The Exodus Sagas: Book IV - Of Moons and Myth

by Jason R Jones

  “What curses does your mouth spit, old ghost?” The knight presented his blade and paced in circles while his friends eyes saddened and their heads looked to the ground. He would not let her touch him or pass through his body.

  “Curses? No curses, let us talk of you then, failed one of---“

  “No! Saberrak, Shinayne, get up!” James focused on his faith and hand, glowing a faint blue aura now, though no one was injured. He backed up more, seeing through this ghost of a woman, and his friends now relaxed and sat down on the road, oblivious to anything.

  “They know now that hope is lost, let me tell you of it. Perhaps in this tavern over here, there is wine---“

  “No! Silence! You servant of demons, your tricks hold no power over me!” The blue aura flickered and rose up the hilt of his blade from his hands, it had never done that before.

  “Tricks? No tricks, tis judgment and truth I speak, she sees you all, inside and out. Let me show you.” The ghastly hag smiled, her black eyes radiating shadow, and she reached for James.

  “Tell her to find another messenger then!” He slashed his sword across her outstretched ethereal arm, hoping something happened. It did.

  The transparent woman screamed a howl of pain, like a child that had never felt it before, and her arm vanished. She looked in horror as dust scattered to the city street, then up to the knight with blue flames licking the blade he wielded. “Who dares bring such power here, whom do you serve?”

  “I serve Alden, the father of sacrifice. Now let my friends go!” James sidestepped, the ghost and he walking circles in the ruins under gray skies.

  “The son has no power here, you are mistaken, knight. And you must not enter.” The haggard woman with one arm rushed in flight toward James.

  He swung his griffon blade, yet she had vanished and reappeared behind him. He rolled to the left, stood and swung again, yet she was inhumanly fast now with a strange fear in her dark eyes. His blade caught air, and she dove straight for his tabard, hand grasping for the red feathered cross on his chest. Just as she went to pass through him, he grabbed for her head with his glowing blue hand. His thumb was on her ear, fingers across her face, he felt her as if she were real, and the blue glow intensified.

  “I release you, tell your mistress you are forgiven and at peace!” James focused on healing the woman, the ghost with no flesh, and the blue light smothered her body. Starting with her head, the ghostly visage became dust that poured to the stone at his feet. He felt her power fade, heard her screams of agony and ecstasy the same, and watched as her form solidified only to disintegrate by his hand.

  “The mother! Tell the Knights of the Crescent that Seirena comes for her son and revenge! She is guised as …tell …. Aaaahhhhhhhh!” The spectre of the woman screamed warnings to the empty air as she turned to dust, then she was gone.

  The blue light faded from his hands and blade. James was frozen, his hand grasping what was no longer there, sword ready in a high guard. He blinked, then looked over to his friends. They shook their heads and blinked as well, then they stood quick and turned around.

  “What happened, where did she go?” Shinayne twirled her blades and searched with her senses and eyes, she saw nothing of the old woman.

  “James, ye’ allright son?” Zen spun, hammer in one hand, hammer and moons in the other. He heard it, howling and screams far in the city, not in any language he understood.

  “She is gone, I released her.” James relaxed, yet heard the sounds as well.

  “What are they chanting, that noise I hear?” Saberrak huffed, still shaking his head to clear his mind. For many moments, he had felt being here was hopeless and that he would die here, or was already dead. He looked around for the old woman, growling, knowing she had done something to him and his friends. The chanting was louder now, mens voices.

  “Sssshhh.” Gwenne listened closely. “It is in ancient Altestani, they are preparing for war. They are praying to Yjaros, praying to be blessed in battle by God against the invaders that have dared cross the storm. Five…invaders…to be exact. Servants of the one eyed…mother?”

  “We need to seek cover, and no more talking to ghosts.” James pulled his shield from his back and marched up with his friends.

  Stomping boots and opening gates of steel could be heard from the inner ruins, sound that denoted this was no apparition. Horses whinneyed, men yelled to other men, and sandstone dust kicked into the air from near the temples. No one waited to see what it was. The five companions ran to a nearby inn, partially collapsed, and entered through the missing door. More yells and battle cries in a tongue only Gwenneth could understand went out through the ruined city.

