“I told you, Lord T’Vellon, I am the spiritual guide of Southwind not some miracle worker!” Chancellor Marcus Mederris was covered in blood, his own, ogre, other men, that of his king.
“Chancellor, church, Alden, God’s man, whatever you call it. Just do something!” Alexei had seen enough. The king was resting, barely, yet not doing well. He noticed his pale face, a gray look around his eyes, he had seen death come before to others. This looked like none other.
“Get him to Vallakazz, dammit! I have priests there at the Temple of Golden Mercy, they can work miracles of healing, I assure you.” Aelaine Lazlette was in tears. She had watched two bowls full of bloody wooden splinters be removed from Mikhail’s chest. The blood was dark, thick, and now slow moving.
“Vallakazz is five days by carriage, and the king cannot ride! He will not make it three, especially in this weather!” Marcus yelled. He breathed deep, small knife in one hand, tweesers in the other, he wiped the sweat from his forehead and began to remove the last few pieces of splintered wood.
“Calm yourselves, calm. I know a place, two days from here. If I get permission, there are those there that can heal this to as much as a scratch in minutes.” Lavress Tilaniun, the only elf here, spoke his mind. He knew the Temple of the Whitemoon could work wonders beyond human capability, but humans were not allowed there. He patted Liogan Andellis on the shoulder, letting him know he was doing well in assisting the Chancellor.
“Not a chance, savage.” Alexei bolted back with a look from those slate blue eyes that warned not to mention it again.
“Lord T’vellon, is that how you treat visitors and heroes? Without him, your keep may be in ruins.” Lady Aelaine bit back.
“I will take savage as a compliment. Nonetheless, he will die most likely. The wound has been open too long, the mud and wood will infect his blood and body, and he will not be here if you continue what you are doing now. He needs fey healing, so you have a choice.” Lavress looked to the king of Chazzzrynn, then to Marcus.
“You have to return that book there, do you not? Surely this is to handle your own matters, not save our king.” Marcus paused, pointing a bloody knife, then resumed.
“I can leave to the Temple of the Whitemoon at any time, I am offering help to save him. Unless Lord Alexei is to order my arrest, again.”
“You had him arrested?” Aelaine was shocked.
“You have your city, and I have mine! Yours does not have the threats mine does, so we handle things different here, Lazlette.”
“You…you’re the elf that Middir and I spoke about to Lavalandara, the Arcane Magistrate of Kilikala, you are the hunter from the courts of the Whitemoon. You have the fourth stolen tome then?” Aelaine remembered, she had seen him before from afar in her crystal, before her daughter Gwenneth had left.
“At your service, Lady of Lazlette. And yes, I have the fourth book. And yes, I know Lavalandara very well.” Lavress bowed a little, then gave his greeting of the Goddess from heart to lips to forehead.
“I would trust him, I know of who he serves. Please Marcus, Alexei, let us take him to the sacred temple, let Lavress lead us, let us save our king.” Aelaine pleaded.
“Not a chance, Lazlette. Moving him would likely kill him. I will not let him become another victim of the ogre like my father, we will save him here, in Southwind.” Alexei T’vellon was stone, immovable, focused yet all in a daze.
“Your father was once my husband, it would do you well to act a bit more like him!”
“I am truly sorry to disappoint, I did not grow up with such privilege as you and your daughter. I have what I learned from him before the ogre butchered him. If you do not like it, you know the way back to precious Vallakazz.”
“Are you going to just let this boy allow the king to die, Marcus? He is what, twenty five or so?”
“Lord T’vellon has command, my lady, I must obey. Liogan Andellis, a little quicker with the towels boy.” Marcus kept working the last of the splinters out.
“Yes Chancellor Mederris.”
“I believe…I have a say…and command…do I not?” Mikhail blinked his eyes, spoke soft, a rasp of a voice remaining.
Everyone hit a knee and bowed their heads, all save Liogan who was holding the towel over the wound.
“Your majesty, what is thine command.” Lord T’vellon did not blink, just stared, awaiting an order like a true soldier.
“Take…me…to…the…temple of the…Whitemoon…send word…to my…only heir…my…son…Bryant…stop the siege…on Valhirst…bring my…crown…and sword. My army..is..ordered…to…stay…here…under…your…command…Lord…T’Vellon.” His eyes closed.
