The Exodus Sagas: Book III - Of Ghosts And Mountains

by Jason R Jones

  The evening dinners had been much more entertaining while the low king met with the other nine in Acelinne. The High King of Shanador, Borgaine the First and his wife, Queen Findyra the Fair, had called a meeting of the kings as rumors had spread of Altestani vessels in Agarian waters. Some said in Chazzrynn, some said Harlaheim, even some reported the northern empires had trade with Caberra and Kivanis. The Aldane Lord Bishops, the High King and Queen, and all ten low kings had much to discuss. Shanador, the largest kingdom on the continent, would always lead and defend the Agarian people against the oppressive north.

  The wooden two handed swords met with a crack, then they heard it. A sound they heard, from the south, bestial and wretched, like a massive bird or dying harpy of great proportion. Both knights stopped, lowered their wooden blades, looked down to their shans, woven cloth girdles that reached below the knee and were open underneath. Family designs and ornate heraldry was woven in, each one for the individual, but only for casual meetings and wear in the hot months, not for battle.

  The knights of Evermont looked up again, smoke of black and dust of red in the distance, at the crossroads, it looked like a battle was warring at the end of the Misathi Pass. Something winged circled, it looked to be a dragon, then it breathed fire into the valley and dove down behind the peaks. Jardayne and Codaius looked to one another, then to the watchman in disbelief.

  “Sir Jardayne, I believe I just saw a dragon, a fire breathing flying dragon in our mountains.” Codaius stared.

  “Sir Codaius, I agree, definitely a dragon. I have never seen one before, you?” Jardayne looked to the man they called the Bear of Evermont.

  “No Sir, not ever. And look, a caravan is heading west on the crossroad, the Tradeway. There must be fifteen of them with that wagon, rolling right into the whole mess I would say.” Codaius looked to a small but long wagon, covered and painted green with people walking alongside the horses that pulled it. “They are in grave danger, let us ride then.”

  “Sergeant, why have you not told us of this? I say, find some better eyes for the watch, would you?” Jardayne scowled at the guard.

  The sergeant of the watch shook his head then ran inside the south gates to rouse the men.

  “And sergeant, bring our squires, real swords, horses, and about a hundred men. Make it quick, to the ready now, time is passing. You still as drunk as me, Sir Jardayne?” Codaius smiled tossing his wooden sword to the ground.

  “Sure as the summer is hot.” Jardayne picked up a bucket of water, dumped it over his head, and shook his long blonde hair until he felt awake. Then he picked up Codaius’ wooden blade and crossed them over the neck of the Giant of Evermont.

  “I win.”

  “No, you have wooden blades over my neck, you have not scored a hit.” Codaius grabbed both practice swords, one in each hand, squeezed, and snapped them in his grip. He let the pieces fall in the grass as the squires began strapping steel to their knights.

  “That is so unknightly of you.”

  “I cannot help that I am big, strong, and made of iron.” Codaius laughed as the horses, armor, and greatswords were brought out. More horses and men followed the sergeant as the knights readied themselves.

  “Well, if you are made of iron, then you get the honor of leading this rescue mission against the dragon. Still claim your metallic composition, Sir Codaius?” Jardayne saddled up with his greatblade in hand, breastplate and greaves strapped tight from his squire, and put his heels to his stallion.

  “I do, I will see it done far better than you Sir Jardayne!” Codaius rode ahead of Sir Jardayne, one hundred armored men ahorse behind them, and sounded his horn of brass and ivory to announce their presence, two handed sword held high.

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  James raised his broadsword to his cheek as the armored Queen of Willborne tapped her longsword to her round shield and dropped her visor. They circled three steps after the salute, then James Andellis moved in to meet her. Blades clashed, shields parried deadly strokes, and steel met steel on the slopes of the Misathi.

  He could see the red glow of her eyes from the slits in her helmet, even in the morning sun. James backed up, her reach was greater by inches, her steps lighter even in plate armor, she was not tired from days of running. Katrina swung low, then high, trying to get inside the blade of the Chazzrynn knight. Her blows were strong, far stronger than a woman her size should be, James felt it in his arm from each shield block. He countered, vicious sword slashes toward her arm wielding the blade, then as she parried, he kicked her shield with his boot, sending her toppling down the slope.

