The Last Pantheon: of spiders and falcons

by Jason Jones

  “Please do not tell my mother about the incantation, Kalzarius. You know I will never hear the end of it, and it will not stop me in my studies either way.” she pleaded.

  “You should not be studying and practicing such powers for another three decades, and your mother’s tomes should be better locked up. Buying off that damned vulture, weren’t you?” he scolded her, but inside he was proud to have had a hand in teaching such a prodigy.

  “Every wizard has a weak point, my mother's is Hithins. The bird loves to be flattered and embroiled in something rewarding and dangerous. Her pet, not mine.” The prodigal wizard shrugged and chuckled, feeling no remorse for furthering her mastery of the arcane via any route necessary. “Besides, you taught me to exploit any weakness, Kalzarius.”

  “Not against your own family, my dear. Do not credit me, for that. I have respect and care for your mother, and almost fifty years of history as well. Did you know that I taught her, uhh hem, yes, her very first…..”

  “Very first arcane aura, seventh sense, I know. I have heard this from her and you many times.” Gwenneth heard the others behind, Azenairk in his plate armor, and the heavy footsteps of Saberrak more than anything.

  “The doppelganger, old and wise in the arcane, very impressive Gwenneth.” Kalzarius smiled as Gwenne took his arm to walk.

  “Thank you, master Kalzarius.” Gwenneth smiled back, knowing the whole of the port likely saw the duel from afar.

  The cloaked bodyguards and robed wizards of Kalzarius moved with them, archers stepped through shadow and rooftop, protecting the famed wizard and his friends from above. They neared the grand tower, and smooth and awe inspiring it was. It was lit with magical light from the portcullis in the outer wall, from sconces that floated, orbiting the structure by the dozens with flames that never died. The clouds were dark, shadow covered dark, and the surrounding tall buildings and castles of the city were imposing compared to the open cities of Chazzrynn. With talk between themselves, and a following of hundreds trying to get a look at those that had sunk an Altestani warship outside their city, the entourage passed the guarded walls of Kalzarius’ home, and entered. Safe at last.

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  The great hall past the foyer held paintings of immense size, candles and lanterns of false arcane light, and a table of white wood that could seat twenty men easily. The ceilings were vaulted and rose three men high, the floors and walls were of polished marble like the outside. They stood in awe of such magnificent finery and architecture, all save Gwenneth who had been here and was accustomed. The doors of enchanted wood shut on their own.

  “Greetings, friends. I am Kalzarius, and welcome to my home. I am sure you are tired, injured, sore, and in need of rest. However, there are a few things we need to discuss.” The old gray bearded wizard stood at the head of the table, Cilano the tall apprentice stood next to him, listening intently.

  “Before that, I would much like to meet each of you, as you have delivered Gwenneth and yourselves through much adversity, I understand. I hope to hear all about your journey in the days and weeks to come.” His hand, adorned with several gold rings, pointed to the elven woman he knew to be royalty.

  Shinayne bowed, “Thank you for your hospitality, Kalzarius of Harlaheim. It is an honor. I am Lady Shinayne T’Sarrin of Kilikala. This is Azenairk Thalanaxe, devout priest and friend from Boraduum,” her hand motioning to her friends, while still looking around the fascinating tower.

  “This is Saberrak the Gray, our fiercest, and largest. And Sir James Andellis of Chazzrynn, trusted ally and champion of the blade. You already know Gwenneth, so again, our thanks for your protection and grace, my lord.” She bowed again, still aching from the scimitar cut on her side.

  “And I am Cilano of Shanador, keeper of the tower. Which means if you need anything, ask me, for I have to get it for you.” The blond haired man laughed, raising some from the room as well, jesting at his position and title.

  “May I see the scroll you carry, Saberrak the Gray?” Kalzarius cut right to business, putting Saberrak on the spot.

  The horned one walked up to the center of the table and placed the stone scroll heavily on the wood. He backed up a step, staying close, allowing the old man to come to him to see it. He did not trust anyone he did not know, trusted little where this relic was concerned, and had few friends. He even kept one hand on the hilt of the shamshir, resting, of course. Saberrak stared at the wizard, watching for any motions or gestures of magic or tricks.

