The Exodus Sagas: Book III - Of Ghosts And Mountains (72 page)

The gathered nobility whispered, servants rushed to fill wines and glasses, and all eyes were upon this mismatch of companions that had been rumored to brave the deadly pass through the mountains, slay giants, and even a dragon.

She is fair indeed, golden elves rule their race I believe…

Is he related to any of the dwarves here or in Freemoore…

Lazlette, I have heard that is an academy far to the south…

That beast makes the Bear of Evermont look like the cub…

Why would a knight of Chazzrynn be so far north…

They saved the minstrels you know, from the dragon…

Savage looking, but in the pass I heard he killed many…

Sir Jardayne sat, next to the guest of honor, leaned and whispered. “
Lord Agrannar, if you would?”

“
If I would what
?” He huffed.

“
Raise thine hand, wave the feast to begin please. Everyone waits for your approval
.” Jardayne looked up to the furrowing brow of the minotaur.

Saberrak waved his hand up, then a little to the left and right. He did not know how exactly it needed to be done. No one moved, just watched.

He looked to Shinayne who was seated already, but saw him struggling with the formality. She kept her hand low, but moved it forward while unveiling her fingers as she turned it palm up and nodded as she aimed her open hand toward the food. It was graceful indeed. She winked.

Saberrak did as she had, and the cheers went up and the feast began. Saberrak sat, relieved that no one starved on account of his lack of refinement and culture.

“
Yay!
”

“Would the brave lord Agrannar care to here a tale of his accounts?” Tubrey o’ Tarnobb shouted from across the hall, small pygmy of a man, but a great voice he had.

Saberrak watched as everyone dined, drank, discussed at the table a great many things. Lords and well spoken knights came and went, messengers bowed and relayed, and the minstrels awaited the minotaur. He waved his hand, slow and graceful, toward the little folk.

“
Yay
!” All fifteen Shans o’ Little Door went for every sort of instrument around their tables.

Noble men with their wives, some without, greeted the guests and knights throughout the dinner. Some talked to the dwarf on the kingdoms of his people. Others spoke to Shinayne about hers. There were many a fine knight that insisted on shaking hands with Sir James Andellis. Gwenneth and Saberrak, despite their valiant acts of heroism, seemed the least popular. Saberrak assumed it was his horns and savage look. Gwenneth was a prodigal student of the arcane, which left her alone in many ways, she was well aware. They looked to one another, ate, and smiled over the table of food as the rest of the room buzzed around them.

“Sir Jardayne, I am afraid I must depart this rather entertaining feast. Please forgive my absence and that of the Prince of Armondeen.” A strong man with dark eyes, black hair in a pulled tail, and finely decorated plate armor bowed to the Knight General next to Saberrak.

“I am sorry to hear that, Lord Harron. Express the same to young Prince Rohne for me. What is the trouble?” Jardayne stood, nudging the minotaur on purpose. Saberrak stood, having that sense now in this formal setting.

“King Ian, his health worsened. Queen Andora of Armondeen is concerned. She has moved him from Vin Armon to his manor, north in Forrivar. The Prince is rather distraught as you can imagine.” Lord Harron bowed, then looked to the doorway where a young nobleman in his teens, dark hair and eyes the same, spoke with a messenger upon a knee.

“Forgive me, Lord Agrannar, let me introduce one of our fromer knights of Evermont, now the Lord Amirak of Vin Armon in the capital of Armondeen. He is the right hand of his king and queen, high Amirak of the military, and mentor and guardian of the heir prince.This, is Harron Vir Magaste, and over to our right there, that is Prince Rohne, the heir prince and son of Ian and Andora.” Jardayne bowed slightly to them both.

Saberrak looked this man over quick, he was a warrior. His posture, his hand on his long curved blade, small scars under his trimmed beard and on his hands, the minotaur saw the signs despite the refinery and title. “So, Lord Harron, why would you leave your knighthood and become a lord in another kingdom?”

“Quite direct is he not?” Harron smiled to Jardayne then glanced to Saberrak, looking him over distantly.

