The Exodus Sagas: Book I - Of Spiders And Falcons (52 page)

“No your highness, Lady Blackflame is severely injured, burned by a blast of lightning, her face and neck are scarred and black with no skin sire. Many died in the attack, Lord Farrigus is tending to her on the ship, but they have not weighed anchor, he awaits your instruction.” Rillen walked to the center now, past Kaya and Chalas, to stand before the prince. “Also my prince, Heathen lay dead in the dungeon passage, something butchered him horribly and cut off his…..” the young assassin looked down in front of him at the horn of the red minotaur, then up to the brown beast that was staring at him. He took two steps back, and looked back at the Prince.

“Horn? That something is
me
.” Chalas grinned, kicking the horn over toward the throne, feeling more victorious by the moment and staring at the small human from his over eight feet of muscle.

“Rillen, bring Lady Blackflame here, send Farrigus after the Bronze Harpy, and have someone dispose of Heathen.” Johnas wanted to keep Vanessa for questioning and safety, and to let the Harlian swordsman think she would be heading north. Surely he would find out that the White Spider was following, and assume she was on the ship. He would then contact his agents in Harlaheim, and attain him there.

The double doors opened, another agent, Gerram from Vallakazz, an old veteran assassin and cutthroat with more knives hidden in his clothing than Johnas had schemes. The prince trusted him as far as he could fly, but had him easily loyal with his little known preference for young men in his bedchamber.

“
What more
could go on this afternoon? Yes, Gerram from Vallakazz reports now,
what is it
?!” his tension rising, his blade focusing his need for a good kill with
hums
and
throbs
that Johnas could barely ignore. Madness of blood covered floors danced in his mind, it called to him.

“In private your highness.” his eyes solid and sure, looking fearlessly at the prince on the onyx jeweled throne under the city.

“Very well, hurry.”

The old greasy killer strode up the steps, and whispered into the prince’s ear. “
My prince, we have interrogated one of the dwarven merchants that was seeking one of their own in Vallakazz. He died during the process, but we believe that the dwarf travels with lady Lazlette and her crew, and he has something of great value.”
the foul man went on to tell the prince much, much of a key that the dwarves wished to have returned, and a lost land of myth to the far west on the other side of the Agarian continent where no one dared seek for over a millennia.

“Are you certain of this, beyond doubt? The merchant guard of Boraduum could have been leading you off a trail with this silly myth you realize?” despite his attempt at contempt for the information, Johnas eked out a small grin, obvious to all.

“
Certain my prince, I used two days and eleven knives, his story remained the same from slow start to agonizing finish. He seeks the kingdom of Mooncrest, lost for thousands of years, and has the key to the mountain passage to the mines of Kakisteele. That would take them from Harlaheim due west, past Devonmir, Saint Erinsburg, and into Shanador. Plenty of opportunities to take them, my prince. The wealth of that place, the stories of gold, I believe I have found you a fortune, sire.”
Gerram smiled, seeing and knowing his information was vital, valuable, and hoping for much reward.

Johnas smiled, now knowing where their travels would take them and the scroll, and what they possessed made them worth the effort. He knew it all himself, save this boy loving wretch that had failed him in Vallakazz once already. Smiling, he turned his back, letting out a laugh, then his smile dropped and he cut across the mans throat with his green curvy blade glowing bright, feeling the blood soak into the enchanted steel, feeling the follow up thrust through Gerram’s chest cause the emerald pommel to pulse and send peace and ease through his body stronger than any opium. Gurgling followed the running of blood, the blade so sharp it did not splatter or cut anything but razor sharp incisions from its wielder.

He turned, the gay knife throwing man falling to the steps and draining out crimson upon them, and faced the stares, and one smile from the minotaur. “Chalas and Kaya will head to Devonmir to take care of affairs there, and wait for his gray minotaur and his troupe to pass through. Rillen, you have your orders.”

“How do
you know
where he goes?” Chalas wanted answers, and blood, and the horns of Saberrak most of all.

“Trust me, I know. You will get what you seek, as will I, be patient and listen. You have killed my minotaur, I need another.” Johnas sheathed his sword, feeling full and rested, content with the blood in the room.