  “I will not steal from you, minotaur. Relax, I am a friend, I assure you.” Kalzarius had read his aura and thoughts easily, but had not expected what he saw and heard from within the scroll. He picked it up, heavy as it was, gray stone, engraved with ancient writings and holding much power and history on the strange parchment. He placed it back down, then decided to hand it to the minotaur. He sat down at the table, resting his tired form, and took a deep breath.

  “I will try and discern this for you, but it cannot stay here after that. It is too sought after, and it will not be safe.” He lowered his eyes, knowing it was not what any of them wished to hear at this time.

  “How is it not safe here, Kalzarius? Nothing could possibly get inside this tower, not even an army,” Gwenneth protested.

  “Very true, very true. However, you have the deadliest agents of the White Spider looking for it, and their presence here in Harlaheim is great. They will not stop searching for something so valuable, I assure you. The church of Alden, despite their benevolence, will circle you and wish to lay claim to such a relic with religious connotations to it. Not assassins mind you, but they will believe, and already do, that it is rightfully theirs. I cannot keep them at bay easily. Word has spread quickly, and don’t get me started on the nobility; surely they will interfere as well.”

  “Then, great wizard, what is the real issue? If it remains here safely, and never leaves…” James began respectfully.

  “The issue is power and finances. Did you notice the lack of a single navy vessel out in the bay? Your white flag ignored? The fact that not one lord or knight errant has sought you out yet after what happened at sea?” Kalzarius took a louder, more serious tone now, demanding full attention.

  “Why is that, old man?” Saberrak spoke up, matching the serious tone with his own.

  “Between the church, the White Spider, and the nobles, there is a struggle of power over who will attain this scroll. The King of Harlaheim has been paid off, along with several of his lords. The king of Caberra has men here already, and rest assured that Shalokahn and Shanador have heard by now. There is not a king nor bishop on the continent that would let this pass them by, nor will they, with the Aldane Cardinal out of the kingdom. Now that you have sunk an Altestani warship, it will inflame the matter.” The old wizard rested, his breath tired.

  “Our king let us pass,” James spoke up, looking at the golden griffon pommeled blade at his side, remembering his home so far from here.

  “Very well, one good king out of the whole of a continent. That will not protect you here, Sir James. I can keep you safe, but you are already famous, as of a few hours ago. By tomorrow, the tale of what you survived at sea, your victory over that warship, will be growing through this kingdom, and you will be impossible to hide. What you are rumored to carry, that too, will be quite well known, very soon. You will be safe, but for how long will you be forced to live here? I can withhold siege for six years in this tower, I have done it before. But that is no way to live, I can attest to that.” Kalzarius motioned for Cilano to leave.

  “What do you suggest, wise Kalzarius?” Zen spoke up, not liking where this was going after such a victorious day.

  “Let me study it, unravel it, and tell you all I can, with Gwenneth’s assistance. It will take many days, perhaps weeks or months, but I will decipher all I can for you. In the meantime, you need to lay low here, and in the city. Your crew will speak much of this in the taverns and docks, and your enemies will know
of you before you know of them. I have some duties, should you care to be of assistance while you stay.” The old man snapped his fingers, servants emerging with food from land and sea, ripe fruits, and wine quickly placed at the table. Enough for twice as many as were present.

  “What, duties did you have in mind, old one?” Saberrak snorted at the thought of helping around some strange wizard's tower, let alone staying for weeks inside of it.

  “First off, we need to patrol, especially at night. The arrival of emissaries and petitioners, as well as dangerous agents of the underworld and throne rooms alike will be skulking. We will need to be aware, and I will be busy. You will have the assistance of my men, well trained soldiers and archers.” The old man pointed to some of the men by the two stone doors at the entrance. They stood motionless, armored with chain and plate, halberds and crossbows, cloaked in gray.

