The Exodus Sagas: Book IV - Of Moons and Myth (55 page)

“Who puts handles on each side o’ a blasted door then!” Zen looked around, and saw fitted platinum shelves up above his head. He turned, looking fo
r the bar that would set inside
.

“
Dwarves,
dwarves
would be my guess.”
Shinayne struggled, trying to hold the doors closed, then she was shoved aside.

Saberrak pushed Zen and James back as well, dropped his axes, and growled. His eyes were glowing blue with faint flickers of flame. He wrapped his forearms into each handle, one on the right, one on the left. Every muscle in his body heaved, bulged, and he lowered his horns. The minotaur kicked his feet down hard, then arched his back with an intense jerk, then again, then threw his head and horns back and roared.

Slam!

His arms were trembling, holding the doors shut as claws reached the gaps, and demons untold pulled against him.
“Get…the…bar…and…lock..it..soon!”

James and Zen scrambled, Gwenneth and Shinayne searched their surroundings, and spotted a massive bar of solid platinum. It was twelve feet long, a foot thick, and leaning against a rock wall.

Crunch, crunch…

“Oh Vundren, help me now, don’t be doin that.” Zen tried not to look as they stepped. Bones and skulls
he surmised, likely
of ancient dead dwarves crumbling underfoot.

They grabbed each end, two to a side, yet it was too heavy. Gwenneth backed up, leaving the three to struggle with dragging it slowly to the doors.

“
Hivalsh, uthumbra, divaste
!” She pointed her hand, and the platinum bar rose and shook. Her hand shook, it was heavy indeed. Foot by foot, it
levitated through the air, as t
he elf, the dwarf, and the knight assisted and guided it towa
r
d the hanging shelves. Saberrak ducked under it, the doors open two inches, and claws began to reach for him. Then arms, the smoldering fingers scraping his scale armor, and their breath was pouring through and fouling the air.

“
Hurry…can’t…hold…it…”
The doors pushed and Saberrak
pushed back with all his might. Then he
rolled back to get his axes from the floor, sure that a thousand demons would be ontop of them
right now
.

Slam!

The bar fell into place, on both doors, and the slamming barely moved them a hair.
A few tugs to no avail
let them know their was no way for the horde to come through. They all collapsed onto their backsides, finally taking breaths that were not hurried.
The demons continued to
assault the doors to Kakisteele
for a few minutes more, then it stopped.

Their eyes opened, one by one, and the five sat silently staring into the green lit cavern. The celings were high, groomed with decorative etchings,
over fifty
feet up
into the mountains. They looked over to the south, where they had found the bar,
had
heard the bones break under their boots, and they all stood as they now saw the source. No piles of dwarven soldiers, no remnants of war long past, it was the remains of something else that had their attention.

“
Is that?”
James whispered as he walked closer.

“
Yes, yes it is.”
Shinayne knelt low and touched the skull.

Her hand caressed the ancient bones of a dragon, stretching farther than the green light carried, its pose was that of a resting magnificent creature. Forearms crossed over, head laying atop of them, wings folded far behind. It had been the claws and finger bones they had stepped on.

Saberrak walked up with Zen and Gwenneth, admiring the massive length of the long dead dragon. He saw dust on the floor around it, patterned as scales, and his feet scattered it as he walked. He followed the bones down, the passage was declinging slowly, and not a single track in the dust could be seen. He smelled nothing here, and nothing moved nor made noise.

“Ansharr said there was a dragon here, I remember. It looks so peaceful, it does.” Azenairk put his key
s back on his belt, felt
in
side the iron box
for the dust, it was there.

“Door ahead, let’s go.” Saberrak broke the melancholy stares as they all passed by the ancient wyrm of bone and dust.

Deeper into the dark they walked, quiet as they could, each abreast of one another in the ever widening tunnels. The double doors ahead were closed, yet dwarven words were written upon them. More gold, more dust of precious stones powdered into the words, this time it was emerald.

“
Virnu borda
, second born son.” Zen looked up to the words, then to Saberrak.

“Siril was the second born of the Caricians.” The minotaur replied.

“Thank ye’, me horned sage.” He took out the keyring, and placed the key with the crescent moon and stars into the lock. Again, a brief flash of peaceful white light emitted from the door. Before he could pull his hand back with the key, he already had without seeing it. The doors creaked open, and they saw light that was not their own somewhere beyond.

First Zen walked in, then Saberrak, and the rest followed. It was not what they expected to see, none of them. A cavern stretched below them as they stood on a balcony of sandstone. It was half a mile deep, twice that wide, and nearly a thousand feet down. S
talagmites and stalac
tites of yellow a
nd gold grew
motionless in many a spot, preserved and untouched. They were as great pillars
when they touched one another, forming columns the size of the largest of towers. Flowstone draped the walls on every side, still moist and smooth, and straws of spiked rock hung from the cavern ceiling.

Stairs on either side of them
spiraled down, connecting at sma
ll platforms to yet more stairs. Their breath still held, the beauty of what was inside this ancient natural wonder awaited. It was a city, homes by the thousands, smooth rock homes with colored glass windows that sagged with time, and thick wooden doors that curled with antiquity. Lights, greens and blues and golden whites, all shone from eternal spots atop platinum pillars of dwarven craft. It was too much to take in with a glance from so high, but they tried.

