The Exodus Sagas: Book III - Of Ghosts And Mountains (16 page)

“And you know this
how
, might I ask?” Pouring a glass of poor church wine from Harlaheim, Lord T’Vellon sat in his desk and watched every motion of this strange elf.

“I saw it. Ten or more days ago, south, outside Roricdale, a gathering took place. Your scouts could verify the tracks of hundreds of trolls from the Hollowmoors and just as many ogre from the western wastes of Arouland and Teirenshire. They were not alone. Avegarne, a rotted ogre king, and Mun Parr, the four armed queen of the trolls were both present. And that is not all, Lord Alexei.”

“Trolls and ogre hate one another, surely they began killing upon sight. And this
Avegarne
is a myth from the days of my father.”

“No. They met, as I have stated. With a decaying wizard that held them in sway named Salah Cam, and Prince Johnas of Valhirst. Another man in all black, seemed a bodyguard, I did not get his name.” Lavress sighed, assuming this news of Chazzrynn nobility in corrupt allegiance would not be tolerated lightly.

“Surely you jest, is this a joke?”

“That is not all. When this company broke camp, the ogre and troll left with the wizard to wage war in the west, as you may have seen but the beginning. Johnas and his men headed back east I believe. However, an elf I hunt, an enemy to the Temple of the Whitemoon named Eliah Shendrynn, is now with this
Salah Cam
. He is more dangerous than you could imagine.” The hunter of the Hedim Anah left out the incident with his attempted kill of the Prince of Valhirst, still feeling the bite of shame for his actions, regardless of their failure.

“This is rather insane, you do realize. The temple of the Whitemoon is but an old fiction, none are left save for children’s stories. Ogre and troll do not make pacts or raise armies, and their leaders are of tall tales from the soldiers who have been in their cups too long at night. Prince Johnas, well, I have heard he could wither flowers with a glance, but allying with such as you say, preposterous.” Alexei fumed, having nothing much to do, trapped in Southwind, yet feeling the need to not be wasting the minutes with such fantasy.

“Your people are in grave peril, Lord of Southwind, I am on a mission of the utmost importance for my order. Your belief in it or not, does not concern me. I have taken dangerous time away to come and warn you, I assure you with all my honor, that war is coming. These are but the forefront, the mild skirmishes you have been told of. The real---“

“Enough! I will not be fooled by this concoction of yours, Lavress whoever you are and from whomever you come. You are not the first elf to come through here with fantastical stories and to leave a wake of confusion! I am no puppet, not like my sister, no!” Alexei pounded his fist on the table. The scroll and those that carried it, his father’s death in Arouland years ago, James Andellis returning, Kaya leaving and supposedly killing branded traitors to cover her trail, it all surfaced in anger at once. Alexei stood, looking down at his slightly shorter guest, and felt bitter revulsion in his throat.

“I am truly sorry to hear these words, Lord T’Vellon. You are troubled, beyond my words and presence it seems.” Lavress looked around, sensing that further pressure would result in more than a battered desk. He saw Alexei’s bust in the corner, another very similar next to it, although feminine, like twins.

“Is that your sister, my Lord?”

Exhaling some frustration, finishing the wine, and making to leave after turning away this vagabond savage, Alexei nodded. “Tis, yes. Kaya T’vellon, my older twin sister and former Lady of Southwind. She is either dead or hiding out, wanted, I am sure you have heard. The whole of the kingdom has.”

Lavress looked again, rested his mind while he stood and looked with eyes closed. He felt the north, a city, past Chazzrynn, underground. Fear and darkness, yet there she was, he saw her masked figure. Not dressed as a noble like the bust here, yet it was her. Drawing on the pain from Alexei, he could feel where she indeed was running, surrounded by evil. A fight, her internal sins weighing against her, yet a glimmer of heroism was sparkling in her external battle. He saw others, then,
Shinayne
. His lover, somewhere far underground, trying to escape, this
Kaya
was helping Shinayne escape, near Willborne or perhaps western Harlaheim. Lavress could barely see her in the dark and intense speed in which their spirits were moving. Ogre, dark sorceries, two more bright lights, no, three. A minotaur, a man, and a dwarf, all rushing with them, trying to reach the surface in desperation and friendship. His eyes watered though closed, he willed them to dry before opening his mouth to the man beside him.

