Looking then to Thurr, the world he helped create and bring life to, he peered down through space and time at what he thought was his best chance for survival. This thread was nearly lost to fate, having unraveled to the point of breakage, but still Gorandor had faith that it could be restored. Even now, nearly completely severed, Gorandor’s hope endured, and the god vowed not to give up.
Curious once more, he then turned his attention to see how Valonore fared in his intervention.
* * * * *
Sara sat with her eyes closed, her head tipped back against the bars. Day had come long ago and the sun shone so brightly this day, off of newly fallen snow, that it pained her eyes even through the crimson glass panels in her helm. She still grew stronger by the second, but even now was incapable of bending the thick steel bars.
The cart her cage inhabited moved ever westward, the driver not even stopping to relieve himself. Had it not been for the sound of his heart beating in his chest she would have sworn the man was dead on more than one occasion. But no, the bastard lived.
The terrain had turned from hills to plains and back again throughout the previous night and the morning. Now it felt as if they slowly climbed upwards, the air carrying more chill with every hour. Sara, however, was relieved to see that not far ahead they would be entering a forest. She would much prefer the dark shadows over the sharp piercing pains she got whenever she opened her eyes out in the open.
A quarter of an hour later the trail they followed turned into the trees. Though many of the trees had lost their leaves, a good percentage were pines and other evergreens that did wonders at blocking the sun.
Sara was relieved when the constant pain vanished, and changing her position she sat upon her knees to better get a lay of the land. Ahead, just as before the forest, it was apparent that they were indeed climbing, and the trail they followed was well worn by the recent passage of Sigrant’s army, supplies, and war machines. A few miles ahead it appeared that the trail turned, but other than that she could find nothing of interest to make note of.
The miles passed and just as Sara had believed, the driver led the steeds and the cart around a sharp bend in the trail, and immediately the scenery changed. Here the trail narrowed uncomfortably, the boughs of the trees interlocking overhead to cut out the vast majority of the light. The driver slowed the steeds as the cart began to buck and jump, as it bounced over great roots that crossed the path.
Where moments before the path was clear and showed obvious signs of Sigrant’s army’s recent passage, this portion of the trail looked ancient and unused.
Rounding another bend, the trail narrowed once more, causing branches and the trunks of trees to scrape the sides of the cart and bash and clang off the bars of Sara’s cage. Hitting a root the entire cart bounced, and Sara was thrown against the bars causing her armor to clank as she sucked in a quick breath, having been caught off guard. The driver looked back at her and smiled wickedly, amused by her uncomfortable ride. Another root and again the cart bounced. This time her cage shifted slightly. Noting the change, Sara moved to the front of the cage, hoping it would slide forward once again.
She waited only moments before they rode over a particularly rough patch in the road. Her cage bounced and slid again towards the front of the cart and Sara shoved her arm between the bars, her fingertips brushing the driver’s cloak. Another bump and he was inches away again. Sara sighed in defeat.
Then, rounding yet another curve in the trail, Sara got what she wished for. Root after thick root crossed the path they traveled, making the cart bounce uncontrollably. It creaked and squeaked from the strain as the cage slid and bounced, shifting its weight across the bed of the cart. Closer and closer the driver came, and then she had him. Grasping his cloak, Sara yanked with all her might, pulling him up and off his seat to smash backwards against the bars of the cage with a crack. The reins falling slack, the steeds took it as their cue to pick up the pace. Reaching through the bars, she grasped the man’s head in one arm and grabbed his jaw with the other. Rending bone and meat from his skull she tore the two asunder, assuring herself that he would never smile at her misery again. Then, reaching into his belt, she found the pouch she sought and, pulling it between the bars, she loosened the strings upon it and produced a key from within.
All the while the steeds pulling the cart raced faster and faster down the rough and all too narrow trail. Standing in a crouched position as the cart clattered, bounding down the path, Sara reached through the bars with the key in hand, careful not to drop her only hope for escape. It took four attempts with the cart bucking and bouncing, but finally mating the key to the oversized locking mechanism on the cage she turned it quickly, producing a loud click.
She flung the top open just as the cart veered roughly to one side. She looked ahead and saw as one steed attempted to turn off the trail, straining the leather harness that secured the two beasts together. Ahead, it appeared the trail came to an abrupt end, and both horses struggled to turn the cart in opposite directions.
Again the cart veered left, the steed upon that side being stronger than its kin. This time it was too much. Sara attempted to leap out of the cage as the corner of the cart struck the trunk of a large aspen, but only half succeeded. So forceful was the collision that the cart came to a near complete stop, before rolling over to bounce and land upon the two steeds that had previously pulled it. The cage was flung from the cart as Sara launched out of it, her foot catching between the bars just before she exited. Careening end over end through the air with Sara entangled, the cage came to rest a full forty feet from the collision, with Sara crushed underneath.
