The Exodus Sagas: Book I - Of Spiders And Falcons by Jason R Jones Read Free Book Online

the shield, but following with a mighty sword swing that cut three quarters through the neck of the half dead ogre woman. Her pale yellow face of tusks and black mottled hair slumped to the ground, and he took a final arcing attack that finished the cut of the last one, loosing her head from her body completely. She had been in the frozen water, hoping to survive with an ogre trick that nearly succeeded. James scrambled to get his armor off, groaning in pain and feeling blood run down his freezing back. Steam rose from the corpse next to him, and slightly from his wound as well. James knew this was not a healthy idea, but he had to stop his bleeding so far from town. He said a silent prayer, merely mouthing the words to Alden for mercy and forgiveness, though he knew the prayer was not necessary at all. His hands glowed blue like the sky on a sunlit day, and he strained to reach the wounds left by the ogre witch across his back as he was trembling, wet, and shirtless in the freezing winter. Slowly, warmly, with a bit of tingling or numbing cold he could not be sure, the wound stopped bleeding. James held his hand there as long as he could then quickly dressed. He sat down on his shield next to the stream, next to the lifeless ogre body and head, pulled out his wine and drank until it was empty.
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    The wagon wobbled from side to side on the tracks in the snow, the light load and nervous cold horses did not help matters. The two young men at the front, shivering and passing the wine bottle back and forth for warmth, were glad to see the sun peeking out in the cloudy Chazzrynn sky and hoped that a little warmth would keep the chills away on the next few days of their journey. Both Konrad and his younger brother Baunnar had left Silverbridge months ago after their fathers’ passing, and sought trade for their blades and axes in Hurne. Perhaps the wrong time of year, or their youth, neither could quite place their finger on why they could not be as successful as their late father, Otto. They were down to their last few dozen silvers, with half a crate of wine, and their belongings, and had not much to lose. Konrad had mentioned to Baunnar that he overheard that King Mikhail had opened the way for travelers and merchants into the western waste since the ogre had all but vanished in the last few years. He also heard from some savages trading furs that a sickness had come over the ogre there, and that the great wars were over. The two red headed young men both grew up on stories of thousands of men in many a battle that had died there, never really winning the lands back, and that they were deemed cursed by the church and the king. Since neither boy could really admit to being as great a bladesmith as their father was, they agreed to go get as much as they could from the ruins and shine them up to sell in Hurne. Just about four days south and west, and four back, they both thought it would put them back in the market and then some, after a few runs.
    Konrad sat up next to his little brother of eighteen seasons, straight up in the seat of their wagon. He was looking east, along a shoreline of a frozen stream, pointing his hand and staring. “Look at that brother, you don’t see that often now.” Baunnar gazed east, curious, seeing much red in the snow, and what looked like a dead, decapitated ogre and a knight of Southwind laying dead next to it. “He’s been drinking Konrad, look at the bottle in his hand.”
    “Let’s get our first bit of treasure, or get a bodyguard for the horses little brother” Konrad said, eyes gleaming, smile as wide as the wagon. The two tied the horses to a frozen willow and jumped off, warming the blood and intrigued about the battle that must have taken place. “Look at that sword, gold falcon marks of a noble blade. Worth a lot Konrad. Can ye get it from him?”
    No sooner than the boy reached out his hand, did an empty wine bottle break over Konrad’s head and the tip