The Exodus Sagas: Book II - Of Dragons And Crowns (56 page)

“So, Balric D’vrelle, the Harlian spy for the Crossguard Legion of the holy church and proven member of the White Spider. Besides having endless nights of passion with my scarred whore, what is it that g
ives you pleasure, my friend?” h
is smile
was wide across his shaven face of pomp nobility.

Balric squinted his dark eyes to a sliver, ran his fingers through his dark curls, then ran his hands over his face in frustration.
He pulled at his gotee and nose, inflicting a bit of pain on himself to distract from the fact he could not just murder this bastard right here in the wagon. His body
twitched in pain as if something had just slapped him across the face. It was not anyone here, not Johnas, but
Vanessa far away had been hit on the cheek
. His left eye watered, feeling her pain both from the injury and from deep within.

“What? No words from the amazing swordsman spy? I am shocked, truly.”

“I have words for you, Johnas Valhera,
words
that I would be ashamed to speak aloud for fear the Gods would
strike me down for uttering.” the Harlian
stared at the Agarian criminal with a contempt and loathing that had nowehere to go. His mind reached for his blades to kill him where he sat, but his body was powerless as the magic from the ring and necklace, ritually enchanted by Salah-Cam, prevented him from taking action against the patriarch of the White Spider.

“The Gods, the Gods, t
he Gods. If they truly existed
my swordslinging prisoner, they would have struck me down a hundred times over. You should really stop serving others and their ideals someday Balric. It gets you nowhere in life.” Johnas chuckled as he ran his fingers over the emerald pommel of his kris blade.

“This coming from a man who employs, enslaves, and trains men and women do what what he asks when he asks? You bring in orphans, homeless, criminals, and corrupt soldiers and officers in governments
,
in order to build your webs of murder and illicit trade throughout the world. All in secret, behind your smiling face is the devil himself. And you tell me not to serve ideals? I serve the one that would see men such as you dead in an alley as you deserve
, or burning in the lowest chamber of hell
.” Balric struggled against the necklace that laid heavy and glowing around his neck. He wanted his blades out, but it was if the necklace, or the foul incantations of the half dead wizard
,
knew that he wanted Johnas dead. It could read his thoughts, feel his emotions, sense that
who and what it protected was in danger.
Despite his current rage, the Harlian swordsman thought of ways he could
try and trick the enchanted necklace
,
to no avail.

Johnas seemed to enjoy the conversation, for his wicked smile never left his face nor did his composure of comfort dwindle. “Such glory you heap on my name dear Balric, thank you. Ha ha ha! It is not the most honorable position I hold, true. There is much more to moving shipments of opium and other illegal pleasures through continents and countries. Just as difficult is the planned assassinations and necessary killings that keep the wheels of the underworld turning. But seriously, my biggest challenge is keeping the agents loyal. Unlike most men of my characte
r, I have quite a reputation of
brutal punishment for t
reason, and thank God for it!” h
e opened a bottle of Caberran wine from the chest in front of the seat of the velvet covered interior of the moving wagon.
Slowly pouring the red liquid into two glasses also from the chest, the Prince of Valhirst looked down to his sword as if it had said something that caught his attention.

“Your blade speaks to you, I am aware. I wonder if it feeds that disturbed and vile ego, or if it tells you the truth?”

“No, it warns me that we have company close by that needs to cease breathing. And it is never wron
g.” Johnas handed the wine to B
alric, drank his quickly, then drew his sword as he whistled to the men. The caravan proptly stopped moving and the sound of crossbows cocking and blades drawing out of their scabbards was heard all around.

“Then why
has it not warned you of me?” B
alric stared at the sword, drank some of the wine, and waited to see what was to happen.

“It did, when we first met. I did not listen and have a scar to show for it now. You are no threat at the present, courtesy of the necklace which you cannot remove.” Johnas peeked out the curtain into the fading light of the Chazzrynn spring in the Deep South.

“So who is it then?”

“When I give word at the meeting, you will
pretend to
kill Salah-Cam, understood? He has already made deals with the trolls and ogre, I was aware. His usefulness is great, but his treachery even greater. This is why you came with me, besides the fact I like to see you suffer away from Vanessa.”

“So we are walking into a trap?”

“No, it would be a trap if we had no warning. Once the deal is done, we
make it look like we
kill the old focking half dead wizard.
He cannot die
by your blade, but the brutes will know we are smarter than they, and will not try and deceive us in the future.
Then I will double the tribute to the foul creatures, offer them some lands and slaves, and we will have their loyalty for certain. Just how I enlist my agents and members everywhere else. I pay a soldier in a month what he makes in a y
ear, brand him, and threaten
that his family will bleed should he ever turn on me
, and I will make him watch. Same principle here, just with troll
and ogre nobility my friend.” t
he prince stepped out of the wagon, sword in hand, and carefully set the glass of wine on the wheel.

Balric D’Vrelle followed, hands on the grips of his saber and shortblade. He thought of Vanessa, of Valhirst, and of the beasts he was about to encounter. Men, doppelgangers, and soldiers from many nations and cultures he had killed and fought in the name of Alden. He took a breath, knowing he had never been face to face with a troll or an ogre, and never fought a wizard that seemed to defy the natural process of death either. Regardless, he felt the urge to follow, to do as he was told, and his body surrendered despite what his will tried to impose.

Arrogant and overconfidant, Johnas walked past his thirty men with Balric trailing behind him. He nodded to the silent wizard back from the death that Kendar
i had rewarded him with. A hundred
trolls stood guarding their queen Munn Par, and twice that in ogre surrounding their decrepit and aging king Avegarne
in the distant valley below
. “You have done well Salah, and your efforts will be repaid for certain.”

