“How long was it, where are we?”
“We have been talking for two days, Angeline. We are northeast of a city I believe they call, Gillian.”
“May I enter with you, to see you home then?” Angeline was out of sorts, she remembered the sun rising and falling, day to night and back again, but it seemed surreal. Her mind was trying to grasp how time moved while they had talked.
“No, I am sorry. You must travel west, to the daughter of Lazlette now, as my mother wished. Good bye, Angeline. And good bye, Charity. It has been a good talk.” Annar walked toward the old ruins, up the steps, and past the pillars. Then he was gone.
Angeline stood and watched. Finally, she looked west. She felt something in her hand, she looked. It was a feather, white, perfect, soft. She smiled and started her long walk, not feeling the slightest bit alone.
Exodus III:XIV
Evermont, Shanador
Gwenneth had not felt this relaxed in years. The bath was warm, the soaps and lotions were divine in feeling and scent, and the quiet peace and rest was beyond pleasure. She stepped out onto soft furs, accepting the towels of fine cloth for her black hair and smooth body from the servant women. The guest quarters of the Low King were unused as he and many of his were away, and the knights of Evermont graciously gave the bold and brave travelers each their own room. It was lavish, all dark wood and dark stone, but with giant unpaned windows allowing light and a view from ten stories above the trailing end of the Misathi Mountains.
“Vallakazz has nothing that would compare, nothing indeed.” Gwenneth smiled as she meandered to her black and indigo robes of the academy, they were washed and clean, smelling of roses and lavender.
For two days they had rested, eaten, bathed, cleaned, and rested some more. They had been given every courtesy, generously, without even asking. Shinayne had tried to give them platinum coins or jewels, but both Sir Jardayne of Highmont and Sir Codaius of Norninne, known as The Bear of Evermont due to his girth and strength, had refused any offer from the highborne elf. It seemed that the caravan had paid for everything, believing that they would have perished from either the dragon, the Mogi, or the giants had Gwenneth and her friends not stopped them. True or no, they also were reputed the most famous bards of Shanador.
The Shans o’ Little Door, they were known, and their coin and words of praise held more weight here than any of them could argue. Four gnome men, three twig women, five or six pygmy boys and girls, and even a mated pair of smiling and pointy eared goblins made up the troupe of musicians and singers that wandered Shanador, city to city, playing in every king’s court. Despite being the stunted offspring of humans, dwarves, elves, and little fey, and not one of them over three feet tall, they had a reputation as the finest in the realm. Gwenneth was excited to hear them play tonight, for they had written a song or ballad for Saberrak, called he faced them alone.
Knock, knock, knock
Gwenneth waved her hand and the door opened. Her magicks flowed easily now that she was rested and refreshed. She knew it was either a servant or Shinayne.
“And how fare thee, Lady of Lazlette?” Shinayne, glass of fine white wine in hand, another for Gwenne and red grapes on the following servants’ tray, strolled into the suite.
“Two days in Shanador and you are sounding just like them with all the thee’s and thine’s and thou’s. Do not get used to it my Lady of T’Sarrin, you know we are leaving soon.” Gwenne smiled as she brushed her hair and watched Shinayne in her mirror.
“I know, I know.” Shinayne set the wine glasses and had the young girl set the grapes down on an elegant marble and dark wood nightstand, then flopped onto the bed large enough for five to sleep comfortable.
“Azenairk insisted by the way, to all of us, that we are not to mention where we are headed, to anyone.”
“He told me. In case anyone would ask, and they will, we are heading north to Freemoore, one of the cities not of Shanador or Armondeen, a free merchant city.”
“And why?”
“Because Zen has family there in the small dwarven district of smiths and architects, on the east side. Cousins or aunts, we are not sure. I hate lying, you know that?”
“I know, we all do. But, we cannot be sure of who here has eyes and ears that are also for someone else. Remember Harlaheim, Valhirst, even Marlennak?” Gwenneth finished her grooming before the vanity and stood to get her staff.
