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

of a dagger pulled from a boot was at his throat. “That sword has more meaning to it than your little life, boy. Unless you want to end up like her,” James pointed at the body of his victim from a few hours back, “I would suggest giving an old knight a ride and keeping your head attached.”
    Both the young men stared, hearts beating out of their chests, legs going numb from surprise and fear. They eased and blinked after what seemed minutes frozen in place, knelt next to this man, disheveled, unshaven, and reeking of wine and ogre blood. James put his dagger back in his boot, smiled, and pulled himself up, tabard crunching when pulled from the snow it had been frozen to. The old knight eyed their wagon, recognizing the small crate half covered on the back with the tent and bedrolls. “Still got wine in that box, young gentlemen?” The boys nodded with smiles of relief, looking to see whether they should run from this man or trust him. “Wonderful, Alden be praised and all that, I am James Andellis, and my service is yours while there is wine to drink. I will take care of the ogre, you do whatever it is you are doing. Now, let us open one of these Caberran jewels up for a test, eh?” James walked over and climbed into the back of the wagon, pulled out his corkscrew, and took a full drink of the red heaven. Mellenas grape, bit ripe, but better than the swill he had been getting from Timber lately. “We’re off, young knights, let’s ride.” bellowed James, happy to have the wine, a vanquished foe, and a lot less of a walk back to the tavern. The boys looked at each other and shrugged, they didn’t care about the wine in the slightest. Some dwarven armorer in Hurne told them to buy some for the trips in the cold to keep them warm, but neither boy was fond of it. Konrad smiled at Baunnar, and the three took off to the west, listening to crazy and bloody tales from this wreck of a knight. For days he stayed in a stupor, slept, stumbled, and drank the wine, bottle after bottle. The boys ignored his questions of how much further, and that they seemed to be taking the long way. They knew he’d forget after another bottle, and they had no intentions of telling him where they were going.
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    James awoke, cold but covered with blankets and furs, in the back of what appeared to be a wagon. He shielded his eyes, despite lack of any radiant sunshine, as the white gray clouds hurt his eyes just the same. He reached for the bottle next to him with unsteady fingers, empty, then reached for the crate to find it also empty. A bit of panic set in his chest as he looked around his feet. Not only did he see at least fifteen empty bottles through blurred vision, there were axes, broadswords, short blades, and even a few larger two handed axes and blades. He could not recall much, but surely these were new, despite the rust and neglected appearance on most of them. The shaking knight looked over the side of the wagon, searching for the boys he had met, and his jaw fell open. He hid behind the wagon wall, “This must be a dream, must be, Alden wake me from this please.” James whispered in desperation. He had had too many of these dreams, of this place to count, and this one felt very real to him, too real. He squinted and leaned cautiously over the wagon again, trembling. The walls of the outer ruin were covered in snow, the tower of Arouland stood against the gray and white sky, the city still quiet like a grave in the western waste.
    His eyes teared, his lip trembled, not ever wanting to see this place again, not even a drunken desire of the wildest nights, had James ever thought of coming here as long as he lived. His water filled eyes looked all around, the same, all but one spot to the eastern hill. Feathered crosses marked stone gravestones with the traditional round wreath of feathers in the middle, thousands of them across the top of the hill he had stood at so long ago. James gathered his shield