Age of the Gods: The Complete, twelve novel, fantasy series (The Blood and Brotherhood Saga) (133 page)

For several minutes, creaks and groans filled the air as they all settled into position. Moments later a pair of huge oaken men appeared. In one’s great tree branch arms, the creature carried the pair of crushed horses. The other carried the driver and the remnants of the cart. They entered the clearing, and using their great root-like feet they tore at the soil, ripping huge chunks of the ground up with each movement. Within minutes a great hole was dug and into it the horses, cart, and driver were placed. The soil was summarily replaced and then too, these tree men took to the soil, planting their roots with a shudder.

Sara had no idea what to make of the events. Walking and talking trees that buried dead creatures and carts. Who knew? The real question was, however, what was to happen to her? Did they intend to hold her prisoner long? If so, to what end?

“What do you want with me?” Sara shouted, not really expecting a response.

A moment passed and her captor shuddered once more, and the veil of leaves outside her cage parted slightly, giving her a much improved view of the ruins and tree men surrounding it. A great groan broke the silence and from just out of view another of the great tree men leaned forward to come nearly face to face with Sara. She recognized him as the first tree man she had seen after the accident. At least she thought it was him, they all sort of looked the same.

“Every life is precious,” the tree began hollowly. “And every life deserves its life. But not every life deserves to be among other lives.”

Sara concentrated on the slowly coming words, searching them for their meaning. She watched the bark upon the creature’s face crinkle and stretch with the movements of its speaking. He reminded her of an old man, the way his features drooped and moved with too much slack.

“What is that supposed to mean?” she shouted back at the tree.

Several other trees nearby creaked and groaned before their apparent leader began to slowly speak once more.

“Every life has a destiny and a fate that can only be changed when encountering another life. Now your life has encountered ours, and so all of our fates have changed.”

Sara gave up on asking direct questions as there were apparently not going to be any direct answers, so instead she simply repeated her previous question.

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

The tree creature paused a moment, its features changing to an expression that might have been contemplation before beginning to speak once more.

“Your companion and the beasts you enslaved to do your labor perished in our forest because our lives collided. From that collision their fates were sealed, and now their only destiny is to feed us by giving nutrients to the soil. It was a sad and abrupt end. One that would not have befallen them had their lives not first collided with your life. You, foul plague bringer, elicit an abrupt end to most that your life collides with. It is troublesome, and must be stopped.”

Then Sara thought she understood. Her alteration was being spread and apparently had been noticed by more than just herself. These tree… things… planned to kill her to stop her from creating more vampires like herself.

“So you plan to kill me then? I thought all life was precious?” she said, sneering at the creature.

More groaning and creaking ensued from around the gathering, and old wrinkly face started to talk exhaustively slow once more.

“Your plague creates an explosion of life collisions, ending lives and altering others’ destinies to something that has no real purpose. All lives are meant to serve life and creation. The lives you change serve only death and destruction, constantly killing, feeding, consuming, spreading, without want or need to make new life. You, Plague bringer, are to remain our captive until we can decide what is to be your new fate.”

Then it all came together. The tree man was right. He had said little that she had not heard before from her own husband. Not the exact words perhaps, but the meaning remained. Life was precious. The gods used men to create war in order to further their own agendas. By her alteration, and subsequent series of mistakes, she had changed the natural cycle, accelerating them all to an inevitable end. The end of life for mankind.

Those infected by her would feed unchecked. They would kill most, and those who were not killed would succumb to the infection and become like her, accelerating the process to only one possible outcome. Eventually her kin would outnumber the uninfected and then it would not be long before there were no more uninfected. Then they would feed on each other. The extinction of every race of man was the destiny she foresaw if things did not change.

It was her bite, and her inability to ignore the need to satiate the thirst that filled her with wanting the pleasure that came from feeding. Her weakness had served the gods better than any war. She
was
the plague bringer. She was mankind’s worst adversary, and perhaps worse, she had undermined her own husband, making worse that which he had fought to prevent. He had died trying to save mankind from the evil gods that used them, and she had spat on his efforts.

Sara began sobbing, the realization reminding her of her grief, her loss, and all the evil she had done. For a long time she cried freely, apologizing through her sobs to Seth for warping the gift of life he gave her and unknowingly using it against him. The tree people watcher her silently, allowing her to get all of the emotion out. Finally, when the sun lit the clearing marking it daytime, Sara’s sobs came to an end. She saw only one solution.

