The Exodus Sagas: Book II - Of Dragons And Crowns

by Jason R Jones

  “Yes James, I have plenty. If you walk toward the stairs, on the right by the chests there are many.” Ansharr pointed her clawed finger over to where she spoke of, magical light erupting from a torch sconce directly above the stone alcove in the rock.

  “May I ask a serious question, Ansharr?” Gwenneth, having calmed herself from the humorous debacle, wiped her eyes and stepped forward.

  “Of course, Lady of Lazlette.”

  “Why is it you have a pool that is far too small for you, and blankets that surely you do not use?”

  Ansharr lowered her head right in front of the lady wizard, watching the men doze off before the blankets and furs were brought out. “Because I have many humans in and out of my life and my home, from time to time. Down those stairs live some people I watch over, and that watch over me, among other things. That is why Kalzarius knew that here would be the safest place for your scroll.”

  “Who are they?” Gwenneth was curious, not as much about them as the arcane treasures, but still curious.

  “That I cannot tell you my dear, I am sorry. If they wish to make their presence known to you, they shall. But, I am sworn to secrecy in their regard, please understand. I can tell you this, you are safe here in my care and under their watchful eyes. Now rest, you and I have much to discuss tomorrow.” the dragon curled her tail around near the wizard.

  Gwenne took one of the thick fur blankets from James as he passed them out, laid it on her red and black scaled tail, and curled up on it. She watched the others fall asleep quickly in the warm torchlight of a dragon’s cave. Only she and Shinayne and the dragon Ansharr seemed unable to do more than close their eyes. Her mind was on the scroll, the minotaur, her training, and on Kalzarius. She wanted to know why Saberrak’s eyes had glowed and what the scroll had done and still could do. The daughter of Lazlette wished her old master, or even her mother were here to help her decide what to do next.

  The young wizard watched her elven friend rest in a sitting position with her sword in her lap, and drift off somewhere else as she closed her eyes. Gwenneth tried to fall asleep also, feeling more and more comfortable next to the dragon with each slow drifting breath. Just before the veil of dreams took her, she thought she heard whispering from the dragon, and then from Shinayne. Gwenne struggled to hear what they were saying, the language foreign to her, but her eyes and ears would not respond as deep slumber wrapped her close.

  LCMVXIILCMVXIILCMVXIILCMVX

  Blades clashed and arrows loosed from both sides of the throne room as blood spilled on the blue velvet carpet. Sulian was fighting three armored guards by himself on the steps, lunging and parrying, his rapier flashing in the torchlight as he backed them up to make way to the dining hall. The young knight’s men fired another volley at the archers of the bishop, killing several, and then they were returned the courtesy as two of them fell off the balcony over the two thrones, full of arrows. His soldiers charged in beside him, fending off halberds and enemy rapiers alike.

  Savanno leapt over a falling castle guard and landed on his feet in the midst of four more. The veteran knight kicked the halberd of one guard then shot a quick thrust of his blade through the plate armor and into his chest. He ducked another bladed spear attack at his head, lunged low onto his knees, landing his rapier through the man’s stomach. Savanno rose to his feet, parrying swords now from his left and right. He dropped his elbow back behind his shoulder, catching both rapiers of his enemy in an obscure parry behind his back, and then spun half circle with his rapier perfectly straight and at full length. Both guards fell to the ground, having their necks cut wide open from the sweeping slash from the former lord. He looked back, seeing three of Cristoff’s men keeping the king and queen well protected, then marched forward into the dining hall. He knew they were safe from the archers as they were mingled in with the royal guard in combat, but still vulnerable since their numbers were so few.

  Javiel stayed back from the mass melee before him, trying to issue orders to guards and archers that could not hear him over the heavy thunder of platemail armor and crossing of steel weapons. The bishop watched as Savanno made entry to the dining hall, followed by a small band that were likely hiding the nobles that had been removed from power. One of the remaining cloaked rogues stood out from the rest as he viewed the scene. Fighting off and killing the castle soldiers like a tornado in a farmstead, he was definitely not a mere turncoat following the former lord. “Sergeant, have your archers fire on that man there!” the bishop pointed at the deadly swordsman, who unbeknownst to him was one of the most loyal knights to the church.

