The Last Pantheon: of spiders and falcons

by Jason Jones

  “Cilano, walk with me, please,” the master wizard asked his young friend and assistant to his side Cilano, though half his age, was graying slightly.

  “All men are in place as we speak, Kalzarius, even archers throughout the main roads from the tower to the docks.” The Shanadorian man carried some bright blond still, his tall and broad build like many of the men from northern Agara. He loomed over his master and teacher by more than a foot and had to slow his pace to remain in step.

  “I sense the White Spider is watching from here in the city, and they have bought off the navy vessels for a time, have they not?” The old arcane master smiled as he watched his entourage attracting a crowd of onlookers from the common folk. Kalzarius was always pleasant to the people, for he loved them, even from afar in his tower.

  “Yes Master, they have seen the Chazzrynn galleon and the Altestani warship heading this way and ignored even the white flag that your friends from the south have raised. Obviously we will have no assistance from the kingdom, and neither will Gwenneth Lazlette. The king's scouts are paying little mind either, more to us than on what is coming on the ship.” The wizard Cilano kept an eye on the procession, watching the high buildings and main roads for any interferences in the heart of the city.

  “I sense agents of the church here as well, their purpose solely for the scroll. With the Cardinal out of the city, that leaves Bishop Javiel here alone, which is not in our favor. He, sad as it is, is entrenched in a secret war of his own. I fear he has now become unfriendly to our goals in Harlaheim. He was close to Richmond the First, and Richmond the Second gives him nothing of the respect he once held. No rival wizards to be felt here and that is a relief. However, I sense one of many years and great skill aboard the trireme slaveship heading toward Aelaine’s daughter. Hopefully she senses it as well.” His eloquent and perfect tones could have put anyone, during any crisis, at ease in a few moments. Kalzarius waved his hand at a few Harlian children that ran across the road.

  “You could assist them. We have enough men and wizards here to protect you should anyone interfere.”

  “No, Cilano, old friend. The eyes of Devonmir are watching from afar, there are too many there against us. They have spies here with the king, I am aware of them as we speak. Should I interfere, we would soon find many an assassin at our door, not knowing if it was the fiends of Devonmir, or our own nobility that set them upon us. I prefer to know who my enemies are, and why my men die in service to the tower, not speculate. Besides, should I overstep Richmond the Second once more, it may become violent, and I feel he is involved.”

  “Of course he is involved, and not for the better of it. Neither he or Queen Rosana have answered for their aid. They must be siding with whoever wants that scroll, or waiting to see who moves first. I say, let it be us, master.”

  “It is too delicate, this scroll, this situation, too many involved. We will wait here to protect them as they reach the docks, and provide them a safe route to the tower. Lady Aelaine Lazlette has asked that we take good care of her daughter, and delay her as much as possible for she may be sending someone to retrieve her. We will do our part, but they must reach us alive.”

  Kalzarius watched the sky, the movements of the clouds, and the ships that were now upon each other, heading for a crash course into the port of Harlaheim. He hoped that they would make it here, for there was little he could do to help them without starting a war. He knew there were ties with their king to Chazzrynn and Caberra, even Willborne, and this White Spider mystery as well. There were many watching, waiting for one small sign of assistance or interference from Kalzarius.

  “Would you speak with the king? Surely Richmond the Second would like to know what goes on in his kingdom. You could tell it in his eyes, were he laying a trap. Then, you could convince him to perhaps change---”

  “Baah. Worse than his father. He is likely in on the mess already, or his dirty lords are involved for him. I would not waste my breath on him unless no other option was left.”

  “Then what do we do?”

  “We wait and hope that young Lazlette makes it here alive. And that is all we can do, for Harlaheim watches, whether we see it or not. I say, let them watch, and then we walk the prize of patience and faith into the tower, letting them watch more.”

