“Very well.” Angeline smiled.
Shrieks of screaming demons shot through the clouds, right above them, and then from the doors to the mines, and even from the mountains behind them. Black horned horrors on wings, hundreds upon hundreds of them, all swarmed the skies. Angeline pulled Tubrey against a pillar and readied her sacred blade. Then, they turned to ash and dust, black powder laced the air. The demons sizzled and screamed, as if whatever they were fleeing was destroying them, whatever held them here, was gone.
“I do not like this place.” Tubrey commented after the last of the demons turned to dust on the wind.
“When I drop, you hold on tight. It will not be like before, nice and slow. I need to surprise them, so we will fall very fast. When---“
“Whoa, hold on. There are one hundred men down there, we need to go get help. You cannot---“ Tubrey was cut off.
“There is no time. When we land, you get them free. I will handle the soldiers.” Angeline smiled and reached into her puch for the feather. “Do you love them, truly, Tubrey o’ Tarnobb?”
“With all my heart, Saberrak the most, but all of them, yes. They saved our lives in the Misathi Mountains. They are the bravest heroes ever.” Tubrey wiped his eyes and walked toward the edge.
“Who do you pray to, may I ask.”
“Alden, God of Heaven, the father of mankind. Why?”
“I cannot keep something, without giving it away. So, here, take this.” She handed him the feather, it was glowing, humming with golden radiance. She knew it was one of Alden’s, for Annar had stood over his brother and protected him, and was imprisoned for it so many thousands of years ago. He had kept one feather, in his hand, all this time. She knew it, for Charity told her of its origin with sweet songs to her heart.
“What is this for?”
“For Gwenneth, just pray to Alden, with his feather. Place it upon her, and hold her tight. For me, Tubrey.” Angeline wiped her eyes and stood, blade in hand.
“This is one of Alden’s feathers I---“
“Sssshhhh. Yes.”
Angeline walked to the edge and looked over. The black masks of shadow were gone from the eyes of James and Shinayne, yet the soldiers were beating them as they cried and pointed to Gwenneth. Saberrak was jerking the chains so hard that dust flew from the ground. Then, they began beating him with the blunt ends of their weapons as well. The red circle was pulsing, flames began to dance up from the center, and men in dark prayer hummed loudly toward it as if something were to rise through any moment. She heard singing, faint as it was, from Shinayne. Though Angeline did not speak elven, she felt the words. It was a eulogy, poetic and placed to song, and both she and Charity felt tears coming from the words they did not understand.
The lady of the Knights Soujan took a deep breath, wrapped Tubrey in her arm, and said a silent prayer to her brothers far away. She looked up, and a single faint beam of sunlight broke the clouds and fell on the side of the temple. She hummed and thought pleasant thoughts to the air. Many faint whispers answered, though she could see nothing in the sky. She waited for the right moment, she would know, the Mother would tell her. Angeline smiled to Tubrey, looked down, and breathed out.
“Are you ready?” She whispered softly.
“Yes, m’lady.” Tubrey gulped and whispered back.
Exodus IV:IX
Kaki Mountains
“Come on, Azenairk, ye’ still walk too slow.”
Zen felt the pat on his shoulder, he blinked and looked up. He was walking, though he did not feel his steps. The tunnel was filled with light, the light of thousands of dwarven spirits passing him by. He looked behind him. They flooded from the forges and into this tunnel, the one that Mudren Sheldathain had sent his family out, so long ago. It was blinding white light, and even brighter as he turned and looked to where they were headed.
“Hurry up me boy, by Vundren ye’ be standin’ round all dazed.” Kimmarik Thalanaxe stood before him, his own father, yet he was young and full of life.
“Father? Father, how are you, what is…oh by Vundren’s holy hammer, I see the Mountain.” He walked forward, trembling, and then he looked at his hands. They were white, glowing, as was the rest of him. Just like every other dwarf that he saw. “I’m dead then.”
He walked with his father, out the tunnel, and up the side of the Kaki Mountains, following the tens of thousands of dwarven spirits that were now free. He looked up, Mount Maonell glistened like a spike of silver from the clouds. The dead spirits smiled as they passed him, giving thanks as heavenly winds drifted them up the side of the Kaki, and then up into the gray skies above.
“Ye’ done good, me little agrvund, ye’ done made us all proud up here, Vundren’s certaintly on that.” Kimmarik sniffled, a few ghostly tears fell, and he put his arm around Zen as they walked up the mountain.
