The Last Pantheon: of spiders and falcons

by Jason Jones

  “I know of Annar, yes. An endless sky that moves, two moons, and stars that tell stories…my father was right. All my life I thought it was just a tale for my brother and I.”

  “No, no tale. Sometimes they are the only comfort I have.” James took a knife from his belt, rusty with a crooked edge it was, but he carved nine more scratches into the back of his shield regardless. “Follow Annar to the south, Megos to the north, best way to keep direction.”

  “I know little of north and south, east or west, by stars anyway. And the sun, where is it?” Saberrak heard the scratching of steel upon steel, but paid it no mind.

  “During the day, of course, when morning comes.” Shinayne retorted and pointed with her shortblade as she cleaned it. “There, it will rise in the west, over the Endless Ocean, the Vateric. Clouds cover it much down south in winter, but it is clearing now, you will see it tomorrow.”

  “Winter? Ah yes, the seasons, my father told me of how things change up here.”

  Saberrak was fascinated, cold, but fascinated. All his life was the arena, the killing of man and beast like his father, training his younger brother Tychaeus to be like him. His father had told him of the outside world many times since his Tathlyn was captured by slavers from some land called Harlaheim, before Saberrak was born. The air was moving and fresh, the temperature changed, the sun, clouded over mostly, existed, and now the moons and stars that rise and fall in the night. He realized now that he had never believed the stories his father told him. Halay, the land of the minotaurs, his people, the great kingdom of Shanador, the Misathi and Bori Mountains, and the Carisian Sea that hosted dozens of different races and cities more beautiful than one could imagine. The gladiator had not really believed a single word, but now he began to wonder, and miss his father and brother who remained slaves in Unlinn. Dreaming and entranced, the exhausted gray minotaur fell prey to sleep with his face to the night sky.

  James covered the sleeping minotaur with his tabard, examining his wounds that had scabbed over and now seemed almost black rather than red. The knight whispered a prayer of gratitude to the father of mercy, Alden, tracing a feathered cross in the air. He laid his glowing blue hand on the shoulder of the big snoring beast. As he felt the warmth of the faint blue light leaving his shaking hand, he also felt the chill of cold steel under his throat touching his beard.

  “And what might you be doing to Saberrak in the middle of the night, James Andellis?” spoke the elven woman.

  “Shinayne, I am healing his…”

  “Lady Shinayne T’Sarrin of Kilikala to you. Continue.” She spoke in a demanding and questioning demeanor, still suspicious, and still emotional over losing her friends. She watched his hand carefully, keeping her curved blade in the proper position in case the kneeling so-called knight tried anything quick. The minotaur did not stir, continuing his melodious deep snore into the stars of night.

  “Lady Shinayne then, I am healing his injuries in the same manner I heal my own. You can trust me.” James stared at her, his eyes full of sincerity. The elven swordswoman lowered her blade about a foot, relaxed her posture a little, and watched.

  “Trust is earned, James Andellis. Our trade thus far has been little, and I have lost two close friends, so pardon me if this blade is not far from your neck.”

  James nodded, met her eyes in the night, and nodded again. He could not argue against anything she had said.

  “You will need to trust me, and I you, or we are all dead out here very soon. Nothing survives long out in the wilds or the wastes of Chazzrynn in winter.”

  “Continue.” was all Shinayne replied.

  Shinayne had seen plenty of magic in her century and a half, mostly in her homeland. The devoted of Siril had priests and priestesses that could perform many miracles and the followers of Seirena had gifts of the land itself she had witnessed. Not to mention the towers of Deidranahala where the high elven magicks were kept. She knew the wizards there spent centuries of their lives in study and practice of the oldest arcane texts known to a living being. But this one, without so much as a word, barely a halfhearted prayer in silence, still shaking from last night's escapades, claimed he could heal with a touch of his hand. Shinayne did not believe James Andellis had any such gift.

  “I could use without the blades or stares, Shinayne.”

  “I trust no one this far from home. Especially one who reeks of wine and vomit, and prays not before performing tricks in the night.”

