The Exodus Sagas: Book II - Of Dragons And Crowns (26 page)

“Here, take some food.” Sulian tossed small bundles of wrapped roast chicken and bread, his men did the same, plenty for the ten men from Saint Erinsburg and his uncle, Savanno. The candles provided just enough light to make out that there were men here, nothing more.

“Where is Karai and his men?” t
he former Lord Knight Errant opened his food, began eating on reflex as they were all starving from the journey and hiding out. He saw much fewer
men that he had expected
.

“Karai has been summoned by the bishop along with his men. Protective detail to the bishop he said, he can do nothin
g about it,
the church
and order sanctioned it
. Sir Leonard’s men will be spreading the word in less than an hour that you were seen by the docks. Florin is nowhere to be seen, which worries me the most.” Sulian removed his tabard with the
symbol of the crown and rose emblazoned upon it, and tossed it into an empty crate, then motioned for his men to do the same.

“With eighteen men behind us nephew, this will be dangerous indeed. Perhaps you should allow me to go this alone, you risk much.” Savanno stood and placed his white armband on his bicep
, centering the red feathered cross perfectly. It was obvious that he had no intention of hiding who he was. “Men of Saint Erinsburg, remove your tabards.”

Every man except for Savanno Lisario had chainmail armor and a cloak to cover, no symbols or designations of king or city to mark them. “
If this is not the will of God, I am sure
he will send me a sign uncle.” Sir Sulian walked halfway up the stairs, and turned to face the crowded filthy basement full of men who were about to commit
high
treason on so many levels.

“Thank you nephew, you are a finer knight than myself, your father would be more than proud.”
t
he veteran lord of knights saluted his nephew, the eighteen men surrounding him did the same; sword blade raised to the center of their faces then lowered and sheathed.

“Men of Harlaheim and Saint Erinsburg, we are about to commit high treason, if any of you
want out, now is the time.” Sulian
paused, waiting respectfully for anyone who had a change of heart. Hearing nothing, he continued. “The queen has been imprisoned, awaiting a possible execution, and the king has been overthrown. Seneschal Florin is in control of our beloved city and in command of the army. A siege on the tower of Kalzarius holds most of the standing army, but Castle L’herrim is well guarded. You know some of the royal guard, and unfortunately we will have to cross blades with many of them.
There is no easy way in or out of the castle, only a few shortcuts we are aware of from the sewers. We will have to enter from behind the dining hall, fight our way to the north towers, and once we have the queen, we have to fight our way out. Then we get Savann
o and her majesty to the north gate
and out of the city. We meet back here to hide, then one by one we
resume our posts in uniform.” t
here was dead silence, broken by deep sighs from the soldiers, but not a word.

“The king has been sealed off as well, and Florin and the bishop both control soldiers that are on patrol. They will fight to the death to stop us, and we will fight to the death to save the queen. If you have reservations, speak them now.” Sulian looked over the men, seeing them come to a tight stomp of attention, nothing more.

“Then let us invade L’herrim and steal our queen.” Sulian walked up the stairs, pulled his cloak over his head, and peered down both
the left and
the right of the cobblestone street. With Savanno behind him, he ran north through the shadows and alleyways to a sewer grate that was already open, and climbed in. One by one, the eighteen men led by the
most loyal knights in the kingdom,
snuck their way under the castle in the cold winter night
ready to face hundreds and die for love, justice, and the queen of Harlaheim
.

Azenairk I
I:I

Ansharr
s Cavern, Soujan Mountain, Harlaheim

The mountaintop he stood upon was dark reddish brown stone, and was surrounded in thick gray clouds. The sun was shining, but from where
,
the dwarf could not see. The moons were moving across the bright blue sky, orbiting much faster than normal. Azenairk Thalanaxe looked around, down, and even above, seeing nothing but the peaks of mountains and clouds as far as his eyes would let him. His armor weighed nothing, nor did his shield or warhammer; in fact most everything seemed to move with ease and comfort. There was no warmth, no cold, not even a breeze that he could feel. Zen walked down
the sloping tip of the mountain
into the clouds below him.

The songs in his dwarven dialect were faint, almost a whisper. They arose from nowhere in the thick mist, so thick he could barely see his boots past his steel plate
d
greaves. He saw green and white light ahead on the stairs, his mind finally came to. “Stairs? Who would be building stairs on the top of a mountain? Stairs to what
?” h
e walked slower now, listening to the whi
s
pering hymns grow louder
. Zen clutched his Hammerpiece pendant on his ch
est, the hammer and moons
of Vundren, and closed his eyes as he tried to make out the chanting melody.

“O’er than mountains to the westest climbs, be it darker than the blackest o times,

Forgotten men and the haunting of vines, marketh a kingdom o
the
forbidden mines,

Where be forges sacred all in a line, and deep
depths o great
His and divine,

Be’ith platinum and the forging ring,
and nights upon where
dead dwarves sing,

Anvils for hammers more
than here be, gu
arded by S
he the demon you’ll see,

An to it many a still man will go, seeking a riches despite whats below,

Dyin from hell or from ghostli
er steel, dyin the dark death o’
Kakisteele.

Azenairk remembered the drunken songs sung in the mountain taverns in his homeland of Boraduum far to the south. He recalled the old dwarf’s
tale of the once sought after mines, and the warning within. The priest kept walking down, shaking his head a
s the rhythmic whispered singin
g
continued from all around
, hearing the pounding of whiskey glasses and ale mugs along with the chant that repeatedly came from everywhere around him.
The light grew closer, brighter, and the music faded as a hum overtook the whispering dwarven
folk
song.

