The Exodus Sagas: Book III - Of Ghosts And Mountains (11 page)

“
You are—“
His face trying to redden against his will, his teeth gritted just a bit at the thought of this man with his wife, Deidram stifled it with his sweating brow as best he could. “I told you, I have no wife. I will join your---
aallccchhh
.” His throat felt a sharp pain, then numbness, then a burning cold as his blood poured onto his chest. A second pain, this one piercing his chest through the armor and ribs. His body twitched as it fell, his eyes staring at the emerald that brightened, the blood that pooled around his face on the black stone floor, and the Prince of Valhirst that held the blade in his body as he went into death.

“Remind me to send men to Jonsal, little town north of Addisonia. Find this Deidram’s wife. Take her here as a whore. Send the children to the orphanage, you know the one.” Johnas sheathed his blade and returned to the throne. The blade had calmed him with the killing, euphoric, drunk on death and blood of his enemies, he rested back into his cushioned throne.

Vanessa, feeling the gaze of Balric upon, strode to the southeast passage to continue her work in sealing up the underground for the length of the siege upon Valhirst. That was the obvious weak spot, she needed no instruction as to which tunnel to take to covering next with royal guards barging in like hopeful heroes. She knew the members that were at the south sewer entrance, she had known them her whole life. Old Silver, Mantrice the Green, and Torgen, all loyal until death.

“My Prince, I killed two myself, more than Crimson of the North or Balric the Harlian slave.” Oggidan smiled. Still less than twenty winters old by a few, his passion for killing and competition had driven him these last few weeks. His orange curls barely went a day or night without sweat or blood, training with others and making use of his missing hand by turning it into a deadly weapon for the White Spider. His mornings were slow, however, as the nightmares of Kendari taking his hand still haunted his sleep.

“Well done, well done indeed young Oggidan. Thanks to that cursed elf for maiming you and you running into our webs. Now, three of your brothers are dead, Vanessa killed four alone, and your ego will need a beating if you continue to brag. Go see to our men in the north tunnels.” Johnas was too elated from the feelings of pleasure his blade was issuing to properly discipline the boy, yet he was pleased at his progress.

“My Prince, after sealing the tunnels, what is our plan? To hide, or to escape and let them continue their search in futility while we watch from afar?” Fadim, dark skinned and graceful with words and his bows, looked to the man on the throne while he cleaned his blades on his sash.

“Not sure yet, that depends on many things of which I have not heard solid stories upon, dear Fadim. Balric, fetch Vanessa and the warlock mirrors so that we may see that current situations in Devonmir, Harlaheim, and the realms abroad.” Johnas also sent one of his boys to fetch the opium, more wine, and whatever else with but a raise of his fingers from the throne.

“Prince Johnas, Vermillion of the South at the door requesting entrance!” Another boy called out from the doors, trying to ignore the slight smoke wafting toward him from the pit.

“Excellent, show him in. All must be in order as I had hoped.”

“What is in order, Johnas?” Fadim asked with a nonchalance that would have fooled most. Yet he had been kept in the dark on what the actual plans were for escape or war here in Valhirst.

“Would that you cared to know, my northern friend.” Johnas beamed a gaze at Fadim, then to Oggidan and several other members who slid blades and crossbows quietly from their dark regalia. The doors opened, and the figure walked to the left and stood, his shadow looking right at Fadim, blade lowered.

“What is the meaning of this? I do not understand my Prince.” Crimson of the North eased his hands toward his dagger and shamshir, expecting that he had somehow been uncovered.

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“The Prince has called for you and the mirrors, Vanessa.” Balric stood, his brown curls with sweat from fighting and from trying to resist the urges that the necklace commanded from Johnas.

“You say it so coldly, no more sweet words for me?”

“I had many a sweet word for Vanessa I met in Harlaheim, even for the enslaved Vanessa Blackflame of Valhirst. I have none for Sapphire of the East, one of the eight. None.” Balric stared with anger into the woman he had recently learned, courtesy of Fadim, had been using him all along.