  Katrina heard her crown roll off and her helmet was half over her nose. She stood quick, humiliated more than hurt, and threw her helmet to the rocks then picked up her blade. Her blonde hair with gray came loose and her red eyes beamed at this bearded knight of the south who was but steps away.

  “You do not want me angry, knight.”

  “I do not want to harm you, now lay down your sword and let’s kill that dragon instead of each other.” James pleaded, he did not want a queen’s blood on his blade.

  “That is my mistress, my pet, and she will have your corpse for what you did to her children!” The more angry Katrina became, the more the blood directed her mind.

  “Then by all means, continue, your highness.”

  The queen of Willborne let loose a vicious set of chops and sideslashes that backed James up the slope, but he would not give the higher ground. He parried, shield then sword, then jumped and backpeddled. Sparks flew from her heavy swings, but he would not strike her down. James waited, ducked a crosscut, then stood and backhanded her with his shield, knocking her down once more. She screamed and charged up the slope at the knight that would not kill her. Up they went, higher up and away from the pass.

  Katrina threw the shield right at the knight, he ducked it and backed toward a higher plateau. His eyes glanced back for a moment, and she lunged and thrust her blade out far, piercing his side all the way through. James dropped his shield, held his bleeding wound, and backed up more onto steady ground far above the valley floor. The pain was sharp, he grimaced and let out a sigh. He knew he had erred on his masculine bravado and honor. A queen, a woman, seemingly possessed or controlled by this dragon, James thought it noble not to kill her. Now he knew better as his blood stained his dirty tabard and dripped onto the rocks.

  She lunged, knowing he was hurt, her blade right at his chest. James sidestepped, then again, and he chopped her blade from her hands. His elbow smashed her nose, then the pommel of his griffon hilted blade cracked over her head. The Queen of Willborne fell, but James caught her before she went over the ledge.

  He lay down on the plateau, putting his hand under his armor to get his palm over the wound. He focused, silently asking Alden or the lady’s voice for his hand to glow. He slowly felt the warmth, the pain subside a bit, and he rested high above the valley floor next to his enemy queen. His eyes closed, his body gave in, exhaustion took control.

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  Shinayne feigned to block another blow from the red minotaur, both blades crossed in front of her. He growled and swung his spiked mace down overhead and it hit stone. The elf slashed once with Carice across his thigh and once with Elicras the shorblade under his arm. Faldrune counterattacked with another roaring swing that Shinayne ducked under, then another that she leapt over, yet a third that she backed away from entirely. She knew that one single hit could crush every bone in her body, so she kept her distance.

  Horns low, the red brute charged her, she rolled to her left, slashing arcoss the swinging arm wielding the mace. More blood trickled from the distanced cuts the quick elf drew. He turned again, stepping fast, gaining ground, swinging wildly. Shinayne feinted in, he did not even try to parry, she ducked the mace, backing up again. This time her feint was a feint, and she plunged Carice into Faldrune’s chest. His growl was gurgled, his lung punctured, but he grabbed the elf with his left hand around the throat
and squeezed.

  “Nowhere to run now.” Faldrune had her right where he wanted her.

  Her eyes bulged, she looked to the mace over head he wielded one handed now, holding her in place. He smashed his horns at her face as he pulled her close. His horned head rammed down, right into the shorblade she held on point with her left hand. Shinayne twisted her body in close, the swinging mace fell right behind her. The red minotaur backed up, shoving the elf off of him, shortblade through the eye and longblade through the chest. He pulled the blade out slowly, using both hands as he growled in excrutiating pain. She picked up the heavy and awkward spiked mace, gasping for air, and walked forward while the beast drew her blade out of its socket and looked to the sky, screaming. She swung at Carice, right at the pommel to drive it in. She missed. The spikes dove into Faldrune’s neck instead.

  Faldrune thrashed, reaching for two more weapons protruding from his body, fell to his knees, and watched his blood pool beneath him with his one remaining eye. He felt the longblade pull from his chest, he could do nothing but sit on his hands and knees, his body was getting numb as the blood ran out his eye, neck, and chest. Then he fell into darkness as the elven steel was driven into his back and through his heart with one clean stroke.

