“Vermillion.” It was an order, no words needed. The dark robed man reached into his cloak and pulled out a brand then put it back. The captain, perhaps thirty or so seasons under him, looked to robe and the man wearing it, confused.
“Then follow me, quietly, surely you want answers.” Johnas walked into his city, watching the people watching him. He wanted no spectacle beyond the army that made landing behind him. Surely with the siege, the rumors, the very king and uncle of the ruling lord of the city wanting his own nephew dead, he would have to pay for a warm welcome to the city he left during all of it. Still, no one dared say a word to their Prince, they knew better.
His procession grew, from fifty to three times that in guards and councilors. Johnas watched the shadows, yes, his agents moved there as well, guarding him from anything unseen in the emerald city of murder and treason. Castle Valhera greeted him just as cold, standing out from the salty air and moonlit dusk like a giant that wanted to be left alone. Royal guards saluted, men stood against walls off the red carpets minding his approach, and servants went into action as their monarch arrived.
A turn to the right, then to the left, and his throne above the throne sat empty in the heart of his castle. He thought of going below, but not yet, no, he would wait and save dessert for later. Johnas smiled, thinking of torturing young Prince Bryant, watching him squirm, and then killing him right before his fathers’ eyes as he took the crown of Chazzrynn.
“Clear them out, Vermillion, all of them. Just you and the mirrors, young Oggidan here, and the captain. Whose name is again? Forgive me, I am terrible with names of those that do not concern me.” Johnas sat, glass of wine poured by Oggidan, warlock mirrors being brought up by Vermillion of the South. He rested his posture, leg over the arm of the throne, and looked down to the weeping captain of the Morninghawk.
“Kirbend, Kirbend Ronsolly, your grace. I have been the captain of the Morninghawk for---“
“The Morninghawk, fine galleon indeed. I like her, intend to keep her, but the name reminds me of Bryant. How about, the Medusa?” Johnas thought of the far western isles beyond Armondeen that boasted such fictional women with snakes for hair that could hold a man in terror with their eyes. He liked it, real or no, it would do fine.
“Fine name Prince Johnas.” Oggidan was sharpening his gauntlet blade that sat where his hand had once been.
“Agreed, my patriarch.” Vermillion, hood covering his face as always, said three words, more than usual. He had the warlock mirrors unveiled and the doors closed.
“Change the name of the ship? But that is ludicrous, that vessel is famous in so many battles that---“
“What news, my shadowy assassin, what news?” Johnas paid no mind to the captain. He watched the tracing of the symbols on the black slab then the identical white marble one. He notice Vermillion was rusty, though his duties had always been more secretive than the rest of the eight, requiring months of no contact at times.
“Nothing from Sapphire of the East nor Crimson of the North. I would suspect that something is in need of attention there.”
“Agreed, I will send agents out, as we have no way to contact anyone there besides them. Next.” Johnas drank, watching the captain.
“King Phillip the First, now Domenarch of Harlaheim, has met with his agents and has begun recruiting. Silk of the River has been tracking those wanted with Balric, nothing yet. Diamond of the Mountain has been teaching Phillip the warlock mirrors to much success. All from the city of Harlaheim, my prince.” Vermillion rarely spoke, he liked quiet, and he rested a moment in between messages.
“See captain, if you want something done correctly, you must go to the source and handle it with force. Now Harlaheim is back on track, in better form really.” Johnas smiled. He felt the sword throb, not the usual urge, a more reserved one. He knew what that meant.
“Not now.”
“Pardon, my prince?” Oggidan thought her heard Johnas whisper.
“Nothing, continue Vermillion, continue.”
“If I must. Emerald of the Ocean and Ruby of the Sea have both arrived in Devonmir. They confirm that Rinicus and Jade of the West were thrown off a cliff by the brown minotaur and are dead. The five with the scroll have escaped Devonmir and the minotaur is killing in the arenas every day. Cadius, the house wizard, lives in terror of this Chalas Kalaza, but the agents state they will restore order. The Lords of Devonmir have asked for one hundred thousand in gold and for this minotaur gladiator of yours, and they will call all debts paid. The Sassari family has not named a price for their losses as of yet.”
