The Last Pantheon: of spiders and falcons

by Jason Jones

  Kendari knew he could take all ten of the ogre himself and the thought crossed his mind to charge in now, forget the trolls, and defy his aging body. He was fighting his redundancy more than any enemy or target. He could kill five for Seirena, and five for Siril, and slaughter the foolish human for the Court of the Whitemoon. His thoughts tightened his grip on the hot blade in his right hand and that familiar smile creased his face.

  “Where is Avegarne, murderous coward of an ogre king? Where is your bastard army? When did you build that memorial?!”

  Kendari focused. The man was stumbling a bit, exhaustion, he thought, or perhaps a bit too much ale this morning. He began to wonder if the man might be insane or suicidal rather than brave, as the ten ogre surrounding him did not reply in Agarian, nor could they have built the fine graveyard he pointed at with his waving broadsword.

  “Fool.” Kendari listened close, heard more ogre from yet more passages into the ruins from underground. “Keep yelling idiot, you will have one hundred instead of ten soon.”

  “Avegarne!” the man roared again as the ogre stepped closer around him, laughing to themselves.

  “This shall be messy, even for you green bastards. Be ready.”

  Avegarne? Kendari thought, having heard that name, realizing that he indeed was the deformed king of the ogre here. He had seen him once, while selling slaves in Unlinn. How could this man know that, thought the elf, and why did he dare challenge him here and alone?

  Questions came faster than answers in the old mercenary’s mind, and he hesitated, daydreaming about the possibility of wanting to at least interrogate this human before killing him. Maybe he knew something of value that could lead to more things of value. Then, he would kill him.

  “Whats we do master, when wees kill more ogre and the humans one?”

  Kendari looked to his trolls and whispered.

  “On my order, we charge them. Leave the knight for me, kill the rest.”

  Knights I:III

  Ruins of Arouland

  Burning blood pumped hard in James Andellis’ head and his voice was beginning to go hoarse from the shouting. This was how he wanted it, to die surrounded by the ogre of the western waste, killing as many as he could in front of his brothers buried on the hill. Seven he had butchered this day, one by one, as they came toward him in the outer ruins. Each time he had assumed he would fall, yet the blade did its work, and he had prevailed. One at a time they had come, scouts and wanderers they had been.

  Not this time, not here in front of the interior walls, here they gathered in number around him. Ten he counted, all warriors, and just James stood before them.

  To die bravely with them watching, right where Arlinne fell so long ago.

  He steadied himself, sword pointed out on guard and shield ready. The resigned once knight said his prayer to Alden the merciful as he stumbled ahead to meet the ogre horde one last time.

  “For God and Heaven, my brothers, black on blue.” tracing the feathered cross left to right, then top to bottom and around as he spoke the phrase. His last thought, smiling as it came to him, was of wishing he had a bit of Caberran wine left from the journey. “May we live with Alden forever and have our sins washed clean by the tears of his angels.”

  The ogre, tired of bickering, began to raise clubs, spiked maces, rusty swords, and axes. They were shouting now about who would be the one to kill this ragged knight first. James stared at the largest one, nearly another man taller than he, scarred face, yellow tusks from his lower jaw, and the fearsome stare was returned. Ten now stared and laughed, tossing curses and slurs that James understood, but he had not the desire to retort in the tongue of the enemy.

  “Every damned one of you is dead to me, so let us spill blood. For Arlinne!”

  James stepped forward, sword raised in a salute, blade close to his nose. Then he lunged with all the weary energy he could muster. His left leg pushed down, right leg extended ahead, and his shoulder and elbow struck in a perfect attack. The slightest grin creased his lips.

  Perhaps the ogre failed to take him seriously, but not one of them moved. The ogre were silent, all was silent, and James wondered if he were dead already. He pulled the blade back from the ogre’s chest, blood staining the skinned hides and his steel with steaming crimson in the winter air. It fell to its knees, still staring, and fell into James’ shield. The ogre warrior slid off face first onto the hard ages old stone street. Without further hesitation, and a drunk's hope that he could win this fight after all, he raised his shield and blade again. The ogre roared, nine now that surrounded him. James roared back, all alone.