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  The stone grated across the greataxe, bringing the edge sharper still. Saberrak the Gray watched over his shoulder, the great slaveship almost within firing range, and he waited. The crew of just over a hundred men sharpened their sabers, shortblades, daggers, and cutlasses, silent like him. They brought every crossbow from below, rolled out every barrel for cover and obstacle, and kept quiet as the view of Harlaheim and the trireme barge approached. The Bronze Harpy would have been boisterous had anyone thought they would reach port first, but it was obvious that they would be intercepted, and even the white flag they raised was not slowing the enemy vessel, nor bringing aid from the city.

  The waters still too deep to measure, the jagged rock riddled coast two miles off port, and the docks of Harlaheim many miles ahead, the crew saw the Altestani ship at five hundred yards and closing. With a slave crew of roughly five hundred as opposed to theirs, which was less than a quarter that size, the tension and doubt was thick in the air. They all knew enough about Altestani beliefs to know they would be enslaved, killed, or worse, there was no barter with the northern empires.

  James came above deck, polished, with a trimmed beard, his sash and falcon head medal in their proper places, and his armor and shield ready. He watched the men, watched them following the minotaur, seeking to lean on his strength. Azenairk was eyeing the enemy ship, fully dressed in his steel plate, shield and round helm, and smiling behind his black beard. The dwarf had made rounds all day, talking, asking questions, and putting men at ease with his words and prayer, the crew trusted him. Gwenneth and Shinayne remained at the helm, discussing in private many things at length it seemed. The noble elf, her golden curls flowing on the breeze and skin shining in the trickles of sunlight that appeared, was pointing to the deck of the ship, then to the enemy vessel. Gwenneth was watching and plotting as her midnight hair blew many directions over her pale noble composure. James watched Gwenneth through the breeze and caught her deep emerald eyes in such contrast to the light aquamarines of Shinayne, yet just as beautiful.

  Closer now, the crew noticed the archers and deck weapons of the Altestani Headhunter taking position. They scrambled for cover, and readied theirs, looking to the helm. Saberrak stood and walked toward the main deck, James following, then the dwarven priest. Lady Shinayne walked down to meet them, followed by the prodigal wizard. The eyes of all the men watched, their ears intent on hearing every word as the shadow of the massive warship closed in and their five leaders conversed.

  “Seems they outran us, elf. Now what?” Saberrak snorted, smiling a bit as he hefted his greataxe, and eyed the borrowed shortblade in his other hand.

  “They can not drive us to the coast, their bottom is as deep as ours, maybe more, but I dare not go any closer. If we hit this far out, we are sunk or sitting prey, so we sail on. They will try and crush us and pin us to the crags, fire upon us with all they have, and then board us. I will keep us afloat and then defend the aft and helm with my men. I need you, James, to take the bow with yours, and Zen, take the main deck. Cut every rope, loose every hook, and dislodge any planks or ladders.” Shinayne seemed intensely focused, beyond her normal light and peaceful demeanor.

  “And what of Saberrak and Gwenneth?” James drew his blade, raising it to examine the edge, not that the enchanted weapon ever really dulled, but it was habit. Then he produced a bottle of wine. He knew they all stared at him that moment, heard their breathing stop. He closed his eyes and thought of Annar, his dreams, the scroll, and the fact that he finally had something and someone to stand for. He looked to the Altestani vessel with no fear, and threw the bottle end over end into the Carisian Sea. They did not speak, bu
t James Andellis felt their breathing commence, and he felt peace.

  “Nicely done, James.”

  “Thank you, Zen.”

  “Gwenneth will be protecting us from the arrows and bolts that they rain down on us, and dealing with the doppelganger wizard. Once they begin to board, and we take out their rudder, steering and masts, Gwenne will unload upon the ship with all she has. Then, we can break off and make it to port while they drift and burn.” Lady T’Sarrin drew her matching swords, head down, realizing that she had just given more bad news.

  “Doppelganger wizard? You’re serious? How do you know that?” James looked at the slaveship, a hundred yards closer now.