“Yes, more than you. I was the one luring the White Spider out at night, the bait, remember?” Shinayne felt comfortable here, as much as she ever had in a human civilization. Her golden hair and skin sparkled with life, he aquamarine eyes were alive and rested, and like the rest of them, the elf was not hungry nor thirsty.
“I remember, yes. Shall we?” Gwenneth walked toward the door to head down four floors to the king’s hall.
“We shall, would thou be so fair as to accompany me?” Shinayne laughed, the wine and Shanadorian pleasantries had gone to her head.
“Ughhh.” Gwenneth shook her head and smiled as she walked side by side with her grinning highborne elven friend. “You realize you are wearing your swords and your armor under those fine black and purple garments, right?”
“You never know what could happen, cautious, right?” Shinayne would not part with her blades regardless, they and she had become very close in her meditations and katas.
“Have you communicated with him at all?”
“Lavress? Of course, just an hour ago. Why, you thought the wine had me all cheerful? I haven’t had a glass yet, Gwenne.” Shinayne thought back just recently to her time with her hunter of the Hedim Anah. He was preparing for something dangerous in the south, she was relaxing from the recent deadly journey through Deadman’s Pass, and their time had been most enjoyable and romantic, in spirit anyway.
“What did he say?”
“We really did not talk much, rather private actually.”
“Oh my.”
“Indeed.”
Both women laughed now as they walked into the dining hall of the absent Low King Symond the First of Evermont.
Spiral stairs guarded by woven tapestries of kings and battles gave way to a foyer with chiseled smooth marble statue of Alden wreathed in the feathered cross. Saberrak stood eye to eye with the man of stone that represented mercy and sacrifice. James looked to the chest, Azenairk a bit above the waist. The knight took knee in prayer while his friends waited.
Please God, Lord in Heaven, Father of Mercy, accept my gratitude if your grace would allow it, for us making it here alive. Please do not let me crave the spirits, especially the wine, and forgive me for any lies I may tell to keep our journey west a secret from those that may do us harm, directly or otherwise. Please forgive me for not killing the woman, the queen of Willborne. I could not kill an enemy while they lay unaware, especially a noble that seemed possessed. I pray she finds peace with her dragon dead, and that my sparing her was your will and not my weakness. Alden, I ask that you continue your watch over us, lay your blessings upon us, and guide my step and sword in the days to come.
Amen.
James Andellis stood, making the sign of the cross and then circling it on his chest, head bowed to the statue. He knew his friends were waiting respectfully, perhaps saying their own thanks to who they believed in. His tabard was white again with the feathered cross in red upon his chest, his blue falcon sash was draped proudly, and his grooming and bathing had been well earned. He looked to Saberrak, no longer covered in blood and dust, standing tall with a green drape of cloth across him from shoulder to hip, axes not present for once. He had a large set of dragon fangs on a necklace over his sash, James had not seen them before. Then to his left to Azenairk, his steel plate armor polished, short black beard groomed and braided, and his head recently shaved to a shine. He smiled a smile of relief and thanks.
“Ready?” Saberrak huffed.
“Yes, thank you.”
“That hall beyond the doors here, it is full of knights and nobility and tho
se little musicians. They will all try and pass you wine, and toasts, and all that chivalry nonsense. Sure you are ready?” Saberrak spoke soft, serious, not wanting this meal of honor to be difficult for anyone.
“I have prayed, I will abstain, Alden’s grace in that.”
“I could stay out here, take a walk with you, whatever you need James.” Saberrak did not say it, but he was feeling uneasy. He had hoped that James would not want to go in, then he would not have to either. Something, inside, a feeling, it was coming quick and making him unsteady. Whatever it was, he did not care for it.
“No, the man will be fine, horned one. Let’s go, I be starvin’ for a good meal.” Zen pushed the two forward toward the doors.
“I heard hyena was the main course, after a bit of crow and vulture salad.” James winked at Saberrak.
“Ahhh! Do not remind me, ack! Never again, never ever.” The dwarf’s face scrunched, remembering the meal of barely cooked scavengers they had eaten to avoid starvation.
