The Exodus Sagas: Book I - Of Spiders And Falcons (10 page)

Laughter, hissing, cackling, mind numbing troll laughter is what the elf walked past as he approached the upper wall of the old guard summit. His mercenaries parted and quieted a bit, allowing him to peer over the crumbling wall and see what the entertainment was on the surface. The elf instantly recognized the sword, broadsword laid with gold and ending in a griffons head pommel, winged crosspiece, wielded by a brave and foolish human. Kendari thought broadswords a bit too short and heavy for his taste, lacking the balance and length of his blades and being relegated to getting closer to his opponent took much of the foreplay out of the killing he enjoyed. Besides the blade he desired, the man wielding it was yelling challenges in Agarian, dirty, blood smattered, unshaven for years, and obviously insane.
A lost knight of Southwind?
the elf wondered by his tabard, yet nearly stumbling and surrounded by ten beasts all ready to fight over who gets to beat him to death first, and not a one of them speaking anything but ogre.

Kendari knew that this was still ogre land, despite King Mikhail of Chazzrynn declaring it open a few years back, and the ogre did not like visitors. They had become embittered years back after the plague and would kill troll, minotaur, human, or anything else on their territory. Kendari knew they even had a king, and that no barter or amount of coin would get this fool, or even himself, out of ogre hands. Not that the Nadderi elf cared in the least who might dare oppose him, ogre king or human. “Quiet idiots, we wait until they finish this one off, and then take them and the blade as they calm down. Wait for my order.” The elf crouched by an outcropping of rubble he could slide down quickly and prepared for ambush, that was unless the ogre left the sword in the street below. He thought his strategy quickly, admitting the trolls despite eight in number, would barely be enough to keep the ogre distracted, but would not kill more than four or so. The ogre were trained some in battle and had weapons, the trolls would be pummeled yet would most likely stand up and continue the fight after a few moments of their monstrous regenerative capabilities. In the meantime, Kendari thought he would cut his way to the leader who would most likely take the kill with him as a trophy, and then cut him down quickly, leaving the squabbling mess until he got tired of hearing it. Then he would finish the remaining weary and exhausted ogre off and make his way back to the troll camp to the east to take the haul back to Salah-Cam.
Easy enough
, so thought out that the cursed hunter barely got a smile across his face in anticipation.
How many times
, he wondered,
had he killed small platoons or tribes of this race or that to loot and test his mastery of the sword? How many ventures left him craving a worthy opponent?
Kendari knew he could take all ten of the ogre himself and the thought crossed his mind to charge in now, forget the trolls, and defy his aging body. He was fighting his redundancy more than any enemy or target. He could kill five for Seirena and five for Siril and slaughter the foolish human for the Court of the Whitemoon. His thoughts tightened his grip on the hot blade in his right hand and that familiar smile creased the elf’s face.

“Where is Avegarne, murderous coward of a king of ogre? Where is your bastard army, when did you build that memorial?!”
the man was stumbling a bit, exhaustion thought the elven swordsman, or perhaps a bit too much beer this morning. Kendari began to wonder if the man might be insane or suicidal rather than brave, as the ten ogre surrounding him did not reply in Agarian nor could they have built the fine graveyard he pointed at with his waving of the broadsword
. Avegarne?
Kendari thought, having heard that name, realizing that he indeed was the deformed king of the ogre here, he had seen him once selling slaves in Unlinn.
How could this man know that
, thought the elf, and why did he dare challenge him here and alone? Questions came faster than answers in the old mercenary’s mind, and he hesitated, daydreaming about the possibility of wanting to at least interrogate this human before killing him for maybe he knew something of value that could lead to more things of value. Then he would kill him.

Exodus I:I

Ruins of Arouland

Burning blood pumped hard in James’ head, his voice beginning to go hoarse from the shouting. This is how he wanted it, to die surrounded by the ogre of the western waste, killing as many as he could in front of his brothers buried on the hill. To die bravely with them watching, he steadied himself, sword pointed out on guard and shield ready. The resigned knight said his prayer to Alden the merciful, “For God and Heaven my brothers” tracing the feathered cross left to right, then top to bottom and around as he spoke the phrase. His last thought, smiling as it came to him, was of wishing he had a bit of Caberran wine left from the journey.

