The Last Pantheon: of hammers and storms

by Jason Jones

  “…holy men, our blades shall never fail to cut the wickedness from the night. In Alden’s name, in secret honor, until my last breath, I swear.” Balric sighed, closed his eyes, then opened them as he turned his head up to stare at the ceiling.

  “I remember, but that order is dead now.”

  “We have a rightful king to protect. We have a base of operations under the Marble Tower of Kalzarius, we have God, and an enemy. We have our oaths, Balric, oaths to Alden, Lord of Heaven.” Lord Rodreigo dell Amarr stood tall and smiled.

  “We also have just the two of us, two men Rodreigo, two men. Sebastian is dead. Two against thousands.” Balric closed his eyes again and thought of Vanessa. He saw now what an excellent job she had done to keep him distracted these last few years. She had gone for the heart, while Johnas gutted everything he knew.

  “Two men, so that is how it starts then. But I see three of us standing here.” Rodreigo turned, he heard motion near the entrance above. He remembered the bodies in the alley, they had company inside now.

  “How what starts? Are you mad?”

  “Revolution, in secret, someone needs to lead it. If we do not stop it, no one will and---“

  Balric heard it too, boots moving in silence, he interrupted Lord Rodreigo.

  “We talk later, time to move.” Balric whispered, drew his sabre, and made for an exit he knew of behind an old tapestry of the feathered cross. Rodreigo and Richmond followed close, leaving the bodies of their fallen brethren and family behind.

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  Kalzarius looked to Cilano, both men over the misty brazier of arcane sight that glowed bright magenta on the seventeenth floor. It was night, dark both outside and in, the only illumination was what the master wizard and his eventual successor peered into. Captain Jean-Ris of the tower’s gray guard stood in the distance and awaited orders. He and the fifty other students had been awoken by arcane alarms not one hour past. Kalzarius had returned with several chests and seemed concerned about many things.

  “Send five students, Cilano, to the southern tunnels. Make sure they are not followed.” The ancient master did not look up, merely spoke what needed be done.

  “Captain, take ten students to the eastern passages, send ten more to the western ones, and assure me that no one is nearing our underground.”

  “Should I raise the defenses and close the gates, master?” Cilano raised his brow and eyes just enough to meet the gaze of the famous wizard. Then he waved the waiting captain on to carry out the orders.

  “No, no, not yet. So far there is nothing moving from our new king, Phillip, above ground, nothing from L’Herrim Castle. Yet four men left and only three return. Those three have thirty following, two of which have arcane talents beyond their black masks. Just get them here safely, and throw the others off their passing, would you?” Kalzarius watched as Balric led Rodreigo and Richmond through the undercity, unaware of how many followed them. The arcane liquid in the brazier shimmered as they moved closer to the tower.

  “What else transpires, Kalzarius?” Cilano tried to follow the gestures his master employed to move the sight of the brazier and its liquid. It had taken him hours to view outside the tower, yet his old mentor moved it around, through and below the reaches of Harlaheim in quick simple flicks of his fingers. Suddenly the room went even darker, nighttime waters of indigo waves appeared in their view.

  “The docks, a ship is arriving. Caberran noble ship, two tridents and golden sails I see here. It is arriving from Chazzrynn, and has made quick time through the waters. It has three doppelgangers on board, and no one is aware of it. See the sickly yellow and black auras there, the shifting ones? Even from miles away, I can see a young doppelganger that has little skill to mask itself.” Kalzarius watched with his arcane sights, close to the cabin of the Caberran galleon, then he tried to listen in. He heard mumbling, waves and wind, but he did make out a name.

  “Who is it master, why would one Caberran vessel with shapeshifters be making a quick journey to Harlaheim?” Cilano was curious, but not as intent on filling that curiosity as his master.

  “Has Johnas Valhera allied with Caberra?”

  “Doubtful. Wil dell Escada, not who he says he is, something important, something about war. We need to meet him at the docks, secretly.”

  He heard words being spoken, enough to garner that this man held important information, and that the doppelgangers would likely kill him once he disembarked.

