“G’morning Jonas,” Seth greeted the werewolf. “Have I missed much?”
“No, my prince,” Jonas replied. “Orders are being carried out as you desired, though I should like to note a few things the men have discovered.”
“Carry on, Jonas,” Seth ordered.
“Our men headed west to harry King Sigrant’s forces have picked up on the scent of blood, and a lot of it, but it is not on their actual route. Would you like them to investigate?”
“Where is the scent coming from?” Seth asked.
“The north west,” Jonas replied. “It is being carried upon the wind, but the men do not believe it to be far from their current location, perhaps a couple hours.”
“Investigate with all haste,” Seth decreed, wondering what could possibly bleed enough to carry a scent that far on the wind. “Anything else, Jonas?”
“Borrik and those he leads have split into three groups, one heading south, another east, and yet another heads north. Borrik wanted me to relay to you that upon his return, he wishes his master to be ready for the beasts he will be bringing will not be easy to subdue,” Jonas answered.
“Very well, and what of our sentries?”
“They are spaced every couple of miles, easily within communication range,” Jonas answered, sending out subliminal orders to the main pack for them to follow the scent of blood. Within moments the order went down the chain of sentries, and came back. “Even now your troops turn northward to discover the source of the blood.”
“Good, Jonas,” Seth replied, happy something was working correctly. “Today you will be at my side. Keep me updated. There is much to do.”
Without so much as a nod, Jonas turned and became one with Seth’s shadow. When Seth moved, he moved. When his master stopped, so did he. Jonas was a superb soldier. He followed orders to the letter without question. He was disciplined beyond measure. In fact, Seth mused, the only reason the man had not been a Knight of Valdadore as a human was his lack of ability to control magic.
That was it! Seth knew now what it was he needed to discover, and discover it he would, just as soon as his other duties were seen to.
* * * * *
Zorbin awoke early to break camp and found Linaya already awake. He had seen the way human males drooled over the woman, and he had to admit that even for a human she was oddly attractive, but not near enough to tempt him. Give her a larger chest, and a belly to sit her chest upon, and then perhaps she would be worth a little drool, but as she was...no chance. She seemed a nice enough girl, though she did not talk much, and this made Zorbin curious. Today he would try and discover what kept her tongue entrapped.
“G’morning, Lady Linaya,” Zorbin smiled, rolling up his sleeping mat.
“And good morning to you, Lord Zorbin,” Linaya replied sweeping her hair from her eyes.
“Did you sleep well?” asked the dwarf.
“Not at all. Adjusting to sleeping at night has proved difficult.”
“Tis a shame,” Zorbin responded. “A young lass like yerself needs rest, especially on such a rigorous journey.”
“You think me pampered?” she questioned, one eyebrow rising slightly.
“That’s not what I meant,” Zorbin replied quickly, thinking he may have pushed the wrong button. “I was just meanin’ that something seems to be eating at you, and if your soul is going to be weary, than your body should be strong.”
“Strong, weary, it makes no difference,” Linaya stated, sounding somewhat annoyed.
“What do ye mean?” Zorbin asked, checking the straps on Zanth’s armor. The great dire wolf had kept watch this night, and so had remained in his armor.
“Do you not remember our orders?” Linaya asked, but continued without awaiting a response. “We go to beg for assistance from a nation who sent none only a few weeks ago, and are not to return unless it is with aid. It is a fool’s errand, one designed to send us away to safety as those we love fight for survival. I hate it and want to turn round and go back, but I can’t because I promised.”
“Aye, I agree,” Zorbin replied in earnest. “It is unlikely that any fruit will be borne of this task, but it remains important that we should go.”
“Why?” Linaya questioned, a bit harshly.
“If we go, and the old gray beard says no, then we have lost nothing but time. If we do not go, and the graybeard would have said yes, then we have lost an ally. Better to ask and be refused than not to ask at all,” Zorbin replied. “Besides, orders is orders. If Garret tells me to sail to the moon upon a cloud, I’ll think him mad, but I will still try to do as he commanded.”
“To the moon upon a cloud, huh?” Linaya asked. “Did you just make that up, or have you been saving that one, thinking it clever?” she jested.
