The Last Pantheon: of spiders and falcons

by Jason Jones

  “I could let ye’ both finish each other off, right here over Vallakazz, I could. Aye, I should maybe. But, ye’ be expected in Vallakazz, and this scroll matter has done involved ye’ both. Now, it has Shinayne and I with ye’ to see it through, for how long I cannot tell. I knew who ye’ was when ye’ killed that snowcat---“

  “I am not ready to talk about that day. I am tired of repeating it!” James growled, lowering his blade slowly.

  “And I am owned by no one, and I will never own anyone. Watch your use of the word slave around me!” Saberrak growled low in return.

  “That day you ask about, it is not just that man I saw, there is more, much more. You do not know what you ask of me! I sleep and dream in a prison of pain and blood, every damned night!”

  “Trust me, a life of pain and imprisonment is all too familiar to me.”

  “Then when you are ready, Saberrak here needs answers. You can help, James Andellis. No one is asking for blood. Just words,” Shinayne pleaded.

  “With who you have hunting this already, and an inability to blend in, this little troupe can expect plenty of blood.” James sheathed his sword finally, seeing Saberrak relax and cross his arms. “And none of you know Chazzrynn.”

  “You do.” Shinayne replied.

  “Correct, just me, how comforting.”

  “You afraid, knight?” the gray snorted.

  “No, I died thirteen years ago. A dead man fears nothing.”

  “If that is what you tell yourself, I can see why you have such a wondrous disposition then.” Azenairk added. “The time will come, when you can talk that is, no one need force it. All in good time.”

  “What is left to me, is borrowed time as it is.”

  “Then make good use of it, James, and help us.” Shinayne waited until his gaze met hers.

  No one spoke, Shinayne, Saberrak, and James lifted their gear out of the snow and walked to look at the glowing lights of Vallakazz. A few nods, several mutterings and a stare or three were all that passed between them.

  “Well, glad to be o’ help then.” Zen followed them, whispering to himself as he seemed nearly forgotten. “Guess that be settled.”

  The four travelers, carriers of a long lost and ancient scroll of unknown origin, moved down the valley toward the city. From the outside, the grand stone nexus of learning that is Vallakazz in the center of Chazzrynn seemed a destination from a long and perilous trek across frozen countryside. For the four about to enter, it was hopefully refuge, and a city with answers to the many questions they had.

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  The western bridge was well guarded, more than Gwenneth recalled was normal. Then she tried to remember the last time she had even traveled to a gate at the edge of the city. The snow had stopped, the clouds over her head had parted to the west, and the stars and moons revealed a lush glow over the outside world that Gwenne was accustomed to seeing from her room high in the tower. From a low vantage point, the sky and the countryside seemed immensely huge and she felt so much smaller than the daughter of the High Wizard of Lazlette should. Concealed in shadow, concealed from arcane sight, Gwenneth waited unseen near the men.

  Her arcane sight was sensing the glow approaching, very close now. Gwenne ignored the chatter from armed guards and archers posted at this gate, double here what the other three gates had. Gwenne had seen ogre from a distance, yet none had dared attempt an attack on Vallakazz since her youth, so the prodigal wizard never saw the reason for such a bolster of forces to the west. This city was rarely involved in any wars, and for good reason.

  “Hail travelers, and state your names. Far enough now.” A city guard broke the silence.

  Gwenneth moved to the bridge, peering through the black iron bars to where the sergeant of the west bridge was calling. Nods and bows she barely noticed came to her from the guards posted as she allowed herself to be seen.

  “Lady Shinayne T’Sarrin of Kilikala. Hail watchwarden, my men are cold and tired. Our business is with the Temple of Golden Mercy and the house of Lazlette.” Barely containing her excitement, the elven swordswoman spoke for them, knowing how to announce herself to guards and nobles alike.

  “Why does a woman announce for men, when I see a knight of Southwind at your---“ the mutterings of his fellows, the stare undeniable from his left, the city guardsman choked his words with a false cough. The nod from the heir of Lazlette cut his question away quickly.

