Age of the Gods: The Complete, twelve novel, fantasy series (The Blood and Brotherhood Saga) (111 page)

Wanting a look for themselves, Seth and Sara strode through camp with Borrik and Jonas on their heels. Clearing the tents at the water’s edge, they were astonished to find not a blanket of fog, but a wall of it nearly two stories high. So thick was the eerie mist that sight beyond a few feet was completely obscured. More odd however was the fog’s complete lack of movement. It did not stir upon the morning breeze, and when a limb was passed through the fog, it sliced through effortlessly but caused no disturbance. Seth learned quickly that only one man had ventured in, and only for a dozen yards or so before becoming lost in an attempt to turn back. He had emerged hundreds of yards up the bank, and none had heard him yell for directions back to the camp.

Magic was being used, and switching to his vision of the gods Seth meant to uncover its source, but even that was to no avail. Though the dense fog might have been created by some magical means, it appeared no more than normal, lifeless fog. Something else intrigued him though. How could a man venture into fog and yell out with no one able to hear his voice? This was what Seth pondered when Garret approached from the camp beyond.

“What do you make of it?” the king asked his brother.

“It is unnatural, but I know not its source or purpose,” Seth replied.

“Eve informed me of our missing enemy as well,” Garret stated. “Where do you think they have gone?”

“I’m not sure, Garret, but I have a few other questions I would like to have answered,” Seth said turning back to the shore. “Someone get me some rope, and a lot of it.”

Seth watched as dozens of men, woman and werewolves alike dashed off in different directions to fetch what he sought. Moments later a pile of cordage sat at Seth’s feet, and wrapping the rope about his waist, he gave instructions as he waded into the fog. Within seconds Seth was lost to sight by all those behind him, though he remained connected by the rope. The further he walked, the more ropes they tied together that Seth dragged behind him. The further Seth ventured, the more uneasy he became, and sensing he might be in danger, he erected a protective field around himself with pure energy.

Another dozen yards and Seth could not see his own hand in front of his face. Breathing was difficult as each breath was filled with moisture, yet he pushed on. More than a hundred yards Seth walked until the ground crunched beneath his feet. Another step and another crunch, followed by yet another, except this time it sounded more like he was walking upon broken glass. Curious as to what it was he trod upon, Seth crouched to examine the ground beneath him with his hands when realization took him. The grass was frozen where the water had lapped upon it. Crawling ahead Seth came to the true edge of the new lake only to find that no water remained. The lake was frozen solid, and what was worse, laying his hand upon the ice Seth could feel the reverberations of thousands of feet quietly and carefully marching across the icy surface.

Having no idea how far ahead of him the enemy was, or how soon the soldiers would reach this shore, Seth snatched up the rope at his waist and began running as fast as he could back in the direction he had come. It took only seconds to emerge from the fog at a run, and nearly crashing into his brother and Sara, Seth slid to a stop, his eyes wide in alarm.

“They have frozen the lake, and march across it hidden by the fog. They will be upon us any minute,” Seth blurted.

“We are doomed,” Garret whispered. “All of our defenses lay to the north and south of us. Everything we have planned was for naught.”

“We’re not doomed, brother,” Seth replied, his mind thinking as fast as it was able. Then, as if out of nowhere, Seth had a random idea that he believed might help their situation. Turning towards the entire army gathered along the fog’s edge Seth gave a command to those he was now in charge of.

“Battle mages,” Seth shouted to gain their attention. “Burn off that fog!”

Within an instant the order was received and followed as near a hundred fireballs shot through the air into the wall of fog. Erupting into hot steam where the fire sailed through it, the fog was burned away. Again and again, volley after volley of fire was unleashed, and Seth even added to it a giant column of fire evaporating all the fog nearest the shore. Minute after minute the fog was burned further and further back from the defending camp but no enemy was revealed. However, just before Seth gave the order to desist, thinking himself mistaken about the approach of Sigrant’s forces, one fireball that was thrown into the fog was met by a scream of agony. That was when all hell broke loose.

