The Exodus Sagas: Book IV - Of Moons and Myth (48 page)

“Thank you. How long was I there
, dreaming again
?”

“Four
hours, master.” The student kept her head low and respectful.

“I see.” The old master of the arcane resolved to inspect this phenomenon within himself sooner than he had anticipated.

“The three men, Balric, Richmond, and Rodreigo have arrived and are below. We were not followed, master. Sir Sebastian of Harlaheim---“

“Is dead, I am aware and saddened. When the sun rises, take half the students and guards to where he was left, there are many more there. Use your channels and kinesis spells and see to opening the ground and interring the bodies into the earth. Touch nothing, but cover them quickly and return.”

“Yes master.
Should I send them up to see you?” The student bowed again, trying to hold her excitement from her voice at being given another assignment from the great Kalzarius.

“Yes, yes, we have much to discuss.” He bowed as his gray
garbed
arcane pupil, one of so many, left him with an energy he wished he had.

Capitan Jean-Ris bowed as he walked forward, his brow sweating from the long treks of stairs and tunnel
s in the heat of the harvest humidity
. Three figures stepped slowly behind him, yet before words were shared, he produced a rolled scroll of purple glimmering parchment.

“A flying toad gave this to me, master Kalzarius.” The capitan looked at his left shoulder, and indeed met the eyes of a green fat toad with bat wings folded neatly on its back. “This toad
,
to be precise.”

“Lassado of Eisel Ine sends word from Shanador, in peculiar fashion as always. Thank you, capitan.” Kalzarius took the scroll of odd color, reached his hand to the magically altered amphibious avian toad, and sat down slowly into a
red
velvet chair.

As he began to open the scroll, prying eyes of the toad overlooking from his shoulder, the great wizard of Harlaheim motioned for his three guests to sit. He read the words of his distant friend, one of the only three masters of arcane tutelage that still taught on the continent. Kalzarius at the
mighty
Marble Tower in
Harlaheim, Aelaine Laz
lette and her
four towered
Semanarium Arcanum
in Vallakazz, and Lassado of
the domed fortress of
Eisel Ine
outside the capital of Shanador
,
were all that remained today.

Dearest fellow Masters of Magicks

Recently, I have left the council of Shanador, and I was paid little mind as always. However boring and tedious the discussions of old low kings, their knights, their chattering ladies, and my great High King Borgaine and Queen Findyra the fair may have been, I did receive an awakening snore that brought my attention to great curiosity. It seems that Gwenneth Lazlette and four cohorts have crossed through southern Shanador, and without a visit to me. Besides being mildly offended, which I will soon recover from with aid, I heard they were wanted and hunted by Alte
stan, some spider organization, Armondeen, and now Willborne. After my laughter subsided, I heard that they seek the ruins of fabled Mooncrest to the west.
I laughed some more.
Then, I heard that a caravan of exiled refugees follows them.
I watched the prodigal daughter of Lazlette until she passed into a cursed realm that I could no longer scry. I would much like to know why and how she carries the legendary staff of Imoch the Eternal, and how she was allowed to learn such powerful incantations as I witnessed. Perhaps you were also unaware, but she
assisted in thwarting a mighty dragon and drove off a giant castle in the sky not too long ago I heard. They are most sought after, yet Shanador is reluctant do do more than watch and let them pass through.
So, I assume you would like my assistance
.
I will go to Eve
rmont and assist
as best I can, since you know low king Symond and I are close friends and lovers of tea and history.
Next time, keep me better informed.

Lassado of Eisel Ine
,

Lastly, please feed mighty Titan, my most reliable messenger
.
When he gets hungry, well…do not let him get hungry, and we leave it there.

Kalzarius laughed out loud, not having spoken to Lassado in many years.
Through arcane accident, his friend had forgotten his own
last name many decades
ago, before they had met. To this day, though mildly insane and prone to
odd con
jurations and strange experiments, Lassado had not been able to find trace of his name nor lineage.
He looked to the toad on his shoulder. It fluttered its bat wings and blinked. “Titan?”

