The Exodus Sagas: Book IV - Of Moons and Myth

by Jason R Jones

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  “This is insane, we do not even know where they are headed!” James rounded a corner in the mines.

  “Zen, stop!”

  “Dwarf, slow down, now!” Saberrak roared after the others’ pleas and shouts did nothing. Still, the dwarf ran in the middle of the thousands of ghosts, as if he were one of them.

  “Horned one, just grab him!” Shinayne yelled.

  They all ran after, over several bridges, around great stone columns that spanned ceiling to floor over hundreds of feet, and even into darker tunnels that shimmered. Picks and hammers and tools lay covered in rust, barrels and wagons sat in dilapidated ruin, and the stairs went high into the upper mines of Kakisteele.

  Suddenly there were left turns, cross tunnels, and the ghosts all split up at least five different ways. No noise erupted from their charge, even as mining dwarven spirits joined them, so following Azenairk through the dark shafts and mines was easy, if one listened.

  “Rrraaahhhh!” Zen swung his warhammer in a brutal whirl, something had grabbed him. He could see enemies everywhere, his brethren were on the charge, something was behind him. His arm was grabbed in mid swing, it was strong, he struggled and pulled to be free. Another Altestani soldier, perhaps another winged demon, he and the dwarves had fought many already.

  “Open your damn eyes, Azenairk.” Saberrak huffed and smacked the side of his helmet as he held the blacksteel warhammer tight.

  “Wha…wha…where are they?!” He blinked, not realizing he had closed his eyes, he had seen them and run with them, plain as daylight.

  “Where are who? There is nothing here but your ghosts running around.” Saberrak looked, something was not as it should be.

  “No, naye gray one, we be fightin’ the northern oppression here, and their demons, look!” He was frantic, not even paying mind as James, Shinayne, and Gwenneth arrived from the other tunnels, green light pouring over them all. Everywhere he looked, shadows of men with pointed helms and curved blades lunged from the dark into his gray dwarven allies. Demonic shadows tore into them in silence, they fought back, it was war. Gray on black, a war with no noise. “I need to fight, Saberrak! Let me go then!”

  Saberrak squinted, then he saw it. He closed his eyes, and saw it more clear, still no sound, but it was there. He walked over to a tall shadow of a demon fighting against the wall against three gray dwarven phantasms. His hand waved through them all, even the shadow of the demon, as if he were not there. Everyone stared and saw it.

  “They are not real, my dwarven friend. This is but a curse, a memory of what happened, there is nothing you can do here.” Saberrak hung his head, seeing the face of Zen go from a war frenzy glare to a sorrowful admission of the obvious.

  More dwarves ran past, their gray forms passing through the five companions as if they were not there. Some called to them, waved axes and screamed words for them to join, but no one heard anything. Demons, like the ones outside from the clouds, emerged from shadows with armies of human men. The battle that took place so long ago, was repeating before their eyes, yet they were but bystanders that could merely watch.

  Zen swung his hammer through an Altestani shadow, then through a demonic one, nothing. He was paid no mind, as if he were not in existence. To be sure, James and Shinayne stuck their blades into the enemy shadows, and the same occurred, nothing.

  “Zen, it is not real. Something is causing it though, my friend, and we need to find out what that is.” Shinayne sheathed her blades and put a hand on his shoulder.

  “Aye, I think I know. And She done crossed the line with this nonsense then. Where is She? We be having words, I assure ye’.” He thought of the demon that supposedly held the mines cursed, far below in the dark depths. He recalled the songs, passed on for generations, and began to follow the ghosts or apparitions thereof. Slowly this time, he stepped further into the mines, and he vowed to see this all undone.

  Their march was slow, into cramped tunnels that held but jagged rock walls and the afterlife of once bustling mines. Spots of silver, gold, even platinum could be seen. It was not much, as these upper mines seemed expanded to the reaches of the mountains they lay inside. Carts and wooden platforms to raise and lower, pulleys and wheels with ropes long frayed, and empty barrels marked their path further south, and further down.

  Another door appeared, after the mine tunnels converged once more into a grand pathway underground. Golden swept, with letters in diamond dust, yet dents of rams and scratches of claw and steel littered its once perfect dwarven designs.

