The Exodus Sagas: Book II - Of Dragons And Crowns

by Jason R Jones

  Veuric sighed deeply, having solemnly given up the fight in his words to Lord Marcell. “It is just that the last few years, I would venture seven or so, I have been charged with quite a few sacrifices to God on the mountain. Trespassers, spies, betrayers, almost as if I am part excecutioner and part priest. If it is God’s will, let it be done. However, there is something in my chest that tells me it is not.”

  “Losing faith is a difficult matter, and one that I must insist you reconcile quickly. The season is coming, we need these rains to continue, we need a good harvest, and we need Willborne to rise again from the stomping boots that put her down. We need a king, Veuric, and the more we give to God, the true God, the sooner we will have the glory of his blessings. I ask you to do your holy duty again, this morning, and I am merely adding to the tithe.” Lord Marcell sat down heavy in his leather chair in the candlelight. He paused, waiting for more words of disheartened clarity from the last priest in Willborne.

  “No one but me knows the old tongue, the words that call God’s attention, or how that cavern looks on the inside. Only I can step foot inside, until I have a son that is. Marcell, my lord, my wife Rinli is with child. After two daughters, I feel this one will be a boy.”

  Shinayne heard cracking in the resolve of word and spirit as the man spoke to the Lord of Bailey. She felt the crickets preparing to make their midnight song, the nightbirds eyeing their prey, but nothing louder than the pain in this priest’s heart was there at this moment. She kept her shoulders pressed to the stone and tried to keep her focus all around, realizing she had been far too embroiled on the conversation and had forgotten that she was a spy here.

  Lord Marcell chuckled with contentment. “That is good Veuric, I am happy for you. Our way of life, our town, and our people will live on by passing down the ancient words and---“

  “I have dreamed of my son being a great warrior for Willborne, a knight that would unify, that would lead with justice and kindness. I felt a father’s pride and future as soon as she told me that she was pregnant once more. Then, I realized he would have to learn these words, that he would never leave Bailey, and he would be relegated to this priesthood, this secret religion, and to interpret the will of a being we cannot see and has no name. I do not want his days and nights to unfold as mine have, Marcell. Can I not pass these things to another? May I have your blessing to lead a normal life? To have my son be not under the shadow of a bloodied cavern in the mountain?” Veuric began to sob as his words choked out in fron of the Lord of Bailey.

  Crackkk, craccckk, smack! Marcell’s gloved hand hit three times across the young pagan priest’s face. “And I wish to have a united Willborne! I have but this pathetic village and a mountain that God dwells deep under to claim as mine! Katrina holds most of the ragged kingdom under mercenary rule and we Agarians fight each other, her, and the slow inception of the Aldane ministry into the hearts of our people. I do not care if a hundred foreigners die in that sacrificial cavern each season if it means God watches over us and it gives Willborne a chance to withstand the torrents of time and change! The last kingdom free of northern religion, uninfluenced by the looming Altestan, and true to what this land was when we arrived we are! And you will do your duty to the old God of Agara, and your people, and it will pass to your son. Understood!?”

  “Yes Milord, it shall be done.” Veuric stood up and cleared his throat and crushed dreams away to speak as a man of strength. “The spies of Harlaheim and the virgin Taira will meet God tomorrow. I will go to the mountain and begin speaking the prayers at dawn, for his blessings upon our people and our country.”

  “Good Veuric, very good. Katrina arrives tomorrow as well. Despite her love of coin and power, she does still hold the most sway in this troubled kingdom without a king and she is faithful to the mountain. Keeping her wishes granted while we wait for her to be killed by the quiet nobility is our mission. She wishes to have these travelers killed, the dwarf and the minotaur mostly. The dwarf has something she wants as does the minotaur, but she would not tell me what. I fear her ties to other kingdoms has the forefront of her intent, much to the distaste of the rest of us vying for the throne of Willborne. We need to keep her placated until the time is right for her end. Now go and prepare, I will handle the rest.” Marcell sat back down with a faint flicker of hope for change to be soon forthcoming in his troubled lands.

