Age of the Gods: The Complete, twelve novel, fantasy series (The Blood and Brotherhood Saga) (114 page)

Though the huge gate itself was lowered, a small door within the larger gate remained open and guards stood to either side questioning those that approached. Within half an hour the companions stood before the guards.

“What is your business here?” an armed guard asked, obviously annoyed by repeating the phrase time and again.

“We heed the call of the king and have come to fight,” James replied.

“Then you’ve come too late,” the guard responded nonchalantly.

“What do you mean?” James and Jack asked simultaneously.

“The king marched west with his army four days ago. Even now they could be facing the enemy though I have heard no reports to confirm this.”

James shook his head. They had arrived too late indeed. Turning, not knowing what else to do, he called upon Gorandor. The people nearest to him were thrown from their feet, none of them expecting the blast that followed his prayer. Apologizing in a deep, thunderous voice, James scooped up his friends unceremoniously and allowed them to reclaim their spots in his tunic before he began to stride parallel to the castle, heading west. With each step he took, he picked up momentum. Each stride he stretched to the fullest. His sons were at war, and he would do anything in his power to see that they had his protection.

Without concern for anything around him, James sprinted down the cobble road heading west from the city of Valdadore, leaving a deep impression in the road with every stop, driving the stones down into the soil below. Inside his pocket, both Rose and Jack were forced to cling to the stitching and fabric within, lest they be thrown around. Though Jack doubted he would be injured in such a manner, it was for Rose’s safety that he held on.

Four hours later James slid to a halt, his sudden stop destroying a thirty-yard stretch of road. Before him the forces of Valdadore were fleeing the field of battle. Within minutes they would be surging past the giant of a man himself. Looking around, however, James discovered that this was only the main body of the army. A few miles ahead, ranks of archers and mages awaited the advance of the enemy. Beyond them a battle was being fought as giant warriors like himself engaged an entire army alone.

As James watched, a giant beast swooped down from the heavens unleashing blasts of fire as its vast wings flapped to gain altitude once more. A fireball momentarily cleared a path through the invading troops, and among all the giants on the field of battle one stood out from the rest. Even at this distance, and with his altered skin and immensely changed and sculpted body, James recognized his son. Garret stomped through the enemy sweeping his blade low, cleaving men in two by the dozens. With his other hand he sent men flying with each bash of his shield. Even from this distance a deep throaty chuckle could be heard escaping the young king of Valdadore. Like his father, Garret had the bloodlust.

James began to move slowly forward once again as the retreating soldiers of Valdadore parted before him. He was about to begin running once more, now that a path had opened, but as he leaned forward to start building momentum, a shout reached his ears.

“Giant James!” A forgotten but familiar voice shouted from the masses of fleeing troops below.

Looking down, James scanned the area around him seeking the source of the voice. Jack and Rose recognized the sound too and both of their heads popped out of the giant man’s pocket.

“Over here!” The shout came again.

James swiveled his body around to find an old man standing apart from the crowd to his left. Instantly his eyes lit up in recognition.

“Sulvis, you old hawk, why do you lead your men away from battle?” James asked.

“I follow the king’s orders. The only way we can hope to survive this battle is to wait out the winter in the city and hope Sigrant’s supply lines fail,” the grizzled old general replied.

“How are my boys doing?” James asked again.

“Your boys?” questioned the old veteran. “You mean the knights?”

“The knights too, I suppose, but I was referring to my sons, Garret and Seth,” James responded.

Sulvis’s large white eyebrows rose in sudden realization. “I should have known,” he shouted. “They are well for the moment, and work to buy the rest of us time. Perhaps you should go and see for yourself.”

With a nod, James turned, having all the information he needed. Again he began running, though for him it was only a short distance. Slowing again, he reached to his pocket and asked Rose to climb into his palm. Moments later Rose stood among those of her order, the oldest battle mage upon the field.

James walked the remaining mile, then lowered Jack to the ground as well. Jack exploded, tripling in size to nearly twenty feet, then he split into two men. All three drew their weapons.

It had been twenty-some years since either of them had drawn a sword in battle. They were rusty. They were old. They were once two of the best warriors Valdadore had to offer. James and Jack rushed into battle, yelling a battle cry of Valdadore that most had forgotten.

