The Exodus Sagas: Book IV - Of Moons and Myth

by Jason R Jones

  “They did, ten scouts that will not be returning, that is.” Kaya smirked.

  “Then our time is short, surely whoever leads that force will know when his eyes and ears do not return to report.” Garret paced, watching Rosana, looking to his sword.

  “Lord Amirak Harron Vir Magaste, and yes, he will know when his scouts do not return. Jardayne and I know him, all too well.” The Bear of Evermont sighed.

  “What do we do, father?” Kaya let the desperate words escape her lips, thinking of the now ten thousand refugees waiting to see the promised lands of myth, and of Rosana and her unborn son.

  “I see three priests, four knights, and one mercenary leader turned loyal captain, here in the tent. However, as our exodus continues to amass difficulty, I see one noblewoman, sent to me by divine purpose, Lady Kaya T’Vellon. You decide.”

  “Me? Father do not put this upon me, I will get Lord Cristoff and---“

  “He is an hour north, or more, and an hour back. In that time, we could be attacked. Give the order, m’lady.” Drodunn stood, reached for his axe with a trembling hand, and nodded to Garret.

  Kaya closed her eyes, thought hard, and exhaled. Everyone stared, waited, and prayed quietly to themselves.

  “Captain Julia, send a call to arms throughout the caravan, as quiet as possible, see what you can gather. Then arm them with whatever we have, and take position by that northwest ridge, nothing gets through.” Kaya looked to her fast.

  “Yes, m’lady.” Julia nodded and marched out.

  “Drodunn, organize the dwarves of Marlennak, take the center of the valley between the ridge and the crags, form a line across, crossbows ready.” She nodded to the dwarven priest.

  “Aye, will do until me brother arrives.” Drodunn marched out next.

  “Sir Leonard, take the remaining cavalry and watch the east for scouts or patrols. Sir Karai, with the Harlaheim soldiers to the western foothills, halbreds ready. Sir Codaius, your cavalry are in the center, next to the dwarves, ready to charge should anything approach.” Kaya thought of the positioning, did as she though her twin brother would do, and tried to remain calm. All her missions, deadly spots with little hope that she had survived, but this was different. She had no false name, no mask to hide behind, and it was an open battle rather than an assassination. Thousands of lives were at stake, something she had little experience with.

  “Garret, Brunnwik, save the queen and her unborn son. I ride to find Cristoff, and I will ride fast.” Kaya nodded, received the affirmations of approval back, and turned around. She came face to face with Angeline of Charity.

  “I will go with you,the trees have told me where to find who you seek. Follow me.” She felt the direction, marched with the wind at her back, and led Kaya to her horse.

  “Your senses were right about the scouts and army, I hope they are correct about Rosana and the baby, and they had better get us to Cristoff quickly. Let’s go.” Kaya straddled her stallion, turned southwest, and followed the green robed lady knight through the forest of dead branches and sandstone hills. Kaya thought again, of Alexei, hoping he would approve of her actions and quick decisions. She realized how much she missed him, though she was doubtful he felt the same.

  “My feelings are always right, follow me.” Angeline smiled. “And yes, your brother thinks of you often and would be very proud, were he to know of your journey.”

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  Alexei T’Vellon stood back to his feet, his broadsword tipped in the earth to help, and he gasped for air. His last man twitched on the ground, blood spurting in final sprays over the ground. The Knights of Southwind had fought hard, as had the injured ogre guardian, but the battle was over. Stones long closed behind him, he hoped the heir prince was alive and safe, and he faced his death with honor. He smiled, saluted the dead men on the field, and glanced at the rumbling sacred stones behind him that he knew so little about.

  The Lord of Southwind faced thirty soldiers, three doppelgangers that appeared as his deceased knights, and over a dozen panthers that circled in the faint glimmer of early morning. The one with the dead eye, the one he had fought on the walls of Valhera Castle, was slowly changing back to a man. Alexei raised his shield, raised his blood covered blade, and knew he had been victorious in preserving the kingdom of Chazzrynn. He thought of King Mikhail, knowing he was either dead or imprisoned. His mind drifted to his father, Arlinne, wondering if this is how he felt at his end in Arouland. Finally, he thought of his twin, Kaya, and a single tear formed in his eye. He let it fall, hoping she was allright and would not feel his death, and marched toward the swordsman of Johnas Valhera, intent on dying well.

