The Last Pantheon: of hammers and storms

by Jason Jones

  “True words, true words.” Sir Orlimane chuckled and ate some more of whatever required utensils at his table.

  “Fine, all that nonsense aside. Why are we here then, to play honor guard for Prince Rohne?” Cetreus broke up the muttering laughs and ate some of whatever he was tossed, then poured something into a glass from a table.

  “You received the summons, did you read it?” Thohne replied.

  “I did.”

  “So, we go to ensure the retaking of the southern reach of Armondeen. With that opened, by whomever my brother and the queen say will be opening it, our kingdom grows by a third. Trade routes from the islands will prosper, and the free cities will fall next. It is expansion, Lord of Feldumesh. Cleansing of the curselands, that is all.” The bishop sheathed his blade and took some of the liquid that smelled of wine for himself.

  “We go to open a temple, kill some infamous fugitives, and spill their blood in honor of the eleven. Then, once those curselands are opened, we build a temple to Shukuru and his kin. Let us talk straight, false bishop. After that, who gets it?” Yaelsh replied with his condescending demeanor.

  “I do.” Thohne Vir Magaste replied. “Andora is going to begin a summons of a child of one of the eleven, who I do not know yet. The ritual will take place in the ruins, and their blood was asked for.”

  “I give three dead shits about rituals, who gets the ruined city and the treasures?”

  “The kingdom, of course. However, each of you will have a castle there, with title, and each of you gains one of the free cities when we conquer them after.”

  “I want Freemoore then. Many will have to hang.” Lord Cetreus replied.

  “I will take Sudri, north of Freemoore. An ample supply of elven women there to please my blade and bed.” Sir Yaelsh nodded.

  “In which order, bed then blade, I would hope?” Thohne asked.

  “I have found in my years, once I have the ears of an elf as trophies, it matters not. If I prefer a night with raucus pleasure and screaming, bed first. If I want a bit of silence, well then…” Yaelsh laughed as he made a rather foul motion with his hips and sword at the same moment.

  “Sir Orlimane the Shade, that leaves you with the little Targonde Villages, south of Freemoore. Not much there, unfortunately.” Thohne raised his chin and glass.

  “You know me, by reputation more than acquaintance, but I do not require much. I do not talk much, the shadows and I share often, and in the night I give homage to the eleven with my axe. Bring me your dead and unwanted, then I have all I need.”

  “Agreed then. As soon as Prince Rohne arrives to us, we head southwest and join with Harron’s forces from Vin Armon. Then, we travel due south and collect some sacrifices, and we are all the wealthier. This is just formality remember, we do not need five thousand men to capture five fools, but you never know what could come out of that place after two thousand years.”

  “Who are these five then? I heard rumor that the minotaur with them killed a dragon in the Misathi.” Yaelsh retorted.

  “I heard they sank an Altestani warship in Harlaheim as well. That will put a little strain on all our dealings should their attitudes reflect the incident. We all profit well from that illicit trade, and keeping our northern allies content and secret will surely pay off when war comes to the continent again.” Lord Cetreus commented.

  “Do not worry on that, old hangman. Altestan knows that with King Ian safely in retirement in Forrivar, that Andora holds the kingdom, and then me, in a false spiritual sense. They know nothing of she and Harron. Besides, they are too busy with Kivanis right now, so I hear.” Thohne reassured them.

  Sir Orlimane coughed on whatever he was eating and then washed it back with his goblet. “Kivanis is a diversion.”

  “And how do you know this, Sir Shade?” Thohne replied quickly.

  “Neheris, the noble…noble…whatever his title is, prince I think, he told me as much when we traded last month. They have spies arriving monthly in secret, through Kivanis, but they are watching Shanador.” Orlimane spoke seldom, but when he did, it was as if gravel was creeping across a tombstone.

  “Altestan is simple, Sir Orlimane. Three emperors, and everyone else is a prince. Whether they are or not, be it merchants, sons of noble families, or descendants of the emperors, they all get called prince if they are of the chosen race and have blue eyes. The word is Kaven, in their tongue.” The Smiling Knight replied.

