The Exodus Sagas: Book II - Of Dragons And Crowns

by Jason R Jones

  All James Andellis could think of was her haunting voice, soothing and soft, yet undeniably powerful and all knowing. The dragon turned to dive through some passing clouds above the valley, yet the human knight could feel nothing of the breeze, only the numbness of his fleeting faith. His whole life had been devoted to Southwind Keep, the kingdom of Chazzrynn, and Alden. He knew nothing else, until these past few weeks in Harlaheim with a wizard, and elf, a dwarven priest of a foreign deity, and a savage minotaur. Although they were his closest companions now for certain, Sir James had forcefully had his eyes opened to a much larger world of belief. He stared at the red feathered cross on his white tabard and wondered what the meaning of it all truly was.

  Ansharr landed on the open ground near Saberrak, Cristoff, and Gwenneth. In the fog of his disturbed thoughts, James had not realized that Shinayne and Zen had slid down the side of the dragon. He sat alone on her back, the others staring up at him in silence as he stared down and the large dark red scales.

  “Sir James, what troubles thee so heavily?” the soft voice of the dragon whispered into his ear as she turned her neck and head close to him so the others would not hear.

  “I have nothing, great Ansharr. I felt a woman’s voice, her sadness, her commands to me this morning. It was the Goddess Seirena, though I know not her reasons. I am so confused and lost at what it is I am to do.” James hung his head, ran his fingers through his brown hair in frustration, then looked at the enormous round eyes of red and silver that were so close to him.

  “She is Seirena, the Goddess of the earth, of life, the great mother of the children of the moons. I am sure you will understand in time, do not force it. When you know, you know. I have a strong feeling you and I will meet again James Andellis.” she whispered with a smile.

  “Why would the old pagan Goddess of the earth speak to me? I have never spoke her name, paid her homage, nor seen or heard of anything to do with her. All my life I have fought for-“

  “Things change, brave knight, they do. You are meant to understand when the Gods will it, not when you demand. Remember this, no God or Goddess would abandon you when you needed them most. If you feel it to be more overwhelming than you can fathom in the weeks and months to come, return here. I will explain it to you. But, for now, our paths must go their separate ways, and you need to join your friends. They will need you on this journey, to whatever end.” Ansharr lowered her folded wing and allowed James to slide off easily to the ground.

  James stood on the ridged back of the titanic winged wyrm and stepped off, the worn steel shield strapped to his left arm. He floated slowly to the ground, the magical enchantments of the round defensive piece or armor preventing his fall. James knelt when he touched the hard dirt road and bowed his head to Ansharr. “I will see you again then, great dragon of the mountain. May Alden bless thee for you assistance and wisdom.”

  “And may you be blessed by all whom watch over you, James Andellis. Farewell.” Ansharr bowed in return to the knight. She hoped that she had helped give him a bit of peace and direction, for even she was confused why such a spiritually injured soldier of Alden would be troubled with omens from the Goddess. Ansharr learned long ago, however, not to question the will of the Mother. Her ways were mysterious and deep, never without purpose.

  “And what will you do now, Ansharr?” Lady T’Sarrin asked. Her awe remained as she felt her heart not wanting to say good bye to the ancient dragon.

  “I think I will send for an old friend. Kalzarius and I have not spent time together for many years and I am curious if he has any new tricks of the arcane to teach me.”

  “Kalzarius teaches you? I would think it quite the opposite.” Gwenne was surprised and showed it for once. She was curious as to how a two thousand year old dragon had anything to learn from a human wizard who was perhaps a century old or so.

  “Ahhh, young Lazlette, we dragons learn many gifts of the arcane naturally and from our fathers, but it is different in the practice and manner of study, therefore restricting what we know. You humans and elves seem to be far more diligent and creative with the arts, and for some of us that lavish the crafts of magic, well, we have to make unusual friends.” Ansharr stretched her wings and rested down for a moment as she had not flown this much in decades.

  “Are all dragons as wise and honorable as you Ansharr? Stories passed down say many things great and terrible about your kind.” James rose from his kneeling stance, feeling a semblance of peace wash over him as he tried to push his confused spiritual dilemma to the back of his mind. He looked at the deep red claws on her feet, up past the loose scales of her muscled legs, and to her rich red underbelly that was much lighter and younger than the dark red scales on her back that curled from age in several places.

  “No, for certain not. My kind came from the north as well, most of us anyway. Hunted by the Azorim sorcerers for our powers, by the Tethese for glory, and protected for a time by the Sol Qutan tribesman. When the Azorim conquered all the northern kingdoms many thousands of years ago and became the Altestan empires, we were driven out or killed, much like the elves, dwarves, and other races that were unlike the supposed ruling and chosen humans of Altestan. The Azoteth, as they are known now, are the sorcerers that have hunted out the arcane from the remnants of the first Azorim dynasty. Many of my kind forgot their history, their gifts, and have become savage beasts without conscience. I am ashamed to say it, but you must be wary of dragons for there are few of us remaining that have love for anything or anyone. My kind will see most any of you a threatening predator or a simple meal.” Ansharr lowered her head and closed her eyes deep in thought of the tragic fates that have enveloped dragonkind since she had been born.

