The Contention (19 page)

First off, Seth actually recognized two of the patterns swirling within the mage’s aura that allowed him to use magic. Though one was merely a representation of the other, the symbol Seth had learned meaning ‘absorb’ was present within the mage, though it moved as if alive, twisting and turning and interlocking with the other symbols within this portion of the mage’s aura. Seth compared it to his own aura, and found the symbol there too, only within himself the pattern was backwards, like a mirror reflection of the first he had studied. Also within the battle mage’s aura was the symbol for fire, another Seth had gleaned from the small leather tome entrusted to him. Again this symbol was present within himself, except that, again, it was backwards. Seth pondered if the orientation of the pattern made any difference, and decided to use the other thing he had discovered to find out.

This final discovery was an easy way to locate those that were blessed. It was so simple, Seth could not believe he had not realized it sooner. So long as someone was calling upon their blessing, and the power was provided by the god they worshipped, a tendril of power, barely perceptible, connected them to the heavens. With his blessed vision, these tendrils appeared like a collection of a dozen or so strands from a spider’s web and could not be seen at all at a distance. All Seth had to do was locate those with abilities, study this portion of their aura and compare them. This should provide him some of the answers he sought, and maybe even unlock that which he needed to ensure that Valdadore survived the upcoming battle. Seth knew exactly where to start looking as he himself had given the order for all the battle mages to come to this very street to lend a hand. Turning, Seth easily located his next target for study, and began to move in that direction when something brushed his leg.

Looking down Seth was surprised to find a toddler clinging to his robes. The boy smiled up at Seth, pointing a stubby finger at him. Seth vaguely recalled seeing the small boy with the young mother who had been watching the performance on the street, enthralled. Reaching down, Seth collected the small boy into his arms, afraid he could become separated from his mother in the surrounding crowd. Standing again, Seth looked from the boy to the mother, seeing their resemblance immediately, and was surprised when the small boy spoke to him.

“My daddy,” the toddler blurted.

“No no,” Seth replied quickly. “I am not your daddy!”

“My daddy,” he repeated, wriggling his little body to turn away from Seth as his chubby little arm shot out. The toddler pointed to the young battle mage in the street and Seth finally understood. Comparing once again, Seth noted that the boy resembled his father more than his mother, and looking around the crowd, Seth was astonished to see the multitudes of worried and disgusted looks that had fallen upon him. Now too the mother of the child turned, and seeing her child in Seth’s arms she gasped as she mouthed silent words, tears welling up in her eyes. Seth could not believe the people’s ignorant fear of him nor their distrust, but approaching the young mother, Seth handed the boy over to her. Grasping the toddler, half panicking, the mother hugged the child tightly, clinging to his small body.

“He is a brave boy,” Seth stated calmly. “He resembles his father very much.”

The mother stood glaring at Seth a moment as his words sunk in. Her anger seemed to dissipate slightly as fear consumed her, but even afraid the mother felt she had no choice but to speak to the dark prince.

“Brave how?” she asked. “What have you done to my boy?”

“Done to him?” Seth questioned. “I’ve done nothing to the child, I assure you. Nor would I, for that matter, unless it was asked of me. Why do the people of Valdadore fear me so? Have I done something to them that warrants such fear?”

Around him some heads shook from side to side while others bobbed up and down. The people had no clue why they were afraid, it seemed. They simply reacted to the stories they were told, and Seth felt it was time to set the story straight.

“Your majesty?” The woman asked, unsure how to answer his question without offending him.

“Yes, I can kill with a thought. Yes, I can create monsters of men like Captain Jonas here,” Seth paused to turn and face the large wolfman for a second. “Yes, I can bring the mighty to their knees and not even I know my true limitations. But…what have I done to you people here, in this street, to warrant your fear of me?” Seth asked.

