The Last Pantheon: of hammers and storms

by Jason Jones

  James nodded, looked at the still and cold body of Gwenneth and this green robed woman. He did not know why, he did not ask, but he felt that all would be well. He felt the Goddess tell him, he felt Alden say it to his heart, and he wiped his eyes dry.

  James saluted Cristoff with his griffon hilted broadsword, and five hundred Harlians returned the salute, then five hundred Shanadorians saluted him, and he marched up next to Shinayne, Saberrak, and Azenairk. They looked to him, without words spoken, and they knew he was ready.

  Stomp, stomp, stomp!

  James glared at the approaching army. He saw them separate. One legion went west, one east, and two made for the north bridge that Zen had recreated. A reserve legion held back, quarter mile from the outpost. He glanced over the temple district, all in silence, waiting for an order from someone. Zen nodded to him, as did Shinayne, then Saberrak. He looked behind him, receiving the same bows of respect from Codaius, Jardayne, Cristoff, the dwarves, and even Kaya T’Vellon. He saluted the approaching forces, eyes on Harron, and he marched north to the bridge. As he stopped, James turned and pointed his blade where he spoke.

  “Take one army west, one east, and the rest of us hold here in the center. Stay clear of the ravine until after the archers fire, and stay low. Once we engage them, keep them bottled upon the three bridges, or below, but do not take them head on and allow their numbers to surround or overrun. If they make it to the city, and get behind us, it is every man for himself. Gods help us.” James nodded, received an array of salutes and affirmations, and then he turned alone on the north bridge.

  Zen whispered to Tannek Anduvann, and marched behind James.

  “Dwarves of King Thalanaxe, to the west bridge, march!” Tannek, Drodunn, and Dalliunn lead the half legion to their left.

  “Forces of Evermont, with me, to the east bridge!” Knight General Jardayne saw the Armondi cavalry head east, the reserves were lined up there as well, and if they went for the caravan, his cavalry would be the only force fast enough to reinforce Julia Whiteblade. Sir Codaius raised his blade, and five hundred horsemen headed right.

  Cristoff motioned his blade forward, and the rest went to meet the two legions at the north bridge. Half a legion of Harlian soldiers with Leonard and Karai, elven archers, priests of Siril, two golden minotaurs, three hiroon wolf lords, a unicorn, a cyclops, a knight of Southwind Keep, a hunter of the Hedim Anah, and Kaya T’Vellon, all followed the heroes of Mooncrest.

  James stood at the edge of the bridge, then Shinayne, then Saberrak, and then Azenairk. James looked to Shinayne, and she to him. He spoke softly.

  “For Gwenneth, to whatever end.”

  “To whatever end, all the way, and for Gwenne.” Shinayne nodded to Saberrak and drew her blades, Loestiri in her left, Carice in her right.

  “For honor and freedom, and the lady of Lazlette.” Saberrak huffed and looked to Zen, then twirled his greataxes and lowered his horns.

  “vuum…ber.” Zen whispered, as loud as he could, but they heard him. He pounded his hammeraxe to the crescent shield, and raised it high.

  “Vuumber!”

  They roared for Azenairk, it echoed back from the dwarves to the west, then back from the eastern cavalry, then from everyone in the city that stood in defiance of wicked men.

  Lavress stepped up next to Shinayne, then Kaya next to Saberrak, then Arylius and Ihros Seeing-owl as well. Liogan Andellis stood next to Sir Karai, who was next to Cristoff Bradswellen, and then Sir Leonard was next to Aariss Diravas. The sun was forcing rays through now, six, then seven beams of sunlight flooded a land that had not seen its warmth in over two milennia. The armies were ready, the storm was but a memory, and the curse of Arabashiel and Gimmor was undone. The armies of Armondeen charged them, and they stood, prepared to die for the lands they had freed, and that so many had come to see them set free.

  Some may have thought to run into the city, to hide, but no one spoke it. They knew their heroes were done running. Then, they all watched as a wolf, a lone gray wolf across the ravine, it ran back and forth in front of James Andellis and his companions. The knight of Chazzrynn from Southwind Keep smiled, raised his blade to the charging forces, and looked up to the sky. His mind recalled the old wives tale of Chazzrynn, and his battle in the Western Wastes.

