The Exodus Sagas: Book IV - Of Moons and Myth

by Jason R Jones

  “Fine, fine, tough lil’ bastard then? Let him drink first, then hold him down, he….he…oh by Vundren’s Holy Heart!” Tannek stepped back and he felt tears in his eyes.

  The water washed all over his shaved head, down his face and black trimmed beard. He wiped his face and wiped hard, then shook his head, and tossed the waterskin to the ground. He reached for the warhammer he traded to Dalliunn, and took it. He pounded it three times to the cross crescent shield and glared at the dwarves before him. He looked to them each as everyone stopped and stared, then glared to Cristoff, then to Kaya T’vellon. His eyes went across to Sir Codaius, he could not believe that they were here. And, by the looks on their faces, they could not believe it was him. Azenairk nodded to Tannek Anduvann, and pointed with his weapon toward the ruins.

  “It’s King Thalanaxe, by Vundren’s grace, ye’ be alive.” Drodunn stared, as did Brunnwik beside him, both forgetting the punches they just received.

  “What..what…happened me king…? I, brought yer’ armor, and some…men…to ye. Is it you then?” Tannek stumbled for words as he fell to a knee. His lewirja friend patted him on the shoulder. “Dalliunn found ye’, didn’t’ he then?”

  Dalliunn nodded to Zen, then to Tannek. The former marshall looked at the bloody mess of Zen and his martial composure was broken, he let the tears fall silently down his face. He wiped quick and sniffled as he took a knee before his new king. The other dwarves followed, all kneeling as they rushed in close. “Me king, tell us what has happened.”

  Zen handed back the warhammer to the lewirja, nodded, and patted him on the head. He touched his neck, and shook his head to the no.

  “Aye, ye’ cannot speak, we will get the priests on that rightly then. But, ye be alive, me king.” Tannek looked behind him, to his dwarven sergeants, and nodded to them. They ran fast into the encampment. “We got somethin’ for ye, aye we do.”

  Three more times did Zen pound the steel shield with his fist and pointed into the ruins, his expression serious as the grave, and tears were in his eyes. He looked frustrated, sad, and worried. Then he grabbed his warhammer back, and pounded more.

  “What’s he sayin?” Drodunn tried to see clearly, as now nearly one thousand men and dwarves were surrounding them, all trying to get a look.

  “Vu……vu……vu…..!” Zen whispered as loud as he could, trying to speak, pounding his fist to his shield. With so much noise, it was impossible to be heard.

  Cristoff spoke over the commotion, seeing that Zen wanted to speak. “Silence!” His armor, enchanted as it was, echoed his voice throughout the camp and caravan behind. Everyone quieted, man and dwarf alike. Even the lewirja stopped chattering.

  Zen nodded to Cristoff, then tapped his hammer three times hard to his shield, and whispered , exaggerating his mouth as he spoke, as loud as his injuries allowed. His eyes were still tearing, thinking of his friends inside the ruins, not one mile west of here.

  “Vu….vuum…..vuumb…..er.” He pounded wildly on his shield, then grabbed his hammer and moons, praying that they would understand. It came out faint, just a whisper on the wind.

  “Vuumber? Where? We knows o’ the army, yer majesty, we knows---“ Tannek felt a tight grip of a hand on his arm.

  “What is Vuumber?” Kaya asked quick.

  “Means war, a battle chant to Vundren we do, when we charge into….oh no.” Tannek looked to Zen.

  “Zen, where are the others? Where are they?” Kaya knew already, she felt it. She saw the look on Zen’s face, his terrible knowing glare full of tears, and he pointed with fatigued relief at the ruins of Mooncrest.

  “In there? They are in the ruins? Do the Armondi soldiers have them?” Kaya did not want the answer.

  Zen fell to his knees, nodded, and nodded over and over while he pointed west. He was near naked, blood covered, exhausted, and maimed. He tossed the hammer back to Dalliunn, but it thudded to the ground. Dalliunn was already gone. He spun to look, the lewirja was a half mile ahead, nearing the outskirts of the ruins, with the weapons of his friends he had gathered. All alone.

  “Are they captured, Zen, you are sure?” Kaya sniffled a bit, but held back her tears as Azenairk nodded. She looked to Cristoff. “We must go.”

