The Exodus Sagas: Book IV - Of Moons and Myth

by Jason R Jones

  “Your friends will be here soon, in pieces, Thalanaxe. Would you care to see their remains?” Arabashiel laughed a weakend laugh from the throne.

  Zen kept his head low, arms back, and shook his head to the naye. He felt Mudren’s hand hold his tight behind, a squeeze of friendship, and of dwarven brotherhood. He breathed deep through his nose, feeling a strange tingle from the ashes in his mouth.

  Saberrak IV:I

  Upper Tunnels of Kakisteele

  The darkness seemed to reach at him, from every tunnel, yet his legs would not tire. Screams of infernal demons echoed behind him, too many to count, and without a weapon, too many to fight. Saberrak held Shinayne over his shoulder, turned left, then right, and made for the stairs that curled up over places they had not been. He had been running as fast as he could, avoiding falling rock, and growing cracks in the very floor. He felt the sting of defeat, the loss of his friends, he knew not where they were. All he knew was that they had to get to safety, before they were caught.

  Shinayne T’Sarrin was hurt, badly, and she had but Elicras in her hand as the minotaur gladiator ran. She could not see anything but the darkness Arabashiel had cast upon her eyes, but she was certain they were indeed lost. She heard the screeching behind her, thankful she could not see them, and her tears fell onto her bloody face.

  “Please turn back, please Saberrak.” She whimpered.

  “No.”

  “Why? Our friends, where is James? Gwenneth? Where is Zen, we cannot just leave them to…”

  “I did not see them, I barely saw you in that cavern. They will get out.”

  “How do you know? Call to them, please. I need to know they are allright, that---“

  “We lost, Shinayne, she is too strong, unstoppable. We agreed to meet at the temple if anything went wrong. It has gone wrong.” Saberrak huffed, trying to keep on, even though he wanted to turn and fight. His shoulder was slowly healing, as was his split head, and torn leg.

  “You never run, you fight, you never surrender, why are you--“ She tried not to think of Zen, Gwenne, and James, left for dead.

  “Because thirty or more demons are right behind us, and I do not have an axe. If you wish to die now, I will stand for you, but you cannot fight nor see, so we run to the temple.” He snarled as he pushed himself harder, reaching the top of the stairs, then turning right down another passage.

  “I have…I have this…here.” Shinayne handed Elicras forward, blindly, and Saberrak took it. “Just in case.”

  “Keep quiet now, it’s not over yet.” Saberrak smelled something in the air, he smelled again, they were close.

  He pushed past a door, one they had been through, and leaned from the other side as the demons flooded the tunnel. Red eyes glistened, wings scraped the stone as the horde of Arabashiel neared their prey, and they dove for the minotaur with the elven woman over his shoulder.

  Slam!

  “What did you do? No, no, no! Do not close any doors! How will they get out, our friends? Saberrak please!” Shinayne cried out to him, she began beating his back with her fists, and her tears fell more.

  “Zen has the keys and Gwenneth has her ways, stop now, this is hard enough. I have to get us out, elf!” Saberrak roared, his anger and sadness were terrible, but he would accomplish nothing if they died here. He did what he had to, to survive.

  He ran more, turning every which way he came across, following his nose. He held the shortblade in his right hand, Shinayne tight on his shoulder held with his left, and he saw light. Faster he went, pushing his legs up more stairs, ignoring the screams of the demons trying find another way around. He came to the doors, set down the elf, and lifted the bar with all his might. Saberrak smelled fresh air, saw the gray light of the outside as he pushed, and heard the echoes come closer once more. They had found another way around, the demons were still coming. He lifted Shinayne, sprinted, lowered his horns and cleared the doors of Kakisteele. He dove out, as the doors were closing by some force he did not see, and barely cleared them as they slammed shut. His eyes were blinded for a moment from the gray glare, he huffed as he collapsed with Shinayne.

  Slam!

  “We made it?” Shinayne could not see anything, just black, as the curse of Arabashiel held strong, even outside the mines.

  Saberrak covered his eyes, he heard motion, something close. “Yes, we are outside. Wait here, I smell---“

  “Nets, now!” Human voices yelled to each other, everything moved quickly, and hundreds of bodies went into action.