The rotting human remnant of a wizard bowed to Johnas, his wisps of black hair stuck to the back of his head. His black robes clung to him like a burial shroud and his scarred neck gave way to the patches of hair still trying to grow from his face in the inbetween of life and death. “Your journey was safe and –“

“My friends and allies, greetings. You meet us early and well before the agreed spot outside of Roricdale. Perhaps I mis
understood and was running late?
If that is the case, a thousand apologies.”
t
he Prince of Valhirst ignored and walked past his wizard, knowing h
is arrangements
. He nodded to Balric, feeling the power of the ring tied to the enslaving necklace around the H
a
rlian man’s neck.

“Yes, my prince.” w
as all the swordsman could say as he felt the urge to cut the old wretche
d sorcerer a hundred times over, a false feeling that he had not put there himself.
He looked over the masses of troll and ogre, all looking to Salah Cam and the prince of Valhirst. He wondered what it was all for, what the madman had in store for Chazzrynn, and how he could possibly stop him.

Kendari I
I:II

City of Harlaheim

His eyes flickered open, the dusty sunlight strobing in the afternoon; a light the Nadd
eri elf was not accustomed to nor cared for.
Shielding his eyes with his steel covered forearm and reaching f
or his blades that were
next to him, the cursed swordsman peered around to see exactly where he was.
He found himself laid out in an abandoned church, blades resting at his side, and a crossbow bolt next to them. Looking at his shoulder, he noticed the wound had bee
n
cleaned and bandaged well. His left shoulder now only held the faded pa
in of a puncture wound that felt as if it had rested and healed for a week.
Kendari wiped his eyes, bringing them to full focus. He looked around the room again, this time his mind connecting with what he saw.

The alley, Harlaheim, agents of the White Spider
….and the woman that must have…
h
e heard the sound of men walking in the broken doorway behind him. Grabbing his scabbards that lay b
eside him on the pew in
front of a toppled altar, the Nadderi elf ducked under the hanging wooden cross of Alden and snuck to where the priests’ quarters would have been. His back to the wall in the shadows, he slowly tightened his belts and gear and placed his hands on the grips of his swords.

“You see
,
father
Garret, dilapidation at its worst. That makes four abandoned wrecks here in the city, and the former bishop,
God rest his disloyal soul, has
done nothing about them for so many years.”

The voice was human, Harlian accent of thick vowels and light consonants, likely a city merchant looking to take advantage of the fact that Harlaheim had separated itself from the church over the last few centuries. Kendari waited, hoping they would not inspect the back offices and chambers.

“However, there is history here my friend, and the presence of God is very alive in these rooms. I can feel it is wrong for the church to surrender this old temple, whatever the condition, and lose the spirit that was once placed here. You can tell your lord and master,
Sir
Sebastian, that the holy church will not be selling the building. In fact, I will see that it is restored, along with the others. The Aldane monastery of Shalokahn will make contact with the king and the cardinal as to when reconstruction of these holy sites should commence.”

“The offer is far more than the value of these buildings, surely the church could use-“

“The holy church does not need to sell itself, my friend.
And the offer is most generous indeed, but this is a spiritual matter, not a financial one. Pr
eservation and history outweigh
coin in matters of faith, God willing.
With the loss of the bishop here, inform Sir Sebastian that my word will have a higher say than his merchant plans for old temples
, at least until the cardinal returns
.
Good day sir.”

The second voice was not Harlian, human, yet educated and sharp in speech and accent. Kendari could not place it, almost as if the man had been well traveled with elven peoples and perhaps the Altestani. He had no need to look, and did not care to kill a priest and a merchant in broad daylight. Not that the cursed elf was not capable or ready, simply due to the fact he cared not for the chase and chaos that would ensue after the fact
,
so shortly after his waking.

“I would like a moment alone here at the altar
,
if you do not mind.”
Father Garret D’Ourmas spoke softly to the noble merchant.

“Of course father.”

Garret walked to the altar, his white robes tickling the rubble strewn floor of the temple to the Lord of Heaven. He felt something here, something not quite spiritually centered with the rest of the harmonious sensation the blessed building emitted. His mind would have had his hand on his longsword, a decorated and holy gift from the Aldane in Shanador for his missionary and historical work in the eastern kingdoms. His heart and spirit told him to pause and focus on what it was, or where it was.

Kendari felt his breathing swiften, his pulse race, as if someone were seeing him through the walls and shadows he was well hidden behind. His mind raced over the name
Garret
, finding nothing yet fearing the ability of this young sounding priest that he could not see. The moments felt like hours, and the cursed elf reached down to his ring, the onyx stones sparkled the instant he touched them, and he knew that his aura and presence were cloaked. He could still be seen by the eyes of others, but not through any divine or magical means.

Garret opened his eyes from his standing meditation, drew his blessed longsword, and stepped toward the passage behind the feathered cross above the ruined altar. He had felt someone there, then it vanished as if it had known it was being watched.
Whatever, whoever, was now gone from the empty hallways and rooms that Garret searched. He marched down the stairs into the wine cellar, his sword glowing a golden light
once the light of the sun was no longer present. The curtain was still moving, a sign that someone had just passed through. The priest walked faster, down more stairs through a door in the very wall that looked shoddy in construction but new in stain and placement. He peered down into the sewers that opened before him and saw nothing even with the glowing light spreading far and wide in both directions the foul smelling tunnels reached.