The Last Pantheon: of spiders and falcons

by Jason Jones

  Bedesh could hardly breathe, his wind knocked out by the impact, then another mass of weight landed atop of the two, this troll not moving at all from its apparent head injury, courtesy of the ogre standing over the mess. Bedesh froze, closed his eyes, and locked his arms to keep the living troll from devouring him. He remained as still as possible to avoid notice from the ogre above. He prayed mentally for Seirena’s blessing to not be killed this moment, for the ogre to not take notice of the troll trying to eat him ten feet under its nose. If he could have one wish from the mother of nature and the fey, it would be right here, right now, for any help she could give. His mind racing, Bedesh thought of the last time he had prayed in a sacred grove or forest, and his doubts swarmed even more.

  Shinayne backed up, parrying the steaming sword with her elven longblade, difficult as it was. The Nadderi was just as quick and blocked the offhand cut with her shortblade. Her opponent's speed beginning to increase, she riposted by double slicing inward with both weapons, which the cursed elf deflected with a cross parry from the offhand. Her longblade nicked him on the forearm with another quick cut. Kendari pursued quickly with his right attack across her cheek, missing by hairs, and held one second as she countered. Precisely as she stepped back, the Nadderi elf flipped his offhand heated blade into a reverse grip like the other to distract her and lunged, piercing her through the shoulder. He snapped back on guard as the noble elf let out a shrill yet stifled scream from her throat.

  “Drop your blades, woman. Slavery is not as bad as you may think.”

  The words only angered the highborn, and her hands rose with elven steel. Kendari pushed the advance, arrogantly dodging her attacks from a weakened right arm and a shorter reach with her left. His head and body moved, his blades lowered, Kendari feinted a double slice toward her head. Putting all his elven speed instead into two rapid cross cuts at her outstretched thigh, he struck low. Shinayne blocked the pyramid pommeled blade with her injured right, crosspiece to crosspiece, yet the left blade cut across her leg, through the elven mail, and Shinayne stumbled backward. Backward into an ogre overlooking a mess of trolls and writhing bodies.

  Shinayne plunged her curved short blade into its back, spinning round the front as it turned in pain and surprise. The ogre issued out a roar of a curse and was spun to face her Nadderi pursuer. She did not look back. Limping and bleeding from two serious wounds, Shinayne rushed to catch up to the gray minotaur carrying the human knight. Fear spun webs of anger in the elf, never before retreating from a battle, never before losing a duel, and never failing to dispatch an enemy of her proud elven race. She kept moving, heading south away from the legion of ogre now flooding the outer ruins to kill the trolls, and hopefully, the Nadderi as well. She saw no sign of Bedesh.

  Kendari wasted no time in cutting the ogre in front of him down, twice across the flank as it turned, then two flashing thrusts into the chest as it raised its club to pummel him. The Nadderi turned to his right, wiping his blades clean across the pelts and sensing the situation at hand. Then the ogre fell, without a single glance of concern from Kendari. Four of his trolls were still standing, yet hesitant to move ahead against the brigade of almost thirty ogre, and rightfully so. His cloak smoldered for a brief moment as he donned it, his hand patting it out as usual from the heat of his enchanted blade. He sheathed it, knowing it would instantly cool out of his grip.

  Another minotaur, armored one and leading ogre from the inner ruins, second wave after that, and barely any spoils as it is.

  “To the east trail, my slimy and useless gentlemen, withdraw to the east!”

  Kendari’s anger was rising in his voice. Despite his lot doing better than expected, he was still disappointed leaving the fight. He had rarely left empty handed, seldom withdrew from battle, and had never left an injured enemy alive, let alone an elven noble he could not finish. His trolls rushing out to the east, Kendari stood ignoring the advancing ogre, watching the south and his three prey disappearing through the city. More frustration boiled in him realizing that they would have a much better start away from his tracking since he had this ogre mess following him, and they did not.

  Lucky, that’s all. They are lucky that ogre hate trolls more than anything else. Otherwise, we would have finished this. Don’t worry my pretty little highborn, I will find you.

