The Exodus Sagas: Book I - Of Spiders And Falcons (41 page)

“Sweeter words I have not heard in some time! My ars is bruised and sore, and fresh air I am in dire need of here, move it ahead horned one!” Azenairk pushed the gray gladiator ahead so that he could get out and stretch his muscles and breath from the tightest spot his whole life had ever seen.

The five stowaways climbed out from under pelts and blankets and all manner of trade goods into the chill Chazzrynn winter air. Despite being hungry and anxious to get out, each one stopped momentarily, surveying the surrounding hills, trail, and forests for movement upon the white horizon. They had all been hunted for some time, each suspicious of when real safety and distance arose, and every one of them anticipating another battle any moment.

“So that was Vallakazz. Good riddance.” Huffed the minotaur, sitting on a log, checking to make sure the scroll was secure.

“Indeed, indeed. I like this view of it myself, far away. Where’s James?” the priest sat next to the gray warrior, biting into some dried deer meat.

“Drinking. Behind the other wagon.” Shinayne and Gwenneth watched him silently.

Olenn watched as his two daughters helped Leina from the wagon, careful not to let their pregnant mother slip. The four of them sat on some firewood, and ate the bread and dried meats together as a family, almost. Wishing his eldest was here, Olenn kept careful eye on the travelers without Oggidan’s assistance. “That one is on his second bottle of wine, Olenn. Watch him close will ya?”

“Its fine love, Lady Lazlette paid for the provisions and said there was one who liked the Caberran wine. Pay em no mind.”

“Daddy, what’s that one with the horns there called?” little blonde Nika, curious and outspoken at seven years old asked as she pointed her finger at Saberrak.

“Hey girl, no pointing now. That’s a minotaur, they be from Halay across the Carisian sea. That one’s gray, so he’s a nice hunter they say. Just keep to yourself now.”

“And that one? She’s a princess, right?”

“Not sure love, she’s an elf. They are from the North, way far up to the north where it’s warmer. She could be a princess, sure.” Olenn was playing along with the creative imagination of his child.

“And she’s a
witch
, right daddy?” pointing at Gwenneth, all in black robes and furs. Her brother Oggidan had told her of the witches and warlocks that lived in Vallakazz on many a stormy night.

“No, no, not exactly dearheart. That’s Lady Lazlette, a wizard, not a witch.”

“Him, he’s a stinky dwarf and they live under the ground in the dirt.” Nika was sure of that one it seemed.

“Be nice love, I am sure he’s not stinky, and they live in the mountains in big cities.”

“And the one with the bottles of wine, he’s a brave knight, right?”

“Not sure love, I guess so.” Olenn continued to eat, but kept his eyes on the man getting more drunk by the minute.

“So this Valhirst city, you have been there Lazlette?” Saberrak chewed as he spoke.

“Yes, several times. And my name is Gwenneth Lazlette, minotaur.”

“You are sure it is safe then?”

“No.” she shrugged and turned toward her city, knowing her mother would have her hunted very soon. “But we will make for the docks. I have no idea how many are looking for it. I can say with certaintly that I now know why, however.”

“Ye truly believe it be a scroll of a lost God with all those powers and such Gwenne?”

She looked to the dwarven priest with a serious glare. “Beyond doubt Zen, beyond doubt.”

Shinayne listened intently, yet paid more attention to James who seemed to be drowning himself out of this world in silence with the bottles. She had no reason to stay with them, yet something in her heart told her that she must. In her mind, she resigned to a promise that she would see them through with this scroll, then leave to find Lavress once more.