  “Surrenderrr, Lord of Southwind Keep, King Johnas wishes I bring you alive.” Farrigus snarled as he lifted a longsword from a dead Valhirst soldier and a dagger from another. He was naked, full of bleeding cuts, yet his enemy could barely walk toward him without stumbling. He smiled.

  “Never!” Alexei charged, swung high, then low, catching air alone as his foe merely stepped aside. His arms were fatigued, he had killed over fifty men when he stopped counting this day, more in the battle, and he had not slept.

  Crimson of the North toyed with him, attacking his blade only, yet the Lord would not be disarmed. He gripped that broadsword as if it was his last shred of life, and the men laughed. The stones rumbled more, faint green light trickling from cracks where the steps had been. The men ignored the strange illumination, and the moaning trees, and even the odd breezes that seemed to whisper in this grove. They guarded Farrigus and his duel, and many were trying to open the stones to get through.

  Farrigus stepped in, ducking a wide arcing slash toward his head, parrying a return chop down with the dagger, and then striking up twice and down with his longblade. He kicked Alexei in the chest, sending him end over end. The broadsword fell free to the ground, yet the Lord of Southwind rolled over onto his hands and knees, and started to crawl for his weapon.

  “Your king is dead, the battle is overrr, yet still the fool crawls.” Crimson of the North paced, then picked the blade up. He tossed it into the grove, where it stuck in the ground. “Now what? Will you throw dirt, perrrhaps?”

  “If Chazzrynn requires it of me, I will fight you even after my death.” Alexei tried to stand. A kick to his ribs ended his attempt, then another to his head snapped his vision from black to white and back again. He felt to sleep, it had been four days since he had rested, yet he tried to get to his knees. Now was not the time for weakness.

  “Take him, King Johnas has given orderrrs.” Farrigus turned around as his cats paced and the thirty soldiers moved in. They grabbed his arms, lifted him up, and drug him ahead.

  Ca-crack, Caroom, crash!

  The stones of the temple of the Whitemoon opened, the breeze turned to fierce wind, and the hairs of man and beast alike stood on end and trembled. Green light cascaded from the temple doors, the sunlight broke the western clouds in small rays of blinding light, and something emerged.

  “Rrrroaaarrrr!”

  The panthers fell to the ground, contorting and shifting back into men, against their wills. The human soldiers shook, fled, and screamed as a lion with white wings, yet with the face of a man, a golden sphinx of epic proportions at least ten feet at the shoulder, lunged up the steps and into the grove.

  “Stomp, stomp, stomp, Ahhhroooaahh!”

  As the men backed up from the glowing sphinx, three minotaurs with golden hide and ivory curled horns let out a battle roar and took the field next to the massive winged lion. They had curved blades that took two hands to wield, were over seven feet tall, and had brutal glares as if they knew a grave injustice had been done in the grove. They stood in front of the sphinx, as if protecting it, and made not another sound nor took a single step. They just waited.

  “Leave my sacred grove, foul men of darkened hearts, or suffer my vengeance.” Mirash, the great Sphinx of the Whitemoon, father to Niastae, Kilburre, and many others, spoke his words with divine force.
The enemy froze and dropped the man they had hostage, then fled in terror, as the eyes of the sphinx went from peaceful blue to a glowing angry white.

  Farrigus backed up, seeing three approaching minotaurs staring at him. His legs went weak, his heart quickened. He looked back, all his men were fleeing, running from this being, he felt it as well. He took one last look to Alexei T’Vellon, just as the minotaurs stood over him and growled with smirks across their bovine faces. It was as if they wanted him to step forward, to try something. Crimson of the North vowed to fight another day, silently to himself, and sprinted with trembling legs out of the grove and to the east.

  “Help him up, let us see who this brave human is to attract such attention.” Mirash looked to his golden minotaurs, two did as he asked while one kept guard. He knew they would not speak, they could not, their vow to Seirena had been of silence, milennia past. Yet, despite only a few dozen of their unknown race in existence, they were a deadly devoted force.

