“And you heard me, and you came down the mountain and brought me to Ansharr. I cannot thank you, I do not know how to.” She turned to the rising sun in the west, still sitting face to face with her mentor, legs crossed and at peace.
“You cannot, and will not. I cannot thank the man who found me either, but I carry on as he would see me. As will you.”
“What are we, if not knights of Seirena and protectors of this mountain?” Angeline asked the question, it had been on her mind for some time.
“We, are a brotherhood, that is all. We come from the meek, we face our ends and faults to the point of death, some many times over. We begin cursed, damned if you will. We find something greater, at first it is the Soujan, then it is our atonements, then maybe the Goddess. Yet, we do not worship. We believe in the real, not the fiction. She is but a child of God, as are her children, despite men worshipping them and labeling them as Gods, they are not. They are powerful beings, immortal perhaps, but unlike God, they can die. Just like anything else.”
“Enlightening, but that did not answer my question at all.” Angeline listened, listened to her blade and her mentor and the quiet of the forested mountain in the morning hours.
“Could you imagine, if there were a group of warriors or priests devoted against Alden? Who knew he and his were good, and sought to train and protect his rivals through non-believing in religion at all?” Larens held up his hand to stop objections to his metaphorical lesson.
“Yes, I suppose so. That would be quite odd though. Atheist knights who do not believe so strongly that they form a wicked organization to stop a pure force of good?” She tried to follow his thoughts.
“Close. Now, think of God, Yjaros, as the most wicked and evil creator you can imagine. Think that he wants all life destroyed, and can see all but the most wretched, weak, yet saved beings in his realm. And we Soujan train to stop him and his actions, wherever they may surface.”
“He cannot see us?”
“No, the blessing of the Goddess prevents it. She told you about her eye, I am sure.”
“Yes she did. So why do we not find thousands of weak-willed suffering people and train them? We could have an army of Soujan---“
“No. They must get to the point they are called, that they seek us out, they must be at their last thread of life. You can only be reborn if you were about to die. It is the curse He placed upon us, thousands and thousands of years past when his demons destroyed our temples for protecting his children.” Larens closed his eyes, knowing that trouble lay on the other side of Harlaheim, he felt it.
“So we do not gain our powers from Her, then from where? I thought it was her voice, her energy, or perhaps a lost arcane magick.” Angeline was more confused than ever.
“No, it is from the stars, the planets and moons, yourself, Her, her brother, their children, all of it. None of it. It is a calling, from you to what is close by and answers your call, that is all. It is manipulation of natural things, animals, weather, for they secretly want us to remain and succeed, Angeline. They do. They just know what will happen if they do so on their own accord. Your will, your humbled will to ask for help is what they hear, and they answer us.” Larens opened his eyes, he felt the time to let her go was near, it was on the wind.
“What will happen if they try, if they fought?” Angeline stood, she felt it too.
“He will bring the fires of hell, the dead, the demons, and all his dark angels and forces upon them. He will banish, kill, torture, imprison, and punish with abandon. As he has done before. God is God, there are some things that are certain.”
“Then, I will travel on for what?”
“To find others, find lost temples, help those you can. There are fifteen of us now, fifteen blessed blades and reborn spirits that are as shadows to the forces of God. We must use that to help others, protect the Caricians, and always look where others do not. It is time.”
“I know.”
“Then be as if I saw you, as She sees you, and trust that which you have been given. Take care of Charity, she is a special blade I have been told.” Larens embraced his once pupil, his tears welling in mottled eyes under his full head of brown and thick graying hair.
“I will. What of love? Is that from God, can he take that too?” Angeline was crying as well, the time went too fast here.
“No, never. His children brought it into this world, he cannot touch it. Trust in that, Angeline of Charity, once Angeline Berren, now of the Knights Soujan.” He let her go, turning to walk up the mountain alone.
She dried her eyes, the wind that blew her red hair all around helped. Her dark green robes and sacred crafted raiments covered her armor, Charity across her back, Angeline walked down the mountain, yet she did not feel alone.
