“It seems to me that each day in my service you stray further from the path of a priest, and I am concerned that it is I who leads you astray,” Seth said, obviously thinking aloud. “I should like to hear your thoughts on this.”
“My prince…” Borrik began and then paused as if pondering the best way to approach the subject. “I fear there are no eloquent words with which to phrase my response, your majesty.”
“Then speak plainly, Borrik,” Seth replied.
“I have put the path of a priest behind me, my prince. I feel I am no longer a suitable man to claim such a position,” Borrik started. “The life of a warrior, a fighter and a killer seems much less complicated to me, and it shames me to say that I believe I have a natural talent for it. So if I would better serve you, Master Seth, by being a warrior than a priest, then that is what I choose.”
“I had hoped as much Borrik,” Seth admitted. “I do not trust Ishanya, though I must serve her. You, on the other hand, serve me, and by your own choice. You have been a loyal friend. You have been a wise teacher. You have….”
“Killed yourself to save us,” Sara added, cutting Seth’s speech short.
“That too,” Seth questioned more than stated, having not witnessed the deed. “For that, Borrik I am more than grateful. In fact I wish to reward you by making you into a warrior unlike any other upon Thurr, if you wish it.”
“Whatever you deem me worthy of, master. I will gladly accept and in return, as I have done already, I will continue to serve you even unto death,” Borrik replied, his feral voice becoming barely a whisper.
Seth watched as hundreds of fur-covered heads bobbed in agreement around him. Theirs was a loyal race of men. Seth thought it sad that in order to make them so, he had had to strip them of much of their humanity. Though he supposed every race had its flaws, he had thought as he grew up that somehow humans were superior to other races. As he experienced more of life, he was beginning to see that there was a lot about the world he did not yet understand. Even so, Seth had much more important things to do than sit here in the grass pondering the differences between the many races of man. The first of which was to give his men their orders as they were now prepared to carry them out.
“Borrik, send two hundred of your men west with orders to harass and impede the progress of King Sigrant’s army. I do not want them to openly attack. Have them ambush at night, burn supplies, kill horses and oxen, and break the wheels upon the carts in their supply lines. Slow down that army in any way that does not get them killed,” Seth commanded, pausing until Borrik nodded. “Also send as many men as you need to stand post between here and the enemy to relay messages from the front lines back here to me. Dispatch only as many as necessary for this, as you will be needing the remainder of your men here.”
Again Borrik nodded, and this time the majority of his troops turned and strode away leaving only a couple dozen men. Seth and Sara watched them go, though Borrik seemed not to notice. After the sounds of the many werewolves’ clawed toes upon the stone had faded, Seth rose to his feet and, turning, gave Sara his hand. With very little aid, Sara too came to her feet to stand beside her husband, each of them only an arm’s length from the massive leader of the werewolves. All three of them very nearly died this night, and all because they had felt safe here within the castle walls. Seth had to remind himself that this was not just a simple war between nations. This was an intricate game played out by the gods, and their reach was vast, including the whole of the world. No place on Thurr was a safe haven from those blessed by the gods, but Seth had a plan to even the odds a bit.
“Borrik, I want you to take your remaining troops outside the castle. Go wherever you see fit, though time is limited. Think of what attributes would make you a more efficient killer. Think of what abilities you could possess that would make you like a chosen champion of the gods. Then think of what animals in nature possess those abilities. Capture them, as many as you can. Bring them alive back here to the city,” Seth said, watching realization dawn on his most loyal servant. “Many think me a god, and every god has to have champions. It is time I create my own.”
Borrik did not respond. Instead he dropped to one knee, bowing his head low to the ground. Pausing only briefly, Borrik how the bite from Sara might affect him already, then stood once more, before turning. Then he and his remaining men fled into the night, a mass of nocturnal predators. Seth and Sara watched them until they passed through the gate into the city beyond before Sara stepped forward and turned to face her husband.
“As usual I have questions, my love,” Sara stated with a slight grin on her lips.
“As do I,” Seth replied. “You can go first though.”
“What did you mean by creating champions of your own?” Sara asked hesitantly.
“I have at my disposal fewer than three hundred soldiers,” Seth began. “They may be some of the most ferocious fighters upon Thurr, but against a single opponent blessed by a god this very night they were at a loss. Had the assassin wanted them dead, I would have had no troops left. I have two options then. I can imbue all of their weapons and armor, and through melding them each with other beasts make them all a bit stronger. This option will take substantial time and energy, and will still not make them equal to a blessed opponent. My other option is to take just one or two of them, and create out of them my very own champions with abilities unlike anything else Valdadore has to offer. What those abilities might be, well, we will just have to wait and see what Borrik brings back.”
“Is that even possible?” a voice from behind them asked. Both Seth and Sara had forgotten about Malik the knight, and Daniella the healer who now both approached.
“With my capabilities I believe it is, Lord Malik,” Seth answered honestly. “Yet even I am still learning the limitations of my abilities.”
With that Seth looked up towards the sky. Already the darkness was being washed away as the night was at its end.
“We need to be getting some rest, if you will excuse us,” Seth said to the healer and knight. “But please return again this evening so Sara can continue her training.”
