by Jason Jones
“I feel naked.” Kendari made a nod to his weaponless hands and then to their blades scattered across the upper grove and steps.
“Elven dignity?”
“Agreed.” Lavress nodded as well, feeling the need for his weapons. Then both men stood up and picked up their blades.
Lavress felt the cut on his chest and triceps seeping blood, as well as his shoulder, and he wiped some from his mouth from the hard elbow of the Nadderi. He breathed deep, noting Bedesh had moved, and the entrance to the temple was smaller. Still wide enough for someone to get in, still wide enough for Kendari to get in, so Lavress focused on staying alive as long as he could.
Kendari wiped the blood from above his eye where the skin had split, and rolled his cut shoulder again, trying to keep the split chain links from the open wound. His eyes squinted, and he began to encircle the wood elf once more. His swords twirled in his hands, waiting to feel the perfect grip, and waiting for the perfect time to strike.
“I have no words at this moment, odd. I would presume it is time for you to die then, Lavress Tilaniun.”
“Or time for you to be silenced, Kendari of Stillwood.”
“Ready?”
Lavress nodded.
The cursed swordsman waited no more, taking quick steps toward his enemy, cutting from high with Shiver which met the falcata, then low with his pyramid pommeled longsword meeting the dagger. Lavress did not sit on the defensive either, returning the attacks with low swings of upward momentum angling to his enemy's face, then secondary thrusts and short cuts from the glowing kukri. Each met the blades of Kendari, who seemed impenetrable as he spun, lunged, feinted, and devastated Lavress with attacks of his two swords that he could barely parry. The wood elf hardly got his cuts out further than halfway, the parries from the longswords too fast. Lavress pulled in tight, his curved weapons countering and stopping any blade that got close, and they were getting closer by the moment. Lavress was tiring, he knew it, and so did his opponent.
Heirs I:III
Carisian Sea
Harlaheim Waters
Moonlight trickled across the clouds, spilling out onto what would most likely be a sleepless night. Zen looked around the quiet ship, all but he, the crewman on lookout above, and the elven noblewoman at the helm of the Harpy were asleep at this late hour. No one was sleeping soundly though, regardless of the time of night. They were restless and worried. There was enough starlight to see that a ship still followed them, the whole crew knew of it.
His prayers before dawn were deep and repetitive, asking God for the mercy and grace to make it the last day of their journey. The captain was dead, the crew was scared and unsure, and they were still being pursued. Azenairk had heard the crew muttering, the ship was gaining fast, they would not outrun it. His warhammer lay beside him, his brow was furrowed, his hands cold, droplets of water from the mist of the waves forming on his armor.
Azenairk bowed his head again, on his knees, eyes closed. “Father Vundren, grant us, should it be your will, the strength to endure what may be on the ship that follows us. May your winds speed us to safety, and may I bring light where only shadow prevails. Let me be your channel to help the good men and women you have sent to me, may thy will be followed and not mine own. Grant me the peace of mind to take the right action, take my fear and doubt, and cast it down the dark mountain. Shall we face adversity, let me be the calm in the storm, and place others before myself. Amen.”
He stood up, feeling refreshed, and looked up at the elf, who had her hand up for anyone looking to stay still. Zen looked about, first noticing the large serpentine body diving in and out of the water, only its back fins showing. Several rows of teal and aqua scaled lengths rose up to be seen, then down again as this colossal serpent swam alongside the Bronze Harpy. A mere twenty feet off the starboard side, and at least a hundred feet in length, it kept pace with the galleon and her silent crew in the late of night.
“Be still and silent,” Shinayne mouthed the words to the two men in the crow’s nest and to the dwarven priest.
Zen prayed again, asking God why the adversity had to come so quickly after his first prayers. The silence of the waves and the sureness of the elven woman put him at peace. Over the next hour, the creature drifted off east, into deeper waters. He never saw the head of the serpent, only body and fins, and most thankfully so.
