The Exodus Sagas: Book IV - Of Moons and Myth

by Jason R Jones

  “You are a sick man, in many ways sick and less than sane. Dealings with cursed demon-loving sorcerors, pacts with dragon worshippers, and waging war in your own kingdom for the crown, that shall be just the beginning of what I inform his majesty of from you, Valhera.”

  “You reek of wine, emissary. I mean that both actually and in the verbal sense, mind you. Perhaps another bottle, and when you calm yourself, and see how politics truly manifest, we can talk some more.” Johnas waved his hand at the shorter Caberran man.

  “I will not lower myself to treating with one such as you. King Marcellian and Queen Sharsian will hear the truth from my lips.” Wilian dell Escada crossed his arms over his chest.

  Johnas looked to Valistor Waylen. “Caberra then?”

  “Caberra it is, Prince Johnas. I shall meet with King Phillip in Harlaheim and assist him with his eastern borders. Rumor has it that King Marcellian holds him responsible for much and wishes war.” Valistor smiled, bowed, and walked off with his retinue from Willborne. “After my wedding, of course.”

  “This is…I said nothing of the sort! What is---“

  “Best hurry across the seas then, emissary. Word has a way of spreading faster than the winds can drive a galleon, even a fine Caberran vessel.” Johnas reached out his hand for a farewell shake to Wilian.

  The Caberran man looked at the gesture in disgust. “You will regret this day, Johnas Valhera, you will. The Caberran fleet has never known defeat in any war. My king will not look kindly upon your filthy deals and tricks. Farewell.”

  Johnas watched as the Caberran emissary fell in with his entourage and took a brisk pace toward his courtyard. Willborne was his, Harlaheim, and soon Chazzrynn. To hold his growing empire in place, they would need a common enemy. Caberra would do just fine. He smiled as Vermillion of the South took his side on the battlements once more.

  “Do you plan to just let him leave?” Jehrale asked.

  “Yes and no. Send three doppelgangers guised as crewmen while he loads and boards. Tell them not to touch the emissary. I want his words to reach Marcellian in Cordolla.”

  “That will accomplish what?”

  “Either an agreement that will have me a fourth kingdom, or information on his military that will assure I get Caberra by force.”

  “And with four kingdoms, then what?”

  “Take more, brother. My ambition does not suffer restraint.” Johnas sighed. “I think it is time to meet our uncle on the field, family reunion if you would. You will join me, of course?”

  “I would not miss it. Oggidan is coming with, learning fast that one is. Let us get you dressed then.” Jehrale walked with his brother across the catwalk of their castle. He glanced to the kris blade sheathed on Johnas’ hip, the emerald with the impure dark fleck noticed him looking, he could sense it.

  “Mother says to stay close to me, she is proud of you, of us.” Johnas felt the vibrations, they had grown stronger from the sword now that Jehrale was close to him. He could pick up on small empathic feelings here and there.

  “Give her my love.” Jehrale lowered his head as they walked.

  “I will give her blade Salganat blood, far better than love.” Johnas laughed out loud, startling many of his already tense soldiers, and even his scarred younger brother.

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  Mikhail rose from his knee slowly. He did not want to end his prayers, to Alden or otherwise. The men around him, all noble lords that had come to war for their king, rose slowly after him and waited for his word in silence. His eyes glanced up as he turned to face them, asking even the sky for assistance this day. The king felt Aelaine’s hand on one shoulder, then Chancellor Marcus Mederris on the other. Kendrynn Shilde of Vallakazz, General Fandruss of Loucas, Lord Dimitri of Addisonia, Lord Burrain of Silverbridge, and even Lord Corey from Thoranack bowed with their armies behind them. Just over five thousand swords had answered his summons, yet nothing from the west. As he feared, the war with the ogre and troll hordes must have begun, lest he knew Alexei T’Vellon would have rallied all of Hurne, Elcram, Roricdale, and Southwind. His scouts had reported that Johnas had his defenses in place, a few thousand more men, so it was honor and courage that he prayed would see Chazzrynn to victory.

  “Chancellor, are the rams manned and ready, archers in position?” Mikhail sheathed his broadsword, his fingers feeling the falcon winged pommel and leather wrapped hilt.