Johnas I:II

White Spider Underground, Valhirst

The cold stone great hall under Valhirst was empty, save for the prince and a silent and aged minotaur guardian. Heathen had been known to drift off while standing post, his unbroken horn providing balance against the stone wall. Johnas Valhera ran his fingers atop his head, through his blonde hair, feeling the frustration of the unknown. He had not heard from Kaya or anything recent from Southwind and her dealings there. Nothing more from Vallakazz, from Dasius or the agents he sent to assist in procuring those relics before Salah-Cam’s assassin got to them first. Even Gregore’, his prize employ and deadliest in the arts and disguise, had not returned from the Altestani ships with news of their intentions. His uncle, the King, watching his every step for sure, and a spy from Harlaheim in love with Vanessa he had to contend with, were keeping his mind busy. Johnas did not blink, staring at the walls, feeling trapped under his own city with his own webs closing more around him than ensnaring others. He began to obsess with the paranoia, retrace every word, retouch every step, and question the motives of every agent of the White Spider that had supposed allegiance to him.

The door on the right opened, waking Heathen who quickly drew out his immense scimitar and stepped in front of the entrance. Slowly, and with much effort, two young boys aspiring to the prince’s favor for some years now, held up a black robed wizard as he limped into the inner sanctum of the White Spider. Johnas looked from his throne of onyx and jade, at the burned, bloodied, and tattered Dasius who was also missing more than a hand, apparently seared off far above the wrist. His bald and handsome face was scratched and blood covered, and splinters of wood decorated his robes and flesh. His leg looked recently broken, perhaps from a fall, and the blood had not stopped its slow release from partially protruding bone near the ankle.

“Dasius of Caberra. I am
assuming
things did not fare to our advantage in Vallakazz?” he motioned for his horned guardian to step aside with a wave of his fingers. Heathen bowed, sheathing the curved blade and crossed his arms.

“My Prince, we were discovered. The academy, the daughter of Aelaine, Middir’s protector, Kendari of Stillwood, and the travelers from Southwind carrying the scroll… they were all well prepared for ambush.” Dasius sat in one of the velvet chairs, helped down by the young men, and groaned in pain from so many injuries. His invoking of teleportation was hurried, resulting in a fall from almost twenty feet above the library he intended to appear inside of. Lucky, he thought, only his ankle snapped from the fall.

Johnas stood and paced with his hand caressing the emerald pommel of his blade methodically. He still did not blink. The prince knew that the warlock mirrors could be traced, should they be studied at length by an accomplished wizard, and he assumed that Dasius, in this condition for certain, was unprepared and likely did not destroy the marble mirror in Vallakazz. The wizards there would trace many messages that would point some fingers, but nothing that could not be denied. Johnas thought more, caring nothing for the injuries of this failure who sat in his chamber. “Who has the scroll, Dasius?”

“The travelers from Southwind my prince. They are with Gwenneth Lazlette now, a minotaur, and elven woman, a knight of Southwind and a priest from Boraduum I believe.” Dasius relaxed a bit, discussion on the table now, and tried to find a comfortable position with all his injuries.

“Where are they heading?” Johnas still did not look at Dasius, still paced unblinking.

“They made for the east gate, so this way, or to Harlaheim through the mountains we suspect. The Lazlette family has ties there with Kalzarius. Kendari, the assassin, was stopped by our men before he could get near the scroll, my prince.” Dasius began to look around, wondering when someone would come to look at his leg, as the prince had many physicians and paid priests.

“This scroll…is it as powerful and ancient as you have been informing me?”

‘Yes. Our men overheard much last night while the daughter of Aelaine deciphered it. Most ancient and valuable indeed, and she was also found to be contacting Kalzarius in Harlaheim. Most likely the safest spot to keep it and learn how to use it my prince.” Dasius, the domenarch of Vallakazz for the White Spider did not mention that she had snuck into his room while he was out, using the warlock mirror to contact the famous wizard. That would most likely get him killed right here and now.

“Thank you Dasius, you may go.” Johnas nodded to Heathen, who in turn opened the door.

“
Go
?! Look at me Johnas! My hand is burned off and my leg broken. Some assistance is in order I feel! A priest if you would?!” Dasius tried to stand but fell back in the chair, his temper flaring, outraged by the complete lack of concern that the prince showed his most valuable wizard and spy.

