The Exodus Sagas: Book II - Of Dragons And Crowns

by Jason R Jones

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  More tracks, different though, and Lavress went to a knee silently to inspect what appeared like a second group of markings that had come from the northwest alongside the ogre he followed. Four clawed toes and lighter steps, careful and cautious steps he noticed. The hunter knew they were trolls beyond doubt, maybe a hundred give or take. The drag of mud through the snow showed him that they were skittish and hesitant in their travel, moving back and forth with indecision quite often. They revolved around four heavier trolls moving in unison, four tracks that did not sway or stop and left far deeper imprints in the snow and earth. Being of the same size, however, Lavress knew that they carried something, or someone. He saw many scratches in trees, serving no purpose save for the wretched beasts to perhaps find their way back to whatever forsaken swamps they crept out of in the Hollowmoors to the north. Lavress began to think not of his wounds or exhaustion, but of what possible purpose ogre and trolls would be traveling together this far into human settled areas, en masse. His feet glided through the snowy underbrush and forest with even greater speed and stealth, fearing the worst.

  The sun fell behind the forest smattered hills of southern Chazzrynn, the orange and rose glows to the east emanating through the pines and valleys were far too warm a farewell for where the wild elf was heading. The monstrous footprints became softer as he traveled east into the setting sun, he knew he was getting close. The hunter drew his bow and nocked an arrow, crouched steps of silence in the shadows of early night left not a sound as he approached a rising hill where he slowed his movements. Lavress could smell the trolls now, and ogre as well. He smelled blood, sensed fear, and even heard the far off convsering of hisses, grunts, growls and rough speech of wicked beings. Pulling the arrow back tight in the bowstring, the elven warrior crept from pine to willow to oak, keeping his form in the shade of starlit dusk. The top of the hill held two ogre he could see, standing guard with spears almost twice his height. They looked drowsy, worn from a hard long march from the west and Lavress watched as they drifted in and out of sleep while leaning against old pines above a valley. He moved without notice, stepped without sound, like death from the forest of night he took aim.

  The arrow was drawn and still, his amber eyes in perfect line with the shaft and steel tip directly pointed to the throat of the ogre guard on the left. Lavress waited until the raucus was just loud enough and seemingly on the rise from the beasts over the hill. Their dialogue and raised voices of guttural speech and hissing mixed with the Agarian tongue of men climbed more and more; and he fired. Before his deadly shot hit its intended victim, he drew another arrow and unleashed it into the ogre on the right and sheathed his bow in one fluid motion. Two short whistles of the wind being pierced by wood and steel ended suddenly with the breaking of flesh into ogre necks.

  The ten foot tall beast on the right fell to its knees and then to the snowy earth, the projectile seemingly pierced the spine in the back of its neck by the violent twitching of limbs that followed. Tusks beared and mouth open wide with gurgling blood and rage, the ogre on the left grabbed the spear leaning next to the pine tree and whirled around searching for the culprit that had violated his restful watch. The arrow was through the flesh and windpipe and protruding out the back side with small bits of red dripping meat covering the tip. Sickly purple eyes full of surprise, it caught a shadow flit through the darkening forest. The ogre of the west backed up toward the gathering of its kin, hoping to get attention. It attempted a roar or yell for aid to battle, but nothing emerged save more blood and the hissing of air through a new orifice in its neck. It felt steel cut open wide the back of its thighs, taking all remaining strength to stand away as it fell forward leaning on a wooden spear. Before another reaction could be made or sighting concluded on its aggressor, the ogre was released from all pain as a falcata severed its head from the body and all faded to empty black.

  The wood elf hunter caught the head by the greasy black strings of braided hair before it hit the ground and rolled downhill. He hid behind the pines, listening for any pursuers that may have been within earshot. Lavress watched the twitch of the dead body to his left, face down in the snow with an ever growing pool of dark red springing from its neck. A small river of blood ran downhill to where he had shot them, pouring strong from the decapitated ogre whose head he still held in his tightened grip. The hunter remained still for many moments, head of an enemy in one hand, crimson coated falcata in the other. His pointed elven ears observed the words from afar, with each passing second his focus was closer and more clear. He separated words from the overwhelming array of useless banter and savage speech that blanketed the valley below. Lavress turned to peer around the pine and down into the lower ground where the gathering was centered.

