The Exodus Sagas: Book III - Of Ghosts And Mountains (44 page)

“
And what would those orders be?”
Phillip stood as the priest raised his hands and waved the honor guard of Harlaheim to take the body to the cathedral.

“
You are the Seneschal. Now, you have the throne. I want Willborne next. Katrina knows too much and is moving fast.”
Johnas stood as did the rest of the men in formation. He wiped his eyes.

“
You still need Chazzrynn, Prince Johnas.”

“I already have it, I received word this morning.”

“
And Caberra?”

“
Trade and peace agreements signed by Edians and Richmond and the Cardinal, it is done. Once we take our armies, mass them together, Shanador will come to their senses. All in good time, be patient.”

“
And what will your title be then?”
Phillip lowered his head, placed his hand over his heart in line with the floor, a soldiers salute as the body of the king exited L’Herrim Castle.

“King of Chazzrynn, Regent of Harlaheim, Ambassador of Trade to Caberra, and eventually, Lord Protector of Willborne. I think those will fit nicely as I work within my webs toward Shanador and Altestan. You will take the brand, the oath, and refer to me as your Patriarch. I have much to teach you, Phillip.”
Johnas hid his smile, the doors shutting, the men standing in salute awaiting orders.

Seneschal Phillip stepped in front of the throne. “Capitans and generals, legionairres of Alden, men of Harlaheim, an attack upon our sovereignty occurred this evening here in L’Herrim. With the assistance of Prince Johnas Valhera of Chazzrynn, the assailants were deferred, but only a few killed. Our king, Alden rest him, did not survive the assault.”

Phillip paused, letting his youthful appearance and sorrow show itself to those gathered. He looked as though he could not continue, yet he did with much outward effort.

“Lord Knight Errant Sebastian, Bishop Balric D’Vrelle, and the visiting Prince from Caberra have gone missing and are suspected as the plotters of this most heinous assassination. As Seneschal, I must see justice done. With Florin’s demise and the queen’s disappearance, their motives are now plain to see. They want Harlaheim to fall.” Heads turned, shocked murmurs began, and Phillip restrained his grin as the doors opened suddenly. The timing was perfect.

“Seneschal Phillip!
Another atrocity!”
The Cardinal was being held up by two royal guardsmen, blood over his white robes of the feathered cross, gray hair all amiss and frazzled.

“What has happened your grace?!” Johnas boomed over the gathered company, drawing his blade half out and stepping forward.

“The Bishop, one of mine own, yes, yes, Balric has charged into the Cathedral L’ Sann, cut down the guards and taken the body of the king!
None survived
! Sir Sebastian and the Caberran Prince were with him! What wickedness runs riot in the night, such madness!?” Ariili fell to his knees in shaking horror and sorrow, back in guise as the Cardinal. The guards tried to help him up, the scene was sad and the words infuriating all at once.

“
Perfect, bravo, I applaud you doppelganger
.” Johnas whispered under his breath.

“By order of the throne of Harlaheim, with the blessing of the Cardinal of the Aldane, I demand the heads of those responsible!” Seneschal Phillip drew his rapier and pointed to the open doors of L’Herrim.

“The king is dead, long live the Seneschal!” Johnas raised his blade beside Phillips, crossing his steel over the rapier and resting it gently on top, where it belonged.

“
Long live the Seneschal
!” It boomed from over three hundred voices in the night, all saluted with anger and outrage, all wanting revenge for the murder, and all loyal to the man now in front of the throne. They marched out into the city to find the assassins of their king, to find his stolen body, and to bring justice.

Exodus III:VIII

Castle Vairrek, City of Marlennak

“The holy stone tome shall be divided for safe keeping, each remaining king shall carry a fourth to his domain. To Boraduum go’ith the Words of Law. To Fazurand travel the Words of Faith, and in Marlennak they will protect the Words of War. Kakisteele will keep the Words of the Forge, all hail the Golhiarden, the Words of God, testament of Vundren. May he bless us in our desperate times
.”---From the breaking of the tablet, Dwarven Book of Kings, passage one hundred eighty six. Circa 1801 B.C.

