Then they stood.
Every dead prisoner, every deceased soldier stood, weapons in hand, regardless of injury. Some with no heads, some missing limbs, some had entrails hanging and dragging at their feet, and some were still pouring blood out their necks. Red eyes and blank stares, all turned toward the Lords of Devonmir, and then to the remaining living before them.
“Ulceri tiviri!”
“Thoom, adaste!”
Gwenneth had never seen dark magicks such as this, nor knew how to dismiss them. “Run, to the stairs!”
“Saberrak, come face me you coward!” The voice of Chalas was near the top of the stairs leading into the old underground warehouse.
Saberrak lunged at the black robed figure hovering, staring into the red eyes under the hood. His axe bore down at his chest, and hit nothing. The figure was gone.
“Ith guul, ith ahmil!” From across the torchlit room, black shadow twisted into jolts of energy into Saberrak, dropping him to a knee surrounded by the angry dead soldiers. The Lord of Devonmir appeared, fanged face smiling at the minotaur from fifty feet behind.
“Hialus, himidus, fanzhool!” Gwenneth pointed her staff, now runes glowing an array of oranges and reds, and unleashed a yellow ray of force, stopping the dark magicks that were assaulting her horned ally.
Another blast hit Shinayne, then one into James Andellis, the dark energies sapping their strength and will to run. The remaining two fugitives, Kaya, and the five friends were surrounded by the dead at the command of dark wizards. As anyone came close, they disappeared and appeared moments later, safely out of weapon reach.
“Das Vun deas de Vundren kamkil adlas de!” Azenairk yelled as loud as he had ever yelled before, holding his hammerpiece overhead and chanting for the light of heaven to shine from Vundren to him.
Golden light filled the room for but a flash, a flash that burned the eyes of the dead to cinders. The Lords, having their commands through their dead minions, both wailed in agony, blinded and floating up toward the ceiling in retreat. Zen grabbed a stumbling Shinayne, while Saberrak threw James over his shoulder. Gwenneth hurled blasts of flame, the rays of cold, then let the staff unleash waves of arcane wind and force into the helpless wizards until they fell from the air and hit the stone floor.
She kept backing up, her heel hit the first step. She looked one last time as a savage and blood covered brown minotaur breached the other side of the room, greatsword dragging behind him. Another wizard in black, a swarm of guards and ogre this time, and then the two Lords she had pummeled got to their feet. Gwenneth looked to Kaya and Norrice and the two remaining men with them, surrounded by flailing arms of the wailing dead. They were but feet from the other stairs, cutting and hacking to get past the morass of blind unliving around them.
She pointed her staff to the ceiling above the stairs, the gem she commanded to go dark with but a thought. “Riliniam durst, hravilian!” She whispered, sending incredible invisible force into the stones above. They cracked, creaked, became brittle and began to fall. Gwenneth ran, not waiting to see the conclusion, yet hearing the passage cave in behind her. Her staff glowed again, bright and green, and she saw the others ahead.
“Kaya, where is she? Did she make it out?” Saberrak was running with James over one shoulder, his axes still in hand. James looked groggy, like he had just awoken, the dark magicks had been strong.
“I am not sure Saberrak, they were close.”
“Close to death, close to the stairs, what ye’ mean by close young Lazlette?” Zen was huffing, carrying Shinayne over his shoulders like a hunter would carry a kill.
“I mean they were but a few feet away, but the others arrived and, I just could not say. I sealed our passage behind us.” Gwenenth looked ahead, more arcane light, pink and orange from a sconce she could not see in the ceiling. No, it was something else.
“Daylight! It’s morning, how do we get up there?” Zen set Shinayne down gently, right below the sewer grate some twenty feet up in the ceiling.
“That is filthy city street up there, I can smell it.” Saberrak set James down.
“Wake them, hurry, before they are on to us and find a way past the rubble.” Gwenneth concentrated, the staff in both hands, and began to float into the stagnant air below the streets of Devonmir.
“What is going on, are we alive? What happened?” Shinanye began to hover in the air, followed by James who was awake as well.
