Age of the Gods: The Complete, twelve novel, fantasy series (The Blood and Brotherhood Saga) (116 page)

“Now Tommy, inhale and exhale quickly,” Seth instructed again.

As Tommy did so, his flesh began to lighten. First the brown paled and then turned to a deep red then orange. Faster and faster Tommy breathed as his flesh turned yellow and then near to white. All around him stood smiling. It was an amazing ability.

“The faster you breathe, the lighter your skin becomes, and the slower, the darker. For your darkest tones you have to hold your breath and strain a little,” Seth said. “Garret, Dad, and Jack, you need to spar with Tommy for a short while so he can quickly learn his limitations and strength,” he added.

Understanding the need and nodding or voicing their approval, they each turned and walked off with the man who was now part amphibian and part reptile. Seth smiled knowing that his brother, father, and Jack were in for some surprises. Even so, Seth had more work to do and gesturing to Borrik, his second-in-command, he relayed orders to send the next volunteer to meet him. The man was said to be a hunter and tracker blessed by the god of the druids. He was a small and wiry thing with taut muscles and a long nose.

Seth spent an hour perfecting this second assassin, a man by the name of Chad. Already he was gifted, and Seth worked to enhance his talents. Seth gave him a more sensitive nose and keener eyes. To that he added strength and agility. Though he actually made the man physically shorter, he gave him stronger instincts and beyond that he made him ferocious. Chad had already adapted to his new body as he stalked off into the night with his orders.

He had been a loner much of his life before, preferring the forest and nature as companions. Now he needed to be alone; his instincts and temperament demanded it. Seth had even promised it to him, but first he had a job to do. Chad prowled off, away from the fire that hurt his eyes, and dropping to all fours he rushed off into the darkness.

Seth called for another volunteer and then another. Hour after hour for the majority of the night he would alter those who wished it into his own champions. Others he blessed with size and strength, like that of his father and brother. Mostly he hoped his assassins would succeed and spare the lives of thousands. Seth toiled, sharing his power with those he chose, until finished at last he sat back to watch as the first flakes of snow began to descend from the sky.

* * * * *

Garret drew his sword as did his father and Jack. Tommy pulled a pair of short swords from the clothing he had discarded before being altered into the creature he was now. He squeezed them in his new hands and swung his arms testing the weight. Garret watched him intently.

“Are you ready Tommy?” the king asked.

The mutated man turned and nodded to him, and before he could react, Tommy leapt across more than thirty feet, driving his knobby head into Garret’s gut with unbelievable force. Garret lost his breath as the wind was knocked from him and he was driven back more than ten yards by the blow. Tommy twisted as they rolled and, springing into the air, he came down a few steps in front of James. Garret, still struggling to breathe, watched as Tommy was rushed by his father, but thwarted the attack by grabbing the man’s arm and leaping with all his might, dislocating the appendage at the shoulder. Only Jack was left in the fight, and moving slowly he tried to anticipate what Tommy would do. Not one of them expected what did come.

Tommy feigned an attack. As Jack raised his sword to block it, Tommy leapt to the man’s chest. Landing like a frog upon a vertical surface and using Jack’s body for leverage, Tommy leapt off the man with all his might. The force of his unnatural legs was so strong that Jack flew backwards in one direction as Tommy flew in the other but somewhere in the action, Jack had managed to draw blood.

The King of Valdadore watched as the newly altered Tommy landed and lifted his foot to appraise the wound he had sustained. The tip of one of his long toes had been severed completely. Garret thought to call a cleric to heal him, but realized that they would probably be of little use to the man now that his anatomy was foreign. However, just as soon as Garret had the thought, Tommy revealed yet another blessing given to him through the alteration of his body. Though it was an inherent gift for both amphibians and reptiles, Seth had increased the ability by giving Tommy such an abundance of life. So as Garret looked upon the newly created assassin, he was amazed when in the span of no more than three seconds the toe that had been severed regenerated as if it had never been injured at all.

