The Last Pantheon: of spiders and falcons

by Jason Jones

  “What is it?” Saberrak huffed.

  “Sign of the Broken Wing, seal of the Cardinal of the Aldane, and the Shield of Shanador. This man has stolen a document of the church is all. Now, from what I learned in church, if he has this same design on---“

  “Showed me the same markings, tattooed upon his right arm, in red and black inks?” Shinayne cut in, as the Harlian man had instructed.

  “Yes. Then he is an agent of the Aldane for certain. I say we trust him, whoever he is.” James stood still as the wind took the parchment from his hand. He thought to run after it, but the valley and hills to the west were low and the breeze had carried the paper high above, and he knew he could not catch it.

  “And who are those black beetles or whoever they are?” Saberrak snorted.

  “White Spider? I have heard of them for certain. It is not good that we have crossed their attention. And we have less than a few hours til the ship leaves?”

  “Correct, human. Can you walk?” Saberrak squinted and gave James an uncertain look.

  “I can walk just fine, Saberrak the Gray. Which gate did this man say to use, Shinayne?”

  “West gate. He is pulling his archers inside at midday.”

  “If we go around the city and try to clear the walls closest to the dock, the whole of them could be waiting there and we would be acquired easily outside, bad idea. If we go straight through, they will have to keep it more contained and be more careful. I can lead if you wish. I know that side of Valhirst well enough. Keep in the public eye, close to the masses as best we can. First sign we have been spotted, we fight it out to the docks and hope this Bronze Harpy is a fast ship.” James smiled, raised his shield, and began to march down the hill toward the high rising city.

  “Hrrmmph!” Saberrak snorted, arms folded as usual, “Where in the world did that come from?”

  “I don’t think the world had anything to do with it. Those of little faith are prone to such questions, my great horned friend.” Azenairk picked up his warhammer and followed the man down toward the danger that lay in wait. The others followed, waiting for James to slip or fall once again, and to their surprise, he did not.

  Saberrak looked at the scroll, then to the sky in wonder. He had never prayed, never knew much of Gods or religion besides quick stories of the soon to be dead brought into Unlinn. Arena life had little time for faith in anything not made of steel or made to kill. There were many questions about too many a thing that the gray gladiator now had. James Andellis and his miraculous recovery were just the beginning. The minotaur tucked the scroll of Annar away in his pack and followed his strangely divine friends of the surface.

  “We will talk later, you and I.” He patted the scroll and walked after the rest,.

  Exodus I:IX

  White Spider Underground

  Valhirst

  “God is the absence of fear, the blind trust in mercy and hope, the guidance of love and charity, and the sacrifice of all for his blessing. Alden is the one God; his pain was given freely to man so that man had to endure it no more.”- from the Aldane texts found atop the Holy Pirradan Cliffs in Altestan, author unknown, labeled as blasphemy by the Altestani emperors. Circa 3240 B.C.

  The swordsman spy from Harlaheim and new captain of the city guard in Valhirst, watched for his moment to sneak into her chambers unseen. Balric D’Vrelle moved his lithe form around one corner to the next corridor, silently and swiftly, noting the sleeping minotaur and young guards of the Prince busy conversing over last night’s raucous gathering at the One-Eyed Mermaid gambling hall. His hand was on his saber, as much to keep it from breaking the silence as to be ready should he have to kill anyone to get his lover out of this place.

  He had heard that Vanessa would be the agent assigned to stop the troupe from the west in Valhirst, and also to follow should they make open water. The brave Harlian man knew he had been posted away from her for a reason, and that he would not be able to follow by ship or abandon his position to remain at her side. Balric knew the prince was on to him, and that he was being followed and watched. Not being his first mission for Bishop Javiel of Harlaheim, he said a silent prayer to Alden for mercy and hope that he had learned enough, and that he could save the woman of his heart’s desire from this tragic life of slavery. No one, not even the bishop here, drunk that he was, nor Vanessa, knew of his secret position within the church of the Aldane. Balric intended on it staying that way until he was safely back in his country. Hopefully, the ones carrying this sacred scroll would be with him, aboard the same ship.

