The Exodus Sagas: Book II - Of Dragons And Crowns (11 page)

“What should I do Kalzarius?” Savanno seemed lost, lost like never before. No war, no outnumbered battle had ever dug in his chest this deep.

“Do? About what? Your secret wife imprisoned, the scroll and it’s bearers in mortal danger, or the fact that the queen bears your child?” the old man had no reason to hold back at this point. “Wizards know these things, I assumed that you did not.”

“Oh dear God. I
must go back and get her now.” h
e began to break composure, to show worry and fear on his face.

“No. They will kill you, they are waiting and hunting for you now. Florin has your armband, you will be charged, and the queen as well.” Kalzarius put his hand on the lord’s shoulder to keep him from turning around.

“Then what do I do
, and how do you know these things so quickly
?”

“You take the four companions to Soujan Mountain, to Ansharr. Cristoff and I will get the queen while Cilano holds the tower
and you are away from the danger and drama
. We will meet at Bradswellen Castle in Saint Erinsburg after the scroll is safe and the queen as well. Trust me, I can get her out of t
here, but I will wait till the time is right. Be patient.
You will be followed, so you will need to
keep off of the main roads.” t
he wizard raised his staff, which opened the gates to his stronghold, the guards taking positions as they walked in.

“You swear you will get her out, promise me?!” Savanno looked behind him now, trying to spot
the assassin and seeing nothing but city folk swarming the streets as normal.

“It was not on my list of things to do today, but yes, I assure you. You and the queen will be fine. Just remember, you have the worst timing of any man I know, Savanno Lisario. No
w
get prepared with the others. You leave at nightfall from under the tower.” Kalzarius raised his staff again, the portcullis closed on it’s own, and he looked behind him as well. He knew that many wer
e arrayed against him, too many this time.

“Guards, seal the walls, the gates, and bar them. Get the archers to the cour
tyard, and prepare for siege.” i
t had been many years since Kalzarius had been under attack. No matter how many times he had survived it, the feeling was never a good one.

Cristoff II:I

Bradswellen Castle, Saint Erinsburg, Harlaheim

Another wave of arrows loosed from behind him, sending his hair whipping into his face from the close proximity of the projectiles.
They were not aimed at him, but ordered by him to fire into the enemies approaching the city he was titled and ordered to protect for the kingdom of Harlaheim.
Hundreds fired again as the Lord of Saint Erinsburg and his mount remained motionless, like one statue overlooking the great marshes of Kar
No
ssos. Soaked and cold from the morning rains with the city wall well behind
he
and his men, Cristoff Bradswellen
the Third
watched as more and more of the rotted beasts rose from the swamp. His men were nervous, having never seen so many at one time and it being the fourth assault this week already.
His damp gray hair flowed over his ornate steel plate armor atop the black stallion. His bear
d caught the moisture that
drizzled from the
cloud entombed
sky and his red cape fluttered in the slanted breeze. Despite the closeness of at least fifty of the undead creatures shambling toward the city in search of a meal, the armored lord had not even drawn his longsword. He thought of his daughter Marie and son Dominic, both away with their mother Isabella
. All
in their country home in Malais, Caberra
, a week to the north and east. Since King Richmond the Second had taken rule, the pollution of the dead that walked had worsened from Devonmir. The wicked city of sorcerers and the arena produced many a horrid creature and corpse, most of which ended up in the Karnassos Marsh, then they found their way here in ever incr
easing numbers over the last ten
year
s. He had sent his family away seven
year
s
ago, since his letters to the king, the cardinal, and his best friend
and cousin
Savanno had accomplished little. His son was almost twenty now, and his daughter
but a few years behind. T
his was nothing that a father wanted his family to see.

His mind wandered more, deep in thought, as the straggling forms of men, corrupted animals, ogre, and unrecognizable beasts sloshed through the marsh waters toward he and his line of men. Not breathing, eyes clouded over, rotted, and dead but risen once more from foul sorcery; the army of the hungry
dead approached within fifty yards, arrows and flaming bolts protruding from them all.
Cristof
f felt age catching up with him. T
he rain made him ache, the wars of glory long over, and his children grown. His fathers had passed him much, yet he
felt his legendary city was in a kingdom on the decline
, devoid of it
s honor and wicked in its royalty.
His wife had not passion left since their daughter was born, and Cristoff felt a man alone in a sickening world.
The lord watched the arrows cease, even though he had not moved a muscle, not even a blink. Feeling that the men were growing nervous as dozens of gray skinned, fly swarmed, decaying dead began to moan at the smell of
living
men; Cristoff pulled his blade of gold and rubies with his family name etched on the
holy
magical steel. He raised it high,
cross pommel against his wrist,
then pointed toward the horde as they began a mismatched charge of their own toward him
, toward human flesh
.

Two hundred men and boys charged, fifty on horseback with lances ahead, the others on foot with swords and shields. The standard bearing young men waved the crown and rose on red cloth with gold, and they waved them proud for their lord, but none here felt much
loyalty
to Richmond the Second. H
alf these
men were older and could rule better if given the chance. As lances pierced wretched and ghastly corpses, blades cut them down as the
y
tried to stand again. The army of Saint Erinsburg had held the horrors of Devonmir at bay for centuries, and not one king ever stopped whatever
caused
it. Cristoff knew that the taxes and bribes from the
arcane arena city of the dark magicks were
triple that of all the cities
in Harlaheim combined, and nothing could be done about it.
Rich necromancers with noble ties and endless wealth, all a greedy king would care to be bothered with. The walking dead would not interest him when there was a lord
and an army
to halt them.

