Shinayne II:III
Soujan Mountain, Harlaheim
“If dreams be the unfulfilled desires of the mind, hunger the unsatisfied yearning for sustenance, and weariness the desperate longing for rest; then the absence of troubles in the heart must be proof of the presence of love.” – from the poetries of Illia Diravis, priestess of Siril at the Temple of the Crescent, the elven capital of Kilikala, circa 945 B.C.
Her steps were as flakes of winter snow on the polished stone by the pool outside the cavern entrance. Light, silent, graceful, and flowing with the wind that streamed from the night sky she was. Her elven kata was perfect and unique in every way, every way except one. Shinayne’s eyes of aqua were closed, her breathing slow as could be, and her mind wandered to her hunter. Just as she came close to seeing him in her meditation, he would drift. The highborne elf would catch herself off balance in just the slightest without her matching shortblade as she danced, stretched, and practiced placing her spirit elsewhere. The lady of Kilikala tried again and again, each time a little closer to Lavress who she could tell was not more than a few days to the north. How he had been in Chazzrynn one day and north of Harlaheim the next, she had no idea. The magicks of the fey were closely guarded to those that vowed service to the Goddess Seirena alone. Lavress had never shared the secrets of the temple of the Whitemoon with her, not yet anyway.
Shinayne T’Sarrin felt his warmth, could see his topaz eyes fierce on the hunt, and she could see he was in an ancient place of dark stone and giant winged statues of men. He looked at her from time to time, as if he knew she was there trying to reach him. She knew in fact he could sense her, but not closely enough to speak with his spirit. Gone again, the last thing she saw was his bow being drawn and the sense that he was alone with much wickedness ahead. Shinayne felt danger, dark magicks, and creatures that repelled her vision hard and fast, forcing her eyes open and breath to rush in with fevered anxiety. She swung her curved longblade hard through the air, feeling the longing and frustration take her to a place of anger. The elven swordswoman looked to the moons, the green and the white, hoping to derive direction from them or the stars as to what to do. She knelt and prayed, sword in hand. She questioned herself as much as Siril, the God of the elves, in her prayers. I have delivered the scroll, seen my allies safe to the dragon past the wizard, and now our journeys must part. Lavress is all that matters, she told herself, letting her emotions and emptiness take place of the peace and serenity that her meditation should restfully bring about. Shinayne stood, knowing she had no choice but to travel north and help her lover, wherever he may be. There was nothing more for her to do here. She opened her eyes again, and smiled, smiling at the thought of her wood elf hunter and her being as one again. She needed him, for no one understood her sorrow and loss, her shattered dreams of childhood and her parents, and only another elf could bring her that peace and love. Shinayne turned to walk into the cavern of Ansharr and get her belongings.
“And where do you think you be leaving to in the middle o the night?” Azenairk Thalanaxe, quiet without forty pounds of plate armor strapped on, had been behind her, also praying at the carved entrance. “I felt in my prayers that you were going to leave, and I s’pose I would like to know why, my lady.”
The elven woman felt a twinge of shame and guilt hit her throat, then looked to walk past Zen, only to see the red glowing and silver eyes of Ansharr blocking the entryway to the cavern at the top of the mountain. She lowered her head, sheathed her sword, and sat down next to the dragon and the dwarf with her hands on her face. “Lavress is out there, to the north, alone. I came to this continent to find him, to be with him, and now he has this purpose and this devotion to his worship that takes him places of great danger. I only wish to be with the man I love, I feel lost without him here.”
“You need a sense of purpose for yourself, lady T’Sarrin. He has his, and you seem to be trying to tie yours with it. If it were the will of any God or Goddess, it would be so. Perhaps, Zen, you should tell your friend the truth that I saw in your dreams. Go ahead, share your secrets young priest.” Ansharr spoke softly to them both, for she had seen the dwarf carried a great burden. She had no idea of what, but only the feeling that it weighed on him as much as the lost love of the hunter weighed on Shinayne. The great dragon urged the two to talk, to share, for seeing two strong beings such as them in fear and pain of the future was disheartening to her. Ansharr lowered her head, hopeful and curious at the same moment.
