Age of the Gods: The Complete, twelve novel, fantasy series (The Blood and Brotherhood Saga) (132 page)

There was no way to know if she was on the wagon, but with no better leads Borrik opted to follow the tracks and see where they led. The snow had stopped but six hours ago, giving the driver an apparent six hour lead. Borrik was faster upon the air than a wagon pulled by horses could even hope to be.

Flapping like his life depended on it, Borrik climbed to gain altitude and a suitable stream of air to navigate. Hundreds of feet up, he found such a stream and sailed through the sky, his eyes never leaving the tracks.

It was only an hour later when he reached the edge of the forest, and circling over it twice concluded that he could no longer follow the trail from above. Settling to the ground on the very trail where the tracks entered the trees, Borrik recalled his blessed wings and arms, letting them be reclaimed by his flesh once more. Then, without hesitation he sprang into the forest upon all four of his massive limbs. It was an unnatural gait, neither animal nor human, but it served to lend him more speed and spared his legs all the work.

Darkness was coming fast, and within the treed canopy even his feral vision was limited. Sniffing as he went, he picked up the scent of blood. It was not Sara’s, but nonetheless, if there was a struggle she could be in danger if she
had
been on the wagon he sought.

On foot, Borrik could maintain pace with a Valdadorian war horse. His stamina at times felt unending. For an hour he raced through the woods, following the winding trail that oddly narrowed after each curve. The scent of blood grew stronger with every step, and in the darkness he reached the origin of the smell. Here a mix of odors polluted the air, and among them was what he sought. Not the original blood he had followed, but Sara, and her blood, had also been here.

Sniffing around, both up and down the trail, Borrik realized that all the scents stopped at this point upon the trail. The cart had not traveled any further, which meant that somehow it had left the trail. In the darkness he began navigating the forest in an ever widening circle from the spot where the cart and all of its scents vanished.

The light had faded altogether, and now he relied only upon his nose. Breathing deeply he searched the air for a clue, always moving, always sniffing. An hour passed, and then another, as Borrik began to lose hope of finding a trail. He wondered if perhaps somehow the horses, cart, and Sara had vanished magically. Such things were known to happen with people that were familiar with Seth. Knowing the magically vanishing scenario unlikely, he widened his search again and got his first break. Upon a slight breeze he caught the scent of the horses and began sprinting upwind.

Moments later he caught the scent of Sara, and then again the horses just after that. He was finally on the right trail. Tasting the air as he ran headlong into the darkness, Borrik bounded upon all fours, dodging through the trees like one of his feral relatives.

* * * * *

Mid-morning came and went, as the Dwarven army grew ever nearer to the source of the smoke. Linaya rode in a near trance, having fallen prey to the rhythmic pounding of the dwarves’ boots upon the soil. Scouts came and went from the front lines to the wilderness again at regular intervals, and she grew accustomed to vaguely marking time with their scheduled arrivals and departures. She was hungry. No. Famished, and could not imagine what those on foot must be feeling. They had been rushing all morning to reach the smoke and find the cause for it. When the army came to an abrupt halt, so dazed was Linaya that she nearly trampled the dwarves in front of her with her mount.

Yanking the reins at the last possible second, she stirred shaking the fog from her mind. Up ahead in the front lines, a pair of scouts talked hurriedly with the king and Gumbi, gesturing with their hands like a pair of raving lunatics. Apparently on the trail ahead was something big with clawed fingers that bounced around like a bunny while waving its hands. To be honest, Linaya found the scene rather amusing until she realized the ground was still shaking beneath them.

She had grown so accustomed to the vibrations caused by the immense army she had not realized that they continued even after the troops had stopped. Then she pieced the puzzle together. They were marching into a fight.

Linaya watched as Gumbi raised a hand, making three motions with his fist, raising various fingers each time. Quietly the ranks of troops broke into three equal contingents and began moving as silently as was possible for a hundred thousand armored troops. They split paths, each contingent striking out in a different direction.

“What’s going on?” she asked Zorbin.

“We’ve stumbled upon some giants and be preparing to attack them.”

“Why are we attacking them? Couldn’t we go around?”

“Giants and Dwarves be havin’ history, m’lady, we’ll just call it a land dispute that’s been ongoin’ near a thousand years. Besides, the men could use a bit o’ practice.”

