The Exodus Sagas: Book II - Of Dragons And Crowns (31 page)

“You all have had a tumultuous journey, would you rather discuss this in th
e morning after you have rested?
It may take hours to explain.” Ansharr spoke softly, sensing wounds, pain, and weariness in the six travelers that waited for her and stared at her in awe and amazement.

“I think, and I speak for most of us I am sure, that we have been through far too much to not know why this scroll that Saberrak found is so valuable. I doubt any of us will sleep well at this point, great dragon.” Shinayne bowed and looked around at the others, seeing everyone in agreement as she expected.

‘Is that so?” t
he red winged
wyrm looked them all over with her glowing red and silver eyes.

“I do have one thing to mention before you begin, ancient one.” James stood up from his spot on the stone floor, nervously.

“Go ahead, Sir James
.”

“I would like to apologize.”

“For whatever could you apologize
to me for, we have just
met good knight?” Ansharr seemed puzzled.

“I washed myself of the dirt and blood of
battle in your sacred pool. Please forgive me, I respect your old beliefs and would never
desecrate an altar to anything holy or divine. I was raised to worship and praise Alden, and to me there is only God, and Alden is his-“

James heard the stifled laughter erupting from Gwenne and Shinayne, then looked behind him. He saw the wizard with her hand over her mouth shaking her head with tears in her eyes, and
the elven woman doubled over in laughter.

“Sir James, the pool out there is for bathing, nothing more. I believe your lady companions have something to share with the rest of us?” Ansharr enjoyed having the sound of laughter in her cavernous home, it had been a long time indeed and she could not help but let a smile cross her horned face as well.

“No, nothing to add.” Shinayne and Gwenne kept laughing as they looked at the knight of Chazzrynn, still at noble attention in front
of the dragon. “But thank you J
ames, for the brief less
on on your religious beliefs.” t
he ladies, weary and exhausted, continued their hysterical laughter, pointing at James who was as red in the face as the dragon. Even Cristoff, Zen,
and Saberrak chuckled at this point, as much at James for his un
n
eeded apology as the Shinayne and Gwenne for their inability to stop laughing.

“Well… o
h…ummm. It seems I’ve been had, very funny. I think we all need a rest, and the night is late.
As I am the subject of the jests this evening, I think I shall retire. Do we have any blankets?” James looked around and saw none, hoping he would not have to sleep on the cold stone floor.

“Yes James, I have plenty. If you walk toward the stairs, on the right by the chests there are many.” Ansharr pointed her clawed finger over to where she spoke of, magical light erupting from a torch sconce directly above the stone alcove in the rock.

“May I ask a serious question, Ansharr?” Gwenneth, having calmed herself from the humorous debacle, wiped her eyes and stepped forward.

“Of course, Lady of Lazlette.”

“Why is it you have a pool that is far too small for you, and blankets that surely you do not use?”

Ansharr lowered her head right in front of the lady wizard, watching the men doze off before the blankets and furs were brought out. “Because I have many humans in and out of my life and my home
,
from time to time. Down those stairs live some people I watch over, and that watch over me, among other things. That is why Kalzarius knew that here would be the safest place for your scroll.”

“Who are they?”
G
wenneth was curious, not as much about them as the arcane treasures, but still curious.

“That I cannot tell you my dear, I am sorry. If they wish to
make their presence known to you, they shall. But, I am sworn to secrecy in their regard, please understand. I can tell you this, you are safe here in my care and under their watchful eyes. Now rest, you and I h
ave much to discuss tomorrow.” t
he dragon curled her tail around near the wizard.

Gwenne took one of the thick fur blankets from James as he passed them out, laid it on her red and bla
ck scaled tail, and curled up
on it. She watched the others fall asleep quickly in the warm torchlight of a dragon’s cave. Only she and Shinayne and the dragon Ansharr seemed unable to do more than close their eyes. Her mind was on the scroll, the minotaur, her training, and on Kalzarius.
She wanted to know why Saberrak’s eyes had glowed and what the scroll had done and still could do. The daughter of Lazlette
wished her old master, or even her mother were here to help her decide what to do next.

The young wizard watched her elven friend rest in a sitting position with her sword in her lap, and drift off somewhere else as she closed her eyes. Gwenneth
tried to fall asleep also
,
feeling more and more comfortable next to the dragon with each slow drifting breath.
Just before the veil of dreams took her, sh
e thought she heard whispering
from the dragon, and then from Shinayne. Gwenne struggled to hear what they were saying, the language foreign to her, but her eyes and ears would not respond as deep slumber wrapped her close.

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Blades clashed and arrows loosed from both sides of the throne room as blood spilled on the blue velvet carpet. Sulian was fighting three armored guards by himself on the steps, lunging and parrying, his rapier flashing in the torchlight as he backed them up to make way to the dining hall.
The young knight’s men fired another volley at the archers of the bishop, killing several, and then they were returned the courtesy as two of them fell off the balcony over the two thrones
, full of arrows. His soldiers charged in beside him, fending off halberds and enemy rapiers alike.

Savanno leapt over a falling castle guard and landed on his feet in the midst of four more.
The veteran knight kicked the halberd of one guard then shot a quick thrust of his blade through the plate armor and into his chest. He ducked another bladed spear attack at his head, lunged low onto his knees, landing his rapier through the man’s stomach. Savanno rose to his feet, parrying swords now from his left and right. He dropped his elbow back behind his shoulder, catching both rapiers of his enemy in an obscure parry behind his back, and then spun half circle with his rapier perfectly straight and at full length. Both guards fell to the ground, having their necks cut wide open from the sweeping slash from the former lord. He looked back, seeing three of Cristoff’s men keeping the king and queen well protected, then marched forward into the dining hall.
He knew they were safe from the archers as they were mingled in with the royal guard in combat, but still vulnerable since their numbers were so few.

