Hours passed, the voices that surrounded on just the other side of this outcropping or the next vale of hot red stone could have been their end. Even the minotaur and the elf were slowing. The sun passed overhead and began a slow and agonizing descent into the east, their backs taking the burden of its rays, and shadows began to grow as the wind awoke in the valleys of the Misathi.
“Water! A stream ahead, thank Siril!” Shinayne saw it first, not a stream as she had thought, but a strong flowing tributary of the Garalan River. Deep blue water, fresh in sight and smell, she ran with her friends in tow.
Words would not come of the dry mouths that knelt down to drink. Gwenneth would never have drank from a river in Vallakazz, yet on all fours she was, right next to Zen, James, and Saberrak. Zen’s helmet was passed back and forth as all five travelers doused themselves time and again. Steam rose from James and the dwarf as cool water hit scorched steel armor. Bits of sand and silt, the aftertaste of algae and fish, none of it bothered any of them as they began filling waterskins, refreshed. Then they all took notice of Shinayne, knee deep in the running river, hand held up as she gazed across.
She stared, not wanting to make a sudden move, and it stared back. The river splashed and gurgled along, echoes piqued its ears in the distance, yet the gaze across thirty feet of water would not break. On either side of this creature were poles, tall and ornate carved bone three times her elven height. On top of each was a skull, far too large for a human, perhaps three times that size, but covered in bony protrusions akin to small demonic horns. Feathers and fetishes dangled from the pole, the horns, and seemed to warn the elf not to enter. Polished and clean, the empty eye sockets of black wanted to watch her, but nothing was inside as Shinayne could tell from here. They marked the entrance to an immense valley, half mile across or more, littered with ivory bones of this and that. Nothing moved besides vultures and crows that fought from air and land for a spot in the coming shade.
“What is that, elf?” Saberrak gruffed quietly, water and sweat streaming from his chin.
“I believe it is a Lewirja, a tribal and savage nomadic creature that I have only heard of from Lavress.” Shinayne looked upon the creature still, its feline eyes from behind a mess of straw like black hair were watching her with intense curiosity. It stared from under the poles by the river. The head was round and feline, soft tan fur and red warpaints, round ears that poked above the hair, and a masculine body above a four legged lion frame below. Its tail flapped from side to side, curling every now and then to reveal a bob of hair on the end. Its paws crunching in the stone as its claws played from furred feet, it raised one hand to mimick the elf across the river. In its arms was a sharp stone hammer tied with woven sinew to a bone handle and an animal hide of some sort that it had just filled with water.
“Looks like a centaur, but made from a lion and a man. Is it dangerous?” Gwenneth stood next to them now, having never seen anything like this nor read about it.
“Lavress told me they were mostly found in the plains to the north, but that they were friendly and wonderful scouts.”
“Lavress, this is the elf you love, the one we never found that you see in your dreams?” Saberrak huffed, rarely trusting what others said, especially ones he had never met.
“Yes, horned one, that would be him. Enough of this, we haven’t the time to waste.” Shinayne waded across low points in the river, slowly, and her allies followed her steps.
Almost across, and Azenairk Thalanaxe saw it, the foreboding entrance to Deadman’s Pass. There could be no mistaking it as anything but. “The pass, there it is! We are not so lost after all then, thank Vundren, a thousand thanks to God!”
“Looks rather menacing, like a giant warning not to enter. Is anyone other than me having second thoughts about cutting through the mountains?” James looked down the valley, saw bones, some as tall as he. The poles were over fifteen feet tall and topped with those demonic skulls, he wondered who would have put them there and why.
“Greetings, I am Shinayne T’Sarrin of Kilikala.” The highborne elven noble bowed and placed her hands together in front of the lion man.
“Greely I emma shinby yin samm irrin alakakaka kalkaka.” The creature retorted, no one understood a word.
“It does not speak Agarian. Let me try sylvan. Auoth drenar tuvaya awoon, Shinayne T’sarrin dua Kilikala.” She spoke the native tongue of the forests and fey. The orange and brown eyes and canine filled mouth just smiled back, nodding.
“Awwath drennbar tuva tuwoon shinby yin samm irrin alakakaka kalkaka.” The four legged feline savage moved closer, smiling as it spoke.