“Your sister is not dead, she is with Lady Shinayne T’Sarrin of Kilikala.”

“How could you possibly know that?” Alexei stood a moment, intrigued yet angry.

“I can see them. She is helping her escape---“

The door slammed open, armored guards of Southwind hit a knee to the stone floor before their lord. Both Lavress and Alexei had blades half out from the sudden interruption.

“Rise.”

“My lord, King Mikhail sends word from the east, a messenger.” The Knight of Southwind stood and stepped aside.

“His garrisons are flanked by ogre and troll and his supply trains to the east have been cut off. The King calls for aid from Southwind. He cannot reach Vallakazz or Saint Gavrielle, nor Silverbridge. War has broken out in the north at Hurne and south at Roricdale sire, and our King heads here to Elcram.” The messenger breathed in, having barely made the journey without capture and having not eaten nor slept in nearly three days.

“For what reason was our King travelling with such a force? Is he not waging war in Valhirst over the latest dispute between the heir Prince and Prince Johnas? This all seems odd at best, messenger. Wars directly to my north and south? I have heard but skirmishes and little more.” Alexei did not trust it, he looked to Lavress, then back to the messenger that was worn and exhausted beyond sight.

“I have not the answers for that Lord T’Vellon, yet I heard they are either completely surrounded, or worse. Word may not have reached you, if there is anyone alive to carry a message that is. I have the king’s seal, Lord T’Vellon.” He handed a parchment, rolled and dirtied, but the falcon seal was evident. The messenger from King Mikhail and the gathering Knights of Southwind in the stairs and cramped hallway all gleamed looks into the room with their lord and this strange elf. They waited for the answer, for the orders he would give, to save the king or prepare for war, or both.

“Lord T’Vellon, I do not mislead here, and this is just the beginning. I believe this Salah Cam, whom I have brushed with before, is in league with whatever is happening. I may offer insight, for what I have warned is true.” Lavress rested his posture, also awaiting word before he left to his treacherous journey to return the last stolen book to his temple, so far from home.

“So it may very well be, elf. I hope you are not too late.” Lord Alexei cast him a glance, then a half smile, curious about the words he had spoken of his sister Kaya. “
Guards!
”

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Rats and starving cats peeked over what was left of the study, decayed tomes, the dust of ages marking their travels, and watched with feral curiosity at the bubbling beakers and steaming cauldron that threw so many lights into the room. The top room of the tower of Arouland, where no one had lived besides the rodent squatters and their feline predators, for over four centuries, now held two wizards in league with the ogre armies that still maintained the wastes of the west in Chazzrynn. One rat peeked too close, a scabrous skeletal hand seizing her and into the pot she went with a shriek and sizzle. The rats ran every direction, fleeing this old rotted man and his elegant elven companion. The cats stayed, agaze, enthralled, and far too interested in what was going on to move from their vantage points along withered shelves and dirty corners.

Salah Cam could not smell his own stench, though he was aware it existed by the faces of others, not that he cared much. The oils were blending well, the cauldron held enough arcane necrosis to cover the task at hand, and he resisted the urge to smile in dark glee over his concoctions. He slid the platinum ring off his bony finger, sliding it into a worn pocket on black burial robes that covered his scarred and dead body. It was the duplicate to the ring that held Balric D’Vrelle enslaved to Johnas, just in case he ever needed one, and now he did. Salah lifted his bone staff topped with a polished human skull, and stared into the empty sockets.
Human, am I now, was I once, soon not to be
. He thought deeply as the wisps of shadow caroused from his own dying eyes through the room, sensing the living so opposed to his situation strangely in between.

“What takes so long, old wizard? My pain is nearly gone, yet my hand is healing broken and bent at the wrist.” Eliah Shendrynn, highborne elf and wizard in exile from Kilikala, turned his focus from the cracked crystal orb he had been using to the old wretch.

“Nearly finished my elven friend, nearly finished.”