  Shinayne picked up Elicras from the hand of the red minotaur. Breathing heavy, she looked around. No sign of James or the armored woman claiming to be the Queen of Willborne. She ran ahead to where the giant faced the circling dragon, and hopefully where Saberrak had their friends. She slowed, seeing movement to her right. A man, a robed man with scars and burns in black clothing was standing up from the rubble on the slope.

  She went to help him, then saw the red eye glaring at her. He stumbled, pulled a dagger, but feebly. He could barely walk. Shinayne remembered seeing a man similar on the back of the dragon before, he looked to have been crushed. She went to kill him, then he fell to the ground. She kicked the dagger away and continued toward the battle, trying to breathe.

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  Kimtor ran, ran faster than he had ever run before. He heard his younger brother calling for him. He ran faster. Not to kill the dragon and take the crown, but to save his brother. He saw Eybrol, covered in blood, one arm hanging useless as the dragon circled and avoided the wild swings of the greatsword. His brother was stumbling, shambling, yelling taunts and waving his sword at the beast. He was almost there. The eldest son of the king saw a blue glow from the pit at his brothers’ feet, a woman, a dwarf, and a minotaur hid among the dead cannibals. He charged up the slope, hoping to dive on this great demon of a wyrm without her knowing. Almost there.

  Rynnth dove, then fanned her wings out quickly. Her slowed plunge worked, and the giant with the greatblade nearly fell over with his swing that missed her entirely. She dropped over him, three sets of claws dug into his shoulders and chest. Eybrol swung the blade up at the dragons’ neck, she caught it with her one free claw as she hovered. The air vanished, pulled up as if by a small tornado, Rynnth inhaled. She opened her mouth, inches over the face of the giant, and exhaled nothing but fire.

  Kimtor roared, watching this dragon hold his brother up in the air and melt the very flesh from his bones. She stopped, turning to see another giant in pursuit, the cloud castle behind him and closing. She dropped the corpse and landed on the ground on top of it. She perched proudly, hissed, her tail weaving a hundred feet back and forth.

  Gwenneth looked up from her tight curling position behind a dead Mogi warrior in the pit, as did Zen and Saberrak. The blue shield of cold had vanished above them. Suddenly a charred and smoking giant hand fell right over the pit.

  Gwenne gasped, then Zen covered her mouth. They all three looked up to the immense dragon over them. The red eyes turned to look down, sensing something while it waited for another kill. Just as its eyes met Gwenneths’ she stood, staff in hand. “Viancai, virilli, vashool!”

  White lightning flashed upward into the sky, through the spined and scaled face of the wyrm. Then another from down in the pit, and then a third as the dragon thrashed its head and neck and backed away. Rynnth’s face smoldered, three of her fangs were gone and one of her eyes was missing. She could not feel her tongue, could not hear the thunder that came moments later on a clear morning, and she shook her head and roared.

  Saberrak threw Zen up onto the valley floor, then Gwenneth, and he pulled himself up after. Over the smoldering corpse of a giant, through the legs of the stunned wyrm they ran, another giant charging behind them. Gwenneth cleared the legs and hovered over the tail that smashed between the slopes. Zen ran up the left side, avoiding the dragon altogether.

  Saberrak made it out of the pit right as a gout of flame filled it from the enraged beast, killing nothing but already dead cannibals. As he passed under, Saberrak slashed both axes into her right rear leg, then spun and did the same to the left. She fell onto her front legs as the minotaur lowered his horns and ran north.

  Shinayne saw her friends running, saw movement in the clouds, giants in a fortress within them. She tried to yell but her throat was too raw and swollen, the thunder from Gwenne’s spell echoed, and the giant stomping and dragon roars were deafening. She waved her blades at them, motioning them to follow her. She turned and ran, leading them out of the pass.

  No one looked, no one could hear it, but the dragon turned her head to Saberrak and whipped her tail in front of him. The gray minotaur was smashed into the mountainside unaware, axes falling to the red rock floor.

  The clouds whipped up debris and red sand, the shade covered the pass and the crossroads, and the yelling of giants echoed from above. Kimtor kept running, shield up in front of him, broadsword out as he charged the black wyrm that sat atop what was left of his brother.

