Age of the Gods: The Complete, twelve novel, fantasy series (The Blood and Brotherhood Saga) (103 page)

Half an hour passed as Mordal carefully retraced his footsteps back towards the castle before he finally felt safe to move at a decent speed. Once he was assured that none were any longer in pursuit, Mordal picked up the pace and within another half an hour he was again scaling the castle complex’s wall at the same point he had come over earlier. The guards upon the wall here were spaced too far apart, and even if they weren’t, Mordal could slip right past them unseen if he needed to. A few more moments later, Mordal was perched atop the castle wall looking down upon the sparring field where this adventure originally started, and he could not believe his eyes, or his luck.

Upon the sparring field below, with no one else to guard them, were two figures in black armor. Even from this height, Mordal did not need to invoke his blessed vision to see what transpired below. One in black cradled the other as the healer, who had been present earlier, simply paced around with her head down. Apparently the princess was beyond the healer’s ability, and the prince had come and was now mourning the loss of his young wife. How lucky could one person possibly be? Mordal grinned to himself as he unstrapped the gnomish Gatling bow. While all the pursuers were still in the southern half of the city, leaving this pair of royals unprotected, Mordal could quickly dispatch the prince, and the healer as well to assure no alarm was raised. Then he could reclaim his mount and leave the city through the northern gate unimpeded. Too damn easy. Mordal snapped the hopper into place atop his mechanical bow.

* * * * *

Sara, momentarily overcome with anguish, regained herself and pulled her blades from her husband’s chest. The power rushing into her subsiding, Sara quickly tossed her blades aside and called to Daniella. The healer, having failed to be any help to Sara, snapped out of her current state of shock and rushed to Sara’s side. With the experience of a trained professional, Daniella quickly inspected Seth’s wounds and summoned up her abilities as she began her first prayer. Chanting softly in a tongue Sara did not recognize, Daniella’s hands began to glow with holy white light. As the glowing increased, so too did the volume of Daniella’s chanting. Sweat beaded upon the healer’s face as her jaw muscles flexed. Gritting her teeth the healer strained to heal an injury that most novice clerics could repair in short order. Moments passed and Seth lost consciousness. More moments passed and his body began to convulse. More and more sweat appeared on Daniella’s face and arms as her hair became drenched and clung to her scalp. Something was amiss.

Slowly, painstakingly, the first of Seth’s wounds began to close, seemingly reluctant to heal. As the hole in his chest mended, Seth attempted to inhale, though with one lung still filled with blood, he only choked and gurgled before being wracked by convulsions yet again. Near half an hour had passed since Seth was wounded, and with only half his healing completed, Daniella stopped in her prayer a moment to rest and refocus.

“Something resists my efforts,” Daniella stated, panting for breath. “With you I could not even recognize what it was I was seeing within your body. I could not connect with you to heal your wounds. With Prince Seth it is much the same, but his body relents to my power, if only barely so. It makes no sense to me, but give me a moment’s reprieve and I shall continue.”

Sara simply nodded her head and waited patiently for Daniella to continue. She did not wait long. After what could barely be called a moment of rest, Daniella began to chant anew and placed her hands upon Seth as her flesh began to blaze with bright white luminance. More than another half an hour passed as Daniella completed the process, perspiring and panting from the strain. As drained as she was, Daniella did not fall back to lay upon the grass for rest. Instead the woman rose in her white robes, and began to stride about, once again speaking to herself.

Sara, on the other hand, without so much as a thought, carefully pulled Seth into her lap. There she cradled him, hoping he would regain consciousness soon, and that he would forgive her for mistakenly attacking him.

* * * * *

Borrik wanted a higher vantage point, for he had a feeling he knew what the assassin was playing at. Finding one suitable, he climbed the many stories of stone stairs all the way to the top of the structure. Once at the top Borrik looked around in all directions. From here he could see a great distance. Though one of the moons was bright this night, it shone from behind the mages’ tower, casting a deep shadow atop the walkway where Borrik was. Borrik stood unmoving within that shadow, allowing only his eyes to wander this way and that. Still his troops scoured the city hoping to pick up the assassin’s scent once again, but Borrik knew they would not find it.

