The Exodus Sagas: Book I - Of Spiders And Falcons (20 page)

“One that respects his people. A Lord that stands for loyalty and honor, not for deserters and winos. One who respects his sister and family over the needs of vagabond travelers, especially ones who travel with James Andellis!” Her steel blue eyes full of tears, more anger than sadness, more emotion and manipulation that common sense or compassion. Alexei had seen a side of her that held much hatred since they lost their father in the battle of Arouland.

“I sent them food, a warm room in the keep, servants to clean them up. They need supplies, they need a rest Kaya. Most of all they need time to plan their next move, as they said they are traveling east for some reason, looking for a lost satyr. They have encountered much and may be followed. I don’t wish to be the reason for their fate should it be a dark one.”

“How do you know those things? Have you spoken with them without me knowing?” Kaya’s anger spilled out more with every attempt he made at explaining.

“No sister, I had Evril listen in on their discussion in the common room. James’ tongue loosened after his second bottle of wine from the cellars.” Alexei T’Vellon closed his eyes, hung his head a bit, knowing his actions were less honorable than he would care to admit.

“So you gave wine to the drunk, spied on him and his companions, and then speak to me of honor and lordly hospitality? That is what I despise the most, brother, you say one thing, do another, and keep your plans hidden from me the whole time.” Kaya was trying her best not to show interest, putting the anger first, yet inside she was starving to know more about who was hunting them and what had transpired to bring them to their door.

“I did it to protect us, sister. I need,
we need
, to know what is hunting them, what they want, so we are prepared for what may be coming to put our men in harm’s way. Responsible, foul trickery yes,…but responsible.”

Kaya had rode the anger bit to the end she felt, now she had her brother against the wall, verbally speaking, and knew she could now get the answers she wanted and get rid of James Andellis in the process. “Tell me what else Evril Alvander had to say brother.” Her eyes warming, temper cooling, motions less animated, her signs of peace.

“I told you what he told me. They are in there with Father Brevond Sancadiun now, looking at some ancient scroll the minotaur found below Arouland. James is drunk and blabbering the tales of battle with a strangely marked elf, ogre, trolls and such. The elf, Shinayne, is royalty I believe.”

“I noticed as well, she has that air about her, poise in her movements and courtly manner as well. Tell me more about them brother.” Her claws were in, her brother’s love and respect for his sister found and exposed, Kaya T’Vellon knew he would come to his senses soon enough. The two talked for hours, unraveling their thoughts, their ideas and speculations, and waited to hear back from their kinsman of the keep and the church on what the fate of the three travelers would be from the Lord and Lady of Southwind.

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The young priest of Alden, white and red robes neat and clean as always, held his feathered cross tightly, uttering prayers of guidance under his breath while his other hand touched the ancient scroll laid out on the table. He studied the raw stone of the spindle and felt the ages old material that the words were written upon. It was not paper, not old papyrus, nothing he had ever seen or touched. Soft yet strong and the dark brown ink unknown to any old scriptures or arcane texts he had seen before. More than fifteen feet of perfectly preserved divinity, written in ancient Altestani, the holy language of the old world. “The language is perhaps two to four thousand years since widely used, the stone looks to be the same, and the material and ink seem to be as fresh at the bottom as a few years at most. Who did you get this from again my large friend?” studying with a large monocle, the priest paid little mind to the seven and a half foot horned gladiator standing over him.

“A human, largest I had ever seen, but a man. Imprisoned, chained below the ruins to the west.” Saberrak stood guard by the drafty door to the common room, watching every servant and passerby with suspicion. The gray warrior was about as relaxed as he would get in a castle of men.

“He gave it to you freely?”

“After I cut his chains we stared at each other. His eyes were strange, glowing blue. He gave it to me and just left, I did not see where.”

