“So an unborn bastard and an adulteress die tomorrow night, what of it?” her words were cold and uncaring as she practiced her attacks and parries in the open air of the throne room.
“You may think it an easy decision, but for me it is still ordering the death of the daughter of the king of Caberra who is with child. I need some time with my thoughts Florin, leave me.” his words were softer now, realizing the pressure he was under, and the repercussions his actions will have with the mighty naval kingdom to the north.
The double wooden doors opened from the guards posted outside. In walked a soldier of Bernardus, dirty, injured, and weary from exhaustion. “Lady Florin, your majesty, I have news from the search my lords.”
“Speak soldier, what is it?” Florin sheathed her blade and approached the man, making sure he did not soil the blue velvet carpet that led to the steps of the thrones.
“My lady, Sir Bernardus is dead, Savanno killed him. Few of us escaped the minotaur and the spells of the wizard of Lazlette. They headed east on the mission road, but now they have left the road and make north with a small brigade. We believe the men are those of Lord Cristoff of Saint Erinsburg your majesty, yet we have no proof save that they came from that direction.” the soldier nearly collapsed before he finished, as the night was well into morning and his cuts looked in dire need of a priest’s attention.
“Well my king, we can now add murder to Savanno’s list of charges. What are your orders against those that defy the crown?” Florin knelt at the base of the steps next to the fallen soldier.
“I do not know, I am…uhhh…I need time. I need to speak to the queen again, and ummm…, the wizard and the…I wish to speak to Bishop Javiel, send someone please.” Richmond was confused, stuttering, beginning to crack as he realized more of his loyal subjects were against him, and his allies had foul motive. His act was believable, he had practiced it well.
“Very well your highness, I will see to it that you are escorted to see the prisoner and that the bishop is summoned. In the meantime, due to your exhausting and taxing situation of the heart, I will take up mantle as my duties as seneschal require. In your stead, the attack on Kalzarius will commence, the hunt for Savanno and the fugitives will renew, and I will see to it that the enemies of the crown from within our own kingdom are dealt with. Guards!” with a few well spoke words, perfect timing, and new authority, Florin took command. The doors opened again, a dozen heavily armed men with halberds and rapiers stormed into the throne room and knelt before the Lady Knight Errant. “Escort the king to his wife in the dungeon, then lock him in his bedchamber for his safety. Send for the bishop to assist in the spiritual guidance and confession he and the queen may need before her execution. As acting Seneschal of the throne, the king is removed from power until his troubled mind has had its rest. Go!” Florin knew it was her only option, she needed to see this through, and the young king had not the stomach for it. She walked out of the chamber, to the dining hall. All as they had planned.
Alec Silverblade looked up from his roasted chicken and glass of wine as the door opened. He stood, hand on his rapier and shortblade, then realizing who it was, he bowed. “It is done?”
“It is done, the king is being escorted as we speak. As seneschal of Harlaheim, I have an official order for you, Sir Alec.” Florin beamed, her brown eyes full of delight and power. Teasing with the word knight brought a disgusted look to her subordinate’s face, but she did not care.
“I do like the sound of this, your highness. But lose the sir, I despise knights. What are my orders?” Alec sarcastically remarked, having little respect for nobility, authority, and least of all titles.
“Go below into the sewers. Organize the salisans there, their leader is Vimm. He will be expecting you.” Florin took the silver goblet of wine and drank it down.
“The lizard men? For what do I need their scaly stench to carry out, my lady?” Alec wrinkled his scarred face in disgust at the thought of not so much the sewers he was accustomed to traveling, but the black scaled savages that dwelt under the northern edge of them.
“Vimm has a score of his salisans, and you will need every one of them to hunt down Savanno and the rest of the fugitives. They head north and east off the roads, the lizards will be able to track them with ease, night or day. Bring me their heads, all of them. I have not the men to loan you, too many wars and riots to plot. You have your orders, Sir Alec, now go.” the seneschal of the kingdom walked back into the empty throne room and sat in the kings chair. All was going with the carefully laid plans, save a few unexpected ripples that she was dealing with quickly and with great caution. Florin Kept her military countenance of dread seriousness, yet was laughing on the inside at how easy this would be after all.
