“I must still live,” Horace gasped, his voice sounding weak.
“Yes, you do,” Garret smiled, “though I do not know how.”
“You forget who you are talking to,” the knight replied in jest. “Had I not dreamed you were about to bury me, would I still be alive?”
“For a few moments,” Garret laughed. “At least, until you suffocated.”
“You see, even in my sleep I evade death.” Horace’s joking words were followed by a round of coughing.
“I need to tend to your wounds,” Garret stated, eyeing his friend’s stump of a leg.
“Are you a healer now?”
“No,” Garret answered.
“Then leave it alone lest you reopen it.”
“You need a healer, Horace,” Garret admitted, “but I am afraid to move you.”
“No, I cannot ride, nor could you carry me quick enough without doing me harm. It seems I lived only to die more slowly.”
“What would you have me do?” Garret asked, not wanting to watch the man die again.
“You are young, my king. Have faith,” Horace said in barely a whisper, unconsciousness seeking to claim him once more. “Pray and believe.”
Garret watched as the injured knight lost consciousness again and drifted into sleep. He looked around for an answer, thinking at first to make a litter that the horses could bear, but there was nothing to be seen but water and grass. In his blessed form he could easily carry the man, but not without jostling him excessively. There was quite literally nothing Garret could do. As midday fell upon the king, he knelt upon the soil and raised his face to the heavens.
“Mighty Gorandor, I pray that you save this man as he has been a loyal servant to you for many long years. I pray that you see him through this injury and restore him to his former glory,” Garret prayed aloud. Looking to his comrade before him Garret witnessed no change. Instead of giving up, Garret did as Horace had instructed him.
“Mighty Gorandor, if you and the other gods are with Valdadore, I pray you give me a sign that this is so. Show me the way to save my people; show me a way to save Horace, a loyal servant to the both of us,” Garret concluded.
He knelt there for a long moment, his face towards the heavens, hoping beyond hope that his prayers would be heard. From a distance, Garret heard as a bird took flight, squawking in alarm to warn any others of its kind nearby. Opening his eyes, Garret began to turn towards the sound. Then he heard another sound from another direction. Somewhere to his right he heard a bark and a couple footfalls. It seemed the local population of predators had picked up on the scent of blood. Garret looked to see what feral beast it was that approached and found himself surrounded. Closing in upon him from all sides were hundreds of his brother’s soldiers, their hair-covered bodies taking enormous strides, their eyes gleaming in the daytime sun. Though most kept their distance, three approached Garret, and unexpectedly, they each took a knee before one of them spoke.
“Your majesty, I am glad to find you unharmed,” the hybrid half growled. “Word has already been sent to our master and he wishes us to aid you however you see fit before we continue on our mission.”
“I need to get Horace to a healer,” Garret replied quickly. “However, I fear if we move him his wound will reopen.”
The beast of a man, a motley of different colored furs, inspected the wound in a glance and nodded his agreement to the king before his eyes lost focus for a moment, as if he stared at something far away.
“The creator sends healers with all haste. They should arrive before nightfall,” the werewolf stated.
“The creator?” Garret asked, his mind a confused mess.
“Your brother, our creator. Did you not just pray to see what gods were aligned with Valdadore?” the wolf hybrid asked, having clearly overheard the king as he approached. “Now you know of at least one that lends his support.”
“Indeed,” Garret replied not wanting to upset the wolfman. “Are you off then to harass King Sigrant’s army?”
“Only if we can serve you no further,” the werewolf replied.
“Unless you each brought a shovel I think my plans here are in ruins,” Garret replied in earnest.
“Tell me of your plans,” the werewolf responded.
Garret relayed his intention to dig a great trench from here to the beginning of the rolling hills, leaving a dam at the edge of the lake. He explained how, when the enemy was within the hills, the dam would be broken which would send a torrent of water barreling down upon the enemy. The wolfman listened intently and agreed that he and his men were ill equipped to dig a deep, large trench, but he did offer up an alternative that was feasible.