  His eyes focused and ears honed in on every word through the jumble of sounds, Lavress steadied his breathing as he spied on the forces below his position. There were nearly a hundred trolls by quick count, and four of them held aloft a wooden platform with a throne. The chair was made of twisted vines, petrified tree roots, and skulls of many various sizes and shapes all melded with black ichor long dried. Atop her swarm of giant hissing green warriors sat a female troll, her body barely covered with a garment of stitched skins that had rotted to yellow and black. Her hair was braided with animal bones and fangs, her claws as long as knives at the ends of her long thin fingers, and two rows of wicked black pointed teeth seemed to smile unnervingly as she hissed orders to her subjects. She stood, revealing her height of almost twelve feet and her four arms. Each arm pointed to different groups of her slimy kin, issuing commands in some foul speech that Lavress had never heard. Bonfires cascaded into the evening gloom that settled into the valley south of Roricdale, and the sound of the ogre grew louder.

  The ogre were double in numbers and equipped with spears, stolen blades and axes, covered in animal hides, and staying close to a hunched figure they seemed to revere. Lavress could barely make him out, yet his clothing seemed reminiscent of regal garments and he held a curved blade at his side that was finely polished unlike the dirty rust covered weapons of his subordinate beasts. Large wolves of black and gray, dozens of them, leashed with chains and held by those that surrounded the noble figure of the ogre. The hunter focused in the dark of the shadows that encompassed this leader of the ogre tribes, trying to make out more detail from so far away. His skin was not the tan, yellow, and brown of his brothers. It was gray and rotted in places, plagued by disease that obviously had not killed him but had stolen the flesh and scarred his body. His hair was streaked with gray and one of his eyes was but a black empty socket. The wolves growled at the trolls as they came too close, followed by the hissing of trolls in return, then returned flexing of muscles and low grunts from the ogre. The queen of the trolls would shriek to an earpierce, then the ogre king would raise his hand and yell toward her as he gripped his curved blade.

  The commotion would escalate then drift off as a black robed figure hovered off of the ground with his hands raised. The hunter now saw a small group of human men with crossbows in front of a caravan that appeared faintly noble. Two dark clad swordsmen approached without fear toward the robed wizard as if they were waiting for an introduction. Lavress listened intently, ever watchful of his back as the missing sense of Eliah Shendrynn was still a mystery.

  “Great Avegarne, king of the ogre, and great Mun Parr, queen of the trolls, you have traveled far to meet this night with the prince of Valhirst.” Salah Cam levitated a healthy seven or eight feet from the moist earth, his tattered robes crackling in the eastern winds. “May I present my lord and future king of Chazzrynn, Johnas Valhera!”

  Hisses and growls went into the sky and down the valley south of Roricdale. The wolves howled as their masters pounded their chests and stomped their feet. The ogre were still as Avegarne the plagued walked forward. The trolls never stopped milling and writhing around the grand platform that held their four armed queen of the Hollowmoors, yet she was ca
rried closer by her kin as well. The handsome human, surely Agarian by the blonde hair and green eyes, walked forward in step and was followed by a dark Harlian man who kept close by his master. Both human men had one black gloved hand on the grip of their blades, despite the line of soldiers with crossbows ready behind them near the horse drawn caravan. Johnas bowed, followed by Mun Parr and then by Avegarne.

  “I come to you this evening with a proposition that I think you will find hard to refuse.” Johnas paced, his emerald pommeled blade throbbing as he spoke. He paid no mind, yet in his head he knew he was in the midst of someone that would do harm to him. He had felt it upon meeting the ogre and trolls that led him to this spot. The kris blade sent him stronger urges and vibrations when he met Salah Cam minutes earlier, as he came closer to the encampment. “The kings of Chazzrynn have driven the trolls, the ogre, and the barbaric natives out of this realm in the south and west since they first arrived. You have been used, hunted, manipulated, and killed for many centuries here. Was this not your land before they came?”

