The Exodus Sagas: Book I - Of Spiders And Falcons (5 page)

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James rolled in the bed, sweating, shaking, desperately craving water, and the banging on the door would not cease.
Did they not know how early it was, that he hadn’t eaten
? The knight thought, “Whoever it is had better have strong and important reason and purpose.”

The door opened. Still reeking of wine, James looked with one eye as he stumbled to a stand, hand on his broadsword. Farmer Reese Longhale,
hopefully this had to do with ogre business and not anything with his daughter
, he thought. The other eye tried to open as James relaxed his stance and looked for his shield. His body ached from wearing his chain armor all day and night, stomach hurt from no food, and his head was pounding as the blood seemed to claw it’s way painfully to the top and remind him that he had not had a drink yet this morning.

“Andellis, I paid you well in advance, fifty silvers, and let ye stay at my home for a week there. Last night, one farmhand, a sheep, and three cattle went missing. Care to take care of it, or should we get the Seneschal of Hurne involved here?” Reese spoke calmly, but with ultimatum that was irrefutable. James thought a moment, looking at the old but strong grayed man, there might have been
two
ogre out south of here near that hill, but it was fuzzy in his head.

“On my way now Reese, a thousand apologies in advance. I had hoped killing the one would put the fear of God into the other, usually does.” spoke the haggard warrior with truth and resolution in his weary voice. James had seen a second ogre that week, and had great luck in making his point in killing one and scaring off any others most of the time by placing the head on a spear as a warning. The ogre were less brave these last few years since losing their stronghold to plague in the western waste. James had heard that it struck quick, and saw firsthand the influx of small bands and desperate acts of survival from the foul beasts. From striking fear into a nation, the last few years he has seen a northern migration and splitting of a leaderless race that he had hunted for too long. He snapped back to the room, “One hour Reese.” He said with a nod. The old farmer nodded, turned, shook his head at Timber who had been waiting on the steps for any signs of trouble between the two, and proceeded out of the Trade River Tavern. James nodded at Timber, who also walked back down the steps, most likely James assumed, to fetch his leftover bottle like normal for the start of the day. So few enemies left, so little work remaining, so much revenge still fresh in him, the wretched mercenary straightened his tabard and staggered down the stairs.

Bottle in hand, the remains of last night, the former knight of Southwind walked out into the cold from his home, or the closest thing to it. The sky was gray, soon to snow by the looks of it, and James had it hard enough by what was already on the ground. Crunching in the early morning, his boots followed the main road in and out of Hurne, trade wagons uncovering as he went. Dwarven smiths and sheep traders from the Bori Mountains in the near north were up earlier than the rest, never making time for small talk or delay. James turned and looked north as he walked the opposite way, admiring the gray and brown peaks that these stock and strong men traverse up and down every month. He passed tanners and pelt merchants from south of Elcram, and Deep South savages and tribesman. Their faces decorated with paints, lighter thin hair and beards in braids, these men had been known to kill if stolen from or given a bad trade, and only came in the winter months which lasted about six out of the thirteen in Chazzrynn. The Hurne city guard gave the ogre killer their usual stares of disrespect and spit as he passed, armed heavy in the cold months, desperate times, with heavy cloaks, plate armor, body shields, broadswords and spears. James smiled at them and mocked a salute with his right arm over his chest. The best of terms were long gone with the seneschal and his men since James had bested Seneschal Crail of Hurne in a duel some years ago. The bitterness came from the fact that James could barely stand up that night, and was rumored to have been laughing the whole time. That’s what they told him, and James started to chuckle to himself despite the stares of the guard.

An hour later, the hungry hunter stopped by his pole, rotted ogre head still fixed upon it, what was left from the crows and wolves playing with it anyway, and surveyed the lands of farmer Reese. Fence line broken to the west he noticed, blood spots and tracks, two sets, one definitely ogre dragging something, and one smaller like a large man, James noticed. The weary knight pulled his shield from his back, readying it on his left arm, and drew the polished, gold hilted broadsword from its sheath, Arlinne’s sword. He stepped over the broken wood fence, and followed the tracks,
easy enough for a blind man
he thought. Carefully trudging the snow covered pasture, into a small thick that fingered into heavier forest with oaks and river willow trees, aged and stretching into the clouds. James heard the faint bellow of sheep from ahead, and then silenced, he kept his steady yet cautious approach. He looked around him, besides leafless and iced trees there was no cover to be found, he peered ahead and saw more red frozen spots in the snow.