* * * * *

Garret faced a unit of sword-bearing infantry. Swinging his blade low, he cleaved them in two a dozen or more at a time. Again and again he swung his large sword with one hand, and his large shield in the other. A crimson path flowed out behind him, slippery with gore and destroyed bodies. Yet for all those he killed, more were already there to replace them. Taking note of his position among the front lines of the enemy, Garret swiveled his head and caught something unexpected out of the corner of his eye.
For an instant, Garret swore he had seen his fallen mentor Sirus entering the battle, and with him a pair of other knights although none of them was dressed in armor. On a double take, Garret assured himself that the men who now faced away from him were not what they originally appeared. The biggest of the trio was obviously not the slain Sirus, as the man on the present field of battle was not as broad of shoulder, nor were his muscles as defined. Garret felt rather than saw something familiar about the man, and changing direction to get a better look, he began clearing a new path to near the new champions.

Only a few fell swoops of the blade later, and the giant man and his companions turned toward him. Garret’s metallic jaw fell slack. There, clad in nothing more protective than leather leggings and cloth tunics, were his father, James, and his father’s best friend, Jack. Only now there were two Jacks. Garret could not believe his eyes which now watered uncontrollably. Smiling in his direction, James and the duplicate Jacks changed course to intercept the young king. Sadly, none of them were paying attention to the sudden change upon the battlefield when the first wave of attacks was unleashed.

Seth and his troops fanned out before the front lines of Sigrant’s force. A dozen yards ahead, Sara danced through the invading army, a whirlwind of death and destruction. Together with his troops Seth and his men held this portion of the enemy force at a standstill. While Seth blasted wave after wave of magical fire and lightning into the approaching troops, his wolfmen tore them limb from limb with their teeth and claws. So efficient were they that a mound of corpses and dismembered limbs began to form the length of the line. Over the course of an hour the mound deepened, and before long the approaching enemy was forced to climb over their own dead and dying just to meet the defenders of Valdadore.

From above, both Borrik and Eve swooped down time and again, leaving none below without fear of being snatched off their feet and carried away into the sky. Body parts and organs rained down with blood and gore each time a neighbor vanished into the air above.

Seth hadn’t lost a single one of his werewolves or champions in over an hour. His line was holding. Yet this fact brought him no comfort. He alone realized that the war had no purpose. No one was winning; they were simply killing and dying to feed the greed of the gods. Seth had no time at present to explain his fears to his brother. He could not simply leave the battle. For as little as it mattered which side won or lost, he would rather Valdadore win for no other reason than it was his home and he was sworn to protect it.

For a while Seth simply let his mind wander of its own accord as he siphoned the life from a few hundred enemies, then returned the energy as a wave of fire, killing hundreds more. Over and over power washed into him, and over and over he expelled it just the same. The pleasure that came with the power did not overwhelm him as it once had. He had become stronger since then. Now the feeling was only great when dispatching a blessed champion of the gods.

Though Seth was not paying attention when the first changes began to transpire, Borrik above was, and he relayed a message to his master.

“My prince,” Jonas shouted above the melee, “Borrik warns that new troops are approaching from the rear and hiding themselves within the ranks of those we now fight.”

“What weapons do they carry?” Seth asked.

A moment passed as the question was communicated and Seth watched as Borrik swooped low to get a better look, his great leathery wings having become one of his biggest assets.

“None, my prince, they appear to be unarmed,” Jonas replied.

“Shit!” Seth yelled. “He has more mages!”

As if to verify Seth’s statement, within an instant the battle altered beyond measure.

Lightning, fire, blasts of ice, and gusts of wind raced across the battlefield, seemingly from everywhere at once. Though Seth was spared in the initial wave, something struck him none the less.

As the first barrage hit, Seth felt something snap as power rushed into him, filling him momentarily with pleasure. Then feeling the loss of the connection Seth mourned it, and turned his head in time to watch the burning form of Eve, his avian champion, fall from the skies in a smoldering heap.

In a moment of panic Seth’s eyes darted around the skies until he located Borrik’s massive form hovering well above the field of battle. Then Seth felt another rush of power as another connection broke. A moment later and a third champion fell. Seth reached out with his mind to locate the mages at the same time as he turned to face Jonas and give his orders.