  “Yesss Johnassss, but is it not youss that support ands strengthensss these kings with youss owns mens?” Mun Parr stood, much to the pain of her kin that carried her throne, and pointed two of her four clawed hands at the prince of Valhirst accusingly. The trolls that understood the Agarian tongue hissed at the prince and the red in the black of their eyes glistened as the furious screeches began.

  The decrepit ogre king of the western wastes raised his hand, his men silent and reserved. “Does Johnas think we are fools? That you would give us part of the kingdom and lands beyond our ruins and swamps after we put our people to the swords of the Chazzrynn armies?” growls and snarls issued from the tusked mouths of the ogre, yet in the face of their king they remained still and disciplined far beyond that of the trolls across from them. “To live in peace together? Do not make a mock of me or mine Valhera.”

  Lavress listened in amazement, not wanting to believe that even the most corrupt noble would enlist the scum of trolls and ogre against his own kingdom of birth. He set the ogre head on the ground slowly, and with great care he sheathed his falcata. The hunter of the Hedim Anah, a mere two hundred feet from the bonfires that centered in this secret conclave, took his enchanted bow from his shoulder, then a griffon feathered arrow and took slow aim. He focused on the ogre king, then the queen of the trolls, the hovering sorcerer that appeared already dead, and then to Johnas Valhera. He paused. He was not an assassin, nor a wanton murderer. The conflict of killing now to save life in the future was strong in his conscience. He struggled with it as the bow was aimed perfectly at the heart of the betraying noble. Lavress closed his eyes, silently asking Seirena for forgiveness for what he was about to do.

  The smirk of insidious evil mixed with an intimidating stare erupted from Johnas’ face as he stepped under the floating wizard and into the center of the fires, dangerously close to the guarded nobility of much larger beings. “Of course you would be suspicious, who would not? You have every right to be. I am entitled to the same distrust. What would happen if you all decided not to stop your conquest after the battles were won? Would you turn on me and continue on east and take far more lands and cities than were agreed? I run risk too, Avegarne. I place all that is mine up for the taking as well, Mun Parr.” he bowed slightly to each of the monstrous leaders as he spoke, captivating them with innocence and slithering around direct answers to their suspicions. “The lands and cities west of the Garalan River must be assaulted and devesated. Hurne, Elcram, Kalik, Southwind Keep, and Roricdale all must fall to get the armies of the king drawn out of Loucas. Once the northern and eastern cities are left vulnerable, my men and I will move in and take the throne. I will move the armies behind him, in the guise of assistance, and finish him off if you have not done so already.”

  “And then what, Prince of Valhirst? Or what if you never arrive?” Avegarne spoke even toned, but loud enough for all to hear.

  “What wouldsss makes us certains that youss will betrays your own blood soos easily, Johnasss?” Mun Parr half hissed and half yelled through a multitude of black fangs.

  “I care not for my people, not in that sense anyway. I follow my Agarian heritage, not that of the king and the conquering blood of the northern kingdoms from which he is descended. I have men of my own, a small army that spans from here to Altestan in secret. This kingdom is my home, but there are two men wanting to rule here, so one must die. I enlist the help of my neighbors where he would have you all dead or driven off. What can I do, besides enlarging your domains, to achieve a prospersous nego---“

  Balric leapt in front of Johnas without hesitation or thought, the necklace and the binding enchantment had control of his actions. He had seen Salah Cam pull a dagger that was dripping with black liquid. From above Johnas, he drew it from his robes slowly and it began to glow with a black effervescence that looked menacing and wicked. Just as Salah Cam turned toward the Prince and looked down, the Harlian swordsman dove past Johnas to put himself in harm’s way. “My Prince, get down!”

  The arrow loosed from the enchanted bow he once gave to Bedesh, the brave satyr of Haven Glen. It whisked past the ominous skull throne of the troll queen, over the heads of the ogre and trolls that polluted the area, and was without fault heading straight for the heart of Johnas Valhera. Lavress blinked slowly, knowing he had gone against his own morals for a greater good. As his eyes opened, he saw the Harlian man leap into the air with outstretched hands intent on the hovering legs of the corrupt wizard. His hands gripped an ankle, and as he pulled down on the dagger wielding arcanist, the arrow intended for the crooked noble pierced Salah Cam through the back instead as he was pulled into its path. Silence exploded from all present as Balric held Salah Cam to his saber, yet a protruding arrow was inches from his chin, an arrow that had gone clean through the wizard and was covered in black thick blood that could not be of a living human. Johnas looked up, as did all present, first to the arrow and Balric, then to the western hill from whence it must have originated.