The ogre, tired of bickering, began to raise weapons, clubs, spiked maces, rusty swords, and axes, shouting now of who would be the one to kill this ragged knight. James stared at the largest one, nearly another man taller than he, scarred face, tusks of yellow from his lower jaw and a fearsome stare was returned. He stepped forward, sword raised in a salute, blade close to the old knights nose, and lunged with all the weary energy he could muster. Perhaps no one took him seriously, but not one of them moved. The ogre were silent, all was silent and James wondered if he were dead already as time seemed to freeze. He pulled the blade back from the ogre’s chest, blood staining the skinned hides and his blade red with steaming crimson in the crisp air. It fell to its knees, still staring and fell into James’ shield, sliding off face first onto the hard ages old stone street. Without further hesitation, and a drunks’ hope that he could win this fight, he raised his shield and blade again.

Another fell, gripping his back and roaring in pain, the handle of an axe rising from behind its shoulder and the ogre closed in. Screeching in the distance, trolls on a charge over the ruined wall to his right, James deflected an axe blow with his shield, ducked another backswing and cut high at an ogre face splitting it from ear to nose with an underhand cut then he backed up more. Another ogre turned away, an arrow piercing through its ribs as the battle calls and roars were deafening like thunder now. James noticed green lighted mist from the tip the ogre tried to remove and confusion set in. Another moved in swinging for his legs and the knight planted his shield to the ground stopping the blow short and cut across the top of his shield maiming the ogres arm. Before it could rear another attack, James turned his wrist over and cut back a bit higher, cutting this enemies throat like butter. It gurgled, James’ shield pummeled it to the ground several times, fighting to regain its footing on smeared and red stained stone. The knight backpedaled, hitting softer ground now off of the broken street. Yet another ogre fell from sight, yelling something of a curse in its chopped dialect and James distinctly saw an elven woman standing over it. Tan, beautiful, she plunged two curved blades into the beasts’ chest as it struggled to reach her face with a dying arm. A club hit the knight in the shoulder, glancing and nicking his ear. He snapped back to the front, only one there now, the rest facing trolls behind this one. The club came again and James met it with his shield head on, his arm numb from the ringing pain of the mighty attacks. Another over his head, and he ducked the onslaught, piercing the forearm of the ogre with his broadsword and then slashing low twice across the belly of the outstretched warrior. More roaring in unrivaled pain from his enemy, James readied a finishing lunge when the ogres head dropped to his feet from the blade of yet another ally. Another elf, pale, dark haired, and with black swirls of intricate vein design covering his flesh, all but the grin and deep eyes. “Well met elf, you all arrived at…” the blade cut the knights arm at the shoulder and searing heat doubled the pain of the wound that made a slight sizzle through his tabard. James gritted his teeth in a quiet burst of pain, surprised and off guard, stifling his lungs’ desire to scream from the burn. The smell of burned cloth, hair, and skin permeated the cold air about him.

“Well met indeed.” smirked the cursed swordsman, one hand on another blade still sheathed at his side and stepping in for the kill.

James Andellis saw trolls getting back up from the ground, fighting and clawing at ogre warriors, a gray minotaur pulling his axe from one with horns dripping red, arrows with green mist flying through the air at them both, and confusion set in, his mind cloudy. Another perfectly laid attack toward the drunken knight, blocked by his shield, barely in time with the inhuman speed of his adversary. James tried to riposte, but the blade pulled too much pain from the wound in his shoulder and the elf deflected the broadsword effortlessly.

Kendari spun low under the weakened guard of the man in front of him, and cut at the thigh, perfectly across and even back on guard behind him now as he continued his steps. James went down on that knee, pain shooting through the leg, his chain mail cut through and more heat and blistered skin forced him to scream out this time as he fell to the ground with shield raised and sword dropped.