  “I sensed it, read the aura from afar. It is old and powerful and leads the ship disguised as the noble that the creature killed, I presume. I will handle it, and try and keep us protected while I deflect anything it conjures up. Have faith, knight, my skills and training are far beyond any devious shapeshifter.” Gwenneth held her dark staff and black wand in one hand, trying to keep her long dark hair out of her face as she spoke with the others since the breeze of the sea had picked up.

  “And how do we take out the rudder and steering? Magic?” James, always pointing out what was missing, looked at the elf again.

  “No. Saberrak is taking care of that. Gwenne has a spell that will allow him to breath water for a time, and he will leave from the bow of the ship, travel under theirs, and then climb up the rear of their ship and board them. Once the steering is destroyed, he will take down the masts, then get back onto the Harpy.” Shinayne looked up to the enemy ship again, fifty yards closer. “They are almost within range.”

  “Saberrak! That is suicide, plain and simple.” James shook his head in disbelief of such a notion as he tried to whisper some common sense.

  “Thanks, I like a challenge. I’ll take that bet, Knight of Chazzrynn. Me against a crew of foreign slavers, I think the odds are in my favor.” The gray gladiator smiled, eager to be outnumbered, to be in the middle of a mass of enemies, and to defend what was his. “At least I will die free.”

  “We will all die free, the way it---“

  “The scroll is hidden in your bedroll, James, should I not make it back. You have seen Annar and know as much as I in the matter. Please protect it.” Saberrak was suddenly serious with the statement. James nodded, making eye contact, saying nothing.

  “Don’t say that. Please. Just do not let the men give up, and do not get killed. That would make me very angry, and I hate being angry.” Shinayne tucked her feelings away, smiled, and looked back to the helm.

  “Once we are loose, I will need to come back here to get us to port safely. Zen, you will have to cover my end of the ship when I do. Keep the men hopeful and fighting, and do not let anyone be taken.”

  “Yes, Captain.” Azenairk prayed, feeling the presence of God, and prayed for light and guidance. He felt he needed to help more, do more, so he asked for that as well.

  “Regardless of what you may think of me, of what you believe, it has been an honor to fight with you and make it this far.” James turned from his only friends, unable to face them at this moment, fearing it may be one of the last. They were the only ones who had ever stood by him through anything, knowing little good about him, but there was nothing left to do but try and survive alone at sea. A heavy hand stopped him as he went to take position.

  “James Andellis, Knight of Chazzrynn, it has been an honor, it has.” Zen shook his forearm, and James nodded, saying nothing. He turned to Shinayne. “If I forgot to mention it, my gratitude and my honor are yours, and I am indebted to you all. Besides revenge, I have had nothing to fight for, until just recently.” James tried to breathe, his chest burdened with guilt and care.

  “Shinayne, it is getting closer.” Gwenne looked over her shoulder, strange arcane senses emanating stronger now.

  “It is time.” Shinayne paused. “Saberrak the Gray…”

  “Captain.” The minotaur snorted, looked toward Shinayne, expecting some doubting tears or fearful words of expression. The others were walking away, yet he stopped next to the elf.

  “Give them hell and steel, and get back here quickly, understood?” Aquamarine eyes glared into his deep set black orbs below the horns and tattoos.

  “Will do. You keep this floating tree on top of the water, and fight hard.” Saberrak huffed and turned toward the front of the ship.

  The knight went the fore of the ship, facing starboard, the priest stopped on the main deck and did the same. Saberrak walked past, patting them both on the shoulder and crouched on the tip of the bow of the Bronze Harpy. Gwenneth uttered a few arcane words, and levitated above the deck, a few feet only, not wanting to get her concentration disrupted by any motions of the ship on the water or the collision that was soon to occur. The elven swordswoman watched, her course set with a man at the helm to keep it, she saw the Altestani trireme keeping pace, running nearly parallel to them, and not allowing for any advance or retreat, nowhere to turn. The tarnished yellow flag of the Bronze Harpy and the white flag of peace and surrender waved in the wind.

  “My Lady?” An old sailor with his frazzled orange beard and dingy clothes that manned the crow’s nest spoke up. “The Harlians aren’t gonna be answerin the white flag, Captain, and neither is that big ship, are they?”

