The Exodus Sagas: Book III - Of Ghosts And Mountains (41 page)

Thank you, whoever you are, thank you

“That was close, stay back here with me, knight. These dwarves seem to take the drink seriously, and you need to take staying away from it just the same.” Saberrak gave him a pat on the shoulder, but left his hand there.

“Thank you, Saberrak. Dually noted.” James got half smiles and second glances from Zen, Shinayne, and Gwenneth. He knew no one was as relieved as he was to be standing back next to the minotaur.

The first mugs went up and down fast, faster than any but the dwarves of Marlennak could swallow the thick speak-mead of blackened spirits. The second, then the third, each dwarf pounding his empty to the stone table harder each time. Tannek had a half second lead, the younger Marshall grabbed for a flask just as his opponent slammed the first whiskey container down. The second flask went up to Tannek’s lips and beard, the dwarves of the north pounded the tables and cheered. Then the third whiskey raised and he stopped. Droghinn Duunimer had just finished his first flask of whiskey, he was slowing, in obvious trouble as sweat appeared on his brow. He belched loudly, paused, it looked as if something more than air wished to surface. His trembling hand went to lift flask number two, and it was grabbed.

“North Guard ain’t nothin’ but shart, boy! Let me show ye’ how tis’ done then!” Tannek Anduvann drank his last flask, then drank the second and the third of Droghinn Duunimer. He slammed them down, a second apart, each steel container echoing above the roaring crowd. “
Ahhhh haaaahhh
! For King Rallik o’ the South and the Mountains!” The men of the south hollered with an intense ferocity that was as if they had just won a war.

Droghinn hung his head, held his stomach, and sat down to rest. King Therrak lowered his head as well, took his crown of spears off and rest in on the arm of his throne. The dwarves all mingled within minutes, no one recalling who was on which side after a few mugs and flasks tossed back and down. It was as if the end of the world was avoided by all and this was the celebration. Everyone had to yell to speak, even the kings themselves. The little gnomes never stopped moving in and out to refill.

Zen watched, smiling at it all, it reminded him of home, a bit escalated, but a dwarven kingdom it was without doubt. Saberrak shook his head, accepting a few mugs of mead himself, the taste did not bother him in the slightest. Water, refreshing water, was brought for James and the ladies. Everyone had been taking turns meeting and greeting the five travelers, they shook hands and gave big chested dwarven hugs, and all here seemed to forget the purpose of the meeting and the contest that had started the whole days’ affair.

“This is actually pleasant, once you get used to it, Zen.” Gwenneth watched some dance begin then a few more contests. The mead and playful antics had lightened her rigid demeanor.

“Agreed. And this drink is not that bad, I could get used to it.” Saberrak concurred.

“Without all the threats of violence, this sort of celebration reminds me of gatherings at home, in Kilikala. Well, outside in the fresh weather and with nature, that is. And, with refined foods and wine, and fruit. There is meditation too, and …nevermind. You understand, right Zen?” Shinayne was trying to think of home when two dwarves went tumbling and laughing over a table, brotherly fighting over a flask of whiskey.

“This is dwarven life. But, I understand elf, I do.” Zen grabbed a passing mug. He raised it to each king, then to the High Hammer Brunnwik, then to wherever Drodunn and Tannek Anduvann were in the middle of the room. He drank, savoring the speak-mead, and closed his eyes to think of Boraduum.

“So Zen, is this what it will be like when we find Kakisteele!?” James yelled from the crowds of joyous dancing and drinking.

Both kings looked up, then to each other. The High Hammer, all fifty or more dwarves, the two drunken Marshalls, even father Drodunn. Zen spit the mead out onto the floor from sudden shock, his coughing and choking turned his face red. Saberrak grabbed James by the arm and squeezed, trying to hide what he was doing yet shut him up, forgetting he was three feet taller than any dwarf here.

“
Ssshhh. Do not mention that here, James
.” The gray minotaur whispered.

“
Why not? He has the key and the deed, and we are all going together on
---“ His arm was being crushed, he took the hint, everyone was listening. James was quiet.

