The Last Pantheon: of hammers and storms

by Jason Jones

  “So, until that is all handled, we will have to buy food supplies for the winter and spring. We can buy in Freemoore, Evermont maybe, but we already have over nine thousand here. This is no small task we be talkin’ of.”

  “I have some coin left, some art and treasures from Saint Erinsburg.” Cristoff nodded. “It will get us by for a short time.”

  “That is called stealing, perhaps looting even, Lord Cristoff.” Shinayne smiled.

  “I called it survival, Queen Shinayne, and if Harlaheim wants it back, I will sell it at a fair price.” Cristoff relaxed a bit and laughed.

  “And if they want their queen back?” Shinayne chuckled.

  “They will get one, we will trade you for food.” Saberrak grinned. “Or maybe the sword.”

  “Is that so, minotaur? I have some ideas on how you could supply us with---”

  “Ahem.” James feigned a cough with a stifled laugh.

  “Shelter then.” Zen interrupted.

  “There seem to be several districts, the way this city is laid out. I have done some research, if you do not mind.” Seeing no objections, Gwenneth pointed with her finger to where she was speaking.

  “Tintasarn to the south, has a road between two peaks, likely houses twenty five thousand or more, but most is in disrepair. Kakisteele, has homes mostly intact, enough for double that. The central temple district has few dwellings, and those are not liveable yet. The eastern elven district of Mooncrest can house perhaps fifty thousand, but it is in need of much work. The western dwarven and merchant side of the city can house the same, and is a bit more intact. The Palace district is the most stable, perhaps one hundred thousand could live there, and the northern districts of Mooncrest and the bridge communities, well the homes are all but ruined shells, but that is the largest part of the whole area for certain. Each of the three bridge districts is as large and built as the palace districts, just not as refined. I have not wandered the ruined castles upon the Kaki ridge yet, but there are three. That does not take into account the rural areas, or any other outposts, towns, or dwellings beyond the city and mines.”

  Everyone stared as Gwenneth rattled off numbers and districts and a report on the status of the dwellings that none knew she had taken. Everyone was trying a bit of arithmatic in their heads.

  “This city, once fully repaired, with Kakisteele and Tintasarn added, could well hold over half a million people.” Gwenneth finished the counting for them. “Well over twice that, with farms and outlying towns.”

  “I would ask how and when ye’ counted all o’ this, but, for some reason, I do not feel to doubt ye’ Gwenneth.”

  “I second that.” Cristoff added.

  “That…is a lot of people, if it ever were filled.” Shinayne thought of Kilikala, Harlaheim, and Shalokahn, realizing that Mooncrest could hold more than those capitals combined.

  “Amounts matter little, if we cannot defend, feed, and house those numbers.” Saberrak huffed.

  “True.” James snapped out of the numbers spoken of. “We need to rebuild the walls, bridges, gates, supports, and homes. And, we need an army.”

  “Rebuilding all of that, it will take years, if not decades. I have many craftsmen and farmers in my following, but not that many.” Cristoff added.

  “I have plenty that can help with that, a bit faster I would imagine, but we don’t have decades. Armondeen will come before that.” Zen coughed, tasted blood in his throat, but said nothing of it. “Outer defenses first, pull everyone able together on it.”

  “We need gold, lots of coin, then we buy help from the border cities and western Shanador.” Shinayne thought quick.

  “Ye’ saw the mines, Shinayne, besides iron, some platinum designs, the place been looted. Altestan took most anything of value. We can search the whole of it out, but the amount of coin we be talkin’ about, well, tis a lot more than we have. We could mine for years nd fin little o’ value, and we don’t have years.”

  “I have some gold, as I said, but true, not that much.” Cristoff raised his brow in thought.

  “Tintasarn held the sword, not much else of value I am afraid.” Shinayne felt her pouch, thought of Kilikala, then dismissed asking for help. “It is a preserved ruin there, beautiful, but there is nothing to support our numbers by way of food or gold. Not yet.”

  “I have found nothing in the city, barely a scrap of furniture.” Saberrak added.

