The Last Pantheon: of spiders and falcons

by Jason Jones

  “Did I really pass all of you? There must be a mistake, one moment please...” He turned as to leave, and then faced forward again, smiling wide, wrinkles creasing around his warm blue eyes. Laughter rolled through the air toward the floating wizards, and Middir raised his hand to end the interruptions.

  “Good evening. I have taught here at Lazlette for over forty years now, on and off, and never have I seen a brighter, wiser group of new wizards than this.”

  “You said that last year!” one of the students from below the graduates, surrounded by friends to hopefully hide his identity, heckled Middir. More laughter echoed across the terrace and open air of the west and south towers.

  “Did I? Shame, I did like the class of three forty three, let’s not tell them they have been surpassed, agreed?” Middir’s smile from under a braided white beard stretching to his belt was met with more jovial chuckling. Several “hoorah’s” from the seventeen graduating this year issued, showing their pride to the favored professor.

  “And no, young Zodriss of Armondeen in his second year, I could not tell it was you shouting from the crowd. Hope your mop-arm is well rested.” More “oohs and aahs” followed by laughter and pointing at the young blond boy from the northwest, his face turning red despite his smile.

  “What are you, twenty, twenty one perhaps, young and strong, I have much work for you.” Deeper “oohs” issued from the crowd, and young Zodriss bowed his blond head and crimson flushed face to wise Middir.

  “All jests aside, the finest wizards in the world are trained here, and you seventeen have certainly proven that once again. Only three legitimate academies of the arcane arts exist on Agara and the High Wizards of the other two both studied here, at Lazlette. That should tell you something. Our art is a fragile one, fragile in that we are always in conflict with someone or something. Religion imposes their beliefs on the lands’ people, generating speculation and rumor as to what it is we do. Queens and warlords seek our counsel for their own ends, and sometimes our gifts of sight. The Soteth Sorcerers would burn our books and places of learning with the armadas of Altestan behind them had they the opportunity. You leave here to a dangerous world, my friends.”

  “I have had tea with Kalzarius of Harlaheim, even taught a class or two with him. He too knows our art is in dire times. The great Lassado of Eisel Inne, in Shanador, well his visits have grown few. Then there is us, Lazlette, here in the far south, and what do we dream of? Great stories of mages that infused the arcane into their blood, I have read them as well. Archmages and dread warlocks of ages past, they sound so alluring. Do not be fooled, class, do not. Those wizards did not live to see a happy ending.”

  “Yes, yes, the ancient relics, lost texts and scrolls of long dead progenitors of the arcane, and artifacts found on quests with kings and knights all sound splendid. Crafting your own spells and practices, creating the latest innovative potion, and fashioning the enchantments of Lord so-and-so’s armor may also bring you fame and recognition among your peers. It is not that easy, it never is. Our way of life is growing and protecting an art that is sought after, coveted, misused, misjudged, hunted, and powerful. You carry with you the name of this academy and its beliefs, no matter where you travel. Please represent us well. We wizards do not console or deal with what?” his hand pointed to the graduates.

  “Demons or the dead!” the shout came in unison from many weeks of rehearsal in the classroom.

  “We do not participate in the what?”

  “Arts of Necronomy!” Again, the students well versed in the morals of Lazlette replied together.

  “We do not use our knowledge to gain what?”

  “Self serving power or monetary gains!”

  “Very good, very good. Enough of what you will not be doing in the outside world. Are you ready to show everyone here what you can do?”

  “Yes, Professor!”

  Middir floated back in line with the other professors, motioning to Lady Aelaine and winking again at Gwenneth. Even after hearing his ceremonial speech over twenty times, Gwenne felt inspired at every word Middir said, like everyone else present.

  “Thank you, professors. As you know students, your very own crystal made from a chunk of raw stone must be formed, lit, engraved with your name, and placed into Lake Pellicram. It must be done without a single touch of your hand, done in mid air, and it must be done, blindfolded.” Another hushed echo of “oohs” went through the crowd. “That is, after we professors hurl them at you with all the arcane strength we have in our veins.”

