The Exodus Sagas: Book I - Of Spiders And Falcons (62 page)

“Whoa, very well then. I uh, will let Saberrak know and we will come up with a plan.” Zen left the chambers and went below to find the minotaur. All the while doing what he could, pray and ask for help, keep everyone talking and thinking.

Azenairk saw the sleeping giant horned warrior, still snoring. He padded him on the horn, then shook him a bit. “Wake up Saberrak, we need ye.”

‘What is it?” his nostrils flared, and eyes opened, reaching for his greataxe as he sat up.

“The Altestani warship is upon us, and we will likely be boarded. We need a plan. The elf can pilot and direct the crew, James can lead the men to help from getting overtaken, and Gwenneth can unleash her arcane stuff into their vessel and protect us from their archers. What do
you
suggest?” Zen sat next to him, rubbing his holy symbol again.

“They have a way to steer that ship, like ours right?” the minotaur yawned, stretched, and stood up.

“Am sure they do, a rudder and steering column that connects em, yes.”

“Get me onboard, I will break it, fight my way back onboard our ship, and we leave them stranded.” Saberrak started to walk to the stairs up, and then looked back at Zen, “And what will
you
be doing during all of this?”

“Spiritual guidance and going where God directs me. Your plan sounds dangerous though.” Zen stood up to follow the horned gladiator.

“
I know
, that’s why I came up with it.” he smiled at the dwarf, and walked up to see the new enemy on the horizon.

All the plans, all the obstacles, and all the adversity fresh on his mind, since the day he left Boraduum, Azenairk knelt on the stairs and prayed graciously for it. He thanked God for their good fortune, and prayed for all the plans to work. He repeated his hymns of faith and devotion, and prayed for his friends to act without fear and with his strength. For himself, he prayed for nothing. Almost nothing. “
Father, if you are listening and watching down from the mountaintops, hear me now. I seek your mines, by the most strange of routes, with the company of those I had never dreamt. Please bless us and shine down today. I miss you, father. Please help, we cannot do this alone. Amen.”
the prayer not to Vundren, God of the dwarves, the keeper of the mountains, and father of stone and service. No, this one was to his father to whom he had made a promise, one he would very much like to keep, but could use a little help at this moment. And prayer never hurt. Many other crewman, none of them dwarves, none of them ever praying to Vundren before nor understanding the dwarven tongue, sat next to Azenairk and knelt in prayer with him.

Johnas I:V

White Spider Underground, Valhirst

“My prince” the young messenger awoke the man on the onyx throne under the city.

“Yes, what is it. Can you not tell I am
resting?
” Johnas Valhera was much less than comfortable, having drifted off some hours ago, waiting to hear news from the Queen Sapphire, doppelganger wizard, or someone.

“Two things your majesty. First, Gregore’ sends word through the warlock mirrors. His words were difficult to decipher without Miss Blackflame, but we managed with one of the less skilled wizards of the house. The creature says that he is closing on the Bronze Harpy and will have them in the port of Harlaheim. He,
it, he
, also warns that two royal flagships attempted to meet him and the Sapphire, and are headed to the Valhirst port. He is certain one is King Mikhail. He sent word also that the Sapphire took heavy attacks from the royal ship and is marooned on an island between here and Harlaheim.” the young boy felt confident in giving at least some good news to the Prince, for he had heard of messengers and neonates in the White Spider not surviving some meetings with Johnas.

“
Excellent
. Poor Farrigus, but he will figure his way off the island on his own. We have bought off the Harlian navy officers, so they will not interfere with helping the Harpy until after the Altestani ship has her way with them and our agents there are ready and waiting to take the scroll and some captives.” up on his boot heels, the Prince of Valhirst paced once again. “What else?”

“Second my prince, Bryant, son of King Mikhail waits for you in the great hall of castle Valhera. He wishes to talk of your ship attacking his, and has been waiting some time, but no one wished to disturb you.” the kneeling young Chazzrynn man swallowed deeply, knowing he was the bearer of bad news, but he was optimistic that he would survive. He had heard the Prince had lost many agents in the last few weeks, he was hoping that perhaps he was truly needed.

