by Jason Jones
“Tempting, but everyone you spread your legs for ends up dead, my Lady. Oh that’s right, you are not a Lady any more, are you? Besides, I have Vanessa and Farrigus and Heathen. I need you in Devonmir, and you will be going with your pet minotaur. You do the talking and the bedding, he will be the spiller of blood when needed. Understood?” Johnas knew what she would be willing to do here, but he cared not. He had dozens of women in his harem, many half her age, and none as deadly.
Kaya walked away, back turned, humiliated at the rejection. Her eyes teared, feeling the loss of her title, her webs of power and influence gone, and now she would be heading with a killer she hated to a strange city, just to remain free. She dried her eyes, almost on her own will, and turned on the center of the spider mosaic to face the prince with dignity.
“As you wish, my prince.”
The lower door flung open, slamming into the wall as normal, and the dragging noise of metal on stone trickled into the underground chamber. Several dark clothed men emerged from the shadows, as this chamber was rarely as empty as it seemed, and the nocking of several crossbows could be heard from the shadowed balconies. The shapechanger at the double doors stepped around the pit, and his hand grew into a long blade of serrated bone as his black eyes stared at the entryway opposite him that led to the deep underground and the dungeons.
The prince stared as the two feet of curved horn skipped across his great chamber, stopping in the middle of the spider design in front of the throne, without a minotaur attached to it. Chalas Kalaza strode in, sheathing his greatsword at his side, not bothering to clean it, his eyes wild and his grin intimidating.
“It seems Heathen wished to retire. And any minotaur worth his horns would not be freeing prisoners behind your back, Prince, whatever they call you.”
“You are bold and stupid, Kalaza. Heathen has served me for decades and killed many in honor. Whom did he free?” Johnas was feigning compassion and anger, seeing his chance to employ a real killer again, deciding he would entrap this brown savage with words and power.
“Whoever the bearded tan one was. He gave him blades and some clothing that looked like your guards and told him to find some woman and flee. Pathetic that you were unaware, that you let him live having been so dishonored for so long. You are most welcome.” Chalas stared at the Prince, and then to Kaya.
“Balric D’Vrelle? He freed Balric?!” Johnas thought of why Heathen would betray him for that spy, why he would want him to find Vanessa. Pacing now, Johnas realized that Heathen must have known for some time of the two of them, of Balric and Vanessa. The prince used Vanessa often to root out spies and men talked in their beds easily. Heathen had chosen sides, sensing his death was inevitable, and planned it out. But, Johnas could not figure why there would have been sides to take, Heathen should have known the allegience, it was obvious. Anger now brewed, not at the loss of his captive or his bodyguard, but at betrayal, once again the sour taste of treachery in his mouth.
“I want his head, this Harlian spy, and I want Vanessa Blackflame here at once. Scour the city!” Johnas’ mind raced, contemplating the possibility that Vanessa may indeed have been playing both sides.
The doors opened again from the hidden dungeon passage, not flung as hard as when the huge horned beast opened it, but hurried nonetheless. Kaya did not look, merely stared at the brown killer who had already murdered again, and fear crept into her just being near Chalas. An agent of the White Spider, a younger man with long red scraggly hair and bad teeth, came panting in, his dark clothing hiding most of him in shadows, yet his saber was in hand.
“My Prince!”
“Rillen, what is the matter?” The prince was now pacing, sword out, and deep in thought on what to do next, awaiting more bad news. “We are very busy.”
“My prince, the scroll and those that carry it have left port on the Bronze Harpy, headed north!” His breath hardly catching any air, the man could barely figure out if he should be bowing, kneeling, or heading to the center to be heard properly, so he squirmed to and fro.
“Focking Balric and his distractions. And has the Queen Sapphire left in pursuit?” Johnas was feeling more frustration at the failures here in the capital city of his underworld kingdom. His blade began to glow, wanting more blood, wanting death to ease its master's mind and heart.