  Gwenne sensed again that moving mass of small magical auras. It was just outside the east bridge of the city and had stopped. Her arcane sight also felt the closeness of the powerful relic coming from the west, heading directly toward the west bridge. Gwenneth wondered why they all, whoever they were, traveled at night, especially a cold snowing Chazzrynn night, such as this.

  She concentrated on the task at hand, keeping the crystals moving and glowing above Lake Pellicram. Her mother, Middir, and herself all stopped breathing for a moment, the same moment, and looked at one another. The auras on the trailing mercenary had disappeared, vanished in the blink of an eye. His steps toward the eastern gate fresh in her mind, perhaps minutes away, then gone, and all three of them had seen that very same occurrence. Gwenneth focused again, her eyes closed, sensing the magical impulses in the area, surveying north and south. Nothing.

  Aelaine cast a quick glance to Middir, bidding him to do something and turned her head and nodded to her daughter to continue. Two white doves flashed into existence from the hands of Middir and Aelaine, one heading to the west tower, and one into the city, toward the Keep of Vallakazz.

  Gwenneth surmised that her mother was sending message via the summoning of an enchanted talking dove, to Kendrynn Shilde, captain of the city guard. The other she knew, was sent by Middir to Angeline Berren, the personal bodyguard of the old professor. Angeline was always quiet, never spoke a word. Her head peered from a window on the eighth balcony, long wavy red hair, beautiful face, yet always a serious and stern look. She levitated, more fell slowly, really, and not using arcane energies that Gwenne could ever detect. Her long hand and a half blade was drawn out in the shadows of her descent to the ground. Many rumors existed of what she was, besides a human woman of about thirty seasons from Kivanis. Her silence, her strange powers that were not arcane, yet duplicated many effects thereof, and no one knew how she used them with ease in her armor of chain and plate. The rumors were that she was Middir’s child, yet looked nothing like him, that she was a former student that had been permanently injured in some way, or that she was some practitioner of ancient sorceries and that the old man had sworn to protect her. None of which any were certain of, yet Angeline was never far from Middir, and never unarmed.

  Something had gone wrong and the city might be in jeopardy with relics abound and all this intrigue. Gwenne stewed further that she was stuck holding up hundreds of crystals from wizards that were out in the world or long dead and gone. She craved to be involved, to be on the inside of the plans and reactions to such dangers, yet, as always, she found herself taking part in the remedial. Keeping her mind as clear as possible, placing the thoughts well behind her current position a hundred or more feet above the ground, Gwenne concentrated on the relic approaching from the west instead. Another feeling of her father flashed, something, a scroll she saw now, and the sensation that someone not of Vallakazz was also watching them.

  “Are we ready?” her mother asked of the students, all now blindfolded with wand in the left hand and staff in the right. All seventeen bowed their heads, spoke the incantation of levitation and rose up and out above the bridge.

  Aelaine raised her palms, along with the other six professors, bringing seventeen natural rocks the size of small boulders out of the lake. As they rose above her head she looked to make sure all students were calm and prepared.

  “Begin!” the rocks hurled at the students with speed that could crush through the stone
walls of the towers by a simple gesture from the Lady of Lazlette and her professors.

  All the students put their staves forward. “Nev Altus!” and the boulders stopped in place, inches from their floating bodies, swirling and turning in the air.

  The crowd applauded, students of junior classes cheering with howls and whistles. The graduates waved their wands, the tips glowing red as did the giant rocks, and they spun faster and faster in place. A faint yellow glow came from the blindfolds as the arcane sight and magically invoked vision had a mild side effect, as did many spells that affect the same part of the body in similar manner simultaneously.

  The students remained hovering, some slipping a few inches below the others, yet the entire class maintained, using two kinds of abnormal vision, the staff halting and holding their boulder and the wand heating and spinning it.

  “Commala beresta!” The wands shot forth from the tip black and white electric bursts into the reddening stone, causing sparks and a twisting compressing sound from the meeting of energy. The burning smoke showering the air with an acrid stench, slowly the spinning stones, chiseled down by magical blasts of arcing force, became spinning stones the size of a fist. The wands lowered and the staves rose above their heads, hoods and sashes rippling in the air above the academy.