Hardening her resolve, she turned her face back to the tree man who looked upon her through the living cage.

“Kill me,” she said, her eyes and nerves steeled.

Long moments passed and again creaks and groans suffused the air as if the trees communicated amongst themselves. When the sounds subsided the weathered tree man’s face became animated once more.

“All life is precious. Even yours, Plague bringer. Already our destinies have been altered by our meeting. Your fate does not lie here, for killing you would alter the fate of all those you have touched. We will not kill you, Plague bringer, for to harm you would be to harm life, no matter what your deeds have been in the past.”

So it was decided. The tree creatures would not kill her, and she could not in good conscious take her own life. Seth had risked his life on too many occasions to save her, for her to simply throw away the gift he had given her. She needed another way to make it all right again. She needed to carry on what Seth believed in. She needed a purpose, but even if she had one, she was a prisoner.

“What is to become of me then if you will not kill me? What am I supposed to do?” she asked.

Many moments of groans and creaks, followed by a little rustling of branches and leaves later, the tree creature uprighted himself once more, no longer directly in Sara’s face.

“We do not choose the paths of other lives, nor do we decide their fates. It is up to each life to do as it chooses.”

“What does that mean?” Sara asked for the third time.

“You are free to choose your own destiny, Plague bringer, and through it, find your own fate.”

With that, the great thorn tree that held her rustled as the branches that formed her bars parted, its thorns turning slowly to face away from her. Leaping from the tree she landed lithely upon the ground, and turning she faced not only her captor, but all those tree people gathered.

“I don’t know what I am supposed to do. I haven’t… um… chosen a destiny yet.”

“Then stay among the guardians of Shadra, keep in the depths of Shadra forest until you find your destiny, Plague bringer.”

Looking around Sara decided that the offer was a kind gesture coming from the gentle race of giant plant people. It was daylight and already her eyes were growing weary of the light. If it grew any brighter she would have to suffer the burning pain it brought. Bowing low to her captors, or perhaps saviors, she turned and strode into what remained of the fortress to do some exploring of both the ruins and her own heart.

She could not stay long. Of that she was certain. She needed to find a way to fix what she had done. A way to carry on what Seth believed was the answer. She needed a plan. She would stay until night and then begin the journey back to Valdadore.

* * * * *

Garret stirred and sat up abruptly, thrashing his head back and forth to gather his bearings. Light streamed in from a window, telling him that morning had come and gone already, though how much time had passed was a mystery. Spinning upon his bottom he placed his feet upon the floor, and using his hands shoved himself up and off of the unfamiliar cot.

Hands. Not hand
. Garret looked down, appraising his restored arm and hand with a crooked grin. Reaching across to examine his shoulder, his fingers could not locate so much as a scar where before a hideous, purple, jagged one had been. He raised his arm, testing its movement and opened and closed his hand, wiggling his fingers. Everything worked just as it should. All in all, he felt very well.

It had been a long time since Garret had gotten any real sleep, and the fog that had numbed his mind the night before seemed to have dissipated. Stretching his muscles after the much needed rest, he turned towards the door just in time to watch it swing open without so much as a knock for courtesy.

“Garret! Er… I mean, your Majesty!” Ashton said with a boyish smile, his blond bowl cut half covering his blue eyes. “I am glad to see you fully recovered,” he added, eyeing Garret’s arm.

“Yes I am,” Garret replied happily. “Is this your handiwork?”

“Yeah. As it turns out, you tend to give us healers more time to do our work when you are unconscious,” Ashton said, with a cat that ate the canary smile.

“Indeed,” Garret agreed, “Do you know the whereabouts of Karishtala?”

“Last I seen the head mistress, she was headed out to tend the troops near the west wall.”

“Thank you, Ashton, I’ll find her. And thank you also for restoring my arm. It really is amazing work.”

“Anytime, Garret. Well, anytime you give me enough time to work that is,” Aston returned with a grin.

“Very well. I get the point. Next time I will be sure to let you do your job.”

“Better yet. How about you just keep the ones you have and there won’t be a next time?”

Garret laughed and the two friends clasped hands, patting each other upon the back familiarly.

“It was good to see you, but I need to prepare our defenses.”

“Be careful out there,” Ashton said. “May Gorandor protect you.”

“Thanks,” Garret said, striding from the room.

