The Last Pantheon: of hammers and storms

by Jason Jones

  “See there?”

  Zen saw it, he saw the red circle, the wicked men, and his friends. He gasped, though he felt no need to breath. He saw Gwenneth laying dead, Saberrak and Shinayne, and James all chained. It looked like a sacrifice and he turned his head back to his father.

  “We have to stop it, can we go down there!? Make him stop it, I need to speak to Vundren!” He struggled, but his father held him tight, he would not let him pass further.

  “Hold on me boy, hold on now.” Kimmarik wiped his eyes, kissed his son on the forehead, and looked him in the brown eyes with his sky blues. His voice trembled when he spoke.

  “Ye’ know that tunnel, one we just came out of?”

  “Aye, the one Sheldathain used to send out the box and his family and things, aye.” Zen turned to look again, then felt his father grab his jaw and turn him back by the beard to face him.

  “Why?”

  “Ye gonna go out that there secret tunnel, head a bit north, ye’ gonna have help waiting. I’m sorry son, but ye have to go now, it’s not yer time. Just let .. go…now…” Kimmarik Thalanaxe began to fade up to the clouds of heaven.

  Zen reached for him, his hands slipping through as if he was not there. He felt something wet on his face, more tickling, and he was falling now. He fell from the clouds, yelling for his father, faster and faster he fell.

  “Father!” Zen yelled up as loud as he could.

  “I love ye’, what’s happening, don’t let me fall!”

  “Fight…like…hell…son….see …ye’..soon…!” Kimmarik shouted from Mount Maonell, as loud as he could, and then he was gone.

  It went from white clouds to sandstone rock to darkness all in one second. Pain ripped through his neck and back, he gasped, yet it was grovelly and full of blood when he did. The cold stone floor was wet with his blood. He covered his hands over his throat, and then he felt the tickle again, and something wet on his face. It was lifting him, dragging him, and now carrying him.

  He tried to talk, but could not, the air just came and went in rasps. Suddenly, the forges lit with golden light, the braziers hummed and glowed white, and Azenairk Thalanaxe felt the healing touch of his prayer close his wounds. His hand was on his neck, his other on his hammer and moons, just like when he had thought it was over. He still could not talk, just a faint whisper, and he was exhausted beyond anything he felt before. Soldiers stomping ahead, everything moving, light to dark. Zen was confused.

  “Wh..o…wh…o….w….ho…..a….re…you?” His voice would barely come, his throat was torn inside, yet he could breath and the blood had stopped pouring.

  “Whoilli darrnii ierri uossiil?”

  Dalliunn Cloudwatcher carried Zen out of the forges, all the weapons of those he had tracked by smell, were across his back. The lewirja licked his face again, the whiskers tickled, and he bounded down the secret tunnel he had found in the mountains. He knew he had to get his bearded friend out of this place, back with the other bearded people.

  Dalliunn, by what grace o’ God is he doin’ here?

  Zen patted him on the head of rough coarse black hair, and smiled. He looked up and saw Dalliun was with watery eyes, and he held on tight as they ran out of the Kakisteele mines by the secret tunnel. Zen grabbed his Thalanaxe warhammer from the lion-man’s side, and lifted it up to his nose. He made a sniffing sound, pointed, and nodded. Dalliunn nodded back and growled, a feline grin came across his face. The light at the end of the tunnel was getting bigger, gray it was, the gray of the outside light. It blinded him for a few moments.

  Zen looked up, searching the sky for the Mountain of God, for Vundren, but all he saw was clouds. There was an encampment ahead, hundreds, thousands there, and he was confused. Dalliunn carried him, faster across the hills.

  “Oth…er…s?

  It was a struggle to speak, painful and whispered were his words, but he got them out. He saw feathered crosses on flags, Harlaheim banners as well, and dwarven standards that he remembered seeing not too long ago. Closer they came, the lewirja on a dead four legged run.

  “Yiiglli vunderalli criili birill issi ouromi allissi!”

  Dalliunn tried to tell him how many were there, about their journey, but he knew that Zen would not understand.

  Azenairk’s eyes closed again, exhausted, in pain, yet thankful to be alive. He prayed for his family, his friends, and thanked Vundren for the lewirja’s incredible sense of smell.

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  “Push, push, Rosana you have to push!” Drodunn begged. “The cord is cut girl, we don’t have the luxury o’ time then, for the baby. Push!”