  “Tresfaynen Hladirem.” Now glowing a variety of blues, reds, greens, purples, and oranges, the stones spun faster and faster, humming and whistling due to inhumanly possible speeds of revolution. Cracking noises blanketed the fascinated cheers of the gathered guests and students below. The crackling pops slowed, sparks ceased to fly from the dizzying blur of stones, stones that now were hardened crystal.

  “Feandril Luminil Primonin,” the ever popular spell of infusing permanent light was invoked by all in unison, their wands pointed at their crystals and bright light now would remain forever inside. Hollers of praise, shouts of applause, and cheers of wonderment from amazed citizens and families of Vallakazz filled the cold air on midwinter night as bright light from seventeen new stones flashed into existence. The students held their staves loosely, placing the wands in their belts, and removed the blindfolds. The light from their eyes faded, most of them squinting to readjust to normal sight. Each bowed to the professors together, their ceremonial crystals of graduation floating and glowing effortlessly in front of each of the seventeen.

  Lady Aelaine Lazlette looked at each student, their crystals, and the professors to her left and right. She received the nods she expected. “Perfect. Would the class of three hundred forty four please etch their names into their graduation crystals?”

  At that command, the class pointed their fingers at the glowing gems in front of them and recited the arcane name of each letter of their first and last name, or city of birth for those that had no surname. The writing sparked small chips of glowing dust that settled over the crowd and blew on the night wind.

  “Would the first in her class care to send the stones to join with the nine hundred sixty one that have come before you?”

  Annila D’Narii, the extremely gifted and wise woman from Evermont in Shanador, floated forward holding out her hand, raising her sky blue crystal above the others with an effortless gesture from her fingertips.

  “Yes, High Wizard Aelaine, I would.” Her fingers clenched tight for a moment, her blonde hair blowing in the breeze as she levitated high, then her hand opened in a flash, sky blue light enveloped her hand and formed a stream to her crystal, guiding it gently into orbit with the hundreds of others still controlled by Gwenneth Lazlette. The other sixteen followed her lead, and applause issued again, as the students and professors each bowed to one another, and to the crowd below, then levitated back to the bridge. Gwenneth released the orbs into the lake, where they would remain lit until the start of the new class, midspring morning of the upcoming year.

  The usual talks began inside in the warmth of the west tower between visiting family, local lords, the professors, and the graduates. Levitating down and around the west tower, Gwenneth made for the western side of town. Assuming that her mother would seek out Captain Kendrynn, and Middir would be with his strange bodyguard, Angeline, looking for the mysterious hunter, Gwenneth would go where the action was not flooded with elders.

  She ignored the attempts of the crowd, now that she touched back down to ground, to ask her how she did it? was it difficult? and many other queries. She smiled and pushed through to get away from the normal folk of Vallakazz. She had heard them all before, and despite her outward false sincerity, Gwenne Lazlette wished nothing more than to have the chance to do something on her own. She felt her opportunity to greet strangers, without guidance or the shadow of her mother over her and take part in something that was her own. Finally, after a whole life lived under the thumb of the Lady of the Academy, Gwenneth was doing what she wanted to do, and cared nothing for the repercussions.

  Curses I:IV

  Eastern Vallakazz

  The ring on his finger, three onyx stones set on a gold band, was tingling and sending small vibrations through his left hand. That hand was cold, having removed the leather gauntlet, his pale skin with black circles of veins barely visible in the shadows of the eastern gate tower. Kendari waited, looking to see if the trolls of Salah-Cam were close behind him, or if the old wretch of a wizard had listened to him for once. He had seen the tracks of the satyr and his elven rescuer turn into Vallakazz, yet noticed that they vanished only a hundred feet or so inside the portcullis he had just snuck over.

  They know I am close. Fear not Bedesh, they cannot hide you from me here.

