The Last Pantheon: of spiders and falcons

by Jason Jones

  “What does that have to do with the axe?” Zen furrowed his brow.

  “Nothing. But it is far more imposing that a little sword. My father used an axe, so do I. Looks menacing and leaves little chance of survival.” Saberrak grinned.

  “I am certain that you are not the most imposing thing down where you came from, Saberrak the Gray.” James muttered.

  “No, no I am not. Undefeated though, and only one other can claim that.” Saberrak looked again out the windows into the strange and beautiful human city.

  “Your father and brother, they fought there as well?” Zen commented.

  “My brother is too young, my father, Tathlyn, yes.”

  “My condolences.” Zen held his head low a moment, he knew what it was like to lose a brother and father.

  “Condolences, for what?” Saberrak turned to him.

  “You are undefeated, and I assume that your father…”

  Saberrak the Gray laughed a little as he paced slowly. “I see, but no. Not all fights are to the death. Most, yes, but one can be retired by their owner. Once that happens, the slave usually trains others and works, and if challenged to fight, he may refuse. Then, he is not undefeated. A master may push you to fight regardless, but that will bring no honor, and usually few victories. My father is alive still, and my brother too young to fight, but both alive when I escaped, Azenairk Thalanaxe.” Saberrak huffed out another small laugh at the thought of anyone harming his father or brother. He wished to speak of this no longer.

  “Will you free them oneday?” James asked, rubbing his head.

  “Yes, but I am not there now, and a song greeted me when I emerged. Led me it did, then brought me to save you from a horrible death by ogre hands. Now we are here. In a tower, with no room, no air. I need to get out of here.”

  Saberrak felt trapped, tight, despite the large chamber he was in with room for thrice as many as were there. The sense of recent freedom had exposed him to the realization that he did not care for enclosed spaces much, whether underground or above. He glanced at James, waking in the sofa.

  “Shinayne’s song? Was it her?” James covered his eyes after trying to open them. He reached for the bottle of wine he had found, and drank it a third down. His head ached, some swelling he felt with his other hand, but he could still not recall how it happened.

  “It was. Then I followed the voice after it stopped, and I saw her. Second most beautiful thing I had seen and heard in my whole life.” Saberrak looked out the window, watching the colors change in the sky.

  “I don’t doubt that, knowing where you came from.” James took another drink of the red. “What was the first, may I ask?”

  “Foggy memories of my mother singing. She died giving birth to my little brother, I recall little, but enough to know she must have been much like Shinayne.” Saberrak tried to bring about a vision of his mother in his mind, he could not, the women had been in separate cages for breeding, apart from the gladiatorial beasts. All he had, ingrained as it was, just the faint sound of her voice humming a song without words.

  James took a breath, he could respond nor associate with such memories, for he had none of who his parents may have been. His mind thought of how anyone birthing minotaurs could be associated with Shinayne in appearance, but dismissed the urge to argue this early.

  “No matter how bad your life has gotten, James, someone always has a worse tale.” Saberrak thought of his father and brother, thought of Chalas, and tried to breathe in this tower.

  “Speaking of, where are the ladies, gentlemen?” James Andellis spoke, eyes still shut, rousing body resisting the gray morning light that had flourished through the glass windows of the tower rooms. “We are talking away here, and I just realized, it’s just us three.”

  “They went to get provisions, said to stay here and keep quiet.” The dwarf kept admiring the elven weapons and began to polish from the edged tip to the leather wrapped handle. “A merchant caravan, routes and something. They---“

  “Provisions for what? We leaving again?” Saberrak bent to gather his weapons and gear, not disappointed to hear of open spaces.

  “Guess so. Your scroll be something more than you thought, or were told by the church. I overheard Gwenneth this morning talking with Lady Shinayne.”

  “Wait a moment. The women are planning where we go next? I have had quite enough running from city to city already now. I would like a rest and some wine for a week or so. This is getting to be a bit much. We should just hand the scroll over to the temple and…”

  “About the wine, James…” Zen interrupted.