  He turned, staring at the ground and cursing the name of every elf he had ever killed, too many to count, and paced himself at a jog eastbound. Upon entering the bare winter forest he stopped to curse a slow moving troll, sword stuck through his chest, as it was trying to take spoils from the battlefield. Just before he drew his heated blade more than halfway out, Kendari saw what his idiot henchman was fiddling with, and a smile creased his marked face. He saw the half conscious hoofed satyr, bow and quiver, being picked up by the troll who still acted as a living sheath to the forest-goat’s blade.

  “Good work, bring him. And do not eat him.”

  Kendari heard yells from over the bridge, far south in the city, intermittent, muffled, arguing, but definitely the elf woman’s voice yelling a name. Fading as the distance increased, he thought he heard it again over the trampling of ogre feet getting nearer, “Bedesh!” she screamed.

  “How tragic, dear Bedesh, is it?.” the Nadderi elf whispered at the hanging head of the satyr, making eye contact for but a second as his captive's eyes drifted open and shut.

  “There will be plenty of time to get acquainted later tonight, rest now, Bedesh. Rest now.” The insidious laugh that followed even startled his own trolls as they ran east toward the hidden camp. The ogre horde was following, yet they slowed. It seemed they were arguing with the brown minotaur over which way to go. Kendari gave one last look as they decided east, then he picked up the pace.

  “Quit struggling and be quiet elf, or we will have the legion of ogre on us! There are three dozen or more, we cannot fight that, not now!” Saberrak demanded with a snort and a huff, now carrying two injured warriors, one on each shoulder. The human was bleeding from shoulder and thigh, and reeked of vomit. Shinayne was cut through in nearly the same manner. Even the gray gladiator had more razor cuts from troll claws than he could count, on his legs, arms, and back, yet he pushed on south out of the ruined city.

  His demeanor had changed from glorious battle with trolls and ogre alike, to fleeing the field, injured and outmatched. The surface world was strange, but no less dangerous than Unlinn it seemed. Saberrak had only charged in headfirst in the arena, this was his first time feeling what retreat does to someone. It burned his legs more, gave him time to think of the defeat. He was not surrounded by thousands chanting his name begging for trophies to throw to them to gain more of their thunderous applause. No, this was different and the minotaur hated every exhausting moment of it, despite it being the only course of action if he wanted to live.

  The horned warrior ignored the smell of wine, the tears of the elf woman, and the struggle to keep on his feet with such a load. He kept moving because he did not know how close the ogre were, he kept moving to survive. Saberrak knew not where he went, just that it was away from Unlinn, away from Chalas Kalaza, and away from an ogre horde.

  James lifted his head, little that he could. His eyes saw the scarred gray hide of the minotaur that carried him, the black leather boots of the elven woman also being hauled, and the bobbing snow covered grass below. His stomach churned, hands beginning to tremble, and only the sharp pains of steel wounds seemed to keep the nausea at bay. Straining his neck, he tried to catch a glimpse of the hill where his brothers had been buried long ago. James could not see it, the hills and trees began to envelop the southern ruins under a sky of gray and blanket of growing snows. His head was too heavy, his neck had no strength, and James soon accepted his current position and shame. His eyes closed. His mind tried to block out the sounds of soft crying pleas from the elven lady, yet her voice brought tears to the corners of his eyes that fell silently to the passing ground.

  Exodus I:I

  So
uth Chazzrynn Wilderness

  James looked up, weary and shaking, just in time to see the minotaur set the elven woman down softly next to the frost covered willow tree by a lifeless frozen stream, and then collapse. Like a ton of bricks, the beast fell down on his backside and then onto his shoulderblades with a thud and a huff of frosted breath from his nostrils. James looked at the warrior from his position leaning against another tree, spotting the cuts and stains of green-black and red blood from battle. He noticed the tattoos under the minotaur's eyes that appeared as shadows of his great horns above, and the other strange designs and markings that adorned his arms and chest. Three hands taller, twice his own weight for certain, this beast had carried them for half a day.