All three of his opponents watched, silently amazed. Tommy too was overcome and smiled like a fool at the discovery. If he had thought himself invincible before, he truly did now with this new body. Wanting to know exactly what else he was capable of, Tommy turned, his smile remaining, and spoke to the king.

“Care to go again, your majesssssty?” Tommy asked, his tongue flicking out between his teeth.

Garret nodded and for the next hour the four combatants trained with one another in mock battle after mock battle. Many hours before daylight, Thousand Hole Tommy bowed low to his king and shook hands with his old friends Giant James and Jack. Then he crouched, picking up a bundle provided for him, and turning, he leapt into the darkness. A few bounds later Tommy was lost from view into the night. Within minutes the man would be in the enemy’s camp covering as much ground as he was able. Garret and Tommy’s old comrades silently wished him luck into the cold night air.

For more than two hours now those tended by the healers had been silent. Most had fully recovered after treatment and left but thirteen remained in the care of the white-robed clerics. King Sigrant had ordered that these men remain in their care until dawn. Occasionally one of them would wake, sweating and fearful. At such times they would speak of unnatural things. They were confused.

After periods of consciousness, they would then have a fit. Wracked by pain and convulsions, again the men would black out. They had been brought to the healers throughout the day. The first arrived within an hour of the battle’s beginning. From then they came regularly right up until the battle had ceased. The first to arrive had now awoken for the fourth time.

More than forty healers remained in the tent, each seated near the outer wall, surveying all the patients within. Most noticed that the man had awoken, though none moved to tend to him. Each of them had tried and failed several times to diagnose the illness that had overcome these soldiers. Something within them blocked their best efforts. Even the head master of the order had come. He too had failed. Now it was simply a waiting game.

Patient one, as the clerics were calling him, had been awake for more than a quarter of an hour. This time he did not speak nor did he thrash about. For the time being he simply lay on his back staring at the tent ceiling. He had tried to move once, but finding himself restrained he relaxed. The healers waited for him to do what he had done on each prior occasion.

While they did so, patient two also awoke. He too tried to move, and realizing he was also restrained, he asked for assistance but received none. Within another hour, all thirteen men were awake and Peter, one of the healers, found it odd that they had now each awoken four times. Even more odd was that none of them spoke, yelled, thrashed, vomited, or did anything else they had done before.

Peter was far from the most experienced healer in the tent, but he was climbing the ranks fast. He supposed it was due to his ability to keep track of details. He liked details. Peter also liked organization. The two together worked very well and Peter was a master at both. He supposed that there were no others in the room who realized that all thirteen of these men had awoken exactly four times.

This time Peter noted that none of the men were covered in sweat, their fevers seemingly subsided. They did not cry out in agony either, showing that yet another symptom had abated. None muttered crazy disconnected things which implied that whatever infection had overcome them had run its course and now the men were fine.

Still, no one moved to diagnose a patient. Peter grew anxious. Sitting up in his chair, he brushed his dark bangs from his eyes. He looked from one man upon a table to the next, and by all appearances they were each fine. Their color seemed normal, none perspired over actively, all seemed well.

Peter stood. He was taller than any of his peers by more than a head. Tall and slender, like a stick with legs as his mom would say, Peter took a step towards the nearest patient. Patient nine. Steven grabbed his wrist. Turning back, Peter looked upon his friend and peer questioningly.

“Just because signs of their ailments are gone does not mean they are not infectious,” Steven whispered.

“All of them were bitten. Since no others came with the same symptoms without being bitten, I think it safe to say you can only be infected in that manner, Steven,” Peter replied.

Several healers stood then, and each of them moved dutifully about the room. Steven approached patient nine.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

Swiveling his head to meet the gaze of the man above him, patient nine smiled, appearing normal by all accounts.

“I feel better than ever,” the patient replied. “I don’t suppose you could unbind me so that I might go relieve myself?”

Peter thought it over before responding to the question.

