Exodus: The Windwalker Archive: Book 3 (Legends of Agora)

by Michael James Ploof

  “I’m…I’m sorry, Ash.”

  “Aye, so am I.”

  “I once had the chance to kill Fylkin Winterthorn. But instead I ran, and then my good friend died by his hands. If I hadn’t been so weak, he would still be alive.”

  “Aye, and if I hadn’t been so drunk, me brother Fengar would still be alive.”

  “We can’t punish ourselves forever,” said Talon.

  “Ye tellin’ me that ye be forgivin’ yerself?” Ash asked, looking to Talon with bloodshot and watery eyes.

  Talon let out a sigh, weighing the dwarf’s words. “I forgive myself with every killing blow.”

  “Aye, and I apologize with every day I spend sober. Me judgement be comin’ when I be standin’ before the gates to the Mountain o’ the Gods. Me brother and king be handing down me final judgement. Until then I serve me mountain and king any way I can.”

  “You are a good person, Ash. You made a mistake. I think that they will welcome you with open arms,” said Talon.

  “Maybe…maybe not.”

  They watched the horizon in silence as the sun started its slow ascent and began to dominate the night. When the sky was bright and pink, Han came out onto the ridge, stretching and yawning.

  “Looks like a fine day for revolution,” he said, slapping Talon on the back.

  “It is a fine day indeed,” said Talon.

  Chapter 37

  The Exodus Begins

  I speak with spirit of Ragnar, he says he is very happy with grandson, very proud. He says he speak with Chief in spirit world, they become good friends.

  -Gretzen Spiritbone

  Talon stood on the ridge with Brightwing as the sun slowly crept toward midday. Han stood beside him, armored and armed as the rest of them. He had made it clear that the hawk riders could not make themselves known, lest word of Shierdon’s deceit reach the ears of the chiefs. They could, however, offer what help might be given in secret, from above.

  Flick landed on the ridge with a wide smile spread across his red face. “There are at least a thousand Skomm gathered around the ruins of Vaka Kastali. If you are going to make an impressive entrance, that would be the place to start.”

  “Thanks, Flick,” said Talon, trying to steady his nerves. “Any sign of my father?”

  Flick shook his head.

  Talon nodded, telling himself that there was still a chance he might not have to face the chief and Fylkin on his own.

  “You ready, son?” Han asked.

  Talon put on his bravest face. “I’m ready.”

  “Mount up!”

  The silver hawks and their riders took to the sky and headed north under the cover of feathers that turned as blue as the sky overhead. Across the fields of the white buffalo they went, quickly coming upon the southern boundary of Skomm village. Droves of people were headed to the commons. When they reached and began circling the ruins of Vaka Kastali, they found hundreds, if not thousands of Skomm standing around the smoldering waste, waiting for Talon’s return. Oddly enough, there were no Vaka and no Vald to keep the Skomm in line.

  “We’ve got your back,” Han yelled over the wind.

  “Give ‘em hells!” said Ash, circling beside Talon.

  Talon pushed Brightwing into a dive before he lost his nerve. He steered her around the burning kastali one last time and landed before the Skomm. Brightwing gave a squawk and ruffled her now silver feathers, kicking up large clumps of dirt with her talons.

  The crowd gave a collective cry and reeled back in surprise.

  “Skomm of Timber Wolf, Eagle, Hawk, Snow Cat, Dragon, Bear, and Fox Tribes, hear me! I am Talon Windwalker!”

  Before he could get out another word, the Skomm began to cheer.

  “I have returned to challenge Chief Winterthorn, and any other chief who would see you bow before them!” he declared. “The time of the Vald supremacy is over. I have come to take you to the new land!”

  Once again the Skomm cheered, but many of the older of the group looked on with concerned scowls.

  “I would see us leave this island and begin our own country. One free of Vald oppression. Follow me to Timber Wolf Village. Witness my defeat of Chieftain Winterthorn. And join me in the new land!”

  The crowd clapped, whistled, and cheered, but many voices rose up when the celebration died.

  “How can you promise such things?” demanded one, and many others nodded their agreement.

  “Behold!” said Talon, raising the timber wolf trinket. “The spirit of my tribe walks with me! Come to me, Chief!”