“Your majesty, if I might make a suggestion?” the wolfman asked.
“Be my guest,” Garret said, knowing full well that his own plans were in ruins.
“Though a great torrent of water could do the enemy harm as well as delay them, if the rolling hills were flooded now, Sigrant would still be forced to build rafts or bridges, thus delaying his arrival to Valdadore,” the wolfman stated.
“So what do you suggest?” Garret asked.
“Have you ever seen a dog dig a hole?” the wolfman joked, his laugh more like a bark. “If we can dig a small trench now, no more than a ditch really, we can gradually flood the lowlands over the next week and it would be significantly less work.”
“I admit it is a good plan,” Garret said. “But there is one major setback to doing it your way.”
“What is this setback, your majesty?”
“You and your men will be trapped on the other side of the water with the enemy,” Garret explained.
“So be it then,” the wolfman said simply.
“You would consign yourself and your men to certain death?” Garret asked, appalled.
“My orders are to slow the enemy. And do you not yourself rush into battle, praying your god will deliver you from the battle alive?” the wolfman questioned.
“I do,” Garret admitted.
“Then let us dig your ditch,” the werewolf said. “As you have faith that Gorandor will see you through a battle, so too do we have faith that our creator will deliver us back to Valdadore to serve him again.”
“Very well,” Garret agreed, thinking to himself that everyone needed to have faith in something.
Without so much as an order, every single one of the wolfmen and women raced towards the point where Garret and his men had stopped digging. Dropping to all fours, each of them began clawing at the soil with their bare hands, flinging dirt into the air in all directions. Into the night they worked without so much as a single pause, even after the healers arrived and began to work upon Horace. By the middle of that same night the water began to flow south. It started pouring through the narrow ditch, churning and swirling, and as it washed away more soil the flow increased. Within the first hour the small ditch doubled in width as the current alone worked to widen and deepen it, carrying soil away to deposit elsewhere. Garret thanked Seth’s troops wholeheartedly, and watched them disperse into the night, their faith alone letting them believe that they were not consigning themselves to death.
* * * * *
Seth stood within the street awaiting details of his brother’s attack, looking to Jonas for answers. The crowd waited anxiously with him as all ears listened in on the conversation transpiring between the dark prince and one of his created soldiers.
“They were set upon in the night by a warrior blessed with many abilities,” Jonas relayed the information. “Only the king and a knight named Horace survived the battle, but the knight is mortally wounded and cannot be brought back to the city.”
“Jonas, you are faster than I,” Seth began giving his orders. “Outside the castle wall there are healers. Go to them and command them by order of the king to race with all haste to the southern shore of Hollow Lake.”
Jonas turned and leaped over the nearest bystanders, bounding through the crowd over the heads of those who failed to move out of
his path. Many long minutes passed, and Seth began to grow impatient. When the werewolf did return he had more news.
“My prince, the king and his knights were unable to complete their mission…”
“Then complete it for them,” Seth interrupted, cutting Jonas’ sentence short.
Again Seth and the crowd waited as messages were relayed and a conversation was held on the other end.
“The king directs your men as they carry out his mission,” Jonas stated many minutes later. “The men will see it completed, though due to circumstance they will be trapped with the enemy,” the werewolf concluded evasively, not wanting to feed the crowd too much information.
Seth taking the meaning of Jonas’ words simply nodded to the wolf hybrid in understanding. Now he needed to devise a way to collect his men before they were slaughtered by the enemy.
“Tell them to buy me as much time as possible and I will see them home.”
“It is done, my prince,” Jonas said. “The men will work ceaselessly to see that what you will is done.”
