The Exodus Sagas: Book IV - Of Moons and Myth (71 page)

“What’s it doin now then?” Tannek rubbed his hand with the other, trying to get the feeling back.

“I am not certain, but I believe it is pointing to something.” They all looked to the Kaki Mountains, seeing nothing but Cristoff returning with his escort of river elves and sacred priests of Siril.
Arylius put his hand on Tannek’s shoulder. “For over two thousand years, it has been guarded and still, this is nothing short of a divine miracle.”

Lord Cristoff marched through the forgotten roads of Tintasarn, all overgrown with gardens and groves without life, and stood next to the elves and Tannek. He wiped his brow, head low and silent, and he heaved a sigh of weariness.

“No entrance on the south side of the mountains to be found, master Anduvann. We will have to go around, or over.”

“Aye, around then. Horses, people, your pregnant queen and all.” Tannek snapped out of his stare at the floating sword, Loestiri, and the open stone shrine that it hovered in. “Fantastic blade there this is, I see why they guard it now.”

“You have been here, the whole time, while I trekked the foothills of the Kaki?” Cristoff looked to the hovering blade, then the elven priests that prayed to it, then back to Tannek.

“Aye, never seen nothin’ like that.
Still, they been bringin’ noble elves, men that is, I gots a feelin’ they been missin’ somethin’ there. Back o’ me head, an idea that
a wom
---“ Tannek turned and reached for his battle axe just as bows raised and swords drew from the elves.

Cristoff looked over the foothill, spying a charging steed of black with a woman riding it. It was Kaya T’vellon, somehow she had gotten her horse this far into the rough terrain of the ruins, and Cristoff smiled. Then another woman, on foot, ran alongside her with green robes. He glanced at her legs, at times they were not touching the ground as she kept pace with Kaya.

“I know this woman, capitan of mine, no need for alarm.” He sheathed his blade and hailed Kaya from the overgrown paths in the forgotten
elven
city.

Kaya dismounted, seeing Cristoff and Tannek with Aariss Diravas and the Riverbows. She did not look to the shrine, nor the other elves in gray robes, just to the lord of the exiled caravan. She knelt, as did Angeline of Charity.

“Lady Kaya, what is it? Rosana, is she allright, the queen?” Cristoff saw that look, her face was concerned with something, and his heart stopped with his breath.

“She delivers soon, today, the priests are there. It is not that, my lord.” Kaya stood, all eyes upon her now.

“What be the rush then, chargin’ with yer’ horse and all?” Tannek marched ahead, looking behind her for something, nothing was there but dusty trails of their passing.

“Armondeen has arrived, my lord. They hold the north side of Mooncrest. Five legions. We killed some of their scouts, they are planning to take our friends should they find them, and…and…” Kaya felt the hopelessness of it. She gritted her teeth, then Angeline finished for her.

“And they are planning an infernal ritual to summon a demon, a child of the rulers of hell, to desecrate the temples. The five you seek, are the offering. We need to go, Lord Cristoff, before they are found.” Angeline bowed, then looked to his hip. She saw the pyramid pommel on a longblade, black onyx it was, a blade she had fought twice in the past.

“This is Angeline, of the Knights Soujan, she is an ally sent from Soujan Mountain.” Kaya nodded.

“Five thousand?” Cristoff heard what was said, but the numbers took over his mind as he tried to fathom how they could engage such a force with one quarter that amount. He felt guilty now, wondering if his debacle in Freemoore with Prince Rohne had worsened the situation. “You are certain, five legions?”

“Yes, my lord, we have both seen them with our own eyes.” Angeline looked up, her green eyes meeting the concerned brown squint of the regal lord that had led everyone here. “That blade you carry, I know its owner. He is with us, on our side, Lord Cristoff.”

“You know Kendari of Stillwood?” Cristoff looked to the sword, then to this woman with the blonde and red braids and knowing stare.

“Who be Kendari then, and what does it matter at this here moment?” Tannek broke the conversation, wanting nothing more than to find Azenairk Thalanaxe, before it was too late.

