by Jason Jones
“I..I..she cannot be killed, Thalanaxe. Not with a thousand men and holy blades, she…she..” Mudren shook as he spoke in hushed tones.
“Allright, ye’ be scared, me too then. Me papi and me father, Vundren rest em’, told me to dump that dust down her throat. They also said she had six legs, but nevermind that now.”
Mudren smiled again, blades still across his neck, and he put the box down and touched Azenairks shoulder.
“Ye’…ye’..have the ashes then? The women and children, they was blessed in the forge o’ Vundren, when she had em burned alive. Ye have em’?”
“Aye, didn’t know that was what they was, but aye, right here.” Zen patted his hip, the bag of dust was there, ready.
“She be tall, twelve feet or more, too tall for a dwarf to get up to her face and survive it. Unless…” Mudren thought hard, she was weak, resting on the throne. But not for long.
“Unless ye’ knock her down into that throne, by surprise, and I climb up fast. Still, I need both me hands, a blade in each here, to get that far up while ye’ distract her.” Zen lowered his head, he did not know how he was supposed to do it, especially now without his friends.
Mudren Sheldathain stood, slowly, the glowing swords still on his neck. “I got it, it be a long shot, but just maybe.”
“Aye, what?”
“A kiss.”
Zen looked down to the pouch, it was full, and now that he knew what it was, his face grimaced at the thought.
“Ye’ mean, put it all in me mouth, and then kiss her and blow the dust or ashes or whatnot into her mouth? Ye’ belong with me friends, crazy ideas like that.”
“Tis the only chance ye’ have.”
“Allright, how we get close enough?”
“Ye’ be me prisoner, Thalanaxe, be silent, and don’t swallow.” Mudren took a knee before his only heir.
“How do I know I can trust ye’?” Zen kept whispering.
“I am no traitor, Thalanaxe. I swore to her when I knew the battle was lost, I did it to stall them, have time to get me family out. But, she done found out. If ye’ want her dead, now is the time, and I am with ye’.”
“What ye’ kneelin’ for then?” Zen pulled the blades back, sheathed one in his belt, and grabbed the pouch of ashes.
“Ye’ be a priest o’ Vundren?”
“Aye. Aye I am.”
“Then I’m on me knees for forgiveness, so when I die in there, I get to see me wife and kids, and Mount Maonell. Please Thalanaxe, bless me and forgive me, with the grace of our father, Vundren. Before it’s too late then.” Mudren Sheldathain knew why he still walked all these centuries still, it was her will and curse, and either way it turned out, he was dead or dust.
“Hurry, Thalanaxe, before I change me mind.”
Zen gripped his necklace with the hammer and moons, put his hand on the only king of Kakisteele from ages past, and prayed.
“Vundren, father on the mountain, forgive Mudren, yer’ loyal son, for all he has done. Bless us in our battle here, as we fight to free yer’ forge, and see evil undone. Should we be in yer’ halls soon, know that we tried, until the very end.”
Mudren rose to his feet, a semblance of brown coming back to his eyes, forcing out the red. “If I change back, if I attack ye’ or she takes me over, kill me quickly then.”
“Do the same for me. And if the dust don’t work, what then?” Zen lifted up the bag, and looked back toward the entrance to the thoneroom.
“Me father, Aidrek Sheldathain, used to tell me things, many things, when life don’t go in yer’ favor.” Mudren took position behind Azenairk, looking much like he had him hostage. He placed the glowing blades in Zen’s belt, in the back, hidden from view.
“He used to say, son, when all else fails, fight like hell.”
Zen felt the tears coming, he fought them, and smiled. “Me father, Kimmarik Thalanaxe, used to say the same thing to us boys. Ye’ ready?”
“Aye. It been a pleasure to meet ye’, Azenairk Thalanaxe. Wish we had some more time, aye, I do.”
“Same here, aye, well met, Mudren Sheldathain.”
Mudren started to walk ahead, pushing Zen like a prisoner with his arms behind his back. “One thing, should ye’ live to see brighter days, rule me kingdom, well, our kingdom, rule it better than me, son.”
“Ye’ have me word, on the hammer and moons o’ our father, I promise ye’. And I always keep me promises.”
“One thing…” Zen pulled up the old iron key from the box, the one passed for so long through generations, the one he had thought was for the doors to Kakisteele. He held it up to Mudren. “What be this key then?”
“The key to the latrine, behind the throne.” Mudren chuckled and handed it back after a quick inspection. “Forgot I put that in the box, I was in a hurry with the end o’ the world comin’ and all.”
“Latrine? What the hells ye’ save that for? I thought it was the key to Kakisteele, all this---”
“Young Thalanaxe, that key be for the royal latrine, aye, where I kept the some things hidden. Trust me, ye will see, should ye survive this.”
The stares between them held not a motion, just much thought on the recent revelation and statement. Then, Azenairk squinted his eyes and furrowed his brow, deciding not to make comment. He put the key back and took the bag of dust from his hip
“Ready?”
“Aye.”.
Zen quaffed the dust into his mouth, it was bitter, it tingled, and he threw the pouch into the darkness. With his head low, his hands behind his back on the broadsword and the elven longblade, he marched with Mudren into the throneroom. The walk was long, two hundred twelve slow steps, Zen had counted them.
“You found him, well done, servant. Bring him to me so that I may watch you punish him.” Arabashiel was almost healed, her muscle and sinew was nearly formed on her arms and chest, and her face held but scratches and burns from the many wounds.
“Yes, my mistress, as you command.” Mudren gave a shove to Zen, stalking ahead slowly.
The dwarves stopped before the throne, the purple gleaming eyes winced down at them, and her fanged smile grew wide.
“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.
Beasts IV:I
Upper Tunnels
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 cursed 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 huf
fed, 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 to the surface.
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 to the upper doors, 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 from the sunlight, 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 as he watched over Shinayne.
Princes IV:IV
White Spider Throneroom
Valhirst
“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 earlier, 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, is to honor the newly appointed Cardinal to Harlaheim, and he will be busy retaining the Legion. 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. The wedding of Valistor and Katrina has passed, and they will meet soon to discuss battle plans for Caberra with him. Phillip wishes you well in your new kingdom and sends his congratulations.” 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 no
w looking, but that he had read it correctly.
“Tell him to search with his two agents, the two of the Emerald Eight, and find Balric, the Caberran Prince, and the Kivanite woman, 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. Johnas 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. Chazzrynn misses you, and you will forever be Vermillion of the South. I shall let that name die with you, and Topaz 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. Send mother my love.”
King Johnas Valhera looked up, nearly two hundred agents were watching him. The emerald throbbed and hummed, and he touched it softly. His eyes of menacing green rose to 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 severed 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.