  Pulling the key from his belt, slipping it into the lock carefully, the spy waited, his hand wiping the beads of sweat from his brow. The torchlight went out down the hallway deep underground, meaning his archers had positioned themselves as ordered. He had taken the city guard he had thought loyal to their city and Chazzrynn, not the obvious implanted ones by Johnas, and told them in secret that a doppelganger disguised as the prince had taken control of the city. They had him covered on the most direct route out north, for he and Vanessa alone, and he had sent for passage on a merchant ship bound for Harlaheim named the Bronze Harpy. He had also sent a message to Vanessa that the preparations for the attack were to be put back one day due to scout reports stating severe snowfall would slow the fugitive group’s travel to Valhirst. Balric did not care for any scroll or capture and ransom of any nobles, just that the doppelgangers and archers were not ready and he could escape quickly. He was assured that Vanessa would be in her chambers, rather than awaiting an ordered ambush by the prince. His plan had little time before the White Spider caught on, so he moved quickly.

  The door creaked open, candlelight illuminating the hallway, and torchlight from inside the room as well. He thought for a moment, Vanessa never used a torch in her room, only candles. Movement from inside sent him into drawing his saber, his left hand pulled the door shut behind him.

  Inside was Vanessa, sitting quietly in her chair by her vanity, the Prince with his emerald pommeled blade at her throat, and two guards moving toward him. Johnas had that grin, the one of the devil himself with fine features under a head of blond hair, a head that Balric wished to take right there. The young man on the left lunged his blade at the captain of the guard, which was easily parried aside. Balric stepped in close to his attacker, using his outstretched body for cover from the older guard.

  “Vanessa, run!!”

  Perfect strikes from his sword pushed the young man back, and then Balric let up his pursuit intentionally, and the boy lunged again. This time a saber cut the approaching tip down, then cut up across the guard's chest and landed point first into his ribs. Balric was back on guard in one fluid motion. The guard screamed in agony, blood from a deep cut and puncture staining his clothing and the floor.

  The second guard cut across at the spy's shoulder, nicking some armor and cutting his black clothing, leaving a small sting on the tip of his ear. The follow up point came toward Balric's face, which was parried aside and followed with a punch to the man’s nose, immediately knocking him back. The Harlian followed with a kick to the groin, and as his opponent fell, he plunged his weapon downward between collarbone and neck, finishing him quickly.

  “Ah ah ah, careful Captain. Or should I say, assassin?” Johnas tapped Vanessa’s throat with the tip of his enchanted blade. Then the prince dropped the parchment to the floor, the message meant for Vanessa.

  “I have been shot down with twenty arrows. Well, my duplicate was anyway. Did you know about the shapechanger that guises as me for protection? What strange irony and coincidence with your plot to kill me.”

  The brave swordsman stared, pointed his blade at the prince, and walked very slowly toward him. “Let us talk with our blades, Johnas Valhera. I care not for words from the mouth of a snake.” He had a thought of drawing his shortblade, then thought it more chivalrous to defeat him one sword to one sword.

  “Your pain shall be that of legend, Balric. For it will take weeks of torture to get all I want out of yo
u. Who do you work for?!”

  Sparks flew in the elaborately designed bedchamber, the enchanted glowing kris blade of the prince met with intensity that of the saber wielded by the northern spy. Parry after parry, the patriarch of the White Spider could not get past Balric's defense. Step after quick step, neither could the swordsman cut the Prince. The two danced circles around Vanessa, tied to her own chair, Johnas cutting fast toward the swordarm of his adversary only to be countered with quick flicks of the wrist and crossguard.

  Balric cut back, feigning to lunge, falling short, then lunging again twice and piercing the Prince’s thigh. Sidestepping in pain, Johnas cut down across the left shoulder of his assassin, through the chain armor he wore under his garb. Steel rang loudly and echoed rapidly as the Harlian unleashed a flurry of crosscuts and short attacks, backing the prince into a corner. His saber cut high twice, then he let his guard down, ducked the obvious attack at his neck and the second was parried as it came toward his abdomen. Seeing his target, Balric plunged his saber into Johnas’ chest, missing the heart and landing near the left shoulder, but still piercing deep and out the other side.