  “The lone wolf, it stalks our ruins, may we live without fear this day.”

  Curses IV:IV

  Northern Hills

  Kingdom of the Crescent Moon

  “Redemption is the most painful experience a mortal will ever endure, for its necessity is usually realized only at the end of ones life.”---Spoken by Tarell of Justice to the conquering Altestani forces, last of the Knights Soujan to die defending the Temple of Mooncrest, moments before his beheading.

  Circa 1684 B.C.

  The Nadderi elf dodged left and the boneblade cut a tree branch in half. He rolled right, just as Kashtamias breathed an acidic black cloud to where he had been. The grass on the ground withered and died with the ash and acidic spray. Kendari ducked the shield of bone, feinted to leap up, and rolled between the demon’s legs. With a quick spin and another roll, he cut twice with Shiver and twice with the holy longsword, dropping the knight of hell to his knees as blood poured to the earth.

  On his feet just in time, the clawed wing slammed into the ground and sent a shower of dirt right behind him. Kendari had severed off the other wing at the bone, and it was still smoldering not twenty feet over in the grove of trees atop the hill they battled upon. The cursed swordsman turned behind a thick pine, hearing the demon get to his feet.

  The tree toppled over from the mighty demons’ weapon, and Kendari lunged forward as it crashed. Branches shattered and snapped into twigs, leaves smoldered as the infernal being marched through, swinging his blade wildly at the Nadderi elf.

  He parried with both blades crossed and was hurled back through the air. Kendari landed and rolled, and sprung up to his feet just as fast. He sidestepped right, ducked the shield, and cut twice into the thigh of Kashtamias. The sword came down, he spun left, and slashed Shiver across its forearm and the crossblade dove into its abdomen. The cursed elf got his arms up in front of his face as the blade swung again, impacting on his bracers, and sending him back twenty feet into a thick pine. Kendari stumbled to his feet and hid behind the tree, blood running down the side of his face. The demon was as strong as twenty men.

  “Your torment will be eternal, Kendari. I shall tell every demon in all the hells to be waiting for you!” Kashtamias was in pain, yet his fury was greater, and he stalked ahead.

  “I have kept immortals waiting for me over four centuries now, I would tell them not to hold their breath.”

  Kendari ran at the tree ahead of him, just as the boneblade severed his tree in half. He jumped, kicked off of the trunk, and dove through the air backwards, past the demon.

  Kashtamias felt two cuts across his face and neck, one burned hot and the other smoldered his blood and flesh with sacred light. He spun to strike the quick elven blasphemer, but his blade and shield caught only air. He sensed that the Nadderi was behind another tree, and then he was gone. The demonic knight sensed him nowhere.

  Kendari placed his glove back over his hand, knowing the onyx ring only had the power to conceal his presence from detection for a few minutes. He slid his blades back out, quietly, and peered around the tree. Kashtamias was looking south, toward where the sound of battle was, and his wing was slowly regrowing from the cleaved spike of bone protruding from its shoulder. He saw the other wounds healing as well, slowly, but the blood had stopped and the cuts were thinning. Kendari knew he had little time and this demonic noble would not simply tire or bleed out.

  You had better be watching, and keep in mind that this goes above and beyond our bargain, Seirena.

  As fast as his elven legs would move, he spun round the tree, and charged the winged black demon that stood over twice his height. His feet stepped left, right, left again, and then he rolled with the strike of the bonebla
de. Kendari slashed with Shiver into the infernal weapon, cut with his right into the demon’s swordarm, then ducked the shield meant for his head. Two more cuts into the right forearm, and the infernal creature reared up to cut him in half. Kendari waited, he did not feint, and the swordblow came.

  At the last moment, he crossed his arms, locking his enchanted bracers across one another, and took the blade and all the force behind it. His feet scraped back through the earth, sparks flew, and his arms rang with pain. He held onto his swords, grimaced, and gritted his teeth. The shield slammed into his side and cut his head, still he held tight. Just as Kashtamias pulled his arm up, and Kendari with it, the Nadderi wrapped his forearm over the bleeding arm of the demon. He flipped Shiver over in his hand, reared back, plunged it straight through the elbow of his enemy, and pinned it sizzling into the tree.