“Perhaps in a moment,” Peter answered. “My name is Peter, and I have a couple of questions for you first.”

“I am Edward, and I happily oblige,” said the patient.

“OK Edward, throughout the day you awoke screaming and yelling of unholy things. Do you remember?”

Edward closed his eyes a moment, and keeping them closed he began his reply. “I had visions of war, with blood and gore, beasts and monsters. Most I am sure would have considered them nightmares.”

“You called out to someone. Do you remember who?” Peter questioned further.

“Yes,” Edward smiled. “Amongst the nightmares, I momentarily had a dream. I was in my home village and I had fallen in love with a young woman who had just moved there. Though for as much as I desired her, I could not be myself with her. Also she was friends with one of the wolfmen we fought today,” Edward replied with a smirk.

“So was it her name you cried out?” Peter asked.

“Yes.”

“Why is it that in this dream you were not able to be yourself with her?” Peter continued his questions.

“Because I sparkled in the sun, and secretly I wanted to make a sandwich of her,” Edward answered, grinning.

“That is absurd,” Peter replied and began untying Edward’s restraints.

Looking around the room, he saw that all the men were being unrestrained. The healers had each risen from their chairs to help untie their patients. None saw the attack coming.

One second the tent was a place of calm serenity as caregivers tended to those they cared for; the next it was a bloodbath.

Overcome by uncontrollable urges thirteen patients grasped the nearest person to them, and clinging to them, bit into their flesh. Some pulled the clerics down upon them on the tables, others leapt upon the healers, driving them to the ground. Only one exit existed in the tent; all the other sides of the thick canvas were staked deep into the earth.

None of the clerics reacted immediately, so completely overcome by the attack. For a second an unnatural hush fell over the tent as the first wave of victims were bled, completing the transformation of the re-risen soldiers. The silence did not last long. A moment later one of the clerics shrieked as others began to yell and run for the exit. Discarding their current victims the newly revived soldiers moved with inhuman speed and agility to cut off those who attempted to retreat.

Bashing heads and backhanding those clerics who remained, within seconds the screams ceased. Each of the thirteen fed upon one victim after another, tasting each new flesh for a moment before moving on. So new and wondrous was the world with their new bodies and senses, that less than two minutes after the attack had started the infected soldiers fled the tent, leaving all but one cleric alive. Spreading out in all directions the infected searched for new sources of blood within Sigrant’s giant encampment. Every feeding made them stronger. Every experience made them crave the next that much more.

Just five hours later, still a full two hours before daybreak, the clerics began to awake for the fourth time, as did random others throughout the camp.

* * * * *

Edward reveled in the changes that had overcome his body. It was as if each experience was a new one, a better one. He moved from tent to tent with astonishing speed, silencing quickly any who thought to raise an alarm. He fed time and time again, each time growing stronger, each time luxuriating in the pleasure it brought him.

Occasionally he heard a scream and knew that one of his brethren had found another victim. Still no alarm had been raised. He was secure in the fact as he followed the scent he had picked up only moments ago. It hinted of women and girls, flowers and honey. To Edward it was almost as if someone had designed a meal just for him. He could not resist it.

Circuitously he followed the scent, imagining he would come to the encampment of whores the king brought to reward his men after a victorious battle. Here would be near half a thousand women of varying age and proportions to choose from. An endless supply of pleasure. Edward smiled a wicked grin and rounded the corner. The scent of perfume hit him like a brick wall, only there were not lines of guarded whores. A single crimson tent stood before Edward reeking of sex and perfume. He could hear the hearts beating within and lustily his mouth began to water.

Looking around to be sure none would notice, Edward scaled the outside wall of the tent, bunching the thick canvas in his fists to get hand holds. Reaching the seam where the top of the tent met the wall he forced his fingers between the stitching and began to pull slowly. Quietly He opened a hole large enough to pass through and carefully he pulled himself the remaining distance up to it. Using his arms to open the gap he had created, Edward dropped through the hole to land upon a padded cushion.