“I serve no one, I have been a slave before,
and killed my master
.” the minotaur grinned in defiance.

“I offer employment and service, not slavery. You get paid how you wish, coins, jewels, women, blood, your choice. Just serve loyally and kill who I tell you,
when
I tell you.”

“Women?
How many
?” the beast grinned at Kaya, then back at the Prince.

“I don’t have any minotaur women, Heathen never asked for one. But I can find you several I am sure.” the prince scratched his head, confused at that epiphany that his old bodyguard never took pleasure, not once.

“That would be impossible, Prince.” the minotaur chuckled.

“Why would you say that, Kalaza, I can find anything?” Johnas seemed perturbed, but curious at the arrogance.

“Because minotaurs breed with human women, for we have no women of our own. Unfortunately, most die in labor, but since we take them for one purpose only, there is no concern once a child is born. If they do survive, we kill them anyway for their broken bodies cannot produce again.” his stare at Kaya unnerved the whole room, even Johnas.

“Interesting. You may have women minotaur, just none of mine. Kaya, have him branded. Chalas Kalaza, welcome to the White Spider. Kill often, live wealthy, and do
not
fail me.” the Prince dismissed them to their orders, needing rest from the weary day.

He waited till they all left the chamber. It was quiet, finally quiet. “You see Gerram, it is not easy ruling a city
and
an underworld, a Prince must be quick in his decisions and be sure in his actions.” tapping his boot and talking to a corpse, Johnas Valhera laughed like he had not laughed in years, the inebriation of the spilt blood around him making it involuntary. His pawns all moving where he needed them, he enjoyed his moments of silent madness.

Exodus I:XI

Carisian Sea, Chazzrynn Border

The yelling of hurried orders was long over, the Bronze Harpy had been sailing half a day north now, keeping the coast in view. Beautiful winter forests and hills gave way to the strained distant Bori mountains and cliffs that loomed over the Carisian Sea. Cold waters, southern dark depths, and scattered islands on the aquatic blue flowing landscape surrounded the troupe and the crew they had set passage with to Harlaheim. Strangely, with all their minds occupied, no one noticed any seasickness among the travelers from the west. Too busy healing their wounds, cleaning up, and watching the ships that followed less than a day behind, the five that escaped capture thought now on their purpose. They all wondered who or what was aboard the trailing vessels, and when they would once again have to fight for their freedom and a scroll they knew so little about, yet seemed vastly important to so many in Chazzrynn.

The sun set in the east, majestically diving into the water, the impatient moons of white and green overhead long before. The ship kept course, even in the dark, as the captain seemed to know the waters like his own scraggly beard, and held many concerns of the two ships that followed. One, a Valhirst naval galleon, was but hours behind and gaining, caught some worry from the crew that had seen much already. But the captain was more interested in keeping away from the second, the Headhunter, a slaveship of immense size, an Altestani vessel that had not even been seen at port. Dennilar knew that the foreign transport bore merchant flags, but the trireme barge style warship had business and capability far beyond trading goods so far from home. He knew he could out maneuver the large vessel, but not outrun it in open water, so he kept to the coast.

The old captain could not find his first mate, Jorginn, and assumed he was busy making talk with the new passengers or taking stock of the wines and fine furs he had loaded on the ship to trade in Harlaheim. The elven woman he had met seemed to have a good knowledge of ships and the waters, the others just seemed more trouble than they were worth with all that occurred at port and the ships that followed. Dennilar did always want a minotaur for strength and protection, but had heard they were a bit hard to keep tame. Silent he noticed, were the waters this night. “Time to rest n’ eat I think, hold our course through Taberlo Pass, boy.”

“Yes, Yes. Captain. Taberlo pass, yes.”

The captain took a swig from his flask of whiskey, shaking his head. That boy had been acting strange since the men went to port in Valhirst, always repeating himself. He thought the men had him influenced by women or other sins for the first time, and he was most likely still in shock. He went below smiling to gather everyone for dinner, and open some wine.