“
The dwarf is right, we should go. The armies will be ready by the time we arrive.” Angeline bowed again, then to the elven guardians who were staring at her.

“The armies? Ou
r armies? Who organized them?” C
ristoff turned and looked, seeing Arylius and Aariss Diravas right behind him.

“I did, my lord, in your absence. I thought it best they be ready, posted, and informed of what may be coming for us.” Kaya bowed her head. She hoped he was not going to yell, like Alexei used to, when she made a tactical error.

Cristoff sighed. “Well done, Lady Kaya T’Vellon, my gratitude. D
i
d you send word throughout the caravan, to arm the---“

“I did, Julia Whiteblade is gathering forces and arming them from our ten thousand refugees.” Kaya smiled, let out a breath of relief, and walked with the legendary former Lord of Saint Erinsburg.

The two walked off at a fast pace, speaking or battle plans and military positioning, as if the rest of the world had faded away. Tannek shrugged, bowed to the elves, then the sword, and marched off behind them as fast as he could.

“Come elves, all o’ ye’ pointy eared warriors, come on now! We got ourselves a battle comin’!” Tannek bellowed over his shoulder as he ran back north and east, following the trails out of Tintasarn.

“Anyone seen Dalliunn? Me lion been gone a long time now.” Tannek looked around, everyone was busy hustling back to the encampment. “Come on boy, where are ye’ now?”

Angeline turned to the two elves she had never met, yet the winds told her she was beyond safe in their presence. They were staring at her shoulder, at the emblem of the Knights Soujan, the triangle of vines etched into her steel. “I must g
o, but I will see you both, very soon
.”

“You are one of them, they still exist, still protecting our fallen Gods.” Arylius looked into her eyes.

“She would know our names, if she was one of the unseen, blessed by Seirena.” Aariss slung his bow, waved to his band of archers, and began to follow Lord Cristoff. He knew his cousin could not leave, the shrine of Loestiri was a holy place that he could not abandon.

“Aariss Diravas, you and your Riverbows need to watch the front of Cristoff, quickly. Arylius, cousin to Aariss, you will come soon, but not now.” Angeline smiled, hearing the forests speak their names to her.

The elves stared again, not daring to believe the mythical guardians of the Caricians still walked the earth, yet seeing one of them here and now before them. They smiled. Aariss bowed to his cousin as he marched off to the north with his men. Arylius bowed to Angeline and his cousin.

“A Knight of the Soujan you may be, but you are incorrect, I cannot leave this place. Your Order is never wrong, if that is indeed who you are. I will pray, should battle come, that Siril watches over you closely.” Arylius made the symbol of peace, from his heart, to chin, to his lips, and then folded his hands together and bowed.

“
Have your priests
ready, as I said, we will see you soon. Blessings of the Mother upon you.”
Angeline bowed and smiled as she turned away.

He stood, back to the shrine d
edicated to Siril and the blade
Loestiri, and watched them go. Arylius felt something, many things, so much was happening at once. He held up his hand for one of his priests to come, knowing he could not break a sacred vow to Siril, but he had to help somehow.

“Master Arylius?” One of his brethren asked.

“Send word, as fast as you can, to the Temple of the Whitemoon, on the northwestern side of the ruins of Mooncrest. You know the place. Be careful, as Armondi soldiers are everywhere, but get to Mirash, the great sphinx. Tell him that my cousin needs their assistance. Go.”

“We will not follow?” The priest sounded confused.

Arylius watched the elves of his cousin and the others with him fade from view into the foothills. He wanted to go, but his vows would not allow it. He closed his eyes and sighed, praying for those feelings to fade as well.

“No, we cannot get involved in a war. We have a shrine to guard, our vows, and but fifty blades. It is---“ Arylius was cut off.

“I beg to interrupt, brother Arylius, but I was not speaking of the people. I was speaking of the sword.
Look.”

Arylius raised his eyebrow, turned, and fell to his knees. “Oh by Siril and all the stars, how is this?”

