The Exodus Sagas: Book III - Of Ghosts And Mountains (51 page)

“You don’t fear anything, but some things you should.”

“Why?”

“Keeps you wary, on your toes, keeps your edge, I don’t know. Healthy fear is good sometimes.” Shinayne walked down the slope.

“I have my edge, always. I fail to see the point of fear. It is a disease, a sickness, spreading among people and rotting the individual. It serves no purpose that a healthy instinct of survival does not already provide.” Saberrak followed.

“Survival instinct? With a dragon?”

“All the same. Kill it before it kills you. Find a weak or soft spot if there is one, and tear it open.” Saberrak huffed.

“Sounds bestial, like an animal or savage.”

“Thank you, minotaur will do just fine.”

“Well beast, lead on then.” The highborne waited for her gray gladiator to take the lead as they passed their three friends.

Hours passed through the high peaks of the Misathi Mountains with but an occasional bird or hyena in the distance. Sweltering heat rose as a constant mirage ahead of them. Shade directed their steps more than direction. The valley was barren, devoid of plants or trees, not an oasis of fresh water shown itself through the day.

Rocks would tumble from the clifftops now and again. As they looked quickly, nothing was there. The elven swordswoman and the gray minotaur would climb to inspect, finding nothing each time. Totems of horned skulls dotted the trail, standing silent and watching without eyes as the five companions traversed Deadman’s Pass.

As evening came and the moons appeared, strange noises rose from the south and north, echoing among the numerous vales. There was chanting in the distance, then closer, then far again. It was no known language to any of them. Sometimes seven or eight voices, at times but one, all deep female voices accompanied with the intermittent scream of ecstasy or pain, it was hard to tell. Clouds brought the breezes and cast the sun quickly to the east, and the chanting grew louder, closer, yet nothing could be found as to the source.

“That noise is not what I be wishin’ for after a hard day o’ travel. No sir, someone shut it up.” Zen took off his armor, piece by piece, then his shield, and lastly his enchanted helmet.

“Night is upon us, too dangerous to go scouting. I need water, lots of water.” James drank from his waterskin, then spit it out all over the red rocks.

“
Alllgggttthh
! It’s sour! And, it is yellow! What did you get this filled with, Shinayne? Tastes like, vinegar with spoiled meat.” James reached for his other waterskin. He opened it and smelled, it was the same.

“Mine as well.” Gwenneth smelled her water.

“And mine. They all be spoiled! Elf, where did you get---“

“I filled them from the well, with the dwarves in the south gate. It was water, I drank it then, we drank it all day. Mine too, it is polluted with something.” Shinayne felt something, the skin on her left cheek and ear were tingling. To the north, something was there.

“The food, look.” Saberrak unrolled one of the bundles of dried meats, bread and cheese. It was dry, curled, brown and black as if it had been left outside for many days.

“That was fresh this morning when we left, I assure you. You all know, we ate early this afternoon, it was fine then.” Shinayne was flustered, hungry, thirsty, and now thouroughly irritated. She looked to the north. A set of dark eyes on a large head caught a glimmer of moonlight, just enough for her to see before it vanished behind the cliff.

Shinayne ran up the slope in the dark, her friends calling to her with loud whispers. She heard the thing running away, down the other side, long fast strides, heavy steps. Faster she went, straight up, her hands scraping the rock as she pulled herself up even faster. Carice and Elicras were out in a flash as she reached the summit of the small mount, nothing. Another valley appeared into more mountains, bluffs, and crags. No motion stirred, nothing caught her eyes, whatever it was, was gone.

“
Damn. I will find you, whoever you are. Be sure of that.”
Shinayne T’Sarrin sheathed her blades. She stood, watched, and waited for whatever hunted her and her friends.

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Smack!

Smack!

“Allright, allright! Who is it then?” Tannek stretched his arms up, his face stuck to the stone with his own drool, neck cramped and aching.

“Get up Marshall, now please.” It was the voice of the High Hammer, he stood, opened his eyes, then looked again.

“Oh Vundren’s shinguards, we in trouble then?” Tannek saw the fifty or so nobles, his brother and several more priests of the temple, the kings, and another two hundred dwarves of various northern and southern families. The room was full, he was in the center, with Drodunn and the High Hammer, all eyes staring at them.

