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

by Laszlo,Jeremy

  Seth seemed to be everywhere at once these days. It would have hurt her feelings to know that a part of him had been keeping track of the whereabouts of other people while they had their passionate exchange, but she knew how much was on the line. Seth felt it his duty to keep all of them safe, and as such he was more cautious than ever.

  “How comes our preparations?” Seth asked Jonas as they neared.

  “You now own several hovels, my prince, and the men are ready to begin.”

  “Good, Sara and I will be going with you. Borrik will stay to help defend the army should it need it. You will communicate with him to coordinate our efforts.”

  “As you wish, Prince Seth.”

  Sara couldn’t help but be excited about the plan. Her husband, Borrik and she had worked hard to develop a means by which to take the city with minimal casualties. If they pulled it off, they could be done with war, at least for a while, and Sara looked forward to a time when they weren’t in danger of being killed.

  As darkness fell, Sara walked between Seth and Jonas, silently leading their troops down to the city below. It was a slow process, but assured that no guards patrolled the streets nor manned the city’s pathetic excuse for a wall, there was little need to hurry. In the darkness without any torches or other light with an overcast sky, they went unnoticed the handful of miles to the city’s edge.

  Hopping over the short wall that served to keep livestock from overrunning the city streets, their contingent of troops split into two and turned in opposite directions. Following the map provided to them by those sent ahead to purchase property, they traversed the streets of the slums, finally arriving at a small lean-to style house that shared a wall with what appeared to be a small warehouse. Ignoring the home, they entered the warehouse one at a time, each taking a moment to look around.

  Without light, her husband produced a large fireball, showing one large, open space with a dirt floor. To one wall were placed a tidy row of carts laden with buckets and shovels. Now it was time for the real work to begin. Using the talents of the manpower he commanded, Seth put the men to work, tunneling first, straight down nearly twenty feet, before making a right angle in the direction of the keep. Throughout the night, as carts were filled with soil, his men would whisk them away into nearby houses they now owned. Leaving no evidence, Seth’s rat troops worked throughout the night, never stopping for breaks or meals. Designed for tunneling, they made tremendous progress that night. It wasn’t until near morning that they quit in their efforts, laying low during the day when people moved about and were more likely to notice the excavation.

  As the sun rose the next morning, one of Seth’s men climbed out from the tunnel carrying with him a bucket of mud.

  “We’re close to the source, my prince,” the soldier hissed.

  “Good work. Our other team is nearly to their goal as well. Tomorrow, we will complete this phase, and then Drakenhurst will be our new home,” Seth said, walking from one soldier to the next to clap them on the shoulder.

  For the remainder of the day, all was quiet. Sara sat patiently for a time, before turning to pacing and then jumping down into the tunnel to have a look for herself. She couldn’t believe how far the troops had gone, but keeping the size of the tunnel to a minimum with a crew of men to clear the loose soil, they had tunneled very near to the keep, a distance of several miles in a single night. She couldn’t wait to see the rest of the plan in action.

  * * * * *

  Borrik waited patiently the first night and the second as progress was relayed to him via his captain, Jonas. By the end of the third night, the keep’s water reservoir had been drained, and the spring that supplied it was diverted. For the sake of humility, Borrik supposed, Seth let a third day and night slip by to allow those in the keep to get a tad thirsty.

  When morning came the fourth day, and the order was relayed to him to move, Borrik led his misfit army out of the tree line and over the hills to become visible to the keep beyond. Leaving the bulk of his army behind, Borrik proceeded towards the city with two of his captains, carrying a white flag of truce in hopes of a parlay.

  It took less than an hour for a simple messenger to appear, running across the fields towards them. He was young, not yet an adult, but even with obvious fear in his eyes, he approached with a pounding heart and came to stand before the immense werewolves.

  “My master bids me to tell you to leave. No army has ever breached our walls, and we have defenders aplenty, blessed with mighty powers from the gods.”

