The Exodus Sagas: Book III - Of Ghosts And Mountains

by Jason R Jones

  The highborne elf smiled, concentrating on banishing dark dreams and thoughts from the minds of her friends. She imagined light shining upon their troubles, Siril guiding them to freedom from their worry, and tried to send them positive emotion to replace the shadows over them. Shinayne knew it was a far advanced meditation and prayer that her race could achieve after many centuries, yet she felt as to try, so she did.

  Carice slid from its scabbard with her right, Elicras, the shortsword to match, in her left. Her breathing slowed as to barely be seen as one constant rhythm, as she was taught in the Junael forests, many years ago. Her soft boots were as one with her feet, legs, and whole body as she stepped forward along the ridge of the Misathi with eyes shut. Not a sound, not a flinch, just a silent dance as blades slashed in harmony with her being. Her form was perfect, left to right, twisting, turning, the air moving with her and around her as she placed one foot in front of the other and cut at imaginary foes. Then she stopped, arms on guard, her stance rested, face to the rising sun. She hummed ever so faint, hearing the song of her blades in return, deep in Simnorri trance.

  Her feelings and senses grew, she heard and felt it all. The men, wicked and fearful behind them, they had stopped at the totems at the entrance to the pass. The skulls were watching them, they had spirits of malcontent encircling them, hundreds she saw. Some of the dark forms were leaving, passing high in the sky to somewhere south in the mountains, as if sending messages back and forth. A few passed overhead, inspecting from their dead realm, she and her companions, and then carrying on. Shinayne saw their black forms speak and whisper to one another, yet in a tongue she could not place. They seemed and sounded angry, disturbed, hateful even. Yet, they touched not nor made contact with anything or anyone, simply traveled back and forth, circling their pursuers more than her friends. Watching, always returning to the skulled poles.

  Stretching out, curious as to the destination of these dark spectres, the elven swordswoman looked further, deeper, and farther all around her. Hidden tunnels in the mountains, figures she could feel but not see into the stone mountainside. Men dismounting horses, many armed men to the south beginning a climb into the Misathi. They were fearful of the sky, something there, high above. A dragon.

  As much as she wished to reach her love to Lavress Tilaniun, wherever he may be, Shinayne T’Sarrin stopped her meditation as soon as she realized that the men were being driven to find them, and the force behind those orders was a dragon who was but a day south in the same mountains. She had felt revenge, fire, and a dominating force of evil from the winged beast, and those that rode her. She sheathed her sacred elven blades, and ran down the ridge into the valley pass.

  “Up, awake, on your feet.” She tapped and shoved each of her comapnions, even the lewirja guide who hissed at her, still half asleep.

  “What is it Shinayne, I was having a good dream about…you…actually…odd.” Gwenneth stood, dusting off her robes and looking around for the staff of Imoch, her staff, never too far away.

  “Up everyone, up, on your feet.”

  “Damn it elf, you never let us relax in the mornings, always something. I was having a dream too, hunting, you were there, it was a deer and---“Saberrak stopped, wondering why they both had dreamt of the elf, he and Gwenne.

  “It worked then, wonderful. I even impress myself at times. Yet, we have foul spirits, soldiers from the south, the east, and even a dragon stalking us today. Seems we shall be busy indeed, no time, let’s go.” Shinayne packed her things quickly, then rushed over to Dalliunn Cloudwatcher.

  “We need to go…ummm…fast…through the pass, valley, you know what I mean. And we will need to…ahhhh….hide.” Her hand gestures went from fast fingers, to a pointed hand into the pass, then to crawling those fingers into a hole made by her other hand.

  “Rilllian ribbbias, ahk ahk, ulllierrri! Ahk, ahk!” The lewirja stood on all four paws, nodding and talking very fast. It had no idea what this elf said, nor what the fingers meant, but she seemed worried. He sniffed the air, smelled humans from the place of the setting sun, he knew she wanted to leave. He told her that he would let the clouds guide him, but he did not think she understood him either.

