The Last Pantheon: of spiders and falcons

by Jason Jones

  “Domenarch Dasius, the scroll is not here master, but we did find several…” the man spoke, two others still rummaging through the torn apart chamber of the young wizard. His cloth black mask was pulled up to the bridge of his nose. Staring at Middir, the assassin froze after a second glance, his hand slowly moving down his hip to the grip of his saber, seeing it was not Dasius.

  “I was unaware Dasius of Caberra had such a title. Interesting indeed.” The old professor raised his staff and began an incantation just as the other two men drew weapons behind the one who had spoken. Their intent was obviously to silence this old man who had entered simply at the wrong time, and silence him quickly.

  LCMVXIIXVIIILCMVXIIXVIIILCMVXIIXVIIILCMV

  Aelaine spoke the words of immaterial passage.

  “Telaim Tevastius Orr Minorrik”

  It caused her body and entire person to pass through the gray stone corridor wall and then through the wooden door of Dasius’ chambers, glyphed as they were with the arcane.

  The place was well organized as always, yet her arcane senses, already active, picked up a strong aura of divining magicks. They were not from a wizard, but an item in the sleeping quarters of the room. Lady Lazlette saw the door open and became solid once again by waving her hand and focusing on ending the enchantment upon herself, therefore allowing her to speak and interact in the world.

  The high wizard of her own academy walked forward, seeing Dasius, the bald head and gold earrings facing toward the wall away from her. He was frozen still, though he must have been aware of her presence. His fingers were upon a white marble slab of arcane writing, its aura bright and visible to Aelaine who knew what the warlock mirror was. She strained, but could not see around the treacherous professor to make out all the writings in different glowing colors that seemed to move.

  “Aelaine Lazlette, to what do I owe this pleasantry?”

  “Warlock mirrors are forbidden in my academy. I will see you below, in my offices, at once.”

  “I do value privacy, you should have knocked.”

  “I hope you are not involved in this, in any regard. Step away from that device. Why was Gwenneth in your chambers?” Aelaine noticed Dasius was not responding to her demands, and she backed up a step.

  “Your daughter broke in, to contact Kalzarius in Harlaheim it would seem. Now, they all know it.” He laughed.

  “Who?”

  “Who do you think, Aelaine?”

  “I want this over, I want Gwenne safe.”

  “Too late for that, she should have not gotten involved. Neither should you.”

  LCMVXIIXVIIILCMVXIIXVIIILCMVXIIXVIIILCMV

  The snow vulture landed on the second floor window sill on the southern side of the south tower. He pressed his curved beak against the glass, the window opening into Angeline’s room and letting some warmth escape. Hithins shook off his feathers as he hopped onto the back of the wooden chair in the quiet quarters. The vulture peered around, empty, always empty save a very small potted tree in the middle of a round green carpet decorated with leaf designs on the gray stone floor.

  Hithins walked over to the tree, looking down at the miniature plant, and over to the silent woman posed cross-legged, deep in meditation. Her red hair was tinted with blonde, curls and braids resting down over her shoulders like a statue. He followed the hair down over her faded green robes and garments, the shining steel plate guards on her arms and legs, and the hand-and-a-half sword that balanced on her knees. The brown leather wrap was faded and the blade etched with strange designs and war marks. Her chainmail was hidden under robes that held the decorations of trees and leaves and a circle of woven roots. The snow vulture admired her perfect posture, her breathing, and whatever she was doing or praying for seemed to instill peace and relaxation throughout the entire chamber, a chamber that held a bed and this rug with a tree, all very simple.

  Her eyes opened, green and dark, like just from sleep or coming in from the night. She stared at the servant bird of the High Wizard of the academy and Hithins backed up a few steps, feeling awkward for interrupting something that seemed deeply private and spiritual.

  “Lady Angeline, if I may, Middir and Lady Aelaine are deeply concerned with Gwenneth and the danger she may have placed herself into….” his voice stopped, responses entering his head with a voice not his own.

  “I am aware. I will meet with Captain Shilde at the eastern gate, thank you Hithins.” Her mouth did not move, her eyes did not blink, yet a small smile creased her face and warmed the vulture mentally.