“I did it, I promised ye’ I would, father.” Zen held him tight as they walked, father and son, together. “Sorry I done died, but that Arabashiel was a bit powerful then.”
He looked up, and fell to his knees on the side of the cloud covered mountains. His ghostly lips trembled, and he pointed ahead. Tears rolled down his cheeks into his beard.
“Tad….Gead…Papi…Mum? Is that you then?” He waved to his family, and they waved back from the clouds of Vundren’s heaven.
“Aye, yer family be all here, all of us. They be so proud o’ ye’ son, ye’ have no idea. Ye’ did what no army, no dwarven kings, no one but you coulda’ done. The whole entire Halls o’ Vundren be talkin’ o’ me boy, Azenairk Thalanaxe.” Kimmarik held Zen tight, holding him back from walking toward his mother and brothers on Mount Maonell
Another pat came from behind, this one hard and strong. He turned around, and was face to face with the spirit of Mudren Sheldathain. Zen bowed, wiped his face, and smiled. Dwarven songs of praise chanted throughout the skies, from countless dwarven spirits, and he even heard his name being sung of.
“Yer boy fought like hell, Kimmarik Thalanaxe, I never seen nothin’ like it. Ye must be the proudest father in Mount Maonell, and I am proud to say I fought alongside ye’, Azenairk. See ye’ soon then. Vundren’s blessings upon ye’.” Mudren drifted up, waving his thanks to the Thalanaxe men, and disappeared into the heavenly clouds. Thousands still followed and drifted past, all being greeted by their families, long gone from the world.
“Me friends, are they allright then?” Zen drifted up a bit more, then Kimmarik pulled him back with his ghostly hand.
“That is why the heavenly father, Vundren, had me come to ye’ first, son. They be in trouble then.” Kimmarik let his tears fall, hard and constant, and hugged his son. He missed him more than anything in the world.
“Can Vundren help em’, what can we do then?” Zen felt something tickle his neck, something wet and warm. He looked around, nothing.
“Aye, aye, he can. Look there, look hard.” Kimmarik pointed through the clouds, down along a beam of sunshine, and into the ring of temples. “See there?”
Zen saw it, he saw the red circle, the wicked men, and his friends. He gasped, though he felt no need to breathe. He saw Gwenneth laying dead, Saberrak and Shinayne, and James all chained. It looked like a sacrifice and he turned his head back to his father.
“Stop it, can we go down there!? Make him stop it, I need to speak to Vundren!” He struggled, but his father held him tight.
“Hold on me boy, hold on now.” Kimmarik wiped his eyes, kissed his son on the forehead, and looked him in the brown eyes with his sky blues. His voice trembled when he spoke. “Ye’ know that tunnel, one we just came out of?”
“Aye, the one Sheldathain used to send out the box and his family and things, aye.” Zen turned to look again, then felt his father grab his jaw and turn him back by the beard to face him. “Why?”
“Ye gonna go out that there secret tunnel, head a bit north, ye’ gonna have help waiting. I’m sorry son, but ye have to go now, it’s not yer time. Just let ..go…now…” Kimmarik Thalanaxe began to
fade up to the clouds of heaven.
Zen reached for him, his hands slipping through as if he was not there. He felt something wet on his face, more tickling, and his was falling now. He fell from the clouds, yelling for his father, faster and faster he fell.
“Father!” Zen yelled up as loud as he could. “I love ye’, what’s happening, don’t let me fall!”
“Fight…like…hell…son….see …ye’..soon…!” Kimmarik shouted from Mount Maonell, as loud as he could, and then he was gone.
It went from white clouds to sandstone rock to darkness all in one second. Pain ripped through his neck and back, he gasped, yet it was grovelly and full of blood when he did. The cold stone floor was wet with his blood. He covered his hands over his throat, and then he felt the tickle again, and something wet on his face. It was lifting him, dragging him, and now carrying him. He tried to talk, but could not, the air just came and went. Suddenly, the forges lit with golden light, the braziers hummed and glowed white, and Azenairk Thalanaxe felt the healing touch of prayer close his wounds. His hand was on his neck, his other on his hammer and moons, just like when he had died. He still could not talk, just a faint whisper, and he was exhausted beyond anything he felt before.