  “They are calling to the one who masks himself with deception, that hides with the torn one yet worships a woman? And---“

  “---And the one that killed the priestess of Arabashiel, the one that committed blashphemy against God. I understand it perfectly, and I do not care for this place.” Saberrak Agrannar the gray put his back to a wall inside the structure. He looked at James with a serious curiosity as to what he had done to the ghost. The minotaur received the same look from his friends, especially Gwenneth, as to how he could know what was being spoken in the ancient tongue of Altestan.

  Hidden in the shadows of a a forgotten inn, just inside the outskirts of Mooncrest, the five waited for an army they had not yet seen to come for them. No one spoke, but everyone was praying to someone or something, even Gwenneth.

  Balric IV:I

  Underground Sewer Tunnels, City of Harlaheim

  “Should heroism be based on the sum of one’s failures, the world would have no hope. Men would then fear to stand. Heroes are made from their defeat, it is why we carry on when no one else would dare.” ---words of Sir Foltaires the Pure, Holy Knight of Alden, last bearer of the Shield of Shanador. Spoken while Saint Tarumin knighted his forty three remaining men at the Battle of Arouland, one hour before they faced the surrounding Altestan Armadas numbering over two hundred thousand strong. Circa 0 A.D. day of the reckoning flood.

  “What do you mean he is gone, where did he go? Damn it all!” Balric D’vrelle even ran faster through the unlit tunnels, seeing nothing besides the two men beside him.

  “If I knew that, I would not be searching every tunnel by torchlight, now would I, Harlian? And no cursing.” Lord Rodreigo dell Amarr swished his torch to the left, nothing. He kept on ahead, curved and decorated shamshir in hand.

  “Tracks, I see muddy tracks on the stairs there, to your left.” Sir Sebastian Caunerier, the recent Lord Knight Errant, sprinted ahead, spotting muddy bootprints, a recent sign of passing. While ascending the lower steps to fetch their meals, Richmond the Second had slipped out from the tower of Kalzarius this morning, had made it through the ancient tombs and found a secret passage into the sewers.

  “I see them, hurry.” Balric turned left and ran harder. He had stopped Richmond, the former king of Harlaheim, from slitting his wrists twice this past two weeks. His misery at hearing of Phillip taking his throne, rumor of war with Willborne, and his drinking as result, had been exhausting for those that protected him in hiding to deal with.

  Up the stairs they went, far from the safety of Kalzarius’ tower and the wizard Cilano. Covering their faces, following torchlight, they now all reeked of all the delights the sewers had to offer. The trail was easy to follow in the thick sludge, whether moist or hard, and after almost and hour they could hear footsteps ahead. Another three turns and climbs of stairs and there was a glimmer of torchlight not far off.

  “Richmond!” Balric yelled down the corridor which was now leading up to central Harlaheim. He knew these tunnels well from his early days undercover in the White Spider.

  “My king, stop!” Sebastian called out, still loyal despite all that he now knew of his sire.

  Bright light blinded them, the light of a sunny day poured in as a sewer grate slid open to the city streets above. The tunnel crawled with roaches, rats, and things one would not notice
without such light. For a moment, it was horrifying.

  Smash!

  Clank!

  Darkness reigned once more as the three men reached the ladder, their feet crunching on broken glass from a tossed bottle of wine, empty for certain. Rodreigo climbed first, passing the torch back to Sebastian and drawing a curved dagger and placing it between his teeth. Sir Sebastian passed the light back to Balric and climbed next. The Harlian swordsman spy did not hesistate, dropped the torch as Sir Rodreigo slid open the metal disc, and rushed up the ladder. They all squinted a second time as daylight and fresh air hit them square in their faces.

  Up onto Meudaives Street, the northern district of the city, the three scuddled into an alley behind the merchant bazaar. Jewelry and charms to their right, exotic furs to their left, and everywhere there were thousands perusing and huddling in and out of shops and carts.

  “We will never find him here, impossible.” Sebastian muttered.

  “I am more worried about someone finding us. There are likely five hundred men at arms throughout the northern markets on Solumday morning. Everyone in Harlaheim knows the best prices are today, before the end of the week when the pubs overfill with lazy merchants spending their coin. Guards and people will be double normal. We need to blend in.” Balric looked to Rodreigo and eyed the Caberran man’s bracelets, chains of gold, jeweled earrings, and small but full coinpurse.