Croak…croak…

As Titan the toad croaked, the scroll went up in a flash of purple laughter and sparkling dust.

“I have gnats surely trying to seek what lies in my kitchen, ninth floor, help yourself. I will have a message to return to your master in a few hours.”
The master of the Marble Tower nodded as the bat wings lifted the fat toad off toward the stairs.

Kalzarius wiped his brow, wisked his hand through the glittering dust, and thought of the here and now. Sir Sebastian, likely the knight with the most knowledge of Harlaheim, was dead. Balri
c sat quietly, full of anger,
deep in thought. Richmond looked as though he had been sobbing, and his gaze upon the floor was distant. Lord Rodreigo from Caberra held firm, his face showed resolve and purpose, the old mage knew he was ready.

With a gesturing finger, two old books lifted from shelves in the dark room above the grand city. Kalzarius snapped his fingers, candles lit with magical light from all around, and the books floated to a table of brass and oak. Staff in hand, he walked slowly over to the table, and motioned with his eyes for his three guests to meet him there. Richmond was the last to rise, only following the other two men like a lost puppy it seemed.

“I know of Sir Sebastian,
and we will each mourn him when time allows.
For now, we have much to plan
.” He paused as the pages opened at his silent arcane command. “You three are the most wanted men in Harlaheim
, having you here is a great danger to me, my students, and my college. So what we do from here out, must be done in the fashion of disguise and stealth, with no room for error.”

“
What we do?
I do not know what you are referring to, old man.” Balric rolled his eyes in frustration.

“If you mean to give up, master D’Vrelle, inform me now. My blood is Harlian, it screams for freedom, tradition, and revolution with every beat of my heart.” Kalzarius looked very serious to the younger swordsman.
“We are beaten, but not dead. The fight goes on.”

“I..there is…what possibly could we do besides killing, another war…our true enemy is not
even here
in Harlaheim.
Damn it all to the hells!
What do you think we can accomplish?! Who do we target?
Phillip?
You see, there is no point.” Balric paced, fumed, yelled out his frustrations.

“Balric, I barely know you at all, but I know of whom you have served and trained
with
. You, my deadly spy, are invaluable here. You have the streets of
this city, above and below, me
morized. You know the White Spider, you know how they move and where they are. You know ou
r enemy, better than anyone.” Kalzarius
turned to Richmond.

“You, sniveling former king that tried to see me ruined, yes you Richmond. You know the nobles, the politics, and who can be bought and who not. I would wager you know L’Herrim like the end of your pointy nose, and that we will need. Not that I want you on the throne again, but at least it is who belongs there in lieu of who has taken it falsely. You are needed, like it or no.”
Kalzarius turn
ed to Rodreigo.

“My lord from Caberra, you must be the hope to hold these two together. They both have lost all, or close to it, would you h
elp them to any end and see these
atrocities undone?”

“I could have left to Caberra some time ago, had I not known God placed me here for a purpose, old wizard. What is your plan?” Rodreigo bowed.

“How well do we know our Agarian history, gentlemen?” He opened one of the books on the table.

“Well enough, but likely not as well as you.” Balric retorted, sighing yet he approached the tomes and looked.

He spoke as if to a class, watching the attentions of the three men focus on his words. “The last time there was an organized revolt, one that spanned many kingdoms mind you, was the time of the floods over four centuries past. Altestan had occupied every kingdom
,
save parts of Shanador and Chazzrynn. Against that occupation, men from thrones to trenches, noble and common, all allied in secret under a banner. They---“

“But we do not fight Altestan, Kalzarius. We are not warring against an enemy above ground, one that is obvious. This is different.” Balric argued.

“No, not yet. But, our enemy has woven themselves into every city on Agara. Has not Johnas Valhera taken two kingdoms now by his---“ Kalzarius was interrupted again.

