The Exodus Sagas: Book III - Of Ghosts And Mountains

by Jason R Jones

  “Take out their tendons, legs, arms, necks, and spines. If they are dead, as I was warned, the eyes and flesh will avail us nothing but wasted energy. Prepare yourselves now, Annar give us strength.” Saberrak whispered loudly for those around him to hear.

  “These traitorous deserters and captured criminals of many a race have vowed to win their honor through combat here and now, for you! Lord Maroguille and Lord Trehad have offered their best to oblige them into the next life! Let the games begin!” Napralis ten-scars raised his hands as coins swarmed through the merchants, the doors nearly open, and the crowd went frantic with bets and fever of the coming bloodshed.

  “Norrice?”

  “Yes Saberrak?”

  “What do you think our odds are?” Saberrak grinned, twirling two double-bladed greataxes, one in each hand. He stood in the middle, horns lowered, ready to charge whatever came to from the left. The shaggy white minotaur and the troll were looking to their right with the dwarves huddled together.

  “Not good. That number one they just painted on the wall in blood over our door looks less impressive than the three and the two they are painting over the doors that are opening. My guess is, not good at all.” Norrice shivered, the Harlian man had never thought to end up in a place like this, a place they told horror stories about for generations now in Harlaheim.

  Saberrak looked up behind him, several stories up, and met the gaze of Chalas Kalaza the brown. He looked for Lady Kaya, but with all the black robes and masks, picking her out of all the women in the crowd of thousands was impossible. He now knew her allegiance was with the spiders of Johnas, but he had thought her eyes held a glimmer of hope last they had met. Could have meant something, he thought, could be nothing. He raised an axe toward his horned nemesis above, then to the crowd, and stalked forward ahead of Norrice’s men. The doors swung open, and then everything went into motion at once. Saberrak heard the crowd whisper loudly in unison, “To the death!”

  From the front, two beasts of enormous size some ten feet tall, stomped with clawed feet of gray dead flesh. Their eyes a hollow black with red pinpoints from deep within, their muscles seemed decayed, and their enlarged heads of what were once trolls held but bone and blackened rows of sharpened teeth. Their entrails sloshed above their moving legs, darkened and shriveled entrails from being most unused. No breath, no pulse for sure, and their boney hands drug the ground as they loped forward in the hunger of undeath.

  From behind a symphony of roars and hisses erupted from something that the crowd cheered upon its entrance to the arena floor. Saberrak looked back, a quick glance as he kept forward, and he saw a lion. It was green and sickly with no hair and missing parts of flesh. The surprise not from the expected rotting, but from the three necks sprouting three lion heads that moved most unnaturally from one body as it prepared to pounce on the other minotaur.

  The gray gladiator felt the blue twinge to his eyes, fighting it as he dove ahead and under the clawed reach of the monstrous former troll. His axe slashed upward, then the other, severing a repulsive enlarged bone hand half his size. It hit the black stone floor and its owner hissed through sinew and bone, turning those beady red lights of eyes toward the minotaur. The crowd roared, the underground arena boomed and echoed so loud that none could hear anything else. The Harlian men charged the other rotted troll, a furious battle cry of more fear than courage. Saberrak backed up from the reach of his one-handed foe just as the other troll grabbed a soldier and bit his top half off. Blood showered the men of Harlaheim and the scream was horrid for morale, yet bliss to the crowd.

  Swords plunged into the legs and torso of the dead beast, fear guiding the attacks and forgetting Saberrak’s advice. Madness took over in the arena. Dwarven howls of pain echoed as the three-headed lion creature had crushed the troll that was supposedly with them. Instead of feasting, it began its hunt for the tastier dwarven morsels and avoided the shaggy white minotaur. Saberrak was left to face his monstrosity alone, and he rolled again, this time taking a leg off at the knee with one swing and cleaving the hamstrings of the other leg with his second weapon. The claws grazed his armor, the minotaur too quick for the undead beast, and it fell to its one hand and knees with a sickening slosh of loose flesh and rot.