“Shinayne, it is simply mimicking what you say, perhaps it does not speak a language.” Gwenneth spoke up, the creature moved over and began sniffing her robes.
It pounded its chest twice. “Dalli…Unn.” Then it pointed to the clouds that were far off to the east, and then to his eyes above his smooth featured nose.
“Dalliunn…cloud…watcher?” Zen guessed at the beast and it smiled and purred, padding over to him with wide eyes. It patted its very human looking yet furry hand on his head and then trotted into the valley past the guardian totems. It stopped, waved for them to follow, and then turned and ran some more. It stopped again, tail curling with excitement, and waited for them to follow.
“It seems, Dalliunn Cloudwatcher, wishes us, or at least me, to follow him. It is a him, right?” Zen peeked down, yes, a him indeed.
“Are we truly going to trust this thing? How do we know it won’t lead us into a trap or eat us or something?” Gwenneth commented snidely, searching for a better solution as she looked around to the darkening peaks.
“It likely knows this area better than we do, I have a good feeling from it, Dalliunn I mean. I say follow.” Shinayne trusted her instincts and spoke it aloud.
“Agreed.”
“Same here.”
James and Saberrak looked to the maze of cliffs and encroaching shadows, both knowing at night they would be traveling blind.
“Come Gwenneth, cheer up and let’s follow a lion man into a cursed valley that no one ever makes it through alive. Ye’ cannot be sayin’ this is anything but interesting thus far.” Zen swatted his wizardly friend on the rump and started ahead toward the awaiting lewirja.
Sloshing steps hit dry mountain valley as the five companions followed their guide into Deadman’s Pass. Gwenne smiled, having no arguable stand against the sentiments of her dwarven friend, it has indeed been an adventure. She looked up to the totems, feeling they were watching, hearing them whisper in some long lost foul cursed tongue, yet when she stared and stopped, nothing. The wind howled, the fetishes danced in the air, and the sun began its fall from the sky to the eastern horizon. The two moons came out to play in the darkening sky, yet deep in the valley trail, no one could see.
Kaya III:II
Cliffs North of Devonmir, Harlaheim-Shanador Border
“Still… behind… us?” Norrice gasped with every breath. The pain in his ribs, his lungs, and his legs was excruciating. He could barely keep one foot in front of the other as they ran, up hills, over blufftops, and around cliffs that never ended.
“Yes…all..of them. Keep up, this crest is it? Which…way?” Kaya T’Vellon was holding Norrice up with his arm draped over her shoulder. Filthy and dirty they both were, injured and running for days and nights without rest.
“Left, left would be….west. Old bridge…there…over into…Shanador. We get…there…and..”
“Cut the…ropes, I …know. Don’t look back…Capitan.” Kaya peeked over her shoulder, a quick glance. Chalas Kalaza, Rinicus, twenty Devonmir soldiers, and thirty or more of the White Spider with them, not a quarter mile behind. She knew at her best, in close quarters, on a truly lucky day, she could not take half this many.
“What of the other two that…were….with us? Prisoners?” Norrice thought he knew which way into Shanador, yet being chased and in the dark of night he had gotten them lost several times. Their two
escaped slave comrades had fallen into a chasm this morning, and Chalas and the White Spider had come upon them quickly.
“No. I see their heads on the minotaur’s belt. Do not think of it, just keep focused on getting to the bridge.” Kaya knew they had minutes, maybe an hour, unless they made it to a safe point where they could not be reached, somewhere they could make an impasse.
“Oh God, oh Alden, please God help us!” Norrice began to whimper, his legs giving out every third step as Kaya drug him along. She had no idea where to go, having never been this far north before.
“No time for that, Capitan of Saint Erinsburg, we must make it to the others and to your Lord Cristoff, right? Now keep moving, you have to protect me.” Kaya was trying to rally his spirits, calling to whatever bravado he had left, hoping he would not just collapse and give up. Any chivalry or heroism he had left, she pulled for it with her words, for every time he wailed, she knew she was one step closer to being all alone.
“Cristoff, my lord, yes!” Norrice thought of his lord, likely fighting against the king in Saint Erinsburg for vengeance and glory. His vision started to fade.
Their legs kept going, speeds too fast for such fatigue, they slid halfway down an incline past another bluff. “And the others, heading west, we have to meet them, right?”
