The Exodus Sagas: Book I - Of Spiders And Falcons (31 page)

“Up everyone, up.” they of course listened and paid attention again. “Get me an assembly of five men and a wizard that can get this elf with the books as he approaches, before someone else does or he reaches an untouchable destination. Next, send all our men in Vallakazz to keep Kendari in that Temple, surround carefully, wear him out and kill him off for good. That will leave us one less independent to worry about, and a deadly one at that. Tell the rest of our contacts in Vallakazz to take that scroll quietly if possible, if not, then do an alley-kill and get it out of the city and to here with their fastest man. We will meet halfway when we know he is en route.” He was swooning, almost dizzy from the infusion of wine and inhaled drug, and he retired back to his seat on the throne to keep his balance. All a show of course, even intoxicated on a dozen vices Johnas Valhera was one of the deadliest men alive, but his position required a bit of false messaging to keep his members close and underestimating him at all times. “Now, send for the two ambassadors from Altestan, I will meet with them now, and after that, we feast to Ellaird and the men that met their ends from Kendari the wretched.”

Servants moved rapidly, organizing the room. Fences and thieves traded quickly, clearing goods and coin from the table, Vanessa covered the warlock mirrors, waving her hands in arcane motion to clear any script from the marble. His children and loyal members all busy trading crime and talking murder, here in the web of the White Spider, under Valhirst. “I will be seeing you in my chamber then.” Johnas made the statement, not a question to Vanessa Blackflame. He knew he could have any woman, but he had wanted her, mostly due to her loyalty and importance, but also because she loved another. He had murdered her father, had murdered hundreds to get here today, and felt that keeping her here as a child, training her abroad, entitled him to anything she had to offer. Johnas did not feel it, he knew it, and so it was.

The door opened, Heathen standing hunched over, looking at the ground as he announced. “Emissaries Alamud and Samiri Kaven Sa’oom of Khi’Va, the Empires of Altestan, my Prince!”

Johnas stood, giving a slight bow to the northern men, tan and exquisite in their green robes and jewelry, curved swords at their hips and headdresses of wrapped cloth. The bow, with praying hands and the customary constant eye contact of their people, was returned deeply. “Gentlemen, welcome. I am sure your journey was pleasantly devoid of difficulty?”

The rough Agarian, with strong tones of sharp and elegant Altestani accent, was almost poetic to hear. “Yes, Prince Johnas Valhera of Valhirst, the month at sea went quickly for us and your house is most welcoming.” the spokesman, Alamud, Johnas knew to be the son of the Prince of Khi’Va in Altestan, the other most likely by the scars he noted by the ear and hands, was a bodyguard relative instead of a fellow ambassador. Johnas knew that Khi’Va was a mighty holy city of the Yjarrin faith in Altestan, but also a powerful trade city that could hold the key to all of that ancient empire.

“One question, if I may, Prince.” Alamud’s blue eyes turning toward the door just passed, noting the pit behind him.

“Anything Ambassador Kaven Sa’oom, my house is open to you.”

“You have expressed, over the years, that your values lie in order with our own, our beliefs.”

“They still do, Alamud, they do.”

“Then explain to me why I was greeted and inspected by a lesser being, not of God, not of man, but a curse of God as you have at your door, the old minotaur?”

“I will remedy that if you wish. However, Heathen’s strong hatred for the church of Alden, and the false prophets of the lesser punished one, are an asset I have used to further weaken the religion you despise. Simply a tool, used as such, for aims that are strictly human, such as yours.” Quick thinking of the prince may have saved him whatever deal they were to work and having to kill the only person in Valhirst that would willingly die for him. Johnas realized his true allies were few, all but Heathen were allies forced from deal to deal, extortion to extortion, threat to implied threat. Such was his life, the life of the nephew to a king, a king that already had an heir to the throne of Chazzrynn. The talks continued, the room empty for they and the prince to discuss anything. Heathen never moved, hearing their hatred for him, yet remained as stone. He knew that Johnas had set him free years ago, and that he stayed out of pleasure and old age, for this was all he knew.