“Yes, your highness.” Alexei stared at Lavress.
“We will need a carriage, our fastest horses and men, and supplies for two days. Liogan Andellis, I need it done in ten minutes. Understood?” Marcus was packing his tools as fast as he could.
“Understood Chancellor!” Liogan ran for the stairs, a mass of soldiers and knights in his way.
Alexei walked up to Lavress, smiling, hand on the hilt of his blade. He leaned close. “If this fails, and he dies, I will spend my days and nights to find you. When I do, your head will rot on a pole. Are we clear?”
“I am glad we had this chat, Lord T’vellon. I go to save your king, do not ever threaten me again. Are we clear?” Lavress put his hands to the handles of his weapons, and smiled.
“We understand each other well then, good luck.”
“Likewise.” Lavress turned his back, without bow or salute, and followed the troupe with the king into the yards.
Men, many men, came to the room now that it was empty, seeking guidance on what to do, silently awaiting the words of Lord T’Vellon. They could tell by his demeanor, not to speak until spoken to.
“General Fandruss, organize the men and get them down for the night. Tomorrow, rain or no, will be a long one indeed. We need to rebuild the defenses, bury the dead, and plan our counterattack. Captain Shilde, send messengers to Loucas, Hurne, Roricdale, Vallakazz, and Addisonia, tell them we need reinforcements to Southwind. And someone get me a fast rider that can make it to Valhirst to stop the heir Prince’s siege. Now!” Alexei T’Vellon tried not to think of his dying king, the elf or Aelaine, only the instincts of war and survival, duty and command surfaced. Salutes and affirmations to his orders were all he cared to hear, and were all he received.
The soldiers carried the stretcher, covering it with the Chazzrynn flag, as whispers and prayers wailed silently in Southwind. The horses were ready, supplies loaded, and King Mikhail was placed in a covered royal wagon. Fifty men awaited orders, but none knew who was in charge. The king moaned as it moved, the rolling wheels sloshing in rain and mud, and nervous stallions followed a running elven hunter out the eastern gates of Southwind. Chancellor Marcus, Lady Aelaine Lazlette, and Liogan Andellis watched as all eyes fell from view in the storm of night, all with glimmering hopes and confusion, all behind them now as the gate closed.
A lone rider, drenched and leaning into his saddle, nearly asleep, passed Lavress on his way into Southwind.
“Rider, Chazzrynian, wake up.” The hunter of the Hedim Anah shook his leg and grabbed the reins of his worn brown steed. Half drunk, the rider went for his blade as he awoke. Lavress put his hand over the hilt and looked up at him.
“I am with the men of Southwind, with the king, are you hurt?”
“No, no, sorry. I am Kerri, messenger from the first brigade under Prince Johnas, I rode from Vallakazz on orders from the current captain, by the name of Vermillion, my lord.” He fumbled through leather packs and found a well covered cloth wrapped metal scroll case, green silk and fine embroidery upon it. He handed it to Lavress, just as Aelaine Lazlette rode up beside him. Fifty men ahorse in guard formation, the Chacellor and Liogan in the carriage, Kerri surmised with the royal flags and all, this was his destination, albeit a few hundred feet before the gates.
“Here, this is likely not for me.” Lavress han
ded it up to Aelaine.
The Lady of Lazlette concentrated for a moment, an invisible barrier of force came into being over her head, covering all at the forefront from the rain. She opened the scroll tube, removed it. It had the royal seal of Prince Johnas Valhera upon the wax. She broke it, unrolled it, and read. She tipped the tube up and a golden ring with a sapphires and falcon engravings fell out, finger attached. Her head raised a few moments later, most somber, she took a deep breath and bowed to the messenger signaling him that he may carry on to Southwind. She put the decomposing ringed finger back in the scroll case, trying to maintain her composure.
“Thank you, my lady.” The rider headed west to the gates.
“What does it say?” Lavress looked up to Aelaine.
“Here. This stays between you and I, swear it.”
“As you wish.” Lavress took the scroll under the cover of magicks from the Lady of Vallakazz.