“Gwenneth, the elf, Saberrak and Sir James of Chazzrynn, and yes, the dwarf with the key to the cursed mines! We are coming! We have to warn them of Chalas and the lords of Devonmir, and..” Norrice gained some burst of energy in his delirium, running alone and as fast as Kaya.
“The bridge! Here it is, run Kaya, run!”
The woman known as Jade of the West for the White Spider, once the Lady of Southwind Keep in Chazzrynn, slowed her pace as she cleared the apex of the cliff, so far from home. She looked to the lands below her, hundreds of feet above an incredible view over Harlaheim and Shanador. Clouds raced, the setting sun beamed rays of heat onto the beautiful landscape, and she could see the distant Misathi peaks to the west and the swamps of Kar Nossos to the north and east. She saw Norrice slow as well, and she felt her eye tear, then the other. The bridge had posts, a base over from this cliff and another on the other side, but nothing in between anymore. They had nowhere to go.
“It was here, it was here, I know it was…I was here once! Damn you! Why, why, why!!??” Norrice collapsed, his sword fell to the rocky precipice, sobbing on a small mountain of rock with the other side hundreds of feet across. It was a sheer drop, or back.
Kaya caught her breath. She wiped her eyes, knowing now was not the time. “Up on your feet Capitan Norrice, on your feet.” She lifted him to his knees only, he would not go higher. No towns had been in their path, nowhere to hide in the barren hills and highlands, and now, they were indeed trapped.
“I am sorry, Kaya. I do not even know you, truly.” He sniffled, wiping his reddened eyes and sunburnt face. Dirt and sweat covered his scruff of a beard.
“Nor I you, but it is time for bravery, not this. I know you have it in you, stand with me, please.” Kaya lifted him up the rest of the way, he obliged.
“You saved me, all of us, but me for certain. And here I lead us to a bridge that is no longer there, to our deaths. Who are you, all masked and deadly then?”
“You did well, very well and very brave. I could not have made it without you. I am, well was, the Lady of Southwind, in Chazzrynn. Lady Kaya T’Vellon.” She drew her shortblade, tightened the strap of leather a bit more on her razored buckler, and threw her black cloth mask to the ground. The wind took it off the cliff.
“Well, my lady, I am Norrice Fevrand, born and raised in Saint Erinsburg and Capitan for Lord Cristoff Bradswellen the Third. May I kiss the hand of a lady before I die?” Norrice picked up his sword, knelt, and after a nod from the southern swordswoman before him, he kissed her hand.
“I was really starting to like all of these adventurous heroics, I might add.” Kaya saw the horns come up the trail, then the menacing glare of Chalas Kalaza. Thirty crossbows aimed at them, Rinicus and his slicked and sheen hair and goatee followed. Then the helms of the Devonmir soldiers shown, marching in line behind the rest.
“I must agree. Do not go without a fight?” Norrice looked with his tired brown eyes into the steel blues of this lady, hoping for an affirmation.
“I am with you. Well met, Norrice of Harlaheim.” Kaya tinged her blade to his.
“Well met, Lady Kaya T’Vellon of Chazzrynn.” Norrice looked to the semicircle forming, Chalas Kalaza in the center, greatsword at his side.
He looked to the black scorch marks on his brown hide, to the wounds from Saberrak, any weakness Norrice could see. For a moment he paused, the glare from eyes and lowered horns of the minotaur stopping him in his tracks. The silence was deafening to them both, and even the men behind began to look to the minotaur and the fugitives for something, a word, a motion. Nothing.
“Where are the rest? Where is Saberrak?” The voice of the brown gladiator was like death itself, death was displeased.
“We have no idea.” Norrice stared back, hands shaking, he swished his longsword through the air once in a show of bravery and flair. He looked over the edge, too far too fall, two or three hundred feet on jagged rocks straight down. The wind picked up, tensing everyone around on the dangerous plateau.
“Rinicus, you said we had them. I assumed we had them all.” Displeasure again, like a demon lived inside, the words were so hollow.
“I am no scout in the wilderness, I have---“
“I forgot to mention, I met with Cadius before the match with the two headed ogre.” Chalas smiled.