“I thought it tasted fine.” Saberrak shrugged.
The doors opened, just as the ones across the hall did the same. Royal servants and dress guards bowed as the guests of the knights of Evermont walked in. The three men on the left, two women on the right, and they met in the middle.
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The mountains were getting dark, sun faded beyond the sky and behind the eastern peaks. Purple and dark blue remained with but slivers of green and white moonlight far above. Clouds whisked from the east, flashes of lightning following close and alerting the peaks of the coming storm. Crows cawed, hyenas snarled at one another, and feathered wings flapped and circled. Each step was a struggle, but down the slope into the corpse ridden valley she walked.
Her shield of steel, dust covered and scratched, lay before her. She picked it up and strapped it tight. Her helmet she had thrown, crown that went above it, both sat in the red rocks on the pass. She put them on, leaving the visor up to see. Her nose was swollen and bloody, she could taste it in her mouth and throat. Her skull was split, pushing pain into her neck from the steel helm, she did not care. Her body was weak, thirsty, drained from not having the strength of the blood in her. She continued her walk into the vale.
“Kat…trina…here…help…me…”
She heard the whisper. Veuric lay on his back, head to the side, crows picking at his stomach and groin. They pulled bits of red flesh, some strings of tissue, and had dug into his organs. He twitched his fingers in response, unable to move. The crows turned to Katrina as she approached, glaring with red sparkling eyes, then flew off with their latest pluckings. She picked up the ornate dagger next to him, sliding it in her belt.
“She…she…still…calls to…me. South…we…must…go south…and save…her.” His voice came in gasps, his one eye strained to look to his left as Katrina stood over him.
The queen of Willborne looked back over her shoulder. Faldrune was face down and dead, hyenas chewing his neck and legs in the night. She gazed ahead. Two dead giants, one of them the very one that had told Rynnth and her company to leave the mountains, Kimtor was his name, a spear was through his chest. The other had no flesh on its bones from the chest up, just charred skeleton. The vultures and crows fought over the pit, a pile of smaller giants, gray ones with tusks, all with head wounds and burned flesh. Katrina breathed deeply at the sight of the scavenger buffet all around her, the mounds of buried armor from the knights of Willborne that Rynnth had devoured, the stack of hooves from their horses at the crossroads. She looked down to the broken priest of the ancient ways of Willborne, the keeper of the secret tongue and worship to the wyrms of old.
“Help…me…up…I…will…live…with…her…blood. I can and…will…help…you…and we…will…take our…revenge…on those that…Ahhhhhhhhhh…..”
Katrina drew her longsword and plunged it into Veuric’s chest, through the ground below, and twisted until the red light, Rynnth’s red light, went from his eye. She watched as he stopped breathing, eye closed, then her blade pulled free and chopped down across his neck. Katrina picked up the head and tossed it to the hyenas near her dead minotaur. They scattered at first, then went to inspect and fight over the severed head.
“When I find Rynnth, it will not be to save her, or join her, or partake of her blood or power. Mark my words vultures! Hear me crows and hyenas! I a the queen of Willborne! I will track her by her foul blood, day and night, and I will finish her then give her head to whoever wishes a meal!” Katrina screamed into the valley of Deadman’s Pass, startling the avian scavengers and hyenas that dined. Thunder hammered in the clouds, the sky flashed, and the mercenary queen walked alone to the south, sword in hand, determined to find the dragon and finish her.
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The applause faded away in the grand hall of formal elegance, high ceilings, green and white draperies some twenty foot up, and an immensely long wooden table held over forty gathered nobles, knights, and the five foreigners that had braved the pass through the Misathi. They seemed legendary heroes to those around already, assisted greatly by the exaggerated tales from the painted caravan.
Music and melody graced the room from the smaller table on the far wall, the minstrels’ table, where the Shans o’ Little Door, all fifteen tiny bards, plucked, whisteled, blew, danced, sang, and strummed away for the honored guests. Tubrey o’ Tarnobb with his fiddle seemed to organize and lead the band of little folk, with his small blonde wife, Pirri Ann the Golden, on the harp.