That was the end of the conversation. Without another word Seth turned to face the crowd, assured that the battle mages temporarily under his command were indeed increasing the productivity of the blacksmiths within the city. Though the revelation he had had less than an hour before screamed against it, Seth moved as if to walk off and resume his study of more blessed persons, starting with the battle mages within smith row. The child and his small family had reminded Seth that these were all lives he toyed with, each of them interconnected with others, but he could not help but feel that in order to save many, a few would have to be sacrificed. By sacrificed he meant altered, and by altered he meant experimented upon by himself. Seth needed answers, and he needed them yesterday. The quickest way to the answers from his experience was through actually trying his theories out. Though not always safe, it was thorough and fast, and at this time that was exactly what Seth needed. Now he needed to study some more with abilities, and then round up some volunteers.
* * * * *
Sara sat at the long wooden desk within the room that once belonged to Judilanthaliz, the half-elven guardian to the previous King of Valdadore. She had located the first two volumes upon the large bookshelf that took up the majority of the opposite wall. Starting with volume one, she scanned the pages slowly more than actually read them. Though his penmanship had been beautiful, and his grammar perfect, Sara found it extremely time consuming, and by noon had only managed a little over a hundred pages of the tome which contained over a thousand more. She was deep in thought, lost within the swirls and twists of the letters that made up the words upon the pages, when a bloodcurdling scream sounded, seemingly from everywhere at once.
Standing so abruptly that her chair shot out from under her to crash loudly into the shelves behind her, Sara sprang from the room into the hall. She crept slowly down the hall unsure what event might have taken place. Perhaps another assassin had come for her. Perhaps King Sigrant had sent some mighty beast to rend the royal family limb from limb. Sara had no way to be certain, so she crept slowly, silently down the immense stone hallway, thankful that it was day. Had it been night, the enchanted torches upon the walls would announce her progress. Being daytime, however, the torches remained inert, allowing Sara to creep undetected. As she progressed down the hall she heard the whimpering of a woman from up ahead, and locating her target, Sara picked up her pace.
A few moments later Sara arrived at an open door that led to a simple bedchamber. From inside she could hear a woman sobbing. Pressing herself firmly to the wall outside the door Sara waited patiently listening for any other sound within the room. None forthcoming, Sara risked a glance into the room, leaning away from her cover behind the wall she peered into the room to discover something she had not anticipated at all.
Within the room Fera laid upon the floor, curled up into a ball, sobbing beside a bed. She lay upon her side, her hands covering much of her face, though even so Sara recognized her. How she had escaped was a mystery, but why she had screamed and was now crying was a bigger mystery still. Knowing the cook was not a threat, Sara swept into the room quietly as to not draw the young woman’s attention. Seemingly unnoticed, Sara sprang upon Fera in an effort to pin her to the floor so that she might glean the details of the woman’s escape. Sara had not anticipated Fera’s actions, however.
As Sara sprang, Fera twisted upon the floor and pushed off the bed frame, sliding her body upon the stone floor further from Sara. Though Sara managed to grab the woman’s clothing, Fera again twisted in her grasp and did the unthinkable. Grabbing Sara’s forearm and hand, Fera bit deeply into Sara’s wrist, and holding on for all she was worth the woman began to suckle at her blood like a babe upon a breast. Sara, acting upon instinct, backhanded the woman full in the face and heard as the woman’s jaw and skull gave way, the side of her head actually caving in from the force with a cracking sound. Blood and brain matter spilled out from Fera’s open mouth, ears, eyes, and nose. Realization came to Sara immediately. The change that was within her was transmittable, like a disease. The woman had become what Sara was, though to a lesser degree, and on making contact with the sunlight within the room, her flesh had burned, causing her to scream. Sara had the life force of many men within her, thus she was much more potent than the creature she had spawned. None the less, Sara now realized that she had two choices. She could either murder her victims to avoid creating more monsters like herself, or ignore her thirst for blood, if that were even possible.
