The Exodus Sagas: Book I - Of Spiders And Falcons (70 page)

Again, a young servant girl bowed before him with a carafe of wine on a tray with glasses. “Wine for you, my lord knight?” her voice sweet, her eyes down at him and smiling through brown curls. He could smell the rich red Caberran vintage in the air, tempting him to take but a sip, just to explore its depths and quality.

Words came out, words not from himself, but from somewhere else that James had not thought to say.

“No wine for me, thank you. Not tonight.”

About the author

Jason R Jones was born September 1975 and grew up in Monroe, Wisconsin. He is an honorable veteran of the United States Marine Corps, a saber fencing enthusiast, and a loving father to his son, Alexander. His flare for short stories, poetry, drama, and fantasy has existed since he can remember. Jason is the oldest of four siblings; Jeremy, Anya, and Cody and he has resided in Southwest Florida for over a decade. Interests in fine dining, music, meditation, ancient history, movies, world religion, and mythology keep him very busy and inspired. He plans to bring out many tales of his own life hidden deep within his fantasy sagas. The novel,
“
of spiders and falcons
”,
is the first of eighteen in his epic series
“
The Exodus
”
, to be followed soon by the next installment,
“
of dragons and crowns”
.

Graphic Design by Robert Martinez

Artwork by Jenna T. Lefevre

Special thanks to

Ann Eubanks, Cheryl Dunn, Blanca Jones, Mike Miller, Eric Iverson, Tony Gratz, Matt and Laurie Teasdale, Jason “Jazz” Belke, Cody Dunn, Anya Jones, Shawn Teasdale, Scott “Mole” Walters, Zachary Graham, Craig McElroy, Chuck Mount, Mark Dunn M.D., Aaron Schultz, Wade Schafer, Jenna T. Lefevre, Dan Shirley, Robert Martinez, Vicki Martinez, Robert and Dolores Jones, Vanessa Rogers, the makers of espresso, and my sons Alexander and Adonis Jones.

Epilogue

Tower of Salah Cam, Sullan Swamps

Smoldering torchlight filled the cramped and cluttered room of the decaying stone keep. The cold breeze of the swamp wafted odors and aromas through the rotted windows. Rats scurried, bats and midnight sparrows passed back and forth in the chamber of books and bottles thrown about. Smoke rose from the glass decanter on a wooden table etched with runes of the dark arcane, and adorned with designs of demonic figures holding skulls. After a moment of inspection, the small creatures passing through left by the fastest means available. They seemed driven out by something unnatural, evil, and darker than they cared to inspect further.

“That be’ith right little rodents, this is certainly no place for the faint of heart
, not now
.” Salah-Cam waved his swollen jointed bony finger at the rats as they ran. His hole ridden black robes flowed with the breeze, hands paging through forbidden tomes he had gathered over many decades. The knowledges he had were stained with the blood and lives of countless souls. Some he had murdered of his own, but most he had mercenaries and thieves do the deeds for him. Book after book, tome after lost tome, and scrolls by the dozens, Salah-cam had collected all he needed to know to perform the darkest ritual, one that would let him exist forever like the black archmages of ancient times.

He itched his rusting runed skullcap, not that it could itch, but the habit and nervousness of being so close to finishing his mortal life’s work had his insanity brimming more than was usual. The old sorcerer looked to his potions laid out around the smoking decanter filled with black liquid. “Rejuvenating, yes. Healing of the flesh, just in case, yes. Mindsleep if the brain burns, yes, yes. And the potion of
helixian dispel
, should this go very, very poorly. Yes, all there.” he had reread the passages, taken stock, and made every preparation possible over the last week of incantations and rituals. His flesh was carved with symbols and designs of the arcane and unholy rites of infernal power and death. His skin could barely pump blood without pain. He had wished for the tomes, for any serets they could add. The scroll of a long lost God may have helped, but he would find it soon enough and harness its powers. He was confident to begin his soon to be new life of immortality without such treasures.

His old face looked back at him in the mirror across the room, “Won’t be seeing
you
again!” The crazy renegade wizard laughed maniacally at himself, knowing that he would be younger, stronger, and different when the ritual was complete. Fear still held him, having also read plenty of histories he had stolen about wizards suffering terrible consequences for an improper ritual of this sort. Of course, anyone finding out what they intended to do usually resulted in them being hunted and killed for such atrocities. Most kingdoms and wizard organizations, let alone almost every religion, did not tolerate much of a few hundred sacrifices or invoking arcane energies of the hells and dead in order to give someone immortality. Salah-Cam had laughed to tears after reading the failed attempts of others in the stolen ledgers, mostly of what had been done to them leading up to execution. He put those thoughts aside, and lifted the decanter.