Alec peered around the doorway as he made to leave. “When this is all over, truly over, is that other throne for me, Florin? Or will my position be more to the shadows?”
“Heh heh.” the dryness of her laugh like desert sand. “The shadows, if you can accomplish the task at hand.”
“I like the shadows, Seneschal, very much.”
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Orange eyes flickered in the torchlight and stench of the caverns under the northern sewers made him want to vomit. Three, maybe four dozen sets of eyes darted and moved in the shadow. Alec kept his hood up, hands resting comfortably on his pommels, and strode into the filthy underground dwelling. He stepped over bones, refuse, and even small mounds of what was likely feces. Scales crunched under his heels, dry and old from being shed by hundreds of man-sized lizardmen. Even with his attuned reflexes and vision so used to the dark, Alec Silverblade could not make out the black scaled forms that moved in the thick night of the cavern. Unlike the sewers he had just traveled, these chambers were dry and full of piled crates and rubble.
Only the eyes gave away that he was completely surrounded by the savage and sadistic beasts. He had been here before, and seen the effectiveness of a small hired scouting group once. Their poison tipped spears brought their quarry down quick, poison made from their own excrements. “I am seeking Vimm, leader of your-“
“I am he, and who iss thiss who comess below?” the voice was raspy and whispered, and directly behind the cloaked human. Vimm could smell the man’s sweat, a trail of light perfume, and very little fear. He poked the man in the side with his rusty dagger to get his attention.
Blades out and on guard, the startled assassin of the White Spider turned and backed up a step. The tip of his rapier was touching the tip of a bone spear that had black paste smeared over it. Noxious waffes of acrid stench burned Alec’s nose, forcing a grimace over his stoic resolve; he backed up another step to give some space between he and the poisoned spearhead. Three more sets of lizard breath he felt on his neck, then the eyes moved in closer from all around, too close for his comfort. He lowered his blades to waist level, seeing and hearing a bit of unease in the creatures he meant to employ.
“Great king of the salisans, I am here on behalf of Seneschal Florin who now commands all of Harlaheim.” he bowed, flattering as best he could. His eyes could make out this leader, Vimm, now. Black scaled face with small protrusions that ran down the middle between his fire-like eyes, he had bones and teeth in various necklaces, and stood just as tall as Alec. The creatures hands held three fingers that ended in claws, and it’s tail never seemed to stay still as it moved back and forth like the thing’s head. Its mouth cracked open, revealing several rows of yellow sharp teeth and a long red forked tongue that flicked in and out as it swayed. Alec felt more disgust.
“And what doess the woman want of the salisan?” Vimm smiled and the remembrance of the smells of Florin. He hated humans for the most part, their stench and hair disgusted him. Yet lady Florin moved different, had smelled and spoken sweetly, and her gifts and touch had left fond memory that Vimm would never forget.
“We have enemies of the throne who have stolen a relic of great importance. A minotaur, a wizard, an elf woman, a priest, an
d a few knights. Six or seven perhaps that have gone off the roads toward the hills north of the Zuran Mountains.” Alec saw the eyes darting back and forth, and heard the strange whispered tongue of the salisan race being spoken as they all conversed quickly, then stopped as Vimm began to talk once more.
“Why don’t you hunt them down with your armiess then?” the chattering from all around with tongues flicking in and out meant to Alec that this was a question all of them had wanted to know the answer to.
“Our army is at war with the great wizard in the tower as we speak. Our men cannot travel through the hills and valleys, night or day, or track men as the salisan can. Unless you feel that it is too difficult for you?” the swordsman turned in a circle as he spoke, assuming many of them understood Agarian, but simply could not speak it. He made eye contact with as many as he could in his little challenge of words.
