The Exodus Sagas: Book IV - Of Moons and Myth

by Jason R Jones

  “Who says you need that power? To do what is right, to help others, to assist unseen? Armondeen has an army, your scouts said they saw it, heading there now. Four legions or more, and what can Evermont do?” Lassado tapped his staff again, this time a rainbow sparkled into the air ever so faintly.

  Jardayne had never heard anyone speak to the low king, any king, in the way he was hearing right now. He thought it best to remain silent, respectful, and keep his head down.

  “Nothing. I had to send three legions of cavalry to the capital, to Acelinne. They retained five of my knights as well. The council is sending a force to Kivanis, to Rugeness and the northern cities specifically, as they think Altestan will make a landing there. The Shields of Shanador and thirty thousand soldiers will occupy their ports, and watch the Soltaic Ocean for years to come. Evermont can do nothing, we can spare not a man.” Symond drank more wine, fought his dwindling anger, and rested back in his throne.

  “Please sire, I beg of you. Strip me of title if you must, but I gave my word, I swore on the Shield of Shanador, that I would return. Alone, if no forces could be offered.” Knight General Jardayne stood, without permission, and made the sign of the feathered cross across his chest.

  “You have met these travelers, both the five companions and the exiled refugees from Harlaheim, yes?” Lassado smiled.

  “Yes, master Lassado, I have.”

  “They inspired to you greater honor? Or is it the thrill of adventure, the boredom of your position, and something different that excites you, Jardayne?”

  “Sire, I felt it when they arrived, I saw it in the Misathi Mountains. There was a feeling when they were here, and a terrible one when they left to turn west. I cannot say what it is. But, when I met Lord Cristoff Bradswellen, and he stood with me, for me in fact, against Prince Rohne and his forces in Freemoore, it was there again. I have to go my king, I know it in my heart. Please forgive me.” Jardayne took his sash of the Shanadorian stallion, with the Evermont five stars engraved into it, and let the golden green cloth of honor and title fall to the floor. “I cannot let those people, those brave souls, face the legions of Armondeen alone, not when I can be of service. They have perhaps less than a legion of soldiers, against at least four we have confirmed that head for the ruins from Vin Armon. Harron’s past betrayals aside, you know he does not ride with such a force unless he plans to kill. I resign my title and position as Knight General of Evermont, as I must leave you, and help them.”

  “You would not dare.” Symond was shocked. “You swore your loyalty to me, to Evermont! And to Shanador!”

  “I know Harron Vir Magaste, I know his knights, and I know Armondeen. And I know what they will do, should they find those five that seek a forgotten glory. Title or not, your blessing or no, I must go my king. I will never forgive myself if I do not.” Jardayne knelt once more.

  “Then you go alone, stripped of title, never to return to---“

  “Hold your wine bucket shut, Symond. Jardayne here may have arrived before you, if my memory serves correct.” Lassado waved his hand and twinkling lights danced in the air.

  “No, he did not, he arrived after.” Symond corrected.

  “Be that as it may, it is possible that he left with soldiers before you came, on what he thought was courageous, an act of valor and honor, yes?”

  “I am not following. You are mad indeed, Lassado.” Symond glared up to the old man.

  “So he came and took what he thought he needed, a small force, and left before he knew of your orders from High King Borgaine. True?” Lassado waved his hand again, more sparkles.

  “No, are you speaking fiction or fact? And why the sparkles?”

  “Damn spell never works. How have you survived as a low king for this long with your head so thick of useless rock?”

  “I beg your pardon? This coming from a man who forgot his last name?”

  “That was low, even for you. Anyway, how many men am I worth, five hundred?” The old mage shook his head, staring at his fingers as if they were behaving poorly.

  “At least, why?” Low king Symond furrowed his brow.

  “Do you honor this man, your knight general here, enough to allow him to follow his passion and word for a time?” Lassado stared as his fingernails sparkled, he tried to shake it off, it would not fade.

  “Yes, positions and titles aside, I would do all I could for Sir Jardayne. That is not the point, Lassado.”

  “It is the point, Symond. I believe he left with as many cavalry as were here, carrying no banners of Evermont nor Shanador, to assist as he thought best against the tyranny of Armondi threats. In his absence, believing you would return with many forces and the city left well protected, I will stay and guard your city with a watchful arcane eye, personally.” Lassado smiled wide, his eyes beaming with something mystical, much like his fingertips.