“Are they in Smirole?” Linaya asked, fearful that the town had been slaughtered by the monstrous giants.

“We won’t know till we gets there, m’lady.”

With a nod of understanding, Linaya stopped her line of questioning, allowing Zorbin to focus on the battle ahead. Riding beside him slowly, she kept her eyes focused ahead, looking for any signs of the giants.

An hour passed as the dwarves crept down to meet their foes, and Linaya found the pace slow and grueling. She did not want the dwarves to fight the giants, but the
anticipation
of the fight with the giants was a hundred times worse.

Loud deep chanting could now be heard, interspersed with terrified screams and yells. The ground quaked beneath them and Linaya fought to maintain control of her terrified steed. Something unnatural was occurring ahead and she could not help but feel a bad omen approaching their foes.

More minutes passed and finally the giants began to whoop and scream, having been alerted to the dwarves’ presence. The order to charge was given, and in unison the dwarves lowered their hammers from their shoulders and began to pray to their god as they heeded the call to charge.

Away the dwarves ran, calling out battle cries in their deep guttural voices. Linaya watched as Zorbin called upon Gorandor with a resounding boom, and he and Xanth sprang forward to join the fray. She knew she had no place in war, and so followed at what she thought a safe distance might be to simply observe the battle. It was not what she had expected.

Breaking into the clearing ahead, Linaya was met by a roar of rage that consisted of hundreds of mind-numbing, booming voices. She had not been prepared for this. Every story she had ever been told about giants had consisted of only a handful of the beasts. It was believed that they lived in small family tribes of a dozen or less. Most thought that there were few of the creatures, maybe a hundred or so. All of what she had heard was wrong.

In the clearing, which had indeed once been a town, were hundreds of the huge slobbering behemoths. They had demolished the town and surrounding farms, building a pyre out of the very buildings and setting it ablaze. Atop the pyre they had tossed the inhabitants of the city, some who even now writhed in the smoke and flame seeking an end to their torment. These were the screams they had been hearing. Beyond the pyre was a huge, crudely built cage formed from uprooted trees that had been shoved down into the soil and bound with vines. Within it she could see hundreds of the dire wolves like the one Zorbin rode. These, she supposed, were to be the next sacrifice to whatever god the giants served.

The dwarves, apparently expecting the same as Linaya had, did not seem to know what to do about the massive infestation of their mortal enemies. Breaking into smaller and smaller groups in order to engage so many of the giants, the dwarves’ lines were thinned out. Even so, the odds were near two hundred to one. At least for the first few moments while everyone, including the giants, recovered from the shock of the situation.

For a split second it was as if the world held its breath, as all was silent before the chaos ensued. Linaya watched as the giants began pulling huge clubs from their crude belts, or uprooting yet more trees to bash the dwarves like insects. Though many of the dwarves were blessed, they were tiny in comparison to the giants. Even Zorbin, more than twice his regular size, was only a third of one of the smaller giants.

The dwarves, it seemed, had a few mages at their disposal as boulders formed out of thin air to fall like a rain upon a select few of the giants. Even so, it began as a bloodbath. The giants smashed the dwarves with their clubs and stomped upon them, smearing them from under their feet like cockroaches. Orders were shouted here and there, but could not be heard over the screams of dying dwarves and the giant inferno blazing at center field. Finally Linaya watched as a giant toppled, his ankle shattered by a blessed dwarf’s hammer. Moments later another fell ,and then another, as dwarves scrambled to get out of the way and rushed in once again as the behemoths smashed to the ground. It seemed the dwarves had devised a method to bring the giants down.

Within minutes a few dozen were felled, but already thousands of dwarves had been lost. Linaya forced herself to watch every bloody, gory moment, trying to memorize the heroics that took place upon the field in an effort to keep herself from being sick or breaking down. It was horrid to watch the dwarves being slaughtered and not be able to do anything to help.

More giants fell and then even more. Perhaps six dozen or so had been brought to ground and slaughtered, but the dwarves lost hundreds in comparison to each singular giant. Then, when no one thought it possible, the battle took a turn for the worse.