“Less than impressive, knight, disappointing to say the least.” the Nadderi paced around by the blade, kicking it out of reach. Kendari looked up, seeing his trolls doing what he had expected, getting pummeled by the ogre yet keeping them distracted enough and to their applaud, returning to the fight quickly as their wounds rapidly healed themselves. Kendari surveyed the area for the archer that had been annoying at best, a satyr he validated. Just in time gazing to his left, he saw a flash of gray hurdle over a falling troll coming at him, head lowered. Kendari knew minotaur tactics well, and flattened himself instantly to the grass next to the knight he had defeated. The horned charge missed him by inches and crashed into the grove of trees behind him. “That was close was it not?” he sneered, face to face with a half conscious victim. Within a blink, the elven swordsman was on his feet, widened his stance, lowering his balance, and awaited the return of the gray minotaur.

Shinayne quickened her pace, sidestepping ogre and troll attacks, arrows from Bedesh covering her from behind, avoiding the beasts that were busy killing each other. She gripped her blades tightly, spinning the curved short blade every few seconds, concentrating on the elf across the field of battle. Her thoughts connected with her emotions, fear, anger, and disbelief swirled as one. The elf woman had never seen an elf with the Nadderi curse, yet all her senses and memory told her what this elf was and she knew it had to be put to death. No elf could allow a Nadderi to live. They were allowed to let them wander the forest of eternal night to find their place to die and reflect, but never allowed to escape, let alone raise an army of trolls. This rogue elf was nothing more than a fugitive of final orders from the Court of the Whitemoon and a curse on the world that needed to be put down like a sick animal. Nothing more, save that Shinayne knew as all elves did, that this curse was only given to those elves who had committed the foulest murderous crimes against the Gods and the elven nations. Hatred fueled her steps closer as Shinayne T’Sarrin closed within reach. Her sword drew within inches of the elf’s back, the shortblade on guard. “Drop your weapons Nadderi and this will be quick.” She stated nervously in elven, receiving strange looks from the confused and injured human she stood over.

“An elven noble’s voice if I ever heard one, how did I get so lucky on such a dismal winter day?” Kendari’s voice reeked of contempt and sarcasm, his hand tight on his lowered blade. He loosed the clasp with his free hand, not letting the woman behind him see and as the black cloak fell from his shoulders he was in full roll forward and turning round on his high leather boots. Her blades cut through the garment, cuts that would have put the old cursed elf down for good had he been there. Shinayne pressed on, swinging outside to in with forward cuts and thrusts of her curved longblade, shorter direct cuts with the elven shortblade. Kendari deflected each attack with precision and amazing speed, backing up carefully in time with the offense from the beautiful woman. His ripostes at her aimed at the shoulders and body and she parried with the short blade, keeping her distance with the longsword out in front. Kendari smiled, turning sideways to dodge a thrust from her off hand, cutting down with his heated straight longsword, which was blocked by an upward cut from her. Toe to toe, her blades directly toward his chest on every swing, Kendari cut at her hair, taunting her to move in closer, Shinayne double blocked the longsword with both her weapons crossed. Simultaneously cutting out and forward after pushing her opponent back, she made contact with his elbow, cutting through the chain armor and drawing blood. Kendari’s smile widened, he moved faster on the back steps, parrying her increasing attacks, and giving him space.

“I see you are serious here, my love.” taunting her with his smirks and green eyes staring into those amazingly bright aquamarine eyes so determined and full of hate. The Nadderi crossed his blade over to his left, drawing his second longsword with the right, then flipped them across in dazzling fashion, holding one pointed down in a strange reverse grip, the other blade up and forward as normal. “Now we are a match.” Kendari dove at her with two longswords, his grin wicked and beaming.

Saberrak pulled his axe out of the troll’s ribcage, holding the body down with his heavy foot and chopped down once again with both mighty hands on the handle, severing the backbone and ending the screeching he despised. The ogre were down to four standing he noticed and seven of the trolls still fighting. He glanced at the foolish knight crawling to his feet using his sword as a crutch, and to the satyr out of arrows and fighting off a troll with his longsword, moving and dodging more than fighting. Another quick glance at the elves, blades moving in and out, sparking the air, Saberrak assumed the woman had control by the constant retreating steps of the pale one. A troll crossed his path heading east toward the human, who was in no shape to defend himself. The gray warrior heard the shouts of the ogre to one another in their tongue, seeing them back toward the city walls, swarmed with screeching fangs and green demons.