The wind under her feet carried her through untouched forest, over hills where there were no eyes of men. Day and night she traveled as so few could, on the winds she called out to. The sun warmed her well into the night as the white moon watched her sleep. Fruit would sprout from trees before the harvest from her touch, offering her sustenance. The streams danced through the air into her waterskin, fresh and pure for Angeline to drink. Birds and animals showed her the way to the city of Harlaheim, the fastest route they knew as they sensed her coming. What would have taken four or five days by horse, she covered in less than two.
Where her senses were fresh and unimpeded, the opposite was true back in Harlaheim. The city, hundreds of thousands of citizens, buildings made by the hands of men, and a flood of feelings and emotion. It was with much effort that Angeline could separate them and maintain her senses to the earth and follow the little whispers for direction. She listened to her sword instead, hoping through Charity, she could concentrate better. The gates were as flooded as the docks, warm weather bringing trade, oxen, cattle, horses, carriages, and merchants selling everything from the rural to rarity.
The voices, not audible ones, but those hardened thoughts a person wants to say but only thinks instead, she listened to them as she passed the markets of the eastern city.
I would like to shank them clothes off of her, I would…
He will never make master carpenter, he is so useless…
I am moving to Shanador, to hell with this country…
Do they know about me and Tomas, I hope they do not…
Taxes on trade raised again, bloody thief of a king and…
The Cardinal is not the man who left here, I know it…
Angeline stopped, turned, and looked for the man that thought of the Cardinal. She saw a young man, a knight it seemed by his tabard with the rose and crown so well emblazoned over armor and shining rapier to his side. She followed, at a distance, concentrating on Charity who seemed to know where the man was going. She focused again, asking for the wind to let her hear his thoughts. It responded and graciously allowed it.
He does not act the same, the mannerisms, he repeats himself and avoids my embrace. He never did before, he looked right at me. I am going to the king, this is all wrong. The Crossguard Legion has done so little to restore order here, like they are waiting for something…
She followed more, deeper into the southern side of the city where towers loomed and old structures and cathedrals hung like old guardians to a realm that had vanished around them. The populace was less here as well, so focused on the merchant district and the piers. L’Herrim Castle stood before her minutes later, grand and giant, its spires and walls spread far and high as if it could protect the whole of the capital city. Before he got into the gates, Angeline strode abreast of him, to get a look. Young, with his tight cropped dark hair, a hint of a mustache growing, yet strong for his age with a troubled brow. She went to the side of the outer wall, at least half a hundred armored royal guard on post in the summer sun. Some stood round a covered cloth over a statue of some twenty feet, no one was allowed near.
My uncle could not even answer questions about Acelinne or which Bishop he favored for Harlaheim with Javiel dead. This man is not
my uncle, the Cardinal of the Aldane, I am sure of it. The king must know, I have to warn him…or Kalzarius if he will not listen…
“Sir Sebastian of Harlaheim, good day to you Sir Knight!” The guard at the gates to L’Herrim saluted the young knight with a fist over his heart, receiving the same in return.
“Sir Sebastian then, wondering about his Uncle the Cardinal not being who he has known, your thoughts, Charity?” Angeline queried her hand and a half blade with the angel feathers and eyed hilt, receiving the affirmation to investigate without even looking over her shoulder.
Angeline wandered the outer walls, looking much a tourist or sightseer more than a knight of a forgotten order. She looked to where she could find a way in, there was none. Looking for the feathered cross, she was successful, and she headed toward the entrance for the cathedral adjoined to L’Herrim Castle. She waited in line, many awaiting entrance to pay penance, confess sins, or pay donations which likely went to L’Herrim rather than the Aldane. Patience was easy for her, and she listened in upon more.