  “Who…who are you…?” Alexei could barely talk, his body and mind tired from days of riding and war. Tears in his armor and tabard, wounds across his flesh, he was stained red in so many places. Two minotaurs sheathed their blades and lifted him up, gently, and set him on a sacred stone. They held him, seeing he could not sit up without assistance.

  “I am the High Priest of the Whitemoon, you may call me Mirash.” The great sphinx closed his eyes, feeling in a moment what other fey would spend long moments ascertaining. “You are Alexei T’Vellon, the Lord of Southwind Keep. Your men fought well, and died to save my temple and the men that entered. You have my eternal gratitude.”

  “I..I..did..my…duty…did..Lavress send you to---“

  “Lavress Tilaniun has taken the temple deep underground, and moved it far to the north, and we from there are now, here. I do not know how fares your prince, nor your brother of Southwind. But close your eyes for a moment, Lord Alexei.” Mirash knew what he would say, could feel the battle that had taken place here, and finished his questions for him. The sphinx breathed slowly, placed his paw on Alexei’s lap, and white light came softly from his eyes and nostrils. The light followed the air to his paw, then dissipated into the injured Lord, and it was gone.

  “How did you do that, I feel---“

  “Healed and invigorated, yes. Ancient mysteries of Seirena and my people, yet we cannot stay here. The sun rises with red and orange, the sky sees much blood surrounding a flame of hope, and the winds tell me to take you south, to Vallakazz.” Mirash listened to it all, wicked men wanted him dead, and they would return. His only allies in this realm, now held Southwind Keep and the arcane city, he heard from the trees that the rest would fall under the new king, very soon.

  “It is over, Johnas Valhera will see the rest of us dead before long, there is no hope for the kingdom of---“ Alexei hung his head, despite feeling whole again, and he looked to what was left of his men, dead on the grasses of the grove.

  “There is always hope, Lord T’Vellon, always. I have trained and taught the strangest of beings and turned them into deadly agents for the Whitemoon. They stand against the darkness of the world, usually alone, and they fight for that hope.” Mirash snarled as his golden minotaur guardians began to lift and carry the dead into the temple below. He did not care for the carnage and disrespect these sacred grounds had been shown. Thousands of years past, such things did not occur.

  “You trained Lavress then? He mentioned that he was of an Order of the---“

  “Yes, I taught him for decades, far to the north in a forgotten place that men no longer visit. He goes there now, if he survived. How he was able to move the temple, I do not know, he was never taught to perform such miracles.” Mirash smiled, his blue eyes glistened with forming tears. He could feel sorrow from the faraway temple, and he had not seen Lavress in many years. “You are forgiven for imprisoning him, do not feel those regrets. All that happens in Her world is with purpose, though at the time we may not know why.”

  “How do you know that…that..I---“

  “I am of Seirena, a priest of the Whitemoon, and we have a tendency to know most everyone and everything we encounter. Come, if your kingdom is to survive the next few moons, you must reach Vallakazz alive, Lord T’vellon.” Mirash lowered his wings, crouched down, and beckoned the human lord to climb upon his back. He smiled, seeing this man stand in shock of the idea of riding him through the skies.

  “I will go with you, I do not know why, but I feel it is the only course of action I have.” Alexei felt something, a calm come over him, despite all that had happened. “My king, Mikhail, is he---“

  “Yes, you know the answer already. He is dead, Alexei. But, you saved the son, and that has placed hope for the future, you did well.”

  “I failed, I failed my king, I…” He felt to weep, it was just starting to come to reality, the king was dead.

  “Time for sorrows will come another day, Alexei T’Vellon. Orda, Umnas, Iilas, keep princess Durala-ram safe. Call to the children of the Whitemoon in the area, gather the spirits of the fey and forests here, and see to the dead. I shall return.” Mirash growled a peaceful leonine growl and flapped his wings as a wide eyed Alexei straddled his back.

  The three silent minotaurs nodded and huffed, then went to their duties without word nor question. One, walked past the bodies, picked up the broadsword stuck in the earth, and walked back to Mirash. He handed the sword up to Alexei and nodded. The minotaur made a symbol to him, touching his heart, then his chin, and then his brow, in respect.

  “The gold one honors your courage and bravery, offers your sword in peace, and is honored to have met you Lord Alexei. Take your blade, in short time you will need it.” Mirash whispered.