Gwenneth focused harder, sweat pouring from her hairline now, yet up came Saberrak and Zen. Now levitating herself and her four friends, she motioned with her eyes for them to open the grate. “Hurry, this is…harder than it…looks.”
The gray gladiator lifted the grate up from his hovering position, twenty or more feet off the ground. One by one they pulled themselves up into the city. The back alley of the buildings gave them cover, the sun rising in the west, they headed north. Street by street, corner to corner, they all darted through Devonmir in early morning.
The northern gate was a half mile ahead, Shinayne peaked over a wall to see it. “Fifty men, no ogre or black robed wizards though. Plenty of archers. This will not be easy.”
“Curtains.” Gwenneth smiled. “Does this wall meet with the gate, and does it continue past at all?”
“Yes, why?”
“Is the gate opening at all?”
“Yes, farmers, tradesmen, marketfolk are all coming in, but past inspection from the guards. Why? What are you thinking Gwenne?” Shinayne had far too much curiosity for this.
“I used to use this spell when I spied on my mother, it was a game I played really. It may work.”
“May, does not sound too inspiring against fifty armed guards in broad daylight, in the open, being hunted from behind.” Saberrak huffed his lack of confidence.
“Well we just may have gone and rescued you from certain death, and that got us to here. So, have a little faith.” Gwenne shot back, planning her little ruse to blend them into the walls of Devonmir and make it out unseen.
“At this point, I will try anything to get free of this city and this kingdom. Ye’ have my vote Gwenneth.” Zen nodded.
“Same here.” James agreed.
“You do not have to ask me, I trust you. Saberrak?” Shinayne jabbed over to him, putting him on the spot.
“I owe you, don’t I?”
“You owe all of us, horned one, but this for my part, sure.” Gwenneth smiled, then thought of the open wilderness road again, the smile disappeared.
“Allright, but I prefer a direct fight than all this magical sneaking stuff. This time, then we are even.” Saberrak huffed his chest in defiance.
He looked to the sky, the hills and high bluffs in the distance, then to the river to the west. The stench of the dried sewers upon him, the cloistered city air dwindling, he squinted at the horizon. It smelled fresh out there even though he was not there yet. It is good to be free, he thought to himself as he smiled to his rescuers.
Cristoff III:I
Old Wynnegarde Road, Eastern Harlaheim Border
The forces of the Aldane, the grand army of God Alden now kept in Shanador, marched in the distance far to the east. Five thousand in the front, another thousand were protecting the center which must be the Cardinal himself, and three thousand in the rear. Nine thousand trained men, almost half on armored horse. Blues and whites brushed with steel, banners of the feathered cross in red upon dark blue, their formations were still in time all the long march from Acelinne, the capital of Shanador, weeks away. The Crossguard Legion, nearly half by Cristoff’s estimate, had passed into the realm of Harlaheim. He looked to the distant smoke, he knew it was Saint Erinsburg, at least Castle Bradswellen, smoldering from the armies of King Richmond the Second.
“Ironic, as we are but to take our first steps into Shanador, the Cardinal arrives in force in Harlaheim.” Cristoff Bradswellen the Third had been haunted by the plumes of far off smoke for days, despite evacuating his people and leading them away from war. His home was gone, al
l he had, all his people had, was here in this caravan of thousands.
“We would all be dead, or imprisoned awaiting execution, would that you ordered us to stay, my lord.” Rosanna looked with her dark brown Caberran eyes, right into his. She was worried he might try and return, or make a run for Caberra to reach his estranged wife and children.
“Knights, are we clear?” Cristoff motioned toward Leonard and Karai, his two loyal swords of Saint Tarumin. Their shaved heads and armbands worn with pride still, regardless of politics of church or kingdom. He had been concerned for their loyalty at first, being men of the church and his cousin Savanno. He had thought they would leave and seek vengeance upon King Richmond, or seek out the Cardinal. Yet they stayed, and pledged to Cristoff, who now held nothing.
