Heavy beating of wings followed by a rush of air and wind got everyone scrambling to their feet, weapons in hand. The chamber in the mountain grew black as the giant form of the dragon covered most of the entry, only red and silver glowing eyes and faint torchlight provided any illumination.
“The dragon is here, and the scroll is safe young priest. How are you feeling?” the soft female voice soothed them as her heavy clawed steps slowly brought her closer to Zen.
“Much better, much better, thank you. You must be Ansharr then?” Zen bowed, remembering that the dragon had healed him when he arrived, and eaten the salisan that had been ready to cut his throat.
“Yes, that is correct. And you were sent by Kalzarius to find me and bring me that scroll, is this true?” the dragon walked past the armed friends that stared at her, ignoring them and concentrating on the center of the room where she wished to lay. “Oovrik!” she whispered loudly in a form of arcane that only dragons knew, and the chamber lit by a hundred magical runes on the floor and walls now alive with false flickering flames.
“Yes, that is…by Vundren and all in heaven, is that…?” Zen stuttered, turning his gaze with that of all his friends to the immense chamber now well lit. There was a cliff some hundred feet inside, to the right of the stairs. It fell perhaps thirty feet to a ledge, then again to a lower ledge, and then it dropped to nothing it seemed. The endless fall was not what caught their attention, it was the glimmering mounds of gold coins, silver and platinum coins, crowns, vases, works of art and precious metals, swords and other finely crafted weapons, statues from small size to immense, and shelves of books in dozens of languages that lined and covered the two lower chambers. Enough treasures to make any king jealous for certain. It would take years to count, but none present could deny that perhaps millions of coins lay in the grand cavern plateaus, organized in piles of specific precious metals and showered with jewels, art, and more.
“Yes, that is mine. We will have time to talk of that and myself later. Let us talk of the scroll, your journey, and you for now. Shall we?” the great aged red dragon curled her tail and folded her wings with black striped designs, resting comfortably as she lay on the stone floor of her chamber. The scroll unrolled from her clawed hand and Ansharr began to read it as if it were her own tongue. Her claws were delicately holding the end parchment, while her other claw flicked the stone to roll and unravel. Saberrak the gray moved up, and helped unroll it, and read it quietly with the dragon. “You can read this, minotaur?”
“Yes, I can as of three days ago.” the horned warrior replied, for some reason unafraid of this dragon or her having the scroll. The others had not moved one inch closer, almost paralyzed by her enormous size and presence and the glistening treasures of untold quantity across the cavern, but Saberrak felt none of that.
“Come closer everyone, you have nothing to fear from me. Let us read this relic, together. Then we must discuss where you found it, how you can read such ancient words, and why Kalzarius sent you to me.” Ansharr lowered her head, seeing them all slowly close in around her and the scroll. “But first, I should like to know who you brave souls are, and why you fought off an army of salisans to get here. You may stay your weapons, I am a dear friend of Kalzarius, do not fear.”
“I am Lady Shinayne T’Sarrin of Kilikala, great dragon. You have met Azenairk Thalanaxe, priest of Vundren from Boraduum. This is Saberrak the gray and Sir James Andellis, Knight of Chazzrynn. The young lady there is Gwenneth Lazlette of Vallakazz, and this man led us here and lost many of his soldiers in the battle, in truth he lost them all. This is Lord Cristoff Bradswellen of Saint Erinsburg.” the elven swordswoman bowed, as did all but the minotaur.
“Bradswellen the Third, my lady.” Cristoff bowed again toward Shinayne and the dragon, then stumbled forward onto his knees. His face was flush and sweating from the poison coursing through his veins. He had been fighting it, but it came in waves it seemed.
“Bring him here please, I can take care of the poison with a touch and some ancient magicks.” Ansharr began to hum quietly to herself, her clawed hand glowing gold and soft.
“You know the arts of the arcane, Ansharr?” Gwenneth smiled in anticipation of learning something from her perhaps.
“After more than two thousand years, I know far more ancient arcane and forgotten spells than you could dream of, young Lazlette. I will show you some of those later, but this I cannot teach to a human.” she laid her scaled clawed finger on the face of Cristoff, the golden glow resonating for a moment, then vanished.
