Age of the Gods: The Complete, twelve novel, fantasy series (The Blood and Brotherhood Saga) (182 page)

Lending his feelings of caution and alarm to the image given to his men, he listened with keen hearing as his thoughts were verbally disseminated to his master’s other soldiers. The rat men Seth had created were less organized than Borrik was used to. They were young, inexperienced, and lacked the discipline of a wolf pack. Even so, they were strong, fast, and effective. He’d have to make do.

“My prince,” Borrik began. “I do not wish to trouble you, but a town lies ahead where enemy soldiers might be camped.”

“Did you see evidence of soldiers?”

“No, even the towers are sparsely manned, but it could be a trap.”

Borrik watched as his master thought his words over and seemed to come to a conclusion. Something in him had changed, and Borrik could feel it as well as see it in Seth’s bearing. It was subtle but good.

“Take to the air, Borrik. Sara, I, and a couple others will enter the town and see if it poses a threat. If we encounter any problems, command what troops we have from the air, I’ll handle the rest.”

“And what of the enemy?”

“Spare those you can, Borrik. All life is precious.”

“It will be done,” Borrik replied, bowing his head in obedience before bending his thick legs and launching into the air once more.

Spreading his wings, he flapped them vigorously, gaining altitude as he spiraled upwards looking for the right eddy to glide upon. Below him, he watched with his own eyes as well as those of his captains as preparations were made. Seth, below, adorned in a cloak, disguised his own wings beneath it as more than half a dozen rat troops scurried off into the darkness on all four limbs.

Hovering well out of sight, Borrik glided among the air currents flapping only occasionally as the main body of Seth’s army remained among the ruins that was once Westgate. Below him, Seth, Sara, and a pair of strong-looking human men moved with a purpose towards the town ahead.

* * * * *

Ishanya coalesced in the plane of the gods without thought as to what her brethren would think of her close proximity. Her plans were well in order and already the tides were turning in her favor. Searching the tapestry of time and fate, she found all as it should be. In the world of mortals her champions were performing wonderfully. Already the pathetic orc had united his clans and the human was gathering followers to her cause at an amazing rate. Prayers were said in her name a hundred to the second. Her power grew with the hour and with the many battles that had come to Thurr these last weeks, those dead and sworn to her swelled her with more power than she had felt in what seemed like eons.

Even so, her kin were still a formidable threat, though one that was diminishing by the day. It was not yet time to reveal all she had in store for them, but neither would she cower any longer. Not now that she had shown the mighty Gorandor in an instant that she could destroy his champions without needing to kill them. Suffering. That was the key. Make those sworn to other gods suffer. Eventually they would see that such service to their god was fruitless and hopeless.

Studying as the strands of time met destiny, she could see that the others were aware of her plan. She could see their attempts to subvert her efforts. She could see where a knot was made, sending her efforts off course, only to unravel once again and create for her a better opportunity than before. It seemed flawless. There was nearly nothing her brethren could do to stop her now. They could act as one and come against her, but they could not do as they had in the past, not now.

She had changed the game forever with the creation of her newest champions. Even if the human had inadvertently become more powerful than she had expected, he had fallen in line easy enough with a few threats, a sprinkle of hope, and an oath. Even now he marched a sizeable force towards another kingdom, following her orders perfectly. Within days the constant flow of life power that combined with her own would double if not triple. For whatever reason, people flocked to the human mage’s cause and it was paying off much faster than expected. Already, at least three temples to Ishanya had reopened in Valdadore and likely more were to come now that he had crossed into another nation.

Deciding to retire to a far corner of the immortal plane, Ishanya thought better of it, seeing as Gorandor liked so much to flaunt his strength. Reaching out across space and time, she touched the life of another and whisked a small measure of power into its soul. Another champion would set the scales tipping for sure, and then who could flaunt? If she were wearing a body she would have smiled and strutted like a peacock across the immortal plane. It was dangerous to invoke the wrath of Gorandor, she knew, but she too needed to show him that she was not afraid.