For a moment Borrik’s attention fell to the sparring field below as the healer worked upon whom he presumed was Sara, though from this distance in the dark, even the great wolf man was unsure. Seth was there too, which Borrik had known even before he had looked below. Even at this distance Borrik could catch the scent of his master. Borrik watched as Seth gathered Sara into his lap, and the healer began pacing for some unknown reason. Borrik watched his master for a moment longer, and was about to begin scanning the surrounding area once again when he felt more than saw something move not more than fifty yards away. In the great wolf beast’s mind, he was sure of what he had seen, yet looking across the expanse of the stone walkway, no other living thing was present.

Something here was not right, yet Borrik dared not move lest he reveal himself. Then the sound came. Click. Borrik knew something or someone was atop the castle wall with him, and none of the guards who patrolled the wall were anywhere near this position. Something was still out of place, yet Borrik simply could not wrap his brain around it. Then he had an idea. Releasing the exact image he could see before him to the pack consciousness, Borrik sent with the image a feeling of unease and questioning. Three answers came in return, and two of them were the same. Shadows.

Quickly Borrik scanned the area ahead of him. He studied quickly the way the stone surfaces reacted in the moonlight and almost immediately found a discrepancy. Just as Borrik lunged, from the overcast shadow of the mage’s tower projected upon the castle wall came another sound, seemingly from nowhere, yet somewhere in front of him. Thoomp, clank.

Just once the sound came as Borrik barreled into something he could not see upon the top of the wall. Grabbing at whatever the thing was, Borrik bore it down off the wall with him where they both fell nearly a dozen stories to crash upon the roof of the knight’s garrison. Borrik felt bones snap upon impact, both his and the assassin’s. As pain began to overtake his body, Borrik watched as the assassin became distinguishable from their surroundings upon the roof. However, even with a broken leg, among several other injuries, the murderer made yet another attempt to flee. Dragging one useless leg behind him, the assassin rose and made for the edge of the roof. Borrik refused to give the man another chance to kill his master, and with more broken and shattered bones than whole ones, the giant werewolf lunged with every muscle he could muster and dug his claws into the assassin’s throat from behind. The blow once again drove them both over the side. Borrik and his prey fell the remaining story to the cobblestones below in a twisted mess of flesh and fur as blood began to puddle upon the ground beneath them.

* * * * *

Sara heard the distinctive sound that had marked her for death earlier in the night, but this time she knew what it meant. As the thoomp, clank sounded, Sara, acting by instinct alone, snatched the bolt from the air with lightning reflexes. This one would not strike her in the chest. Looking up so see the source of the missile, Sara watched as Borrik raced across the top of the defensive wall and with an audible crunch, leapt from the wall altogether. As if the world slowed for an instant, Sara watched as Borrik plummeted unnaturally slowly, grappling with something that to her was invisible. As the wolfman disappeared from view above the roof of the garrison, a loud crash sounded and immediately Sara knew Borrik to be dead. Without some form of a blessing, none could have survived such a fall. Yet as she watched, a man appeared at the edge of the roof, ribs protruding from his chest and dragging a broken leg behind him. Sara had not seen the man fall, but knew it now to be the assassin. It mattered little though, for in less than an instant, the man was attacked from behind by a mass of fur and blood. Borrik had flung himself bodily at the assassin to assure the man did no further damage. With both a crack and a gruesome splat the two entangled bodies hit the cobblestones. Nowhere on Thurr would Sara be able to find another man as loyal to her husband as Borrik had been. He had been an unquestioning ally from the day they had first met the priest. Now he had given his life to protect his master.

Sara would miss the handsome yet fearsome warrior her husband had created. Laying Seth upon the ground, Sara stood to approach the fallen mangled bodies. Daniella watched as Sara neared the pile of ruined flesh and fur. Neither of them expected to see the large clawed hand rise, beckoning them silently for aid. Sara, jaw dropping, spun to once again call the healer to duty, but Daniella simply shook her head.

“What do you mean, no?” Sara demanded threateningly.

“Even if I knew his anatomy, I am spent. We should send for another,” Daniella answered slowly.

“There is no time to send for another. He has minutes at best,” Sara shouted, unwilling to give up. “You must heal him! Bone is bone, flesh is flesh, mend what you can.”

“It will do little good, your majesty,” the healer responded. “His organs are surely ruined. Even if I mend his bones and flesh he will die. I have no knowledge of the rest of his anatomy. I am sorry,” Daniella said with finality.

Sara stood in shock, not knowing what to do. If he could be saved, Seth would stop at nothing to save Borrik, and neither would she. Sara had one option available, though she knew not what the consequences might be. She had a feeling, however, that she knew better than anyone else the cost of this decision.