  “I pray, yet God abandoned me long ago. Why I still have his blessing, I do not know.”

  “You carry Alden’s cross on your chest, so you must have faith.”

  “No. To be honest, I do not.” James breathed heavy now, weariness setting in. “May I?”

  “I am watching, James of Southwind.” Shinayne felt pain in his every word, yet kept her guard up.

  His hand continued to glow faint, translucent blue, and as he touched the thick skin and scabrous wounds, the elf saw little change at all and assumed she was correct. Then he removed his hand, after concentrating half a minute, revealing completely unbroken flesh, smooth and gray, not a trace of a troll claw, or fiendish bite that had been there moments earlier. James had not moved to touch the minotaur’s legs nor chest, yet those wounds too, had vanished.

  “You see, no trick.” James closed his eyes and leaned upon the tree.

  “How do you do that, James Andellis? For one that says not a word of prayer, I cannot understand such a gift. Where did...?” her questions, and her injuries, would have to wait for morning as the ragged once-knight was fast asleep, his head falling atop Saberrak’s shoulder. It seemed his gift took a toll that his weary body could not support, and he collapsed where he had knelt.

  “I suppose I will bandage my own then? And I might as well keep watch while I’m up, eh’ Andellis? Perhaps I will keep the fire going for the two of you brave warriors also? It would be my pleasure.” Her voice was pleasantly sarcastic, relieving her emotions in whatever way they came out, audience or no.

  Shinayne thought of Bedesh, of Nathaniel, and of Lavress, always her love Lavress. Where was he right now? Which direction would he point me in? The elven noble got out her cloths, unrolled them, and cleaned her wounds, one of them blistered severely from that heated blade of the Nadderi. She thought of that wretch as well, hoping he met a foul end with the butt of an ogre club or four. She looked over her new companions all night, meditating, eyes and senses open to all that moved in the cold forests of southern Chazzrynn. The men slept, the elven woman cleaned her blades, and dreamt wide awake that Lavress was right next to her. Shinayne spoke aloud to her lover that was not there, though she usually found guidance nonetheless.

  “I have lost Nathaniel Hanaira, Bedesh of Haven Glen, and I know not where to go.”

  There was no response.

  “I am close to you, but I have only a drunken knight and a minotaur slave. Please, tell me where you are. It is cold, I am lost, and my faith dwindles, Lavress.”

  Still, no response, yet Shinayne kept asking as if he were there. Knowing he was not, but that mattered little to the elven noble. For she was so far from home, and even words, even her own, gave comfort in the night.

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  The minotaur sat up, eyes aching and closing shut from the intense light that surrounded him. He smelled the smoldering fire, breathed the crisp clean air, and tried to see the sun. Recalling his father's words that it would rise in the west over the ruins, Saberrak thought of Unlinn. The sleeping sounds of the slave cells were nowhere around him. He only heard the faint crashing of waves into cliffs he could not see. The silence he was so accustomed to, had vanished and left him in a world with constant noise.

  Clearing his eyes with one hand and holding the other over his view, he winced toward the bright orange and yellow orb casting rays into the forested hills around him. He saw golden light over a snow covered and distant ruin, blue skies with gray billowing clouds, and he grinned. Standing up,
Saberrak realized one thing more than anything on his first sunrise in freedom. He was starving, having not eaten for days.

  “So what do we eat here?”

  The knight was getting his tabard from the ground, having just tended to Shinayne’s wounds. She looked just as tired as when they went to sleep, James noticed.

  “Nearest town north is through the ruins, or close to it, and that would be Hurne, a trade city at the base of the Bori Mountains. Likely five to six days. Then there is Elcram to the east, better road, but I believe we saw the elf, pardon me, Nadderi elf, heading his trolls that direction. Either way it's two days ride, four days hard march, with no food.” James spoke up, then waited for Shinayne.

  “And what is south from here? I am supposed to be heading south,” spoke the elf, thinking of Lavress, then Bedesh, torn between who to find first.