“Clear my lord, they have no vantage from which to see us. Capitan Broushelle and Father Garret sent word from the rear that no scouts are present. We may proceed at your command.” Leonard hailed a retort as Karai trotted to the front past Cristoff and Rosanna.
“They do not need scouts for an army of that size, what could dare hinder them? Very well, into Shanador. Report if you would, Sir Karai.” Cristoff galloped his first steps into Shanador, completing his treason, his exile, and condemning the same upon his people.
“My lord, each capitan holds one hundred soldiers, making four hundred. Garret, myself, and Leonard each have fifty, and we have one hundred archers that are a mismatch of youth and elderly. We will need to train them along the way if time allows. Six hundred fifty that can fight, to protect just over seven thousand that cannot or never have.”
“Food and supplies?”
“Enough to reach near Acelinne, if you were to head there. Two weeks at best.”
“We will not be heading to Acelinne, we will travel along the northern edge of the Misathi, west, due west. You know who we follow and why.”
“We will be buying at every small town and village between Gillian and Evermont then, I hope they are gracious and have a good harvest ahead. Somewhere nestled in this trek of southern Shanador then, is the ogre city of Bloodskull they say, very dangerous with our people, my lord. I would advise against staying this close to the mountains as we are now.” Sir Karai had hoped that Cristoff would pass north, to the capital, perhaps gaining an audience with the low kings or high king of Shanador. He knew however, that his lord had his heart fixed upon these heroes heading west to a mythical land of fabled fantasies from ages ago. It did not sit well to place people in danger for a dream, yet he would not abandon them for any reason, so onward he went.
“Agreed, we keep the mountains in view after we pass the Gualiduran forest reaches. Other concerns?” The former Lord of Saint Erinsburg turned and saw young Father Garret approaching on horse and smiled. His gray hair was brushing into his face and beard, obscuring the sunlit afternoon, when his small crown would allow the wind to take it.
“Father D’Ourmas, how fare my people?”
“Sire, they are ready to move along. Sadness touches their hearts with the sight of smoke behind them. Many are concerned about homes and food. Rest assured, Alden blesses them through me and the other priests that follow you.” Always comforting, certain of God’s will, the student of the Aldane laid worry to rest with his wise counsel.
Cristoff admired this young man, full of life, renowned in many kingdoms as a religious scholar and historian, and here he was with the bedraggled caravan of Saint Erinsburg heading to some mythical forsaken city. His high cheekbones and hairline gave the old lord some hint of elven blood, could be why he spent so much time in Shalokahn with the eastern monasteries in study. “Well I hope he blesses us often, as we have just passed into Shanador, my friend.”
“So we have, and the Legion is unaware of our passing I would assume. We go with God, they enter a web of bloodlust and treachery. I pray they find wisdom and restore Harlaheim to a God centered kingdom. Until then, my prayers go to the people with lords less compassionate than you, Cristoff.” Garret bowed from his steed.
“So flattering you are, father Garret, and I would say nothing against your words. Cristoff is fearless, caring, and---“ the spasm hurt more than usual, another kick, the jostling from the horse was not settling well with her unborn child.
“Are you well, Rosana?” Garret steadied her white stallion and looked her over as she bit her lip in silent pain.
“She is well father, just a bit---“
“A bit with child, and should not be riding a horse in any manner. Why did you not tell me?” Garret dismounted, motioning for Cristoff to assist him in getting Rosana out of the saddle and down to steady ground.
“I don’t know, it was, well an oversight I imagine. With all that has happened with war and exile and all of, well this, I seemed to have forgotten.” Cristoff did his best to not be embarrassed about keeping silent the queen’s pregnancy, as it was her wish.
“My queen, you need to ride in a carriage, in comfort, you are nearly six months and the baby is turning and growing quickly now.” Garret felt her belly as she lay on the soft grass, he said a prayer that the child was not injured from the travels.
“Karai, Leonard, Broushelle, get the queen a tent and a carriage for her journey, she is not well.” Cristoff knew the people in the front of the lines would be seeing this, too many questions would raise.
“Not well? She is with child my lord, how—“
“Not now father, not now, please.” Rosana, sweat beading her dark skinned face and darker curls, begged in pain to have confidence with the ordained priest before her.