Zen looked at the dragon with a furrowed brow of defiance and rebellion at first, then simply shied away from the request. He was having dreams about the iron box and its contents nightly. His father dying, the promise to take his only heirloom, the key to the mythical mines of Kakisteele, and to find it in the far north and west. Besides his recent dream of dying himself, he had many others that involved being alone and lost in strange mountains searching for a place that did not exist. Azenairk felt fear and shame at not wanting to fulfill this promise, and he had prayed every morning for the strength to overcome it and journey on. He sat quietly, not certain what, if anything, he had to say.
“I have shared my pain, Azenairk, you know full well that I think of Lavress often in this strange land. The excitement of this journey has been a wonderful distraction, but now I have no direction but to find him it seems. Why don’t you tell me what it is you think of so often, for we all know you carry something in your pouch that distracts you. We have seen you open a box at night and pray, only to try and hide it when we draw near. What is it my bearded friend?” Shinayne breathed the fresh air, put her hand on Zen’s knee as they sat next to each other, and waited until he was ready to talk.
The dwarven priest pulled out the rusty iron box, opened it, and stared at the ancient piece of rolled parchment, the bag of dust, and the iron key. The key was plain with only a circular disc resembling a moon to top it with some words etched that he could not read. He felt embarrassed, for no dwarf he knew would take him serious had he shared this. “My father, on his deathbed, passed to me the only remaining thing of value to our family. I am the last Thalanaxe, as my known relations in Boraduum are dead. I had hoped for gifts of hidden jewels or coin to restore my family to honor and prosperity. I wished it had been old tomes of our lineage, or perhaps divinely infused armor or weapons that I could carry to defend the empty mines we were left with. Anything, but this is what he gave me, and he made me promise to use it and seek it out. I promised, yet I do not know where to go or how to…” Zen huffed in a deep chest full of air, stifling his tears back as the realization that he was far from home and had nowhere to return to, it hit him hard.
“And where is it you have vowed to go, Azenairk?” Shinayne asked him sincerely, seeing him in real pain and anguish at the moment. She had never seen him lose his nerve or his optimism since they had met.
“It is ridiculous, a myth, a joke in dwarven taverns and…” he faked a smile, and wiped his eyes and face. “this be the key to the fabled Kakisteele mines, where Vundren himself is said to have blessed the very stone and forges. Lost thousands o years ago, destroyed or cursed by wicked demons or northern armies they say. The stories all differ, but here, on this old paper deed, it says that the key and the deed to this place is in the hands of our family. It was passed for too many generations to track, and this dust is s’posed to be needed to kill some demon woman that dwells in the dark in the heart o the mines, holding sway over some curse. It is a cruel prank for me, for none in thousands of years have found it. Why? Because it is just a story, something to rattle off when you are drunk or to inspire children. Nothing more. My father was near delirious at his end, and for my word and vow I have to find it, or prove that it is not real. So, I am set to find a place that does not exist, all alone, which is harder than it sounds.” Zen breathed again, having held his breath to get most of that out. He closed his eyes, knowing it was any moment that he would endure some laughter.
Shinayne stared at the dwarf, feeling ashamed at
her love affair tales and how small they seemed compared to the task and trouble this dwarf carried with him. She thought of how she had so many centuries of life ahead of her, and that her impatience with letting Lavress and her find their way over time was what she was really having trouble accepting. “It is not ridiculous, Azenairk Thalanaxe. That is truly a noble and an honorable task you have accepted. And you do not have to do it alone. I would be honored to seek it out with you. Real or imagined, as far as you need me to go.”
“You mean that, my lady? You would go with me to find a place far away that does not even exist?” Zen looked at the box and its contents, then to the beautiful elven woman.
