Age of the Gods: The Complete, twelve novel, fantasy series (The Blood and Brotherhood Saga) (95 page)

It was a task of two parts, this particular mission, and though Mordal knew the first portion would be fairly simple, the second might prove most difficult. Thus far Mordal was intrigued, if not disappointed, by the fact that the roads had been clear nearly the entire journey into Valdadore. It was as if new King Garret was still unaware of King Sigrant’s plans to invade. The roads had seen very few travelers these last several days, apart from a handful of merchants whom Mordal ignored. Simple merchants were not his concern, Mordal reminded himself on two occasions, though he could not help but wonder as to how much coin was in their purses.

His orders were to lay down any messenger he should come across so as to destroy communications from Valdadore’s outposts to its capital. Thus far however Mordal had not seen a single one, and the mission was beginning to get entirely too boring. If he did not have someone to kill soon, Mordal was considering visiting a brothel to play cat and mouse before slitting a few throats, just for fun. It was while Mordal, amused by these thoughts, was stroking his black, pointed goatee that he first heard the horse thundering towards him in the distance. Merchants did not ride so fast at night. Finally Mordal would have himself some entertainment.

Pinching his great black stallion’s ear before dismounting, Mordal gave the beast a silent command to remain where it stood. Then sliding down from the beast, Mordal whispered a silent prayer calling upon his blessing from Abernash and felt the power wash through him as his vision blurred slightly before refocusing, and all of his muscles relaxed before becoming unnaturally taut. Reaching up to the saddle of his mount Mordal removed the newest weapon in his arsenal, a gift given to him by King Sigrant himself. Though the weapon was of gnomish make, it was of simpler design than most of that race’s monstrosities. Mordal had already tested the mechanical weapon for flaws and found it much to his liking. It was a weapon that could change not only the art of assassination, but also the art of war, and as such Mordal took a moment to admire the weapon as he loaded it.

The stock of the weapon was like that of a large crossbow, although a long hollow tube was mounted on it that protruded out beyond the stock by about two hands’ lengths. Upon the back end of the tube, nearest the user, was mounted a round plate in which a hole into the tube was visible. The rest of this plate had a slot carved into it that began deep at the point of the hole, but became shallower as it wound around the plate until it was barely perceptible where it met the hole once again. Attached to that plate was another plate, though the outermost edge of this one was notched at regular intervals in what gnomes referred to as a gear. Also mounted on the plate was a tightly-wound spring that fitted into the groove of the previous plate. Upon the end of the heavy spring was a small, round-tipped hammer head of sorts. This plate interlocked with a crank on the outside that the user would turn, causing the plate to turn and the spring to follow the guide around in a circle. As the spring followed the track it became more and more compressed until it reached the hole where it would uncoil, and its head would strike the projectile in the tube, launching it out the other end. The real genius of the weapon, however, was in the narrow guides atop the weapon that the creator called a hopper. The projectiles were loaded into the hopper, which could contain forty shots, and as each projectile was fired, another would fall into place within the tube thus allowing the user to continue firing without reloading.

The projectiles were another amazing feat of gnomish creation entirely. Though upon first glance they looked very much like a traditional arrow, if slightly short, there were two major differences between the two. Whereas an arrow had a notch to fit a string and fletching to guide the arrow straight, these gnomish designs had neither. The butt end of the dart-like projectiles was solid steel to withstand the force of the spring-loaded hammer, and in place of fletching, the entire shaft of the projectile had a groove that spiraled down its entire length that was said to cause the shaft to spin through the air keeping it on target. Though Mordal did not know if in fact this was the way the long darts worked, he had yet to see any shot veer off to one side or another and for that reason he presumed the gnomes were on to something big.

Listening as the approaching rider neared, Mordal scanned the surrounding area with his blessed vision. Locating a suitable spot, he headed off the road slightly towards the river. Focusing intently upon his surroundings, Mordal invoked the second part of his blessing, then winced as the pleasure coursed through his body, and he and his clothing began sprouting grass and reeds, camouflaging him perfectly with his surroundings. There he waited patiently and silently until his target came into view. At first Mordal thought himself spotted as the rider slowed his mount, but quickly realized his mistake as the great white charger was led to the river’s edge to drink and graze.