The dwarf looked about, seeing Shinayne move, finally, and gazed at the open sea, the coast of what must be Harlaheim in the dark distance. He wandered the ship, back toward the aft, men starting to rouse and get to work, likely unable to rest anyway. Again, he noticed something of concern. The southeast horizon bore a ship, but not the Valhirst galleon that had been close a few days back. This one was much closer, and much larger, heading from the deep waters out east. A great trireme barge warship, oars and sails, six decks tall, with flags carrying symbols Azenairk had never seen. It was moving fast, faster than the Harpy, and heading straight for them in the moonlight. He looked to the elven captain, her eye on it as well, her composure unchanged.
Zen thought of his father, of what he may have missed at his memorial, and how the merchants of Boraduum had probably not waited a day to start laying claim to all the Thalanaxe clan had left. It was not much, save for some dead end mines and personal things. He pulled out the small iron box, opened it, and stared at the corroded golden key to the supposed mines of Kakisteele in the mythical lost city of Mooncrest. The cursed mines, the lost mines, the fabled city that was destroyed many millennia ago by the Altestan Empire as a warning to cultures and religions other than theirs, never to be found again, and those that sought it never returned. He began to doubt, to wonder what he was doing here so far from his temple and home in the Bori Mountains. Zen stared at the ship, three times the size of the one he was on, and tried to have faith. His prayers had healed Saberrak’s wounds, his God had given him a weapon when he needed it, and had led him here for a reason. His faith had to hold true, for himself, and the others.
James came to the upper deck to stand next to the dwarf and gaze at the open sea, and noticed the ship heading their way. His breath reeked of wine, and his eyes looked red and tired.
“Excellent, they will be here by early afternoon, right before we arrive in Harlaheim. Unfortunately, they will catch us. What fun that will be.” His sarcasm and headache went hand in hand.
“And if they do?” Zen asked simply.
“They will crush us, the ship will sink, and we’re all dead men,” his retort was just as easy and quick. He turned to the west and north, squinting in the morning darkness. “And we are flanked by shallow rock-filled waters below the cliffs of the Bori Mountains, and the empty crags of Willborne. Nowhere to run to on foot, either, even if we could make it to land.”
“What do we do to prepare, to defend ourselves, then, Knight of Chazzrynn?” Zen turned to look at James now, right into his eyes.
“Pray, get armed, pray some more, and hope the wizard has something up her sleeve that will assist, like magic. Then maybe we only get boarded and taken prisoner.” James looked back at his dwarven ally, feeling very negative about the situation, and his inner shame.
“Could we hold em off until we reach Harlaheim?”
“If the men did exactly as they were told, with a great plan, a great leader, a lot of luck, and a little divine intervention, yes, maybe.”
“How many soldiers will that there ship have?”
“Five or six hundred men. However, most of them are slaves, if it is a true Altestani warship. We have veterans of wars past on this ship. Older men, but experienced beyond the will of a forced slave. Still, five hundred men, there is no way, Zen.”
“That is a lot. I don’t think any of us here be wantin slavery then.”
James ran his fingers through his hair, shaking his head as the ship seemed to gain every moment. “Years of hunting ogre taught me one thing, leadership is a powerful ally. If someone cut down their commanders, slaves will not have the will to fight,
nor as much courage. Take the whips, take the cause.”
“I will handle the luck and the intervention and prayer. Can you do one thing for me, James Andellis?” Zen put his hand on the man’s shoulder gently, but firmly.
“Anything you need, if you think it will help, Zen.” He put his hand on the dwarf’s and squeezed half a smile out at his faithful friend.
“Don’t drink today, just today, not til it be over. If we are to die, die free from the wine then. Agreed?” Azenairk removed his hand and walked away toward the elf to see about a plan.
“Agreed.” James hung his head, felt the anger and shame creep up. He felt unworthy to wear the medal and the sash of a Knight of Chazzrynn. He thought of another bottle, there were plenty below. He took some deep breaths and looked up, focused on the Altestani slaveship, and breathed some more.
“Ideas, my lady?” The priest walked up to the helm, seeking to comfort and counsel. Despite her outward appearance of stone, he knew better, Shinayne was worried for everyone on board.
