The Exodus Sagas: Book IV - Of Moons and Myth (39 page)

“
Here, young Oggidan.” Jehrale V
alhera sheathed his blades and walked forward, the agents heeded his words and withdrew without order. He noticed Farrigus wince at the fact the agents listened to him without question.

“I have sent the other agents up topside, the war is going to breach the gates soon. Farrigus I have---“ Oggidan was cut off.

“Crimson of the North, boy, do not
forrrget
it again.” Farrigus growled.

“My apologies.” Oggidan bowed slightly to the one eyed panther. “Master Crimson, Prince Johnas has requested you and your men from the ships to the courtyard, now.”

“Is that an
orrrder
, boy?”

“No sir, just from the prince is all, not from me.” Oggidan reached out his hand with the jeweled scabbard
,
Johnas’
kris
blade inside. “Master Vermillion, the patriarch has asked for you to guard the heir prince, and told me to give this to you. Be careful, it hurt me when---“

“I know,
only Johnas and I can hold it.” Jehrale took the blade that held the timeless spirit of their mother, known as the emerald witch of Valhirst. Her trial was inevitable two decades past now, she was guilty of killing their father, so she had plunged this blade into her chest. Now, she was inside it, always guiding her sons to what she failed to accomplish
in life
and warning them of danger.

“So I go to fight the war, while mighty Vermillion gets gifts and guard duty? Typical, Johnas always has his favorites, but those favorites usually end up
dead.
” Crimson of the North stalked out of the underground to get his feline brethren from the galleons at port.

“Was that a threat, newly appointed replacement?” Jehrale unsheathed the kris blade, then a shortblade in his left.

“A
prrromise
, master Vermillion, brother of Johnas Valhera. Your title may be just as precarious as mine, one by curse and timing, and one by
rrrelation
. I g
o to kill many men now, you two
enjoy the dark…and watch your path, you
neverrr
know what may cross it.”
Farrigus
the panther
stalked up the stairs in the dancing torchlight, alone.

“
Brother
? Is that true, master Vermillion?” Oggidan walked back toward his second mentor. The first was Fadim, the previous Crimson of the North, who was killed as a traitor by Sapphire of the East. Now, Oggidan had been learning under Vermillion of the South, and he was smiling at the thought that he was the brother to Johnas Valhera.

Jehrale walked back toward the heir prince after a quick nod to the four guarding agents. He thought of how he was supposed to kill anyone that found out, but that was not possible now. He resigned that Johnas, as king soon, would have to accept the fact their secret would become common knowledge in the White Spider. “Yes Oggidan, I am his younger brother, Jehrale Valhera.”

Oggidan looked as Vermillion of the South removed his hood. Scars on his left side looked to be from acid or burns, three scratches on his right went from eye to throat, and his head had slicked back blonde hair tied in a tail. His eyes were green, and without the markings, he looked nearly identical to Johnas, especially with the emerald sword in his hand.

“I…I..don’t know what to say, master Vermillion of---“

“Please, call me Jehrale, I
almost
never hear my name
spoken
.” Jehrale stared at Oggidan, smiled, and then looked to the
heir prince who was staring up at him from his shivering curled position on the cell floor. The three looked back and forth, in silence for untold moments.

“It was my mothers’ wish that one of us survived, as she feared House Salganat would kill us all. After Mikhail had turned my father against us, she hid me away and faked my death by fever. I was very young, my father dead shortly after, and Johnas was the elder. It is the way of things with warring houses in a kingdom. The Valheras had many generations of rule in Chazzrynn, then the Salganats for the last several centuries. Now, the Valhera line will rule again.”

“
You rule from shadows…only…Valhera…honor belongs to house…Salganat…forever
.” Bryant moaned out what he could as his tired body collapsed against the wall he had drug himself to.

“Your house has but two men left, Bryant. One imprisoned here, one about to die on the fields of Valhirst. There is something you should know before you hang this night. Something to put your mind at ease.” Jehrale sheathed the emerald kris blade, ignoring the throb and warnings it was sending him.

“
What.. is.. that, traitor…”
His jaw and breath both struggled to emit sound. Bryant tried not to stare, but from the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of steel in the dark, then another.

“Your older brothers, Gartaine and Draile, were not killed in the war with Harlaheim all those years ago. And, your mother, Helinna, did not die of the fever, either.” Jehrale grinned and stared as he walked close through the open cell. The throbbiing was constant now, his mother wanted something, but she would have to wait. He drew a shortblade and placed it under the chin of Bryant. “
Now you know
.”

Bryant felt the tears, but he could not cry anymore, he had not the strength. His lip puckered, eyes watered and burned, but all he could do was lay there against the wall in chains. His eye caught two more flashes of steel in the dark. He saw the outline of two black clad agents fall
slowly, as if they were held from behind, and then something drug them back into the darkness. Bryant looked, all four agents were gone now. He stalled, spoke with all he had left in his chest.

“
Why, what… have I… ever done.. to you, Valhera
?”

Jehrale went to respond with something atrociously evil and foul,
then he saw
,
just as the words went to his lips. In the eye of the heir pr
ince, something moved behind he
and Oggidan. He drew the kris blade and dove ahead and turned. Two slices of steel went through the air behind him, right where he had been standing.

“Oggidan on guard,
behind you
!”

The red headed boy spun r
ound, blade out on instinct, dra
wing his
off hand
sword in
mid turn. Both his edges met a
broadsword meant for his neck. He was face to face with Knight of Southwind
by the tabard and chevrons
, barely older than himself. He glared, his two blades still pressed to the one sword of the intruder.

