The Exodus Sagas: Book III - Of Ghosts And Mountains (65 page)

The stairs down held two ogre, both met their ends with slit throats that no one could hear. Fadim was accurate, cautious, and blocked his path by placing their unkempt steel weapons on the stairs in the dark pathways where the green lights did not shine. He continued down, three trolls meandered the cavern before the alcove, playing with a rat that had turned green and lost its hair. It looked like them, soft, red light in the eyes, and black claws. Fadim waited, the rat came toward him, three greasy emaciated trolls in chase.

Fadim flicked it with his boot, high in the dark cavern it went, shrieking in terror. The trolls looked and tried to grab it, shoving and clawing one another. Before they could react, two perfect slashes of a priceless crafted shamshir cut above their hips, through the spines, spilling black ichor and organs to the floor with two dead trolls. The third hissed and screeched as it caught the rat infected with
trollice
, then turned toward the flash of steel that glimmered in its outer vision. It felt the blade, then a knife across its throat, then it felt weightless and fell. The red pinpoints of light faded. Fadim crushed the rat with his bootheel in its scurrying flight from torment.

He danced and ducked past the dozens of struggling dead ogre that were chained, he would deal with them in a moment. Crimson of the North stood over the slow breathing and undying wizard that rotted on the slab. The flesh was gray and withered, black veins for blue, and shadows played around the deep dark eyes that lay closed. He heard whispers, no language, perhaps no words, but whispers from below the crevice that he stood next to. Something was there, down there.

“
You can repair those mirrors? You are certain? Do not waste my time with fancy promises elf. I need to contact my patriarch and inform him of what has gone on here.”
Vanessa’s voice was stronger, more confident than Fadim recalled, even from a distance.

“
Yes, yes, I can fix them. I just need some time. Avegarne will do as you say, but with Salah Cam sleeping, well, it has been difficult. I am, not him you see, and they much prefer their own company, the rotted ones, yes.”
Eliah Shendrynn was coming too, Fadim had no time.

“
They will get used to me, a woman has her ways. You have just found that out, I believe.”
Closer now, outside in the cavern, Fadim raised his shamshir over Salah Cam’s neck.

“
You like the sword? That scimitar is quite enchanted you know, found it here. It is yours beautiful Vanessa, all yours.”
Sword? Vanessa Blackflame never held a sword nor knew how to use one, Fadim thought a moment.

“
Thank you Eliah, now we fix the warlock mirrors, find Fadim, and then you heal my scars and burns, as agreed.”

“
Yes, I have just the right mixtures for that, in Salah’s study up above
---“

Squeak! Squeak
!

“What is it my pet, what has happened? You saw what?” The voices were right outside the alcove.

Fadim had heard enough, he looked at the man who was likely once human, guilty of using necronomy and dealing with the dead. Vanessa and Eliah sprinted toward the room just in time. Just in time to see the shamshir take the head of Salah Cam. Fadim shoved the body off the slab and into the crevice, the head remained, eyes closed.

“
Nooooo!
What have you done!
Nooo
!” Eliah fell to his knees, terrified.

Fadim drew a knife in his left hand, now he had to kill them. He stopped as his first step began, the eyes on the decapitated head opened. Black mist poured into the air, blacker than oil, and swirled straight for Eliah Shendrynn.

“
Nooo
! Get away!” Eliah ran out as fast as he could, but not faster than the raging midnight shadows that slammed him to the ground and poured into his mouth and ears. In seconds, it was over.

Fadim stood still and stared at what was happening, the dead ogre rattled the chains that held them, and the eyes of the skull closed once more. Vanessa watched as well. Eliah Stood, turned toward them, then vomited all over his chest and fell again.

“Get out of me! You thieving wretch of a whore!” It was Eliah Shendrynn, but his voice was different.

“It is mine,
focking elf
, mine, get out!” It was not Eliah Shendrynn, not his voice at all, but out of the same mouth.

