The Exodus Sagas: Book II - Of Dragons And Crowns (53 page)

Florin felt she was not alone, but saw and heard nothing.
She cared nothing for the gown that drug through the dirt and ash of the underchamber and she even smiled as she thought that the cost of the garment would feed a family for years. She looked over the mass of rocks and the scarred walls of her domain. The
domenarch of the White Spider of
the City of Harlaheim crept up to the cave-in, looked past the side to see if
anyone was approaching
. She saw nothing, yet there was a glimpse of white in her peripheral vision that caught her eye. Florin, madame, lady
knight
, seneschal, and now queen, pulled the torch close to the rocks and what appeared to be a skeletal hand. There was no flesh, no meat or muscle, just a gold band with arcane designs around a finger and the skeletal remains of a hand, attached to an arm, buried under the rocks.
“Yari.”

Florin’s mind raced, then she
quickly patted her shoulder as the long hair of Rosana tied into her own began to burn from being too close to the dancing flames of her torch. “Damn long hair!
Uhh!
” t
he stink of burned hair nearly covered up the awful stench of melted metal
and rust that could barely avert
the reek of mildew in the prison she was so accustomed to. Her mind back on track, the imposter queen thought of only one person powerful enough to kill Yari and destroy the very stones of the castle in such a manner.

“
Where are you
Kalzarius? Are you still here?” Florin raced back the way she came after a moment of uncomfortable silence. She knew the siege had to remain now, and that the old wizard surely had the queen. She had little time, just days, to get into that tower before the Crossguard legion
arrived across the border
. Thoughts of fleeing to Caberra crossed her mind, as did returning empty handed to Johnas in Valhirst. Neither satisfied her need for safety and silence, so Florin vowed to herself to get Rosana and take care of it herself.

Saberrak I
I:I

Bradswellen Castle, Saint Erinsburg

The rag was wiped crimson with the blo
od of human men
of Harlheim. Saberrak kept cleaning his face and horns
, hours now in deep thought and silence outside the castle gates. The gray minotaur watched as the bodies from the battle
were still being carried from the field in the morning light. He had not slept at all, had stayed up all night, alone outside cleaning himself over and over. Azenairk had come to speak with him and prayed by his side, yet Saberrak had no one to pray to with the dwarven priest. Gwenne and James had tried to talk to him before they turned in for the
evening, but the gray
simply smiled at them and kept to himself. His thoughts went from the battle to come here in this beautiful city, to the men he had killed to free it, to how he had wanted to kill so many more in his rage. Since his freedom from Unlinn, he had realized that most other beings were not as savage as himself and did not rely on the brute strength, bloodthirsting anger, or intimidating displays of
combat that he used. The horned warrior felt nothing fo
r the enemy, human or otherwise. Just
the manner that he defeated them
in
seemed different than the rest of the surface world.

The warmth of the morning sun brought a breeze and heat that Saberrak had not yet felt in his time here, for once, it was not cold and uncomfortable. His scale armor was hot to the touch after a few hours of basking in thought, hot enough to come off. Pulling clips and loosening straps, the minotaur took his steel scale protections off, piece by piece. Taking another rag, this one still fairly clean and wet, he cleaned the inside of the armor and h
i
s chest and arms. A strange noise pulled him from his menial task, another new sound in this strange world his father had told him of so much as a child.
Gong, gong, gong!
The noise repeated over and over like some great metal dome being attacked. Saberrak felt the tingling blue of his eyes and saw the color chang
e
, he knew that whatever had happened to him from that scroll
of Annar
was happening again. He jumped to his feet, grabbed his greataxe from the grass, and turned toward the city from where the noise seemed to be originating.

His surprise was evident by the raising of his weapon, the illuminating blue flames flickering harmlessly on his face from the tattood eyes, as he was face to face with Shinayne. For a moment he was angry, for no
reason save that someone had crept up behind him and he had not noticed. “What are you doing here, elf?
I could have cut you in two.” he snorted as his muscles
relaxed the axe. Saberrak noticed that she was wearing a gray cloak now and dark clothing over her fine mesh of chain armor.
Still beautiful, as far as elves went
he thought,
and still more graceful than anything he had ever seen.

“I doubt it horned one, I am a little quicker than you, remember? Anyway, I came to get you.” Shinayne sat down the same time as her friend who still had trails of blue light fading from his dark brown eyes.

“And my arm is the size of
your waist, woman, remember?” h
e huffed playfully and tried to eek out a smile as he spoke.

“It is time for the funeral Saberrak. Lord Cristoff has asked that you be there in the
cathedral
L’Avia Sangrit in the city
, to be there out of respect.”
Shinayne looked to the bent and dull shamshir that l
a
y in the grass still, then picked it up.

“What is a funeral for anyway?”
Saberrak assumed it meant something for when someone dies, but where he was from that only happened from the hand of someone else. The bodies ended up in a back cavern and dropped into a deep chasm and were never seen again
, or fed to wolves and other beasts
.

“It is where a person is seen for the last time, honored and spoken of, and there is singing and prayer to send them off with blessings. Have you never been to a funeral?” Shinayne was not all too surprised.

“Was that what you were doing when I heard you singing outside the ruins when we met?”

Shinayne could not answer, her breath stopped and her mind went instantly to her brave escort and guide, Nathaniel. He had survived an attack of a young dragon in his days as an elven ambassa
dor to Kivanis many decades ago. B
ut the trolls of Arouland, while on the trail of Lavress Tilaniun in the Deep South, had seen his fate sealed. Her aquamarine eyes filled with tears at the thought of losing him and having to sing the Vytha Vahann with only Bedesh the satyr to hear. Now her heart went to the pain of losing the satyr to Kendari the Nadderi swordsman and never finding Lavress, the man she loved.
She stopped her thoughts, knowing full well that Lavress would keep Bedesh safe.
“You heard me singing outside
Arouland back then?”