  Silently, even more so than ever with the black leather enchanted boots from his employer, the Nadderi elf knew his ring would only conceal him for a few minutes longer. The magicks of the ring needed several hours of still starlight to function, yet it had served its purpose so far. If it had not, dozens of wizards would have been waiting at the gates to greet him, having sensed his various enchanted weapons and treasures. Kendari knew that Vallakazz was home to hundreds of arcane teachers and students and, although deadly up close, the cursed swordsman had no intention of taking on a wizard of the academy if he could avoid it, let alone several at a ranged skirmish.

  City guard approaching, he saw at least thirty led by a captain by the looks of his plate armor and ornate engravings. The falcons on many a banner whipped in the wind, Chazzrynn soldiers watched, yet Kendari remained unseen in the shadows.

  Broadswords, shields, chainmail, steel open faced helms, and no wizards. Kendari weighed the odds knowing the flank and the neck would be the targets for his deadly blades.

  Convinced he could not take the lot of them after seeing the dozen archers in the towers on each side of the gate, the cursed elf moved like invisible death through the shadows of outer Vallakazz. His cloak of black hid his features, even though the shadows more than hid his presence. The old buildings and homes were solid granite, almost a hint of sparkle from quartz traces in the rock. The roofs were all solid wood or stone, and the roads well opened and maintained cobblestone. He noted several escape routes, in case he was noticed by the arcane guard here. Through street after street, on a cold snowing night in Chazzrynn, Kendari saw the beauty of Vallakazz, the people milling about, busy streets and warm wealthy homes. He had not come here for anything this city had to offer, just for the tomes that Salah-Cam wanted, and to put a slave stealing wood elf of the Hedim Anah into the ground with the satyr. Then a scroll and some more bloodshed crossed his wicked thoughts.

  “So, this is Vallakazz. Wealthy humans of Chazzrynn and Agara fill nice warm homes. Wizards and student sorcerers fill the district arcane to the south. Old cathedrals attract travelers to the western side. Shops, markets, and well-groomed cobblestone leads you through magically lit streets. So safe, so secure. Even the city guard smells of fresh baths and perfume. What it lacks is a deadly swordsman spilling blood in her streets.” Kendari talked as he walked, heads of passersby turning, looking to the shadows for the source of a voice they coul
d not find.

  His concealment from the triple onyx ring wearing off soon, Kendari began to feel worry since he had not seen a track or a sign of the two he hunted for inside. The ring stopped its vibrations, alerting him that the magic would now soon fade. Leaping for small roads and alleys, veering away from all the magical lights fixed through the city market area and inns of fine repute, he headed into the inner city toward taller buildings with more cover. Once closer to the populace, to the wizards and such, he knew his enchanted regalia would be hard found with all the other items to interfere with arcane searches.

  Moving without sound, knowing any moment his presence may be detected by wizards of Vallakazz, Kendari ran toward the Temple of Golden Mercy. Its brown marble stone pillars and hedge filled courtyard had plenty of vantage points in which the elf could watch for his prey. He doubted the wizards would be searching this holy area for magicks or intruders. The cursed swordsman grinned at the great golden feathered cross ahead.

  “What better place to plan a kill than in the presence of God.” His smile vanished, noticing several men in the shadows he had just left. He had been trailed. Not by the guard nor wizards, these men were trained at moving unseen and quietly.

  “Assassins or rival hunters, how delightful,” he whispered. His mind raced, his eyes surveyed quickly, and he could not figure how a savage elf and a satyr could have eluded him so easily.

  The Nadderi moved into the garden yard, full of granite pillars stretching to the bottoms of the clouds it seemed, and drew his blades. Shiver rippled heat in the cold breeze. He backed toward the temple, noting its many stories, balconies, and rooftops, and of course the giant thirty foot wide feathered cross of Alden made entirely of gold that hung above the double doors. Crouching below bushes and behind statues of saints, the cursed one waited. The wait was short as two of the young human men, clad in tight fitting black cloth masks and leather armor, sabers drawn with daggers held reverse for throat cuts, rushed around the corner of the trimmed decorative hedge.