  “My sympathies and blessings, but how will we know which dragon to trust and which to not?” James looked to the road ahead north, and to his friends eagerly awaiting travel.

  “The easiest way is by the breath unfortunately. Those of us raised well by our parents will have learned to breath in water and turn it to steam, then the same with air as we grow older, and finally to manipulate and heat our chests to produce fire. Most of the savage and bestial of my race will have little or no power to produce flame, but that is not to say that is always the case. Much like the world of men, it is difficult to tell good from wicked dragons with but a glance.”

  “We will be cautious then, great Ansharr. Farewell once more.” Sir James bowed his good bye, but knew he would see her again.

  “The road north turns east after that ridge, follow it close and do not stray into the swamps of Kar Nossos. Saint Erinsburg should be within sight by this time tomorrow if you march hard. Farewell my friends, and may your journey to Mooncrest be safe.” Ansharr beat her wings, stepped three quick paces back, then leapt into the air as dirt, leaves, and dust whipped all around the companions on the road. Higher she climbed, circling and diving to gain speed as she soared up and around Soujan Mountain and the surrounding hills and valleys. Within moments, she was far away in the clouds, and then gone.

  Everyone watched, even well after the great red dragon was no longer in sight. They stared at the tall mountain, the clouds around it that seemed to circle and then wisp off over central Harlaheim. Cristoff began to turn and walk, his head low as he thought of his loyal steed that had perished on the mountainside. Saberrak and Zen followed, and then Gwenneth started on the road as well. James stood still, perplexed, confused, staring at the sky.

  “Time to go James, you will have time to figure it all out on the road. All for a reason, whether you are aware or not, come on.” Shinayne patted his shoulder, and pulled gently on his tabard to get the first step out of his frozen legs.

  “I am aware of one thing for sure, Lady T’Sarrin. Something in that mountain calls to me, I do not know what, but there is something there besides the dragon that I can sense. Someday I will find out what it is.” James turned and faked a smile. He walked next to the highborne elven noble and kept his thoughts deep and his steps forward behind the r
est of his friends.

  Johnas II:III

  Fortress Salganat, Loucas, Chazzrynn

  Prince Bryant backed up as another doppelganger tore at him with black claws, this one was scrambling toward him on the side of the wall. The young Chazzrynn heir nearly tripped over the bodies of the first two he had cut down with his broadsword in days previous. They had been left out as bait to see if their remaining kin hidden in the castle would try and smuggle them out. Their blue blood covered the hallway upstairs and had ran off of the open side through the decorative railing making a pool on the marble floor of the great hall below. He looked for the fourth shapeshifter he had seen disguised as either Balric, Vanessa, or a servant, but heard the glass in the guest room shatter and he assumed it had made it outside. “Guards!!! Father!!!” Bryant yelled, not for his own concern, but to prevent the escape of the fourth demonic spy.

  The claws slashed across his tabard, ripping it and sparking as they scraped the chainmail armor underneath. Black solid eyes blinked rapidly as the creature turned it’s head to look behind, to the right and left, searching for a quick way out. It had taken the bait to inspect its kin, and now was desperate and trapped. There was no escape, unless it cared to leap from the hallway railing thirty feet to the floor, make for the room behind it and dive out the window, or get past this young human boy with a sword. The creature hissed and dove at the Prince of Chazzrynn, avoiding the swinging blade in front of him. It latched on with its claws, struggling against the noble boy who was fighting to get his swordarm free of the grappling fiend.

  Slams of double wooden and iron reinforced doors echoed in the greathall below him. Bryant heard the guards taking orders from his father, although fear gripped him in his struggle against the clinging doppelganger. He had fought a few men, killed an ogre with help, but until just now he had never faced anything he had to kill all alone. His anger and strength focused as he saw the brand of the spider symbol on the fiend’s shoulder. It tried to wrap its body around his and wrestle him to the ground. “Damn you Johnas!” Bryant’s mind went blank for a moment, feeling the rage at his older cousin and his schemes and treacheries that had gone on for far too long unchallenged.

  Mikhail lowered his hand to the archers beside him, the same ones that had killed the escaping doppelganger as it crawled down the side of the castle moments earlier. The king saw his son engaged too close to the creature to take a chance with an arrow. He ran to the stairs at the end of the throneroom as fast as his old legs would let him. The first three steps were easy, the next few slowed his pace, and halfway up the curving stairway Mikhail felt winded, but kept on. His only living son was fighting alone, two doppelgangers lay dead behind him from their kills previous. His body simply could not move as fast as it needed to. The old king of Chazzrynn kept on, step by painful step nearing the top, trying to reach his son.

  Where it came from he did not know, but a fury took him over. Bryant grabbed the doppelganger by the throat with his left hand, claws now tearing into his skin and armor and fangs biting his shoulder. He roared like a man of twice his size as he lifted the creature up over the railing, then plunged his swordarm forward with all his strength.