More than two dozen women lay randomly about the room, each and every one of them nude. Garments lay about the floor seemingly discarded without a care. Edward had found that which he sought. Naught but a single male inhabited the room, though just outside the canvas walls were several more. He would have to be exceedingly careful not to wake anyone.

Carefully Edward positioned himself over his first victim. Looking upon her small body he imagined her barely old enough to wed. She was developed enough physically to be called a woman he supposed, not that it mattered. Clamping her small mouth shut with one hand, her eyes popped open the same second he wrenched back her head. Edward pushed himself inside her at the same time that he bit into her flesh. Ecstasy.

* * * * *

Sara paced just outside the firelight that Seth worked from. Something was inherently wrong, though she was as yet unsure as to what exactly that was. Only moments before she had felt it, the same as she had felt it each time she fed. It was to a much smaller degree, of course, but none the less it had been there. In the darkness, alone, Sara felt something new grow within her. With it came a surge of pleasure of the likes she experienced when feeding. She felt herself grow stronger by a miniscule amount. Over the ensuing hour it happened well over two hundred more times but it was only now that she was able to make sense of it. This time Sara began to understand, and for the first time realized that she had to do what Seth wanted. She needed her change to be reversed. She needed to become human again – if it was not too late.

Sara paced as the soldiers she had fed upon changed into monsters like her, just as the young woman in Traiven, her first victim, had done. Just as Fera, Jud’s cook in the mages’ tower had done after that. Now, though, Sara recognized what it was that was happening.

Somehow she was connected to those she had fed upon. Those who had survived. Those who had changed. Now they too were feeding, and through that connection Sara was receiving some of the power they gained. Nearly every minute that passed came a puny surge of power, sometimes singly, sometimes two or more together.

How many men had she bitten? How many would they feed upon? Would those people also change into what she was? So many questions raced through her mind and yet she knew not the answers and dared not bother Seth now. He was not only busy, but struggling with his own mistakes and lack of understanding of the consequences that came with
his
power.

Feeling alone Sara sat upon the ground in the darkness counting the small surges of power that washed through her every moment that the night progressed.

Sara began to weep as morning neared, and a second wave of power rushed into her, coming faster and faster with each passing moment. Even those that her victims fed upon had changed and were now feeding her with their power. Not even the constant influx of pleasure was enough to overcome the grief Sara felt. Crying softly into the darkness she wondered if Seth too felt this way when his troops died. If so he was obviously the stronger of the two, for though she had seen him wince as they fell in battle, never had a tear escaped him. Then, just like her tears, snow began to fall.

* * * * *

Thousand Hole Tommy was really enjoying his new body. In fact, he felt like a new man. Just hours ago he had been worn and weary from an existence stretched too thin over the expanse of time. Not now though. Seth had given him new vigor and strength. Sure he was ugly as all sin, but with the scars already upon his old body it really wasn’t a change for the worse.

Using his powerful legs, Tommy leaped fifty yards at a time. He could see much better in darkness with his new body than he had ever been able to with his old one. It truly was a miracle.

Covering huge expanses of earth with each leap, it was only a quarter of an hour before Tommy reached the edge of Sigrant’s encamped army. They had a watch set, not that it mattered. One moment Tommy was forty yards out, completely shrouded by darkness, the next he was inside the camp.

Stopping momentarily he untied the bundle he had brought with him and donned the mage robe it contained. It was a blue robe, unlike any worn in Valdadore, and Tommy assumed it had been scavenged from the battlefield earlier in the day. It had blood upon it and reeked of sweat and smoke, but other than that it sufficed in hiding his features from anyone he might run into. Pulling the cowl low, Tommy began searching the enemy camp for the quarters of the king himself.

Hour after slow trudging hour, Tommy roamed the camp looking and listening for clues as to the enemy king’s whereabouts. On numerous occasions he heard a loud gasp or a short yell or scream. He imagined with a force this big, discipline must be an issue and fights were bound to be a problem.