  “Shall I head to the docks under guard, master?” Cilano knew the answer, summoned his staff from its leaning position across the room with a gesture of his palm, and began walking out the balcony.

  “Be careful, Cilano. The fact that I see none of the agents of Harlaheim does not mean they are not there. Make certain those doppelgangers do not reach the city, by any means necessary. Use force, but with caution.”

  “I was trained by the famous Kalzarius, still am, no need to worry. I will bring this Wil dell Escada safely here.” Cilano walked off the edge, floating down seventeen stories to the courtyard. By the time he reached the ground, gray cloaked arcane students and guards fell in step with him.

  The guards slowly brought in many heavy chests, the ones Kalzarius had returned with from Ansharr on Soujan Mountain. He pointed to where they should be placed, too weary and fatigued to speak simple commands, his focus was on all that moved in and out of the dangerous city. He looked at them, a pile of old chests with curled dark wood, and faded symbols of wolf heads in faded crimson upon the lids.

  Kalzarius smiled, reveling in his childhood fantasies of being a revolutionary swordsman knight. He was chosen for so much more, his gifts of the arcane and understanding the ways that magicks flowed and moved, were beyond his youthful skill with a blade. Now, even after he had passed the century mark of his years, Kalzarius of Harlaheim still grinned when his blood felt thoughts of revolution and swordsman duels.

  A tap on his shoulder let him know he had drifted off again, his students had become concerned more often. His powers, when exerted to limits that most would trade their souls to have, seemed to drain him into a slow daydream for hours on end. He rarely slept more than a few hours per week, his beard and hair of shining white and gray swirls did not grow anymore, yet matched his swirling tower in color and design more each year. It was a slow transformation, he knew, that used to happen to old archmages of centuries past. Kalzarius sighed, not wanting to dwell upon such dark and mysterious inner changes as of right this moment.

  “Thank you. How long was I there, dreaming again?”

  “Three hours, master.” The student kept her head low and respectful.

  “I see.” The old master of the arcane resolved to inspect this phenomenon within himself sooner than he had anticipated.

  “The three men, Balric, Richmond, and Rodreigo have arrived and are below. We were not followed, master. Sir Sebastian of Harlaheim---“

  “Is dead, I am aware and saddened. When the sun rises, take half the students and guards to where he was left, there are many more there. Use your channels and kinesis spells and see to opening the ground and interring the bodies into the earth. Touch nothing, but cover them quickly and return.”

  “Yes master. Should I send them up to see you?” The student bowed again, trying to hold her excitement from her voice at being given another assignment from the great Kalzarius.

  “Yes, yes, we have much to discuss.” He bowed as his gray garbed arcane pupil, one of so many. It left him with an energy he wished he had.

  Captain Jean-Ris bowed as he walked forward, his brow sweating from the long treks of stairs and tunnels in the heat of the summer humidity. Three figures stepped slowly behind him, yet before words were shared, he produced a rolled scroll of purple glimmering parchment.

  “A flying toad gave this to me, master Kalzarius.” The captain looked at his left shoulder, and indeed met the eyes of a green fat toad with bat wings folded neatly on its back.

  “This
toad, to be precise.”

  “Lassado of Eisel Inne sends word from Shanador, in peculiar fashion as always. Thank you, captain.” Kalzarius took the scroll of odd color, reached his hand to the magically altered amphibious avian toad, and sat down slowly into a red velvet chair.

  As he began to open the scroll, prying eyes of the toad overlooking from his shoulder, the great wizard of Harlaheim motioned for his three guests to sit. He read the words of his distant friend, one of the only three masters of arcane tutelage that still taught on the continent. Kalzarius at the mighty Marble Tower in Harlaheim, Aelaine Lazlette and her four towered Semanarium Arcanum in Vallakazz, and Lassado of the domed fortress of Eisel Inne outside the capital of Shanador, were all that remained today.

  Dearest fellow Masters of Magicks

  Recently, I have left the council of Shanador, and I was paid little mind as always. However boring and tedious the discussions of old low kings, their knights, their chattering ladies, and my great High King Borgaine and Queen Findyra the fair may have been, I did receive an awakening snore that brought my attention to great curiosity.

