Age of the Gods: The Complete, twelve novel, fantasy series (The Blood and Brotherhood Saga) (190 page)

He watched them come in all their armor, armed to the teeth as if Borrik would be cowed by anything less than his own master. On they rode, throwing dust into the air that was carried away on a cold winter breeze. Borrik watched them come and moved not a muscle as they reined in their horses just feet from him.

A single black stallion stepped forward and on its back was a man dressed in fine armor with the sigil of a raven on his breastplate. Removing his helm, the man sneered down his wide nose at Borrik, and Borrik knew that the battle was already won. This was a man of strength and action, he was neither intelligent nor wise, but would follow orders until death. It was likely that Sigrant himself told the man to hold the keep at all costs and here he was, defending that which was undermanned and now impossible to hold without a water supply.

Looking up to the man on horseback, Borrik grinned at him, flashing the rows of razor sharp teeth in his maw.

“What is it that you want, beast?” the man questioned.

Borrik continued to stare at him, and could see him become a little unsettled.

“Do you fear speaking to me, creature?” the man questioned.

Still Borrik kept silent, looking at the man, and past him, awaiting the sign his master promised. Time. He needed a few moments more time.

“Do I need to beat the words out of you?” the man threatened.

Borrik tired of this game and watched as the man pulled forth his horse crop, as if he would dare strike Borrik. The leader of Seth’s wolf troops had another idea, however.

Summoning his blessing, Borrik exploded in size as a pair of arms ripped free from his flesh, fireballs already summoned and singeing him as they were extracted. Pulling his blades free from their scabbards, he leaned forward, dwarfing the puny human, and unleashed a roar in the man’s face spraying him with spittle. Seeing the man cower, Borrik rose to his full blessed height before speaking.

“If you know who I am, then I suggest you surrender your keep and your kingdom to a real ruler.”

“Who? You?” the man questioned. “I know all about you. I’ve read the reports. Your prince is dead, and I’ll surrender to no beast.”

“My prince is a god, you fool, and he’ll make of you an imp that bleeds at his feet for want to lick the sweat off of his toes!” Borrik spat.

The rider too exploded in size upon his mount, both horse and man tripling in height to again look down upon Borrik.

“It’s a nice trick you have there, but if your master were a god, then he could not die. And if he could not die, then where is he?”

For three days Garret had overseen the construction of two giant litters to return the mothers and their mix-breed children to Valdadore, and for three days he pleaded to Gorandor for the return of his blessing. No such blessing forthcoming, he was forced to work and strain in his soft flesh, cutting vines and branches, lashing the bits together to create what they hoped would carry the women and children safely. He had apologized to the mothers he had offended on multiple occasions, but they still gave him looks of disdain and pulled their young close when he was around. He knew he had committed an offence that could not be undone, though explained his plan to help them with suitable shelter, food, and all they would need for their children. He didn’t mention that he intended to breed their offspring for his own purposes, but knew in his gut it was the right path. It was the only path. Seth would pay for his deeds, and this was the instrument to his destruction.

Dragging the long flexible bough through the underbrush, Garret paused to wipe the sweat from his eyes. Long days of labor were good for him, he knew, but he longed to return home. They would be finished by now if he were able to summon his power, but still Gorandor turned his back upon the king. Garret had explained to Zorbin that although he was free to use his blessing if he liked, Garret would only use his in battle. It was a pathetic lie, Garret knew, but he could also tell that Zorbin had his doubts.

He did not understand why Gorandor ignored his pleas. Yes, he had done wrong, fighting with anger and not honor. He had even killed a defenseless baby, but he had done it for the right reasons, hadn’t he? Nothing he did was for himself. Was it? He sought retribution in blood from his brother for destroying that which he was sworn to preserve. He had killed the babe, not for his own hatred, but in an attempt to save his people from the beasts once they grew to maturity. He had since seen his mistake in that matter, and was seeking to help those he had wronged, but still Gorandor refused him.

With no blessing and no holy power, Garret grew hungry with his labors and tired after hours of strain. He was still a knight of Valdadore and as such in perfect physical condition, but the limitations of humanity wore upon him. As the third day turned to night and he found himself alone, Gorandor’s refusal became too much as the central focus of Garret’s mind. Tilting his head, he peered upwards to the thick canopy above, envisioning the stars and the heavens that he could not see.

“Why do you neglect me, oh king of kings?” Garret shouted. “Why do you turn your back when I only wish to preserve this nation? Why do you disregard me, a servant of your holiness, the greatest warrior you have created?”

