by Jason Jones
“No, my sweet, of course not. It is implied. But tell him we shall retrieve both the books and the scroll, for him, should he allow Kendari of Stillwood to accidentally walk into our many blades in Vallakazz.”
The patriarch of the White Spider inhaled deeply, holding in the relaxing smoke from the ivory tiger at his feet. He began feeling his body become numb, invincible, powerful, and his inebriated mind began the usual thoughts of lust. Power he had, more he wanted, never enough, never secure, and never finished.
“Next, sweet Vanessa, carry on.” His exhale of clear misty smoke rolled and slowed to the center of the room.
She shied away, but realized with his tone of voice that she would be asked to pleasure him again tonight, and she would. No one denied the prince, not one that wished to breathe much longer anyway. Women, children, common or royal, member or not, Johnas Valhera was not to be disobeyed. Not to his knowledge, anyway.
“Lastly, my prince.” She read the glowing script again, “The agent of Southwind writes about the scroll that passed through days ago, its value, it is the same story, my prince. Gray minotaur, elven noble, former knight of Southwind Keep, heading to Vallakazz. Whoever this man is, he also says that they are suspicious that the church may be preparing to follow, and have interest in the scroll. Not certain. He, she, “Jade of the West,” as this person refers to themselves, is also certain that letters have been sent regarding this scroll, to the Aldane in Shanador. Jade of the West has eliminated these letters, and the men carrying them. However, they feel that their position may have been compromised and they will be abandoning post?”
Johnas knew Jade of the West very well, but at the request of the agent, preferred to keep the identity to himself. “Tell our agent in Southwind to leave the post, return to the web, only once all contacts are cut. We are following two leads now, one being the scroll that is entering Vallakazz. Do not go through there, it is too warm this time of year.” He was concerned on the inside, yet looked simply drugged from without.
His eight deadliest had names of objects and directions, and they spanned the known world in secret. Some were close, some far, but each a secret from the world and mostly each other. Now Jade of the West was on the run. Johnas did not like having to lose a city, even one as inconsequential as Elcram and Southwind Keep on the western border. His mind raced on who and how to replace their presence there. He surveyed the room, the mutterings and conversations beginning, perhaps due to his silent pause, for how long he did not know. Johnas Valhera stood up, feeling his body lifted by the opium.
“Up everyone, up.” They, of course, listened and paid attention again. “Get me an assembly of five men and a wizard that can get this elf with the books as he approaches before someone else does or he reaches an untouchable destination. Next, send all our men in Vallakazz to keep Kendari in that Temple, surround carefully, wear him out and kill him off for good. That will leave us one less independent to worry about, and a deadly one at that. Tell the rest of our contacts in Vallakazz to take that scroll quietly if possible, if not, then do an alley-kill and get it out of the city and to here with their fastest man. We will meet halfway when we know they are en route.”
He was swooning, almost dizzy from the infusion of wine and inhaled drug, and he retired back to his seat on the throne to keep his balance. All a show of course, even intoxicated on a dozen vices, Johnas Valhera was one of the deadliest men alive. His position required a bit of false messaging to keep his members close and underestimating him at all times.
“Now, send for the two ambassadors from Altestan, I will meet with them now, and after that, we feast to Ellaird and the men that met their ends from Kendari in Vallakazz.”
Servants moved rapidly, organizing the room. Fences and thieves traded quickly, clearing goods and coin from the table. Vanessa covered the warlock mirrors, waving her hands in arcane motion to clear any script from the marble. His children and loyal members were all busy trading crime and talking murder, here in the web of the White Spider, under Valhirst.
“I will be seeing you in my chamber then.” Johnas made the statement, not a question, to Vanessa Blackflame.
“Of course. Remember, my prince, this is but the first insult, the first refusal of Altestan. You cannot show anger or retalliation. You must accept three, it is their way.” Vanessa whispered as she made for the darkened halls behind the onyx throne.
“Noted, my pet. I am well aware.” Johnas Valhera had made this arrangement years ago, and finally he was being visited by the greatest nation in the known world. “Do not go far, I will be retiring soon.”