  “How did you do that?” Hithins was always curious about the arcane and paid much more attention to the study than anyone knew. He spoke aloud, not able to duplicate his thoughts into words as she could.

  “Do not be concerned. You wished to speak, to pass on information, and you have.” Angeline Berren rose to her feet, sheathed her weapon and closed the window. “Tell your mistress I will find and protect her daughter.” Again her voice was a mere soft tone of gentle peace and security in his head.

  The strange bodyguard, beautiful and silent, opened the door allowing the snow bird to fly out into the cold. She marched west through alleys and side streets, watching rooftops and shadows from the winter sun. Angeline could sense eyes upon her, upon the city, eyes that were neither friendly nor helpful. She said a silent prayer to herself, for the powers that be to grant her the path she must follow to help those that were in need and to keep her aware of all that moved. Her boots turned down the quickest route possible to the eastern side of Vallakazz, guided by something other than herself.

  Her senses felt something, someone, covered and hidden. It was not human, not mortal, but the essence of something powerful. Angeline squinted in the cold, her mind feeling the presence of one of the children, one of the Caricians, here in Vallakazz. She knelt and touched the cobblestone, then closed her eyes. Gwenneth was near this feeling, as were others, and they were in danger. Many men were watching with foreign arcane eyes, and many blades were hunting them. Angeline sprinted through the twisting alleys to the east, not making a sound.

  LCMVXIIXVIIILCMVXIIXVIIILCMVXIIXVIIILCMV

  The hood of his cloak hid his features, from the common folk at least. The Silverwand Tavern never closed and Kendari had managed a few hours rest sitting at the table. Three men of the White Spider sat on the other side of the dingy smoke filled dining room, watching him for movement in the morning light, blocking any chance of exit. The Nadderi knew that many more waited on rooftops and various vantage points here on the eastern edge of the merchant district, and the three here waited for him as well.

  They wanted him in an alley, out of sight, in the latrine, anywhere they could kill him or at least keep him from interfering. The cursed swordsman waited, played with them, and had sat it out for almost six hours now. His fatigue fading, his resting elven body and mind could go much longer without sleep than theirs, and he could rejuvenate sitting at a table, while these human assassins were getting tired and restless. Kendari assumed the importance of whatever was going to pass through the east, and who was carrying it, outweighed their dire need of sleep. Should an attack happen in the populated city in broad daylight, the guard would be here en masse, with several wizards of Vallakazz. He knew it, they knew it. So they waited, knowing who each other was, those dozens around them having no idea these men could draw blades and kill each other any moment.

  The fat barmaids with oily skin and musky hair, kept refilling water and root teas. The old bartender behind the counter polished glasses and cooked some morning breads and meats, and customers came and went to their busy morning agendas. The four killers sat and watched each other, and for a group of targets to pass down their direction. Each head hung low, each had arms crossed on the warped and worn oak tables, each had a hand on a weapon under the table, and each was ready to spring at the first sign of motion. Yet only the Nadderi elf was calm and without the slightest bit of fear in his eyes.

  “Fair maiden, if you would?” Kendari
waved a gloved hand to the reeking redheaded girl with the pimples and excessive cleavage.

  “Aye, cloaked stranger, what have ye’ then?”

  “I need a favor.” Kendari kept his face down, hiding his features, and hiding from hers.

  “Name it then.” She was not overly pleasant to this one, he had been here too long and spent too little.

  “My three friends, there, there, and there,” Kendari pointed casually to three different tables, “they are hungry. I wish to pay for their morning meals.”

  “Coin first.” She was suspicious of this one. “They have not broken fast for a meal yet, just the same as you.”

  His black gloved hand produced four gold falcons without a sound, and set them in her palm.

  “That is about four hundred meals or more, what ye’ think to be buying then?” Her eyes as big as saucers, no one paid for meals in gold coin.

  “The worst scraps of the oldest meat, some rotten eggs, and then I want you to drop it on the floor, pick it up, and spit in each one. Nicely though.” Kendari grinned and caressed the hilt of Shiver under the table. “The rest of the coin is to ensure it is kept quiet, and delivered with a smile.”

