The Last Pantheon: of spiders and falcons

by Jason Jones

  Lavress knew his only chance to get to their prisoner would be through the bottom barred windows and to kill quietly and quickly. He knew satyr tracks when he saw them, trolls also, yet the light step of an elven heel had him concerned. Elves and trolls did not mix and no elf he had heard of would live in this sort of place, in this cold climate. His senses told him the satyr was alive, scared, and his tracking knew indeed where it was.

  Feet moving with small cautious steps through shadows of leafless willows and overgrown marshgrasses, the hunter put his back against the crumbling stone wall of the tower. Laughing. He could hear laughing now from the top floor, a human discussing something with someone who kept a low bestial tone. Troll perhaps. Lavress listened, unable to make out anything but that the conversation was in Agarian, his third language, and the man speaking was pleased or amused by something. The wood elf of the Hedim Anah could not find anything to laugh about in this place.

  Inside within the blink of an eye, through the open door he went. Lavress was suddenly only an arm's reach from a troll nearly twice his height. It was squatting low, eating a rotted pig. He watched the black fangs and claws tear into the decaying flesh, a wound on the troll’s neck healing slowly, likely from one of his own by the jagged tears in the skin. Bits of meat, barely chewed, fell out the side of the closing wound, the beast merely stretching his neck and tightening muscles to try and get the rotted dinner to go where it wanted it to. The elf, had he eaten recently, thought about losing his stomach if it would not have meant certain death with four other trolls asleep in the same room.

  His kukri placed like lightning around the fiend's throat, his falcata from the other side, the blades cut deep into troll flesh. Sinewy and soft, blood dark and smelling of fish oil, he sliced the creature in front of him. It squirmed, flailed, and fell to the ground, its head still mouthing curses with no body to push the air out with. A small pop as the spine was severed was the only noise the hunter made as he ended the troll's life. The other trolls glanced over, seeing their kin laying down, twitching a bit, yet nothing more moved or happened, and the others turned back to their dreams of rotten meats. Lavress lay still, holding the troll head next to the neck, hoping it looked natural in the shadowy light from the torches, hoping the other four did not catch on. Between the rotted meat in his lap, lying under a dead bleeding troll, and the smell of the swamp demon infested tower, he could not decide what was worse.

  An hour passed. The drooling and hissing snores of the trolls had been consistent for half the time and Lavress slowly and carefully pulled himself out from behind the cold rancid corpse. As low as he could get while still on his feet, the wood elf moved to the first slime covered oily hay pile of a bed. Chopping down across the side of the neck, he held the black hair with his left hand to prevent the head from rolling across the stone floor. The falcata did its job well, severing through in one clean cut near the shoulders where the spine was hard.

  The next one was face down and easy for the hunter, another chop of the inverse curved sword and another head he pressed into the bedding to prevent any last second gasps from issuing in the still of the shadows. The third stirred, Lavress freezing in place, covered in shadows, squinting his elven eyes to look for the exact second he may have to take this one awake. Back down into nightmares it went, and the hunter wasted no time in ripping its life away with a deep saw or two across the throat. His hand went over the black fanged mouth as its eyes widened and then shut.

  Noise from behind him, the fourth was up. Its breathing heavy, staggering clawed feet on stone, and Lavress felt it hit him in the back. Not a clawed hand nor a heavy blow as he had expected, but an accidental bumping from a half sleeping nine foot troll. Lavress leapt into the air, striking the throat and severing its powers of speech. He landed on the ground, kukri drawn and stabbing across the fiend's thigh and again, forcing the stunned thing onto one knee. It gasped for air, reached with a claw as it tried to back away. The hunter followed, cutting savagely into its neck, then twice more as it fell, placing his boot on the bony cheek of his adversary. The head turned and the wolf hilted blade finished releasing this troll of its head.

  Lavress Tilaniun of Gualidura remained still, standing over the fifth troll he had killed here, listening, feeling for anything that might have heard him, still curious and suspicious of the elven tracks he had seen with the caravan. Nothing. He heard an owl in the distance, then another, but nothing close by. Cautious now, having already missed one troll in here, Lavress wiped his blades slowly through the hay and watched the entrance to the bottom of the tower.