“Perhaps you would prefer riding a squirrel into the netherworld?” Zorbin joked in return. He was happy her mood had already lifted. She had simply needed to share what had been bothering her, and now she knew she was not alone in thinking the mission a lost cause.
Together Linaya and Zorbin packed up their few belongings before eating a hasty meal and riding off on their mounts into the morning. They spoke frequently throughout the day, Linaya asking of dwarven history and customs, and Zorbin enquiring about life growing up in the castle. Oddly, they formed an easy friendship, and Linaya was not surprised that Garret thought so highly of the dwarf. He seemed a kind and loyal friend, something every man needed, especially the king.
* * * * *
Borrik raced eastward from the city of Valdadore. It had taken him only moments to decide upon a course of action. His mission was fairly straightforward. Collect beasts that had attributes he wanted; ones that would make him a better warrior. He had pondered the possibilities and come to a simple conclusion. He had seen those blessed by the gods upon the battlefield when fighting the black horde, and knew that in order to best such warriors, he would need to be their equal or better. He wanted their speed, their strength, their size, and more. Borrik soon thought of what he could bring to his master for such attributes, and giving his orders, split his contingent of werewolf soldiers into halves. Connor Falion, once a farmer, led his party to the south. They were to collect wolves, deer, bats and, if possible, several of the thick-bodied, tough-skinned trolls that lived south of Valdadore. The second party, headed north, was led by Captain Corbin, once a grizzled army veteran, but now renewed with strength and vigor. His mission was to collect the great cave bears of the north, the large-horned rams that lived near the mountains, and, should the opportunity arise, any large birds of prey he might encounter.
Borrik himself raced east with one single target in mind. He sought a beast both vicious and cunning, and it would not easily be caged. However, it was also a beast that was unwilling to give up a chase, and for that Borrik did not need men or a cage; he just needed to keep it angry enough to follow him. Something within Borrik had changed since being bitten by Sara, for now he, like she, was faster, lighter, and more agile. With this alteration, he could make the trip easily in a couple days, and he hoped to lead his sacrifice back to the city within a week. Sniffing the air as he ran, the large gray alpha werewolf raced on, churning up soil with every step, wondering if his most recent alteration came with as dark a sacrifice as his last one. He could not help himself but to recall an image of a young woman screaming beneath him as he forced himself upon her. Brushing the image aside, a shiver ran down Borrik’s spine and he redoubled his speed in an attempt to clear his mind through physical exertion.
* * * * *
Sara wandered the top floor of the mage’s tower, avoiding rooms with windows as best as she was able. She drew the curtains of those she could reach without too much trouble, blocking out the sun’s harmful rays. Though some might think it improper or rude, an idea presented itself to Sara that she found rather intriguing. Skipping down the hallway like a schoolgirl might, Sara came to the door of what had once been Jud’s personal chambers. Sara had never actually been in the man’s
chamber, and she could not help but wonder what an old half-breed mage might keep within his personal space. She imagined jars with creatures floating in them, vials of potions, scrolls with spells, and dust, lots of dust. Testing the knob, Sara was surprised to find the room unsecured. Pushing the door open, she let it swing wide to reveal nothing that she had expected at all. In fact the room appeared the exact opposite of special. Mundane was a kind word for what Sara saw, but none the less she ventured into the room in hopes of discovering something exciting.
Once inside Sara looked around, noting more specific details. Against one wall was a bookshelf that besides books held a smattering of other items of little importance. Along the opposite wall sat a long wooden desk and chair. Upon the desk sat a large, leather-bound tome and a quill within an inkpot that had completely dried up. Sara approached the desk, and scanning through the last entry in the book, discovered that it seemed little more than a journal of sorts that the half-elven mage had been keeping of his own life and interactions therein. Boring. Sara looked around once more, completely prepared to leave, when she discovered that something was missing. Though the room seemed more than adequate in size to accommodate one, the chamber was bereft of any sort of bed to speak of. This had Sara utterly perplexed for she knew for a fact that Jud had spent every night in this room. Then she wondered if elves required sleep. Seth, having more than ample life within him no longer seemed to require it. Sara herself barely slept these days with the amount of life that Seth had bestowed upon her. Elves were said to be long of life, perhaps the longest lived of all the races of man. Maybe they did not require sleep at all, Sara thought while pacing the room. With nothing better to do than find out, Sara looked to the source of information that would tell her all she needed to know. It had thousands of pages about the man’s life, and surely if he spent so much time writing over the years it must tell if he slept or not.