  “Nothing good south for a week, and the runners and caravans don’t head that way with winter upon us. Once we get south, Deep south, the savage tribes of old Agara have loose villages but it’s not worth the travel, too dangerous on foot. They will not welcome us warmly either.” James knew east was the best route, with the best chance of travelers or a caravan, but he did not want to see Elcram or Southwind Keep at all. In fact, he had avoided those places, like the ruins, for thirteen years.

  “We won’t make it four days any direction without a bow to hunt, or food, or shelter.” Saberrak huffed as he picked up his only belongings, a double bladed axe and the stone scroll. He moved slowly, knowing the pain would be worse after a night's rest, always was when wounds weren’t treated right away. The gray minotaur felt nothing, only the ache in his stomach and he looked down.

  “How the hells? How did this happen again?”

  “How did what happen?” Shinayne stretched and rose from her blanket by the cinders.

  “My wounds, healed like they never were.” Saberrak looked to the stone scroll in his hand.

  “Ask our knight over there, minotaur. He seems to have more to him than we had thought. Look at mine.” Shinayne stated as she showed her healed thigh to Saberrak, putting James on the spot, and a smirk grew across her thin and elegant face.

  James grabbed some fallen branches, too thin for firewood, yet long and straight. He drew his broadsword and began to whittle a point on the end, and shave off the smaller branches from its length.

  “A man gave me this scroll, when I escaped. Blue eyes, I can still see them. My injuries vanished.” Saberrak looked to James.

  “James here had a glow to his hand, perhaps he can look at your scroll and---“ Shinayne was interrupted.

  “How far can you throw this, Saberrak the gray?” The man handed the minotaur the spear, almost as tall as the colossal beast, his hand shaking worse than the night before. James looked up, noticing that both of them were watching him, and tried to look as if he had nothing to hide at all, making it even more obvious.

  “I could throw this quite a distance.” Saberrak stepped back, aimed for a tree about one hundred yards out to the east. He took three steps forward and hurled the spear, eyes never leaving the target. The spear wobbled, whisking through the air at amazing speed, hitting a tree two feet to the left and shattering into splinters upon impact.

  “Poor craftsmanship there, give me one that flies straight next time.”

  Both James and the swordswoman stared at the tree, the throw, and the distance. “I believe we have our hunter, Lady Shinayne.”

  “Indeed.”

  “What? I will hit it dead on when it counts.” Saberrak turned to find another branch, smiling under his horns. “Which way have you two decided upon then?”

  “South,” and “East,” the two spoke simultaneously.

  “Someone decide, we can’t stay out in the cold and wait for the ogre to find us.” The minotaur huffed. “I am certain Unlinn will be sending a party to find me as well.”

  “East,” Shinayne repeated, realizing that finding a town, some shelter, and Bedesh, would have to do for now. Lavress could take care of himself far better than a satyr in the hands of trolls and a Nadderi. “East, but only if we are going to find Bedesh.”

  “We?” James shook his head. “Out here, perhaps there is strength in numbers. But once we reach civilization, I have things to attend to. Then, we go our separate ways.”

  “Such as?” Shinayne glared at him.

  “Things that require being alone.”

  “Don’t be a fool, human.” Saberrak snorted, gripping the newly carved wooden shaft, eyeing the point.

  “If you want to eat, I would suggest we help each other.” Shinayne nodded to Saberrak who then gave James a hard pat on the shoulder.

  “I have lost both my guides, and you are Chazzrynnian, James. You know this kingdom, the land, and the cities therein,” Shinayne insisted.

  “I need some time with my thoughts and---“

  “And a tavern filled with wine no doubt, I see your hands, how they shake. If that is what you need, it will cost you.” Shinayne stalked closer. “You have no coin for wine as it is.”

  “I have plenty, right here.” James shook his pouch under the tabard, jingling its contents.

  Shinayne grinned and closed her eyes. “Four copper bits, a piece of broken glass, a cork, and two sharpening stones. Jingle them as hard as you like, you cannot fool my ears. I hear no silver, no gold, nothing of value in there. You cannot even afford one bottle of wine, James Andellis.”

  His jaw dropped open to speak, then quickly closed in anger. “How do you…?”