I have been a cheat at cards, please Alden forgive me…
He wouldn’t know if I weren’t a virgin anymore, would he…
The new statue of Saint Tarumin is here, when the nobles from Chazzrynn arrive, we finally get to see it…
That lady must be insane to think we will let her in with that big blade of hers across her back…
Yes, yes, pleasure to meet you, bless you, yes, would like to eat your flesh, yes, yes, I hate your race, you all smell of sweat, yes yes…
Cardinal Desmonde looks younger than when he left…
You had better hurry Master Johnas, get off your boat, or I will begin to feast here, yes, yes, you are late…
She stopped, before the guards could stop her. Turning around, the lady of the Knights Soujan left the cathedral with the feeling of utter darkness and strange evil in the room. She had seen a man, full white and blue robes of ten feet draped behind him, sitting at the altar blessing the people that were lined to see him. His headdress full of gold and tied cloth, rings galore, and a heavy feathered cross about his neck and one on a rod in his hands. He sat before the Aldane texts, old and white haired he looked, blessing person after person, even kissing their heads and hands. Angeline looked to the hundreds here, women with their babies, men, young, old, rich and poor, all waiting to see the Cardinal and receive his sacred blessings. They were kissing small feathered crosses of their own, praying for things, and holding small books of Aldane from their homes. She felt ill at ease, wanted to say something, but Charity stopped her with a quick flash of emotion.
Her boots followed her legs, which followed her body, a body guided by senses and an enchanted blade that took her to the docks in south Harlaheim. The masses were heading to the cathedral to see the Cardinal of the Aldane, others to the north side to take a view of the impressive Cossguard Legion in all their sacred glory. Even more rushed to the docks. Some with trade and purchasing on their minds, others less pure than that. Yet some, she sensed and heard, wished to see the nobility from neighboring Chazzrynn and their Bishop, to honor a new statue of Saint Tarumin in L’Herrim Square. Curious, not as curious as Charity she felt, Angeline joined the huddled people at the docks. Thousands gathered, the tower of Kalzarius standing tall to the east, yet all eyes were on the docking galleon, the Morninghawk. The falcon of Chazzrynn, black on a blue flag, three of them with golden tassles whipped in the winds of the Carisan Sea.
They were met by a squad of Crossguard Legionnaires, deep blues and shining platemail with white capes adorned with the golden cross of Alden. Behind them were the royal guard of Harlaheim, flags of reds and purples with the golden crown and rose held proud. The plank lowered, flags lifted, trumpets and horns blared, and the royal guard of Chazzrynn, in their light blues and helmed regalia, disembarked to the pier. They knelt in noble fashion, making a walkway with their formation. Twenty finely dressed officers and guards walked down ahead of two men. One, a priest, dressed in black robes and a hood, red feathered cross on his sleeves and back, hood covering his face until the wind took it. He looked Harlian, dark features and eyes, trimmed goatee, curls to the shoulder of shimmering almost black hair. He did not smile, did not wave, not until the noble man beside him whispered into his ear.
Striding grand and with effortless grace, was a Chazzrynn man, older by a decade or so, his Agarian roots obvious to most. Blonde hair kept wavy and immaculate down his neck, fierce green eyes, and a smile that would charm the most chaste of women. His regal green velvets were interlaced with sashes of teal, ivory, and gold. Gold that matched his rings, necklaces, even a delicate but invaluable crown on his brow. An emerald of dark compostion shone from the edge of a blade that was sheathed in an elegant leather and gold scabbard.
Charity sent warning, fear almost, and told Angeline to be careful of the sword. She focused, trying to sense this noble’s thoughts, there were none. She tried again, nothing. She looked with her spirit to the sword as they passed her in the gathered crowd, and the sword responed.
Do not look at me or my son, begone old relic, or I will see thee melted down and sold as horseshoes…
Angeline looked over her shoulder, Charity seemed frightened, the swords were aware of each other, and were conversing. Yet try as she may, she could not get through to the mind of the man that held the vindictive blade. The procession passed her by, yet the man turned nonchalant, and looked to Angeline and smiled, directly into her eyes. Regardless of the sword blocking any spiritual calling, any invasive prying of his thoughts, she knew evil when she saw it. Here it was, his charm and grace hid something behind those eyes, and he let her know that he knew with but a moments glance.
“Make way for our southern guests, Bishop Balric and Prince Johnas of Chazzrynn!” A port capitan for the Harlaheim navy shouted over the people, trumpets and horns following his words, then the cheers and applause rose from all but Angeline.
