The Last Pantheon: of spiders and falcons

by Jason Jones

  The trails crossed his path, merchant trails and hunting trails, and the eastern road lay ahead. It had been an hour’s walk and Kendari noticed nothing that would give sign of a follow from Vallakazz.

  “Far enough, boy.”

  The mules came to a halt, steam rising from each nostril in the cold. The sun rising in the west cast long shadows across the snow covered tufts of grass and brush.

  “Are you going to kill me here? If you are, let me have a weapon to defend myself with, please.” The boy was shaking, teary eyed, words emitting from trembling lips. Brave in the face of such a killer at such a young age.

  “If I wanted you dead, you would be dead. Blade or no blade, boy. You have nothing I want, you will live to tell your family you met Kendari of Stillwood, unless you have other plans.” Kendari sheathed his longsword and walked past the animals, examining the trails that crossed the main eastern road. “What is your name?”

  “Oggidan.” The boy stared at the ebony steel mail under the fine black clothes, the engraved steel bracers, miraculous leather boots, onyx ring, and enchanted weapons that this wicked and cursed elf carried. He looked at the curling black designs of his skin above the veins on his face and hands, wondering what sort of elf would mark himself so.

  “Why are you marked like that?”

  “That is a question that only dead men ask, and only the Gods can answer. Be off, Oggidan, your moments get fewer the longer you stay near me.” Kendari was paying no mind to the unarmed boy this far from the city, he had served his purpose.

  “Did you kill the men in the Temple of Golden Mercy, the bishop? You killed bishop Ransen, at my church. You did, you are the one they are looking for, aren’t you?” The boy was trembling, cold, crunching his feet in the snow with eyes searching for anyone nearby. His breath was becoming rapid, panicking, unable to walk away or stop his mind from becoming fear and anger driven.

  “Walk away boy, you likely have a family that is waiting for you. I have some tracking to do, so carry on.” Kendari kept an eye on him now, seeing the panic take over.

  Oggidan was consumed by the distrust and hatred, it was telling him that as soon as his back turned, he would be killed by this elven demon. The young usually had such extreme imbalances of drama and lack of common sense, but this was different.

  The boy lunged from the side at the cursed swordsman, grabbing for the longsword on the cursed killer’s right hip. His hand reached the pyramid pommel, and pulled as he stumbled back, gripping it with two hands and bringing it to a trembling on guard.

  “Surrender now! You have committed murder and are wanted by the city of Vallakazz!” Oggidan stepped forward to the unarmed elf, and pointed the blade inches from his face, staring and shaking at what he had just done, unable to believe it himself.

  “Give me my blade, boy, and I will let you…” the weapon, his own weapon, cut at his head. Kendari ducked under the attack, an unskilled attack but quick and foolish, making it just as dangerous.

  He was amazed the boy had gotten it from him, or even dared try. His hand went to Shiver on his hip. “One last chance Oggidan, drop my sword. I only need one to kill you with.” He motioned with his hand open for the boy to stand down, but sensed that his terror had full control, mixed with youthful stupidity and a bit of false heroism.

  The enchanted blade swung again, off balance with two hands on the hilt. He meant to split Kendari down the middle. He sidestepped, and drew his magical heated blade. The youth thrust forward, and the elf parried easily, almost sending the blade into the boy's face with the precision of the deflection. The youth did not stop, he pressed on, recklessly swinging the longsword toward the body of the elf who merely countered and used his feet to avoid contact.

  “You can not kill me boy, and I will leave your corpse in the snow if I must.” His intimidation was falling on deaf ears, the kid was beyond anger, blended with patriotism, religion, panic; he had no choice.

  Kendari waited, blade tip to the ground, causing steam from melting snow as Shiver’s heat continued to release. Young Oggidan feinted a high cut toward the head, lowered his elbows, an easy signal for a thrust that gave away the feint entirely. As his arms outstretched with the tip diving toward Kendari’s chest, the Nadderi turned a half step, flicked his blade up underneath the charging sword, knocking the attack an inch above his shoulder. In the same instant he cut down at the boy’s wrist, the left one, slicing clean through, the severed hand still clenching the grip of the stolen blade. His third cut was a cross cut into his own weapon, sending the stolen longsword off into the snow, one hand still attached.