  He looked at the elf then. She was still, silent, and her eyes were wide open in a stare to nowhere, deep in thought. Her tears were evident by the dirty streaks down her golden face and neck, yet silent even with the two bloodied wounds yet to be bound. She looked back at him, aquamarine eyes with a hint of silver trim, staring from behind dark golden curls of hair. James felt guilt well in his chest, a seed of pain from somewhere, knowing she had lost a close friend to save him. Hours now it had been, surely the satyr he had seen would have caught up with them, could he have. He looked down, easing the knot in his throat and concentrated on his shaking hands, shaking from lack of wine, shaking from his wounds from that cursed hot blade.

  “What was he, that other elf?” James asked softly toward the woman he knew to be Shinayne, since the minotaur had called her that.

  “Once an elf, now a scourge that does not deserve the air he breathes. A Nadderi, cursed by the God and Goddess of our people for crimes that I do not care to know.” Shinayne looked at the minotaur, still heaving weighted breaths of fatigue in the crisp air, looking up at the overcast sky, watching every teasing snowflake with amazement.

  “Tell me, human, tell me that we saved you from an unfortunate act of bravery and chivalry against the ogre. Please tell me that I did not lose another friend just to save a drunken fool from an obviously impaired attempt to end his own pathetic life.”

  Her words hit like knives in his chest and he squinted his eyes, full of shame and remorse at his stupidity. “I am not drunk, if that is your question, elf. My reasons for where I was are my own, and chivalry had nothing to do with it.” James felt her resentment, knew she was upset and in foul spirits, then realized she must have heard him shouting his challenges. He wished she had not seen his behavior, feeling more shame, yet longing for a bottle of wine more than anything.

  “You smell drunk, you reek of wine and vomit, and you are shaking. I do not suffer lies easily, human.”

  “I would be smiling, were I drunk.”

  “So why were you alone at those ruins? What was your brilliant strategy, knight?”

  “Revenge.” James gritted his teeth.

  “Looked like suicide,” Shinayne scoffed.

  “Easy Shinayne, now is not the time. Rest, we have to move soon and I cannot carry the two of you again.” Saberrak spoke with a calm tone, weary and not in the mood for argument. “Your name, human, so we can call you something?”

  “James Andellis, formerly a knight of Southwind Keep. And yours, minotaur?” the old knight knew the elf’s name and knew not to try conversation with her at this moment.

  “Saberrak the gray, from under there recently,” he stated, pointing back north from his position on the ground. “And never returning, if I can help it.”

  “You are from under the city? So have you seen men like me down there? How long were you there, what is under there?” James felt a spark of hope, interest in his past and that of his lost brothers from so long ago.

  “Unlinn is under there, and trust me James Andellis, you do not want to go there.” Saberrak thought of what he had seen happen to the humans in the arena, and decided not to share it.

  “Men with this symbol, have you seen this symbol? It would have been a long time ago, more than a decade.” His line of questioning even frustrated himself as memories washed over him of those that remained when he had been taken out of the ogre king's cavern so long ago. He pointed to the dirty feathered cross of Alden on his once white tabard.

  “Yes, I have seen a few symbols like that cross before on men, and others too. I was born there, raised there, and I tell you James, it is no place for humans.” The gray warrior avoided some of the questions, hoping the hungover knight would forget them.

  James sensed the minotaur was not telling him something. “Saberrak, I must know what happened to those men, tell me.” James sat up, looking at his sword, Arlinne’s broadsword.

  “They were killed, like most men and beasts that come down there. Prisoners, sold or captured, and when they fight, they do not last long.” Saberrak still told half the truth to protect his new ally, he had enough to deal with as far as the silent elf who was undoubtedly planning out a rescue mission for the satyr. Her wandering eyes and checking of her steel blades said as much.

  “You saw this? Maybe thirteen years ago? Captured by ogre, Avegarne, an ogre king. Did you see my men down there, Saberrak?” His hopes were vanishing as his questions aimed toward a truth that would not change to what he wanted to hear.