  “And when word reaches the High King and the council in Acelinne?” Symond looked to the crazed master of magic.

  “I will handle that, myself.”

  Symond sighed deep, then stood. He watched Jardayne raise his head and stand with him. The low king walked forward, bent down and picked up the knight general’s sash. He turned his back and walked to his throne, setting the sash upon it, gently.

  “Sir Jardayne of Highmont, you are placed on temporary leave from your title and duties. If memory serves me, you left on your honor, with our remaining five hundred cavalry. You went northwest, to retrieve Sir Codaius of Norninne, who was escorting and assisting a foreign noble, on a noble cause.” Symond kept his back turned to his bravest knight. “This meeting, this conversation, never took place. Before I turn around and sit on my throne, you had better make it so. Alden watch over you.”

  “Well spoken, sire. I could not have said it better.” Lassado grinned and winked at Symond, then reached down and handed him his crown.

  “Thank you, your majesty.” Jardayne did not bow nor kneel to the backs of Lassado of Eisel Ine nor his low king of Evermont. He turned to march out of the castle, in disbelief that he was not in prison.

  “Jardayne!” Low King Symond bellowed as he placed his crown atop his brow. He lifted his greatsword, from the side of the throne, a magnificent blade of ages old steel. He had barely used it in decades, and it was heavy for him in his older years.

  “Sire!” He stopped, turned, and looked to the outstretched hand of Symond. He saw the sword, their backs still to him, and he ran fast to take it.

  “Fight with honor, knight of Evermont, give Harron and Rohne my warm regards.” Symond whispered, and let him take the blade.

  “He will receive your steel, sire.”

  He ran, tired and aching with fatigue, as fast as he could down the steps of his glorious city. Many men, including the three knights he had left in charge, were waiting ouside the doors to Evermont Castle. They fell in behind him, wanting to ask where his sash was, what had been said, and where he was going. No one spoke, just followed the fast march of Sir Jardayne. He made the six floors of long steps with but four deep breaths, fighting his exhaustion. He passed the gates to the upper keeps, kept his descending rush of stairs, and turned left toward the stables once he reached low ground. More men fell in, hundreds now in tow. They muttered, as rumor had spread of what had transpired in Freemoore, of the possibility that Evermont would stand against Armondeen.

  “Cavalry, Sir Anders, get me all our cavalry. Now.” Jardayne opened the stables. “And strip off any symbols of our kingdom and city. No banners, just the men, the horses, and their swords. I need it done an hour ago.”

  “As you wish, Knight General. To where do you ride with such a force?” Sir Anders of Carrelyn spoke as he pointed to dozens of men to be sent to the barracks, the armory, and the supply houses.

  “Northwest.”

  “Armondi territory?”

  “Yes.”

  “With the king’s knowledge, his sovereign orders, and blessings of Evermont?” Anders cast a questioning look to his superior.

&n
bsp; Jardayne sighed, mounted his steed, and nodded to the yes, then looked to the greatsword of the low king, and back up to Sir Anders. “No, I do this alone. Will you stop me, Sir Anders of Carrelyn?”

  He was confused for a moment, then he smiled at the blade, he knew whose it was. He tore the stallion emblems from Jardayne’s horse, and placed them on the railing. He heard the men coming, the clanking of armor already half on echoed into the stone stables.

  “How many men do you need, Sir?” Anders looked up to Jardayne.

  “All five hundred we have.”

  “Tis’ true then, Harron leads the army, doesn’t he?” Anders wished he could go, but he knew this was secret, and only three knights remained to guard Evermont, three out of ten.

  “I am not sure, but they left Vin Armon days ago, surely you have heard.”

  “Men! You ride with this man here, you ride hard with no colors nor banner, and you ride those Armondi bastards into the ground!” Anders yelled it over the raucous.

  “Hail, hail, hail!” they roared back.

  “I will bring you Harron’s head, Sir Anders.” Jardayne grabbed his reins. “If he is there.”

  “Just make sure he does not get them, our five friends, promise me that.”