  The trinket flashed, and swirling blue light shot out. Chief came to form and stood before Talon, glowing bright blue.

  The crowd took in a shocked breath. Some even fell to their knees in reverence.

  “I have fought upon the sands of the Shierdon arena,” said Talon. “I have sailed the seas of Agora. I have freed a slave ship, and with it, taken another. I have dined with elven royalty, I have found the treasure of dwarf kings, and I have made pacts with Agoran kings. You need only follow me to freedom, and it shall be yours.”

  “If we do what you say, surely we will die by the hands of the Vald,” said another Skomm man.

  “If you do nothing, you will surely die by the hands of the Vald,” said Talon.

  “What choice do we have? We have no weapons to speak of, and even if we did, they would slaughter us all.”

  “I do not ask you to fight. I ask you to follow. It is true that we have no weapons, all that we have is our numbers. If we stick together, we have a chance. Now, who is with me?”

  Thousands of Skomm had gathered around the smoldering kastali, and thousands of fists flew into the air. Those who refused to raise their hands realized quickly that they were the minority.

  “Then it is decided. Bring only what you can carry, and follow me to Timber Wolf Village!”

  He spurred Brightwing into the air and circled the crowd, which was beginning to charge past the burning building and down the western road.

  Chapter 38

  The Challenge

  The exodus has begun. Until now it was only the memory of a dream vision, only the ramblings of a crazy lady. But Gretzen show them all who’s crazy. Gretzen show them in the end.

  -Gretzen Spiritbone

  They arrived many hours later, having marched miles before reaching the eastern outskirts of the village. The Vald were waiting for them, but they were not prepared for the tens of thousands who were quickly descending upon them. Their eyes grew wide when they saw the army of Skomm, and they grew wider still at the sight of Chief leading the migration.

  “Krellr Troda! Krellr Warg!” they declared, awestruck.

  The Vald parted for the group as it began to file into the village along the road leading to the coast.

  The Skomm made their way to the center square, and Talon put down beside the burnt-out ceremonial fire pit.

  “Chieftain Winterthorn! I have come here to offer a challenge!” said Talon, eyeing the gathered Vald, who stood on the other side of the wide circle, glaring at the Skomm.

  “Who has spoken such words!” came a growling voice from beyond the surrounding tents.

  The crowd of Vald parted, and Chief Winterthorn walked into the circle, followed by a snide-looking Fylkin.

  “Plagueborn,” he said with a grin.

  Chief Winterthorn raised a hand to silence his son and the crowd. He walked across the circle and stopped a few feet from Talon, glaring down on him with a look of disgust.

  “Windwalker,” he said, glancing back at Fylkin with disapproval. “You and everyone with you will die this day. Yet you stand before me offering this ridiculous challenge.”

  “I have a right to challenge you,” said Talon, standing his ground bravely.

  Winterthorn laughed, and many of the Vald joined in. “You have no heir with which to offer challenge.”

  “I am the heir. I offer this challenge in the name of my father, Kreal Windwalker!”

  Winterthorn laughed on
ce more and glanced around at his tribesmen. “Windwalker? He has no Vald son.”

  “I am a Vald,” said Talon, causing many to share confused glances. “I have claimed Bjodja, and I have slain many more than three Vald.”

  “Who might speak to this feat?” Winterthorn asked, spreading his arms and circling.

  “I bore witness to it,” came a voice, and Talon was relieved to see Felltree.

  Winterthorn whirled around and eyed the man as he shouldered through the crowd. “You have asked, my chief, and I have answered. When the Skomm pirates hit the harbor, I was there. I saw this man defeat six of our brethren.”

  “These Skomm cannot be punished for following me here,” said Talon. “For they were obeying my command, the command of a Vald.”

  The Vald and Skomm watched on, enthralled.

  “As well as being a Vald, I have gained the favor of the spirit of Timber Wolf Tribe. Chief!”

  A blue light streaked through the crowd and shot around the circle, coming to rest at Talon’s side. Chief shimmered and sparkled in the sunlight, and shot back his head and gave a long proud howl.

