The Calling (Book 7 of The Blood & Brotherhood Saga) (The Blood and Brotherhood Saga) (2 page)

Ahead, perhaps a few miles, a lone structure stood in contrast to the deepening crimson of the sky. There, in the distance, a watch tower stood as a solemn marker that this was the edge of Valdadore. This was the end of the kingdom they had called home their whole lives. They had reached Westgate.

Watching the tower grow as they grew ever nearer, Sara realized that what she was seeing was not the guard tower built to watch for an invading army or raid parties, but rather the decimated ruin that was just weeks ago a thriving guard post. Even now, torn and battered banners clung to what remained of the top of the tower, their frayed edges blowing in the cold winter breeze. Chunks of the walls were missing here and there and three sides of the tower’s peak were missing altogether. The signs of Sigrant’s passing were more than evident, and she could only imagine the fate that was met by any riders attempting to leave the post to warn of the oncoming invasion.

Ahead, Borrik flapped his mighty wings, propelling himself forward at incredible speed. Sara didn’t know what lay beyond Westgate. Sigrant’s kingdom was much a mystery to her. She could only wait and wonder what it was that Borrik was racing towards.

One instant Borrik was there, a dark stain in a darkening sky, and the next he was lost as if in a fog. Just as the sun and its light were lost to Sara, the sky let loose a flurry of snow that filled the air with bitter chill and a haze that was impenetrable to her.

Looking to her husband once more, she noted that his expression had changed. The worry and sorrow were still there, etched firmly into place with the pain that he had sustained. But now there was something else too. It was something she hadn’t seen in over a week. There, hidden in his expression, was determination. Sara turned away from him before grinning. She didn’t want to jinx it. Seth had found something to hold on to. She didn’t know what it was, or even what it entailed, but that didn’t matter. Seth was back. He was not better, but he was back. He was thinking. The gears inside his immense mind were turning and something inside him had finally sparked an emotion that didn’t drive him further into darkness.

Hiding her excitement, she looked back to the sky, searching for any sign of her husband’s second in command and guardian, just as a massive shadow settled down from above, separating itself from the darkened sky like a wraith wrapped in death’s essence.

* * * * *

Borrik settled to the earth, flapping his wings to slow his descent as clouds of white sprang up from the ground beneath him. Just ahead his master approached, but Borrik did not acknowledge him. Not yet. Instead, he prepared his captains for what lay ahead with a single image.

Ahead of the ragtag army was a moderately sized town. It lacked fortifications beyond a simple single story wall and a few archers’ towers, but that did not mean that it did not pose a threat. Inside, countless enemies could be hidden among the sprawling homes alit with torches. Thousands could be hidden there, though it would take far fewer to lay those that followed Seth now to waste. These were not soldiers. They were not armed or armored. Most of those who followed his master were but children, bundled in rags to stay warm and limping along on little to no food or drink.

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.

Chapter Two

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.