  Kendari let go, the shield smashed into the branches right above his head, and he dove the holy longblade in a massive dragging slash as he fell, all the way from its chest to its groin. As he landed, blood dumped all over the ground, as did demonic entrails. Kendari did not stall, and he put two hands on the blade hilt, then chopped below the knee of the demon. Right before the hot black breath came, he leapt ahead behind his foe.

  “Roooaaarrreeeeaarg!”

  Kashtamias pulled with all his might, and tore his arm free, from the elbow up. He looked, his forearm was still stuck to the tree with the smoldering hot longsword through it, his boneblade in the severed grip. He fell to his stump of a knee as his blood poured from his missing arm. He fell forward, but turned and swung his shield out wide behind him in desperate fury.

  Kendari fell backwards after the blow struck him solid, rolling over and over from the impact. His shoulder was numb, his ribs ached, and his nose was bleeding. He shook his head, staggered to his feet, unable to see straight as one eye was swelling shut fast. He fell back down, his head was spinning and blood ran down his ears and face. The Nadderi heard hooves racing close from the north, he heard the demon inhale deep, and he sprang to his feet and dove to his right. The ground burned with infernal flames, his mouth poured blood, yet Kendari was up.

  He wiped his face free of blood and ran toward the demon. Kashtamias looked, one leg, one wing, and one arm remaining, and dropped his shield. Kendari saw it, still ran, and just as the demon went to grab him, he slid low on his knees, arched his back underneath, the blood and entrails making for slick ground.

  In the flash of an instant, Kendari was up and face to face once more with the knight of hell, and this time holy blade of Cristoff went clean into its chest. Then it dove into the demon’s left side, then plunged again center, and cleaved its other arm off. Kendari slashed it back into the chest until Kashtamias started to smolder and scream.

  Kendari backed up, stumbling, and leapt into the air. He grabbed Shiver by the hilt, kicked off the tree with his feet, and pulled it free. Just as the severed arm hit the ground, Kendari slashed both blades across the neck of the son of Shukuru, and the head fell to the ground.

  The Nadderi elf backed up staggering, as flames of black and red smoldered the corpse. Gouts of blood incinerated the air, the boneblade and shield evaporated, yet the eyes of Kashtamias stared at him with infernal red hatred.

  “I will not forget this, Kendari of Stillwood, your soul is….”

  The last words faded from the burning remains of the knight of hell, the eyes were no more inside the black horned skull, and the flesh decayed into ash. Kendari stumbled as blood ran down his face, he stabbed his blades into the earth, fell to his knees in pain and fatigue, then to the ground.

  The deer rushed upon the hill, kicking and trampling the remains, trying to help. The Nadderi was still and unmoving, with fear in its heart, the deer trampled the already dead knight of hell. Seeing it was finished, the deer stood over still Kendari, guarding him, protecting the victorious swordsman who had slain Kashtamias and sent him back to the where he came from. The deer puffed its chest, then nuzzled the elf’s face, still he did not move. He raised his head high, as if he had a rack of twenty horns in which to guard this elf, and listened to the air.

  Someone told him to hide Kendari, so the deer went to forage for branches and leaves. Piece by piece, the young deer covered the unmoving elf from view.

  Exodus IV:XI

  Northern Outskirts

  Ruins of Mooncrest

  “Brother, break them west and surround them with one legion, take to the trenches if you must!” Harron roared in anger as they charged their army south.

  “Yes, my lord!”

  “Yaelsh, two legions with me, we take the center!” He yelled again.

  “I get the elves!” The Smiling Knight saluted and nodded.

  “My Prince, you stay with the reserves---“

  “I will not! Leave a sergeant for that, not the future king of Armondeen! I lead a legion east, against Evermont! I will have their heads for Freemoore!” Rohne would not listen to his father, and he yelled it over the trampling hooves and marching of thousands.

  “Damn it, stay back and watch, this is no place---!“

  “We have them nearly three to one! Pray I do not take the reserves to start on their helpless in the caravans!” Prince Rohne Viorius sneered and drew his blade.

  “You will follow my command, my orders, understood!?” Harron belted his voice as the armies charged.

