The Exodus Sagas: Book III - Of Ghosts And Mountains (66 page)

“Ye’ heard em’ men, they want our heads they do! I hate ogre! Exiled Battlebeards o’ King Thalanaxe,
Charge!”
Tannek slapped Drodunn on the shoulder and led his men running onto the field. Drodunn raised his axe and charged in, as did old Brunnwik the High Hammer.

“
Vuumber!
”

“
Dwarves
? From where, how could this, why would they…
Thalanaxe?
”Cristoff stared as the ogre ran from his caravan and people into an advancing and well formed dwarven army. He shook his head, stopping his minds’ questions, and raised his sword.

“Knights and men of Harlaheim, flank them from behind,
Charge
!” Cristoff found his voice, some strength, and ran with his weary men of just over fifty in all. Sir Karai was still ahorse, Garret right behind him, and Sir Leonard emerged bloody but alive from the dark field of battle to kill the ogre, side by side with his lord.

The moons watched as the two hundred raging ogre, fatigued from battle and bloodshed, met a wall of tight formed dwarven spears. A second row of spearmen plunged over the heads of their brothers, building a pile of ogre corpses. When the ogre gave up trying to charge over their own dead, they split to flank on the left and right sides. Tannek had them all too well trained in fighting ogre, and the dwarves on the sides held up their shields like a sheet of steel. The ogre pounded away, grabbed and tossed dwarves with their infuriated hands. Then the ogre began to fall. From under the wall of shields, the archers snuck low and hacked calves, ankles, knees, and hamstrings.

Just as Ullirut decided to withdraw, the remaining men and knights of Harlaheim crashed into their warriors from behind, slashing swords with fury, pinning them between spears, the foothills, the dwarven axes and shields, and then there was nowehere to run or escape. His one eyed ogre lasted another minute, maybe less, then he was swarmed by ten dwarves and pulled down in the dark. Every ogre was dead, all but one, the Deadeye tribe was vanquished.

Torches lit from man and dwarf alike, the caravan approached, the injured were being tended to. Rosana watched and Kaya peered out the open flap of their wagon. Two dwarves held each leg, two men on each arm, and the dwarf with the golden axe held a gauntlet full of greasy hair. He pulled it hard, forcing the huge one eyed ogre chief to look up to Cristoff.

“You don’t want to see this Kaya.” Rosana closed the flap, relieved it was over.

“Yes I do, please. Open it.” Kaya asked.

“Why?” Rosana scrunched her face at the thought of what would likely happen here.

“Victory is seldom in this world, as is justice.”

“And salvation?” Rosana looked to her recovering sister in exile. She wanted to know Kayas past, but thought it better she did not, not yet.

“Yes, that too.” Kaya smiled, seeing the red bearded dwarves meet and talk with the remaining Harlian soldiers.

“Any last words, beast?” Cristoff drew his longsword.

Ullirut spit, all he could do besides struggle with the nine that held him.

Cristoff knew it was justice, and one less ogre. With him dead, they would have no word to Bloodskull to alert others to try the same. He would be saving his people from an assured retaliation. He raised the blade as the dwarven leader pulled Ulliruts head down by the hair for a clean stroke.

“Wait, wait a moment would ye’?”

Cristoff thought. These dwarves might prefer mercy, perhaps an honorable fight, or chaining him to the mountain. He paused, pushing his anger aside, thinking of what he was doing. Then he saw the golden axe, the dwarf held it out for him to take.

“For me men, you get the kill, but with a dwarven axe. Cleaner and easier anyway. They call that compromise I think
sir…
” Tannek smiled.

“
Lord
actually, Lord Cristoff Bradswellen the Third, exiled from Saint Erinsburg.” Cristoff took the golden axe, it was heavy. He raised it over the neck of Ullirut Deadeye.

“Marshall Tannek Anduvann, exiled from Marlennak. Well met and all. Ready to see the fires o’ hell, ye’ one eyed ogre beastie?
Hope so
.” Tannek nodded to Cristoff.