  A flash of steel, a bowstring, a slash of blades, James heard wind in his ears that sounded as if he were not alone. The ogre looked around, noises came in several directions, and James felt just as confused.

  Another ogre fell, gripping his back and roaring in pain, the handle of an axe rising from behind its shoulder. Screeching in the distance, trolls were on a charge over the ruined wall to his right. James deflected an axe blow with his shield, ducked another backswing and cut high. His blade sliced an ogre face, splitting it from ear to nose with an underhand cut, then he backed up. He blinked, confused. Too many things were interrupting his attempt at dying gloriously.

  Another ogre turned away, an arrow piercing through its ribs and the bestial battle calls and roars were deafening like thunder now. James noticed green lighted mist from the tip the ogre tried to remove and disbelief set in. Another ogre moved in, swinging for his legs, and the knight planted his shield to the ground stopping the blow short. He cut across the top of his shield, maiming the ogre's arm. Before it could rear another attack, James turned his wrist over and cut back a bit higher, slashing his enemy's throat like butter. It gurgled, and James’ shield pummeled it to the ground several times as it failed to regain its footing on smeared and red stained stone.

  What, in God’s name, is happening?

  The knight backpedaled, hitting softer ground now, off of the broken street. Yet another ogre fell from sight, yelling something of a curse in its chopped dialect and James distinctly saw an elven woman standing over it. Golden tan, beautiful, she plunged two curved blades into the beast's chest as it struggled to reach her face with a dying arm. Behind her, a gray minotaur crashed into another ogre warrior and the two rolled across the hard ground. A forest satyr released another arrow into the fray, hitting his mark as another ogre turned away. James stared, his head tilted, still pursued by ogre twice his size.

  I am dreaming, too much wine. Alden, why do you curse me with these fantasies in my last moments?

  A club hit James in the shoulder, glancing off and nicking his ear and bringing him back to the moment. He snapped back to the front, finding only two ogre there now, the rest facing trolls behind this one.

  Trolls as well? Minotaurs, elves, this is a dream, or this is hell. Alden has condemned me.

  The club came again and James met it with his shield head on, his arm numb from the ringing pain of the mighty attacks. Another over his head, and he ducked the onslaught, piercing the forearm of the ogre with his broadsword and then slashing low twice across the belly. More roaring in unrivaled pain came from his bleeding enemy, and James readied a finishing lunge when the ogre's head dropped to his feet from the blade of yet another ally. Then another ogre fell to his left, steel longblades flashing through ogre flesh, but not his blades. James looked straight ahead as the ogre bodies fell to death.

  Another elf it was, pale, dark haired, and with black swirls of intricate vein design covering his flesh, all but his grin and deep eyes. He was clad in black, and not near as alluring as the female he had seen briefly on the ever-filling field of battle.

  “Well met elf, you all arrived at…who the hell are you?”

  The blade cut the knight's arm at the shoulder and searing heat doubled the pain of the wound that made a slight sizzle through his tabard. He did not even see the strike, just a glimpse of silver across the gray sky. James gritted his teet
h in a quiet burst of pain, surprised and off guard, stifling his lungs’ desire to scream from the burn. The smell of burned cloth, hair, and skin permeated the cold air about him. His chain links slashed through, tabard smoldering, James tightened his grip and raised his shield.

  “Well met indeed. Kendari of Stillwood.” replied the cursed swordsman with a smirk, one hand on another blade still sheathed at his side and stepping in for the kill.

  “Finish these ogre and their allies off, beasts!”

  James Andellis saw trolls getting back up from the ground, fighting and clawing at ogre warriors. The gray minotaur was pulling his axe from an ogre, his horns dripping red, while arrows with green mist were flying through the air. Confusion set in, his mind went cloudy. Another perfectly laid attack toward the drunken knight was blocked by his shield just barely in time considering the inhuman speed of the strangely marked adversary. James tried to riposte, but the blade pulled too much pain from the wound in his shoulder and the elf deflected the broadsword effortlessly.