  “Tell your master to speak to me in person or I’ll raze your city and watch as those in the keep are dried like beef without the water I have taken. Tell your master that I will meet his champions of the heavens with demons from the abyss and when I am finished he will beg at my feet.”

  Without another word the messenger spun and began running back the way he had come. Another hour passed and a large contingent of mounted troops appeared from the city, and rode out in formation to meet Borrik.

  He watched them come in all their armor, armed to the teeth as if Borrik would be cowed by anything less than his own master. On they rode, throwing dust into the air that was carried away on a cold winter breeze. Borrik watched them come and moved not a muscle as they reined in their horses just feet from him.

  A single black stallion stepped forward and on its back was a man dressed in fine armor with the sigil of a raven on his breastplate. Removing his helm, the man sneered down his wide nose at Borrik, and Borrik knew that the battle was already won. This was a man of strength and action, he was neither intelligent nor wise, but would follow orders until death. It was likely that Sigrant himself told the man to hold the keep at all costs and here he was, defending that which was undermanned and now impossible to hold without a water supply.

  Looking up to the man on horseback, Borrik grinned at him, flashing the rows of razor sharp teeth in his maw.

  “What is it that you want, beast?” the man questioned.

  Borrik continued to stare at him, and could see him become a little unsettled.

  “Do you fear speaking to me, creature?” the man questioned.

  Still Borrik kept silent, looking at the man, and past him, awaiting the sign his master promised. Time. He needed a few moments more time.

  “Do I need to beat the words out of you?” the man threatened.

  Borrik tired of this game and watched as the man pulled forth his horse crop, as if he would dare strike Borrik. The leader of Seth’s wolf troops had another idea, however.

  Summoning his blessing, Borrik exploded in size as a pair of arms ripped free from his flesh, fireballs already summoned and singeing him as they were extracted. Pulling his blades free from their scabbards, he leaned forward, dwarfing the puny human, and unleashed a roar in the man’s face spraying him with spittle. Seeing the man cower, Borrik rose to his full blessed height before speaking.

  “If you know who I am, then I suggest you surrender your keep and your kingdom to a real ruler.”

  “Who? You?” the man questioned. “I know all about you. I’ve read the reports. Your prince is dead, and I’ll surrender to no beast.”

  “My prince is a god, you fool, and he’ll make of you an imp that bleeds at his feet for want to lick the sweat off of his toes!” Borrik spat.

  The rider too exploded in size upon his mount, both horse and man tripling in height to again look down upon Borrik.

  “It’s a nice trick you have there, but if your master were a god, then he could not die. And if he could not die, then where is he?”

  Chapter Ten

  For three days Garret had overseen the construction of two giant litters to return the mothers and their mix-breed children to Valdadore, and for three days he pleaded to Gorandor for the return of his blessing. No such blessing forthcoming, he was forced to work and strain in his soft flesh, cutting vines and branches, lashing the bits together to create what they hoped would carry the women and children safely. He had apologized to the m
others he had offended on multiple occasions, but they still gave him looks of disdain and pulled their young close when he was around. He knew he had committed an offence that could not be undone, though explained his plan to help them with suitable shelter, food, and all they would need for their children. He didn’t mention that he intended to breed their offspring for his own purposes, but knew in his gut it was the right path. It was the only path. Seth would pay for his deeds, and this was the instrument to his destruction.

  Dragging the long flexible bough through the underbrush, Garret paused to wipe the sweat from his eyes. Long days of labor were good for him, he knew, but he longed to return home. They would be finished by now if he were able to summon his power, but still Gorandor turned his back upon the king. Garret had explained to Zorbin that although he was free to use his blessing if he liked, Garret would only use his in battle. It was a pathetic lie, Garret knew, but he could also tell that Zorbin had his doubts.

