In the sky above the battle, Seth observed two great beasts that circled through the air currents and updrafts. With his huge leathery wings flapping, Seth’s greatest creation, Borrik, commanded his troops from the air. Not only was Borrik the alpha among Seth’s werewolf troops, but he was also at present Seth’s closest friend and trusted guardian. He was one of the most fearsome warriors upon the battlefield, and certainly the most frightening.
Winging low to cleave men in two with his enchanted swords, the four-armed werewolf would then rise into the air before lancing fireballs into his enemies. Seth had blessed him well. With his vantage from above, Borrik could command his troops flawlessly and warn them of impending dangers. When the men encountered more than they could handle, Borrik could lend himself to the fight from above and even out the odds. Yet Borrik was not the only one in the skies this day.
With the wolven monstrosity of a warrior flew a female vision unlike any other on Thurr. Though her torso retained the appearance of her humanity, the twenty-foot-tall woman was more bird of prey than human. Her legs and head were covered in feathers, and great wings like a hawk’s sprouted from her back. A sharp beak snapped and clicked while she flew, and as she swooped low into the enemy, she grasped her foes in her talons before winging away again. Once secure, high above Sigrant’s army, she released those she carried to rain down upon their brethren. Though deadly and effective these were but two of Seth’s creations.
Seth still had a hundred and twelve werewolves who were temporarily blessed with increased size and strength, as well as other troops that were blessed likewise. Even with so many, his brother’s army had been outmatched and outclassed. Now he simply hoped he could keep what troops he had alive as they retreated back to the city of Valdadore. He had no idea what Garret had in mind, so for now he shouted to Jonas, one of his werewolf captains, to have the men gather before they began their retreat. Instantly he saw that the order had been relayed telepathically among his troops. As if of one mind, each and every one of his men began to converge upon him. All of them cleaved a path with blade, teeth, and claws. They were a menacing sight, and Seth was beyond proud of them.
He watched as the kingdom’s battle mages, the furthest from the front lines, began to turn and flee. Even the blessed Knights of Valdadore and Sara made their way back out of the lines of enemy troops. Only one man did not yet intend to fall back. That man was the king.
* * * * *
All of his best laid plans destroyed, the King of Valdadore found himself with few options. Garret knew that the survival of the kingdom depended on him. It was but one of the things that weighed upon his mind.
He waded through the enemy, hacking and stabbing at everything that moved. Beneath his feet he stomped a gory path of destruction, spewing blood and other fluids out in every direction with each step. Garret’s mind was at the brink. He saw no way of winning this war. With nothing to guide his thoughts but fear he continued his bloody passage, a malicious chuckle escaping his lips.
The deeds he performed were gruesome. Those who witnessed the king’s unending slaughter fled him. By all accounts the chuckling murderer was a madman, and in truth it was not that far from reality. Though Garret would like nothing better than to let go of all his fears and un-shoulder the burdens of the kingdom, one thought held his sanity in check. Linaya. She was perhaps perfection incarnate and for every imperfection Garret had, she was his opposite. Together, Linaya made Garret stronger, more sure of himself, more complete. It was the memory of her, and the fear of never seeing her again, that led Garret to restrain himself. More than a kingdom relied on him. He had sworn to look after Linaya and beyond that had fallen in love with her. He had sworn to protect the kingdom, and so he would. Garret steeled his resolve.
Blinking his eyes to clear his vision, Garret viewed the battlefield around him. The addition of Seth’s many blessed troops had saved them all. Garret knew not how his brother had managed such a feat of creating his own champions, nor what the cost was to sustain them. What he did know was that his brother had lost near half his forces already, and at the current pace of the battle would lose them all within the next few hours. Seth’s created champions were simply not enough to hold off the forces sworn to the invading king. With only two knights remaining to his own credit, the forces of Valdadore were too diminished to fight in open battle. Garret had to come up with a solution.