  The crowd screamed as another dwarf was devoured and the standing undead troll ripped another human in two and began to eat the bottom half. The white minotaur dove into the green lion, interrupting its meal, and the two rolled over and over, dwarf corpses spreading blood over the floor and the combatants. Saberrak slashed his axes across the back of the neck, then the spine, then kicked forward as his adversary fell into pieces before the onlookers. His weapons and armor now covered in black paste and rotten stench of the dead that still walked. The booos cascaded through Ajastaphan as Saberrak stood victorious over the first dead beast to emerge and marched toward the second troll that was having its wicked way with the Harlian men. He twirled his axes and charged it from the flank.

  The dwarves tightened with shield and hammer, three remaining in front of the lion that had just finished the white minotaur. The horned beast lay twitching as the crowd howled for more bloodshed and carnage. Swords plunged into the legs of the dead troll as it ripped another man down with black bone claws. Norrice slashed a tendon near the knee and ducked under another claw meant for his head. His men screaming in terror, covered in black decay and ichor, dodging bites and claws as the blood of their kinsman showered the air. The once giant troll shuddered, its dead flesh toppling over as Saberrak the gray landed horns first into its side with a sickening thud.

  “Take the head!” He roared to Norrice and the Harlian men.

  As it staggered to get up, the horrid reborn troll grabbed another human assailant, one of three left around it, and bit the legs clean off. One man ran in shock, leaving NorrIce and Saberrak cleaving away at rotted spine and exposed sinew of the neck. A few gory moments later and it was unmoving, much like the five corpses surrounding it.

  Another dwarf went down with a roar and chewing noise blended with the snapping of steel and bone. One head hanging lifeless, the fleshcrafted lion took blow after thudding blow from the two dwarves remaining. A greataxe flew into the head in the center landing in between the eyes, snapping it back like a branch breaking in a storm. The dwarves moved in, wailing away with yells and hammers galore. The lion withdrew, keeping distance, eyeing a few human morsels instead of the resilient bearded men it faced.

  The crowd cheered as the gray minotaur leapt on a dead run, over the bodies and carnage left in its wake, and planted his remaining axe behind the only moving head of the altered giant feline. The head severed clean off, the body thrashed, black and purple liquid covered Saberrak and the two dwarves standing off with the beast.

  The true living troll crawled to its feet, body regenerating and regrowing from the vicious lion that had crushed it. Norrice looked around and found his remaining man trying to get past the sealed doors out of the arena. He went to calm him and stop his shaking, obviously terror stricken from the horror of the battle. The two dwarves backed to the gray minotaur that had finished their beast. Saberrak raised his axe to the crowd, pulled the other one free from the dead lion at his feet, and pointed at Chalas Kalaza as he let out a bovine roar.

  The crowd stomped, clapped, stood and cheered. The lords of Devonmir looked down and talked amongst themselves, then to the master of ceremonies. Napralis raised his hand, yet the crowd silenced little after such a show.

  “The lords of Ajastaphan applaud you, brave warriors. For the gray minotaur, the bidding shall start at ten thousand gold coin. Do I hear ten thousand?!”

  Saberrak hung his head, as did the remaining men and dwarves. The troll covered its ears, still healing and weak.

  “Do I hear eleven thousand?! Yes you there, do I hear twelve?!” Napralis continued the bidding, the selling of the victorious to the noble crowd and lords gathered.

  The ogre guards, armored and armed, came through the three sets of doors
followed by human slaves by the dozens. The cleaning and carrying of the dead began. The buying continued, and Saberrak the gray of Unlinn was but a slave once more as he was escorted back to the barracks and removed of his armor and axes. He cared not who had purchased him, it mattered little. He looked to the crowd for a friendly face or some hope, yet he found none. The doors closed behind him and the others.

  “We survived, we won, still in one piece. You were absolutely unstoppable my gray---“

  Saberrak looked down at Norrice, deep eyes with shadows of horns tattooed underneath, “It has just begun Norrice, and it will not stop while we are still breathing.”

  “The trolls, the fl-fl-flesh-sh, blood, blood, bl-bl-ood, BLOOD! Aaarrhhhh!” Norrices man went from shaking to shouting, his eyes agaze at nothing in the torchlit dark, yet the terror had hold. Saberrak had seen it before from men captured from Chazzrynn. Unlinn was worse, the ogre would terrorize someone like that, he knew.

