The Exodus Sagas: Book IV - Of Moons and Myth

by Jason R Jones

Lower Mines of Kakisteele

  “Hirashi uhm atril!” Gwenneth pointed the staff of Imoch toward the door, purple energy flowed into it, and the door slid shut.

  Slam, slam, slam, scrape, screech, slam, scrape

  “Take my shoulder James, time to move.” The arcane prodigy was terrified, but she could not sound as such, not now. His hand rested on her shoulder, his eyes still smothered with a black swirl of shadow that she could not dismiss, and she alone had to lead them out.

  “How many more are there, Gwenne?” The knight of Chazzrynn could hear the demons, from all around them, then the doors shut and they were as far off echoes. He reached for his blade again, on inctinct, but it was not there.

  “Twenty or more, they are scattered, trying to surround us in these tunnels. Come on, this way.” She walked fast, not having the energy to hover or fly, and she had to lead James, step by step.

  “Just banish them, like before, then we find the others.”

  “James, it is not that easy. I had time on the plateau, a clear view, and they were massed in a group before me. Now, they are coming fast, down small tunnels, and…and…I am weak, James.”

  His hand glowed blue, a faint trickle of small harmless warm flames, and it tickled her shoulder. James Andellis kept his shield up as they walked, not that he could see, but just in case. “You know where you are going?”

  “No, I have been lost in these tunnels for the last four or five turns, but I sense something ahead. Something hidden, a door that is guarded by some force of magic. It is not far now. Watch the stairs, up, there you go.”

  “I trust you.” James smiled as he took the stairs carefully.

  “What choice do you have, truly?” She snickered. Her left hand held the green glowing staff, her right hand still shot pins and needles as her sense of touch began to return. The forces she had unleashed into Arabashiel had drained her, hurt her, and she knew that days of rest would be needed soon.

  “I could stay here, guard these stairs while you found the others.” James smiled, trying not to think of what had happened, what he had heard. He knew Shinayne was blind as well, and Saberrak had told them to run. His ears told him of the great explosions and the earthquakes, yet all he truly knew was that somewhere in that chaos, Gwenneth had pulled him up and gotten him out.

  “No, I need you now, we have to get to the temple of Haddius. What would I do without my knight and protector?”

  “I do not think I can protect you much, not like this.” He rubbed his eyes. The shadows parted and swirled, but clung to his face regardless.

  “Then you are here for support, for I do not wish to march this cursed place alone while demons hunt for me.” Gwenne chuckled, turned left, and saw more stairs leading up.

  “I will never leave you alone, Gwenneth.” James gripped her shoulder tighter.

  “I know.” She felt stronger, his touch, the blue flames, and his words, it all seemed to put her at ease and make her nervous at the same time. Either way, she felt her focus returning.

  “I am sorry, about your fathers’ sword. I will find it.” James hung his head as he walked the stairs blindly.

  “It is just a sword, James Andellis, just a sword.” Gwenne felt something, a pain in her heart, an ache in her throat.

  “No, for me, it is a reminder of the greatest man I ever served with, a hero of Chazzrynn. I carry it in his honor, and yours.”

  “Oh James, not now, please.” Gwenne sniffled.

  “One night I swore to it, after I met you, that I would always use it to protect and watch over you. I think, I hope that is, that Arlinne can see that I am living up to my vow.” James felt ahead with his boots, solid flat ground ahead, they had finished the stairs.

  “Is that what I am to you, an oath to my dead father? A vow to the sword of a man I barely remember?” Gwenneth let a tear fall, but anger was starting to follow.

  “No.” James spun her around, his hand felt for her face, still his eyes saw but darkness. But, he knew her face, every bit of it, by touch, smell, with all he was inside.

  “Then what am I to you, James Andellis?” She whispered, his hand warmed her cheek, blue light and all, and she closed her eyes.

  “You are my opposite, my other half, and you have my heart, Gwenne. I know, behind all that power, all your intellect and study, that there is a woman in there that wants to be loved by someone who will never leave her side. I am weak, my strength lies in my honor, my vows, and my service. Things you cannot touch. Yours is a visible force, always there to prove---“ James stopped, he felt her hand on his cheek, it was cold, and sweating, like a young child nearing their first kiss.