  “Virnu Cadro, means fourth born son. Which one Saberrak?” Zen held up the ring of keys.

  “Haddius, he was the fourth born Carician.” He knew it, as if it were his own family being spoken of. Saberrak watched the key with the half white and half blue moon with waves go into the lock. It flashed, the light pushed it out and back to the dwarven hand holding it, yet it creaked open.

  White light flickered from a steel pillar with a globe atop of it, casting shadowy reflections into another cavern. The sandstone walls were lined with dwarven writing, dwarven apparitions stood circle around something, unmoving in their gray eternity. Golden doors opposite them could be seen as the chamber was wide but not deep. No battle raged here, no motions save the failing light above a circle of ghosts, and as Zen approached, they parted for him.

  He looked down, closed his eyes, and opened them again to be sure it was not what he thought he had seen. It was. Zen knelt, setting his warhammer, then helmet, and then his shield all to the stone floor. Gripped in his hands tight was his hammer and moons, the sacred symbol of Vundren, God of the dwarves. His eyes teared, staring at the broken chunks of white stone.

  “What is it Azenairk?” James stepped forward, passing through the ghosts as if they were but a figment of light and nothing more.

  “It…it..is the Golhiarden. It is…the tablet, a fourth of it, the testament of Vundren to his people, my people.” His hand trembled, daring to touch such a holy relic, yet his fingers felt it. It glowed with a golden light as his fingers brushed it, the golden script slowly illuminating despite its broken existence.

  “It is the words…words of the Forge…the sacred commands of Vundren…divided to the four realms for safe keeping, long ago. I have seen, at a distance mind ye’, the tablet o’ Laws, in Boraduum. He created this, for us, to guide in all things of faith, law, the forge, and war. I have to repair it, heal it, or try anyways.” Zen had not the tears left, his body felt the power radiating from what lay broken before him. He looked back up to his friends, and they nodded respectfully.

  Cristoff IV:II

  Tintasarn Border, Southern Ridge of the Kaki Mountains

  Gray clouds circled and blanketed everything above ground it seemed, the winds blew slow but steady, yet there was no rain. Sandstone ridges blocked their north and western views, and sunshine was but a memory of days past as they undoubtedly neared the Kaki Mountains.

  “Master Aariss, this trail will not allow my wagons and people much further, it is too treacherous a climb. Is there another way?” Lord Cristoff looked south, nothing but more foothills covered in dense, thick trees, ages old and bare. The path they followed, albeit secret and sound, was but a few feet wide. It would take quite a toll and time for over eight thousand to follow.

  Aariss Diravas put his hand up, his elven Riverbows all took knee from his silent command. “My lord, this is but the only safe route into the lands you seek, the only one I am aware of that is. My cousin, Arylius, is not far from here. He and his priests of Siril guard a sacred shrine for a decade at a time, a few hours ahead perhaps.”

  “I see the Kaki Mountains, and I feel we should turn west, if memory serves me.” Cristoff tried to recall the directions that Ansharr the dragon had give to the five so many months prior.

  “Yes, but the storm that surrounds everything north of Tintasarn is deadly, no one passes through there. Not with the peasants you protect for certain.”

 
“I see no storm, my elven friend, just gray clouds most unnatural in their circling. Perhaps---“

  “The storm has been there, night or day I cannot recall, but it is there. It has been there for thousands of years, I doubt we could---“

  “Aye, but it ain’t there now. Maybe they killed it or somethin’? And if the storm ye’ say is always there, now ain’t there, then that’s the way we need to be headin’ then. Just me thoughts. Or always in elven be somethin’ different from always in dwarven.” Tannek Anduvann spoke up, looking west, seeing no storm to block their path.

  “You are a sharp bit of beard, are you not?” Aariss raised his eyebrow to Tannek.

  “That be the rumor, elf.” Tannek took a swig from his flask of whiskey, offered it to Cristoff and Aariss, receiving the usual refusals. “But, if we be afraid o’ the storm that I do not see, then let us continue on to more elves then.”

  “Compromise then.” Cristoff nodded to both men to cease their quips. “I will not risk the people, storm or not, into the cursed city before we survey the area. However, we cannot delay much more, the ones we seek are in there, somewhere.”