  Moving like death itself, silent and unnoticed, he crept close to the cages down the stairs in the dungeons of this horrid place. Searching the captives from behind old rusty iron bars in cages meant for animals, Lavress saw two sleeping women, one of them with child, both human, both asleep. Three men, old and near their ends, stared back from the huddled rear of another cell. All were keeping silent and obviously afraid of whatever it was peering at them from the dark outside. In horror or shock, the wood elf hunter thought, for none of them even blinked or talked to one another, just stared at him as he passed them by. The third cage held a shivering and much awake satyr, paying no mind to outside his prison. By the looks of his wounds, temporary as they were, he had seen enough troll hospitality for a lifetime. Their eyes met, Lavress’ topaz eyes rich and warm looked to the forest brown and swollen eyes of the satyr.

  Bedesh’s eyes lit up like a fire, realizing it was not the Nadderi slaver that stood outside his cell.

  “Are you Lavress? Lavress Tilaniun? The hunter that Shinayne and I had been following?” His words, despite the whisper, could not be contained nor slowed. By description alone, Bedesh knew who it was before him.

  Lavress noticed his blinking increased rapidly. The satyr trickled urine as he approached the bars, and a desperate smile erupted from his furred face

  “SSSShhhhh. Yes. You know Shinayne? Who are the others here?” The hunter pried the rusty lock off with ease, snapping it at the end enough to make an echoing burst of metal. The cage opened and Bedesh smiled another smile as if a miracle had just occurred. He hugged the elven man with all he had left.

  “Captives. What they mean to do with us I am not sure. Lady Shinayne loves you, and her and I and Nathaniel, well Nathaniel died at the clawed hands of the …” His lips were pursed shut by the wood elf’s fingers.

  “SSShhhhh. Nathaniel Hanaira is dead?” Lavress felt a twinge of pain in his chest, he had known Nathaniel Hanaira for far over a century.

  “Yes, and then we met a minotaur and a knight that---“

  “Sssshhh…We have to leave now, the others will have heard me breaking the lock,” hushed the hunter. “How many upstairs?”

  “Only two. A creepy old wizard and an elf named Kendari, cursed one. Are we going to kill them?” Bedesh felt a moment of anticipation at getting revenge, smiling, and then quickly dismissing the un-satyr like feeling a moment later.

  “No. You are injured, we are too far from help, and did you say…” Lavress thought he had heard that name before when he was admitted to the Hedim Anah. He had heard the court of the Whitemoon mention that name as he passed to receive his enchanted kukri and falcata blade. This Kendari, was spoken of in a meeting, a secret meeting that those well above him had been invited to. The decision made for him, the painted wood elf led Bedesh out the way he came in. He moved quickly, hearing the sound of many footsteps from above the first floor and below from the deeper basements of the rotted tower. “We must go.”

  “The others, the women and the old men. What about the cursed elf and the tro...” Bedesh was silenced again, this time with a threatening blade in the elf’s hand.

  “No time, they are coming. You are unarmed and an easy target for them. Valhirst is north and east of here about seven days. We will find Shinayne there perhaps, I’m not sure. No time satyr. Sorry.” Lavress pulled his falcata and headed into the swamp, his little horned ally close behind. He k
new the old, the injured, and the woman with child would slow them to certain capture.

  Not a second passed before his kukri was lifted from its sheath by the satyr. Lavress turned to see only the racing fey creature scramble back into the cells. Lavress ran after.

  The dagger twisted and scraped, yet the lock would not break. Bedesh grunted and clanged the bars with the blade tip, then finally a hand grabbed his.

  “Foolish satyr. Allow me.” Lavress pried with a downward force and wrenched his wrist to the left. The lock popped, the bars creaked open, and Lavress followed the satyr to the next cage. Quickly, all eleven cages were opened, and Lavress hung his head, placing his hand upon the back of the satyr.

