The Exodus Sagas: Book III - Of Ghosts And Mountains

by Jason R Jones

  “I will withstand a third! Call again father, for I am stronger than my older brother Kimtor, I will be king!” Eybrol Raven-hair turned to the gathered kin, holding his blade up and roaring, his bold stained teeth and face in determined fury.

  “I could take two more, for I am the eldest and the lost Gods honor me as king!” Kimtor Seven-teeth rasied his blade and shield, slammed them together, and took a knee toward his father in respect.

  “I…cannot decide….the Gods…have decided…for…us. My sons Kimtor and Eybrol…which…one of you…brings the head….of this…dragon Rynnth….to the throne…shall have…the …crown of…Auf Alach…and be…king.” His words dwindling off into whisper, head lowering from the weight of his crown, Arytor the Spear rested in his seat of majesty.

  The giants holwed and pounded fists to their stone home, thunder from the storm in the distance mirroring their praise and excitement. The women brought out the breastplates, greaves, and helms of bronze to the sons of the king, Eybrol refused them. Udmalyr sulked at the foot of the throne, shaking his head in humility and pain. Auf Alach, the castle realm in the clouds, slowly drifted west over the Misathi, hidden in the daring heights of the summer sky. Kimtor and Eybrol walked the stairs to the upper wall, glaring at one another. In the open sky they looked for the great dragon whose head would bring them the crown of their people, and began sharpening their blades.

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  Katrina, Queen of Willborne, knelt and kept her head bowed while the wind took her blonde hair tinged with gray and swarmed it about. Veuric and Faldrune the red knelt the same behind her. The seventy-three men below them in the pass did likewise, the setting sun in the east still glaring off their armor. Five had died, burned alive when Rynnth opened her jaws and covered the cave entrance in flames. Two more had run, broken finally in spirit and in service to Queen Katrina and her demonic winged mistress. The dragon had eaten them an hour ago, then proceeded to consume the seven horses that stood in surplus to the remaining knights. Her anger at losing her quarry rose in puffs of smoke from her nostrils as she chewed.

  Whether anyone would say it or no, morale was fragile, and everyone was kept by fear or dominating bond, or both. No one here had seen a dragon until recently, let alone a giant, and the fear of the unkown becoming known was taking a toll. The heat in the Misathi in summer, the wicked serpent that commanded over them all, and the hunt for those they had just seen for but moments weighed upon the minds of all. Storms in the sky to the south, ferociously fast and sudden, only made tensions thicken. Not that there was no cover, or the men feared thunder or lightning, but it was that they came in the broad of day with not a cloud in the sky besides, as if some strange sorcery was being used around them. And they waited.

  Katrina could feel the anger and frustration from Rynnth, and her mind was being searched for answers to questions she could not have privilege to. She tried to resist, though everything she thought told her to allow Rynnth to see her mind and memory.

  The scroll of Annar and those that carry it…

  Saberrak the gray the minotaur that found it…

  Fugitives wanted by Prince Johnas, heading to Harlaheim…

  Daughter of Lazlette seen near Willborne…

  Dwarf that may have keys to lost mines to the west…

  Prices on their heads doubled by White Spider…

  Knight of Chazzrynn in a fight at a tavern in Bailey…

  Elven noble in Keervin Keep heading to sacred mountain…

  Katrina tried to stop her from going through her head, it was no use, something allowed it. She looked up, sweating from the effort of focus to keep her thoughts her own, and Rynnth was looking from across the valley, red eyes staring into hers.

  “Ixthickis terrigavi rixthi uhnndres ahgix.” Rynnth chomped her jaws with horseflesh and bone as she spoke from her high plateau. She could easily eat a live horse in one bite, yet seemed to savor the horror that taking smaller bites evoked upon those around her. The blood ran like a river down the red stone and pooled by the knights who held still and silent.

  “Her magnificence, Rynnth, says that we will travel west and wait further ahead in the pass. She says she knows now where those that murdered her children are heading.” Veuric, monotone and under complete sway, did not even open his one eye when he spoke anymore.

  “And where is that, priest of the dragon?” Faldrune the red, raised his horns from his dominated downward stare.