“No, your highness. Lady Blackflame is severely injured, burned by a blast of lightning. Her face and neck are scarred and black with no skin, sire. Many died in the attack. Farrigus is tending to her on the ship, but they do not know if she will survive. The docks are in ruin, they have not weighed anchor, Farrigus awaits your instruction.” Rillen walked to the center now, past Kaya and Chalas, to stand before the prince.
“Also, my prince, Heathen lay dead in the dungeon passage. Something butchered him horribly and cut off his…..” the young assassin looked down in front of him at the horn of the red minotaur, then up to the brown beast that was staring at him. He took two steps back, and looked at the Prince.
“Horn? That something is me.” Chalas grinned, kicking the horn over toward the throne, feeling more victorious by the moment and staring at the small human from his over eight feet of muscle.
“Rillen, bring Lady Blackflame here. Send Farrigus after the Bronze Harpy, and have someone dispose of Heathen.” Johnas wanted to keep Vanessa for questioning and safety, and to let the Harlian swordsman think she would be heading north. Surely he would find out that the White Spider was following and assume she was on the ship. He would then contact his agents in Harlaheim, and attain him there. If he caught on, he would surely come for her down here. She was now the bait, again, whether she knew or not.
The double doors opened, and another agent, Gerram from Vallakazz, an old veteran assassin and cutthroat with more knives hidden in his clothing than Johnas had schemes, entered. The prince trusted him as far as he could fly, but had him easily loyal with his little known preference for young men in his bedchamber.
“What more could go on this afternoon? Yes, Gerram from Vallakazz focking reports now, what is it?!” His tension rising, his blade was focusing his need for a good kill with hums and throbs that Johnas could barely ignore. Madness of blood covered floors danced in his mind, calling to him.
“In private, your highness.” The assassin's eyes were solid and sure, looking fearlessly at the prince on the onyx jeweled throne under the city.
“Very well, hurry.”
The old greasy killer strode up the steps, and whispered into the prince’s ear. “My prince, we have interrogated one of the dwarven merchants that was seeking one of their own in Vallakazz. He died during the process, but we believe that the dwarf travels with Lady Lazlette and her crew, and he has something of great value.” The foul man went on to tell the prince much of a key that the dwarves wished to have returned, and a lost land of myth to the far west on the other side of the Agarian continent where no one dared seek for over two millennia.
“Are you certain of this, beyond doubt? The merchant guard of Boraduum could have been leading you off a trail with this silly myth, you realize?” Despite his attempt at contempt for the information, Johnas eked out a small grin, obvious to all.
“Certain, my prince. I used two days and eleven knives, but his story remained the same from slow start to agonizing finish. He seeks the kingdom of Mooncrest, lost for thousands of years, and has the deed to the mountain passage to the mines of Kakisteele. That would take them from Harlaheim due west, past Devonmir, Saint Erinsburg, and into Shanador. Plenty of opportunities to take them, my prince. The wealth of that place, the stories of gold. I believe I have found you a fortune, sire.” Gerram smiled, seeing and knowing his information was vital, valuable, and hoping for much reward.
Johnas smiled, now knowing where their travels would take them and the scroll, and what they possessed made them worth the effort. And only he knew it all, save this wretch that had failed him in Vallakazz once already. Smiling, he turned his back, letting out a laugh, then his sm
ile dropped and he cut across the man's throat with his green curvy blade glowing bright, feeling the blood soak into the enchanted steel, feeling the follow up thrust through Gerram’s chest cause the emerald pommel to pulse and send peace and ease through his body stronger than any opium. Gurgling followed the running of blood, the blade so sharp it did not splatter or cut anything but razor sharp incisions from its wielder.
He turned, the assassin falling to the steps and draining out crimson upon them, and faced the stares, and one smile from the minotaur.
“Chalas and Kaya will head to Devonmir to take care of affairs there, and wait for this gray minotaur and his troupe to pass through. Rillen, you have your orders.”
“How do you know where he goes?” Chalas wanted answers, and blood, and the horns of Saberrak most of all.
“Trust me, I know. You will get what you seek, as will I. Be patient and listen. You have killed my minotaur, I need another.” Johnas sheathed his sword, feeling full and rested, content with the blood in the room. The sword in the scabbard radiated an unseen pleasure through him, thanking him for the blood upon its blade.