  “Yes, we should talk of that.” Saberrak snorted.

  “Get up and get moving!” The door opened and shut quickly, Gwenneth and Shinayne rushing into the room as if they were being hunted that very moment.

  “There is no time, there has been an attack at the Temple of Golden Mercy. Assassins and strange faced elves, no doubt looking for you or your artifact.” Gwenneth Lazlette gathered a few wands, a staff, and was already dressed for cold weather. The elf grabbed her weapons from the dwarf at the same time, not noticing the fine polish upon them.

  ”The Nadderi, Saberrak, the one from Arouland. He is here.” Shinayne nodded to the minotaur and received a simple stare in return, yet one that was in agreement with her worries.

  “Wait a moment here, what is going on?” James stood up, body creaking, hand trembling from not having had enough wine for almost two days now, craving to drown in it awhile.

  “Sir knight, we have little time, this scroll has to get to Kalzarius in Harlaheim. I have contacted him secretly and he will meet us at the docks with armed escort. His tower is under watch and threat from too many to meet us outside the city, but I assure you he is the only one we can trust who also has the ability to fully appraise the writings, the meaning, and the value of what you have found.” Gwenne was excited, exhausted from no sleep, yet full of energy and a sense of urgency that was a whirlwind of frantic movements and words.

  “Why can’t it stay here? Not that I like your city in the least, but just curious.” Saberrak grabbed the scroll from the table, rolling it up once again and placing it in his leather pack.

  “Because, horned one, that same hunter that took Bedesh and cut James and I, he is not alone. There are dozens of others. We will not sleep well at night knowing they will raid every temple, every building, and murder anyone to find us. We have a better chance in the open to outrun them, and better yet on a ship on the open sea heading to the armed protection of Harlaheim.” Shinayne trusted in what she had seen from the Lady of Lazlette and knew also that these people were not ready to handle the cutthroat assassins that had infiltrated this arcane city. She could feel the danger and fear in Gwenne, fear that her people faced such men was weighing on the noble wizard. Shinayne tried to keep to herself that she knew Lavress was heading north as well, and her hopes of crossing his path lay deep in her heart.

  “And just where are we going to find a ship to take us to Harlaheim?” James was not getting his things ready, unlike everyone else around him.

  “Valhirst.” Gwenne was holding back her long black hair, trying to decide which of her arcane texts to take with her from the table covered in books.

  “Valhirst? Are you mad? That is leaving the lion's den and stepping into the dragon’s lair! Where do you think half those men came from?”

  “The nearest port is four days northeast in Valhirst. We will charter a ship, do not worry about the coin. Lady Shinayne and I have plenty.”

  “I am not concerned about gold and platinum, my Lady of Lazlette. My concern is for the neck above my shoulders and the daggers in my back from those that populate the most corrupt city in the south. I will be requiring a lot of wine to even consider…”

  “The trade caravan already has plenty, we will travel with cover on the main roads. We have all we need. Are you finished now?” Gwenne had heard enough, and knowing that trained killers hunted them was not a feeling she was accusto
med to. She also feared her mother would be rising soon and did not want the confrontation of the real Lady of Lazlette, ruler of Vallakazz.

  “Caravan? This is insane, why don’t we give the scroll to the priest at the temple in that letter, and alert the local captain of the guard to what is going….”

  Shinayne raised her hand, palm out, silencing James. “The high priest of the temple was found murdered early this morning and the city guard can not pin down the assassins. This city is a place of learning, James, not a fortress of war like where you and Saberrak were raised. More will die each night until they get that scroll.”

  “What is so important about that old stone relic, then? I can’t understand why a bunch of parchment with prayers and hymns could cause this…” interrupted from his constant barrage of questions again, James was starting to pick up his sword and noticed that it too, had been polished.

  “It is important because of the rare magicks, blended powers, and age of the writing.” Gwenne was heading toward the door, all her necessary belongings together.