  Saberrak spun fast, just as nets fell all over him on the plateau over Mooncrest. He roared, slashing the shortblade wildly, trying to get free as his vision returned. More nets fell, then he felt the tips of halbreds under his chin, into his ribs, and all around him from every direction.

  “Shinayne, run!”

  “Where, I cannot see, who is there?” Shinayne felt around the air, then her head jolted to the side, then again, and she fell to the stone.

  “Keep your hands off her!” The minotaur roared, seeing three men cowardly punch his blind elven friend until she fell over unconscious. There was an entire platoon here, waiting.

  “Shackles!” The men wrestled the nets down, none of them daring to get too close to the horned warrior. Within a few moments, his ankles and wrists, and neck had irons and chains to hold him. Twenty men grabbed the length of interwoven chains, while twenty more kept their halberds up to his gray hide. The soldiers of Armondeen, several hundred that had been waiting here, picked up the elven woman and marched the minotaur down the path that led into the ruins.

  “Where are we going, cowards?” Saberrak huffed, knowing one false move and he would be speared twenty times over, and they had Elicras, their only weapon.

  “Quiet beast!” A brave captain smashed his armored fist into the jaw of the minotaur.

  Saberrak laughed, his anger building, his eyes flickering blue. “You will be the first one I kill then.”

  “You are going to Lord Amirak Harron Vir Magaste, I would watch my tongue, trespasser.”

  “He will be the second one I kill. You are all dead men, every last one---“

  Another blow, another backhanded gauntlet, and three more joined in. The chains pulled down, forcing him to the stone pathway.They beat him until blood poured from his nostrils and ears. Still, Saberrak laughed.

  “I am Saberrak Agrannar the gray, son of Tathlyn, and you had better pray that they kill me quickly.” He was weary, stumbling, but they drug him toward the temples with Shinayne. His eyes felt rage.

  “Animals do not have names. One more word, and your woman here gets a beating. One word, beast.” The man drew his scimitar and held it at Shinayne’s neck.

  Saberrak walked ahead, willingly, now surrounded by two hundred soldiers. He kept his horns low, tried not to hear the chains that rattled, and watched over Shinayne T’Sarrin.

  Johnas IV:IV

  White Spider Throneroom, Valhirst, Chazzrynn

  “There are evils in the world, evils that steal heroes, kill our loved ones, and spread injustice with abandon. Know who it is that you fight, for some evils are worse when injured, and some are best left alone and watched. Some, like a sickness, may simply need to run their course.” ---spoken by Cardinal Ashourde VII, at the Aldane Cathedral, to the newly conceived Order of the Broken Wing. Circa 642 B.C.

  Johnas sat in his onyx throne, full of opium and wine, and stared at the table in the center of the white spider mosaic on the floor. His brother was at peace, laid out perfectly on the table, and his arms were folded neatly across his chest. In honor of his death, all the members here were gathered in silence. Oggidan Chilar laid on one of the couches, the wound in his back still painful, yet he was the only one allowed not to stand.

  The kris blade rested on his lap, continually humming a sad song and glowing green from the emerald. Johnas Valhera had not shed a tear for anything since his youth, but he was close now. His crown sat on his brow, and Mikhail Salganat’s severed head rested on
the steps to his throne. He had the body thrown into the pit yesterday, after he cut it into small pieces with the sword.

  “Read.”

  The young student of the arcane he had secretly bought months prior and branded, looked to the stone tablets, the warlock mirrors. Zodriss of Vin Armon, from Armondeen, was only in his third year at Lazlette Academy, yet he was easily entranced into leaving the realm of tutelage and pursuing his career with Johnas Valhera. Coins, power, and membership were an easy decision when his professors would not allow him to further as fast as he wished.

  “Yes, your majesty.” Zodriss was nervous, with the funeral of Jehrale Valhera just having finished, and all the gathered members he had not fully met. “Sapphire of the East states all is well in Arouland. Nothing more.”

  King Johnas drank his wine, still staring at his dead brother, and paid it no mind. He was certain that the ogre and troll hordes would have finished the west. He expected more detail, but right at this moment, he did not care.

  “Next.”