A giant form rose from the stench and swamp, nearly twelve feet tall and decayed flesh of gray and green sagged over the enormous bones. Red eyes clouded with gray, covered in leeches and marshweed, the hulking dead child of a Misathi giant roared and charged toward the lord, breaking his depressed thoughts. Cristoff charged, with little emotion, no fear, and aimed his blade out at yet another of the walking dead. The huge hands swung to grab at he
and his horse. T
oo s
low for the veteran soldier,
Lord Bradswellen
cleaved the blade through the thick wrist leaving it dangling by purple lifeless sinew. He turned his steed, Leonis, and kicked the charge in again. The flat wetlands gave plenty of room to outmaneuver the dead, and Cristoff had battled
here on rainy mornings hundreds
of times. He reached down on his second pass, grabbing a stuck lance with his left hand from a writhing husk of a man. The lance plunged into the chest of the decomposing giant, which felt no pain, and he ducked under the massive reach as he swung at the other arm repeating the same cut. Turning Leonis once more, chased by a ton of rotted giant corpse flailing two loose hands and dripping black blood of the dead, Cristoff
watched for a moment. His men had charged and
leveled the mass of undead from the marsh with horse and lance. The second wave marched in, cutting them down and decapitating them with blades as they stood, then the return charge of his cavalry trampled again. Besides giving a few orders and picking out the largest foe, he was barely needed. His men were well trained, and unfortunately, far too experienced in t
his weekly battle with the wash
up from Devonmir. The giant ran at the Lord of Saint Erinsburg, his dead crimson eyes glaring at the amber eyes of his meal. Cristoff charged, turning at the last moment, slashing at the neck and flank of the massive corpse, encircling it to keep from being pummeled. Four cuts, then six, all to the throat and chest and flank of his opponent. The smell of the flesh disgusted him, the black blood covering his steel edge, and the beast fell to the wet ground as the head lopped to one side, severed.

His men cheered, half heartedly,
and
the few dead and injured were tended to. There were no crates of wine or victory dances in the hall. No ladies in waiting cheering t
hem on, no, these fights held little
glory. The horror of fighting the dead of one
’
s own kingdom was sobering and somber, not worth celebrating. It was sad to the men, to their lord, and the
people of the Saint Erinsburg
, that the great kingdom of Harlaheim had fallen from the center of Agara
. Th
eir most beautiful city was relegated to holding back the undead
where once it was a holy mecca of temples to Alden
. Cristoff turned his steed, and headed back to the gate.

LCMVXI
ILCMVXIILCMVXIILCMVX

The choir sang softly, illuminating
in voice
the arched ceilings of the dark yet beautiful cathedral of L’Avia Sangrit. In warmer months this church would be busy with travelers from many countries coming to view the stained glass and ancient stones. Holy men, families, and historians flocked to the kingdom of Harlaheim to gaze upon the mission of Saint Tarumin, the cathedrals in Harlaheim, this ancient church
in Saint Erinsburg
, and many other sacred sites that the old country was famous for. Once, before Cristoff’s father
’
s time of rule, the Aldane Bishops of all kingdoms and the Cardinal
s
met here, in Saint Erinsburg
, for their
holy summit
s
. Due to the wars and rapid successions of royalty through suspected foul play, the most holy men of Alden gather in Acelinne, the capital of great Shanador
now
.
That
holy honor and glory much a
lost
relic
influenced by prosperity
, he reali
zed
,
as he walked toward the alta
r of the feathered cross to pray.

The young ladies of the church did not miss a note in their hymns to Alden, and sang of the sacrifice and forgiveness that the lord of the city came to speak to God about. Cristoff knelt before the golden cross held
high on the wall behind the wooden rail and podium, he
felt he
was not alone.

“Heavenly father, I have been besieged with a troubled heart and mind, please forgive me. The curses of Devonmir haunt this most holy of cities, my family lives away as result, and I have not the strength nor heart to carry on the fight without cause. My men kill the already dead, the kings dishonor the crown and church, and the men of your word keep distance from our dishonored lands. My battles for you and Harlaheim seem but a distant hope as all I have fought and prayed for seems lost and decaying beyond my power. In my heart you gave me the courage to lead great men, but the world has take
n
the honorable enemy and left me with corrupt ones on my back door. Should you see fit in your mercy and grace, o’ lord of heaven, challenge me once more, inspire me once more, let me bring honor to my family and my sword again in your name. Be it here, or Caberra, or Shanador I care not. I have always fought for you and family first, and my honor and loyalty to the throne second.
Take me from here, from the misery that is Harlaheim, should it be your w
ill that I carry on in your grace
. In your holy name, Alden Lord of Heaven, bless me and keep my family safe. Amen.”

His head remained low and bowed at the altar for unknown hours. Men and women came and went, the choir changed from female to male in their practices, yet one man remained in prayer with the lord of the city the entire time.
Cristoff glanced at the man, younger by maybe two decades
or less
, from the south by his complexion and lighter eyes of blue. He noticed the
white
tabard and
red
feathered cross
,
crossed with a blue sash.
A knight of Chazzrynn here in Saint Erinsburg?
h
e thought. The man had been in prayer since he had entered, yet silent unlike Cristoff who prayed aloud. He was unsure what to make of the knight so devout and far from home.