  “I cannot recall, I know nothing of years or decades. I have seen hundreds of humans down there.” Saberrak rolled on his side, giving his back to the man, hoping to end the discussion.

  “Who killed them? Tell me they fought bravely, tell me they’re alive or something!” James stood up, realizing now that the minotaur was hiding something for certain.

  “They are dead James, they fought bravely, and whatever else you want to hear. No human ever lived more than three battles in Unlinn.”

  Saberrak heard the draw of a sword, and stood up quickly, turning to the knight. He stared down nearly two feet at the man, leaving his axe on the ground and realizing only now that he had left his chain around a troll on the city street earlier.

  “I want the truth, minotaur! Did you kill them? Do you deal in slaves and killing of innocent men?!” James, full of rage, seeking blame for thirteen years of nightmares, held his blade toward the gray warrior that had carried him for hours.

  “I did not kill them, though my father likely did. Or other minotaurs, perhaps ogre.” Saberrak focused on James’ eyes, knowing that the next move would be given away with a change in the eyes. He saw Shinayne position herself quietly behind the knight. Her blades slid out slowly, and she nodded to the minotaur.

  “So your father is a murderer and an executioner of slaves in some underground cursed city?!” James held his blade back as if poising to strike, tears welling, revealing more pain than anger, more sorrow than rage.

  “No, James Andellis, my father did what he had to survive, a slave, just like them. Just like me. And if it weren’t for him surviving I may not have been here to carry you off that street that would have been your tomb!” Saberrak raised his voice enough to startle the elf and to get the knight to stumble back onto his rear. The blade quivered, pointing at him, but Saberrak held no fear.

  “I do not fear death, I should be---“ James looked up, the minotaur was still shouting angrily down at him.

  “Yes, they fought bravely, most men do down there, for they realize against trolls, and ogre, and minotaurs, and beasts even larger and more foreign, they have no chance. We had no choice but to fight until the end, it is the way it is!” Saberrak roared, annoyed that he had to tell the man these things, but refusing to lie to him on such an important answer that he needed.

  “So they are dead.” James leaned against a willow tree as the wind blew through his hair and swirls of snow danced across the frozen pond. Not the answer he had hoped for, yet a small closure calmed his mind suddenly. “All of them.”

  “When I left, there were maybe thirty humans in Unlinn, all recently sold, and none with that cross you show.” Saberrak watched the broadsword lower in a trembling hand.

  “I passed near a large cemetery, atop a hill.
Perhaps---“ Shinayne was cut off.

  “I know those men, fought with them.” James wiped his face, hiding a few tears that made for the corners of his eyes. “I was hoping to find those that were taken prisoner, those that have had no peace, like myself. Now, there is no need, no search. Thirteen years I feared to come here, and now do I finally have the desire to fight and search.” James hung his head in shame.

  “My father talked of a war, happened long before I was born. He said the bodies were left to rot, and that it started the plague. Then, some king came and put those bones to rest and honor, years later.” Saberrak lowered his head and rubbed his hands along his horns, dried flakes of blood cascading before his eyes. “Late honor is better than no honor.”

  Pardoning the interruption, Shinayne slowly slid her blades back to rest. She nodded to Saberrak as James sat quietly, deep in thought. The minotaur nodded back, both of them agreeing without words that a bit of silence was in order.

  The three strangers sat quietly for hours as the cold night came, the half green moon rising through clouds in the west over the nearby ocean, the full white moon, Carice, high already above them. The clouds parted more, revealing stars, the lights of the night sky, and Saberrak saw for the first time what his father had told him about the surface his whole life.

  “That is Carice, the Whitemoon, and that must be Gimmor?” Saberrak whispered to them, fascinated.

  “Yes, and those are stars. That constellation there that forms a tower is Marthentine, and the one that forms the hand, see the trailing stars from the hand, that is Megos.” James pointed with his sword, realizing that the minotaur had never seen this before. “And there, low to the east and very dim, they form a man if you connect them, which is Annar.”