  Rohne smiled, led his forces left and east, pretending not to hear his father.

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  Gwenneth stood before the statue of a robed man, it was a thousand feet tall. The world was green, empty, all except the steps of crystal green that spiraled up. Her form was weightless, gray, and she was mildly aware of what must have occurred. She floated up the steps, seemingly forever, and her thoughts drifted to James. She passed robed men and women that hung listless in the air, their mouths open in silent anguish, yet their dead eyes followed her. Books of arcane power and spells drifted in the vast empty emerald sky, parchments and scrolls rose and fell in the nothingness, and Gwenne reached the top of the stairs.

  “You have arrived, what a pleasure.”

  She looked at the head of the statue, then to a black throne on an emerald plateau over a bottomless pit of arcane energy. On the throne, where the voice came from, was a young man with white eyes and black robes. He smiled at her, stood up and hovered, then descended to the floor. His skin was dark, hairless, just like his head. He resembled the statue, or vice versa, a perfect duplicate.

  “Imoch the Eternal, I would presume?” Gwenneth bowed, still looking around in the green emptiness for a way out.

  “You are so very intelligent, young Lazlette. It will be an honor to keep you here, forever.” Imoch chuckled, his hands glowed white with arcane energies, and he hovered closer.

  “I will find a way out.” Her voice echoed, so she knew something was out there.

  “That is what the last two hundred and twelve wizards said over the last two thousand years. No one leaves, ever.”

  “You took me, you brought me here. Why?” Gwenneth looked to her hands, concentrated, and small flames appeared. They were gray and green, but they were there. She smiled.

  “I take all that wield me, eventually. Then, they become my slaves, drained of their memories and powers, and I grow stronger. Soon, perhaps after a few more centuries, I will return to the world.” Imoch saw her feeble fires, knowing that her arcane memories would soon fade, he had little time to consume her.

  “Your little spells will not withstand my ages of power, so do not even try.”

  Gwenneth looked over the edge, all up and down the gargantuan statue of Imoch. “You made that?”

  “Yes. impressive, is it not?”

  “No. But I will tell my friends there is someone with a larger ego than myself, when I see them again.”

  “You are dead, you have been dead for hours, and you are now mine!”

  Imoch thrust his hands into the air, summoning platforms of emer
ald covered in hundreds of moaning and praying robed spirits, all chanting his name. All long dead and serving their eternal master, the archmage Imoch inside the emerald prison of the staff.

  “Imoch, Imoch, Imoch!”

  “Now kneel, and embrace your eternity! Or I will destroy you in a way that you could never imagine!” His voice thundered across the inside realm of the emerald, shaking everyone and everything, except for Gwenneth Lazlette.

  “I think you are bluffing, but in just in case, here.” Gwenneth pointed her fingers, lightning sprang forth from each tip, and the green electricity slammed five times into the ancient archmage inhabitor of her staff.

  Imoch held up both his hands, catching four of the five bolts, the fifth burned a hold right through his chest. It mattered not, he was immortal here, but for the first time in two thousand years, he felt pain.

  “That little display will cost you your existence, woman!” He threw his hand forward, a dozen chunks of spinning sharp emeralds as large as galleons hurled toward Gwenneth with arcane power.

  “Visashul amarat!”

  She screamed, the arcane powers in the emerald were easy to manipulate, and the spinning chunks shattered with ease. Imoch looked surprised, rolled his unearthly sleeves up, and rose into the air in furious anger.

  “By the time I am done with you, that statue will look like me, and you all will be chanting my name. If it is eternity here, so be it. But, it will be my eternity!”

  Gwenneth rose up to meet Imoch the Eternal, high above the vast nothing, inside the emerald atop the staff. Furious fires bellowed, unknown incantations of power shot back and forth, and arcane mastery unleashed between them in a dazzling duel. A duel no one but they, would ever see.

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  James waited until the first soldier of the two thousand Armondi men touched the north bridge. Then, he charged. His friends charged with him, the bridge just wide enough for ten soldiers to cross abreast. Halfway across, he stopped and ducked, as did the others, and the arrows flew. Hundreds of flights from Aariss and the Riverbows whistled past and drew first blood, as Armondi soldiers fell to the ground full of flights.