In anger, Garret scowled to the air above him, neither hearing nor feeling any reply. Gorandor had forgotten him, stripped him, and left him barren. No longer would he be able to fight. He could no more defend the kingdom than any other man and he was no longer fit to wear the armor of a knight. Angered and broken, Garret fell to his knees and screamed out his frustration in an angry growl that spooked the birds in the trees, sending them flapping and flailing to get away as feathers floated down from above.

“Am I mute unto the ears of the heavens? Does not any god hear my words? Can I not do the will of the heavens here on Thurr? What must I do to regain your favor?”

“Serve without question,” a booming voice echoed inside his head.

“I will, my lord, without question. Just tell me what I must do,” Garret yelled.

Again in his mind the voice replied. It was deep, powerful, and reminded him sadly of the death scream of his very own father just weeks before.

“Raise a new army. Destroy the abomination and his bride.”

“I will, oh god of gods! Give me your favor, and I will see it done. Return to me my blessing, and I will see that Seth receives a death befitting his deeds.”

Garret could feel something inside him change, and the surge of power linking him to the heavens restored. Giving the heavens a victorious grin, he growled and summoned his blessing with a concussive boom and a shockwave that leveled the trees surrounding him. Expanding to five times his normal size, his feet sank into the earth below him. Holding up his hands, Garret’s mouth fell open. As before, gone was his soft mortal flesh, replaced by impenetrable steel, but now, atop each hand, long blades like those of broadswords grew, protruding from his wrists, making of his arms two weapons unable to be separated from him. Turning his head, he noted great spikes protruding from his shoulders which continued down his back.

Testing his new weapons, Garret swung one of his massive arms towards one of the fallen trees upon the ground. Unexpectedly, as he did, a great bolt of white hot electrical energy blasted out from his blade, wrapping about the trunk he targeted like a whip, setting it ablaze before his blow landed to sever it in two. Not only had his blessing been restored, but it had been enhanced. Garret unleashed an appreciative chuckle before concentrating. Within a second the two enormous blades retracted into his body and reaching down, Garret hefted a pair of fallen trees and turned to drag them back to the druid camp. Things were finally beginning to look up.

* * * * *

From high above the enemy keep, Seth kept watch on all that played out below. He had witnessed the runner rushing out to meet his second in command as knights and warriors manned the walls and armaments. He had seen the messenger return and the vast majority of the soldiers leave their posts to assume mounts and ride out to meet his greatest creation. It was all very interesting, but predictable as well. What he really watched as he circled on ice cold currents high above the keep was the progress of his troops below.

Out from the ground around the keep in more than a dozen locations, his rat men exploded from tunnels they had spent day and night digging. Up the walls of the keep they climbed silently as a lithe form bounded from the shadows to join them. Smiling at his wife’s movements below, Seth tucked his wings and began to plummet like a meteor from the heavens, bent on the destruction of the keep. Racing downward he shifted his body, changing his angle of approach before extending his wings ever so slightly to slow his descent. Watching the stone face of the keep racing up to meet him, he thrust out his wings, hearing them snap in the wind as they caught the air in their folds, bringing him to a near stop just feet above the castle wall. Landing, he watched as the defenders nearest him were overwhelmed and dragged down by his large-eared, tail-wearing troops. They weren’t adults, but they were certainly effective.

Hearing a scream somewhere within the keep he watched with his vision of the gods as a life was snuffed out, and felt as its tiny essence joined with his own. Some losses were to be expected, though he wished he could prevent them. Another life snuffed out, and this time Seth watched it dissipate like a dead dandelion’s seeds into the wind. Seconds passed, a day held within each one, and Seth noted something that had not been there before. Deep in the depths of the keep something unexpected had appeared and though he didn’t recognize the aura, he knew well what it was.

Leaping from the wall, he dove into the courtyard below as a dozen of his rat troops bore a man to the ground before tying his arms and legs and dragging him away. All over the keep the same was happening. All were under strict orders to preserve life at all costs, and as such it was being heeded as gospel.

From the corner of his eye Seth caught movement and smiled as he tracked his wife through the place. She was no longer his better, nor even his equal in power, but her movements were still difficult to track, she moved so effortlessly. Looking up, Seth watched as the keep’s many flags and banners were cast down into the courtyards within. It was his, and yet there was one who could keep him from claiming it. There was no avoiding the meeting, of that Seth was certain, but he knew he was not prepared to deal with one such as he who awaited him. Questions swirled in his mind, yet he gave them little attention. This meeting was not likely to be anything he imagined. Taking a deep breath he tucked his wings tightly about his body and ducked through a small arched doorway, striding down the darkened stairs guided only by the auras of the moss and lichen that clung to the crevices in the stone.

