The Calling (Book 7 of The Blood & Brotherhood Saga) (The Blood and Brotherhood Saga) (8 page)

Joining both Ashton and Zorbin near the small fire, Garret seated himself upon the ground, pulling some salted pork and cheese from his pack. Though the healer and the dwarf carried a conversation, Garret heard not their words. Instead, his mind wandered to home. Something about the musty smell of the decaying forest floor reminded him of the crypts, and the cool air on his back spoke of the cool stagnant air down below the earth in Valdadore. He tried to change the direction of his imagination, but he couldn’t help but wonder what Linaya was doing without him. Was she resting? Singing? Did she long for his return the way he longed to see her again?

Reaching into his pocket he touched the lock of her hair he had hidden there and imagined its smell. He had always loved the smell of her hair. Something about it was familiar and comforting. Thinking of her hair made him long for her smile and embrace, but here, neither would be coming. He needed to be done with this trip and get back home. But, he had wanted
this
too. He knew it was good to be out with friends. There had to be some sort of happy medium. He couldn’t be home with Linaya, and out with his friends, investigating a possible crime. Both required his attention and he wanted to do both. What he needed, what he really needed, was a way for Linaya to come with him. Sure, he had her hair, and she said that one day they would be able to be together again all the time, but he wanted that time to be now, not later.

“What about you, Garret?” Ashton asked.

“Huh? Sorry, my mind was elsewhere.”

“I was asking, if you could have chosen your blessing, what would you have picked?”

“Oh. I…um… I’ve never thought about it before. I suppose to better protect my kingdom I would have to be able to rival all of my foes. Size, strength, and skin of steel are wonderful, but I suppose if my options were unlimited, I would chose the ability to fly as well and throw fire,” Garret answered, knowing he would need to be able to do at least as much in order to defeat his brother.

“That’s quite a list,” Zorbin grumbled in his deep voice.

“What was your answer then?” Garret asked.

“To be handsome enough to woo any woman of my choosing,” Zorbin chuckled.

“I can see how that would come in handy,” Garret admitted. “And you, Ashton?”

“The ability to heal the world instead of just wounds.”

“Like end wars and lovers’ quarrels?” Garret asked.

“Yes, but if we all got what we wished, I think Zorbin would make my ending lovers’ quarrels impossible,” Ashton grinned.

Chuckling deeply, Zorbin slapped Ashton on the back, nearly sending him sprawling into the fire as Garret too began laughing at the semi-panicked, surprised look on his friends face. Laughter. It had been a while since he had heard any, let alone enjoyed his own. It was good, and he knew instantly that this was why Linaya had encouraged him to go. Thanking her silently, he returned his attention to his friends and joined in on the amusement.

It was several hours later when they decided to settle down for the night. Taking turns, Garret took the first watch, waking Zorbin near the middle of the night to lay down himself. Though he was forsaken, Garret prayed to Gorandor for his blessing to be returned, but felt no different once he completed his prayers. He wondered if Gorandor even heard his words any longer. Maybe his plight was useless. Maybe his silent suffering was a punishment that he had to endure in order to regain the god’s favor. Garret had no way of knowing.

Rolling onto his side, he faced the north, back where his lover lay without him, and imagined her here at his side. Closing his eyes, he relaxed his saddle-sore muscles and fell quickly into a deep, rejuvenating sleep.

* * * * *

Zorbin’s watch had been more or less uneventful until his link to Xanth got interesting as the giant wolf caught the scent of a doe and sprang off into the forest to begin stalking it. With images flickering past his eyes, he watched as the wolf bent low to the ground, and sniffing, dug his clawed toes into the soil before leaping ahead, and slowly began picking up speed. Like he was racing along through the trees himself, Zorbin witnessed the hunt in a surreal, all too personal way. Leaves, darkness, trees, brush, and the ground passed before his eyes as adrenaline began to run in his veins.

With his heart pumping he witnessed as Xanth suddenly changed direction, heading what he presumed was east. Climbing through the forest, the wolf raced on, slowly uphill. Then, unexpectedly, Xanth suddenly stopped. Watching as the great wolf seemed to sniff the air, before looking this way and that, Zorbin saw something peculiar through the eyes of his friend. There, in the darkened forest, were giant mushrooms, cultivated into even rows. Only people cultivated plants.

