The Last Pantheon: of spiders and falcons

by Jason Jones

  Shinayne did the same, remembering her teachings in secret, in the grove of her homeland when he would visit and they would sneak away to be with one another. They danced, he only in the deep of meditation, but the elven woman did so also on the bow of the ship, her mind and body remaining one.

  From stances of silent steps, to twirling slow parries, intermingled with the touch of lips and stares into each other's eyes, the two lovers spent uncounted moments in spirit with one another, reliving the past and sharing warmth from so far away. A peace and love that no one could see, no one could touch, and nothing could stop. Laughter and the release of every concern the two may have built up was freed. Only these two elves of different cultures, dancing with swords in silence and passion, existed at this time for Lavress and Shinayne. They both felt where the other was, and where they were heading, an unspoken understanding that they just knew. They silently vowed to find each other soon.

  It stopped, suddenly. Lavress’ topaz eyes opened and his face went stern like steel in an instant. The warmth faded, the sounds died away, and she screamed his name, but nothing came through. He looked at her, as if he or she was being dragged away. His gaze went to the others around him, farther now, colder, and then back to her. His gaze quickly, desperately, went ahead, to some place, something she felt was near, deadly and near. Shinayne tried to hold onto the thought, the connection to his spirit, but it faded too quickly. He began to walk, striding away with purpose that he could not share. Again she felt chill, like a dark cloud of poison penetrating her mind, and she could not tell what it was that had torn them apart. Shinayne fought to see, tried to stay, her mind being forced from there against her wishes.

  Tears rolled down her cheeks, the cold of the open sea breezes pulled her awake against her will. Blades still in hand, for how long she was unsure, the sun had moved across the western sky some distance, perhaps it had been four hours, maybe more. She saw the shadow of Sabrerrak, arms folded, looming over her as she lowered her guard and breathed in deep to stop the flow of tears.

  Longing to go back to the warmth of Lavress, she turned, laying her head on the minotaur’s chest. Why, she did not know, but the need to be held against someone real, to touch in this world and to feel another person next to her, swept over her heart like an unstoppable wave through the rocks.

  “What troubles you, elf?” He whispered, placing an arm around her for support, for he knew not what else to do. Saberrak had never had a friend in all his years, only those he killed, those who wanted to kill him, or family he could not help.

  “You saw something, you yelled out. Something attacked you just now. What was it?”

  “I don’t know, I could not see it. It is near Lavress, whatever it is.” Shinayne felt the hard beating rhythm of the gray gladiator's heart, pounding slowly through his muscle and the hide that her face lay against. Then he pushed her back gently, staring at her weapons, then at her, then back to her blades.

  “What is it?” she sniffled, looking down, then backing up, eyes wide and full of fear. Her longblade was held in a perfect grip, yet her off hand curved shortblade was held in reverse grip, pointing down to the deck. Shinayne had never held a weapon in the improper fashion before, that style was for assassins.

  “The Nadderi.”

  Shinayne closed her eyes, saying a prayer for Lavress, certain she knew what drew him away and what was about to happen. Her tears rolled again, feeling fear for her lover, and for the killer that she had faced and failed to stand against blade to blade. She wished she could be there, right now, for maybe together they could kill the Nadderi swordsman, but neither could do it alone. There were some things Shinayne was sure of, and with all her heart she hoped this time she was wrong. The men lost interest, having no reason to watch the elf and the minotaur stand in silence on the bow of the Bronze Harpy. The waves crashed in the Carisian Sea, and in her heart, she stood against them simply pleading with Siril to protect Lavress, in silence.

  Saberrak had a vague understanding of what was going on, but if she was having any sort of premonitions about the wicked elf they had met, he understood her fear. His heavy breathing brought her comfort, so he remained still, not knowing really what else he could do for the elven woman. He thought to tell her it was her song that had led him to her in Arouland, but he remained silent. It annoyed him to see her upset, and that was the first time in his life that he could admit that he cared for someone in any way. Saberrak the Gray thought it best to keep that to himself.