Javiel stayed back from the mass melee before him, trying to issue orders to guards and archers that could not hear him over the heavy thunder of platemail armor and crossing
of
steel weapons. The bishop watched as Savanno made entry to the dining hall, followed by a small band that were likely hiding the nobles that had been removed from power. One of the remaining cloaked rogues stood out from the rest as he viewed the scene. Fighting off and killing the castle soldiers like a tornado in a farmstead, he was definitely not a mere turncoat following the former
lord.
“Sergeant, have your
archers fire on that man there!” t
he bishop pointed at the deadly swordsman, who unbeknownst to him was one of the most loyal knights to the church.

Sulian Lisario thrust his rapier into another royal guard, parried another cut, then another, and began to cut his way out of the surround he had found himself in.
Another guard fell, then another, his blade making short work of the complacent soldiers. Sulian’s training had been years of hard swordplay, and he had been in battles inside and out of the city many times the last decade. His legs moved with his sword, his free hand gave balance where his lunges and cuts would cause a man to fall or stumble, and his perfect parries and cuts were unstoppable. He stepped over one of his fallen adversaries, seeing his uncle make it into the dining hall. He noticed Savanno fighting two guards from atop the huge oak table near their exit in the broken window. His eyes widened, hearing the rush and yells of his own men behind him. As he turned, a volley of arrows from the bishop
’
s soldiers showered into he and his men. Three of his
most loyal dove to protect him,
catching many projectiles in their backs
as they fell
to the ground.
Two arrows sunk into Sir Sulian, one in the forearm and one in his left side, into the ribs. His remaining men rushed to save their leader and knight of the order, while two of his injured tried to stand from the stone floor of the chamber.

Savanno Lisario pulled his blade free from the guard he had killed and looked from his stand on top of the table. His remaining four men helped the king and queen to the broken window, peering out themselves first, then lifting the nobility out onto the balcony. The former lord looked at the thirty remaining guards trying to surround his injured nephew to no avail. The arrows had caused the castle guard to hold for a moment, enough for Sulian and his men to reach the hall. They lifted their knight up to Savanno, who in turn pulled him toward the window.

“Go uncle, I will be fine.” h
is breathing was rapid and short, the arrow pressing deep into his side. Sulian snapped off the other that protruded from both sides of his forearm, wincing from the sharp pain as he tried to
smile in the face of Savanno. “Get out of the castle while you can!”

“Come
with me, you need a priests’
attention.” Savanno helped his injured nephew over the ledge, then followed him out, turning quickly to the left down the balcony
stairs onto
the castle catwalk. He counted
only eight men remaining, including the three with the king and queen.

“No, We will hold them here on the balcon
y as long as we can, my lord.” h
e shoved Savanno forward, and turned to stand with his few men and
give his uncle just a little longer to escape. “Men, protect the king and queen!”

Savanno turned and ran into the courtyard, following his men and the treasured prisoners they guarded. Into the night, as the infantry of L’Herrim scattered through the castle walls and yards, the veteran lord and knight
was the last man to drop down to the stairs of the sewers. He looked one last time at his nephew, bravely holding the balcony by the window with five men and an arrow deep in his side. The grate dropped closed, and they fled through the under tunnels of Harlaheim.

Seeing no sign of his uncle, Sulian stepped back from the window, holding his arm and his ribs that ached with every breath and step as blood stained his tunic and cloak. “Fall back men, to the
streets! God save us.” t
he remaining five soldiers and their brave
knight
capitan rushed toward the courtyard into the shadows. The young harlian knight heard the sounds of some fighting and dying, but continued on out the western gate and into the city. Sulian stepped inside the
royal
stables unnoticed and fell into the haypile. He smiled knowing they had fought hard and died well this night. The king and queen were safe, Savanno was leading them,
and the young knight just needed to stop and rest awhile
. He immersed
himself with hay
for cover,
and in the dark stone barn Sir Sulian’s eyes closed.

Johnas I
I:II

Fortress Salganat, Loucas, Chazzrynn

“He bears the brand father, and so does the woman. That is eleven we have found, eleven loyal servants of the Prince of Valhirst that have a spider brand on their back, in the same spot. What more wi
ll it take to arrest the man?” y
oung Prince Bryant Salganat paced back and forth on the falcon emblem engraved on the marble floor. It was fifteen paces wide, from wingtip to wingtip, and seven from the tail to the head; he had paced it over and over so many times while talking wit
h his father the last few years in the throne room of their royal fortress.

King Mikhail of Chazzrynn admired his son’s poise and determination, the shadow of a rich brown beard that was trying to grow to match his long hair. He smiled at the fierceness in the bright blue eyes of his only living son and heir to the throne of his kingdom. He saw himself, four decades ago, in the stubborn and just young man before him. He sat on the throne, the one next to him empty as it had been for many years, and stared at the long thin hall filled with decoration and falcon sconces on stands of iron. The loneliness made Mikhail quiet and reflective, peaceful yet tired. He wished to restore that vigor that Bryant had
,
to himself and his troubled country.

“Father? Are you even listening to a word I ha
ve said? It is time to move on J
ohnas before more of these unbelievable stories and tragedies hurt the kingdom further! I do not understand why-“