  “And never mention a queen or princess to them, they treat their women little better than dogs. Most Altestani men have two wives, some three or more. Do you know, in Altestan, if you dishonor Yjaros or an emperor that they kill your wives and daughters instead of you?” Cetreus followed.

  “How do I book passage then?” Yaelsh chortled.

  “Saints as well. Since God is Yjaros, all they believe to be divine, all else is a saint and not worthy of actual worship nor prayer. Good or bad, it matters not. So we say, San Shukuru, San Alden, or San Cancuru in their presence, they care not for the difference between heaven or hell, as they think Gimmor is the afterlife. It is a lot to remember, but when they take this continent, we will be on the victorious side for certain.” Thohne assured with his confident words.

  “Do they know of the five and the curselands, or is that secret safe with us?” Sir Yaelsh queried without sarcasm for once.

  “No, they are aware of them.” Thohne drank another sip of wine. “But I assured them we will send their remains and handle it as if they had attacked one of our own. Prince Jhaleem Kerikadahn, Kaven of Khutra, is an admiral prince with around one hundred warships in his fleet. He accepted our wishes to see it done.”

  “How do they know these five can even pass the storm or enter that place? What makes Andora and Harron sure enough to take such noble forces and grand sirs as ourselves to action?” The Smiling Knight queried sarcastically, waving his arms around the tent.

  “His great grandfather.” Bishop Thohne pointed to Lord Cetreus. “Trehad the eternally cursed of Devonmir, he and his two cohorts in dark damnation, have seen the five fugitives and know of them. They have something that can open and free those lands, and they confirmed it with the voices from the eleven. The Hells command the sacrifice and a temple, and we shall be there to honor it.”

  “And to make sure no one sees it. We may have to kill a few of our own, but all for the greater glory.” Cetreus added.

  “Hail Shukuru and his flames! Hail Cancuru and his madness! Let us all swim in blood and glory eternal!” Bishop Thohne spoke with sarcasm, yet with force and purpose to his words. “Whatever comes from Vin Armon, by way of the Nochtilian realms, will be welcomed with blood and honor into our new lands. Let us drink to…”

  His words sent chills through the canvas tent to Kendari, Angeline, and even the deer. The men chuckled, toasted, and carried on with talking of their cities and the kingdom of Armondeen. Kendari felt his chest, the mark of Nareene was burning hot, he knew something approached or searched for him, and it was time to leave. He looked to Angeline and the deer with a serious glare. He touched his head, nodded, and thought of the words he would whisper but could not in their close position.

  We need to leave, now

  I agree

  Watching in the dark, with but slivers of Carice and Gimmor overhead in the twinkling starlight, Angeline, the deer, and Kendari snuck back to safety. Past four tents with feasting Armondi soldiers, avoiding the carcass filled brushpile, and over the quiet stream they crept. They paused as another patrol of twenty men arrived from the west, then they dashed around a hill and removed their cowls.

  Angeline spoke first, keeping calm and feeling the impulses from Charity that she had already sensed. “Kendari, I must go. I have to find them in the south before these men do. I feel our paths must part this night.”

  Kendari shook his head and affirmed without question. “I was about to suggest the same. Take the deer, for what I may have to do in Vin Armon could get a bit, bloody.”

  The deer scr
uffed his paws in the dirt, nudged Kendari, and shook his head to the no.

  “The deer goes with you, I cannot change the will of the Mother.”

  “Fine, just make sure you find them, and travel fast and safe.” Kendari nodded to the deer and squinted his eyes in displeasure.

  “And you, stay close, quiet, and do as I say.”

  “And you? What is your plan Kendari of Stillwood?”

  “Trust me, I will get in. I have a summoning to disrupt. You just do, whatever you do, and do not fail them. Leave Vin Armon to me.”

  “Then this is farewell, my vigilante swordmaster.” Angeline closed her eyes and breathed in the calm air. “Watch over him.”

  “I will.” Kendari nodded.

  “I was speaking to the deer.” Angeline patted the young buck on the head and rubbed his little horns.