  He did not understand why Gorandor ignored his pleas. Yes, he had done wrong, fighting with anger and not honor. He had even killed a defenseless baby, but he had done it for the right reasons, hadn’t he? Nothing he did was for himself. Was it? He sought retribution in blood from his brother for destroying that which he was sworn to preserve. He had killed the babe, not for his own hatred, but in an attempt to save his people from the beasts once they grew to maturity. He had since seen his mistake in that matter, and was seeking to help those he had wronged, but still Gorandor refused him.

  With no blessing and no holy power, Garret grew hungry with his labors and tired after hours of strain. He was still a knight of Valdadore and as such in perfect physical condition, but the limitations of humanity wore upon him. As the third day turned to night and he found himself alone, Gorandor’s refusal became too much as the central focus of Garret’s mind. Tilting his head, he peered upwards to the thick canopy above, envisioning the stars and the heavens that he could not see.

  “Why do you neglect me, oh king of kings?” Garret shouted. “Why do you turn your back when I only wish to preserve this nation? Why do you disregard me, a servant of your holiness, the greatest warrior you have created?”

  In anger, Garret scowled to the air above him, neither hearing nor feeling any reply. Gorandor had forgotten him, stripped him, and left him barren. No longer would he be able to fight. He could no more defend the kingdom than any other man and he was no longer fit to wear the armor of a knight. Angered and broken, Garret fell to his knees and screamed out his frustration in an angry growl that spooked the birds in the trees, sending them flapping and flailing to get away as feathers floated down from above.

  “Am I mute unto the ears of the heavens? Does not any god hear my words? Can I not do the will of the heavens here on Thurr? What must I do to regain your favor?”

  “Serve without question,” a booming voice echoed inside his head.

  “I will, my lord, without question. Just tell me what I must do,” Garret yelled.

  Again in his mind the voice replied. It was deep, powerful, and reminded him sadly of the death scream of his very own father just weeks before.

  “Raise a new army. Destroy the abomination and his bride.”

  “I will, oh god of gods! Give me your favor, and I will see it done. Return to me my blessing, and I will see that Seth receives a death befitting his deeds.”

  Garret could feel something inside him change, and the surge of power linking him to the heavens restored. Giving the heavens a victorious grin, he growled and summoned his blessing with a concussive boom and a shockwave that leveled the trees surrounding him. Expanding to five times his normal size, his feet sank into the earth below him. Holding up his hands, Garret’s mouth fell open. As before, gone was his soft mortal flesh, replaced by impenetrable steel, but now, atop each hand, long blades like those of broadswords grew, protruding from his wrists, making of his arms two weapons unable to be separated from him. Turning his head, he noted great spikes protruding from his shoulders which continued down his back.

  Testing his new weapons, Garret swung one of his massive arms towards one of the fallen trees upon the ground. Unexpectedly, as he did, a great bolt of white hot electrical energy blasted out from his blade, wrapping about the trunk he targeted like a whip, setting it ablaze before his blow landed to sever it in two. Not only had his blessing been restored, but it had been enhanced. Garret unleashed an appreciative chuckle before concentrating. Within a second the two enormous blades retracted into his body and reaching down, Garret hefted a pair of fallen trees and turned to drag them back to the druid camp. Things were finally beginning to look up.

  * * * * *

  From high above the enemy keep, Seth kept watch on all that played out below. He had witnessed the runner rushing out to meet his second in command as knights and warriors manned the walls and armaments. He had seen the messenger return and the vast majority of the soldiers leave their posts to assume mounts and ride out to meet his greatest creation. It was all very interesting, but predictable as well. What he really watched as he circled on ice cold currents high above the keep was the progress of his troops below.

