The Exodus Sagas: Book I - Of Spiders And Falcons (64 page)

Kendari
I:VIII

Temple of the Whitemoon, Chazzrynn

“Betrayal is simply a prevention of revenge, and best served cold, quick, and final.”-
Indimius, prophet of Harlaheim for King Feodor I, 115 A.D., murdered by his oldest son.

The arrow lodged in his side ached, a pain that he had not felt in centuries of killing and mastering his skills against any and all he met. Kendari sheathed his blades, gritted his teeth, still weary from the long battle with the wood elf hunter. Watching the faint glow of morning lighten the black to indigo in the west, he placed his hands on either side of the protruding projectile and snapped the tip off then ripped the feathered end out. He tore some of his cloak, spitting on it, and shoved it in the small hole, then again on the other side. His anger kept him from screaming, the sounds of the trolls close behind him distracting as well. The Nadderi concentrated, refreshing himself mentally, knowing that the satyr and the elven hunter were dying or dead inside the temple of the Whitemoon. The stone looked sealed from here, but surely the small army of trolls could rip it open before they did anything mystical inside. Kendari smiled at the thought of slicing apart the fey, a fairy of Seirena, perhaps some dryads as well. His pride burned him more than his tired body or any injury could have at not finishing them both, not yet anyway.

He walked down the steps, passing the dead hiroon in the cascading green and white moonlight of early morning. The shadows played off the trees, still whispering about him and his deeds in whatever language nature spoke in. Kendari drew Shiver in his right, the enchanted longsword in his left, holding it reverse, as he preferred. He heard no music, saw no magical glows around the stones or the grove, but felt the presence of something that did not want him here, assuring him that they still saw him as a threat. The trolls came from his left and his right, on either side to keep pace with him. It had been some time since he was glad to see the foul green bastards, slimy and stringy black hair and eyes, their claws clacking and fangs hissing in the night with their glowing red of nocturnal vision. They did not speak, merely gathered round him, their nine foot forms casting longer shadows on the cursed swordsman, making his fearsome green eyes and pale skin marked with the black swirls of the curse even more frightening.

“You are late my slimy soldiers. I need that stone door there, ripped open. I do not care how many of you it takes, nor how long, but open the door to that temple and we kill
everything
inside tonight.” he stepped forward past the hissing regime, nine there were in all. Kendari stepped right into a troll who had not moved.

“I would
suggest
moving out of my way, fiend. Now rip that door open or Shiver here will be forced to assist.” he twirled his heated blade toward the face of the stupid one, and stepped around. Another stepped in his way, which he also stepped around, growing frustrated. He thought perhaps Salah-Cam had sent the idiots instead of the warriors from his supply of trolls.

A third time, a troll stepped in his way, this time placing his clawed hand on Kendari’s shoulder, holding him still from his march. It released its grip when the cursed elf turned, rage on his face. The rest moved in slowly around him with the howl of a wolf in the distance.

“Lordsss Salah-Cams iss with the Spidersss now, cursssed one. Sayss your nots needed anymore.” the trolls all hissed and laughed, staring down at the Nadderi swordsman. They moved and smiled, their black eyes shimmering red in the night, eager for something that had nothing to do with the temple.

“
Is that so
? He has joined the White Spider and he told you I was
not needed
anymore?” Kendari thought of the organization of assassins, how many of them he had killed in his years. They must have made quite a deal with the foul old wretch of a wizard, and having him around would only be a threat.

“Thatss sso, yesss. You have been mores trouble thanss you beens worth, he sayss. Your days iss over, elf.” the nine hideous trolls started their fever, their hissing and riling of each other into a furious rage of violent behavior.

Kendari eyed the nine of them, getting angry, and looking at his blades. His side ached, his shoulder burned, and his arms felt as if he had been fighting for days on end. “And you intend on sending me away then? Very well, tell
Lord Cam
I will leave him be, and we part ways here my grotesque friends.” he started deep breathing; resting what he could, trying to remain perfectly calm.