Dearest Uncle Mikhail Salganat,
If you have received this scroll it means only one thing, that your siege has failed. I am not in Chazzrynn at the moment, I assure you, but I am well aware of your plans, and the plans of your son, to oust men from my throne in Valhirst. I had hoped it would never come to this, but it has, so I must do what any Valhera would. Your attacks upon me, my city, and my people are unwarranted and unjust. I have dealt with the insanity of your rule long enough. I must assume, upon your passing, your son will rule in similar fashion to the detriment of the kingdom. You are no longer my king, I declare open war upon you and your crown. Be it known that I have your only remaining heir, precious young Prince Bryant, I have sent a small token of his as you will see. If you wish to see him alive, meet me in Valhirst, disavow him and yourself from rule, and declare me the sovereign of Chazzrynn. If you do not arrive within two weeks time, I will hang your son from the walls of my city as I would any prisoner, and invade Loucas. You may save many lives with simple words, or I shall take many at the same result. The choice is yours.
Your loving nephew,
Johnas Valhera
Lavress looked to the carriage, began to walk there, then stopped. He met Aelaine’s eyes, bowed his head, and handed the scroll back to her.
“Not now, not in his condition. This could kill him were he to know of it. To the temple Lavress, with great haste if you would.” Aelaine was crying, wiping her eyes so the men would not see. Her only child, Gwenne, was missing, she knew the feelings all too well.
“As you wish, my lady”
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“Of course we lost the battle, but, we will win the war, oh yes we will…trust me sweet Vanessa…trust me.”
“And how do you know that, Eliah is it?”
“Eliah Shendrynn, yes, that is me, indeed. Salah Cam rests, his terrible afflictions are causing him much distress. He has placed me in charge of the armies of Avegarne and Mun Parr. I am the one who taught him, and I am no stranger to giant beasts and bloodshed.”
Vanessa looked at this golden skinned elf with suspicion. She had never heard that Salah Cam had a mentor, or that he learned his skills from a highborne from Kilikala. She glanced to Fadim, his dark eyes watching her as much as this strange nuance.
“I heard Avegarne lost his son, Sajogarne, in the battle of Southwind. Tension now brews with the ogre, what are your plans to ensure the continued war? Johnas will want answers.”
“The trolls are late with their numbers, typical really. But hundreds more are arriving soon. They say that they are waiting for a sign, something from their God or to that degree, something is arriving, Mun Parr, their queen has seen it. Regardless, I have a little surprise for Lord T’Vellon, do not be concerned Miss Blackflame. The ogre are angry, they want revenge.” Eliah in body, but Salah Cam in spirit, did not like the testing questions from this girl, not one bit. He knew she was either a whore for Johnas, or that Balric fellow. Either way, her skills were minute in comparison to his.
“I never told you my last name, and we have just arrived from Valhirst. How is it that you know me?” Vanessa wondered if Salah Cam knew she was Sapphire of the East of the eight most deadly of the White Spider, and if he had told that to this elven wizard as well.
“Salah spoke of your beauty often, a Caberran girl he drooled about at length. I can only assume it was of you he spoke.”
“How is it you plan to rally the ogre, in detail please.” Fadim, Crimson of the North, another one of the Emerald Eight, wanted specifics.
“I have powers that will take the dead, our dead, and raise them back up against them. As that happens, dear Fadim, and they kill more, I will animate their dead as well. By the time they recover, the trolls should be here. Then we all charge in force. Very simple. Any more interrogation?”
“Perhaps. Where is Salah Cam? As you are not one of us, I will need him and his warlock mirrors to contact our Patriarch in Harlaheim.” Vanessa would not let up easily. Something foul lingered in the air. Not the well dressed elf in such a drab and ruined place, not the missing Salah Cam, but something elusive was at work here, yet she could not place it.
“I told you he rests, a deep slumber. Not to be awakened, no, not at all.”
“We will see him, now.” Fadim put his hand to his shamshir, removed his black hood with the other, and positioned his feet pointing forward with just a small slide of his heels.
“An Altestani man giving me orders, here, in my…Salah’s stronghold? I would expect better manners, master Fadim.”
“I have not given my name either. You had better have a good explanation, Eliah Shendrynn.” Fadim was ready.
“Something is not right, we will see the old man, I insist.” Vanessa stood, wand in her hand from her robes quick, pointing at the elven stranger.
