King Sigrant awoke an unknown amount of time later. He remained in his tent. Raising his arms he was glad to find he had both of them again. He clutched his neck and the wound there was gone too. His abdomen was perfect. His wives had been removed, the tent cleaned. It appeared as if nothing had transpired at all. Sun shone through the thinner material that formed the top of his tent. It had not been a dream as there upon the fabric was the evidence. Where once had been a tear, new stitching closed the gap in a hasty repair.
Sigrant rose from his bed. He wanted answers.
Already wearing trousers, Sigrant strode outside to find his camp coated in snow. The guards outside his tent snapped to attention, their faces grim, worried. The head of his healers was there as well, so he knew it was she who had saved him.
“Your majesty,” the head mistress bowed. “We caught one!” she added excitedly.
“One of my attackers? Yes I saw, they tore him to pieces and the other got away I presume,” Sigrant replied.
“No, my king, one of the other creatures that attacked you and your wives,” she said, hoping to trigger his memory.
“The beast who bit me?” Sigrant asked.
“No, he died my king, and lucky for you too,” she replied. “We have much to discuss. I am already beginning to understand how this epidemic is spreading.”
* * * * *
Sara sat looking down upon the previous day’s battlefield and the huge sprawling encampment beyond it. The air was cold and snow still fell; the ground and everything else was blanketed in the stuff. Large ominous clouds were in the sky, but no longer directly overhead. In fact, for the most part, the sky was clear. Sara awaited the sun.
In mere moments it would rise and Sara hoped that those she’d created would be caught out in its rays and perish more quickly than they had been spawned. Three generations had arisen during the night, the third just barely so. Good thing too, for there were more than a thousand of them. Near a dozen had turned to over two hundred, then those had already spawned many hundreds more. Sara expected the number to double in the next hour or two. She hoped Sigrant would call his troops to muster before that time. The more that were caught out in the sun, the better. They were monsters, like her.
Sara waited as the horizon grew brighter and brighter but a moment before the sun rose she found herself no longer alone.
“Princess, you would do well to don your helm before the sun rises,” Jonas said from behind her.
The large beast of a man had managed to walk right up on her without her noticing. She needed to focus. Seth needed her to focus.
“I no longer have a helm Jonas, but thank you for your concern,” Sara replied.
Rising to her feet and deciding she had better find a cloak or cape with a cowl, Sara turned to find Jonas closing the gap between them. His large fur-covered body stood in stark contrast to the blanket of snow around him. In his hand he held her helm. One of the troops must have recovered it after she discarded the thing. From now on she would not fight without it. She could not risk biting anyone else.
Thanking the beast of a man, Sara accepted the helm that had obviously been cleaned and polished. She placed it over her head, snapping the visor shut just as the sun broke the horizon.
Hundreds of miniscule connections were instantly ripped away. Sara wept silently within her armor. It was the exact opposite of feeding upon someone. Dark, cold, devoid of life and pleasure, the absence of emotion flowed through Sara making her feel empty and less than worthless. She suffered it in silence as she and Jonas regarded each other through crimson lenses. More upsetting still, over a third had survived. They would continue to spread. With nothing more to look forward to, she placed her hand upon Jonas’ fur covered shoulder in thanks, and stepped past him to see about her husband.
* * * * *
It was not a long or difficult process that Seth chose for his surrogate father and family friend. In fact, one of the auras he used to alter them he had been reserving since magically transporting himself halfway across the world. The other had been brought to him.
When calling upon his blessing in the past, James would grow from six and a half feet to over forty. Seth wondered how big he would get now that he was near double his original height in his unblessed form. Stepping back out of his dad’s immense shadow, Seth craned his neck back to appraise his work.
James was almost twelve feet tall with four massive arms and a chest as wide as two ox carts. His skin was thick and leathery, with creases and cracks. Where his nose had been stood a large horn, and below it his nostrils. From his forehead sprouted yet another horn and his fingers and toes had become thicker and stronger as well. Though he was not as invincible as his son the king, James’s new attributes made him nearly as immune to physical harm.
Jack was altered identically. Although naturally smaller than James, and smaller too in blessed form, the fact that he could split into a pair of warriors made his transformation dually impressive. Seth, satisfied with his work, allowed the pair to go about the business of trying to find weapons suitable to their new size. Seth doubted they would find anything but wished them both luck.
Sitting down, Seth watched the world grow brighter around him, and cautious with his eyes, he pulled his cowl down low as the sun broke the horizon. With the freshly fallen snow he could not look in the sun’s direction at all. Without another option, Seth closed his eyes, switching to his vision of the gods just in time to see Sara approaching from behind.
“How went your night, my love?” Seth asked without so much as turning to see who approached.
“It was terrible, but I pray for a better today,” Sara replied.
“So you pray now, do you?” Seth asked jokingly. “Which god has your devotion?”
“You Seth, you and only you,” Sara told him, sitting down beside her husband. “Do you think we can defeat the gods and Sigrant in a single battle?”
“I don’t know, but I doubt it,” Seth answered earnestly.
“What will it take?” Sara asked.