  “I am pushing, ahhhhh! It is, ooohhh, ahhhhh, it hurts! I can’t!” Rosana was sweating, screaming in pain. She was not ready, the baby was coming, and she gripped Dodunn’s hand so hard her knuckles cracked.

  “I see it, I do. Boy got some hair he does!” High Hammer Brunnwik was on his knees, next to father Garret, watching the girl bleed something fierce.

  “And there he went, back in. Stubborn boy indeed. Sure he’s not a dwarf? Hairy, stubborn, ye’ never---“

  “Shut him up, please God, shut him up! Ahhhh!”

  “Rosana, the baby will be here soon. Have you a name so that I may ask Alden for his grace and blessed love to shine upon mother and child?”

  “Yes, with Cristoff’s permission…ahhhh, ohhh!” She bit her lip, the pain shot everywhere, even into her face, with every contraction.

  “State the name, my queen.” Cristoff had just walked in, armor half on, men holding plates up with straps. He was covered in sweat, having just raced back from Tintasarn.

  “Breathe Rosana, breathe deep and slow. Cristoff, will you be staying?” Garret was sweating now, nervous, Rosana had lost so much blood for such a petit woman.

  “I can’t push anymore, I can’t say the name, I can’t, I can’t! I am not ready for this, not yet!” She fell back in the bed of pillows and white sheets, fatigue taking over in between pushes. Her eyes rolled and she appeared to be drifting in and out.

  “Where is Cristoff?”

  Two squires were buckling his armor as Rosana pushed, the sound of forces in steel readying outside the tent echoed all around. Cristoff looked up as his belts and shoulderplates were finished, took his helm, and sheathed his sword. His cape came last, red it was, clasped at the shoulders. Lord Bradswellen looked magnificent in the silver plate armor of Herrimus, yet his eyes drifted to Rosana, his first love.

  “I am here.” His amber brown eyes looked into hers, and he put his armored hand out to touch her forehead.

  “You have my word, my solemn oath, I shall care for you and our child until death take me, my queen. Now, name him.”

  “It is not your child, my lord.” Rosana whispered with a smile, and put her hand on his beard.

  “I know, my queen.”

  “And I am no longer a queen. Why would you do me such honor and charity?”

  Cristoff hung his head low. He looked to the waiting eyes of Drodunn, Brunnwik, and father Garret D’Ourmas. They had a moments’ rest before it began again, but instead of washing or preparing, they listened.

  “I know. I know this boy is the son of my cousin, your late husband, and a great noble knight. I know we have not our titles in Harlaheim, and we are far from home. But, in this new home, he shall be my son. And, you will always be my queen, Rosana. I will not let such a noble boy grow without a father.”

  “Do you love me, Cristoff Bradswellen the Third?” She whispered.

  “Since the day I met you, two decades past, when you were but a Caberran princess, before you chose my cousin over me. And every day since.”

  She reached up and kissed him softly on the lips, eyes closed, and fell back to her pillows. His hand trailed through her short hair and over her shoulder as she came and went.

  “What strange lives we have led, our marriages, children, and then all of this adventure and tragedy.” She opened her eyes wider, the pain was coming again, bringi
ng her out of her listless state.

  “Yes, my queen. Alden moves in mysterious fashion sometimes.” Cristoff felt a tear hit his cheek, and he stood, bringing his regal posture back into place as three holy men stared and listened.

  “Alden requires a name, Rosana. The baby comes now.” Garret was teary eyed, knowing what honor Cristoff had in taking this child, this woman, as his own.

  “With your permission, Cristoff…”

  “Anything, my queen.” He looked at the tent, he could not meet her eyes, not after the kiss. His heart raced.

  “The child shall be named Savanno, Savanno Bradswellen the First, if it please you, my lord.” Rosana whispered, the pain was coming, she looked up to Cristoff with teary eyes. He was still.

  Garret waited, Drodunn and Brunnwik paused, even the squires of Cristoff stood still. They looked to Lord Cristoff, stoic and unmoving in his regal battle attire. His eyes looked down to the golden feathered cross around his neck.

  “I would…I would be most honored, my lady.” He exhaled as slow as possible, trying not to think of his cousin, the funeral, and keeping his emotions inside. He tried not to think of his wife and children far away in Caberra.

  “Most honored indeed.”

