The Exodus Sagas: Book III - Of Ghosts And Mountains (32 page)

“Aye, I do. No one else took the time, his lewirja tongue is hard to pick up and truly makes little sense. But, once ye’ be knowin’ that, few years go by, and ye’ get it. I hear he saved your arses a couple times over already, good lion he is. Dumb as shart sometimes, but a good hearted beast he be.” Tannek patted him on the rump as he trotted ahead on four padded and clawed feet.

“He is, and yes, he did save us twice now, I owe him something for that.” Zen stopped, looking at Dalliunn Cloudwatcher, all his fetishes and animal hides and savage beads. “What would he like, don’t suppose gold would be o’ value to him?”

“Naah, naah. Just beads and such, though I never had him save my life or that, just scouting around with us, he likes it. We feed him, let him come and go, he be one of us now here in Marlennak. Family killed by something years ago, and we took him in.” The Marshall of the Southern Outguard Scout kept on, coming to a dead end with an identical set of doors that his men would have to open. His dwarves ran at a fast pace.

“Ye’ better have it open this time, I am not stoppin!”

They pounded three times, then twice. The bars on the other side sliding from unseen dwarves, then the soldiers of Tannek Anvudann pulled, heaved, grunted and roared as the stone and bronze doors of forty feet began to slide open. The Marshall stopped, his nose grazing the opening door.

“Dammit, no more drinkin mead in the morning then for a month! Stick to the whiskey only!” He yelled it, shaking his head in displeasure as they missed their time by two seconds. They all
awwwed
in unison, arguing among each other and pointing fingers.

“Your soldiers drank this morning?” James was surprised as they seemed so well organized and efficient.

“Hells yes! We drink all damn day, mead, whiskey, keeps us happy. And a happy soldier loves his duties, and if they love their duties they are better soldiers then. Ain’t no giant brave enough to face four hundred dwarves all lit on fine spirits, I assure ye’ southerner! Shart, we be mostly drunk now, sober, I’d a never gone and saved your arses against no dragon!” Tannek and his men all laughed, some understanding the talk, some translating it into the dwarven tongue, then more laughed once they understood.

The second door of the southern entrances gave way into a maze of tight fitting tunnels, shrinking small with every turn from their former grandiosity. Before long, everyone was two by two and Saberrak was ducking his head to keep his horns from scraping the ceiling. Where forty foot wide and at least that high was near the massive stone doors of the mountainside, inside the mountain it was hardly enough for two to walk abreast with room, and down to six feet from floor to ceiling. Azenairk walked in the front with Tannek, talking about architectures and histories of their people as they marched in.

“My neck is throbbing, how much further til I can stand up straight again?” Saberrak huffed it out ahead for Zen and the marshall to hear.

“Soon my minotaur guest, soon. We keep the first set of inner passages tight, in case ogre or giants ever be thinkin’ o’ siege or war again. They can’t be fitting in these tunnels, and if they do, we cut em down quick.”

“We killed a giant of some sort on the way here, nasty smelling beast it was.” Zen looked back to his friends, all marching in awe, all except Saberrak who was most uncomfortable.

“Naah, naah, that was a little gray one right, female, sickly, the thing ya killed?” Tannek shook his head, serious look to his brown eyes as he stroked his orange beard and drank from a flask. He offered it to Zen who waved his hand respectfully to the no.

“Yes, terrible smell to the blood and body, withered and it had small horns and---“

“Aye, aye. Mogi, those are the mogi, not a true giant, a halfbreed they are. Don’t ever kill one unless ye wish a war upon yourselves. They send their old out to feast when they be too weak and feeble. Then they hunt down em down, and eat em.”

“Cannibals?” Gwenneth asked, curious about the spirits she had seen with her arcane vision.

“Aye, aye. Me brother is a priest o’ Vundren, like Azenairk here, he says they be worshippin demons o’ the dead and eatin their own ghosts and such. Gives em powers or something. He knows bout all that more than me, something with the blood too. They got damn poles with the heads of their elder shamans all over the pass, ya’ know. Me brother says they watch ya through em, I don’t know. All I know is they be some breed of ogre and giant mixed, savage and cursed.” Tannek Anvudann stopped, waved his hand ahead in the torchlit tunnel. A lone figure waved back, then two followed in behind it as it approached.

