The Exodus Sagas: Book I - Of Spiders And Falcons (51 page)

“No, I will handle him, just go, now!” Heathen drew his great scimitar and turned, head lowered and stared back at the brown killer that stalked his way. “I tire of your taunts young one, time for a lesson in
respect
.” he waited, making sure Balric was safely off before he charged in.

The Harlian spy ran down the prison way, turned and looked at his liberator, and ran toward the stairs leading toward the surface. He thought of staying, helping the red warrior, but his heart pulled him away. He heard the crashing of flesh, the sound of metal on metal, bone against bone, and the pounding of iron bars with muscle and growls. He kept moving, his thoughts on nothing but escaping here and finding Vanessa, and perhaps finishing what he had started with Farrigus. One night, maybe far from now, but one cold night, he vowed to return and kill the bastard that sits on the throne of Valhirst.

The two collided again, Chalas’ horns pressing hard against Heathens, driving him down and back, their swords locked and steam in the underground air hissed from their nostrils. The red veteran twisted under the pressure, hurling Chalas back into the bars, the murmurs of dying prisoners now looking in terror, and crazed delight flowed through the dungeon air. Heathen pulled back, slashing upward with his curved blade in both hands, it met the long straight greatsword of the brown killer. Sparks lit the dingy torchlit passage as Chalas Kalaza returned the attack, chopping from the side and hitting iron bars in his mighty swing. The serrated and chipped blade, full of as many scars and stories as the killer wielding it, swung across high, meeting the scimitar and Heathens’ remaining horn simultaneously. The red minotaur was knocked back into the iron bars himself, the blows from his adversary much stronger than he could hold.

Heathen charged back at him, lowering his head yet keeping his blade high to deflect anything the brown savage swung at him. His impact sent the two flying into the bars again, this time breaking a prisoner’s outstretched arm. Screams and howls erupted from the inmates that had been here far too long, and the red minotaur cut with one hand at the blade of Chalas. His greatsword aside, Heathen tightened, raised his body, and punched the brown gladiator in the jaw, snapping his head to the side. Again and again, their swords locked off to the side, Heathen threw fist after heavy fist into the face of his assailant. To the chest, the abdomen, his elbow smashing with all his fury, growling, snorting, and the red guardian felt rage that had not been poured out in decades. His immense pride and ferocity in his minotaur blood boiled. Then it came, the laughter from somewhere far from normal, even for a minotaur. Chalas mocked him, blow after blow, the scarred killer simply laughed.

His throat tightened from the grip around it, and felt his toes drag on the stone floor. His eyes rose to meet the taller enemy, yet Heathen continued to fight, snarling like a ravaged beast in a cage. His head snapped forward, trying to hit Chalas in the face, but he only met air, and the gaze of his adversary. The gaze slowed his assault, for it was not like anything he had ever seen. The dark black and brown eyes swirled with anger, hate, and an evil that was bred, not born to any of his kind. He saw no blood, no injuries, their swords still locked out to the left side. “You should have been killed when you lost your honor. Let me help you to
hell
, old one!”

His body rolled at least three times, landing on his chest, still gripping his scimitar and fighting to get in his breath from the pressure his neck had endured. Never had he been thrown like that, nor unleashed such brute force on something that did not die. He stood up, sensing that Chalas was merely waiting behind him for an honorable fight. He thought of running, making for the stairs, but what pride he had remaining stopped him. He knew the challenges of his race were to the death, had been as long as minotaurs could remember, and always would be. The old red picked himself up, and turned to face a kinsman he could not kill, unless a great stroke of luck presented itself.