  “Very well, as you noble Harlian men of the feathered cross are with less, Caberra will offer assistance.” Lord Rodreigo crept out of the alley and skulked over the to carts with robes, furs, and everything made of cloth and exotic animal pelts.

  Sebastian rubbed his shaved head and stroked his goatee. His king was getting further away by the moment. He pulled the tabard depicting the crowm and rose of Harlaheim off, drew his heavy rapier, and marched out of the alley. A firm hand on his arm stopped him. He looked up to the ominous shadows of the sky rising buildings, feeling smaller than ever under the immense construction of his ages old city. With a shrug of his shoulder, the once knight, now wanted vigilante, spun away from Balric.

  Slam!

  Balric anticipated the delayed maneuver and planted Sir Sebastian into the wall, forearm under his chin, held tight. “You go out there, crown and rose or not, and you will be noticed.”

  “I will not hide away forever while my king tries to take his life, or worse, to be found by those that will take it for him.”

  “He is no longer king, and the three of us are all that remain loyal to keeping him alive.Kalzarius helps, but he is not going to fight for Richmond. If you are found, we are found, and the guillotine is the best offer we could hope for then, knight.”

  “Then the blade and the basket it is, spy. I do not fear death, and the last shred of honor and chivalry I have left is with---“

  “Do not try upon my conscience, I know what ideals you serve. I serve the same, just by different methods. I pray for forgiveness from Alden, I have loved, served, and lost all, same as you, Sebastian.”

  “Then why do you hesitate, why am I the one that feels to run after him and to hell with the chances of capture?”

  “Because that illusion, the dream of knowing you serve something better than any other, has left me. Long ago in fact. I sought to bring that corruption down, so that I may feel it again. You still search for it in Richmond.” Balric lowered his fierce gaze from Sebastian’s eyes and breathed out. His clenched jaw relaxed, just a bit. “I wish I felt as you did, unfortunately I have replaced hope with fact.”

  “Then let me go after him.” Sebastian let his tension down a notch as well.

  “We will all go after him, just wait. You have led half the men in Harlaheim in one form or another, your fame as a knight and as a wanted man will be our ends should you be recognized.”

  “Why? Why do you wish to save him? You and Rodreigo had missions to do just the opposite, one from the Aldane and one from Caberra.”

  “I do not know why, but if either of us wished him dead, it would have been done. I know the alternative, I know Johnas Valhera, and I will be damned if I sit and let him rule my homeland, whether here on the throne or the shadow behind it. You cannot do this alone. We wait for Kalzarius to return from his friend in the mountain, as agreed. No one needs die here, not yet.” Balric turned toward the street, a man in brown monk robes lined with fur approached, hood covering his head in the heat and a walking stick in his hand.

  “What have I missed? Is this a Harlian idea of staying hidden and inconspicious?” Rodreigo spoke from behind the cowl, then tossed two more monk robes of similar make to Balric and Sebastian, who both looked ready to kill or kiss one another in the alley. He assumed the former was the more probable than the latter, yet Harlaheim was not Caberra.

  Without more than a sideways glance for retorts, the two Harlian men donned the robes, took the sticks, and pulled the hoods up over their heads. The three wanted men, wanted for the false death of the man they had been hiding, stepped into the merchant streets of the capital in search for their missing king. Guards marched the streets in sets of four, soldiers of the Crossguard Legion of the Aldane were posted in platoons of one hundred, and the city seemed a militant state more than a mecca for trade and antiquity. Bright blue banners with red feathered crosses fluttered over tightly formed legionaires marching in steel plate armor. The purple and black tabards over chainmail with the golden crown and rose were everywhere. Yet, three old monks, hunched over with walking sticks to guide them, made through the streets at a quick pace.

  They heard it before they saw it, everyone within three blocks likely did. Hands now under their suffocating garments, blades gripped unnoticed, they made through the thickening crowds to the voice they knew too well.