He knew he could have any woman, but he had wanted her, mostly due to her loyalty and importance, but also because she may love another. He had murdered her father, had murdered hundreds to get here today, and felt that keeping her here as a child and training her abroad entitled him to anything she had to offer. Johnas did not feel it, he knew it, and so it was.
The door opened, Heathen standing hunched over, looking at the ground as he announced. “Emissaries Alamud and Samiri Kaven Sa’oom of Khi’Va, in the Empire of Altestan, my Prince!”
Johnas stood, giving a slight bow to the northern men, tan and exquisite in their green robes and jewelry, curved swords at their hips and headdresses of wrapped blue cloth. The bow, with praying hands and the customary constant eye contact of their people, was returned deeply. The silence of the men in here could be cut with a dagger, as this was the first time the chosen men of the northern oppression had set foot in Valhirst.
“Gentlemen, welcome. I am sure your journey was pleasantly devoid of difficulty?”
The rough Agarian, with strong tones of sharp and elegant Altestani accent, was almost poetic to hear. “Yes, Prince Johnas Valhera of Valhirst, the months at sea went quickly for us and your house is most welcoming.”
The spokesman, Alamud, Johnas knew to be the son of the Prince of Khi’Va in Altestan. The other, most likely by the scars he noted on the ear and hands, was a bodyguard relative instead of a fellow ambassador. Johnas knew that Khi’Va was a mighty holy city of the Yjarrin faith in Altestan, but also a powerful trade city that could hold the key to all of that ancient empire.
“One question, if I may, Prince.” Alamud’s blue eyes turned toward the door just passed, noting the pit behind him.
“Anything, Ambassador Alamud Kaven Sa’oom. My house is open to you.”
“You have expressed, over the years, that your values lie in order with our own, our beliefs.”
“They still do, Alamud, they do.”
“Then explain to me why I was greeted and inspected by a lesser being, not of God, not of man, but a curse of God as you have at your door, the minotaur?”
“I will remedy that if you wish. However, Heathen’s strong hatred for the church of Alden, and the false prophets of the lesser punished ones, are an asset I have used to further weaken the religion you despise. Simply a tool, and used as such, for aims that are strictly human, such as yours. Think of him more as a large guard dog.” The quick thinking of the prince may have saved him whatever deal they were to work and having to kill the only person in Valhirst that would willingly die for him.
“Is that so?” Alamud sat, legs crossed upon a thick roll of wool set down by Samiri, then beckoned for Johnas to join him.
“It is. Here, on this continent, let alone Chazzrynn, we do not have the luxury of devoted killers for our cause.” Johnas sat slowly, eyeing Samiri and his curved shamshir, watching the man glimpse at his kris blade as well.
“I do not think it is as much the location as the business, Johnas Valhera.” Alamud chuckled and stroked his curling black beard and mustache. “Crime and trade illicit do not venture to summon fearless men of faith.”
“Agreed. For my ventures to become such, I would need to be more public.”
“And to become public, you must have something no one else has, and the strength to defend it.”
“These words are exactly why I have hoped to meet
and dine with you, great ambassadors.”
“Still, with all flattery aside, the beast may have to die should it try touch me again, or look my direction.”
“Understood.” Johnas toasted his goblet as his serving boys poured for the Altestani men. “A minor thing it is, especially before the grand designs we shall converse over. To your health.”
Johnas realized his true friends were few. All but Heathen were allies forced from deal to deal, extortion to extortion, threat to implied threat. Such was his life, the life of the nephew to a king, a king that already had an heir to the throne of Chazzrynn. The talks continued, the room went empty for they and the prince to discuss anything. These men were the key to a dangerous and wealthy empire. Their hatred of beings not of human blood was tolerable. Their belief that women were lesser creatures, acceptable. Johnas did not care about their religious views, he had none of his own to contradict. He had his spies in the north, yet here and now, he hoped to make the deal of his entire family history.
