The Last Pantheon: of spiders and falcons

by Jason Jones

  “You would not dare, rebellious one, for I would tell my mistress about the incident with the Tandorial demon you summoned into this very chamber.” Hithins craned his neck back, egotistical as usual, his refined voice so unbefitting a scavenger bird.

  “Is that so?”

  “It is, dear Gwenneth. Or perhaps I could share the real reason Jamai Tanzikahn of Jal-Adeen missed coronation last year with a case of nightmares and delusions that took weeks to dispel.”

  “That little teacher's pride deserved everything he received for telling my mother I possessed the ability to conceal myself within the walls of this college and had been doing so. And the demon was an accident of simple mispronunciation. I destroyed the little nuisance quickly, if you recall.”

  “You, my lady, just keep those striped rabbits coming from wherever you get them, and our engagements will remain confidential. You know how Aelaine despises my love of real food, so we have an arrangement, but no more demons please, no matter how small and manageable they may be. That smell of acidic blood after you scorched its flesh was enough for an eternity of servitude.”

  “So, yes or no? You avoid the question.”

  “Fine, learn what you will then. I have seen nothing.” Hithins ruffled his wings and raised his neck in defiance.

  “Good.”

  The white vulture turned his neck down, eyes turning bright orange, shining toward the door. “She is coming, your glyph failed young Lazlette!” His well spoken voice trembled in fear of what Aelaine would do to him if she found him betraying her.

  “It did not fail, Hithins, she must have noticed it and bypassed it, making her presence untraceable by magical means. She suspects something. Not a word.”

  Gwenneth waved her left hand quickly, closing the book with magical wind, careful not to touch it as it floated on the invisible airs she created and back onto the top shelf in its place fifteen feet from the ground. She knew, had she touched it, her mother would be able to tell with arcane divinations who had last handled the tome.

  The lights of all colors of green and white and orange lit up around candles and torches of an enchanted nature, shedding an aura throughout the giant study that Gwenne had been trespassing in. Her mother near, the esteemed wizard moved behind the giant black curtains.

  “Indomi dedomi selnilii,” her eyes closed, feeling the arcane energies shadow her, blending her outline and blurring her body as one with the dark drapery of the study. Gwenneth Lazlette could see the room, yet her eyes and features could not be seen, not with normal sight at least.

  The shelves she had pilfered through since she was little, small tomes, hundreds of books, were all organized and neat on half a dozen bookshelves that she had wandered of all her life. Now she had but maybe twenty or so on the top shelf to view. At thirty years old this past autumn, the prodigal daughter thought her skills had nearly surpassed her mother's who was nearing her fifty fifth year. Twenty of those years had been spent as High Wizard of the Semanarium that her great grandfather, Flanius the Archmage of Lazlette, had founded over a century and a half ago. It was still spoken as rumor that Flanius and his brethren had achieved some forbidden long life from their arcane knowledge and were hunted down by agents of the Altestan Empires of the north for using such power. A gamble that any wizard worth her robes would face, since such practices were forbidden and watched for, by secret sects of the northern oppression and here on Agarian soil.

  The doors opened by magical will alone, not by touch, and Lady Aelaine Lazlette entered. She floated with her usual brisk pace and flowing black robes, graying dark brown waves of curled hair pulled back and elegant. Following her closely was Middir of Kivanis, mostly known for his invention of alternative spells and arcane application to older procedure and method, reveled as one of the most sought after professors of the arcane, and the family’s most trusted ally. Her mother's teacher, and for several years Gwenne’s teacher as well, Middir was more plump of body and thin of white hair, save for his braided beard and mustache. The two had no smiles, more looks of concern and worry as if they had just had an argument, and Lady Aelaine seemed in need of time alone.

  “Hithins, leave us for a moment and hunt, would you?” despite her concerned appearance, she spoke always as the Lady, even to her bonded pet vulture.

  “Yes, my Lady, my pleasure. Good evening, Master Middir.” With an unnecessary squawk and a heavy beat of its wings, the white scavenger bird flew out the windows, windows that opened into the cold with a wave of the High Wizard's palm.