“Three. He has three kingdoms, Willborne is now his ally.” A shorter stocky Caberran man bowed as Cilano led him to the western room on the seventeenth floor.
Then he drew his curved shamshir and stared at Richmond the Second.

“
Prince Willian
dell Barrato
, what are you doing here?” Lord Rodreigo bowed low and took a knee.

“I thought you were
Wil
dell Escada,
a noble courier from the courts of---“ Cilano gripped his staff, not knowing what was about to happen.

“We have assumed
you were dead
Lord dell Amarr
. I would have expected,
Rodreigo, that this king was dead also. If no, and obviously that is the case, I would have assumed you would have corrected that for my late sister, Rosana.” Prince Willian of Caberra stepped forward with purpose, right toward the former king of Harlaheim.

“My prince, he did not kill her, he executed a likeness in the guise of his seneschal, a seneschal who posed as your sister. We do not know the fate of Rosana, but she was not killed by this man.” He kept his bow, knowing he was not to interfere with the noble family of his kingdom.

“Regardless of your lack of proof,
you were rumored wanted or dead, she is missing, and my father and older brothers wish answers. The king of Caberra commands justice!”
His curved blade raised regardless, his steps straight at a wide eyed Richmond. The blade struck out, and met the quick drawn sabre of Balric D’
V
relle, a perfect parry.

“You defend this wretch? The
n
I challenge you, whoever you are that would protect such a man.” Prince Willian stepped back on guard.

Clang

Clang

Clang

Two quick strikes, one at the high edge of the shamshir, the second near the hilt, and the blade was skittering across the stone floor. Balric glared, having just disarmed a foreign prince who wanted Richmond dead, in the tower of Kalzarius of all places.

“Challenge accepted,
whoever you are
.” Balric sheathed his blade.

Richmond drew his golden rapier, used only once
ever
in combat, and stood with his chin raised toward the young prince of Caberra. “I accept your challenge. Balric, I will fight my own fights, and accept my death for all I have done.”

“Likely the first noble words you have ever spoken, Richmond.” Prince Willian picked up his blade and stared at the corrupt former king.

Balric drew his sabre out again and held it low at his side. “Should you win, Prince of Caberra, you will face me after.”

“And should you prevail over my prince, I will cross steel with you, Balric D’Vrelle.” Lord Rodreigo drew his shamshir and stood stoic and regal, his smile long gone from his tan face.

“Enough!” Kalzarius boomed his voice, mixed with arcane force that tore shadows from walls and set the candles ablaze in his tower. He tapped his staff to the floor and walked slowly to the brazier, still glowing bright magenta against the wall. “There will be no bloodshed in my tower, regardless of nobility, kingdom, or titles. Understood?”

The four men glared, dark brown stares slowly watched one another, Harlian to Caberran, blades drawn out and ready. No one wished to cross Kalzarius, yet none would lower their guard.

“Here, look here Prince Willian
, son of
King
Marcellian. I beg of you.” Kalzarius focused hard, he was tired, and the distance far indeed. He could not see past into the dark that surrounded the far west, yet he had found the refugees of Saint Erinsburg. “Your sister lives.”

Prince Willian backed up cautiously, and turned a hesitant gaze into the brazier. In the calm purple liquid light, he saw a man he recognized from his youth. He saw Cristoff Bradswellen the Third of Saint Erinsburg. He was kneeling next to a bed, at night, surrounded in white draperies. A woman in black, a priest of Alden, and a dwarf knelt with him. They looked to be praying. On the bed, fast asleep with a swollen belly, was his sister Rosana. Her hair was shorter than last he saw her, yet it was her. His eye teared a bit, his hand went to touch yet recoiled, he knew it was but magical sight. He sheathed his blade. As he turned, Rodreigo, Balric, and Richmond were looking over his shoulder. They sheathed their blades in silence as well. No one spoke.
Just stared.