  “You know what odds we face if we do. It will be a slaughter, Kaya.” Cristoff spoke softly, yet Zen heard it.

  Tannek ran to the wagon led by his men, he opened the sarcophogous on top. He motioned for Zen to come. Instead, he ran back to the waving hand of his new king, and was grabbed by the beard. Everyone stared as Zen Thalanaxe whispered and shouted with his meek voice, right into the ear of Tannek Anduvann. He gripped his fists, stomped when he spoke, and pointed more times than anyone could keep track of. He likely did not know how he whipped Tannek’s head about by the red braids. Then it stopped, and Zen pointed to everyone, and stood with his arms crossed.

  “Me new king, Azenairk Thalanaxe o’ Kakisteele, has a few words he wanted me to speak outloud for ye’ then.” Tannek cleared his throat. He heard three steps behind him, his king moved up, whispering more into his ear, yet it looked like shouting.

  “Go ahead, master Anduvann.” Cristoff rubbed his brow, hearing thunder faintly to the east, where the caravan was. The former lord of Saint Erinsburg looked to his people, his knights, all those gathered here in force. Fifteen hundred in all that could hold a weapon and fight, one and a half legions to face five legions of Armondeen.

  “King Thalanaxe says to yell ye’ that he done carried holy relics, passed down through four dwarven kingdoms, and until his father passed, never thought o’ what he done encountered on this journey. No one believed in it, yet he carried on. Then he met four friends that believed in it with him, enough to put their lives in jeopardy.” Tannek breathed in and listened to the whispering shouts in his ear.

  “He says that he has fought giants, snowpanthers, cannibals, dragons, and many a man and beast to get here. He says he done laid Mudren Sheldathain to rest, deep under Kakisteele. Ye’ all be here, cuz ye’ have faith in what he and his friends was doin’, faith sometimes he did not even have himself then.” Tannek choked up a bit, but still listened close and repeated what he heard from the whispering lips of Zen.

  “He says to tell ye’ that he made an exodus, to a place that was not supposed to be, through lands they said he could not pass, with friends he never knew he had, and done killed an immortal demoness that they said could not be killed. The curse that could not be undone, is gone. And if anyone here thinks they cannot battle to see his closest friends freed, if ye’ think we cannot win, by Vundren, the road back to yer homes, is east.” Tannek took another breath, hearing the last words come out, soft and clear, to his ear alone.

  “He says he goes to fight for his friends, ones that was there with him the entire journey, ones that he could not o’ made it here without. Me king will go in alone, for lady Shinayne, and Sir James, and Gwenneth, and Saberrak Agrannar, and he says he will fight with all he has. He thanks ye’ all for bein here, but he cannot leave them to some terrible fate, not while he done has strength left in him.” Tannek lowered his head.

  Then all eyes went from Zen and Tannek, to Lord Cristoff. Alden, give me a sign, something. Our heroes are in there, captured by wicked men that outnumber us more than three to one. I do not know the terrain, our people are tired, yet I will charge in and die, if it is what you require of me Lord. Please, send me signs, tell me what to do, anything.

  He heard the screams of Rosana giving birth, he heard Garret praying loudly. “That’s it Savanno, come now. Push Rosana, Savanno wishes to come into this world. He is strong, I can tell already, push now, good, rest.” Cristoff smiled as the trickle of sunlight shone over her tent. There is one.

  Cristoff looked to his left, past the beam of sunlight battling the gray clouds, and saw another light. It was white, floating, not one minute away. It was the sword, Loestiri, and fifty armed elven priests of Siril following it. It was headed right for them, humming and floating, and glowing b
right. There is two.

  Lord Bradswellen looked right, the thunder was close, right over a foothill, and then he saw. Five hundred cavalry roared over the hill on Shanadorian stallions, no banners, no flags, but he knew the man leading them. He saw the greatsword raise and point to him, then five hundred lances and blades rose after, Sir Jardayne of Highmont roared a battle cry and charged toward them with the cavalry of Evermont. That would be three, thank you Alden, watch over us all, amen.

  He made the sign of the feathered cross on his chest, drew his blade, and raised it high. “Soldiers of Harlaheim, of Marlennak, of Tintasarn, and of Evermont…we march on the city of Mooncrest and the legions of Armondeen! All forces, ready for battle!”