Continuing to hack through his foes, ignoring the occasional magical blast that struck his steel skin, Garret plowed on through the foot troops of the enemy, taking mental notes of the strengths and weaknesses of the opposing forces. Many moments later, after having come to a decision, Garret did the only thing he could do in good conscience. Taking a deep breath he tilted his head back and called a full retreat once again. His voice boomed across the battlefield, echoing off something in the distance before bouncing back to his ears again.
* * * * *
King Robert Sigrant sat upon his black stallion far from the battle that raged across the lake. Messengers came in a steady stream to relay the happenings upon the front lines. As expected they had taken the enemy completely by surprise, slaughtering over a thousand troops in the first five seconds of the battle. The young foolish King of Valdadore had then panicked and called a retreat. It was relayed to King Sigrant that it was the king’s brother, the so-called death mage, who had defied the order and commanded an attack.
Valdadore’s leadership was divided. Sigrant grinned.
Another messenger brought him word that the common troops of the enemy had retreated, leaving only the blessed behind. Could the day get any better?
Giving his orders he waited patiently. His assassins had made it into the fight. However, the enemy had hundreds more blessed soldiers than the treacherous mage Vladmere had made out. All of them, it seemed, were unnatural beasts, obviously belonging to the mage prince.
Then another messenger came.
“Your majesty, all of your assassins are lost,” the messenger reported.
“All of them?”
“Yes, but they managed to take half of the giant wolfmen with them.”
“Half?” Sigrant asked. “Only half?”
“Yes, your majesty, many of them were turned to ash by the mage prince,” the messenger answered.
King Sigrant shook his head. It had taken two decades to gather the assassins. Now all of them were gone. Fortunately for him, they were but one wave of the blessed troops he had in store. Sigrant had hoped they would be the only wave he needed, leaving the common troops to mop up the mess, but he had underestimated the enemy. He would not make that mistake again. Mages thus far had seen the best results, melee troops not so much. Without further thought he gave another order.
“Send in the mid-levels.”
“Yes, your majesty,” the messenger replied before bowing low and darting back into the crowd.
Sigrant could not believe the young king had come out to meet him upon the field. He had guts. Unfortunately, for the young king, he would spill them upon the ground soon enough. Sigrant waited for the next messenger.
Not more than an hour passed and yet another message of import was relayed. Valdadore had begun a full retreat. Sigrant smiled.
“Harry their lines, give them no reprieve. Don’t stop until all are dead. Bring me the king’s head.”
“Yes, your majesty,” the messenger nodded.
Another fifteen minutes and the army began to lurch forward once again. To either side of Sigrant his ice mages focused upon their task of keeping the lake solid.
Sigrant’s kingdom was large, fully ten times bigger than Valdadore. He had discovered years ago that those blessed with power were becoming more and more powerful. Each year, those born with the gift were stronger than the year before. Two decades ago he had offered an incentive. For every child a couple had they were rewarded with coin. For every child with the ability to wield magic surrendered into the service of the kingdom, the parents were given land.
/> Births increased tenfold. The kingdom’s population exploded. Sigrant grew rich in those with blessings, although the kingdom was now scarce in farm land. More food was needed, and Valdadore was a land of rich soil. Sigrant needed Valdadore in order to continue expanding his kingdom.
The previous King of Valdadore could not have chosen a better time to perish and leave a child behind to rule in his stead. This was a war a lifetime in the making for the new young king to face. He didn’t stand a chance, and for that, Sigrant smiled.
Half an hour later Sigrant rode his stallion over the threshold between frozen lake and beach. Proof of the carnage unleashed here was evident everywhere. The ice itself was red. Though the vast majority of corpses had been crushed beneath the feet of his army, pieces still remained of those fallen. The king stopped to appraise one such remnant for himself.
The head was much as the traitor Vladmere had described to him. It was canine in appearance with a shortened muzzle and sweeping forehead. The flesh was covered in entirety with a coat of short fur. The mage prince was said to have created this race of wolfmen. Sigrant wanted the mage for himself. He could use such power. None could resist Sigrant’s offer either. He should try and set up a meeting with the young prince before he fell to Sigrant’s soldiers. Signaling a runner he gave the command to try and spare Prince Seth, at least for now.