“Father Thalanaxe, ye’ would not be goin’ to search for the lost mines to the west, would ye’?” King Rallik of the South questioned rather calmly.

“Uhhm…no, I was just…I…had told James here that…
dammit…yes
, yes King Rallik, yes we are.” Zen hung his head. His face was red, his heart had stopped, then it beat again. He knew that every eye in here was on him, they had met him, and he had kept it secret. He felt sorry for his friends as well, for they too would endure the ridicule.

At first it was whispers. Then commotion, translating from Agarian to Dwarven tongues, then someone broke into laughter. Just one, then the rest in turn. Kings from thrones of two, priests of Vundren, Marshalls and soldiers, noble dwarven men, even the little half sized offspring gnomes piped in with quips and laughter. They pointed, slapped their knees, fell down on the ground, and even turned their backs as if the five of them were not there. Some shook their heads in disbelief, others
baah’ed
and
naye’ed
that it could not be true.

Azenairk knew his friends were standing around him, he felt them there. Still, he would keep his eyes closed until it was over, or tolerable enough to say his farewells. He had seen his father and even his father’s father, too into their mugs, receive the same reaction in Boraduum, several times. It was ridicule and humilitation he did not care to endure. He looked to Gwenneth, she was standing proud with him, as was Saberrak. Shinayne looked angry, not at him, but at these dwarves. James, his head hung low in the deafening laughter, low from having misspoken on accident. Zen was grateful for his friends, he smiled, and closed his eyes to wait a bit longer for it to be over.

Ye’ be serious? Kakisteele, they lookin’ for it?

The mines, the ones that don’t exist?

Him? He follows the drunkard’s fairy tale he does?

Poor women, they all be goin’ to die then?

Baah, waste o’ time even seein’ em here!

Ain’t nothin’ there, fool of a priest!

Sad it is, folk still believe in that shart n’ story.

Send em’ out, get it over with then!

The hammer and axe of the two kings could barely be heard as they tried to stop it. The High Hammer raised his hands for silence. Nothing, they had too much mead and whiskey, even the guards at the door began to talk behind them. Tempers brewed, anger boiled, the hospitality turned into a spectacle of five travelers obviously on a journey that no one approved of. No one could get a word in past the barrage of accusation and offensive queries.

Azenairk was thankful that almost all of it was in dwarven, no one but he could make out what was being said besides a name and curse here and there. Then he felt something on his waist, something in his pouch, and he went to grab her arm. Too late.

Shinayne leapt up on a table, reached down for a mug, lightning elven speed beyond anyone here. She raised it amidst the laughter and finger pointing, and drank, drank it all, and threw the mug to the stone where it bounced and rolled until there was silence. Her face composed somehow against her stomach, she raised the leather pouch in the air, producing an iron box from inside, and she opened it, staring at the silent dwarves of Marlennak.

“
Shinayne, no! No, do not
---“ Zen reached for her legs, but she was too quick.

She raised an ancient key, draconic writing upon it, rusty and heavy in her hand.
“This
, my rude and intolerable hosts, would be the
key
to those mines that
do not exist
.” Her aquamarine eyes flared and stared in anger at those gathered, even the kings on the thrones, even the priests. She put the key back and pulled out the bag and the rolled ancient parchment.

“And
this,
I was told, is the dust of your ancients to pour down the throat of some demon that
guards Kakisteele
. And here, the
deed
that passes the ownership, several millennia old, with my friend’s
family crest upon the top
.” All eyes looked, dwarves rubbing them to get a clearer view, heavy breath and quiet translating in the thronesroom. She heard Zen’s head thud on the stone table behind her, heard her insides roiling with the speak-mead, but she cared not. Shinayne could not allow her friend to simply lie down and take such verbal abuse.

“And where did ye’ be getting’ that then, elf? Did the priest tell ye’ that, tell ye’ it existed then? Baah!” King Therrak of the North pounded his axe tip on the stone.

