The Exodus Sagas: Book I - Of Spiders And Falcons (12 page)

“They are dead James, they fought bravely, and whatever else you want to hear.” Saberrak heard the draw of a sword, and stood up quickly, turning to the knight. He stared down nearly two feet at the man, leaving his axe on the ground and realizing now he had left his chain around a troll on the city street earlier.

“I want the truth minotaur! Did you kill them, do you deal in slaves and killing of innocent men?!” James full of rage, seeking blame for thirteen years of nightmares, held his blade toward the gray warrior that had carried him for hours.

“I did not kill them, my father did.” Saberrak focused on James’ eyes, knowing that the next move would be given away with a change in the eyes.

“So your father is a murderer and an executioner of slaves in some underground cursed city?!” James held his blade back as if poising to strike, tears welling, revealing more pain than anger, more sorrow than rage.

“No, James Andellis, my father did what he had to survive, a slave, just like them. Just like me. And if it weren’t for him surviving I may not have been here to carry you off that street that would have been your tomb.” Saberrak raised his voice enough to startle the elf from her trance and to get the knight to sit back down. “Yes they fought bravely, most men do down there, for they realize against trolls, and ogre, and minotaurs, and beasts even larger and more foreign, they have no chance, no choice but to fight until the end, just like the rest of us did!” Saberrak sat back down, annoyed that he had to tell the man these things, but refusing to lie to him on such an important answer that he needed.

The three strangers sat quietly for hours as the cold night came, the half green moon rising through clouds in the west over the ocean, the full white moon, Carice, high already above them. The clouds parted more, revealing stars, the lights of the night sky, and Saberrak saw for the first time what his father had told him about the surface his whole life. “That is Carice, the Whitemoon, and that must be Gimmor?” Saberrak whispered to them, fascinated.

“Yes, and those are stars, that constellation there that forms a tower is Marthentine, and the one that forms the hand, see the trailing stars from the hand, that is Megos.” James pointed with his sword, realizing that the minotaur had never seen this before. “And there, low to the east and very dim, they form a man if you connect them, which is Annar.”

Saberrak was fascinated, cold, but fascinated. All his life was the arena, the killing of man and beast like his father, training his younger brother Tychaeus to be like him. His father had told him of the outside world many times since his father was captured by slavers from some land north called Harlaheim before Saberrak was born. The air was moving and fresh, the temperature changed, the sun, clouded over mostly, existed, and now the moons and stars that rise and fall in the night. He realized now that he had never believed the stories his father told him. Halay, the land of the minotaurs, his people, the great kingdom of Shanador, the Misathi and Bori mountains, and the Carisian Sea that hosted dozens of different races and cities more beautiful than one could imagine. The gladiator had not really believed a single one, now he began to wonder and miss his father and brother who remained slaves in Unlinn.

James covered the sleeping minotaur with his tabard, examining his wounds that had scabbed over and now seemed almost black rather than red. The old knight whispered a prayer of gratitude to the father of mercy, Alden, tracing a feathered cross in the air out of respect not necessity, and laid his glowing blue hand on the shoulder of the big snoring ally. As he felt the warmth of the faint blue light leaving his shaking hand, he also felt the chill of cold metal under his throat touching his beard.

“And what might you be doing to Saberrak in the middle of the night, James Andellis?” spoke the elven woman.

“Shinayne, I am healing his…”

“Lady Shinayne T’Sarrin of Kilikala to you. Continue.” She spoke in a demanding and questioning demeanor, still suspicious, and still emotional over losing her friends. She watched his hand carefully, keeping her curved blade in the proper position in case the kneeling so-called knight tried anything quick. The minotaur did not stir, continuing his melodious deep snore into the night sky.

