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

and belt, fastening it quickly as he stood from the wagon. Guilt consumed him with every step, he thought of the men he had left in the cavern under Arouland. James doubled over as he walked toward the hill, hate and sadness washed over him, he had not known of any memorial site for those that had died, he never knew anyone had returned after that first battle. Just that plague had struck, that the ogre were getting visited by revenge that James could not have given them himself.
    Vomiting and heaving dry since he had not eaten much in days, James pulled his steps closer to the graves, seeing now rows upon rows stretching the entire view of the hills above the ruins of the Teirinshire district. He wandered into the line of stones, looking at names, some had writing, and some did not. He recognized the last names of his brothers at a few spots, memory of his youth flashing back in jolts that found him on his knees more than once. The guilt held him from speaking, though his mouth was moving, nothing but gasps for air could be heard. He stood up to walk more, thoughts of how this came here and why he had not been found to join his brothers in laying these men to rest swarmed his mind into anger. He turned again, and looked at a stone a bit larger, polished marble, gray and swirled. Closer he came to it, knowing what it was, jittering from grief and anguish at the sight of it. He read, “Here lies Arlinne of T’Vellon, Lord of Southwind Keep, blessed are his days, blessed are his children, blessed is his sacrifice 279-331 AD” His face went white, the tears fell like rain. James pulled his Lords’ blade from the sheath, placed it on his chest and lay down over the grave. The knight wailed like a man who had woken from a nightmare to find himself alone with all he knew dead and gone. He stared at the stone and the broadsword, thoughts of placing it through his chest flowed and jumped through his half drunk mind.
    Hours passed as he lay their curled up in a ball staring and crying with sword in hand. James did not know what to do next, his revenge and anger had kept him going day by day, as if some amount of ogre bloodshed would somehow reverse this. There was no changing this, no, not ever. This was forever, and James would never forgive himself for what he had not done, though he did not really admit to himself there was something he could have done. Screams, definitely several screams from the west, he heard them surely as he heard crows in the air above him quarreling over the lack of food in winter. Up in a blink, James heard them again, already on a dead run through the gravestones, he fastened his shield as he hurried downhill. Two sets of screams, men, or boys. He could see them now, outside the northern wall at least four hundred feet away. With speed he had not thought he had left, James Andellis ran through hard ice and snow, steps that would not fail him nor let him slip and be slowed.
    Closer now, he yelled a roar that was more animal than man, yelling for the thing to stop what it was doing and pay him attention as he charged. The ogre cut off the head of the second young boy, spearing it down next to several others. One was the boy’s older brother. Screaming in pain from within, the old knight continued his run; sword held high, racing intent on killing this creature before it could harm the boys. He was too late, yet he did not care, a rage, a hatred had taken over, he wanted it all to end. He wanted to die, he wanted this ogre and all of its bastard race to die before his sword first. The ogre stood his ground, lifting his greatsword with two hands, wiping the blade on his horseskin clothing and motioning with the tip of his blade that he was ready for this insane human to be his third victim of the morning.
    The sword cut across to the ogres’ face and was deflected easily by the beast, who returned a mighty downward chop at James. His shield turned up cracking loudly in the air, never slowing his attack,