The Exodus Sagas: Book I - Of Spiders And Falcons (14 page)

Standing up slowly, and opening her aqua eyes to the risen sun, her ears heard the shaking hands of James from some thirty feet away. Her mind and body more attuned to her surroundings now, her fears confirmed that this man was ill. Her senses of smell had picked up the wine and her elven eyes caught the shaking and sweats in the cold. Now her elven senses pulled in feelings of great sorrow and fear from a very sick human man struggling with something inside him. Not focusing on the negative, her senses also told her that great bravery, kind spirit, and a loving heart were at the root of this knight, buried deep under his weights and worries. Comfort raced across her speculating brow, realizing that James was worth helping, regardless of his healing gifts or talents in battle. Shinayne thought,
perhaps, she could help James Andellis bring out his true passionate self
, as such was the way of the elves.

The greataxe raised in the air, huffing and growling surprised James and Shinayne as they turned to see the gray warrior on a knee ready to charge. His eyes still foggy from a food induced nap, his breathing came in and out like a beast that had just fought a war and was reaching in his chest for the last drops of strength to fight on. The two looked around, hands on hilts quickly, for an enemy that Saberrak had seen and they had not. There was nothing to see. Chirping birds threw their morning song to the air, a rabbit dashed off through the brush, and faint bubbling and running of the waters of a nearby stream echoed. The minotaur had every bulging muscle tense, slowly his breathing eased, his weapon lowered, and he lay back down. The knight and the elven woman looked at one another, then again at their horned friend, and then the two finally took a breath of their own.

Saberrak closed his eyes, yet did not sleep. Chalas Kalaza hunting him in his mind, close behind him, ready to drag him back down to the ogre Zeress, back to the city of Unlinn, and back to the arena. His dreams had been about what the ogre slavemaster would do to him, or his brother, in front of thousands. What beasts they would feed his aging father to, or who he would make the minotaur kill for his crimes of escape plagued his mind. His visions were of the brown minotaur Chalas, great two-handed sword in hand, that wicked grin that spoke volumes of how he enjoyed to kill, and that deep haunting voice echoing and reminding Saberrak that he would never give up the hunt. He hoped these dreams would fade soon, he needed more rest. Waking up sore and tired, cold and estranged began to take their toll on the minotaur. The further away from that cursed place, the better chance he would have at forgetting, or wanting to forget what would be transpiring below ground.

“What was that?” asked the curious knight, hand not quite ready to release the hilt of his broadsword. “He looked about ready to kill us both were we sat.”

“He
was
ready. Whatever is chasing him in there, anything that puts fear into Saberrak, is something I care never to face.” The elf spoke in whispers, careful not to wake the gray gladiator.

Kendari I:II

Sullan Swamp Trail, Deep South

Bedesh strained his swollen eye to get a better look at where they were going. His wounds ached, his other eye was swollen shut as last nights’ amusements at the hands of hungry trolls had taken their toll. The elf that led them had no patience for the sadistic behavior, having cut one of them half a dozen times for his transgressions on the satyr. Of course, even worse, Bedesh was never too far from the regenerated troll who had been punished, seeing a hatred in its eyes and a vengeance that he had done nothing to deserve. He knew, given half a chance, that troll would tear him to pieces. Hopelessness crept at his every thought, being bound and carried like gear and treated like less than that. Being in ogre hands may have been better and he wished that they would have left him, not seen him, or decided that he was not worth the weight. With his head hanging over the smelly fiends’ back, Bedesh could only tell that they headed east and south by the position of the rising sun and moons through the march. A march no satyr or man could have taken, as the trolls and the elf only stopped for a few minutes in the last two cold days. The land had become less hills and more flatland and marsh, reassuring the satyr that they were heading deeper into the Deep south, where any reach of friend or agents of the kingdom would be most unlikely indeed. Even the Whitemoon Court had no hidden temples within days this far south, Bedesh knew now that he was no more than a prisoner left to the devices of a wicked elf and his swampdemon mercenaries. His longsword with the pale marked traitor to his kind, his bow, Nathaniel’s enchanted bow, left on the field days behind. Bedesh knew it was hopeless.