Ahead, a great circle of ash and charred earth bore witness to the power of the death mage. Even now, Sigrant’s troops circumvented the place, fearful of touching the ashy remains of those lost. Some thought the ground holy, others feared it as being cursed. Sigrant pulled on the reins of his stallion. Leading the animal towards the ash, many slowed in their march to see what would become of their king. Uncertainty even showed upon the faces of the King’s Guardians as they followed him into the ash. Just when all expected him to perish on reaching the center of the giant circle, nothing happened.
Looking back to the soldiers sworn to protect him, King Sigrant shrugged his shoulders before urging his mount forward once more. Another messenger darted between the lines of troops.
* * * * *
Sara was a vision sickening to behold. Blood clots from those she had fed upon clung to her chin and neck where even now crimson stains shone wet upon her flesh. Though most died upon her enchanted swords, feeding her life with each blow, many had fallen to her thirst. Alone, Sara had killed more than a hundred troops. Even with the constant exertion she felt better with every passing moment. With each kill she became more powerful. With each drop of blood she was pleasured with, her lust was temporarily satiated.
She spun amongst her foes like a dancer upon a stage, twirling and leaping to a tune none but she could hear. Voices cried out around her, some gurgling, and others screaming in agonizing pain, their bodies falling to the ground like so many puppets with cut strings. Yet still she appeared weightless, a vision of perfect grace and agility. So quickly she moved, the blood from her blades rained down upon the air like pink mist wherever she passed. Constantly in motion, Sara swept amongst her enemies, avoiding stray beams of sunlight, fortunate it was a cold, overcast day.
Hearing the call for retreat she sought out the only one she cared for, still standing upon the field. Finding Seth’s eyes she altered her path. Spinning and leaping she carved a broken trail of gore and blood as she made her way back to her husband’s side.
It came as much of a surprise when, landing from a leap, one of Sigrant’s soldiers acted by instinct and before Sara could rend him in two, the man slashed wildly at her face. Sara felt the force of the blow. She felt flesh flay from bone as the blade slid down her eye and cheek. Momentarily her vision turned red before it was lost, and hot, wet blood poured from the wound. With more strength than she knew she could muster Sara reacted instantaneously and backhanded the man. His helm crumpled beneath the blow as his head was torn from his body and sent careening over those closest to him. Blood sprayed upwards from his neck into the open air. All of his comrades nearby pushed and shoved to make a wide berth around her. They imagined her a demon.
Before the head landed amongst the feet of his allies, Sara stood amazed as her vision returned. Reaching up to appraise the wound she was astonished to find it completely mended. So engorged upon blood was she, and so full of life, the injury had healed almost immediately. Though it had not been a fatal one, Sara could not help but wonder how much further she would have to go to become invincible. She loved not being the helpless girl she had been just mere months before.
Her husband was responsible for the change, and again Sara felt urged to show him her appreciation. She supposed, however, that such affections would be inappropriate for the battlefield. Sara returned to slashing her way through the enemy who appeared to move slower and slower with each and every life she ended.
Moments later Sara stood exactly where she belonged. With her husband at her side, the two, now surrounded by giant werewolves, moved away from the field of battle on a course to intercept the King of Valdadore.
* * * * *
Garret fought on, peering deep into the enemy forces, hoping to see an end. Dismayed, it seemed to him that the invading army stretched on into eternity. The foot soldiers he waded through now were but the first ranks of the army. He could kill them ten to twenty at a swipe, but even so it would take him a day or more just to get through these most basic of troops.
Decided upon a path, Garret turned to assure himself that all had heeded his orders and removed themselves from the surging tide of Sigrant’s soldiers. He needed to speak with his brother immediately, and beyond that the generals to his army and his counselors as well. His plan was not a complex one, but he hoped it would be effective.