Chapter 11
Worried Kings and Puppet Strings
Nine days had passed since Garret and Horace had returned to the city and the pair of them were busier than ever. The healers had managed to restore Horace’s leg in entirety, although he still complained that it hurt. It was as if the unholy blast had inflicted lasting effects upon his mind where it had not done so upon his body. Each day Garret’s army swelled, and thanks to his brother, the new members were being outfitted as quickly as they arrived. Training, on the other hand, was more difficult. Using a spear and a shield was fairly easy, but getting the soldiers to work as a unit, all moving as if of one mind, proved much more complicated. The new recruits, along with the regulars of the army, trained day in and day out in preparation for the upcoming battle, though their skill was lacking. Garret stood upon the city wall looking down upon his growing army. From here it looked impressive; over seven thousand men and women had come to serve in the army. Thousands more had come to help with the preparations for battle and to shelter within the city should the need arise. In total he now commanded over eleven thousand troops, and that number grew each day.
Frowning, Garret surveyed his army knowing the soldiers were little more than sheep being led to the slaughter. No matter how well they were trained, no matter how perfectly they performed, they would be crushed by the blessed soldiers under Sigrant’s command. Without more champions of his own, Garret knew Valdadore stood little chance even of survival. Battle mages had come out of retirement to help in the impending war, as well as several clerics and even a man nicknamed Thousand Hole Tommy. He was quite old, blessed by Vikstol, and said to have been shot by arrows more than a thousand times in his career of serving the Valdadorian army. Garret had met the man personally, and saw for himself the withered man’s body covered in scars nearly to entirety. None, however, had come blessed by Gorandor. All that was left of the fabled knights of Valdadore were Horace, Malik, Zorbin and Garret himself. Of those Zorbin was gone, sent to beg aid from the dwarves, and Malik and Zorbin both retained their normal sizes when blessed. This battle, it seemed, would be one for the mages.
Reports came in several times daily from Seth’s troops. Though they worked ceaselessly to slow the invading army, they had little effect on the massive campaign led by King Sigrant. They managed to keep Sigrant’s supply lines at a standstill, making his troops hungry and restless, but even so, within days the enemy army would reach the new shores of the manmade lake Gar
ret had placed in their path. This would slow their progress by several days, and Garret planned to meet the invaders upon the shore nearest the city of Valdadore. Seeing the opposing army, Garret hoped Sigrant would turn his troops north to skirt the lake, buying them even more time, rather than try and fight from a bridge or rafts. Only time would tell on this account however.
Regardless of where the battle happened, it would happen, and when it did, without direct intervention from the gods, or reinforcements from the dwarves, Garret knew the battle could not be won. Even with Seth on their side, Garret was sure the battle would be short. If Vladmere had informed King Sigrant about Seth, then the entire invading army would target the Death Mage and make it their first priority to bring him down. Even Seth could not single-handedly take on an army of twenty-five thousand. Though determined, Garret saw little hope for the future.
Looking to the sun to estimate the time, Garret strode back down the many flights of stairs to the base of the wall that surrounded the city. Mounting a great white war horse, he rode the beast as quickly as the crowded streets allowed him back towards the palace for yet another council meeting. Tomorrow he would lead out his army to ensure they were in place upon the eastern shore of the new lake before the enemy arrived. At this afternoon’s meeting, final plans were to be made, final orders to be given, and Seth had stated days prior that before they marched from the city, he would have a surprise of his own to share with the council. Garret hoped his brother had something very special in store.
* * * * *
For more than a week Seth worked throughout the day and night, apart from a few hours each morning that he would share with Sara. He had studied every blessed champion of the gods he came across, and found many patterns within them he recognized and many more he did not. He memorized them and performed experiments upon inanimate objects such as weapons and armor, working out the details of each pattern that he translated into a symbol. Seth managed to glean a vast amount of information in this manner, and besides destroying several pieces of armor, and the vault within the Temple to Ishanya, no serious harm was done in the process. Seth collected key items of armor and weapons from various people he personally selected, and worked to enchant the objects as he saw fit. Through his studies he had worked out much of what was needed to create people with the ability to perform magic, but it was while they performed their art that really interesting things were discovered.
Age of the Gods: The Complete, twelve novel, fantasy series (The Blood and Brotherhood Saga) Page 100