There were no words, just stares and pacing steps. Jehrale Valhera circled with an elf, savage looking with tribal markings on his face, who held a falcata and a kukri dagger toward him in a loose and low stance with his chin down. Vermillion kept a sideways stance, guard high, leading with the kris blade and holding his shortblade off to the left.

“
Stand down
men of Valhirst. We want the prince, nothing more.” The tan elf spoke quietly yet stern.

“You cannot have him, elf.” Vermillion
of the South
nodded to Oggidan
Chilar as they closed in step, nearly back to back.

“
Then by the title vested to me by King Mikhail of Chazzrynn, I, Sir Liogan Andellis, declare your lives forfeit.” Liogan Andellis nodded to Lavress Tilaniun, the two taking slow steps to flank their enemies, four dead agents bleeding out behind them.
“Lavress, now what do we do?
”

“Oggidan.” Jehrale glared at the elf as the kris blade glowed green and hummed.

“Yes master Vermillion?” The young boy with one hand spoke over his shoulder.

“Show no mercy.”

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The roar of the crowd did nothing for him, not even a hint of pleasure did he feel as he walked past the seven mangled bodies that littered the floor of Ajastaphan Arena. Chalas Kalaza had been all but abandoned here with his bloodshed. Agents hid from him, Cadius
was now the domenarch supposedly, but
had not been seen,
and he had no army nor scouts to begin his search for Saberrak the gray of Unlinn. His take from the arenas was mounting though, up to five thousand in gold or more he surmised. Soon, he would have is own butchering guild, armed to the teeth, and he would seek out the gray gladiator that had escaped him.

The brown minotaur felt his chipped horn, courtesy of the son of Tathlyn, and his hate brewed more. He sheathed his serrated greatblade and strode out of the arena doors into the barracks. He passed the fearful stares of captured men, dwarves, and every other sort of slave. Chalas walked toward the doors that led into White Spider territory, and the massive ogre guardians stepped aside without word. He had it here, the fear, the respect, and the adoration of tens of thousands of spectators that loved the blood he spilled and death he caused.

He was undefeated still, in Unlinn, in Tre’hahdim arena, and in the secret underground arena of Ajastaphan.
Though he wanted it to have meaning, it did not. He knew, though he had never heard it with his own ears, that many whispered of the gray minotaur that got away. The battle after the battle with Mafahann the two-headed ogre, between he and Saberrak, many thought Chalas had lost. It burned like a fire inside, a relentless flame of purgatory and hate, one that Chalas Kalaza would extinguish in brutal fashion.

A dark shadow of a figure crept from the left corridor, crossed in front of him, and was gone to the right too fast to catch. Chalas looked down, a piece of parchment fluttered to the black stone floor. He looked around, smelled the air, no one but him here. The minotaur picked it up with one hand, drawing his blood and flesh encrusted blade with the other.

The parchment read only a few words, but his scarred face sported a grin nonetheless.

Our silent feud must
come to an
end, come to the balcony, Domenarch Cadius of Devonmir

“About time. We shall see how silent it is when you scream with your entrails falling down my steel, Cadius.” Chalas crumpled the paper and threw it to the floor. He turned and headed up the stairs to the left, curling up into the darkness. Agents with black masks nodded to him and gave him a wide berth, torches lit with arcane fires as he passed, and the doors to the White Spider balconies were open as he arrived.

Cadius sat at the table, warlock mirrors out on display, two ogre sentinels on each side of him.
Three dark figures also sat with the Harlain wizard, two agents and one dark clad elven woman. His eyes bore right into those of Cadius.
His goatee was trimmed now, his banyan root staff was held tight in his hand, and he looked nervous. Chalas expected as much.

“You failed to inform Johnas of my position, and took it for yourself. Clever, avoiding me was the only way for you to survive.” He snorted and kept walking forward, blade tapping the sofas and chairs as he lowered his horns.

Cadius, despite the current arrangement, could not help but feel terror. Over eight feet and five hundred pounds of brown hide and muscle with no conscience was heading right for him.
He nodded
nervously, and the two of the Emerald Eight stood up at the table. Sylette Sassari
of Shalokahn remained comfortable. H
er matching elven blades, one long and one short,
were at rest in their scabbards.

“So this is him? The famous Chalas Kalaza, my family and I have profited from your kills,
bravo minotaur
.” Sylette winked at Chalas, her black hair pulled back and flowing behind her pointed ears as her deep brown eyes shimmered like magic.

“And you let women speak for you as well, you are weak, even for a pathetic human.” Chalas dove at him, over the table, the two agents diving out of the way. Cadius blinked as the minotaur roared, and then stopped in midair. A strange glow of reds and orange formed around him, his body frozen in place over the table, his blade not half a foot from the face of Cadius.

Cadius let out a deep sigh, wiped his face from the sweat that ran, and stood. “My lords of Devonmir, you have your gold and your new champion, as per the agreement with the patriarch of the White Spider.”

The veil of black wall faded to nothing and three dark robed beings hovered through the dissipating mist that remained. They circled the minotaur in silence, each set of red eyes behind their cowls seemed appeased, yet they whispered in an unknown tongue to one another. Koligail, Trehad, and
Maroguille all held a respectful finger toward the beast and killer, knowing well enough to hold the spell in place. They spoke, in unison, sending shivers up the spines of all but Chalas Kalaza. “
We will take him below with the screams and shadows, send the gold to our thrones. Our deals are done
and debts repaid
, Domenarch Cadius, yet we will be in touch, often.”

“And what will you do with him, my great lords?” Cadius shuddered, knowing full well these three were the dead or eternal damnations of dark infernal sorceries gone wrong. He had hoped to never be this close to them.