The Exodus Sagas: Book I - Of Spiders And Falcons (61 page)

Lavress I:VI

Temple of the Whitemoon, Chazzrynn

His long hair of braids sticking to his neck and face with sweat, the wood elf lunged low and far with both curved blades, cutting down as he ended his attack. They met the twin longswords of the cursed elf, also tiring as the moonlight had diminished over the sacred grove. They turned, blades clashing against each other, the glowing kukri dagger meeting the reverse held blade of Kendari, and burning Shiver stopping the wolf pommeled falcata of Lavress. They spun again, and again, backing toward the stones and steps the holy fey temple of the Whitemoon, the trees moaning in the breeze. The elven hunter felt himself weaker, his injuries slowing him, and focused deeply on the steps of his enemy, trying to find flaw in his motion, for there was none with his blades.

Kendari of Stillwood knew his time to breach the temple was running low, yet this elf of the Hedim Anah before him would not give up like any other he had faced. The Nadderi swordsman was tiring, his shoulder in pain and his thigh from the arrow cut was hindering his steps. He felt it time to kill this savage hunter, and make his move to the steps. He did something he had not done in over four hundred years, he flipped the blade in his left hand, wielding it normal fashion. It was not his style, and did not make him more deadly, simply gave him more reach against an enemy he cared not to get close to anymore. Kendari cut from high to low, diagonal and horizontal edge cuts with both weapons aimed at the torso and arms of his foe. He followed those attacks with short cuts and half lunges, driving Lavress back, forcing him to keep distance from the whirl of two reaching swords.

The wood elf was outmatched, his dagger barely caught the left blade of his enemy in time now, and he could not riposte with the reach Kendari now had. His counterattacks fell short, the steps of the cursed elf perfect and timed to keep him at bay from getting in close, yet he stopped on the steps, looking up at the murderous elf. His thoughts of the fey in the temple, Bedesh, and the hiroon that lay dead to his left drove him to stand, not withdraw. Lavress’ senses picked up motion and scent from the south, heading this way on the wind. Trolls, many trolls, and moving quickly through the forest not a mile away. His falcata cut upward, and then with the dagger at Kendari’s abdomen, both parried, and he moved in. Again, he cut at the weapons with his own, blade beats to allow him closer, unleashing all he had left almost face to face with his opponent. The strikes were short and furious between them both, Lavress dove with the dagger first, glancing off the enchanted bracers of Kendari. His curved blade cutting over the Nadderi’s head, then slicing down across his chest, met with a backhand parry from the heated sword.

Kendari stepped back, feigning to withdraw, then opened his stance and arms just enough to bait the hunter in again. The dagger thrust forward, knocked aside by his left hand blade, then the swooping falcata, parried with a cross wrist catch between the bracers before it cut his face, and the cursed swordsman twisted his arms, dodging the glowing kukri again, and turning Lavress to the left. A quick plunge of Shiver ended the duel, its point diving into the wood elf below his ribs from the open side. The wood elf screamed in pain of steel and burnt flesh. Holding his blade deep inside his enemy, the Nadderi felt victory in the sliding of steaming steel out of his vanquished foe. Kendari kicked him in the wound with his boot heel, redoubling the pain and sending him toppling down the stone steps landing into a fetal curl of anguish, weapons falling from his fingers. He gripped his longblades tight, beginning his walk down to put the weapons through Lavress’ chest as he lay helpless. His wood elf opponent lay in paralyzed agony, unable to defend himself, ripe for the kill.

He raised his longsword, leaning over Lavress, “
Not even
….” His words stopped as pain shot through his abdomen, an arrow from the grove that pierced through his chain and clothing and protruded out the other side of him. The Nadderi assassin stepped back, feeling cold through his body, closing his eyes, then opening to see the limp form of the satyr across the grove, bow in hand staring back at him.

