Read The Exodus Sagas: Book I - Of Spiders And Falcons for Free Online Page A

James had seen a second ogre that week, and had great luck in making his point in killing one and scaring off any others most of the time by placing the head on a spear as a warning. The ogre were less brave these last few years since losing their stronghold to plague in the western waste. James had heard that it struck quick, and saw firsthand the influx of small bands and desperate acts of survival from the foul beasts. From striking fear into a nation, the last few years he has seen a northern migration and splitting of a leaderless race that he had hunted for too long. He snapped back to the room, “One hour Reese.” He said with a nod. The old farmer nodded, turned, shook his head at Timber who had been waiting on the steps for any signs of trouble between the two, and proceeded out of the Trade River Tavern. James nodded at Timber, who also walked back down the steps, most likely James assumed, to fetch his leftover bottle like normal for the start of the day. So few enemies left, so little work remaining, so much revenge still fresh in him, the wretched mercenary straightened his tabard and staggered down the stairs.
    Bottle in hand, the remains of last night, the former knight of Southwind walked out into the cold from his home, or the closest thing to it. The sky was gray, soon to snow by the looks of it, and James had it hard enough by what was already on the ground. Crunching in the early morning, his boots followed the main road in and out of Hurne, trade wagons uncovering as he went. Dwarven smiths and sheep traders from the Bori Mountains in the near north were up earlier than the rest, never making time for small talk or delay. James turned and looked north as he walked the opposite way, admiring the gray and brown peaks that these stock and strong men traverse up and down every month. He passed tanners and pelt merchants from south of Elcram, and Deep South savages and tribesman. Their faces decorated with paints, lighter thin hair and beards in braids, these men had been known to kill if stolen from or given a bad trade, and only came in the winter months which lasted about six out of the thirteen in Chazzrynn. The Hurne city guard gave the ogre killer their usual stares of disrespect and spit as he passed, armed heavy in the cold months, desperate times, with heavy cloaks, plate armor, body shields, broadswords and spears. James smiled at them and mocked a salute with his right arm over his chest. The best of terms were long gone with the seneschal and his men since James had bested Seneschal Crail of Hurne in a duel some years ago. The bitterness came from the fact that James could barely stand up that night, and was rumored to have been laughing the whole time. That’s what they told him, and James started to chuckle to himself despite the stares of the guard.
    An hour later, the hungry hunter stopped by his pole, rotted ogre head still fixed upon it, what was left from the crows and wolves playing with it anyway, and surveyed the lands of farmer Reese. Fence line broken to the west he noticed, blood spots and tracks, two sets, one definitely ogre dragging something, and one smaller like a large man, James noticed. The weary knight pulled his shield from his back, readying it on his left arm, and drew the polished, gold hilted broadsword from its sheath, Arlinne’s sword. He stepped over the broken wood fence, and followed the tracks, easy enough for a blind man he thought. Carefully trudging the snow covered pasture, into a small thick that fingered into heavier forest with oaks and river willow trees, aged and stretching into the clouds. James heard the faint bellow of sheep from ahead, and then silenced, he kept his steady yet cautious approach. He looked around him, besides leafless and iced trees there was no cover to be found, he peered ahead and saw more red frozen spots in the snow.
    Whoosh , and a crash of wood and ice, James ducked down as another branch hurled with incredible strength and