  Shinayne heard them shake hands or embrace in some manner, and begin walking toward the door. Quickly, the steps of the elven noble dashed to the spiral stairs, over the tripwire at the top and she stopped still on the fourth step down. The guards from the second floor balcony were clanking their way up the spiral stairs toward her, yet unaware of her presence. Shinayne turned, hearing the door open from the hallway that she had been eavesdropping on. The elven swordswoman knew that she had to warn her friends and the men with Capitan Norrice before they were taken. She glanced at the chandelier with the wire attached to it, the curved golden supports, old chain to the ceiling, and the dozens of lit candles that all hung over a thirty foot drop surrounded by a spiraling staircase.

  “This would be less than practical or wise in any other situation. Siril, guide my steps please.” Shinayne backed up half a step to load her leap over the railing. Keeping her keen eyes on the wire that was fastened into the center of the golden decoration, she leapt from a high step to the wooden rail and hurled her lithe form into the air. One hand reached the base of the wire while the other grasped the golden base of the now much larger suspended chandelier. Her airborn body swung gracefully to and fro, candlewax dripping down her cloak and armor, splattering into her hair and the stone floor far below. The wicks extinguished with the flood of hot wax leaving a dark smokey vaulted ceiling in lieu of a well lit stairwell. The two guards stopped at the base of the stairs to the third story, sensing something was not as it should be. The door opened from Lord Marcell’s chamber, and Shinayne glimpsed the shadowy robed figure of a young man walk out first and then stop. His hand went into the air to signal the man behind him to halt.

  “Milord, something stirs in your keep. Stay back.” Veuric drew his longsword, as did the Lord behind him followed by the two guards below at the landing.

  “Candles snuffed recently, check the stairs.” Marcell moved past the armed priest in the dark of the castle halls, knowing that someone had been been here and curious as to how they avoided the tripwire. The heavy spring fogs of Willborne blocked the light from the moons, making it nearly impossible for him to see into his own stairwell. “Guards, summon the others from the barracks and scour the—“

  Shinayne felt trapped, hanging helpless with nowhere to go but down to a deadly fall or to swing back to the stairs inbetween four armed men in the dark. For her, the choice was simple, and she tugged the wire with all the strength in her wrist as she swung back and forth to gain some momentum. The trap sprung and a stone slab fell directly in front of the hallway pass blocking it from the stairs, a slab of worked stone that would have crushed anyone traversing the steps ignorant of the wire. Just as Marcell and Veuric backpeddled from the separating rock wall, every other step on the stairwell fell into a dark oblivion, splintering moments later onto steel spikes far below. The guards turned back toward the ruckus of the sprung trap and the dusty cloud that flashed from the impact of the stone wall that had fallen.

  “Capture them, him, whoever it is! Guards!” Lord Marcell could see nothing from his vantage now, only the faint shadow of someone swinging on the chandelier in the dark up onto the railing of his stairs. Then the figure was gone, a stone wall between he and the perpetrator. He turned toward the open end of the hall, knowing he would be taking the long way around to the rear of his keep since the spy had used his own trap against him. “This way priest, hurry up!”

  Shinayne T’Sarrin slid down the railing past the two dumbfounded and nightblind guards. They raised their blades and shields as she passed, knowing something rushed in the dark, but barely able to sense each other in the blackness,
let alone anyone else. They yelled for more of their kin and fellow guards, tried to see or follow the elven woman in the night, but it was as if she did not exist. The elven swordswoman raced through shadows and the cover of trees and walls back to the front of the keep. She waited until the guards of the main hall heard the calls of their brothers and ran to aid on the rear side of the keep. The moment they moved, so did she, and back into the guest room under the torchlit hall she stepped with grace and speed only capable by an elf. Shinayne opened the door, pulled herself around it, and slammed it shut in the blink of an eye.

  “We have to leave. Now!” Shinayne spoke before she looked, looked into an empty room where her friends should have been. The side door was wide open, gear taken, and not a sound issued besides the echo of her own voice. “Oh no, oh God no.”