  Curses I:VI

  Temple of the Whitemoon

  Chazzrynn

  Disapproving trees that seemed to move and shrink their color away as he approached told Kendari that he was near the grove that would surround the sacred temple. The grass seemed to hiss at his boots from under the diminishing snow, the wind moaned at his presence, birds flew away without reason, and the sky darkened from wisps of cloud that did not heed the direction of the wind or the time of day. These fey tricks had seen him wander from the trail several times, yet Kendari kept circling for days, until he now arrived. He heard the faint music of the fey, his heart straining from the sounds in the distance, but he continued.

  Nareene the temptress, having taken him centuries ago in a moment of weakness, had burned her unholy brand of a triangle of flames in deep red on his chest in exchange for eternal servitude. Should the Nadderi near a sacred site, holy ground, feel love or compassion, he would surely fall in pain that could not be avoided, as was part of his Nadderi curse. However, the mark of the temptress, the brand of Cancuru, protected him greatly from such pain, which had surprised more than a few zealots that sought him out for death to make a name for themselves. The deep fey magicks and rituals had little effect on him, and he had happily ended many a life of a Hedim Anah hunter or Whitemoon guardian that assumed they had his weakness exploited.

  Despite the simple pleasure of defiance as he closed in on the temple, seeing steps not too far away, Kendari felt bits of sadness stabbing his mind as the very earth stirred in his presence. So many centuries of nature fleeing his eyes, plants shuddering as he breathed, and the loneliness of knowing he was hated by most everything with a pulse of life gave him pain from time to time. He shook his head, retied his long black hair behind his marked face and pointed elven ears, and focused on the steps that lay open into the earth behind the circle of trees and holy stones.

  “A Nadderi is not welcome here on sacred and ancient ground. Leave now, or be put to death, Kendari of Stillwood.” An echoing voice permeated the sacred silence unseen. The hiroon wolflord, guardian of the temple, spoke sternly and without mercy, his scimitar hilt in both hands, staring down his canine face at the strolling murderer, ready to lunge.

  “Great hiroon, I seek only a few books, a few heads, and a small serving of desecration for repayment of my most gracious gifts.” Kendari dragged his fingers slowly across his black veined pale face, sarcasm dripping from his smirk. He looked into the grove, still seeing nothing that could have spoken. “Now, where are the rest of my forest friends?”

  “Safe, and away from your reach.”

  “Doubtful.” Kendari tapped his pommels and grinned. His eyes caught the glimmer of steel by a banyan tree, and he met the gaze in the shadows.

  “You are not the first Nadderi I have put down, Kendari.” Jevendial tapped his scimitar crosspiece as the hair stood up on his neck.

  “Your name then, hiroon, so that I may call your pelt something as it keeps me warm on cold Chazzrynn nights?”

  “I am Jevendial, guardian of the temple, and I will much enjoy removing your curse from the world.” The hiroon sprang from his place in the shadow of the banyan trees, scimitar out in front, held high. He was fearless, like all of his remaining race, and trained from a pup barely walking upright to use a blade.

  “I will assist your extinction,.” Kendari drew Shiver from his left hip, and his enchanted longsword from the other, holding it reverse as always. Just in time, as the canine warrior was striking
with upward and downward crosscuts, driving the cursed elf back up the steps and out of the grove, missing his chest and stomach by hairs. The blades struck a haunting melody in the sacred site, over and over, faster than humanly possible.

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  Rubbing his small ivory horns, Bedesh silently crept on his hooves to Lavress, the only being in the temple who was not singing in the fey tongue, and the only one with his eyes somewhat open. He was standing, arms crossed, next to the right side of Princess Finwel-Dur, and motionless.

  “Lavress, what is going on? Everyone is chanting, what do we do?”

  “SSShhh.” The hunter put his finger to Bedesh’s lips. “We protect the Princess, we remain still while they close the temple stairs. Once sealed, it will move and reopen through the magicks of Seirena and the earth to a safer place. You will be fine. I believe we will be farther north, near Caberra, in a short time.”

  Whispering even lower than his elven rescuer, Bedesh seemed concerned and wanted more answers. “What will we do there? Shinayne and Saberrak still need us. Aren’t they heading to Valhirst, or Harlaheim? How will we find them?”