  “Why…are you…attacking…me?” His arm burned, his shield was barely blocking the effortless attacks, and James felt a painful sobriety rushing in his veins.

  “Your blade has value…” Kendari slashed twice at the falcon shield, then peered around, making eye contact. “…you however, do not.”

  Kendari spun low under the weakened guard of the man in front of him, and cut at the thigh, perfectly across and even, back on guard as he continued his steps. The human went down on that knee, pain shooting through the leg, his chain mail cut through. More heat and blistered skin forced him to scream out this time as he fell to the ground with shield raised, and his sword dropped.

  “Less than impressive, knight, truly disappointing to say the least.” The Nadderi paced around by the blade, kicking it out of reach. Kendari looked up, seeing his trolls doing what he had expected, getting pummeled by the ogre yet keeping them distracted enough, and to their credit, returning to the fight quickly as their wounds rapidly healed. Kendari surveyed the area for the archer that had been annoying at best. A satyr, he confirmed. Just in time, gazing to his left, Kendari saw a flash of gray hurdle over a falling troll. It was coming straight at him, head and horns lowered. Kendari knew minotaur tactics well, and he flattened himself instantly to the snowy grass next to the knight he had defeated. The horned charge missed him by inches and crashed into the grove of trees behind him.

  “That was close, was it not?” he sneered, face to face with a half conscious victim. Within a blink, the elven swordsman was on his feet where he widened his stance, lowered his balance, and awaited the return of the gray minotaur.

  “While we wait, I do take opportunity to know who it is I kill, when time allows.”

  “Go to hell, bastard!” James lifted his shield and tried crawling backwards across the slick cold grass and snow.

  “That is the usual response.” Kendari lifted his blade and sidestepped close enough to plunge the blade down into the chest of this helpless man.

  Shinayne quickened her pace, sidestepping ogre and troll attacks, arrows from Bedesh covering her from behind. She avoided the beasts that were busy killing each other. She gripped her blades tightly, spinning the curved short blade every few seconds, concentrating on the elf across the field of battle. Her thoughts connected with her emotions; fear, anger, and disbelief swirled as one. The woman had never seen an elf with the Nadderi curse, yet all her senses and memory told her what this elf was and she knew it had to be put to death. No elf could allow a Nadderi to live. They were allowed to let them wander the forest of eternal night to find their place to die and reflect, but they were never allowed to escape, let alone raise an army of trolls. This rogue elf was nothing more than a fugitive of final orders from Siril and a curse on the world that needed to be put down like a sick animal. Hatred fueled her steps closer as Shinayne T’Sarrin closed within reach. Her longblade drew within inches of the elf’s back, the shortblade on guard.

  “Drop your weapons Nadderi, and this will be quick,” she ordered in elven, receiving strange looks from the confused and injured human he stood over. She was ready to strike this cursed one through the back if necessary.

  “An elven noble’s voice, if I ever heard one, how did I get so lucky on such a dismal winter day?” Kendari’s voice reeked of contempt and sarcasm, his hand tight on his lowered blade, his left hand inched up near his own neck.

  “Do not move, on your knees, now!” Shinayne growled, yet gave a quick raise of her chin as the human began crawling back and away.

  Kendari loosed the clasp with his free hand, not letting the woman behind him see. As the black cloak fell from his shoulders, he was in full roll forward and turning round on his high leather boots. Her blades cut through the garment, cuts that would have put the old cursed elf down for good had he been there.

  Shinayne pressed on, swinging outside to inside with forward cuts and thrusts of her curved longblade, and shorter direct cuts with the elven shortblade. Kendari deflected each attack with precision and amazing speed, backing up carefully in time with the offense from the beautiful woman. His ripostes aimed at the shoulders and body, and she parried with the short blade, keeping her distance with the longsword out in front.

  Kendari smiled, turning sideways to dodge a thrust from her off hand, cutting down with his heated straight blade, which was blocked by an upward cut from her. Toe to toe, her blades directly toward his chest on every swing, Kendari cut at her hair, taunting her to move in closer. Shinayne double blocked the longsword with both her weapons crossed. Simultaneously cutting out and forward after pushing her opponent back, she made contact with his elbow, cutting through the chain armor and drawing blood. Kendari’s smile widened, he moved faster on the back steps, parrying her increasing attacks, and giving himself space. Sparks and steel rang as if ten men were fighting at once.