“Are you sure it is not my burns? Or that I am Caberran?” Vanessa laughed, wickedly without care, into the face of Balric.

“You once held my heart, and I nearly died for you three times, but
you
are not
you
. It was a falseness I believed, all to the benefit of your master.”

“You know Johnas Valhera, you know what he would do to me, anyone that left him.”

“I do not share his bed nor spread my legs for him, so I am sure you know him better than I.”

Slap!

“Nothing you can do will hurt more than what you have already done.”

“I will concoct something that will make you think otherwise, wait and see Balric D’vrelle.”

“Once he uses me for a bit of killing, some espionage, and tracks my ties to the Crossguard Legion and the Church, I will be dead before I know it. A bit of pain shall not do much but help the time pass,
my love
.”

“He is hoping to turn you and remove the necklace someday.”

“And set you free and heal the world with love and charity as well? I am sure he may tell you these things in the night to keep the bed moving---“

Slap, slap!
Harder this time, inflicting real pain, inciting real anger he could not act upon. Words were his only weapons as long as the magicked jewelry held its hold upon his will. Blood trickled from his nose to his goatee, then off his chin in three little drops.

“
I do not sleep with him and I cannot leave here. Unlike you, this is all I know and all I have. I may have some rank and some power, but I am as much a prisoner as the new recruit, or even more so.
” Vanessa was angry, tearing in the eyes a bit, trying to convince the man she loved that she was not just as he currently thought she was.

“Well use that rank and power to get me out of here then, at least to another city where I have a chance to break free of this arcane contraption around my neck. Prove to me you care enough to see something done on my behalf, and I will feign a tear as well.” Balric turned and headed back toward the throneroom, assuming any more delay would raise suspicion. Not that Johnas did not know of them, not that he cared much anymore. A deadly killer with a broken heart, a spy for those that could not find him, and a Harlian man trapped within the center of the White Spider he was.

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“They have not returned your majesty, it has been half a day now. I recommend we take the tunnel the scout reported, an entire regiment, and root them out!” Lord Yarnen bowed slightly in the command tent, the other lords and war captains of Chazzrynn following in similar fashion. Rain assaulted the canopy above him. The wind bellowed as the white flaps retorted with whips and slaps, making it difficult for all to hear in the vicious Chazzrynn summer.

“Agreed here Prince Bryant, we only waste food, arrows, and lives by continuing the siege in this fashion. Valhera will not surrender the city, and we will not slaughter innocents to get him. He knows this. Underneath is the only way!” Lord Russavagan concurred, having tired of losing men to archers and catapults without the ability to return much fire.

“His treason now only takes the toll of our men and his, not to mention the citizens. It is time to end it your highness! He must be dug in very deep, do not give him the time to get past the diminished perimeter in the bay now that the king heads west! We came here for a purpose, let us commence upon it, my ars is wet and cold here doing little more than nothing!” Lord Ibromm laughed as he wrung his black braids and beard out in the tent, receiving laughter with the wind from everyone present.

Bryant looked upon his three brave and veteran generals, all Lords from the eastern coast of Chazzrynn, all old enough to be his father, yet loyal and respectful they were indeed. They held no love for Johnas, only to the King and the land of the black falcon they called home. The heir to the throne was a third their age, yet had been given command to finally take on Johnas Valhera for his treasons, for his actions against the kingdom, and it was long overdue. The men outside were wet, tired, dripping in chainmail, steel swords, and manning catapults and war machines they had not used. Men had been leaving in the night, disappearing on scouting missions into the city, and morale was thinning. He had to do something soon, yet the King had made it clear he was not to be the spearhead of any attack, as he insisted his only remaining heir was protected from harm.

