Rolling in the gore before Garret, a champion of Sigrant sprang to his feet before the King of Valdadore. He was large, though a full head shorter than Garret, and his skin glowed from an inner light. The corpses beneath his body steamed as he trod upon them. Stepping closer to Garret, closing the distance between them, the man raised his fists. Upon his hands and wrists were what appeared to be polished copper gloves. Each of them hummed unnaturally, and Garret could not suppress yet another chuckle. Garret raised his huge sword to attack the man who came to war wearing gauntlets. Fool. Garret, letting his rage lead him, swung his massive blade in an overhead arc intending to cleave his opponent in two. Nothing could have prepared him for his blessed foe’s reaction.
Reaching up to deflect the blow with one of his armored hands, the blessed man caught it in his grasp. As the metal of Garret’s blade touched the gauntlet of his opponent, a loud ringing sang down the length of his blade as an electric charge raced down the metal. Garret, in his blessed form, was helpless against the magic. His steel flesh was instantly overcome by the jolting power. Twitching uncontrollably, Garret was rendered immobile.
Inwardly panicking, Garret watched as his blade flared to life, becoming engulfed in magical fire. Even his brother’s enchantment seemed to have no effect against his enemy. Ignoring the fire, the electrically charged warrior closed the distance between himself and the King of Valdadore, careful not to release his sword.
Unable to turn his head, Garret hoped someone would see his predicament and come to his aid. From his vantage point, however, only common troops surrounded the two giants. His body locked into position by the electricity passing through him, Garret was sure that his predicament could not get any worse. Sadly he realized quickly that he was mistaken.
As his opponent closed in on him, the man pulled back his free, copper-gloved hand as if to punch Garret. Hesitating a moment, the electrical warrior seemed to focus his power as his hand began to pulse and his natural humming increased in volume. Then he attacked. Swinging with all his might, the warrior drove his fist into Garret’s ribcage. Though his flesh was that of steel, as fist met flesh and the enemy released his charge, Garret’s flesh became molten at the same instant he was thrown backwards by the blow.
His muscles relaxing as he careened backwards, Garret knew without even seeing the wound that he needed a healer. The air itself caused immeasurable pain, and when he landed upon his back amongst the screams of those he crushed beneath him, he could smell the burnt flesh of the wound. Reality claimed the king once again, awakening his mind from the rage.
Twisting to see the extent of the damage, Garret was immediately appalled by what he saw. His flesh, like heated steel, had become molten and run down off his ribs to cool again further down his torso. His entire ribcage now lay exposed beneath one arm, and between the ribs the muscle and flesh was charred or burned away altogether. From the gaps between his ribs small plumes of smoke escaped the void within his body with each breath. His organs themselves had become burned and still smoldered. Garret retched. If he did not retreat back to the healers quickly, he would die upon the field as his injured organs began to shut down. The sound of humming began to grow and Garret turned and raised his head to see his opponent making his way towards him.
Garret climbed to his feet as the copper-clad brawler neared once again. The closer the enemy came, the louder his inner humming sounded as the pitch of the sound rose incrementally. Getting his bearings, the King of Valdadore realized he was now surrounded by common enemy troops. Grinning wickedly, Garret raised his large broadsword in one hand and gripped the shield Seth had enchanted for him tightly. The injured king began chuckling as he began to stride towards his foe. Sigrant’s troops cleared a wide path for him. They were wise, for even injured as he was, Garret was a formidable foe who still had a surprise in his arsenal.
Watching his opponent come into range Garret swung his blade in a wide arc, expecting at the very least to remove his arm. Instead, before the blow landed the brawler reached out again and grasped at the blade with his copper hand. The steel bit deep into the copper and blood sprayed out from around the conductive glove, and Garret was sure the brawler’s hand had shattered within its metallic cocoon. Unfortunately for Garret, the injury to his enemy mattered little, for the King of Valdadore would forever be changed after the brawler’s next assault.