Taking a seat at the desk, Sara flipped the pages of the giant tome back towards the beginning. Judilanthaliz had beautiful penmanship. His words were like feathers and flowers upon the pages, each one formed with flowing lines and curves as if the ink had come to life upon the page and danced across its surface leaving a thin trail upon the parchment. Sara admired the work, but flipped all the way to the front cover, where it met the first page within the journal. The tome was huge, and she knew it would take several days to read it all. She also realized that she had little to do during daylight hours, and so she began the first page.
My travels upon Thurr, volume three.
Volume three? Sara could hardly believe her eyes. The half-elven mage had managed to fill two of these enormous tomes with flowery words and nearly finished a third before he died. Days? It would take the better part of two weeks to make it through three of these vast journals. Sara, however, was up for the challenge. Even so, her body had been nagging her for hours, ever since she had bitten Borrik in order to save his life. Sara needed to feed, and would not be able to properly concentrate until she did. The werewolf seemed to do nothing for her thirst except exaggerate it. Sara needed a human. She needed one that no one would miss, one that perhaps she could keep for a while to feed upon, one that tasted and smelled good. Preferably one that was fairly young, like herself.
Thinking she knew just the place to go, Sara stood from the chair and exited the room, leaving the door open. Turning down the hall, Sara followed it to the end, magical torches igniting to light the way and extinguishing behind her. She headed down the corridor to the right. Walking a short distance further, Sara entered into the small dining hall upon the top floor of the mages’ tower. As she hoped, she could hear the fires crackling from the kitchen beyond. Above her a great chandelier covered in enchanted candles burst to life. In the next room, a candle there lit as well, signaling that the dining hall had a guest and food would be needed. Sara, ignoring the dozens of chairs in the room, sat upon the end of one of the tables, then laid back upon her elbows awaiting her meal.
Sara did not wait long, for only a few moments passed and the door to the kitchen swung silently open as a young woman named Fera entered the dining room carrying with her a pitcher of cool ale and some cups upon a tray. She was older than Sara, though only by a few years, having been chosen at The Choosing ceremony previous to the one Sara recently attended. Nothing was truly exceptional about her either. Her hair and face were plain, her figure was lean but pleasant, and she walked swinging her hips like a woman without a husband. Sara smiled to the young cook, thinking all the while that there were none who might miss her and raise an alarm. If anyone did mark her absence, they would simply assume she had been reassigned to another duty now that Jud was dead, or perhaps that she had volunteered to do something toward the war effort.
Sara greeted the woman, thanked her for the drink, and asked for her company, already pouring them both a glass of ale. Fera complied, of course. Even a lowly cook in a vacant floor of a tower knew that the young mage Seth and his wife were now royalty. As such the young cook could not resist speaking to Sara as a peer might, with the possibility of elevating her station if they became friends. They talked for quite some time, Sara frequently replenishing Fera’s drink as the conversation progressed. In little more than an hour, the young woman began to slur her words, unaccustomed to so much ale. Sara, on the other hand, had barely touched her glass, yet the pitcher was near empty. Now all Sara needed to do is show the young woman how kind she really was.
“Oh my,” Sara said. “We seem to have run dry,” she added holding up the pitcher.
Fera began to rise but Sara protested.
“No Fera, you sit and relax, I will refill it,” Sara said standing.
“Really?” Fera asked, her breath reeking of alcohol.
“Sure. Where can I find some more ale?” Sara asked, a grin on her lips.
“There is a large cask in the kitchen, past the cooking fires and around the corner,” Fera replied, gesturing somewhat wildly.