“See, Kirbend, if they had asked to have Chalas killed, I would say no. But, it is rather like a trade or sale. I will drop the gold in half and buy ten minotaurs with what I would have paid. In fact, I could send the Medusa to Halay and see about a purchase. Tell them I will consider it, for now.”
“Who is Chalas, your highness?” Kirbend grew more confused by the minute.
“Ingenious, my prince, truly.” Oggidan poured more wine. He did not mention, nor really know how to, that Vermillion seemed much less subservient and more independent and informed than any other agent he had met or heard of. He kept it to himself.
“And the five with the scroll, my prince?” Vermillion was tired of this already.
“Send word throughout Shanador, Willborne, and Armondeen. If I remember correctly, they may be heading west after something else. Put a price on them, say ten thousand each? That should take care of that.” Johnas drank more, thought more, ignored the sword more as it tried to communicate with him.
“That was all from below. We have word topside as well, normal things.” Vermillion sat in the corner, he liked the shadows and his back to a wall.
“Such as?”
“War preparations, letters to ruling nobles, a prince rotting in the dungeons, Willborne crowning Katrina, and replacing Jade of the West, for a beginning.” Vermillion had much in the way of concerns.
“We have four thousand in all, now that is nine with what ports as we speak. Mikhail could spend months rousing an army and planning an attack that would succeed, no doubt. However, he will not leave precious Bryant here that long, not with the threat we gave. So, in a few days or weeks with a ragtag army, he will meet his end. Ruling nobles need no letters, they will see the crown, enjoy a funeral, and that will be all that is needed. The Valhera family ruled long ago, it is not as if a foreign invader took the throne. Do not concern yourself with that.”
“And Willborne?”
“Katrina Willborne is like us, yet she does not have the blades in the dark. She has an army, yes. Noble blood, well, close enough, so we will give her that. But, when the men rally against her, who will watcher her back? Her pet minotaur, Faldrune? Doubtful.”
“They say she has a dragon, an ancient beast awakened from under their kingdom. It was rumored to have killed several of those nobles that you speak of. She could be a threat, Johnas.” Vermillion bowed, realizing that he had overstepped his words. It was difficult, the relationship was unique between he and Johnas, but he kept his hooded head bowed until spoken to.
“Then we will keep an eye on her every step is all. Not to worry, soldiers and dragons, neither make good rulers for long.” Johnas nodded slowly to Vermillion, receiving the affirmative slow nod in return. The sword sent another empathetic and sad throb to Johnas, he ignored it again.
“And Jade?”
“Her twin brother Alexei would do fine, capture him, have the forces in the west take Southwind this time, not just a decoy or diversion. I want him prisoner. Perhaps he is more loyal and resonable than his late twin sister.” Johnas smiled, a short smile, it was all too easy.
“What…what is going on here?” The captain stood tall, hand on his broadsword.
“It is called politics, dear captain Kirbend. Now, we can go below and brand you, it will hurt, and then you will be one of us. Or, I kill you here and now. The choice is yours.” Johnas stood, walked down the throne steps, and b
egan to take his royal fineries off until he was down to the tight leathers and his emerald pommeled kris blade. Oggidan did not let one thing touch the floor then backed away.
“I will never be like you scum in the night. I just want to see my wife, where is she, she is not on the Morninghawk and either is my daughter! Where are they?!”
“Your wife turned my head in the bedchamber a few nights aboard the ship if you must know. Kirbend, as her husband I must ask, were you aware she could do those things with her tongue? Did you ever put her to swordpoint naked? I believe a woman truly comes forth, sexually speaking, at that very moment.” Johnas was sincere in his questions, his eyes were calm and serious.
“What?” The captain felt anger, disbelief, the tears, he drew his blade.
“Truly amazing, so I sold her in Harlaheim to one of my harems, I believe King Phillip was focking her the night before I left. Oh, your daughter too, a little young though. When those breasts pop up in a few years, say twelve or so, she will pull in a lot of coin for the White Spider.” Johnas drew his sword.
“You wretched bastard, demon of hell! You are a dead man!”
“I will take this as a refusal then?”