Over the next hour all of Valdadore’s blessed champions extracted themselves from the enemy lines. Fighting as they retreated, they managed to put some space between themselves and the enemy, though the gap would close within minutes. However, minutes was all Garret needed to share his plan, and as his forces converged upon a single point, he used the precious time to dispatch orders to all who would need them.
“Seth, I have a plan,” Garret stated to a replied nod. “I need your champions to fight alongside my knights. We will retreat back to the city, slowing the enemy every step of the way.”
“To what end?” Seth asked, uncertain of his brother’s intentions.
“From all over Valdadore people come to take shelter in the city. We have to buy them as much time as we are able lest they be trapped outside the walls with the enemy,” Garret replied.
Heads nodded in understanding from all those that gathered. The king was thinking of his people.
“Can you spare a couple of your men as messengers?” Garret asked his twin.
“Yes.”
“Then send word to Felonus to have his archers regroup and form a line. When the enemy comes into range they are to fire a handful of volleys, then fall back a mile and regroup again. Send word to the battle mages as well; tell them they can join the archers under Felonus’s command. Let’s show Sigrant that we won’t be herded as easily as sheep. We’ll make him fight for every inch, but we have to use caution. We must slow the enemy’s approach, but we can afford to lose no one. Look out for each other; be aware of your surroundings. We have no idea what else Sigrant will throw at us. Fight wisely.”
Those were the king’s orders. Instantly, Seth’s troops were all notified as a pair of giant wolfmen raced off to find the fleeing archers. Seth looked to his brother’s worried face one last time before he turned to play his role. Garret appeared worn, as if the past hours had aged him. Seth wondered how much more his brother could handle.
Turning on his heel, Seth decided it was best to concentrate on carrying out his twin’s orders. The mission was to slow the advance of the invading army. It was now only a few hours after daybreak. Unimpeded, the foot troops of Sigrant could make it to Valdadore by nightfall. Seth had no intention of leaving them unimpeded. Thus he stood and waited as the gap between himse
lf and the enemy narrowed.
Seth watched as Borrik crashed down among the enemy, landing heavily upon their bodies. He lashed out with blade and magical fire, sending soldiers screaming in panic in all directions. Within seconds a small circle of destruction remained as Borrik took flight once again. Where Borrik left off, his flying female counterpart, Eve, took over. Down she swooped at those who had fled Borrik, and snatching a pair of the retreating foot soldiers up, she ripped them apart with her talons before letting them fall once again. Over and over the scene replayed itself as the distance between the forces slowly shrank.
Seth reached out with his mind and connected with his remaining troops. He infused each of them with power to sustain their blessings further. The kingdom needed his champions to save those who were defenseless. Yet what good were they really doing, killing these humans in order to save other humans? Did it really make a difference? Lost in his thoughts he absently watched as his men broke ranks and charged their nearest enemies. There they tore with teeth and claws, their blades and might, through the ranks of Sigrant’s soldiers, careful to remain near the front lines.
The Knights of Valdadore waded back into the fray as well. Slowly, as intended, the defending Valdadorians fell back, little by little, giving ground as needed but slowing the invading army to a crawl. Borrik relayed information from the air to Jonas at Seth’s side, who told his master of the enemies’ progress. Seth focused himself on the task at hand.
Action upon the battlefield was finally going as planned, or at least that was what everyone presumed, until Borrik relayed a message from the air to his master of an impending danger that threatened to destroy them all.
Chapter two
Linaya, the King of Valdadore’s wife-to-be, and Zorbin Ironfist, his most trusted knight, awoke in darkness the morning Valdadore first met its foes. The entire day previous they had spent traversing tunnels bored through the mountain range known as the Rancor Mountains. Hour after long hour the pair were led through one dark passage after another, ever downward.
Age of the Gods: The Complete, twelve novel, fantasy series (The Blood and Brotherhood Saga) Page 106