Like a lithe dancer Sara sprinted across the grass of the sparring field to retrieve her twin blades before rushing back to Borrik’s side upon the cobblestones. Grasping his huge paw-like hand with her own petite fingers, she raised his wrist and bit deeply into his flesh before placing the handle to one of her daggers in his palm. She forced his fingers to grasp the handle, and thrust the blade into her own flesh.

Having stabbed Seth, Sara had accidentally absorbed a great amount of life within a few moments. That immense influx of life had allowed her to heal nearly instantly. Now she shared with Borrik her own altered life force. It did not begin immediately, but soon Sara watched fascinated yet disgusted as bones began to move beneath Borrik’s flesh, like living beings crawling around within him. When his body began to take shape once again, Sara removed the blade from her flesh and watched as Borrik’s healing was completed. In less than a quarter of an hour, Borrik disentangled himself from the corpse of the assassin and rose to his full height before once again falling to his knees to kneel before Sara.

“You’re welcome,” Sara began. “I am sorry, though, for the price of your survival.”

“No matter the cost, I thank you,” Borrik replied in his deep feral voice. “I think I yet have much to do here.”

Sara nodded her understanding, and together they went to Seth’s side, waiting for him to regain consciousness. Daniella, after the shock of what she witnessed, began pacing and speaking to herself aloud once again. Borrik called off the search, as the assassin was no more. However, he posted his men all over the city and ordered them to watch not only for anything odd, but also for shadows that were out of place.

Seth opened his eyes to find himself laying in Sara’s lap with a ring of worried onlookers around them. Seth’s troops, along with the knight Jordin, watched anxiously, all of them feeling they had failed the pair of young royals. One man in the circle had wrought success for that failure, and seeing his master’s eyes open, Borrik separated himself from the crowd. It took the large beast of a man only a few strides to close the distance. Towering over his master, Borrik reached out and dropped something upon the ground with a thud. Seth, not understanding the gesture, up righted himself from Sara’s lap, and turned to see what it was that his most loyal servant had discarded. There upon the ground, lying upon its side, was the disembodied head of a man. It had not been severed or cut so much as ripped from its owner. Muscles and vertebra, along with blood vessels and flesh, still hung from the base of the head, a mass of mutilated gore. Though the object in his vision disgusted him no end, Seth looked up to the large gray beast of a man and smiled in understanding. Borrik had brought him the head of the man who had hurt Sara, and for that Seth swore to himself that his most loyal follower would be greatly rewarded. Ishanya had promised Borrik great power and an unnaturally long life through service to Seth, and the man had earned that much and more.

“Thank you Borrik,” Seth said and then turned to face his own personal angel in a life filled with demons. “You saved that which means the most to me in this life, and for that I am grateful.”

“Yes my prince,” Borrik replied simply.

“It seems to me that each day in my service you stray further from the path of a priest, and I am concerned that it is I who leads you astray,” Seth said, obviously thinking aloud. “I should like to hear your thoughts on this.”

“My prince…” Borrik began and then paused as if pondering the best way to approach the subject. “I fear there are no eloquent words with which to phrase my response, your majesty.”

“Then speak plainly, Borrik,” Seth replied.

“I have put the path of a priest behind me, my prince. I feel I am no longer a suitable man to claim such a position,” Borrik started. “The life of a warrior, a fighter and a killer seems much less complicated to me, and it shames me to say that I believe I have a natural talent for it. So if I would better serve you, Master Seth, by being a warrior than a priest, then that is what I choose.”

“I had hoped as much Borrik,” Seth admitted. “I do not trust Ishanya, though I must serve her. You, on the other hand, serve me, and by your own choice. You have been a loyal friend. You have been a wise teacher. You have….”

“Killed yourself to save us,” Sara added, cutting Seth’s speech short.

“That too,” Seth questioned more than stated, having not witnessed the deed. “For that, Borrik I am more than grateful. In fact I wish to reward you by making you into a warrior unlike any other upon Thurr, if you wish it.”

“Whatever you deem me worthy of, master. I will gladly accept and in return, as I have done already, I will continue to serve you even unto death,” Borrik replied, his feral voice becoming barely a whisper.