The man upon the great white horse was nothing of immediate concern; in all actuality he appeared just a boy. In the night, aided by his blessed vision, Mordal could see everything as plainly as day, and as such he scanned the boy and his mount for any sign marking him as a messenger. Unable to locate any scroll cases, Mordal was nearly ready to leave the youth to his own musings, assuming him to simply be out at the river to meet his young lover or some other such engagement, when the boy stood once again to reclaim his pack. At that very moment, something metallic flashed from the boy’s tunic, and even at a hundred yards, Mordal recognized the medallion marking the boy as a royal courier. Raising his gnomish weapon to his shoulder, Mordal took aim just as his black stallion did something completely out of character. To Mordal’s dismay, the stallion trained to serve only him whinnied from where he had been left, drawing the boy’s attention. Seeing his quarry turn and register the sound, Mordal quickly began to turn the crank on his weapon. As the boy again turned to locate this new sound, he abruptly went down in a heap, seemingly struck by the first arrow. As a result of this the rest of the shots flew above his fallen corpse to the mount he rode in on. Then something completely unexpected happened that even a trained assassin such as Mordal had never before witnessed.

With blood pouring from several wounds, the great white mount reared up on its hind legs. With a snort it leaped over its fallen rider and came thundering across the river at an amazing speed. Though the charger had not registered Mordal, as his blessing made him all but invisible, the beast nearly trampled him causing him to dive out of the animal’s path at the last instant. He cursed loudly as several bolts spilled from the hopper on his weapon. Fortunately the great white charger had another target already picked out, and so did not turn to face him having heard him curse.

Fitting his weapon back to his shoulder, Mordal took aim once again as the charger met his stallion upon the field. With hooves and teeth the great white war horse began its assault on his black stallion, and for a moment Mordal let his beast take the abuse. Had the animal kept its mouth shut neither of them would be in this predicament. However, even if his beast deserved the beating, he needed the animal. Turning the crank to his gnomish device, Mordal unloaded more than a dozen rounds, careful to spare his stallion any injury. Watching as the great white beast reared back, blood gushing from seemingly everywhere, Mordal witnessed it letting loose a pitiful scream before crumpling back upon its hind legs and thrashing about the ground blindly as its lifeblood pooled upon the soil.

Finally Mordal had found a messenger, though to receive payment he would need to collect the boy’s medallion and his coin purse for good measure. Collecting the bolts that had fallen from his weapon, Mordal stood, leaving his mount where it was, to go and collect the spoils of his trade. However, this night was turning out to be quite aggravating as the boy was not where he had fallen. It appeared Mordal would have to do some tracking, to which he smiled, for never in his career had a target escaped him for very long.

Excited by the thrill of the hunt, Mordal relinquished his magical camouflage and strode to the edge of the river to discern whatever details he could of the boy’s escape.

* * * * *

Darion ducked beneath a portion of the far bank that had become washed out by the river’s slow current. This time of year the water was incredibly cold with the head waters filtering down from the mountains to the north, where winter had already staked its claim. With his teeth chattering and body shivering, Darion crouched within the small confines of his chosen hiding place and found himself in a terrible predicament. In order to entirely conceal his body, Darion was forced to kneel in the small depression in the bank, tilting his head back and leaving only his face exposed above the slow, icy cold waters. So small was the space that the roots of the vegetation above actually rested upon his face as he hid. For fear of giving away his location to the unseen attacker, Darion opened his mouth wide to keep his teeth from chattering. However, as roots dangled into his mouth, and flecks of soil fell into his throat, he was forced to fight his gag reflex. What was worse, with no way to see or hear his attacker, Darion had no idea how long he would need to wait within the icy waters, nor how long he would be able to do so. However it was not a long wait before the roots resting upon his face sagged nearer his flesh, and dirt began raining down upon him and into his mouth. Darion froze in realization, so fearful of being discovered he dared not even breathe, as his attacker was now literally standing just above his face.

* * * * *

Mordal eyed the far bank momentarily, looking for any sign of movement in the darkness. His blessed vision showed no sign of the messenger upon the other bank. Mordal’s blessing was unique he presumed, and it had been the difference between success and failure more times than he could count. The ability to see things clearly at a distance allowed him to see details that to another assassin would be obscure. The unnatural tautness that overcame his muscles while awash in his blessing allowed him to react faster, move faster, dodge faster and even strike harder. Those two enhancements were enough to bring down most of his targets, but his ability to see the world by the heat contained within objects was the most useful at night.