  “Aaarrrghh!” the wretched body tightened as the length of the blade punctured through its chest, hissing and screams followed but were nothing compared to the mighty yell of the Prince. He pushed the beast over the railing, flailing arms and legs dangling as it was held by the neck and the gut, by sword and clenched fist. Prince Bryant released his grip and withdrew the broadsword in one quick motion, dropping the shapeshifter off the edge and onto the stone floor thirty feet below. The bones and flesh smacked the ground with a sickening sound. The heir to Chazzrynn walked down the steps, still enraged, right past his father and to the squirming beast with the broken body. He asked no questions, felt no mercy or pity for the writhing attempts the injured and dying doppelganger made to crawl out of the castle. His blade to the side, he placed his left hand over his right, and as the bloodied fey beast looked up, Bryant took its head off with one quick cleave of his sword.

  “There was one more, it escaped out the balcony window, it-“

  “Son, it’s dead. We killed it before it could get away. Are you all right, are you injured?” Mikhail looked down to his poised son, recently victorious over three doppelgangers, and he felt great pride as a father.

  “Just scratches father, nothing more.” Bryant breathed deep and calmed himself. He sheathed his broadsword and looked at his beheaded foe that lay in a pool of blue blood on the castle floor. He noticed the spider brand again, one he had seen before when dealing with unsavory men he thought to be working for Prince Johnas Valhera. Same spot, same size, a brand of a spider over the shoulderblade behind the heart, if these creatures had hearts at all, he thought.

  “The spider brand again father, like I’ve shown you many times. Agents of your nephew in Valhirst. When will we put an end to it? He has taken his escaped quarry from us. How much more proof do you need?”

  Mikhail strode down the stairs, exhausted in his age, tired from his nerves and worry for his son. He looked down at the brand he had been shown before, then to Bryant. “You are certain of this, that these creatures and the men previous that share the brand all work for Johnas in some secret fashion?”

  “Beyond doubt my king.”

  The king of Chazzrynn sighed, his thoughts resigned to how much the kingdom had been through in the last twenty years. Mikhail recalled the costly war with Harlaheim, the battle with the ogre in the west, and the never ending skirmishes in the south with the remaining natives and wandering bands of trolls and tribes. His sons gone, his wife followed, and now his only child wished to wage war on his corrupt nephew; for he knew Johnas would not be arrested or taken willingly. “What would you suggest be done, if you were king, how would you bring him in?”

  “The royal guard numbers one thousand strong, the army here in Loucas is five times that. As I lead them into Valhirst, the ten galleons surround the port with another thousand men. His army is less than half that, his only defense is the city itself. I know I can breach the city and capture him.” Bryant answered without hesitation, as if he had it planned and recited for years.

  “And who would protect the capital, the tradeways, the fortress, and the northern routes?”

  “I would send word to Southwind Keep, Lord Alexei can send men since the spring will lessen the threat of the ogre from the west. Lady Lazlette surely has more men than Vallakazz warrants and her captain is renowned for his skill in battle. Addisonia and Silverbridge could-“

  “If that is your plan, you had better get messages sent quickly. It will take a week for the messengers and most likely two for the assembled protective forces to arrive here in Loucas.” Mikhail looked to the tapestry that hung on the wall, a beautiful blue cloth relief of the falcon of Chazzrynn and a map of the kingdom woven underneath it. He surveyed where the forces would move to, where they could assemble to keep from the prying eyes of Prince Johnas.

  “Am I to understand that you will be invading Valhirst then father?”

  “No. You will be invading Valhirst. I will be leading the navy to prevent any escapes. Find your generals, you will have to attack from three directions and try and force them to me. I do not want my own people to suffer, so we cannot lay siege for long. Johnas will use the people against us, to strike at our conscience if they starve or live under threat. He won’t care, but he will demoralize our men by making them feel they are hurting the populace. You will have to be quick and cautious.” Mikhail started to form plans in his mind of how many men would be needed at each gate, at each wall, and how much artillery in way of catapults and ballistae would be required for a fast victory.

  “When should I begin the preparations father?” Bryant felt nervous, having not ever really thought this day would come.

  “You should have started already, I do not know why you are still here.”

  “Permission to assemble the armies of Chazzry
nn for war and take my leave, your highness?” Bryant could barely talk, his words caught in his tightened chest. His wounds ran red down his garments, yet he cared not.

  “Permission granted.”

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  Florin took off the queen’s crown and placed it on the small round wooden table; two rats scurried past as her shadow moved in the torchlight. The female imposter and domenarch of the White Spider in Harlaheim sat in the leather chair deep under the castle with the dank musty aromas of the undercity wafting around her. Agents and members loyal to her passed by in and out of the many hidden chambers. A black robed figure approached from one of the well lit rooms in her hidden station. Yari Mourille, the wizard of the house, bowed to Florin, his bones popping and cracking from old age. The lady assassin looked up at his sagging skin around the eyes, drooping earlobes, and frazzled strands of gray hair that wisped around his dark and ancient complexion. A more haggard and detatched man there was not in all of Harlaheim.

  “Any word from Alec Silverblade or the salisans of Vimm, old mage?” she thought little of this one, for his spine was as weak as they came and he took forever to do anything.