  “Then copy it or something. Are the assassins working for a collector of some sort? Seriously, what could this…”

  “It has power that could be used by those that know how, and its author imbued it with well protected divine passages that I can not get to with my best efforts. Not in one night anyway.” Gwenneth was standing in the doorway, watching the band of travelers and warriors finish their armaments. “And I do not know how many nights we will last here.”

  “It’s author? Some writer put secret messages in a scroll. And that is a reason to kill priests and hunt us down?” James was nearly ready, hands trembling, needing more wine to settle his agitations.

  “Yes, since the author seems, or pretends to be, Annar, son of Megos, Annar the God of strength and brother of Alden. Yes, men will kill for that, James Andellis, many men will kill and wage war over that. A scroll of a God and divine history infused with unknown power, yes they will.” Her lip was trembling, excitement, danger, things she had craved and heard of yet never experienced. The doorway was like a stone wall, Gwenneth had to force herself through, the fear of the outside and terror of what could be waiting for her was a nearly physical force.

  “Annar, imprisoned by the devil himself, Shukuru, thousands of years ago for aiding his brother when…” James stopped, thinking of where the scroll came from according to the minotaur. He stared at the floor thinking of the man in the chains, the years that had passed. “Impossible and ludicrous. That is a myth, a children’s tale. The church would say as much.”

  “Perhaps, but it is beyond the skill of this academy and it is bringing danger here that we can not hold for long. We need to get it out of Vallakazz and to Kalzarius, for safety and for the truth of what it is and how it was written. Now, are you coming Sir Andellis, or staying here to argue by yourself?” Gwenneth Lazlette knew what she had researched, knew she was right, and was trying her best to keep from looking afraid in front of all these battle hardened strangers.

  “You can order the guard, you are the ruler of this city. I say, hunt them down. I see no cause in traveling to Harlaheim and risking ourselves for a parchment--”

  “Here is your cause.” Gwenneth pushed past James, reached into the saddlebag of the minotaur, and carefully unrolled the scroll. It unfurled, glowing a faint blue with holy design and sacred script. Her finger pointed to the bottom as she hummed and mouthed an arcane phrase.

  “I see words I cannot read, light from them, and something written underneath. What of it?” James strained his eyes, as if the words were taking different shapes as he watched and tried to decipher it.

  “Look near the bottom, here.” Gwenneth pointed her finger as she held the heavy relic up, her face and James so close they were breathing each others’ air.

  All of a sudden, he saw it, and backed up quickly until his back hit the wall hard.

  “That’s my name. It says, James Andellis. That was not there a moment ago. It is a trick.”

  “Look lower, thirteen years of scripture later, right at the bottom, here.” Her finger pointed to the last passages. “It says Saberrak, right here. And there is more, so much more. Whoever he was, he knew you, wrote of you in his own blood, and is claiming to be Annar, brother to Alden, witnessed and freed.”

  “This is not possible.” James had gone white, his blood cold, body frozen in disbelief. He looked to the scroll, then to Saberrak, noticing the same vacant and silent stare on the face of the minotaur.

  “It is. And there are passages and divine scripture empowered beyond even all of this, under the passages. We need to get this to Kalzarius, Sir James, and we need you with us.”

  “We? So the Lady of Lazlette is coming with, well, that’s a bit reassuring. Very well, to our deaths in Valhirst then, I have nothing better to do.” Resolved at having such a known wizard with them, and a supposed supply of wine, James let down his fight. He turned away from the scroll as Gwenneth rolled it carefully, and tried to force what he saw out of his mind.

  “I need you, we all do, James. Saberrak, Shinayne, and Azenairk do not know Chazzrynn. I know from books, but I have left this city less than five times in my life. You are the only one who can get us out of here and to somewhere else, safely, in the winter.” Gwenne stared at the ragged once knight from the doorway, trying to get him to look at her.

  “Agreed. Nothing like a bit of pressure early in the morning.” James strode toward them and straightened his tabard. “We avoid Thurick, head south of Roricdale, and veer north of Saint Gavrielle. We could book ship there, but it would likely pass into Valhirst and make port regardless. Straight on in, they would never expect that. I do know a few trade roads, off most maps and watchful eyes.”

