The Last Pantheon: of spiders and falcons

by Jason Jones

  The serious low tone was only heard from Arlinne’s lips when he spoke of his twin children Alexei and Kaya, their deceased mother, or something serious regarding Southwind. James paused and took a breath. The letter of mention. He had made his decision on who would be sent to Loucas, Arlinne had decided who would ascend to the royal falcons of Chazzrynn this year. James saw the parchment, watched every tap of Arlinne’s gloved fingers upon it as it rested in his belt.

  “Only one, you know this. Perhaps next year you and Niell Sancadiun could be in the falcons of the king, together.” Arlinne lowered his gaze to his boots.

  After a moment of swallowing the words, James responded. Besides his unrelated siblings in Andellis, his closest friend was Niell Sancadiun. “There is no better blade in Southwind, I am sure Niell will serve well. Sir Baril Andellis is not well, as he recovers from illness, I have much to do with our House of Andellis. Niell is brave and true, a great choice, Lord Arlinne.”

  “We shall see. But take notes your first year, and send word often, so that Niell is prepared. I plan to mention him after you.” Arlinne smiled and raised his eyes to meet those of James.

  At first James was confused and he met the gaze of Lord Arlinne, but without words or coherent expression.

  “I do not…understand…my lord?”

  “Well you had better, Sir James Andellis, you had better. I will not bring shame to Southwind by retracting my decision of mentioning James of Andellis to the knights of the Black Falcon.”

  As if the sun shone just for him, James let it sink through his turbulent thoughts. He smiled so wide it hurt, then took a knee. “My lord, I---“

  “Up.” Arlinne pulled James back to his feet and mussed up his hair. He gave him an embrace that echoed with steel, fatherly, brotherly, it was. “There is no finer man in Southwind, and your service here will be missed more than any. You know this, as do I. For that reason, a covetous man may retain you to better his duty. I knew whom would be most deserving and longed for on the field of battle at my side, and that man is you, James. Serve King Mikhail, honor Chazzrynn, and praise to Alden. Be all that I could not.”

  “I will.”

  “I know. We will talk more of this, after.”

  At that, Lord Arlinne turned with a solid pat on James’ shoulder guard and began raising the men from their tents with shouts and orders.

  James looked at his crisp, long white tabard with the red feathered cross of Alden on the chest. He said a silent prayer to the God of forgiveness and mercy and asked for blessings for all of the men to fight well again. He quickly hid his right hand under his tunic as it glowed a faint blue when he prayed. That secret few knew, as he had not studied old rites or hymns, or prayers at the temple. James had healed many a bad scratch with his touch, but nothing serious like the Aldane priests could do with prayer and effort. The young knight often wondered if it came from his mother or his father, neither of which he would ever know. He was one of the orphans, not born of the orphans of the keep. He was left on the road, they told him, a half mile from the gate, yet an infant. The Andellis family had room, and he was taken in by Sir Baril Andellis, trained for many years, and was now here today with the other four chosen families of Southwind preparing for a day years in the making, and centuries overdue.

  A hand on his shoulder brought him back to the moment, as the sounds of many men and crunching snow filled the air.

  “Congratulations.”

  “Niell, it should have been you before myself.”

  “No, and every man, woman, and child from every age in Southwind knows it. Elcram knows it. Hells, the capital will know it before long. There is one man that deserves it more than any…” Niell Sancadiun smiled. His clean shaven round face caught the sun, as did his thin wisps of curling brown hair.

  “..and that man is Arlinne T’Vellon, but a decent second choice he made in you, I suppose.” Niell smacked his hand on James’ back.

  “Bastard,” James laughed.

  “Mostly, so I am told. Doubtful your birth was much more, my friend. But now, you will have castle walls with servants, a squire or two, and recognitions galore. Again, my congratulations. I will see you there in a year, be sure of that.”

  “I shall have a seat ready and a horse saddled.”

  “In the meantime, the ladies of Elcram and Southwind will be speaking of you much. I will have to dry the tears of many a maiden, I fear.” Niell rolled his eyes wide with laughter.