  “It seems that Lazlette has been awaiting you, my lady. Get the gate raised, men!” The sergeant raised his hand high, noting that he received the same from the elf, and looked toward the robed wizard of the academy.

  “All yours, milady.”

  “Carry on.” Gwenneth knew not his name nor rank, nor did she care. Her mind was solely on the matters about to unfold before her eyes.

  Gwenneth felt the presence close now, could see it, it hummed in her vision to the annoying point that she had to dismiss her magical sight. The minotaur kept it in a large pack on his hip, she knew, and she smiled as the seven and a half foot horned warrior walked up to her. Tattoos of black horns that mirrored his own real ones curved and shone under his eyes, eyes that looked at her from two feet above. His right hand around his left side gripping the leather wrapped metal haft of a great steel double bladed axe, his right on the hilt of some bone blade tucked in his belt. Gwenne noted that he did not look at all comfortable here in Vallakazz, or in the pieced together leather and furs he wore for protection and warmth.

  The black robed daughter of the arcane glanced at the others. The woman had curved elven blades, the matching set of a noble, and dressed in fine chain armor under regal garments of purple and black. Her skin was bronze, hair of golden curls, and eyes bright aqua and vibrant, everything about her sparkled or caught light. The gleam marked her as a highborn noble elf of Kilikala, not to mention the slim features and high thin pointed ears.

  The heritage of the dwarf was easy to identify, the hammer and moons emblem on his shield and breastplate, trimmed black beard and shaven head. A priest of silent Vundren, the mountain God, his warhammer half as tall as he was. From Boraduum she knew, having seen them dozens of times a year, trading in Vallakazz.

  Lastly Gwenne examined the knight of Southwind Keep. His red feathered cross of Alden on the white tabard, neatly trimmed dark brown beard and hair to the shoulders, he was a human man a little older than herself. The black falcon of Chazzrynn on his shield full of war wounds, and his broadsword with the hilt of a golden griffon and feathered crosspiece drew her attention. Gwenne stared, she had seen that weapon before, she could not place it, but it was familiar to her.

  Gwenneth bowed deeply, her arms wrapped around each other in the chill air, and bows returned, save the minotaur. Her ebony hair flitted in the wind as her deep green eyes and smile welcomed them.

  “Lady Lazlette?” the dwarf spoke first.

  “Yes, I am Gwenneth Lazlette. And may I have the pleasure of you and yours, devout of Vundren?”

  “Azenairk Thalanaxe, my lady, of Boraduum. You may call me Zen if you wish though.” He blushed, sensing stares from his companions as he tried to impress the beautiful human woman.

  “Lady Shinayne T’Sarrin, of Kilikala.”

  “James Andellis, former knight of Southwind, my lady. Is there wine in Valakazz that you are aware of?”

  “Of course,” Gwenne was caught off guard at the question. “We have some of the rarest and finest imports here, be assured.”

  “May I add how lovely you look on a cold winter night?” James could smell the wine she spoke of, even with her few words of response, James felt the wine in his veins already. “And invite you to join me for a bottle of---“

  “You may not,” Gwenneth smiled, then turned to Saberrak

  “And you must be…” Gwenne paused, awaiting the name of the minotaur.

  “You are a wizard, the master of an academy it says, shouldn’t you know?” Saberrak snorted, his pessimism at human society s
peaking for him.

  “I am not all knowing my horned friend, may a lady have your name?” Gwenneth felt her cheeks flush just a little at her stretch of the truth. She had the chance to be honest about her position and title, she let it pass. Gwenne knew her mother would have her publicly reprimanded for impersonating her, no matter the cause. Yet the moment took her words away.

  “This,” Shinayne patted the chest of the gray gladiator, “is Saberrak the Gray of Unlinn, and he is most grateful to meet you and be welcomed into your city, my lady.”

  “I am?”

  “You are. Mind your manners horned one, I would most like to get out of the cold and you are not helping that goal this moment. So I am assisting you. Keep walking.” The elven noble nudged the minotaur forward, past the gate and into the city to follow wherever this noble wizard planned on taking them.

  “I suppose you want to see this, then?” Saberrak pulled the scroll from his pack as he walked, trying to relax a bit.