  Sulian Lisario thrust his rapier into another royal guard, parried another cut, then another, and began to cut his way out of the surround he had found himself in. Another guard fell, then another, his blade making short work of the complacent soldiers. Sulian’s training had been years of hard swordplay, and he had been in battles inside and out of the city many times the last decade. His legs moved with his sword, his free hand gave balance where his lunges and cuts would cause a man to fall or stumble, and his perfect parries and cuts were unstoppable. He stepped over one of his fallen adversaries, seeing his uncle make it into the dining hall. He noticed Savanno fighting two guards from atop the huge oak table near their exit in the broken window. His eyes widened, hearing the rush and yells of his own men behind him. As he turned, a volley of arrows from the bishop’s soldiers showered into he and his men. Three of his most loyal dove to protect him, catching many projectiles in their backs as they fell to the ground. Two arrows sunk into Sir Sulian, one in the forearm and one in his left side, into the ribs. His remaining men rushed to save their leader and knight of the order, while two of his injured tried to stand from the stone floor of the chamber.

  Savanno Lisario pulled his blade free from the guard he had killed and looked from his stand on top of the table. His remaining four men helped the king and queen to the broken window, peering out themselves first, then lifting the nobility out onto the balcony. The former lord looked at the thirty remaining guards trying to surround his injured nephew to no avail. The arrows had caused the castle guard to hold for a moment, enough for Sulian and his men to reach the hall. They lifted their knight up to Savanno, who in turn pulled him toward the window.

  “Go uncle, I will be fine.” his breathing was rapid and short, the arrow pressing deep into his side. Sulian snapped off the other that protruded from both sides of his forearm, wincing from the sharp pain as he tried to smile in the face of Savanno. “Get out of the castle while you can!”

  “Come with me, you need a priests’ attention.” Savanno helped his injured nephew over the ledge, then followed him out, turning quickly to the left down the balcony stairs onto the castle catwalk. He counted only eight men remaining, including the three with the king and queen.

  “No, We will hold them here on the balcony as long as we can, my lord.” he shoved Savanno forward, and turned to stand with his few men and give his uncle just a little longer to escape. “Men, protect the king and queen!”

  Savanno turned and ran into the courtyard, following his men and the treasured prisoners they guarded. Into the night, as the infantry of L’Herrim scattered through the castle walls and yards, the veteran lord and knight was the last man to drop down to the stairs of the sewers. He looked one last time at his nephew, bravely holding the balcony by the window with five men and an arrow deep in his side. The grate dropped closed, and they fled through the under tunnels of Harlaheim.

  Seeing no sign of his uncle, Sulian stepped back from the window, holding his arm and his ribs that ached with every breath and step as blood stained his tunic and cloak. “Fall back men, to the streets! God save us.” the remaining five soldiers and their brave knight capitan rushed toward the courtyard into the shadows. The young harlian knight heard the sounds of some fighting and dying, but continued on out the western gate and into the city. Sulian stepped inside the royal stables unnoticed and fell into the haypile. He smiled knowing they had fought
hard and died well this night. The king and queen were safe, Savanno was leading them, and the young knight just needed to stop and rest awhile. He immersed himself with hay for cover, and in the dark stone barn Sir Sulian’s eyes closed.

  Johnas II:II

  Fortress Salganat, Loucas, Chazzrynn

  “He bears the brand father, and so does the woman. That is eleven we have found, eleven loyal servants of the Prince of Valhirst that have a spider brand on their back, in the same spot. What more will it take to arrest the man?” young Prince Bryant Salganat paced back and forth on the falcon emblem engraved on the marble floor. It was fifteen paces wide, from wingtip to wingtip, and seven from the tail to the head; he had paced it over and over so many times while talking with his father the last few years in the throne room of their royal fortress.