The hand went up from their leader, signing to stop, and the four trolls did so, having been cut into discipline much the last few nights. Kendari saw the camp, a few burning caravans from those unfortunate enough to cross their path, stolen tents, and over a dozen more trolls. The Nadderi listened, hearing troll feasting, scuffling, and a voice that did not sound like the tongue of troll at all, speaking Agarian, a human. He listened to him giving orders to the trolls,
his trolls
, the ones that had hundreds of pounds of gold in looted treasures from those Kendari had killed. Magical swords, scrolls, potions, jewelry, coins, ancient books, all his hard work for weeks, and this human was ordering his thugs around. The cursed swordsman smiled, lowering his hand, and making his presence known by loosely and casually walking into the camp at the edge of the dark Sullan swamps. His four remaining henchman had seen that arrogant walk, hands away from his blades, chin up, and his wicked grin before. They knew it all too well, someone was about to die.

“Kendari, welcome back, you have done well here.” The human man spoke, hiding his nervousness.

He looked well muscled, clean shaven, even his head was tan from years outside and his heavy breastplate and chain armor were covered in nicks and cuts from many battles. He carried a few scars on his face and even his metal gauntlets and longspear had seen action. Kendari noticed all of this at a glance, noting the broadsword at his side as well. This man had training and experience behind his forty or so years alive.

“Yes my friend,” signaling the troll to drop the prisoner at the spot by a burned wagon he pointed to. “We have collected much for Salah-Cam, even a prisoner…”

“What you failed to collect is what he is interested in elf, what went right under your nose.” The mercenary was serious in tone now, hand on his spear, a few trolls gathering behind him as he spoke.

Kendari knew what was about to happen, he paced, knowing to stall was his best course, making no sudden movements to startle anyone present. “And that was..?”

“There was a minotaur Lord Cam had seen, right next to you that carried something of enormous value to him. A scroll, ancient one, that had an aura of great power he said, could have been noticed a mile away.”

The elf knew nothing of what he spoke, but admittedly to himself, had not thought to detect anything on the minotaur or his allies in the fight. “I am sure Salah-Cam will be happy with what I have obtained for him, and I will hunt down this scroll for him after we drop off our current stash at his keep.” Kendari paced slowly, noticing the loot had been rearranged, most likely to line his own pockets this one. So Salah-Cam, the backstabbing wretch of a wizard sent another to take over, had been scrying on him, after decades of working with the rogue assassin. The elf thought of the last time the cowardly fool had done this, tried anyway. “I did not get your name, wise mercenary…” cut off again.

“I did not offer it, Kendari kinslayer, cursed of his own people and unwanted by ours. You are to head back to the keep in the swamps, and I will handle things here, these three trolls will escort you.” The mercenary stood his ground, spear in hand, not looking the elf in the eye, tipping Kendari that he was full of fear and doubt. His insults and interruptions started to boil the anger in Kendari’s veins, bringing the familiar smile.

“Your name, mercenary, this should be a pleasant meeti...”

“Enough talk! You failed Lord Cam, and have been replaced. You can get placed on my spear
here
, or talk it out with him.” His false pride and confidence beginning to wear under the constant stare and grin of the Nadderi killer.

“If you interrupt me, insult me, or order me one more time, your corpse will be a day’s meal for the trolls and your head will be on your own spear, human.” Kendari walked directly up to the man, at least a foot taller than the elf, and stared into his brown eyes.

“You are about to be relieved from your curse, Kendari.” The spear lifted from the ground, spun forward butt end first, the elf easily ducking under. Then the point shot in a forward thrust with both hands guiding the shaft through where his opponent stood, yet he moved to the side in two simple reflexive steps. Another thrust at the elf’s chest, this time the front third of the weapon fell to the ground, a clean cut from the longsword of the Nadderi, a blade that had not even been drawn a second earlier. The mercenary drew his broadsword, dropping the remainder of his spear, and waited for the elf to move. “Stop smiling filth!” Kendari was toying with him, seeing the trolls encircled, screeching and growling their savage language. “Kill him!” the broadsword pointed at the face of the elf who was still standing with his enchanted blade lowered, hand on the pyramid hilt of the other blade over his right hip. The trolls backed up, wanting a fight, not caring which one died, which one they tore apart after, but knowing the blade the elf was tapping with his off hand was the one they preferred to the heated blade in his right hand now.