* * * * *
Seth watched as his remaining creations did their best to take the brunt of the battle to spare Valdadore’s common troops. His champions were the only reason Valdadore was even still in the fight. Time and again Seth wiped out hundreds of human beings, feeling the guilt of each death. It could not be helped. Seth needed the power to feed into his champions. He needed it to use his abilities. He needed it to know the world was real and he was still alive. With the tremendous strain upon his soul of the burdens he had chosen or been chosen to bear, the magic inside him was all that kept him afloat. The thrill of stolen life within his veins kept him alert when his mind would have otherwise been numb. Seth had no choice but to stay sharp; everyone he loved was upon the battlefield. Some had already fallen. It was his fault they had, and Seth could not withstand the thought of losing another.
Focusing himself upon his surroundings he watched as his werewolf troops bounded through the enemy, their blessed sizes making them readily visible. Hacking and clawing they worked with precision, killing as a pack, driven by one consciousness. From above Borrik commanded the werewolves, swooping low again and again to cleave men in two by the dozens. Rising he would throw fireballs into the massive armies controlled by the fallen King Sigrant.
Seth saw Sara leap above the enemy troops, her twin blades spraying fountains of blood with each bound. Again and again she fell amongst the enemy to rise into the air once more bearing blood or parts of enemy troops with her. From her blades death was administered to all that stood before her. Seth wondered if Sara would ever want to go back to what she had been once, seeing the warrior she had become. He knew she had worries of her own as of late but so filled with his own burdens, he had not bothered to ask her what it was that was causing her pain. He promised himself to ask her as soon as they had the chance to speak, if they would find that chance again. Seth closed his eyes for a moment and exhaled loudly.
Focusing with his vision of the gods he watched as a change crept over the battlefield. None but Seth could see what was happening; none could prepare for what was about to take place. Seth saw no way to protect his fellow Valdadorians as hundreds of blessed troops filtered in from behind the enemy’s force. Seth tasted their auras and knew at once they were mages. He also knew immediately that the battle would be over soon if something were not done. He turned to the giant, mottled colored werewolf at his side and shouted above the battle.
“Jonas, tell Borrik to recall the troops back to our lines and get Sara out of there!”
Jonas nodded and within seconds it was obvious Seth’s orders had been received amongst his werewolves as they all began to turn and bite and claw their way back in the direction they had come. All over the battlefield auras began to swell as the blessed mages of Sigrant’s army began to pray to their chosen gods. Borrik dove from the heavens and landed among the enemy, growling and barking as he tore soldiers to pieces within his four giant, clawed hands. Though Seth could not hear Borrik’s words to Sara, he saw his wife turn and begin bounding back towards him, droplets of blood raining off her armor and weapons with each leap. If Seth had seen the danger sooner it might have made a difference, but as it was, his fate had already been sealed.
* * * * *
Ishanya stood within the heavens feeling the changes to her plan. It was a plan she had been preparing for eons, and set into motion after a great deal of thought and preparation. Ishanya was not willing to let her plan fail, and as such decided to act directly to influence the flow of time. It was a move born by desperation, and one her peers would not miss. It would take them time to feel the change, though, and more
time still to thwart her. In that time she would become strong enough to face them if she needed to. Ishanya decided to risk it all. Focusing her immense mind she pushed her consciousness across time and space, to the very world of Thurr itself. She ventured then into the kingdom of Valdadore and further still to the battle raging on its western border. Ishanya pushed still and, unnoticed by all mortals but one upon the field of battle, she shoved the soul of a man she helped to create aside and took control of his body.
Ignoring her surroundings Ishanya heaved the large war implement before her. Turning first one crank and then another she adjusted the angle of the machine then drew back the great cable upon it. From beside the machine she hefted a large iron-tipped bolt and fitted it to the machine. With the mind of an immortal being she calculated the precise time, taking into consideration not only every moving being upon the field of battle, but also the forces of nature and magic at play. Pausing momentarily Ishanya waited. Each fraction of a second stretched out to an eternity as the precise moment neared. When it finally arrived Ishanya yanked a pin from the giant mechanism of war and with a whoosh and a twang the machine sent the giant bolt flying in an even arc over the heads of those upon the field. She watched the three seconds the bolt sailed through the air and smiled as it found its target. Lancing through the silly mortal as if he were rotten fruit, Ishanya saw the bolt penetrate down through his body, causing him to lean backwards from the blow. The bolt entered his chest, and exited his back and drove down into the soil below him, propping him up for all to see.
