Age of the Gods: The Complete, twelve novel, fantasy series (The Blood and Brotherhood Saga) (120 page)

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.

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.

* * * * *

It had been several hours since Linaya had gotten her first glimpse of Boulder Gate. Still following the winding tunnels downwards, it was as if the city had been etched in her mind. Such was its beauty that Linaya almost felt ashamed asking the dwarves to leave such perfection behind.

Rounding what must have been the millionth bend, the cavern they followed widened and straightened out and before them stood the ground level of the dwarves’ capital city. Again Linaya was awestruck. From this vantage point the city appeared limitless. Each building climbed high into the heavens and she could not see the far side of the city. Carved façades beckoned her attention and she found herself staring at the intricacies of every detail as they walked. She smiled often, like a child might when presented with a treat, for the wonder of the foreign city held her enthralled. Statues of dwarves stood, twice as tall as she, wearing oddly fashioned armor and clothing, and bearing with them immense objects, weapons, or even others of their own race. Battles were depicted upon many a façade and Linaya would pause from time to time to try and get a better scope of what the artwork encompassed. Fortunately for her, Zorbin and Gumbi walked slowly, talking about times past, allowing her to catch up. Bridges filled the voids between buildings on many levels above Linaya and even upon the ground. Eventually Linaya realized that the bridges upon the ground level were not just for decoration for in the city of the dwarves an ice cold river flowed lazily, providing not only refreshment, but also a natural climate control for the dwarves. Everything about the city seemed flawless.

For more than two hours Linaya trailed behind the pair of dwarves, staring with a slack jaw at the immeasurable beauty of the city. Other dwarves rushed to and fro yet most seemed not to notice the human in their midst. Eventually Linaya began to believe that those who inhabited the city avoided gazing upon her purposely. It made her nervous and anxious at the same time. Why was it the dwarves feared to look upon her? Did she appear so ghastly to them that it sickened them to look upon her? Was it forbidden to look upon a human in the home of the dwarves? Perhaps they were trying to spare her any embarrassment but had taken the action to extremes. Linaya had no way of knowing. Generally most in a room would stare at her. The men would look upon her with lust in their eyes, and the women would scrutinize her and give her mean or distrustful looks. She had become so accustomed to such attention that the sudden lack thereof in a populated place felt wholly unnatural.

Before long, Linaya found herself looking at the inhabitants of the city instead of the city itself. What she found was just as wondrous as the home the stocky race of men had built. Dwarves, it seemed, came in as many shapes and colors as humans did.

Some were taller like Zorbin with broad shoulders and thick arms. Others were shorter, more bow-legged and with barrel chests and thickly muscled backs. More were smaller still, with less muscle mass and narrower frames. Yet all were easily recognizable as dwarves.

Just like the race of humans the dwarves came with a wide variety of attributes. Linaya witnessed every shade of hair from bright copper, to the brown of clay, to the black of deep rich soil. What caught her fascination was the fact that though all the dwarves she had seen had a hair color that occurred naturally underground, their skin was much the same as a human’s. If anything, Linaya would have suspected that dwarves would have been pale and pasty due to living below ground. The truth was that most of them had what Linaya could only describe as a natural tan.

Linaya noticed almost immediately that dwarven women were not at all like the stories she had heard as a child. They did not have beards like their men did, nor did they have sideburns or big bushy eyebrows. Linaya was presently surprised to find that dwarven women were not that dissimilar to human women. Like them, they were generally smaller than their male counterparts. Though short and stocky, what the women lacked in bulging muscles they made up for in bosom and bottom. Dwarven women might be short, but they were as curvy as a spring in a gnomish machine.

It was not until Linaya saw some young dwarven children playing in a fountain that she saw a notable difference between the dwarven race and her own. Whereas human children appeared much the same, regardless of sex until they hit puberty, dwarves’ gender was easily discernible at any age. Seeing the children playing, Linaya could not help herself but to pause in her trek behind those that led her, to stare once again at something wondrous to her. For here, playing in an exquisitely carved fountain, were two young boys and a girl. She imagined them all to be under ten years of age and yet both boys had a full, albeit short, beard and well-toned muscles. The small girl had breasts equal to that in size of Linaya’s own. She could not imagine what such a thing meant for the children. Were they sexually mature? Could they reproduce at such a tender age? Seeing the children left Linaya with a lot of questions, but she quickly reminded herself that an education on dwarven culture was not her priority here. The man she loved was in trouble. The land she called home was being invaded. Likely both were fighting this very moment, and here she stopped to watch children play. Linaya began walking anew and quickly caught up to Zorbin and Gumbi.