“Finish please.”
“She hopes that he takes your severed head and puts it in a latrine so that all of Chazzrynn may enjoy sh---“
“No damn you! Finish the other messages!” Johnas pounded his fist on the throne. He knew it was a ruse, the beginning of the end for Kaya T’Vellon, he needed hear no more. The price on her head for her treachery would be insurmountable.
“That was all, my Prince.” Vanessa began packing up the mirrors quickly, perspiring, wanting out of this room as fast as possible.
“Wait here a moment, Miss Blackflame.”
“Yes my Prince.”
“Send word to Harlaheim to put fifty thousand in gold coin for the heads of Kaya T’Vellon and Kendari of Stillwood. Have Ariili also send for that gray minotaur, Saberrak, make sure he is bought by us.” As calm as he could, anger cooling inside, the Prince of Valhirst collected his thoughts despite his hatred for betrayal that would need a release, soon.
“Done my Prince.” Vanessa began writing on the other arcane slab, trying to keep her nervous fingers accurate and quick.
“Your all wondering what I am to do about our little invasion, I am sure.” He saw the nods, the nervousness, the patience despite the latest word that a regiment had entered from the southern sewer passage. “Most of you will stay here, as I have planned this out perfectly, of course.”
Johnas stood, paced, and began to unravel his plans in his mind. “The scout that led them there, was our own doppelganger in disguise, they are marching into every set trap we have. The young brat is with them as I expected, so we will have him, hopefully as a captive by the time he and his remaining men reach this room. I want fifty armed with poisoned arrows with Vermillion of the South to handle the capture.”
“It will be done my Prince. Vermillion, who none of them knew, sat quietly in the shadows. His presence, dark cloak over his features, shortblades and crossbow at rest on the table made him even more imposing. All anyone could tell was that he was a tall man, soft spoken, and made not a sound unless he wished it.
“There were one thousand that entered, likely half that may reach this room.” The Prince reminded.
“It will be done.” Vermillion reminded.
“Vanessa, you and Fadim will head west under the guise of refugees and set out for Arouland. Salah Cam is expecting you. I need you to ensure our trolls and ogre maintain their rampage out west to keep the King busy and away from home. Also, report back on what else he may be up to.” Johnas paced more, knowing his next statement would be the most crucial, testing every member he had.
“I will be heading to Harlaheim, to meet with the Prince of Caberra who recently lost his sister to Saint Erinsburg, courtesy of the soon to be former King of Harlaheim, Richmond the Second. There I will meet with the Cardinal of the Aldane and the Crossguard Legion, well, our Cardinal that is. We will dress in the royal guard uniforms we have procured, take over a Chazzrynn galleon with false writs of orders from the King, and you will maintain the sanctum here until I return, two kingdoms richer. Vermillion will hold the authority in my place while I am away. Balric, you will be coming with me, as the bishop of Chazzrynn.”
“You are truly insane, Johnas. It will never work, you cannot fool the Legion nor the Aldane. I will never allow it.” Balric spat, an effort to do anything physical while held by the charms of the magical necklace.
“I already have them, documents signed, and you will be busy in any regard. I have loose ends of Harlaheim nobility that your saber will need to slice for me. Many loose ends, dear Balric D’Vrelle. What a shame it will be to see you beheaded for all the atrocious murders you are about to commit in Harlaheim, for me.” The Prince of Valhirst laughed without abandon, followed by all in the room, hundreds in unison with him.
All laughed, but Vermillion, Balric, Vanessa and Fadim who did nothing but glance at one another in the deafening symphony of wickedness in the sanctum of the White Spider. Balric tried to move against Johnas, but could not. Vanessa hung her head and glanced at Fadim who was watching Balric. Vermillion of the South watched them all without a single emotion or motion, seeing what others could not.
Exodus III:II
Ajastaphan Arena, Devonmir Underground
His throat barely had room for a trickle of air, his eyes bulged, all of his veins ached from the shoulders up. Cadius, a mighty wizard, with decades in the arts, second in command for the domenarch of the White Spider in Devonmir, could do nothing held in such a manner with overpowering force and terror directly in his face. The eyes and horns of Chalas the brown minotaur had him frozen as much as the stranglehold.