“Nothing,” replied the young mother, ashamed of her actions. Now too the young mage came to wrap his arms around her and their child. Many among the crowd showed the same shame upon their faces. They each now realized that Seth had done nothing to them, nor did they have anything to fear from him. These few people now realized that, like them, Seth was a man of the kingdom. He fought the same enemies, felt the same hardships, and struggled alongside everyone else in his path to his destiny. They were all the same. It was a realization that ran through the crowd like wildfire, and even Seth was caught up in the blaze for a moment as the truth struck him. It was something that would need discussing with his brother, something vastly important. However, for the moment the thought would be lost to Seth as Jonas gripped his shoulder.

Seth spun to meet the gaze of the great wolfman and saw anger flashing across his face as he bared his teeth. Composing himself once more the werewolf relayed the message he had just received to Seth.

“The men have found the source of the scent of blood, my prince,” Jonas growled, attempting to contain his obvious rage. “The king and his men were attacked in the night. It appears that only your brother survives.”

*****

While Seth received the news of his brother at midday, Borrik was racing eastward at an alarming speed. He split his focus upon two different tasks as he ran; the first was his path and footing, the second was communication from the pack. He was far away from any others of his kind, and yet he could still pick up occasional images from them and decipher them together with their attached emotions. The last image he received was of his master, cloaked in black robes, holding a small child to his chest. That was near half an hour ago, and Borrik recognized the location within Valdadore. He could not believe the distance at which he was still able to intercept thoughts shared by his pack and assumed that it must be another result of Sara’s biting him. The enhancements he had received from that single bite had been wondrous, and Borrik wished that she had bitten him sooner.

Borrik raced on and soon spotted something familiar upon the horizon at nearly the same time that he picked up the scent. He doubted his eyes at first, wondering how it was possible that he could catch up to the pair who had left the city a full day ahead of him. None the less, as the miles disappeared beneath his feet, Borrik assured himself that he was not mistaken. Ahead of him raced Zorbin, the Knight of Valdadore, upon his dire wolf mount, and the king’s young lover, Linaya. Borrik was gaining on the pair quickly, and not wanting to spook their mounts, he changed his path to circle them slightly so that he would come into view before approaching them.

Moments later, Borrik slowed down to match speed with the mounts, and loped towards them, his hand held up in greeting. Both Linaya and Zorbin hailed him in return, and keeping their course allowed the charcoal-colored werewolf to fall into step between their mounts.

“Hail Borrik!” Zorbin shouted over the tumult of the horses’ beating strides. “Did Prince Seth send you to escort us?”

“No Master Zorbin, I head east upon another mission entirely,” Borrik replied. “I just wanted to be sure you and the lady fared…” Borrik stopped dead in his tracks, digging his clawed feet into the soil. So abrupt was his stop that both Zorbin and Linaya found themselves looking back over their shoulders a moment before each decided to rein in their mounts and turn to see what it was that had given the great beast of a man pause.

“What is it Borrik?” Zorbin asked as he and Zanth closed in on the alpha werewolf.

“The king was attacked.” Borrik answered simply, awaiting his own answers from the pack. It was Linaya who responded first.

“Is Garret all right? Who or what attacked him? Is he safe?” Linaya asked along with a dozen other questions filled with panic.

“I do not know yet,” Borrik replied simply. “I am far from the pack, and communication is slow at this distance. All I have seen is an image of Garret’s face, lots of blood and a Valdadorian knight in armor upon the blood-soaked ground.”

Zorbin grumbled something incoherent as Borrik stood like a statue, one ear lifted to the wind as if the subliminal messages he sought would carry better to him upon the air. A moment later Borrik’s expression changed again, this time becoming more curious than concerned.

“What is it?” Linaya demanded.

“The king lives, though all of the knights in his retinue, save one, were lost,” Borrik replied. “At least that is what I make of it from this distance.”

“We’re going back,” Linaya stated and turned her mount as if to do just that.

“No m’lady. If the king stands than so too do his orders. Attacked or not, our orders are to visit Boulder Gate,” the dwarf responded.

“But I should have stayed!” Linaya cried, angry tears welling up in her eyes. “I could have helped him.”

