The Exodus Sagas: Book I - Of Spiders And Falcons (11 page)

Saberrak lowered his horns, axe in hand, beginning his charge of the troll he planned to crush from the side before it got to the helpless man. Over a crawling ogre, bleeding to death from the bites in his neck, and past another twitching with a decapitated troll arm buried claws deep in its chest, the minotaur crashed horns first into the troll seconds before it grabbed its meal. Tumbling end over end with the hissing beast in his grip, Saberrak held it close, horns buried in its side. Clawing at his face, blocking with the flat of his axe, the gladiator stood up with the troll bent over his horns. It flailed in pain as Saberrak lowered his axe into position. With a heave from his massive quadriceps, he lunged up, and then dropped quickly, releasing the screeching beast into the air and solid onto the upturned axe blade that cut it in two. Feeling his muscles ache, burning from days of exertion and battle, the minotaur surveyed again with his dark tattooed eyes, spotting ogre reinforcements traversing the steps from a high ruin wall some two hundred yards away.
Good help for the troll problem
thought Saberrak, but after that there would be a harder fight on their hands. “Shinayne, it is time to leave!” He bellowed with resolution, moving to pick up the injured man.

Bedesh heard the order loud and clear, still being chased by a one armed troll and out of arrows. His eyes blinking feverishly, sword swinging wild, without the elven precision or knightly training of the rest the satyr felt helplessly outmatched. Hearing some direction from the powerful and capable minotaur gave him some confidence and relief. He still ran to put more distance between him and the quickly healing troll, closer to Shinayne, seeing her too far north with the other elf. Bedesh ran to assist and get his stubborn friend to head south away from the mass of ogre swarming to her end of the ruins.

His longsword heavy even with two hands on the grip, the satyr turned to swing at the troll he knew was close behind. His security and bravery doubled being near the minotaur and closer to Shinayne so he turned and planted his hooves in the cold ground to stand and battle like his allies. The troll, having regrown half its missing limb, did not care for this little horned ones confidence and crashed right into him full speed, the longsword plunging through its ribs. Claws flailing, biting at Bedesh’s face, screeching in victory, the troll had the satyr pinned under its weight and slimy muscled skin. Bedesh could hardly breathe, his wind knocked out by the impact, then another mass of weight landed atop of the two, this troll not moving at all from its apparent head injury courtesy of the ogre standing over the mess. Bedesh froze, closed his eyes, still locking his arms to keep the live troll from devouring him, yet still as possible to avoid notice from the ogre above. He prayed mentally for Seirena’s blessing to not be killed this moment, for the ogre to not take notice of the troll trying to eat him ten feet under its nose. If he could have one wish from the earth mother of nature and the fey, it would be right here right now for any help she could give. His mind racing, the satyr thought of the last time he had prayed in a sacred grove or forest, and his doubts swarmed even more.

Shinayne backed up, parrying the steaming longsword with her elven longblade, difficult as it was since the Nadderi was just as quick and then blocked the off hand cut with her shortblade. Her opponents’ speed beginning to increase, she riposted by double slicing inward with both weapons, which the cursed elf deflected with a cross parry from the off hand, her longblade nicking him on the forearm. Kendari pursued quickly with his right attack across her cheek, missing by hairs, and held one second as she countered. Precisely as she stepped back, the Nadderi elf flipped his off hand heated blade into a reverse grip to distract her and lunged, piercing her through the shoulder. He snapped back on guard, both blades forward as the noble elf let out a shrill yet stifled, scream from her throat. Kendari pushed the advance, arrogantly dodging her attacks from a weakened right arm and a shorter reach with her left. His head and body moved, his blades lowered, Kendari feinted a double slice toward her head, forcing her weight down under the blocking parry. Putting all his elven speed instead into two rapid cross cuts at her outstretched thigh, he struck low. Shinayne blocked the pyramid pommeled blade with her injured right, crosspiece to crosspiece, yet the left blade cut across her leg, through the mail, and Shinayne stumbled backward. Backward into an ogre overlooking a mess of trolls and writhing bodies. The elf plunged her curved short blade into its back, spinning round the front as it turned in pain and surprise. It issued out a roar of an ogre curse and was spun to face the Nadderi pursuer. She did not look back, limping and bleeding from two serious cuts, the swordswoman rushed to catch up to the gray minotaur carrying the human knight. Fear spun webs of anger in the elf, never before retreating from a battle, never before losing a duel, and never failing to dispatch an enemy of her proud elven race. She kept moving, heading south away from the legion of ogre now flooding the streets to kill the trolls, and hopefully the Nadderi elf.