  “Some friend you be then.” The girl walked off, puzzled, yet the remainder of the coin was nearly a month in wages.

  “Indeed I am.”

  LCMVXIIXVIIILCMVXIIXVIIILCMVXIIXVIIILCMV

  Gwenneth marched ahead, past the Inn of the Floating Fairy, a six story stone building that towered over this side of the city, and eastward into the merchant quarters that had just finished opening their doors and carts. The city streets of the arcane community were drifted over with small hills of snow in the morning glare. Hundreds upon hundreds swept their doorways free of the snow, muddled about, gathered in discussion of the daily rumor mill, and turned to stare at the seven and a half foot horned minotaur with the group of hustling travelers.

  Elves came and went on occasion, dwarves traded here once in awhile, knights of Southwind passed through, and wizards were commonplace and constant, but this monster with his brutal countenance and fearsome composure drew attention in a city of learning such as Vallakazz. Keeping hidden and maintaining a low profile was not an achievable goal in the daylight.

  Shinayne looked south and north, noticing the attention from the locals and shifting shadows in the windows, slight movements on rooftops and hidden forms in the side streets. Her hands went to her hilts and she turned to nod at James Andellis behind her.

  Squinting in the rising western sun, he tried to look and spot what she was suspicious of, but the knight saw nothing. He shrugged back to her.

  Her elven senses noticed things that a tired human could not pick up as easily. Simple looks, figures out of place, movements that did not coincide with a merchant quarter, weapons behind robes early on a peaceful morning, and stillness from dark clad men trying not to look at the elf or her friends. Shinayne T’Sarrin noticed them all, or almost all.

  “This is a trap, Gwenneth. I have spotted at least twenty that watch us. How much further?” Her blades were half out of the scabbards, her body poised and ready for an ambush any moment as she followed.

  “Thirty city blocks. Maybe more. Are you certain they are here for us?” Gwenneth was breathing hard, the cold air rushing in, stealing the strength from her chest.

  “I see nothing, just common folk staring at Saberrak. I think you are just nervous, elf.” James tried holding his hands over his eyes, peering for something to stand out besides the glare, revealing his obvious search.

  “I see nothing, but I can feel something coming. Put your hand down Andellis. Don’t give them reason to think we are suspicious.” The minotaur nodded to a young woman and her child by a kiosk that had rare silks and morning meats, receiving a gasp from the mother and a pointing finger from the little boy.

  “A decorated gray minotaur stalking the streets in the morning with an axe at his side, and he thinks I am suspicious.” James chuckled, hand on his blade, shield on his back as his shoulder still ached too much to don it without pain.

  “Where are your guards, Lady of Lazlette? Haven’t seen one yet. This be a bit too convenient, I think.” Zen turned as he walked, now noticing figures and shadows in windows and balconies that did not want to be seen.

  “City guard paid off again perhaps, let us steer clear of them, quick now.” Shinayne turned around a corner in the packed city streets, following Gwenneth.

  “Agreed.” Gwenne was relieved Shinayne had answered that question for her, one less lie to tell.

  “Something is not right.” Saberrak smelled it, smelled the fear of men, and fear on the Lady of Lazlette. He loosed his axe strap.

  “Vundren protect us, keep us from harm's way this morning. Let those unjust around us be silenced in word and deed.” Azenairk prayed as he plodded along bringing up the rear.

  “Don’t worry him dwarf, I can silence them fine on my own. Instead, I would prefer if your God had them make a little noise.” Saberrak snorted back, his hand on the handle of his greataxe, trusting the heavy steel more than any dwarven prayer.

  LCMVXIIXVIIILCMVXIIXVIIILCMVXIIXVIIILCMV

  Middir backed up two more steps, his hand and staff glowing blue and humming with flickering energy. The old wizard cast another arcane blast of blue force. “Evishra!” This time the energy took a concentrated shape like that of a spear, and burst out the aimed tip of the wooden shaft.