“And when do we meet your brother, Marshall Tannek?” James looked around, noting the four hundred dwarves taking in most of the air in the cramped passage, it was getting hard to breathe.

“Right now, he is comin this way. Hope he don’t chat yer ears off and ask a thousand questions.”

“Who rules now, here in Marlennak then? Is it still King Vurdemok the Fourth?” Zen asked as the other dwarves were approaching. He tried to recall what his father had told him of Marlennak, he had been told so much.

“No, he done died about some twelve years ago now, near two fifty he was. Now, we don’t have
one
king.”

“No, king? Who commands the armies then?” Zen was perplexed.

“We don’t have
one
king. We got two. Old Vurdemok left the kingdom to his two sons, one from his first wife and one from the second. Shart on us, they never agree on nothin’ without a fight. King Rallik o’ the Mountains and the South, King Therrak o’ the City and the North. They sit across from each other now, yelling every damn day, by Vundren it is a bleedin mess.” Tannek nodded to the stockier and heavier dwarf that met him with a forearm to his.

“These must be the travelers from Deadman’s Pass then? Pleasure to meet ye’, I am father Drodun Anduvann o’ the Temple o’ the Cracked Wall, Vundren be blessed ye made it in one piece to us.” His long braids of red beard bounced off his knees, hair nearly gone on top but a few strands toward the back, and his belly looked a bit more full than his obviously younger brother. Still, the armor, family crested shield, and battle axe looked related, just as these two did. His robes and holy regalia of Vundren tried to cover it, but there was no denying that they were brothers, especially the bright brown eyed smiles that appeared here and there in the torchlight.

“Allright, allright. O’ course they be safe, me and mine went to get em. Ain’t no temple boys here, no, just Outguard Scout and killers in the mountains by
my
side! Ye’ be forgettin’ who guards the south brother, sure not that temple is o’ the
cracked head
?” Tannek pounded his shield, followed by the half of his men that knew the Agarian tongue.

“True on that then, younger brother. So, introduce me then to these here fine folk, would ya? Surely ye’ know them all well by now then?” Drodun walked up to Azenairk, bowing and shaking his hand in respect to an obvious fellow priest.

“This here is Azenairk Thalanaxe, last o’ his line from Boraduum, son of the late Kimmirik Thalanaxe, priest o’ Vundren liking to yourself. And this is…ahh…this is ummm…”

“Ye did not ask their names again, did ye’?” Drodun looked at his brother, shaking his head and sighing deep.

“Well, no. I figured by them comin’ with, they would be showin their intentions and all, what is the point then, really?” Tannek lowered his head, waved an arm around, pointing to the companions and his men, not lookin’ to his older brother.

“Ye and the men drinkin’ the mead and whiskey on the routes again, eh?”

“Aye, ye’ bleedin’ hogwasher, what of it?”

“Pardon the manners o’ me brother, he has to get back to duty and all.” Drodun smacked Tannek on the breastplate, hard, but with a smile.

“Aye, aye. I be seeing ye all in the city, be sure o’ that. Well met and all, come on men, come on Dalliunn!
Vuak dermeth agra Vundren athik vuumber ahn!”
Tannek pounded his armor, as did all his men, making a deafening echo in the small passage. They all turned, heading back through the tunnels to the far off southern doors.

“Father Thalanaxe, who be your friends here then?” Drodun held his hand out as he looked to the mismatched travelers. One of his priestly acolytes of the hammer and moons offered him a thick aged tome and the other a writing quill and ink. He began inscribing the names of the visitors to the great city of Marlennak into the golden edged book.

“I am Gwenneth Lazlette.” Gwenne admired the bit of sudden formality, seeing a book and someone that could write brought a smile to her worn and tired visage.

“Daughter o’ who and from where? Any title would be kind o’ ye as well.” Drodunn wrote, dipping the golden stick with feathers and a bone tip into a golden vial filled with deep blue ink.

