The Exodus Sagas: Book IV - Of Moons and Myth

by Jason R Jones

  “You there!” It echoed behind them.

  “Run men, they decided to follow.” Balric whispered. He knew if they were caught with Richmond the Second, their deaths would be long, public, and painful.

  “Stop in the name of Harlaheim and King Phillip!” In front now, they had two squads, then they heard more. A third squad from the south yelled as they heard their brethren in pursuit, boredom on dock patrol, more than anything, else drove them to get involved.

  “You priests are ordered to halt!”

  “Now what, are we close?” Lord Rodreigo dell Amarr followed, one arm on his shamshir under the heavy garments, the other on the former king.

  “Surrounded, no use.” Sir Sebastian held his king while he looked back, then forward, then to his right. Twelve men of the Harlaheim guard had them cornered with nowhere to go but north toward L’Herrim Castle, the last place they would find sanctuary.

  “Two blocks ahead in the deadend alley, on the left, knock twice on the unmarked wooden door, then enter. It is a safehouse of the Broken Wing, go!” Balric took the robes off over his head and tossed them to Sebastian. He drew his saber and shortblade, the guards picked up their pace, and he resolved that they would have to be held here otherwise they would be led to the underground cathedral.

  Another set of robes were slung over Sebastians shoulder, those of Lord Rodreigo. He twirled his engraved and bejeweled curved shamshir in his left, matching dagger in his right. “Caberran honor will not abide letting one Harlian stand alone against twelve. Besides, my blades have been idle for far too long.”

  “Make that three on twelve.” Sir Sebastian drew his rapier a moment after the three sets of monk’s robes hit the cobblestone.

  The drawing of twelve rapiers was nearly simultaneous, Richmond put his back to the wall, and his three protectors took stances around him and glared at the Harlian guard.

  “Priests do not often carry blades, nor smuggle drunkards to the docks. Stand down, drop your---“ The sergeant was cut off by another guard from the other detail.

  “By Alden, that is Sir Sebastian, and the bishop from Chazzrynn!” All eyes went wide as he spoke it.

  “The Caberran Prince as well, then that must be…”

  “King Richmond?” One of the guards whispered and began to take a knee. Realizing he was the only one, he quickly stood back en guard.

  “My loyal guards, it is me, your---“ Richmond started to bow in his drunken state.

  “Richmond is dead, we all were on duty for his funeral. This is an imposter.” Another spoke up.

  “I thought the body was stolen, how was it at the funeral?”

  “True there, but they said these men are the ones who stole it, killed the priests too. Send for a capitan, now!”

  “I would not do that if I were you. Everyone just stay calm now, I can explain everything.” Sebastian looked to the men, some of which he had seen before, but he did not remember any names.

  “These men are enemies of the crown, of King Phillip. They killed the king, but who is…?”

  “I said go fetch a capitan, private, that means now! These are wanted men.” The sergeant demanded.

  “If you take one step from here, you will leave us with little choice but to kill each and every one of you. If you value your lives, ignore that order private, Sir Sebastian is---“ Balric had him stopped, eye to eye, then the sergeant yelled over him and took a step closer with his blade.

  “Silence! By order of King Phillip of Harlaheim, you four men are under arrest. Lay down your blades and no harm will come to you.” The twelve men drew closer.

  “Such promises sergeant, but I feel we are obliged to decline.” Lord Rodgeigo bowed slightly, smiling from his handsome mustache and trimmed thin beard, then resumed his stance.

  “Take them!”

  Just as the guards took their first steps in, Balric dashed ahead, chopped his saber across two blades, and drove his shortblade into the sergeant’s chest. He quickstepped back, deflecting rapier slashes as he went, and then crossblocked and lunge meant for his neck.

  Rodreigo spun his shoulders into a twirling dance, his dagger leading with parries as his shamshir crosscut the lunging points of the guards. Steel rang on steel as he weaved, then he stopped. Both his edges cut low then high, and the shamshir sliced two men down in a silver flash.

