Age of the Gods: The Complete, twelve novel, fantasy series (The Blood and Brotherhood Saga) (131 page)

“Aye. It be hard to tell a fella no when he made you the king,” he replied with a wink.

In the heavens, Gorandor growled at his brethren, his anger apparent from his every motion. Though they all had felt the changes of late, it was Gorandor who had called the meeting. It was he who had pieced together what it was that was transpiring. It was he, the god of honor and valor, who showed them the error in their ways.

“Time has been altered. The fate and destiny of Thurr has been tangled,” he began, slamming one massive fist into his open hand. “We cannot continue reacting to what is occurring in the world we made. We must stop the change before it is beyond our power.”

“We done that once before, if ye remember,” replied Ximlin, the Dwarven god who now appeared as one of his stout followers. “Ishanya learned nothing from her punishment but
more
hate and
more
greed.”

Gorandor watched as the other ethereal heads nodded in agreement, and resumed his pacing. It was true what Ximlin said, but if they did not act soon, they would be too weak to retaliate.

“Then we try something new.”

“And what does the mighty Gorandor suggest?” asked Lorentia, the goddess of nurturing and healing.

“What do we know about what she has changed and what she plans?” Gorandor asked the gathering.

“She has created her own champion and made him an abomination,” offered one of the many gods.

“She altered the tapestry of fate, opening us all up to dangers,” added another.

“She seeks to gather followers from all the races,” added a third. “Though I doubt the elves will follow, nor the dwarves if they still recall her history.”

Gorandor listened to each of his kind. They all had a different perspective, each having learned different traits from the peoples they had once inhabited. They spoke of the winged beast the abomination had created. They spoke of the abomination’s lover and wife. They fleshed out every detail of the happenings upon Thurr that had any connection with the strand that served as the abomination’s fate. And there were multitudes of connections to discuss. They spoke of subtle influences and alterations they could make that would not disrupt time and destiny, simply guide it.

In mere hours upon Thurr the gods managed years of careful planning, coming to several logical and carefully constructed decisions.

“We shall see if we are right,” said Valenore, the druidic god of creation. “I will intervene and see if it goes unnoticed. But I dare not remove the blight the abomination planted within my followers. Ishanya would be sure to notice.”

“Fair,” Gorandor agreed. “See to the plague, then. If we cannot dismantle her plan without danger, then we shall make it impossible for her to control.”

Nods again filled the gathering, and then all were gone. Gorandor stared out across the tapestry that intertwined time, fate, and destiny, and watched as tiny possibilities already began to weave themselves into threads that created events. Just their decision to act was having a positive effect on the outcome, though it was only a chance, and a miniscule one at that.

As possibilities were not a constant, the tapestry had frayed endings. Looking across the expanse of time Gorandor saw infinite possibilities, but paid special attention to three. Free will of their creations made any of them a possible outcome, but these three were at present the most likely to occur.

In the first and most likely occurrence, Ishanya was victorious in her plan and eventually Gorandor and his brethren all succumbed to her. Beyond that he could not see, as in that possibility he no longer existed.

The next that troubled him was a possibility where Ishanya was again defeated, and this time it was she who came to an end. Looking beyond her demise, fate hinted that another of the gods would take her place as a usurper to their equal and combined efforts.

The third and final possibility simply ended. Whether the meaning was that Thurr itself came to an end, Gorandor could not be sure. All he knew for certain was that the most common thread shared amongst all three possibilities was the life of the abomination himself.

Looking then to Thurr, the world he helped create and bring life to, he peered down through space and time at what he thought was his best chance for survival. This thread was nearly lost to fate, having unraveled to the point of breakage, but still Gorandor had faith that it could be restored. Even now, nearly completely severed, Gorandor’s hope endured, and the god vowed not to give up.

Curious once more, he then turned his attention to see how Valonore fared in his intervention.

* * * * *

Sara sat with her eyes closed, her head tipped back against the bars. Day had come long ago and the sun shone so brightly this day, off of newly fallen snow, that it pained her eyes even through the crimson glass panels in her helm. She still grew stronger by the second, but even now was incapable of bending the thick steel bars.

The cart her cage inhabited moved ever westward, the driver not even stopping to relieve himself. Had it not been for the sound of his heart beating in his chest she would have sworn the man was dead on more than one occasion. But no, the bastard lived.

The terrain had turned from hills to plains and back again throughout the previous night and the morning. Now it felt as if they slowly climbed upwards, the air carrying more chill with every hour. Sara, however, was relieved to see that not far ahead they would be entering a forest. She would much prefer the dark shadows over the sharp piercing pains she got whenever she opened her eyes out in the open.

A quarter of an hour later the trail they followed turned into the trees. Though many of the trees had lost their leaves, a good percentage were pines and other evergreens that did wonders at blocking the sun.

Sara was relieved when the constant pain vanished, and changing her position she sat upon her knees to better get a lay of the land. Ahead, just as before the forest, it was apparent that they were indeed climbing, and the trail they followed was well worn by the recent passage of Sigrant’s army, supplies, and war machines. A few miles ahead it appeared that the trail turned, but other than that she could find nothing of interest to make note of.

The miles passed and just as Sara had believed, the driver led the steeds and the cart around a sharp bend in the trail, and immediately the scenery changed. Here the trail narrowed uncomfortably, the boughs of the trees interlocking overhead to cut out the vast majority of the light. The driver slowed the steeds as the cart began to buck and jump, as it bounced over great roots that crossed the path.

Where moments before the path was clear and showed obvious signs of Sigrant’s army’s recent passage, this portion of the trail looked ancient and unused.