  The assassin of the White Spider tried to dive to his left, yet the shimmering bolt of magic ripped through his hip, shredding his clothes and flesh, painting the wall behind him red. His body hit the floor, spinning through the air, and then he rolled behind the furniture screaming through his mask. The other two, sabers out, charged Middir from each side. They sprang over the upturned chambers of Gwenne Lazlette and ran toward the open door where the old professor stood.

  “Veabora!” The door shut, and locked with a quick notation of arcane study, but Middir knew that would only buy him a moment.

  He backed up to the corridor wall and began to wave his fingers and raise his staff. “Herfinul Gelenius Mour mamour Linvimour!” Middir pointed staff and hand at the opening door, directing the magical energies he pulled through his body.

  Three pillars of white light appeared from ceiling to floor, thin as string, but deadly cold, directly in front of the door. The assassins kept their pursuit, opening quick, not noticing the faint energy of the arcane cold that they ran through. A faint hum, then another, and both men fell to the ground. One had run through the middle of his body, from head to groin, burned by unearthly cold that blistered his flesh and stopped his organs as if instantly encased in ice.

  The other lay screaming and moaning, the right side of his body having passed through the arcane spell, rendering his arm and leg useless and frozen, the bones shattered on the inside from intense cold. Middir knew he would not survive long, as the frozen blood and bone marrow would kill him within minutes as his body warmed. Frostburn through his clothing, organs, and leather armor, this man had little time to answer questions.

  “Young man, tell me what you are doing here. You have just a few moments to set things right.” Middir of Kivanis kicked the saber out of the useless hand, and knelt next to the dying man.

  “You…are dead…old man….you should not…have gotten…in our way.” The words came out trembling as blood trickled from his left nostril.

  “Who are you, who is it that is here? What are you looking for?”

  He began to twitch, and his left hand reached for the dagger on his side, despite the obvious fact his body was failing. Middir stood up, shaking his head, watching the dying man, one quarter his age or so, attempt to retain his honor and secrecy and kill this wizard before him. Middir waved his hand, concentrating on the primordial cold rays that lay still around the assassin, and directed them across his body. He died instantly and the spell vanished.

  The old professor stepped back from the two men, flesh frozen and burned from h
is magicks, and looked into the room of Gwenneth Lazlette. He could see a still pool of blood from the first man, and saw that the legs were not moving. He resigned that that one bled to death and that no more assassins would be jumping at him in his old age. His back rested against the hallway, and he scratched his beard, in an effort to help his mind get active in figuring out what this was all about and how they had gotten in to begin with. He let out a sigh, and then the wall shook behind him. Then it shook again, and the sound of breaking glass and explosions followed, the blasts originating from above him on the ninth floor.

  “Aelaine!”

  With what strength Middir could muster, he ran toward the stairs as the magical assault continued in Lazlette Academy.

  LCMVXIIXVIIILCMVXIIXVIIILCMVXIIXVIIILCMV

  Dasius had the clenched look of anger and his dark eyes glared with confidence as he magically spun another chair into the air, crashing to splinters above the High Wizard's head. His bleached wooden staff alive with green glowing runes of arcane power flashed once more, sending a spray of yellow acidic mist at Aelaine.

  “Kuanithu!” Water sprang from her hand, hot and steaming, meeting the yellow arcane mist in mid room and stopping the attack as sizzling steam fell to the disintegrating table between them. Aelaine retorted, her black wand pointed at the bald Caberran professor.

  “Fiyuni prenontius!” her voice and red glowing arcane staff commanding the deteriorating table to flip over and the wood to splinter. Hundreds of sharpened wedges exploded into the air guided at Dasius from the former piece of furniture, hurled with magical speed and accuracy.

  He turned his body sideways and motioned his hand from the ground up, a small sparkle of glamour appearing in a line in front of him. As the sharpened shards came to impact, they all turned aside from the arcane shield, shattering on the wall behind him on the left and right.

  “Novice at best, Lazlette.” Dasius pointed his index, thumb, and smallest finger at the High Wizard, and compressed arcane energies into an orb of vibrating flame and yellow light.