“
Fiazhul, ferrosse, geth du dalthim oor em fiazhul
!” the wretched wizard chanted the words of long lost and an otherworldly dead tongue. He sensed the smell of troll blood, but continued. He had ordered his trolls that remained here to stay below, no matter the reason, and not to disturb him in the crumbling tower this night. Salah-Cam, hearing nothing, assumed his senses were simply enhancing with the ritual, perhaps smelling further away than humanly possible already.

The words finished, having invoked their power seven times over, the wicked sorcerer lifted the decanter, heavy with swirling shadow and the blackened souls of hundreds, aged for years into a deadly dark liquid. To his lips it went, the liquid burned yet tingled, smelling and tasting of the foulest rot and sweetest wine all at once. His eyes darted upward, seeing something in the mirror move, and then the decanter fell from his hands, the remaining half of the liquid splattering with the shattered glass all over the table.

Salah-Cam felt the burn and saw the end of a smoldering longsword under his chin, protruding from his chest. He yelled dire, a scream of terror the whole of the swamp could have heard. He stepped forward as the blade withdrew, feeling his heart unbeating already, but not wishing to remain impaled. His left hand burned with arcane energy, then was gone at the elbow, cut off from another weapon. The pain almost nonexistent, yet his arcane powers fizzled to the ground with the severed arm. His other arm flashed with a glow of protection, beginning to bring a spell to bear. It too, chopped off from a hot cut of a longblade. Another slash of steel sliced through the back of his thighs to the bone, dropping the wizard to his knees and then the ground. He feigned more pain than he truly felt, knowing the elixir had started.

Kendari looked down at his former employer, and the mess of blood, smoke, and arms that lay about. He glared, green eyes staring down, full of hate and revenge. His clothing and armor torn and full of claw marks, covered and smelling of green-black troll blood, the Nadderi elf sheathed his off hand weapon. His face and forearms scratched and scabbed over, the cursed swordsman looked around the room and at the table.

“You should be
dead!
How is this
possible?
! “Salah-Cam squirmed, helpless and bleeding from cuts and severed limbs.

Kendari looked at one of the potion vials and picked it up. “Healing of the flesh? Bet you would like this one right now.” the elf drank it, and watched as his wounds healed somewhat, scabs turning to faint scars. His body still exhausted and stiff from fighting and travel.

“Don’t! I
need
those! Trolls! Help me! They
will
kill you,
slowly I hope
.” more twisting, attempting to use the table to stand, and falling back to the floor and his own pooling blood.

“Already dead, all of them. Yes, the ones downstairs as well.
Hmmm
, it says Rejuvenation? You could use some rejuvenating it looks like. Let me test it for you.” the elf drank another vial, feeling like he had rested for a week as it went down, just that fast. “
Mmmmmm
. That was
delicious
.” he cut across the table with Shiver, breaking everything else that remained in one swing of his blade.

“My arcane powers will see you destroyed, over and over, until you beg for mercy
Kendari
! Mark my words
bastard
.” he spit at the cursed assassin, twice, and tried to stand again, falling again.

“I seem to be difficult to kill, Salah, and
you
seem to have no arms. I wouldn’t place any coin on that bet, if I were you.” Kendari stood over the wizard that had betrayed him, unsmiling, unmerciful, uncaring.

“The White Spider will find out, they will
hunt you
down
! Nowhere you go will be safe, I will make sure of it. You days are over elf, still walking and breathing, but a corpse in waiting is
all
I see! You, my cursed assassin, are simply a dead man!” Salah felt the magic of the ritual doing something, he was not dying, but unable to get past his injuries, despite the fact the pain had been dulled greatly. “You have betrayed me, and my allies are now
many
! This night has sealed your fate, worse than your cursed
face
already has!”

The heated blade in his hand cut across faster than the eye could have seen, being sheathed before the head hit the floor, skullcap clattering across the stone. Kendari of Stillwood turned his back, and slowly walked away.

“
Not even close
.”