  “I see you are serious here, highborn.”

  “I see you bleed already, Nadderi.” She replied.

  He taunted her with his smirks and green eyes staring into those amazingly bright aquamarine eyes so determined and full of hate. The Nadderi crossed his blade over to his left, drawing his second blade with the right, then flipped them across in dazzling fashion,. Kendari stood fast, holding one blade pointed down in a strange reverse grip, the other blade up and forward as normal.

  “Now we are a match.”

  Shinayne had no words, the exchange of steel had her focused beyond anything words could accomplish.

  Saberrak pulled his axe out of a troll’s ribcage, holding the body down with his heavy foot and chopped down again with both mighty hands on the handle. He severed the backbone and ended the screeching he despised. The ogre were down to four standing, he noticed, and seven of the trolls still fighting. He glanced at the foolish knight crawling to his feet using his sword as a crutch, and to the satyr out of arrows and fighting off a troll with his blade, moving and dodging claws more than anything else.

  Another quick glance at the elves, blades moving in and out, sparking the air. Saberrak assumed the woman had control by the constant retreating steps of the pale sickly one. A troll crossed his path heading east toward the human, who was in no shape to defend himself. Saberrak heard the shouts of the ogre to one another in their tongue, seeing them back toward the city walls, swarmed with the screeching fangs of angry trolls.

  Saberrak lowered his horns, axe in hand, beginning his charge of the troll he planned to crush from the side before it got to the helpless human. Over a crawling ogre, bleeding to death from the bites in his neck, and past another twitching ogre with a decapitated troll arm buried claws deep in its chest, he ran. The minotaur crashed horns first into the troll seconds before it grabbed its human meal. Tumbling end over end with the hissing beast in his grip, Saberrak held it close, horns buried in its side. Clawing at his face was blocked with the flat of his axe, and the gladiator stood up with the troll bent over his horns. It flailed in pain as Saberrak lowered his axe into posi
tion. With a heave from his massive quadriceps, he lunged up, and then dropped quickly, releasing the screeching beast into the air and solidly onto the upturned axe blade he held in place. It fell into two halves, splattering sickly blood across the snow. Feeling his muscles ache, burning from days of exertion and battle, the minotaur surveyed again with his dark tattooed eyes. He spotted dozens of ogre reinforcements traversing the steps from a high ruined wall some two hundred yards away.

  Good help for the troll problem thought Saberrak, but after that there would be a harder fight on their hands. He saw the curved horns, a dozen more ogre, and Chalas Kalaza the brown with them. They were two hundred yards at best, eyes on the blood soaked field of white and green winter ruins.

  “Shinayne, time to leave!” He bellowed with resolution, moving to pick up the injured man.

  “Hold it right there, beast. Are you---“

  Saberrak snorted and lifted the stinking and bleeding knight over his shoulder.

  Bedesh heard the order loud and clear, still being chased by a one armed troll and out of arrows. His eyes blinking feverishly, sword swinging wild without elven precision or knightly training, Bedesh kept eluding as best he could. Hearing some direction from the powerful and capable minotaur gave him confidence and relief. He ran to put more distance between him and the quickly healing trolls and closer to Shinayne, seeing her too far north with the other elf. Bedesh ran to assist and get his stubborn friend to head south away from the mass of ogre swarming to her end of the ruins.

  His sword was heavy even with two hands on the grip, but the satyr turned to swing at the troll he knew was close behind. His security and bravery doubled being near the minotaur and closer to Shinayne so Bedesh turned and planted his hooves in the cold ground to stand in battle like his allies. The troll, having regrown half its missing limb, did not care for this little horned one's confidence and crashed right into him full speed, the steel plunging through its ribs. Claws flailing, biting at Bedesh’s face, screeching in victory, the troll had the satyr pinned under its weight and slimy muscled skin.