  “In Alden’s name, we pray now for Rosana and baby Savanno Bradswellen…” Garret made the sign of the cross on his chest, and everyone took a knee that could as he led them in prayer.

  “…may your grace and love shine upon us Lord, on this birth of a child, and we thank you for all you have given us. Please God in heaven, father of sacrifice, protect Rosana---“

  Kaya swung open the flaps of the tent, startling everyone inside.

  “Lord Cristoff, come quick!”

  “What is it Lady Kaya, Rosana is about to---“

  “It’s Dalliun, my lord, and, and… you have to come. One of ours has been attacked…they must know we are here. It is time.” Kaya turned fast as Cristoff bolted past her. Drodunn left as well, then Brunnwik. They did not get more than a few feet out.

  Dwarven soldiers gathered around and then parted for the lewirja friend of Tannek Anduvann. Men of Shanador watched in awe, and the army of Harlaheim stared, as a single beam of sunlight broke the clouds in front of the four legged lion-man, Dalliunn, who was carrying a blood covered dwarf toward the tents.

  Tannek ran out first, axe raised, looking around to see who had hurt one of his men. Cristoff and Kaya followed, then Brunnwik and Drodunn knelt to attend to him, all the while they searched the foothills and horizon for the enemy.

  “Who the hells told ye’ to scout out alone then? Dammit, and where be yer’ armor and boots…who done this to ye’ then, soldier?”

  Tannek froze as he did a double glance down. He had not sent any scouts out into the foothills, and this dwarf had a black beard, not red.

  “His throat be clawed and torn out somethin’ fierce, face and back cut up terrible too. Dalliunn, set him down now. And where the hells ye’ been, cat?”

  Drodunn pulled out his hammer and moons, started to pray, then saw that the wounds were already healed to a small degree. There was a hammer and moons around his neck as well. The dwarf was struggling, he did not want to lay down, likely in shock.

  “How did he survive? Look at all this blood, here.” Brunnwik knelt and inspected, saw all the dried blood, and despite the massive tears and claw marks across his neck, he was not bleeding.

  “Hold him down men, hold him hard, so we can save his life now. Probably never speak again, but---”

  Dalliunn was trying to say something, raising the warhammer. Drodunn was holding this dwarf down so they could pray. Brunnwik had started praying as other dwarves tried to get in to assist in keeping him still. Tannek was shouting orders for scouts to search the foothills. Cristoff and Kaya leaned over and started asking questions. It was a suffocating commotion, and Azenairk Thalanaxe had not the voice to emit more than a faint whisper that no one would hear.

  With all the energy he had left, he threw a cross right into Drodunn, then a left fist into Brunnwik, and slammed his blood crusted head into the chest of Tannek. All three dwarves fell back, just enough for him to get to his feet. Dwarves gripped his legs and arms, trying to hold him back down to be healed, assuming he was in delusion. Zen grabbed the shield of Mudren Sheldathain from the side of Dalliunn, took his helmet too, and reached for a waterskin from a soldier.

  “Fine, fine, tough lil’ bastard then? Let him drink first, then hold him down, he….he…oh by Vundren’s Holy Heart!” Tannek stepped back and he felt tears in his eyes.

  The water washed all over his shaved head, down his face and black trimmed beard. He wiped his face and wiped hard, then shook his head, and tossed the waterskin to the ground. He reached for the warhammer he traded to Dalliunn, and took it. He pounded it three times to the cross crescent shield and glared at the dwarves before him. He looked to them each as everyone stopped and stared, then glared to Cristoff, then to Kaya T’Vellon. His eyes went across to Sir Codaius, he could not believe that they were here. And, by the looks on their faces, they could not believe it was him. Azenairk nodded to Tannek Anduvann, and pointed with his weapon toward the ruins.

  “It’s King Thalanaxe, by Vundren’s grace, ye’ be alive.” Drodunn stared, as did Brunnwik beside him, both forgetting the punches they just received.

  “What..what…happened me king…? I, brought yer’ armor, and some…men…to ye. Is it you then?” Tannek stumbled for words as he fell to a knee. His lewirja friend patted him on the shoulder.

  “Dalliunn found ye’, didn’t’ he then?”

  Dalliunn nodded to Zen, then to Tannek. The former marshall looked at the bloody mess of Zen and his martial composure was broken, he let the tears fall silently down his face. He wiped quick and sniffled as he took a knee before his new king. The other dwarves followed, all kneeling as they rushed in close.

