The Exodus Sagas: Book III - Of Ghosts And Mountains (73 page)

The room was silent, moments after the song for Saberrak eneded. Shinayne stood, as did Zen and James. They stood with Saberrak at the window, looking to him, then to the storm, then back to him.

Tubrey o’ Tarnobb bowed, as did his players, he waited a moment, then looked up.

“Did Lord Agrannar find pleasure with our melody?”

Everyone waited, turned to the five guests at the window, and looked with revered silence.

“
Gwenneth, please, speak for me
.” Saberrak whispered, eyes tearing beyond his will, looking to the sky and the storm, not sure why he felt to do so or had these emotions of things he could not truly see. He knew he could not turn around, not yet, he needed a little more time.

Gwenneth wiped her eyes quickly, nodding to the confused looks of James and Azenairk, and the knowing look of Shinayne. She turned and curtsied in grand fashion with a most beautiful smile.

“Lord Agrannar says that it was the most divine melody he has ever heard. Your poetry and skills are beyond compare and he is too choked for words at the moment on account of your ballad. Please,
continue
.” Gwenneth waved her hand gracefully and smiled true to all present in the kings’ hall.

“Yay! Yay! Yay!”
The noble crowd carried on in applause.

“
Thank you
.” Saberrak whispered to his friends as his eyes searched the sky and the clouds over the Misathi Mountains. For what or for whom, he was still not sure.

Silently and respectfully, Azenairk, Shinayne, Gwenneth, and James just stood with Saberrak. They could not thank him, there were no words. He had saved them without fear more than anyone could have. He was their strength, and they were his. They watched the sky, as he did, with their gray minotaur gladiator touched with the spirit of Annar.

About the author

Jason R Jones was born September 1975 and grew up in Monroe, Wisconsin. He is an honorable veteran of the United States Marine Corps, a saber fencing enthusiast, and a loving father to his sons, Alexander and Adonis. His love, Blanca, tries to keep him to task when he is not escaping to write. Jason’s flare for short stories, poetry, drama, and fantasy has existed since he can remember. He is the oldest of four siblings followed by Jeremy, Anya, and Cody, and has resided in Southwest Florida since the year 2000. Interests in fine dining, music, meditation, ancient history, film, world religion, and mythology keep him very busy and inspired. He plans to bring out many tales of his own life hidden deep within his epic series. The novel,
“
of ghosts and mountains”,
is the third installment of eighteen in The Exodus Sagas Octavodeciad, followed soon by the finale to the first quartet,
“of moons and myth”.

Graphic Design by Robert Martinez

Illustrations by Jenna T. Lefevre

Visit The-Exodus-Sagas.com & JasonRJones.com

Follow on Twitter twitter.com/#!/AuthorJRJones

Find on Facebook facebook.com/#!/jasonjones02

Special thanks to,

The love of my life, Blanca, and my sons Alexander and Adonis who receive the highest thanks that written words cannot describe. To my family, my friends, and to all the fans…
thank you
.

---JRJ April 2012

Epilogue

Vin Armon, Capital of Armondeen

The storm was suddenly full of vengeance this night. Low clouds fell fast from the eastern highlands and the southern curselands. Her black mare snorted in disapproval despite the proximity to home that it was well aware of. The rain was but sheet after midnight sheet of mist and little more, yet the wind and bolts that the dark sky threw made up in ferocity what it lacked in pour. All the steeds, not just hers, all hundred in the thick of the southern Armondi forest road were uneasy. It was as if the sky had sent a warning after dusk and all horses and riders but one would have stopped for the night. For that one, they pushed on, as would any noble escort with Queen Andora of Armondeen. Fierce thunderstorm or her wrath and disapproval, the choice was easy to decide upon.