  “Why, why aren’t they moving….go, you are free…”

  “They are in shock, satyr. They are weak or old, some sick I sense. They will not be able to escape. You did what you could.” Lavress heard noises above, not the words previous, but quick motions and steps.

  “Now, we go.” Lavress ran out the front of the tower, the satyr following with a sad reluctance.

  “Try and keep up. What is your name, since you know mine so well?” Lavress made talk more to keep him calm as he heard the trolls screeching behind him in the distance and knew they would be able to follow at night.

  “Bedesh. Bedesh of Haven Glen, it’s near your...”

  “I know, I have been to Haven Glen. Beautiful, tranquil, and the best palm wine in the world. Well, Bedesh, can you use a bow?” Already on a run toward the swamps, Lavress spoke as he sensed pursuers and eyes upon them from somewhere foul.

  Lavress knew they would not get out of this without a fight and the satyr might have to help. His friend was limping, and he knew the trolls would catch them if they managed to follow their trail. His mind sensed where they were in the spiritual sense. He felt sacred ground north, several days perhaps, but fey ground in which he could take shelter.

  “Know how? I was Lady Shinayne’s archer I’ll have you know, after Nathaniel passed and before I was captured, that is.” Bedesh grabbed the bow and quiver that the elven hunter passed to him as they ran faster than even his female friend could have. “Is it true that you and Lady Shinayne are...”

  “SSShhhhh. That is a talk for another time, between her and I, not you. Keep moving, Bedesh. We make for a temple of the Whitemoon. But, we mustn’t be followed, or they will not allow us in.”

  “I thought you said Valhirst?”

  “Change of plans. No time to explain, keep up, Bedesh.”

  Lavress smiled at his lover’s inability to keep secrets. He wondered what else she had shared with the satyr. He was secretly warmed inside to know she was alive and had traveled this far to be with him. The hunter's concern now was for her safety and getting the invaluable books in his pack to the Order of the Whitemoon, freed satyr along with. Shinayne of Kilikala would have to understand someday that his secret orders from the Hedim Anah had to be carried out alone. He appreciated her desire to prove her love yet this was obviously the wrong place to put such feelings to the test.

  Lavress felt a twinge of guilt in his chest, a noble elf had died, a satyr tortured, all over him leaving without being able to tell her where he was going. The safety of the fey and the elven race had unfortunately demanded loss of life. Lavress kept moving in the dark of night with Bedesh beside him, hoping it would not demand theirs as well.

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  “Get up, lazy elf, get up!! Get on your feet!What kind of killer are you that lets my treasures be taken in the night?!!” the old man paced, hands frantically waving, stomping up and down on the stone floor next to Kendari’s bed.

  It was dark, save the light glow from the green moon and a glint from the crescent white moon following in the shrouded sky. Kendari got to his feet, the cold stone floor unwelcome to the touch, and grabbed Shiver from its sheath. His robes wrapped tightly in the chill air, he moved upstairs behind the paranoid raving mad lunatic of a wizard. Warmth, like an invisible curtain of heat, smothered his body in the upper chamber that was always magically heated. The swirling glass ball in the center had many a bright light dancing from within, the bats were squeaking and the wolf was growling, it was a room of complete absurd chaos in the middle of sleep.

  “There! One of your kind running away with my satyr!” Salah-Cam pointed out the over-sized window large enough for two to sit in and watch the swamp.

  Kendari squinted, focusing on the movements and adjusting his eyes to being awake, trying to ignore the commotion that seemed unbearable to anyone wanting to get a clear thought in their mind. He saw them, two figures running quite a way into the swamps, heading north. He could not make out more than that from the distance they had already covered.

  “Send the trolls.” Kendari turned to return to his chamber and get his gear. Cam’s hand grabbed his arm, stopping him with a death grip he had not thought the man capable of.

  “Get your rancid hand off of me, or I will remove it, permanently.”