  “They are your majesty.” Marcus bowed and handed his king two black leather gauntlets.

  “Aelaine, are you and Captain Shilde prepared to take the south gates?” Mikhail felt his squire strapping his steel plate and shoulderguards into place.

  The lady of Vallakazz curtsied. “We are my liege, and we will be watching for Lavress and Sir Liogan to emerge with your son.”

  “General Fandruss, I want three formations and one legion in reserve. Lead the cavalry with Lord Corey north, give time for the footman to get through with the rams. Have Lord Burrain, Chancellor Marcus, and Lord Dimitri cover their walls with arrows and catapult fire. Aelaine and Captain Shilde lead the third to the south side of Valhirst. While they scramble to defend from three sides, bring the ladders when I signal.” The king stepped into his stirrup, assisted by his squire, and mounted his armored white stallion.

  “Yes, your majesty. But sire, will you need Lord Corey in the rear with you?” General Fandruss bowed as he spoke.

  “You know I will not be in the rears, General. My royal guard and I will charge the front, first in line.” His squire handed his round shield with the falcon crest up to him and helped strap it tight.

  “And what are my chances of talking my king out of such an action?” Marcus rubbed his bald head as he looked around the ground for an answer he knew he would not find.

  “None, Chancellor Mederris.” Mikhail accepted his crowned helm of shining steel, his battle crown that he had fought so many wars with, it brought back memories of his youth as he placed it firmly on his head.

  “You realize the peril this place you in then? You will surely be targeted on sight. You should---“

  “Marcus, enough. My son is in there, my only son. I cannot sit back and watch and command others to save him. If all eyes are upon me from Johnas, then one of the three fronts should be able to penetrate while our two brave scouts rescue Bryant. It is foolish, dangerous, and a risk. Yet if it were your only living son of three, your only surviving blood relative, and all you had left, I would question you not should you lead the charge, and I would follow you. Please do the same for your king.” Mikhail took the banner of Chazzrynn as his squire unfurreled it, and he stared at the sky blue cloth, the golden tassles, and the noble black falcon crest as it hung in the morning air. He watched as riders left the north gates with Willborne banners, other riders on fast steeds went both directions in and out of Valhirst, and the west gates of Castle Valhera opened slowly before him.

  Johnas Valhera is scrambling, he thought. Good.

  “Sire, should we not intercede on all these messengers? It could be advantageous to cut his contacts.” General Fandruss mounted as did the other noble lords upon seeing the portcullis open and the Valhera banners raise from the battlements.

  “No. Our scouts have seen no force within a days hard ride and his dealings with Willborne do not concern me. Let him squirm and twist, let him cry out for help. All that matters is now. I need every man we have, no distractions.”

  Four black steeds rode out from under the hanging bodies upon Castle Valhera, four riders galloped to the halfway point between the walls and the hill over the field where king Mikhail stood with his forces. He watched as the riders stopped and waited for him.

  “Marcus, Aelaine, and Lord Corey, with me. General, form the men.” Mikhail spurred his steed, he heard the affirmation of his orders, and four went to meet four on the fields of Valhirst.

  The king slowed and steadied his horse, planted his banner in the moist earth, and held until the others were abreast of him. He raised h
is hand and received one in return from a rider in golden chainmail and bracers, a closed helm resembling a hawk, and a green velvent cape. Two others were cloaked in black, their cowls hiding all but a few features. Mikhail saw scars and graying blonde hair from one and red curls and youth on the face of the other. The third he recognized on sight, the bloated and black bearded Lord Unarvin of Saint Gavrielle, who had obviously sided against him.

  “Who speaks for the filthy Prince of Valhirst then, name yourselves.” The king lowered his hand.

  “Sir Oggidan, Lord Unarvin, and Lord Jehrale Valhera, bow to the soon to be deceased, would you? We need to show our respects.” The man in the glistening armor spoke with a hollow echo through his helm as the three gave a slight nod to the four across from them.

  “Jehrale Valhera died many years ago, so as I assumed, this meeting is but a farce that…” Mikhail looked as the man raised his visor. It was Johnas, his words stopped, he had not dreamed his nephew would dare show himself on the field, let alone armed and armored. For once, in all the years Mikhail had known him, he looked like a Valhera, he looked menacing. He had expected tricks, disguises, doppelgangers, anything but this.