  A guard screamed as the point of Sebastian’s rapier claimed his life through the heart. Another dropped from a slash through the thigh, yet two points came right for the former knight of Harlaheim. One he ducked, only receiving a nicked earlobe. The second drove deep into his shoulder and hit bone.

  “Richmond, go!” Balric sidestepped and slashed his sword across a guard’s neck, ran toward the wall, and kicked off of it. As he turned in midair, he dove both his blades past the collarbones of his two remaining opponents. He rolled across the alleyway, grabbing a rapier from a fallen soldier, and was up on his feet in the blink of an eye. The rapier flung from his hand, a brutal overhand throw, and went end over end until it landed into the private that had decided to run for a capitan. Balric stepped over to his weapons, drew them from the dying men, and watched the young guard fall to his knees with the rapier clean through him.

  The feinting of a dagger and then the dancing slashes from the shamshir were dizzying to watch. Two rapiers seemed to only think of attack before being parried and riposted. Both guards backed up three steps, feinted long swings, then lunged point first at Rodreigo. As their rapiers reached where he should have been, the one on the right felt the sting of steel under his ribs and through his mail shirt. His cohort turned and swung high, his blade met the curved dagger, and then the air rushed out his lungs as the curved sword ran him all the way through. Rodreigo went back en guard.

  Sir Sebastian kept his back to the wall, his parries were slow, and he was losing blood. The guard with the thigh cut had gotten up, and the two others had him pressed hard just deflecting mortal stikes. He feinted to back up more, then quick cut twice, gashing the neck of one guard and disarming the other. A lunge from between them, from the injured man, landed in Sebastian’s stomach and nicked the wall behind him. He dropped to a knee, yet drove his point into his wounded adversary, up through the throat. The guard that was disarmed grabbed a rapier from the street, raised it back, and plunged it down at the helpless Sebastian Caunrenier.

  Clang!

  Swish!

  “Aaarrhhh…”

  Thump, thump

  Sebastian, bleeding from his abdomen, ear, and shoulder, looked up to the guard that should have been his end. He watched a golden rapier, in a perfect parry, stop the blade he was incapable of blocking himself. He saw it riposte with a horizontal slash that started high, then went low last second, and cut clean across the neck of the guard. The exact cut he would have used, perfectly timed.The man fell to his knees, then his body fell across Sebastian, draining blood all over his armor and legs. Sebastian looked up and saw Richmond guarding over him, holding his golden rapier with a white knuckle grip, trembling as he watched the blood drip from the edge. Sebastian smiled, and fell to his side on the cobblestone.

  He saw Balric over him, then Rodreigo as well, they were talking to him. He did not hear a word, just smiled as they stuffed torn clothing on his wounds. He saw serious looks on all three faces above him. He saw Richmond tearing his velvet clothing and trying to help. Sebastian could not feel his legs, nor his arms, and Harlaheim had grown very cold all of the sudden. As they carried him, his head fell back limp, but he saw the bodies in the alleyway. They had won, three on twelve and the victory made his smile so wide it should have hurt. But all went dark, there were stairs now behind him, they had made it inside the hidden sanctuary. Now he was on a table of wood, and everyone was moving fast around him.

  Torchlight now, but very dim it was, and still the men did not smile as he did. Something was not right and Sebastian spoke.

  “Why…such troubled faces…after a noble…victory for our…king?” Sebastian forced
himself partway up with his elbows, then he saw. The table in this dingy warehouse was covered in dark blood, his blood, all over his waist and legs. He fell back on the wooden table, Rodreigo and Balric working hard at trying something to stop the bloodflow, but he could not hear it. He saw Richmond’s head lay down on his chest, yet he could not move to embrace his king.