  The cold drifted into the chamber, ruffling the curtains, Gwenne concentrated on the spell that was emitting from her, blending her outline with the moving cloth, ensuring she was not noticed, breathing slowly in and out as the windows closed once more.

  “My Lady, it is not theft nor a crime against the Highborn elves of Kilikala to protect what is theirs by whatever means we have.” The old man sat on a chair made of sparkling air, one that he merely thought of for a moment. His arcane skills flowed freely and simply after so many decades of mastery in the arts.

  “They are not ours to protect, Middir. Those tomes are in the hands of one of their own.”

  “Yes, a savage elf and a satyr from the north, and they are hunted by the most deadly swordsman and mercenary in the southern realms.” Middir spoke with heavy northern accents, shortened words, and his point was always quick, leaving proper time for those he spoke with to retort. They were manners of high chivalry from his birth, trademarks of Kivanis and Shanador, kingdoms of great honor.

  “The court of the Whitemoon will intervene. One of your students said they recognized the engravings on his weapon to be of theirs. We should not interfere.” Her patience was wearing thin, impossibly trying to navigate through his wisdom and logic. “Their ways and ours have never blended well.”

  “If the court knew those tomes were heading to Valhirst, or even near it, they would have done something. Not to mention that this Kendari is employed by Salah-Cam, my old student, who is probably guiding this killer from afar. It is an unfair advantage that we can balance, Aelaine.”

  Lady Lazlette moved to the curtains, peering out into the night sky over Vallakazz, the beautiful city of lights, art, and the magical college over the lake. Vallakazz was not like other cities, it was special. Educated, people traveled from many countries to see the old temples. Rich as well, it boasted hundreds of beautiful manors, and the Lazlette Semanarium atop Lake Pellicram. Aelaine did not like dealing outside the city, nor with those not of the arts. She did not have anything in common with them, therefore there was no bond or trust.

  “What did Lavalandara of Kilikala say of these tomes when she contacted you, Middir?” Her exhaustion at the worry of putting her students or colleagues into danger was weighing heavily on her conscience. Yet, a white falcon had arrived with message, the symbolic bird of the great Lavalandara of the golden elves.

  “The Arcane Magistrate of Kilikala said that a traitor of their own, Eliah Shendrynn, had stolen four of the ancient texts of High Elven Magic and was being hunted. They believed that he was heading to an old temple to the Gimmorians, south of the ruins of Teirinshire and Arouland. Ogre territory, and worse. Lavalandara has contacted the court of the Whitemoon, and was assured a hunter would have them before any tragedy came about.” Middir of Kivanis lit a pipe as he rocked on the invoked chair.

  “And so he has. This hunter has obviously stopped the transgressor and is en route to return to the court as we speak.”

  “He only has three, Aelaine, just three. And he is followed by servants of an insane rogue wizard seeking unlife, his enchanted pets, a squadron of trolls, and this murderous elf. To defend him, he has a satyr and himself. You and I, as human, can only imagine what powers could be learned from those books. Let us balance the scales a bit, my lady. He can not escape the watchful eye of Salah-Cam, unless we intervene.”

  “That savage elf will not come to the city nor accept our help, you know this, Middir. Gualidura holds n
o trust in the cities of men.” Aelaine traced a crescent moon in the air by the window with her fingers, altering its color to sparkling white with a turn of her wrist, then dismissing it into mist.

  “He does not have to, my lady, but if his enemies thought he were safe inside a city of twenty thousand, they may err on the side of our elven friends to the far north, become confused, and give this hunter the distance he needs to get safely away.”

  “A diversion that could lead that assassin and the spies of Salah-Cam to our city.”

  “A chance we take. Prepared for confrontation, we ensure that this killer does not get within a mile of the bridges. We also ensure those tomes reach the Whitemoon, and eventually Kilikala, where they belong.” Middir stood up, waving his chair away into lighted dust, falling to nothingness. “The allegiance we share with Kilikala is strong, they will expect our assistance.”