  The boy screamed from the pain, from the burn of the hot edge of Shiver, from the horror of losing a hand. His bravado and ego destroyed with three simple cuts, his pack animals trudging ahead without him, startled from the screaming, Oggidan ran. He began yelling for help and for guards in the open fields in manic rage. He ran and screamed like a young child , not the mountain of a young man he had just thought he was. Kendari knew he could kill him right now, before anyone heard him, knew that he should. But he did not. He walked over to his dropped weapon, picked it up by the crosspiece, and removed the boy’s bloody hand from the grip, flinging it into the snow.

  The Nadderi elf sheathed his weapons, and continued down the eastern road to Valhirst, searching for the trail of the escaped satyr he had followed, the one that had split off to Vallakazz, or so he had thought. He shook his head at the stupidity of the boy, and at himself, not understanding why he had no desire to kill him. Kendari wondered if it was pity he felt at this moment, or ages of boredom finally catching up.

  Knights I:V

  Southern Trade Road

  Chazzrynn

  “Dreams are often the only way that God may show the sins to a man who has not the strength to look for himself. Should a man live and walk in the nightmares of purgatory, these dreams may be his only chance to hear the words that could save him.” from the sermons of Father Garret D’Ourmas of the Holy Aldane Mission and Restoration, Shalokahn

  Caravan wheels pulled by shaggy hoofed horses of white and gray crunched in the snow, weighted down by the load in the back. Deer and elk pelts lay on the top, but underneath lay a gray skinned minotaur, an elven noblewoman, a dwarven priest rubbing his shaved head, a trembling knight thirsting for more wine, and the daughter of the most powerful woman in Vallakazz. The caravan, paid for that morning by a young student wizard at Gwenneth’s secretive request, had run into difficulty trying to exit the eastern gate and headed to the southern gate to avoid the snow covered hills of the northern routes, and the city guard that had grown troublesome and curious. Before they had left Vallakazz for home, they were hailed by their passenger and her companions, much to the surprise of the fur traders who had all but given up on the errand. Two covered wagons with a family of four left Vallakazz heading northeast toward Valhirst, with their most unusual and sought after commodities safely hidden.

  Half a day passed, traversing the small trail that led to the eastern traderoad. This road was filled with incoming caravans, as the winter storms to the north had been making other routes impassable. Olenn Chilar and his two daughters tethered the horses of both wagons to the bare winter oaks and prepared to make camp for a few hours. Little blonde girls of seven and four years, Nika and Kirri, helped their pregnant mother off of the seat. The black winter wolf’s pelts and layers of cold weather blankets and robes made movement for the nearing mother difficult.

  “You all right, Leina? Girls, careful with your mother there, she’s carrying your little sister now.” Olenn‘s beard was frosted from brown to white from hours at the reins, his legs stiff from sitting.

  He got up, looked around, searching for any followers that might be spying, sensing the amount of gold he received for silence from the Lady Lazlette’s daughter was generous and likely, dangerous. He grabbed his broadsword and sheath from behind the wagon seat, and strapped the weapon to his belt.

  “My Lady, I believe we are far fr
om danger here. You and yours come on out and eat if you like.”

  “Sweeter words I have not heard in some time! My arse is bruised and sore, and fresh air I am in dire need of! Thanks to Vundren! Move it ahead, horned one!” Azenairk pushed the gray gladiator ahead so that he could get out and stretch his muscles and breathe from the tightest spot his whole life had ever seen.

  The five stowaways climbed out from under pelts and blankets and all manner of trappers trade goods into the frigid Chazzrynn air. Despite being hungry and anxious to get out, each one stopped momentarily, surveying the surrounding hills, trails, and pine forests for movement upon the white horizon. They had all been hunted for some time, each suspicious of when real safety and distance arose, and every one of them was anticipating another battle, any moment.

  “So that was Vallakazz. Good riddance,” huffed the minotaur, sitting on a log, checking to make sure the scroll was secure.