Cobwebs and moss clung to the stones as Garret disturbed the dust with his passing for the ninth time in less than twenty four hours. It had taken days for him to finally relinquish Linaya’s body to those who prepared her for burial, but still he could not let her go, not truly. Tomb after tomb he crossed the thresholds, retracing his earlier steps through the catacombs. Here lay the highborn of Valdadore, those with wealth and power. Council members, knights of Valdadore, high ranking mages and more were laid to rest beneath temple row, and now too it was the resting place of the woman he loved. Seth had stolen her from him.

Even though Garret knew that her death had been accidental, the truth remained that it would not have happened had it not been for the shade of Seth’s recklessness. His brother had died, and in his place something dark had returned. Garret could see the darkness twisting inside the shell that was once his brother. He could see the evil and the wicked power contained within the mortal flesh. It couldn’t be trusted. The shade of Seth was a demon, or perhaps an angel of death, and Garret knew the only way to save himself and Valdadore was to banish it.

Ducking his head, he entered the last corridor and looking down its length he could see her still form resting upon a granite slab. There she rested peacefully, just as before. He missed her when he left the tombs, though thought it funny that she chose here to find solace and peace. He had argued with her at first that she should stay with him, by his side, but she refused, saying her place was here, away from the sun and all other beauty. As women had never been known to lose an argument, Garret had given in more easily than he liked to admit, and as such he came and visited her as often as was possible. He had contemplated moving his chambers beneath the streets as well.

Entering the tomb dedicated to his Linaya, Garret smiled in adoration at her still form, watching her sleep like one might watch a babe. She was beautiful still, perhaps even more so when she rested. He stood silently for many moments, waiting for her to open her eyes and return his smile. This time, however, she seemed content to rest.

It was sometimes this way, and he imagined it must be tiring, living in the dark all the time. Reaching out to the wall nearest, Garret deposited his torch in the sconce as its light danced about the room casting shadows and revealing Linaya’s shallow breathing. Crossing the room to her, he quietly sat beside her and carefully lifted her head into his lap. Shaking his head at the mask she wore, claiming it was to hide her ugliness, he stroked her hair and untangled it with his fingers.

“Zorbin is relentless,” Garret whispered. “He says that I need to hold council, that my presence is needed, but I don’t think it is time yet. The council can do well enough on its own without me. That is their job, isn’t it?”

Waiting in the silence, Garret listened for Linaya’s reply for several moments and nodded his head. She was a good listener and always knew when he wasn’t really finished. Grinning, he caressed the cheek of her mask, wishing it were her supple flesh beneath, but knowing she would be angry if he tried that again.

“It’s just too much right now. With you staying down here and Dad and Seth both dead, I don’t want to deal with politics and coordinating the masons’ guilds with the stone quarry guild for repairs. Can’t they just deal with the tedium and let me be? No. I suppose that is not really it. There is a hole inside me. Not that you aren’t enough to make me happy, Love, but… I didn’t want to tell anyone. But, Gorandor no longer holds me in his favor. I have lost his blessing, and without it I feel empty. It is like a part of my soul has been stolen. You must understand?”

Again Garret watched and listened for Linaya’s reply, pushing the hair from her face and adjusting the neckline of her gown. Shrugging his shoulders, he smiled sadly before sliding aside and lowering her head once more. He needed to stop doing this. She needed her peace, no, deserved it. Rising, he turned and placed her hands with her wrists crossing upon her chest. With tears threatening to fall, he rose and turned, denying himself the right to look back, and strode towards the doorway.