Lavress held his bleeding and burning wound, guided by the light of the moons, he stumbled toward the closing temple stairs. Dragging his weapons across the grass, Lavress sheathed his dagger, and grabbed the satyr, trying to remain standing. He knew Kendari would follow. Being driven by what he knew was approaching, he turned sideways, the opening barely a large fissure in stone, his body scraping along the rock edges as he and Bedesh tumbled down the steps, into the green light and music of the temple of the Whitemoon. He drug Bedesh through the tight finish to the flat underground, nearly losing him as the mystical doorway stairs enclosed. They reached the cool earthen floor, the satyr with eyes closed, unmoving, bow clutched in his hand. Lavress held his side, feeling weak from the wound and the fight, but tried to crawl further into the temple to get help. He could barely crawl as his torso bled the ground. The music still emanating from within, louder than before, Lavress got to his feet and stumbled through the door to the throne room of the princess of the fey. He heard the stone touch stone, saw the lights of green and gold flitter as the music stopped. The hunter fell to the ground, seeing all manner of beings of the temple come to his aid. “
Bedesh
” he pointed his finger toward the entrance to the now closed and sealed temple stairs, and then his body forced him into rest. The smell of lilac and sage filled the air, mixed with rose and lavender. He heard prayers and felt warmth as ancient fey and forest tongues spoke about him, peace washed over him hearing the voice of Finwel-Dur in his mind, and then feeling her small hand touch his face. His eyes remained shut, the sleep that elves so seldom took came over him, and he welcomed it, for the first time in over a century, Lavress slept.

Azenairk I:III

Carisian Sea, South of Harlaheim

Sunlight trickled across the clouds, spilling out into what would most likely be a gray day. Zen looked around the quiet ship, all but he, the crewman on lookout above, and the elven noblewoman at the helm of the Harpy were awake at his early hour. His prayers at the break of dawn were deep and repetitive, asking God for the mercy and grace to make it the last day of their journey. The captain was dead, the crew was scared and unsure, and they were still being pursued, Zen suspected. His warhammer lay beside him, brow furrowed, hands cold, droplets of water from the mist of the waves formed on his armor.

Azenairk bowed his head again, on his knees, eyes closed.
“Father Vundren, grant us, should it be your will, the strength to endure what may be on the ship that follows us. May your winds speed us to safety, and may I bring light where only shadow prevails. Let me be your channel to help the good men and women you have sent to me, may thy will be followed and not mine own. Grant me the peace of mind to take the right action, take my fear and doubt, and cast it down the dark mountain. Shall we face adversity, let me be the calm in the storm, and place others before myself. Amen.”

He stood up, feeling refreshed, and looked up at the elf, who had her hand up for anyone looking to stay still. Zen looked about, first noticing the large serpentine body diving in and out of the water, only its back fins showing. Several rows of teal and aqua scaled lengths rose up to be seen, then down again as this colossal serpent swam alongside the Bronze Harpy. A mere twenty feet off the starboard side, and at least a hundred feet in length, it kept pace with the galleon and her silent crew in early morning.

“Be still and silent.” Shinayne mouthed the words to the two men in the crow’s nest and to the dwarven priest.

Zen prayed again, asking God why the adversity had to come so quickly after his first prayers. The silence of the waves and the sureness of the elven woman put him at peace. Over the next hour, the creature drifted off east, into deeper waters. He never saw the head of the serpent, only body and fins, and thankfully so.

The dwarf looked about, seeing Shinayne move finally, and gazed at the open sea, the coast of what now must be Harlaheim now in the distance. He wandered the ship, back toward the aft, men starting to rouse and get to work. Again, he noticed something of concern. The southeast horizon bore a ship, not the Valhirst galleon that had been close a few days back. This one was much closer, and much larger, heading from the deep waters out east. A great trireme barge warship, oars and sails, six decks tall, with flags carrying symbols Azenairk had never seen. It was moving fast, faster than the Harpy, and heading straight for them. He looked to the elven captain, her eye on it as well, her composure unchanged.