  “What be yer’ plan then, Cristoff?”

  “Set camp, and we ride ahead to Tintasarn, to meet the cousin of Aariss. Maybe we can find a way in, or at least receive some guidance on the area.” Cristoff wanted to charge in, yet he thought of the people, and Rosana in painful labor.

  Sir Codaius, Lady Kaya, Sir Karai, Sir Leonard, and Julia Whiteblade all rode up together as the caravan had all but stopped. The exiled people of Saint Erinsburg, Marlennak, and now some from Freemoore, all felt relief with the lack of glaring sun. Yet none of them, nor their leaders, had ever been where they now stood. Their was an unspoken tension in the air.

  “Why have we stopped, m’lord?” Kaya T’Vellon spoke softly, bowing as her mare struggled on the angled ridge.

  “We will be setting camp here, there is good cover, and low ground right behind us to the east along that stream. The trail we take, will be taken by us alone.” Cristoff spoke stern and confident, receiving nods from everyone around him.

  “If I may?” Sir Codaius asked of Cristoff.

  “Yes, knight of Evermont, by all means.” The lord nodded.

  “Armondeen will surely have heard of the incident at Freemoore, and they know by now of your journey. We need to have scouts out far north, for they will send spies and scouts of their own. We need to protect the people, m’lord.”

  “You know the Armondi, where I do not, Sir Codaius. Volunteers to take the northern watch?” Cristoff looked at his captains. He saw Kaya, Codaius, Leonard, and Karai all raise their blades.

  “Who will be in charge?” He looked to the men, hoping there was no conflict of rank or kingdoms among them.

  “Lady Kaya T’vellon, sire. She is quite adept at, scouting, if you would. The best choice for such a mission that requires us not being seen, yet disabling any enemies on the field.” Sir Leonard nodded to Kaya, then to the others. No one objected.

  “Lady Kaya, you accept rank of this endeavor?” He looked to her, knowing so little of her, but he had to trust and have faith. Cristoff knew they were all here by Alden’s will.

  “I do. I will need fifty men, and fifty archers. No shields, no horses, and no heavy armor, my lord.” Kaya knew how to move unseen, to operate in covert fashion, and even how to kill quietly. Out in the open, or in a tight alleyway, shadows and stealth were her allies.

  “Done. Send word to father Garret, Brunnwik, and Drodunn Anduvann of our movements. Who will protect the caravan while we are gone?”

  “That would be me, sire.” Julia raised her blade. “My Peasant Swords and I have been mercenary detail to refugees, merchants, and even nobility throughout the free cities and beyond. My men are well trained to defend caravans of people that cannot defend themselves. I did it for coin, for too long, now we do it for honor.”

  “Done. You have the caravan, Lady Whiteblade. You have the northern watch, Lady Kaya. And, we have a route to find. Dismissed.” Cristoff waved his hand, received bows, and the trampling of horses going in three different directions echoed in the forgotten foothills of the Kaki Mountains.

  “Ye’ have a lot o’ faith in folk ye’ hardly met there, Cristoff.” Tannek took another swig, knowing he was headed into the mountains regardless, and as the whiskey hit his lips, all he thought of was Azenairk Thalanaxe.

  “You think that an error, master Anduvann?” Cristoff dismounted, seeing ahead that his steed would likely not handle the rocky climbs well.

  “Nope. I like it, I do. Where I be from, puttin’ women in charge o’ things beyond kids and cookin’ is unheard of. But, ye’ got some pretty vicious women out here on this here trek, they seen as much action as me veteran outguard, they has. I’d o’ done the same thing.” Tannek put his flask away, and marched ahead with Aariss and his elven scouts.

  “Truly?” Aariss Diravis whispered to the red bearded dwarven warrior beside him.

  “Naye, shart naye, but we don’t need him thinkin’ bout that out here with us. Keep his confidence up, ye’ see?” Tannek chuckled. “If yer leader be supported no matter what, on the field that is, yer forces be unstoppable and his judgement be clear.”

  “Is that dwarven logic then?” Aariss sneered.

  “Aye. Quick decisions, fight hard, and whoever be left alive can argue o’er what shoulda been done different while we pound mead and sit over a vanquished enemy.”