Hissing, loud whispers, raspy yells echoed from far more lizardmen that Alec could see with but the light from their orange eyes to view them by. He saw the movement become hostile from one creature to his left as the arguing continued. A spear thrust toward him, assuring him that they had a degree of understanding of his language and did not care for the play on their skills as warriors. Alec turned to the side as the poisoned tip passed his face, then stepped forward . His rapier slashed out at the spear, knocking it low and followed with an upward cut from his shortsword that sent the weapon end over end behind the salisan that had tried to spear him with it. Alec’s rapier and shortblade crossed each other over the lizard’s throat, and he held still. “So you accept then?”
The whispering quieted quickly. “We will hunt your enemiess, but you are coming with us they say. Who are you, human and what are the paymentss?” Vimm paced back and forth, waiting to see if one of his kin was about to get his throat cut or not.
“Alec Silverblade, deadliest blade in Harlaheim. I go with on one condition, salisan.” he sheathed his weapons, confident that his trick on their pride had done the job of getting them to comply with his mistresses wishes.
“What iss your condition, lord Silverblade.” Vimm stared at the young man with the fresh scar across his face, impressed with his speed and skill with those shiny blades. He could have killed him with numbers, but the salisan leader knew that Florin would be upset, and that he did not want.
“When we find them, I get to kill the elf.” Alec stared into the fiery orange reptilian eyes of the salisan leader, seeing a smile that matched his own thirst for blood.
“Very well, we kill the rest. The payments?”
“Two chests of silver coin.”
“Thitthissk pithianns vu thimth skirr!” Vimm gave the order to ready the hunt and leave out the back sewer cavern into the forests. His reptilian army of over a hundred strong all waved their spears and bone weapons, hissing and shouting in raspy wretched voices.
“You sstay closse to me now, Alec Silverblade, for my warriorss want your head. And try to keep up.” Vimm ran out the dark corridors, Alec beside him, followed by a black scaled legion of murderous salisans.
Exodus II:V
Tower of Kalzarius, Harlaheim
Dawn crept over the tranquil bay waters, sunlight shot through the pines that surrounded the city, and darkness gave way to an orange glow over the white marble tower. The shimmering arcane wall rippled with energy as more stone ammunition from the catapults impacted through it; the crackling noise mingled with what sounded like the splashing of water alerted the gray cloaked bodyguards that the assault had begun again. Flaming arrows, scores of bolts from crossbows, and a dozen catapults unleashed a hellstorm upon the tower. The forty guards took cover behind the trees with their capitan, while arcane students raised saves to the air and met the off target and slowed ammunitions with blasts of magical electricity and flame. Boulders split in two, arrows disintegrated through shields of magical flame, and bolts snapped from waves of arcane lightning that shot forth from the thirty or more trained wizards in the courtyard.
Capitan Jean-Ris watched as the iron bars of the gate and spikes above the circular wall cascaded green mist in a constant flow that prevented the army from entering. He knew it to be a corrosive acidic vapor, and raised his rapier in the air. “Move back from the wall and gate men!”
The Capitan knew that the glyphs were now active once the mist was visible, which meant to stay off the main walkways from each of the four gates, and the walls. The magical writings were under the grass, etched in stones, and some even on trees, none visible to any that did not have the wizardly ability to see the arcane. His men back out of harms way, Jean-Ris waited. He heard it once, then again, the pounding of steel on iron. A steel battering ram crashed through the fog that still lay outside the walls of the tower. Chains jangled loose then tightened as the soldiers of Harlaheim under Seneschal Florin drew it back; keeping her men safe from the harmful acid vapors. Over and over the steel ram pummeled the iron gate, bending and twisting the bars little by little. Finally, an hour it seemed, the gate flung open, broken enough for a few men to get past. The aerial bombardment stopped, the men were quiet besides the cocking of their crossbows. The Capitan thought of how there were nearly three thousand soldiers surrounding the tower that was defended by less than a hundred. If he had not been aware of the glyphs, had faith in Kalzarius, and known that they had much more protections to bear, a normal man would have run or surrendered.