  “And then, more bastards.” James patted Niell Sancadiun and strolled toward his horse, both men tossing taunts and laughs as the army gathered.

  “More ogre slaying bastards, you mean. Stefano Pellenan, young and wiry for his thirty seasons, revealed his missing front tooth in a smile as he marched past and gave Niell’s head a shove.

  “Won’t be any ogre left to slay in but an hour.” Niell laughed and ran his hand to bring his hair again out of his face. “I shall kill one for each girl whose bed will need warming upon our victorious return.”

  “I second that, brother.” Stefano climbed up the reins as he spoke.

  “Let us win this one today for the future knight of the black falcons. Well done, James Andellis, well done.” Pale Kesek of Alvander, tall and gaunt and going gray early since any could recall, gave James a nod as he swung up into the saddle.

  “Agreed, today we slaughter the ogre. After, a drink of wine and tales of your travels to meet the king.” Niell Sancadiun was atop his mare waiting for James to saddle up.

  “Agreed, first bottle is on me.” James nodded.

  “First bottle should be on King Mikhail for sending us useless reserves that slow us.” Kesek added.

  “Speaking of kings, the reports last week mentioned an ogre king with hundreds of kin from the north. A dwarf merchant from the Bori Mountains stated on sworn oath that one of his cousins had escaped from---” James vaulted himself around the saddle and drew back his reins.

  “Surely he did. Likely a large mass of old antiques and plenty of gold led to that tale that just happened to be left out. Dwarves in Boraduum are short on food and supplies up there atop their mountains. Stories to keep Chazzrynn out are likely in no short supply however, like ones of ogre kings and cities beneath the cities filled with vile monstrosities. I have heard plenty enough of them. Taverne talk, now that Chazzrynn has permitted our reclamations, they will do much to delay us to get first takes on anything within the ruins.” Kesek shook his head, but he saw concern in James’ eyes despite his refute.

  “Come, Sir James, Knight of the Black Falcon, keep your eyes upon glory now.” Niell Sancadiun nodded, and then they all turned upon their steeds.

  The short, curved, brass horns sounded long and low as Arlinne T’Vellon galloped across the hilltop before them. It was time, and all men went still and silent.

  James eyed the formations as the men of Chazzrynn lined up, Knights of Southwind on horse in the front, regular infantry sent by King Mikhail Salganat in the rear flanks, divided and ready in formation. His brothers were all poised and focused on Lord Arlinne, and none made noise or even breathed, it seemed. The pride swelled in James’ throat like something was stuck, immovable, and tears formed in his blue eyes. He made no motion to clear them, knowing full well no one was paying him any mind.

  “My sons and brothers, kinsman and countrymen, this morning, in Alden’s name, we will reclaim what was once to be ours!” Arlinne shouted, pointing his drawn lordly blade of gold and steel etched with falcon designs and a griffon crosspiece directly at the view of Arouland two miles ahead.

  “Red and white!” James pounded the red feathered cross etched into his white wool tabbard.

  “By Aldens light!” The Knights of Southwind chanted back.

  “Black on blue!” Roared the bannermen holding the sky blue Chazzrynn flags with black falcons.

  “Strong and true!” Yelled every soldier present.

  Cheers went up, the noise felt like lightning and drums though there were none. James’ helme
t drowned out anything but the sounds of determined yells and glorious howls of southern men. He drew his blade, the first of the line, and raised it high, shouting till the veins felt they would burst from his neck. His gesture was followed by two hundred more on their steeds, the whinnying of horses, and then shouts from the infantry behind. Suddenly one thousand steel weapons drew behind him. He felt immortal.

  If the almighty Alden is watching and listening, surely his angels will feel envy for the cacophony roaring now, James thought as he turned his eyes upward. Infantry formations went left and right, banners of God and Chazzrynn rose from halberds, falcons and feathered crosses challenged the men’s hearts, and the steeds were anxious. The charge began and Lord Arlinne roared a battle cry once more.

  “Give no ogre quarter or mercy! They are beasts that have squatted and looted for far too long, and today we will ride them to the north or bury them in the west! Today we take back our lands from the wretched for king and Chazzrynn!” More cheering and yowls, clamoring of shields to all new deafening heights, and following the lord's lead, they rode west down the hills toward victory.