The blade drew out of its scabbard with speed unmatched by anything ever seen, seven steps down in a flash, and the tip pierced through the chest of Dasius, through the chair. Pinned to the furniture, the tip of the curvy blade protruding visibly on the other side, Dasius of Caberra squirmed as blood ran down his chest and up into his throat. He tried to issue arcane words and gesture, but the choking blood stopped him. Johnas removed the blade, wiping it on his black cloak as he turned his back to the useless wizard. “A whining, handless, failure of a wizard is of no use to me. Heathen, dispose of that chair, I am no longer fond of it or its contents.”

“Yes, my prince.” the red minotaur strode over to the chair, with a heavily panting Dasius bleeding out onto it. He lifted it up easily with both arms and walked to the pit of spikes next to the left door, the one meant for uninvited guests. The bloodied wizard of the White Spider tried to climb out, his eyes fading, and was thrown face first down twenty or more feet onto a bed of two foot spikes. The chair cracked atop of his body, riddled with holes. Heathen looked upon the wreckage of bones and bodies that lay there, barely visible in the dark of torchlight. “Farewell Dasius.” the old guardian stared at the body, knowing how many years Dasius had been loyal to the prince. He closed his eyes, returning to his lean on the wall and wondered when he would be put in the pit, when his first and last failure would come.

“Just what was needed, Heathen. I feel better already, now send for Vanessa and the spy from Harlaheim, Balric. I have some planning if we are to get the daughter of Lazlette and that scroll.”

“Yes my prince.”

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Balric D’Vrelle felt his saber on his left side, his short blade on his right, trying to keep his breath flowing in and out. He knew that his promotion to Captain of the guard had been strategic, and assumed that Johnas knew or suspected the affair between him and Vanessa. The northern swordsman hoped that was all the prince was aware of. His worries creased his forehead, and he scratched at his trimmed beard in anxiety, thinking the worst, knowing what would happen, what could happen when one is summoned to the lower chambers of the White Spider alone.

The piece of parchment folded in his hand simply had the symbol of a spider inked upon it, with the letter J, and the agents, two young men barely out of their teens, had placed it inside the basket of bread that was at his table in the barracks. Johnas was known for broad day assassinations, yet not of his agents in places of power within his city, and not in any royal buildings. No, he would have them killed in his throne room, not the one in Castle Valhera, but the throne room well under the city. Heathen would usually do the dirty work, or sometimes Farrigus if it were out in the city itself. Balric thought of all he had learned of the operations and motions the White Spider made, and the connections to dozens of other cities and kingdoms that Johnas tied his webs to. As his confidant and superior, the bishop of Harlaheim had told him there were suspected ties even to the cruel and immense empire of Altestan to the north. Balric had seen with his own eyes now, that indeed, royalty from the oppressive enslaving conquerors from the far north were in contact with the Prince of Valhirst. Doppelgangers had been sent to infiltrate the Altestani ship disguised as crewman, whether to gather information or to double-cross, Balric was still unsure.

He winded down the dark tunnels under Castle Valhera, nodding to the agents posed as beggars and prostitutes, some actually were, and some had knives poised and ready under their clothes. One simple nod with no eye contact was the key that led to the doors near the sewer. Once in the main corridor below, Heathen the old red minotaur was waiting for him, spider-wand out and scimitar sheathed.

“Balric, Captain of the Guard to see Johnas.” he stated his business only by producing the parchment, and let the one horned brute check him for enchantments and hidden blades, none of which he had. Heathen opened the left door, always a good sign, for the Harlian spy knew all too well what lay beyond the right. That pit was used to be rid of those that had outlived any viable servitude to the Prince, and that decision of value was never reversed once Johnas spoke it. A shimmer of relief came to Balric.

The chamber had stains of blood crossing the foyer, ones that led to the pit, Balric placed his hands upon the hilts of his blades. He walked forward to a smiling prince upon the throne of onyx, jade, and emerald, and stood next to Farrigus, Vanessa, and several other agents and killers of the White Spider also assembled. Farrigus, patch over his missing eye and scars riddling his face and beard, glanced a foul look toward Balric, and nodded slyly. The Harlian spy bowed deeply. “My Prince, you called for me.”