  “But they do not ask for it.”

  “Highborn elves are proud, especially those of the arts. They will not ask.”

  “Should this come to confrontation, most of our forces are with the eastern front. We have one quarter our soldiers, King Mikhail has the rest.” Aelaine sighed.

  “It is one elf, perhaps trolls. Your captain could hold four gates with a few hundred men. We can handle Salah Cam, and Angeline will assist.”

  “You men have a gift for strategy and logical plans. I wish Arlinne were here to help me in this decision.” Her head lowered, admiring the black marble floor with gold trim and feeling that long lost love choke in her chest. A warm hand placed on her shoulder, like many times before.

  “He is not, my lady. He left here not because of you, or Gwenneth. He left for his family that remained in Southwind. His battles were there and so was his sense of pride and duty. No matter what you did, he would not have been satisfied in Vallakazz with all its peace and learning. He was a brave warrior and lord, Aelaine. Arlinne T’Vellon was a leader of men into battle for king and country, not the captain of the city guard he tried to be here, for you.”

  “If he had not left he would be alive today, here to see his daughter grow, and to help me with these decisions that come more and more frequently. I should have stopped him.”

  “Perhaps, but he would not be the man you loved, nor would he have ever been happy without a war to fight. Remember my dear, without him, the ogre may have risen up and taken this kingdom by much surprise. His death served purpose to uncover an army, organized and hidden, deadly, to the western waste. His other children, after Gwenne, now lead the fortress that keeps us safe.”

  Aelaine wiped her eyes and tried to squint back any more tears from falling.

  “To you and I, sad and tragic. To men like Arlinne T’Vellon, it was glorious, and in death he achieved victory over the ogre, his enemy.” Middir knew it was hard for her to hear, no woman likes to hear reasoning for her husband leaving her and a child behind to start again on an exciting life of battle. He also knew not to mention the wife he took in Southwind and bore twins with after his leaving. Hearing but silence from his dear friend, Middir stood quiet in the moment.

  The old man had seen enough in his life from Kivanis to Shanador to Caberra, and here in Chazzrynn, to be able to put reason and rationale to any decision a man may make. Right or wrong, Arlinne was hailed a hero and loyal Lord of King Mikhail’s kingdom by his death thirteen years ago. Middir wished often that Aelaine had remarried and left some room in her life for something other than the academy, her remorse, and her daughter. Perhaps left something for herself.

  “Give me the night to think it over, but make preparations for the enemies of the elves to believe their quarry heads here, to Vallakazz.” A surrendering sigh and a weary soul bid the old man good night and Aelaine rested on a real velvet sofa of rose maple and burgundy hue in the center of her study. “Thank you, Professor Middir.”

  “Sleep well, Lady of Lazlette, and you as well, Gwenneth behind the drapery.” The door shut behind him, his smile wide and warm behind his white beard. He loved to cause a little mischief now and again in his old age. Middir always had his arcane senses in place, even in the safety of the college, and young Gwenne’s glamors were no match for the experienced veteran. He had known she was there before he had entered the room. Leaving some interesting mother and daughter time, Middir of Kivanis went to enlist some help from the ninth year students graduating soon in typical grand fashion over Lake Pellicram.

  “Gwenneth Lazlette! You sneaking disobedient spy in the night! And Hithins knew you were here, that is why he so eagerly left into the cold!” Too weary to get up, Aelaine scolded from the sofa.

  “Calm yourself, mother. I was researching, not spying on this political piece of intrigue that you gave into Middir about.” The best defense Gwenne knew was to defy and push a bit more, wearing her mother out to avoid punishment.

  “I did not give in, do not change the matter at hand. Bribing my vulture, sneaking into my chambers, glyphing the door to the nine years’ classroom, and concealing yourself within the drapes? Seriously, Gwenneth. You will take this Academy one day, take my position as duty to your family, and you insist on this rebellious behavior. You will be Lady of Vallakazz and master of the academy, and this is your performance?” Her finger was glowing red with wisps of flame as she spoke.