  “Remind me never to be near you in battle, Tannek Anduvann.” Aariss patted him on the shoulder.

  “Ahhh, don’t ye’ worry there bout’ that. When me boys fight, ain’t no room for sticks n’ arrows nor silky elven clothing. Just steel, blood, and plenty o’ skull smashin’ there be. No place for an elf.” Tannek smacked the archer on the back, a little harder than friendly.

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  “We are going no further, Rosana, no more bumps and wheels. Rest easy child.” Garret D’Ourmas motioned for his growing followers of the feathered cross to set up the tents and cloth, bring someone to fan the air, and fetch fresh water.

  “Aye girl, we be close enough to the Kaki Mountains now, journey is over. Ye’ need to eat more though, ye’ still skinny for havin’ a baby.” Drodunn Anduvann handed a loaf of bread to the former queen of Harlaheim, and then it went spinning across the wagon and out the window.

  “Ahhh, come now Rosana, yer’ baby needs to eat. Ye’ be bleedin’ heavy and it’s near time now. Try and relax and---“ High Hammer Brunnwik was cut off.

  “Shut your mouths! Ahhhh! Ooohhhh! Alden help me! Ahhhoooohhh! I do not want any more bread, understand!?” Her hands were kneading the sheets into clumps of cloth. Her legs were never still, toes and ankles gripping and moving in constant discomfort, and her neck seemed to not go where her angry face was looking when she spoke. It was hard to tell who she was talking to in between the painful contractions.

  “You need to eat, you need to take deep breaths, and try to---“ Garret ducked a goblet that flew throught the air.

  “I do not want to breathe!” Rosana yelled, the pain was unbearable, the contractions were shooting down her legs and up her spine.

  “Lass, ye’ need air now, otherwise ye’---“ Drodunn put his hands in front of his face and blocked two quick punches from the dark haired Caberran woman. Just as he thought she was done, he felt her fingernails grab a handful of braided beard.

  “I know I need to breathe, dwarf.” Her teeth were gritted so hard they might chip, her brown lovely eyes looked possessed by pure anger and evil for a moment, and she was intimidating to see and hear. “I do not want to eat food. I want this baby out, and I want this pain to be over with. I have killed a man before, with a sword. If you do not stop trying to get me to breathe slow and eat, I will find a way to kill you with the next piece of bread you wave in front of my face. I will beat you to death with it.”

  “Gulp.” Drodunn nodded slow, until she let go of his beard.

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nbsp; “That’s the spirit girl! Now we be getting’ close!” Brunnwik shouted and laughed, yet moved his chair back another foot from Rosana.

  “By Alden’s grace, close to what?” Father Garret made the sign of the feathered cross on his chest.

  “Dwarven childbirth! Once they start hittin’ and pullin’ beard, and threatening yer life, well by Vundren the baby usually follows. More painful it is, the stronger the child too. I can bet ye’ it’s a boy by her anger.” Brunnwik chuckled.

  “She is not a dwarf, mind you. But it is a boy, you are correct.” Garret smiled.

  “I know, don’t need feathers n’ stuff to tell me that now.”

  “Silence! All of you shut your jaws, and get me out into fresh air, now!” Rosana tried to pull herself up, the pain forced her back down.

  “Allright, hold on. No hittin’ though.”

  Drodunn got on one side, Brunnwik on the other, and Garret led them out and held the flaps of the white canvas open. The tent was nearly finished, big enough for twenty nobles, but all for her.

  “Meet ye’ in there father Garret, make sure they bring the water, the bread, and all the food and fresh cloths and---“

  “Ahhhhhh! Ooooohhh!” Rosana spasmed again, the baby was kicking, pushing, yet the burning feeling in her womb was slow and intense. She needed to push, but it hurt to try.

  “I have it all my dwarven priests, hurry now.” He waved them on. As Garret turned, his eyes caught the bed in the wagon. He dropped what he was holding and caught his breath. She had been spotting and losing bits of blood the last few days, but this was different. He looked to the sheets, there was a stain of blood at least a foot across. The blood was light, clear almost in places, and very fresh as it still soaked further into the white cloth. “Alden help us, the baby is coming now.”