Sitting on the stone table, surrounded by tomes harboring ancient dust, were the iron key, the dust, and the deed to Kakisteele. Azenairk accepted the iron box, full of rusty runes, back from the High Hammer and placed it in his pouch. He looked up, sighing in the long hours of what must have been night or early morning. He could not tell by the lack of sky, just by his weariness and the tired looks on the faces of Gwenneth and Shinayne. King Therrak and King Rallik poured through books handed them by Brunnwik, acolytes of Vundren ran with gnomes back and forth to the Historium Calaudrumm Vem, and candles dripped down their already cascading and formed stalagmites of wax that reached the floor.

“That says it, right there, no denyin’ it brother.” Rallik pointed to the ancient Dwarven Book of Kings, despite four volumes of other histories that lay on the stone table.

“Aye, but it says there that the only King o’ Kakisteele was never crowned formally t’all. Says that he was Mudren Sheldathain is all, it don’t be sayin’ who he married, just that he had a wife and children. We needin’ to find who his wife were to see if the deed is authentic n’ can be traced.” Therrak rubbed his brow, plucked a red eyebrow, then rubbed his beard.

“There be nothing there to see me’ kings, I have done searched em’ all. No records of who she was, just the name Sheldathain over about five er’ six times.” Brunnwik rested in a chair, he was exhausted. There was about close to nothing, not anywhere. It seemed the place of myth, was just that.

“That family name I never heard of, and I know them all in Boraduum.” Azenairk picked up his heirlooms carefully and put them back in the box.

“None with that name here neither, not in Marlennak.” King Rallik sighed and sat back down. He reached for his mead and drank.

“Nor in Fazurand, I visit the Moon Hammer often, bout every three years or so at the temple. Never heard that name besides in these here old books. Sorry father Thalanaxe.” Brunnwik felt awkward, he did not want to say the words that were on all the minds of those here. “
Sheldathain
,
Sheldathain
, rings a bell in me’ head, but likely from these tomes I dig into from decade to decade. History n’ all, just that.”

“So, what are ye’ sayin’ then?” Zen sat, next to Shinayne who was deep in meditation.

“It be forged, a folly, old as it is. Ye’ got nothin’ here and nothin’ worth risking yer’ neck over, Azenairk.” King Therrak felt awful. Having heard the story of how these folk met, what they had been through, and the hopes they had, he hated to be the one to speak the disappointing words aloud.

“That cannot be true. I,
we all
, heard the words from the dragon. Ansharr would not have led us astray.” Gwenneth remained standing in frustration, looking to words she could not read, flipping pages with symbols she did not understand. “I need to learn the dwarven tongue.”

“Don’t ever be trustin’ a dragon. They supposed to be all dead, n’ for good reason.” Rallik nodded to Gwenne.

“Aye, the fact ye’ slew two, met and spoke to another, n’ got chased by the mother o’ the two ye’ killed would make the five o’ ye havin’ seen the most dragons in what, bout a thousand years, give er’ take. They be part snake and serpent, forked tongues n’ all. I’d kill one before believing it, even if it told me that me’ mountains was red and the sky be blue.” Therrak concurred with his brother.

“Then what do I do with this then, I have it for a reason.” Zen felt his pouch, he would cry if he were not so drowsy.

“It be all ye’ have from yer’ late father, old Kimmarik, Vundren rest him. Keep it, remember him for the warrior he was, but stop yer’ dreamin’. There ain’t nothing’ there but death and ruin, ancient Altestani sorceries and curses, and folk tales to lure the hopeful to their ends.” The High Hammer had to say it, had to stop them from going, he had grown fond of them. The name Sheldathain lingered on his mind, having seen it somewhere, but he could not remember.

“I made a promise to my father, on my words before Vundren, on his deathbed. I cannot break those, cannot take em’ back, n’ I’ll be damned if I don’t die tryin’.” Zen stood, pounding his fist on the table, then marched off into the city to find James and Saberrak. They had gone to Greenbridge to secure rooms for them all, but they had been gone half a day.

“Zen!” Gwenneth shouted, waking the quiet highborne elf from her rest.

“Let him be, Lady of Lazzlette, let him be.” King Rallik shook his head.