The captain charged, lunged, and slashed wildly at Johnas Valhera. The prince parried, counterattacked with a thrust, the captain sidestepped. He chopped down, then Johnas sidestepped and pierced his shoulder. He swung out in anger, Johnas parried and riposted, piercing the other shoulder. Bleeding, full of rage, captain Kirbend stepped in close and raised his blade to strike the prince down. Johnas slashed across his forearms, twirled as the blade came down, and sunk the curvy steel into the side of the captains’ neck. He released his thrust, backed up from the spurting fountain of blood, and held out his hand for a cloth.
Thud, thud, clang
“You see gentlemen, attachment can be a poisonous thing. That is why I will never marry.” Johnas stepped over the body of captain Kirbend of the ship no longer named the Morninghawk. He wiped his blade clean and sheathed it.
“Time to go below, my prince?” Oggidan smiled, looking to the body. He wanted that, the women, the power, the deadly skills, all of it. He was enthralled.
“Yes, I believe so. Vermillion, pass orders around, make sure everyone is following through. Oggidan, bring the tiger and the opium, it is time to celebrate.”
As Oggidan ran ahead, Johnas turned to Vermillion of the South, grabbed him tight to the wall in the dark corridor alone. “You need to be more discreet, Jehrale, others will notice your demeanor. Remember your place brother. You train them, as me, and you will be respectful in my presence. Understood?”
“Yes my prince, sorry indeed.” Jehrale Valhera, known as Vermillion of the South, nodded to his older brother. To the world, he had died of fever thirty years ago, their mother had lied to protect at least one of the two remaining Valhera males after the wars with Harlaheim had taken their remaining family. He had the scars of her love well hidden under his hood, scars to ensure their family name and that no one would know his heritage.
“Oh and here.” Johnas handed his blade to Jehrale, taking one of his to replace it. “Mother wishes to speak to you, she is insistent. Have it back in an hour, no more.”
“Yes my prince, as you command.” Jehrale felt the emerald throb as he unsheathed the blade. Over and over, the kris shortsword was sending sensations in the dark. He replied to the sword he had not held in many years.
“Hello mother.”
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Fadim Kerikadahn, exiled Prince of Khedra, waited patiently for the trolls to stop their search here and move on to another tower. They had been hunting him for days, orders from this Eliah Shendrynn and Vanessa for certain. He had killed four so far, taken the easy ones that lagged behind or got distracted. Their bodies were left as diversions since Crimson of the North would move the spine severed corpses around after he murdered them, throwing everyone into disarray and off his trail.
He had been Crimson of the North for so long that he had begun to forget his own name. His turban was reversed, black cloth over his dark eyes and midnight mask. He crouched, high up in the rafters of rotted wood above the stairwell, hidden by moldy planks and his black cloak. His dark skin had but one benefit on this continent, he could remain unseen much easier than an Agarian.
His brother, Prince Jhaleem of Khutra, was married to one of the daughters of Prince Alamud Kaven Sa’oom of Khi’Va, a powerful merchant prince that had died aboard his ship, the Headhunter, after dealing poorly with Johnas Valhera. On orders from the Yaj Alinahre, a forbidden nest of noble assassins trained after exile in Altestan, Fadim had reported to Johnas early. He went to prepare his assassination. Normally, the secret sect was out of favor and to be summoned only for clandestine raids into lands that held the unclean. Unclean according to Yjaros and the faith, according to the Altestani and the holy empire, meant elves, dwarves, creatures of the wild and the moons, the fey, and anyone not of human birth from the continent of Ala Sere who bowed to God and feared God. Arcane teachers, practitioners of forbidden necronomy, cults, and temples to other lost deities were their targets when it was to be kept quiet. Despite his exile and loss of title for a dispute with a Soteth sorcerer who served one of the three emperors, Fadim was still of the chosen and destined race.
It did not work out as planned in Valhirst, someone knew of him somehow, likely Vanessa Blackflame had opened her mouth. His orders were changed, sent to the west, and surely not by accident. Now, he was trapped in some forgotten ruins, hoping his brother would send a ship to his rescue. If all worked well, it would take four months. If not, Fadim was stranded on the Agarian continent. His shamshir was curved and sharp, his knives as well. He was ready to take his long wait and slowly kill everything here that deserved to die.
