The Exodus Sagas: Book III - Of Ghosts And Mountains (17 page)

Salah commanded a rat, just a thought and his shadowy glare saw it through. A rat scurried up his robes, grabbed the platinum ring, then crawled up more rot and bone under the garments, poked his head out the treacherous sleeve overhanging the cauldron, and
plop
, the ring fell in amidst the sizzling arcane formula. Salah wasted no time, feeling with his bony hand already submerged in the mixture, taking the ring, and placing it on one of the healing fingers of Eliah Shendrynn. Salah could sense the corpses watching him, all the prisoners he had killed in secret from Roricdale this past week, their blood and essence inside the cauldron. They glared at him as he acted upon his treachery once more.

“Hinvicartes hishiriam
!”

Eyes and faces appeared, ghostly in the cauldron, they watched and moaned faintly. Eliah pulled his hand out with lightning elven reflex having heard it and knowing the arcane finishing words of command and sealing of powerful enchantments, though none had been cast prior that he had heard. His hand drew the curved highborne blade, his other pointed two fingers to unleash flame into this treacherous wizard. Shadow and wind from nowhere whipped his red and gold robes as shadows danced from the cauldron to his face.

One slice, then a second, and he plunged his blade into the chest of Salah Cam. His newfound companion but smiled, worms wriggling between missing teeth, shadows crying from his eyes now aglow with green arcane sight. The blade had done nothing to the rotted and skeletal form beneath the tattered robes. “
Die wretch
, what foul trickery have you tried upon me?! I am Eliah Shen---“

“
Shut your mouth
.”

Eliah’s jaw tightened, he felt the urge to be quiet and say nothing, an urge beyond his will. He placed two healthy hands upon the blade, raised his stance to cleave off the head of this Salah Cam, then paused for a moment, noticing a platinum ring on his middle finger with two small emeralds glowing set into the metal. He went to strike.

“
Stop, and sit down in that chair over there
.”

The elven wizard lowered his blade, moved to the chair, step by infuriating step, and sat down. He could not resist the urge to obey, fear crept into his body for the first time in centuries.

“Now, my young, whole, firm, and fine elven friend, what was your name again? Tell me.” Salah Cam grabbed a handful of blonde hair, placed his face nose to nose with his captive.

“Eliah….Shendrynn…of…Kilikala….you will…” each word a struggle between his hate, the fear, and the magicks this one had somehow worked upon him behind his back.

“No,
I am now Eliah Shendrynn
…and you can make your home in this rotten corpse awhile my friend, yes, yes you can! You may have it
forever
!”

Salah prepared another rite, this one fresh on his mind, as his shadowy essence traveled from nostrils and eyes into the mouth of the elven body he would assume. The night was dark and quiet save for the foul winds and arcane light that radiated from the cracked and cackling tower of Arouland in the Western Wastes. Ogre and troll alike kept their distance. The cats stayed put, cowering in corners, unable to fend their own curiosity as the hair on their backs rose and the evil of night went on.

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“
You are making a grave mistake Lord of Southwind! The book in my pack will draw Salah Cam and Eliah Shendrynn here! This is madness! I came to warn you, so that you may save your people and survive what is
---“

Slam, clang, clang
!

Despite his pleas and yells, his captor would not listen and none at this moment seemed to wish to defy him. The barred doors shut in the hallway with iron force. Not a true prison or dungeon, yet imprisoned the same in comfort he was. An
insisted upon and welcome guest
of Southwind he had told Lavress Tilaniun. His pack and arrows were across from him on a desk. His blades and bow with him in the comfort of a well groomed room with bars on the window and the door. Locked inside, the hunter of the Hedim Anah waited.

Night had passed, then the sunrise he could not see, just the pinks and oranges through the elevated window that faced the east. The food brought was acceptable human cuisine of lamb stews, eggs, breads, and potatoes. Wine he did not drink, a chamber pot he did not use, and the men of Southwind were nothing but quiet and kind. He had the opportunity, likely three or more, to kill a guard and break free.
Then I will have to kill innocent men in the halls, get my things, kill more to escape, and my purpose and self would be compromised
. Lavress remained in deep meditation, resting, waiting, refusing to harm innocents or kill to be free of this room. He tried to focus on Shinayne, yet she had moved beyond his sight. Something was watching him and the book, he felt it. Something
else
was watching Shinayne wherever she was escaping from, and it would not let his vision pass.