  “Me king, tell us what has happened.”

  Zen handed back the warhammer to the lewirja, nodded, and patted him on the head. He touched his neck, and shook his head to the no.

  “Aye, ye’ cannot speak, we will get the priests on that rightly then. But, ye be alive, me king.” Tannek looked behind him, to his dwarven sergeants, and nodded to them. They ran fast into the encampment.

  “We got somethin’ for ye, aye we do.”

  Three more times did Zen pound the steel shield with his fist and pointed into the ruins, his expression serious as the grave, and tears were in his eyes. He looked frustrated, sad, and worried. Then he grabbed his warhammer back, and pounded more.

  “What’s he sayin?” Drodunn tried to see clearly, as now nearly one thousand men and dwarves were surrounding them, all trying to get a look.

  “Vu……vu……vu…..!” Zen whispered as loud as he could, trying to speak, pounding his fist to his shield. With so much noise, it was impossible to be heard.

  Cristoff spoke over the commotion, seeing that Zen wanted to speak.

  “Silence!” His armor, enchanted as it was, echoed his voice throughout the camp and caravan behind. Everyone quieted, man and dwarf alike. Even the lewirja stopped chattering.

  Zen nodded to Cristoff, then tapped his hammer three times hard to his shield, and whispered, exaggerating his mouth as he spoke, as loud as his injuries allowed. His eyes were still tearing, thinking of his friends inside the ruins, not one mile west of here.

  “Vu….vuum…..vuumb…..er.” He pounded wildly on his shield, then grabbed his hammer and moons, praying that they would understand. It came out faint, just a whisper on the wind.

  “Vuumber? Where? We knows o’ the army, yer majesty, we knows---“ Tannek felt a tight grip of a hand on his arm.

  “What is Vuumber?” Kaya asked quick.

  “Means war, a battle chant to Vundren we do, when we charge into….oh no.” Tannek looked to Zen.

  “Zen, where are the others? Where are they?” Kaya knew already, she felt it. She saw the look on Zen’s face, his terrible knowing glare full of tear
s, and he pointed with fatigued relief at the ruins of Mooncrest.

  “In there? They are in the ruins? Do the Armondi soldiers have them?” Kaya did not want the answer.

  Zen fell to his knees, nodded, and nodded over and over while he pointed west. He was near naked, blood covered, exhausted, and maimed. He tossed the hammer back to Dalliunn, but it thudded to the ground. Dalliunn was already gone. He spun to look, the lewirja was a half mile ahead, nearing the outskirts of the ruins, with the weapons of his friends he had gathered. All alone on a dead run that none could hope to keep pace with.

  “Are they captured, Zen, you are sure?” Kaya sniffled a bit, but held back her tears as Azenairk nodded. She looked to Cristoff.

  “We must go.”

  “You know what odds we face if we do. It will be a slaughter, Kaya.” Cristoff spoke softly, yet Zen heard it.

  Tannek ran to the wagon led by his men, he opened the sarcophogous on top. He motioned for Zen to come. Instead, he ran back to the waving hand of his new king, and was grabbed by the beard. Everyone stared as Zen Thalanaxe whispered and shouted with his meek voice, right into the ear of Tannek Anduvann. He gripped his fists, stomped when he spoke, and pointed more times than anyone could keep track of. He likely did not know how he whipped Tannek’s head about by the red braids. Then it stopped, Zen pointed to everyone, and stood with his arms crossed.

  “Me new king, Azenairk Thalanaxe o’ Kakisteele, has a few words he wanted me to speak outloud for ye’ then.” Tannek cleared his throat. He heard three steps behind him, his king moved up, whispering more into his ear, yet it looked like shouting.

  “Go ahead, master Anduvann.”

  Cristoff rubbed his brow, hearing thunder faintly to the east, where the caravan was. The former lord of Saint Erinsburg looked to his people, his knights, all those gathered here in force. Fifteen hundred in all that could hold a weapon and fight, one and a half legions to face five legions of Armondeen.

  “King Thalanaxe says to tell ye’ that he done carried holy relics, passed down through four dwarven kingdoms, and until his father passed, never thought o’ what he done encountered on this journey. No one believed in it, yet he carried on. Then he met four friends that believed in it with him, enough to put their lives in jeopardy.” Tannek breathed in and listened to the whispering shouts in his ear.