“Every leader of every nation to get along. All wars have to stop. That’s the only way to show the gods that we are in charge of our own destinies,” Seth said, his shoulders sagging.
Many minutes of silence passed as Sara leaned into her husband, cuddling as best as she was able with him. Before long Borrik winged in overhead and settled to the ground as Jonas came trotting up as well.
“My prince,” Borrik began, “your brother is returning with the army of Valdadore. He is going to try a new tactic and see if we can hold the enemy at bay. He is as yet unaware of your father’s alteration.”
“Very well Borrik, shall we head to the front lines then?” Seth asked.
“If you wish, master.”
Seth nodded slowly, tired yet without the need or desire to sleep. It was his soul that was weary. Standing, Seth pulled Sara to her feet, though she obviously needed no help, and together the four walked back to the field of battle. Many of Seth’s troops awaited his arrival. Others showed up each minute. Beyond his troops all of his created champions where there as well, minus his father and Jack. Each of them had been told that their purpose was to hold back the common troops of Sigrant, and slay only the champions. Seth hoped they all stuck to the plan. He also hoped his brother had not changed it.
The enemy approached from the opposite side. Only moments remained.
* * * * *
King Sigrant listened as his head cleric explained her theories. He was intent, like her, to discover exactly what was going on, and further, how he could use it to his advantage.
“As far as we can tell, your majesty, it works much like a disease,” the woman named Salidaran explained. “Think of it as a magical virus.”
“Very well,” nodded the king.
“When a person is bitten they contract the disease, and a short period later our healers can do nothing for them. The disease itself does not kill those infected though. We have made a discovery, and as it turns ou
t, those infected cannot withstand the sun. It kills them in about a minute,” the cleric said, so giddy with excitement that she nearly clapped.
“So they get bitten, get infected and, like a rabid dog, bite others. Then, they all walk into the sun and poof, they are all dead?” Sigrant asked, skeptical.
“Yes, but we have discovered even more amazing things about the disease,” she responded, then carried on without awaiting the king’s approval. “Your majesty, the disease also has benefits. It makes those infected heal more quickly; it makes them stronger, faster, and more agile too. It is like creating your own champions simply by having the infected ones bite others!”
“So let me get this straight. The virus makes normal people into magnificent warriors, but also makes it so the sun kills them and they feed upon everyone else uncontrollably?” Sigrant asked mockingly.
“Yes, your majesty, but it can be stopped without killing all those infected,” she added to entice him to listen further.
“How so?”
“When you were bitten, the disease began to spread through your body just as it had already through your wives. Had I arrived seconds later you would have died as the disease would have blocked my healing abilities. Except the disease vanished. When the infected man in your tent succumbed to the wound in his heart, all those he had infected, such as yourself and your wives, were cured. I managed to heal you all with little effort. All your wives are alive and well, your majesty,” Salidaran exclaimed.
“So we hunt down the original thirteen infected to spare the rest,” Sigrant summarized, assuming that was the cleric’s plan.
“We could, my king, but at present we are doing some experiments with the one we captured,” she stated.
“What kind of experiments?” the king asked but before the head cleric could reply a junior mage rushed around the corner shouting, “You were right, head mistress! You were right! Feeding and transmitting the disease does make them stronger!”
King Sigrant glared at the young mage, seriously considering having the man put to death for his interruption. Then, realizing what it was the boy had said, pieces of a great puzzle slid into place in his calculating mind.
“Explain yourself, whelp!” the king demanded.
“Apologies, my king. We have been feeding him, and with each person he infects he grows stronger,” the boy explained.
“Where is he now?” Sigrant asked.
“He has escaped, my king. He grew so strong he bent the bars to his cage, but we still have the ones he infected,” the young cleric responded.
“Leave me. I need to think and I have a battle to oversee.”
Chapter Seven
Linaya and Zorbin both awoke refreshed. Over the last weeks they had become accustomed to sleeping upon the ground so the beds were a welcome change. Rising, both of them dressed, and with nothing better to do they waited for Gumbi to return and take them to meet the king.
Linaya found the dwarven hierarchy interesting and, in the absence of other matters to discuss that they had not already spoken of, she voiced her questions.
“Zorbin, how are the dwarves ruled?” Linaya asked and then continued as if to clarify, “I mean, without a royal council, how are the duties of the kingdom divided?”
“A good question, m’lady,” Zorbin replied. “It is simple really. Many, many generations ago when dwarves first came to these mountains, there were twelve different clans. Each clan had a chief. Today each of those clans is a warren, and each warren is overseen by a thane. The king rules the thanes.”
“And the king is chosen in a fight to the death?” Linaya questioned.
“Long story short, yes,” Zorbin replied with a smirk.
“So, all the candidates get locked in a room and a few hours later the last man standing is crowned the king,” Linaya stated more than asked.
“Short version not enough for ye, huh?” Zorbin joked. “Thought the purdy ones wasn’t sposed to think none?”
Linaya laughed so hard she snorted. “I thought I was so ugly it might be contagious?”
This time it was Zorbin’s turn to laugh.