This night was a perfect example, Mordal thought, as he looked to the water flowing just beyond his toes. Though the vast majority of the water appeared a dark hue of purple in his vision, a streak flowed from just beneath him of a slightly lighter hue, meaning something down there was warming the water around it as it flowed past. Smiling to himself, Mordal reached into his belt and removed another gnomish weapon he was very fond of. It appeared to be a spear except for the fact that it was only half as long as his arm. However, with a click of a catch and a flick of the wrist, the shaft extended as section after section of steel tubing with an ever smaller diameter slid out from the larger one behind it with a series of clicks. Now the spear was as long as he was tall. Grabbing its shaft with both hands, Mordal raised his arms and drove the spear down with all his might through the soil between his boots and several feet down below the surface of the ground.

* * * * *

Darion remained unmoving for what felt like forever, his lungs tightening in his chest, his body silently screaming for more air. He knew he would not be able to remain this way much longer and wondered what exactly his attacker was doing simply standing there on the bank. Panic threatened again and again to overcome him as the warmth leached from his body and his lungs felt as if they might explode. But even when his vision began to blur, he waited a few more seconds before he finally dared to take another breath. Slowly, more slowly than what his body cried for, Darion took a breath. Little did he know it would be his last. For just as soon as Darion had filled his lungs to capacity, he was struck unexpectedly. Though no matter how vicious the attack was, Darion felt as the blade thrust into his mouth, splitting his tongue in two before plunging out the back of his skull above his neck and then driving on down through his spine and into his vital internal organs. So swift was the strike that to Darion that final moment seemed to slow, allowing him to feel each new agonizing pain individually before the shaft of the weapon was extruded from his body, releasing vast amounts of blood from each of the wounds. As the weapon was removed from his body with a jerk and a twist, Darion, his face now below the icy waters, released his last breath in a gurgle of his own blood in an attempt to scream before his eyes rolled back and the world was lost to him.

* * * * *

Mordal chuckled as he pulled the boy’s ruined body just far enough out of the water to remove anything of value. Taking the boy’s medallion, coin purse and dagger, the assassin then shoved the boy back into the water with his boot. Finally his mission to Valdadore was showing some promise. This messenger had more coin than some minor lords Mordal had brought to their end in his homeland. Mordal could not help but grin at his luck as he turned to regain his mount. This was going to be a lucrative venture, Mordal thought as he climbed back into his saddle, guiding the stallion to resume in their original direction.

Morning was quickly approaching as the last of the plans were laid in preparation to defend Valdadore. All who had spent the night awaiting orders in the chamber adjacent to the king’s study had been dismissed and told to carry out their missions with all haste. The only people who remained in that high chamber of the king’s palace were the king himself and his closest, most trusted allies. Though each of them was exhausted, both mentally and physically, Seth knew that more needed to be said before he and Sara could retire from the chamber as well. So much had changed since the battle with the black horde, Seth felt that Garret, of all people, would not only understand but also need the truth in order to realistically put to use his brother’s abilities. So after many thoughts on how to begin his tale, pausing briefly to allow Linaya to yawn, an action then repeated by everyone in the room, Seth sighed loudly and began to speak.

“There are a few things you should know, brother, in reference to myself and Sara, that not only relate to our current circumstances, but also to how we will be behaving for the unforeseeable future,” Seth began, and watched as Garret’s eyebrows lifted showing both his attention and curiosity. “Sara and I have undergone changes that greatly affect our ability to aid you. Though I was affected less than she, the most I can tell you about myself at this time is that I will be greatly hindered during daytime hours.”

“What do you mean, ‘hindered’?” Garret asked, his face scrunching up in thought.

“My eyes can no longer withstand the sun. In direct sunlight I am completely blind, though in indirect light I can see fine,” Seth answered, letting his brother guide the conversation from this point forward.

“This happened because of that final blast in the battle with the black horde?” Garret enquired.

“It did not happen so much in the blast, but as a result of what Sara and I had to endure following the blast. The entire tale I shall relate to you at a future date when there are not so many pressing things to attend to. But know this: I am more powerful now than I was then, only I must shield my face from the sun,” Seth proclaimed with a smirk.

“What of you, Sara? Has the same befallen you?” Garret asked, allowing Sara to tell her own portion of the tale.

“I wish it were so, Garret,” Sara began, her face becoming awash with pain briefly as she recalled her most recent foray into the light. “I am afraid that my condition is much worse than that of my husband.”

“How so?” Garret asked.

“No portion of my flesh can be exposed to the sun under any circumstances,” she explained slowly. “If direct sunlight falls upon my skin, within an instant it burns away, then my muscles and vessels below that, finally even my bones.”

Linaya gasped audibly.