  “Yes, yes. Uhhh…King Phillip states that Sebastian has been found, dead, and the others will be found soon. The ceremony in the square is this afternoon, to honor the new Cardinal to Harlaheim. He wishes to inform you that the courier from Caberra never arrived, his ship is at port, but he and the doppelgangers are nowhere to be found. Phillip wishes you well in your new kingdom.” Zodriss breathed in, tracing the words from white marble to black, looking at the secret language, and deciphering it with arcane spells. He breathed out, realizing the Johnas was now looking, but that he had read it correctly.

  “Tell him to search with his two agents, the two of the Emerald Eight, and find them, soon.” Johnas stated dryly.

  “Yes, your majesty. That was all.” Zodriss began tracing the arcane words to send to Harlaheim.

  “Bring in the prisoners.” Johnas stood in front of his throne, sword in hand.

  One by one, the chains rattled and the prison doors slammed open and shut. Yelling ensued, echoing into the sanctum of the White Spider, yet the four captains were brought forth. He had taken over three hundred prisoners, but they had all hung from the castle walls early this morning. He picked up Mikhail’s head, and stood by his brother. He looked down, and whispered to Jehrale’s ear.

  “I will name a city after you, Jehrale, a mighty city. Mother misses you, and you will forever be Vermillion of the South. I shall let that name die with you, and Ebony of the South, Oggidan who you trained, shall take your position. We won, brother, shame you are not here to see it. Mark my words though, Bryant Salganat and that wood elf, will die very painful deaths when Farrigus returns with them. I swear to you.”

  King Johnas Valhera looked up, nearly two hundred agents were watching him. As were the captives. He raised Mikhail’s head in his hand, and walked up to Lord Dimitri of Addisonia. He stared, with his green eyes, and with the severed head he held. His hand made it appear that Mikhail was inspecting him, and Dimitri fell to his knees in sobs as the rotting head was pushed to his face. “Get them all on their knees!”

  “Hail!” His members shouted.

  “You serve this? Still, you serve this here head in my hands?”

  “No, no Johnas, I serve you now, I---“

  Slice, thump, thump

  “I hate traitors.” Johnas swept the blade across Lord Dimitri’s neck hard and fast, its enchanted edge took the head off clean. Blood shot up a foot or more as the body fell forward to the stone.

  “General Fandruss of Loucas, such a decorated soldier and knight. Would you kiss your dead king?” Johnas put the pale blue and blood encrusted lips of the head toward the face of Fandruss. He turned away, gritted his teeth, and then spit in Johnas’ face.

  Slice, slice, thump

  The blood ran like a gusher, all down his white prison garb, and Johnas dipped Mikhail’s face in the puddle of blood at his feet. Fandruss fell forward, splattering in the crimson river. Johnas set the rotted neck into it, made a slurping sound as if the decapitated head was drinking through its throat, and then lifted it back up. Everyone just stared.

  “Mikhail was thirsty, sorry, I have to keep the guest of honor appeased.” Johnas laughed as blood dripped from the severed neck and head of the former king. No one laughed.

  “Sir Jallan of Hurne, would you kiss your king? Perhaps follow him into another battle?” The blood soaked face of his king danced now, through the air, as Johnas used the head as a puppet.

  “Go fock yourself Valhera, I hope you rot in---“

  Slice, slice, slice, slice, slice, Aaarrrghhhh!

  Johnas plunged his kris blade into Jallan twenty or more times, filling his face, chest, and neck with blood pouring cuts and lacerations until he finally kicked the corpse over.

  “Oh, fock myself, eh? Brave words, enjoy the afterlife.” He walked over to Marcus Mederris, Chancellor and Knight of Southwind Keep.

  “Marcus, marcus, marcus…what shall I do with you? It is bad luck to kill a priest, but, I cannot trust to let you live.” He set the head of Mikhail Salganat in the lap of Marcus Mederris.

  “Perhaps, you should seek some atonement, say some prayers, before it is too late.” Marcus let the head fall and stood, arms shackled behind his back. “God may forgive you, but I never will.”

  “Marcus, you just do not understand, perhaps no one does. Let me explain it to you.” Johnas paced. “There is that moment, in the life of every man, when they realize that what they have done or are about to do, is very wrong.”