Zen thought of his father, of what he may have missed at his memorial, and how the merchants of Boraduum had probably not waited a day to start laying claim to all the Thalanaxe clan had left. It was not much save for some dead end mines, and personal things. He pulled out the small iron box, opened it, and stared at the rusty golden key to the supposed mines of Kakisteele in the mythical lost city of Mooncrest. The cursed mines, the lost mines, the fabled city that was destroyed many millennia ago by the Altestan Empire as a warning to the cultures and religions other than theirs. Never found again, and those that sought it never returned. He began to doubt, wonder what he was doing here so far from his temple and home in the Bori Mountains. Zen stared at the ship, three times the size of the one he was on, and tried to have faith. His prayers had healed Saberrak’s wounds, his God gave him a weapon when he needed it, and had led him here for a reason. His faith had to hold true, for himself and the others.

James came to the upper deck to stand next to the dwarf and gaze at the open sea, and noticed the ship heading their way. His breath reeked of wine, and his eyes looked red and tired. “
Excellent,
they will be here by late afternoon, right as we arrive in Harlaheim, unfortunately they will catch us first.” his sarcasm and headache went hand in hand.

“And if they
do
?” Zen asked simply.

“They will crush us, the ship will sink, and we’re all dead men.” his retort was just as easy and quick.

“What do we do to prepare, to defend ourselves then, Knight of Chazzrynn?” he turned to look at James now, right into his eyes.

“Pray, get armed, pray some more, and hope the wizard has something up her sleeve that will assist, like magic. Then maybe, we only get boarded and taken prisoner.” he looked back at his dwarven ally, feeling very negative about the situation, and his inner shame.

“Could we hold em off until we reach Harlaheim?”

“If the men did exactly as they were told, with a great plan, a great leader, a lot of luck, and a little divine intervention, yes,
maybe
.” James ran his fingers through his hair, shaking his head as the ship seemed to gain every moment.

“I will handle the luck and the intervention and prayer. Can you do
one
thing for me, James Andellis?” Zen put his hand on the man’s shoulder gently, but firm.

“Anything you need if you think it will help, Zen.” he put his hand on the dwarf’s, and squeezed half a smile out at his faithful friend.

“Don’t drink today, just today, not til it be over. Agreed?” Azenairk removed his hand and walked away, toward the elf to see about a plan.

“Agreed” James hung his head, felt the anger and shame creep up, he felt unworthy to wear the medal and the sash of a Knight of Chazzrynn. He thought of another bottle, there were plenty below. He took some deep breaths and looked up, focused on the Altestani slaveship, and breathed some more.

“Ideas my lady?” the priest walked up to the helm, seeking to comfort and console, despite her outward appearance of stone, he knew better.

Shinayne T’Sarrin looked at the ship, then to the bow of the Harpy, “We can make it by dusk, but they will be on us about an hour before at best, maybe sooner. Some quick maneuvers right at the last moments could avoid us getting rammed and sunk, but we cannot outrun that ship. Best to hope for is getting boarded.”

“If we get boarded, what then be your plan?” Zen seemed at peace, smiling and holding his holy hammer pendant with one hand.

“Try and keep as many off the ship with archers and anything Gwenne can muster, funnel them to the fore and aft decks, and fight it out. Unless we can take out their masts and rudder, and unhook, letting them careen off of us and make a run for the Harlaheim port.” the elven swordswoman thought of all the possibilities she could.

“I will talk to Gwenne and see what she can do, and I will pray for your steady hand in guidin’ the ship.” the priest kept praying as he walked to the captain’s quarters. He felt the nervousness about the crew, whispers and talks of the foreign vessel and the futility of it all. Many spoke of, he heard, anchoring and fleeing on ground, taking the away boats and abandoning ship. Zen kept walking.

Gwenneth was rolling up the stone scroll, peering out the glass windows at the trireme approaching. “What is it, priest? We have some company I see, what do the others say?” she seemed calmer than anyone on the ship, overconfident as usual.

“Shinayne says we can get close to port, but will need to take out their masts and fight it out a bit. James thinks we can hold em if the men are led and we don’t get crushed and sunken. What can
you
do?” Azenairk smiled and said a silent prayer for guidance in all their thoughts.

“I can blow some holes in their ship, or put up a wall of energy preventing their arrows from hitting into ours. I can start the thing on fire, burn their sails, or rain acid and poison upon them. What do you want me to do, but realize that I have to be close to do most of it.” she was arrogant, but straight forward at least. Gwenne knew what she was capable of, and deadly with it as well.