Anything could happen, but Linaya held her faith in Zorbin and the gods. As neither Garret nor Zorbin would likely get much rest this night, Linaya crawled out of the luxurious bed, deciding instead to sleep upon the floor. Sadly, she still felt guilty as even the rugs felt amazing upon her skin. Such was the case that she quickly fell asleep, a dream of home, and of Garret, quickly coming to mind.
* * * * *
Sara, within her iron cage, trundled across the frozen lake in the opposite direction to the flow of Sigrant’s troops. Though multitudes of eyes fell upon her, she ignored them, knowing if she were to show a reaction then they would have gotten exactly what they wanted. Instead, she sat upright in the middle of her tiny cell watching the passage of bodies around her. Most of the troops were already upon the battlefield but here upon the lake teams of animals and men pulled war machines and siege equipment across the ice.
Sigrant’s rear lines had caught up with the main body of his army and Sara made calculations, counted machines and teams, and memorized the information in case somehow she was rescued. Such information could be priceless. With her pain and hatred pushed aside in order to preserve her sanity, she focused upon counting and watching to pass the time.
Hours later, Sara strained her ears as a roaring began to grow in the distance. Slowly the sound grew and eventually, leaning into the bars of her cage, Sara could see the great armored beasts slowly crawling across the ice of the lake. As they grew nearer she witnessed for herself the smoke that poured from their nostrils as fire peeked out from between their jagged teeth. Their enormous bodies were covered entirely in plates of overlapping metal, and handlers ran about the beasts in a chaotic maelstrom of bodies.
Her cart lurched to a stop, the oxen pulling it becoming nervous. The man that led them covered their eyes, blinding them from the potential danger lying ahead. With a few well-placed strikes to the animals’ heads and flanks eventually they began to move again.
Nearer and nearer still the giant metal-covered beasts came, and she continued to observe them without realizing the obvious. It was not until they were right on top of her that she understood what it really was that she was seeing.
The handlers were not handlers at all, but teams of gnomish engineers and mechanics who accompanied these great war machines they had designed for King Sigrant. Each of the metal beasts, though appearing a great lizard-like creature that breathed fire, was no more than a mechanism built of metal and powered by fire and steam.
The great lumbering machines had no real legs to speak of, but instead had great spiked steel wheels that spun below them, camouflaged by armor plates that resembled limbs. The fronts of the machines were designed to resemble the heads of the great beasts, and fire spat and spewed from their open mouths, into which the gnomes regularly fed a fuel source that appeared to be small black rocks. At regular intervals steam exploded from the nostrils of the machines. Within the lenses of the eyes, if you looked close enough, you could see yet more gnomes behind the tinted glass pulling levers and twisting knobs to propel and steer the machines across the ice.
They were by far the most complicated and wondrous machines Sara had ever seen. She knew the gnomes invented and created a vast many things, but she would have never imagined such creations as these were possible.
The line of metal beasts lumbered along and, after a while, Sara witnessed what many would probably not see in their lifetime. At a point of apparent panic, gnomes rushed to and fro screaming and hollering with bags of tools and other various implements that were beyond Sara’s understanding. One of the great beasts had come to a stop, and the gnomes had removed the armored side from it, exposing its inner workings.
Though she did not know the proper names for the vast majority of what she saw, she recognized many of the pieces, and believed she also had found a major weakness in their design.
Within the metal beast copper piping ran amuck with valves and tubes seemingly everywhere, but tracing the lines of copper with her eyes, she saw that they all ran eventually to a great copper container that sat just behind the mouth and was heated by the fire in the jaw. None of that was the weakness that she saw, though, as it was all protected by the steel-plated armor.
Instead it was the larger pieces of the machine that she thought could be used to bring the beasts to a stop. Though the copper piping was prevalent throughout, the largest two pipes ran into a box that had a large cog attached to it. This cog meshed with another which was the first of a series running to the rear of the machine and finally meshed with the rear axle. Sara realized two things about the machines. If the fire in the mouth went out, the beast would stop moving. Also, if something were wrapped about the axle, causing it to twist up into the various cogs, the machine would become entangled and unable to move.