Clang, clang, clang
…

“I am
your
prisoner here, no need to knock. By all means, enter.” Lavress stood, difficultly trying to remain pleasant in the situation. The barred door opened.

“Hello there, I hope it is not too early for the elves. I apologize, I am up before dawn in my older years.”

Lavress looked upon the robed man, older, a few scars fading on his shaved head, the stubble of morning upon his round countenance. He did have a blade, the falcons of his kingdom upon his tabard underneath the open garments, yet those held the feathered crossed of Alden in golden thread upon the dark blue. The man sat, easily, without nervousness or foul intent it seemed. Lavress followed in turn.

“I did not call for a priest, unless your weary Lord T’vellon has sent you for a confession before my execution.”

“Baahh, ha, ha! He is quite under the thumb of stress and worry, that is evident to all, is it not? Alas, no, there is no execution my elven friend.” The man laughed heartily.

“Then why a man of the Aldane cloth here to see me?”

“I am father Marcus Mederris, Knight of Southwind and Chancellor here for the church. I am here to help.”

“Then help by letting me free to start with.”

“I cannot, not yet.” Marcus rubbed his brow, coughed hard, his chest still in pain all these years since the plague that nearly took him when they marched into Teirenshire and withdrew. The sickness the ogre had succumbed to took many soldiers as well, he recalled with every cough.

“I need answers, my brethren of the church and many of the higher ranking and older of the seven families of Southwind are concerned you see.”

“As they should be. And keeping me here will only make it worse.”

“Why is that? Not that I intend on wanting you a prisoner, no, but I am intrigued by what it is that makes you think that.”

“What I carry in that pack, one of eleven tomes of High Elven Magick from Kilikala, is the last of four stolen that I have to return to the Temple of the Whitemoon.” Lavress knew by sharing this, he could be removed from the Order, yet here and now, it mattered little as opposed to warning the people.

“Who hunts you, Lavress of Gualidura?”

“A renegade highborne elf and traitorous wizard, Eliah Shendrynn. He seeks to open the Gimmorian portals to achieve some ancient powers for himself, and these tomes are the only known books with the secrets to do so, so I am told. I am no wizard nor priest, yet I have full belief and faith in my superiors of the temples.” Lavress looked past the open door, only three guards,
maybe, no, I cannot
.

“And he is here, in league with this Salah Cam who commands the armies of trolls and ogre to the west?”

“He is, and Salah Cam is allied with your Prince of Valhirst I am afraid. Your kingdom is likely in grave danger, yet your Lord does not see it past his angry and troubled mind, past some wall in his heart reinforced by his sister, Kaya.”

“I am aware. I was the one that reported her to the church, conducted the investigations and divined her allegiances, foul as they were. There is a struggle, a struggle of words, intentions, and trust mind you, between house T’vellon and house Mederris now. Alexei is his father’s son, no doubt, brave and bold, a lordly knight and leader like no other, just like Arlinne was. Yet his emotions plague him, the need for control and battle calls him. No wife, only women. No room for vulnerability or for weakness. Only his twin sister could pull his strings, and even that he hated and despised at times. We here have dealt with it for many years, and now with her gone, it is truly worse.”

“Hence you being here to speak with me.”

“
Hence you
being so formally imprisoned by Lord T’vellon!”

Both laughed sincerely, smiling as they could, understanding one another in the early morning hours. Marcus stood to leave, turning toward Lavress.

“Where will you go now?” Lavress queried.

“To speak to the other families, tell them what you have shared, and try and see you released against the will and word of the Lord of Southwind.”

“Where is your Lord then?”