“
Does he
? And the king is en route on the Persistence.” Johnas waved another guard over, pointing to his royal garments hanging on hooks by the double doors to the main entrance.

“Yes my prince, most likely this day, the ship is in sight. His majesty pursued the Altestani ship for some time to the east, but turned back we heard.” He looked up, standing with the Prince now, and assisting him in covering his leather armor and black clad attire befitting an underworld lord. The red velvet robes, green sashes and fine gold jewels and crown made Johnas look like an entirely different person.

Johnas Valhera buckled his emerald blade, it’s humming persistent on getting his attention, but he ignored it. He felt for a moment that this youth had done well, despite the ill timed and overdue awakening. He paced forward, out of the doors that were opened for him, and stopped. The sword throbbed and vibrated again, urging its master to pay attention and kill the boy. Still groggy, the prince turned and looked at him, staring at the young man. No, he thought, too early for blood. He would kill him later perhaps, but not now. He had to meet the young heir and rival, and put him in his place. Ignoring the enchanted weapon, the prince marched with grace, head held high, out of his secret passages and to the throne room of his castle above ground.

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Balric waited till the doors had shut, holding his stinging chest, still fresh from the sword cut of Johnas from days earlier. The boy nodded, having been paid plenty from the Harlian spy, and he watched as the former captain of the guard snuck through the shadows toward the prince’s chambers, avoiding the eyes of the throne and the doppelganger guard at the main entrance. The northern swordsman had heard Vanessa was still here, having been injured at the docks, and was not about to let her rot away in this place. He snuck to the corridor, seeing no one just as planned, only torchlight and shadow. He pulled the key from his belt, still holding the bandages to his chest under his shirt with his other hand. The door unlocked and Balric D’Vrelle went inside, shutting the door behind him and locking it.

Vanessa looked up from the bed, sweating from the doses of opium that had been forced upon her. Her vision cleared, the room was flickering and dark, and her pain was starting to awaken. Then she saw his face, rugged beard neatly trimmed and dark, tan skin full of care, his dark eyes watering and sad, and his curly black hair down his shoulders. He was crying, standing over her, his mouth moving, but she could not hear, the drugs and burns had kept her body from functioning correctly in many ways. She reached to touch his lips, feeling his skin and the movements of her lover’s mouth. Vanessa was unsure if this was real or a dream, it was hard to tell what reality was in her state.

Balric tried to talk to her, but she was doped from opium, he could smell it and see it in her one eye that would open. His heart ripped from his wounded chest at the sight of her burns, her blackened skin, but his heart remained loyal. He picked her up, feeling the seeping of blood into his bandages as he lifted her from the bed and carried her to the door. He fiddled with the lock, trying not to drop his lover, realizing she could not walk on her own. The door creaked open, and he staggered down to the prison corridor, passing the young man who he had paid. Balric nodded, saying nothing, for if words escaped his lips, his air would rush out and he may not be able to continue. Blood ran now, down into his waist, and his legs felt weak. Down another dark twisting tunnel of the White Spider, the spy carried his injured woman to more stairs leading up. The door at the top was unguarded, as agreed, and unlocked. He pushed through, Vanessa moaning in pain at the light that spilled in from the outside. Down the sidestreets of Valhirst that led out from the servant entrances to the castle, heading for the docks, he stumbled, but would not let anything stop him from getting to port. The water was in sight, the smell of salt and seabreeze cracked a smile on his face.

“Halt! Make way for the king!” several voices in heavy armor rounded the corner, steel shields, blue capes, and plate armor, the royal guard marched in line, any and all stepping aside. Balric was barely able to hold her anymore, and placed his back to the wall, tried to cover her face with her hair as to not look suspicious.