  “Better shut him up Norrice, the others here will kill him before the guards do.” Saberrak looked around, fifty men, twenty ogre, and two passages out besides the arena doors.

  “I am trying, have sympathy minotaur.” Norrice had his hand over his man’s mouth as they were put back into cages and doused with cold water buckets from outside the bars.

  “Sympathy? Might as well kill him now if that is your answer. There is none here, and none to be found. To get out of here, it will take merciless brutality, bloodshed, and a lot of killing. Sympathy will get us all killed, so drop that notion and think of how to cut your way out. If you can’t, I will do it without you. If you want sympathy, I will get an axe. A quick death is the best I can offer.” Saberrak looked around, watching the bodies being drug in, the guards changing posts, and for any allies other than this Harlian man.

  “I am with you minotaur, I am strong, and I am not dying without a fight.” Norrice resolved that his horned acquaintance was right.

  Eyes shimmering blue against his will, Saberrak looked at the man. “Good to hear, Norrice, now let’s find some more allies and look for a way out of this hole.”

  Kaya III:I

  White Spider Underground, Devonmir

  “I told you when, I told you where, and here we are once again. I truly tire of these games Vossir, is my gold not good enough for your elven blood?”

  “I told you Kaya, the sergeant is missing. Gold is fine, platinum is better. What would you have me---“ his left eye took another gloved backhand, blood splattering across his pointed ear and the wall he was pinned against.

  “Vossir Sassari, cousin to Avricas Sassari by chance?” Kaya held her knee to the assassins groin and kept the shortsword across his throat.

  “No, Vossir, brother to Sylette Sassari, you would be wise to remember that, spiderwhore. My sister’s vengeance is legendary.” Vossir grinned, knowing his noble blood, elven from Shalokahn, had saved him several times when he had run-ins with the White Spider agents. His family name was notorious for vengeance, deadly assassins, and unaligned to any group of known cutthroats.

  She thought for a moment, her other spies had not reported anything, her position was weakening. They knew her as Jade of the West, one of the Emerald Eight for Johnas Valhera. Her gold had bought nothing, they feared Chalas more than her, and even the enemies of the White Spider brought her no allies in the uncertain trap that Devonmir had become. “So no word from your contacts, no sign of those companions of the gray minotaur, and none in Willborne either?”

  “I know nothing Kaya T’Vellon, nothing. Just that you tried to buy the gray one in secret, everyone knows that now.”

  “I know your relatives, by reputation indeed, and my noble ties could profit them should you assist me in finding those in question before the agents here obtain them.” She was grasping, desperate, she knew her nights were numbered. Some of the men she had killed for the White Spider had ties to Caberra, noble ties. A price had been put on her head, yet no one cared, not with the attention on Chalas Kalaza.

  “You, have enemies from within, over your very shoulder, and I do not care to be involved. Shalokahn, not that I speak for my family honor, does not wish to cross any in Devonmir at this time.” Vossir grinned again.

  “So they have outbid me, Rinicus and Cadius, you know what Johnas will do to you and yours for this?” Reaching again, Kaya knew full well what would happen should she kill one of the Sassari family. Yet, leaving him alive at this point was likely as much a death sentence.

  “Nothing, had he wanted you successful, you would be. Tis not my neck you need to slice, Kaya, but perhaps someone has already sliced yours. You should not be plotting against your own so diligently, honor among thieves and all.”

  “They follow Chalas Kalaza, a brutal minotaur with no honor and no rank.”

  “Oh, you want sympathy now is it? All out of tears with a blade to my throat, sorry. The sergeant is missing, I do not lie to you, and he is not missing on account of me. He did not show up for his shift, Tirpali of Cordolla. Caberran men love wine and women, I would start there.” The blade had not relaxed, Vossir had hoped she would have gotten the point that she had no allies here and given up.

  “I do not want sympathy, I want answers. What of Willborne, what happened in Bailey?”

