The Exodus Sagas: Book III - Of Ghosts And Mountains (29 page)

Angeline wandered the outer walls, looking much a tourist or sightseer more than a knight of a forgotten order. She looked to where she could find a way in, there was none. Looking for the feathered cross, she was successful, and she headed toward the entrance for the cathedral adjoined to L’Herrim Castle. She waited in line, many awaiting entrance to pay penance, confess sins, or pay donations which likely went to L’Herrim rather than the Aldane. Patience was easy for her, and she listened in upon more.

I have been a cheat at cards, please Alden forgive me…

He wouldn’t know if I weren’t a virgin anymore, would he…

The new statue of Saint Tarumin is here, when the nobles from Chazzrynn arrive, we finally get to see it…

That lady must be insane to think we will let her in with that big blade of hers across her back…

Yes, yes, pleasure to meet you, bless you, yes, would like to eat your flesh, yes, yes, I hate your race, you all smell of sweat, yes yes…

Cardinal Desmonde looks younger than when he left…

You had better hurry Master Johnas, get off your boat, or I will begin to feast here, yes, yes, you are late…

She stopped, before the guards could stop her. Turning around, the lady of the Knights Soujan left the cathedral with the feeling of utter darkness and strange evil in the room. She had seen a man, full white and blue robes of ten feet draped behind him, sitting at the altar blessing the people that were lined to see him. His headdress full of gold and tied cloth, rings galore, and a heavy feathered cross about his neck and one on a rod in his hands. He sat before the Aldane texts, old and white haired he looked, blessing person after person, even kissing their heads and hands. Angeline looked to the hundreds here, women with their babies, men, young, old, rich and poor, all waiting to see the Cardinal and receive his sacred blessings. They were kissing small feathered crosses of their own, praying for things, and holding small books of Aldane from their homes. She felt ill at ease, wanted to say something, but Charity stopped her with a quick flash of emotion.

Her boots followed her legs, which followed her body, a body guided by senses and an enchanted blade that took her to the docks in south Harlaheim. The masses were heading to the cathedral to see the Cardinal of the Aldane, others to the north side to take a view of the impressive Cossguard Legion in all their sacred glory. Even more rushed to the docks. Some with trade and purchasing on their minds, others less pure than that. Yet some, she sensed and heard, wished to see the nobility from neighboring Chazzrynn and their Bishop, to honor a new statue of Saint Tarumin in L’Herrim Square. Curious, not as curious as Charity she felt, Angeline joined the huddled people at the docks. Thousands gathered, the tower of Kalzarius standing tall to the east, yet all eyes were on the docking galleon, the Morninghawk. The falcon of Chazzrynn, black on a blue flag, three of them with golden tassles whipped in the winds of the Carisan Sea.

They were met by a squad of Crossguard Legionnaires, deep blues and shining platemail with white capes adorned with the golden cross of Alden. Behind them were the royal guard of Harlaheim, flags of reds and purples with the golden crown and rose held proud. The plank lowered, flags lifted, trumpets and horns blared, and the royal guard of Chazzrynn, in their light blues and helmed regalia, disembarked to the pier. They knelt in noble fashion, making a walkway with their formation. Twenty finely dressed officers and guards walked down ahead of two men. One, a priest, dressed in black robes and a hood, red feathered cross on his sleeves and back, hood covering his face until the wind took it. He looked Harlian, dark features and eyes, trimmed goatee, curls to the shoulder of shimmering almost black hair. He did not smile, did not wave, not until the noble man beside him whispered into his ear.

Striding grand and with effortless grace, was a Chazzrynn man, older by a decade or so, his Agarian roots obvious to most. Blonde hair kept wavy and immaculate down his neck, fierce green eyes, and a smile that would charm the most chaste of women. His regal green velvets were interlaced with sashes of teal, ivory, and gold. Gold that matched his rings, necklaces, even a delicate but invaluable crown on his brow. An emerald of dark compostion shone from the edge of a blade that was sheathed in an elegant leather and gold scabbard.