Seth watched as hundreds of fur-covered heads bobbed in agreement around him. Theirs was a loyal race of men. Seth thought it sad that in order to make them so, he had had to strip them of much of their humanity. Though he supposed every race had its flaws, he had thought as he grew up that somehow humans were superior to other races. As he experienced more of life, he was beginning to see that there was a lot about the world he did not yet understand. Even so, Seth had much more important things to do than sit here in the grass pondering the differences between the many races of man. The first of which was to give his men their orders as they were now prepared to carry them out.

“Borrik, send two hundred of your men west with orders to harass and impede the progress of King Sigrant’s army. I do not want them to openly attack. Have them ambush at night, burn supplies, kill horses and oxen, and break the wheels upon the carts in their supply lines. Slow down that army in any way that does not get them killed,” Seth commanded, pausing until Borrik nodded. “Also send as many men as you need to stand post between here and the enemy to relay messages from the front lines back here to me. Dispatch only as many as necessary for this, as you will be needing the remainder of your men here.”

Again Borrik nodded, and this time the majority of his troops turned and strode away leaving only a couple dozen men. Seth and Sara watched them go, though Borrik seemed not to notice. After the sounds of the many werewolves’ clawed toes upon the stone had faded, Seth rose to his feet and, turning, gave Sara his hand. With very little aid, Sara too came to her feet to stand beside her husband, each of them only an arm’s length from the massive leader of the werewolves. All three of them very nearly died this night, and all because they had felt safe here within the castle walls. Seth had to remind himself that this was not just a simple war between nations. This was an intricate game played out by the gods, and their reach was vast, including the whole of the world. No place on Thurr was a safe haven from those blessed by the gods, but Seth had a plan to even the odds a bit.

“Borrik, I want you to take your remaining troops outside the castle. Go wherever you see fit, though time is limited. Think of what attributes would make you a more efficient killer. Think of what abilities you could possess that would make you like a chosen champion of the gods. Then think of what animals in nature possess those abilities. Capture them, as many as you can. Bring them alive back here to the city,” Seth said, watching realization dawn on his most loyal servant. “Many think me a god, and every god has to have champions. It is time I create my own.”

Borrik did not respond. Instead he dropped to one knee, bowing his head low to the ground. Pausing only briefly, Borrik how the bite from Sara might affect him already, then stood once more, before turning. Then he and his remaining men fled into the night, a mass of nocturnal predators. Seth and Sara watched them until they passed through the gate into the city beyond before Sara stepped forward and turned to face her husband.

“As usual I have questions, my love,” Sara stated with a slight grin on her lips.

“As do I,” Seth replied. “You can go first though.”

“What did you mean by creating champions of your own?” Sara asked hesitantly.

“I have at my disposal fewer than three hundred soldiers,” Seth began. “They may be some of the most ferocious fighters upon Thurr, but against a single opponent blessed by a god this very night they were at a loss. Had the assassin wanted them dead, I would have had no troops left. I have two options then. I can imbue all of their weapons and armor, and through melding them each with other beasts make them all a bit stronger. This option will take substantial time and energy, and will still not make them equal to a blessed opponent. My other option is to take just one or two of them, and create out of them my very own champions with abilities unlike anything else Valdadore has to offer. What those abilities might be, well, we will just have to wait and see what Borrik brings back.”

“Is that even possible?” a voice from behind them asked. Both Seth and Sara had forgotten about Malik the knight, and Daniella the healer who now both approached.

“With my capabilities I believe it is, Lord Malik,” Seth answered honestly. “Yet even I am still learning the limitations of my abilities.”

With that Seth looked up towards the sky. Already the darkness was being washed away as the night was at its end.

“We need to be getting some rest, if you will excuse us,” Seth said to the healer and knight. “But please return again this evening so Sara can continue her training.”

“As you wish your majesty,” Malik answered for them both.

Without so much as a goodbye, Seth grabbed Sara’s hand and dragged her from the sparring field towards the mages’ tower. Sara waited until they had some distance between themselves and those they left behind before she spoke again.

“You said you had questions too,” Sara stated. “What is it you were thinking?”

“Do you know how I got to you on the sparring field so quickly?” Seth asked.

“No, my love,” she answered.

“Me either,” Seth replied. “At least not exactly. I teleported again somehow, yet had no control over it. It is something I really need to look into, yet I dare not experiment. Who knows where I might end up if I make a mistake?” Seth finished with a grin.