  It seems that Gwenneth Lazlette and four cohorts have crossed through southern Shanador, and without a visit to me. Besides being mildly offended, which I will soon recover from with aid, I heard they were wanted and hunted by Altestan, some spider organization, Armondeen, and now Willborne. After my laughter subsided, I heard that they seek the ruins of fabled Mooncrest to the west. I laughed some more. Then, I heard that a caravan of exiled refugees follows them. I watched the prodigal daughter of Lazlette until she passed into a cursed realm that I could no longer scry.

  I would much like to know why and how Gwenneth Lazlette carries the legendary staff of Imoch the Eternal, and how she was allowed to learn such powerful incantations as I witnessed. Perhaps you were also unaware, but she assisted in thwarting a mighty dragon and drove off a giant castle in the sky not too long ago. They are most sought after, yet Shanador is reluctant do do more than watch and let them pass through. So, I assume you would like my assistance. I will go to Evermont and assist as best I can, since you know low king Symond and I are close friends and lovers of tea and history. Next time, keep me better informed.

  Lassado of Eisel Inne,

  Lastly, please feed mighty Titan, my most reliable messenger. When he gets hungry, well…do not let him get hungry, and we leave it there.

  Kalzarius laughed loudly, not having spoken to Lassado in many years. Through arcane accident, his friend had forgotten his own last name many decades ago, before they had met. To this day, though mildly insane and prone to odd conjurations and strange experiments, Lassado had not been able to find trace of his name nor lineage. All he knew, was Lassado, which meant mighty beast, in a long lost Altestani dialect, supposedly. He also named his tower Eisel Inne, which sounded much like Acelinne. This was to ensure he would find his way home, as he often got lost, and his tower of study was indeed in the capital of Shanador.

  Kalzarius looked to the toad on his shoulder. It fluttered its bat wings and blinked. “Titan?”

  Croak…croak…

  As Titan the toad croaked, the scroll went up in a flash of purple laughter and sparkling dust.

  “I have gnats surely trying to seek what lies in my kitchen, ninth floor, help yourself. I will have a message to return to your master in a few hours.” The master of the Marble Tower nodded as the bat wings lifted the fat toad off toward the stairs.

  Kalzarius wiped his brow, wisked his hand through the glittering dust, and thought of the here and now. Sir Sebastian, likely the knight with the most knowledge of Harlaheim, was dead. Balric sat quietly, full of anger, deep in thought. Richmond looked as though he had been sobbing, and his gaze upon the floor was distant. Lord Rodreigo from Caberra held firm, his face showed resolve and purpose, the old mage knew he was ready.

  With a gesturing finger, two old books lifted from shelves in the dark room above the grand city. Kalzarius snapped his fingers, candles lit with magical light from all around, and the books floated to a table of brass and oak. Staff in hand, he walked slowly over to the table, and motioned with his eyes for his three guests to meet him there. Richmond was the last to rise, only following the other two men like a lost puppy it seemed.

  “I know of Sir Sebastian, and we will each mourn him when time allows. For now, we have much to plan.” He paused as the pages opened at his silent arcane command.

  “You three are the most wanted men in Harlaheim, having you here is a great danger to me, my students, and my college. So what we do from here out, must be done in the fashion of disguise and stealth, with no room for error.”

  “What we do? I do not know what you are referring to, old man.” Balric rolled his eyes in frustration.

  “If you mean to give up, master D’Vrelle, inform me now. My blood is Harlian, it screams for freedom, tradition, and revolution with every beat of my heart.” Kalzarius looked very serious to the younger swordsman.

  “We are beaten, but not dead. The fight goes on.”

  “I..there is…what possibly could we do besides killing, another war…our true enemy is not even here in Harlaheim. Damn it all to the hells! What do you think we can accomplish?! Who do we target? Phillip? That solves nothing! You see, there is no point.” Balric paced, fumed, yelled out his frustrations.