“No, Kendari the cursssed, your lasts night be heres
and now.
” they took turns, the massive hulking swampfiends, turns talking, turns trying to intimidate him. “Wees too have had enoughs of the hotss sword you calls
Shiver
. You burns uss too many timesss.”

“Just motivation, I did it because I care to see you do
your very best
in every endeavor.” Kendari was barely breathing now, yet smiling since he assumed the trolls did not even know what the word
endeavor
meant.

“Layss down your swords, and we kills you quickly, elf.” fangs and claws started coming, reaching for him, taunting him, pushing him back and forth as they tried to get him to make a false move so they could tear him to pieces.

“You would have to tear them from my
dead hands
, filth.” his tired body matched his tired mind, and he realized his stares were getting him nowhere this time. He smiled, seeing himself in the sacred grove of the temple of the Whitemoon, nearly seven centuries old, and surrounded by frenzied trolls. Betrayed by the one he hated serving the most, one he thought of killing at least ten times over the last few decades. Kendari of Stillwood faced death, the deadliest assassin, now being assassinated by those that worked for him. He smiled again at the irony, and lowered his head, staring at his enchanted steel weapons.

“Weess intend to.” the trolls descended on the cursed swordsman they were sent to kill, fangs tore, claws ripped, and screeching hisses echoed in the sacred grove in the black of night.

Exodus I:XIII

Tower of Kalzarius, Harlaheim

Waves splashed upon the sides of the piers that stretched out of the port of Harlaheim. No ships seemed to be leaving this afternoon, the docks silent. The spires rose into the cloudy sky, trimmed with beams of sunlight fighting the clouds to meet the waters of the Carisian Sea. Castles upon castles of brown and mottled stone graced the horizon, dotted with high rising towers, one in particular that could not be missed. The shining white marble tower with deep gray and black swirls of natural coloration stood in the center of the immense populace, the twenty story tower of Kalzarius. Great oaken forests surrounded the city and the port was filled with ships, a port twice the size of Valhirst. The banners of Harlaheim, crimson red with a great black crown and rose set on it, trimmed with gold, waved in the breeze from the castle walls and upper towers. Feathered crosses as well peered out from pinnacles of grand cathedrals and churches to Alden.

The gate rose on the ground floor of his tower, the arcane escorts in their gray robes followed the armed guards in heavy platemail. Thirty men led the procession that protected Kalzarius the Bold, some say the most powerful man in Harlaheim. He had survived four kings thus far, and his tower had been attacked and laid under siege six times during wars, revolutions, and attempts at ousting the wizard for good. His long gray hair blew across his face in the wind, his beard to his chest waved but a little. He marched in pace easily, as a man half his age of over a century would, his white robes with black arcane designs seemed to move with him, against the winds. Eyes of deep mottled hazel stared at his staff of straight black metal topped with a ruby of considerable size. The ancient wizard concentrated as he walked, sensing all that moved about the area of the city, and what was heading this direction.

“Cilano, walk with me please.” the master wizard asked his young friend and assistant to his side, though half his age and graying slightly.

“All men are in place as we speak Kalzarius, even archers throughout the main roads from the dock to the tower.” the Shanadorian man carried some bright blonde still in his age, his tall and broad build like many of the men from northern Agara. He loomed over his master and teacher by half a foot and had to slow his pace to remain in step.

“I sense the White Spider is watching from here in the city, and they have bought off the navy vessels for a time, have they not?” the old arcane disciple smiled as he watched his entourage attracting a crowd of onlookers from the common folk.

“Yes master, they have seen the Chazzrynn galleon and the Altestani warship heading this way and ignored even the white flag that your friends from the south have raised. Obviously we will have no assistance from the kingdom, and neither will Gwenneth Lazlette. The kings scouts are paying little mind either, more on us than on what is coming on the ship.” the younger wizard kept an eye on the procession, watching the high buildings and main roads for any interferences in the heart of the city.