“I do not care, what does that have to do with---“
The sword lifted up, Chalas did not even look fully to his left. He swung out, severed heads on his belt looking off in death, and a third head felt the edge of his blade. Blood sprayed out the neck of Rinicus, his body falling to the stone, head at the same time, separated. Chalas kicked the body, then the head, over the cliff.
“Now Kaya, traitor to the White Spider, not that I care. I will kill you quickly if you tell me where Saberrak and---“
“I said, we do not know. Are you deaf you ugly focking son of a cow?” Norrice smiled, shaking, intimidated. He raised his sword, placed two hands on the hilt, and charged.
Kaya did not anticipate it, no one did. No one but Chalas Kalaza the brown minotaur gladiator of Unlinn saw through the insult. Norrice swung out from his lunge, a midair leap, his sword coming down straight into the face of the minotaur. All stared at the glorious and fearless charge.
Clang!
“Aaaarrgghhh!, aaarrrgghhh!…ahhh…”
Norrice felt the blades meet, then his face get grabbed by a huge minotaur hand, and then the pain of steel through his gut and out the back. Something was twisting as everything went black.
Slap, slap, thud, clang
Chalas tore with one hand and turned with his blade, then threw the two pieces of Norrice to the ground, the skull breaking onto the stone when it hit. Blood poured in a small stream down off the cliff. He looked to Kaya T’Vellon.
“I will ask one more time.” Blood splattered, tired, injured, Chalas was beyond patience and rage. Only death and answers were left.
She looked to the masked faces staring and their crossbows aimed, those that once feared her. Then her eyes looked to the still bodies of Rinicus below and Norrice before her, then to Chalas Kalaza. She had no words, nothing but an empty sorrow at life’s end. She smiled, knowing at least she had felt a short glimmer of what her father was, heroic. The last three days of rescue and escape for others, against Johnas and his branded killers, had invoked more smiles behind her mask than the last decade of her life. That feeling she would take with her, for no one could have it. They would not have the pleasure.
Kaya backed up a step, sheathed her shortblade, and jumped. The air rushed, her hair whipping around her face, the feeling was exhilarating, terrifying. She smiled. Then it was over.
Chalas look
ed over the edge, sheathing his blade without cleaning it. He saw the head of Rinicus, the body, both smashed hundreds of feet down on the wicked rocks. He saw Kaya T’Vellon, arms spread out, legs twisted, broken body unmoving the same, far below. He turned to the men.
“I am your Domenarch, as Cadius has likely already informed you in secret. You listen to me now, and me alone. Back to Devonmir. And kill these Devonmir soldiers, they have seen too much.” The brown gladiator had too many disappointments, too much anger unspent, and too many injuries to carry on further. He knew, however, he had a gray minotaur to find, and a match to finish.
Deep in the bluffs of eastern Harlaheim, the crossbows rained into Devonmir men. Throats were slit, bodies were tossed over the edge, and Chalas Kalaza stewed every step back to the arenas. For him, it was not over. It had just begun.
Shinayne III:I
Deadman’s Pass, Misathi Mountains
The white moon, half full in ivory radiance, slowly fell to the north as the sliver of larger green, Gimmor, followed behind. Pinks and oranges touched the western sky, showing the mountains for the first time at dawn. Cold breezes began to dwindle, patches of fog lay quiet in the valleys of the pass below, and the barren lands of the Misathi were still. Shinayne stood, on the ridge among many in every direction, and closed her eyes.
She felt her friends, fast asleep, safe for now. Nothing, not a bird nor animal nor enemy, stirred within eyesight. Her vision widened, elven vision from within, and she felt the heartbeats and breaths of those in the camp in the valley. James was troubled and tired. Gwenneth at peace, yet her staff was never resting in its own small enchanted mind. Saberrak was pretending to sleep, she could tell by his mind and thoughts on Annar, his life, and this journey. He struggled with focus, anger, his family somewhere, and visions of Chalas Kalaza. Azenairk was restless in his dreams, searching alone for his father, for the mines, and hunted as he went every wrong way. Birds. Dalliunn Cloudwatcher, if that would be his name in Agarian, dreamt of birds dropping feathers that he would catch and put in his hair. Just birds.
The Exodus Sagas: Book III - Of Ghosts And Mountains Page 17