“I would run or put my sword through my chest if I were you, they won’t help you.” Kendari stepped forward, eyes fixated into his enemy’s.

The blade came cutting down at his shoulder, parried inches from his own face by the elf, turning his arm in and pushing the humans arm away, mocking his attack. The second attack, backswing as the man turned around, a fancy maneuver that left his back open to the elf, who laughed out loud knowing he could have cut the man down twice in the time he spent spinning. The attack hit air only as Kendari backed up one step to avoid the obvious broadsword. The mercenary pursued with attacks that, despite his strength and accuracy, the elf parried perfectly in the center of the blade each time using technique and skill to make it seem effortless. Sweat poured down the man, realizing the elf had not drawn his second weapon yet, the one he had been warned about, and he was tiring. He feigned to be wearing out more, slowing his attacks, making the follow through a little longer than needed, secretly building energy to corner this little elf and crush him in surprise. The mercenary knew how to break arrogance and outthink what he could not out move.

Kendari noticed the trick, and played along, knowing the better show he gave the trolls, the less discipline he would have to enforce after. The Nadderi counter attacked in obvious strikes that were set up to be parried, allowing him to be backed up, seemingly unable to get through the clashing of steel this man waved. The elf tripped and stumbled back, barely avoiding a cut to the head, and dropping his eye contact and smile. The mercenary cut low, parried again by the elf, crosspiece to crosspiece, and Kendari let out a weary breath as he let the man push him back, blade to blade, all an act. The time to finish the elf immediate, he let out a yell of valor, striking high, then to the flank, and moving forward on the outmatched swordsman. His blade dropped to the ground, gauntlet still holding the hilt, pain spun in his arm like lightning, a second blade punctured his chest dead center, the heat sizzling flesh as it went hilt deep through the man. The longsword in his right, quickly recovering from disarming, spun around in the gloved hand of the elf, puncturing through the mercenary’s throat and also out the other side as hisses from the trolls rose and blood sprayed from the mans neck. Kendari walked up to his foe, reaching to pull the blades from his body. The man was unable to scream or speak, decapitated forearm trying desperately like his remaining hand to dislodge the weapon before it was too late. Kendari smiled, circled around the dying mercenary, hands empty as both weapons were through his enemy. “
Not even close
” whispered the Nadderi into the man’s ear, pulling his enchanted longswords from the corpse, allowing him to fall to the ground. His face, in a blood-soaked mess of his own, landed next to the satyr, who stared in horror, eye to eye with a dead man with no name.

Night air and winds seemed to circle the camp, no stars could the satyr see from his position on the ground he dared not move from. He had heard the body of the mercenary being stripped and devoured hours ago, now the trolls were moving slow, resting after hours of packing chests and stolen goods onto wooden wagons they would be pulling soon. Black leather boots near his face, his body lifted by the clawed hands of a troll, the one that had beat him and scarred his back in nights previous. The same one cut by the heated longsword of the Nadderi elf Bedesh now knew as Kendari. His rump seated with force onto a tree stump, facing the wicked elven swordsman, facing his eyes of deep green and pale face with spiral black veins marking him as more than dangerous. His smile and elven features, pointed ears, polished dark armor and blades did much to deceive the satyr that he could possibly be trusted.

Kendari looked down, pacing, never leaving eye contact from the little horned forest spirit. “Trolls, give me silence.” He asked, politely, mocking his own murderous nature. “Bedesh, you know me by now, and you know
Shiver
.” Kendari drew the longsword with the heat that rose from it and the silver and ruby pommel from his side, trails of steam rising in the cold midnight winds.