  “What about your key, Zen, does it open nothing?” James asked, rubbing his brow, worried for their funds.

  “Naye, Mudren Sheldathain told me it was to the latrine, other side of that there throneroom. He laughed when I showed it to him.”

  “There are a lot of homes, and a lot of people will flock, once rumor spreads.” Gwenneth raised her eyebrows and looked to her friends. “It has already begun, in fact.”

  “So, what does that have to do with anything? Hope that they are fast craftsmen?” Saberrak squinted. “More will only make the problem---“

  “Tax, minotaur, people are taxed and pay to---“

  “No.”

  “No? That is the way things are, you need---“

  “No tax.”

  “May I ask why?” Gwenneth took a more serious tone.

  “Then they owe us. The very people that will bleed with us, raise crops with us, fight and die against Armondeen, they will not pay to live here. That is slavery.” Saberrak growled.

  “It is not slavery, it is not ownership, it is the only way to support an army, to rebuild, to---“

  “I do not care. There are other ways, there must be. I will not take earned coin from someone to live here. What do you do when they do not pay?”

  “You accept goods instead.” Cristoff added quickly.

  “And if they have no goods, then what?”

  “They…work...it off, or… leave...I would imagine.” Cristoff thought hard, and followed the minotaurs line of thinking.

  “Exactly, we own them, one way or another. Or they are imprisoned, pushed to steal, and loyalty dies fast. That is slavery. It will not happen here, not ever.”

  “Armies and workers will want to be paid, my horned friend. How will we pay them?” Zen rasped it out as best he could.

  “They will be paid. We will have to find a way to make things with those forges, with the land, perhaps charge those that do not live here to enter at those markets I have seen in other cities. But, our people, no taxes.”

  “The church will demand a tithe, the Aldane will have issue---“

  “That church is one of ten here, and they will accept that we protect it, and the people that go there. If I have to tell them myself, I will. But there will be no demands upon the people, of any race or belief, not while I breath.” Saberrak crossed his arms and stared at his friends.

  “Very well, as hard as it will be, I cannot argue the horned beast.”

  “Nor I.” Shinayne added, followed by the nods of Cristoff, James, and eventually, a reluctant Gwenneth.

  “When we have no food, no one willing to fight for us, and we are living impoverished, remind me that Saberrak pushed us into this.” Gwenne stated wryly.

  “I do not push anything, nothing that is not how it should be.” Saberrak snorted. “And when a battle comes, and I take that field alone, see how many follow me.”

  “You have your opinion, which you feel is the only way. It is a masculine trait, not the utmost truth, Saberrak.” Gwenneth raised her chin.

  “You like to argue, a very femenine quality, Gwenneth. That does not make you smarter than I, just opposed.” Saberrak huffed and flared his nostrils.

  “I am not opposed, but I see the reality that we will have to pay people, and as of now, we have nearly nothing. We will starve, and no one will fight or work for us, if we have no coin to pay them for their efforts. Then, we sit and wait for Armondeen to ride us into the ground.”

  “I have two axes, a belt, and a set of scale mail armor. One was a gift from Kalzarius, another given to me by a dragon, the axe a gif
t from Zen, and the other I stole in Vallakazz. I am here, with all I have owned, and never have I owned more. If someone told me I had to work or give my posessions to remain here, I would leave. No one will tell me what I must do to be somewhere, or that I have to give of my things I own to people I do not know, that know me not, to remain. And we will not enforce that on others.”

  “You have won, mighty beast, I have withdrawn my argument. No taxes.” Gwenneth put her hand up to halt any further debate upon the matter.

  “Titles then, what of titles, rank, and nobility, Saberrak Agrannar?” Cristoff changed the subject quickly.

  The gray minotaur sighed and looked to Cristoff. “As long as the same laws apply to all, if those titles do not raise someone as being worth more than someone else, and are merely to organize and rule to the better of everyone, titles are fine.”

  “I walked the auditorium at the palace. I saw many seats in that palace, but those faced many more, and all were surrounded by tens of thousands. I would like to state that open rule, one with no secrets from each other or the people, would accomplish something most every kingdom struggles with.” James looked to the blade of Arlinne T’Vellon as he squeezed Gwennes hand tight.