Two hours later Garret approached the west wall, seeking out the head of the order of clerics in Valdadore’s employ. Locating the woman in short order, he was saddened to find her normally gleaming white robes soiled and covered in blood, dirt, and gore. Under her eyes were dark rings, proof that she too had not rested in days.

“Lady Karishtala,” Garret announced as he approached, gaining the cleric’s attention.

“Yes, my King?”

“I have a few requests that I would like you to personally see to.”

“Of course,” she replied, wiping the blood from her hands onto her already filthy robes.

“First, create shifts during the day for tending to the wounded, allowing your healers to fill their bellies and get some sleep.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

“Secondly, your shift is over, get some sleep, we’ll need
you
at your best when the enemy comes.”

“Yes, your Majesty,” she repeated with a hint of a smile.

“Finally, Seth believes that the enemy will not attack until dark, so prepare your healers to man the walls at regular intervals as the sun sets so that they are in place when we need them.”

“Very well, my King, I will see it done. Oh, and might I add that you appear in much higher spirits.”

“I am, Lady Karishtala. Some rest and treatment by your order has given me renewed hope and strength. We all need hope and we all need strength. So you be sure that everyone gets the rest they need.”

“I will. I promise,” she added with a smile.

With that, Garret turned and strode off towards the nearest access point to the wall’s battlements. Reaching them in short order, he began to make the climb up when he witnessed the mutated form of his brother coming down in the opposite direction. They had many things to discuss.

Zorbin had explained his plan briefly, but with absolutely no idea if it would work, let alone if it was safe, he proceeded alone. The rest of the Dwarven forces, injured and all, had fallen back to the tree line, watching in silence to see how the plan played out.

Calling upon his blessing to provide Xanth with a physical advantage, Zorbin smashed at the vines woven between two great trees that formed a small portion of the wall. Heaving his battle hammer again and again, the vines broke and fell slack, slowly opening a hole in the makeshift barrier created by the giants. The mass of dire wolves within the pen backed away from him, but usually skittish, these wolves were cornered and could attack him at any given moment, even though he worked to free them.

Keeping a close eye on the beasts within the corral, Zorbin brought his hammer to bear time and again until the hole he created grew. As it became large enough for the feral animals to escape, some sauntered nearer the working dwarf, but the hole was not yet large enough for Xanth to pass through in his blessed form.

Dire wolves were more intelligent than the more common breed that man was accustomed to. Even so, they were still wolves and they lived much the same as an ordinary pack. With that in mind, Zorbin continued to swing until he was sure Xanth could squeeze through the ragged portal. From that moment on it would be up to his mount and trusted friend.

Stepping aside as Xanth trotted forward, his gleaming eyes focused straight ahead, Zorbin wedged some large branches and small logs into the hole, effectively sealing Xanth inside.

Something came over the massive collection of animals, Xanth’s intentions revealed, and immediately more than two dozen of the wolves sprang into action. Even though his mount was massive compared to its non-blessed brethren, and wore armor that protected much of his body, Zorbin feared for him. Luckily, the odds were better than he had anticipated with so many animals in the pen.

The dwarves had tried to estimate their number, but with the beasts’ constant pacing, it was hard to determine just how many there were. To their best guess, there were more than fifteen hundred of the animals, and now Xanth faced all of their pack leaders at once. Zorbin watched as his companion took up the fight, but saw it too through the eyes of the wolf with which he shared a strange telepathic link while in their blessed form. It was a terrible thing to see from any perspective, but all eyes remained trained on the pen and the vicious battle within.

Zorbin watched as the first two wolves lunged at Xanth’s head but the great beast caught the first in his jaw with a snap and turning, allowed the second to smash into his armored shoulder. There it stuck momentarily, impaled by the cluster of spikes that adorned the wolf’s armor at every joint. But then the remainder were on him. Within a fraction of a second, near two dozen more of the biggest, most ferocious of the dire wolves leapt into the fray, putting Xanth on the defensive. Biting and clawing, they went down in a tangle of teeth and claws. Blood and tufts of fur covered the ground as the mass of roiling bodies seemed to roll in one direction and then another. Yelps sounded from time to time, some ending abruptly, others carried out in mournful, pain-induced cries. Zorbin counted seven more dead but still the struggle for leadership ensued.