  “I assume my introduction is not required, uncle. But please, let us meet your captains in turn.” Smiling, amused with the looks of shock, Johnas waved his hand toward the king.

  “Lady Aelaine Lazlette of Vallakazz, Chancellor Marcus Mederris of Southwind, and Lord Corey of Thoranack.” King Mikhail placed his hand on his hilt and drew the blade halfway as he stared at Johnas.

  “They have more impressive names than us my prince, maybe we should surrender.” One-handed Oggidan laughed out loud receiving a chuckle from Jehrale and Unarvin.

  “Treasonous vermin with false titles! My brother marrying your mother was the worst mistake in the history of this kingdom! And your brother lives, where we all attended a funeral so many years past! I should kill you where you sit and let your horse ride you off to hell! Now give me my son!” Mikhail drew his blade as he roared, then every blade was brandished from both sides, and the Prince of Valhirst laughed.

  “Never. Give me the crown, uncle. It is midmorning now, in a little over half a day, Bryant hangs with his men. Like a true soldier, like a Salganat warlord, and I will make sure you watch.”

  “Chazzrynn will never bow to extortion and terror. You have one hour to produce Prince Bryant, surrender your forces, and submit yourself to the kings justice. One hour, Johnas.”

  “Brother, I believe a game of beat the heir prince within an inch of his noble life, would take about an hour. I know how I shall spend my time, care to join me?” Jehrale stared at the king and smiled.

  “I would, I would indeed. Unless our former king has anything else to add?” The Prince of Valhirst stared at the blue eyes of Mikhail, locked but twenty feet away, both men waiting for the other to give in and cross swords.

  “Terms, men, terms first before thousands are lost to bloodshed.” Aleaine raised her hand and her voice. “Perhaps an arrangement of title or a division of lands can be met with the release of the heir prince. It does not have to be this way.”

  “Women? I fail to recall when women had rank on a field of battle?” Lord Unarvin chortled as his belly heaved under his armor.

  “She has more rank and title than you, traitors get the rope. For you, we shall have to have a strong rope meant for large swine indeed, Unarvin.” Lord Corey, tall and thin with corded muscles under his chainmail, glared at the lord of Saint Gavrielle.

  “These are my terms.” Johnas waved his hand over the ensuing argument. “The crown for Bryant, surrender your forces, and I merely banish the four of you and take your lands and holdings.”

  “Here are Chazzrynn’s terms.” Father Marcus spoke in return. “Lower the Valhera falcons, surrender this city, and release all prisoners in good form including the heir prince. We shall return the Harlian forces to their kingdom, along with the four of you, and you never set foot in this kingdom again.”

  “The we are at an impass, pity. Are you ready to die here, Mikhail?” Johnas sneered. He glanced over his shoulder, everyone followed with their eyes, as a messenger on a fast brown mare charged out the portcullis.

  “Why is it, nephew, that you have run so wicked? What on Aldens blessed ground have I ever done that would deem the things before me? I must know.” Mikhail sheathed his blade, knowing war was inevitable, and he let his anger dwindle.

  “The right to rule should be based more on ambition, not between whose legs you crawled out from, uncle. When a man wants something great enough, he takes it. You seem fine with Chazzrynn and its state, I want more for this kingdom, and even more kingdoms. It is time for change.” Johnas watched the messenger speaking at length to Jehrale, he showed him a scroll, pointed to the harbor, and then nodded and returned just as fast to Valhirst.

  “You have ever only held the power or rights to change Valhirst, Johnas Valhera. I have seen the squalor and skullduggery that you promote, and my kingdom needs not more of what you stand for. I challenge you, man to man, here on the field before your castle. Do you accept!?” Mikhail dismounted and drew his broadsword.

  Jehrale leaned toward his brother and whispered. “My prince, we have a signed letter of support and allegiance from Lord Alexei T’vellon of Southwind, soon to be Jade of the West.”

  “Excellent, what else?”

  “Two things, first is that a small force of five hundred men have passed Darmoun unnoticed, soldiers from Kalik and Tusko, under Sir Jallan of Hurne. They will be here within the hour, surely siding with the king.”