Fadim lowered himself to the stairs in silence, crept to the window, it was dusk here in the west. The stars were out in their formations, the white moon shone to guide the dead to God on the green moon, which was but a heavenly crescent. He listened, just trolls clawing along three stories below, ogre in the distance trying to start a fire, and the echoes of massed beasts unworthy of life or blood. In Altestani black markets, ogre tusks or ears of an elf would fetch quite a sum of coin, rich men paid well for those trinkets that no longer existed in the northern empires. Fadim thought on how his brother may like the ears of this Eliah Shendrynn, and how he may take them with his knife.
Out the window, sliding quiet down old vines and edges of loose stone from the tower, Fadim of the Yaj Alinahre stalked from shadow to deeper shadow. He had destroyed the warlock mirrors but failed to kill the undying wizard, Salah Cam who rested on the stone slab. Trolls had come, too many to face in tight quarters, and he had run. Days of chasing away from that dank sanctum should give him an easy surprise. He headed toward the tower of Arouland, intent on cleaning up the dead and those that could raise them.
The stairs down held two ogre, both met their ends with slit throats that no one could hear. Fadim was accurate, cautious, and blocked his path by placing their unkempt steel weapons on the stairs in the dark pathways where the green lights did not shine. He continued down, three trolls meandered the cavern before the alcove, playing with a rat that had turned green and lost its hair. It looked like them, soft, red light in the eyes, and black claws. Fadim waited, the rat came toward him, three greasy emaciated trolls in chase.
Fadim flicked it with his boot, high in the dark cavern it went, shrieking in terror. The trolls looked and tried to grab it, shoving and clawing one another. Before they could react, two perfect slashes of a priceless crafted shamshir cut above their hips, through the spines, spilling black ichor and organs to the floor with two dead trolls. The third hissed and screeched as it caught the rat infected with trollice, then turned toward the flash of steel that glimmered in its outer vision. It felt the blade, then a knife across its throat, then it felt weightless and fell. The red pinpoints of light faded. Fadim crushed the rat with his bootheel in i
ts scurrying flight from torment.
He danced and ducked past the dozens of struggling dead ogre that were chained, he would deal with them in a moment. Crimson of the North stood over the slow breathing and undying wizard that rotted on the slab. The flesh was gray and withered, black veins for blue, and shadows played around the deep dark eyes that lay closed. He heard whispers, no language, perhaps no words, but whispers from below the crevice that he stood next to. Something was there, down there.
“You can repair those mirrors? You are certain? Do not waste my time with fancy promises elf. I need to contact my patriarch and inform him of what has gone on here.” Vanessa’s voice was stronger, more confident than Fadim recalled, even from a distance.
“Yes, yes, I can fix them. I just need some time. Avegarne will do as you say, but with Salah Cam sleeping, well, it has been difficult. I am, not him you see, and they much prefer their own company, the rotted ones, yes.” Eliah Shendrynn was coming too, Fadim had no time.
“They will get used to me, a woman has her ways. You have just found that out, I believe.” Closer now, outside in the cavern, Fadim raised his shamshir over Salah Cam’s neck.
“You like the sword? That scimitar is quite enchanted you know, found it here. It is yours beautiful Vanessa, all yours.” Sword? Vanessa Blackflame never held a sword nor knew how to use one, Fadim thought a moment.
“Thank you Eliah, now we fix the warlock mirrors, find Fadim, and then you heal my scars and burns, as agreed.”
“Yes, I have just the right mixtures for that, in Salah’s study up above---“
Squeak! Squeak!
“What is it my pet, what has happened? You saw what?” The voices were right outside the alcove.
Fadim had heard enough, he looked at the man who was likely once human, guilty of using necronomy and dealing with the dead. Vanessa and Eliah sprinted toward the room just in time. Just in time to see the shamshir take the head of Salah Cam. Fadim shoved the body off the slab and into the crevice, the head remained, eyes closed.
The Exodus Sagas: Book III - Of Ghosts And Mountains Page 47