Fortress Arnhast stood menacing with its three twisted towers above the southern reach of Vin Armon, the capital of her kingdom. Andora looked to the black walls when the lightning allowed. All dark in the tower of she and her husband, the tower of the Scepter. The old infermed King Ian was now far north with the clergy of Alden in Forrivar. No light from the tower of the Lance where her lords and knights would gather to maintain their forces. Many a candle burned from the tower of the Talon however, and she knew what that meant. Her Lord Amirak and son were home, and the green moon was full somewhere beyond the gale above.

“Make way for the Queen!” The royal gatesman saluted, his spear down, and took knee before her. His pointed helm and rain washed armor, both of overlayed steel scale, shone with the torches they had kept lit for their queen Andora and her escorts. Steel spikes rose from clanking gears and chains that raised the ivy covered portcullis.

“Lord Harron and Prince Rohne have returned?” Her dark eyes and hair, fair skin and elegant curved features, gave the illusion of beauty and desire to most men.

Knowing her anger and title, most men looked down to avoid a chance look to her chest or a sneaking glance to her lips. All here remembered what Lord Harron did to the last man that made a pass of flattery toward the sultry figure of Andora. The gatesman looked to the skeleton still in the iron cage to the south of the gate. He responded with his eyes low, although a peripheral eye wandered to her smooth white leg beneath the robes that fluttered in the wind.

“Yes, your highness. Early this morn, they arrived safe in thine castle.”

“Any visitors or retainers? Lords from other cities sending word?” She simply looked down to make sure none of her men looked directly at her in any way.

“None, your highness.” He saw her sandaled foot, toenails painted black, the ankle and shape was nearly perfect.

“Good. Carry on.” Queen Andora dismounted, one of her robed escorts, all women, helped her down. Another handed her wooden staff etched as a snake with scales in the polished black wood.

Her armies were spread but strong in the Armondi cities of Feldumesh, New Aloeste, Barivow, Vin Osrow, and even with the dying king in the city of four rivers, known as Forrivar. Vin Armon had little, just royal guards to protect and welcome, spies and messengers, and of course her assassins that had been frequenting the merchant city of Freemoore.

The Nataloni Nochti, Andora’s own hidden trained killers with secret unholy skills that allowed them to perform beyond a normal blade in the night. All men, twenty two now she had, and none of them remembered birth nor childhood after what she and the summoned had done to them. The merchant lords that did not focus their efforts on Armondi trade, seemed to disappear with little trace. Andora hoped to attain the city within a few years time at most.

Queen Andora walked her fortress courtyard, smiling up at the banners. Orange cloth like fire, two clawed eagle talons of black in the center, one holding a scepter and the other a lance, and the storm continued while they whipped in the night air. She looked up to the candlelight and hoped her son and his mentor had not started without her.

The guards fell in respect as she passed into the tower of the Talon. Up the twisting stairs she went, orange torches erupting with arcane fires as she approached. She hovered now, her arcane gifts allowing her not to tire the eleven stories to the top. The double doors of black wood were open just halfway. One of her Nataloni Nochti bowed, his all black eyeballs turned solid white to announce his presence to his queen from the shadows. He wore just a black tunic and breeches. No shoes, nothing to keep out any cold or dampness, nor block the sun or heat. Unkempt beard, mess of curly black hair over his face and shoulders, yet he had no smell whatsoever. A scimitar at his side, a dagger always in hand, the assassin had no need for food nor water, pleasure nor drink, and they only spoke to her, and only when asked to. Their only desire was to serve, kill, and worship the Nochtilians, as their queen did. Their only sin would be where they eventually went after death, a quite predetermined place indeed.

“And why have you started without me?” Andora walked into the eleventh floor and waved her hand, the doors slamming shut with arcane force behind her.

Harron looked up from the voluptous naked woman across his lap. He pushed back the other young naked girl that was kissing his neck. Then he pushed the feet of the twin girls that had been undressing the heir prince beside him. The women purchased from Yallah to the east were young and intoxicated on wine with crushed
kihimin
seeds. They would neither remember nor deny anything after it had taken effect, which it obviously had.