“Lord Harron was once the Knight General of Evermont, and his blade was mighty in many a battle, Lord Agrannar. After saving queen Andora from bandits of the free cities, he was offered lordship from King Ian of Armondeen. It was an honor that our low king, and Lord Harron, could not refuse from our northern neighbors.” Jardayne smiled. He had been the Knight General for the last sixteen years since Harron had left, and relayed the reasons many a time.

“Like you, minotaur, I am also known for heroics. Although saving a queen is more profitable than saving the stunted of size.” Lord Harron looked the minstrels that were still warming their instruments to tune.

“I feel that heroism, regardless of cause or class, is deserving of equal glory. Do you agree, Lord Agrannar?”

“I fight for my---“

“Come now Sir Jardayne, he is not a lord of anything. You give too much grace here. Butchers and beasts at Symonds’ table, times have changed indeed since my leave.”

Saberrak looked to the lord before him, his blue paint so slight around his dark eyes, oiled hair and perfumed aroma, he stared down and growled very low. “I care little for words or titles when it comes to such things, Harron.”

“That is
Lord Amirak
Harron Vir Magaste, especially to you.”

“Lord Agrannar, you must be starving. Please, enjoy the feast while I show Lord Harron out.” Jardayne stepped in, he knew it would escalate. He knew Harron would not stop his well worded chastising of anyone that drew more attention than he. The knights’ only worry was that a minotaur such as Saberrak may not take it well, or worse, may retaliate. He walked aside Lord Harron, formally of Evermont.

“
Now you are saving horned beasts at the dinner table, Jardayne, you could have been more.”
Harron walked to the prince of Armondeen. He spoke low as the feast went on.

“
I am content with my title, unlike you were, Lord Harron
.”

“
I could use men like you, I have offered before
.”

“
And I denied, and still do, with complete respect to thee and thine king. Please, do not ask again
.”

“My prince, it seems that Sir Jardayne is showing us out.” Harron bowed to the young prince.

Sir Jardayne bowed as well, the two looked like old and young versions of the same person. Same style of dark engraved formal plate armor, high boots, curved dress blades at their sides, even the eyes and hair matched. Thin rich colored faces with high cheekbones, yet Harron’s nose was prominent where Rohne’s was rather small and pretty.

“Prince Rohne of Armondeen, I sincerely wish you could stay. My condolences, and those of Evermont, go to thee and thine father, King Ian. We will keep his name at the top of the prayer list with the bishop and---“

“May we go, Lord Harron. This place bores me.” Prince Rohne turned his back and walked out the hall, royal messengers and servants in tow.

“Ah, to be young again. Good evening, Sir Jardayne.
Do not forget my offer.
” Lord Harron turned and followed his prince.

Jardayne looked to Codaius, they shared a nod, one that meant he had offered them both again this night, and they had both refused, again. The Knight General received nods from Sir Valonne of Cailoc, Sir Naghen of Nestrim, and even young Sir Anders of Carrelyn, knights of Evermont who traced their family line to the most recent city beyond Evermont. Upon their vows to their low king, all gave up their family name and honors, and took that city as their noble suffix. Ten knights for each of the ten seats of Shanador, one hundred in all, and all bowing to a low king that bowed to the high king in Acelinne. Five of Evermont’s oathed were with Symond now, and Lord Harron had wasted no time in his attempts to hire away at the loyalties of the five that remained. The music began, snapping Sir Jardayne of Highmont out of his focus on the departed nobility from Armondeen. He took his seat next to the bold minotaur, knowing that the horned one felt and spoke as he wished he could.

Flutes sang a low long tune, then the small drums and tambourines beat out a soft and steady march, and wood pipes whisteled soft melodies. Everyone ate quietly now, listening as the Shans o’ Little Door played, late as usual. The stringbox strummed, the fiddle hit staccato strokes with the tempo, and the harp covered the harmony with an unearthly elegance. Little Tubrey o’ Tarnobb cleared his throat, then he, a spotted goblin, and Pirri Ann the Golden, sang in trio.