  Gwenneth III:I

  Misathi Crossroads, South of Evermont, Shanador

  She turned, looking out of curiosity at what happened. She knew Shinayne was leading, saw Zen to her left alongside, but no Saberrak. No James. Then she saw him. Saberrak was not moving, laid out aside the mountain, axes not in his hands. She stopped.

  The castle in the clouds was visible, the drawbridge lowered, the armored giant was nearly at the dragon, yet she did not care. A caravan, painted in festive colors, rolled out into the vale, drawn by horses reined by little folk. They screamed as they saw what was around them.

  “Incartres hulias, megruul!” She felt the staff of Imoch speaking to her, she repeated what came. It glowed red from the emerald as she pointed with her right hand at the dragon. Spiraling black mist sizzled through the air and slammed into the wyrm, melting scale and flesh in between the wings.

  “Jiristas, Kulum!” A piece of the mountaintop broke loose and spun at her command. She hurled it into the giant bridge from their floating city, smashing it off and tumbling with the rock into the other side of the vale.

  Gwenneth hovered closer, feeling no fear, then spears began to rain down from above. At her, at the helpless gray minotaur, the wagon of little folk, and at the dragon. She looked up.

  “Hulias, tiroom, teliast!” Gwenne held up her hand and her staff, the spears turned to dust, dozens of sharpened giant bronze spears. The valley glittered with powdered metal.

  The wall of the giant castle exploded, then again as blue arcing arcane power ripped from her hands into the enemies before her. The dragon turned, inhaled, and exhaled a stream of flame at the woman. The stream shot forth, fire billowing toward her, the small folk that were trying to get their horses back to safety, and Saberrak who was still unmoving.

  “Litius latar, muthunool!” A wall of green energy, swirling winds, and arcane mist sprung up across the vale between she and the dragon. The fires were sucked into the swirling wall, absorbed and dissipated. The dragon continued to breath, Gwenneth held the spell in place. Rynnth breathed again, unable to charge or move forward with her legs slashed open. Gwenne held the swirling wall up as it absorbed another blast of fire.

  Saberrak woke up. He grabbed his axes, shook his head, and saw
another giant. This one was armored, it crashed into the dragon and plunged his blade into her neck. The mess of giant and wyrm rolled toward Gwenneth and a painted wagon with little people all running in terror. The fires stopped with another sword stroke, the green swirling wall fell, and so did Gwenneth.

  The minotaur was up on his feet in a dead run to Gwenne. He heard the battle, the screeching, the roaring, the earthquake of massive creatures fighting again. He slid, dropped his axes, and lifted her up off the ground. Saberrak stood and ran north, leaving his weapons and Gwenne’s staff. He saw Shinayne and Zen ahead. His steps were wobbly, his balance off, but he managed not to fall. He laid Gwenne over Zen’s shoulder.

  “Go! Find James, get her healed and to safe ground, both of you.”

  “What about you?” Zen asked

  “Have to get my axes.” Saberrak turned and ran back.

  He did not wait to hear their objections, his lowered his horns and ran back to the battle.

  Kimtor slashed again, this time into the chest. Her tail was wrapped around his legs, her claws into his thighs. One sharp claw was even dug into his infected wound. Her wings battered him as she tried to fly. She bit and hissed, but every bite met with his bronze shield. His blade tried to cut her again, but she held his arm with two of hers. Her blood was everywhere, but she still overpowered Kimtor Seven-teeth. He looked up to his home in the sky. It was moving, Kimtor knew that it was forbidden for it to be this close to a human city, and the lightning and thunder would have been taken for a sign from the Gods to leave.

  His brother Udmalyr was trying to control the castle from the throne, he could just barely see him. Part of the wall was ruined, blasted by magicks from the little human woman. He saw his father, stumbling toward the window above the Misathi, then he saw the spear in his hands. The clouds were forming back over his home, it was heading west now, but Kimtor saw the spear throw, it was a good throw. The spear of bronze landed through the wing of the dragon and into her belly from two hundred feet above, from an old dying king, his father Arytor. He struggled, holding the dragon as she bit and ripped her claws into him over and over.