  “Alden be… praised you.. are safe. I go… to meet God now, your majesty, Balric, protect him, by… your… leave…sire… Long…live…the…”

  His eyes remained open, brown orbs staring at the ceiling while His once king remained holding him. His mouth was open as if he had more words, yet no sound nor air came forth. Balric stopped working on his injuries after another minute, Rodreigo as well. Both men took a knee, bowed their heads, and made the symbol of the feathered cross upon their chests. Richmond the Second would not move, and remained with Sir Sebastian Caunrenier, his tears falling onto his most loyal knight, loyal long after any loyalty would have been expected, until his end.

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  “Well met, Larens of Guidance, I assume you know me from my visits here?” Kalzarius bowed as best he could, his age allowed half bows to anyone.

  “I do, you are the great mage of Harlaheim. Ansharr speaks highly of you, and often. It is good you visit her.” Larens helped the white and gray robed man on his left arm, while Kalzarius used his staff with his right. Birds flew past them from overhead in their southern migration. It was warm by the pool at the top of Soujan Mountain, and the breezes at this height were more than pleasant. Larens smiled, admiring the old mage for such travels in his late years.

  “I wish your place had less protections against the arcane though, then I could tansport myself all the way up you see.” He smiled back, just as much from reaching the entrance to Ansharr’s cavern as to the mysterious man with bright eyes and a neverending care on his face.

  “I wish it had more, truth be told on the matter.”

  “Be that as it may, just make sure you and yours have someone down there to help old men like me up.” The old master of the arcane chuckled. “How is it I get so lucky every time I teleport here, to have one of your secretive order passing by?”

  “It is not luck, great Kalzarius, we sense you coming.” Larens corrected.

  “Is that so? Hmmm, takes me all of less than half a minute to get from the top of my tower to below your little lake, via arcane powers mind you. How could you get there so fast from inside the mountain?”

  “Ansharr, the great dragon of Soujan Mountain, told us once that you have many secrets.” Larens smiled, touching the longsword at his side as if it had spoken to him and he was politely letting it know not to interrupt.

  “She did? Well I do, I suppose I do, yes.”

  Larens placed his hand on the shoulder of old Kalzarius. “As do we, my friend.”

  “Ha, well put Larens, well put indeed. May I?” He gestured to the mouth of the cave with his hand.

  “You are awlays welcome, your spirit holds a kindness to it that makes me smile for no other reason than being near you. Besides, a close friend of Ansharr would never be given less than our protection and hospitality. But, she is weary now Kalzarius, so do not expect long conversation.” Larens bowed to the old visiting legend of magick from Harlaheim.

  “Why is she so---“

  “Come in, my young friend. Let us talk of me where I can see you at least.” Ansharr’s warm but deep voice, befitting a wyrm of her age and size, resonated throughout the cavern and its perfectly crafted entrance. The glow of red and orange flames, both real and arcane, still shone out despite the sun high overhead.

  “Two thousand apologies, dear Ansharr.” The old man walked in, upright and proud, his long gray speckled beard and whisps of hair flowed then stopped as he rounded the corner. “Ahhh, awe inspiring as always, your cavern and treasures are…”

  Kalzarius stopped his flattery, his enormous friend was chained at each hind leg, each forearm, and around the neck. The iron links glowed with a golden arcane radiance and were fastened into the walls of her chamber, then she raised her neck as high as she could and smiled down to him. He froze, at first in shock, then anger, and then he felt his left eye tear a bit.

  “It is at my request, remember? Do not look at me that way, it is why I asked for your help on the matter.” Ansharr lowered her head, nudged her nose toward Kalzarius, and finally received a patting hand on her scales. Her red eyes with silver flecks and streams were taller than the old mage by three feet, her claws as long as two of him, yet her gentle nature was evident beyond her red and black scales and intimidating span.

  “I know, I just assumed this was precautionary, was all. It is serious then, it is true?”

  “My mother calls, calls to her children and all of her blood. She is ancient, vengeful, and in great pain. I hear her every waking moment, it is hard to resist.” Ansharr let her head and neck rest on the dark stone, flames reflecting in her eyes from the chamber in the mountaintop.