  The prince winced in pain, cut down with his right, snapping the saber blade with a chop cut, and then slashed across Balric’s chest. The blade glowed green and cut unnaturally deep through sword, armor, and flesh. Balric scrambled for a blade from a fallen guard and rolled to his feet.

  The door flung open, cracking into the wall behind it, and Heathen marched in, great curved blade drawn and ready to strike the head from the spy's neck. He grabbed Balric’s hair, lifting him off the ground and away from the Prince, and raised his blade above the bleeding man.

  “No, Heathen, stop!” Johnas was gasping from the fight and the pain in his pierced shoulder. “We have much to ask the captain of the guard, and I need him alive. Fetch the royal priest to my throne room in the castle and take him to the prison.”

  Johnas Valhera stood straight, sheathing his sword, and walked out of the room calmly, but still wincing despite victory. His regal cape was stained with blood, and his armor and clothing shone black from the injury he had received.

  “Vanessa, get the archers and the doppelgangers ready. Farrigus is in place, I need to know that we have them no matter what way they come into the city or try to reach the docks. This little diversion has put us behind schedule. Understood?!”

  “Yes, my Prince.” Vanessa bowed her head, and looked at Balric with her head held low. She got up, the ropes falling off without effort, for they were never tied. She made short eye contact with the Harlian man she had been sneaking away with for so long now. The black robed wizard walked out of her chamber.

  “I am sorry, my love, so sorry.” Not a tear, no eye contact, and she continued her pace uninterrupted to do her Prince's bidding.

  The tears did fall, quietly, calmly, from the bleeding spy as he was carried by the red minotaur through underground tunnels. Without a sword, as Heathen had taken it, injured and in need of care, his heart was broken like his saber. Betrayed, Balric D’Vrelle was thrown into a small filthy cell and locked behind rusty bars, deep under Valhirst.

  “I warned you, Harlian, I warned you.”

  Heathen shook his one horned head, then threw in some rags and ointment from a desktop for him to tend to his own wounds. The prison reeked of the dying, and now there was one more on his way.

  “She is not for having, she is in deeper than you think. Even I trust her not, for she is false beyond lies. I warned you.”

  “Let me go, Heathen, you are a slave! Johnas is evil beyond redemption! Help me get out before they kill me!” His pleading fell on deaf ears, the minotaur shaking his head once more. “I love her, Heathen, and I will take her with me. If they kill me, his rule of slavery continues.”

  “They will not kill you. It will be far worse, far worse. I am sorry.” At that, the guardian of the most ruthless and powerful man in Valhirst walked away, his head held low, trying to ignore the pleas for help from a man he had actually liked. Perhaps the only man.

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  The western side of Valhirst was full of traffic of merchants and guards, yet James Andellis paid no mind to anything but the destination. His steps were long and quick, his breathing perfect, and he felt like he had purpose, or was at least seeking it here and now. He felt rested, fed, awake, like years before the war that had put him down for so long. He looked at the feathered cross on his tabard and said silent thanks to Alden, the Lord of Heaven, for his recovery. To his lost and mysterious brother Annar, James did not know what to believe, nor what to say.

  “James, slow down, you will draw suspicion to us by marching through at such a pace,” Shinayne whispered loudly, the others keeping in step behind her. She glanced at Zen and Gwenneth, catching the same worried looks as her own, and then she looked at Saberrak. His stern face was poised and stoic behind the tattoos under his eyes, marching in step, focused the same as the knight in the lead.

  “Great, we have two men that do not listen now. They can take them all on, then.”

  “Don’t think the chatter will do any good, elf, they seem to be on a mission. Looks good so far, let’s keep up, shall we?” The dwarven priest watched the walls and battlements as he hurried, not too trusting of human cities, let alone ones with such foul reputations as this one. The smell and shadow seemed to be as thick as the crowded, impoverished, coastal metropolis of Valhirst. Tall ramshackle housing gave way to twisting alleys, broken cobblestone, and thousands of people trading and talking. Eyes from every direction fell on them as they passed, as this side of the city looked dirty and poor.

