose from the swamp. His men were nervous, having never seen so many at one time and it being the fourth assault this week already. His damp gray hair flowed over his ornate steel plate armor atop the black stallion. His beard caught the moisture that drizzled from the cloud entombed sky and his red cape fluttered in the slanted breeze. Despite the closeness of at least fifty of the undead creatures shambling toward the city in search of a meal, the armored lord had not even drawn his longsword. He thought of his daughter Marie and son Dominic, both away with their mother Isabella. All in their country home in Malais, Caberra, a week to the north and east. Since King Richmond the Second had taken rule, the pollution of the dead that walked had worsened from Devonmir. The wicked city of sorcerers and the arena produced many a horrid creature and corpse, most of which ended up in the Karnassos Marsh, then they found their way here in ever increasing numbers over the last ten years. He had sent his family away seven years ago, since his letters to the king, the cardinal, and his best friend and cousin Savanno had accomplished little. His son was almost twenty now, and his daughter but a few years behind. This was nothing that a father wanted his family to see.

  His mind wandered more, deep in thought, as the straggling forms of men, corrupted animals, ogre, and unrecognizable beasts sloshed through the marsh waters toward he and his line of men. Not breathing, eyes clouded over, rotted, and dead but risen once more from foul sorcery; the army of the hungry dead approached within fifty yards, arrows and flaming bolts protruding from them all. Cristoff felt age catching up with him. The rain made him ache, the wars of glory long over, and his children grown. His fathers had passed him much, yet he felt his legendary city was in a kingdom on the decline, devoid of its honor and wicked in its royalty. His wife had not passion left since their daughter was born, and Cristoff felt a man alone in a sickening world. The lord watched the arrows cease, even though he had not moved a muscle, not even a blink. Feeling that the men were growing nervous as dozens of gray skinned, fly swarmed, decaying dead began to moan at the smell of living men; Cristoff pulled his blade of gold and rubies with his family name etched on the holy magical steel. He raised it high, cross pommel against his wrist, then pointed toward the horde as they began a mismatched charge of their own toward him, toward human flesh.

  Two hundred men and boys charged, fifty on horseback with lances ahead, the others on foot with swords and shields. The standard bearing young men waved the crown and rose on red cloth with gold, and they waved them proud for their lord, but none here felt much loyalty to Richmond the Second. Half these men were older and could rule better if given the chance. As lances pierced wretched and ghastly corpses, blades cut them down as they tried to stand again. The army of Saint Erinsburg had held the horrors of Devonmir at bay for centuries, and not one king ever stopped whatever caused it. Cristoff knew that the taxes and bribes from the arcane arena city of the dark magicks were triple that of all the cities in Harlaheim combined, and nothing could be done about it. Rich necromancers with noble ties and endless wealth, all a greedy king would care to be bothered with. The walking dead would not interest him when there was a lord and an army to halt them.

  A giant form rose from the stench and swamp, nearly twelve feet tall and decayed flesh of gray and green sagged over the enormous bones. Red eyes clouded with gray, covered in leeches and marshweed, the hulking dead child of a Misathi giant roared and charged toward the lord, breaking his depressed thoughts. Cristoff charged, with little emotion, no fear, and aimed his blade out at yet another of the walking dead. The huge hands swung to grab at he and his horse. Too slow for the veteran soldier, Lord Bradswellen cleaved the blade through the thick wrist leaving it dangling by purple lifeless sinew. He turned his steed, Leonis, and kicked the charge in again. The flat wetlands gave plenty of room to outmaneuver the dead, and Cristoff had battled here on rainy mornings hundreds of times. He reached down on his second pass, grabbing a stuck lance with his left hand from a writhing husk of a man. The lance plunged into the chest of the decomposing giant, which felt no pain, and he ducked under the massive reach as he swung at the other arm repeating the same cut. Turning Leonis once more, chased by a ton of rotted giant corpse flailing two loose hands and dripping black blood of the dead, Cr
istoff watched for a moment. His men had charged and leveled the mass of undead from the marsh with horse and lance. The second wave marched in, cutting them down and decapitating them with blades as they stood, then the return charge of his cavalry trampled again. Besides giving a few orders and picking out the largest foe, he was barely needed. His men were well trained, and unfortunately, far too experienced in this weekly battle with the washup from Devonmir. The giant ran at the Lord of Saint Erinsburg, his dead crimson eyes glaring at the amber eyes of his meal. Cristoff charged, turning at the last moment, slashing at the neck and flank of the massive corpse, encircling it to keep from being pummeled. Four cuts, then six, all to the throat and chest and flank of his opponent. The smell of the flesh disgusted him, the black blood covering his steel edge, and the beast fell to the wet ground as the head lopped to one side, severed.

  His men cheered, half heartedly, and the few dead and injured were tended to. There were no crates of wine or victory dances in the hall. No ladies in waiting cheering them on, no, these fights held little glory. The horror of fighting the dead of one’s own kingdom was sobering and somber, not worth celebrating. It was sad to the men, to their lord, and the people of the Saint Erinsburg, that the great kingdom of Harlaheim had fallen from the center of Agara. Their most beautiful city was relegated to holding back the undead where once it was a holy mecca of temples to Alden. Cristoff turned his steed, and headed back to the gate.

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  The choir sang softly, illuminating in voice the arched ceilings of the dark yet beautiful cathedral of L’Avia Sangrit. In warmer months this church would be busy with travelers from many countries coming to view the stained glass and ancient stones. Holy men, families, and historians flocked to the kingdom of Harlaheim to gaze upon the mission of Saint Tarumin, the cathedrals in Harlaheim, this ancient church in Saint Erinsburg, and many other sacred sites that the old country was famous for. Once, before Cristoff’s father’s time of rule, the Aldane Bishops of all kingdoms and the Cardinals met here, in Saint Erinsburg, for their holy summits. Due to the wars and rapid successions of royalty through suspected foul play, the most holy men of Alden gather in Acelinne, the capital of great Shanador now. That holy honor and glory much a lost relic influenced by prosperity, he realized, as he walked toward the altar of the feathered cross to pray.