Though there had been weeks of preparation and training, no one was ready for what came that tenth morning. Though everyone was awake, armed and even present when the enemy arrived, nothing was according to plan, and immediately everyone knew that all was lost. There were no lines formed, archers were mingled with the soldiers, and battle groups who had been training together for weeks were separated and lost to one another. All was pandemonium when the enemy arrived, and no one even remotely expected what happened in those first few minutes.

Bursting forth from the fog were not battalions of monsters or even armed men, but only a dozen cloaked figures. With the wave of a hand, one of them dissipated the fog to reveal the army under King Sigrant’s banners in its entirety, and twenty-five thousand had been a gross underestimate by at least half. The second figure, his arms out to his sides, brought both hands together in front of him. When his hands connected, everyone in before him screamed in pain, his clap having been enhanced by magic and causing blood to flow from over a thousand persons’ ears. The third mage made a gesture and water burst from under the ice in a torrent that washed Valdadorian soldiers to the ground by the hundreds as yet another mage cast a spell turning that previous water to ice, encasing men and women alike, the death screams frozen upon their faces. Fire exploded from both sides as Valdadore’s mages began to retaliate, but they were outmatched. More than half their fireballs were snuffed out mid-flight by balls of ice or walls of water. Sigrant had magicians of the like never before encountered in Valdadore. However, they would not last long if Seth had anything to say about it.

Pandemonium or not, Seth gave the command to attack at the same time his own brother exploded in size. Lending his voice to the battle, the King of Valdadore called a full retreat. In less than a minute Valdadore had lost a thousand men, and Seth realized that this was the moment he had been preparing for without even knowing it would come. It seemed as if Seth watched through someone else’s eyes as those loyal to him first and foremost sprang into action to defend those who were loyal to his brother retreated. Borrik and Eve exploded in size as well, each taking to the air to wreak havoc as they saw fit. Garret and the only two remaining Knights of Valdadore who were present with the army waded into the enemy in an attempt to take out the mages who had already disappeared back into the massive enemy army ranks. Now came the foot troops of Sigrant’s military, nearly twenty thousand men heavily armored and armed each with a shield and sword. Seth knew the knights would not be enough, and the more time they could buy the common troops to fall back and retreat to Valdadore, the more likely they would survive.

Reaching out to those humans he had supposedly blessed among Garret’s troops, Seth infused the symbols he had drawn upon their flesh with the power of life and watched as six more giant warriors lent themselves to the fray. Seth was nowhere near finished as he watched over two hundred of his troops plow into the front lines of the enemy, a massive wall of fur and claws. Sara too was off spinning and whirling through the enemy lines, hacking and stabbing like a dancing force of nature. Each of his freakish creations, including Blithe and Varina, fought alongside his werewolves, and Seth stared as enchanted weapons and armor blazed to life, raining destruction on their foes. Yet even now, Seth had a trick up his sleeve that was a battle turner, but not wanting to waste it, he instead turned himself to the fight and began to do what he was named for. Seth the Death Mage, called a walking god by some, strode at an even pace towards his enemy blazing a trail of destruction before him. Though some were lucky enough to simply turn to ash before him, where the black mage wandered bodies smoldered as screams were cut short. Lightning danced across the air from the mage striking all those around him who wore armor or carried a weapon. Walls of power sent hundreds flying through the air, and columns of fire burnt or boiled thousands more. However, just as he had anticipated, it wasn’t long before Seth became the primary target of the invading force.