  “It is a lost mine, or city, I cannot recall. Far to the west, Prince Johnas thought the dwarf with them had a key or heirloom to it. She knows now, she has been clawing her way through my memories. I cannot stop her Faldrune.” Queen Katrina talked low, despite Rynnth gazing at her from across the valley over three hundred feet away.

  “She is looking at us, at you my queen, as we speak. Watch your words.” The minotaur seemed nervous.

  “Keep your mind clear of anything, or focus on something with all you can. Then she feels and sees what you do at the moment. Our words matter not.” Katrina kept her head bowed, not daring to look at anything but her boots and the red rock below them while the dragon dined.

  “She can hear a mile away or more, I have seen it.”

  “Yes, but she does not know our Agarian language. As long as Veuric does not translate into her ancient tongue, we may talk. Just do not think about what you are saying, think of something else.”

  “I will not translate unless she commands me, I am with you Queen Katrina of Willborne. What do we do? This is madness, for we will all surely die here in the mountains or later become a meal like Lord Marcell and his sons in Bailey.” Veuric kept in a praying position, no eye contact with either Katrina or Faldrune.

  “We cannot kill her, she is too big, too powerful. Not even with these remaining knights could we kill her.” Faldrune looked to the men in armor, then to the two dragonbound with him.

  “Maybe the giants will take care of that part for us, if they find us again.” Veuric looked, yes, Rynnth was still eating the last of the spare horses. The whinnying and terror of animals being devoured cascaded across the pass.

  “Or, the fugitives from Chazzrynn. The gray minotaur, Saberrak, the wizard of Lazlette, perhaps all together.” Katrina looked up, Rynnth was stretching her wings and about to take flight as she soaked up the rays of the sun on her black scales.

  “You are the Queen of Willborne, the men and myself, we follow you. Tell me what to do, before it is too late.” Faldrune looked to his companion, years of mercenary work and splitting skulls for pay, now they were but controlled blades for a wicked wyrm.

  “I never wanted the crown in this fashion, never. This is not Willborne, not the old ways I was told of when there were dragons still in abundan---“

  “She is coming, we talk of a plan later, when she sleeps.” Veuric whispered.

  Rynnth landed, signaling with a quick flick of her neck that she was ready to move on to the west. Veuric bowed his head, as did Faldrune, and they mounted the dragon. The men gathered their horses, mounted in silence and half heartedly raised their standards of the dragon and sword finding no wind in which to flutter the flags of their nation.

  Katrina went to mount after pointing to the knights to head west, helm under her arm, sword in its sheath. She stopped, Rynnth had lowered her head, face to face with her, giant red eyes staring as her neck swayed and a mild hiss escaped her jaws. Katrina froze, lowering her head to bow, then felt the tip of a curled claw under her chin, raising her gaze back up to that of her mistress.

  “Actually, I can hear for over three miles, little human queen. I know your tongue, very well in fact. I choose to speak my own instead, I love hearing the sound of my words in my native language. If you even think to talk of betrayal again, any of you, I will make your fate painful, terrifying, and long lasting indeed. Then, I will burn, devour, and destroy your entire kingdom and everyone in it. Do we understand one another, slave?” Rynnth whispered in perfect Agarian and smiled as much
as her fanged maw would allow, never letting the gaze of this human woman leave hers. She could feel the hearts about to burst from the horned one and the burned man, and in Katrina as well.

  “Yes, my mistress. As you command.” Katrina had felt fear, before, but this moment was something beyond a nightmare.

  “We head west, to seek my revenge. Then, we will return to kill the giants for their lack of respect. After that, if you still live and are worthy, we may go back to Willborne and begin my worship in your little domain. That is if I do not eat you for your latest talks of blasphemy. Now, you will obey me, or burn in my flames for a thousand days and nights.”

  “Yes great dragon of Willborne, I will obey you.” Katrina was shaking, sweating, and the fear made her want to vomit. There was no escape, no release, and no pride left in her noble veins. She mounted Rynnth, placed her helm on her head, and held onto the scales of her mistress.