  Johnas kicked the head of Mikhail, it rolled into the pit, and he smiled. “I do not have those moments, never have.”

  “You are a madman, a demon, and your day will come, Alden willing.” Marcus stated with assured resolution.

  “That is a matter of debate, one that you may be correct upon, but why wait?” Johnas walked up beside Marcus, lifted his blade to his face, and cut off Marcus’ left ear.

  “Aaaahhhhrrghhhh!” Marcus screamed in pain as blood poured down his neck.

  Johnas spoke into the disembodied ear. “Can you hear me, oh heavenly one? Are you there? No, I thought not. Will you serve a new king, then Marcus, or continue with prayers to one that does not hear your pathetic suffering?”

  “God needs not my body to do his works, I go to meet Alden at the---“

  Slice, slice, thud, thud

  Johnas cut twice, across the neck, and the head of Marcus Mederris fell to the ground. “Then go, priest, and go quietly to that place that does not exist. Tell them there, who sent you, and tell them I will be sending many more, so many.”

  “I feel better, much better.” Johnas sat on the throne, and his agents all stared. “Well, get to work, throw these bodies in the pit! Are you waiting for an invitation?!”

  Bodies and heads were drug into the pit, the agents of the White Spider scattered, and Johnas Valhera took his crown and set it on the table with the praying tiger hookah. He looked to his right and saw a black panther stroll slowly into the chamber.

  “Crimson of the North, Farrigus, tell me news of our beloved prince and his rescuers.”

  Farrigus slowly formed back into a man, naked, but he stretched a patch over his dead eye. He looked at Johnas and shook his head.

  “No. Then tell me we have Lord Alexei T’vellon at least.”

  Crimson of the North shook his head again to the no as he walked into the puddles of blood and knelt before the body of Jehrale Valhera.

  “No again. And then I will assume you did not find Aelaine Lazlette nor her captain Shilde?”

  “No, my patriarch.” Farrigus bowed to Johnas.

  “Since it is the funeral of my only blood relation, and my first days as king, you will not be killed outright. You have one hour, one hour to leave this castle and start your hunt. Report back to me when you have something of value.” Johnas took a long inhale from the pipe, the smoke hit his lungs, and the world was his.

  “Yes, your majesty.”

  “Say it again, with feeling.”

&n
bsp; “Yes, your majesty!”

  “Afraid not, what’s that mother? You want me to take his other eye? You had better try harder, Farrigus!” Johnas looked to the sword then back to the naked man.

  “YES, YOUR MAJESTY!!! HAIL KING JOHNAS!!!” Crimson of the North roared as loud as he could.

  “Hail King Johnas!” The members of the White Spider replied in unison.

  Johnas grinned from ear to ear, his body numb, his floors covered in blood. He felt whole again, immortal, swooning in his own power.

  “Better, yet I would like to hear a lot more of that as the days go on.” He drank some wine and sheathed his blade. “Now, we have a war to plan against Caberra, with Harlaheim and Willborne as allies. I need to have forces gathered here, so that we may take siege to Vallakazz. Ebony of the South!”

  “Yes, your majesty.” Oggidan was still in pain, yet he rose to his feet slowly.

  “You will go with Crimson here, and find out where our enemies are. I want reports on the west as well. Find Sapphire of the East. I will send for the other four in Devonmir and Harlaheim. The Emerald Eight need to meet, with me, which means what, young Oggidan?” Johnas was pacing now, in front of the throne.

  “We need a Jade of the West, your majesty.” Oggidan replied.

  “Correct, find me one, someone to train. I want this all done when, Farrigus?”

  “Yesterday, your majesty.” He bowed with Oggidan, then turned to leave.

  “I love it when you have all the answers.” Johnas put the crown back on his head and sat back down. He laughed to himself and addressed the crowd of criminals. “Men and women, and beasts I suppose, live wealthy, kill often, and do not ever fail me. For your rewards will be uncountable within the White Spider. We are just getting started, my friends, oh yes, this is but the beginning.”

  “Hail King Johnas Valhera!” They all shouted, and he smiled that wicked familiar smile, and the emerald flared green.

  James IV:I