  “And what be that?”

  “Honor.”

  “How so?” Zen squinted to James.

  “In front of everyone, as one of them, with equals on all sides, I fail to see but the most wicked of persons gaining any power or say, and even then not for long. They would have to speak aloud, and would have nowhere to hide their motives. I respect this here, us discussing and founding things here and now, but part of me feels that it should be open.”

  “That could be rather difficult to organize, loud, disruptive even.” Cristoff thought of Harlaheim, all the ceremonies, the masses bribed by king after king.

  “Honor and openness would be more difficult than simply ruling and ordering, but I have seen the most horrible decisions made from afar, and seen many die as a result, even from good kings. We cannot be as such, we cannot separate ourselves from the people, ever.” James countered.

  “Agreed.” Shinayne spoke first, the politics of Kilikala, the rulings in secret that lost her parents and throne, came to the front of her mind.

  “Aye, I second that then.” Zen saw three more nods in silence.

  “There will be violations, as much as I hate to think it, it will happen. What do we do then?” Cristoff thought of his duties in Saint Erinsburg, especially the ones he despised having to perform.

  “Depends on the crime, I would imagine.” Shinayne watched the candlewax drip to the stone table.

  “Leave it to the people, open trials, at the palace.” James spoke sure.

  “Mob rule will see unknown people killed, and popular ones merely imprisoned, for the same crime. That cannot be.” Cristoff warned.

  “We would also be at that palace more often than not, overseeing punishments. We need laws, set laws, and delegation.” Gwenneth saw the glow from the emerald wane, as if it were sharing its feelings of boredom.

  Mind yourself, Imoch. Light, now.

  Gwenneth thought to the staff, and Imoch listened, as she surmised. The light grew brighter once more, illuminating green over the candles and sconces.

  “Set laws must be decided upon, but as James stated, that should be done in the open.” Cristoff nodded.

  “Shinayne, ye’ can handle the south, besides yer lands? Housing, scouting, all o’ that? Find some voices, Lavress, Arylius, and some laws and ideas then?” Zen looked to his elven friend.

  “Yes, you can do the same here?” Shinayne looked up to the sandstone ceiling.

  “Aye, I will send one o’ mine to the palace every day with anything new. James, can you be tasked with the north, the organization of the army and that?”

  “I will see it done.” James nodded.

  “Cristoff, I need, we need ye’ in the city, the heart of it, pulling it all together, daily. Can I ask that o’ ye’?”

  “It would be an honor, King Azenairk.”

  “Save that for topside, Cristoff, not down here with just us.” Zen smiled, blushed a bit, not ready for that word to precede his name.

  “Gwenneth, well, ye’ be good with numbers, and magicks, and all that you do with---“

  “I will take on the supplies, accounting of people, distribution, and records to date.” Gwenne smiled, knowing her duties were half completed already.

  “Saberrak, I---“

  “I have something I must do, a bit of scouting the area, alone. I will take a few days, to the west. When I return, I will continue around the city, all directions, to get an idea of what is there.” Saberrak huffed, several things on his mind, questions unanswered.

  “That is called reconaissance, minotaur. Seek me out upon your return, and I will join you.” Shinayne eyed Saberrak with curiousity, receiving the affirmative nod she wanted.

  “We did it, and now we have a land to rule and people to protect. What we make of it, is in our hands, with God watching. This can be something on dreamed of, should we decide it. But, let us have one thing, between us, regardless of any laws, written or unwritten then.” Zen waited until he had their attention.

  “If ever we need to meet, we meet here, where it began, just us. Our place, here, where we can breath.”

  “I can agree to that.” James nodded to Gwenneth who returned the gesture.

  “As long as there is water next time.” Cristoff nodded with a smile.

  “Agreed.” Shinayne patted Zen on the shoulder.

  “I hope, for Cristoffs sake, we meet here often.” Saberrak huffed, patting the man on the shoulder, hard.