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  Torches lit by the dozens, then the dwarven warriors pushed and heaved, ten strong. Moments later, the doors in the mountain were shut. Twenty five warriors lifted a bronze rod as thick as a small tree and just as tall, they set it across the doors on the inside. Then another, then four, and then they climbed the stairs built into the red stone aside the pillars and set in two more diagonally, all fitting into bronzed holes. The doors looked impregnable, stone over bronze doors two feet thick already, then barred tightly six times from the inner holds. The rattling of stone and metal echoed threefold in the massive outer reaches of Marlennak.

  One of the dwarven soldiers turned to Dalliunn Cloudwatcher and began whispering. He handed him a necklace of beads and small fangs and patted him on the shoulder, which was quite a reach for the stocky dwarf.

  The soldier turned, watching the woman in robes rest on her rear. Then he looked to the elven woman, poised and dressed for battle and to the massive gray minotaur. His eyes noted the foreign sash and falcon of some notable degree on the bearded man, assuming he was a knight. Finally, he gazed at the dwarven priest from Boraduum, black tight beard and shaved head as it should be, hammerpiece of their God hanging from a chain on his neck. He looked to the shield, two mountains and twin crossed axes etched in amidst many a battle scar in the steel. His eyes focused tight, then lit up as he approached this dwarven traveler, his four hundred men silent in the massive corridor. There was a silent tension in the unmoving air.

  “Thalanaxe?” He queried as he reached out a forearm to greet.

  “Aye, the last I am afraid to say.” Azenairk looked down at the shield carried by this soldier, obviously in command here. He saw one axe etched over an anvil with a moon behind them. It had many more dings and cuts than his. The plates of armor, black steel helm, battle axe, shrotblade, and weathered bow, all looked just as used and worn. He thought hard, then smiled. “Anvudann?”

  “Aye, Tannek Anvudann, Marshall of the Southern Outguard Scout and slayer of ogre galore I be!” He grabbed Zen by the arm forcefully, slapping his back in a masculine embrace as steel breastplates clanging together. The tensions lifted, soldiers milling a bit and breathing now, Zen’s companions the same.

  “I am Azenairk Thalanaxe, confirmed priest of Vundren and son o’ the late Kimmirik, from Boraduum.” Zen felt tears as he smiled, not having said those words in a long time.

  “Well met cousin, what were ya’ doin’ in these here mountains with but five of ye’ anyway then? My big friend Dalliunn here came to me and says you were headin this way and in trouble. I don’t be charging in much for strangers, but he insisted that one of us was with ye’, and I assumed twas one of mine from Marlennak here.” Tannek turned to walk in from the doors, deeper into the cavernous halls that stood silent and grand.

  “On a journey, few bumps along the way landed us in Deadman’s Pass and all, heading west.” Zen did not want to share where he was going, he nodded to his friends hoping they picked up his reservations on speaking the details.

  “Odd company ye’ keep here, father Thalanaxe. Dalliunn says you are good folk though. Had to check myself first before I sealed the doors ye’ know.” Tannek strode in, his men forming around their visitors as he waved them to follow.

  “You speak to him, with him, in his tongue?” Shinayne asked, despite the focus of everyone being on Zen at the moment.

  “Aye, I do. No one else took the time, his lewirja tongue is hard to pick up and truly makes little sense. But, once ye’ be knowin’ that, few years go by, and ye’ get it. I hear he saved your arses a couple times over already, good lion he is. Dumb as shart sometimes, but a good hearted beast he be.” Tannek patted him on the rump as he trotted ahead on four padded and clawed feet.

  “He is, and yes, he did save us twice now, I owe him something for that.” Zen stopped, looking at Dalliunn Cloudwatcher, all his fetishes and animal hides and savage beads. “What would he like, don’t suppose gold would be o’ value to him?”

  “Naah, naah. Just beads and such, though I never had him save my life or that, just scouting around with us, he likes it. We feed him, let him come and go, he be one of us now here in Marlennak. Family killed by something years ago, and we took him in.” The Marshall of the Southern Outguard Scout kept on, coming to a dead end with an identical set of doors that his men would have to open. His dwarves ran at a fast pace.

  “Ye’ better have it open this time, I am not stoppin!”