  “Wake up Saberrak, time to go.” Zen snapped his fingers a few times, trying to bring the minotaur out of his daze. His stare at the scroll was strong, hard to break it seemed.

  “I’m ready.” Saberrak shook his head and breathed, the tingling feeling in his head gone, for now.

  “Keep your pace everyone, anyone that tries to slow us is likely an enemy.” Shinayne patted James on the back and rushed ahead with Gwenneth.

  Down the spiral stairs from the eighth floor of the west tower they went, passing by surprised and stunned students in transit, the minotaur ducking around the tight corners as they moved aside. The gray skies began to dwindle as breezy rays of winter sunshine pierced their way to the snow covered south. One by one, staying behind the lady of the academy, the five protectors of the scroll marched at a brisk pace through Vallakazz, determined to cross from the western point to the eastern gate.

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  Aelaine Lazlette walked faster, nearly running, and then realized that old Middir could not keep up such a pace. The Lady of the Lazlette Semanarium Arcanum, her black robes whipping in the cold gusts of the balcony, waited for her aging friend. Hithins circled above, his white feathers blending with sky and snow covered ground below. He was waiting to swoop in behind his master. The vulture had been in trouble himself and covered for Aelaine’s ambitious daughter many times, but this, for certain, he could not get her out of.

  “The students stated that they saw a minotaur as well, Aelaine, and that early this morning Gwenneth emerged from Dasius’ chambers and crept back to her own with what looked like a stone scroll of sorts. She was with an elven woman.” Middir, wise as he was, had not foreseen that Gwenne would take the matter into her own hands, not alerting anyone to the attack upon her last night, and keeping the ordeal hidden and quiet.

  “She was attacked by White Spider assassins, collected a powerful artifact of unknown origins from a group of strangers, snuck them into the academy and then broke into a professor’s chambers. Now she leaves the Semanarium grounds for the open city, all without a word. My little prodigy will wish she were simply expelled by the time I am through with her.” The mistress of Lazlette felt an anger rising in her that only a disappointed mother could
know. Years of raising her alone, teaching her all she knew, allowing her to surpass and have access to the greatest academy of the arcane still in existence, and her daughter repaid her with such outrageous behaviors. The anger, the forefront of deep sadness and hurt, was what Aelaine had to hide; as a woman in power with great responsibility, she could not show weakness or grief in moments like these. She kept walking toward the western tower, Middir barely keeping pace.

  “Angeline confirmed that father Ransen Wainwright was murdered, cut down in the temple. Yet it was someone else, someone matching the description of Kendari of Stillwood.” Middir hung his head a bit, not wanting to see the knowing gaze of Aelaine.

  “She told you this? I thought she did not speak.”

  “She wrote it, m’lady of Lazlette.”

  “I warned you Middir, I warned you. Now, it is worse than I could have imagined.” Aelaine stewed as they stalked to the west tower.

  “Agreed. The tomes are safely away, but the danger brought was not foreseen. White Spider, here, I cannot understand what they have to do with this or how they found out---“

  “I have sent for Captain Shilde, you send for your Angeline. I want my daughter found and protected.”

  “She is always nearby.” Middir realized that Aelaine was frantic and kept his responses short.

  “You go to Gwenneth's chambers then, gather all you can from there. Hithins, alert Angeline to try and reach them by the east gate, track them either way. I will go to Dasius’ room and see what she was snooping for in there.” Aelaine went up the stairs to the ninth floor while Middir marched straight through the double wooden doors to the foyer of the eighth. Hithins turned gracefully, with a squawk of acknowledgement to his mistress, and glided toward the southern tower where he knew Angeline rested.

  Middir pushed opened the door easily, as it had been left open a crack already. That moment, he knew there was something amiss, for Gwenne was very private, very careful, and especially secretive. She would never leave her chambers open.