“How?” Zorbin asked. “Would you fight off the kingdom’s enemies with a pretty smile?

“We each have our orders, Lady Linaya,” Borrik stated. “Know this; the king lives and has asked a boon of you. It is your duty to carry out his wishes, and by doing so, perhaps you will save his life and many more in the days to come. None of us knows what the future holds, and until we do, we can only carry out that which was presented to us today.” Borrik sounded more like a priest than a warrior.

Linaya knew herself foolish, and accepted Borrik’s words at face value. For a monster of a man he was wise, and his counsel was probably right. Linaya would stick to the plan and do everything she was able to bring dwarven aid back to the kingdom.

“Is there anything else you can share with us before we part Borrik?” Linaya asked, her resolve restored once more.

“Aye, be careful,” Borrik replied. “Last night Sara was attacked by an assassin, and also the king and his knights were assaulted. It is likely that more attacks will come, so be vigilant.”

Without another word, Borrik nodded to the dwarf in respect, then putting his clawed toes to the soil he sprinted away at incredible speed, heading once again eastward, directly towards the mountains. Linaya and Zorbin watched him go for several minutes as he slowly vanished to nothing in the distance. Once again they resumed their own trek in hopes of finding an ally in the dwarven nation.

*****

After the battle with the black horseman, Garret at first had no notion of what to do. For a moment, a very long and painful moment, Garret was ready to give in to defeat. Though he no longer saw any possibility of vanquishing their foe, having lost the vast majority of his battle champions, he forced himself to keep going. As King of Valdadore, he was the only person who was never allowed to give up. It was up to him to push on when no one else could; it was up to him to lead his kingdom into war even if it meant certain death. Even death was better than slavery. Garret also knew that he could not do it alone, and fortunately he did not need to. It was this thought that brought Garret back from the brink; the thought of all those he loved, all those who needed him to persevere even when everything seemed lost. Though his mighty knights had been decimated, and his powerful red-robed battle mage Vladmere had defected, going instead to join the enemy, there was still a sliver of hope. After all, he himself was a formidable warrior, and his brother was the most lethal mage history could even recall. This very moment the armies of Valdadore were swelling with those who heeded the call of the kingdom, and if the gods were with them, even the woman he loved would succeed. Garret prayed that Linaya would be successful, knowing that without the aid of allies their chances of survival were small.

So it was that once again Garret took up his shovel. Calling upon his blessing he exploded in size. Carefully over the next several hours Garret dug each of his comrades a deep grave. There was no use now to bring them back to the city, there was no time to honor them properly. Out of necessity Garret dug them each a tomb and one by one he hefted their small bodies from the ground and placed them each within one. Saying a prayer to Gorandor, Garret once again retrieved his shovel and began to cover the bodies of his fallen comrades. These were men that just months ago he thought to be invincible; men that just hours ago he counted on to carry out his plans. Throughout the morning Garret buried each one within the ground, saying prayers and recalling what few memories he could of them all.

Just before midday Garret lowered Horace into his grave and paused to pray as he had done for each of his knights. Closing his eyes Garret began to whisper, but was interrupted as a cough sounded from directly below him. His eyes popping open, Garret looked down into the grave at his feet and watched as Horace moved slightly and a moan escaped his lips. Garret could hardly believe that he lived. The unholy blast that should have ended his life had taken one of his legs clean off, yet Horace still refused to die. Garret could not help but grin as he lifted his comrade from the hole and sat him once again upon the soil. Closing off the power provided by his god, Garret shimmered slightly and returned to his normal size with a pop. He kneeled before Horace, still not entirely believing he was alive.  The knight opened his eyes.

“I must still live,” Horace gasped, his voice sounding weak.

“Yes, you do,” Garret smiled, “though I do not know how.”

“You forget who you are talking to,” the knight replied in jest. “Had I not dreamed you were about to bury me, would I still be alive?”

“For a few moments,” Garret laughed. “At least, until you suffocated.”

“You see, even in my sleep I evade death.” Horace’s joking words were followed by a round of coughing.