“But Sara, how then do you intend to fight?” Garret asked perplexed, though continued without an answer. “You made it quite obvious you do not plan to sit this battle out, but if you cannot withstand the very sun that lights the skies, in what capacity do you intend to help?”

Without so much as an instant of hesitation, in the fraction of a blink of an eye, Sara lifted her body using the arms of her chair and slid her legs beneath her. Without pausing to think, working on the instincts of her new body alone, Sara sprang with all her might. The chair crashed against the wall behind her as her lithe body, still fully armored, sailed like an arrow across the chamber over Garret’s head. As she flew, Sara twisted in the air, and as she made contact with the opposite wall, she used her legs to slow her impact. For a fraction of a moment it appeared as though she knelt upon the wall, defying gravity completely. Garret barely caught a glimpse of this action as he swiveled in his immense chair, but watched still as Sara, pulling a sword from the wall that had been hung there as decoration, sprang again effortlessly up into the air before doing a somersault and plummeting down once more. As Sara fell through the air she again repositioned her body for maximum leverage and landed upon Garret’s huge desk in a crouch, burying the sword to the hilt through the thick, ancient wood of the desk.

“That, my brother, is how I intend to fight. If need be I will accompany Seth’s troops to fight at night. I am no longer helpless, Garret. I can hold my own,” Sara said with a mischievous smile.

“I can see that,” Garret replied, pausing a moment to ponder. “So is this also a portion of how you were changed by whatever means it was that you were altered?”

“Yes, brother.” It was Seth who answered. “Her alteration has both a very negative side, and one that thus far is quite impressive. But I will not let you accompany my troops, Sara,” Seth announced as Sara turned to face him with a somewhat confused if not angry look upon her face. “Not until you have been trained to fight by the very best and not until I have prepared you as well as I am able,” he added.

Sara smiled, her face lighting up as it had done the first day Seth had met her. Again he was being protective, trying to keep her from harm. Now, however, Seth knew she was more capable than most of defending herself, and as such he respected her enough to not argue with her wishes.

“One more thing, Garret,” Seth said, causing his brother’s eyebrows to rise once again. “I have witnessed how a small, fairly well trained force can hold its own against a much larger force and also against unbelievable odds. Sara and I can relay that information to the army and they can begin training at once, if you think it a fair plan.” Seth concluded.

“How is it accomplished?” Garret asked, his knowledge of battle tactics disappointedly limited.

“You break your men into small units of about twenty. Each of them is very lightly armored, carrying only a spear and a very large shield like this.” Seth picked up a piece of parchment off the floor then hunted out a quill and ink before drawing a rough sketch of the shield design. “Then your men form up in a circle, each facing the outside like this.” Seth again drew a sketch. “There is also an inner ring like this.” Once more he drew hastily. “Then in the middle the men use their shields to form a roof like this,” Seth said, completing his drawing.

“It’s like a turtle,” Garret smiled.

“Yes, but it is a turtle that can strike in all directions and yet is invulnerable to most attacks, especially from arrows,” Seth explained.

“It is brilliant. Tomorrow, while I take my men west, you shall relay this to Sulvis and the men will begin training at once. We will need a lot of shields and spears, something we do not have in excess. I will have to have the blacksmiths working all hours of the day and night to make this happen, but I think it may be just the advantage we need,” Garret said grinning.

“You go buy us more time. I will see to it that the blacksmiths have some help,” Seth replied.

“I have not forgotten you either, Sara,” Garret said. “Since you move so quickly and effortlessly, I know the very man to train you in the use of weapons properly. Tomorrow evening you must go to the knights’ training field. He will be waiting.”

“I will,” Sara replied simply.

“Sorry Garret, but we should be going, both to allow you to finish what needs to be done, and also for us to seek out a nice dark place to spend much of the day. I have such a spot in mind already so no need to offer us anything,” Seth stated.

“I understand, but if you need anything just come to the palace; someone will see to it you get what you need in my absence. I should only be gone a few days, if all goes well. Good luck with your preparations, and good night,” Garret said.

Rising from behind his desk Garret rounded the table to hug both his brother and Sara before they retired. Watching them go, Garret struggled inwardly about what it was that he must do next. It was dangerous, an action necessitated by need, not desire, yet if he had any chance of success in the forthcoming war, Garret knew it had to be this way. With only himself and Linaya in the room, Garret sat beside the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and leaned in, placing a light kiss upon her forehead.

“There is something you need to say, but are afraid to,” Linaya stated plainly, concern already in her voice.