Chop, thud, thud

Cheers went up into the sky at night, boots stomped, and shields clanged as the ogre chief was beheaded. The injured were healed by father Garret, father Drodunn, and the High Hammer Brunnwik. Prayers and miracles of Alden and Vundren went out in pious requests and they were answered. Just over four hundred were buried, only twelve were dwarves. Just the same, every dwarf paid their respects to the fallen soldiers of both races, as did every Harlian, regardless of the language of the blessings, or the God they were spoken to.

“Marshall Anduvann, you said a familiar name when you came to our aid.” Cristoff stood in front of the unmarked grave of Capitan Broushelle, paying his last respects to the man that had served him for many decades.

“I did? Don’t recall much o’ that moment, all hopped on whiskey and battle does that to me.” Tannek smiled.

“You wouldn’t be heading west, would you? Far west?” Cristoff smiled back.

“How far west?”

“Very far west.”

“To what?” Tannek grinned.

“Whatever is there.” Cristoff noticed.

“And what is there Lord Cristoff, do you think?”

“A place that does not exist?” He saw it in Tannek’s face.

“You following anyone in particular there?”

“Maybe a beautiful elven woman and a noble knight, and what about you?”

“Perhaps, I saw a horned gray beast and a lovely black robed wizardess?” Tannek saw the knowing look, he knew them.

“And a priest, a very loyal dwarven priest that travels with them?” Cristoff knew he knew, he smiled.

“Naye, we be following a dwarven
king
though. He just don’t know it yet. I have his armor, helmet, and royal axehammer with me.” Tannek lifted the flask to his lips, drank, and passed it to Cristoff.

“Ahh, well, to a good journey then,
wherever
you are headed.” Cristoff sipped the whiskey, it was strong. He laughed out loud at their incidental meeting and patted Tannek on the shoulder plate, relieved to have the company.

“Aye, to Azenairk Thalanaxe, wherever he is, and to the fallen men here tonight that died in hopes he finds it. Hope we find him soon.” Tannek drank again, smiling.

“Yes, and to Sir James Andellis, Lady Shinayne T’Sarrin, and Gwenneth Lazlette.” Cristoff took the flask and drank again.

“Aye, aye. And to Saberrak Agrannar o’ the Grays, may he keep em’ all alive and safe in the Misathi.” Tannek nodded to Cristoff, then went to set up camp, leaving his flask.

“We have much to talk about, you and I. Sleep well, Tannek Anduvann, and thank you.”

“Aye, I bet we do. No thanks needed Cristoff, we dwarves was lookin’ to kill somethin’ anyways. G’night.”

Exodus III:XII

Misathi Crossroads, South of Evermont, Shanador

James was crouched on the ridge high above the valley, red rock peaks all around him. He looked across in the dark to Shinayne, she was still, poised, on the ridge opposite Deadman’s Pass. He could just make out her eyes and form in the moonlight. The knight of Chazzrynn waited, he knew they were coming. For an entire night they had ran and killed and run some more. Then the next day, then all this past night again, they had fled. They had taken caverns, hid over the peaks, done everything imaginable. The Mogi could not be shaken off their trail, would not cease, and last count had still over thirty that hunted them.

He looked over his shoulder, Gwenneth and Zen were sleeping, exhausted they were. Gwenne had her head curled up into Zen’s lap, and the dwarf rested his face on her calves, both asleep on a small flat plateau of stone in the Misathi. There were no more blankets, spare clothes, or items of comfort. They had used them all to make enough fire to cook their last meal of vulture, crow, and hyena four days past. James had carried Gwenne up this slope hours ago, she had fainted and collapsed from using her arcane powers too much in the night. Zen was simply done in. His armor used to make less noise when he walked, he had lost many pounds of padding on this journey, and James could tell he was a bit thinner.

His blue eyes wandered to the north, to Saberrak. He could just make him out as well, standing in the middle of the pass. He had not tired, not a bit. James had killed maybe three Mogi with his blade, Shinayne perhaps five or six, as Gwenneth and Zen had been trapping and assaulting with the arcane and divine together killing dozens and slowing them with many an obstruction. Saberrak, however, had gone off twice and though quiet about it, James knew he was killing many. His ferocity was more and more with each kill, and he grew more silent with each day that passed. James hoped that was a mindset, one that the minotaur would come out of, as it was a bit frightening at times.