  The saber crosscut the dagger, forcing Salah Cams forearm out, then an upward slash from Balric’s blade severed the perilous poisoned dagger and the hand that held it. A third cut across down through the chest should have finished the old wizard. Instead, Balric D’Vrelle felt a blast of blue energy from the open palm of Salah Cam that sent him tumbling backwards through mud and snow. He landed face down next to the caravan some forty feet back from the prince. His eyes were hazy and unfocused, yet Balric could hear the firing of dozens of crossbows into the ogre and trolls that surrounded Johnas. His ears picked up on more arcane words as blasts of fire and black arcs of electricity that ripped into the Valhirst soldiers from the wizard he had just run through. Ogre war cries followed with screeches of trolls that were too many to count flared into the night sky as the wolves were set loose into the morass of chaos.

  Balric’s vision slowly centered again, and he could see Johnas diving and sidestepping through the mass of bestial warriors with his kris emerald pommeled blade doing its work. A slash through a hamstring here, then a duck and roll, then a slice across an ogre abdomen, followed by the prince spinning around a troll and plunging the blade deep into soft flesh. He made his way quickly and expertly to what remained of his men as they repeatedly loaded and fired their crossbows to cover their lord. The Harlian swordsman, wishing Johnas had not made it out in one piece, stood to meet the prince as the battle began to spread.

  “We leave to Valhirst!” Johnas snapped at his men and his enslaved bodyguard. His anger at losing a negotiation that he was about to sabotage himself always made him quiet, yet staying here to be slaughtered by whichever menacing race emerged victorious was less than wise he realized. He ducked as more blasts of arcane energies, black and smoldering, desecrated several of his men and their horses.

  “Kill the nobles from Valhirst, their failed treachery shall be collected in blood!” Salah Cam, riddled with crossbow bolts now, hovered above the insanity of ogre and t
rolls that knew not why they were killing each other beyond simple instinct and hatred. “They betray you now, and so they shall in days and years to come if you do not stand together against your enemies! I, Salah Cam the Eternal, now command you to take these lands from the men who would use you for their own devices! Charge them and leave none breathing!”

  Feeling the power of his voice, enhanced through arcane means no doubt, the volatile but weak willed ogre and troll warriors began to turn their attention to the remaining humans on the eastern trail. The enchanting words seemed to have sway, as the giant soldiers of Avegarne and Mun Parr visualized this injured wizard as a trusted ally, injured, victimized, and powerful. The ogre battle cry was roared, the hissing commands of the troll queen were heard by all her kin, and the mass turned its bloodthirst toward the twenty remaining men with Balric and Johnas.

  Lavress barely noticed the wolves that had caught his scent, followed by several ogre, as they climbed the hill to the west. Still engrossed in the small war that he had started, the guilt of his arrow fresh in his mind, the hunter took aim for another shot. He nearly released twice at the Prince of Valhirst but no clear path presented itself for more than the blink of an eye. He let the bowstring relax, placed the arrow back in his animal hide quiver and slung the bow across his back. Drawing his falcata and kukri simultaneously, the savage elf of Gualidura ran north through the forests of southern Chazzrynn. He knew that five ogre, three trolls, and at least half a dozen starved and abused wolves followed him through the night. Perhaps a hundred feet behind him and closing they were, and Lavress had little strength left. Drawing on his breathing and focus to block out the pain of his injuries and the muscles that resisted the exertion, the hunter of the Hedim Anah pushed on. Snarls and howls followed, yet he did not falter in his steps. His mind thought of solace he could search out nearby. Roricdale was blocked by the mess he had created, so his only chance was to head north along the river to Southwind Keep. It was three days of hard travel, should he survive the long night ahead. The tattooed hunter, now the hunted, made for the open wilderness in hopes that his pursuers would become distracted or lose heart for the chase. What have I done? he thought.