The blade hovered, inches over his head, Twenty feet from its eternal shrine, spinning with a low hum and a white glow. It ceased its revolutions and moved, slowly, through the air. Loestiri seemed to be following those that had just left.

He looked up, it passed over him, and continued ahead. Arylius felt a tear in the corner of his eye. He prayed to Siril, thanking him for sending a worthy king, one that the swo
rd now sought out after two mil
ennia. All the elven priests were praying, all over the ruins of Tintasarn, watching Loestiri move through the air.

“Priests of Siril, elven brothers of the moon and stars, it appears that we will draw steel with our new king this day!” Arylius drew his elvencraft blade and held it high.

“Arah!”

The fifty followers of the elven God, Siril, drew their blades and chanted a simple battle cry to the cloudy sky. They followed the floating blade, out of Tintasarn, over foothills, and past the overgrown brush and forest. As they walked behind Loestiri, small buds grew on the trees, tiny bits of green sprouted from bushes, and even smaller dots of grass for
med behind the passing sword.
Springs flooded from fountains, birds chirped from the silent city, and life came fast and furious as the sword hovered away.

The elves cried, gripping their blades tight, letting the tears cascade down their cheeks and faces. None could believe this day was happening, it was a dream, a myth that the king would come and reopen Tintasarn. Kilikala still ruled from the north, Gualidura had their queen deep in their forests, and Shalokahn was but a crooked council far to the east. The two other known elven kingdoms, Aloeste and Tintasarn, had been destroyed by Altestan long ago. For the Loestal river elven nation, scattered as they were across the continent, this was a moment like no other. For soon, they would have a kingdom once more, and a king. They kept their slow march, encircling Loestiri, and watching the trail ahead.

Sacred Forge of Vundren, D
epths of Kakisteele

Saberrak Agrannar collided with the immortal woman that towered over him, his horns now covered in her blood. His enchanted axe whipped down into her thigh, then the other chopped into her hip, and she stumbled backwards toward the stairs. Suddenly, he was thrown back through the air, a mere shove of her hand toward him, and he crashed against the stone wall.
The minotaur felt no pain and was back on his feet in a flash.

James plunged his glowing broadsword into her side, blocked her slashing ember scimitar with his shield, and spun low with the
massive
force of the blow. His blade sliced clean across her calf and blood ran down his edge with the blue flames licking up from his hand. The knight rolled low across the stone floor, avoiding another mighty swing of her blade.

Carice and Elicras both slashed in lightning strikes
across marble flesh, glowing as they drew immortal blood. Shinayne leapt over the stairs, trying to get behind Arabashiel. Her right hand drove her longblade deep into the back of the winged woman, then her shortblade stabbed higher as she pulled herself up. Just as the Gimmorian guardian spun, the elven swordswoman kicked off
of
her back, a reverse flip in the air, and landed on the top of the stairs behind her.

Azenairk ducked low in his charge, as bolts of flaming electricity
blasted from Gwenneth overhead
into
screaming
Arabashiel. His glowing warhammer slammed into the back of her knee as she turned on Shinayne, the sound of breaking bone echoed in the cavern. A red smoldering bolt sizzled above in between black feathered wings, then another, and Arabashiel fell forward. Zen did not hesitate, he ran ahead, and slammed his hammer into her face, then again, then twice more.
Her head snapped to the
side from each swing, her bones
cracked, and her blood showered the steps.

She felt the broadsword dive into her shoulder, the whitemoon blades into her chest, the minotaur tore his axes into her ribs, and the warhammer pounded into her cheek and head
,
over and over. Arabashiel’s back was on fire from the onslaught of arcane incantations, her flesh was melting, never had she felt such pain, such pleasure.
It was ecstasy.
Her eyes opened ahead, now on her hands and knees from the
five mortals laying waste to her body, and
she
saw her demons.
Hundreds poured and screeched down the tunnel from the throneroom,
summoned by M
u
dre
n Sheldathai
n,
moments away.
She smiled, shadows erupted from her mouth and nose, and she laughed as her blood soaked the stairs.
Purple light illuminated from her eyes, as the enchanted blades
neared
her neck, and then she stood.