  “Vuumber!” Yelled the dwarves as they marched with their new king.

  “Arah!” Shouted the elves following the dancing and hovering blade.

  “Hail!” Yelled the human men as they massed into the west on foot and on horse.

  Cristoff nodded to Zen with a smile and a salute, the nod was returned. The dwarves opened the stone container atop the wagon, pulling out ancient plate armor, a crowned helm, and an axehammer. All made of some polished gold, covered in crescent moons, and they quickly began dressing their king for battle, in the armor of Mudren Sheldathain. Cristoff walked toward the screams and labored breaths of Rosana.

  “My love, I have to go.” Cristoff stepped in the tent and looked to the priest. “If I must break my promise to her and my son, and not return, will you watch over them in my stead, father Garret?”

  “It would be an honor, Cristoff.” Garret nodded, hands covered in blood.

  “No, do not leave me, no Cristoff, not now.” Her words were weak, she was covered in sweat, the baby still had not come.

  “Brunnwik, Garret, please see my son Savanno, safely into this world with his mother.” Cristoff sighed, kissed Rosana on the forehead, and nodded to Garret as he let her hand tug and fall. “Drodunn, I need you on the field of battle.”

  The tent flaps opened, allowing a tremendous noise of armored men and horse to issue in. The armies were moving, yet two elves stepped forward and bowed to Cristoff, their blades sheathed behind gray robes.

  “My lord, Arylius sends us to assist in the birth of your son. We are priests of Siril, as long as you are not offended, we may be of help.”

  “I have Alden there, Vundren here, by all means. If Siril’s priests offer, we will take all the help we can get at this moment.” Cristoff nodded, four priests of three different religions and races, each took places of prayer and attention around Rosana.

  “Go, Cristoff, I will not fail in my duties, Alden willing. Please, do not fail in yours.” Garret nodded, knowing at this moment, Cristoff would likely stay in the tent, had he time to think.

  “Farewell, I shall see you on my return, and I pray we will walk with Savanno in the streets of a new kingdom, together.” Cristoff heard her pleas and cries, he could only imagine her pain, but he had an army to lead. He had brave heroes to save, and he knew where he belonged.

  “Hail, hail, hail!”

  The chant was overwhelming as he walked out the tent. It shocked him to a wide eyed stare. His white mare was ready, and his squire helped him up as he gazed across the army. Cristoff looked down to five hundred dwarven warriors in red and black, their beards still as they waited with Drodunn and Tannek Anduvann. Then to five hundred Evermont cavalry in their armor and shans, blonde haired big men ready for battle behind Sir Jardayne and Sir Codaius. His eyes looked to Leonard and Karai from the Order of Saint Tarumin, leading their five hundred Harlian forces. Kaya was mounted and armored to his right, the elves with the floating sword were with Aariss and Arylius Diravas to his left. Julia Whiteblade had a circle of men around the caravan, knowing someone had to remain to protect it and its nine thousand refugees. He saw no lewirja, no Angeline, but he had no time to search for anyone.

  Just as Cristoff went to speak, Azenairk Thalanaxe walked forward next to him, in his full golden battle plate and crown, and with the matching crescent moon shield, and then raised his golden hammeraxe high. Every soldier fell to a knee, and every man on horse bowed their heads.

  “Vuumber, Vuumber, Vuumber!” They all yelled, the dwarves first, but the chant was taken up by all present.

  “I could not have said it better, your highness.” Cristoff bowed to Zen, and drew his blade. “Forces of Mooncrest, of Kakisteele, and of Tintasarn, by order of King Azenairk Thalanaxe, advance!”

  Lavress IV:IV

  Temple of the Whitemoon, Outskirts of Mooncrest

  Bryant Salganat did not notice his surroundings deep in the earth, mystical as they were. He barely opened his eyes, and when he did, all he saw was the tearing eyes of a small winged woman that caressed his forehead as she sang to him in a language he did not understand. Clean, healed, and somehow fed without memory of eating, Bryant felt fine of body. It was his heart that was in pain now. He was alone, in the dark sanctum of mourning, and all he knew was dead and gone.