Johnas Valhera strode to a small podium as it was set down ahead of him, Balric close behind and silent. The crowd hushed again, the marching of more soldiers from the north, men and women parting to let the royal procession of King Richmond the Second greet in grand fashion. The Chazzrynn prince whispered to his Bishop, and waited with smiles and waves for the King of Harlaheim to make his way to him. Heads turned to the regal puffed crown, curling brown hair underneath, his innocent youth, and all of his fine red robes and golden long jacket. He waved his jewel covered hand, getting not quite the amount of applause as his southern guests, yet it was better than he expected, so he smiled more from under his small beard and pointed noble nose.
Richmond was not alone. Sir Sebastian and Sir Phillip were with him on either side, dressed in mail and plate, hands on their hilts and their other hands across their chests in salute. Behind them were two more men, first the slow moving Cardinal Desmonde of the Aldane Order in Shanador. Holding his arm for support, was a darker complected man with bright brown eyes that glittered in the sun. His polished mustache and touch of thin beard were shined and his head was covered in a white silk cloth that portrayed his face. A golden crown adorned with tridents and rubies lay atop the cloth, marking him as a noble from Caberra. Armor of gold chain under his loose indigo and white tabard with the trident crest was matched with a curved saber and a matching curved dagger, both encrusted with rubies.
“May I formally welcome our sovereign guests from near and far, your majesty?” The crier took a knee before his king, removing his helm and bowing in the afternoon humidity.
Richmond waved his hand, guards reorganized, and he walked up to the podium as Johnas and his Bishop stepped aside and gave a slight bow. The noble from Caberra led the Cardinal up the small steps as well, Sir Phillip and Sir Sebastian helping now. All the royalty nodded, bowed, shook hands, even kissed the cheeks of one another as the crowds glared, cheered, and applauded their magnificent visitors.
Angeline watched, looking to these men, their bodyguards, beyond. She tried to hear their t
houghts, but the sword of Prince Johnas seemed to block all. She went, one by one, finding peace in the sun and the rhythm of the waves so near, and tried to make out the slightest on their minds.
“All the way from Cordolla in Caberra, Prince Edians Del Barrato!” The Caberran man took a slight bow and waved to the crowd.
How…you…let my nobles….killed…wicked…souls… not the…
Scattered, like broken whispers, Angeline could hear just trails of words as she focused on what she could from the minds of the gathered nobles.
“From Acelinne, the capital of Shanador and home to the Holy Aldane Order, Cardinal Desmonde Caunerier born here in Harlaheim!” Like in the cathedral an hour ago, the man supposed to be the Cardinal waved feebly and people hit their knees in prayer and thanks.
“From Chazzrynn to the south, Prince Johnas Valhera of Valhirst and Bishop Balric D’Vrelle!” Their hands waved, smiles wooed the crowd, and the two men whispered to one another seemingly enjoying the conversation.
Must get…ring…off…don’t make…me kill…king…cannot…get his ring…must try…bastard…made me…a…bishop too…please God…sword…stop…Johnas…damn it!..damn it…
Angeline looked to the dark robed priest. His mind in utter turmoil, though hidden magnificently, he was about to fall yet it was as if something would not let him. She felt a pressure around his neck, then something from a ring, just one of many, of the hand of the Prince of Valhirst. She opened her eyes, Johnas was looking right at her again, amidst thousands in the crowd. He was smiling and staring into her eyes.
Richmond stood tall, waving his hand gently to silence the masses. “My people, my loyal men, women, and children of great Harlaheim, we have had a troubled year. My friends and allies are here to help bring God, peace, and prosperity to the rigid ways this kingdom once knew. These men, all from enemy nations at one time in the lives of our fathers or those before them, have come as our royal guests. After the wars between us ended many years ago, each nation has grown and prospered in differing ways, and they are here to share that with your king, and I with them. Together, with God as our witness, we shall know peace and a better Harlaheim for all!” The crowd roared, the nobles clapped, yet Angeline was already on her way out of the cloistering crowd.
The Exodus Sagas: Book III - Of Ghosts And Mountains Page 21