Chalas Kalaza dropped the bag of black paste he had procured from the pouch of his captive. “I do not like tricks, poisons, or the games you little human rats play. I kill, I enjoy it, but I kill fair. Now, when the time comes, after this match, when I become the only undefeated one in this arena and Saberrak the gray lay dead for all to see, you will answer to me. Understood?!” Chalas tightened his grip. He had waited for either Cadius or Rinicus to try foul play of some sort with the match, so he hid in the shadows of the slavemasters’ rooms, the one that owned Mafahann the two-headed.
“Uhhmmm…Hmmm!” Cadius could but eke out a cloistered affirmation as his vision blurred. His three escorts lay before him on the ground, two beheaded by the greatblade and one still twitching with his head twisted half off, courtesy of this beast of a brown minotaur. Cadius thought of joining them, which could well be moments away, regardless of his response.
The bells of the arena gonged and echoed faintly through the underground, both Cadius and Chalas looked to the wall behind them, then to each other. They both knew it was the battle, the calling of the people and the warriors to the pit. Moments left, perhaps less, the grip relaxed just enough to allow the gagging for air to commence.
“The only reason you live, human, is to relay messages to Johnas, nothing more. I care not for your magicks or society or manners. I do not even care for my own kind, less yours.” The minotaur killer, full of scars and hate, sheathed his bloody and filth-covered blade. “You will watch the fight, watch what I do to the gray one and this two-headed champion of the ogre. When I am done, Rinicus and Kaya will die for their actions. If I see you leave the arena, I will make your death slow and painful beyond the Agarian tongue. Then I will eat you bit by bit, and you will watch me.”
Cadius trembled as Chalas walked away, the air slowly passing in and out of his throbbing neck. Never had he felt such terror, never had he believed enough in something so wicked as to let it control him so. Dusting off his robes, wiping his eyes and the spit from the corners of his mouth, he followed Chalas Kalaza to the arena.
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Kaya gave the dwarven priest back his warhammer, glancing over the broken warlock mirrors and the four dead inside the hidden chambers of the White Spider well under Tre’ Hahdim Arena.
“That should infuriate him enough, and keep them guessing as to where I am. This way.” Kaya slinked into the shadows, trailed closely by Shinayne, Zen, Gwenneth, and James.
“Him who?”
The voice of James Andellis made her teeth grind. “The patriarch of the White Spider, Johnas Valhera.”
“The Prince of Valhirst, Johnas Valhera?”
“That would be the one, unless you know of another. I suppose revealing him at this point is of little consequence. You four, five should you survive Devonmir which I still doubt, will not live to tell the tale, and nor will I.”
“Rather pessimistic, let me remind you of your task at hand. The one that we agreed upon where you assist us in getting Saberrak and getting out. Toying with corrupt nobility is not on our agenda, so, shall we?” Shinayne walked toward the locked door, stepping over Kaya’s kills, focused on their minotaur friend who may be fighting for his life as they dawdled.
“Very well, Lady T’Sarrin, but the White Spider on your trail is nothing you should take lightly. They know of your destination, the fabled lost min
es to the northwest, and they know of the items Zen here has that are tied to that place. I was merely giving them a few bad leads to assist you. Otherwise, it is only a matter of time. Johnas Valhera never forgets.” Kaya passed by the elven noble, put her ear to the door, hearing nothing. She pulled out a pair of files and popped the lock open in seconds.
“Wonderful indeed, I shall have to inform my mother of the Prince’s little---“
Click, click
Gwenne gasped as two armored ogre marched through the door and knocked Kaya behind it. Shinayne turned, back against the wall and drew her blades. James went for his sword and Zen raised his shield overhead as the axes of the monstrous guards unleashed right over his head, pummeling him blow by blow to his knees.
“Valgula! Valgula!” The ogre yelled, bellowing in their tongue down the hallways.