  “Did he understand you Shinayne?” Saberrak hoisted his greataxe, then the other enchanted one, choosing to keep them out, just in case.

  “I do not know, I think so.”

  “So we are going to follow him again, into this place further, and we do not know if he understood us?” James was finishing putting his tabard and blue sash over his chainmail and strapping on his broadsword all at the same time.

  “Looks that way, don’t it? Ha, this is getting’ more fun by the day I tell ya’.” Zen put his blessed dragonhelm, pounded his breastplate and tugged, all was as it should be. He hefted his warhammer over his shoulder and checked his pouch for the box with the deed, dust, and key. It was there still.

  “Fun? Trapsing through a bone littered valley pass, being hunted and stalked, and the elf having her delusions, I mean visions, again? No, this is not what I would regard as, fun.” Gwenneth concentrated after stating her opinions, and lifted a foot off the ground, startling the lewirja. She tried not to laugh as he looked to her feet, the ground, then to her feet and quickly touched the air between, amazed at the flying woman.

  “Those delusions you speak of, I recall them warning us of a hundred or more salisan lizardmen hunting us on Soujan Mountain.” Shinayne ran ahead, Saberrak with her, heading west as Dalliunn passed them. His four legs were far faster than any of them, yet he paused from time to time to let them catch up.

  “Indeed, indeed. I wish they were wrong more often, in truth.”

  “Be glad they are not, this dragon is wicked and four times the size of the two we killed, larger than Ansharr.” Shinayne heard the sound of running through mountain valley, bones crunching beneath, and the huffing breaths of her comapnions in the early morning hours. She heard the silence as well, and hoped that what she had seen did not find them.

  Half the day passed, Saberrak never leaving her side. There was a rhythm to his breathing and hers, to their steps, even to the way they scouted and searched as they traveled. Besides her training in Kilikala, and a bit of travel with Lavress, Shinayne had never felt as akin to anyone out in the open wilderness as the gray minotaur. Something about his demeanor, his senses, perhaps his constant prowress in battle that mirrored her own thoughts, she was not sure. Yet, having him run alongside her, ahead of the rest, calmed her and set her mind at ease and peace with the world and the dangers it held. The bond was undeniable, strange as it was, and would seem so to anyone who was to know. Yet, a lady must have her secrets, so no one would.

  Dalliunn Cloudwatcher had been missing for nearly an hour, then appeared, bludgeoned goat over his back as he padded toward the rest. He threw it down, then some dark brown roots, then some prickly worms from his hand. “Shim, shim, julli jumma.”

  “I believe we are going to eat, let us do so in the shade, however.” Shinayne pointed to a curling outcropping under a cliff, where the sun could not invade. The hairy lion-man trotted over, understanding the coming heat all too well.

  “First, I will not eat that. Second, are you sure he does not understand you, seems he does, or is it just me?” Gwenne Lazlette flicked her long black locks over her dark blue traveling robes, then lifted her hair off her smoldering neck as she settled to the ground.

  “Do not be rude, Gwenneth, it may be an insult to his culture or something. I think you could use some mountaingoat with spiny worm and root sauce, might do you well.” James laughed, pulling his waterskin from his side and walking toward the shade.

  “I simply have a way with beasts is all, right Saberrak?” Shinayne snickered.

  “Careful elf, careful.” Saberrak helped the lewirja place the dead wood and bones into a small bundle, then watched as the savage lion-man began rubbing a stick to a piece of stone with sparkling bits in it. Within seconds, a spark, then a smolder, and a flame was fli
ckering and growing.

  “I am impressed Dalliunn Cloudwatcher. I learned that from me father when I was little, took me two hours and much huffin’ and puffin’. That was quick.” Zen patted the beast on the shoulder and received a lick on the face for it.

  “Great, it can make fire. It also pisses on every tenth stone it passes, and covered a small hole with rocks after it shat this morning. I am still not eating that goat, no matter how many worms or plants he pastes on it. Tell it to wash its hands first, for your own sakes.” Gwenneth sat down, chewing on some week old dried salted pork from Devonmir. Her face soured, and she threw it into the sunlit valley. A crow was on it by third bounce, and it took off into the air.