Charity
sent warning, fear almost, and told Angeline to be careful of the sword. She focused, trying to sense this noble’s thoughts, there were none. She tried again, nothing. She looked with her spirit to the sword as they passed her in the gathered crowd, and the sword responed.

Do not look at me or my son, begone old relic, or I will see thee melted down and sold as horseshoes…

Angeline looked over her shoulder,
Charity
seemed frightened, the swords were aware of each other, and were conversing. Yet try as she may, she could not get through to the mind of the man that held the vindictive blade. The procession passed her by, yet the man turned nonchalant, and looked to Angeline and smiled, directly into her eyes. Regardless of the sword blocking any spiritual calling, any invasive prying of his thoughts, she knew evil when she saw it. Here it was, his charm and grace hid something behind those eyes, and he let her know that he knew with but a moments glance.

“Make way for our southern guests, Bishop Balric and Prince Johnas of Chazzrynn!” A port capitan for the Harlaheim navy shouted over the people, trumpets and horns following his words, then the cheers and applause rose from all but Angeline.

Johnas Valhera strode to a small podium as it was set down ahead of him, Balric close behind and silent. The crowd hushed again, the marching of more soldiers from the north, men and women parting to let the royal procession of King Richmond the Second greet in grand fashion. The Chazzrynn prince whispered to his Bishop, and waited with smiles and waves for the King of Harlaheim to make his way to him. Heads turned to the regal puffed crown, curling brown hair underneath, his innocent youth, and all of his fine red robes and golden long jacket. He waved his jewel covered hand, getting not quite the amount of applause as his southern guests, yet it was better than he expected, so he smiled more from under his small beard and pointed noble nose.

Richmond was not alone. Sir Sebastian and Sir Phillip were with him on either side, dressed in mail and plate, hands on their hilts and their other hands across their chests in salute. Behind them were two more men, first the slow moving Cardinal Desmonde of the Aldane Order in Shanador. Holding his arm for support, was a darker complected man with bright brown eyes that glittered in the sun. His polished mustache and touch of thin beard were shined and his head was covered in a white silk cloth that portrayed his face. A golden crown adorned with tridents and rubies lay atop the cloth, marking him as a noble from Caberra. Armor of gold chain under his loose indigo and white tabard with the trident crest was matched with a curved saber and a matching curved dagger, both encrusted with rubies.

“May I formally welcome our sovereign guests from near and far, your majesty?” The crier took a knee before his king, removing his helm and bowing in the afternoon humidity.

Richmond waved his hand, guards reorganized, and he walked up to the podium as Johnas and his Bishop stepped aside and gave a slight bow. The noble from Caberra led the Cardinal up the small steps as well, Sir Phillip and Sir Sebastian helping now. All the royalty nodded, bowed, shook hands, even kissed the cheeks of one another as the crowds glared, cheered, and applauded their magnificent visitors.

Angeline watched, looking to these men, their bodyguards, beyond. She tried to hear their thoughts, but the sword of Prince Johnas seemed to block all. She went, one by one, finding peace in the sun and the rhythm of the waves so near, and tried to make out the slightest on their minds.

“All the way from Cordolla in Caberra, Prince Edians Del Barrato!” The Caberran man took a slight bow and waved to the crowd.

How…you…let my nobles….killed…wicked…souls… not the
…

Scattered, like broken whispers, Angeline could hear just trails of words as she focused on what she could from the minds of the gathered nobles.

“From Acelinne, the capital of Shanador and home to the Holy Aldane Order, Cardinal Desmonde Caunerier born here in Harlaheim!” Like in the cathedral an hour ago, the man supposed to be the Cardinal waved feebly and people hit their knees in prayer and thanks.

“From Chazzrynn to the south, Prince Johnas Valhera of Valhirst and Bishop Balric D’Vrelle!” Their hands waved, smiles wooed the crowd, and the two men whispered to one another seemingly enjoying the conversation.

Must get…ring…off…don’t make…me kill…king…cannot…get his ring…must try…bastard…made me…a…bishop too…please God…sword…stop…Johnas…damn it!..damn it…

Angeline looked to the dark robed priest. His mind in utter turmoil, though hidden magnificently, he was about to fall yet it was as if something would not let him. She felt a pressure around his neck, then something from a ring, just one of many, of the hand of the Prince of Valhirst. She opened her eyes, Johnas was looking right at her again, amidst thousands in the crowd. He was smiling and staring into her eyes.