“Yes, of course. I am the daughter of Aelaine Lazlette, the Lady of Vallakazz and mistress of the Lazlette Semanarium Arcanum. I am an honor graduate wizard of the academy, and master of the arts myself.” Gwenneth smiled wide, knowing Drodun was having difficulty with all the lengthy words and by his eyes she could tell he was indeed impressed.

“And yer father then?” Drodun looked up, wishing to finish with what was hopefully the hardest and longest one of the group, his hand already aching.

“I do not wish to---“

“She is the daughter of the great and late Lord Arlinne T’Vellon of Southwind Keep, a hero of Chazzrynn, honored among his people.” James spoke up, solemnly, but speaking for Gwenneth as to the father she rarely mentioned. He knew she would either be very angry, or perhaps find a bit of peace from the words he spoke. She did not look to him and kept her silent composure.

“Ye’ come from fine stock there, Gwenneth Lazlette, well met indeed.” The priest of Marlennak turned to the golden skinned elven woman and smiled.

She bowed. “I am Lady Shinayne T’Sarrin, once heir to the throne of Kilikala, and my parents have been missing since I was very young. Yet, the guardians that raised me and my sisters are Naladra and Eoehrina Hanaira, the king and queen of my homeland to the north.

Drodun wrote and dipped and wrote in the silent tunnels of the south side. He would hope the men had less in the way of titles and names, his hand throbbing now. He smiled and nodded to Shinayne, then looked to the bearded man with the sash.

James bowed as well. “I am Sir James Andellis, Knight of Southwind Keep, honorable Knight of Chazzrynn for King Mikhail Salganat, and I have never and will never know of my parents. I was raised as an orphan as were most of my order.” He breathed out, always having trouble with never knowing his past or family. That was why he seemed insistent that Gwenne honor hers, at least she knew.

“And James was actually knighted in the field by the King of Chazzrynn, received a falcon medal of honor, and brought down the commanding officer of an Altestani warship in single combat.” Gwenneth smirked, adding a bit of his glory to the book to compensate for the lack of parents, though she did not know why. Perhaps it felt like gratitude.

“Excellent service Sir James, aye.” Drodun sighed, his page filling quick, the words losing their neatness, he realized he had erred in asking the details, although, these were the most noble and interesting visitors Marlennak had seen in centuries. He looked to the seven and a half foot minotaur with suspicion with all the tattoos on the face and quite a beastial disposition.

“And lastly, you, my horned visitor.”

“I am Saberrak the gray, formerly of Unlinn. Son of Tathlyn, older brother to Tychaeus. I do not know who my mother was by name, most minotaurs don’t. I have nothing else, no other names.” He said it without pride, without his usual huffs of honor and intimidation. The lists previous of such great histories and honors had left him quiet.

Drodun sensed it, they all did. It was quiet, as if something was supposed to happen but no one knew exactly what. Drodun looked to his belt, saw the old fist of Annar on the minotaurs’ buckle. “Well then, Saberrak
Agrannar
of the Grays, son of Tathlyn it is then. Well met.”

“What does that mean? That is not my name, dwarf.” Saberrak liked the sound, but felt more shame and anger than any gratitude in falseness.

Zen spoke first, quickly. “It fits fine.
Agr
, means
of the spirit of
. In our tongue, we add it to Vundren, saying
agrvund
to those that are blessed into the temples at an early age. Ye definitely be young, and ye definitely have the spirit of Annar in ye, enough said there. Take it, the priest gives ye honor and you deserve my horned friend.”

All his friends nodded and smiled in agreement, realizing how important having a full name was in the world, and how they had taken theirs for granted for so long. Saberrak smirked a bit, huffed out his chest, and raised his head a little in the cramped passage.

“Saberrak Agrannar of the Grays, son of Tathlyn. Suppose it’s fitting then.”

“Well met to ye all, and welcome to Marlennak! Now, let me give a tour around and show ye a bit o’ the city. We be starting on the south side, we will head over to Redbridge into the heart o’ the city with all the homes and merchants, and then I will take ye over Blackbridge to the actual forges, temples, and libraries. From there, I will see about getting us in to see the two kings in Castle Vairrek…you all being noble and such as it were…and then…” Drodun walked and talked, guards and acolytes falling in behind him and his most noble guests followed closely through the hidden dwarven city of the Misathi.