  “You cannot simply refuse, she is that powerful?” Kalzarius reached in his robes and produced a scroll of green leaf parchment with a golden band of vines holding it rolled shut.

  “She is, she is one of the five remaining of her age, the oldest of our kind. It is part of our heritage, a draconic issue, yet should I go to her…I may be at her command. And that I cannot do.”

  “Perhaps you could assist her, talk with her, something of---“

  “No. Kalzarius, have you ever seen a litter of kittens born?” Ansharr interrupted.

  “Why, yes, when I was young I suppose. Why?”

  “In that litter, some looked as the father, some the mother, and some mixed, correct?”

  “Yes, and then there was always one that was different, that went on his own and…”

  “Exactly. I know not of my father, surely he is gone for I feel him not. My mother, is of the northern blood, vengeful and full of hate. And so it is with her children, all but me. I have the conscience, the emotions, and love for things that few of my remaining kind have. I believe, that odd cat or runt of the litter as you would call it, is what would best describe me and my children far to the west of here.”

  “So you hide, resist the calling, and keep here to protect …whoever it is you protect down there. Your mother…” Kalzarius prodded.

  “Rynnth, her name is Rynnth. The dragon of Willborne she was for thousands of years, long ago. She desired worship, and sacrifice for her children and their children as well. I had thought her dead for the last millennium, until just a few months ago. I felt her awaken, felt her anger, and now she is returning from the west in great need of her offspring. I know the calling, I know she would have me burn cities and kill and feast. That is why I sent you to Gualidura.” Ansharr was drifting, her eyes focusing on nothing, her words slowing as if something were drawing them away.

  “I believe that my time with Queen Ganidaea Chaldre was invaluable to us both, and to our friends that seek the lost cities to the west.” Kalzarius raised his voice, without yelling, but to get her attention back.

  “Yes, you saw them then?”

  “I did indeed, through her pools and mists. I say, the interwoven threads of her powers with the fey, the arcane, and her savage worship to the Goddess are remarkable. She had visitors that asked many questions of me, some I could answer, some I could not.” The old wizard flicked his fingers and brought a sparkling rocking chair into existence, and then sat with a smile.

  “And who were these visitors?” Ansharr focused, the questions were helping keep her mind off the distant sounds of her mother.

  “Samiya and Lael T’Sarrin, the younger sisters of Shinayne T’Sarrin. They were searching for answers about someone named Lavress, a hunter and the beloved of our highborne friend. Supposedly, Shinayne left her homeland to find him, and now her family is involved in the search as they have not returned in many years. Caliun Tilaniun, the younger brother of this Lavress, is the emissary between Gualidura and Kilikal
a. It was a very interesting meeting.” He rocked back and forth, keeping her attentions on him and the motion.

  “I was aware of her search for her lover, she nearly left her friends to begin that journey once more. That was until the relics of old Kakisteele came into common knowledge. Now, they all have passed beyond my vision, far into the Misathi.”

  “Mine as well, I could not find them at all. Yet, Queen Ganidaea could see them, we all could. Where exactly they were in that vision in her pools, none of us knew. But, they are alive, somewhere cloaked in storms and darkness. I have sent message across Shanador, to Master Lassado of Eisel Ine, he will inform all the kings of Shanador of their need for safe passage.” Kalzarius nodded to Larens as he passed into the far back stone stairwell that his order or brotherhood went in and out of quietly, and often.

  “So you told them then, of what you knew of the scroll and all that happened that brought them to you and I?” Ansharr looked to the scroll from the wood elven queen, the enchanted ring upon it, and then closed her eyes as the pain of her mother entered her mind once more.

  “I did, you know I am not one for deceptions or anything less than the truth.”

  Ansharr raised the scales over her left eye and looked at Kalzarius conspicuously. “Ahh…hmmmm.”

  “Well, all Harlaheim politics aside then. You know I have little choice in the rulers that lay siege to me and corrupt that kingdom, and I only do what is necessary for the betterment of the people.” He tapped his staff to the stone in a bt of defensive retort.