Mikhail strode angrily into his largest and most treacherous city, under the rule of his nephew Johnas. His men parted the people, some waving, some with flowers, most just stared the blank look of a people who lived in a city that they wished had honor and glory like it once did. He hated looking into the eyes of a saddened citizen, for he felt it reflected on his rule. He looked around, noticing children, women, Valhirst guards and merchants all watching him, wondering what feud he would bring to their ruler this time. He saw a man, shaking, back against the wall with his head down, carrying a woman. Harlian by the dark curly hair and complexion, and the beautiful Caberran woman he carried looked to have burns of a severe nature.

“Stop men, to the left.” Mikhail marched up to the man, his fifty royal guards with him. He stopped a foot in front of the man, noticing blood on his side and red soaked bandages falling out from under his shirt. “Help this man.” the guards held him up, and lifted Vanessa from his arms, despite his feeble attempt to hold on to her. The king had had enough, this city, this prince, his own blood by marriage a generation past had blood in the streets and a suffering populace while he played pomp and snob.

“Who are you Harlian, and what has happened here?” the king spoke slowly, curious about who would be exiting castle Valhera with such wounds and heading for the docks without seeking a physician or the churches first.

He thought long, for he knew the reach of Johnas Valhera. “I am Balric, a missionary priest from Harlaheim, and this is my wife, your highness. We were attacked by a rogue wizard near the castle, but the Prince’s men killed him. Dasius was his name I believe, yes Dasius. We would wait for help from the church, but our ship leaves now, and we mustn’t miss it your majesty.” he bowed the best he could, nearly falling over. His face being down helped with the lies, for he had heard the king was a good man and Balric had trouble lying, he despised bringing himself dishonor. He looked at Vanessa, relieved he had gotten this far at least.

“Get these two to the Persistence, I insist. Find out what ship they leave upon, and tell it to stay anchor by order of the king. Have my physicians attend to them right away captain.” Mikhail marched forward, after the captain of his royal guard and four others escorted the couple safely to his ship. He thought of the man’s wound, most likely not from a wizard, and the lady’s burns looked tended to, while her husband’s were fresh. Mikhail wondered what went on in this city. He had heard plenty, seen plenty, but then it prospered so well from the efforts of Johnas that he could hardly see fault. If it weren’t for his gut feeling he would most likely turn a blind eye. Now he walked ahead,to meet his son and nephew, and discuss the vessels that left from here in such poor fashion. The king planned on being less than courteous in that matter. Johnas would cough up answers, one way or the other.

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Mikhail strode into the great hall, not bothering with the salutes and courtesies and all the etiquettes. He turned into the throne room with his guards, hearing the sound of shouting. His son and Johnas were arguing, and it was clear out the room into the corridors for all to hear. Now the king felt anger and humiliation that his own blood would act this way. For Johnas, he knew better and had an agenda to humiliate Bryant in his youth. For his son, the king knew he harbored ill feelings and suspicion, blended with his youth, he was prone to anger. The king would stop them both and settle affairs, even thought it would be the talk of the kingdom for months to come.

“Your ship, the Sapphire
did
attack me cousin! The MorningHawk sits in your dock with trebuchet damage that
you
ordered!” Bryant was red in the face, hand on the hilt of his blade, pointing at Johnas, pacing, much like his cousin did.

“I would never order an attack on a ship of my own kingdom
fool
! Farrigus left angry, not being promoted to Captain of the guard, and who knows where he is now! I have men searching the sea! Perhaps you haven’t enough
training in your long years
as to the proper manner of hailing a fellow vessel.” the Prince of Valhirst pointed as well, but with his blade, his messengers and guards present.

“Liar! Your men are known for their loyalty to
you alone
, because rumor has it you
kill
those that ever fail you!” young Bryant’s blade came out now, and so did those of all hundred or more guards between the two relatives.

The commotion got louder with the personal guards standing off. “Young boys
always
talk of rumors to impress their fathers, try finding
fact
, infant!” a shameless hit of words and age, intended on getting him to do something foolish, since Johnas noticed the King’s arrival. He stood straight and bowed as Bryant was heading up to the throne, blade in hand.