“Lady Shinayne then, I am healing his injuries in the same manner I heal my own. You can trust me.” James stared at her, his eyes full of sincerity. The elven swordswoman lowered her blade just about a foot, relaxed her posture a little, and watched. She had seen plenty of magic in her century and a half, mostly in her homeland. The devoted of Siril had priests and priestesses that could perform many miracles and the followers of Seirena had gifts of the land itself she had witnessed. Not to mention the towers of Deidranahala where the high elven magicks were kept. She knew the wizards there spent centuries of their lives in study and practice of the oldest arcane texts known to a living being. But this one, without so much as a word, barely a half hearted prayer in silence, still shaking from last nights escapades, could heal with a touch of his hand. Shinayne had never seen such a thing, a gift, in such an undeserved person as James Andellis. His hand continued to glow faint, translucent blue, and as he touched the thick skin and scabrous wounds, the elf saw little change at all and assumed it a parlor trick or weakened form of true divine healing from an item he had hidden on his person. Then he removed his hand, after concentrating half a minute, revealing completely unbroken flesh, smooth and gray, not a trace of a troll claw, or fiendish bite that had been there moments earlier. James had not moved to touch the minotaur’s legs nor chest, yet those wounds too, had vanished.

“How do you do that James Andellis? Who do you pray to that gifts you with such blessings? Alden? Where did...?” her questions, and her injuries, would have to wait for morning as the ragged knight was fast asleep, his head atop Saberrak’s shoulder. “I suppose I will bandage my own then? And I might as well keep watch while I’m up, eh’ Andellis? Perhaps I will keep the fire going for the two of you brave warriors also? It would be my pleasure.” Her voice pleasantly sarcastic, relieving her emotions in whatever way they came out, audience or not.

Shinayne thought of Bedesh, of Nathaniel, and of Lavress, always her love Lavress. Where was he right now? Which direction would he point her in? The elven noble got out her cloths, unrolled them, and cleaned her wounds, one of them blistered severely from that heated blade of the Nadderi. She thought of that wretch as well, hoping he met foul end with the butt of an ogre club or four. She looked over her new companions all night, meditating, eyes and senses open to all that moved in the cold night. The minotaur had proven his skill in battle, and Shinayne supposed the knight, whence not inebriated, would prove to be helpful and gifted. The men slept, the elven woman cleaned her blades, and dreamt wide awake that Lavress was right next to her, all night long.

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The minotaur sat up, eyes aching and closing shut from the intense light that surrounded him. He smelled the fire smoldering, smelled the crisp clean air, and tried to see the sun. Recalling that it would rise in the west over the ruins, he heard the faint crashing of waves into cliffs he could not see. Clearing his eyes with one hand and holding the other over his view, he saw the bright orange and yellow orb casting rays into the forest around him and into ruins that dotted the coast. Standing up, Saberrak realized one thing more than anything on his first sunrise in freedom. He was starving, having not eaten for a day and a half. “So what do we eat here?”

The knight was getting his tabard from the ground, having just tended to Shinayne’s wounds. She looked just as tired as when they went to sleep. “Nearest town north is through the ruins, or close to it, and that would be Hurne, a trade city at the base of the Bori mountains. Then there is Elcram to the east, better road, but I believe we saw the elf, pardon me,
Nadderi
elf, heading his trolls that way. Either way its two days ride, four days hard march, with no food.” James spoke up, then waited for Shinayne.

“And what is south from here? I am supposed to be heading south.” Spoke the elf, thinking of Lavress, then Bedesh, torn between who to find first.

“Nothing good south for a week, and the runners and caravans don’t head that way with winter coming. Once we get south, Deep south, the savage tribes of old Agara have loose villages but it’s not worth the travel, too dangerous on foot.” James knew east was the best route, best chance of travelers or a caravan, but did not want to see Elcram or Southwind Keep at all. In fact, he had avoided those places, like this one, for thirteen years.

“We won’t make it four days any direction without a bow to hunt, or food, or shelter.” Saberrak huffed as he picked up his only belongings, a double bladed axe and the scroll. He moved slowly, knowing the pain would be worse after a nights rest, always was when wounds weren’t treated right away. The gray minotaur felt nothing, only the ache in his stomach and he looked down. “How the hells? How did this happen again?”

“Ask our knight over there minotaur. He seems to have more to him than we had thought, look at mine.” Shinayne stated as she showed her healed thigh to Saberrak, putting James on the spot, and a smirk grew across her thin and elegant face.