Rushing from somewhere beyond the field of battle, a giant unlike any other any of them had seen or heard of appeared. She was no bigger than the average giant, and sported four arms like the rest of them, with a boney beak-like structure for a nose and a huge round maw filled with rows and rows of razor sharp teeth. Her attire is what immediately set her apart.

Upon the giant’s body, great runes had been drawn and each of them glowed green upon her skin. In one great hand she held a collection of skulls that dangled upon a cord, collected from her own kind. Opposite that hand she carried a giant staff carved from an immense tree, its roots were braided around a huge green colored crystal that served as the top of the staff. The entire length of the shaft was also decorated in the glowing runes that adorned her skin.

Linaya watched as the creature reached the far edge of the battle and touched the tip of her staff to the ground, chanting unintelligible words in a deep and booming voice. Within seconds the staff and giant burst into bright yellow light, as a green fog began to rise from the ground and envelope the nearest dwarves. Those within the fog died within seconds, coughing and spasming, spewing blood from their mouths as they drowned on their own fluids.

The fog spread in an ever growing circle, having no effect on the giants, who stood above the fog breathing fresh air. Linaya knew the battle to be over, her hopes of saving Valdadore dashed. The dwarves would be lucky to save themselves.

Seth stood upon the wall, watching both the camp a few miles off and the western horizon. Sigrant’s forces showed no signs of stirring, though his vision of the gods assured him they were indeed within the multitude of tents erected just a few short miles from the city. More than half of them had changed. By the next day the process would have been completed.

The horizon showed no signs of change. He hoped that at any moment Borrik would wing into sight, carrying Sara aloft in his arms to return her to his master’s side. Thus far no such thing had occurred. Seth still had faith that Borrik would see the deed completed, no matter how long it took.

So instead, Seth stood silently within a deeply cowled black cloak he had acquired during the morning, the lone defender upon Valdadore’s walls. His men were gathering the only beasts within the city that they could find with excellent night vision and strength. Rats.

He intended to bolster his troops with rat men. It was a decision made of necessity, but hopefully would serve the purpose he intended. At least the rats were proving plentiful in some places within the city. Already cages had been filled with hundreds of them. Soon he would begin experimenting to find the perfect combination of human and rat to suit his purposes. Until then, Seth decided to send King Sigrant a little welcoming message.

Focusing his thoughts, Seth reached out across the miles to Sigrant’s camp. It was a long distance, but Seth was determined. Sending out tendrils of his power, he created illusions of himself and hundreds of his werewolf troops surrounding the tent city. Sweat beaded upon his forehead with the effort of maintaining so many illusions, but still he was not finished. Now he needed the enemy to see them. Concentrating his efforts, he focused on the air above the enemy encampment. There he forced his will and power to become one, as hundreds of thousands of tiny droplets of fire sprang to life to rain down upon the tents in the enemy camp. Within seconds the screams started as small holes burned through the canvas of tents, allowing rays of sunlight to penetrate into the darkness. The fires spread and soon entire tents were engulfed as Sigrant’s vampires fled the fires to be caught in the sun.

Screams and death cries filled the air as great plumes of smoke arose from the encampment. Those vampires caught in the sun caught fire. Burning and blind, they only helped to spread the destruction. It was near ten full minutes before Sigrant’s mages created a dense fog to blanket the camp, effectively blocking the sun and smothering the fires. Before they were done, however, Seth reached out to the mage nearest the invading king. Just paces away from Sigrant, Seth latched onto the aura of the mage and tore the bloated life away from him, letting the man disintegrate into a pile of ash before his king.

Then
Seth was satisfied. Thousands had died in mere minutes. Thousands more had seen his apparitions. More importantly, when the vampires died something miraculous happened. Thousands more within Sigrant’s camp were changed, their auras becoming fully human once more. Seth pondered the possibilities. He was beginning to understand just how Sara’s condition was being transmitted and used as a weapon. Already he was developing a theory on how to defeat the blood-sucking horde, but in case he was wrong he turned and stalked back down the steps of the castle wall. If Sigrant’s troops came to call he would easily see them coming with his magical vision.

His thoughts returning to Sara and Borrik, he climbed down the many flights of remaining steps in preparation for the day’s activities.