Shinayne T’Sarrin looked at the ship, then to the bow of the Harpy, “We can make it by dusk, but they will be on us hours before. Some quick maneuvers right at the last moments could avoid us getting rammed and sunk, but we cannot outrun that ship. Best to hope for is getting boarded. There is nowhere to make port, we are too far off the coast now.”
“If we get boarded, what then be your plan?” Zen seemed at peace, smiling and holding his holy hammer pendant with one hand.
“Try and keep as many off the ship with archers and anything Gwenne can muster, funnel them to the fore and aft decks, and fight it out. Maybe we can take out their masts and rudder, and unhook, letting them careen off of us and make a run for the Harlaheim port.” The elven swordswoman thought of all the possibilities she could. “But to do that, we would need to board them.”
“I will talk to Gwenne and see what she can do, and I will pray for your steady hand in guidin’ the ship.” The priest kept praying as he walked to the Captain’s quarters. He felt the nervousness about the crew, whispers and talk of the foreign vessel and the futility of it all. Many spoke of, he heard, anchoring and fleeing on ground, taking the away boats and abandoning ship. Zen kept walking, knowing that they could not clear those cliffs by climbing, and no one was about to lay anchor. The away boats would get but a third of the number anywhere, and the rest would be stranded.
Gwenneth was rolling up the stone scroll, peering out the glass windows at the trireme approaching. “What is it, priest? We have some company I see, what do the others say?” She seemed calmer than anyone on the ship, possibly overconfident, as usual.
“Shinayne says we can get close to port, but will need to take out their masts and fight it out a bit. James thinks we can hold em if the men are led and we don’t get crushed and sunk. What can you do?” Azenairk smiled and said a silent prayer for guidance in all their thoughts.
“I can blow some holes in their ship, or put up a wall of energy preventing their arrows from hitting ours. I can start the thing on fire, burn their sails, or rain acid and poison upon them. What do you want me to do? But realize that I have to be close to do most of it.” She was arrogant, but straight forward at least. Gwenne knew what she was capable of, and deadly with it as well.
“Whoa, very well then. I uh, I will let Saberrak know and we will come up with a plan.” Zen left the chambers and went below to find the minotaur. All the while doing what he could, pray and ask for help, keep everyone talking and thinking.
Azenairk saw the sleeping giant horned warrior, still snoring. He patted him on the horn, then shook him a bit. “Wake up Saberrak, we need ye.”
‘What is it?” his nostrils flared, and eyes opened, reaching for his greataxe as he sat up.
“An Altestani warship is upon us, and we will likely be boarded. We need a plan. The elf can navigate and direct the crew, James can lead the men to help from getting overtaken, and Gwenneth can unleash her arcane stuff into their vessel and protect us from their archers. What do you suggest?” Zen sat next to him, rubbing his holy symbol again.
“They have a way to steer that ship like ours, right? To keep on us close?” The minotaur yawned, stretched, and stood up.
“Am sure they do, a rudder, mast, and steering column that connects em, yes.”
“Get me onboard. I will break it, fight my way back onboard our ship, and we leave them stranded.” Saberrak started to walk to the stairs up, and then looked back at Zen, “And what will you be doing during all of this?”
“Spiritual guidance and going where God directs me. Your plan sounds dangerous though.” Zen stood up to follow the horned gladiator.
“I know, that’s why I came up with it.” He smiled at the dwarf, and walked up to see the new enemy on the dark horizon.
“How many ye gonna take with you then?” Zen rubbed his bald head, feeling the stubble, needing a smooth shave before battle.
“None.”
Zen gave a look of uncertainty up to the minotaur as they went above deck. “So if ye fail, we only lose one. Very selfless, but cannot say I agree with it.”
“Not that. I just don’t think anyone would be mad enough to follow.” Saberrak chuckled and stretched, still half asleep in the dark of dawn.