Kendari wasted no time in cutting the ogre in front of him down, twice across the flank as it turned, then two flashing thrusts into the chest as it raised its club to pummel him. The elven swordsman turned to his right, wiping his blades clean and sensing the situation at hand. Four of his trolls still standing, yet hesitant to move ahead against the brigade of almost thirty ogre and rightfully so. His cloak smoldered for a brief moment as he donned it, his hand patting it out as usual from the heat of his longsword. He sheathed it knowing it would instantly cool out of his grip. “To the east trail my slimy and useless gentlemen, withdraw to the east!” Kendari’s anger rising in his voice despite his lot doing better than expected, he was still disappointed leaving the fight. He had rarely left empty handed, seldom withdrew from battle, and had never left an injured enemy alive. Let alone a woman and elven noble he could not finish. His trolls rushing out the east, Kendari stood ignoring the advancing ogre, watching the south and his three prey disappearing through the city, untouched or noticed by the brutes heading his direction. More frustration boiled in him realizing that they would have a much better start away from his tracking since he had this mess following him and they did not.

He turned, staring at the ground and cursing the name of every elf he had ever killed, too many to count, and paced himself at a jog eastbound. Upon entering the bare winter forest he stopped to curse the slow moving troll, sword stuck through his chest, as it was trying to take spoils from the battlefield. Just before he drew his heated blade more than halfway out Kendari saw what his idiot henchman was fiddling with, and a smile creased his marked face. He saw the half conscious hoofed satyr, bow and all, being picked up by the troll who still acted as a living sheath to the forest-goat’s blade. “Good work, bring him. And do not eat him.” Kendari heard yells from over the bridge south in the city, intermittent, muffled, arguing, but definitely the elf woman’s voice yelling a name. Fading as the distance increased, he thought he heard it again over the trampling of ogre feet getting nearer, “Bedesh!” she screamed.

“How tragic, dear Bedesh.” the Nadderi elf whispered at the hanging head of the satyr, making eye contact for but a second as his captives eyes drifted open and shut. “There will be plenty of time to get acquainted later tonight, rest now Bedesh. Rest now.” His insidious laugh that followed even startled his own trolls as they ran east toward the hidden camp.

“Quit struggling and be quiet elf or we will have the legion of ogre on us!” Saberrak demanded with a snort and a huff, now carrying two injured warriors one on each shoulder. The knight, from injuries and a smell that reeked of wine and vomit. The woman, from her attempts to go back and rescue her little horned friend which they all knew would get them killed or worse, depending on the mood of the score of ogre they would have to face. Even the gray gladiator had more razor cuts from troll claws that he could count, on his legs, arms, and back, yet he pushed on south out of the ruined city. His demeanor had changed from glorious battle with trolls and ogre alike to fleeing the field injured and outmatched. Saberrak had only charged in head first in the arena, this was his first time feeling what defeat does to someone. It burned his legs more, gave him time to think of the defeat. He was not surrounded by thousands chanting his name begging for trophies to throw to them gaining more of their thunderous applause. No, this was different and the minotaur hated every exhausting moment of it, despite it being the only course of action if he wanted to live. The horned warrior ignored the smell of wine, the tears of the elf woman, and the struggle to keep on his feet with such a load. He kept moving because he did not know how close the ogre were, he kept moving to survive.