Ishanya felt again the threads of fate and time and, assured she could now correct the damage done to her plan, she fled back to the plane of immortals. The human vessel she had inhabited for a few moments was returned to its owner, none the worse for wear. Likely, he would be considered a hero among his people. After all, everyone thought the man who was now impaled upon a giant bolt was untouchable. Yet now he was dead.
Chapter Nine
Garret could feel himself weakening. Even so, he refused to panic. A foul taste rose again and again in his throat and he knew his organs had already began to shut down. His foe, the copper-clad brawler still held his blade, the king’s last attempt at a strike having failed. The humming of the brawler’s power increased with every fraction of a second and Garret knew he was finished. With only one trick left in reserve, both he and his opponent unleashed their power in the same instant.
One moment Garret and the brawler struggled, locked in combat, each trying to overpower the other. In the next, having given the command to his enchanted shield, both blessed men flew backwards from one another from the power of the two combined blasts. As an electrical explosion raced down Garret’s sword, he unleashed the power stored within his shield. Sadly it was already too late to save him.
Such was the powerful charge the electrical warrior unleashed, that in an instant, before Garret even hit the ground, the static charge raced down the blade and climbed his arm from hand to shoulder. Everything melted away. Not only was the sword obliterated, but so too was Garret’s entire arm and a portion of his shoulder. The explosive amputation left a jagged hole where once had been an appendage and from it smoke rose into the air. Garret choked; he had lost a lung as well. His vision began to fade as a thrumming began to sound in his ears. At least his heart still beat.
* * * * *
Borrik soared above the battlefield lending himself where needed. The advantage of an aerial view was tremendous. Not only could he see the happenings from above, but also through the eyes of each and all of his men. Flapping his giant wings when necessary, the alpha wolfman rode the air currents throwing fireballs into the enemy and flying low to cleave men into pieces by the dozens. His master had blessed him well. There was no other warrior upon the world like Borrik; at least not on this battlefield.
Seeing a tight grouping of Sigrant’s men below, Borrik began to dive when his thoughts were interrupted. Jonas, Borrik’s next-in-command, stood with their master below and had relayed a message. The men were to fall back. Beyond that Sara needed to be found and told as well. Borrik passed on the message to his men below and pulled up from his dive to begin looking for the master’s wife. It took only seconds to spot the young beauty dancing among the carnage below. So graceful was the princess that Borrik doubted she had an equal upon Thurr either. He grinned a wicked grin and began his dive anew.
Dropping in amongst a clutch of enemy troops, Borrik slashed out with his enchanted blades at the same time that he summoned fireballs with his spare arms given to him by his master. Those who came near him he tore to pieces with blade and teeth. Those who dared to flee caught magical fire from behind. In seconds over forty troops were dispatched. Spinning upon his heel he located Sara and shouted to her across the loud battlefield.
“Princess Sara, my master bids you return to him!”
Sara nodded once in response and without hesitation began to move back the way she had come, bounding and twirling all the while. Borrik crouched low to the ground. Shoving with all his might he leapt into the air once more and began to flap his immense wings. Slowly he climbed, until he could see the entire battle clearly. Valdadore was so vastly outnumbered he could perceive no chance of a victory. Even now the huge invading force had flowed around both flanks of the Valdadorian army, closing them in on three sides. Within hours they would be entirely surrounded. Borrik thought it wise to advise the king, and so turned his attention to the battle below once more.
The king was a giant metallic warrior who shone in the sun and as such Borrik spotted him in only moments. Though the king was some distance away, Borrik turned and settled into a slow dive, using the natural currents of the air to propel him in his chosen direction. He watched from afar as his master’s brother clashed with a sizeable opponent. Looking on still, Borrik’s gaze turned to one of worry as the enemy struck the king with a flash of light and the king crumpled, smoke issuing from his ribs.