All the plans, all the obstacles, and all the adversity fresh on his mind, since the day he left Boraduum, Azenairk knelt on the stairs and prayed graciously for it. He thanked God for their good fortune, and prayed for all the plans to work. He repeated his hymns of faith and devotion, and prayed for his friends to act without fear and with his strength. For himself, he prayed for nothing. Almost nothing.
“Father, if you are listening and watching down from the mountaintops, hear me now. I seek your Mooncrest, by the strangest of routes, with the company of those I had never dreamt. Please bless us and shine down today. I miss you, Father. Please help, we cannot do this alone. Amen.” This prayer was not to Vundren, God of the dwarves, the keeper of the mountains, and father of stone and service.
No, this one was to his father, Kimmarik Thalanaxe, to whom he had made a promise, one he would very much like to keep, but which could use a little help at this moment. And prayer never hurt. Many other crewman, none of them dwarves, none of them ever praying to Vundren before nor understanding the dwarven tongue, sat next to Azenairk and knelt in prayer with him.
Hunters I:V
Temple of the Whitemoon
Chazzrynn
“Betrayal is simply a prevention of revenge, and best served cold, quick, and final.” -Indimius, prophet of Harlaheim for King Feodor I, 115 AD, found murdered by his oldest son.
His long braids sticking to his neck and face with sweat, the wood elf lunged low and far with both curved edges, cutting down as he ended his attack. They met the twin longswords of the cursed one, also tiring as the moonlight had diminished over the sacred grove. Dawn was fast approaching.
They turned, blades clashing against each other, the glowing kukri dagger meeting the reverse held blade of Kendari, and burning Shiver stopping the wolf pommeled falcata of Lavress. They spun again, and again, backing toward the stones and steps of the holy fey temple of the Whitemoon, the trees moaning in the breeze. The elven hunter felt himself weaken, his injuries slowing him, and focused deeply on the steps of his enemy, trying to find a flaw in his motion, for there was none with his blades.
Kendari of Stillwood knew his time to breach the temple was running low, yet this elf of the Hedim Anah before him would not give up, like none other he had faced. The Nadderi swordsman was tiring, his shoulder in pain and his thigh from the arrow cut was hindering his steps. He felt it time to kill this savage hunter, and make his move to the stairs. He did something he had not done in over four hundred years, he flipped the blade in his left hand, wielding it normal fashion, extending his reach.
It was not his style, and did not make him more deadly, simply gave him more leverage against an enemy he cared not to get close to anymore. Kendari cut from high to low
, diagonal and horizontal edge cuts with both weapons aimed at the torso and arms of his foe. He followed those attacks with short cuts and half lunges, driving Lavress back, forcing him to keep his distance from the whirl of two reaching swords.
The wood elf was outmatched, his dagger barely caught the left blade of his enemy in time now, and he could not riposte with the reach Kendari now had. His counterattacks fell short, the steps of the cursed elf perfect and timed to keep him at bay, yet he stopped on the steps, looking up at the murderous elf. His thoughts of the fey in the temple, Bedesh, and the hiroon that lay dead to his left, drove him to stand, not withdraw.
Lavress’ senses picked up motion and scent from the south, heading this way on the wind. Trolls, many trolls, and moving quickly through the forest not half a mile away. His falcata cut upward, and then with the dagger at Kendari’s abdomen, both parried, and he moved in. Again, he cut at the weapons with his own, blade beats to allow him closer, unleashing all he had left almost face to face with his opponent. The strikes were short and furious between them, Lavress dove with the dagger first, glancing off the enchanted bracers of Kendari. His curved blade cutting over the Nadderi’s head, then slicing down across his chest, met with a backhand parry from the heated sword.
Kendari stepped back, feigning to withdraw, then opened his stance and arms just enough to bait the hunter in again. The dagger thrust forward, knocked aside by his left hand blade, then the swooping falcata, parried with a cross wrist catch between the bracers before it cut his face, and the cursed swordsman twisted his arms, dodging the glowing kukri again, and turning Lavress to the left. A quick plunge of Shiver ended the duel, its point diving into Lavress below his ribs from the open side. The wood elf screamed in the pain of steel and burnt flesh.