Snatching the torch from the wall, he yanked it free angrily, and strode from the room, stomping a path down the dank corridor as plumes of dust sprang from his every step. He shook his head at himself, ashamed that he kept coming and disturbing her rest. She deserved better. She always had, but had settled for him anyhow. Rounding a bend in the narrow tomb corridor, he ducked low beneath the entrance to the tombs, and spinning he slammed the entrance door closed with a loud thud. Reaching into his pocket he produced a long iron key, and stuffing it inside the lock upon the door he turned it two full rounds until he both heard and felt the catch click into place.

Looking about, the streets were relatively silent and still. The sun had fallen while he was below ground. At least now, Zorbin Ironfist would leave him be. A night of peace and quiet is exactly what Linaya would prescribe, and as such it was precisely what he intended. Crossing the courtyard towards the palace, he paused momentarily and spun on his heel. The vault door was closed and locked. No one stood within it waving goodbye.

Shaking his head, he turned again and began walking. Everything was a mess. The kingdom was in ruins and its defenders were few. Every town, village, and city had been drawn from and its residents conscripted into service. There were far too few left to do all the work that needed to be done. There were too many questions that needed to be answered, too many issues needing a resolution. Garret paused again.

No, this time he would not turn around to look. He began walking again. It was his mind, it was the mess within it, it was the holes in his heart and soul that pulled at him to look again. She was gone, but she wasn’t. He could feel her. He could smell her. He could even hear her voice. Surely she remained in some capacity? If Seth’s corpse could rise again as a shade, could Linaya not do the same? If he needed her would that be enough to make it happen? He would settle for a shade of Linaya. No form of her could be deemed evil. She was so pure that something of her
had
to remain.

With his wide shoulders sagging, the king of Valdadore strode through the first gates of the palace, ignoring the greetings and salutes of the guards on duty. Ahead, a pair of large luminescent eyes peered at him from the palace steps just three more gates away. Damn the dwarf! Garret thought to turn and go once more to the tombs, but knew it would do little good. Eventually he would have to face the stout warrior. It might as well be now.

* * * * *

Idly scratching behind the direwolf’s ear, Zorbin noticed when Xanth’s head rose and ears pivoted towards the darkness ahead. Listening carefully, he could hear the spoken greetings from the guards at each defensive gate and knew that the king approached. They were friends, it was true, but even so, Zorbin knew he had to tread lightly. Garret was a man with a broken spirit, and he feared that a push in the wrong direction would break his mind as well. With the king’s many visits to the vaults, he could only wonder if it wasn’t already too late.

It wasn’t fair to judge, he supposed. Garret had lost more than any other. He had lost his mentor, his father, his brother, and his lover, as well as every comrade he was close with, save Zorbin himself. Loss like that could drive a man to any edge and push him over. He could only hope that the news he brought would not be the final blow.

Watching Garret pass the last gates that separated them, Zorbin patted Xanth’s head and strode down the stairs.

“My king,” he greeted, wishing to judge the man’s mood before proceeding.

“What is it, Zorbin?” came the melancholy reply.

Figuring that sad was better than lost or confused, Zorbin decided to proceed with caution.

“There is an important matter needing your attention,” he began.

“I do not yet wish to convene the council and handle matters of state, Zorbin. I’ve said as much more than enough times.”

“No, Garret. It is another matter entirely. As you have said, the council is seeing to castle and defensive repairs… this is of another nature.”

“Then out with it, Zorbin. I do not have all night, I wish to get some rest.”

“Well, you see… Oh hell, it’s like this. There is a supposed camp of druids in the ancient forest, northeast of Raven’s keep,” he paused, thinking how best to phrase his next words.

“And?” Garret pressed.

“Rumor says that the camp was nearly all women, as they often are, and that they were beset by beasts that were neither man, nor wolf, but a combination of the two.”

“Seth’s abhorrent creations?”

“I would presume so, my king,” Zorbin admitted, reaching up to stroke his long, braided beard.

“So the survivors are seeking some sort of restitution or punitive damages?”

“No, Garret. They were not killed. They were raped. Rumor has it that the women have begun giving birth to… creatures. Some are saying they are monsters, and others say that the things are miracles.”