“They be yelling for help, better hurry!” Zen dropped his hammer and put two hands on the shield that kept the barrier of life and death at the moment. He knew a smattering of ogre, enough to know what they were yelling for. An edge pierced the steel, inches away from his helmed head.
James’ blade met with an axe of the ogre on the left, then elven swords shot through the spiked armor from back to front and he fell to his knees. James wasted no time in removing the head with one clean slice of his broadsword.
The beast on the right raised up to finish the dwarf. It screamed out foreign tongued curses, dropped the axe, and fell to its knees as white bursts of heat and flame flashed into its eyes and began to burn the flesh. A quick stroke of the shortblade, then a second, and Kaya T’Vellon finished with a third across the throat. Blood pooled and the body thumped overtop of Zen who shrugged it off of his shield.
Thunderous bootsteps preceded by shadows dancing quickly across the torchlit halls behind them caught elven eyes and Kaya’s as well.
“Move now, we have company behind us.”
“Hurry!” Shinayne concurred and motioned her friends into the shadowashed tunnel to Ajastaphan.
Without a word nor discussion, the five culprits darted down stairs, past hidden alcoves, and into more secret mazes of tunnels then they thought possible. All but Kaya T’Vellon was amazed. The former Lady of Southwind was feeling nervous and fearful more than any other uncontrolled emotion, as they had left a trail behind them, and she knew not another way to the surface.
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The giant bells gonged again, this time the top rows of thousands began to fill from all around as the door was opening before him. Saberrak tried to overcome his nerves with rage, his slight fear with anger, and his thoughts of his only friends with visions of killing Chalas Kalaza and whatever else they would pit him against. He squinted his eyes, gritted his teeth, and began to growl and huff at the opening door.
“Fight well, Saberrak the gray of Unlinn.” Koyd motioned for his guards, ogre and human alike, to give the minotaur his weapons. Two greataxes, as he had requested, were dropped at his feet by the ogre, seemingly amused at watching the minotaur kneel to retrieve them. The slavemaster, one of many here, stared at his ogre until the drool was wiped and the smirks vanished.
“Saberrak!”
“Saberrak!”
“Saberrak!”
The grating of stone and steel focused his mind, casting out thoughts of Annar, the quest, his friends, the slaves chanting his name, or anything else. Thousands of voices, the filling of seats, surrounded by onlookers wanting blood, it washed over Saberrak as he nodded back to Koyd and his retinue, then to Norrice in the cages behind. The nod was returned by Norrice, the Harlian soldier made eye contact, winked once, telling the gray that he had left a strip of cloth on his lock, enough to allow an escape when the minotaur called for it, if he made it back alive.
“Well met, Koyd.” Was all he said, having noticed the slightest respect from the man.
“Well met, gray one.” Koyd knew there was no coming back. No one had defeated Mafahann, and he knew the brown minotaur he was paired with wanted him dead as well.
Step by step, he walked into the middle of the arena floor for all to see. Cold black stone below his feet, cold air with the smell of sweat, perfumes, and blood, it was all coming back to him. His father’s words, his younger brother, the arena in Unlinn, they all haunted his mind as doubt crept in. He flexed his bovine muscles, raised his axes in the air, lifted his head and horns to the ceiling and bellowed, a rage filled roar from somewhere deep inside to push anything unsavage aside. The crowd was startled at first, then cheered and stomped in return. They stared at the tattoos of horns on his face, the brands and scars across his arms and back, admired his physique and began chanting his name once it circulated the crowd.
“Saberrak, Saberrak, Sab---!“ Another door began to open.
The shadow of a larger minotaur appeared across the floor, lights from behind him casting for a moment before the giant portals were closed once more. Greatsword in hand, eyes staring at no one but the gray, Chalas Kalaza strode into the center of the arena and stood within blades’ reach of his nemesis. His scars decorated his wicked countenance, parts of his face near the lips and teeth were but angled holes where flesh should have been, but bone show instead. Nearly a foot taller and half a man heavier that the gray, Chalas the brown lowered his horns to the crowd and gazed upon them with a hatred that would allow no chanting of his name. The disobedient crowd cheered regardless at the fearsome warrior that had brutally stained his name in Ajastaphan already.