  Winterthorn was for a moment taken aback, but he quickly composed himself. “Your devilry means nothing! You are no Vald, you are a Skomm, plagueborn, throwback!” The chief stalked toward him with every word and finally unsheathed his eight-foot sword. “Kill him!”

  A half dozen armed Vald rushed forward, but a voice suddenly split the air.

  “Halt!”

  All eyes turned to see the speaker, and Talon’s heart leapt to see Kreal shoulder through the crowd wearing well-worn armor. Murmured whispers echoed through both crowds as the Vald parted for Kreal. Talon’s father walked past Fylkin without looking at him, his eyes set on Chieftain Winterthorn. He came to stand before Talon and stared down on his son with a face unreadable.

  To Talon’s utter shock, Kreal laid a hand on his shoulder and turned to face the Chief. “Chieftain Winterthorn. I challenge your claim of chief. I present my Vald son, Talon Windwalker, as my heir.”

  Winterthorn glared at the both of them with hate-filled eyes. Fylkin came to stand beside his father, and leveled murderous, jeering eyes on Talon.

  The chief glanced around to gauge the crowd. By the look on their faces, Talon realized that they agreed with Kreal’s claim.

  “So be it,” said Winterthorn, turning back and staring Kreal in the eye. “Your challenge is accepted.”

  “A challenge has been made!” someone from the crowd yelled, and the proclamation was taken up by all.

  Winterthorn offered Talon and his father one last glare and turned and put an arm around Fylkin before walking away and pulling him in conspiratorially.

  “Father…I can’t believe you ca—”

  “Get your head out of the clouds, Windwalker,” said Kreal, pulling him off to the side. “We are about to fight for our lives, and for the title of chief and chiefson. Save your sentiments until after the blood is soaked up by the ground.”

  “Yes, Father,” said Talon, unable to stop his grinning.

  His heart fluttered in his chest, and Kyrr burned brightly on his hand.

  “You cannot use the wolf,” said Kreal, eyeing Chief, who stood beside Talon, cocking his head to the side at the mention of his name.

  “What? Why not? This is Timber Wolf Tribe, is it not? The spirit has chosen m—”

  “He is Gretzen’s devilry. You do not fool me, boy. Leave him out of the fight. They have no such . . .weapon.”

  Talon eyed his father, wanting to argue, but thinking better of the idea. “You heard him, Chief. If something happens to me, you just protect the Skomm.”

  Chief barked, and Kreal eyed Talon.

  “What is the meaning of their presence?”

  “We’ll talk about that after we win,” said Talon.

  Kreal nodded and glanced over his shoulder at their opponents. The Vald had gone to work quickly, lighting the ceremonial fire at the center of the circle and laying out stones that no one should cross. Within the wide circle of rune-covered stones, the chief and his son would face their challengers, and history would be made.

  Everyone backed away from the circle and created a ring of bodies around the growing pyre. Chief Winterthorn, Fylkin, Kreal, and Talon remained inside. A tall, robed Vald entered the ring, holding a thick leather book with bound pages. He moved between the four men and raised a hand to the heavens, quieting the anxious crowds of Vald and Skomm.

  He began to chant in the Vald language, and many others took up the song. They spoke to Thodin, god of gods, and Styrkr, god of strength. They asked that the gods choose the next chief, and guide their blades in offering judgement.

  “As tradition dictates,” said the robed man as the chanting died down to a murmur, “he who is left standing shall be named chief. Be it the chief, the challenger, or their sons. The outcome of this challenge shall be held as sacred law, passed down by Thodin himself, and it will be respected as such!”

  Kreal leaned in while the speaker spoke of past challenges, and the winners of such battles.

  “You hold off Fylkin long enough for me to deal with his father. I’ll do the rest.”

  Talon smiled up at his father and unsheathed his daggers. “I plan to kill Fylkin. You just deal with the chief.”

  Kreal raised a brow to that and nodded. Together Talon and his father stepped forward to stand beside the fire. Chief Winterthorn and Fylkin strode forth as well, and the speaker came to stand between them.

  He raised a shaking hand to the heavens and bellowed, “Let the first sacrifice be given!”

  A lamb was brought forward and its throat was slit. The Vald who had brought it backed away, letting it bleed out in peace.