  “The companions of the gray minotaur desecrated their temple, killed some dragons I heard. Katrina and her men are missing as well they say. No word on his friends, yet while your horned shadow Chalas is obsessing over the gray one, I would act a little quicker and quieter, if I were in your position. A lady with a title lost is less valuable than a raging beast that can kill dozens without conscience.” Vossir had not hoped to give any information, yet the proximity of that blade had not wavered in the dead end underground hallway. His will began to waver as she was more serious than he had originally surmised.

  The candle painted more white wax over the soot covered stone floor, drip by drip. The breathing was heavy, the air scarce, sweat began to appear for no other reason save that of the ominous tension between the brother of a deadly elven assassin and Kaya T’Vellon, the once lady of Southwind Keep in Chazzrynn.

  “And mine own? Is there anything to lean upon there, or with the enemies of Johnas here?”

  “No, I have given you more than any sane elf would deem necessary. You are cut, Jade of the West, and you will not live out the week. Run, they will find you. Hide all you want, it will not save you. The minotaur you brought has sealed your fate, like it or not. I can offer two nights, two nights of not a word or move, no more.” Vossir Sassari let his body relax, hoping he had told her enough to avoid the blade. He knew that she had killed a few of her own here that she should not have, had noble enemies now in Caberra, and Rinicus had her cornered and wanted her out of his city. Vossir was hoping that his family would collect the bounty here on Kaya, but he may now have to do it himself.

  “Who is to be my replacement? How much is on my head? Chalas Kalaza, surely not.” Kaya feigned some tears, some nervousness, some lack of confidence. She eyed the dark hair, chiseled tight features, high cheekbones and pointed ears, and his hand moving toward the dagger in her boot.

  “I do not know those answers, but it is enough for us to let the spiders handle their own, be sure on that. I can offer two nights of safety for you, but I---“

  Vossir pulled for the dagger from Kayas boot, her body pressed over his for nearly an hour now. She was surely tired, distracted, and not as quick as one of elven blood and the Sassari family. He felt the steel slice through his veins, his throat, his air and blood not going where it should. He tried to scream as he pulled but a handle, a dummy blade, and went to stab his assailant in the chest with speed no human could match. His eyes teared uncontrollably, his body ached, and his heart strained as darkness crept playfully around the corners of his vision.

  Kaya stepped back as the Shalokahn elf grasped his bloody hands over his neck, trying to stop the inevitable, struggling against the reality that he was dead and nothing could change th
at now. His eyes bore holes into her, eyes that could not believe what she had done, what was happening. She wondered when her eyes would have that same look. The body fell over onto the ground, the twitching had stopped, and the lady assassin of the White Spider wiped her blade across his noble clothes and sheathed it. She pulled her black mask tight over her face, and stalked into the eternal night of Devonmir’s underground.

  They will be looking for me by now, and Vossirs men for him already. Time to move Kaya, but to where? She kept to the shadows of the twisting halls and caverns under the streets. Only the occasional torch of arcane illumination gave light to the tomblike undercity, oranges and reds glanced off of enveloping blackness. Her steps slowed, she knew there was nothing. Kaya had no plan, no targets, no allies, and no way to contact Johnas even if she had ground to stand upon. Jade of the West kept moving, encircling the halls and rooms that bordered the arenas, looking for a way out of the web she knew she could not escape. Every entrance, every possible exit, would be guarded by Devonmir’s finest, the White Spider, and they were all well armed and trained down here. Kaya needed allies to have any chance to survive.

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  “Is he ever going to stop pacing and tapping his sword on the walls? It is dreadfully irritating.” Cadius stared from behind his dark locks of hair, not daring to voice his frustrations to the minotaur.

  “He does that, a lot. We have our orders, if he survives the match we buy the gray one. You and I interrogate him for all we can find on his friends with that scroll and dwarven treasures, then we let this one kill him any way he chooses.” Rinicus Three-Blades looked around the penthouse above the arena, watching for the winks of eyes or signs from spies that Kaya had been found. Nothing yet.

  “And what of Jade of the West? Has the patriarch ordered her death warrant, or are we moving in too---“

  “He wants her replaced, he is training one of his own to the title, we just let Chalas fill in and bloody the arena for us while we wait.”