* * * * *

Linaya watched as the masses of dwarves parted and a single soldier darted between them, as boulders began to rain down on the giant shaman. She watched as not only did the dwarves part, but they began to flee from him in all directions. The giants realized something was amiss and several began to rush the lone warrior, but the dwarf ignored them and continued running as fast as his short legs would take him.

As it appeared he would be intercepted before reaching his target, the dwarf raised his hammer and without so much as pausing brought it down to the earth with a blinding flash of light. Following the light by a fraction of a second was a concussive boom, the likes of which Linaya had never heard before, and following that the ground split in a wide chasm, beginning where the dwarf had struck and snaking out towards the shaman. Linaya managed to watch as the blessed dwarf sentenced himself to death, his momentum not allowing him to stop before he careened over the edge of the chasm he had created, never to be seen again.

The shaman could not react in time, and neither could those giants who had rushed the hero. All of them plummeted into the abyss, giant masses of flailing arms, legs, and echoing death screams. Other dwarfs then rushed the chasm and, bending to the ground, they began to glow as the chasm began to close, the dwarfs working to mend the damage they had done.

The battle resumed once again as it had been before. By the time the chasm was closed another fifty giants fell, but not without taking a toll. Nearly thirty thousand dead dwarves littered the ground, some of them smashed and smeared to become indiscernible from those around them. Even so, the ratio was beginning to change in the dwarves’ favor.

Linaya watched as a huge brute of a giant swung his club low to the ground, flinging dozens of crushed dwarves into the air to rain down upon their comrades. Again and again, the giant repeated the process unhindered. Linaya’s mouth fell open as she saw Zorbin charging the brute from behind upon the great dire wolf that served as his steed. Without slowing, the armored dwarf and wolf crashed into the giant’s legs from behind causing them to buckle unexpectedly. Down came the mighty giant, crushing dozens more beneath him as he crashed to the ground. Those nearest that survived the debacle charged in and swarmed over the creature like angered ants. Within seconds the giant’s screams of rage ceased.

More and more giants fell, and finally it seemed the dwarves would have victory as the remaining giants began to flee. But that was before she realized just what was happening.

* * * * *

Zorbin and Xanth brought the brute down in a twisted heap. It was the third behemoth they had felled similarly, and were getting quite good at it. Leaping back into the fray, they dashed across the field to the nearest giant and watched it tumble as they neared. Doing their part they sprang upon the giant, Xanth ripping and tearing with teeth and claws while he brought his massive war hammer to bear against the giant’s joints and skull. They had lost many men, far too many to even be believed. Scanning the field, he estimated they were at half the strength they arrived with. Fifty thousand dead in less than an hour. The thought sickened him.

Leaning in his saddle to guide the giant wolf, they lent themselves to yet another felled foe and watched as the remaining giants began to flee. Sadly it was not the terrorized flight of a defeated foe, instead the giants ran a short distance and turned to fight once more. At first, Zorbin thought them regrouping. Until he heard the screams.

Turning in his saddle, he watched the unthinkable. Those dwarves that had fallen in the noxious fumes created by the shaman had begun to stir once more. Their comrades thinking to help, rushed in to lend aid. It was not long before they realized the error of their thinking.

The re-risen dead of the Dwarven army clutched and clawed their comrades down to the ground, ripping off the rescuers’ armor before beginning to feed upon their flesh. The newly dying cried out for help but none dared enter the fray against such unholy creatures. The giants had not fled, they had simply placed Bouldergate’s army between themselves and the living dead. Once again the dwarves were attacked on two fronts. Without any options, all they could do was begin felling the giants once more as those nearest the revived dead re-killed their own kin.

Zorbin was now closer to the undead than the giants, and shared a concern with Xanth through their telepathic link. They agreed that Zorbin would do the fighting, in case the wolf could become infected by biting the mindless creatures.

Charging into the tottering undead, he was disgusted to see that those who had been bitten by the undead began to spasm and jerk about uncontrollably before vomiting blood. These men were repeating what the previous had done and would likely rise again as well.

Leaping into action, Zorbin began bashing the creatures, learning almost instantly that they ignored any injury that did not put their head out of commission. So it was that he guided the great wolf through the throngs of undead, bashing skulls with his war hammer, as if it were a sickening game of sport.