James ignored the prod and taunt, friendly as it was, and grabbed some fallen branches, too thin for firewood yet long and straight. He drew his broadsword and began to whittle a point on the end, and shaving off the smaller branches from its length. “How far can you throw this, Saberrak the gray?” the man handed the minotaur the spear, almost as tall as the colossal beast, his hand shaking worse than the night before. It always was, and he tried to hide it by quickly finding something to make the rest of his body look busy, matching the quivering from his outstretched hand. He looked up, noticing that both of them were watching him, and tried to look as if he had nothing to hide at all, making it even more obvious.

“I could throw this quite a distance.” Saberrak stepped back, aimed for a tree about one hundred yards out to the east. He took three steps forward and hurled the spear, eyes never leaving the target. The spear wobbled, whisking through the air at amazing speed, hitting a tree two feet to the left and shattering into splinters upon impact. “Poor craftsmanship there, give me one that flies straight next time.”

Both James and the elven swordswoman stared at the tree, the throw, and the distance. “What? I will hit it dead on when it counts.” Saberrak turned to find another branch, smiling under his horns. “Which way have you two decided upon then?”

“South” “East”, the two spoke simultaneously. “East” Shinayne said, realizing that finding a town, some shelter, and Bedesh, would have to do for now. Lavress could take care of himself far better than a satyr in the hands of trolls and a Nadderi.

“East then. What are we hunting?” snorted the minotaur, hungry and ready to get far from these ruins. He felt down his belt, the stone scroll tucked away and safe,
perhaps tonight
, he thought, he would open it and see what was written, though he had never learned to read.

Lavress I:I

Forgotten Gimmorian Temple, the Deep South

The savage hunter peered over the cliffs from his vantage point high in a tree, two guards, elven for sure, meaning Eliah Shendrynn must be inside. Lavress Tilaniun knew there was little time, at any moment the renegade wizard could open a portal to anywhere and be gone, ten months of tracking and hunting would be wasted, and the four tomes of high elven magic lost. The Hedim Anah would not expect such a failure from Lavress, and since he was the first elf from Gualidura, the first wood elf to ever be offered the honor, he was determined not to fail. The ancient temple, built inside the rock face, deep in the lost west and south of Chazzrynn, was about a hidden and far away place as the wild elf had dreamed of going. He could not make out the entrance, only old stone pillars on a walkway guarded by the two highborne elves. The passage looked ancient, even beyond some of the structures he had seen in Kilikala, the oldest elven kingdom, almost as ancient as the Sesperian Grove in his homeland of Gualidura. The trees there he was raised near, were told to be over fifteen thousand years old, dating back to the beginning of the human race. Lavress missed home, missed Shinayne, and those old trees he could spend weeks in and never touch ground or the same branch twice.

The wild elf moved closer, sure he was not seen or heard, his brown and black leather armor melding easily with shadow and stone. He drew an arrow, ones he had made himself at home with green-striped hawk feathers, and carefully placed it along his hand crafted bow. Lavress’s hair pulled back tight, keeping vision clear, his feet well in place on the rock cliff now directly above his enemies. He waited, for nearly an hour he had waited, thirty feet above them, patiently holding for the perfect moment to kill one and have the other’s back turned allowing him time to get down and question one of them alive. Patience was important, he thought, knowing that the highborne elves of Kilikala were well trained with weapons and most likely moreso with these traitorous bodyguards. The moment came, unblinking, having not a second thought about his purpose or the allegiance of these noble elves, his arrow loosed at the chest of his downhill target. Then a second aimed to the throat, seeing the first went through the heart cleanly, the elven guard falling back and to a knee reaching for his sword. The second arrow, mere moments later, stuck into the throat of its target, allowing only a light gurgle of blood escape into the silence and the wood elf hunter was on the move. Sliding the rock slope, curved dagger in one hand, ready to throw, and enchanted falcata blade from the Hedim Anah in the other. The falcata, still new to Lavress, only having it a few decades of his over two centuries of life, had elven engravings of his secret organization and the hilt of several golden wolves chasing each other. The blade was weighted perfectly for either heavy blows or small quick strikes and it was lighter than his dagger despite being three times as long. His quick trek down the slope of loose rock ended in a full stride sprint onto the plateau above the Vateric Ocean, known as the Endless Ocean since none had ever seen land sailing westward, ever. The cliffs held a drop of over a hundred feet, into yet more jagged outcroppings of rock, thunderous waves echoed perfectly as the other high elven guard turned to see Lavress almost upon him.