  “Mother, it is tedious and boring. I wish to study, to improve, to learn more, and master the ancient spells and arts. Just like you and Middir, and Kalzarius, and all the others I have read about. I cannot do that here.” Gwenne sat next to her mother, knowing that she must be weary from the graduation proceedings, letters of arrangement, and now this elven issue. “Let me have my own class, something a bit more, say, dangerous?”

  “It is enough that King Mikhail can only take one wizard to his court this year, then King Richmond the Second of Harlaheim denied Lord Bradswellen the Third of Saint Erinsburg his request, no one in Willborne replied, and then….” She felt overwhelmed, her words trailing off, thinking off those books in danger, danger that could get them into terrible hands and have wicked consequences.

  “I should have had every one of my students this year assigned to a court, and I have half. The letters to Jal-Adeen take weeks each way by ship, their wizards forbid communications from arcane means. It is a difficult year, and may take me till summer to get it all sorted, Gwenne.”

  “I could help. I can handle this matter with the books of High Elven Magic. I would much enjoy some breath from remedial teachings of how to detect arcane presence, decipher ancient tomes, and handling the same questions from the students in their third and fourth---”

  “The same questions you had, the same you asked Middir and I many times over Gwenneth.”

  “Yes, when I was thirteen, mother. I was raised here, in our academy. By twenty the other professors would let me teach their classes, and by twenty five they asked me for assistance on research. Now I am thirty, and I could simply overpower any---”

  “You are gifted, just don’t be in such a hurry. You are young …”

  “Yes mother, I know! I went to the village of Sierra Vale last week, to the south and east of here. I saw women my age, women with four children and husbands! And do you know what I thought as I realized my youth? I realized that I could destroy the entire village in moments, then reconstruct it, change the weather there, and still not be happy, for I am alone with all these skills and gifts with no one to share them with. You had a life, before grandfather disappeared, a husband and a child. I do not, and you speak to me of youth? I am not ready to settle here because I have never left here!” Her anger was as much the truth as it was a tactic to sway her mother to let her do something exciting.

  “Thank you for reminding me of how little I have provided you, noble daughter.” Aelaine’s sarcasm was showing, near the end of her rope with debate this cold day, seeking rest and comfort for herself.

  “You know what I meant mother. And my father has nothing to do with any of it by the way, he left when I was four years old,
left to return home to where he thought he belonged. He did not write, nor visit!” Gwenneth stood and raised her voice.

  “Please, remind me of some more pain. All you have, all from me, and this is my proper due, continue.” Aelaine let her voice go soft, a whisper almost, hoping this would end.

  Gwenneth, seeing that her mother was beyond decision tonight, feeling her temper, would keep her pride intact by slamming a door or three on her way to her chamber. Stomping out, using a bit of arcane to empower the steps and sound, she let her mother know exactly how serious she was.

  The doors slammed, one by one, fading as her daughter got further away from the High Wizard. Aelaine waved her hand, the latch locking from across the room. She waved the fingers on her other hand, motioning for a book on the top shelf to lower through the air into her lap, which it did as the arcane energies took presence.

  Lady Lazlette opened the old, plain looking tome, revealing it to be empty of pages, a false book within the magical texts of her library, hidden for decades. Aelaine stared at the letters, dozens, old and yellowed from long ago. She opened one.

  “Dearest Aelaine, please forgive me. It has been three months since my last letter, the trade routes relentlessly hit time and again by the massing ogre tribes. King Mikhail and Prince Johnas feel it is isolated circumstance, yet I feel there is more to it than that. How is our daughter, she must be nine by now, and surely enjoying the arts that you love so…..”

  Sobbing at every hidden word of every hidden letter that she had never responded to, Aelaine Lazlette felt pain like no other. It was pain she kept secret from the world, her closest friends, allies, and even her daughter. A daughter she knew that was too much like her father in many ways, so much that she had been trying all her life to keep her from, the love of confrontation. The lure of battle, the adventure of victory and risk was a craving that, Aelaine felt, had stolen and murdered her husband many years ago, far beyond the woman he had married could have.