  Out from the ground around the keep in more than a dozen locations, his rat men exploded from tunnels they had spent day and night digging. Up the walls of the keep they climbed silently as a lithe form bounded from the shadows to join them. Smiling at his wife’s movements below, Seth tucked his wings and began to plummet like a meteor from the heavens, bent on the destruction of the keep. Racing downward he shifted his body, changing his angle of approach before extending his wings ever so slightly to slow his descent. Watching the stone face of the keep racing up to meet him, he thrust out his wings, hearing them snap in the wind as they caught the air in their folds, bringing him to a near stop just feet above the castle wall. Landing, he watched as the defenders nearest him were overwhelmed and dragged down by his large-eared, tail-wearing troops. They weren’t adults, but they were certainly effective.

  Hearing a scream somewhere within the keep he watched with his vision of the gods as a life was snuffed out, and felt as its tiny essence joined with his own. Some losses were to be expected, though he wished he could prevent them. Another life snuffed out, and this time Seth watched it dissipate like a dead dandelion’s seeds into the wind. Seconds passed, a day held within each one, and Seth noted something that had not been there before. Deep in the depths of the keep something unexpected had appeared and though he didn’t recognize the aura, he knew well what it was.

  Leaping from the wall, he dove into the courtyard below as a dozen of his rat troops bore a man to the ground before tying his arms and legs and dragging him away. All over the keep the same was happening. All were under strict orders to preserve life at all costs, and as such it was being heeded as gospel.

  From the corner of his eye Seth caught movement and smiled as he tracked his wife through the place. She was no longer his better, nor even his equal in power, but her movements were still difficult to track, she moved so effortlessly. Looking up, Seth watched as the keep’s many flags and banners were cast down into the courtyards within. It was his, and yet there was one who could keep him from claiming it. There was no avoiding the meeting, of that Seth was certain, but he knew he was not prepared to deal with one such as he who awaited him. Questions swirled in his mind, yet he gave them little attention. This meeting was not likely to be anything he imagined. Taking a deep breath he tucked his wings tightly about his body and ducked through a small arched doorway, striding down the darkened stairs guided only by the auras of the moss and lichen that clung to the crevices in the stone.

  Down he climbed the steep staircase until he reached the landing below. Crossing the carved stone floor, he opened the rotting wooden door that clung there and stepped through into a small room filled with nothing but darkness. Here the walls and floor were devoid of any life form. Unlike any place he had been in months, this place was truly free of distraction. It was empty. Devoid. Seth knew he had
found that which he had come for. A place to think. A place to test himself. But for the moment he could not claim it as his own.

  Below him, in a chamber both immense and deep, the aura of the one he sought flared to life before vanishing altogether. Without warning a hand grasped his shoulder and Seth actually jumped at the unexpected contact as the aura flared to life just inches away.

  “You see, Abomination, I am only life when I choose to be it. I am only visible to you when I wish to be seen. I am all that I am and nothing at all should I wish it,” the old man said in a musical voice.

  Something about the man was familiar. He was old, yet graceful. His appearance, even in the darkness, was a contradiction to his power. He was both old and beautiful, with features more elven than human. His voice soothed yet called Seth to action, and his aura was bountiful beyond belief. Even so, Seth could see it diminishing at an incredible rate. Focusing, Seth recalled all he knew about the gods when it struck him. He had seen this man before. He himself hadn’t been blessed then, but even so he recognized him.

  “I’ve seen you, though we’ve never met,” Seth said, wondering as to the god’s intentions.

  “Times were simpler then,” the god replied.

  “Were they? Or were you simply too distracted to see what was coming?” Seth asked.

  “Both, if we speak truly, but there is no denying now what must be done,” the old man said.

  “You recited a poem in a small town once, telling of the fall of Valdadore unless those strong enough to protect it took up the fight.”

  “I’ve been known to travel when it suits me,” the god acknowledged.

  “Did you know then what I’d become?”

  “It was still uncertain, but that no longer matters.”

  “Then why do you come?” Seth asked, both confused and worried that his plans had already come to an end.

  “Do you not see it?” the god asked. “Do you not know me? Do you not see the only conclusion your path can come to?”