  Alexei took his blade, nodded to the golden horned warrior, and made the symbol of the feathered cross upon his chest. “Alden bless you and God save the kingdom of Chazzrynn.”

  “She is trying, Lord Alexei, She is.” Mirash took to the sky in morning light, far from his home, yet he knew he was here for a reason. Smoke rose to the east, where a terrible battle was lost. Fires dwindled in the far west, where a battle had been won. The ancient sphinx flew higher, searching south for Vallakazz, the arcane city that the spirits of the Mother had told him to seek. Mirash knew that the wars here were not over, the new king would come, and that this Lord here was needed for Chazzrynn to survive. His feelings were certain the Alexei had that flickering light, deep under years of stress and war, and he would indeed stand against the darkness to come. The feelings of the great sphinx, were never wrong.

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  “I hate bein’ wrong, so I’ll admit it quick and we be done with it then.” Tannek was wide eyed, staring, standing under the gray clouds in an open stone shrine.

  “No need, young dwarf, no need. Now perhaps, you understand why we guard it so.” Arylius Diravas, with his cousin Aariss beside him, were on their knees before the shrine to Loestiri.

  “Aye, aye I do. How does it do that?” Tannek Anduvann tried not to blink as a curved elven blade hovered with a flashing white glow. It was pulsing, as if it were emitting a faint heartbeat, and it was nearly a foot off of the stone pedestal. He looked at the immaculate perfect curve, trying to find imperfection in the steel, he could not.

  “The blade of the dancing monarch waits, it has a will of its own you see, and it senses things we cannot. The sword will choose a king for Tintasarn one day, and that king must be close.” Arylius bowed every time he spoke near Loestiri, and to keep his anticipation well away.

  “Can I…can I..touch it?” Tannek reached out his hand toward the golden curved hilt. The sword had him enthralled as it hung in midair. It had orange stones, perfectly round, a small crosspiece, and small boots and stars decorating the etched ancient steel. He had never seen its match nor equal.

  “No, only the king of Tintasarn can---“

  Whoom, whoom, whoom!

  “Ahhh ahhh, oooh, owww….allright, I see then, sorry!”

 
; His hand recoiled hard, just an inch from grasping it, as white sparks shot out from the stones. It tingled, a powerful numbing force shooting into Tannek’s hand, but the pain vanished fast. The blade turned in the air, laying horizontal, and slowly spun. The blade tip pointed toward the mountains, to the north, and a slow song that only the elves could hear whispered in the shrine.

  “What’s it doin now then?” Tannek rubbed his hand with the other, trying to get the feeling back.

  “I am not certain, but I believe it is pointing to something.” They all looked to the Kaki Mountains, seeing nothing but Cristoff returning with his escort of river elves and sacred priests of Siril. Arylius put his hand on Tannek’s shoulder. “For over two thousand years, it has been guarded and still, this is nothing short of a divine miracle.”

  Lord Cristoff marched through the forgotten roads of Tintasarn, all overgrown with gardens and groves without life, and stood next to the elves and Tannek. He wiped his brow, head low and silent, and he heaved a sigh of weariness.

  “No entrance on the south side of the mountains to be found, master Anduvann. We will have to go around, or over.”

  “Aye, around then. Horses, people, your pregnant queen and all.” Tannek snapped out of his stare at the floating sword, Loestiri, and the open stone shrine that it hovered in. “Fantastic blade there this is, I see why they guard it now.”

  “You have been here, the whole time, while I trekked the foothills of the Kaki?” Cristoff looked to the hovering blade, then the elven priests that prayed to it, then back to Tannek.

  “Aye, never seen nothin’ like that. Still, they been bringin’ noble elves, men that is, I gots a feelin’ they been missin’ somethin’ there. Back o’ me head, an idea that a wom---“ Tannek turned and reached for his battle axe just as bows raised and swords drew from the elves.

  Cristoff looked over the foothill, spying a charging steed of black with a woman riding it. It was Kaya T’vellon, somehow she had gotten her horse this far into the rough terrain of the ruins, and Cristoff smiled. Then another woman, on foot, ran alongside her with green robes. He glanced at her legs, at times they were not touching the ground as she kept pace with Kaya.