“I sense agents of the church here as well, their purpose solely for the scroll. With the Cardinal out of the city, that leaves the Bishop here alone, which is not in our favor. No rival wizards to be felt here and that is a relief. However, I sense one of many years and great skill aboard the trireme slaveship heading toward Aelaine’s daughter. Hopefully she senses it as well.” his eloquent and perfect tones could have put anyone, during any crisis, at ease in a few moments.

“You
could
assist them. We have enough men and wizards here to protect you should anyone interfere.”

“No Cilano, old friend. The eyes of Devonmir are watching from afar, there are too many there against us. They have spies here with the king, I am aware of them as we speak. Should I interfere, we would soon find many an assassin at our door, not knowing if it was the fiends of Devonmir, or our own nobility that set them upon us. I prefer to know who my enemies are, and why my men die in service to the tower, not speculate. It is too delicate, this scroll, this situation, too many involved. We will wait here to protect them as they reach the docks, and provide them a safe route to the tower. Lady Aelaine Lazlette has asked we take good care of her daughter, and delay her as much as possible for she may be sending someone to retrieve her. We will do our part, but they must reach us alive.” Kalzarius watched the sky, the movements of the clouds, and the ships that were now upon each other, heading for a crash course into the port of Harlaheim. He hoped that they would make it here, for there was little he could do to help them without starting a war.

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The stone grated across the greataxe, bringing the edge sharper still. Saberrak the gray watched over his shoulder, the great slaveship almost within firing range, and he waited. The crew of over a hundred men sharpened their sabers, shortblades, daggers, and cutlasses, silent like him. They brought every crossbow from below, rolled out every barrel for cover and obstacle, and kept quiet as the view of Harlaheim and the trireme barge approached. The Bronze Harpy would have been boisterous had anyone thought they would reach port first, but it was obvious that they would be intercepted, and even the white flag they raised was not slowing the enemy vessel, not bringing aid from the city. The waters still too deep to measure, the coast two miles off port, and the docks of Harlaheim several miles ahead, the crew saw the Altestani ship at five hundred yards and closing. With a slave crew of roughly three to four hundred as opposed to theirs a quarter that size, the tension and doubt was thick in the air. They all knew enough about Altestan belief to know they would be enslaved, killed, or worse, there was no barter with the northern empires.

James came above deck, polished, and trimmed beard, his sash and falconhead medal in their proper places, and his armor and shield ready. He watched the men, watched them following the minotaur, seeking to lean on his strength. Azenairk was eyeing the enemy ship, fully dressed in his steel plate, shield and helm, and smiling behind his black beard. The dwarf had made rounds all day, talking, asking questions, and putting men at ease with his words and prayer, the crew trusted him. Gwenneth and Shinayne remained at the helm, discussing in private many things at length it seemed. The noble elf, her golden hair flowing on the breeze and skin shining in the trickles of sunlight that appeared, was pointing to the deck of the ship, then to the enemy vessel, Gwenneth watching, plotting.

Closer now, the crew noticed the archers and deck weapons of the Altestani Headhunter taking position. They scrambled for cover, and readied theirs, looking to the helm. Saberrak stood and walked toward the main deck, James following, then the dwarven priest. Lady Shinayne walked down to meet them, followed by the prodigal wizard. The eyes of all the men watched, their ears intent on hearing every word as the shadow of the massive warship closed in and their five leaders conversed.

“Seemed they outran us, elf. Now what?” Saberrak snorted, smiling a bit as he hefted his greataxe, a borrowed shortblade in his other hand.

“They can not drive us to the coast, their bottom is as deep as ours, maybe more, but I dare not go any closer. If we hit this far out, we are sunk or sitting prey, so we sail on. They will try and crush us, fire upon us with all they have, and then board us. I will keep us afloat and then defend the aft and helm with my men. I need you James, to take the bow with yours, and Zen, take the main deck. Cut every rope, loose every hook, and dislodge any planks or ladders.” Shinayne seemed serious, concentrated beyond her normal emotional self.