  Angeline II:III

  Soujan Mountain, Harlaheim

  “And what shall follow is the darkest curse to end the guardians of the Caricians, for their stock will be filled with only the lowly, the sick, the sinners, and the wicked. Their secrets undone, their temples crushed to the earth, their future doomed, so Yjaros proclaims from the temples of Khi’Va and Khedra to all the world and so shall it be done, a curse endless upon the Knights Soujan.” ---Spoken to the masses of Altestan by their three Emperors before the second Agarian inquisition. Circa 1950 B.C.

  “I cannot sense or see someone I have never met, Kalzarius. Queen Rosana is unknown to me, as is most any mortal save yourself and the knights below. I wish I could help you in this matter, old friend.” Ansharr spoke softly from her curled rest to her black and white robed confidant of the arcane. They had been talking for many hours about the scroll of Annar, about Gwenneth and her friends, and the troubles of the kingdom that led to the siege Kalzarius had just endured. “Why is it that you cannot see her?”

  “I can sense she is alive, yet something is blocking my vision once I get closer. Whoever she is with has a way to remain unseen by arcane means. That troubles me worse than if I could not see her at all Ansharr.” Kalzarius of Harlaheim heard the faint message of magick from his head student, Cilano, that all was well and the final forces of the siege had left the tower grounds, for now. That relief was a feeling he had not had enough of in the last few weeks.

  “Have you been able to watch the travels of Gwenne and the others?” Kalzarius was worried about many things that had driven his frustration, since they were largely out of his control.

  “They left here to Saint Erinsburg, then west and into Willborne. Their path to the mines of Kakisteele will be dangerous, and I sense they are separated and in danger now. There is nothing we can do to help them Kalzarius, Harlaheim is only going to worsen you say, and they are far now. I am sure they can meet any challenge should they remain together. They have much divine attention and gifts from both yourself and me. We have done all we can.” Ansharr yawned, showing hundreds of white and yellow teeth that lined her enormous jaws.

  Their thoughts interrupted, both the great red dragon and the old master wizard looked to one another then to the wide and hidden high entrance of Soujan Mountain.

  “I sense a silent approach my lady.” Kalzarius whispered as he raised his staff and concentrated upon a warding barrier to appear in front of them both.

  “I know this person, yet I have not seen her in many years. She means us no harm old friend.” the great dragon felt strong peace emanating from whoever walked upon her cavern, the overwhelming serenity that humans rarely possessed unless rooted deep in the spiritual realm, she knew it was Angeline.

  Green robes and shining armor foreshadowed the Agarian woman as she took knee in front of the great ancient dragon that guarded her temple. Angeline breathed deep of the stone and the mountain air that she had not held in her chest for over seven years. It brought the twinge of tears to her eyes, yet another solemn and relaxing exhalation prevented her eyes from overflowing with longing and joy.

  “Arise, Angeline Berren of the Knights Soujan. Has it been seven years of amends already? And you return home safely and serene.” Ansharr was overcome with joy to see yet another wayward soul return to the order that had been nearly extinct since her own mother was very young.

  Angeline stood, brushed her curls of blonde and red away from her face and bowed slightly to the old wizard that stood beside her draconic friend. “It has been that long, yes. And true, my amends have been made and forgiven during my journeyed vows to the Soujan. It is good to be home Ansharr.”

  A slight thwack of her tail alerted Kalzarius that he should say something instead of staring weary-eyed at the lovely swordswoman. Ansharr cleared her throat after the gesture, as a quick reminder.

  “Yes, yes, of course. It is a pleasure Angeline, I am Kalzarius of Harlaheim. Friend of, oh how long now, better part of seventy years I believe, to Ansharr here.” he stammered, having never formally met one of the secretive and mythical Soujan that Ansharr said still existed and served the old Gods directly.

  “The Kalzarius? They speak highly of you at the Lazlette Semanarium Arcanum in Vallakazz. You are quite famous and idolized there, even by the eldest professors of the arcane. It is an honor, Kalzarius of Harlaheim.” Angeline bowed her head once more in respect of such a master and trusted friend to Ansharr.