“It would be an honor to learn whatever you care to show me, wise and powerful one.” Gwenne bowed again, her face unable to conceal her happiness at having the chance to learn something arcane from an ancient dragon. She knew her mother would be so very envious.
“There is no need for flattery, young Lazlette.” Ansharr chuckled at the wizard as she saw the human lord return to consciousness.
“No, but it cannot hurt.” Gwenne chuckled back, bowing again as she knelt down with Shinayne to check on Cristoff.
“Would it be an insult to remark that you are truly huge and magnificent, Ansharr?”James was still on a knee.
“Not at all, small courageous one.”
“My gratitude as well, for saving my friends and I then. You have my sword, to whatever end you should ask.”
“You are most welcome Sir Andellis, and I will surely not forget.”
“I feel healed, pure, thank you great Ansharr.” Cristoff breathed in deep the crisp mountain air.
“Let us see what we have here in this scroll, and welcome back to health Lord Cristoff the Third.” Ansharr, with the assistance of Azenairk, Gwenne and Saberrak, began to read the mysterious parchment that had been so sought after, and that so many had died in trying to attain. Uncertain of why Kalzarius had not come himself, Ansharr studied with a wandering and ancient mind. She was not used to so many visitors, so much attention, and so many questions all at once.
Lavress II:II
Selronis Cliffs, Caberra
The hunter stared down his arrow that was drawn back tight, bowstring by his pointed ear. Following his target from above on the edge of the cliff, Lavress Tilaniun waited for the perfect moment. There were three of the creatures guarding the outside of the hidden shrine to forgotten worship of the Gods of the moons. Curled black horns atop gray mottled skin and long strings of rancid white hair; the black feathered wings of the cliff harpies flapped up and down as they circled the small sliver of an entrance into the rock face. They cackled and screeched at one another like demonic crows with their white eyes and pale avian claws for hands and feet. Naked except for shortbows made of human bones; these flying curses of women from forgotten times were stronger than three men. Lavress had killed one before north of Kivanis in the mountains between there and his homeland forests of Gualidura. It had taken six arrows he recalled, and he had fifteen; hardly enough for three unless he had bettered his aim in the last few decades.
The wood elf looked down at his arrows stuck in the ground beside him, crouched low behind the scrub brush and waited; watching their motions as the harpies squawked at each other in foul tones and cursed words he could not understand. The three all took flight, some twenty feet in the air now, which was halfway up the cliff that Lavress Tilaniun was perched upon. He stared down the arrow, leading with the steel tip just enough to compensate for their low speed and clumsy flight. Thewwmm, he loosed the arrow at the chest of one of the avian witches, grabbing another arrow from the ground and drawing back before it even struck. He fired again, seeing the first harpy struggling to reach for her bow with an arrow through her chest, dead center. The second arrow sunk into the same creature, piercing the raised arm and pinning it to her wing. She screeched a sound that would have bled the ears of a normal man, but Lavress had heard it before. He blocked it out and gritted his teeth hard, knowing that the harpy scream would have an effect on his equilibrium if he let it. He fought the mystical voice of the creatur
e as she spiraled down to the rock ledge below, still trying to remove the arrows from her body.
Arrows made of bone descended into the scrub around him as the other two harpies flew above his position and began to fire. Lavress was well hidden and for them to get a clear shot, he knew they would have to either get lucky or get close; he hoped for the latter. The wild elf savage stood up and fired at the harpy on the left that had the scarred face and missing fangs. He assumed she had seen more battles and therefore was more of a threat. The wooden projectile whistled through the warm coastal air, striking her in the abdomen, and a subsequent arrow a moment later into her throat. She pulled the arrows out, blood gushing and pouring down her gray breasts and body. More arrows followed by more screeching, this time the arrows landed within feet of the hunter as he bit his lip to stifle the growing pain in his ears.