  They pounded three times, then twice. The bars on the other side sliding from unseen dwarves, then the soldiers of Tannek Anvudann pulled, heaved, grunted and roared as the stone and bronze doors of forty feet began to slide open. The Marshall stopped, his nose grazing the opening door.

  “Dammit, no more drinkin mead in the morning then for a month! Stick to the whiskey only!” He yelled it, shaking his head in displeasure as they missed their time by two seconds. They all awwwed in unison, arguing among each other and pointing fingers.

  “Your soldiers drank this morning?” James was surprised as they seemed so well organized and efficient.

  “Hells yes! We drink all damn day, mead, whiskey, keeps us happy. And a happy soldier loves his duties, and if they love their duties they are better soldiers then. Ain’t no giant brave enough to face four hundred dwarves all lit on fine spirits, I assure ye’ southerner! Shart, we be mostly drunk now, sober, I’d a never gone and saved your arses against no dragon!” Tannek and his men all laughed, some understanding the talk, some translating it into the dwarven tongue, then more laughed once they understood.

  The second door of the southern entrances gave way into a maze of tight fitting tunnels, shrinking small with every turn from their former grandiosity. Before long, everyone was two by two and Saberrak was ducking his head to keep his horns from scraping the ceiling. Where forty foot wide and at least that high was near the massive stone doors of the mountainside, inside the mountain it was hardly enough for two to walk abreast with room, and down to six feet from floor to ceiling. Azenairk walked in the front with Tannek, talking about architectures and histories of their people as they marched in.

  “My neck is throbbing, how much further til I can stand up straight again?” Saberrak huffed it out ahead for Zen and the marshall to hear.

  “Soon my minotaur guest, soon. We keep the first set of inner passages tight, in case ogre or giants ever be thinkin’ o’ siege or war again. They can’t be fitting in these tunnels, and if they do, we cut em down quick.”

  “We killed a giant of some sort on the way here, nasty smelling beast it was.” Zen looked back to his friends, all marching in awe, all except Saberrak who was most uncomfortable.

  “Naah, naah, that was a little gray one right, female, sickly, the thing ya killed?” Tannek shook his head, serious look to his brown eyes as he stroked his orange beard and drank from a flask. He offered it to Zen who waved his hand respectfully to the no.

  “Yes, terrible smell to the blood and body, withered and it had small horns and---“

  “Aye, aye. Mogi, those are the mogi, n
ot a true giant, a halfbreed they are. Don’t ever kill one unless ye wish a war upon yourselves. They send their old out to feast when they be too weak and feeble. Then they hunt down em down, and eat em.”

  “Cannibals?” Gwenneth asked, curious about the spirits she had seen with her arcane vision.

  “Aye, aye. Me brother is a priest o’ Vundren, like Azenairk here, he says they be worshippin demons o’ the dead and eatin their own ghosts and such. Gives em powers or something. He knows bout all that more than me, something with the blood too. They got damn poles with the heads of their elder shamans all over the pass, ya’ know. Me brother says they watch ya through em, I don’t know. All I know is they be some breed of ogre and giant mixed, savage and cursed.” Tannek Anvudann stopped, waved his hand ahead in the torchlit tunnel. A lone figure waved back, then two followed in behind it as it approached.

  “And when do we meet your brother, Marshall Tannek?” James looked around, noting the four hundred dwarves taking in most of the air in the cramped passage, it was getting hard to breathe.

  “Right now, he is comin this way. Hope he don’t chat yer ears off and ask a thousand questions.”

  “Who rules now, here in Marlennak then? Is it still King Vurdemok the Fourth?” Zen asked as the other dwarves were approaching. He tried to recall what his father had told him of Marlennak, he had been told so much.

  “No, he done died about some twelve years ago now, near two fifty he was. Now, we don’t have one king.”

  “No, king? Who commands the armies then?” Zen was perplexed.

  “We don’t have one king. We got two. Old Vurdemok left the kingdom to his two sons, one from his first wife and one from the second. Shart on us, they never agree on nothin’ without a fight. King Rallik o’ the Mountains and the South, King Therrak o’ the City and the North. They sit across from each other now, yelling every damn day, by Vundren it is a bleedin mess.” Tannek nodded to the stockier and heavier dwarf that met him with a forearm to his.