  “Relax Gwenneth Lazlette, we will make it to Evermont in Shanador soon enough. Just through these mountains and head north is what Ansharr told us. Then, you will be able to rest in a large educated city for a bit.” Shinayne looked to the gutted goat, yes, all the organs were being cooked and Dalliunn was scraping the hair off as it burned. To spite Gwenne, she did not flinch, though the smell was awful indeed.

  “How far was this again?” Gwenne covered her mouth and nose from the rank smoke of charred goat hair, and tried not to look.

  “A month.”

  “Oh by all the Gods and Godesses, I will never survive this.”

  “Yes you will now, have some goat, for strength.” James took the piece that the lewirja offered and bit into it. He chewed, the flavor was salty, the meat rare, yet the paste on the burned skin added a tingly spice that held a sweetness to it that made his tongue forget. He did not think of worms, parts, roots, or undercooked meat. He thought of sugared apples and mutton together in a bite. He took another, then looked up at the faces of his friends all staring at him.

  “It’s good, have some.”

  “Jumma jillias ahk!” Dalliunn handed pieces all around after seeing the male human smile and eat.

  “I cannot believe I am about to eat this.” Gwenneth took a bite, then calmed as it was not as bad as she had expected.

  Shinayne and the others all ate, drank their water, and rested in the shade for an hour. She never stopped watching the clouds, like her lion-man friend, as they both seemed to know something was up there, looking for them.

  “Krillli immmieye rill rill.” Dalliunn pointed up to the sky and to the south, then to the east.

  “I know my friend, I know. I was thinking the very same thing. Time to move.”

  Johnas III:II

  Carisian Sea, Harlaheim Waters

  “It will never succeed, Harlaheim nobility is not as naïve as you assume, Prince of Valhirst. Many of Richmond’s knights are but swords with names, but some are not. Those some are tied to the church, albeit few, but the Order of Saint Tarumin is strong there, they will never allow you to take the throne in any fashion. Not for long.” Balric D’vrelle could not believe what he was hearing from the patriarch of the White Spider. He wondered how Johnas survived so long with such insanity.

  “You are very confident, I like that. It is like a virgin who revels in her chastity without realizing she has been sold to a harim for twenty gold coins. I am months and years ahead of what you have eluded to, far more aware than you can imagine. When will you learn, my spy for the Broken Wing, assassin for the secret Aldane Order of the Crossguard Legion which supposedly does not exist, that I am quite unstoppable.” Johnas drank the fine wine, poured another, then lit a pipe in the confines of the captains cabin. He looked out the window, watching the rough summer waters at night toss the galleon this way and that. He kept comfortable with pillows stacked upon an old trunk he seemed fond of.

  “I have no idea what you are speaking of, it is—“

  “Stop the games and the lies Balric, it is truly unfair I know. The kings send their best and deadliest, then the church picks out from the Legion and trains you in secret. The letter arrives that you have died in training or battle, whilst you train underground somewhere between Acelinne and Saint Erinsburg. Those that have not the stomach for it, they are sent to Saint Tarumin. Those that can kill without query, they continue in the Broken Wing. Alden’s little killers, all hidden in guises that protect bishops and cardinals and kings that pay the church more handsome than others. I have my contacts, my spies, and they are world spanning, far beyond the confines of any religion. Wine?” Johnas Valhera offered some of the ship’s wine, King Mikhail’s in truth, but he had stolen the ship fairly.

  “Regardless of your illusions and false theories, what would be the gain for anyone in their right mind to want you in Harlaheim?” Balric took the goblet, it mattered little three days from his kingdom of birth whether he drank or not.

  “Trade.”

  “That is all?”

  “Trade, money, and access to more trade and money. Tis’ the way of the world my friend, in case no one had informed you of the change in the times.” He kicked the chest, it rattled, and Johnas smiled.

  “I believe merchants have been trading in Harlaheim for well over two thousand years, a bit before your time I might add, so you are not at all convincing.” Balric watched as two men entered the cabin, Johnas’ men, nodded, and left.