“I serve no one. I have been a slave before, and killed my master.” The minotaur grinned in defiance.
“I offer employment and service, not slavery. You get paid how you wish, coins, jewels, women, blood, your choice. Just serve loyally and kill who I tell you, when I tell you.”
“Women? How many?” The beast grinned at Kaya, then back at the Prince.
“I don’t have any minotaur women, Heathen never asked for one. But I can find you several, I am sure.” The prince scratched his head, confused at that epiphany that his old bodyguard never took pleasure, not once.
“That would be impossible, Prince,” the minotaur chuckled.
“Why would you say that, Kalaza? I can find anything.” Johnas seemed perturbed, but curious at the arrogance.
“Doubtful you can find a minotaur woman.”
“So sure are you? Why?”
“Because minotaurs breed with human women, for we have no women of our own. Unfortunately, most die in labor, but since we take them for one purpose only, there is no concern once a child is born. If they do survive, we kill them anyway for their broken bodies cannot produce again.” His stare at Kaya unnerved the whole room, even Johnas.
“Interesting.”
“Some of us feed the mother to the child after. It is said to produce a strength in battle unseen by any race, so my father told me.”
“I will believe you in that matter, Kalaza. Do you have children then?”
“Three in Unlinn, three…brave…fearless…strong sons, like their father.”
“You may have women, minotaur, just none of mine. Kaya, have him branded. Chalas Kalaza, welcome to the White Spider. Kill often, live wealthy, and do not fail me.” The Prince dismissed them to their orders, needing rest from the weary day.
He waited till they all left the chamber. It was quiet, finally quiet. Johnas looked to the body of Gerram the Knife. He smiled at the cold and clouded eyes of the dead man.
“You see Gerram, it is not easy ruling a city and an underworld. A Prince must be quick in his decisions and be sure in his actions. Should I have let you tell others, a future fortune could have been risked. Would I let Heathen have his way, I may never have known how Balric escaped. You see, it all happens for a reason.”
Tapping his boot and talking to a corpse, Johnas Valhera laughed like he had not laughed in years, the inebriation of the spilt blood around him making it involuntary. His pawns were all moving where he needed them and he enjoyed his moments of solitary madness.
Exodus I:X
Carisian Sea
Chazzrynn Waters
The yelling of hurried orders was long over, and the Bronze Harpy had been sailing a day north now, keeping the coast in view. Beautiful winter forests and hills gave way to the strained and distant Bori Mountains and cliffs that loomed over the Carisian Sea. Cold waters, southern dark depths, and scattered islands on the aquatic green and blue flowing landscape surrounded the troupe and the crew they had set passage to Harlaheim. Strangely, with all their minds occupied, no one noticed any seasickness among the travelers from the west.
Too busy healing their wounds, cleaning up, and watching the ships that followed less than a day behind, the five that escaped capture thought now on their purpose. They all wondered who or what was aboard the trailing vessels, and when they would once again have to fight for their freedom and a scroll they knew so little about, yet which seemed vastly important to so many in Chazzrynn.
The sun set in the east, majestically diving beyond the water, the impatient moons of white and green overhead long before. The ship kept course, even in the dark, as the captain seemed to know the Carisian like his own scraggly beard, and he held many concerns about the two ships that followed. One, a Valhirst naval galleon, was but hours behind and gaining, and the captain caught some worry from the crew that had seen much already. But he was more interested in keeping away from the second, the Headhunter, a supposed trading barge from the north. In truth, it was a slaveship of immense size, an Altestani war vessel that had not even been seen at port. Dennilar knew that the foreign transport bore merchant flags, but the trireme barge style warship had business and capability far beyond trading goods so far from home. He knew he could out maneuver the large vessel, but not outrun it in open water, so he kept to the coast.
The old captain could not find his first mate, Jorginn, and assumed he was busy making talk with the new passengers or taking stock of the wines and fine furs he had loaded on the ship to trade in Harlaheim. The elven woman he had met seemed to have a good knowledge of ships and the seas, but the others just seemed more trouble than they were worth with all that had occurred at port and the ships that followed. Dennilar had always wanted a minotaur for strength and protection, but had heard they were a bit hard to keep tame. Silent, he noticed, were the waters this night.