Heathen never moved. Hearing their hatred for him, he remained as still as stone. He knew that Johnas had set him free years ago, and that he stayed out of pleasure and old age, for this was all he knew. There were other reasons he was here, but nothing he would share or die for. Old minotaurs with but one horn had nowhere to go, and at least here there was warmth from the cold Chazzrynn nights.
Exodus I:VI
Western Gates
Vallakazz
Her elven footsteps light and quick, weapons sheathed, and her eyes wide open in awe, Shinayne T’Sarrin stared at the uncountable glowing orbs of light from the lake. She gazed at them, wondering how they became and why, but focused more on the beautiful soft illuminations of every color imaginable under the cold distant lake at night. The elven noble gazed beyond the waters, seeing hundreds more lights of a vast city of tall buildings. Uncountable stretching stone towers adjoined with lit bridges and archways filled the dwelling. It looked warm from here in the cold, inviting with all its magnificent landmarks, the cathedrals, temples, and manors. Shinayne felt welcome without a word.
First place on this continent that holds my curiosity and invokes wonder at a glance.
It was positioned over a glowing lake, built around it in fact, encompassed by decorative walls and bridges. She saw stone streets, farmhouses in every direction upon rolling hills. The snow covered city of Vallakazz was the first place in her months of trailing Lavress that she felt safe, despite having merely glimpsed the outside of it at night.
“Vallakazz, finally.” James Andellis stood next to the mesmerized elf, gazing himself at a city he had not seen for many years. His thoughts wandered to old innkeepers he may have skipped out on, and what taverns he best not enter. His memory, thanks to the years of wine, would not recall yet all his misdeeds in this city of the arcane.
“Who is it we are to meet here, Saberrak?” James shivered and breathed warm air into his cupped hands.
“No idea, the letter from the priest in Southwind went back west with the horse thief that escaped the panther,” the gray gladiator reminded him, his deep voice issuing warm steam.
“Ye might be heading to Lazlette or the Temple of Golden something of Alden, I think.” Azenairk remarked, also taking in the wondrous beauty of Vallakazz at night, remembering the words of the letter in his pack.
“You have been here then, dwarf?” James responded inquisitively, believing that most dwarves stuck together in the mountains and mines.
“Nope. Can’t say that I would ever want to, either, save for the sight I am seeing now. Magic, Alden, humans, open land, small hills, besides the view, there is not much here for me, I must say. How is the shoulder then?” “Better, few more days, perhaps. Getting out of this cold will---“
“Azeanirk, how would you know where we should go to see someone you know nothing about?” Saberrak snorted, thinking the bearded priest was a tad arrogant, liking the quality, but mostly only in himself.
Azenairk Thalanaxe reached into his backpack, withdrawing a partially crushed hard leather scroll tube, and pulled out a rolled piece of parchment with the seal of the church of Alden waxed at the top, Southwind seal near the bottom.
“This was near the murdered body of a human priest in the foothills. Killed by one that dressed as James here, two more like him dead in their sleep, throats cut. I found it in the dark after burying him and a small incident with some ogre days back now. The killer headed west, and I headed this way to deliver it to the names mentioned. Those folk being you, I assume ye’ knew what was written then.”
“Why have you waited over two days to tell us this?” Shinayne, mildly frustrated and suspicious, asked the priest. “Father Brevond, dead, Evril…”
The horned warrior and the hungover knight both joined her in silence, pondering the unsaid, awaiting the dwarf’s reply.
“I figured ye had the other one, from the other traitors that crossed ye. It says there were two letters. I thought ye three knew it all already. Here ye are, read it for yourselves then.” The last Thalanaxe handed it over to Saberrak, who in turn passed it to James. The weary knight, holding it to the moonlight, rubbed his eyes, wrinkled his brow, and then passed it to Shinayne.
“Well if none of ye can read, allow me...”
“We can read, Azenairk, it just so happens to be night.” Shinayne read the letter to them all, reciting the suspicions of the scroll, the accusations toward Lady Kaya T’Vellon, and the locations in Vallakazz that they were supposed to be directed to.