  “Loooook Kendari, look,” whispered words issued like snakes in the grass from his crusty lips, staring wide-eyed into the shining glass globe atop a pedestal. Gold light, blinding, the elf strained to see what was causing it.

  Two figures, a wood elf savage, with painted face and weapons drawn, led the satyr through the marshes. The globe's vision closed in on the leather pack carried by the elf rescuer, and the glow of light that issued screamed from the openings. Closer still, the globe could see through the leather with its magical sight. Both the swordsman and the wizard could not blink, enthralled with what could be glowing so much more than the weapons and trinkets this elf carried. This was different, blinding, radiant, and of course, Kendari saw books. Three damn books, gold and ancient, powerfully magical with ancient elven writing and design. Knowing what would be asked already, the Nadderi moved down the stairs and put on his clothes and newly acquired magical boots.

  “Never another blade or fine chainmail of the Gods, or ancient magicked vials to remove my curses from the powers above. No, never. Books and scrolls, didn’t the ancient wizards enchant anything else?” His complaints focused his anger, putting on his chain armor and new bracers, donning his straps and belts.

  “You are going to get them for me, yes Kendari?” The joy and paranoia was almost embarrassing on the man's face, his hands wringing together in anticipation as he peered around the corner.

  “Minotaur with the scroll, or elf from Gualidura with the books? Decide quickly.” Kendari was awake now after only a few hours of rest.

  “Books, the books please, and my satyr. You will get them for me?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the minotaur traveled with the satyr that is being stolen, yes?”

  “Yes.” Kendari placed his blades in the proper place he always had, Shiver on his left for his right hand to draw, and the other longsword on his right to draw reversed with his left.

  “Should the two of them meet, will you kill them both? The scroll and the books for me, please?”

  “Yes.” Getting annoyed at the line of questions, Kendari brushed past the wizard, heading outside. “Send the trolls behind me, far behind me. I don’t want to expose myself to this one. And get some better security to this hole of a home, it is in much disrepair. And I would produce a large reward upon my return if I were you, Lord Salah-Cam. I do not believe there is anything you possess that I want. So, best put the word out, or I will sell what I find to the highest bidder.”

  “Yes, yes, hurry my black spiral veined menace, double your price, just hurry.”

  Kendari had seen that kukri before, the one that the crystal had showed him. He had seen the symbols engraved upon it very long ago, longer than the wood elf had been alive for certain. Nevertheless, he knew it had the markings of the Hedim Anah, the hunters of the Whitemoon court, the ones that captured him many centuries ago and brought him to be punished with the Nadderi curse. Hate swelled inside him and for the first time in ages, a healthy dose
of fear. That blade was specifically created to weaken and kill ones like him. The Nadderi knew the training and skill that the Hedim Anah employed in their members and Kendari was eager, too eager, to put this one to his blades. He stalked into the night, alone, a killer chasing a killer in the frozen south.

  “Massterr, dead ones, five deadsss down below.” The troll hissed fearfully to report the loss to Salah-Cam.

  “Wait a few hours, wait for him to get ahead, we will watch. How many are you now?” The rogue wizard was rife with paranoia from his age, his wickedness, and the arcane elements he had been drinking to sustain his life. His mind cracked, his distrust of anyone he could not control was ripe, and he feared betrayal from a lifetime of being the betrayer.

  “EElevens my Lord, there isss eelevens now, umms, maybe nines.”

  “Patience my friend. Follow the bats and the wolf, follow his trail. When Kendari gets the books or the scroll, you will kill him. Tear him to pieces for his failures and bring me what is mine. You will be greatly rewarded.” Salah-Cam stared out the window, unblinking, feeling his life running out, feeling the elf would take the books for himself, they are elven after all, who wouldn’t?

  “Bring the books, the scroll, and the satyr. Bring me his corpse, what is left of it. This is Kendari’s last run.” Salah Cam stalked back behind a curtain, messages from Valhirst upon a stone slab were glowing. He felt the need to respond, too much at stake, his mind could not allow a restful thought. “I want him in pieces, many, many pieces.”