“Time to rest n’ eat I think. Hold our course toward Taberlo Pass, boy. Keep the coast in view, say three miles from the eyes o’ the nest.”
“Yes, Yes. Captain. Taberlo Pass, yes, yes.”
The captain took a swig from his flask of dwarven whiskey, shaking his head. That boy had been acting strange since the men went to port in Valhirst, always repeating himself. He thought the men had him influenced by women or other sins for the first time, and he was most likely still in shock. The stories of the One-Eyed Mermaid Tavern, the whores and gambling that had gone on, Dennilar remembered them whispering about it just the other night. He went below, smiling, to gather everyone for dinner, and open some wine.
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The morning sun rose in the west, illuminating the sky above the ship, but the cliffs over the bay kept direct sunlight off of them. The sails set, anchor about to be lifted on his vessel and his father’s, Prince Bryant waited for the signal to sail ahead and intercept the galleon headed to Harlaheim. The morning water and wind were calm but cold, even through his armor and heavy clothing. The Chazzrynn flags of white and blue with the falcon head of black both hung limp here in the cover of a cove beside the Bori Mountains.
The men of the Morninghawk were eager to see action after all the chasing of agents and possible envoys of Prince Johnas of Valhirst. Deep in his chest, and on his mind, Bryant, in his mere seventeen years, wished to see Johnas hung for his treacheries against the kingdom. He felt him a threat, a dishonor, and more a villain than a noble who inherited his city through birth. He had done nothing to better his domain, and served no one but himself. The glory of Chazzrynn, the last frontier of Agara, was stained by his own cousin, and the young heir felt justice had eluded him too many times. Solid proof was all he needed.
The three flags of King Mikhail’s warship, the Persistence, all raised, red, white, and gold, symbolizing the flagship of royalty. Men scattered, arming crossbows and trebuchet weapons of immense size, in case the northbound vessel should tr
y and flee. Anchors lifted, sails filled with air as oarmen pushed out of the bay giving them momentum into open waters.
The light of day still had yet to hit the Carisian Sea. Prince Bryant gave the silent motion to his captain to follow the Persistence. The Prince’s ship set sail, hoping to finally catch enough treason aboard this galleon to ensure the King would march straight into Valhirst and arrest Johnas Valhera. Men rushed and armed themselves, soldiers sent silent signals to each other from different ships, and the royalty of Chazzrynn took to the waters to head off the Bronze Harpy in the dark hours of morning.
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Azenairk felt the morning light through closed eyes, his prayers to God Vundren finished, leaving him feeling refreshed. He had never been further than trade points outside of the Bori Mountains, and never seen a ship nor been on one. He prayed to the mountains he saw in the far distance as the ship slowly moved side to side, almost like the wooden vessel breathed the water. The aft of the ship was raised, allowing Zen Thalanaxe a good view of the whole of the vessel, and being far from the front made him feel more secure. He saw Gwenneth, wrapped in black wolf furs, come topside with a book in hand and sit on the main deck and begin to read. The dwarven priest noted the moons still in passing, the crescent green and full white, both heading north, while the western sunlight tried to spill over the mountains to the sea. These things had rarely been seen by him before, some never, as he had lived his life under the mountains and temple of Boraduum.
The priest stood up, armor clanking, and went to stretch his legs about the Bronze Harpy, and then he stood still. The seven or eight crewmen also stood still, all noticing as light hit the waters and illuminated the area fully, that they were indeed face to face with two warships bearing many a Chazzrynn flag. The ships held at least one hundred men each, armed and ready, as well as ship sized weapons of wood and steel aimed at the Harpy. They were maybe a quarter mile out and closing, silent in the light of dawn. The men ran below for the captain, and Gwenneth went to get the others. Zen breathed deep the air, praying for God’s will to be done, and asking for help. He chuckled as he walked toward the bow of the ship, wondering if ever they would have more than a few hours peace before reaching Harlaheim.