  “So another brigade joins Mikhail in the slaughter, they must have decided in secret, with the Lord of Southwind dealying his assistance. The second?”

  There is someone on your throne, arrived by ship, our missing ship. Not your throne above, but below, Johnas. He waits for you.”

  “Whos is it?” Johnas nodded to the king, not that he would accept his challenge, but to keep him in place that he was perhaps considering it.

  “He would not tell the messenger, but I suggest we go and see to it. He has two hundred men with him.” Jehrale nodded to fat lord Unarvin, young Oggidan, and then to the opposition.

  “My apologies uncle, but I have pressing matters that take precedence over killing the elderly. Besides, I want the historians to write of the bloody battle that King Johnas Valhera won bravely from a warmongering Salganat. So, I will meet you on the field. Aelaine, Mederris, Corey, best of luck on your last days.” Johnas turned his steed with his three men and charged toward Valhirst, leaving the king standing with his blade drawn on foot, and he laughed all the way.

  Mikhail turned to his captains, sheathed his blade once more, and raised his face to the sky as he took the reins of his stallion. “Sound the horns, all men to the ready.”

  “Alden save us.” Marcus drew his broadsword and waved it up to General Fandruss as Lord Corey galloped his steed up the hill. The chancellor prayed, his king beside him, minutes passed. Then he looked to Aelaine Lazlette.

  “Are you sure of this, Mikhail?” Aleaine gripped her staff and looked desperately at the walls of Valhirst.

  “My lady of Vallakazz, raise the banners and relay to Lord Dimitri to open fire upon the western gate. Give them three volleys, then we charge.” Mikhail turned toward the hill and saw his army, the cheers went up, and the flags of his kingdom were raised. Amidst the blowing of bronze horns, the locking of catapults, and the marching of armored thousands, King Mikhail roared like he was thirty years younger, waving his banner with a fierce prowess.

  “The falcon raised shall never falter! Wicked men will feel our justice! Today, we release Valhirst of its stain on Chazzrynn!” His shield vibrated with the cacophony of hails, horn blares, and shouts from his soldiers and lords. “Catapults, open fire!”

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  “Cannot be, although I have seen stranger things in my days.” Johnas walked up slowly to his onyx and emerald throne, eyeing th
e man curled up and sleeping upon it, he recognized him.

  “Who is it, brother?” Vermillion of the South drew both of his shortblades and gestured with a nod toward the dozens with crossbows aimed at the throne in the sanctum of the White Spider.

  “He looks like hell.” Johnas leaned over the ragged man with torn clothing and no boots upon his dirty feet. The dagger and longblade were sheathed and filthy, his nails on toes and fingers were long and smattered with dirt, and his smell was something atrocious. His black curls of beard sported long shots of thick hair around his nose, his skin was darker, and he still had a patch over his left eye. Johnas tapped his shoulder. “Farrigus, Farrigus Narminson, is that you in there?”

  His yawn went wide and sounded more of a purr or growl than that of a human man. Crossbows went back on point quick as Johnas backed up and drew his kris blade. There was no attempt to hide it, everyone saw that this man had three sets of sharp canine teeth instead of one set, and they were a bit longer than normal. As he stretched his legs and arms out, he lunged into the air and landed on all fours, then stood tall and his eye opened wide. Feline green with a shifting and widening sliver of black for a pupil it was, and Farrigus smiled.

  “I see I was missed, what a splendid cerrremony you have forrr me, my patrrriarch.” His words trailed like a feline, his ears perked as he spoke, and Farrigus took a knee before his regal once-master.

  “I have room in the pit for you, should you ever sit on my throne again or arrive unannounced. So tell me, where have you been?” Johnas paced left while Jehrale went right, blades drawn.

  “Stranded, tortured, forced into servitude most undesirable. I would rather not speak of it. Wherrre is Prince Bryant? Whispers I hear say you have him hostage, and I owe him for brrreaching the hull on the Queen Sapphire, paybacks and all.” Farrigus could smell uncertainty on the men here that once knew him, he could hear them floors above and down the corridors, yet he knew his reflexes were now beyond a mortal man. He sensed the Patriarch and one of his Emerald Eight ready to strike, even with his eye closed.