  “James, stop, please---“

  “You can destroy me with your lightning, burn me with your mighty fires, but you cannot stop the love I feel for you. For once I get past your defenses, I have seen someone so like myself, so guarded, yet so in need of love. I feel that pain, that same loneliness, and I---“ Her breath was right there, her air was exhaling into his mouth as he spoke.

  “Oh James, stop,---“

  “I will never leave you, Gwenneth.”

  “I know.”

  James felt the back of her long black hair, and though he could not see, his lips found hers in the darkness nonetheless. Her nose pressed to his cheek, and his to hers, and her kiss melted him with every turn it took. It was innocent, moist, and the two barely found a moment to breathe as they held one another. Alone in a cavern, James and Gwenneth held one another close, and kissed as if they had waited their whole lives for it, as if it may never happen again.

  Screech, screech, fwap, fwap, screech

  Their moment was broken by the sound of Tandorial demons, many this time, flying the tunnels on the hunt and close by. Gwenneth backed up, keeping her hand in his, and wiped her eyes. She breathed out slowly, feeling something she had never felt before, but not knowing how to put it to words.

  “Come on, brave knight, we have to find our friends now. This way.” She pulled him in the darkness, lit only by her green emerald atop the staff. Left, then right, then up more stairs, then down a slope. She followed her seventh sense, her arcane sight, and came to a dead end.

  She looked hard, noticing faint traces of light from a few cracks, not real light, but the faint glimmer of an enchantment. It was a design, a pattern of a dragon, and its head was looking up. Gwenne focused her fingers and hand into the same posture as the depicted wyrm on the stone, painful as it was, and chanted quietly.

  “Urth deas de Nnorostes ex uth jalix.” She spoke the forceful aracane passage in the draconic tongue, blue light radiated from her hand, and the stone parted in seven sliding pieces.

  Gray light poured from outside, blinding her from all her time spent underground in these ruins. She grabbed James’ hand, shielded her face with her arm and staff, and walked toward the sandstone street. The shadows of tall temples and spires were ahead, she had found a secret passage into the city from the lower mines, and the stone slid back into place, all on its own as they passed.

  “It feels fresh out here, you found it?” James whispered.

  “I did, now to the……NO!” Gwenne saw men, hundreds, they looked just as surprised as she was.

  Click, click, click, thewmm, thewmm, thewmm

  Before she could think, she reacted, as the startled men unleashed a barrage of crossbow bolts at defenseless and blind James. Gwenneth spun around, protecting him on instinct. She felt it then, dozens of sharp pains into her back, too many to count. She screamed in pain as her body was showered with flights.

  He was unaware, he could not see, but he felt Gwenneth wrap her arms around him suddenly. Then she jerked hard, and he heard the scream in his ear. She started to fall, but he held her. His hands felt her back, all the bolts protruding, and the blood.

  “No, no, no!!! Bastards, no!” James felt his tears, he started pulling the flights out as the two collapsed on the stone street. He could not see, but his hand scrambled to pull the bolts free as his other hand
unleashed its warmth into her skin. Then, she was gone, the men pulled him away.

  “I… love… you… Ja…” Her voice trickled out in whisper, as the soldiers of Armondeen dragged her body away. Her staff flashed one last time as it fell from her hand, her eyes lay open and still, and a trail of blood smeared the stone as her body was taken toward the temples. Gwenneth’s head fell to one side, her legs twitched once, and then a bit of crimson trickled out of her mouth where air should have been.

  “Gwenneth! Gwenneth! Let me heal her you damned---“

  Thump, crack, thump, crack

  “Take him.”

  James saw nothing, his head had been struck hard three times, then the back of his neck. Sounds came and went, he felt like he was being carried from under his arms. It flashed back, the ogre, Arouland, the capture and torture that had haunted him his whole life. His ears heard soldiers, then he heard his name, and Gwenneth’s. He heard Shinayne crying, he heard Saberrak roaring, and chains rattling. James heard men talking, but he could not respond.

  “Is she dead, captain?”