“You said that a day prior. I can find no trace of the book I seek, nor Lavress the savage that stole it from me. Are you sure this device still functions?” His good hand moved gracefully over more terrain, hills and forests, searching by arcane sight and sense for his lost treasures.

“I am sure, very sure. I have used it for many decades without fail. The ogre have reported nothing, their wolves with no trails to catch?” Salah Cam stepped around the cauldron, cats hissing as he passed. He looked to the sound of a
squish
underfoot, his ear from two nights past, now evident indeed that it fell in this room.

“Nothing at all. This Avegarne, he has the same affliction as you it seems?” Eliah was tired of the rotten smells, the ogre stench, the decay all around him. The cat and mouse games of stolen elven tomes and battles with Lavress Tilaniun had been ongoing for years, entombed for weeks from a Gimmorian demon’s wrath, and assaulted by a swarm of hungry harpies, this weeks’ rest was needed for certain. Yet, even with all the arcane supplies, stolen foods from ogre raids, and assistance from this half dead warlock, Eliah needed to continue on once his hand was restored. As soon as he located Lavress and his book, he would leave this cursed place and those that called it home.

“No, Avegarne is one of few ogre that survived a horrible pestilence years ago here, yes. Mine, well, is more a mishap of arcane doing, not of my own mind you. I was interrupted at a very inconvenient time. You should know it was an elf, but not one as you are, much more foul and spiteful he is. His day is coming, yes, yes it is.” Salah Cam raised the staff, looked to the cauldron, the black was thin, the greens the right thickness, and the steam was as the shadow of his eyes. It was time.

“Who is this elf then?” Watching close the necronomic arts that would heal his hand, Eliah feigned interest as he searched the orb for his prey. Though repulsive, this old wizard had allegiance with trolls and ogre that numbered in the thousands and had a strong knowledge and practice in the arts. More treasures and enchanted regalia than he had seen with a human, he was sure Salah was far beyond most of his kind. Beyond life and archaic as well, but a useful pawn he would make for the time being.

“Kendari. Kendari of Stillwood. A Nadderi, cursed by his own, well your own then, for whatever he had done centuries ago. His blades did their work, yet I am still here, yes, and he will know my face before his death, be sure.”

“Nadderi are a myth where I am from, old man, a scary story to warn children when they learn of religion and history. I would not trust anyone that…
ahhhhh
, there you are Lavress. Strange I find you and my book in a city instead of the wilds, but there you are, there you are hunter of the Hedim Anah.” Eliah was attuned, euphoric, there was Lavress inside a room in Southwind with human men, and the book gleamed gold from inside his pack with the arcane sight. Eliah smiled, knowing where he would be heading in mere moments.

“
Invulistiri, Kalikastiri, houm huoris, Halsristiri
!” he pointed the eyes of the skull on his staff and glared at the liquid as shadows danced into the cauldron at his command, completing what he need done.

“It is time I leave for---“

“Ah, ah, ah, master Shendrynn, it is complete. Give me your broken hand so that I may heal it with the darker arts.”

Eliah had seen many old Gimmorian rites, studied the old passages far beyond this one, yet had his doubts on the way this old man prepared his sorceries. However, with his careful elven hearing, he had not heard anything out of the ordinary as far as foul play would enter in, and his hand was indeed useless. “Very well.” His good hand stayed on the hilt of his curved elven blade at his side, his mind on a magick blast of arcane fire should Salah try anything sneaky.

Salah Cam took the broken and twisted appendage of this beautiful elven ally, noting with his peripheral vision the scowling repugnance upon his face. Salah smiled, putting his hand into the cauldron with his own. Slowly, fingers first, then the hand, then above the broken wrist and forearm bones. The sizzle at first from the heat, then the shadows danced, then the green flared and soaked in. Bones popped painlessly, flesh began to turn back to where it should have been. Not on Salah’s hand, as he was no longer among the living, only on his breathing companion.

“Ahhh, I can feel it working, quite pleasant actually. Well done rotted one, well done.” Eliah closed his eyes a moment, some ecstasy and euphoria taking hold as his hand healed. He had expected pain, failure, anything but the warm embrace of magicked liquids to feel this good.