Watching still, Zorbin was happy to see Xanth extract himself from his opponents. Righting himself, the large wolf pounced upon those who were smaller than he. Biting and clawing he tore at them, but turning their disadvantage into an advantage, the smaller wolves began biting at Xanth’s unprotected belly. In a deeper, louder voice than his brethren, the giant dire wolf yelped as his belly was torn open. Reaching down with his giant maw he caught up the perpetrator by its head, and with a snap flung the headless body away, allowing the wolf’s dismembered head to roll out of his mouth to the ground.

Still the lesser wolves attacked, tearing at Xanth’s flesh, but with less than half their original number Zorbin had faith that his companion would see the deed done. Without warning, another pair of wolves entered the fray. These ones were fresh into the battle and their lack of exhaustion showed. Leaping, one of them bit into and clung from Zanth’s neck, where a torn strap had caused the armor to hang loose. The other latched onto a leg as the giant wolf struggled to remain upright.

Snarling and giving it everything he had, the giant among the wolves caught another of his foes in his maw, before leaping upon another, crushing its spine. Then, charging the wall of tree trunks and vines, Xanth smashed bodily into the barrier, crushing the wolf hanging from his neck. Shaking his head, apparently dazed, the wolf slowed noticeably. Zorbin watched as the remaining nine attackers took the cue and pounced upon the larger wolf, driving him back to the ground. It had been a feint.

Without warning Xanth began twisting and writhing like a beast gone mad, his determination driving him to move faster. He drug one wolf under his paw with his razor sharp claws before smashing another in the face with his armored head. A third he kicked with a hind leg, an audible crunch sounding as the smaller wolf was launched backwards. Yet another was felled by his teeth as the great wolf regained his feet once more. Only five attackers remained, yet they each backed away, circling Xanth at a safe distance. Panting and injured, one of the remaining wolves limped towards Xanth and, showing supplication, fell to the ground before rolling over to expose its tender belly. The others quickly followed suit.

As if to be sure that there were no more would be attackers hiding among the throngs of wolves within the pen, Xanth turned then and faced the large mass of his kin. Barking and snapping, with saliva and blood dripping from his mouth, he paced back and forth, driving them all back. It appeared that he dared them to come, daring them to oppose him. Yet none did. Instead, one by one, and then dozens at a time began to bow the head to him, before turning to hundreds at a time, each cowering below their new leader. Xanth was accepted as the new alpha for the largest pack of dire wolves ever seen upon Thurr, and Zorbin was not only proud of his lifetime friend, but grateful. Now the dwarves had a chance of making a real impact.

* * * * *

Sigrant screamed in anger as he felt the connections being stripped, as thousands of his troops died within minutes. His own tent caught fire too, but so powerful was he that his skin did no more than blister. It healed just as fast as it burned, though consumed a lot of power to do so. Taking shelter in a corner of the tent, it took only moments for his mages to put a barrier from the sun’s light in place. Thick fog blanketed everything, made more dense by the cold outside air. But even so he watched, as before his own eyes one of his men crumpled into a pile of ash. The man had not yet become a vampire. The sun had played no part in his death. An omen that did not bode well.

Someone was trying to coax them into a fight in the daylight. King Sigrant wasn’t interested. Instead he preferred to focus on his preparations, the army’s progress, and consuming more power.

When the attack ended, several thousand had died, and more had been reverted to their frail human selves once again. A problem he knew would be remedied before dark. But retaliate, he would not. Not yet. At least, not with any troops he cared about.

Once they were safe from the sun, messengers began to stream into and out of the tent of the king, bringing word of what damages and casualties his units sustained. Several of them mentioned that troops had seen Valdadore’s dark prince, seemingly resurrected from the dead. Was it possible he was a necromancer? Or perhaps only the fallen puppet of an even more powerful force? Sigrant hoped the answers to both were no.

Running his fingers through his shortly cropped, black hair, he sat back on his cushion as power continued to flow into him. Just three more days and not only would his army be ready for the attack, but the world would also give him the reprieve from the sun they needed. Even so, he dared not give the defenders three days of rest.

“Tell the gnomes to take down Valdadore’s walls,” Sigrant told the very next messenger to rush into his tent.

If Valdadore wanted to throw fire, he would do a little throwing of his own.

* * * * *

Seth climbed down the immense stone steps towards the street below, fully intent on creating a new breed of troops from the city’s vast rodent population. Instead, however, as he neared the ground level, he was surprised to see his brother, with arm restored, climbing up to meet him. Garret looked rested and much more together than he had the night previous, but it was apparent that much was on his mind. Watching as his brother came, Seth noticed the stern look upon the man’s face that reminded him wholly of their father and the look he wore when punishing the boys as children. The expression reminded Seth anew of his failure to their father, to Garret, and to himself. He would miss the man who had taken him in, for the rest of his days.