  “On the Shield of Shanador, and my honor, by Alden he will not.” Jardayne nodded, looked back once, then spurred his mighty stallion out of Evermont, five hundred men trailing out behind him. The sun glared down, the cavalry charged at a fast pace, and the half legion of Shanadorians headed northwest toward the ruined curselands.

  Exodus IV:VI

  Kakisteele Mines

  Azenairk Thalanaxe kept his head low, eyes closed, praying for an hour now in blessed silence. His hand no longer trembled, his tears did not fall, and his fears and failings of all his years had vanished. Outwardly, no one would know of it, but the tablet before him was healing him deep inside, as he healed it with his golden touch. The dwarven priest felt purpose, truth, and the words of Vundren, his God, right here and now. The Golhiarden was the myth of the dwarven race, the truth and commands of their God to His people. It had been broken into four separate pieces, as the holy texts go, for protection from Altestan and their ruthless God. This one of the Forge, long lost and believed destroyed, now lay against the cavern wall in Kakisteele, whole. Zen’s hand repaired and mended every crack, smoothed it back to perfection, and the words went into him without being read. The white stone was complete from its fractured form, and the script was glowing gold and bright, as a soft hum of deep choir whispered in the mines. A dwarven choir, from the gathered ghosts here, and ones unseen.

  “It is done, by Vundren’s will, the holy tablet, words o’ the forge, they are healed.”

  “Aksuvierre uth drasci uth figoor shemsi bashi, Thalanaxe…”

  Hair stood on their arms, shivers danced their spines, and the far off whispers echoed with a woman’s dark voice, again. This time, it was closer.

  “What did she say, horned one?” Zen stood, looking at the quarter ton tablet of stone from his faith, then glanced up to Saberrak.

  “It matters not, you will never leave this place, Thalanaxe.” The gray minotaur repeated what she had said and stared down at the battered yet closed door that led deeper into the mines.

  “We shall see bout’ that then.” He nodded to his friends, strapped on his shield, and picked up his warhammer.

  Shinayne led next to Saberrak, the tunnels not as wide as they once were, then James and Gwenneth fell in behind their dwarven priest, keeping him well protected in the middle. The passage declined at a steep angle, yet the golden glow of divine lights flickered from a platinum pillar over another set of golden doors with black powdered crystalline engravings.

  “Marnu ninar, means first born daughter.” Zen looked to the ring of keys as he read the inscriptions.

  “Serpents wrapped around the twin moons, it is the sign of love, judgement, and the scales of justice. Vasentanessa is their only daughter, that one there.” Saberrak pointed to the key with her symbol.

  “Ye’ sure? Not that ye’ been wrong thus far, but serpent Goddess keys in me holy mines and all, just askin’.” Zen reached his hand with the key to the lock.

  “I am sure.” Saberrak huffed.

  The key went in, the light flashed, and the key was back in his hand without feeling it as the doors opened just a crack, all on their own. One by one, they slipped in through the opening, seeing red glows flashing and flitting in the massive chamber ahead.

  “Now that is a sight, by all the Gods and Goddesses of the white moon, look at that.” Shinayne smiled, feeling a tear touch her cheek as they reached another lofty stone balcony with stairs to each side.

  Below were hundreds, perhaps thousands, of red, orange, and yellow glowing pillars of blessed divine light. They rose as high as fifty feet, all across a cavern that was as large as the ruins above, just here alone. The shimmering veins and streams of gold and platinum ore reflected the lights from the outer walls and floor, even the ceiling was flooded with deposits of invaluable precious metal. Scaffolds of steel, ladders of bronze, and mining camps by the dozens lay across the lower mines of Kakisteele. Wheelbarrows of mined white iron, piles of silver and rock, and tools of every dwarven sort were still organized and ready. It looked as though the operation was still in progress, would there have been anyone here to continue it.

  “The unfinished mines, full of divine steel for divine forges, Vundren’s holy hammer, I do not believe me eyes.” He whispered, gazing across miles of spanning cavern far below him. “Thousands o’ tons of it, everywhere, more than all the dwarven kingdoms combined, by God, look at it.”

  A pat on the shoulder from James brought him back from the breathtaking scene. “Let’s go down, together this time.” He walked to the stairs.