“Without a second thought my friend, without a second thought.” Shinayne felt relieved, for him and herself. She felt a bit of purpose and love inside her, not to mention the pull of friendship that could not let him travel off alone. For Shinayne did not want to travel alone either. Her list of friends in this life was short and compiled of mostly those here on the mountain.
“Young dwarf, would you care for some old draconic wisdom?” Ansharr looked at the key from over his shoulder.
“Yes, great one. Anything you have to say be surely wiser than what is in my mind.” Zen felt a smile across his face and beard, knowing he would have at least one companion to nowhere now.
“There once was a place, a city, where dwarves, elves, the fey, my kind, and man all dwelt together. It was, for but a century, the beacon of hope and light of this continent in dark times. Worship was unrestricted, freedom of spirit and truth were paramount there, and all flocked from near and far to live in this kingdom. It was before my age, well over two thousand years ago, that this place was destroyed by the armadas and sorceries of the northern realms. It was envied, mistrusted, too good to be true, mystical yet majestically real, and it stood for all that was honorable and loving, chivalric and bold, yet many centuries ahead of its time. The kingdom of Mooncrest, far to the west of Shanador and north of the Misathi Mountains, was ruined as a warning to all races, religions, and people of Agara that such open mindedness and freedoms were dangerous and blasphemous. The three emperors of Altestan led their armies across the ocean and lands unchallenged, and laid waste to her people. Since then, most of our my kind stayed to their own, separated and self seeking; just the way the empires of Altestan would have it, as it still is today.” Ansharr had noticed the full attention of her words from the elf and Zen in front of her, and also that James, Saberrak, Cristoff, and Gwenneth were standing behind her in the early hours of morning. They had awoken with her, and were listening intently and quietly, hidden behind her giant draconic form in the cavern.
“Sad story indeed, but what does that have to do with me? Did someone find this Mooncrest and rebuild it or something?” Zen tried to find the moral to the story, to see what Ansharr was trying to relay to him.
“No, good priest. Not yet. However, your Kakisteele mines are on the northern mountain border to Tintasarn, the fabled elven district south of the small Kaki Mountains. They both reside in the lost kingdom of Mooncrest, which indeed, beyond the shadow of a doubt, exists. And by the way, your key says, in draconic tongue, all that enter are blessed.”
“I have heard of Tintasarn and the old tales of Mooncrest, but simply as a mythical upstart kingdom that failed long ago. You mean that you have a key to such a place?” Shinayne looked at the key, in awe of the story and what this dwarf may be carrying.
“I also have the deed to the kingdom in the mountain, for whatever that is worth. They say it is cursed, haunted by the dead, and swarming at night with fiends and creatures that no army could defeat. If half the rumors and old stories are true, than it is certain death anyway.” Zen was not sure if it was more comfortable knowing it may exist and be damned, or better to stick with his people’s word that it is only a myth.
“It is said that there is also a dragon there that keeps a pact with the demon, the curses of the dead, and protects the place from outsiders. I have heard much the same, but never seen it myself.” Ansharr nodded her head, knowing it was not likely what they wanted to hear, but she was not about to lie and tell them there was no danger. The ancient dragon knew that thousands over the millennia had died trying to find the lost kingdom, or died in it once they had.
“Ansharr, is there any chance that we could even make it one foot into such a place? If the stories are true, they say no one has ever returned having found it. How could Shinayne and I even conceive to-“
“And me.” Saberrak huffed, leaning on his axe from beside the great red dragon, staring at Zen.
“At your service, master Thalanaxe.” James Andellis bowed deeply and smiled.
“Are you all mad? To cross Shanador to its western border alone would take a over month of travel. I doubt there is anything there of interest anyway after all this time.” Gwenne shook her head, seeing bravado and excitement overrule common sense.
“On the contrary Gwenneth Lazlette, a once famous archmage by the name of Carados had a tower in the center of the city and a library that was said to rival the great library in Caberra. He was killed, betrayed by a powerful student they say.” Ansharr looked down at the young wizard and smiled, noting her facial expressions change drastically at the mention of an archmage.