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  Another rider went down to his left side. Screams of the steed and a muffled, watery growl from the knight echoed fast. A spear as long as the horse itself penetrated another man’s chest. The ripping of muscle and ribcage could be heard for an instant and seen protruding red from the soldier's back as he dragged his mount tumbling to the earth. More spears, barbed and accurate, whistled through the crisp morning air and took down dozens of knights well before the inner walls of Arouland. James saw more than the two hundred or so ogre he expected, there were twice that in view already. Many had armor pieced together, some ogre wore shields, and they seemed a bit too organized for what he had been told. They had waited until the armies broke the outer walls, luring them in with silence, and then they came, from everywhere.

  Still charging ahead, as the wind seemed to drive the animals without effort, James thought to slow and regroup. There was no trimming the charge. Snows flew from hammering hooves. Noises of trampling, yells, screams, and ogre tongued curses, drowned any possible relay of conversation at this speed. He raised his shield arm higher, just in time for a spear hurled at his left side, the tip screeching past with a spark. Then another missed his horse by inches. The shrill scream of pain echoed in his helm from whoever was behind him. James Andellis kept the charge, noticing a wolf emerge from the ruins, alone, and then followed by another score of ogre. The animal scampered off to the west, staying clear of the deafening noises of charging cavalry. Yet it stared into the charging men, without a flinch, and watched from afar.

  James Andellis felt fear, real fear, yet kept the advance of the front line.

  “A lone wolf…” James squinted his eyes to stifle old wives’ tales from polluting his mind.

  Something jolted, and without warning James rolled onto the ground, nearly crushed by his own spasming steed. He could not breathe, there was nothing able to force the air into his chest it seemed, and he lay gazing at the pond of shimmering purple blood pooling under his stallion. A constant barrage of men on foot, shadows of ogre and horses charging past blurred his vision. His horse still twitching and spreading the blood into brighter red in the overgrown grass, he reached for his dented and useless helm. His air would not come, his eyes watered, yet he reached for the helm to drown out the horrifying noises around him.

  Whoosh

  The shadow of an axe passed overhead. Then there was a crack of steel on steel as the axehead of the ogre drove into the helmet, embedding it into the ground as he pulled his hand back fast. James heard more trampling, battle and screams grew louder, the ogre were advancing now. The thought of moving quickly dominated his mind as towering shadows enclosed. James rolled to his right with his shield up in time for the second blow; his arms ached with shooting sparks of pain. Rolling again, hearing clearer the sounds of war, breath plunged into his hot lungs making his eyes water. He scrambled to his feet, broadsword in hand.

  The ogre towered above him, nearly eleven feet tall, a bloody axe adorned with tufts of red hair and pink flesh raised overhead. Thin of face and long of nose, the stench of unwashed rotting pelts sickened him as his next breaths came. James ducked and closed with quick, angry steps. With a side stroke of his blade and another step to the left, he opened the beast's abdomen wide. The ogre's howl was cut short when it bent to cover the wound, his head was released with a downward chop of James’ steel. He looked at the axe, not wanting his dark hair on the end of it, and kicked it away from his fallen foe. The head rolled to the ground, followed by the slumping body, its tusked face grinning in a close-eyed smile that unnerved him, Next to it, the impaled and still body of Stefano Pellenan lay trampled and unmoving. A river of foul black blood soaked James’ boots as he stared in disbelief.

  Suddenly James came to, unfocused from the grim visage at his feet. He heard the sound of his Lord rallying the men toward him. Eyes following his ears, He spotted Lord Arlinne backed against an old church foundation nearing the central road into the ruins. His men were falling quickly to ogre swords and spears, at least eighty James saw, many more at their feet dead. His quick glance saw chaos in every direction, infantry and cavalry mixed with an ogre horde that seemed to match the Chazzrynn forces in number.

  Retreat, we must retreat, the wolf…James’ thoughts came fast upon seeing the hopelessness up close. Yet, his resolve commanded his voice and actions.