“As you wish your majesty,” Malik answered for them both.
Without so much as a goodbye, Seth grabbed Sara’s hand and dragged her from the sparring field towards the mages’ tower. Sara waited until they had some distance between themselves and those they left behind before she spoke again.
“You said you had questions too,” Sara stated. “What is it you were thinking?”
“Do you know how I got to you on the sparring field so quickly?” Seth asked.
“No, my love,” she answered.
“Me either,” Seth replied. “At least not exactly. I teleported again somehow, yet had no control over it. It is something I really need to look into, yet I dare not experiment. Who knows where I might end up if I make a mistake?” Seth finished with a grin.
Both Seth and Sara reminisced about their last experience with teleportation the rest of the way to the mages’ tower. Once there, Seth let Sara go on ahead of him and up to the floor that was once their home. He on the other hand, had more duties to attend to. Fortunately these would be brief, as all he had to do as the acting head of the battle mages was given an order. It concerned an idea he had had when fighting with the black horde. He was now going to try it as a tactic for the upcoming battle. The mages would need armor instead of their robes to blend in with the rest of the army. To make armor the blacksmiths had to heat metal repeatedly while they shaped it, a process that would be made much faster if each had a mage who could produce and concentrate fire for him. Seth needed to speak to the mages and the blacksmiths.
Smiling to himself less than an hour later, Seth began to climb the huge spiral staircase up the many flights to the top of the tower. Believing himself a genius, Seth had solved two problems at once that would not only spare the lives of the mages but also speed production of the blacksmiths, and thereby save lives of those who got the armor they might no
t have otherwise. Reaching the topmost floor, Seth did not believe he could be more satisfied. However, that was before he saw Sara down the hall, clearly awaiting his arrival.
*****
Horace yanked hard on his mount’s reins, forcing the beast to veer to the left. Keeping his eyes on his previous path, off to his right, the Knight of Valdadore watched as three arrows lanced past him just a few feet away. One and a half seconds. That was generally the amount of time he had to react between receiving a premonition and it coming to reality. His was a blessing of two parts, and Horace had mastered the use of both many years ago. Not only could Horace see events that would adversely affect him a moment before they actually occurred, but he also was as strong as any two non-blessed men. Through the graces of his god, Gorandor, like all of the other knights, Horace aged a little slower than average as well, and though he was now over a hundred years old, he was a man who appeared to be in his mid-fifties.
Again Horace’s vision rippled, and again he veered his mount off course as another round of ballista sailed past. Hollow Lake was no more than another hour’s ride, but being pursued for an hour could feel like an eternity. With his long red hair trailing behind him in the wind, Horace turned in his saddle to see if he could determine who or what it was that wanted him dead. Personally the veteran knight would prefer to kill the pursuers now, rather than spend the next hour dodging arrows flung at his back from the darkness, but looking back he could see nothing. Whatever it was that chased him could either see much better than he in the darkness, or was invisible. Even with his premonition, the veteran knight of Valdadore dared not take a risk if he could avoid it. It was better to lure the pursuers to his fellow knights, where together he and his brothers could make easy work of them, whatever they were.
For another hour Horace rode, all the while being pursued and threatened with injury. Time after time a ripple in his vision would occur, and seeing himself about to be struck by his enemies shot, he would alter course slightly so that the arrows sailed past him. The nearer he got to the lake, the more complicated the ride became. His pursuers were getting smarter as multiple shots were fired within a fraction of a second not only at him but to either side as well. These became increasingly difficult to dodge, but time and again Horace managed the feat, if only barely. Horace was not only fleeing his pursuers and dodging their attacks, but he was also learning. The most shots fired at him in a wave were five, leading him to believe that there were multiple attackers on his tail. Luckily for Horace it would only be a few more moments before he could find out for sure.
*****
Garret stood, a giant of gleaming metal, inside a huge trench that was nearly as deep as he was tall. Being below the surface of the soil, even with all of his fellows digging like there was no tomorrow, an odd, out-of-place sound seemed to reverberate off the walls of the trench. It started as a mute buzzing, but as the minutes passed it became louder and a rhythm was established where before it had all blurred together. A few moments later the sound was not only distinguishable, but recognizable as well. A horse charged headlong, directly towards them. More minutes passed as the sound of the nearing horse grew louder and louder within the confines of the trench, and then the sound of the horse was accompanied by a buzzing once again. Another horse followed the first, and Garret was only expecting one arrival. Garret was not the only one to notice, and as he strained his ears to listen, his comrades alongside him also ceased their labors to focus upon the sounds.
“Riders,” Garret stated in a voice just loud enough to be heard. “Armor up.”
None of the knights hesitated, immediately dropping their shovels before climbing out of the trench to retrieve the armor they had discarded before beginning their labors. Garret needed no armor, and even though he had been laboring like a slave, his broadsword remained strapped to his back. Pulling it free of its scabbard, Garret climbed the wall of the trench and peered into the darkness, waiting for the riders to reveal themselves. What followed were the scariest moments of Garret’s life; the moments that let him know that in the days to come he would be outmanned, outclassed, outmaneuvered, outnumbered and overwhelmed to the point of breaking. What the young king saw that very night he would later realize was a clear message from the real rulers of Thurr, and they too were at odds with one another.