  “Balric, I barely know you at all, but I know of whom you have served and trained with. You, my deadly spy, are invaluable here. You have the streets of this city, above and below, memorized. You know the White Spider, you know how they move and where they are. You know our enemy, better than anyone.” Kalzarius turned to Richmond.

  “You, sniveling former king that tried to see me ruined, yes you, Richmond. You know the nobles, the politics, and who can be bought and who not. I would wager you know L’Herrim like the end of your pointy nose, and that we will need. Not that I want you on the throne again, but at least it is who belongs there in lieu of who has taken it falsely. You are needed, like it or no.” Kalzarius turned to Rodreigo.

  “My lord from Caberra, you must be the hope to hold these two together. They both have lost all, or close to it, would you help them to any end and see these atrocities undone?”

  “I could have left to Caberra some time ago, had I not known God placed me here for a purpose, old wizard. What is your plan?” Rodreigo bowed.

  “How well do we know our Agarian history, gentlemen?” He opened one of the books on the table.

  “Well enough, but likely not as well as you.” Balric retorted, sighing yet he approached the tomes and looked.

  He spoke as if to a class, watching the attentions of the three men focus on his words. “The last time there was an organized revolt, one that spanned many kingdoms mind you, was the time of the receding floods over four centuries past. Altestan had occupied every kingdom, save parts of Shanador, Harlaheim, Willborne, and Chazzrynn. Against that occupation, men from thrones to trenches, noble and common, all allied in secret under a banner. They---“

  “But we do not fight Altestan, Kalzarius. We are not warring against an enemy above ground, one that is obvious. This is different.” Balric argued.

  “No, not yet. But, our enemy has woven themselves into every city on Agara. Has not Johnas Valhera taken two kingdoms now by his manipulations and---“ Kalzarius was interrupted again.

  “Three. He has three kingdoms, Willborne is now his ally.” A shorter stocky Caberran man bowed as Cilano led him to the western room on the seventeenth floor. Then he drew his curved shamshir and stared at Richmond the Second.

  “Prince Willian dell Barrato, what are you doing here?” Lord Rodreigo bowed low and took a knee.

  “I thought you were Wil dell Escada, a noble courier from the courts of---“ Cilano gripped his staff, not knowing what was about to happen.

  “We have assumed you were dead, Lord dell Amarr. I would have expected, Rodreigo, that this king was dead also. If no, and obviously that is the case, I would have assumed you wo
uld have corrected that for my late sister, Rosana.” Prince Willian of Caberra stepped forward with purpose, right toward the former king of Harlaheim.

  “My prince, he did not kill her, he executed a likeness in the guise of his seneschal, a seneschal who posed as your sister. We do not know the fate of Rosana, but she was not killed by this man.” He kept his bow, knowing he was not to interfere with the noble family of his kingdom.

  “Regardless of your lack of proof, you were rumored wanted or dead, she is missing, and my father and older brothers wish answers. The king of Caberra commands justice!” His curved blade raised regardless, his steps straight at a wide eyed Richmond. The blade struck out, and met the quick drawn sabre of Balric D’Vrelle, a perfect parry.

  “You defend this wretch? Then I challenge you, whoever you are that would protect such a man.” Prince Willian stepped back on guard.

  Clang

  Clang

  Clang

  Three quick strikes, one at the high edge of the shamshir, the second near the hilt, third middle to middle, and the blade was skittering across the stone floor. Balric glared, having just disarmed a foreign prince who wanted Richmond dead, in the tower of Kalzarius of all places.

  “Challenge accepted, whoever you are.” Balric sheathed his blade.

  Richmond drew his golden rapier, used only once ever in combat, and stood with his chin raised toward the young prince of Caberra.

  “I accept your challenge. Balric, I will fight my own fights, and accept my death for all I have done.”

  “Likely the first noble words you have ever spoken, Richmond.” Prince Willian picked up his blade and stared at the corrupt former king.

  Balric drew his sabre out again and held it low at his side. “Should you win, Prince of Caberra, you will face me after.”

  “And should you prevail over my prince, I will cross steel with you, Balric D’Vrelle.” Lord Rodreigo drew his shamshir and stood stoic and regal, his smile long gone from his tan face.