“May I introduce, in lieu of the great low king Symond, our brave travelers from many a land?” Sir Jardayne of Highmont stood, goblet in hand, dressed in a finely sashed green tunic and decorated shan around his waist.
“Yay!” The gathered said in unison, holding their cups of glass and silver to the Knight General of Evermont.
“From Kilikala, the beautiful and graceful Lady Shinayne T’Sarrin!” Jardayne pointed, open handed and graceful, to whom he introduced.
“Yay!” They toasted and drank as roasted whole pigs came upon platters to the table.
“From Boraduum in the Bori Mountains, the pious father Azenairk Thalanaxe!”
“Yay!” They drank as Zen stood and sat back down quickly.
“Both from Chazzrynn, the mighty wizard Gwenneth Lazlette, and bold Sir James Andellis!”
“Yay, Yay!” The wine poured, the pigs smelled incredible, the aromas of carrots, potatoes, garlic, onion, and breads followed as more servants brought out even more platters. Despite the cuisine awaiting consumption, everyone waited until introductions were over, and now they looked to the minotaur at the table.
Sir Jardayne paused, nodding to Sir Codaius of Norninne, who then stood. Then three more knights stood, then the rest of the room stood. The Shans o’ Little door stood on their tables. Glasses high in the air as the breeze whipped the drapes and stromclouds rolled in the distant night. The room was still and silent for a moment, but it was a long moment indeed. James stood up, then Gwenneth, followed by Shinayne and Zen. They raised their glasses, and looked to their gray minotaur friend.
Saberrak lowered his head, he could not look at them, their tearing eyes, their sincere smiles, his friends that had searched and rescued him from Devonmir against insane odds. He felt pain on the back of his shoulders, sorrow in his chest, something from the window, outside. Not from in here. Out there, somewhere, He was in pain, he felt Annar suffering, he tried to fight it and stay in the moment.
“And, our guest of honor, the one that braved the Mogi, the giants of the sky, and the horrid dragon, all without a shred of fear. His friends have told me much of his deeds, I am certain I know but little of this warrior, however I know enough. From Unlinn and other parts unknown, I give you, Saberrak Agrannar!” Everyone cheered three times, clapped, drank, and bowed.
“Yay! Yay! Yay!”
The gray minotaur, clothed in but tanned hide waistcloths, leather boots, and the drape of fine green, stood. Much out of place, even moreso than Sh
inayne or Zen, he bowed his tattooed head and horns to these people of Shanador. He had never been cheered before outside an arena. He had no blood upon him, was not about to kill, but the three concise cheers made him clench his fists as if he had weapons in his grip. No one seemed to notice.
The gathered nobility whispered, servants rushed to fill wines and glasses, and all eyes were upon this mismatch of companions that had been rumored to brave the deadly pass through the mountains, slay giants, and even a dragon.
She is fair indeed, golden elves rule their race I believe…
Is he related to any of the dwarves here or in Freemoore…
Lazlette, I have heard that is an academy far to the south…
That beast makes the Bear of Evermont look like the cub…
Why would a knight of Chazzrynn be so far north…
They saved the minstrels you know, from the dragon…
Savage looking, but in the pass I heard he killed many…
Sir Jardayne sat, next to the guest of honor, leaned and whispered. “Lord Agrannar, if you would?”
“If I would what?” He huffed.
“Raise thine hand, wave the feast to begin please. Everyone waits for your approval.” Jardayne looked up to the furrowing brow of the minotaur.
Saberrak waved his hand up, then a little to the left and right. He did not know how exactly it needed to be done. No one moved, just watched.
He looked to Shinayne who was seated already, but saw him struggling with the formality. She kept her hand low, but moved it forward while unveiling her fingers as she turned it palm up and nodded as she aimed her open hand toward the food. It was graceful indeed. She winked.
Saberrak did as she had, and the cheers went up and the feast began. Saberrak sat, relieved that no one starved on account of his lack of refinement and culture.
The Exodus Sagas: Book III - Of Ghosts And Mountains Page 52