“
Started
, your highness? We have finished twice today actually. How was your journey?” Lord Amirak Harron Vir Magaste took a quick knee, also bare beneath his open robes. He motioned for the mindless harem girls to do the same. Fumbling over one another, all four managed to hit their knees in inebriated fashion.

“Tiring and long. Yet, the king rests his last days in Forrivar, far from hearing anything here in the capital. Not that it would matter much in his state. Are the knives sharpened?” Andora took off her robes, her sandals, down to nothing. She set her serpent staff in a corner, ivory skin and exotic curves catching the eyes of all as she walked.

“Yes mother. The table is ready, the tapestries are up, and the candles are lit.” Rohne bowed to his mother, then kissed her cheek.

“Gimmor is full tonight, I thought I may miss it if the storm had worsened any. Anything of interest from Evermont?” Andorra threw the black and red curtains back, revealing a stone table with chains fastened to the corners in an alcove. A stone altar depicting winged men and women crawling all over each other had a black box at its base, torches and small braziers came afire on their own, and the girls snickered as the room came alive.

“Is the
queen
joining us this evening?” One of the bare naked girls giggled and kissed the neck of Andora from behind, running her fingers through her black curls of hair.

“Yes, indeed I am. You are just for me, so just sit here on the table, lay down, I will be with you in but a moment my sweet.” She kissed the girl back on the lips, one of the twins of dark blonde curls and hazel eyes. She pulled the curtains to the windows shut, walking around the emblazoned chamber.

“Yes to be true, yes. No knights took our calling, as usual, however we had word from your uncle, Lord Trehad in Devonmir.” Harron pulled one of the curved knives from the black and gold steel box decorated with eleven skulls in silver.He handed one to Andora, one to Rohne, and then took one for himself. The women were oblivious, kissing each other, fawning and pleasuring the three nobles that owned them, and then each other.

“And that word was pertaining to what? He can never return here, not after what he did to himself. He is horrid to look upon, regardless of what infernal powers he has learned to command.” Andora shuddered at the thought of what he and his two infernal sorcerer brethren had summoned in Devonmir many years ago. Their bodies and flesh had changed, minds warped, she would never attempt to summon or reach one of the eleven directly. She had seen what the slightest contact had done.

“No, he does not wish that, not even mentioned.” Harron poured the scented oil, three jugs of it, slowly under, around, and on the table, over the naked woman even.

“Lord Trehad sent his blue imp instead and it has interesting word, mother.” Rohne took the other twin and guided her ontop of her sister on the table. They laughed and kissed, minds numb from the kihimin seed and wine. They had a hard time deciding whether to kiss the gorgeous prince, the ruggedly handsome lord, the delicious queen, or each other.

“Very well, the older one then. Save the thin one and the twins for the ritual.” Andora looked up to the perch over the fireplace filled with skulls and charred bone. There he sat, just over a foot tall, wings folded, and waiting patiently.

“Ushi, wake up, whisper to your master in Devonmir. We are ready.” Rohne danced the older full figured woman to the fur rug before the fireplace and spoke to what anyone else would think just a small demonic statue. Teasing her large breasts with his right hand, knife behind his back in the left, he pushed her to her knees, playfully, and she reached into his robes, the only garment he barely had on.

The miniature demon turned his dark blue horned head slowly, spread his leathery wings in silence, revealing two squatting scaled legs and two arms with claws that held a small parchment. His forked tail ended in razored black bone, serrated and shiny, and his eyes glowed red as he once again froze in place.

“Now?” Rohne put the knife to the throat of the bare woman on her knees.

“Yes now.” Andora noticed the glowing eyes and still frame of the tiny imp.

Slice

The drunken girl gasped, reached for her throat, and pulled up two blood soaked hands to her face. Crimson ran red down her chest and between her legs, over her thighs, and into the black furs she knelt upon. As her head slumped, Prince Rohne grabbed her hair and angled her closing eyes toward the small statuesque demon from Devonmir.