  Lavress looked at the satyr and smiled, enjoying his love for his friends and worry for them. The wood elf felt the same, but rarely spoke it aloud. “Trust in the Whitemoon, trust in me. We will find Lady Shinayne and the others. In a few moments we will be closer to where they are arriving. I would much like you to help me find the fourth book, but it will be dangerous, Bedesh.”

  Bedesh looked at the elven bow in the other room he had been given by Lavress, admired its design and the leaves on the flights of the arrows. “As long as we find Shinayne, I will follow you. But what of the hiroon, where has he gone? Why is he not inside if the temple is closing?”

  “He is protecting it from the outside, so he will remain here. It is his duty as guardian of this temple and its grounds and for all beings inside and outside of it. He must stay here so that it is guarded while we are gone and the other temple arrives.” Again, Lavress crossed his arms, continuing to whisper, listening to the satyr, yet drifting off to feel the distance that existed now between himself and Lady T’Sarrin.

  “Protecting from whom? What is out there Lavv-r-r-ess-s? Why am I stuttering again, who would try and cause harm here? Tell me why I am afraid all of the sudd-dd-en?” His voice trembled, as if something had grabbed his throat.

  “You feel him here because you are akin to the fey. You know when something unnatural is near, much like the sphinx, the hiroon, the dryads, and the pixies. The temple lets your feelings reach out. You know who has followed us here.” Lavress did not feel what the satyr did, but he could sense and see the fear all over his friend.

  “Ken-en-dari? You have to help him, Kendari will kill him, I have-have-have seen him fight. He is a kill-ll-er Lavress. I am going-g-g to help the hiroon.” He turned, marching out to get his bow and arrows, certain that the Nadderi would come and kill everyone here if he did not. Fighting the trembling fear and terror of the thought of the cursed elf as best he could, Bedesh walked up the stairs.

  Lavress Tilaniun did as instructed, protecting the princess and the closure of the temple. He was drifting away from consciousness. He trusted Jevendial would kill the menacing elf quickly, and that he would order Bedesh straight back down here upon sight. No Nadderi could possibly enter sacred ground and not be overcome with torments untold. He smiled at the bravery of the young forest being, and listened once more to the melodious sounds chanted in the temple underground. The hiroon warriors were the most deadly cousins of the fey that walked the ground Seirena blessed. Lavress knew no cursed mercenary could take Jevendial on sacred ground. The melodies continued, and the hunter fell into trance, against his will. The power of the temple, the chants, and a princess of the fey were too magnificent in his being now. The peace within himself could not be broken.

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  Kendari dodged to the left, parried with Shiver, then crosscut with his backheld longsword once he had closed in. The hiroon was too quick to be fooled and spun right, avoiding the easy cut. The Nadderi followed, now pursuing the wolflord, slashing near the neck with the heated blade and then cutting low at the thighs in rapid turns with his off hand.

  Jevendial backpedaled away from the low cuts and parried the high steaming ones with his curved sword, the heat in the air burning his nostrils.

  Not stopping his forward assault of metal, the cursed swordsman lunged with his outstretched blade, then rolled ahead as it was parried down, cutting with his left weapon across the back of the canine protector’s leg. The slight escape of a growl let him know he had cut deep, so he continued his maneuver past the hiroon, expecting him to now be on the attack. Before he could get Shiver on guard he was ducking and sidestepping scimitar cuts from an enraged wolflord. Precisely what he had intended. Kendari kept his breath in place, his parries and distance perfect, hoping to wear and bleed the guardian down for the final kill.

  Jevendial knew his time was now precious, feeling the warm trickle of blood down his hide. His scimitar cuts were short and fast, relying on technique and wrist more than strength now, he had to conserve his energy. He tried to hit low on his enemy’s blades, pushing him to withdraw and give the hiroon room to disarm one of those deadly swords. He cut low, forcing a low parry, then high in one fluid motion, keeping the other blade busy in his foe’s hands. Jevendial began to stop cut the elf’s attacks halfway with lightning flicks of the blade to his front, allowing nothing inside his guard. Getting closer, he began weaving, spreading his grip on the well balanced scimitar, up and down motions in repetition, swirling the blade in a figure eight forward pattern that had Kendari unable to do much more than parry and move. He waited for the moment when the cursed elf tried to attack, lunge, or anything offensive. Well outside the sacred circle now, the hiroon pushed on, driving the elf out further and further.