  “Ahh, amusing. Farewell, flying woman. If one or both of us should die, it has been an adventure crossing blades with you, in three different kingdoms.”

  “She works in mysterious ways, never forget this. You can find redemption, I know from experience. It has been a dangerous twist of fate meeting you, to say the least. Seirena’s blessing upon you, Kendari of Stillwood.” Angeline reached out her arm, she saw him hesitate and stare, then he took a breath and shook his forearm to hers.

  “Well met, Angeline of Charity, of the Knights Soujan.”

  It had been centuries since he had met someone he felt respect for. Longer since he felt to shake arms, hands, or embrace anything. Quickly, Kendari pulled the cowl over his head and dashed into the darkness north. The deer cast a knowing glance or three to Angeline, but he followed the Nadderi elf closely. Within moments, they were gone.

  Angeline was alone in the dark, under the moons, she closed her eyes and knelt in the grass. She heard Kendari’s trampling horse ride off north moments later. She drew Charity from her scabbard and laid her in front of her knees. Clearing her mind, she allowed the stars, the white moon, and the earth itself to come to her. Charity sang a song that only she could hear, sending blessings out in poetic verse for Kendari and the deer. After moments in silence, the lady of the Knights Soujan opened her eyes and looked at Charity. A leaf had blown onto her angelic carved crosspiece of little feminine faces. The leaf pointed due south, then blew away in the night breeze.

  “South it is.” Angeline picked up her hand and a half blade of her secret order, kissed it, and sheathed it. She felt a throb, a sound in her head, Charity was telling her something.

  “I know, I feel it too. A child to be born soon, one of the Caricians is close by, and so is Gwenneth Lazlette. Sing to me Charity, for we have a long travel to cover, in short time.”

  Angeline felt the grass and air lift her, felt the wind in her face as she hovered with inhuman steps, and followed the guiding will of the children of the Mother.

  Princes IV:II

  Castle Valhera

  Valhirst

  “Captain D’Littai, your men are falling back on the south and north walls! Send out your reserves!” Johnas yelled from the catwalk of Valhera castle as arrows flew over his head from the enemy and stones from catapults crashed into his city.

  “Yes, m’liege! But I have no more sergeants to lead them!” The Harlian captain had four thousand men outside the walls of Valhirst battling the armies of King Mikhail of Chazzrynn. One legion to the north, one to the south, and two on the western entrance. Half of those men were dead and dying already, only three hours into the battle.

  “Do you need an invitation? Get on your damn horse and charge the field, captain!” Johnas drew his longsword and pointed to the leader of the borrowed Harlian forces. Captain D’Littai drew his rapier, pulled the visor on his helmet down, and marched down the stairs to what remained of his men.

  Johnas had not expected Mikhail to charge in so hard, head on as he had, surely knowing he was outnumbered. The king with Lord Corey’s forces had rode right through the Harlaheim infantry, and even match of numbers, but not experience. Aelaine Lazlette and her Kendrynn Shilde had occupied the archers and infantry there with hit and run tactics into the south wall. Her arcane powers were eating up arrows and time as her balls of fire and strokes of lightning weakend the castle gates. General Fandruss had waited for the late arriving Sir Jallan of Hurne, and now outmatched the forces on the north wall as well. With his walls so occupied with the deafening barrage of battering rams, he had not had time to counter Chancellor Marcus who relentlessly fired catapults and volleys of arrows, one after another, into his city.

  “My prince, why do we wait? We have two thousand men of our own with bows and blades, and Lord Unarvin here and his thousand, not to mention our agents all ready to spring from the sides spill blood for you.” Oggidan ducked a spear thrown from the battle below that somehow reached up near the top of the catwalk. He looked down with his prince.

  Four thousand or more men on foot and horse were carving each other red through steel and standards on three fronts of the castle. Just as many were dead on the green summer grasses and being trampled underfoot. Their bridge was up, yet Mikhails’ army had placed three siege bridges over his moat, and had gotten two wheeled battering rams across.