“Seth, we need to talk.”

“I can see that, brother.”

“No. Now I am speaking to you as the king of Valdadore,” Garret began. “As much as I want to rejoice in your return, the new addition of your wings frightens me. You become less and less human each time you return to this city. You are powerful, Seth. Everyone knows that. But you are dangerous. Look out past the walls and you will see the proof of it. We stood a chance in a siege against humans, but not those monsters out there. Those are your creations. So once again I find myself trapped. My kingdom trapped. The only choice I have is to let you carry on with your plans to ruin more of my people, in a hope that by doing so we will all be saved. Then I wonder what the consequences of your actions will cost us in the days and weeks to come. If we somehow survive, where will these new oddities go? What will they become? Like the monsters outside our walls, will they return to haunt us, to hunt us, to feed upon us like sheep?

“Enough, Garret!” Seth shouted. “I get it. I’ve fucked up more often than not, but rarely has it been my choice. I have been forced into impossible position after impossible position, and made to make decisions that no one should make. I’ll take responsibility for my failures. Yes, Dad died because of me. Jack too, and Rose. Yes, those are my monsters outside the gates clawing to get in and kill us all, but I can stop them. I know I can. I have to believe that, or else what is the point of trying?” Seth concluded, fighting his emotions.

“You are not the only one making hard decisions, Seth. Look around. Everyone has lost those they loved. Everyone has sacrificed. All I am saying is this; if we survive this, in the slim chance that we prevail, even then, you and I will never be the same. I can never forget the sacrifices you chose for
me
to make. I can’t make any more sacrifices for you, Seth. I just can’t.”

Without another word, Garret turned and climbed back down the flight of stairs he had climbed. Seth watched him go, his breath caught in his chest. He was the only one who realized the enormity of what was really happening. For fighting an unwinnable battle against the gods themselves, it was
he
that got the blame. Nodding to himself, Seth began once again down the stairs. He had hoped that, after this battle, Garret would listen to his pleas and join him in the fight against future wars. Seth needed allies to help him bring peace to a war-torn world. They needed to stop fighting. They needed to stop praying. They needed to stop begging the gods for favors and stand on their own two feet. Eventually the gods would fade away and people would be free. But Seth couldn’t do it all alone.

Reaching the street, he continued on with his original plan. He needed new troops. Valdadore needed his troops. Ishanya needed his troops. It all fell on his shoulders, and he would bear the weight of the world if he needed to. Seth became focused the moment he arose from the dead.
No more emotion
, he reminded himself.
Calculated decisions.

An hour later Seth stood in the storeroom of the textile district, looking over the multitude of cages filled with the foul rats that, since its creation, Valdadore had tried to rid itself of. Yet now, the creatures they had sought to eliminate would become their only hope.

Fortunately for Seth, in the centuries that they had been trying to kill the creatures, man had developed hundreds of efficient ways to capture the creatures in a nearly ceaseless flow. Within the room lay the proof of it. In a single day, collecting the traps throughout the city designed for the rodents, his men along with members of the city guard had brought Seth tens of thousands of the creatures.

Within the storage room, cages were stacked in precariously high piles, each of them filled to capacity with various breeds of the creatures. The room smelled of their urine and feces, but there was little help for it. With a thought Seth snuffed the life from them all, containing the auras within his mind while simultaneously coating the room in ash. Perhaps, at least, there was help for the smell.

Then, again, it was up to Seth to carry out the worst part of his plan. Men and women were all but gone, leaving behind the old and weak, or the young and inexperienced to rebuild Valdadore. With such a circumstance before him, he had given his men the orders to bring him anyone who had reached puberty. In the street outside, his future troops stood. They ranged from eleven to sixteen for the most part, all of them children still, all of them too young to die. Yet again it was Seth who was likely sending many of them to that fate.

Stepping into the road, Seth motioned for Jonas to begin sending them in. Many sobbed, afraid of what would happen to them. These were not volunteers like all of his previous men had been. These were the children who had come to the city with their parents for safety, only to be left behind when their parents marched off to war with Seth and the king. Now they were orphans, inhabiting the streets just like the rodents they were about to be infused with. Seth shook his head, reminding himself that this was their only hope.