  “I am? Well of course, I suppose, I taught Aelaine and her father, and ummm, even her daughter Gwenneth for a time. You studied there then?”

  “No, it is a long story. I served Middir of Kivanis for a period of several years. Part of my training you could say, but I do not practice the arts, your arts anyway. I am sure you are well aware of what we learn at this temple.”

  “Actually, no. Ansharr has her secrets and has never informed me of much. I respect whatever it is you do and the need for it to remain hidden. I hope what you serve gives you great joy and reward, just as my studies do me. I have heard of Middir, reputedly a great wizard himself.” Kalzarius bowed slightly to the younger woman before him, now more curious than ever to know what it is that is taught below. He straightened up, realizing he had now bowed several times in his flirting nature.

  “What I serve has saved me, bore me anew into life, and given me purpose beyond words. Thank you. But that is not why I have come. Great Ansharr, I must speak to Larens and the others. Please pardon me, as I am torn on a promise I made to Middir and Lady Lazlette and I am in need of spiritual guidance.”

  “What promise could they have asked of you my child?” Ansharr was fighting her need to rest for a few months with all the activity she had not been accustomed to in the past week.

  “I was requested to find and return Gwenneth Lazlette to Vallakazz, and I accepted. It was emotional for her mother, for myself, and Middir as well. I said yes, but then thought of how this proposition would look to the Soujan, and it has troubled me ever since. Then a cloaked elven swordsman and I had a few encounters, and despite his wickedness of spirit, I let him live. I am confused, and when that occurs I need time in prayer with the Goddess and my fellow knights.” she told far more than she knew she should have, but it rolled out of her like water from a weakened dam.

  “I too, was asked to return young Gwenneth to her mother, but I refused. She is old enough to make her own mistakes and her own life. Aelaine needs to understand this.” he paced, feeling somewhat relieved he was not the only one that had erred on the side of letting Gwenne find her path in life unhindered.

  “They make passage to the lost mines of Kakisteele and the city of Mooncrest, far, far to the west of here. I could tell you which route to take, but going alone, even for a Soujan Knight, would be far too dangerous. The help and experience she needs can only be found through trial and error, not the forced hand that her mother tries to hold her down with. Let her go Angeline.” Ansharr lowered her head as the Soujan woman passed toward the hidden alcove and stairs down to within the mountain.

  “I would, but there is something else, something that I must know about her.”

  “What would that be my child?�
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  “The swordsman I dueled, twice and let live, had an aura, a wickedness and darkness to his spirit that he was much at home with. I let him live due to circumstances that my honor and order would not allow me to disregard. Yet, I felt I was doing the world harm by obeying and not ending his life then and there.” she stopped at the stairs, seeing the dark spiral passage down, well lit by green flame and shimmering orange torchlight.

  “What does that have to do with Gwenneth Lazlette?” Ansharr spoke what Kalzarius was thinking.

  “Because for all her power and born ability in the arts, I have always had that same unnerving feeling when I stood close to her. I never told anyone in my service to Middir, but Gwenneth has an evil in her, deep inside, and I felt it for seven years in Vallakazz. Resentments, loneliness, anger, and a vicious ego that craves more power over others. She has spent years hiding it, skillfully. I just need to know if it is her, or something that was done to her is all.” Angeline walked down the stairs alone leaving a stunned dragon and wizard with nothing in which to retort, but much to discuss.

  Kalzarius looked to Ansharr who kept the gaze, both of them knowing they had been suspicious as well. Ansharr felt guilt now for the first time in almost a thousand years for giving such a mighty staff to a potentially wicked and powerful woman. Kalzarius felt shame inside at assisting and fostering from afar the superior skills of his once student for many years after she had returned home. Neither spoke a word, just a silent understanding that perhaps they overlooked the obvious for the sake of wishful optimism. The two old friends bowed and forced a smile toward one another, and as Ansharr laid her head down to rest, Kalzarius spoke the arcane words that would take him from here and transport him through magicked means to his tower in Harlaheim.