Shinayne, being a highborn elf of Kilikala, had no intention of heading to mentioned Shalokahn. The elves there were more like power hungry humans than elves anymore, and if they spotted a noble like her in their kingdom, Shinayne thought her chances would be better against a thousand ogre at making it out alive. The hatred of the Shalokahn elves toward most of their fey cousins had been there for a few thousand years, and the noble doubted that any scroll or letter would set that aside.
“It says one letter was to be delivered to the Lady Lazlette of Vallakazz, yet we were told to head to the Temple of Golden Mercy. Let’s just enter the city, and get out of the cold first.” Shinayne gave the letter back to the dwarf.
“What else does it say?” James asked.
“The church has been tracking the movements of Kaya T’Vellon, they suspect her of plenty. The have evidence and want her charged and placed on trial for quite an assortment of crimes. Cannot say that I am surprised.”
“So when this letter does not return to Southwind, she will know we have it?” Saberrak huffed.
“Correct. Likely she will come looking for us.”
“Wonderful. Now I will be hunted in my own country. My thanks.” James rolled his eyes.
“Somehow I do not think we have tarnished your shining reputation further, James Andellis,” Shinayne shot back.
“Let us get warm then, and talk about it by a nice fire.” Zen raised his eyebrows and nodded toward the lit city below.
“End of the road for me, once we get inside.” James nodded to Shinayne. His mind wandered to wine, to killing ogre back west, and then to more wine.
“Very well.” She shot a glance back. “I shall pay you accordingly, knight.”
“No, you won’t,” Saberrak huffed.
“And why not, minotaur?” James turned, and looked up.
“We have not had our discussion. I need answers on the man that we saw chained.”
“Another time.”
“That is what you said yesterday, and the day before that.”
“Likely my answer tomorrow, but keep asking anyway.”
“Your payment will depend on it, right, Shinayne?” Saberrak looked to the elf.
“I believe that is correct.” Shinayne smiled, and handed several gold coins to the gray minotaur.
“That is extortion.” James was staring at the snow, trying to keep thoughts of that day, that place, from overtaking his mind.
“Call it what you wish.” Saberrak snor
ted and let the coins jingle into a saddlebag he had tied onto his belt. “If you think you are strong enough, you can take the coins from me instead.”
“That is less than fair.” James rolled his eyes. He took the bottle of wine from his pack, pulled the cork, and drank half of it then and there. They were close to a city, close to wine, so his mind allowed him to finish the last bottle he had.
“We saved your life, and Shinayne lost a friend, one we still have yet to find and rescue. Without us, you were dead. Now, she needs help, and I need answers. There is an easy way, and there is a hard way, makes no difference to me what you choose.”
“Seems rather forced, with an option of more force, should I resist.” James tipped the bottle again, finishing it. He let it drop to the snow and stared up at the minotaur with a smile. “And if I tell you to take your scroll and go to hell with it?”
“Very helpful James, no more wine for you.” Shinayne glared at him.
“You have little respect for those that have helped you, when you drink that is.” Saberrak snorted, growing angry now.
“Would you like to chain me then, make me talk? Drag me around the countryside until I give you what you want?” James felt the wine coursing, the awakening of his fearless and numb bravado.
“I said nothing of the sort.”
“Sounds like the once slave wants to own me, didn’t learn much did---“
James backed up and drew his broadsword as Saberrak lowered his horns and charged toward him in anger. The only thing stopping the collision of horn and blade was Azenairk Thalanaxe. His right hand was on the falcon emblem of James’ shield, his left on the chest of Saberrak the gray, and his arms locked tight.
“Whoa right there, the both of ye’ now!”
“Back down, dwarf,” Saberrak growled.
“Low as I’m gonna get, minotaur.” Zen shot him a glare and shook his head.
“Let him come. I’ve killed bigger things on worse days,” James spat at the ground.
“James, put the blade away. Saberrak is unarmed, no one is going to kill anyone.” Shinayne stared into James’ blue eyes as Zen seemed to have the minotaur breathing now.