  “No, no, no! Put that away Saberrak, please. I am not the only wizard that is aware you carry something valuable. We have a deadly mercenary on the loose in the city as we speak, not for you as far as we know, but dangerous and hard to track nonetheless. Keep that hidden until I get us into the Lazlette Semanarium Arcanum.” Gwenne could hardly contain her excitement. Travelers, an ancient relic, the danger called to her. She was involved now, taking actions as a master wizard would, in the cold night with strangers from afar.

  He put it back quickly, looking from left to right. “The what?”

  “That large four towered, twelve bridged, nine storied college of the arcane dead ahead about a mile or so.” Gwenne pointed toward her home, keeping her pace forward and brisk and letting her sharp tongue slip without knowing it.

  “Oh.” Saberrak looked up, admiring the stone structure, in much better shape than the ones he first saw upon emerging in the west.

  “Who, or what, is the hunter after, Lady of Lazlette?” asked the dwarf, making conversation, not overly thrilled about walking into dangers he did not know all about.

  “That is not important for you to know, Zen. See that to your left, past the buildings there, that is the Temple of Golden Mercy, the largest cathedral in the…”

  Gwenne turned in time to hear whistling projectiles, one into the shoulder of the minotaur, one glancing off the armor of the dwarf, another past Gwenne’s face. Another clanged into the shield over the knight’s back, piercing the worn steel and lodging itself in the center. Many more, from side alleys, left and right and rooftops above, flew into the night sky aimed at the entire gathering.

  “Cover, find cover!” James pulled his shield off his back, covering the wizard and drawing his broadsword. Azenairk did the same to the right side, concealing the elven swordswoman, realizing that the minotaur was too big to protect with his shield.

  “Keep moving, head to the west tower, bottom alcove! Neshtael fidrium desh denaal!” Gwenneth raised her hands out to each side, chanting for the air to solidify and swirl. Ten foot circular wisps of air circled on either side of the pinned group, bolts from crossbows impacting and swirling to the snowy cobblestone, or streaming off target.

  James and Azenairk moved to her front and rear, shielding the wizard, while Shinayne and Saberrak drew weapons and stayed behind the enormous swirling air that protected them all.

  “Six on this side, three moving toward us!” the elf called to her friends, anxious to let them get within reach with their blades.

  “I have at least ten by the temple, only three moving in. The others are firing at something else, not us.” Saberrak too, had his axe and bone shortblade drawn, ready to defend the wizard he had yet to really acknowledge.

  The men, like shadows erupting from every corner of night, were upon them in moments, swift, silent, and leading with the curved blades of coastal cutthroats. Three came from the right of the road, moving to the front of the entourage in an attempt to slow their pace, Shinayne moved to the edge of the magical air shields Gwenneth controlled, and waited for the first assassin to make his move. People ran, some even screamed out of surprise and shock, yet this end of the city had few wanderers late on a winter night.

  All three killers in front stopped, drew daggers and hurled them end over end at the elven woman. Her longblade deflected one to the right, her curved shortblade meeting another and sending it high into the circling wall of wind, where it stopped and fell harmlessly to the street. The third was caught by the knight's shield as it flung over the elf’s head, sticking yet another weapon into the falcon head emblem. The three men charged, each a few feet apart, hoping to get inside, past the reach of the swordswoman. Shinayne stepped from the protection of James’ shield and smiled at her adversaries as they advanced.

  The men coming from behind had the same plan, practiced and trained for this very circumstance. They did not plan for a gray minotaur, bolt still imbedded in his shoulder, to rush out amid a stream of deadly projectiles with horns lowered. As they drew their daggers, crossbow fire from dozens of archers on either side still raining, the gladiator veered his charge last second and drove his horns into the man on the right. Driving the man through the chest with both two foot sharp horns and into the closest wall, another bolt lodged into the side of his thigh. Pain was only enraging the outnumbered minotaur. He threw with all the strength in his muscled torso and neck, his first victim flying into one of the remaining two, both tumbling across the snow covered street. The third man, dressed much like a shadow in form fitting black leather and cloth, waved his hand to the air, which halted the bolts that now were nearing he and his men. Saberrak grinned, marching forward with his axe and boneblade, ready to finish what these men had started before more arrived.