Before he slept, Zen had melded the stone in three places, over large holes and fords in the pass and on the slopes on either side of it. A thin layer of rock, not enough to hold the weight of a fifteen foot cannibal let alone thirty, was over these lowpoints. They could crawl out, but on a run it would drop them ten feet and give them time to hit and run. Saberrak was the bait for one, James on this slope, and Shinayne on the other. Zen said he wanted to run no further, Gwenne lacked the strength, and Saberrak wanted to kill as he was tired of the constant flight. The food was gone, the water too, this was their last stand.

“Raaghaha, rahaga, mogaha, ramogahi!”

“Raaghaha, rahaga, mogaha, ramogahi!”

He heard it, sure they all did, echoing up the vale from the south. They all saw it too, not the Mogi, but the sun. It lit the west from pink to orange. James smiled, knowing at least the Mogi fought and moved slower in the daytime, and he and his allies could see better as well. He watched the sunrise, blinding for a moment, even with the clouds passing in front. Brilliant orange and yellows, rays of gold turned the sky from back to indigo, to a deep dark blue. James followed it, despite the war chant not far off, watching the stars disappear and fade as if they were illusions. Five small ones did not move or blend, but grew stronger with the sun. They were low, it seemed only a few hundred feet higher than him on the horizon, right above a mountain peak. James squinted, they were not stars, they were cut stones glimmering in the sunlight atop far reaching flagpoles, only a few miles ahead to the north. He could not make out the banners, he did not have to, he saw the fortress on the mountainside that held those poles.

“
Saberrak! Shinayne
!” He yelled. James drew his broadsword and pointed it toward the fortress city at the end of the Misathi, tears in his eyes, his throat tightened in overwhelming joy and hope of what he saw just ahead. “
Evermont! We are in Shanador
!”

Saberrak turned and glanced, then looked to James and nodded. He pointed his greataxe at the horde of Mogi that had just cleared the south ridge, not five hundred feet away.

James did not look, he stepped over the ridge and shook Gwenneth and Azenairk awake. He had let Zen sleep an hour, maybe more, and Gwenne had passed out well before that.

“What, wha…where are they!?” Zen snorted as he shot up and reached for his warhammer.

“Are we dead yet…is it over?” Gwenne stretched and stood.

“Evermont, right to the north, maybe three miles! Hurry!” James was helping them up, sniffling as they smiled and looked up at him.

“Raaghaha, rahaga, mogaha, ramogahi!”

“Raaghaha, rahaga, mogaha, ramogahi!”

They were close, right down in the pass, the stone shook as the Mogi charged. Gwenne, James, and Zen lost their smiles and climbed over ridge. Three decorated shamans, over forty Mogi warriors, all covered in streaks of black blood warpaint from their own dead. They were spread from slope to slope, too far apart to get more than half in the well laid traps.

“They got smarter they did, not runnin’ in bunches and lines anymore. Vundren curse em’.”

Saberrak stared up at the Mogi, their shamans, and twirled his greataxes in his hands. The cannibal giants looked around, their pace slowed, they saw Shinayne and then the three on the other side. They sniffed the air. Then they stopped, twenty feet in front of the covered pits. The shamans walked up another ten, tapping with their spears, looking beyond Saberrak and their prey. Something had them cautious.

Everyone froze, not a single move from anyone, all save Saberrak who kept spinning his axe handles in his grip, staring and snorting at his enemies, pacing, oblivious to anything else.

“
Ye’ think the city there spooks em’, James
?” Zen whispered.

“
Doubtful, it’s miles away, and they are much faster in the mountains than any army of men or even cavalry. If they sense the traps, why not just come around them and get us
?” James whispered over his shoulder.

“On the off chance they
can
hear us,
and understand
, do not offer any more strategy on our becoming their next meal please.” Gwenne was rested, her sarcasm gave it away.

“
They won’t eat us, they are cannibals. They will just burn us in their fires and make totem ornaments out of our bones
.” James grinned.

“Allright, enough you too. Ain’t no giant makin’ me into no cursed road sign, let’s move north a bit, see if they follow.”