Exodus I:VII

Vallakazz, Chazzrynn

Her elven footsteps light and quick, weapons sheathed, and eyes open in awe and appreciation, Shinayne T’Sarrin stared at the uncountable glowing orbs of light from the lake. She gazed in wonder, at how they became and why, but more focused on the beautiful soft illuminations of every color imaginable under the cold dark lake at night. The elven noble gazed beyond the lake, seeing hundreds more lights of a vast city of tall buildings and stretching stone towers adjoined with lit bridges and archways. It looked warm from here in the cold, inviting, and with all its magnificent landmarks of cathedrals, temples, manors, inns, and towers of study, Shinayne felt welcome without a word. Positioned over the lake, and around it, encompassed by decorative walls and bridges, stone streets, and farmhouses in every direction of rolling hills, the snow covered city of Vallakazz was the first place in her months of trailing Lavress, that she felt safe, having but glimpsed the outside of it at night.

“Vallakazz, finally.” James Andellis stood next to the mesmerized elf, gazing himself at a city he had not seen for many years. His thoughts wandered to old bar tabs he may have skipped on, and what taverns he best not enter, but his memory, thanks to the years of wine, would not recall yet all his misdeeds in this city of the arcane. “Who is it we are to meet here again, Saberrak?”

“No idea, the letter from the priest in Southwind went back west with the horsethief that escaped the panther.” The gray gladiator reminded, his deep voice issuing warm steam, warmer since he had some furs and leather armor in the chill of Chazzrynn winter.

“Ye might be heading to Lazlette or the Temple of Golden something of Alden, I think.” Azenairk remarked, also taking in the wondrous beauty of Vallakazz at night.

“You have been here then, dwarf?” James responded inquisitively, believing that most dwarves stuck together in the mountains and mines.

“Nope. Can’t say that I would ever want to either, save for the sight I am seeing now. Magic, Alden, humans, open land, small hills, besides the view, there is not much here for me I must say.”

“Then how would you know where we should go to see someone you know nothing about, my stocky warrior?” Saberrak snorted, thinking the bearded priest was a tad arrogant, liking it, but mostly in himself.

Azenairk Thalanaxe reached in his backpack withdrawing a partially crushed hard leather scroll tube, and pulled out a rolled piece of parchment with the seal of the church of Alden waxed at the top. “This was near the murdered body of a human priest in the foothills. Killed by one that dressed as James here. Two more like him dead in their sleep, throats cut. I found it in the dark after burying him and a small incident with some ogre. The killer headed west, and I headed this way to deliver it to the names mentioned.”

“Why have you waited
over two days
to tell us this?” Shinayne, mildly frustrated and suspicious, asked the priest in an accusing tone. The horned warrior and the hungover knight both joined her in silence, awaiting the dwarf’s reply.

“I figured ye had the other one, from the other traitors that crossed ye. It says there were two letters. I thought ye three knew it all already. Here ye are, read it for yourselves then.” The last Thalanaxe handed it over to Saberrak, who in turn passed it to James. The weary warrior, holding it to the moonlight, rubbed his eyes, wrinkled his brow, and then passed it to the elven woman.

“Well if none of ye can read, allow me...”

“We can read, Azenairk, it just so happens to be night.” Shinayne read the letter to them all, reciting the suspicions of the scroll, the accusations toward Lady Kaya T’Vellon, and the locations in Vallakazz that they were supposed to be directed to. Shinayne, being a highborne elf of Kilikala, had no intention of heading to mentioned Shalokahn. The elves there were more like power hungry humans than elves anymore, and if they spotted a noble like her in their kingdom, Shinayne thought her chances would be better against a thousand ogre at making it out alive. The hatred of the Shalokahn elves toward most of their fey cousins had been there for a few thousand years and the noble doubted that any scroll would set that aside.

“It says one letter went to the Lady Lazlette of Vallakazz, yet we were told to head to the Temple of Golden Mercy. Let’s just enter the city, and get out of the cold first.” Shinayne gave the letter back to the dwarf.

The four travelers, carriers of a long lost and ancient scroll of unknown origins, headed down the valley to Vallakazz. From the outside, the grand stone nexus of learning that is Vallakazz, the center of Chazzrynn, seemed a destination from a long and perilous trek across frozen countryside. For the four about to enter, it seemed a well deserved resting place, and hopefully, one with answers.