  The first assassin moved with the third to either side of Shinayne, cutting in toward her in unison, both parried from quick inhuman reflex and decades of training with the finest blades forged by mortals. Her counterattacks were both feints meant for the mens' chests, and as they parried up, the elf turned left. She retracted her attacks, and dove both blades under the saber of her enemy on the left and through his ribs. As she pulled the blades out, their attack continued, and Shinayne stopped the sabers with her curved right hand blade. With the left off hand, she plunged the tip with a quick jab to his throat. Turning just as he fell, blades up and crossed, the other two leapt at her, their crosspieces locking with hers. She ducked down, backward rolled and kicked up for better distance, when light flashed suddenly from behind her.

  “Confael sinirium!” Gwenneth, easily concentrating on the shields of air, pointed the two fingers of her right hand toward the man on the left of the rolling elf, unleashing a flash of energy that burned white hot and it struck him dead in the abdomen.

  Sparks showered with more white heat, the smell of burning leather and flesh filled the steaming air as the mercenary dropped to the ground, screaming as his belly burned and melted through. The group kept moving, the elf stepping over the screaming thug, keeping blades with the one on his feet. As James neared the man, his sword went up and down quickly, silencing him through the chest mercifully and without hesitation.

  “Keep moving!” James waved them on to avoid being further surrounded.

  Saberrak backed up, avoiding the arcing saber cuts from both men now, swinging his axe at their heads and reaching stabs with the boneblade at their chests. Neither man was believing he was that slow, which he was not, the two young assassins were simply too afraid to get very close to the angered minotaur. Tired of the cat and mouse exchange of misses, Saberrak stopped and lowered his weapons, drawing confusion from both men. They hesitated for just a moment, unsure what to do. The minotaur snorted, lifted both arms, and hurled his axe at the one on the left, and the ogre bonesword at the one on the right, the weapons crossing over each other as they flew end over end into their targets ten feet away. The axe buried into the chest of its man, killing him quickly. The other sustained the blade in the hip, leaving him standing in agony. />
  Azenairk, seeing his horned ally unarmed facing a sword, charged the man with a battle cry. As the killer turned toward the charging dwarf, Saberrak stepped ahead, pulled his double bladed axe from the corpse it was lodged in, and cleaved the wounded assassin's head clean off from behind, splattering blood all over the front of the dwarven priest.

  “Damn it minotaur! That was not necessary!” gruffed Azenairk at the minotaur standing above the headless body falling to the snow. Saberrak grinned, pulling his thrown blade from the hip of his enemy, and jogged ahead to the rest of the group.

  The saber caught her hand, a grazing cut, and Shinayne countered with her left blade; the killer parried. She turned her wrist, forcing him to do the same, over and over, to keep the elf from getting her blade inside his defenses. She turned again, and then dropped her wrist, forcing his blade down, exposing his forearm. Her curved longblade crosscut with her shoulder behind it, cleaving through bone, leaving his arm and saber dangling. She reversed her cut, a backward slash across his chest and through his armor, splitting his flesh. Shinayne then drove the shortblade through the wound near the heart. The man fell with a stifled scream. She kept marching the Vallakazz streets, leading the protected caravan through the night, Saberrak jogging beside her now. Both looked behind them as more men appeared two streets down from the left, but none from the Temple side.

  “More?” Saberrak asked the elven woman at his side. She was quick and deadly, and his grin barely contained his approval. Her small feminine frame and features belied her ability, yet Saberrak knew he had to protect her, it was instinct.

  “Yes, many, ahead and left. Ready?” Shinayne kept her focus ahead. She knew he had dipatched the other three, effective and quick, She was aware Saberrak would be their first target, his great size assured that, so she preferred to have him close, to protect him.

  “Always,” snorted the gray minotaur.

  “Almost there, just keep moving.” The calm voice of Gwenneth rose above the heat of the fight and the five kept their advance, the dwarf and the knight shielding her from the rear and the elf and the minotaur walking the front, walls of swirling arcane airs covering them all from the sides.