Lavress heard the beating of wings below now and assumed the first harpy had removed his arrows as well. He stood again, firing three arrows; two into the chest of the third witch on wing, and one into the chest of the one covered in her own blood. Both of them fell to the ground not fifty feet from him on top of the Selronis Cliffs. The hunter of the Hedim Anah turned to fire at the first harpy demon, but too late; she dove onto him, sending them through scrub brush tangled together in a rolling tornado across the rocks. Before the two came to a stop, his ancient forward curved blades were in hand, deflecting her wickedly sharp ivory claws that tipped her hands and feet. Lavress smelled rotten meat and spoiled fish on her breath as she tried to bite him with her fanged mouth. Her pupiless white eyes stared in anger and hate as she screeched right into his face. He winced, the pain shooting through his ears and neck. Just as tall as the five and a half foot wood elf, she pushed him off of her with an inhuman strength that he in now way could match. He rolled behind her in tucked somersault, arrows from the other two firing over his back, and stood up behind the screeching feathered witch. As she turned, a mighty cleave of the enchanted falcata sliced down her chest, then three rapid cuts from the magical kukri dagger in his left hand gashed her neck to shreds. She tried to scream, resulting in only the spray of her blood all over the hunter that had just ended her life. Lavress held her up with his forearm under her chin, more red lifeblood draining down onto him; but the arrows from the remaining harpies merely sank into the back of their dead sister as he slowly advanced.
More arrows pierced the back and wings of the dead harpy he used for cover, and more screeching from one of the archer witches forced him to stop for a moment and focus hard on not covering his ears. The other harpy still had an arrow through her neck and the magical scream was more of a gurbled hiss than anything else as Lavress closed within fifteen feet. Perhaps a dozen arrows now covered the back of the blood soaked corpse, and then he dropped it. After the last bowstring released, Lavress charged inbetween the harpies that stood but three feet apart from one another. They quickly reloaded their bowstrings with more bone arrows to fire into this dangerous elven morsel. Before the vocal witch on the right could draw it back, her bowstring was cut just the same as her throat from two heavy crosscuts of the deadly falcata. The last harpy sister turned to fire only to feel her neck snap back from the impact of a kukri blade thrown into her skull, landing dead center in her forehead. She began to shake, her nerves still twitching. She reached a white clawed hand up to pull the blade from her skull, but Lavress did it for her, then cleaved off her head with a decisive chop from the curved edge of his sword. Her arrow loosed into the ground, followed by the bone bow, then her decapitated head, and finally the twitching body slumped into the brush next to the elf’s feet.
The elven hunter wiped his blades clean in the brush, then went to pick up his bow and quiver. Lavress placed his fingers in his tan pointed ears, having felt something uncomfortable from within them. He removed his fingers to see them red with small traces of blood. Feeling somewhat unbalanced, he sat on the rock ledge and stretched his neck and breathed deeply of the fresh air over the Carisian Sea. The ringing and annoying pain that accompanied soon faded as did his sense of vertigo from hearing the shrieking harpies. His mind wandered, eyes closed as the sun set in front of him to the east over the sea. Lavress could feel Shinayne, feel her close to him not more than three days to the south. She was near something very old and powerful, something not human nor elven. The hunter of the Whitemoon touched his new tattoo on his forehead and said a silent prayer to Seirena for her constant watch over his highborne lover.
Just as peace settled over him, Lavress heard more shrieks in the distance below and to the north. This time his ears heard more harpies, twice as many as before. He opened his eyes, looked at his seven remaining arrows, and decided to make for lower ground closer to the small cave entrance and closer to Eliah Shendrynn. Bow over his shoulder, the wood elf savage slid down between fingers in the rocky crags, dashed behind tall scrub brush and small trees, then landed on the shell covered beach in front of the sea and the opening in the Cliffs of Selronis. He watched from behind a pile of driftwood as seven harpies soared to the top of the cliffs, searching for their sisters. They had come from the cave entrance, and as soon as they were out of sight, Lavress ran to where they had come from and ducked inside. Once in the shadows of the tall but slender entry, he drew his bow and nocked an arrow. Like a deadly shadow of death, the hunter stalked the ancient Carician shrine in search of the rogue elf and the fourth stolen book of High Elven Magick.