“Yes. That is why I sought you out. You did not sound so threatening like most everything else I met in my escape.” Saberrak chuckled.

“Was it beautiful, did I recount his tales well?” Shinayne had not even thought that the minotaur could not understand the elven tongue, nor the blend of fey words and rites she had to use in his eulogy and prayers.

“It sounded like something peaceful, sad, and far too beautiful for this world.
You did well, I assure you.” t
he gray minotaur stood up, having enough talk of sad and pretty things with the emotional swordswoman by his side. He sensed her tears flowing and distracted her by putting his armor and boots back on. “To this funeral then, to sing for Sir Savanno.”

“They brought his body from the trail to the south of here. They said it was mixed in with about fifty other Harlaheim men and even some women. The king
here is not like the honorable K
ing Mikhail of Chazzrynn. I
will be glad to leave here
.” Shinayne wiped her eyes free of tears and helped the minotaur get his scalemail and greaves back in place.

“Still a better king than the creatures that rule where I am from. Things could always be worse, Shinayne.
You could be in Unlinn.
”

LCMVXI
ILCMVXIILCMVXIILCMVX

The stone structure was perfect in every regard, from the marble floors to the fifty foot high domed and decorated ceiling. At least three hundred men and women sat in the pews, nobility, clergy, and Cristoff in the front with his new friends. Savanno had grown up here it seemed, for he was well known by an
y
one in the Saint Erinsburg army and the clergy. In fact, Saberrak the gray noticed as he moved to the front to be next to the others, that half of those gathered were wearing the feathered crosses of Alden and were either priests or soldiers.
The minotaur stared at the giant sized cross on the front wall above the altar, then to the stained glass windows on either side and even the dome that depicted so many things with angelic wings and swords. He did not even notice the stares he was receiving from everyone in the cathedral. He stopped in the front aisle, distracted from the beauty and artwork of the place, and was face to face with a decorated wooden box fitted to hold the brave lord of knights he was looking down upon now.
The crosses reminded him of Annar’s story in the scroll, a story of sacrifice for lesser beings. His chest ached, on the inside.

The old priest may have said something to the minotaur in a room full of humans, yet his ext
ra two feet of height and two hu
ndred more pounds was obviously intimidating to the man about to give the sermon. Saberrak smelled the sweat and fear from the white robed man on the other side of the altar behind the casket holding Savanno Lisario. He looked from the priest to the man inside the box that he had met and
spilled blood with outside of the City of Harl
a
heim, a man he knew
that
went to duel another knight for his freedom and was victorious. His face was pale, head shaved, and his eyes were sealed shut by some sort of white paste. His tabard looked perfect with the crown and rose of his kingdom on the black backround.
Saberrak looked at the rapier, tucked to his side under the white cloths that draped around him. Where the minotaur was fro
m, that fine chain armor and
sword would have been taken long before the body even stopped pumping blood. The horned warrior bowed his head at the corpse of Savanno, then to the nervous old priest, and walked to sit in the front next to Gwenneth and Lord Cristoff.

In old Agarian blended with song and sermon, the priest of L’Avia Sangrit Cathedral spoke volumes about the life of Savanno Lisario. From his youth here in Saint Erinsburg, to the knighthood of Harlaheim, his oaths to the Order of Saint Tarumin as a holy soldier, and finally his honored position of Lord Knight Errant of the kingdom
.
Saberrak heard the life story of a man he barely knew. Two wars, sixteen major battles from which he only withdrew his men one time, the man seemed to the minotaur like a legend. Cristoff, his cousin, spoke at the altar of his times with Savanno at battles in Caberra, Chazzrynn, his own Harlaheim soil, and even skirmishes in Willborne. Too choked in tears to continue, the Lord of Saint Erinsburg left the altar and resumed his seat next to Shinayne and James. All stood and bowed their heads, and the choir songs flowed of melodies that Saberrak had never heard. He had in fact never heard songs in unison ever before. Feeling something in his chest that he did not care to fee
l any longer, the gray
walked to the side of the aisles and slowly exited the cathedral with his head aimed toward the floor. Gwenneth alone followed him outside the doors, not minding the gazes and stares received by present company.

There were no words between them, the prodigal daughter of Lazlette and the horned gladiator of Unlinn. For no reason in particular, she simply placed her hand on his shoulder as he watched the sun overhead and the birds pass by. Saberrak knew that the injustice done could not be repaired and that the king of this country deserved deaths a hundred fold. He felt anger, sadness, and that something must be done. Letting the tension out in deep huffs of his mighty chest, the minotaur bowed his head and looked to the west. He thought to himself,
this is not my country, it is not my fight. My fight is to the west for Azenairk and I have my word to keep to a friend instead of a hatred to feed here in Harlaheim.

Saberrak did his best to let it go and focus on what he needed to do for his friends instead of for revenge. He said a few words of thanks and blessings silently, that Savanno be avenged, Florin and Richmond to get
their just dues, and that he arrive safely in whatever battle lay after the ones down here. He looked up to the sky and sighed again, then sat down outside the cathedral courtyard. Without a word, Gwenneth sat next to him. The two sat in silence for what seemed an eternity.
The bells rang once more, and people began to leave the funeral slowly. Almost every one of them reached down to Saberrak as he sat outside. They touched his shoulder as they passed by, silently thanking him for being there, for his bravery in freeing the occupation, for helping their lord reclaim the city, and for his honoring of Savanno as best he could. Saberrak stood before long, head bowed, and allowed each of them to bow to him in respect that he did not understand. To the minotaur, he had not done enough, had much more to do, and was merely a brutal warrior. To the people of Saint Erinsburg, he was a hero and a godsend that had brought them hope.