Down he climbed the steep staircase until he reached the landing below. Crossing the carved stone floor, he opened the rotting wooden door that clung there and stepped through into a small room filled with nothing but darkness. Here the walls and floor were devoid of any life form. Unlike any place he had been in months, this place was truly free of distraction. It was empty. Devoid. Seth knew he had found that which he had come for. A place to think. A place to test himself. But for the moment he could not claim it as his own.

Below him, in a chamber both immense and deep, the aura of the one he sought flared to life before vanishing altogether. Without warning a hand grasped his shoulder and Seth actually jumped at the unexpected contact as the aura flared to life just inches away.

“You see, Abomination, I am only life when I choose to be it. I am only visible to you when I wish to be seen. I am all that I am and nothing at all should I wish it,” the old man said in a musical voice.

Something about the man was familiar. He was old, yet graceful. His appearance, even in the darkness, was a contradiction to his power. He was both old and beautiful, with features more elven than human. His voice soothed yet called Seth to action, and his aura was bountiful beyond belief. Even so, Seth could see it diminishing at an incredible rate. Focusing, Seth recalled all he knew about the gods when it struck him. He had seen this man before. He himself hadn’t been blessed then, but even so he recognized him.

“I’ve seen you, though we’ve never met,” Seth said, wondering as to the god’s intentions.

“Times were simpler then,” the god replied.

“Were they? Or were you simply too distracted to see what was coming?” Seth asked.

“Both, if we speak truly, but there is no denying now what must be done,” the old man said.

“You recited a poem in a small town once, telling of the fall of Valdadore unless those strong enough to protect it took up the fight.”

“I’ve been known to travel when it suits me,” the god acknowledged.

“Did you know then what I’d become?”

“It was still uncertain, but that no longer matters.”

“Then why do you come?” Seth asked, both confused and worried that his plans had already come to an end.

“Do you not see it?” the god asked. “Do you not know me? Do you not see the only conclusion your path can come to?”

“I know you, Gorandor, though I am not afraid. As for my path, I’ve chosen as best as I am able with the options presented.”

“Then choose one not presented. Those options you see are being stolen out from under your feet. Look past the decisions you make now to those you will need to make to save everything.”

“You wish to guide my hand,” Seth both asked and stated. “All of you want something from us and you wish to alter my path to your own devices. I can’t see another path but the one I am on.”

“Precisely,” Gorandor stated in his peculiar form of flesh and bone.

Seth pondered the god’s words. It was evident he was trying to guide him towards something, but what could it be? How was it possible to see options beyond those presenting themselves? Perhaps the gods were all-seeing, all-knowing beings, but as much power as he had gained, he was still mortal. Such things were obscure to him and he wondered just what reason the god had seen to bring them together at this point in time.

“Do you fear Ishanya?” Seth asked, taking a guess.

“Fear is for those with regrets. Fear is for those too weak to look ahead and behind, and realize that they are the same. Time, you see, is very much a part of fear and a limitation those of my kind do not need to dwell upon. No, I do not fear my ethereal sister, but you alone on this world can see my plight.”

Seth watched the siphoning of the god’s aura. Though it was infinitely more powerful than himself, the tugging drain on the god’s resources were like great rivers filled by flood waters into a raging torrent. The god, though not fearing time, was indeed limited by it. His power was failing. His following dwindling. Gorandor was growing weak, and Seth feared for his brother, the king of Valdadore.

“Ishanya grows in power as you and your kin are weakened. Surely you have done what you can to stay the transfer of power?” Seth asked.

“We cannot reconcile that which Ishanya has done. It is up to you, the mortals of the world we created, to put all in order again. The blight Ishanya has sown cannot be eradicated by my kind, for we can only create, not destroy.”

Seth stopped listening. It finally all made sense. The gods were a power of creation. It was the very reason why they needed the mortals to fight one another to grow more powerful. They had no power to kill or destroy. It was an ability outside of their own nature and as such beyond their abilities. This was the reason Ishanya had made him so powerful. He was the ultimate weapon of destruction. So much so, that the gods themselves were coming down from their realm in the heavens to speak to him.

“If you only have the ability to create, why not create a champion to destroy Ishanya?” Seth asked, solving the gods’ problems in an instant.

“Free will, child. The champion has already been created, but free will can stay its hand or even turn it on its masters. Once something is created, we have no power to un-create it.”