The cavalry rode in, shields raised, banners held, in full armor to protect from the acidic mist that would dissolve their flesh. The capitan raised his sword, then struck it down signaling the guards to fire. The crossbows unleashed toward the gate, but not at the Harlaheim cavalry. The bolts hit various trees and stones in the ground. Flashes of light erupted as the first ten horseman struggled to force their steeds through the burning mist. Purples, oranges and green lights hummed into existence all around the breached gate. The cavalrymen and their steeds turned to stone, completely blocking the entrance to the tower courtyard. A second wall on the interior of the first sprung from the ground, this one made of fifteen foot tall flames at least three feet thick. Iron spears broke through the ground, crackling with purple electricity; more than fifty in a semicircle around the inside of the flaming wall, all aimed forward. The army halted its advances, unable to pass by their comrades that were now thousands of pounds heavier and of unmoving rock.
“Let’s see them come through that. Well done men, well done.” Capitan Jean-Ris looked to the upper story of the tower, seeing a pair of wizardly figures looking down. Cheers went up from the guards of Kalzarius, and the capitan bowed to his masters from far below in the courtyard. He smiled, hearing the reloading of catapults mixed with yelling of orders and confusion from the Harlaheim siege army. “Prepare for another bombardment men! Take some food while they reload!” The Capitan knew that Kalzarius had sealed the lower hidden entrances with magical stone, so the only way in was this way. He did not intend for anyone to get past he or the men and into the tower, not without a fight.
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Cristoff walked out of his tent since he could not sleep with the sun shining, despite being worn and tired from the hard ride the night before. His shoulders ached from wearing his suit of battle armor for over full day, and his body felt lighter having it off for the time being. The Lord of Saint Erinsburg had prayed for nearly an hour for the safe journey to the mountain and for his cousin’s broken heart to heal. He had asked Alden to show his will and guidance to all in Harlaheim, for he knew that war was certain in these dark days ahead. Cristoff had seen plenty of treasons and political wars in the kingdom, in fact they had never really stopped. Yet, for the aging lord, the troubles had never been this close to him nor had he ever risked his honor or title to help those that were wanted, unjust as he knew it to be. James had told him of the scroll that they carried, of its importance and history thus far, and what they had been through to get it to this point. The Harlian lord believed this devout knight, and also saw the honor and br
avery in what he and his companions were tasked with. He had no doubt that God had placed him here to help them, and Cristoff had no intention of letting them fail. As for his cousin, a man more pious and devoted than even himself, he knew there was wrong in what he had done. Savanno should have made better decisions in love, should have left with Rosana years ago or announced his marriage. His sacrifice and silence had doomed her and torn his life apart like a raging storm. Still, Cristoff could not let his closest friend down, not for love; even though there was a time the two both had feelings for the same princess of Caberra. That was long ago, and the lord held nothing but love for his cousin with whom he went to console with in private about his grief. Walking through the tent entrance, Cristoff froze with fear.
“Where is my cousin Lord Savanno, sergeant?”
The soldier turned and bowed, stopping him in his packing of gear onto the horses. “My lord, he left with two hours ago as per your wishes.”
Cristoff looked for a moment, thinking his words could be a jest of some sort. He noticed half his horses and men were not accounted for at first glance. “What wishes would those be, sergeant? Be serious now.”
“Lord Savanno headed back to Harlaheim, my lord. He and ten of our number rode out earlier; they left to get the queen and meet us home in Saint Erinsburg, as you ordered. Is that not correct sire?” the Harlian veteran looked confused at his lord’s questioning, and began to worry that he had made a mistake.
Cristoff stood for a moment, realizing what had happened. He had never thought his cousin, the Lord Knight Errant of Harlaheim and high knight of the Order of Saint Tarumin, would ever lie or mislead anyone. He smiled, for in this circumstance, who would not be driven by rage and love to do something so akin to madness. “No soldier, it was not correct. It is not your fault; I should have seen it coming. My only concern is that we shall not see him again, or our men.”
The Exodus Sagas: Book II - Of Dragons And Crowns Page 12