Read Online The Exodus Sagas: Book I - Of Spiders And Falcons by Jason R Jones - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jason R Jones
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square stones, old and cracked. He thought for a moment and dropped the scimitar down toward the middle of the spiraling stairs where the clang echoed several times until it rattled faintly out of sight. At least three floors down, “perfect” said the gray and backed up about fifteen feet under the strange sky.
“Is this a warning cousin, for if...?” the words cut off as Saberrak, knowing the place his foe stood near, rushed the stones above. Head lowered, arms in front of his curved white horns, the gray crushed his body into the stone, heaving his very breath and every pound of muscle into the rock. Slowly, cracking a bit, the top stone fell down the stairs, then another, then more. Crashing, crumbling, like an avalanche of boulders into a stone home, the stairway filled with dust and dirt and clouds of debris that flew into the air. The minotaur, knowing that Chalas had time to get out of the way, glanced around to get his bearings. The brown champion would have to find another way out and begin his search anew and Saberrak hoped to be long gone from here, wherever here was, by then. Someday, he would return to free his father and brother, someday.
He crept round ruined walls and buildings, ancient and smelling of old battles and ogre stench. Saberrak saw none, but could detect that they had been here as much as an hour or so ago. He made his way carefully, axe in one hand, chain and grappling hook in the other and came to the base of a hill that supported a great ruined tower of stone. Getting down on his hands and knees, the minotaur crept up the hill to get a better view. Where was he , he wondered, a vast city and more stretched in all directions save one. Nothing moved in or out of this mass ruined dwelling except for the sound of water behind him over a cliff. An ocean with no end in sight, larger than any underground lake he had dreamed of, threw waves and wind with fresh and salty air to his nose. What was this place, and why did so little move here he thought more. The minotaur heard faint words, not in Agarian, a womans voice, singing perhaps, and beautifully at that. Faint, to the eastern side of this forgotten city, he heard the only sound of another being. Saberrak, thinking that answers about where he is could be there, moved down the hill from the tower of Arouland toward the melody, curious and enchanted the same.
Shinayne I:I
The Western Wastes
Her stone pile was perfectly laid, not one out of place on the small mound the elven woman admired. Tears streamed down her raised cheeks, down her tan luminescent skin and soaked into her golden curly hair, the cold breeze drying her sadness around the neck. Shinayne had known Nathaniel, a brave scout for her royal T’Sarrin family, for over a century since she was a child. Her curved elven blade and matching shortblade sheathed and cleaned of troll blood, she began to sing the Vytha Vahann , the story of an elf’s life usually choired by everyone that knew the deceased and in grand ceremony. Not here , thought Shinayne, only herself to sing it to the fey spirits that would guide Nathaniel back to the forests, for her other companion, Bedesh, was not an elf. Her voice choked in her elven tongue as she laid poetic verse and tribute to what she knew of Nathaniel, his life, his family, and swore to the Fey Court of the Whitemoon, wherever they were, that she would seek justice on the trolls for his murder. Bedesh, the forest satyr, merely kept quiet and looked down at the stones, hoping to see them move and for this to not have happened. His sorrow kept inside for respect of the lady he escorted.
Shinayne finished the eulogy, the song seeming to calm all life within earshot, and pulled her purple cloak around her to keep out the cold while the fine mesh of chain from her homeland chilled her through her clothing. This place, Chazzrynn, deep to the south on the continent of Agara, was not like her tropical homeland of Kilikala. She received no bows of
“Is this a warning cousin, for if...?” the words cut off as Saberrak, knowing the place his foe stood near, rushed the stones above. Head lowered, arms in front of his curved white horns, the gray crushed his body into the stone, heaving his very breath and every pound of muscle into the rock. Slowly, cracking a bit, the top stone fell down the stairs, then another, then more. Crashing, crumbling, like an avalanche of boulders into a stone home, the stairway filled with dust and dirt and clouds of debris that flew into the air. The minotaur, knowing that Chalas had time to get out of the way, glanced around to get his bearings. The brown champion would have to find another way out and begin his search anew and Saberrak hoped to be long gone from here, wherever here was, by then. Someday, he would return to free his father and brother, someday.
He crept round ruined walls and buildings, ancient and smelling of old battles and ogre stench. Saberrak saw none, but could detect that they had been here as much as an hour or so ago. He made his way carefully, axe in one hand, chain and grappling hook in the other and came to the base of a hill that supported a great ruined tower of stone. Getting down on his hands and knees, the minotaur crept up the hill to get a better view. Where was he , he wondered, a vast city and more stretched in all directions save one. Nothing moved in or out of this mass ruined dwelling except for the sound of water behind him over a cliff. An ocean with no end in sight, larger than any underground lake he had dreamed of, threw waves and wind with fresh and salty air to his nose. What was this place, and why did so little move here he thought more. The minotaur heard faint words, not in Agarian, a womans voice, singing perhaps, and beautifully at that. Faint, to the eastern side of this forgotten city, he heard the only sound of another being. Saberrak, thinking that answers about where he is could be there, moved down the hill from the tower of Arouland toward the melody, curious and enchanted the same.
Shinayne I:I
The Western Wastes
Her stone pile was perfectly laid, not one out of place on the small mound the elven woman admired. Tears streamed down her raised cheeks, down her tan luminescent skin and soaked into her golden curly hair, the cold breeze drying her sadness around the neck. Shinayne had known Nathaniel, a brave scout for her royal T’Sarrin family, for over a century since she was a child. Her curved elven blade and matching shortblade sheathed and cleaned of troll blood, she began to sing the Vytha Vahann , the story of an elf’s life usually choired by everyone that knew the deceased and in grand ceremony. Not here , thought Shinayne, only herself to sing it to the fey spirits that would guide Nathaniel back to the forests, for her other companion, Bedesh, was not an elf. Her voice choked in her elven tongue as she laid poetic verse and tribute to what she knew of Nathaniel, his life, his family, and swore to the Fey Court of the Whitemoon, wherever they were, that she would seek justice on the trolls for his murder. Bedesh, the forest satyr, merely kept quiet and looked down at the stones, hoping to see them move and for this to not have happened. His sorrow kept inside for respect of the lady he escorted.
Shinayne finished the eulogy, the song seeming to calm all life within earshot, and pulled her purple cloak around her to keep out the cold while the fine mesh of chain from her homeland chilled her through her clothing. This place, Chazzrynn, deep to the south on the continent of Agara, was not like her tropical homeland of Kilikala. She received no bows of
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