  King Mikhail of Chazzrynn admired his son’s poise and determination, the shadow of a rich brown beard that was trying to grow to match his long hair. He smiled at the fierceness in the bright blue eyes of his only living son and heir to the throne of his kingdom. He saw himself, four decades ago, in the stubborn and just young man before him. He sat on the throne, the one next to him empty as it had been for many years, and stared at the long thin hall filled with decoration and falcon sconces on stands of iron. The loneliness made Mikhail quiet and reflective, peaceful yet tired. He wished to restore that vigor that Bryant had, to himself and his troubled country.

  “Father? Are you even listening to a word I have said? It is time to move on Johnas before more of these unbelievable stories and tragedies hurt the kingdom further! I do not understand why-“

  “Your mother and your brothers would be so proud of you, my son.” he had heard the words, yet his pride as a father took over from any desire to continue the argument.

  “Here we are again. Father, could we please stay on the subject of the two members of my cousin’s spider guild we have in our protection. The two that will not talk of what had happened to them, or of Johnas Valhera?” Bryant fumed again, his father the king always changing the subject and getting sentimental at the worst of times.

  “Balric D’Vrelle and his woman? Still haven’t spoken a word, eh? It is late, let them, and me, sleep another night and we shall talk to them in the morning. Do not get your hopes up son, it may be possible that they were innocent bystanders as they stated.” Mikhail waved a cautious hand to his son, knowing they had been here nearly a month and their story had not changed one bit. Balric’s wounds had healed quickly, but young Miss Blackflame’s had not fared as well. The king’s priests had seen to her personally, yet it would be many years before the scarring would return to the normal color and texture of her once beautiful tan skin, if ever. Mikhail admired Balric for his devotion, his silence, and his love and caring for the woman despite the terrible burns she carried.

  “I do not believe they are husband and wife, father. It seemed fine weeks ago, but this last few days, they barely talk to one another. They do not touch or even whisper in my presence. They keep their heads down like two defeated strangers waiting for something bad to happen all over again. I tried to converse with them, and they just agree and babble to me. It seems they have given up the act, and maybe now is the time to interrogate them.” Bryant planned on doing it anyway this evening, with or without the king’s permission.

  “Leave them be, son. They will talk when they are ready. They are safe here in Loucas, in fortress Salganat, with us. We should be focusing on sending more men to Lord Alexei in Southwind Keep, he sent word that the ogre are in larger number this late winter and that they seem fearless as ever.”

  “And the trolls from the Hollowmoors plague Hurne and Roricdale this time of year as well. We have to watch how thin we spread our reserves, father. I received word from Harlaheim yesterday morning, from Kalzarius.” Bryant pulled the scroll that had been delivered by a horseman messenger, intended for the king.

  “What news from our newest knight and his quest?” Mikhail brightened with something new to discuss.

  “None really. A scribe merely sent word from Kalzarius of Harlaheim, that Sir James Andellis and his crew of the Bronze Harpy arrived in port after an ordeal at sea. They were received well and are welcome guests at his home. He went on to say something about his thanks for help with the scroll, what a fine example of chivalry James is, and that he honors our country, and that they will be taking the scroll to Soujan Mountain for safe keeping in a few weeks time. Fairly unexciting father.” Prince Bryant placed it on the arm of his father’s throne.

  “Very good, very good. I think I shall retire after a ride around the walls. Care to join son?” King Mikhail stood and stretched, then began to walk down the steps to embrace his son good night.

  “No father, I would like to talk, just talk, with our guests for awhile. Enjoy your ride, and good night.” he hugged his father back, seeing that parental eye of scrutiny, sensing for a motive that he tried to keep clouded.

  “Just talk?”

  “Yes sire, just talk. You have my word.”

  “Very well then, I will hold you to it. Just do not get your hopes up, or let your suspicions get the best of you. This spider theory you have seems to be a bit imaginative. Just let things happen as they unfold, do not force it son.” the king smiled, and walked out of his hall, the guards opening door after door for him as he headed to the stables.