“Wh..o…wh…o….w….ho…..a….re…?” His voice would not come, his throat was torn inside, yet he could breathe and the blood had stopped pouring.
“Whoilli darrnii ierri uossiil?” Dalliunn Cloudwatcher carried Zen out of the forges, all the weapons of those he had tracked by smell, were across his back. The lewirja licked his face again, the whiskers tickled, and he bounded down the secret tunnel he had found in the mountains. He knew he had to get his dwarven friend out of this place.
Dalliunn , by what grace o’ God is he doin’ here?
Zen patted him on the head of rough coarse black hair, and smiled. He looked up and saw Dalliun was with watery eyes, and he held on tight as they ran out of the Kakisteele mines. Zen grabbed his Thalanaxe warhammer from the lion-man’s side, and lifted it up to his nose. He made a sniffing sound, pointed, and nodded. Dalliunn nodded back and growled, a feline grin came across his face. The light at the end of the tunnel was getting bigger, gray it was, the gray of the outside light. It blinded him for a few moments.
Zen looked up, searching the sky for the Mountain of God, for Vundren, but all he saw was clouds. There was an encampment ahead, hundreds, thousands there, and he was confused. Dalliunn carried him, faster across the hills.
“Oth…er…s? It was a struggle to speak, painful and whispered were his words, but he got them out.
“Yiiglli vunderalli criili birill issi ouromi allissi!” Dalliunn tried to tell him how many were there, about their journey, but he knew that Zen would not understand.
Azenairk’s eyes closed again, exhausted, in pain, yet thankful to be alive. He prayed for his family, his friends, and thanked Vundren for the lewirja’s incredible sense of smell.
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“Push, push, Rosana you have to push!” Drodunn begged.
“I am pushing, ahhhhh! It is, ooohhh, ahhhhh, it hurts! I can’t!” Rosana was sweating, screaming in pain. She was not ready, the baby was coming, and she gripped Dodunn’s hand so hard her knuckles cracked.
“I see it, I do. Boy got some hair he does!” High Hammer Brunnwik was on his knees, next to father Garret, watching the girl bleed something fierce. “And there he went, back in. Stubborn boy indeed. Sure he’s not a dwarf? Hairy, stubborn, ye’ never---“
“Shut him up, please God, shut him up! Ahhhh!”
“Rosana, the baby will be here soon. Have you a name so that I may ask Alden for his grace and blessed love to shine upon mother and child?”
“Yes, with Cristoff’s permission…ahhhh, ohhh!” She bit her lip, the pain shot everywhere, even into her face, with every contraction.
“State the name, my queen.” Cristoff had just walked in, armor half on, men holding plates up with straps. He was covered in sweat, having just marched back from Tintasarn.
“Breathe Rosana, breathe deep and slow. Cristoff, will you be staying?” Garret was sweating now, nervous, Rosana had lost so much blood for such a petit woman.
“I can’t push anymore, I can’t say the name, I can’t, I can’t! I am not ready for this, not yet!” She fell back in the bed of pillows and white sheets, fatigue taking over in between pushes. Her eyes rolled, yet she appeared to be drifting in and out. “Where is Cristoff?”
Two squires were buckling his armor as Rosana pushed, the sound of forces in steel readying outside the tent echoed all around. Cristoff looked up as his belts and shoulderplates were finished, took his helm, and sheathed his sword. His cape came last, red it was, clasped at the shoulders. The Lord Bradswellen looked magnificent in the silver plate armor of Herrimus, yet his eyes drifted to Rosana, his first love.
“I am here.” His amber brown eyes looked into hers, and he put his armored hand out to touch her forehead. “You have my word, my solemn oath, I shall care for you and our child until death take me, my queen. Now, name him.”
“It is not your child, my lord.” Rosana whispered with a smile, and put her hand on his beard. “And I am no longer a queen. Why would you do me such honor and charity?”
Cristoff hung his head low. He looked to the waiting eyes of Drodunn, Brunnwik, and father Garret D’Ourmas. They had a moments’ rest before it began again, but instead of washing or preparing, they listened.
“I know. I know this boy is the son of my cousin, your late husband, and a great noble knight. I know, we have not our titles in Harlaheim, and we are far from home. But, in this new home, he shall be my son. And, you will always be my queen, Rosana.”
“Do you love me, Cristoff Bradswellen the Third?” She whispered.