* * * * *

Garret summoned his blessing quickly and saw those near him that his brother had blessed do the same. Everything was happening so quickly there was no time to regroup. There was no time to make a new plan. There was no time for anything except to react and Garret did the only thing his conscience would let him do; he called a retreat. If his army attempted to stand their ground as they were now they would be decimated. Garret could not have that on his hands and as such he watched as the common troops turned and fled the battlefield as fast as they were able. Garret pulled his sword from the scabbard upon his back and began to stride forward as Borrik, the twisted monster of his brother’s creation, leapt into the air. It was a sight that sent shivers running down Garret’s spine, and they were on the same team. With nothing to lose but everything, Garret waded into the enemy carving a path of blood and gore, hoping against hope that Linaya fared better than he at this present moment. With a final prayer to Gorandor to protect his people, Garret’s vision turned red as he began to chuckle, a madman born of blood and death.

* * * * *

Borrik soared above his enemy, a giant creature seemingly summoned from some abyss too dark to name. He was a frightening vision, of that he was sure; a man turned wolf who managed to sprout two extra arms, and wings as well, who could now summon fireballs and was big enough to squash men beneath his feet. What a wonderful world it was.

Diving into the enemy, Borrik landed in the middle of the ground troops and began cleaving through the small men as if they were insects, throwing fireballs haphazardly, snapping his teeth and growling, a monster among men. So this was how those blessed by the gods felt, Borrik thought. No wonder they were mostly all uppity, thinking themselves better than common men. How easy it was for one blessed by the gods to slaughter those who were not. It almost seemed unfair, he thought, but that was until he witnessed the odds beginning to even out.

* * * * *

Sara twirled through the first few lines of the enemy troops, her blades lashing out again and again as she sprang into the air to penetrate deeper into Sigrant’s forces. Each stroke of her blade siphoned life from those she killed or injured into herself, making her feel more and more alive with each strike. The euphoria that overtook her from the power rushing into her body again and again made her feel invincible, and made her lust for things unholy and unnatural. More and more she slew, dancing away from blows that would kill slower people, and jumping over those she could not duck. Again and again she brought a foe to the ground, her enchanted blades filling her with unnaturally long life, pleasure and lust. Sara fought on, but it was a constant struggle to stay focused on the task at hand with the scents of fear and blood so strong upon the air. It was not until she severed a man’s head and blood sprayed across her armor, some of it into her very helm, that Sara lost control of the thirst. Though the day was overcast, stray rays of sunlight fell to the ground, making the battlefield that much more dangerous for Sara, but so lost was she in her desire for blood that she stripped her helm from her head and began dancing anew through the ranks of the enemy. Those who fell before her blades bled out upon the ground, but those she found the chance to sink her teeth into, even momentarily, were left behind, marked as they were for death by sunlight, to fall wherever the sun struck them.

* * * * *

Seth felt more than actually saw the first assault as it came from his right, a ball of ice the size of a boulder. Reaching up without so much as looking, Seth reduced it to nothing with a pillar of wicked green and yellow fire. But that was only the first of many attacks that all seemed to come at once on some unheard command. Fireballs, arrows, ice, lightning and even water were thrown at him by magical means in such quantities Seth had no viable means to retaliate, at least not by himself. Seth simply absorbed those attacks he could, and avoided or thwarted those he couldn’t, wanting to gather as much power as was possible. As ground troops drew near to him, Seth obliterated them with a thought, filling the air with ash and coating the ground in it as well. His blessed troops were faring well, and so far as he could tell he had lost no more than a handful of werewolves after the initial attack. Seth could not believe that Sigrant had risked putting his mages at the front of the battle lines. It had been effective, but it was a huge risk with such valuable troops.

Then Seth realized the error of his thinking. All troops were valuable; that was why Garret had called a retreat, sending the majority of their force to flee back to the city. Seth recognized in that moment that the longer this battle raged, the more lives would be lost. The more power would return to the gods and ultimately no one on Thurr would win anything. This was simply a game to the immortals. It was a game in which some pieces were given more moves than others, and a game that could only be won by the players, not the pieces. In this battle Seth was simply a piece as was everyone else. Seth needed to end this battle before it got too bloody, but before he could even play his last card, the enemy came forth with a surprise move of their own.