“
No, by Vundren, no
.” Zen whispered in a sorrowful tone, seeing a black spot in the center. It may have been a temple, perhaps a shrine or dwarven castle, but now it was something black and dark. He saw spears, many, many steel spears, planted into the stone floor. Only a few still held their victims, skeletons that had once been impaled from end through end, dwarven victims. But below the spears, on the floor, were piles of black bones, a small mountain of the long dead people of Kakisteele.

As he ran toward the stairs, he could not take his eyes off the horrific scene. He saw a stone slab, not of sandstone, but of dark
gray rock with words not in dwarven. He saw a symbol, a triangle with three eyes inside. He saw a banner, not unfurreled, yet he knew it held the three dragons of Altestan, he just knew. Azenairk neared the bottom, closer as he ran down old steps of his ancestors, and he could see the skeletons. Some large dwarves, some not so big, and some were tiny indeed. All dwarves,
all
long dead.

“
Bastards! Rotten bastards
!” He yelled it into the city, he heard his friends right behind him, through the streets he kept his pace, hoping when he arriv
ed it would not be so. His hopes were
not granted.

Past the great columns, around stalagmites from forgotten ages, and down
streets of sandstone bricks, Zen
ran. He stopped, falling into a slow walk, then slower steps, and he dropped to his knees.

Shinayne and Saberrak rounded the corner first, slowing as well, then Gwenneth and James appeared behind them. They saw Azenairk, face down, trying not to look at what was before him. They saw it. The hundreds of steel spears that were driven into the stone, nearly ten feet tall they were. Only half still had charred bone remains, held up at the top as the tips were buried into the skulls. The rest had fallen, or been taken down and thrown into the pile behind, a mound of thousands of skeletons of black bone and melted metals. It was obvious that they had been executed, murdered in some horrific genocide, and they all hung their heads as their dwarven friend wept on the ground before it.

Saberrak walked over to the odd slab of upright stone with all the words written upon it. He could read it,
it was in Altestani, and the symbol of Yjaros was plain to see at the top and bottom.. T
he flag of the emperors, the three
black
dragons
on white cloth, sat still on a pole behind the slab. The minotaur hung his head.

James and Shinayne put their hands on Zen, trying to help him by letting them know they were there. Gwenneth walked around the spear
s, curious, as one of the spears
had a
platinum placard chained to it, but no body, hanging
eternally on the spike of steel. It was in dwarven, not Altestani, yet she
kept quiet.

“There, there…be children here…and not just…what the hells…children..and me people…why did…”
He sobbed, wiping his eyes and trying to breath
e
through his nose. But every time he looked up, it was too much to endure.
“Did anyone…say the prayers at least…give em’ any last rites…or ..no, they were just left…why…
who could…do..this…
”

His friends did not have answers to those questions, none they would like to say right now anyway. They knew the answers, they had all been told of what happened at Mooncrest and Kakisteele and Tintasarn, long ago
when the northern empires destroyed the kingdom of the Crescent Moon. Still, no
thing, no words or fancy fables
could prepare one, especially a dwarf, for what was here.

“
What does it, does it say, Saberrak?”
Zen was trying to stand, his fingers pulling on his beard and wiping hard across his face.

“My friend, out of respect for you, I will not read this.”

“Damn it,
horned one
, I be asking ye’ to tell me. I cannot read it, stop the respect nonsense and by Vundren help me here.” Zen stood and walked forward, hand on his hammer and moons.

“
No
.” Saberrak huffed and backed away from the stone slab.

“Fine, Gwenneth, read it to me please.”

Gwenneth looked to Saberrak as he walked away, then to silent James and Shinayne, then to th
e placard on the spear
. “
Fa
lse king and traitor to God
, may
Mudren Sheldathain suffer the curses eternal for his unclean life
.”

Zen looked to t
he spear placard
, chains still h
olding
. He saw the platinum card with the engravings in his native tongue. He hung his head.

“I can read that one, I meant the one there, the slab o’ stone.” He pointed, fighting the tears as he stood
next to the only remains of the dwarves of
Kakisteele.

“Are you sure you want me to read this?” Gwenneth took a big breath, her eyes watering just a little, for the pain she saw in her friend.

“Aye.”

She traced her fingers along the words, reciting it in her mind as she translated it into Agarian. Another deep breath, and she summoned the courage to read it aloud.

“By the voice of God, the
unfailing
piety of the holy emperors three, may the eyes of Yjaros see mankind preserved.
It has been found that unclean creatures have polluted this realm, and procreated in number, against the sacred laws of God. These disease ridden things, known as dwarves, have not the Grace to be allowed the air of the Lord. They stand in grave violation of natural law, and are hereby condemned to death. False worship was witnessed, breeding was discovered, and these living blasphemies have even dared to declare themselves a kingdom. Henceforth, they shall be put to the spear and the flame, and removed from this corrupt territory, like the animals they are. This land is deem
ed infected, and now cursed,
the child Arabashiel
shall
remain to keep
the judg
e
ments of Gimmor and God intact for all time.
”
Gwenneth took a deep breath, hearing the sniffles of Zen.

“
Was…was that all of it then?”

“No, there is more.”

“
Get it over with.”

“As you wish.” Gwenneth paused and read the bottom portion of the slab.

“
Praise be to God, may the spirits of these wicked things never reach their false heavens. May their offspring watch as God sees their blood collected. May the heathen women scream as the blood is boiled to ash, and may this race be nevermore
. The pagan men shall be silenced, never
to visit unto the eyes of the Chosen
Men
that have inherited the world under God.
A curse upon them, a curse upon their deaths, and a curse upon their remains has been invoked by the will of God. Amen.