“Since the day I met you, two decades past, when you were but a Caberran princess, before you chose my cousin over me. And every day since.”
She reached up and kissed him softly on the lips, eyes closed, and fell back to her pillows. His hand trailed through her short hair and over her shoulder as she came and went.
“What strange lives we have led, our marriages, children, and then all of this adventure and tragedy.” She opened her eyes wider, the pain was coming again, bringing her out of her listless state.
“Yes, my queen. Alden moves in mysterious fashion sometimes.” Cristoff felt a tear hit his cheek, and he stood, bringing his regal posture back into place as three holy men stared and listened.
“Alden requires a name, Rosana. The baby comes now.” Garret was teary eyed, knowing what honor Cristoff had in taking this child, this woman, as his own.
“With your permission, Cristoff…”
“Anything, my love.” He looked at the tent, he could not meet her eyes, not after the kiss. His heart raced.
“The child shall be named Savanno, Savanno Bradswellen the First, if it please you, my lord.” Rosana whispered, the pain was coming, she looked up to Cristoff with teary eyes. He was still.
Garret waited, Drodunn and Brunnwik paused, even the squires of Cristoff stood still. They looked to Lord Cristoff, stoic and unmoving in his regal battle attire. His eyes looked down to the golden feathered cross around his neck.
“I would…I would be most honored, my lady.” He exhaled as slow as possible, trying not to think of his cousin, the funeral, and keeping his emotions inside.
“In Alden’s name, we pray now for Rosana and baby Savanno Bradswellen…” Garret made the sign of the cross on his chest, and everyone took a knee that could as he led them in prayer. “…may your grace and love shine upon us Lord, on this birth of a child, and we thank you for all you have given us. Please God in heaven, father of sacrifice, protect Rosana---“
Kaya swung open the flaps of the tent, startling everyone inside. “Lord Cristoff, come quick!”
“What is it, Lady Kaya, Rosana is about to---“
“It’s Dalliun, my lord, and, and… you have to come. One of ours has been attacked…they must kn
ow we are here.” Kaya turned fast as Cristoff bolted past her. Drodunn left as well, then Brunnwik. They did not get more than a few feet out.
Dwarven soldiers gathered around and then parted for the lewirja friend of Tannek Anduvann. Men of Shanador watched in awe, and the army of Harlaheim stared, as a single beam of sunlight broke the clouds in front of the four legged lion-man, Dalliunn, who was carrying a blood covered dwarf toward the tents.
Tannek ran out first, axe raised, looking around to see who had hurt one of his men. Cristoff and Kaya followed, then Brunnwik and Drodunn knelt to attend to him, all the while they searched the foothills and horizon for the enemy.
“Who the hells told ye’ to scout out alone then? Dammit, and where be yer’ armor and boots…who done this to ye’ then, soldier?” Tannek froze as he did a double glance down. He had not sent any scouts out into the foothills, and this dwarf had a black beard, not red.
“His throat be clawed and torn out somethin’ fierce, face and back cut up terrible too. Dalliunn, set him down now.” Drodunn pulled out his hammer and moons, started to pray, then saw that the wounds were already healed to a small degree. The dwarf was struggling, he did not want to lay down, likely in shock.
“How did he survive? Look at all this blood, here.” Brunnwik knelt and inspected, saw all the dried blood, and despite the massive tears and claw marks across his neck, he was not bleeding. “Hold him down men, hold him hard, so we can save his life now. Probably never speak again, but---”
Dalliunn was trying to say something, raising the warhammer. Drodunn was holding this dwarf down so they could pray for some healing. Brunnwik had started praying as other dwarves tried to get in to assist in keeping him still. Tannek was shouting orders for scouts to search the foothills. Cristoff and Kaya leaned over and started asking questions. It was a suffocating commotion, and Azenairk Thalanaxe had not the voice to emit more than a faint whisper that no one would hear.
With all the energy he had left, he threw a cross right into Drodunn, then a left fist into Brunnwik, and slammed his helmed head into the chest of Tannek. All three dwarves fell back, just enough for him to get to his feet. Dwarves gripped his legs and arms, trying to hold him back down to be healed, assuming he was in delusion. Zen grabbed the shield of Mudren Sheldathain from the side of Dalliunn, took off his helm, and reached for a waterskin from a soldier.
The Exodus Sagas: Book IV - Of Moons and Myth Page 52