“Have Borrik guide you and the men, and destroy the mages.”

Jonas bowed his head in understanding and within a second over a hundred giant werewolves were bounding through the invading troops, singling out those who were the greatest threat.

Magic blasted all around and Seth silenced one mage after another, but his troops were falling before the onslaught. Water began to seep up out of the soil as Seth turned another mage to ash. A moment later, something smashed into Seth that drove him backwards to the ground, several of his ribs either bruised or broken. Struggling to breathe, Seth rolled to see the giant ball of ice that had struck him in the chest. He had never seen it coming with his vision of the gods. Unlike magical fire or lightning, the ice was natural. It was created by actual elements, although by magical means, so once hurled, it retained no power and thus was invisible to his god-like vision. Staggering to his feet as Jonas took up position to better guard him, Seth threw up a magical wall of pure power, and went back to work snuffing out the life of his foes.

The water upon the ground was now more than a foot deep. Suddenly, as if coming to life, the water surged upwards into the air and, as it did, turned unbelievably cold as wind blasted the field. Giant spikes of ice, as tall as a man, formed all over the battlefield. Some of them encased Sigrant’s soldiers while others were stained and filled with blood and gore. Around them all was ice. Combatants from both sides of the fray began to slip and fall upon the ice between the immense spikes. However for those of average size it was just that, a fall. For those blessed with size, falling meant landing upon the spikes of ice, and within a minute Seth lost another dozen troops. Looking around Seth spotted something he never in his life would have expected.

The only father Seth had ever known was James. To his recollection, his father had never spoken of fighting in any battle, ever. Yet here, now, among the champions Seth had created, and among the few valiant Knights of Valdadore remaining, stood the man who had taken Seth in as an infant and raised him as his own child. Across the field, beside his brother the king, James swung a sword with practiced ease, cleaving men and spikes of ice with each blow. Seth, lost in thought a moment, was returned to brutal reality as the life of another of his troops rushed through his body. The tide was turning again.

Focusing on his task, Seth reached out to locate the nearest mage then winced as his ecstasy faded and he remembered his damaged ribs. Fireballs rained down from the heavens and lightning danced amongst pointy fingers of ice. Seth concentrated and grasped at the bloated life of the nearest mage and ripped both life and blessing away in one fell move. Instantly the mage crumbled to ash as the pleasure of life power coursed through Seth.

Without delay Seth unleashed a torrent of fire, aiming not at the troops around him, but at the deadly ice spikes designed to impede and kill his men. As death by ice became a reduced threat, Seth sought out his next target. Opposing magics began to diminish as his men closed in on the casters, yet his troop numbers began to fall as well. Seth needed to even the odds, lest Valdadore’s only hope fall here and now. Reaching out again to seek a foul mage blessed with wicked magics, Seth realized he would not turn the tide this time.

* * * * *

Rose smoothed out her traveling cloak and turned to watch her two dearest friends walk off towards impending doom. They had known each other for practically their whole lives, each of them being consigned to service to the kingdom at the same Choosing ceremony so many years ago. Seven of them had decided together to retire from service after decades, and now only four remained. Three of them were here now back where their friendships began, and Rose prayed to her god that this would not be their last time together.

Watching as James and Jack drew their weapons, Rose turned to face those she had been left behind with.

“Who is in charge here?” she shouted.

Moments later a man, perhaps in his fifties yet appearing in his early thirties, extracted himself from the throng of more than a hundred battle mages.

“I am, though currently we take orders from Felonus, captain of the archers,” he proclaimed.

“Wrong answer, son,” Rose said, and spinning round to address all those gathered she continued, “I am now in charge of all battle mages. Form ranks, we march to help our king.”

Unsure as to what was taking place, none moved to follow Rose’s order.

“And who might you be to declare yourself our master?” the man asked defiantly.

“I am Rose Devante, former head of battle mages. I come to temporarily reclaim my post.”

The name alone demanded respect, and the man who stood to thwart her immediately looked to his feet, ashamed. He should have recognized his former headmistress. He had trained under her, as did all young mages, in his first year at the castle. Then she had retired, Vladmere taking her place. It made no matter; all here knew her name and her abilities. Some had tried to recreate the things she had mastered, and studied her writings and lessons. Vladmere had achieved the most success openly, but even so he was but a shadow before the sun. Bodies burst into action and within minutes Rose had four even ranks of mages ready to march to battle with her.