  “With the blood of the lamb, I call to Thodin, god of gods.”

  Two Skomm girls were brought to stand before the witchdoctor, and blades were brought to their necks.

  “To the goddess of love, I offer these—”

  “Let them go!” Talon yelled, shocking the crowd.

  The speaker glanced at Winterthorn, who offered a snide grin. “Continue!”

  The knives were pulled across the girls’ soft necks, and the blood of the Skomm virgins soiled the grass.

  “No!” Talon screamed, charging forth before the speaker could get out of the way and batting him aside with his increased strength.

  Kreal and Chief Winterthorn clashed as Talon sped past the speaker and descended upon Fylkin. His daggers worked in a blur of furious motion as Talon knocked back the big sword and quickly went for the neck. To his surprise, Fylkin met his speed and parried hard, smashing Talon in the face with the hilt of his sword.

  Talon reared back. To his right, Kreal and Winterthorn were locked in heated battle.

  “You’re not the only one with elven magic, plagueborn!” said Fylkin.

  Talon noticed then the red glowing ring on Fylkin’s hand. Kyrr flared with his rage, and he came on again, stronger this time.

  He lashed out with a strike that would have slashed Fylkin’s throat, but the big Vald moved with the strike quicker than was natural. He parried and left Talon dancing back, so swift was his long sword. Talon received a slash to his left shoulder that cut through his leather armor and painted it red.

  He winced and reeled back in a spin, but Fylkin only came on harder. Talon parried an overhead strike with his daggers, sending the sword out wide and thrusting forth with the right-hand blade. Fylkin slapped the strike wide and kicked with a big boot that took Talon in the chest and sent him flying back to land on the ground hard.

  Talon scrambled to his feet and found Fylkin. To his horror, the chiefson lunged forth with a strike meant to impale Kreal, who was locked in combat with Chief Winterthorn. Talon cried out and whipped his right-hand dagger, which spun through the air and caught Fylkin in the wrist right before the blade plunged into Kreal’s heart.

  Fylkin dropped the blade and cradled his injured hand. Talon pounced on the weakened foe, throwing his left-ha
nd dagger at Fylkin’s chest. To his surprise, the big Vald slapped it away, even as Talon unsheathed his short sword and came on spinning and struck at Fylkin’s side.

  Fylkin caught it under his arm and grabbed ahold of Talon’s throat, quickly squeezing the life out of him. Talon instinctively dropped the blade and grabbed ahold of Fylkin’s arms, which were knotted and thick as an old birch.

  The red ring on Fylkin’s finger flared to match Kyrr’s overwhelming glow. Fylkin backhanded Talon, sending him spinning to the dirt. He kicked the short sword away and stepped on Talon’s throat when he turned over. Talon caught the boot and gave a great heave, scrambling out of the way when Fylkin staggered back.

  Kreal and the chief exchanged heavy blows with their giant swords, which sparked and screeched angrily when they came together. Fylkin had returned to take up his blade and now charged across the circle toward the other two combatants. Talon glanced around frantically for his weapons, but finding that his short sword and daggers were too far away, he ran to the fire and pulled out a long, burning log. He rushed around the pyre to intercept Fylkin as he bore down on Kreal.

  Talon gave a warning cry as the chiefson brought his sword back for the strike. Kreal turned and blocked it in time, but left himself open to Winterthorn, who quickly took advantage of his distracted foe and slashed him down the back.

  Kreal cried out in pain, and Talon swung the burning log at the chief, hoping to give his father time to get out from between the two opponents. Winterthorn’s heavy sword sliced through the burning log easily. The blow nearly twirled Talon around in a circle, but he dug in and spun back around, throwing what was left of the wood at the chief. It hit Winterthorn square in the chest and knocked him back as he was cocking back for another swing.

  Fylkin cried out suddenly, and Talon turned in time to see Kreal lift the chiefson over his head and heave him into the fire. Talon wasted no time and ran around the fire to retrieve his weapons. He found a dagger and his short sword and took them up even as Fylkin emerged from the fire, trailing smoke and burning embers. He gave a cry of rage and joined his father on an attack on Kreal that left the man peddling back and working furiously to block the blows.