Richmond stood tall, waving his hand gently to silence the masses. “My people, my loyal men, women, and children of great Harlaheim, we have had a troubled year. My friends and allies are here to help bring God, peace, and prosperity to the rigid ways this kingdom once knew. These men, all from enemy nations at one time in the lives of our fathers or those before them, have come as our royal guests. After the wars between us ended many years ago, each nation has grown and prospered in differing ways, and they are here to share that with your king, and I with them. Together, with God as our witness, we shall know peace and a better Harlaheim for all!” The crowd roared, the nobles clapped, yet Angeline was already on her way out of the cloistering crowd.

“Before we retire to L’Herrim, let us all, noble, common, visitors and citizens, walk together to the Square, and unveil our patron saint, Saint Tarumin, with a new statue in honor of a new age for Harlaheim! Shall we? Yes! We shall!” Richmond won the crowd, as always, putting them in step with him but plays on words, simple ceremonies, and anything he could surmount to cover his failing rule. He smiled, his guests smiled, he made it look so easy.

She moved, knowing she had to do something, but not here, not now. Angeline kept ahead of the crowds, dodging into alleys like once before in Harlaheim while being hunted by the cursed Nadderi elf. She had to reach the Bishop of Chazzrynn, this
Balric
, before it was too late.

Exodus III:VI

Deadman’s Pass, Misathi Mountains

Silent as death, she crept from behind the minotaur to peer around the entrance to a large cave in the side of the mountain. The pass went on, scattered bones and totems to mark it, yet this cave looked like a possible hiding spot to Shinayne. Ten feet, maybe less in height, sharp jags of rock inside, it would be tough for the gray giants to follow them in here.

“Looks like a deathtrap to me, elf. If there is no exit out, we sit and rot inside while they cover the pass out here. I say we continue on.” Saberrak looked behind them, still nothing, yet the high ridges held motion and sounds all day, he knew they were being tracked.

“Could be a way to the other side of this here ridge through there, we could try it.” Zen caught up, James and Gwenneth beside him.

“Even if there is, priest, would you know where to go without our guide?” Saberrak huffed, having seen no sign of the lewirja since he ran off in the night.

“Can it be that hard, just follow the sun, head west.” James peered in, wanting to get out of the heat more than anything.

“No, the horned one is right. The mountains will twist and turn, summer sun overhead half the day, we’d end up turned around in canyons and climbing and getting nowhere before long.” Zen resigned, knowing his way through the Bori Mountains well enough, but not the Misathi.

“Then we keep on the pass.”

Saberrak led, Shinayne by his side, both scouting ahead by sight and smell, the five hustled across the broken terrain and smoldering desolation

“
Stop, I hear something. Up, high, like drums on the wind.
” Shinanyne paused, then she saw it. “
Dragon!
”

Running back the way they came, staying close to the rock face, heads turning in disbelief, they ran as fast as their legs would go. The red glare of a winged serpent of epic size was honed in on them, full of vengeance. Flame unleashed from her mouth, three riders shielding their faces from the ash caught by the air. The flames began to cover the pass, rock face to mountainside as she dove over her prey. Four of the five she hunted covered their heads and ducked against the rock, nowhere to run.

“
Hulianis evreet himgale!”
Gwenneth turned and faced the passing wyrm, holding her staff out with both hands as the flame came to consume her and her allies. The staff of Imoch glowed, her magic erupting from the emerald atop and into a pyramid of arcane ice nearly ten feet tall, shielding them all at the last second.

The flames smothered the barrier of summoned cold, dissolving it entirely to mist and knocking Gwenneth to the ground as she tried to hold the spell in place. Fire roared from half the trail they were on, flames licking into the air with burning rock underneath. The dragon rose again in the sky, starting to turn for another pass. An armored woman, a red minotaur, and a black robed man turned to see if any were left alive.