The Exodus Sagas: Book III - Of Ghosts And Mountains Read Free Page A

for what, father? Can I go and fight too?” Tychaeus snorted, rubbing the seven or so inches of white bone horns on his head.
    “ No! ” Tathlyn the gray, nineteen seasons old and over four hundred pounds of enslaved minotaur muscle, roared as he spoke to his youngest son. His dark brown eyes bore into the widened gaze of Tychaeus, his horns lowered on either side of his little ones’ head, nose to nose now.
    Tychaeus trembled, hot breath rushed into his face, making him wince. His father was famous here, among the minotaurs anyway, and his anger was legendary in the arena. He dared not push him any further. Tychaeus recalled the time his father picked up Saberrak and threw him into the bars. That was a year ago by the stones they used to count the seasons. His older brother was twice his size then, reminding him of how young and small he was at almost four winters. He looked away from the glare of his father.
    “ No!” The growl was lower, with purpose and less fury. Tathlyn turned his sons head back to look him directly in the eye. “Even if you tremble, even if you feel you are wrong, you look your enemy in the eyes. Understand? Only a slave looks away or down, only one who is broken.”
    “I am a slave father, I---“
    “ No , I was born above ground, in a kingdom called Halay, taken captive in one called Harlaheim. This is temporary, we will be free one day and we will travel to Halay, the land of our people. You will be free one day son. You are no slave, remember that.” His growl was like a whisper of thunder now, powerful, potent words, undeniable.
    “Still, you are not my enemy.” Tychaeus tried to look away, the conversation was making him fearful and sad now.
    His hand turned his youngest ones’ head back straight again as he knelt on a knee in the dim shadows of his stone and steel prison. “I may be one day, by Annar I pray not, but if they make us fight in there you must never look away Tychaeus, never.”
    “Who is Annar, father?”
    Tathlyn stood up, bones popping with old age as he relaxed his posture and focus. “Annar is the God of strength, the Lord of the blood and of battle, the protector of the true and powerful. Like us, they say he is imprisoned for fighting for his blood against the demons. Southern tribes of men pray to him, as do the giants, as do we grays, blacks, and reds.”
    “Not the whites or browns?” Tychaeus leaned against the cragged stone wall of the lonesome quarters he had known as home since he could recall. His bovine head and horns scratched the wall gently.
    “No, your cousins care more for meat and killing than anything to believe in. Never trust the shaggy haired ones or the browns, son. They would kill their own kin for a meal.” The aged gladiator of Unlinn whispered. He heard footsteps approaching. Arms folded on his chest, he watched as four armored ogre marched a blood covered red minotaur past his cell. The ogre were three feet taller and armed with spears and bone swords, yet the red looked fearless as he returned from the arena. Tathlyn watched the hand and the eyes of his cousin, Morgivian. Three fingers displayed, then three blinks as he walked past. Nine, Tathlyn knew there were now nine that would stand together with him to riot and escape Unlinn. Not enough, he thought, for certain they would need twenty or more to have any chance of survival.
    “Your eldest, Saberrak, fought well gray one.” Morgivian the red spoke loudly, in the Agarian tongue, which was forbidden outside the cells unless ordered. The shafts of wooden spears thudded into the bare hide on his back, knocking him to a knee. His growl echoed in the dank caverns as the ogre prodded him up forcefully and threw him into the bars of his cell.
    The grays heard it, but could not see the beating that Morgivian took for speaking Agarian. All the cells faced the same way, making it impossible to converse with one another. Signs upon passing, whispers passed from neighboring cells when ogre