Before long, boulders began to rain upon the undead, ending them in mass quantities. Not wanting to risk being struck by friendly fire, Zorbin and Xanth extracted themselves from the undead and watched as the giants began to flee in earnest, their numbers having been whittled down to no more than a couple dozen survivors. The dwarves let them go. Too many had already been lost. Minutes later the barrage of falling boulders stopped, having smashed every last one of the undead dwarves to bits.

A horn trumpeted, and every dwarf turned and began to converge between the giant altar of fire and the massive arena of caged wolves. Zorbin followed as the dwarves formed into ranks in order to calculate their losses. Some brought the injured with them, others hobbled about confused, and were ushered into place by those without injury. In just minutes a count was made, and Zorbin reached the king and Gumbi just in time to hear the news.

“Thirty seven thousand sir, and just over sixteen hundred injured.”

“We lost thirty seven thousand?” Zorbin asked, devastated by the news.

“No, Zorbin,” Gumbi replied, his face ashen. “We have only thirty seven thousand men remaining.

Zorbin nearly fainted. Over sixty one thousand had been killed in just over an hour. Sixty. One. Thousand. He wondered how many tens of those thousands were fathers and mothers who would not be returning home to their children. Dwarves were not humans. They lived for hundreds of years naturally, and many here had yet to reach their first centennial. He could not believe the devastation, and wholeheartedly expected the king to pull back his forces and return to their ancestral home.

He watched as Linaya trotted up on her white warhorse, tears streaming from her eyes.

“My deepest sympathies, your Majesty,” she sobbed.

“No, lady Linaya, my sympathies to you,” the king replied, removing his helm. “I can take my men no further…”

Zorbin’s breath caught in his chest. He had been right. Valdadore would fall without the aid of Dwarven allies.

“Ye see, m’lady, here on this field I lost five brothers. They been all the brothers me had. Nine of my cousins fell and two of me uncles. I am the sole remaining male of my bloodline. It is my responsibility to care for all of their families. I am sorry but I can go no further.”

Zorbin watched as Linaya broke. Already she had been crying, but now she was wracked by sobs. Even so, she nodded her understanding to the king.

“The injured and any others who must be returnin’ home to carry on their line, or for other honorable reasons will be stayin’ here with me to bury our dead, returning them to the ground from whence we came. Zorbin Ironfist, ye take the rest on with you to Valdadore and see to it my oath to aid your kingdom is kept.”

Zorbin could not believe the words he was hearing. Even Linaya’s sobs stopped momentarily as she struggled to listen. They abruptly started anew when she realized that at least some aid was still being sent to Valdadore. Only this time they were tears and sobs of happiness and relief.

Zorbin bowed his head in respect to the king, thanking him for the kindness and sacrifice he shouldered the burden for.

“What should we do with them?” This time it was Gumbi that spoke, motioning to the enormous pen housing the dire wolves.

“I might be havin’ an idea,” Zorbin replied, a crooked grin appearing from within his thick beard.

* * * * *

Sara sat inside her cocoon of wood and thorn, bustled about like a ragdoll for many hours. If it had not been for her armor, she would have been impaled by the great thorns adorned by the living tree thing that held her captive. Upon breaking the point off of one said thorn, she found it to be hollow and filled with a dark brown, noxious smelling fluid thats scent made her feel dizzy and disoriented. Eventually the feeling had passed, but she could not help but imagine what the dark concoction would do to her if she were pierced by one of the thorns.

Between the branches she could see their surroundings as they traveled, though even with her improved night vision there were not many useful references to make note of in a dark forest. She did glean, however, that they were steadily climbing up hill. For hours they traversed the forest, and Sara was certain that they were not alone, catching glimpses of what she thought were dozens more of the walking and talking trees.

It was near morning when they broke through the trees into a clearing. Ahead, cresting the hill, was the remnants of an ancient fortress. Though parts of the walls had crumbled, and buildings collapsed, much of the structure still remained. Coming to a stop, Sara’s captor turned slowly and sighed loudly, shuddering oddly.

Peering around, the clearing they inhabited was quickly growing smaller and smaller as more and more of the tree men slowly extracted themselves from the forest, filling in the clearing one by one. When they stopped, they each plunged their root-like feet down into the soil, shaking as if a cold wind had just blown down their spines.