  “Aye, together then.” He smiled, eyes still engrossed with the deep delves of forgotten Kakisteele, and the riches yet untaken. Riches uncountable, here in this cavern alone.

  The closer they drew, down countless stairs deep under the mountain range, they all saw movement erupt near a toppled statue. At first they all ran, knowing their dwarven priest would charge in. As they closed, they knew the shadows and ghosts for what they were. Memories.

  The five walked amidst an ancient battle, one that they could not partake in, as it sprouted from every direction. Pale gray dwarves by the thousands battled a horde of shadowy men from Altestan. Flags and banners were raised, though black shade only, it was obvious who they were. A shattered statue of Vundren lay in the center of the cavern, and soon the silent war seemed all too real. They could almost hear the cries of bloodshed, the screams of long dead dwarves and soldiers of men, and the howl of demons that flooded the air over the lower mines. Apparitions ran through the companions, as if they were not there, while northern shadows whisked by them in their brutal charge. Dwarves already dead, died again. Demonic winged forms tore gray warriors to pieces, and spears and blades of black outnumbered the gray forces at least ten to one. Within half an hour of slow, agonizing walk to the center, it was all but over. The statue of Vundren was destroyed, the dwarves ran deeper, those that had survived anyway. And banners of foreign emperors were raised.

  “It is not real, Zen. It is an illusion, a memory set to a horrid curse that wishes it reseen. Do not think that you can change it, it is the past.” Shinayne touched his shoulder.

  “I know it, elf. I know, thank ye’. Let us see where they go then.”

  The shadows carried on, through the passage further down and south, not a gray ghost of a dwarf left in view. Zen stopped at the statue, black banners that his hand passed through whipped in a furious breeze that was not here. He looked down, then ahead to where the soldiers of Altestan had run in their eternal hunt, and followed without a word.

  More stairs, deeper, the air was now getting heavy and thick. The lights were fewer, until Gwenneth shed her green light from the staff. Crystal chunks of green, blue, red, and black emerged from the passage walls
that now twisted and turned with rough walls and unfinished sandstone ceilings. Old bits of armor and weapons, mining gear and helms, and dwarven bones now littered the floor. Soon it was hard to walk without disturbing the ancient remains, both dwarven and Altestani alike. The tunnels and corridors were covered with the dead remnants of a war long over, as the memory of it could be seen in shadows, over and over again.

  A grand plateau, over an endless black chasm, stretched out of the myriad of tunnels and corridors that led down this deep. Green lights, nearly matching Gwenneth’s staff, shone from above a set of dwarven carved golden doors, twice the size of any previous entry. Their steps were quiet, cautious, yet forward they went across a path of stone with no rails, no bottom below, and no supports in sight. It held, and the five looked to the right of the doors, to a set of eight glistening red stones high in the air. The closer they came to the door with the hammer and moons of Vundren engraved upon them, the brighter the red lights became from their enshrouded height nearly fifty feet up.

  “Stop. Those lights, they see us.” Shinayne whispered as she drew her matching blades.

  “Everything sees us here, it is just light, elf.” Saberrak snorted.

  “No, she’s right, something moves in the shadows there, hidden.” Gwenneth began a quick chant to illuminate the light of day down here, as her green glow was somehow nullified by the green from the emerald inscriptions upon the massive door. Her fingers waved in a fanning motion. “Hialus, deriande de uathes.”

  “Whoa, what in the name of…what is that!?” James drew his griffon hilted blade and backed up as the light cancelled the unnatural shadow that had hidden a giant serpentine statue.

  Crash, crash, c-crash!

  The lights grew larger, the red eyes that flashed open, two snake like eyes from each of the four smooth reptilian heads. Then, the necks moved, very unlike the stone they appeared to be made from. The stone trembled, rocks and stalacmites fell, and from the very wall it seemed built into, a hydra of sandstone coloring stepped forth on six legs with its thrashing tail behind it. The color changed from yellow stone to dark green scales, the eyes went from red to a wicked purple, and black slivers of irises slowly centered as the creature awoke. Each step shook the earth, its fifty foot necks curled and slithered the air, and four heads came to life with the draconic body of the titanic being. As its fanged jaws opened, and it looked for who dared awaken it, flames began to swirl from its nostrils and liquid fire dripped from its chins.