Both Seth and Sara reminisced about their last experience with teleportation the rest of the way to the mages’ tower. Once there, Seth let Sara go on ahead of him and up to the floor that was once their home. He on the other hand, had more duties to attend to. Fortunately these would be brief, as all he had to do as the acting head of the battle mages was given an order. It concerned an idea he had had when fighting with the black horde. He was now going to try it as a tactic for the upcoming battle. The mages would need armor instead of their robes to blend in with the rest of the army. To make armor the blacksmiths had to heat metal repeatedly while they shaped it, a process that would be made much faster if each had a mage who could produce and concentrate fire for him. Seth needed to speak to the mages and the blacksmiths.

Smiling to himself less than an hour later, Seth began to climb the huge spiral staircase up the many flights to the top of the tower. Believing himself a genius, Seth had solved two problems at once that would not only spare the lives of the mages but also speed production of the blacksmiths, and thereby save lives of those who got the armor they might not have otherwise. Reaching the topmost floor, Seth did not believe he could be more satisfied. However, that was before he saw Sara down the hall, clearly awaiting his arrival.

* * * * *

Horace yanked hard on his mount’s reins, forcing the beast to veer to the left. Keeping his eyes on his previous path, off to his right, the Knight of Valdadore watched as three arrows lanced past him just a few feet away. One and a half seconds. That was generally the amount of time he had to react between receiving a premonition and it coming to reality. His was a blessing of two parts, and Horace had mastered the use of both many years ago. Not only could Horace see events that would adversely affect him a moment before they actually occurred, but he also was as strong as any two non-blessed men. Through the graces of his god, Gorandor, like all of the other knights, Horace aged a little slower than average as well, and though he was now over a hundred years old, he was a man who appeared to be in his mid-fifties.

Again Horace’s vision rippled, and again he veered his mount off course as another round of ballista sailed past. Hollow Lake was no more than another hour’s ride, but being pursued for an hour could feel like an eternity. With his long red hair trailing behind him in the wind, Horace turned in his saddle to see if he could determine who or what it was that wanted him dead. Personally the veteran knight would prefer to kill the pursuers now, rather than spend the next hour dodging arrows flung at his back from the darkness, but looking back he could see nothing. Whatever it was that chased him could either see much better than he in the darkness, or was invisible. Even with his premonition, the veteran knight of Valdadore dared not take a risk if he could avoid it. It was better to lure the pursuers to his fellow knights, where together he and his brothers could make easy work of them, whatever they were.

For another hour Horace rode, all the while being pursued and threatened with injury. Time after time a ripple in his vision would occur, and seeing himself about to be struck by his enemies shot, he would alter course slightly so that the arrows sailed past him. The nearer he got to the lake, the more complicated the ride became. His pursuers were getting smarter as multiple shots were fired within a fraction of a second not only at him but to either side as well. These became increasingly difficult to dodge, but time and again Horace managed the feat, if only barely. Horace was not only fleeing his pursuers and dodging their attacks, but he was also learning. The most shots fired at him in a wave were five, leading him to believe that there were multiple attackers on his tail. Luckily for Horace it would only be a few more moments before he could find out for sure.

* * * * *

Garret stood, a giant of gleaming metal, inside a huge trench that was nearly as deep as he was tall. Being below the surface of the soil, even with all of his fellows digging like there was no tomorrow, an odd, out-of-place sound seemed to reverberate off the walls of the trench. It started as a mute buzzing, but as the minutes passed it became louder and a rhythm was established where before it had all blurred together. A few moments later the sound was not only distinguishable, but recognizable as well. A horse charged headlong, directly towards them. More minutes passed as the sound of the nearing horse grew louder and louder within the confines of the trench, and then the sound of the horse was accompanied by a buzzing once again. Another horse followed the first, and Garret was only expecting one arrival. Garret was not the only one to notice, and as he strained his ears to listen, his comrades alongside him also ceased their labors to focus upon the sounds.

“Riders,” Garret stated in a voice just loud enough to be heard. “Armor up.”

None of the knights hesitated, immediately dropping their shovels before climbing out of the trench to retrieve the armor they had discarded before beginning their labors. Garret needed no armor, and even though he had been laboring like a slave, his broadsword remained strapped to his back. Pulling it free of its scabbard, Garret climbed the wall of the trench and peered into the darkness, waiting for the riders to reveal themselves. What followed were the scariest moments of Garret’s life; the moments that let him know that in the days to come he would be outmanned, outclassed, outmaneuvered, outnumbered and overwhelmed to the point of breaking. What the young king saw that very night he would later realize was a clear message from the real rulers of Thurr, and they too were at odds with one another.