“Aye.” Drodunn commented quietly.

“Aye and then some.” Brunnwik said in turn.

Tannek bowed to each king, receiving nods in return. He had never seen the room so quiet, nor so packed with beards.

“Tannek Anduvann, Marshall o’ the Southern Outguard Scouts, ye’ be charged with breakin’ into the sacred crypts, defacing the burial marker o’ a former dwarven king, opening a sarcophagous o’ said king, and then failin’ in yer’ duties as Marshall by sleepin’ in the Historium and me thronesroom instead o’ takin’ charge o’ yer’ men. What be yer’ answer?” King Rallik was not happy, he seemed embarrassed to list the charges to one of his best dwarves.

Tannek looked to Drodunn and Brunnwik, both holding their hammer and moons symbols from around their necks in quiet prayer. The room was all looking at him now. He reached for a mug of mead, shook his head and smiled, then drank it down. He set it quietly on the table, not feeling too vigorous yet.

“Aye, naye, naye, and aye.”

“Yer’ brother and the High Hammer already said aye to each charge! Don’t be tryin’ to lie or sneak on this, Marshall!” King Therrak of the North slammed his axe tip down hard from his throne.

“Aye I broke in! Naye, the placard was for a king that ain’t buried there. Naye, the coffin got no damn body, so I didn’t violate nothin’ but an empty suit o’ armor! And aye, I fell asleep after! Your majesties.” Tannek bowed, angry disposition on his brow and in his eyes.

“Watch yer’ words Anduvann, ye’ be talkin’ to a king! These charges be serious!” Rallik looked at him hard, almost pleading for him to be quiet as much as he was angry.

“Aye, could be. But I was talkin’ to a king yesterday, the one that is heir to Kakisteele! I be sure that he would like to know what we found out!”

“Brother, be quiet now.”

“That is another matter entirely! I heard o’ yer’ books and findings from the High Hammer, I heard it from Thalanaxe and his elf who heard it from a dragon, and I ain’t gonna listen to that fairy tale rubbish no more! The sentence for breakin’ into those there crypts o’ great kings, sealed by the temple o’ Vundren, is death!” King Therrak boomed across the thronesroom, his voice like thunder on a bad day.

“
Tannek, just be calm now
.” Brunnwik whispered.

“Aye? Death is it?” Tannek was not listening.

“Aye, it is! Ye’ be the Marshall o’ the South, Tannek. Do ye’ wish to ask mercy?” Rallik was pleading with his angry tones, hoping Tannek would take a knee.

“Mercy? For findin’ the lineage and proof that Azenairk Thalanaxe has rights to Kakisteele? That we have a king here in our city, right now? That the place did, and does, exist? Mercy, for findin’ the truth? Naye, to hell with yer’ laws and decrees, I be keepin’ me honor. Bring Azenairk here, let us show him what we found.” Tannek heard the moans from his brother, the High Hammer, and the shocked gasps of hundreds gathered. The murmurs and whispers started, then were silenced as both kings slammed their weapon heads to the stone for silence.

“We do not have any king in Marlennak besides the two o’ us right here. Whether yer’ findings be true or no, doesn’t matter Tannek. They all left last night out the South doors, the ones ye’ were supposed to be guardin’. Yer’ men let yer’ stupid lion-man take them out for a scout, and they headed west. Dalliunn returned alone, with Thalanaxe’s warhammer.” Rallik sighed, knowing this was serious indeed.

“Bein’ ye’ was thinkin’ o’ doin’ some good, likely for yerselves or foreigners, we kings will make an offer o’ mercy. Those thick heads o’ yers better accept it. Only for that, and yer’ esteemed titles and positions here in Marlennak, I offer one hundred years each, in the mines. Brother?” Therrak passed his judgement, slamming his axe to the stone.

“Agreed.” Rallik tapped his warhammer reluctantly and lowered his crowned head.

“Naye!” Tannek stood tall and yelled it. “I say naye!”

“Brother, what are ye’ doin? We are dead, thrown into the crevice or beheaded otherwise. Shut yer’ beard fool!”