He could no longer look at the eyes of Chalas Kalaza, they saw right through him, but he raised his blade high nonetheless. The brown gladiator raised his greatsword, the two stepping toward each other in time. Heathen chopped forward toward the neck, parried by Chalas, who returned with a side cut to the right flank that the scimitar blocked. All his anger and strength his body had drove the curved blade across to the head of his enemy, whose blade was there to stop it. The brown killer shoved him off his weapon, and cut low across the abdomen of tired Heathen, spraying blood across the wall and bars of the prison. The red warrior cut upward toward the greatsword, missing and striking bars of iron. The ferocious gladiator twirled his blade round, cutting deep and high into the ribs of the old red bull, then pulled his blade out and cut across the chest down through the thigh, more blood releasing onto the stone floor like the sound of water being dumped on a city street. Heathen stumbled back, feeling his lower insides releasing, and then stepped forward with a roar and a wild cut from his scimitar. Chalas stepped back, watching the disemboweled warrior slip on his own entrails and blood. He grabbed the remaining horn of the red minotaur, turned him around, avoiding another half hearted slice from the curved blade. The brown killer forced Heathen to his knees, ignoring his snorts and flailing arms, drew his blade high in the air, and chopped down to the base of the horn. He ripped as the edge dug deep into the bone, removing the horn with a cracking tear and a roar of his own. The red minotaur fell into his own pool of blood and insides, his scimitar clattering on the quiet stone of the dungeon under Valhirst. Chalas Kalaza, intoxicated by the blood, by the death of an enemy, and by his own power, walked up the stairs back to the chamber of the Prince, horn in hand. The prisoners went silent, staring, motionless is the torchlight, daring not to say a word to the beast that tapped his sword across the bars. An unspoken understanding issued forth, for none of them had seen anything more vicious than Heathen, more wicked than the Prince, until just now.

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Johnas paced again, practicing his lunges, reliving the fight with Balric, and cutting at the air with a ferocity that quietly unleashed much of his frustrations. He thought of Vanessa, how she assisted in setting the trap for the Harlian spy, yet he knew. The Prince knew that she had been with the man, and was waiting for the romance to be exposed. He wished he had questioned her, for now he would never know why she so readily offered herself to him on command. Almost half his age, he had given her jewels, training in the arts, a home, everything he could. The one thing he had never known was love, betrayal, yes, he thought. He had felt the betrayal of those closest to him, women in his bed, or the best assassins in his employ, it did not matter. In his underworld life, none were above seeking their own needs and biting at the hand that feeds and protects them, he had felt it many times. Farrigus had told him of the secret meetings between the spy from the north and his pet prodigy and whore. He had used it secretly to test Farrigus’ loyalty as well, and to see how deep the Harlian was entrenched here in Chazzrynn. Now, with him prisoner, he would take much time to find out who had sent him and why, painfully and mercilessly. Johnas wondered how Balric got past the domenarch in Harlaheim and was branded into their guild, his guild. His mind left thoughts of love or the spy, speeding to his next moves, his real motives, and the actions needed to stay one step ahead of every King, every noble, and every blade that itched for his throat.

Hearing the main doors open at the gesture and guard of a tall doppelganger disguised as a human city guard, the Prince sheathed his emerald blade and took his seat. Kaya entered, robed and scarfed to hide her face, and presented herself on the stone center of the room, bowing once her feet touched the spider design engraved on the floor. “How did it go T’Vellon?”

“Gregore’ is ready with the Altestani nobles, and has his creatures on several suspect ships throughout port, my Prince. He will follow the Queen Sapphire in the northern ship, and dispose of them either way.” the lady assassin removed her robes and scarf, tossing them on the nearest red couch and bowed again.

“And what of you, Kaya? What can I do with
you
? You can not be seen in Chazzrynn, not for many years unless in cover. Your brother will have the backing of the king to find you, and the church is looking as well. Have you ever been to Devonmir? It’s one of our cities, north and west in Harlaheim near the Shanador and Willborne borders. I have much trouble getting the proper amount of coin out of the corrupt lords of the city. The arena there is quite popular, our spiders there say the chests we receive are but a quarter of what they should be. I could use some assistance in the matter, if you would like to remain of service and not worry about
being found
.” Johnas asked as much as he gave the order, speaking in two tongues, thinking one thing and saying another. He and Kaya both knew that if he were to turn her in to the king, his relations would improve slightly for some time, and this was a generous offer after losing Southwind Keep for the organization. He knew she would accept, and he had her where he wanted her, like everyone else he dealt with.