  Liogan had not left the chambers, not once, feeling that his prince needed him. For what, he did not know, but he stayed. Small goblins came and went, as did a white horse with a horn growing out of its head in a majestic spiral. Golden minotaurs walked back and forth in silent curiosity. A cyclops had even passed by in the underground sanctum of the temple. Liogan paid them little more than a nod, and found it odd that he, a human, was the center of attention here. Everything seemed to move, and all that moved watched him and Prince Bryant with curious eyes.

  “Your majesty, please. Come outside, some fresh air will do you good.” Liogan Andellis looked down to the prince of Chazzrynn. He had not stopped sobbing for many, many hours. Ever since she had told him.

  “Bryant will be staying with me, Sir Liogan. His heart is broken, in so many ways, he needs the love of a woman, a mother. You humans know suffering in your short lives like no other being.” Princess Ramaya-nun, the red haired petit fairy that she was, spoke with authoritative power and truth to her words. “Accepting the death of a loved one, is not something he may resolve in short time.”

  “But we do not know he is dead, we are not…” Liogan hung his head, he had heard, like they all did, upon leaving Valhirst in the night. Victory cheers for Johnas Valhera could only mean one thing. “I wish Lavress was here.”

  “Lavress Tilaniun has his own path, laid out by the Hedim Anah and Seirena. Wishing for things to not be as they are, goes against the will of the Mother, young Liogan.” Niastae, the sphinx and priestess of the temple, smiled as she rested by sacred vines and ivory flowers next to the throne.

  “Still, he always knows what to do next, what to say, where to…” Liogan quieted as Bryant sobbed more and buried his head in the leaves and vines that grew from the temple walls.

  “Lavress is not here, Liogan. And there are no words that will comfort Bryant. He has lost his kingdom, his future, and his father. He is far away from his home, and in great pain.” Ramaya-nun stroked Bryant’s hair.

  The young knight of Southwind sighed. He was refreshed, the bolt gone from his ribs, and he had survived where he should not have. He knew it, even at his few seasons of life, he knew that him even breathing now, either of them, was miraculous. “Where are we, anyway?”

  “I have never been here before, never seen those golden minotaurs nor the kithian. So, we must be either outside of the ruined kingdom of the Crescent Moon, or on another continent. I have been to six of the seven Temples of the Whitemoon on Agara, all held by my sisters. Yet the one outside of Mooncrest is forbidden. It is protected fiercely, as the ruins around it are cursed.” The fairy princess tried to feel for something around the temple, she sensed no curse, and her mind wandered to where they could be.

  “So we are lost then?” Liogan stated as much as asked.

  “No, we will find where Lavress took us. It is unknown for any other than one of my sisters or myself to have the heart to close the doors and move a temple to another sacred site. Whatever he w
as feeling, that will hold the key to where we are now. Lavress Tilaniun should be dead, for the force of such love needed is beyond what---“ Ramaya-nun looked up as the savage wood elf hunter stepped inside and bowed.

  “I should have been dead many times, princess, yet Seirena must greatly wish me to remain in the Hedim Anah.” Lavress lifted up his eyes to hers, then to Bryant Salganat, and then to Liogan Andellis. “Liogan, we must go.”

  “Where are we, brave hunter that can move temples with his love for another?” Ramaya-nun had not thought much of Lavress, feeling him too quiet and too bold for her tastes, but now she held him in great esteem. Something in her stirred.

  “Near Shinayne T’Sarrin, I can feel it. A kithian, named Ihros Seeing-owl, says we are indeed outside of the ruins of Mooncrest and Tintasarn. I met him just now. Yet, something has changed.” Lavress took his bow, Bedesh’s bow, and then the quiver of green striped hawk flights. He tried to remain calm. “He says he hunts the banshee, dangerous dead spirits, but now they are gone. He told me the storm of the dark gods is no more, the curse that holds this place has vanished.”

  “Those things you say, they sound wonderful indeed. So why are you feeling that stress and fear, Lavress?” She felt it, he was leaving to go to her, and she was indeed close. Ramaya-nun wanted him more now, that devotion, the purity in him.

  “The kithian said he met Shinayne, my princess, not five days past. She…she was headed..into..I hear her song now, I must go.” Lavress felt and heard his beloved, in great pain, and the song she sang was not pleasant. By sound and words, yes, but it was the Vytha Vahann. She was placing memory to song, in ancient elven words, the memory of someone who had died.