“To the glory of Chazzrynn then, and let Alden shine upon our men!” Bryant rolled up the damp battle plans and maps, drew his longsword, and placed his falconed helm upon his head. “Bring the scout!”

The muddy trail was tiring, too dangerous for horses, yet a two mile walk under overcast hills and massing puddles went quickly for the third regiment. One thousand men marched behind their Lord Commanders and the Heir Prince, Bryant. They all looked to the bay of the Carisian beyond and to the five galleons posted there during the siege, there had been twenty previous. Then to the spires of cluttered Valhirst, the watching eyes of the stone falcons on the cornerstones of Castle Valhera, and finally they looked to the walls and gates of granite and iron they had been unable to pass. Though dots on the horizon from here, all the men knew that the archers posted along the wall would report their movements to Johnas. Escaping the eyes of the Prince of Valhirst seemed a failing effort, as every action they had taken was preempted, as if he had spies in their ranks and ears in the command tents.

Dark sewage floated atop the stream, the smell would have choked a rat. In they went, past the bodies of theirs and the dead men of Valhirst. The wall looked like nothing, yet a few heavy taps revealed a section of wood and plaster that opened from a tree root when tugged with any force. The doorway opened into a steep shaft of stairs downward into dark and stillness.

The formation was but two by two in the cramped corridors. Despite the orders of King Mikhail, Bryant led the thousand men with Lords Ibromm, Russavagan, and Yarnen in step with him. They passed sconces of greens and oranges entrancing with magical flame, old bones that collected dust in shadowy corners, and tunnel after twisting turn into more passages than one would think possible. Dead ends, stairs to walls of nowhere, the men kept the snakelike march through what began to look like a well-used undercity.

“
Be cautious my Prince
.” Whispered Lord Yarnen, his eyes darting to and fro with each new crossroad.

Slam!

Slam!

Chrrrr…Slam!

The resounding echoes of stone grating and slamming shut sent every soldier on guard, shields raised and swords drawn. Back to back, two by two, the men waited in the eerie stillness where every breath was heard.

Gurgle, Gurgle, Sssshhh, Gurgle!
Fwoosshh!

Through the ceilings dumped rushing river of liquid, sewer water, rats and roaches innumerable within it, all upon the corridor and all inside. Men screamed yet held the forward march issued from the front. Eye watering, gagging, putrid liquid drenched the soldiers of the lead platoons of the third regiment. To the ankles it was now. They marched on, falcon emblazoned shields overhead, through the thickening horror that ran brown and crawled with sickness.

Stairs down, then a passage left, then right, and the men escaped the downpour. The men in the rear trudged quieter after calls for silence were heeded.

Ssshinkk, shhinnkk, shhh-sshhhink
!

Seventy men lay bleeding to death or beheaded as dozens of old farmer scythes swirled from the corners and passageways at a crossroad, Prince Bryant backed up as the blood sprayed. His helmet had a scratch from one blade that had dislodged from something that triggered it. Lord Yarnen was not so lucky, having now half a head as he squirmed in silent agony below the sprung blades.

The soldiers stuck the blades of the dead into the holes where the traps were lodged, wedging them open and harmless. Prayers were muttered as the regiment continued into what seemed now a manmade dwelling by the looks of the stones and decorations. Spider designs, skulls in alcoves, signs of warning and danger preceded every step. A barracks that sat empty, latrines that had been used, and the feeling of closeness to the enemy was upon the silent lips of all.

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“Willborne agents state that Lady Katrina has assembled the council of Lords and is forcing a union of some sort at Willborne Keep. They say something has happened to her, they are moving in to investigate closer.” Vanessa traced her fingers along the black marble slab with the glowing language of magical scripts from afar.

“Interesting, she is ambitious that one. It will never last, those old Agarian men will never follow a woman, let alone a known mercenary. Next.” Johnas looked to all his hundreds of branded children, the whores, beggars, cutthroats, and assassins all waiting for an order. Fadim seemed the most nervous, yet hid it well.