  One ram was useless, covered in oil and flames, one hundred dead around it already. The other was covered with shields and still cracking through the main gates of the castle. They watched King Mikhail rally his men, fighting like he was half his own age, fighting while surrounded, and never faltering. The black falcon flags and banners would not fall it seemed, Mikhails men were winning the field, and Johnas knew it.

  Lord Unarvin, the traitor from Saint Gavrielle spoke solemnly as well, watching the deaths of thousands this close had humbled him. “Seems we are losing the north and south, but barely holding the west gate---“

  “I know what form the siege is in, fat traitor and one handed boy! I need not a lecture!” Johnas yelled.

  “Sorry my prince.” They spoke quietly as the screams and clash of steel rang below them.

  “We wait to get all the borrowed forces on the field. Once I am done with the Harlians, you Unarvin, will lead our forces in the courtyard. You will get to see a king die by my hand, so be ready on my command.” Johnas sneered at the traitor, he despised the fat bearded wretch.

  “Yes, my prince.” Lord Unarvin bowed as another stone smashed new cracks into Valhera castle to their left.

  “Oggidan, get me Farrigus and tell him to fetch his men from the ships, now. All agents to the upper tunnels and balconies. Here, take this, give it to Vermillion of the South, tell him to guard the heir prince close.”

  Johnas unbuckled his kris blade with the strange emerald pommel. It had been throbbing, his mother inside warning him of many things. In the midst of siege, he could not discertain what she was directing him toward, so he would send the steel blade to his brother, despite her obvious displeasures.

  “My prince, the sword is, it is…vibrating and ouch! Ahhh…owww! It stings me, how does it do that?” Oggidan held the grip and then switched to holding it by the scabbard as pain shot through his remaining hand.

  “Do not touch it, just carry it to Vermillion, now!” Johnas took a shield held out by one of his many squires. He had three thousand men, panthers, and agents waiting. Yet, he felt the timing was not right.

  “And send the doppelgangers to me.”

  Oggidan ran down the stairs to the courtyard, then into the castle to head below. Lord Unarvin followed Johnas to ready the men, then Johnas nodded to his guards and raised his hand. The north and south gates were sealed behind the Harlian forces outside in a desperate battle at the walls. The thousands of soldiers of Valhirst backed up to the rear east wall in formation, drew and raised their bows, then waited.

  “What are you doing, my prince?” Unarvin knew that the Harlaheim forces were mixed in melee with King Mikhail, and would be hit as well with the blind rain of flights.

  “Are you Harlian, Lord of Saint Gavrielle?” Johnas clenched his fist in the air.<
br />
  “No, my prince.” He bowed his head.

  “Then what do you care? They are winning, they have more numbers, and this evens the field. Archers, loose!” Three times he gave the order, and three times the thousand bows of Valhirst fired over their western walls into the battle they could not see.

  Screams, both Harlian and Chazzrynnian alike, rose each time mere seconds after the arrows filled the sky. Johnas smiled, mounted his stallion, and waited for his reinforcements to ready their blades and shields. The steel portcullis was leaning in, coming loose from the stone, he knew his uncle would be through soon, in fact he would allow it. Several more duplicates of Johnas appeared throughout the castle interior, and he grinned even more.

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  “You arrre so lucky that Johnas wants you to hang frrrom his walls, little prince. If I had my way, you would be food forrr my men.”

  Farrigus kicked his boot into the fetal curl of Bryant again, then again. His whiskers were sprouting as the smell of blood rose faintly in the air and the chains rattled with every blow he delivered. He purred as he smiled, certain he had broken many bones of the heir prince of Chazzrynn in the last hours of retribution.

  Jehrale Valhera watched, no emotion on his face at all, and stood silent by the four agents in the prison corridors of the White Spider underground. The crashing of stones and battering of rams echoed little, but enough for him to hear this far under. His senses were keen, he heard someone approaching, yet he kept his eyes on this Farrigus creature, man, whatever he was. He did not care one bit for him, regardless of his unique talents.

  “You know, Brrryant, no one everrr escapes the White Spider. No one ever has, so you know this is your last day, rrright?” Crimson of the North, a title now held by this strange man known as Farrigus Narminson, grabbed the heir prince by the hair and slammed his knee into his face.