Then, seemingly having picked up the trail once more, Xanth again leapt into the trees with his nose in the air, sniffing and searching. For more than thirty minutes Zorbin was a silent witness to the hunt. Rounding a large tree, Xanth slid to a stop and Zorbin could see that the wolf looked out over a narrow ravine. There, in the depths of the ravine, stood the doe. She was mature and elegant in her stance—a proud kill for any hunter.

As Xanth’s stance shifter lower to the ground, Zorbin watched from the wolf’s eyes as he crept slowly forward carefully placing each paw. Then, when he was in range, the wolf sprang atop the doe, driving it to the ground in a tangle of legs and fur. Growling and snapping, he reached out and caught the throat of his prey and clamping down, witnessed its final struggles as blood poured from its neck.

Shaking his head, Zorbin found his own jaw clenched tightly closed. It were almost as if he had actually lived the event instead of simply witnessed it. The thrill of the hunt still lingered within him as his heart pounded in his chest. Breathing hard, he stood to stretch, wondering at his and Xanth’s connection. It had never been this strong before. But that was not all that he wondered about. Stoking the fire near his feet, Zorbin began to recall and memorize everything he could about Xanth’s hunt. Tomorrow, the wolf’s path would be theirs as well. He had a strong suspicion that the mushrooms belonged to the very people they sought.

Stepping back from the trees, Zorbin looked up to the sky. Making note of the locations of the stars, he found that his watch had already ended more than an hour before. He wasn’t particularly tired, but as it was Garret’s plan, he would stick to it. Rounding their small fire, he kicked Ashton’s protruding feet lightly, rousing the healer.

“My turn?” Ashton asked from within the tent.

“Aye. I ain’t been hearin’ anything to be concerned about.”

“Good,” the healer said, climbing out of his tent.

* * * * *

Waiting until he was certain that the dwarf was asleep, Ashton crept a short distance away from their camp to avoid being heard. Reaching what he presumed would be a safe distance away, he pulled a dagger from his belt and peered back towards camp.

“Powerful goddess, I pray you give me the strength to see this through. As your servant and vessel I will do what you have asked of me. With this sacrifice of blood, I beg you watch my deeds with a keen eye and see proof of my loyalty.”

Creeping silently as death, Ashton tiptoed back to their small camp. Seeing the dwarf’s feet stir from the end of his tent, Ashton wrapped his free hand about the blade of his dagger. Reaching the tent of the slumbering dwarven warrior, he knelt down carefully, dragging the blade from his fist. Holding it high above his head, he reached out his hand, now adorned with a deep gash, and let the blood drip all about Zorbin’s feet. Standing, Ashton circled the tent, allowing his blood to splash onto the ground creating a ring. His deed finished, he sheathed his dagger once more and returned to the fire, clenching his bloodied fist closed. Leaning towards the heat, he opened his hand to expose the wound before dragging one finger across the gash, watching it mend itself closed as if it had never happened.

Grinning to himself, Ashton leaned back on his elbows and looked up into the blackness of the heavens. Somewhere up there was his mistress. He imagined her smiling back at him, applauding his work. Not once, but twice in a single day he had made the king think about his lack of blessing. The man’s longing looks behind them in the direction of Valdadore spoke volumes. He was broken beyond repair. He longed for those lost to him and his pain showed clearly. He was susceptible. Of this much Ashton was certain. If only he knew how far he could push the king before he snapped, broke down, and gave in. If only he knew how to make the man reach a point so desolate that he would be open to a new way.
Time,
Ashton reminded himself. It would all come in due time. The goddess had told him as much.

Turning his gaze to the south, he wondered what had transpired since last he left those lands. He could almost feel the hot breeze across the sand, though he did not miss the biting of the flies. He knew that Gnak had succeeded in his own task. In order to be the orc’s equal before the goddess, he would need to complete his.