She screamed in both, rage and pain, her bones broken, organs punctured, ligaments and muscles torn. They tried to mend, but with the crushing weight upon her it was impossible. Only her head and one leg was free from beneath the cage, neither giving her the leverage she needed to extract herself.
Looking around for anything useful she found herself just feet from the point where the trail ended. Except that it didn’t end.
Watching in disbelief, Sara clung to consciousness as the trees ahead began to uproot, heaving upwards to rain soil down in all directions. Once unsecured, they came at her slowly, in strides like those of men, but without joints to bend with. The nearest, an oak bare of leaves, loomed over her a moment before slowly leaning down, revealing a face upon its withered bark.
The tree had deep black eyes that appeared hardened sap that bored into the trunk. Odd knots formed its ears and a peculiar growth split the tree horizontally creating a mouth and chin. Moss and lichen clung about the face, creating the appearance of both eyebrows and beard, but it was the eyes that held her attention. In the deep dark pools an inner light shone that hinted of wisdom and experience.
It bent slowly lower and lower, and coming face to face it inhaled through its small knob of a nose deeply.
“It smells like poison and death,” the living tree said in a mournful voice that reminded Sara of the hollow sound of wind blowing through the trees. “Bramble, you take it and bring it with us.”
Slowly righting itself once again, the giant tree creature moved aside as another took its place. This one was smaller, with peanut shaped leaves of a dark emerald green and smooth gray bark. The new tree leaned down as well, exposing a face similar to the previous, but with far less moss and lichen and smoother, less wrinkled features. A multitude of branches bent down towards Sara as the cage rolled aside. Instantly her wounds began to mend but even so she was already pulled up and off the ground, branches bending around her, forming a new cage to contain her. The branches ranged in size, some only as thick as her wrists, yet others as big around as her thigh. Upon them, thousands of thorns as long as her forearms pointed inward at her from all directions except the floor.
Leaves created a barrier that blocked all visibility beyond the branches and thorns, but Sara could feel the tree creature rise and turn before stalking off into the forest.
Exaspe
rated, she plopped to the bottom of her new cell as her last wounds mended themselves within minutes. She had traded one captor and one cage for another. Silently she wondered which had been the worse.
* * * * *
Borrik soared westward as fast as his wings and the air currents would take him. He watched the world pass below, scanning for anything moving west. The morning had brought with it a storm that blanketed everything below in white, covering any hopes of finding tracks. Beyond the newly formed lake and Seth’s magically created chasm he flew and further still, onward past the towers and wall called Westgate.
He knew he already had Seth’s favor, but in the prince’s absence he also knew it had fallen to him to look out for Sara. Though a deadly foe, the woman was less experienced in battle and a shining target to any enemy looking to hurt the dark prince. Borrik had failed to protect her, but now was offered redemption. He had flown nearly twelve hours straight when he finally spotted an anomaly below
Diving low to the ground for a better look, he spotted a pair of wagon tracks accompanied by horse tracks that seemingly just appeared out of the snow. Apparently this was its location when the snow had stopped falling, everything behind that point was covered, yet stretching as far ahead as Borrik could perceive, the tracks continued. He sniffed the air but could find no trace of the Princess’s scent.
There was no way to know if she was on the wagon, but with no better leads Borrik opted to follow the tracks and see where they led. The snow had stopped but six hours ago, giving the driver an apparent six hour lead. Borrik was faster upon the air than a wagon pulled by horses could even hope to be.
Flapping like his life depended on it, Borrik climbed to gain altitude and a suitable stream of air to navigate. Hundreds of feet up, he found such a stream and sailed through the sky, his eyes never leaving the tracks.
It was only an hour later when he reached the edge of the forest, and circling over it twice concluded that he could no longer follow the trail from above. Settling to the ground on the very trail where the tracks entered the trees, Borrik recalled his blessed wings and arms, letting them be reclaimed by his flesh once more. Then, without hesitation he sprang into the forest upon all four of his massive limbs. It was an unnatural gait, neither animal nor human, but it served to lend him more speed and spared his legs all the work.
Darkness was coming fast, and within the treed canopy even his feral vision was limited. Sniffing as he went, he picked up the scent of blood. It was not Sara’s, but nonetheless, if there was a struggle she could be in danger if she had been on the wagon he sought.
On foot, Borrik could maintain pace with a Valdadorian war horse. His stamina at times felt unending. For an hour he raced through the woods, following the winding trail that oddly narrowed after each curve. The scent of blood grew stronger with every step, and in the darkness he reached the origin of the smell. Here a mix of odors polluted the air, and among them was what he sought. Not the original blood he had followed, but Sara, and her blood, had also been here.