“Tis’ a fool’s errand, a deathwish in any regard, would that it even existed over two millennia later. Ye’ be a fool of an elf to follow, and yer’ friends too.” King Rallik thudded his hammer. The crowd began to talk, then louder, without the insults as much as a true conversation. They ignored the golden skinned elf standing atop their drinking table.

She took another mug, drank it, hearing the sighs from Zen below. Shinayne tossed it to the floor, empty. “Then I am a fool, but I will cross steel with any dwarf who would say that to my friends, or up close to my eyes. I have had this confirmed, by the dragon Ansharr of Soujan Mountain, it
does
exist, and
we are going
. The next man who wishes an insult, can draw his blade and meet me outside this room.”

“Enough! Enough there elf, mind yer’ words. Therrak, ask yers to leave then, and I mine. Priests and High Hammer stay, and these travelers with father Thalanaxe. The rest, out. It be a private matter o’ the thrones
as of now
.” Rallik stood, walked to the center of the room, all bowing as he passed.

“Aye, out men, back to yer’ duties then. Me brother and I have some discussin’ on the matter.” Therrak stood, waving his hand and axe as the room emptied. He too, met in the center of the room. It was quiet now, very quiet.

Shinayne hopped off the table, her stomach ready to burst, her anger cooling. She handed the box to Zen, his head still face down on the table. She poked him, and he put out his hand for the rusty container with his family heirlooms.

“Sorry Zen, I felt it and ran with it. You know how I am, with you all the way to the end. I think I am going to be sick now.” She patted his bald head as he stood, then looked for where she could vomit the mead.

“Aye, ye’ deserve it.”

“Me too, my apologies. I should not have mentioned it.” James patted his shoulder too.

“Aye, ye’ should have kept yer’ lips shut.”

“I was supposed to tell them not to bring this up, right?” Saberrak lowered his horns a bit and looked to Zen.

“Aye, nicely done.”

“Forgot.” Saberrak smacked Zen’s armor in apology.

“Aye, I would be sayin’ so.”

Zen looked up to the dwarven kings, he bowed, holding the box with the key, the dust, and the deed to the lost mines of Kakisteele. He waited, silently sweating and exhausted.

“Oh, stand up then, last o’ the Thalanaxes. Let us see what ye’ have here on yer’ foolish journey. Surely Vundren brought ye’ here for a reason.” King Rallik looked to the box that his guest placed on the table.

“Tell us how ye’ have this then, from who gave it from whom n’ all that. Ye’ got yer’ attention now, spill it out then.” King Therrak looked at the old rusty iron box, surely ancient indeed.

“Ye’ really intent on heading west to find this then?” The High Hammer Brunnwik joined the table as well.

“Aye, aye we do.” Zen breathed deep, preparing to retell the tales from his father, father before that, and all that led he and his friends to this day here in Marlennak. He sat down, everyone gathering around, for it would take quite some time.

Tannek looked to Drodun, Drodun looked to Brunnwik, then they looked to the corner where the elf was vomiting up all the good speak-mead.

“
Mop!
”

Johnas III:III

Castle L’Herrim, City of Harlaheim

“The filet is to die for, truly, I must know your chef King Richmond. The food in Chazzrynn is not even in the same realm of this exquisite Harlaheim cuisine, and do not get me started on the wine.
Alden have mercy
!” Johnas Valhera laughed, flattering with every course served. He sat across from the young king, next to Prince Edians Del Barrato of Caberra, and beside Sir Phillip who was now the acting Seneschal of Harlaheim by promotion.

First the crab potstickers with honey walnut reductions and figs were served with a rose’ dergolian wine of a fresh three year vintage. Balric was asked to leave and take care of urgent business of holy spiritual importance during the first course. Sir Sebastian had been called upon by his squire moments later. As if nothing were amiss with an empty seat for the queen and the cardinal as well, Johnas continued his commentary on the noble dinner with those twenty that still dined.

Second was the summer salad of grapefruits, spinach, sea scallops, and soured cream and dill dressing. It was served with a fine ruby red of over twenty years from the northern jantheer district of Harlaheim. Johnas had stated that it was eloquent and refined beyond the southern pallats of his kingdom.