Sara nodded her understanding and turned without hesitation and walked through the door to the kitchen. Once inside, Sara placed the empty pitcher upon the counter before returning again to the door. Leaning against the wall beside the door frame, Sara waited a few moments.
“Fera, I can’t find it!” Sara shouted. “What is a cask?” she added for emphasis of her stupidity, and though she could not hear it, Fera replied.
“Seriously, she can’t find a cask of ale?” Fera murmured, completely disgusted with spoiled, rich people. “Let me come and educate you, your majesty,” she added for spite.
Rising somewhat unsteadily from her seat, Fera staggered through the door into the kitchen, letting the door swing closed behind her. Sara was nowhere in sight, and so Fera, thinking her around the corner, moved as if to walk in that direction. However, she did not complete a single step before Sara was upon her.
Sara stood as still as death as the door swung open to permit the entrance of her chosen meal. As Fera walked in, the door completely concealed Sara’s hiding spot behind it. As it swung closed once more, it revealed to Sara a perfect opportunity. Taking the single step needed to approach her prey, Sara quickly wrapped an arm around the small woman’s torso, pinning both of her arms to her sides. With her free hand, Sara grasped a fistful of Fera’s brown hair and wrenched her head to the side somewhat violently. Hearing the young cook gasp in surprise, Sara bit into the warm flesh of the woman’s neck, and gasped as the blood filled her mouth and joined her own blood through the tubes in her altered teeth. Ecstasy washed through her veins as she fed, and Sara enjoyed the bliss, careful not to kill the young woman. She hoped to enjoy her over and over again in the days or perhaps weeks to come. Succumbing to blood loss, Fera fainted, falling bodily into Sara who still clung to her as a lover might. Then, carefully lowering the woman to the floor, Sara looked around for the objects she now required.
First Sara found some clean rags and binding the small wounds on Fera’s neck, she hoped to preserve her life and stop the bleeding. Fair
ly certain the girl would live, Sara needed a way to prevent her from leaving. The kitchen was the most remote room upon this floor of the tower and as such would be the best place to keep the girl. Locating some lengths of rope and twine usually used to suspend meat from hooks in the ceiling, Sara bound Fera’s hands and legs, and then pulled the young woman to her feet. Tossing the length of rope securing Fera’s hands over a hook in the ceiling, Sara secured her victim in a standing position, not wanting to leave the woman any slack to move around with. Finally assured she could not escape, Sara took a remaining scrap of rope and used it to gag the woman as a means to keep her from alerting anyone with her screams for help.
Sara stood back admiring her work. It was not that she was proud of her actions, but this was a simple means to an end. She needed to feed, and here was a source of the blood her body craved. Why attack several people, making herself a monster, if she could simply enslave a single person to her cause? Besides, it was temporary. Eventually Seth would correct her transformation and the need for blood would be gone. Then, Sara reassured herself, she could set the cook free, and it would be as if it had never happened. After all, Sara the princess would never have to fear persecution so long as she was royalty. Satisfied that all was well, Sara left the kitchen without so much as looking back, ready to figure out if elves required sleep or not.
Chapter 10
Grim Discoveries
It was nearing midday as Seth and Jonas neared the outer wall of the city of Valdadore. The sun was high in the sky, having already burned away the chill of the previous night. Seth walked down the crowded streets surprisingly unhindered, his cowl pulled low over his face shielding his eyes from the sun. For though as the population of the city swelled by the minute as people poured in from neighboring cities and towns, the dark prince was given a wide berth. His was a tale that spread like the plague, and even as he walked the streets he witnessed as people pointed and whispered stories of him to those nearby. Seth prowled the streets once again clad in his black robes, his cowl pulled low over his face to keep out the sun. Those who knew him by sight, or marked him by the werewolf that walked on his heels, moved well out of his way. Those who did not were pulled aside by those who were better educated. The stories of the prince’s abilities had spread and changed, mutating into hardly credible half-truths. Some said the prince could turn a person to ash with a look; others said that if you touched him you became a monster like the ones that served him already. None dared come near him, at least until he finally made his way to Blacksmith’s Row.
Age of the Gods: The Complete, twelve novel, fantasy series (The Blood and Brotherhood Saga) Page 98