The chair tipped over, bottle rattling and spilling across the floor before James could get a hand on it. He scrambled to his knees, taking another slug of his third bottle of Caberran wine, “I have seen that very man Seberrrekk.” his words trailing in slur. “When I was prisoner to the oohhhgre, I saw that man. Beard, the eyesss, naked too. Chainss’d up to the pillar in a dark room. I know him. Yep, I know him.”

The elven swordswoman, Saberrak, and the priest all looked at each other, then at James, then to the scroll again. “The wine talking for him I suppose?” the priest whispered to the others.

Shinayne looked at them, chuckling at the rapid intoxication of their friend and looked at Saberrak. Saberrak was not smiling, nor laughing, just staring at the scroll, barely breathing. The elf took note, tried to get a glance from the minotaur, lowering her head a little, hoping movement would break his trance. He looked at her, open eyed, no expression save that of seriousness, stone-faced serious like in battle yet here and now. Shinayne took hint again, confirming her first suspicion, and continued to laugh with the priest.

“
Definitely
the wine, especially Caberran wine. He has been through much lately Father, pay it no mind.” Shinayne patted him on the shoulder, taking interest in the scroll finally for Saberrak’s sake, not for any other reason.

“Back to this now, the scroll is a history, dictums and passages I am not familiar with. It makes some obscure reference to Alden, Megos, a few other Carician Gods of old, even demon names from the old texts of the Aldane. The writer alludes to him or herself several times as “the strength” or the “courage” in the dictations, but never gives a name.” The priest was talking rapidly, as much to himself as to the others.

“Carician Gods, what do you mean by that?” huffed the minotaur.

“The Gods of the white moon, Carice…didn’t you study in church Seebrekks?” James paid no mind in his stupor to the irritation he was causing in the minotaur, no clue that he was very close to being shut up the painful way. “The Primalusus deficussus, times along ago’s and such…ohh yes more wine please.” Distracted from his stumbling lesson on theology, the knight grabbed for his bottle.

“James is correct, albeit mispronounced, but accurate in thought. The Primalus Defectus in the old texts of our Aldane teachings is said to be when Megos, son of God, took his children away in the first exodus from the spite of the creator and strict laws on mortal involvements. It was forbidden for the children of God, the throne angels, to interfere with life here in the world despite sufferings and prayers that they heard. Alden, son of Megos, along with his brother Annar, and others such as Seirena, Siril, Vundren, and those lost in history, fled to the white moon, Carice, to avoid persecution for their love of mortal worshippers. In punishment, several of the loyal children of God, vastly outnumbering the Caricians, tore the wings from our Lord Alden when he came down to man and imprisoned Annar forever in the hells of Gimmor, the green moon and home to the nameless creator. It was then that the bloody wings and feathers torn were symbolized for the God of mercy and love of mankind, a symbol of his sacrifice to us. This passage in the Aldane is much taught of the cruelty of the old ages, and the light that is Alden, the light of his love of his children, men. That was four thousand years ago as the texts write and our temples flourished, until driven out of the north by the Altestan empires in the last few millennia.”

“And what, father, does that have to do with this scroll?” the elven noblewoman asked, trying to take in the history, from a human point of view that differed from her elven teachings as a child.

“Well, the writer here, referring to themselves by description only, speaks at times as though they were present at the time of some of the happenings from the book of Caricians, which is impossible. Since much of this writing can not be more than a century old, it is curious how the author describes such events from a different view and with prayers never heard of. I have a friend and scholar in Shalokahn, north of Harlaheim that oversees the mission there. He is passionate about such things and has an extensive collection of relics and texts from our origins in faith. Father Garret D’Ourmas, he will have answers that my few years as a priest can not come up with. I will send word to him, but how long will you be staying with us?” father Brevond was hoping and excited to hear a length of time in which he could research and explain more on this strange finding that now glowed with a light blue mystical mist from its pages.

“Not long.” the minotaur answered resolutely and quickly.

“Where, closer than Shalokahn, would you recommend we get this researched father Sancadiun?” the elf tried not to let the obvious retort of the minotaur linger too long.