Though her thoughts were more or less a distraction to keep her mind off the inner pain she felt, it was not until she sensed something else that her emotions broke free of the dam she had constructed before them. Just as she was passing the last of the mechanical beasts she felt the tug at her soul as yet another connection was made with her soul.
Another of her kind had been changed and reawoken. Moments later a surge of power flowed into her, slow at first and building strength with each passing moment. King Sigrant had awoken anew. He was one of her kind. Worse, he was rapidly feeding upon a great many people to increase his power. Sara felt sickened. Had it not been for her mistakes such a thing would not have happened. If it had not been for her need to be always more, she would not have spread her sickness. Had it not been for her, Valdadore might have stood a chance. Not now. Sara finally understood Sigrant’s plan.
* * * * *
Garret towered over the soldiers surrounding him, and kicked out, sending several flying as they screamed. In one hand he held a sword, the very sword he had used to remove his own arm. Upon that shoulder, where the arm had been, naught but a crudely formed jagged scar remained. The metallic sheen of his flesh made it appear even worse than it was.
Garret surveyed the battle. His father and Jack had been lost. His remaining Knights of Valdadore had all fallen. The vast majority of the mages under his command were gone. His brother Seth was lost. Most of his brother’s giant werewolf soldiers had perished as well. Their army had been decimated. It was only a matter of time before they all fell.
Though Garret wanted nothing more than to let his emotions take him, let the bloodlust sweep through him, one thought kept him in check. He had a responsibility. Not only to himself, but to the kingdom as well. Also to the woman he adored, and had sent to safety. He had sworn to protect them all, to fight for them all. He had sworn to do whatever was in his power to see to it that Valdadore survived.
Across the battlefront the Valdadorians were steadily being driven back. Amongst the remaining common soldiers and archers, only a few dozen of Seth’s werewolves remained. Though they were vicious, and put up a hell of a fight, their numbers were waning. Borrik too remained, presently throwing both fireballs and enemy soldiers at more of their kind. Sadly, Garret knew what must be done. The battle could not be won.
Tilting his head back slightly, Garret called a full retreat. If they could at least make it back to Valdadore, they had a chance of surviving. Perhaps the cold of winter would drive the enemy out of their kingdom. It was their only hope.
Garret began working back to his own lines. If he could help hold the line more of his common soldiers would likely survive the retreat. He would do what he could to save as many as possible. He watched and listened as his order was relayed throughout the battlefield. Slowly, impossibly slowly, his remaining men and women began to extract themselves from the fray and fall back. But the enemy would not let them go.
He knew the entire retreat would be a fight. He knew the enemy would be relentless, always on their heels. Garret was sure that they could make it, and then came yet another unexpected blow.
As they began their slow retreat, Garret saw with his own two eyes as one of
his brother’s werewolves, blessed with immense size, vanished into a sea of soldiers around him. He had shriveled back to his normal size, his blessing, like his god, was lost. Less than half an hour later and another shrank. Champions were disappearing at an alarming rate. There was little else that Garret could think to do besides give yet another command. He wondered if they would follow.
“Run!” Garret yelled as his voice boomed across the battlefield. “Go now with all haste, do not look back…Run!”
The order was relayed and in seconds thousands took flight, turning and running as their king bid them to do. Many were struck down from behind, but it appeared, at least for a moment, that the invaders would not take up the chase.
That moment passed, and as even the king turned to flee, his hopes were yet again dashed as Sigrant’s troops took to the heels of the Valdadorians. His army barely had a lead on the enemy.
Spurred on by the imminent death that followed them, the Valdadorians ran like the wind. Slowly, they established an ever-widening lead ahead of their foe. Garret’s head swiveled back and forth looking down his fleeing lines. They had already been decimated. Fewer than three thousand soldiers remained by his estimation. Another of Seth’s werewolves shrank. He prayed that Gorandor would save them and see them safely through the gates of Valdadore.