  “I would be more than willing to scout the area and protect us, a little danger keeps me on my toes. I could use a partner though. How about it, Saberrak?” Shinayne was eager to see the city, and enjoyed the excitement. She knew the minotaur would be miserable here inside, and having the horned gladiator with her in a fight had proven more than beneficial so far.

  “Done.” Saberrak knew the elf would get herself outnumbered as usual, and someone would have to save her pointy ears from an untimely death. He agreed, not wanting to let this scroll he was given leave his sight, but wanting less to sit in a room here and watch boring wizard routines and chatter.

  “Excellent. I also have need for some diplomatic work. The Knights of Harlaheim have split loyalties between their lords, the young king, and their honor and titles. The Order of Saint Tarumin is likely to help keep the nobility at bay, if they believe our cause is pure and unselfish. That order of knights has the strongest and most honorable man in the realm, and we could use his allegiance at this point. I need someone to make contact with Savanno Lisario, the Lord Knight Errant of Harlaheim. He spends many days at the Cathedral of the Risen Saint, at the northern end of the city.” Kalzarius sipped some wine, making sure the servant girls passed it around and offered it to his guests.

  “I can speak to any man of God, about God, of any religion, at any temple. I have only met one knight, though. Sir James?” Zen nudged the knight, who was obviously not paying attention to anything but his own thoughts at that moment.

  “Yes, it would be an honor to meet the famed Order of Saint Tarumin and gain any assistance we can from them. I will see to it.” James bowed, giving the dwarf a nudge in return, his nose smelling the wine, hearing it being poured and passed.

  “Rest now, then. Tomorrow Gwenneth and I will begin deciphering your artifact. And welcome, once again.” Kalzarius rested in the chair, hearing stories of danger and bloodshed, his ears listening, but his mind elsewhere, sensing outside the tower constantly. Something was there already, something powerful.

  “One last thing. After it is done, you will need to take it to Ansharr, an old friend who lives above a sacred, but hidden, temple to the north and east. The scroll will be safe there, for all time.”

  “And who is this Ansharr then? Is he another wizard, like yourself?” Saberrak huffed at the overconfidence of Kalzarius and his sure words of something being safe for all time.

  “No, Saberrak the Gray, he is a she. And she is almost two thousand years old. Ansharr is a dragon.” Kalzarius sipped some wine, watching the gray minotaur go just a little pale.

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  James stood by the window, watching the others. He steered clear of the wine, moving around the room to avoid the serving girls many times already. He noticed Azenairk fiddling with a small iron box from his pouch, opening it and staring inside it often. He seemed to be praying or speaking to it, somber and quiet, something that must hold sentimental value by the look on his face. Servant girls drifted about, passing foods and the room was busy with tales and rested laughter.

  The knight witnessed Gwenneth tell stories of arcane powers and spells to her former teacher, the two of them like relatives more than friends. She seemed proud and happy in his presence, inspired to be getting attention from someone who had a great understanding of her craft. She showed him her black crystal wand, and he took a strong discussion, obviously proud of her accomplishments. Cilano piped in from time to time, curious at her powers, and at chipping through her ice.

  James sat in a leather chair now, the minutes turning to hours. He gazed upon the beautiful elven swordswoman and the gray minotaur, both deep in conversation. They sharpened the edges of their blades, tightened belts, and compared scars. Many guards stopped by their end of the table, and they spoke at length about strategy and the city they were to be scouting, he assumed.

  James Andellis did not listen in, just observed, his mind elsewhere. He looked at his blue sash, and his golden medal, then drew the griffon pommeled broadsword of the late Arlinne T’Vellon. The knight thought of home, of Southwind Keep and the Western Wastes. He tried to chuckle at the fact that he had discovered he owned a tombstone in a cemetery, yet still lived. James admired the flawless edge of the blade, though he still did not feel he deserved to carry it.

  The years his mind had lost, the wasted time, the blood he had spilled, the pain he kept with him, all marked on the back of a shield to remind him. A shield he had lost to the sea today, a reminder he no longer carried. He breathed deep, saying a small prayer in his mind, thanking Alden for his mercy and safe journeys, and the for the one about to start. He looked out the stained glass at a figure walking past the portcullis outside, one that had been staring in from afar.