“Yes.” Garret paused before regaining his resolve to continue. “We each have a task if Valdadore is to survive this battle. Each task is of the utmost importance, and we are all at risk. However, the task that I must give you puts you possibly at greater risk, but I do not know exactly what that risk might be. Where I need you to go is a complete unknown to me, but I don’t believe there is another person more suited for the task than you, Linaya.” Garret’s voice sounded harsh and strained as if he were fighting to control his emotions.

“I know you would not put me in unnecessary danger if I am to one day be your bride, Garret,” Linaya said, forcing a smile. “What task is it that you need me to do? Tell me and I will see it done.”

“Do you promise to follow my orders precisely, no matter what it might mean for the future?” Garret asked, now looking to the floor.

“Yes,” came the simple reply.

“I need you to leave for Boulder Gate this very day and seek audience with King Brighthammer. Convince him to come to our aid. You will not be going alone, of course. I am entrusting Zorbin Ironfist with your safety. I hope that the two of you can return swiftly with news of brigades of dwarves marching to our aid. If you cannot, the two of you are to remain in Boulder Gate until I send for you,” Garret declared before looking up again to meet the eyes of the only woman to truly win his affection.

“So you would send me away to relative safety, not to return unless I bring aid? Those are your exact orders?” Linaya asked, sounding more than a little upset.

“Yes,” Garret said in a near whisper. “I cannot imagine the horrors you might face here in Valdadore should we fall. With your beauty our attackers would be overcome with lust and would use you in ways I dare not even think of.” Garret said, with obvious anger in his voice.

“I understand your wishes, and shall follow your orders, though I do not agree with them,” Linaya sighed.

“I pray you do not look down upon me for this,” Garret said. “Your appearance could do you great harm here, but could do the kingdom a great service in Boulder Gate. I hope you understand.”

“I understand the need coming from your majesty, and I understand your concern for my safety coming from you, Garret, a man who has shown me nothing but kindness and love since the very moment we met,” Linaya said. “I will do what you ask, but I have one condition,” she added with a tone of sincerity in her voice.

“A condition?” Garret asked.

“I should like to spend the remaining hours before sunrise within your arms in case I am unable to return with aid,” Linaya informed him,  somewhere between a smile and tears.

“Condition granted.” Garret turned and swept the petite woman of all his affections from her chair in a single swoop and pulled her into his lap where she curled up, wrapped within Garret’s massive arms until morning.

* * * * *

Seth and Sara stalked down the castle stairs side by side, their footfalls timed to perfection. Reaching the base of the staircase they turned together, without pause, and strode towards the main entrance without so much as a word. The halls, even at this early hour, were far from vacant. Here on the lowest floor messengers and council members alike rushed to and fro in a hectic maelstrom of activity. Though many raced past them, most speaking a greeting as they went, the couple clad in their black armor spoke not a word as they traversed the halls of the castle. Both were lost to the world; lost in their own thoughts and musings of what would happen in the days to come. Sara daydreamed of the training and trials that she would soon see as she learned from some unknown master the art of fighting. Seth too was lost in contemplation; he had unbelievable responsibility in the outcome of the battle to come. Not only did Garret depend upon his magic on the field, but also now for helping to equip an army that over the next few weeks would be swelling to unknown numbers. Seth had other pressing duties as well. He needed to correct his vision in order to be of use at the battle, as well as complete Sara’s transformation, restoring to the woman he loved her humanity. Aside from that, Seth was now the head of the battle mages, at least until a suitable replacement could be chosen. What Seth really needed now more than anything was a place where he could be alone to think without any distractions. He knew one such place; a place that few, if any, visited. A place where he could be alone with his thoughts for a while to best work out how to juggle his new responsibilities. That is why he now walked with purpose, for he needed to reach the place before the sun broke over the walls of the castle.

Seth and Sara rounded the corner to the castle’s massive front entrance, and without so much as a command the guards posted in the doorway shoved the great wooden doors to each side. Without the need to even pause, the couple strode out into the first courtyard where two massive werewolves fell into step behind them. Seth watched them take their positions, though not with his eyes. He decided there was no better time than the present to start relaying orders.

“What of the men, Borrik?” Seth asked without turning to face his second-in-command.

“They await your orders, your majesty, though I have informed them of the impending battle,” Borrik replied.

“Very well. Now that we are in the city you shall see to it that all of the men are outfitted properly. By midday have them all armored and armed, then I will come and alter the armor to suit their needs,” Seth stated.