The misty clouds gave way to better vision, the stairs wound round a mountain for miles, a mountain that seemed to stretch in all directions with no end. A dwarf stood on the steps below him, green glow from his muscular build and skin. He was a bit taller, in fact nearly twice as tall as Zen if he guessed it; maybe nine feet tall actually. Naked too, save a kilt of white shining steel plate that nearly matched his pale and unearthly pallor. The only hair was the white beard that hung from his face and dozens of braided strands that were pulled back off of his head and held with shining white metal clasps.
Its blue eyes were bright and glowing, like Saberrak’s after the scroll had released the strange magicks into him.

“I am dreamin or dead
, there is no fooling about it
.” Zen got on a knee before the hulking dwarven man, then noticed he had feathered wings behind his back, great white wings. “Oh, dead then I would guess.”

“Your father sends his love and pride to you, son. Do not worry for him or your
self, all is as it should be.” t
he voice echoed across the mountains and clouds, but not from this being
with the green eerie glow to him
.

“You must be Vundren, and I must be heading with this messenger ya sent me then?” Zen looked around for the voice, knowing it had not come from the silent figure he knelt before. The priest felt his face and beard, making sure it was there and he could feel it.

“Answers that cannot be given at this time, for you have much time before those are made clear. The l
ast Thalanaxe has a burden and
promise to keep, and you are to know only that you
are blessed and watched over.” t
he voice was fading, and the dwarven dialect was getting crowded over with song again.
A gleaming hand from the huge being rested down on the shaved head of the priest, gently with strange warmth.

“I don’t suppose I can see my father…father?” Azenairk began to cry, hoping it was possible to speak with his idol, since he had not been able to stay for his passing in Boraduum. His heart filled with sadness and grief.

“He is well, worry not. Keep your promise young Azenairk, and awaken. The halls of the peaks are closed for you, but prayers stream from them to you
, and your pious words and deeds are most honored here
. Awaken, Azenairk Thalanaxe, awaken.”

“Could you send him a message then?” Zen looked up, seeing nothing but clouds again, hearing nothing, feeling
not
the stone below his feet and the weight of his armor.
The dwarven angel or messenger or Vundren himself was gone. Zen felt something inside him fight to remain here, then he thought again that his father was here, somewhere.
“
Ya t
ell him that…”

“He is stirring Shinayne! He is breathing! Help me
, get him up!
” James leaned the dwarf up with the elf’s help, just as Saberrak sat Cristoff down and propped him up along the wall by the carved entrance to the cavern
where he had collapsed a moment ago.

Gwenneth and Saberrak rushed over to the dwarf who sat up in a puddle of his own blood. “Zen, can you hear us? It is Gwenne and Saberrak, and-“

“I love him with all my heart and miss him more than he knows! I will keep my promise and find
it, I swear on the beard of Vundren Father, I will
…” Zen opened his eyes, seeing Shinayne, Saberrak, Gwenne, and James staring at him as he was yelling in their faces
. He turned a deep red
, viewing the looks of shock from his friends. He even saw Lord Cristoff peering from across the entrance, having heard the echoing shouts that could have woke the dead from their rest.

“Well then…that was quite embarrassing and loud then. I ummm…you all didn’t hear much o that then, right? Where are we now, and where’s th
e dragon? Where’s the scroll?” h
e tried to change the subject quickly. The priest stood up, dizzy but feeling healthy and thoroughly humiliated. The smiles and smirks that turned to slight chuckles from his allies only made him blush again.

Heavy beating of wings followed by a rush of air and wind got everyone scrambling to their feet, weapons in hand. The chamber in the mountain grew black as the giant form of the dragon covered most of the entry, only red and silver glowing eyes and faint torchlight provided any illumination.

“The dragon
is here, and the scroll is safe
young p
riest. How are you feeling?” t
he soft female voice soothed them as her heavy clawed steps slowly brought her closer to Zen.

“Much better, much better, thank you. You must be Ansharr then?” Zen bowed, remembering that the dragon had healed him when he arrived, and eaten the salisan that had been ready to cut his throat.

“Yes, that is correct. And you were
sent by Kalzarius
to find me and bring
me that scroll, is this true?” t
he dragon walked past the armed friends that stared at her
, ignoring them and concentrating on the center of the room where she wished to lay. “
Oovrik
!” she whispered loudly in a
form of arcane that only dragons knew, and the chamber lit by a hundred magical runes on the floor and walls now alive with false flickering flames.

“Yes, that is…by Vundren and all in heaven, is that…?” Zen stuttered, turning his gaze with that of all his friends to the immense chamber now well lit. There was a cliff some hundred feet inside, to the right of the stairs. It fell perhaps thirty feet to a ledge, then again to a lower ledge, and then it dropped to nothing it seemed. The endless fall was not what caught their attention, it was the glimmering mounds of gold coins, silver and platinum coins, crowns, vases, works of art and precious metals, swords and other finely crafted weapons, statues from small size to immense, and shelves of books in dozens of languages that lined and covered the two lower chambers. Enough treasures to make any king jealous for certain. It would take years to count, but none present could deny that perhaps millions of coins lay in the grand cavern plateaus, organized in piles of specific precious metals
and showered with jewels, art, and more
.

“Yes, that is mine. We will have time to talk of that and myself later. Let us talk of the scroll, your journey, and you for now.
Shall we?” t
he great aged
red dragon
curled her tail and folded her wings with black striped designs, resting comfortably as she lay on the stone floor of her chamber
. The scroll unrolled from her clawed hand and
Ansharr began to read it as if it were her own tongue. Her claws were delicately holding the end parchment, while her other claw flicked the stone to roll and unravel. Saberrak the gray moved up, and helped unroll it, and read it quietly with the dragon. “You can read this, minotaur?”