“This is not the child of King Richmond, is it?” Garret felt again, yes, the baby was moving was all. He touched his feathered cross in gratitude.
“Of course not. Do not be absurd.”
Both men restrained the questioning looks to that curt comment, and to Rosana, as best they could. Simultaneously both Cristoff and Garret looked away nonchalant, then back to each other, and then to see where the knights were with a tent and the carriage ordered. They did not succeed in disguising their feelings well at all.
“That did not come out as planned, forgive me. What I meant is, of course it should have been his, were I married to a noble man instead of a vicious child of a king. It is the child of my true husband, the late Savanno Lisario.” Red faced from sounding a bit like a harlot of a queen, Rosana stood with assistance as to lessen the attention and close humiliation she already was attracting.
“I see, it is not my concern truly.”
“That it is not, nor mine, well spoken father---“ Cristoff was cut off.
“So that I am a widow, presumed dead, yet still a queen with a bastard in my belly, so what of it then?” Her anger, from the changes, the pain, and the recent traumas in Harlaheim spoke before her mind did.
“My queen, no one thinks any of that of you. They know of Richmond the Second, I know of him and what he did. I will honor you and my brave cousin’s child, with my last dying breath. May Alden strike me down if I ever fail in that.” Cristoff knelt and kissed Rosana’s hand, still the queen, yet much like him, in exile. He knew how that felt, all too well.
“Well spoken, my lord.” Garret, feeling tension and emotion with all of these nuances, found very little to say between these two nobles.
“I know, I know. I am sorry, to both of you, forgive me.” The once queen walked away, toward the carriage arriving, and leaving Cristoff on a knee. She knew the slight would not go unnoticed by some, yet she could not hear those words nor feel that sentimental kiss again, not so soon after Savanno’s death. It was too much.
“Is the queen well? Why does she need a carriage, sire?” Leonard galloped up, his steed whinnying and pulling up on hind legs.
“Upset stomach.”
“Dizzy spell was all.”
Cristoff and Garret spoke together, then sighed, again having blundered in different responses. Sir Leonard looked to them both. “Very well then, I will see her to the carriage and resume my routes. Father, my Lord.”
He nodded twice and made slowly toward the queen.
“We must keep this quiet, for her sake.” Cristoff whispered.
“Truly, yes, indeed.” Garret had one weakness that they both noticed, and it was subtlety in emotional situations, especially with women.
“Mount up father, we must carry on northwest for two days, then head west around the bluffs, and then on to Gillian. Pull yourself together now and eat something, you look famished. This journey is far from over, you may be delivering the queen’s child by roads’ end. You will need your strength. Hhiiyyaah!” Cristoff galloped ahead on his brown steed, armor shining in the midday sun in Shanador. He thought of what had possibly happened in Saint Erinsburg, if anyone remained and if they survived. He dismissed that thought, like so many others, trying to think only of the immediate future.
Garret rubbed the short groomed dark hair on his head, straightened his tabard and adjusted his swordbelt. Mounting his horse, he prayed, face up to the sky. Father, my lord and God Alden, bless this company if it be your will. None of this would I be able to be a part of, to spread your love here, would that I stayed in Harlaheim. Thank you for your words, your courage, and your direction. Would there be anything else I need know, make me thine channel for your will to be done on the earth as it is in the clouds, Amen.
Garret smiled as his horse caught the lead with Cristoff. His grin of enlightenment could not be disguised, he looked as if he simply had the answers and knew the way. He nodded to his lord and friend.
“What is it? Are you amused at our little situation, my good priest?” Cristoff laughed, seeing joy in the father as they rode, it gave him peace for some unknown reason. He had always loved God and the church, yet this man seemed more than all of that, yet humble in that fact.
“Well out with it then, it is like you hold some secret from me.”
“I do indeed.”
“Come now, enlighten me father.”
“Are you certain?”
“Well yes, Garret, what is it then.”
The Exodus Sagas: Book III - Of Ghosts And Mountains Page 14