The young priest scratched his cheek, scraping his nails on the stubble of late afternoon. “Vallakazz my lady, closest place would be Vallakazz. Bishop Ransen Wainwright, my old tutor at communitory school in Addisonia lives there. He resides at the Temple of Golden Mercy in Vallakazz and is in close contact with the Lazlette Semanarium Arcanum, an order and college of wizards under the Lazlette family. You should be able to get much assistance there. I will send riders with recommendation to both the mission and the temple for you, if that is acceptable?”

“Of course father, it would be most appreciated.” Shinayne reached into her beltpurse, withdrawing five platinum coins, griffon head emblems of the kingdom of Kilikala, one of the few countries that even used such rare metal for currency. “For your gracious assistance Brevond and for your rider’s comfortable journey.”

Realizing there were many more of those coins in her possession by the jingling sound and size of the purse, the servant, the priest, and the drunken knight nearly asleep all looked from purse to hand and to the elven noble in amazement as she handed enough currency to feed a family for most likely a year or more. “That is most gracious Lady Shinayne, most gracious indeed. May Alden bless your soul and watch over you.” At that, the young priest took his leave full of gratitude and with letters to have written by his scribe.

“Could we have a moment to ourselves, Evril?” the elf asked of the knight that had been seeing to their needs, young man, dark hair, perhaps twenty or so at most.

“Of course, my lady.” at that he bowed slightly and left the common room. Evril had been informing Lord Alexei of the conversations he overheard between his delivering of food and drink, yet now he went to meet Kaya. She would want more than the rudimentary gossip he had overheard and would give much more, for her rewards were greater indeed. The young knight smiled in anticipation at meeting Lady Kaya, in the usual place upstairs.

“Saberrak, what is it, what is really going on here?” the elf hushed to his side, whispering as much for possible eavesdroppers as for the possibility on James waking from his wine induced sleep.

“The man that gave me this, James described the room exactly as I saw it.”

“So? He probably stumbled in there recently, saw what you saw. What is so important about that?” the elf was not following the minotaurs thinking, having very little idea of what he was hiding. She looked at James, asleep in the chair, walked over and carefully placed the bottle on the table before it fell from his hand.

“He said the other night he had not been there in thirteen years. How could that man have survived there for that long and looked that healthy?”

“I think you are taking James a bit too seriously. He has been through much, and if you hadn’t noticed, he has a bit of an issue with wine. He could have been there months ago and thought it was years. Besides, what does it matter?”

“Shinayne, the man was being torn apart by trolls, yet had not a mark on him when I freed him, then vanished. After that, my wounds were healed too, I am not even sure if he touched me. Something, something is telling me that he saw the same thing a long time ago, same place. We need to go.”

The gray warrior rolled up the scroll carefully, placing it in his new leather pack already full of dried meat, bread and mixtures of dried fruits and nuts. The castle was warm, safe, and protected, yet the minotaur knew that things of value were never safe and always coveted by those nearest. The arena life of Unlinn had taught him that for many years.

“Go? With him like that?” Shinayne pointed to the passed out knight, clothes and gear clean and pristine now, but still passed out. “We must stay and respect the hospitality of the Lord of the keep, at least tonight. Three men died in that skirmish saving us and seven more are at the mission with injury. Alexei and Kaya have sent food, wine, servants all day, and did not even ask for payment for the supplies they gave us. A little...”

“More time to plan how they will take the scroll from us.” the minotaur huffed hard under his horns, certain that danger was near and that this place would not be safe much longer. He had made up his mind.

“Oh Siril help me. Saberrak, you are paranoid, the animosity you sense, so do I. It has to do with James and his past here, not with us or that scroll. What is it besides some treasure to sell off anyway?” Shinayne knew there was no turning his mind around and knew she could not stop him either. “I was hoping to find Lavress, at least pick up his trail again. Or find Bedesh. Where is it you plan on going? Vallakazz?”