“To be honest, it is infinitely more complex than a simple fight to the death. Imagine a giant chamber filled with everything two people need to survive. Now imagine you put twelve people in the room. There are supplies in the room to do just about anything, but not enough for everyone. Some might gather the food and horde it, while others find a place they can defend easily. Others yet might begin by seeking weapons and armor. Some may share and barter, while some might fight for what they want. It takes every skill each of them has to survive the trial, and actually two come out alive. One has to accede to the other’s leadership. This part, in the past, has taken weeks. Supplies in the chamber are limited, but two have to survive. Once out of supplies it is a battle of attrition. The weaker will eventually give in and the stronger will assume the throne. It is not a ritual that happens frequently as we dwarves live longer than you humans, but it has been known to take a month or more when the warrens have chosen their candidates well.”
“By the gods, what is the shortest amount of time it has taken?” Linaya asked, concerned.
“Nine seconds,” Zorbin replied smiling. “My great-great-grandfather was the first into the chamber. First thing he grabbed was a pick axe. Killed ten men in about seven seconds, as soon as they climbed through the portal. Only took two more to convince his last opponent to give up.”
“Oh my,” Linaya exclaimed.
“Never missed a meal to home neither!” Zorbin announced proudly.
“That’s not the way I heard it!” Gumbi said, striding into the room. “I seem to recall it was eleven seconds, maybe fourteen.” The dwarf smiled through his immense beard.
“T’was it not for my great-great-grandfather being so convincing, Ol’ Gumbi here might not’ve been around today,” Zorbin proclaimed.
“Truly Gumbi? Your great-great-grandfather was the last survivor to stand before Zorbin’s and he acceded to his rule?” Linaya asked, enthralled.
“Tis true, but how could he not with the man standin’ in the way with an ole pickaxe?” Gumbi questioned.
“What was your great-great-grandfather’s name, Gumbi?” Linaya asked.
“T’was Gumbi as well, the seventeenth methinks,” Gumbi replied.
“If you don’t mind my asking, what does your name mean in the human tongue?” Linaya queried. She found dwarven culture exhilarating.
“Roughly it be meanin' man who walks with a swollen chest,” Gumbi answered.
Linaya could not stifle a giggle.
“Hey now there, lady, ‘tis a proud name among my people,” Gumbi said, almost sternly. “If ye wants a laugh, ask ole Zorbin what his name be meanin’ in your tongue.”
“Zorbin?” Linaya asked.
“I ain’t sayin,” Zorbin replied.
“Oh come now, Zorbin, ole swollen chest told me his,” she giggled again.
“Fine,” Zorbin relented. “It means, he with bearded nipples and a bald bottom.”
Linaya was overcome again and began laughing. Within seconds all three laughed, but even so Gumbi had one last tidbit to add.
“Funny thing is, ole bearded nipples here is named after his mother!” Gumbi cried before he rocked back on his heels laughing so hard his beard and belly bounced with the action.
Linaya, moments later, had to pull herself up from the floor. She had laughed so hard her legs began to tremble and she barely avoided peeing herself.
* * * * *
King Robert Sigrant stood looking out upon his army. He watched as the opposing force moved into position and suddenly had a change of heart. It had been his intention to destroy the champions of Valdadore, for they were really the only thing standing in his way. Now, however, seeing how it appeared the young king of Valdadore was trying to protect the bulk of his army behind the front lines, Sigrant decided to change tactics.
Raising his hand the king signaled a messenger.
>
“Tell the generals to ignore Valdadore’s champions, and better yet, avoid them altogether. Strike the main force of the Valdadorian army.”
The messenger bowed, and turned to dash off between soldiers, racing as fast as his legs would carry him to the front lines.
By now the young fool king would believe him dead. Sigrant smiled.
* * * * *
Tommy raced right past the champions of Valdadore, looking to report to King Garret himself. Leaping high into the air he looked around and spotted the young king not but a few hundred yards to the west. Changing direction, just a few bounds later and Tommy stood before the king.
“The deed is done, your majesty!” Tommy nearly yelled.
“You are certain?” Garret asked, believing the war would now end as the opposing army would fall apart.
“Yes, your majesty, I saw it with my own two eyes. Sigrant fell. He was missing an arm, and bleeding from the throat as his entrails were spilled out around him.”
“How far from his healers?” Garret asked.
“Too far for them to make a difference once summoned,” Tommy grinned, showing his stubby, pointed teeth.
“Well done, Tommy. Join the troops. Let’s see how long it takes for Sigrant’s army to disintegrate,” Garret grinned wickedly.
Thousand Hole Tommy bowed low, and turning, he sprang into the air to cover an impossible distance before leaping again. Two jumps and Tommy was among the other created champions who served Valdadore.
Garret liked the new plan. Not because he thought his brother was right in his thinking about the gods; perhaps he was, perhaps he wasn’t. Garret liked the plan because once the invader’s champions were destroyed, the rest would turn and flee. The battle could be ended this very day. Garret liked the idea of returning to the city a victor, and summoning Linaya to return and reclaim her place by his side. Today the chosen champions of the gods led by the fallen King Sigrant would follow him to the grave. Garret smiled and strode towards the front lines.
Age of the Gods: The Complete, twelve novel, fantasy series (The Blood and Brotherhood Saga) Page 112