The struggling elf drew his blade, then sheathed it, then fell to the ground shaking his head back and forth, arguing and moaning to himself, the scene was disturbingly mad.

Vanessa turned to Fadim, he looked at her in return, and she unsheathed an ornate scimitar of curved elegance, her black wooden wand was already in her left hand.

“You and your master have allied with the dead, those that manipulate souls and possess, and I pity that you must die here. I will mourn for Balric, for he truly loves a woman named Vanessa who does not exist.” Fadim strode directly at Vanessa Blackflame.

She met his challenge, the feeble burned and scarred Caberran girl ran to the edge of the crevice, scimitar low to her side. His Shamshir, like a stroke of lightning, slashed at her, she parried it. Fadim’s knife followed, right for her heart, Vanessa parried it with a backslash.

“
Impossible
, you are not Vanessa.” Fadim was stunned, she was well trained, like him, it was not believable.

Vanessa angled her feet toward the right side of the crevice, her face was unemotional, and her dark eyes watched his without so much as a blink. She weaved the blade up to draw his parries, then feinted low to lure his crosscuts. Vanessa pulled back then feinted a lunge, pulling him close with his blades crossed and ready to disarm her. She feinted again, to the left, then the right, putting Fadim off balance fast. Not one blade made contact with the other. As she raised her blade to cut him down, she kicked him in the ribs, the razor sharp tip of her secretly bladed boot penetrated deep.

Fadim leapt to the stone slab at the last moment before he fell into the crevice. His side was bleeding, his ribs likely broken, he had not expected this. His hands slipped, his shamshir fell into the endless black, yet he stuck his knife hard into the stone that still held the severed head of Salah Cam. Slowly, in agony, he got his shoulder over the edge, then the other, safely out of sword reach from Vanessa.

“
You
, you tricked Balric, me, everyone, you are a splendid actress for a whore. Who taught you the arts of the blade?” Fadim pulled himself up to his hands and knees. He knew Vanessa was afraid of the dead ogre, she would not come around to reach him on the slab over the pit. He kicked the shadow spewing decapitated head of Salah Cam into the pit, then held his bleeding side.

“Johnas Valhera.” Vanessa pointed the wand at Fadim, cold and composed, she waited to see his eyes.

“
Who are you
?” Fadim stood then turned to face his opponent.

“Sapphire of the East. And you are a traitor, good bye, traitor.” Vanessa focused and unleashed not one, not three, but five spinning blasts of red hot fire from her wand into the circular chamber. The rapidly expanding bursts slammed into Fadim, the dead ogre, and filled the entire room in explosive flames.

Fadim screamed, his skin burning, clothing on fire, and he was blown into the crevice. The only light was his own incineration, all was dark, a freefall with no end in sight.

His fall stopped a long minute later, his eyes closing, death taking him from the burns that stole his flesh. He felt something around his waist, soft yet strong, constricting and wet. It held him in the dark, the cold mucous extinguished the flames, yet his body was still moving down. He could scream no more, his body had nothing left, he lay limp on a pulsing serpent in the dark. Then orange light appeared below, still moving down, far beneath the surface of the world.

“
No
.” He saw the outline of the thousands of feet of tentacle that held him. It was taking him down to something.

“
No, Yjaros have mercy, almighty God, creator of the earth and moons, no.
” Fadim was helpless as he saw dozens more of the massive tentacles. They came from something in the ground, rivers of fire far below flowed around the thing. He saw others, held by these worms of the deep, they went further down. The tentacles had no end it seemed, travelling into caverns and holes from a mass that was pulling him in, he heard screams, besides his own. He saw the body of Salah Cam held by one tentacle, the head by another. There were so many.