Hearing a rustling from somewhere beyond his vision, Ashton watched the darkness intently as the dwarf’s massive wolf came trotting towards them with something hanging from its maw. As it neared, Ashton recognized the beast’s burden for what it was and grinned. Hanging from the mouth of the wolf was an entire flank of a large deer. Though torn and mangled around the edges, the meat was surprisingly intact and still covered in a protective layer of the animal’s hide. As he patted the beast’s head, it looked at him incredulously before dropping its prize at his feet with a huff, and sauntered off between the tents. He knew not the intelligence of the animal, but assumed it was greater than he originally gave it credit for.

Pulling his dagger from his belt once more, he went to work skinning the meat and building a small spit to roast it on. In under an hour the sizzling and popping of cooking meat filled their camp as the scent of fresh kill filled the air. It wasn’t long until his companions began to stir, and shortly before daybreak both were climbing out from their tents to stretch. Watching as they neared, he noted them both licking their lips as he rose to greet them.

“Good morning, gentlemen. Your wolf brought us some breakfast,” he said, turning to meet the dwarf’s eyes.

“Aye, he likes to be doing that sometimes,” Zorbin grinned through his beard.

“Is it venison?” Garret asked.

“He bagged ‘im a doe last night, and better than that, methinks me knows where the druids be.”

“How? What? Where?” Aston asked nearly all at once.

“Do tell,” Garret added.

“Cause of me link to his mind, I was able to watch him hunt the deer, ye see. He be coming across a small clearing filled with even rows of mushrooms too perfect to be by chance.”

“You think you can find it?” Garret asked.

“I’m fairly certain I can get us close, but I don’t think I’ll have to.”

“Why’s that?” Ashton asked.

“Cause I’ll just have Xanth take us.”

“He understands us?” Ashton asked.

“More than you know, he does.”

Ashton pondered the revelation. Had the wolf seen his deeds the previous night? Heard his prayer of offering? Smelled the blood around the tents? Is that why it simply dropped the venison and left to inspect behind them? Was it possible it could relay such information to the dwarf? Ashton needed to be more careful. The wolf and dwarf could be trouble. He’d have to keep his eye on them.

Turning his attention back to the spit, he turned the handle once more before looking up with a grin.

“Breakfast is served, gentlemen.”

* * * * *

Gorandor stalked across the heavens filled with anger and something he had not felt in eons. Fear. He could see the threads of time twisting and binding to weave a fate for him and many of his kin that was beyond simple mending. Seeing the threat for what it was, he knew that he needed to act. Their simple manipulations had been countered and had somehow backfired, speeding Ishanya’s plan to only one likely conclusion.

Peering across time, where the threads were first twisted into possibilities, he looked for any sign of hope and saw a glimmer. Following the thread to where it met destiny, he grinned. Among the human race there was still opportunity to end Ishanya’s reign before it began. There was a chance in the most unlikely of places.

Gorandor contemplated for a moment about sending one of his champions to do his bidding, and thought better of it. Instead, he summoned for himself some mortal flesh and joined his essence with the lower form of life. Crossing time and space in an instant, he appeared in an orchard without a single witness in sight. Turning, he headed east in search of the exact point in time at the precise place that he could turn the tide of this battle. Pulling his cowl low over his face to avoid the chill, he smirked fondly at the mortal sensations and frailty. It was their mortality that drove them to such ambitions, but it was also their mortality that limited their abilities. Even so, he much enjoyed the disguise and as such, moved on at a quickened pace in a rather jovial mood.

Chapter Seven

Leaving their meeting with Goldenfingers, Seth had a lot weighing on his mind. The invasion of Valdadore seemed to have left both nations weak and vulnerable to upheaval. The last thing he wanted to do was cause more unnecessary bloodshed.

As he walked between both Borrik and Sara, they made their way back towards the town they had left behind, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Seth knew he could take Drakenhurst by force, but did not plan to. Instead, he was developing another plan that would hopefully spare them another battle. He wasn’t about to give the gods what they wanted. Not this time.

Watching as the dark silhouette of the town grew before them, Seth pondered Ishanya’s plan and deceit. It was obvious what she wanted of him, but there had to be more to it. She had lied to him in an effort to make him reaffirm an oath. She had tricked him, but why? What was her need to make him feel that he was in her debt? Was she losing the battle in the heavens? Was she afraid? If so, of what? Surely she wasn’t afraid of him. Perhaps her fear was indirect. Maybe she feared that he would fail, and as such she would lose the war she waged with the other gods.