“As you wish, disrespectful humans. I will take you below the tower of Arouland, to see him. Follow me.” Salah Cam was annoyed, he had hoped they would not have made the journey. Tired of Johnas and his spiders, the political gambit he cared not for, his new body walked down the ruined stairs. Before he had swapped the souls in his ritual, this war and treasonous dealing with the White Spider had been exciting, vengeful, and a test of his powers. Now, only the young new body he had was of interest. He wanted out, wanted them gone or dead, Salah Cam wanted his freedom.
The air went cold as they went from ten stories above in a ruined spire to ten floors below into a ruined undercity. Ancient stoneworks, old pillars under the earth, collided with tunnels and bridges that looked hardly traverseable. Much was collapsed, or had and leaned precariously upon other frames of rock ready to fall. The moisture rose as small ponds and lakes appeared in the torchlit dark of the troll warrens. The Vateric Ocean sent crashing waves of a past storm from the west into the cliffs outside, sending echoes and murmurs through the rocks down here. Still further, more stairs in the dark, red beady eyes of trolls watching from the distance as their elven lord and his guests went lower under ruined Arouland.
“You see, the trolls must stay under, separate, for the ogre and the trolls hate one another. Some sages say they were once one, sons of the giants. They believe Annar cursed them, left them when they say demons took him away. Now, they are very different, the ogre and the trolls. One is ferocious, hard headed and strong, loving war, craving bloodshed. The other, they are like pack hunters, hard to kill as they regrow, yet soft skinned. It is an amazing evolution, these two species of giant beast, it truly is.” Eliah, as he appeared to be, rambled as they entered a gruesome chamber far underground.
A circular room opened before them with rotted tapestries too old to decipher their purpose. Green lit arcane sconces danced. Shadows flickered upon old wet stone walls. Chains rattled with ogre and troll victims, dead and rotted but with green light shining from eye sockets that turned on hard and dry vertebrae. Their mouths looked to talk, but the organs were either gone or perhaps their minds lacked any sort of ability in this state. A pit, a dark circular crevice where air seemed to swirl but made no noise, was in the center of the room
. It knew they were there, no doubt something lurked or watched from the endless hole of black, anyone could feel it.
“Come, come in. Salah Cam rests in here, on the other side. Just be careful, sometimes the dead ones, they might try and give a little shove. Come, come.” Eliah walked past the specimens and subjects chained up on the walls, around the pit of darkness, and to a small alcove on the far side and stood next to a stone table with a body upon it.
Vanessa hesitated, seeing the pit and the deformed yet animated dead looking at her, she could not walk ahead. Fear had held her feet. Fadim walked ahead, minding his steps as the dried and disembolwed corpses struggled to reach him, heads turning in silence with mouths agape. He ignored the green glows and rattling chains, and made his way to the highborne elf. He kept close eye on the elven longblade he carried, the wand on his belt, and the hands, especially the one with the platinum ring he seemed to roll back and forth on his finger. Something was not right.
“It is him Vanessa, he sleeps. He is alive, well, as he was when I met him in Valhirst. His smell and appearance are none the better, yes it is Salah Cam. Where are the mirrors, elf?” Fadim did not touch him, but it was the old wizard laid out on a slab, breath going in and out, eyes shut. For such a rotting and scarred old husk of a man, the small resting spot did not seem that out of place.
“Mirrors, mirrors, yes. Here.” Eliah waved his hand, saying the word Vutrinium as he had learned in his time here, and the wall behind the alcove with the slab opened, the stone lifted and slid into the ceiling on enchanted power.
Another hidden room lay beyond, this one like a study. Desks of old stone, shelves built into walls, skulls on walls held candles that came aflame as it appeared. Scrolls and books hid rats, chains on ceilings dangled many a bat, and the smell of old parchment and mildew assaulted Fadim’s nostrils.
“There, there, he uses those to write messages to you, I think. Though I have no idea how. Your trinkets, of whoever you all belong to, are most difficult, yes?” Had to keep up the lies, had to play dumb he did, Salah Cam was nervous with his body next to him. He knew Eliah was trapped inside it, yet he had to keep the body, his body, alive in case something ever happened to the dark magicks the thing in the pit had taught him to employ.
The Exodus Sagas: Book III - Of Ghosts And Mountains Page 35