  The air was moistening with winter’s end, the sun leaving just a hint of pale purple in the dark sky to the east. King Mikhail had not left the castle fortress much in weeks, having been on horse and ship for the better part of six months prior. The smell of his steed, the hay, the fresh night air under a cold and starry sky would do him well. His mind wandered back to the days when his sons were young and alive, and Bryant was a baby. He and the queen would ride at night often, and the memory of that brought the old king some peace; he thought often that she was with Alden in heaven watching him raise their son, and the boys were by her side. His smile could not have widened more as he opened the stable doors, then vanished as a foul strange odor permeated his nostrils. Mikhail felt for the lantern and flintstick. He pressed the device back and forth three times, producing a spark that lit the oil lantern wick. He held it up and looked past his horses, searching for the smell that was not manure or hay. Mikhail walked to the rear of the stables, past thirty stallions and mares who all seemed anxious to see him. It was coming from the grain barrels, a stench of rot and decay. He drew his broadsword and opened a lid, and stepped back as the reek choked his eyes and throat. The king gasped, seeing Medrol stuffed into the barrel most contorted and dead for several days and bloated. Medrol had been one of his finest castle servants for over a decade now, and Mikhail removed the lids of the remaining six grain barrels, one by one. His hand covered his mouth, as three more servants were found, rotting and dead but from what he could not tell.

  He turned and ran, as fast as he could, he ran back to the castle. “Guards, guards!! To the guest rooms on the third floor, now! The prince is in danger! Guards!” King Mikhail yelled as loud as he could while running, his eyes tearing at the though of losing his only son. His heart raced with fear, not for the dead in the barrels, but for the fact they had been dead for several days. Mikhail ran harder now up the steps into his castle, since he had seen those same servants only a few hours ago on the third floor. He remembered one of them bumping in to him on the way to the kitchen, but remaining silent, and another kept her head down as she walked the halls. Now his son was alone up there, with whatever was impersonating them. “Guards!”

  LCMVXIILCMVXIILCMVXIILCMVX

  Balric D’Vrelle looked back at Vanessa; her mouth gagged with a black cloth, her long black hair over her shoulders and part of her face, and he wished he could touch her. The brown in her eyes was dull and full of hopelessness, much as it had been since he had rescued her from Johnas and since her tragic injuries from the magicks of Gwenneth Lazlette. Tears ran down her small nose and over her top lip into the cloth. Had he not
also been gagged, the swordsman spy would have comforted her with soft words of assurance as best he could. He felt his gag itching as it was too tight across his goatee and neck, pulling his long hair every time his head moved. His head ached from the opium they had drugged them with in their sleep two nights ago, and the doppelgangers had not even given them blankets for the cold ride in the merchant wagon they were hauled in. Balric knew they were in Valhirst, he could smell the sea and the aroma of the city when they were taken out of the covered wagon an hour ago and marched in manacles through the secret tunnels of The White Spider.

  The shapeshifters all resembled commoners, all except one. The one named Ariili appeared as a city guard, much like Balric when he had his brief duty of captain of the Valhirst city militia. He knew it had been a set up then, but he had thought them safely away in the capital of Loucas with the king would have ended it. His letters to Javiel had not been answered and he felt a fool for waiting. Again he was shoved ahead and his face grabbed and turned to look forward instead of at his beloved woman. He had no dagger, no shortblade, no armor, and even his saber had been lifted along with Vanessa’s belongings by these six devious doppelgangers.

  Two men stood in the shadowy illumination that shone at the end of the tunnel. Balric recalled that this was Heathen’s post, the red minotaur with one horn that set him free from imprisonment. He saw no minotaur, instead there was a young boy, perhaps fifteen who was missing a hand. He held the spider wand in his remaining hand, and was under supervision from one of the older agents that was merely called Silver. He was said to be one of the first assassins ever trained by Johnas Valhera, but he had lost his leg from the knee down in a brutal fight with barbaric traders from the Deep South. Now he handled much of the coin counting and documents for the patriarch of killers and thieves. Balric smiled inwardly, seeing two lame agents instead of a robust minotaur watching the security measures of the domicile. Times must be tough, he thought. He then realized that with no Heathen here, that the other minotaur must have killed him. That thought did not sit well for the Harlian spy, since that was his only ally here in Chazzrynn, save the lovely woman he was a prisoner alongside.