“Follow my lead. If you are on the outside of the formation, use fire shield. Those of you inside, target enemy mages first, common troops second,” Rose commanded.

Without giving any further explanation Rose strode off towards the ever-nearing battle. The formation of battle mages fell into step a few paces behind. Within seconds all those mages vulnerable to immediate attack cast the fire shield spell. A complete ring of fire blazed around the junior mages following Rose. So close were they that her very robes began to smolder as smoke billowed out of her cowl. Rose did not so much as cough; fire was an old friend. Most of her days she spent sitting in front of the fire. She enjoyed its warmth, but it had been years since she allowed herself to enjoy its touch.

Raising her palms to the heavens, Rose chanted an incantation and her robes immediately ignited in entirety. Seconds later they were consumed and Rose walked the remaining mile to the battlefield devoid of clothes, her nude body covered in dancing and swaying flames.

Every trace of hair had vanished, yet beneath the fire Rose walked uninjured. Together with her followers, Rose marched directly into the enemy and, with a wave of her hand, a tidal wave of fire sprang from her body engulfing all those ahead and to either side. Her fellow mages took that as their cue and fireballs of varying size and intensity lanced out in all directions as victims were chosen and felled. Screams of the burning sounded from all around the mages as giant werewolves made way for the walking inferno. Before long, Rose and those at her command became a primary target for King Sigrant’s mages, and though some fell beneath the onslaught of ice, lightning, and fire, Rose foiled most incoming attacks. All of Valdadore’s mages retaliated in kind each time an attack was thrown.

Rose watched as lightning was unleashed towards the giant flying beast in the air above them but saw that the beast blocked the blow with one armored arm. What should have killed him did not so much as slow him. Better than that, Rose located another target, but the flying beast was already upon the mage who dared cast lightning at him.

Werewolf, mage, knight, and flying beast all attacked the mages of the invading force, and within an hour they had been destroyed, along with several companies of infantry as well. Sigrant had taken another hard hit. Afternoon was growing late and none knew if the invading king would press his attack through the night, nor what else he might have in store for them.

* * * * *

King Sigrant sat upon his stallion, near enough now to the front lines to see for himself what played out upon the field. His mages wreaked havoc upon the giant wolfmen; in moments half a dozen of the beasts fell. Seconds later one of the foul flying beasts came tumbling out of the sky, an inferno of blazing feathers. King Sigrant smiled. It was not that he was a malicious man. He was simply driven. He needed Valdadore so that he could continue expanding and
he
could afford to lose some men to acquire the valuable nation. Thus far he had been throwing pebbles at Valdadore. Sadly the small nation had been crumbling before the pebbles.

As his progress began to slow, Sigrant began to toss some small rocks at Valdadore and now those rocks were running amuck, devastating the large beasts that many thought to be demons raised from some abyss. Even a boulder will eventually relent to sand being thrown at it, and Sigrant had brought both to the battle, sand and boulders. Thus far he did not imagine needing the boulders, but just in case he preferred to give them time to catch up with the rest of his army. They were lumbering things that could destroy entire villages in a single breath, but by the gods they were slow.

Signaling a messenger, Sigrant gave the order to continue the fight from their current location, but to move no further. Just as the messenger dashed off, a great blaze of fire erupted some distance off and began moving towards the battle. The invading king did not have to wait long to see what this mobile inferno was. He knew a brigade of mages when he saw one in action. He gestured to one of his captains and arrows were loosed. Not a single of Valdadore’s mages fell before the volley, though several of his own men near to them did. The arrows meant for the mages burnt up completely before penetrating the barrier of fire surrounding them.

Within seconds Sigrant’s own mages began to hone in on the cluster of flaming Valdadorians but to little effect. Each time one of his mages cast a spell they were set upon from above by a flying beast or by one of the giant wolfmen. If they were not immediately dispatched in such a way, dozens of fireballs were hurled at them, burning them in magical fire. Sigrant’s small stones were failing to be effective. He took mental notes of the failure and began planning for the following day. He summoned another messenger.