  “Indeed, indeed. I like this view of it myself, far away. Where’s James?” The priest sat next to the gray, biting into some dried deer meat as he spoke.

  “Drinking. Behind the other wagon.” Shinayne watched him silently.

  “My gratitude, master Chilar, for your timely arrival and escort.” Gwenneth gave a slight bow, finally relaxing a breath.

  “Make no mention, Lady Lazlette. When I saw the east gate covered, I knew you would turn south.”

  “And your farmstead, who will watch it while you take us along the trade road?”

  “Well, we have more than a few days travel, a day or two of trade, then three to four days back to outside Roricdale. My oldest, Oggidan, he has his first duty as man o’ the house. A week or there so, sure he can handle it fine, my lady.”

  “I wish my mother was so trusting as you, Olenn Chilar. You have a fine family. And a fourth on the way, I hear?”

  “Aye. My wife suspects another daughter. She has guessed three right thus, sure she is knowing correct again. Eh, Leina?” Olenn patted the furs covering his wife's behind and smiled.

  “We will take our leave and leave your family some time. Say one hour?”

  “More than enough, my thanks Lady Lazlette.” Olenn bowed as Gwenneth turned toward her friends.

  Olenn watched as his two daughters helped Leina build a fire, careful not to let their pregnant mother slip. The four of them sat on some logs, and ate the bread and dried meats together as a family, almost. Wishing his eldest was here, Olenn kept a careful eye on the travelers without Oggidan’s assistance.

  “That one is on his second bottle of wine, Olenn. Watch him close will ya?” Leina whispered. She scrunched her face up with a scowl, her dark brown eyes shifting to notice everything.

  “It's fine love, Lady Lazlette paid handsome for the provisions and said there was one who liked the Caberran wine. Pay em no mind.” Olenn watched the one called James, a knight he appeared, yet the man was talking to himself about bloodshed and killing with intermittent chuckles he did not care for.

  “Daddy, what’s that one with the horns there called?” Little blonde Nika, curious and outspoken at seven years old, asked as she pointed her finger at Saberrak.

  “Hey girl, no pointing now. That’s a minotaur, they be from Halay across the Carisian sea. That one’s gray, so he’s a nice hunter they say. Just keep to yourself now.”

  “And that one? She’s a princess, right?”

  “Not sure love, she’s an elf. They are from the North, way far up to the north where it’s warmer. She could be a princess, sure.” Olenn was playing along with the creative imagination of his child.

  “And she’s a witch, right daddy?” pointing at Gwenneth, all in black robes and furs. Her brother, Oggidan, had told her of the witches and warlocks that lived in Vallakazz on many a stormy night.

  “No, no, not exactly dearheart. That’s Lady Lazlette, a wizard, not a witch.”

  “Him, he’s a stinky dwarf and they live under the ground in the dirt.” Nika was sure of that one, it seemed.

  “Be nice love, I am sure he’s not stinky, and they live in the mountains in big cities.”

  “And the one with the bottles of wine, he’s a brave knight, right?”

  “Not sure love, I guess so.” Olenn continued to eat, but kept his eyes on the man getting more drunk by the minute.

  Saberrak walked past them, peeked over to James, then walked back. He stopped, looked down at the girls, and huffed. The girls giggled at him and cuddled closer to their mother.

  Nika pointed at Saberrak. “You are humongous!”

  Saberrak pointed back. “You are not.” Then he walked toward Gwenneth and the fire she had somehow just invoked onto a pile of logs.

  “So this Valhirst, you have been there, Lazlette?” Saberrak chewed some dried meat as he spoke.

  “Yes, several times. And my name is Gwenneth Lazlette, minotaur.”

  “You are sure it is safe then, Gwenneth?”

  “No.” She shrugged and turned toward her city, knowing her mother would have her hunted very soon. “But we will make for the docks. I have no idea how many are looking for us. I can say with certainty that I now know why, however.”

  “Ye truly believe it be a scroll of a lost God with all those powers and such, Gwenne?”

  She looked to the dwarven priest with a serious glare. “Beyond doubt Zen, beyond doubt.”