  Shinayne reached into her beltpurse, then opened her hand, revealing three golden falcons of Chazzrynn, and three silver coins to match. “This is what coin looks like, yes? I thought so. East, to find Bedesh then.”

  “Fair enough. We head east. There is a small town called Kalik. We get supplies and find your friend.” James began sharpening another spear. His throat tightened, thinking of the wine he needed, of how much more coin Shinayne might have.

  “East then, it is that way I assume? What do I hunt?” snorted the minotaur, hungry and ready to get far from these ruins. He felt down his belt, the stone scroll tucked away and safe.

  “Deer, elk, wild brahma, or fish if we are lucky enough to find a river that still flows.” James pointed eastward, then lifted his shield from beside the tree. “Kalik is three days from here, Elcram a day past that, if we travel quick. I do not care to make for Elcram, reasons of my own, so let us keep to Kalik and discuss it then.”

  Saberrak glanced at the scratched and faded steel shield, adorned with cuts and gouges, and then to the uncountable marks on the inside around the armstrap.

  “What are those markings for? Counting time, or days?”

  “Not really, no.” James began to walk ahead, looking for a trail or path in the white wilderness.

  “Likely for how many bottles of wine he has downed.” Shinayne tossed with a grin, seeing James tighten his eyes to avoid a retort.

  “There must be hundreds! How are you alive after all that wine, human?” Saberrak’s eyes widened a bit.

  “It is not for bottles of wine, it is for remembering.” James gritted his teeth and weaved through frozen elms and frosted hillocks with ruined stone and dead scrub brush.

  “Remembering what, may I ask?” Shinayne followed, eyes to the left with Saberrak on her right.

  “How many ogre I have killed.” James spoke it calmly, and that seemed to end the conversation.

  Hunters I:I

  Gimmorian Temple The Deep South

  The savage elf peered over the cliffs from his vantage point high in a tree. Two highborn guards, elven Ah Kalai for certain, meaning Eliah Shendrynn must be inside. Lavress Tilaniun knew there was little time, at any moment the renegade wizard could supposedly open a portal to anywhere and be gone. Ten months of tracking and hunting would be wasted, and the four tomes of high elven magic lost. The Hedim Anah would not expect such a failure from Lavress, and since he was the first elf from Gualidura, the first wood elf
to ever be offered the honor, he was determined not to fail.

  The ancient temple, built inside the rock face, deep in the lost west and south of frozen Chazzrynn, was about a hidden and faraway place as the hunter had dreamed of going. He could not make out the entrance, only old stone pillars on a walkway guarded by the two highborn traitors below. The passage looked ancient, even beyond some of the structures he had seen in Kilikala, the oldest elven kingdom, almost as ancient as the Sesperan Grove in his homeland of Gualidura. The trees there he was raised near, were said to be over fifteen thousand years old, dating back to the beginnings of the mentions of the human race. Lavress missed home, missed Shinayne, and those old trees he could spend weeks in and never touch ground or the same branch twice.

  Lavress moved closer, sure he was not seen or heard, his brown and black leather armor melding easily with shadow and stone. He drew an arrow, ones he had made himself at home with green-striped hawk feathers, and carefully placed it along his hand crafted bow. Lavress’s hair was tied back tight, keeping his vision clear, his feet were well in place on the rock cliff now directly above his enemies. The wind here did not allow the snow to collect on the barren crags. He waited, for nearly an hour he waited, thirty feet above them, patiently holding for the perfect moment to kill one and have the other’s back turned allowing him time to get down and question one of them alive. Patience was important, he thought, knowing that the highborn elves of Kilikala were well trained with steel and most likely more so with these traitorous bodyguards.

  The moment came, unblinking, having not a second thought about his purpose or the allegiance of these noble elves. His arrow loosed at the chest of his downhill target. Then a second aimed to the throat, seeing the first went through the heart cleanly. The elven guard fell back to a knee, reaching for his sword. The second arrow, mere moments later, stuck into the throat of its target, allowing only a light gurgle of blood to escape into the silence, and the wood elf hunter was on the move.