  The glowing blue eyes were dark in the shadow of night, and James looked back. Frozen, he could not speak, only watch, as the man he knew to be Annar walked into the streets of Harlaheim. The knight blinked, the man, the God, was gone. He had no words, but a feeling of peace flourished again in his chest and mind. He smiled, looked across to the scroll with Saberrak, and smiled more.

  Again, a young servant girl bowed before him with a carafe of wine on a tray with glasses. “Wine for you, my lord knight?” Her voice sweet, her eyes looked down at him, smiling through brown curls. He could smell the rich red Caberran vintage in the air, tempting him to take but a sip, just to explore its depths and quality.

  Words came out, words not from himself, but from somewhere else that James had not thought to say.

  “No wine for me, thank you. Not tonight.”

  About the author

  Jason R Jones was born September 2, 1975, and grew up in Monroe, Wisconsin. He is an honorable veteran of the United States Marine Corps, a saber fencing enthusiast, and a loving father to his sons, Alexander and Adonis. The love of his life, Blanca, keeps him to task as best she can. His flare for short stories, poetry, drama, and fantasy has existed since he can remember. Jason is the oldest of four and currently resides in Florida. Interests in fine dining, music, meditation, ancient history, movies, world religion, cigars, and mythology keep him very busy and inspired. He plans to bring out many tales of his own life hidden deep within his eighteen part fantasy saga. The novel, of spiders and falcons is the first in his epic series The Last Pantheon, to be followed soon by of dragons and crowns.

  In this story, our hero James Andellis has a problem. His tragedies, his hate, and his past are just part of it. Danger is everywhere, fantastic people meet him, yet he wants to end his life. James is an alcoholic. Here, in a fantasy world, he gets help from mythical friends, dreams, and even lost Gods. His adventure nearly ends and his addiction brings him to a painful point past which he cannot continue. Luckily, his salvation is waiting for him in poetic fantasy fashion.

  In the real world, people like James Andellis are everywhere. They suffer, they struggle, and often, they die. To look at them, you may never know how tormented they truly are. Not knights with healing powers, not ogre hunting bravados with broadswords, but people with a problem with alcohol. If you have a problem with drinking, or think you might, there
is an answer for you.

  Alcoholics Anonymous is a group of recovering alcoholics who found something greater than themselves in order to stop drinking, and help others to achieve the same. There are no fees, no forms, AA is fully self supporting. As long as you want to stop drinking, you are welcome to join. If you are wondering at this moment about going, you probably should.

  Whether it is you, a friend, or a family member that is suffering, the doors of AA are always open. If you cannot go, call your local AA office or go online to find one. It is never too late to ask for help, and you are never alone.

  www.aa.org

  Special Gratitude to the Following

  My Mother

  My Father

  My Sister, Anya

  My Brother, Cody

  Jason Alan

  Craig McElroy

  Lynne Lucas

  Pelican’s Nest

  Café Bustelo Espresso & Padron Cigars

  Andres Castro

  Tony, Eric, Mike, Dan, and Wade

  Beau, Aaron, & Chuck

  Scott & Jazz

  Pegasus Games

  Mark Dunn M.D.

  The Teasdale Family

  Bill & Bob

  And most of all

  Blanca, Adonis, and Alexander, my family

  Epilogue

  Tower of Salah Cam

  Sullan Swamps

  Smoldering torchlight filled the cramped and cluttered room of the decaying stone keep. The cold breeze of the swamp wafted odors and aromas through the rotted windows. Rats scurried, bats and midnight sparrows passed back and forth in the chamber of books and bottles thrown about. Smoke rose from the glass decanter on a wooden table etched with runes of the dark arcane and adorned with designs of demonic figures holding skulls. After a moment of inspection, the small creatures passing through left by the fastest means available. They seemed driven out by something unnatural, evil, and darker than they cared to inspect further.