Rounding another bend, the trail narrowed once more, causing branches and the trunks of trees to scrape the sides of the cart and bash and clang off the bars of Sara’s cage. Hitting a root the entire cart bounced, and Sara was thrown against the bars causing her armor to clank as she sucked in a quick breath, having been caught off guard. The driver looked back at her and smiled wickedly, amused by her uncomfortable ride. Another root and again the cart bounced. This time her cage shifted slightly. Noting the change, Sara moved to the front of the cage, hoping it would slide forward once again.

She waited only moments before they rode over a particularly rough patch in the road. Her cage bounced and slid again towards the front of the cart and Sara shoved her arm between the bars, her fingertips brushing the driver’s cloak. Another bump and he was inches away again. Sara sighed in defeat.

Then, rounding yet another curve in the trail, Sara got what she wished for. Root after thick root crossed the path they traveled, making the cart bounce uncontrollably. It creaked and squeaked from the strain as the cage slid and bounced, shifting its weight across the bed of the cart. Closer and closer the driver came, and then she had him. Grasping his cloak, Sara yanked with all her might, pulling him up and off his seat to smash backwards against the bars of the cage with a crack. The reins falling slack, the steeds took it as their cue to pick up the pace. Reaching through the bars, she grasped the man’s head in one arm and grabbed his jaw with the other. Rending bone and meat from his skull she tore the two asunder, assuring herself that he would never smile at her misery again. Then, reaching into his belt, she found the pouch she sought and, pulling it between the bars, she loosened the strings upon it and produced a key from within.

All the while the steeds pulling the cart raced faster and faster down the rough and all too narrow trail. Standing in a crouched position as the cart clattered, bounding down the path, Sara reached through the bars with the key in hand, careful not to drop her only hope for escape. It took four attempts with the cart bucking and bouncing, but finally mating the key to the oversized locking mechanism on the cage she turned it quickly, producing a loud click.

She flung the top open just as the cart veered roughly to one side. She looked ahead and saw as one steed attempted to turn off the trail, straining the leather harness that secured the two beasts together. Ahead, it appeared the trail came to an abrupt end, and both horses struggled to turn the cart in opposite directions.

Again the cart veered left, the steed upon that side being stronger than its kin. This time it was too much. Sara attempted to leap out of the cage as the corner of the cart struck the trunk of a large aspen, but only half succeeded. So forceful was the collision that the cart came to a near complete stop, before rolling over to bounce and land upon the two steeds that had previously pulled it. The cage was flung from the cart as Sara launched out of it, her foot catching between the bars just before she exited. Careening end over end through the air with Sara entangled, the cage came to rest a full forty feet from the collision, with Sara crushed underneath.

She screamed in both, rage and pain, her bones broken, organs punctured, ligaments and muscles torn. They tried to mend, but with the crushing weight upon her it was impossible. Only her head and one leg was free from beneath the cage, neither giving her the leverage she needed to extract herself.

Looking around for anything useful she found herself just feet from the point where the trail ended. Except that it didn’t end.

Watching in disbelief, Sara clung to consciousness as the trees ahead began to uproot, heaving upwards to rain soil down in all directions. Once unsecured, they came at her slowly, in strides like those of men, but without joints to bend with. The nearest, an oak bare of leaves, loomed over her a moment before slowly leaning down, revealing a face upon its withered bark.

The tree had deep black eyes that appeared hardened sap that bored into the trunk. Odd knots formed its ears and a peculiar growth split the tree horizontally creating a mouth and chin. Moss and lichen clung about the face, creating the appearance of both eyebrows and beard, but it was the eyes that held her attention. In the deep dark pools an inner light shone that hinted of wisdom and experience.

It bent slowly lower and lower, and coming face to face it inhaled through its small knob of a nose deeply.

“It smells like poison and death,” the living tree said in a mournful voice that reminded Sara of the hollow sound of wind blowing through the trees. “Bramble, you take it and bring it with us.”

Slowly righting itself once again, the giant tree creature moved aside as another took its place. This one was smaller, with peanut shaped leaves of a dark emerald green and smooth gray bark. The new tree leaned down as well, exposing a face similar to the previous, but with far less moss and lichen and smoother, less wrinkled features. A multitude of branches bent down towards Sara as the cage rolled aside. Instantly her wounds began to mend but even so she was already pulled up and off the ground, branches bending around her, forming a new cage to contain her. The branches ranged in size, some only as thick as her wrists, yet others as big around as her thigh. Upon them, thousands of thorns as long as her forearms pointed inward at her from all directions except the floor.

Leaves created a barrier that blocked all visibility beyond the branches and thorns, but Sara could feel the tree creature rise and turn before stalking off into the forest.

Exasperated, she plopped to the bottom of her new cell as her last wounds mended themselves within minutes. She had traded one captor and one cage for another. Silently she wondered which had been the worse.

* * * * *

Borrik soared westward as fast as his wings and the air currents would take him. He watched the world pass below, scanning for anything moving west. The morning had brought with it a storm that blanketed everything below in white, covering any hopes of finding tracks. Beyond the newly formed lake and Seth’s magically created chasm he flew and further still, onward past the towers and wall called Westgate.

He knew he already had Seth’s favor, but in the prince’s absence he also knew it had fallen to him to look out for Sara. Though a deadly foe, the woman was less experienced in battle and a shining target to any enemy looking to hurt the dark prince. Borrik had failed to protect her, but now was offered redemption. He had flown nearly twelve hours straight when he finally spotted an anomaly below

Diving low to the ground for a better look, he spotted a pair of wagon tracks accompanied by horse tracks that seemingly just appeared out of the snow. Apparently this was its location when the snow had stopped falling, everything behind that point was covered, yet stretching as far ahead as Borrik could perceive, the tracks continued. He sniffed the air but could find no trace of the Princess’s scent.