“Naye!”

The dwarves, from kings, to soldiers, to priests and nobles; all rose in disbelief. They shouted for death, for Tannek Anduvann to be charged without mercy, and they roared at his insolence.

“Ye’ understand the alternative, Marshall?” King Rallik sat back in his throne, trying to figure what his man was doing.

“Aye.”

“Ye’ be a fool of a dwarf, a disrespectful southern whelp! Ye’ spit mercy back at me? I spit at you, Tannek Anduvann!” King Therrak spat on the ground, a bit stuck in his red beard, then spat again with rage.

“I be a fool? I say ye’ are the fool, King Therrak!” Tannek grabbed a mug from the table as the crowd gasped and silenced at the insult.

“Ye cannot challenge a king, Marshall!” Therrak boomed from his throne.

“Why? Is that law then? Or is it cuz’ ye’ be all yellow and green on yer’ backside still sittin’ on yer’ potty-throne, like King Rallik says?” Tannek drank the mug down, slammed it to the stone, and glared at the northern king.

“I could have ye’ killed for breathin’ right now, I should see ye’ drawn and quartered in front o’ the whole kingdom!”

“That would be easier, aye it would. Have someone do it for ye’ then, coward. Or, ye’ can face me at the table here, like a dwarf.” Tannek glared, the king glared back, sweat dripped from everyone as fear took hold.

“Kings challenge! Five mugs, five flasks! I win, ye’ die a horrible death of an insolent southern dwarf, in public fashion, not worthy of a grave or marker that ye’ ever was!” Therrak stepped from his throne as applause and roaring cheer shook the entire castle.

“I accept! And if I win, me brother, the High Hammer, and myself take the remains of Sheldathain and the Southern Outguard Scout o’ four hundred dwarves and is exiled to the west instead! Ye’ keep yer’ hundred years in the mines, and shove em’ where the picks don’t dig! Do ye’ accept, King Therrak?!” Tannek countered the challenge, not wanting to live a hundred years victorious in the mines, bragging to the stone.

Silent again, all dwarves looking to Therrak, then to King Rallik, then to the three in the middle of the challenge tables that the northern king approached. Therrak thought
, too late to back down now, I would look less than confident if I did not accept. Must look invinceable here, I cannot lose, I drink all day and night, all I do is drink, I got nearly a century on this young one here. He won’t win anyway, who cares about some lost armor, what ye’ sayin’ Therrak? See this one dead n’ drink him down…”

“I accept!” It just came out, the moment seemed to rule his words. The gathered dwarves went into a state of frenzy, complete disbelief that this could ever happen. A king had never been challenged, let alone accepted.

The dwarves stood on tables, chairs, even each other to get a good view of the table. King Therrak of the North and the City faced Marshall Tannek Anduvann of the Southern Outguard. They cheered and chanted as five steel mugs of speak-mead, and five flasks of whiskey were placed in front of each man. The dwarves of Marlennak chanted, stomped their feet, and pounded tables, all with death or exile on the line.

“Vuumber!”

“Vuumber!”

“Vuumber!”

Angeline III:III

Tunnels Beneath the Tower of Kalzarius, City of Harlaheim

“He is asleep, he will need much rest. Have water and food ready when he awakens. The wound was deep.” Angeline looked down to Richmond the Second. He was healed by her touch, she had asked the ground below her feet, and the stone answered with golden light that had gone through her hands. Now, he lay peaceful. She had given the ring to Kalzarius before he left to raise the protections of his tower.

Sir Sebastian knelt next to him in the dark cavernous passage. Balric leaned his back to the wall, deep in thought. Prince Edians of Caberra stood next to Angeline, the woman that had appeared in the fog carrying the bleeding King of Harlaheim. They all waited for Kalzarius to return, waited to see if the men in the shadows had managed to follow them, and waited for someone to speak. The bells had rung, the king was declared dead, and the five of them ran and hid under the tunnels below the tower where the old wizard had led them.

“What sort of God do you pray to that would allow this man to be healed, lady knight?” Balric broke the silence.

“I do not pray to any God, but to all that would listen.”

“Must be a demon indeed, to have mercy on Richmond the Second.”