  “Yes my Harlian friend, and that monarchy has bled them dry, gave nothing to the church, and hoarded for centuries. They are at war with Caberra every other generation, have no friends in Shalokahn, and are resentful with Shanador. No one cares of Willborne truly, but that is neither here nor there. And lastly, Altestan. No one would dare trade with Altestan, but let me rephrase so you understand. No one is willing to be the first to trade with the mighty empire of the north, but every one of them would be the second in line should someone open those routes. Get my meaning?” The Prince grabbed a corkscrew and began opening another rare vintage from the Morninghawk, the personal galleon of the heir prince to the throne, Bryant Salganat.

  “And you will attain all of this, this trade and opening of roads to the most hated nation and race in the known world? You won’t last a month Valhera.” Balric eyed the platinum ring on the finger of the man he despised, the ring that was tied to the necklace that kept him under command. He wished he could have it off for just three seconds, just three.

  “I know. Between Bishop Javiel, the Cardinal of the Aldane, Lord Knight Errant Savanno and his knights, young Richmond the Second, Cristoff the Third, and the queen who is originally a Caberran princess, it will be difficult to eliminate the opposition.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So I have. The Cardinal is already dead and replaced while on the road with the Crossguard Legion. Courtesy of Ariili, one of my eldest doppelgangers. The queen is gone, Savanno and his knights have been killed for treason and conspiracy, Javiel was beheaded for revolt, Cristoff is in exile, and Richmond thinks that this royal ship holds emmisaries from Chazzrynn who are arriving to honor the Legion and the church in his city. He will be most disappointed when you put your saber through his chest and I take his kingdom, well, when the Cardinal signs it over to me that is.” Johnas exhaled, the smoke filling the small ornate cabin.

  “You are pure evil, yet you will not succeed, the other kingdoms will not allow it.” Balric summoned his anger, for hearing word of all those he had served being killed was like a dagger in his chest, he did not want to believe it. Not matter how hard he tried, the anger would not allow him to overcome the enchanted necklace about his throat.

  “Caberra wants revenge for Richmond losing his daughter. Willborne, well Katrina is a mercenary, enough said. Shanador is mighty, but they listen to the church as much as their high king and the ten low kings that rule, so that is all tied up. Altestan already smuggles into Kivanis. That leaves old Armondeen, Shalokahn, and some elven and dwarven realms that someday the empires will wipe out regardless, like they always do. I do believe it is truly genius. They want slaves, harems, opium, and gold. I have plenty of all, and I will secure the trade routes with soldiers and blades. They can have the north, but I will rule the south, dear Balric.”

  “You for
get Chazzrynn, the mighty Kalzarius, the far west, and that the nobles of Altestan do not favor you, and never will.” Balric looked to the door, a knock, the captain of the ship dressed in his fine Chazzrynn blues and armor entered with a lowered head and troubled brow.

  “Chazzrynn will not have a king nor heir within a month’s time, Kalzarius has not been seen, and who truly cares about the rest. Gold is God now, there is no honor left in the world.” Johnas drank more wine, smoked the fine pipeweed, and exhaled into the captain’s face. “Yes, captain?”

  “I just wanted to know that my wife and daughter were well, alive and…just please…are they allright my Prince?” The captain tried not to sob, but the tears came anyway.

  “I am not sure captain. Are we in Harlaheim without any errors or hindrance?”

  “Almost, three days longer at the most, please Prince Johnas, for Alden’s sake, are they allright, I need to know.” The Chazzrynn officer hit his knees.

  “Balric, open the trunk you are sitting on.” Johnas stood and opened his first, seeing a bound and gagged woman with red hair and tears streaming down her dirty cheeks. The man’s wife seemed well enough to him.

  The Harlian swordsman could not breathe as he opened the trunk. He had no idea what was in it the whole of the trip. He looked down to a girl, maybe ten, with blonde hair in curls and blue eyes filled with tears, shaking in her nightclothes. She looked up to Balric. He went to grab her.