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The morning sun rose in the west, illuminating the sky above the ship, but the cliffs over the bay kept direct sunlight off of them. The sails set, anchor about to be lifted on his vessel and his father’s, Prince Bryant waited for the signal to sail ahead and intercept the galleon headed to Harlaheim. The morning water and wind calm but cold, even through his armor and heavy clothing. The Chazzrynn flags of white and red with the falcon head of black both hung limp here in the cover of the Bori mountains. The men of the Morninghawk were eager to see action after all the chasing of agents and possible envoys of Prince Johnas of Valhirst. Deep in his chest, and on his mind, Bryant, in his mere seventeen years, wished to see Johnas hung for his treacheries against the kingdom. He felt him a threat, a dishonor, and more a villain than a noble who inherited his city through nothing more than birth. He had done nothing to better his domain, and served no one but himself. The glory of Chazzrynn, the last frontier of Agara, was stained by his own cousin, and the young heir felt justice had eluded him too many times.

The three flags of King Mikhail’s warship, the Persistence, all raised, red, white, and gold symbolizing the flagship of royalty. Men scattered, arming crossbows and trebuchet weapons of immense size, in case the northbound vessel should try and flee. Anchors lifted, sails filled with air as oarmen pushed out of the bay giving momentum into open waters. The light of day still yet to hit the Carisian Sea, Prince Bryant gave the silent motion to his captain to follow the king’s ship, the Persistence. The Prince’s ship set sail, hoping to finally catch enough treason aboard this galleon to ensure the King would march straight into Valhirst and arrest Johnas Valhera.

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Azenairk felt the morning light through closed eyes, his prayers to God Vundren finished, feeling refreshed. He had never been further than tradepoints outside of the Bori mountains, and never seen a ship nor been on one. He prayed to the mountains he saw in the far distance as the ship slowly moved side to side, almost like the wooden vessel breathed the water. The aft of the ship was raised, allowing Zen Thalanaxe a good view of the whole of the vessel, and being far from the front made him feel more secure. He saw Gwenneth, wrapped in black wolf furs, come topside with a book in hand and sit on the main deck and begin to read now that there was light. The dwarven priest noted the moons still in passing, the crescent green and full white, both heading north, while the western sunlight tried to spill over the mountains to the sea. These things rarely seen, some never, as he had lived his life under the mountains and temple of Boraduum for so long.

The priest stood up, armor clanking, and went to stretch his legs about the Bronze Harpy, and then he stood still. The seven or eight crewmen also stood still, all noticing as light hit the waters and illuminated the area fully, that they were indeed face to face with two warships bearing many a Chazzrynn flag. The ships held at least one hundred men each, armed and ready, as well as ship sized weapons of wood and steel aimed at the Harpy. They were maybe half a mile out and closing, silent in the light of dawn. The men ran below for the captain, and Gwenneth went to get the others. Zen breathed deep the air, praying for God’s will to be done, and asking for help. He chuckled as he walked toward the bow of the ship, wondering if ever they would have more than a few hours peace before reaching Harlaheim.

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The Captain watched as the away boats, six of them carrying twenty men each, rowed toward the Bronze Harpy. All armed in heavy steel plate armor and shields raised to protect whoever was aboard. These were not regular navy, no, Dennilar recognized that they were army, royal guard from Loucas by how well polished they were and how uncomfortable they seemed on the water. “Royal guard from the capital, don’t s’pose you five have anything ye wish to tell me before I get boarded!?” he stomped, far less than charming in the first hours of the day.

The crew stood at a loose attention with anchor weighed, all having heard that the multiple sets of flags symbolized the royal ships of the King of Chazzrynn. Saberrak held the scroll in his hand, tight, and waited next to James who had placed a golden falcon’s head emblem on his tabard once more and had shined it. Shinayne, accustomed to royalty all her life, stood next to Gwenneth and Azenairk, all calm and hoping this had nothing to do with them. Every one of them, even the crew, knew that it did, but silence was kept save for the irritated captain, still grumbling over being boarded by official vessels. “Bastard Prince of Valhirst raises port taxes, then the lousy ass first mate hides out on me, then this shet of royal goddamn boarding! By Alden’s bloody wings were you not worth the bloody coin!” pointing at each one, especially the elf who had set passage a few days back.