She approached the throne, sauntering, staring at his cold blue eyes. When she reached the prince, her hand brushed his face gently as she walked to the side. “
I could be so much more here, though
. I am your best, deadliest, and most beautiful agent. I have been for many, many years, Johnas.” her other hand touched his neck, and she pressed her lips on his cheek. Kaya feared leaving, feared going to a place where she had heard wizards bred with demons, and above all else, she did not want to leave her kingdom. She wanted protection here, her position in Valhirst, for she had nothing else.

“Tempting, but everyone you spread your legs for
ends up dead
, my Lady. Oh that’s right, you are not a
Lady
any more, are you? Besides, I have Vanessa and Farrigus and Heathen. I need you in Devonmir, and you will be going with your pet minotaur. You do the talking and the bedding, he will be the spiller of blood when needed. Understood?” Johnas knew what she would be willing to do here, but he cared not. He had dozens of women in his harem, many half her age, and none as deadly.

Kaya walked away, back turned, humiliated at the rejection. Her eyes teared, feeling the loss of her title, her webs of power and influence gone, and now she would be heading with a killer she hated to a strange city just to remain free. She dried her eyes, almost on her own will, and turned on the center of the spider mosaic to face the prince. “As you wish, my prince.”

The lower door flung open, slamming into the wall as normal, and the dragging noise of metal on stone trickled into the underground chamber. Several dark clothed men emerged from the shadows, as this chamber was rarely as empty as it seemed, and the nocking of several crossbows could be heard from the shadowed balconies. The shapechanger at the double doors stepped around the pit, and his hand grew into a long blade of serrated bone as his black eyes stared at the entryway opposite him that led to the deep underground and the dungeons..

The prince stared as the two foot of curved horn skipped across his great chamber, stopping in the middle of the spider design in front of the throne, without a minotaur attached to it. Chalas Kalaza strode in, sheathing his greatsword at his side, not bothering to clean it, his eyes wild and grin intimidating. “It seems Heathen wished to
retire
. And any minotaur worth his horns would not be freeing prisoners behind your back, Prince.”

“You are bold and stupid, Kalaza, Heathen has served me for decades and my predecessor here before me. Whom did he free?” Johnas was feigning compassion and anger, seeing his chance to employ a real killer again, he would entrap this brown savage with words and power.

“Whoever the bearded tan one was, he gave him blades and some clothing that looked like your guards and told him to find some woman.
Pathetic
that you were unaware, that you let him live having been so dishonored for so long. You are
most
welcome.” Chalas stared at the Prince, and then to Kaya.

“Balric, he freed
Balric
?” Johnas thought of why Heathen would betray him for that spy, why he would want him to find Vanessa. Pacing now, Johnas realized now that Heathen must have known for some time of the two of them, and of him and Vanessa as well. The prince used Vanessa often to root out spies, men talked in their beds easily. He had chosen sides, sensing his death inevitable, and planned it out. Anger now brewed, not at the loss of his captive or his bodyguard, but at betrayal, once again the sour taste of treachery in his mouth. “I want his head, this Harlian spy, and I want Vanessa Blackflame here at once. Scour the city!”

The doors opened again from the hidden dungeon passage, not flung as hard as when the huge horned beasts opened it, but hurried nonetheless. Kaya did not look, merely stared at the brown killer who had already murdered again, and fear crept in her just being near the beast. An agent of the White Spider, younger man, long red hair and bad teeth came panting in, his dark clothing hiding most of him in shadows, yet his saber was in hand. “My Prince!”

“Yes Rillen, what is the matter?” the prince was now pacing, sword out, and deep in thought on what to do next, awaiting more bad news.

“My prince, the scroll and those that carry it have left port on the Bronze Harpy, headed north!” his breath barely catching any air, and the young man could barely figure out if he should be bowing, kneeling, or heading to the center to be heard properly, so he squirmed to and fro.

“And has the Queen Sapphire left in pursuit?” Johnas was feeling more frustration at the failures here in the capital city of his underworld kingdom. His blade began to glow, wanting more blood, wanting death to ease its master’s mind and heart.