  “No breath, no pulse, yes, she is dead my lord.”

  “Who gave the order to fire?”

  “No one, my Lord Amirak, it was accidental, they surprised us. None of us knew a door was there, in the stone behind us, it was an accident my----“

  Slice, thud, thud

  “I do not tolerate failure. These trespassers are to be sacrificed to Kashtamias, now we have one less. Sir Orlimane, find the dwarf that was with them. Now.”

  James reached around, blindly, then they took his shield. He felt the manacles go on his arms and legs, but still he reached for Gwenneth, not knowing that she was twenty feet away and out of his grasp. His tears were constant, silent, and more painful than anything he had ever felt.

  “James, be strong now.”

  It was Saberrak’s voice, whispering, but he did not care. His voice was nothing but sorrowful screams should he open his mouth. He kept feeling for Gwenneth, blood pouring down his head, blind, and desperate.

  “Saberrak, where is Gwenneth, tell me it is not true, tell me, please.Tell me they did not kill her.” Shinayne whispered as well, unable to see, just like James, but she had heard the soldiers. Her tears fell from blinded eyes.

  “I do not know.” Saberrak lied, hard as it was for him, but he looked to James and Shinayne and saw their tears. The minotaur refused to describe what he saw, he couldn’t, not now. He pulled again on the chains, it was no use, they would hold a giant. They were held on the outside of a great red circle, full of infernal designs and blood, he could smell the blood. A legion of soldiers was spread out through the ruins, yet here he saw the man he had met in Evermont, Harron, with other blue painted Armondi nobles at his side.

  “Do not lie to me, minotaur, where is she?” James trembled, his hands grasping as his chains drug on the stone.

  Saberrak looked to Gwenneth, to her open mouth and blank stare, to the pool of dark blood underneath her still form, and he hung his head in silence.

  Balric IV:III

  L’Herrim Square, City of Harlaheim

  “You are the sworn swords of the Church, and blessed by the heavenly father. However, there is that deciding moment, in the life of every man, where it would be nothing short of insane to follow through with ones chosen course of action for God. For you, in the Crossguard Legion of Alden, you will embrace that moment, and seek the glory of what is far beyond it, always and forever.” ---Words of High Lord Bishop Parmaine, General of the Crossguard Legion in Shanador. Circa 339 A.D.

  The royal balcony was constantly moving with servants carrying fruits and wine. The Crossguard Legion was formed in dozens of honor brigades throughout L’Herrim castle and the Square. The masses were innumerable through the streets, from adjacent stories and balconies of other grand structures, and they packed in tight by every sidestreet in old Harlaheim. All waited in the early afternoon heat for a glimpse of Cardinal Ganaire d’Hegnout, the High Bishop from their own Harlian city of Saint Etienne, the man confirmed as the holy voice of God to replace the late Cardinal Desmonde here on Agara. Despite their lack of divine leadership here at home, Harlaheim had more elected Cardinals in their bloody history than all the other kingdoms combined.

  Kalzarius ate a grape as he watched the feathered crosses wave from the crowd. Some were golden, some sparkled with design, and some were but banners or old clothing with red paint. He smiled and waved his hand as people shouted his name from below. It was seldom he was seen in the public eye, and even more rare that he was beside the ruler of the kingdom in any peaceful fashion. The old master of the arcane took another grape that passed by on a tray, and put his hand on King Phillips shoulder.

  “You must be nervous, your majesty. This is quite a gathering, largest I have ever seen in the capital.”

  “I not deny that I have a few butterflies in my stomach, Kalzarius.” Phillip closed his eyes, reapeating his planned speech over and over. His short hair was curled and perfect, his purple sashes and surcoats of dark red and gold were splendid, and his crown was under his arm. Still a soldier, still a knight, even his rapier was at his side with the thousands armed to protect him.

  “Try being the voice of God Alden for a continent, my young king Phillip. Then, will you understand a bit of pressure.” Cardinal Ganaire was old, not as much as Kalzarius, yet his curled mustache and trimmed silver beard were the only white hairs left to be seen. Spots of sun dotted his tan complexion, when the wrinkles allowed them to be seen. Still, he was showered in white cloth, red sashes, and golden feathered crosses galore. His hat, the pointed and draped regalia of the Cardinal, also sat aside due to the heat of the season.