Garret watched as the great white charger bearing Horace exploded from the darkness beyond his vision, charging as fast as its powerful legs would go. Without altering his course, Horace aimed his mount directly for the king, and was bearing down upon the giant metallic warrior at incredible speed. Bracing himself for the impact, Garret bent his knees and leaned into the blow just as Horace did something completely unexpected.
Leaping from his mount at full speed, Horace, still clinging to the reins, forced the beast to falter as it crashed to the ground, bouncing and rolling, screaming as only an injured animal could. Horace too impacted hard, but managed to dig in his armored toes and fingers and slide nearly to a halt at his king’s feet. Almost unnoticed by Garret, as Horace and his white charger were both driven to the ground, several arrows struck his giant, steel thigh, either glancing off or breaking altogether with no effect. Horace had avoided the attack, but had been forced to injure both himself and his mount to do so. Hearing the clamor, Garret’s comrades rushed to his aid, each of them scantily armored, wearing only a few pieces of their gear as there had not been enough time to prepare. Even so, no enemy yet revealed itself, although the hoof beats continued to drum in increasing volume as the seconds passed. Anxiously Garret and his knights waited, even Horace, who climbed to his feet nursing more than a few sore ribs. All stood transfixed, staring intently into the darkness when their adversaries first appeared. Blackness born from blackness, four horsemen spewed forth from the darkness, each of them dressed in shadows.
Charging in on black stallions the four horsemen stood upon the beasts’ backs and each leapt high into the air, converging on one singular point, as if they would collide with one another as they flew towards Garret himself. Much to all of the knights’ surprise, as the four horsemen impacted each other, they dissolved into one another as the shadows encompassing their bodies combined. As they became one, they exploded in size; four normal-sized men, becoming one man, four times as large. Realization came too late of what was unfolding in front of him, as the now giant adversary twisted in the air and kicked out, driving both of his feet solidly into Garret’s chest. The man clad in blackness was just as large as Garret now, and all that weight behind the impact sent Garret somersaulting backwards to again land within the great trench that only moments before he had been digging. As Garret flew backwards, the horseman exploded back into four separate beings with what sounded to be a clap of thunder. Each of them landed upon the ground, and spun to face separate opponents, each of them seemingly choosing a knight that they would face alone.
The four did not all come at once. Instead three remained stationary as the fourth sprang into action with amazing speed. His was a speed that reminded each of the knights of their recently fallen comrade Philip. As the dark horseman gained momentum, his actions became a blur in the darkness. Before anyone knew what was happening, the man darted among them, slicing flesh here, stabbing there, and slashing all he could reach among the giant knights. Horace alone remained uncut, as a premonition warned him of the impending danger just in time to avoid it. However, each of these knights had also sparred with Philip in the past, and having realized their predicament, they changed tactics to deal with their opponent’s speed. Changing tactics did them little good however, as the enemy still had more surprises to share.
Garret regained his feet and clambered out of the trench once more. He could hear his men’s curses and felt the earth shake as they moved on the ground above him. Pulling himself up over the lip, Garret expected to see his men engaged with a singular opponent, equal to them in size. What he actually saw however was completely different. At first Garret could not believe what it was he was
seeing. The precision and decisiveness of the enemy was astounding. But more disturbing were the multiple abilities granted to them by their god. It was a mismatched fight, though sadly, even with six against one, the odds were in the enemy’s favor.
Garret watched as one of the horsemen leapt high into the air at an amazing speed. As his body rocketed upwards, his limbs immobile, another horseman leapt as well. Within seconds all four horsemen lanced through the air at great speed. Garret realized the horsemen had each timed their assaults to attack one of his knights, one after the other. As the first horseman struck Noah in the chest with his body, driving his small blade to penetrate the giant man’s armor, the second horseman impacted upon the first and something terrible happened. The first horseman’s blade was like a dagger in comparison to the knight’s massive size, yet, being so small it easily penetrated Noah’s armor. As the first horseman clung to the blade he had driven through Noah’s armor, the second horseman joined with him. Instantly the horseman doubled in size. So too did his blade double in length and size, biting deeper into Noah’s flesh. Then the third horseman hit. They moved at such speed, with such unpredictability that Noah had no time to react to the assault. As the third horseman melded with the previous double-sized one, he again increased in size just before the fourth impacted. The fourth horseman wasn’t even required. For as the final horseman combined with his brethren, Noah was already toppling over backwards, a blade protruding from his breastplate where behind it lay his heart. Blood ran from the immense knight’s armor like a crimson river, a torrent that seemingly had no end. The horsemen, using tactics and abilities unlike anything Thurr had seen before, had felled the largest knight upon the world in a matter of seconds, and injured three others.
Garret had no time to panic, but realized that they were outmatched. Noah was already dead or at the very least in his final moments. Seeing no way to get an advantage, beyond that of numbers, Garret gave the only order that he thought might in the least buy them some time.
The Contention Page 12