“What have I missed?” Shinayne stretched, stood, and bowed to both kings as she yawned. “Where are the men?”

“Azenairk has gone off angry tis’ all. He don’t want to be facin’ the truth that what he has is not what he and his father thought. Ye’ need to talk to him, calm him down, and turn him from this deadly course. There is nothin’ to find, Lady T’Sarrin. Whatever was there is long gone, or long cursed, whichever is worse. Speak some sense to him for us, would ye’?” King Therrak pleaded with the elven woman.

“Well, we are going to find it, whatever is there, regardless of who says what. I gave my word, as did we all, and Zen gave his to his father. This sworn journey goes beyond books and scary stories I am afraid.” Shinayne bowed once more.

“
Ahhh, dammit
! Ye’ be just as stubborn n’ foolish as Thalanaxe then! No use talkin’ to an elf for common sense, I shoulda’ seen that one on the horizon.” Therrak barked at Shinayne, not happy with not getting his point through to her.

“Yes, you should have, your majesty. He is my friend, he is alone on the Agarian continent, just like myself. I can only imagine what rests on his mind and shoulders, what burden he takes with his morning meal, and what would happen were any of us to leave his side. So, say all you wish, we will listen humbly, but we will head west.” Shinayne motioned for Gwenneth to follow her, bowed one last time, and left the halls of Castle Vairrek.

“Head o’ rock she has between those pointed ears. Gwenneth, ye’ be educated n’ all. Talk some sense into yer’ friends, don’t let them go where nothin’ but death be waiting for them. For me.” Rallik spoke softly to the lovely human lady with the dark hair and green eyes, he too, had grown a bit fond of them all.

“And for me.”

“Me as well, for Vundren’s sake.”

Gwenenth looked to the two kings of this magnificent city, and to the high priest of their God.

“I will see what I can do.”

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“
Gardik ust vun Attorhek, domthik uturri
, the Pub o’ the Bearded Hammer, rooms available. First tavern and inn once ye’ step over the Greenbridge. How would I be guessin’ to find ye’ here, Saberrak Agrannar o’ the Grays and Sir James Andellis?” Zen sat at their table.

The place was well lit, for a city underground anyway. There were pipes and musicians with stringed ivory fiddles blaring merriment, stocky wenches with stockier bearded men, and dwarven soldiers and women danced and drank to a tumbling degree. Greens and swaths of red hung from bronzed rafters, hammers, picks, and axes hung on walls, and coins tossed in every direction as the ales flowed from the bartops. The mugs were piled up, some flasks lay dripping on the stone table, and James groped for yet another with his head down and resting in the spills.

Saberrak had two chairs, elbows resting on the table, watching this festival of little men drink happily and talk loudly to one another. He was not understanding but a few words, yet it seemed so simply fascinating that he could not do much more than stare. He had sipped his mead twice, waiting for a fight or some bloodshed, but it looked as if that would not happen here. Everyone that came up to him patted a horn, or both, and bought him a mug or just spoke to him as if he were the greatest thing they had ever seen. They all smelled of mead and whiskey, but he lowered his edge just a little and allowed a smile in every once in awhile.

“Ye’ let him drink then, did ye’?” Zen looked to the gray gladiator, his friend, with disapproving eyes.

“Hardly. I got stuck trying to piss in that little room in the back, couldn’t get out. They need to make this place bigger.When I did escape, he had polished off three mugs and two flasks already. Kept saying he let you down and would not listen.” Saberrak huffed, flaring his nostrils at Zen.

“Aye, and now he’s piss drunk. Why didn’t ye’ stop him?”

“I did.”

“Don’t look like it to me.”

Saberrak lifted James’ head up by the hair, revealing a swollen eyebrow and a small trace of blood in his left nostril. He lowered his head back down, nicely.

“I
did.
”

“I see.” Zen shook his head.

“You know how he gets, sobbing, the anger, the slurring of his words. He reached for his blade again, talking of, well you know, so...I helped him sleep.”

“Good man, good man. Don’t tell the ladies, I can’t be tolerating their criticisms right now.”

“It didn’t go well, did it?” Saberrak lowered his head, eyes to the table, he knew the moment he had seen his friend come through the doors to the pub.