  “Yes Cardinal, but you have spoken in Acelinne, all over Shanador, and you will visit every kingdom on this continent to speak your words. I have been king for but two months now.” Phillip retorted with a smile and a bow.

  “Yes, but if your words be true, they come naturally, my son.” Ganaire smiled back and stood, his scepter of the feathered cross of solid gold, was heavy for him.

  Phillip faked a smile now, he hated being called son, by anyone. He detested his real father, even after his death so many years back. The king of Harlaheim went back to his recitations.

  “May I, your graces?” Kalzarius walked toward the balcony, staff in hand, and motioned toward the rowdy crowds that chanted his name now in their early afternoon wine and spirits.

  “I do not have any opposition, great wizard. Your legend has been a fixture of Harlaheim for many decades, I need a few moments in any regard. King Phillip?” The Cardinal went for his hat and a bit more wine.

  Phillip hesitated, then felt his nerves go in too many directions. “Fine, fine Kalzarius. But, make it short.”

  “Your graces.” He bowed to them both, and walked forward onto the castle balcony far above the masses.

  His hand went high, his staff flashed with red and purple sparks, the colors of Harlaheim. Then, a blast of purple and crimson erupted from his hand into the bright blue skies and swirled into a feathered cross for a moment before the winds had their way with his arcane display. The crowds roared and cheered, tens of thousands, maybe over one hundred thousand, and the deafening applause thundered into Harlaheim. Kalzarius smiled, seeing a flash of light from across the square, near the flagpoles that had yet to raise the banners of Harlaheim and the church. Cilano was ready.

  “My kinsmen, my brethren of the great kingdom of Harlaheim, today, we honor our new king, a new Cardinal to our city, and a new age for both this country and the continent. Without further display or delay, would you---“

  “More lights, more magic, come on!” A heckler, a loud one and well practiced, boomed his pleas over the crowds. He was soon followed by the masses.

  Kalzarius held up his hand and staff once more, thinking of a beautiful crown and rose, and he smiled as his powers flowed. He looked back to Phillip, received a disgruntled nod as he placed his crown atop his head, and then nodded
. He looked past the Cardinal, into the foyer of the great dining hall of L’Herrim Castle, and the two servants he knew, nodded back to him.

  “You want more? Than I, the great Kalzarius, shall give more.” The crowds roared even louder as his staff sparkled with arcane majesty that they had heard of, but rarely seen.

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  Clang, clang, slice, slice, clang, slice

  Balric D’vrelle slashed his rapier through two more agents in black masks, parrying their every attack with the enchanted steel. His face was painted red beneath a crimson steel mask of his own, one of a snarling wolf. His bracers were the same steel, his armor was light chain with a red dyed fur cloak over it, and he moved like the wind through the underground. Richmond was close behind, dressed the same.

  “I must say, you are fantastic with the rapier, Balric.” Lord Rodreigo came up beside him with a slash of his shamshir, dispatching another agent of the White Spider with ease.

  “Agreed. Richmond, you could not find a better master of the blade to teach you, I am envious.” Prince Willian dell Barrato of Caberra parried with his curved blade, then the dagger, and sliced down with both across the open chest of another black clad agent. He was pulling up the rear, keeping Richmond safe, while Balric and Rodreigo led them under L’Herrim Castle.

  Richmond drew his rapier as five more agents came from the bend in the sewers. “He has taught me for three straight days, all day, all night. My arm is still twitching, but I can fight.”

  “Good, but remember, those were beginner lessons, Richmond.” Balric feinted a lunge, as did Rodreigo and Richmond, and they saw the whites of the eyes behind the black masks.

  Before the agents could take in the strange red garb and masks, they reacted to the short lunges of these men. As they parried blades that were not there, three steel tips redoubled foreward intot heir chests.

  “Who are you?” One of the agents withdrew, leaving the blade of Balric to make quick work of his comrade, which he did with two simple strokes of his rapier.