“Chalas, Chalas, Chalas!”
“They enjoy the fear, the bloodshed, it excites them to know I may shower them with my kills. Look at them Saberrak, like worshippers of death they are, and they want more. I wonder how they will scream when I toss your horns to them?”
“It will be hard to toss anything after I cut your arms off.”
“We could start this now, to hells with the two-headed ogre, I care not.” Chalas tightened his body as Saberrak did, each waiting for the other to move or twitch in the slightest. Neither looked directly at the other, talking and glaring from the side and watching as three black robed lords floated in above and the master of ceremonies appeared on the balcony over the arena.
“Anytime you are ready, I will be happy to send you to any one of the hells, your choice.” Saberrak did not move, one gesture could begin the fight early, then he would be left with this famous Mafahann by himself.
“Don’t worry little gray one. I will kill this beast alone, then I will kill you. Did I ever tell you what I did to your father and brother after you escaped?”Chalas laughed, covered by the crowds’ loud welcome of Napralis Ten-Scars who raised his hand over the masses.
“Lords and ladies, noble guests from far and near, the three great lords Koligail, Trehad, and Maroguille all welcome you to Ajastaphan Arena! As do I, your master of ceremonies here in the noble undercity, Napralis ten-scars!”
The aaah--ooohs and stomping, religious tradition seemingly to many here, echoed to deafening heights. Napralis smiled his greasy smile, scars and girth glistening in the false lights. His decorative armors of gold and black were heavy in his age, sweat dripped off of him up this high as the air seemed to turn traitor with so many packed inside. His hand lowered, the noise vanished, the three shadowed lords hovered magically to their thrones and gracefully sat without sound. They nodded, and Napralis was approved to proceed from the three hoods, as nothing of their faces could be seen.
“Tonight is a special night indeed, for we have three undefeated gladiators to entertain you. Two warriors before you, minotaurs from the southern arenas of savage Unlinn, neither have ever known defeat, I give you Chalas Kalaza and Saberrak the gray!” His voice carried across the stone chasm underground like ecstasy to the crowd.
“Aaahh---ooohhh, Aaahh---ooohhh” Whispered the masses in their concealing masks.
“They will face, from the outskirts of Bloodskull, infamous kingdom of the ogre, cast out by his own many years ago and trained here in Devonmir, the only gladiator th
at has never fought less than three opponents, and never left one alive…I give you your very own, Mafahann the two-headed!”
“Aaahh---ooohhh, Aaahh---ooohhh” The stomping of feet in unison blanketed the grinding of double stone and steel doors opening before Saberrak. Yet his eyes did not fool him, for in strode a monstrosity, all four eyes glaring at the center of the arena.
Armored in giant scales of layered steel, spikes on every joint and cross-section, its footsteps thundered the ground. Mafahann stood nearly twice as tall as the gray minotaur, thirteen twisted feet or more, with a spike and blade covered shield on one arm, and a curved sword without a crosspiece forged for his size in the other. Skulls hung strung together from the pommel and his leather belts, strands of hair shagged over one head while the other was shaved. The hair on the left revealed just eyes above an oversized jaw and tusks protruding from a scarred and scraggly face. The right head was misshapen, curved or dented making one eye larger than the other and the long curved nose nearly touched its chin. Connected necks into the armored shoulders turned and twitched with aggression, looking this way and that toward the crowd and its opponents. Purple eyes, mottled with red and brown, yellow skin and scars, the beast smiled, then roared, then seemed to chuckle, then roared again. The two-headed terror of an ogre was now less than ten feet from the dwarfed minotaurs it towered over.
Napralis looked to the crowd, hands up in the air. They chanted in whisper, “To the death!”
Chalas looked to the balcony room reserved for the White Spider, seeing Cadius where he should be. He turned, satisfied, and glared up at the faces of Mafahann. “Last words, freak?”
The Exodus Sagas: Book III - Of Ghosts And Mountains Page 9