  “To Lord Arlinne! Kill them all!” James roared, and pointed his blade at the oncoming horde of giant enemies.

  James marched forward in careful, quick, and planned steps, his shield guarding his advance from left to right. His sword arm was cutting ogre from beside his protection, never stopping the forward momentum. He knew he could not let himself get hit or slowed by standing off with the ogre, he had to keep moving and reach Arlinne. He cut low on a brute that charged him, taking off the leg below the knee, then slashed another. His shield rang again from a spear tip from another foe and he plunged the blade up into the creature’s throat, still moving forward. Yet again an ogre sword whisked his dark hairline and he went low to the ground, cutting twice into the thigh of his adversary, and then once through the back to finish it. As he rose and stepped, two more he took down, and then a third through the ribs, and another. The blood that splattered his face tasted of rust and spoiled meat, and the ogre fell to the cold ground. James lunged forward at the beast in front of Arlinne, thrusting his sword through the back and out the chest with two quick motions. Each did their work and he kicked it over to make room to stand, a trail of ten dead behind him.

  The veteran lord looked weary and was favoring his left side in step and shield. James quickly took position to his left, knowing to protect his superior’s weakness. As he did, he noticed that the hand of his lord had been run through from a spear that penetrated his shield, leaving the appendage hanging useless and bloody. There was chaos throughout the front line of the army, all forces were in disarray, receiving blow after horrible blow from the ogre. The view from his vantage did not look like anything remotely close to victory. James reached his hand out to his lord and elder, forgetting for a moment the hopeless scene, touching the injury and concentrating with a whispered prayer to Alden for the sacrifice of whatever he needed to help the men. Arlinne flinched and glared at James, confused, as the wound stopped its release of precious blood, the fingers twitching yet still useless. The blue glow was hard to see with snow and sky abound, yet Arlinne saw it. James met his gaze, smiled and picked his blade back from where he'd stabbed it in the earth.

  “Shall I lead, milord? Once we plant the standard in the city, we draw our men together and stand.” James pointed toward the inner ruins with his blade as battle raged in ten different directions. Sixty soldiers with them nodded with quick glances around. They knew there was no escape, the only way, was further in. Arlinne hesitated, then gave a nod.

 
“You ten, round the left, draw off stragglers, James and I take the right. You thirty, bannermen now, bring our colors! The rest, follow us. Together, young Andellis, charge!”

  The men turned round the wall rapidly, not noticing the decayed city swarming with the enemy, and were met by forty ogre warriors. Two of them were carrying decapitated heads as trophies gnarled up in their fists by the hair. One head was Pale Kesek Alvander, there was no doubt.

  James moved straight forward then short stepped to the left and cut deeply across one beast's flank. Arlinne followed his knight, plunging his noble sword into the chest of the same ogre and spinning around to face the next enemy who dropped the remains he was holding so proudly. With a wave of his filthy hand, twenty more ogre emerged from cavernous stairs and rotted stone walls, and the clash of man and beast erupted with screams and steel.

  James squared off now, there was nowhere to move, and he found himself toe to toe with the tallest ogre he had seen yet. The creature put both hands on a club the size of a small oak and swung over head with a roaring scream. The shield held true and James countered with an attack to the ogre’s arm, missing by inches. The ogre did not flinch or pause, his eyes of deep green and black fixed on the human's shield and he let out another blow, this time cracking the metal shield in two.

  Arlinne feigned to his left, then spun. He drove his steel forward into his adversary’s stomach, driving the sword hilt deep through the body of his enraged foe. Surprised, the beast roared and raised his great serrated blade overhead, chopping down with a dying howl. Arlinne raised his shield, but his muscles twitched in pain, slowing the motion, and the beast's blade cut clean through below the shoulder. For a slow moment, the lord did not feel anything and ripped his sword out of the beast, plunging it again into and out of the chest. Then he took another, and another, but he slowed and began to stagger. Arlinne then looked down at his arm and shield that lay on the ground, feeling the warmth and moisture down his left side. His foe dropped, then the pain came as he hit his knees, feeling for what he knew was no longer there. He dropped his sword and opened his mouth for help.