Whoosh
, and a crash of wood and ice, James ducked down as another branch hurled with incredible strength and horrible accuracy went past him by at least ten feet. “You are no warrior of note among your kind, for certain!” the knight said loudly, bolstering his confidence a bit more. He moved faster now, knowing the direction of his enemy, in and out of trees, over massive frozen roots, and there it was,
she was
, and an ogre child with her. He stopped, ducking yet a third hurled limb ripped from an oak well above his reach, but not the reach of this beast. One sheep ran as the ogre child stood up from holding its mouth and neck, the other livestock lay half eaten, and the farmhand looked long dead and twisted into a merciless position impossible to survive. For a moment or perhaps two, the vengeful knight paused, seeing mother and child, despite their hideousness, out in the terrible cold, surviving on what they could and he felt a spark of pity in his chest.
Crack
and a thud followed as the body of the farmhand was launched overhead from the child, now yelling in ogre at the knight, as if that gesture would get him to leave. James stepped ahead quickly, closing on the mother who stood ready, long clawed hands still fresh with sheep’s blood waiting for the knight. He ducked as if to go under her reach and as she screeched out a roar, he spun to his right blocking her hands with his shield and cutting deep into her flank. The child on the move toward him, James cut again at her chest as she turned, missing her as she back stepped. The ogre youth dove at the knight, knocking into his shield arm and the two fell to the ground, the ogre on top and flailing his clawed arms with ferocity. Snarls and spit and rage came out of him, and James saw the mother coming in now, sure the two of them had him down for good. The sword held tight over the shield, James thrust it forward three quick times from his back, each time cutting into the shoulders and neck of the young creature, still larger than the knight. Blood projected all over the shield, staining the white tabard as well, and as the beast child scrambled to get up, James cut wide across it’s throat splitting open skin and vein and neck into a fatal mess of flowing ruby red and black. Suddenly, with a violent ear piercing scream, the man was lifted into the air and slammed into the nearest willow tree, then again. His head ached from the jolting and hitting the iron winter bark, icicles fell for twenty feet around as he took a third blow from the ogre witch. James was pinned, so he kicked her chest and chin as fast as he could, all the while being plowed into the tree behind him by the arms of an avenging ogre mother.
Crraaack
, the tree roots gave way a bit from the icy ground and she fell forward with James against the willow. He scrambled over the fallen branches and roots to regain his stance. Quickly and with fury she rounded the tree, dripping blood from her wound in the flank, James jumped off of one of the upturned roots and hurled himself to her left side, plunging the blade deep into her chest where it remained. He fell hard and tried to roll up to his feet, but the snow had given way and he sunk in too far to keep momentum. James turned in time to see that the ogre wench had the blade through her chest and out the back, but still had life enough to run, run the other way. Never had James seen an ogre flee, at least not from him. Blood streamed more than dripped, leaving a heavy trail of dark crimson, making it easy to follow her, and so the old knight did.

It had been hours since James Andellis had seen a landmark he recognized, and hopefully, he prayed, she was not leading him to any more family unarmed. His sword, there it was, twenty feet ahead, he ran to it, picking it up from next to a frozen stream. James looked around, rapidly searching for the trail, nothing. His back felt the pain of claws ripping his flesh through the chainmail he wore under the tabard. He squinted and held in his pain, took one step forward, and spun round completely to his left leading with the shield, but following with a mighty sword swing that cut three quarters through the neck of the half dead ogre woman. Her pale yellow face of tusks and black mottled hair slumped to the ground, and he took a final arcing attack that finished the cut of the last one, loosing her head from her body completely. She had been in the frozen water, hoping to survive with an ogre trick that nearly succeeded. James scrambled to get his armor off, groaning in pain and feeling blood run down his freezing back. Steam rose from the corpse next to him, and slightly from his wound as well. James knew this was not a healthy idea, but he had to stop his bleeding so far from town. He said a silent prayer, merely mouthing the words to Alden for mercy and forgiveness, though he knew the prayer was not necessary at all. His hands glowed blue like the sky on a sunlit day, and he strained to reach the wounds left by the ogre witch across his back as he was trembling, wet, and shirtless in the freezing winter. Slowly, warmly, with a bit of tingling or numbing cold he could not be sure, the wound stopped bleeding. James held his hand there as long as he could then quickly dressed. He sat down on his shield next to the stream, next to the lifeless ogre body and head, pulled out his wine and drank until it was empty.