“I sense you will need my expertise on this journey. So, since I cannot let you die horrible deaths simply because I chose not to help you, I will lend my assistance.” Gwenne raised her nose in the air, stifling her excitement at even viewing the tower of the fabled Carados she had read about in old tomes in Vallakazz. Archmages nor their secrets did not exist anymore, having been hunted down and killed by the Altestani and the church long ago; so the mention of one would entice any wizard to seek out even the smallest scrap of parchment belonging to one, let alone a tower. A wizard of that power was said to have control over the arcane that was no longer mortal and beyond comprehension, just what Gwenne had always wanted, and just what she would love to show her mother and the academy she was capable of.
Ansharr smiled at the wizard’s easily changeable attitude, and looked at the silent Lord of Saint Erinsburg. He had been leaning on the stone entrance, listening intently and captured deep in his thoughts. “And what of the noble lord? Are you able to take on such a task with these fine travelers?”
They all looked toward Cristoff, who smiled back and met each of their stares in the early dark of morning on the mountaintop. “Rarely have I seen people decide to take on such a dangerous quest, and never purely out of friendship. I would be honored to go with you, in fact my wandering mind will surely be haunted by thoughts of adventure, day and night, from here out. I wish I could say that I could go with you, but my title and duty as lord of a great city must prevail. I admire your courage, all of you, and insist that you come to Saint Erinsburg to prepare. There is nothing more I desire than to journey with you, but I must decline.” lord Bradswellen the Third bowed to them all, inspired by the comradery and loyalty of such a mixed group of companions pulling together for the troubles and dreams of their dwarven ally. Had Harlaheim half the honor they showed each other, the kingdom he served would once again be the glorious realm it once was. He turned to walk back inside and get some more rest before dawn, content that he knew his place and responsibility in this troubled country. He could not just up and leave, not now. Yet his mind began to dare to dream of it, and he smiled.
“I don’t know what to say, I ummm…I still think this is plain insane to tell ya the truth, but then I guess I am with the right folk, eh?” Zen chuckled, thankful that he would not have a lonely road to find without his friends, his only friends. He put the box back in his pouch and silently thanked Vundren, God of his people and the mountain from the highest point in Harlaheim.
“Don’t get in too much of a hurry there dwarf, we still need to know about this scroll before we leave it here forever.” the gray horned warrior walked back into the cave behind Cristoff, also to take a bit more rest. The minotaur had nowhere to
go after this quest involving the scroll was finished, which it seemed to him it nearly was. He had seen the last of his gladiatorial slave days in Unlinn, and had left his past far behind him. The only people he knew sat here on Soujan Mountain, and where they went he would certainly have to protect.
James had hoped that the noble lord had decided to join with, but understood his sense of duty very well. His duty was to assist these brave souls, by order of King Mikhail of Chazzrynn, and he intended to do just that. He thought of the brave Lord Knight Errant, Savanno, and hoped that when they reunited in Saint Erinsburg that perhaps he would join them. He admired these men of Harlaheim, the knights and lords that he had always wanted to be. The knight of Chazzrynn saw the faint glimmer of pink to the west, marking the coming of morning. Full of questions of the scroll and of this mythical place, he could hardly sleep. Still, he stepped from the side of the dragon and went to dream in peace of where they would perhaps be off to tomorrow.
Shinayne T’Sarrin looked at the dwarf beside her, smiling at his silence. “Thank you, Azenairk Thalanaxe.”
“For what? You and Ansharr are the ones who managed to get everyone to go along on this road to certain death, I wouldn’t be thanking anyone quite yet. Ye may be dead in a month or so ya know!” Zen stood up, bowed to his friend and slowly stepped past the enormous dragon, bowing to her as well. He felt much better, like he may be able to actually rest for a few hours before he awoke to pray. Like a thousand pound anvil had been lifted from his chest, his secret revealed, Azenairk Thalanaxe went to dream of the journey to come.
The Exodus Sagas: Book II - Of Dragons And Crowns Page 23