  Gwenneth went to stand, as she did, the others did the same. Everyone took their wares, one by one, yet no one spoke. Shinayne bowed to Saberrak who merely raised his head and horns toward her. Cristoff saluted his blade to his chest before sheathing it. James did the same, yet to the side of his face, and slow. Gwenneth merely smiled, as did Azenairk. Without a word, just a feeling between them, they began to walk back.

  All, but Zen.

  He reached into his pouch, and pulled out the iron box. Placing it on the stone table carefully, he opened it. The bag was empty, the parchment rolled neatly, yet it was the key he took out. With slow steps, the new king of Kakisteele walked to the throne, dragging his fingers across the Thalanaxe shield that rested in the seat. Zen reached for a torch from the wall, dipped it into the brazier on the arm of the throne, and walked past the golden chair.

  The door was warped wood with bronze bands that barely held it anymore. The handle held a keyhole above it, a small one. Zen took the key and merely held it next to the hole.

  “As I thought.” Zen chuckled, seeing the key in his hand was thrice the size of the key that would fit in there.

  The king gave the door a tug, then a push, the small latch cracked as he did. Another push did it, a small popping sound and some pieces of tarnished bronze fell down the old wood and to the sandstone floor.

  Creeeaakk…

  Azenairk put the torch in front of him, raised his right hand with the golden hammeraxe, and slowly stepped inside. He quickly lowered his guard.

  “It is a latrine then, with a tub for bathing, all covered in dust.” He spoke to himself, stepping in and allowing the torchlight to wander the unfinished walls.

  The room was grand in size, deep, with high ceilings, and not a bit of the walls finished with tool nor paint. Zen walked to the end by the four legged marble bath, then back, and then sat upon the lonely wooden seat that he dared not lift. He set the torch in the handle at the edge of his reach, and thought of the key in his hand.

  “So this is where a king doth shart, eh? So key, where do you go then, I wonder---“

  As he spoke again to but himself, Azenairk looked ahead. On the opposite wall, behind the broken door that slowly swung back half closed, there was a glimmer in the rough stone. He squinted, peering through the warped and separated wooden planks and molded bronze that
hung. The torchlight had caught something, a shimmer.

  “What is that then?”

  Zen stood, pushed the door closed, holding it with his boot as it would no longer stay shut. There, behind the door, was a keyhole of platinum with a trim of tiny quartz around it in the jagged rock. His hand trembling, he placed the key passed down for generations, into the lock. A small flash of divine light, and Zen stepped back, key in hand.

  “By Vundren…”

  The rumble was soft, yet ever present, as a small fingerwidth of stone released, into the outline of a door. Zen was sweating now, he picked up the hammeraxe once more, and pulled the stone slab open. Inch by inch, it slid. Halfway, he put his shoulder to the task as well, and managed to open the hidden door.

  “By Vundrens holy beard…oh, by all the mountains…” Zen dropped his weapon, the key, and fell to his knees.

  Lights came to life, a sudden row of false golden torches, seemingly content to show what they were guarding. Shelves upon sandstone shelves, twenty men deep they were and five dwarves wide, and not an inch was empty. Books, journals, rolled maps and scrolls, and chests numbering in the dozens packed from floor to mighty ceiling, with ladders on each side to reach the higher points. Golden bars, silver coins, and platinum jewelry lingered as if it had been waiting for someone, all these centuries. However, it was the shelves at the end of the room that caught Zens eyes the most, for the blue glow shone through the entire chamber.

  “My God, how in the name of… Vundren…” Zen thought of his friends, stood, and ran to the throneroom.

  “Shinayne, Saberrak, James!!!” He rasped it out until it hurt. Zen waited, but heard nothing. He was sure they were far from his roaring whisper. His eyes darted fast, he grabbed his hammeraxe from the latrine floor, and ran back to the throne.

  Clang, Clang, Clang!

  He cracked it hard into the Thalanaxe shield upon the throne, the vibration sending dust and bits of rock to fall around him.

  Zen waited a moment, walked back in to look again, wiped his eyes, and smiled. He heard running, the clanking of armor, and heavy booted steps. He saw a green light approach from behind, and the sound of weapons drawing.