Kaya II:I
City of Devonmir, Harlaheim
The Chazzrynn woman put her tight fitting leggings and blouse back on quickly, then her chain shirt and high leather boots. The room was quiet, dark save for some candles, and it reeked of too much incense. Kaya strapped on her steel greaves and shin guards, then her armguards. She glanced over to the two dead men that lay on the bed on the far wall of the elaborate chamber. Golden skulls, engraved blades on the walls, paintings of arena beasts and scenes, and jeweled statues of gladiatorial men filled the smoky room that now held a pair of slit throats and bloodstained sheets. Lady T’Vellon cleaned her dagger and her steel shortblade off on the curtains, then placed them in their sheaths on her belt. Her black leather jacket held no symbols other than two crossed daggers on the front. She had destroyed any trace of clothing that would mark her for who she was; Lady Kaya T’Vellon of Southwind Keep, wanted for treason, murder, extortion, and conspiracy in her former kingdom. She tightened her belts and straps to her armor, slid on her black leather gloves, tied her hair back once more, then walked out the door closing it behind her.
Her brown waves pulled back, her steel blue eyes sharp, and her hand on her shortsword; Kaya walked down the hall of the eighth story penthouse floor of Tre’hahdim Arena. She strapped on her left arm the round bladed and spiked steel disc that served as a shield and a weapon. The corridors were tight and dark, and she heard the screams from the south corridor that she was heading to. Kaya smiled, knowing that Chalas Kalaza must have had as much success as she. They had been sent by Johnas Valhera to inspect the collections that the White Spider was taking from the city of Devonmir, mostly from the illustrious and infamous arena that spanned six stories below ground and eight above and housed more than forty thousand spectators. Of the lords, wizards, slave owners, bookies, moneylenders, slave traders, spies, trainers, and arena saboteurs; the White Spider held nearly a third in their employ. Strangely though, domenarch Rinicus “three blades” and the house wizard Cadius L’Essagnett had been sending only three chest of gold per month. After only three weeks of secret research, Kaya guessed that the amount should be ten times what the patriarch in Valhirst was receiving. She and the brown minotaur killer, Chalas, had just this night made their presence known to some of the skimmers and thieves that had been shortening the drops.
Kaya turned the corner to her left, seeing a fat dwarf with a patch over one eye come screaming out of one of the open doors down the hall. She kept her pace at a quick march. He was just an inch or two shorter than her, probably a hundred fift
y pounds heavier, covered in someone else’s blood from beard to boots, and on a dead run unarmed. She heard another scream, this one feminine for sure, then a shuddering cleaving sound of flesh and bone ceased it. The hair on Lady T’vellon’s arms stood up at the muffled sound of the greatsword being pulled from moist muscle in the room thirty feet ahead.
“Run lady, run! Murderous minotaur gone mad killing-“
Her bladed buckler smashed him in the face, spikes three inches long digging into flesh. She drew her shortsword as she slashed the edge below her shield, across his throat through the bloody red beard. Now his own blood covering him, he staggered back and reached for a dagger from his boot. Too late, her blade plunged down behind his neck and through his ribs with all her weight on top of it. He fell forward, his heart punctured, and Kaya never slowed a step.
She marched to the door, turned, and then turned away placing her gloved hand over her mouth in horror. Her eyes teared, just a little, and she took deep shivering breaths to keep the air flowing into her chest. She closed her eyes hard, trying to rid herself of the carnage she had seen for less than a second. It had been a second too long, and never had she seen humans or dwarves spread out in that many pieces in such a manner.
His long bloodstained horns preceded him out the double doors to the wealthy suite. Then his serrated steel two-handed blade cast a shadow into the hallway, and finally the scarred and armored brute of a minotaur slowly stepped out. His piecemeal bits of spiked armor and plateguards that covered half his massive muscular body were splattered with blood not of his own. His eyes were once again wide and almost swirling brown and black with lust for more blood, and that subtle grin on his bovine face was less than comforting.
The Exodus Sagas: Book II - Of Dragons And Crowns Page 18