* * * * *
Feeling the savage urge for sustenance he tasted the air, sniffing several times in rapid succession. Around him bodies stood, packed together like cargo in a warehouse. More appropriately, like cattle brought in for slaughter. He could hear their breaths, taste them. Their hearts beat a constant crescendo like rain upon a roof, and their sweat put a salty tang upon the air inside the tent. The thirst was constant. Nagging. He fought the urge to heed its call.
Flicking his tongue out he wet his too-dry lips, his entire mouth feeling dusty and gritty as if he hadn’t had a drink in days. He opened his eyes slowly; the interior of the tent was exactly as he recalled from hours before when he had been brought to lay here. Upon the table, King Sigrant found himself secured just as he had ordered.
Thick chains clamped about his wrists and feet, circling his waist as well, attaching him firmly to the heavy metal table. Though he and his healers and mages had studied the vampires, none knew what drove them, nor what portion of their human thought processes remained. The chains were a precaution. King Sigrant was happy to find that he could overcome the thirst that fought to unhinge him. Had he not anticipated it, though, it could have been a different outcome.
Looking around the darkened tent, only four small torches had been lit to shed light upon his surroundings. Everything was exactly as he had commanded. A few feet away, his collection of lovers, his wives and harem stood watching him in fearful anticipation. Without his gaze leaving the women whom he would make his bodyguards, he gave his first order.
“Unchain me.”
With a quick “Yes sire,” a guard appeared and began unlocking the clasps upon his wrists and ankles.
Near four hundred bodies were packed into the tent. The nearest were a few of his most trusted advisors, and then his harem. The vast majority of those who remained were whores, brought to pleasure members of his army who proved themselves worthy of a reward. These had been stripped naked to ensure they carried no weapons, nor currently bore a child. Beyond those, a ring of armed soldiers stood with their backs pressed against the canvas of the tent should anyone try to flee the temporary building.
In the two tents next to this, cages, originally intended for prisoners, had been stockpiled three high in tight rows. Into these he would place the whores when he finished with them. His plan was simple. He would begin by changing his harem, making them the strongest of his followers. His harem would then, a few hours later, begin changing the whores. These, over the days to come, would be used to change the army. An inhuman army of untold strength alone was invaluable, but the process would also make him the strongest and fastest man upon the planet.
Rubbing his wrists after the shackles had been removed, he grinned, realizing the habit was for naught. After all, there was no circulation to restore. Not really. Certain that all was in place, and that his plan would work, King Sigrant invited the women he used intimately to his side with a gesture. Happily, if not hesitantly, they came to him. They had been told of the plan, and assured that there was nothing to fear. Not that they had a choice in the matter, but the king tried to treat them each as he would a woman worthy of his children.
Choosing the first of them, the youngest, he pulled her teen body into his lap. She was light as a feather, and she opened her small body to him willingly. He had no intentions of taking her in this manner, however, and had selected her first to save her the fear that might come from witnessing the change of another.
Slowly, cautiously, he brought his lips to her neck, kissing her tenderly. He listened as her heart raced in anticipation and felt each beat through her skin. Then, without warning, he bit hard into her soft, warm flesh. She cried out, the pain unexpected, but she didn’t try to escape him.
The blood flowed into King Sigrant and with it the power of her young life. With it came pleasure, and then arousal. He could feel the same happening to her as she moaned, twisting in his lap. He could smell her becoming moist and feel the heat building between her legs. He could also taste the fear in her blood.
Unable to resist, King Sigrant reached down to his waist and tore his trousers open. Lifting her small body, he pulled her close to himself, her legs spreading to straddle his. Then, abruptly, as he bore her entire weight, he thrust her whole body down hard, driving his engorged manhood deep into her womb.
For the next several hours, hundreds of onlookers watched as their king pleasured himself with each and every member of his harem. Moans and screams broke the silence regularly as he had his way with the women. He experimented by biting them in several locations and found he preferred some places over others. Emotion tinged their blood with different flavors, and like his women, he realized that variety was something he enjoyed.