Saberrak felt it. The melody, the slow harmony, and pain inside of him. He stood, back to the room, and walked quietly to the window facing the east over the Misathi. He felt the blue mist of his eyes coming, he did not want anyone to see. A storm was approaching, the pain in his chest came from up there, from Him, something was happening, yet he could only feel it.

“O’er the trails of Mountains we travel,

So much to see and to hear,

A battle was laid to unravel,

Yet a bold warrior was near.”

Saberrak felt the hand of someone on his shoulder, soft, standing with him as his eyes glowed blue and he stared into the sky over Evermont. He looked to his buckle with the fist of Annar, then to the fangs from the giant, and then he saw Gwenneth satnding with him. He felt loneliness, not his own, but from above. Annar was alone, in a dark place that used to be his home. It was cold, and Saberrak shivered in the warmth of Shanador. It was ruined, burned, empty and Saberrak smelled the charred stone of a great castle far away. He lowered his head, fighting tears that were not from him, he had never cried once in his life.

“What is it, the song?” Gwenneth talked soft, staring out as well, hand on Saberrak’s shoulder, smoothly rubbing his gray hide.

“No. It is Him, he has arrived home, and it is gone, destroyed.”

“Him who,
Annar
?”

“Yes.”

Gwenneth thought to argue, to tell him it was illogical to feel such things from such a being, that it was easily explainable as an effect from whatever was in that scroll and now in him. She could have said many things. She continued to rub her hand over his gray hide, smiling back once in awhile as many were likely wondering what was wrong with their guest of honor. The melody played on.

“The dragon lay flame on the giants,

Killing and raging all day,

He would not stand for the tyrants,

His axes found their just way.

Thine bravest men would have sought cover,

Despite we smalls passing the road,

And while their blood spilt on each other,

Saberrak went with horns lowed.

His shoulders throbbed, something trying to pierce them, Saberrak held on to the stone trim around the window with a white knuckled grip. The stone cracked, he gritted his teeth, growling out to the storm as thunder rolled to the west over the city. Wings, his wings were ripping out of his back, finally after thousands of years, Saberrak let the tears fall.

“
Are there wings coming out of my back
?” He whispered in pain.

“No, nothing. Just keep breathing.” Gwenne started to well up, her eyes getting wet now, she knew he was in pain. She faked a smile, maintaining composure. She heard a chair slide, she looked to Shinayne and nodded that all was fine, fake smile, fake nod, but more attention was not needed now with more eyes turning from the music to the minotaur growling out the window.

“
Are they staring
?” He huffed out as quiet as possible.

“I have that all under control. Just keep breathing, it will be over soon.” Gwenneth smiled to the musicians, nodded, and winked. They smiled back, assuming he was choked up over their melody.

“Oh, oh oh, dead titans and dragon,

Would that they now are but bone,

So, raise up your wine and your flagon,

For Saberrak o’ steel and o’ stone,

Oh, oh, oh he faced them alone,

Oh, oh, oh, he faced them…alone.”

The last note carried, the string, the harp, the trio of voices, and lastly the soft wood flute. All was silent. Saberrak felt it, the song, the pain of Annar up somewhere watching him, he knew that He saw him this very moment from wherever He was. Saberrak shuddered, his muscles bulging, he was lifting a pillar, a pillar of his home and temple off of his throne of stone. Annar heaved it into the dark ashes of his ruins and yelled, wings spread out, he had to let them know he was still here, alive to all the world and heavens. Saberrak roared something bestial, savage, from pain and defiance that welled inside. The thunder cracked loudly with the flashing storm at the same moment, thankfully covering his yell that would have put a healthy fear and terror into anyone inside the room.

“
I am home, let the world know, tell the moons, tell my brothers and sisters, tell my father, I am home. And there will be much vengeance upon the wicked
.” The words were gone, the feeling left, Saberrak was back in Evermont now. The blue light faded from his eyes, his body relaxed, yet the tears fell down his tattooed face under his horns.