  Shinayne listened intently, yet paid more attention to James who seemed to be drowning himself out of this world in silence with the bottles. She had no reason to stay with them, yet something in her heart told her that she must. In her mind, she resigned to a promise that she would see them through with this scroll, then leave to find Lavress once more.

  She looked to him, sitting in the snow, bottle in hand, many more beside him either empty or full. His hands clung to the neck of the wine bottle as if it were a sword, white knuckles and trembling fingers betrayed his inebriated smile. James closed his eyes, oblivious to Shinayne standing over him.

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  The air was black and dripping with tar and blood all around. Rancid sweet smells, aromas of freshly uncovered rot hit his nose, and James covered his mouth as he stepped. The snow crunched, yet it was red snow, blood snow, not white and pure. He looked down, unsurprised, James had been here before. The hills and valleys had flames and fires, all from giant spears thrust into the ground, all with but a severed head attached to the top. The heads moaned and mouthed pains, fires from their eyes illuminating the black and red for him to see.

  “I have been here before, nothing to fear, This is not real. Arouland….leave James, turn and leave.”

  He spoke to himself, yet his feet could only walk ahead, his body would not turn, eyes would not blink, not here.

  The heads turned as he passed, many feet above him, heads of his friends. Niell Sancadiun smiled as flame burned in his eye sockets. Blood dripped from the torn meat of his neck, running black down the ogre spear.

  “Niell.” James saluted with his blade to his face. “I will avenge thee.” “No you won’t, you can’t. It should be your head on a pole, Andellis.”

  James began to tremble, yet kept his pace, seemingly unable to slow or quicken. Pale Kessek of house Alvander, his jaw missing and upper teeth crawling with worms daring not to fall, his decapitated head had not the muscle to turn. The eyes of smoldering holes just blinked at James as he walked under, trying to let him know that he could not speak without his jaw or neck.

  “I know…I know Kessek, I will find Avegarne, and your jaw.”

  James saluted and kept a pace not his own, wandering under the morass of darkness through blood and rotted ground. Clouds of yellow and green wafted through the valley of crimson and black. James pulled out a bottle of wine, yet dust and dried flakes of blood met his tongue. The shivers began down his legs, out to his fingers, and up his spine. His blade weighed more and more, until he dropped it in step, and fell to the crimson snow.

  The world of purgatory it was, and James lay so
aking into the cold blood. Shadows stalked in the distance, then took form, tall forms of ogre savages. Their eyes were blue, their numbers uncountable, and soon they surrounded him.

  “Please…no…please…”

  Their laughter was as a thousand ogre kings, all of his voice, yet he was nowhere. James tightened as they drew closer, each one scrambling with filthy fingers and scraping with unclean nails at his clothing. Shred by torn shred, they took his armor, his clothes, and then they began pulling. His arms and legs popped as the muscle and bone went beyond where they should. James felt his skin tighten, then tear, and felt the blood inside release to the snow. He screamed in agony, yet head after burning head of his friends was being stuffed into his mouth. The ogre laughed and laughed, ripping him apart as he sobbed. He could not walk, could not fight, James had nothing but the eternity of tortures with the ogre and the pieces of his brothers of Southwind. As it seemed to finish, it began again.

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  “M’lady, m’lady elf? That one, he does not look well. Out here in the cold, with how much wine he had, I would do something, were I in your place.” Olenn pointed toward the knight trembling in the snow, yet the elven woman was already aware and knelt down beside him.

  “Olenn is it?” Shinayne slowly unclasped the belt on James, then quietly took his sword and scabbard toward herself. It was dark, a white darkness, snow and moons and blowing winter wind making things colder by the moment.

  “Yes, Olenn. If he grabs that blade again, he might put it through himself, or someone else. His words be scarin’ me daughters.”

  “Olenn. I am handling the situation, as you can see. Please, fetch the priest.” Shinayne scrambled back fast as James fell over, reaching for his sword. This time, he did not reach it and landed before the noble with his face in the snow.

  “Saberrak!”

  “To your left.”

  Shinayne tossed the weapon to the gray, this being the third attempt this night to get it from him. She nodded as Saberrak caught it, then turned and focused on the dagger she knew was in the knight's left boot.