“He left east, with half our best knights, half our forces between here and Elcram, and most of the saved supplies. He went to save the king of course. What else would a T’Vellon do but charge in sword raised high, into certain peril for God and country?” Marcus shook his head, put his hand to his golden feathered cross about his neck, and said a silent prayer to Alden for their safety. “He is not a bad man, mind you, yet he is young and troubled, have faith.”

“And you are prepared here, for war, should it come before he returns with your king?”

“
Hells no
! We sent riders to Hurne, Roricdale, and Vallakazz an hour after he left on his glorious charge! I pray that if there is nothing left to the north and south, that at least our friends at the Lazlette Semanarium can reach us in time.” Father Mederris laughed, a stressed distraction at best, he knew it did not fool Lavress here.

“He is foolish to abandon you all here, half forces against the unknown that is surely coming for this fortress and city.”

“That may be, but his heart is in the right position, always is. He is a lion of a warrior, and fearless as they come here in the south. Be sure of that.”

“His sister Kaya, I sensed she has the same heart, albeit deep inside. The same heroism runs in her spirit, I could faintly see it from afar.” Lavress bowed, hand to chin, lips, then brow as a sign of goodwill to the human priest of another God.

“There is where we disagree, my tattooed and feather wearing friend. With the former Lady of Southwind, there is but treachery and evil. I have seen it left in her wake, the destroyed lives her shadow left behind, and the corruption she fosters is nothing akin to heroism.” Tension creased his brow, forcing the wrinkles of old age to appear stronger at the thoughts of what he spoke.

“It is never too late, as long as there is a seed and fresh air, a tree may grow where there was once nothing to see.” Lavress bowed again, rested back down, and hoped that something good would arise from this conversation, before the enemy was at the doors. The hunter closed his eyes, trying to have faith in humans, where his many years had told him not to.
Perhaps this one, just this one, may have something that so many others do not.

“A very old, philosophical, and wise sentiment, surely of elven origin, my friend. But, you do not know Kaya T’Vellon. Enough of this now, I go to my peers. Hope they listen half as well as you and I.”

“I pray to Seirena and the Whitemoon that they do. For your sake, mine, and all of Southwind and Elcram. Well met, Marcus Mederris.”

“Well met indeed, Lavress Tilaniun.”

Marcus Mederris, Chancellor of Southwind and priest of Alden, closed the iron barred door behind him. He breathed heavy, coughing up the stairs, hoping another Lord had not made the mistake he was convinced that this elf was sure of. He wanted to set him free now, gain his assistance if he were correct. Unfortunately, proving he was indeed correct was the farthest thing the priest wished upon his people, for it would mean war with the ogre once again.

“Guards!”

The men of Southwind moved in behind, closing and locking the passages of the eastern tower behind him.

Exodus III:III

Undercity Tunnels of Devonmir

“Okay, allright, right here, hurry! He is leavin’ a blood trail a mile long. Gettin’ too heavy you are my horned friend. We haven’t much time, set down still.” Azenairk knelt as Saberrak thumped his rear down in the tunnel. Only the pale green light from Gwenneth’s staff gave life to the darkness here, yet the dwarf could feel where the blood was coming from off of his friend. He began to pray and hold his hand to what felt like the bloody seeping skull of Saberrak. He had never seen the minotaur this weak and he had not spoken in some time.

James reached his hand to the right arm, feeling the trickle of blood and swelling from each side with so many puncture wounds from the spikes. He closed his eyes, hand glowing blue, thinking only of healing his friends’ wounds, shutting out thoughts of Alden and the woman’s voice from Soujan Mountain.

Saberrak flickered an eye, then the other, both now glowing a faint blue as his friends prayed and worked their divine miracles on each side of him in the darkness. He looked in the gloom, Shinayne was here, crying as she looked helplessly down at him. Gwenneth kept looking to the rear of the tunnel, glanced at him and nodded, then went back to her watch. Kaya T’Vellon kept an eye to the front, dressed all in black, mask up over her nose and hair falling out of whatever had held it back previously. She looked down at him as well, then to the golden glow from Zen’s hand, and the blue from James’ hand, then back to Saberrak’s hazy blue eyed gaze.