Just watching the display excited many who watched and before long the whores who had been brought to be changed began to touch themselves and each other. Hours later, as the night grew dark, a massive orgy played out inside the tent as the first members of King Sigrant’s harem awoke into their new lives. Though it was not the organized process King Sigrant had originally intended, this seemed more natural. This was how the race was designed to be spread, so he allowed it to happen. When his final wife reawakened to her new life, he placed into her arms a young woman before stalking out of the tent into the cool night-time air.
Feeling invigorated like never before, he strode to the battlefield, his normal guards upon his heels and a steady stream of messengers vying for his attention. Though he widely ignored them, their constant ramblings destroying the enjoyment of the moment, he did glean that the enemy lines had finally broken. Valdadore was in a full retreat.
Turning to one of his guards he gave the only order he would give for the night.
“Prepare to move camp. We will have but a couple hours to tear it down, move it, and set it up again before daylight.”
Chapter Thirteen
Zorbin was asleep, dreaming of riding Xanth through the forests upon the surface when the dangling chain that surrounded him jangled. The sound was slight, barely perceptible, but unnatural. With it, Zorbin’s dream vanished, and opening his eyes he rolled quickly to one side. Too late.
With a scream of pain, the impact hit him in the ribs. He felt something penetrate him, shoving a rib to each side and then he felt them snap. The object within him was yanked free. Though he could not breathe, he ignored the pain and kicked out with both legs.
He could not see his foe, but as luck would have it, one of his feet made contact when he kicked out. He managed to shift in size as he rolled away, snatching up the pair of single-bladed axes as he came to his feet. He heard his attacker rush from the side and pitied the dwarf. To the side wa
s a veritable forest of stone spikes, yet the dwarf came seemingly unimpeded.
Using his ears to track his foe as he neared, Zorbin struck out with one axe, bringing his full body to bear behind the blow. He hoped to end the dwarf in a single hit. Instead, with all his might behind the swing, Zorbin struck a large column of stone rising from the ground below him. Such was the force of the blow that his axe handle exploded into pieces, his wrist and forearm also shattering with the impact. Zorbin feared the worst. Without the use of an arm, and with two broken ribs, even with his blessing of size and strength he would be at a vast disadvantage.
Through the pain he focused, and listened again for his foe. Nothing stirred. He turned and swept the air about him with his remaining axe. Something shifted away slightly; Zorbin heard the scrape. Continuing his spin, Zorbin hooked the dangling chain with his axe, and twisting it while he spun, he pulled it free, gathering it around him. His enemy had not anticipated the move, and was caught off guard by the chain that suddenly dragged him towards Zorbin. Feeling the newly added resistance, Zorbin yanked hard on the chain and heard the yelp his opponent gave as he plummeted to the ground in the darkness.
Without hesitation Zorbin pounced upon his fallen enemy. Though his axe blade was wrapped up in the chain, he used it as a club, bludgeoning his enemy again and again. The body beneath him struggled to be free, but in his blessed size, the smaller dwarf could not dislodge him. Then, just as he was sure he would be the victor, the opponent beneath him vanished into the stone below. He had revealed his blessing.
It was not a unique blessing. Throughout the ages many dwarves had been given the ability to pass through stone. It allowed them to locate veins of desirable resources, springs, and structural weaknesses. But Zorbin was worried. His foe could return at any time, at will. Injured and alone in the darkness, Zorbin remained silent. He even held his breath, hoping to hear if his opponent remained near. As his adrenaline faded, the pain from his wounds threatened to overcome him. He dared not pass out, and so concentrated with all of his being on the darkness around him. For hours he waited in silence, fearful to move even an inch. Every sound, heard or imagined, grabbed his attention and he spent the long quiet night nervous and fearful of what the darkness could bring.
Age of the Gods: The Complete, twelve novel, fantasy series (The Blood and Brotherhood Saga) Page 120