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The western bridge was well guarded, more than Gwenneth recalled, but she tried to remember the last time she had even traveled to a gate at the edge of the city. The snow had stopped, the clouds over her head had parted to the west, and the stars and moons revealed a lush glow over the outside world that Gwenne was accustomed to seeing from her room high in the tower. From a low vantage point, the sky and the countryside seemed huge and she felt so much smaller than the daughter of the High Wizard of Lazlette should.

Her arcane sight was sensing the glow approaching, very close now. Gwenne ignored the stares from armed guards and archers posted at this gate, double here what the other three gates have. Gwenne had seen ogre from a distance, yet none had dared attempted an attack on Vallakazz, so the prodigal wizard never saw the reason for such a bolster of forces to the west. “Hail travelers, and state your names. Far enough now.” Gwenneth moved to the bridge, peering through the black iron bars to where the sergeant of the west bridge was calling.

“Lady Shinayne T’Sarrin, hail watchwarden, my men are cold and tired. Our business is with the Temple of Golden Mercy and Lazlette academy.” Barely containing her excitement, the elven swordswoman spoke for them, knowing how to announce oneself to guards and nobles alike.

“It seems that Lazlette has been awaiting
you
, my lady. Get the gate raised men!” The sergeant raised his hand high, noting that he received the same from the elf and looked toward the robed wizard of the academy.

Gwenneth felt the presence close now, could see it, it hummed in her vision to the annoying point that she had to dismiss her magical sight. The minotaur kept it in a large pack on his hip she knew, and she smiled as the seven and a half foot horned warrior walked up to her. Tattoos of black horns that mirrored his own real ones curved and shone under his eyes, eyes that looked at her from two feet above. His right hand around his left side gripping the leather wrapped metal haft of a great steel double bladed axe, his right on the hilt of some bone blade tucked in his belt. Gwenne noted that he did not look at all comfortable here in Vallakazz, or in the pieced together leather and furs he wore for protection and warmth. The black robed daughter of the arcane glanced at the others. The elven woman, curved elven blades, the matching set of a noble warrior, and dressed in fine chain armor under regal garments of purple and black. Her skin was golden tan, hair of light bronze, and eyes bright aqua and vibrant, everything about her sparkled or caught light, denoting her as a highborne noble elf of Kilikala, not to mention the slim features and pointed ears. The dwarf was easy to identify, his hammer and moons emblem on his shield and breastplate, trimmed black beard and shaven head. The priest of silent Vundren, the mountain God, warhammer half as tall as he, stocky, yet a few inches shorter than the wizard. Lastly Gwenne examined the knight of Southwind Keep, his red feathered cross of Alden on the white tabard, neatly trimmed dark brown beard and hair, a human man a little older than herself, his shield full of war wounds and his broadsword with the hilt of a golden griffon and feathered crosspiece. Gwenne stared, she had seen that weapon before, she could not place it, but it was familiar to her.

Gwenneth bowed deeply, her arms wrapped around each other in the chill air, and bows returned, save the minotaur, who saw little need for these cordialities. “Lady Lazlette?” the dwarf spoke first.

“Yes, I am Gwenneth Lazlette. And may I have the pleasure, devout of Vundren?”

“Azenairk Thalanaxe, my lady, of Boraduum. You may call me
Zen
if you wish though.” He blushed, sensing stares from his companions as he tried to impress the beautiful human woman.

“Lady Shinayne T’Sarrin, of Kilikala.”

“James Andellis, former knight of Southwind, my lady.”

“And you must be…” Gwenne paused, awaiting the name of the minotaur.

“You are a wizard, the master of an academy it says,
shouldn’t you know
?” Saberrak snorted, his pessimism at human society speaking for him.

“I am not all knowing my horned friend, may a lady have your name?” Gwenneth felt her cheeks flush just a little at her stretch of the truth. She had the chance to be honest about her position and title, she let it pass. Gwenne knew her mother would have her publicly reprimanded for impersonating her, no matter the cause.