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The wagon wobbled from side to side on the tracks in the snow, the light load and nervous cold horses did not help matters. The two young men at the front, shivering and passing the wine bottle back and forth for warmth, were glad to see the sun peeking out in the cloudy Chazzrynn sky and hoped that a little warmth would keep the chills away on the next few days of their journey. Both Konrad and his younger brother Baunnar had left Silverbridge months ago after their fathers’ passing, and sought trade for their blades and axes in Hurne. Perhaps the wrong time of year, or their youth, neither could quite place their finger on why they could not be as successful as their late father, Otto. They were down to their last few dozen silvers, with half a crate of wine, and their belongings, and had not much to lose. Konrad had mentioned to Baunnar that he overheard that King Mikhail had opened the way for travelers and merchants into the western waste since the ogre had all but vanished in the last few years. He also heard from some savages trading furs that a sickness had come over the ogre there, and that the great wars were over. The two red headed young men both grew up on stories of thousands of men in many a battle that had died there, never really winning the lands back, and that they were deemed cursed by the church and the king. Since neither boy could really admit to being as great a bladesmith as their father was, they agreed to go get as much as they could from the ruins and shine them up to sell in Hurne. Just about four days south and west, and four back, they both thought it would put them back in the market and then some, after a few runs.

Konrad sat up next to his little brother of eighteen seasons, straight up in the seat of their wagon. He was looking east, along a shoreline of a frozen stream, pointing his hand and staring. “Look at that brother, you don’t see that often now.” Baunnar gazed east, curious, seeing much red in the snow, and what looked like a dead, decapitated ogre and a knight of Southwind laying dead next to it. “He’s been drinking Konrad, look at the bottle in his hand.”

“Let’s get our first bit of treasure, or get a bodyguard for the horses little brother” Konrad said, eyes gleaming, smile as wide as the wagon. The two tied the horses to a frozen willow and jumped off, warming the blood and intrigued about the battle that must have taken place. “Look at that sword, gold falcon marks of a noble blade. Worth a lot Konrad. Can ye get it from him?”

No sooner than the boy reached out his hand, did an empty wine bottle break over Konrad’s head and the tip of a dagger pulled from a boot was at his throat. “That sword has more meaning to it than your little life, boy. Unless you want to end up like her,” James pointed at the body of his victim from a few hours back, “I would suggest giving an old knight a ride and keeping your head attached.”

Both the young men stared, hearts beating out of their chests, legs going numb from surprise and fear. They eased and blinked after what seemed minutes frozen in place, knelt next to this man, disheveled, unshaven, and reeking of wine and ogre blood. James put his dagger back in his boot, smiled, and pulled himself up, tabard crunching when pulled from the snow it had been frozen to. The old knight eyed their wagon, recognizing the small crate half covered on the back with the tent and bedrolls. “Still got wine in that box, young gentlemen?” The boys nodded with smiles of relief, looking to see whether they should run from this man or trust him. “Wonderful, Alden be praised and all that, I am James Andellis, and my service is yours while there is wine to drink. I will take care of the ogre, you do whatever it is you are doing. Now, let us open one of these Caberran jewels up for a test, eh?” James walked over and climbed into the back of the wagon, pulled out his corkscrew, and took a full drink of the red heaven. Mellenas grape, bit ripe, but better than the swill he had been getting from Timber lately. “We’re off, young knights, let’s ride.” bellowed James, happy to have the wine, a vanquished foe, and a lot less of a walk back to the tavern. The boys looked at each other and shrugged, they didn’t care about the wine in the slightest. Some dwarven armorer in Hurne told them to buy some for the trips in the cold to keep them warm, but neither boy was fond of it. Konrad smiled at Baunnar, and the three took off to the west, listening to crazy and bloody tales from this wreck of a knight. For days he stayed in a stupor, slept, stumbled, and drank the wine, bottle after bottle. The boys ignored his questions of how much further, and that they seemed to be taking the long way. They knew he’d forget after another bottle, and they had no intentions of telling him where they were going.