  “No sir, they are not.” Shinayne kept her aqua eyes on the enemy vessel, the men preparing to fire. She maintained the serious composure of stone that was needed by over a hundred men looking to her. They knew, they all did, that death was moments away.

  “The men would feel better if ye took it down captain, since we won’t be surrenderin and all. We have an old Chazzrynn one, from the Harpy’s scouting days for the king. Your permission to hoist it up there, Captain?” The man had a folded blue flag in his hands.

  “Permission granted.” Shinayne stared, watching the men receive the nod from their captain and drew down the white flag, and raised the blue flag of Chazzrynn, the black falcon head fluttering in the breeze. The crew cheered, yelling and staring at the trireme barge almost on top of them, waving their blades at both the enemy and their elven captain. The colors reached the top of the crow’s nest, and the men yelled more, a string of curses and threats to the Headhunter.

  James drew the blade, Arlinne’s blade, and saluted the war barge of Altestan. The roars of defiance in the face of certain death brought him back to Arouland, back to thirteen years before. This time he spoke, loud enough for the Gods, and surely the Altestani, to clearly hear.

  “Crew of the Headhunter of Altestan, you are to stand down your colors and diverge from your course! I am Sir James Andellis, knight of Chazzrynn and by order of the king, you will stand down or meet your ends at sea! Black on blue!”

  “Strong and true!” was returned in a united chant from many war veterans beside him.

  The cheers from the crew were like thunder, the roars from all his friends like a blessing that showered him in light, and he cared not whether the enemy listened or no. James felt more freedom now than ever in his life, surrounded by a symphony of defiance and friendship. Not the ogre slaying mercenary, not the vagabond drunk, he felt alive in the midst of leading a stand against evil.

  Then silence. The first volley of trebuchet harpoons and arrows filled the sky over the Carisian Sea. Hundreds upon uncounted hundreds stole the light from the clouds above.

  Gwenneth rose higher off the deck, almost twenty feet in the air, and held her staff toward the incoming volley. Shimmering translucence walled the starboard side of the galleon, from water to the top of the masts, like a curtain of magical nothing. The men took cover, James and Zen raised their shields, but the elven woman and the minotaur did not move. The arrows and bolts bounced and shattered, hitting something that was stronger than steel, yet like silk on the wind. The larger projectiles passed through, wobbling and off target, like they had gone through water and lost their momentum, crashing into the sea harmlessly.

  Another volley
flew at the Bronze Harpy, with the same results, splintering arrowheads, flaming bolts falling to singe the waters, and harpoons skittering short of the ship or far off target. The crew was amazed, thinking not to survive the onslaught that would ream from the massive warship. They pointed their blades at Gwenneth, yelling and cajoling the opposition as it came within a hundred yards now. A third volley launched and a fourth, meeting the magical barrier the wizard held in place, causing neither harm nor breach to the ship or her crew.

  Gwenneth, starting to feel the strain of her magicks, saw her enemy above deck dressed as a turban wearing Altestani noble, and saw him begin to point at her. Gwenneth’s strain doubled, feeling his powers weakening the barrier, yet she would not relent.

  “There you are, doppelganger, let me see what you know.” Gwenne whispered as their eyes met across the sea.

  She rose higher, hoping to keep it focused on her and not the ship. The creature let loose a bolt of crackling blue light at her, streaking across the air between the ships, simple arcane lightning, not the real invocation she had held for a moment once. He was testing her, and she knew it. Her wand went up, she concentrated for a moment, then green energy pulsed from the tip of the black crystal device, striking the incoming electricity. The sizzling bolts vanished, as did the green aura from her wand.

  She returned the message with one of her own, her staff in place holding the barrier secure with little concentration. Gwenne’s wand put away, her fingers fanned out, she chanted over the noise of wave and crew, firing three scorching white streaks of flame at the creature in disguise. They shot through the air faster than arrows, all turning to steam as they got within ten feet of his upheld palms, water misting from them as the spell fell, harmless.