* * * * *

Garret watched as men dressed in black in several locations throughout the enemy army began to move at incredible speed, each of them running into another, then doubling in size before combining with yet another and then another. Within minutes more than forty of the giant black horsemen had risen from the masses of enemy troops. They varied in size and girth, but Garret knew that those attributes mattered little. These men were willing to sacrifice themselves to destroy the enemy, and Valdadore was the enemy. Garret had seen these men in action before and could think of only one way to effectively take them out.

Looking around the battlefield, his head swiveling this way then that, Garret sought out his brother to find him a few hundred yards away, blasting down hundreds of enemy troops, a wasteland of charred and desiccated flesh in his wake. Shouting above the battle, Garret called out to Seth. Gaining his attention, he gestured to the large warriors clad in black leather armor that approached from seemingly all directions. Seeing his brother nod, Garret turned back just in time to deflect a blow from one such horseman’s large sword.

* * * * *

Borrik watched in fascination as two men became one larger man, and then two of those combined to become yet a larger warrior near equal in size to himself. Finally feeling he had found someone worthy of his attack, Borrik leapt into the air propelling himself forward using his wings to glide in closer to the foe. On landing Borrik summoned a fireball into each of his lower hands and raised his swords with his upper. He did not, however, expect the warrior to move so fast. Like lightning the warrior clad in black leather lunged towards him, lashing out with a thin rapier-type sword. Borrik did not even bother to dodge, knowing his armor would protect him from such a light blade. Enchanted as his armor was, not even Borrik expected what was about to happen to the leather clad warrior. With lightning dancing across his armor, as soon as Sigrant’s knight landed the blow, lightning raced up his blade burning holes through armor and flesh alike, killing the giant of a warrior instantly, smoke curling up from his hair and clothes.

One down, Borrik turned to seek out yet another of the fascinating enemies to try his blades against. Luckily for Borrik there were plenty to be had, near to fifty in his estimation.

* * * * *

Though the warriors of Valdadore were valiantly trying to hold off the enemy so their unblessed comrades could flee in relative safety, they were so few that they were like islands in a river that simply flowed around them. At this rate there would be no turning the tide, and as such, Seth knew that the only option they had was to frighten the enemy into fleeing, or flee to the castle themselves. Knowing it was now or never, Seth shouted to Jonas who remained nearby, and in return the great mottled werewolf barked a quick reply. Yelling for Jonas to relay orders to his men, Seth repeated a task he had been practicing for weeks. Instantly Seth reached out and connected with the auras of his men. Since these auras were sworn to him, they were somehow tied to him and therefore easy to locate. Pouring all the energy he could afford to spare into all of his men, Seth was thrown from his feet by what ensued.

Like some great explosion a thunderous boom shook the ground beneath the battlefield. The frozen lake began to crack and split as great sheets of ice began to shift, spilling Sigrant’s troops beneath them by the hundreds. Though the explosion had been tremendous, the shockwaves that followed it were by far the worse of the two, as hundreds of walls of concussive air lent power to one another and men and women were either thrown to the ground or into the air. Only those who were blessed in size by their respective gods were left standing and more than two hundred of them were great wolfmen sworn to Seth. For weeks Seth had practiced locating his men, and for days he had drawn upon them with symbols formed of magic for this very moment. Though he did not have power enough to sustain them permanently, each had enough power in their blessing now to remain in their blessed form for greater than two hours. What was even better was Seth’s plan.

For the entirety of the battle thus far, Seth’s werewolves had been spreading themselves thin through the enemy lines, fighting in small packs, seeking out the targets that Seth had commanded them. He had told them that they would know when to strike, and they had taken the hint. Like the wind of a tornado, a giant roar tore across the battlefield as Seth’s troops to a man became blessed and sprang atop their chosen targets. They did not strike out at the blessed knights commanded by Sigrant, but at all those mages who had targeted Seth; all those mages who now lay upon their faces or backs, thrown by the massive wolven transformations. They were easy targets, and within seconds more than a hundred mages died, those blessed by gods, those pieces of high value.