Borrik began flapping to speed his descent. Again the king moved to strike his foe, but the enemy simply reached up and grabbed the king’s massive blade. Borrik neared.
With a flash of brilliant light an explosion erupted and common men were thrown back from the blast. Both the king and his foe were hurled back as well and already Sigrant’s champion began to rise. Garret remained unmoving for a moment. When he did move, Borrik realized the fight was already over. The king, his master’s brother, had been defeated. Though he lived, the blast had torn an entire limb from him. With naught but a shield, the king would be finished in a second, but not if Borrik could get there first.
Without time to slow his descent Borrik plummeted from the sky like a wayward rock thrown to the heavens. Bending his knees to absorb his impact, he crashed to the bloodied soil between the king and his foe, skidding to a halt. Dirt and debris scattered by Borrik’s landing rained down upon all who were near though none appeared to notice. Borrik rose to his full height and turned to face his foe, a deep growl escaping his throat. Snapping his teeth like a rabid animal, Borrik watched as realization came to his enemy’s face. The brawler was caught off guard, a smile that had stood upon his face melted, and hatred gleamed in his eyes. Borrik flexed his muscles and lifted his swords for the attack with his upper arms, summoning a pair of twin fireballs with the lower, daring the brawler to approach. But approach he did.
Twin fireballs lanced at the brawler, one right after the other. Faster and more agile than he appeared to be, the warrior dropped and rolled aside, thus escaping the magical fire. Borrik growled again, and sprang towards his foe, spreading his wings slightly to glide nearer. Coming face to face, Borrik began to hack and slash at the copper-clad man to no avail. Each blow met a metal-clad hand. The brawler began to hum unnaturally, and having witnessed the blast only moments before Borrik knew his time was limited. Again the great werewolf summoned fire and without hesitation he launched yet another assault. Both fireballs unleashed, he charged in again with his twin magical blades. Once more Borrik saw no
sign that the brawler had been injured even though one fireball had met its mark. The humming increased in intensity. Like a man without worry the foe closed the gap once again and raised his fists. Small sparks jumped between his hands and Borrik knew his time was very short. He did not know, however, that his time was up.
The brawler attacked like a mad berserker with a flurry of blows in rapid succession. Again and again he struck Borrik in the ribs and chest, each time releasing an explosion of pure magical power. He did not realize that Borrik was allowing him to land the blows. Each strike was absorbed again and again by Borrik’s enchanted breastplate, draining the power the brawler had stored to increase his charge. When the champion sworn to Sigrant did finally realize that his attacks availed him nothing, Borrik was already on the move.
Leaping into the air Borrik flapped his giant wings twice, throwing up a cloud of dust and gaining a little altitude. Then, like a bird of prey, he folded his wings and dove at his opponent. As he fell he brought all of his limbs to bear, knowing that if this attack were unsuccessful the king would die before they could reach the healers. Borrik hit the brawler like a boulder thrown from a siege engine.
Impacting the warrior with his clawed wing tips, Borrik drove the champion down to the soil where his wings pierced the man’s shoulders, thus effectively pinning him to the soil. Using his lower hands, Borrik grasped the brawler’s wrists and forced them to the ground. Again the humming came. With no time to waste, Borrik reacted as any feral animal might, and following his instincts he grasped the man’s head with one free hand and wrenched it back. Without thought Borrik tore into the blessed champion’s throat with his razor sharp teeth and ripped a large chunk of bleeding flesh from it. Blood sprayed like a fountain from the neck, yet Borrik was still not satisfied. Digging his claws in at the many major joints in the brawler’s body, Borrik brought his inhuman strength to task and pulled with all his might in all directions. A moment later, Borrik rose from his foe allowing all to witness his savagery and power. For upon the ground lay a man completely dismembered in a pool of his own fluids, yet even now the mouth moved as if to scream or speak. No sound came. For more than a minute the brawler blinked and mouthed silently before finally his blessing released him and with a pop his giant carcass shrank and life faded from his eyes. Borrik turned and strode to the king.
Age of the Gods: The Complete, twelve novel, fantasy series (The Blood and Brotherhood Saga) Page 114