Exodus I:II

South Chazzrynn Wilderness

James looked up, weary and shaking, just in time to see the minotaur set the elven woman down softly next to the frost covered willow tree by the lifeless stream and collapse. Like a ton of brick, the beast fell down on his backside and then onto his shoulder blades with a thud and a huff of frosted breath from his nostrils. James looked at the warrior from his position leaned against another tree, spotting the cuts and stains of green-black and red blood from battle, his tattoos under the eyes to appear as shadows of his great horns, and the other strange designs and markings adorned his arms and gray chest. He looked at the elf, she was still, silent, and eyes wide open in a stare to nowhere, deep in thought. Her tears evident by the dirty streaks down her face and neck, yet silent even with the two bloodied wounds yet to be bound. She looked back at him, aqua eyes with a hint of silver trim staring from behind dark golden curls of hair. James felt guilt well in his chest, a seed of pain from somewhere, knowing she had lost a close friend to save him. He looked down, easing the knot in his throat, and concentrated on his shaking hands, shaking from lack of wine, shaking from his wounds of that cursed blade. “What was he, the other elf?” James asked softly toward the woman he knew to be Shinayne since the minotaur had called her that.

“Once an elf, now a scourge that does not deserve the air he breathes. A Nadderi, cursed by the God and Goddess of our people for crimes that I do not care to know.” Shinayne looked at the minotaur, still heaving weighted breaths of fatigue in the crisp air looking up at the overcast sky, watching every teasing snowflake with amazement. “Tell me, human; tell me that we saved you from an unfortunate act of bravery and chivalry against the ogre. Please tell me that I did not lose another friend to save just a drunken fool from an obviously impaired attempt to end his own pathetic life.”

Her words hit like knives in his chest, he squinted his eyes, full of shame and remorse at his stupidity. “I am not drunk, if that is your question, elf. My reasons for where I was are my own, and chivalry had nothing to do with it.” James felt her resentment, knew she was upset and in foul spirits, then realized she must have heard him shouting his challenges. He wished she had not seen his behavior, feeling more shame, yet longing for a bottle of wine more than anything.

“Easy Shinayne, now is not the time. Rest, we have to move soon and I cannot carry the two of you.” Saberrak spoke with a calm tone, weary and not in the mood for argument. “Your name, human, so we can call you something?”

“James Andellis, formerly a knight of Southwind Keep. And yours minotaur?” the old knight knew the elf’s name and knew not to try conversation with her at this moment.

“Saberrak the gray, from under there not too recently” pointing back north from his position on the ground. “And never returning if I can help it. Never.”

“You are from under the city? So have you seen men like me down there? How long were you there, what is under there?” James felt a spark of hope, interest in his past and that of his lost brothers from so long ago.

“Unlinn is under there, and trust me James Andellis, you do not want to go there.” Saberrak thought of what he had seen happen to the humans in the arena, deciding not to share it.

“Men with this symbol, have you seen this symbol, it would have been a long time ago, more than a decade.” His line of questioning even frustrated himself as memories washed over him of those that remained when he had been taken out of the ogre kings’ cavern so long ago. He pointed to the dirty feathered cross of Alden on his once white tabard.

“Yes, I have seen a few symbols like that cross before on men and other ones too. I was born there, raised there, and I tell you knight, it is no place for humans.” The gray warrior avoided some of the questions, hoping the hungover knight would forget them.

James sensed the minotaur was not telling him something. “Saberrak, I must know what happened to those men, tell me.” James sat up, looking at his sword, Arlinne’s broadsword.

“They were killed, like most men and beasts that come down there. Prisoners, sold or captured, and when they fight, they do not last long.” Saberrak still told half the truth to protect his new ally, he had enough to deal with as far as the silent elf who was undoubtedly planning out a rescue mission for the satyr.

“You saw this? Maybe thirteen years ago, captured by ogre, Avegarne, an ogre king, did you see my men down there Saberrak?” His hopes vanishing as his questions aimed toward a truth that would not change to what he wanted to hear.

“Yes, James, I remember them.” Saberrak rolled on his side, giving his back to the man, hoping to end the discussion.

“Who killed them? Tell me they fought bravely, tell me they’re alive or something.” James stood up, realizing now that the minotaur was hiding something for certain.