  “We got through the west gate, then the second gate, and so far this Harlian has held up to his word. I have never seen so few guards in Valhirst. Let’s move quick, before luck changes her mind.” James spoke low, kept his eyes ahead, and steadied his breathing. He saw few guards, very few men with the falcon of Chazzrynn, and the market gate was nearly unwatched.

  “I sense nothing in the realm of the arcane at work right now, just keep toward the docks. Once we are safely on the Carisian Sea, Harlaheim is but five days.” Gwenne held her black crystal and gold wand in one hand, her dark oak etched staff in the other. She had attuned her senses to magical auras before they entered and protected her flesh with arcane energies should anyone try to surprise them. Maintaining the energies was simple, even at a brisk walk, and she smiled, feeling underestimated again. If her mother could see now what she was capable of, perhaps she would have let her leave long ago.

  Stares began to linger, seeing a hurried group with a gray minotaur, a golden haired noble elf, and the rest all together close. Saberrak and James paid it no mind, keeping to the main roads, ignoring any and all guards for the sake of speed. James realized the gray was now next to him, striding abreast of him, walking side by side. The knight felt his strength and confidence rise with the unspoken presence of Saberrak. Each step he felt less alone, less at risk, and more aware of his surroundings, though he dare not say a word to the horned warrior. He did not know if it was scroll or axe that bolstered him, and he did not need to know.

  They turned a corner, following the merchant stands in the cold midday breeze, the smell of saltwater and the sound of winter waves crashing were their guides. A pair of guards, dressed in black tabards with red falconheads, shields armed and halberds high, moved in front of the two leading the other three.

  The soldiers of Valhirst presented their arms to the knight. “Halt, soldier of Southwind Keep, what is...”

  His body flew airborne nearly fifteen feet and landed into a fishmonger's shop, his shield and weapon scattered. Saberrak smiled, his hand now going for his axe after the throw. James stepped to the side toward the other guard who was lowering the blade of his polearm. The knight slammed the steel head of the weapon with his shield, drew his broadsword, and pounded the man in the head with the pommel of the griffon hilted blade, knocking him out and to the ground, hard. The two warrio
rs kept moving, knowing that any obstacle was most likely their enemies trying to hold them up and report to someone they did not want to encounter.

  “Well, so much for subtlety. They know we are here now.” The elven swordswoman drew her blades simultaneously, quickstepping to catch up to the minotaur and the knight. She saw Zen ready his shield, take a few breaths as he walked with eyes closed, and loose his warhammer from his belt.

  The breeze turned into a warm wind, unnatural and misty, whipping up debris, dust, and snow alike. Gwenneth concentrated on her energies and her awareness as far as she could. She felt something, not arcane magicks or enchantments, but different. Whatever it was breathed and moved, composed of strong sources of something not entirely normal.

  “We have shapechangers ahead. Watch the left street and the balconies!”

  “How many?!” Saberrak reached by a nearby armorer, lifting a single edged greataxe from the table with his left hand, ignoring the threats and commotion its theft left behind. There were yells of guards, thieves, and soon dozens were in pursuit of the five fugitives. Saberrak knew the man had many more weapons, he just needed this one for right now.

  “Seven, maybe eight!” Gwenneth yelled, chanting in arcane tongue after, her wand and staff each glowing green now.

  “I see archers on the guard towers by the docks, how many I can not tell with this mist and wind, Gwenneth.” Shinayne was moving ahead now, passing James and Saberrak ahead on the left side of the alley they had turned down.

  “My mist, my wind.” Gwenneth smiled.

  “I will have trouble seeing our enemies.”

  “And they will have trouble seeing us, elf. I have a little surprise for them should they open fire.” Her grin, which no one saw, was one of joy at the possibility of unleashing something painful on anyone that stood in her way.