“How long has it been since we have traveled those trails, Zorbin? Two months?”

“I’d say, perhaps three,” Zorbin suggested, glad his words were not met with anger or confusion.

“Is it possible to give birth after only three months with a seeded belly?” Garret questioned.

Not knowing if it was rhetorical or not, Zorbin thought over the answer as an image flickered before his eyes of a heavily pregnant direwolf.

“Xanth’s breed can birth a litter in as much time,” he relayed to his king.

“Then it is possible that my brother’s evil is spread. You were right to bring this to me, Zorbin. See us prepared to travel at first light. I’d like to see if the rumors are true for myself. We need to free Valdadore of my brother’s evil. If such beasts are indeed real, we will put them to the blade and see this foulness ended.”

“Very well, my king. I am happy that you feel well enough to travel.”

“I do not look forward to the trip, in earnest, Zorbin. I just want to kill something to ease my own suffering.”

Zorbin thought about his friend’s words. They were dark, and boded ill to anyone who was placed before Garret for judgment. Even so, at least he was looking for an outlet for his pain. In time, perhaps he would heal. Zorbin still had hope.

“I’ll meet you at the south gate, m’lord,” Zorbin replied, bowing low as Xanth did the same beside him.

Turning, he strode back up the steps to open the door for his king. Reaching the uppermost step, he reached out one thick hand, and grasping the iron ring upon the door he heaved it open as bright yellow light blasted out from the opened door. Turning to gesture the king through before him, Zorbin watched the illuminated shoulders and head of the king pass beneath the first set of gates on his way back out of the palace.

“Oh, and Zorbin,” the king shouted back over his shoulder.

“Yes, my king,” Zorbin shouted in reply to the retreating back of his friend.

“Tell no one where we go or what you have heard.”

“As you see fit, my king.”

And that was it. Tomorrow Zorbin and Garret would ride away from castle Valdadore. He imagined it would do Garret well to be away from the castle. Without the constant reminders of all he had lost and the duties that came with his station, perhaps some of his wounds could heal. Turning, Zorbin strode into the palace with Xanth on his heels. If they were to leave at first light there were supplies to be gathered.

* * * * *

Racing across the courtyard, Ashton kept his eye on the large silhouette ahead. He had barely seen the king in passing during the final battle with Sigrant’s army, and had heard a great many things about the king and his mood. Could it be true that the king had gone mad and slept in the crypts with his dead lover? Had he sent Seth away, banishing him from the kingdom? Had Sara murdered the king’s lover? If the king was truly on the brink and susceptible to those with ill intent, Ashton knew he should be the one to help guide Garret back onto a path that was more desirable. Any wound could be healed with the time and patience to see it through. How it was mended was an entirely different story, not that it mattered here.

With his sandaled feet bouncing off the cobblestones, his approach did not go unnoticed as the wide shouldered body ahead rose to its full height and spun to confront him. There, even in the darkness was a menacing glare that sent a shiver down Ashton’s spine. Without a word the king’s expression dared him to attack and welcomed the death that he hoped sought him. The rumors
were
true.

Watching as Garret’s expression melted into one that was an odd mix of disappointment and recognition, he grinned at his friend, noting the deep lines beginning to grow on his face and the dark rings around his eyes.

“Hey, Ashton. Sorry, I thought you might be someone else.”

“It’s okay,” he replied, placing a kind smile upon his lips. “What are you doing out and about at this hour?”

“The duties of a king know not the bounds of time, friend, but you might do well not to question a king,” came an angered retort.

“I didn’t mean to question or offend you, Garret, I just hadn’t seen you in a while and wanted to give you my condolences. I’m so sorry for all that you have been through. If there is anything I can do…” He let the statement hang.

“Sorry. I’ve had a lot to deal with and haven’t been getting any rest. Thank you for your concern, but I’m afraid that the wounds I have are even beyond your talent, Ashton.”