  The Nadderi swordsman played along, waiting till it was believable that he would try something foolish. He would allow himself to be disarmed and finish this canine warrior in one cut. Feigning short cuts attempting to breach the weave of the scimitar, he moved in closer, sliding back and forth and left to right, looking for an angle to sneak Shiver through. The blades rang harder, sparks flew in the dark shadows, and the elf feinted an attack. Kendari lunged, and his blade was held weakly so it was disarmed to the ground. Bluffing a high attack with his off hand sword, he rolled low under the parry and crossed his wrists.

  As he sprung up from the obvious feint, he caught the blade intended for his collarbone in between his enchanted bracers. The clang of metal rang through the forest. Eye to eye with the hiroon warrior, he smiled, turned his forearms, reversed his grip on his blade with a flip of his fingers, and plunged it through the chest of his enemy.

  The hiroon stood, growling and struggling, his scimitar overhead and held away from making any worthy attack on the cursed elf. He grimaced as the pain of steel grew cold.

  “Not even close,” Kendari whispered into the canine ear of Jevendial.

  Skin peeled and stung as the arrow slit across Kendari’s thigh, and he heard a second one in flight from the grove below the stone steps he stood on, holding up the dying canine. He gripped his blade in force and turned the hiroon's back toward the trees, just as two more would have hit their mark. The guardian growled again, this time from two arrow tips through his back and protruding from his chest. Kendari peered over the shoulder of Jevendial, spotting the satyr in the center of the sacred grove with an elven bow.

  “Excellent work, Bedesh, you have killed him for me. Nicely done.”

  The satyr felt tears in his eyes, frozen in shock at what he had done, and dropped the quiver of arrows at his feet. Fear and sorrow hit him like a hammer to the chest as he saw the cursed swordsman let the body fall with two arrows through it. Bedesh could not move, could not speak, just stared as Kendari picked up his other weapon and began to stride toward him.


  Kendari stopped, looking down at the wolflord bleeding down the stones to the temple of the Whitemoon. He tilted his head, noticing a twitch and groan from the canine who was struggling to stand with his scimitar. He slashed Shiver’s edge clean through his throat, sizzling the blood as it cut.

  “Thousand apologies my lost prisoner, it seems it was I who killed him, but your help was greatly appreciated.” Kendari charged off the steps as Bedesh went for the quiver again, snapping from his shock.

  The arrows flew, one after another, four, then five, then six, the cursed swordsman cutting them out of the air with his twin blades as if he knew exactly when to strike. His speed was beyond mortal, his senses too keen, and his training far superior to the satyr with the bow. Kendari was upon his former captive almost instantly, and he kicked the bow out of his hands, then the quiver skittered across the cold green grass, spilling the remaining arrows.

  “Please don-on-on’t, pl-pleas-ease…”

  “Don’t what? Kill you?” With that, the cursed swordsman thrust Shiver deep into Bedesh’s abdomen, slowly removing it as the flesh burned and blood flowed down his fur.

  Bedesh released a dying scream. It was louder than he had ever shouted before, a scream of fear and terror, filled with regret and pain, a plea for help as he fell to the ground of the grove.

  “Lavress!”

  Kendari laughed, letting his shadow cascade over the dying satyr as the blood flowed across the sacred ground. He wiped his blades clean on his cloak and turned toward the temple stairs.

  Princes I:IV

  Valhera Chambers

  Valhirst Underground

  Her body felt cold as she moved her hands around and touched the silk sheets. They were Johnas’ silk sheets, and she was naked under them. Her face ached, and she could not move her neck or her right side at all. Much was numb, and much more throbbing in sudden piercing arcs of pain. Vanessa Blackflame also could feel moisture in between her legs. She began to cry, knowing she had been engaged in pleasure very recently, she could tell, any woman could. She knew it had been Johnas, it always was, yet she could recall next to nothing.