“
Nooo!
”

Cristoff III:IV

Shanador Tradeway, North of the Misathi Mountains

Cristoff Bradswellen raised his head, shook the blood saturated hair from his eyes, and got to a knee. His mind swam to the raging melee around him. His horse was dead, he had taken another after the initial charge. He had been struck off that steed after deflecting an ogre spear. It was dark, the last of the light was fading behind them in the east replaced by western moonlight. He saw the bodies, hundreds of his men around him, hundreds of Deadeye ogre warriors lay dead as well. The battle still sounded heavy near the caravan, in the hills and on the road, all around him. He heard ogre in the southern foothills fighting the merciless charges of Sir Karai and his cavalry. Cristoff could hear Leonard calling for aid, but there was none. The former lord even made out Garrets voice, calming the people as ogre breached their supplies and began to kill.

“
My lord
! Get up, you must call a retreat and---“

Blood splattered across Cristoff as he was pulled to his feet, the head of the soldier fell. His longsword drove ahead with both hands on the hilt into the ogre, his shield was lost on the field. The ogre roared and raised his axe in fury. Cristoff was weak, but he stepped to his left and split the ogre open from belly to spine as the axe embedded into the corpse of the headless soldier. He dove the point through its back and out through the heart, then fell to a knee, too tired to stand.

He looked now, squinting to see the field. He had twenty men remaining against over forty ogre led by a bloody chief Ullirut Deadeye, not fifty feet away and closing. He turned to look behind him. Garret was with ten men, fighting the ogre that had made it through to the people, outnumbered five to one. He could not see Sir Leonard, the north flank was a lake of dead bodies. Archers fired from the caravan at the approaching ogre that had trampled their way past his missing knight. Cristoff saw Sir Karai leading another valiant charge into the foothills, yet he had but fifteen horse perhaps against a scattered hundred ogre that were regrouping.

He wanted to yell, to give orders, but his breath came in short gasps and he had ten ogre heading right for him. He looked, no one to stand with him, no one to sound the retreat, and his voice would not come.

Here it is then, but I will take the chief with me, Alden mark my words and let me die well…

Cristoff stood, summoning what strength he had left. He ran, his armor heavy, his men saw him take the charge on foot. Twelve of twenty made their way toward him, ignoring the ogre they fought, all on foot as well. They ran, charging with raised blades and bloody halbreds, toward forty ogre warriors that surrounded the chief.

Stomping, well timed stomping of thousands came from the foothills behind the ogre. It echoed loudly like thunder through the mountain vales, stopping ogre and man alike to turn and stare. Cristoff slowed, his courage stolen as he heard the heavy steps of what was surely another ogre tribe. Unlike him with thousands of peasants in exile, the ogre had a city of vicious warriors nearby. He had known as much but had taken the chance, for his people and their future. He hung his head as his few remaining men reached him. Then he heard it.

“Vuumber!”

“Vuumber!”

“Vuumber!”

The sound of stomping was accompanied by a war chant, the ringing of steel on steel, in time with the steps and words. It was terribly intimidating to all the men, most trembled in fear of what would emerge. The people of the caravan screamed in terror of the unknown in the night. The ogre were still however. Cristoff furrowed his brow in thought, listening close.

“That is not the ogre tongue.” Cristoff looked up, west, into the foothills.

A volley of arrows landed from the dark sky into ogre ranks, hundreds of flights, twenty of the warriors around chief Ullirut fell to the ground feathered with shafts.

“Those arrows did not come from us, we don’t have that many archers left.” Cristoff walked forward straining to see what stomped in the dark of the Misathi toward them.

“Ye’ ogre want a fight?! We be more than happy to oblige ye’ then! Come pick on some yer’ own size!” Tannek Anduvann raised the golden battle axe of King Therrak as he shouted his challenge onto the field.

“Vuumber!”

“Vuumber!”

“Vuumber!”

The five hundred exiled dwarves, once the Southern Outguard Scout of Marlennak, responded to their leader and marched onto the tradeway road. The bows were tossed to the far left and right of the formation. The archers readied their shields and axes, the front aimed their spears of steel for charge, and they waited for the order to kill the ogre that had attacked the caravan of human men, women, and children.

“
Ughteras, vorbrenn, artariuk dwargeliks
!” Ullirut roared his rallying call for his men to charge the dwarves and take all of their heads.