  “I am Richmond the Second, your king lives! Charge the castle with me and end---“ His rallying lecture, atop a fruit cart next to his own statue, received overwhelming laughter and ridicule. Then it received old vegetables, rotted fruits, and even horse dung through airborn retort. He deflected some hardened dung with a rather full and fresh bottle of wine, yet the softer projectiles impacted all over his purple velvets and regal attire. It matched the sewer stains rather well.

  Richmond, curly hair full of filth, unshaven for weeks, stared down his long nose and drew a golden rapier. Eyes turned, not toward this drunken fools’ rhetoric, but the glint of gold caught many eyes. “Your king Phillip is an imposter, he was the seneschal only, and supplanted me with shapeshifting creatures that---“

  “Richmond was a fool, he’s dead man, give it up!” A brown head of lettuce launched from the crowd and splattered over Richmonds back.

  “He be lookin’ for coin is all, throw him a copper bit to shut him up then!” Bits of coin, small rocks, and foreign objects descended toward the dirty man with filthy velvet.

  “You insolent fools, you wretched disloyal peasants! Do you not know your king when he speaks?! You owe me fealty and my rule to be---“ Richmond suddenly heard applause arise from the crowd, clapping, cheers and laughter. He smiled and began to bow, then felt the tip of a blade at his back, then another, and then a strong arm grabbed his arm with the rapier.

  “Finally, the church sends aid to the drunkards that pose as our lost kings! Hurry priests, there are two more at the south end!” More laughter erupted as three robed men drug the drunken man pretending to be the late Richmond the Second off of the fruit cart.

  “Let me go, I am no false---“ A hand covered his mouth, a hand with rings and finely manicured nails, and golden bracelets. Richmond looked up to the cowls three, seeing the face of Rodreigo first, then Balric, and then Sebastian.

  “My liege, this is folly. Would you care to live and see justice done, this is not the path.” Rodreigo took the rapier, scabbard, and sheathed it under his robes.

  “I spit on Caberra! You and yours likely had a hand in this, through Rosana, something. Take your shining trident and shove it where---“

  “My king! Please, if you continue this, we are d
ead men. Show me that I serve something better, that you want something more than this." Sebastian lifted the bottle from his hand and tried to wipe some of the food from his clothes.

  “There is nothing, nothing to gain. I have no castle, no army, no crown…and Saint Erinsburg is empty. The people are gone, no sign of Lord Cristoff or Queen Rosana, and I made that happen, I ordered it burned. I wish only to die on my throne, in my castle, like my noble forefathers.” Richmond was drunk, tearing, and smelled of rotten food and sewage. “You are released from your service to me, Sebastian Caunrenier.”

  “I am afraid you now longer have any power to order or release anything, Richmond. Yet, I have never been one to give up easily. So, if you wish to see these things undone, to see some form of honor restored, you need to fight, and you will need to be forgiven.” Balric surveyed the area. Merchants were talking to Harlaheim guards, pointing toward them as they held the former king to the ground behind the carts.

  “Forgiven? I doubt that anyone will allow that, perhaps in hell they will.” Richmond wiped his brow and eyes as he chuckled.

  “We need to get to a warehouse, south of here, near L’Herrim Square. I have contacts there, an underground cathedral to the Broken Wing of the Aldane. Their assistance to the church will be helpful.” Balric looked again, more guards were arriving.

  “Oh yes, the great spy speaks. Tell me, D’Vrelle, what could you possibly do to assist me?”

  “For now, getting you out of here, alive. Rodreigo, Sebastian, to our right. Harlaheim guard approaches, let us move. Come, king of velvet stench, time to save you from yourself.” Balric, assisted by his cohorts, pulled the former ruler of Harlaheim to his feet.

  Arms around their quarry, the spy, the knight, and the Caberran lord took Richmond fast through streets and alleys leading south. Past the Library Fastine, under the Valacanal Bridge, and even crossing the Saint Chatephes Garden out of the northern merchant center they went. Sweat poured from the three men in heavy brown robes, the sun was gloriously bright, and the wind spared them no quarter. Turning right down an alley between the Saint Gavriel Cathedral and the Wynnegarde Museum, the four headed now for the western edge of the port district. Gargoyles loomed from corners, this part of the city was old and tarnished, and most buildings were downtrodden and empty.