Sniffing around, both up and down the trail, Borrik realized that all the scents stopped at this point upon the trail. The cart had not traveled any further, which meant that somehow it had left the trail. In the darkness he began navigating the forest in an ever widening circle from the spot where the cart and all of its scents vanished.
The light had faded altogether, and now he relied only upon his nose. Breathing deeply he searched the air for a clue, always moving, always sniffing. An hour passed, and then another, as Borrik began to lose hope of finding a trail. He wondered if perhaps somehow the horses, cart, and Sara had vanished magically. Such things were known to happen with people that were familiar with Seth. Knowing the magically vanishing scenario unlikely, he widened his search again and got his first break. Upon a slight breeze he caught the scent of the horses and began sprinting upwind.
Moments later he caught the scent of Sara, and then again the horses just after that. He was finally on the right trail. Tasting the air as he ran headlong into the darkness, Borrik bounded upon all fours, dodging through the trees like one of his feral relatives.
* * * * *
Mid-morning came and went, as the Dwarven army grew ever nearer to the source of the smoke. Linaya rode in a near trance, having fallen prey to the rhythmic pounding of the dwarves’ boots upon the soil. Scouts came and went from the front lines to the wilderness again at regular intervals, and she grew accustomed to vaguely marking time with their scheduled arrivals and departures. She was hungry. No. Famished, and could not imagine what those on foot must be feeling. They had been rushing all morning to reach the smoke and find the cause for it. When the army came to an abrupt halt, so dazed was Linaya that she nearly trampled the dwarves in front of her with her mount.
Yanking the reins at the last possible second, she stirred shaking the fog from her mind. Up ahead in the front lines, a pair of scouts talked hurriedly with the king and Gumbi, gesturing with their hands like a pair of raving lunatics. Apparently on the trail ahead was something big with clawed fingers that bounced around like a bunny while waving its hands. To be honest, Linaya found the scene rather amusing until she realized the ground was still shaking beneath them.
She had grown so accustomed to the vibrations caused by the immense army she had not realized that they continued even after the troops had stopped. Then she pieced the puzzle together. They were marching into a fight.
Linaya watched as Gumbi raised a hand, making three motions with his fist, raising various fingers each time. Quietly the ranks of troops broke into three equal contingents and began moving as silently as was possible for a hundred thousand armored troops. They split paths, each contingent striking out in a different direction.
“What’s going on?” she asked Zorbin.
“We’ve stumbled upon some giants and be preparing to attack them.”
“Why are we attacking them? Couldn’t we go around?”
“Giants and Dwarves be havin’ history, m’lady, we’ll just call it a land dispute that’s been ongoin’ near a thousand years. Besides, the men could use a bit o’ practice.”
“Are they in Smirole?” Linaya asked, fearful that the town had been slaughtered by the monstrous giants.
“We won’t know till we gets there, m’lady.”
With a nod of understanding, Linaya stopped her line of questioning, allowing Zorbin to focus on the battle ahead. Riding beside him slowly, she kept her eyes focused ahead, looking for any signs of the giants.
An hour passed as the dwarves crept down to meet their foes, and Linaya found the pace slow and grueling. She did not want the dwarves to fight the giants, but the anticipation of the fight with the giants was a hundred times worse.
Loud deep chanting could now be heard, interspersed with terrified screams and yells. The ground quaked beneath them and Linaya fought to maintain control of her terrified steed. Something unnatural was occurring ahead and she could not help but feel a bad omen approaching their foes.
More minutes passed and finally the giants began to whoop and scream, having been alerted to the dwarves’ presence. The order to charge was given, and in unison the dwarves lowered their hammers from their shoulders and began to pray to their god as they heeded the call to charge.
Away the dwarves ran, calling out battle cries in their deep guttural voices. Linaya watched as Zorbin called upon Gorandor with a resounding boom, and he and Xanth sprang forward to join the fray. She knew she had no place in war, and so followed at what she thought a safe distance might be to simply observe the battle. It was not what she had expected.
Breaking into the clearing ahead, Linaya was met by a roar of rage that consisted of hundreds of mind-numbing, booming voices. She had not been prepared for this. Every story she had ever been told about giants had consisted of only a handful of the beasts. It was believed that they lived in small family tribes of a dozen or less. Most thought that there were few of the creatures, maybe a hundred or so. All of what she
had heard was wrong.
In the clearing, which had indeed once been a town, were hundreds of the huge slobbering behemoths. They had demolished the town and surrounding farms, building a pyre out of the very buildings and setting it ablaze. Atop the pyre they had tossed the inhabitants of the city, some who even now writhed in the smoke and flame seeking an end to their torment. These were the screams they had been hearing. Beyond the pyre was a huge, crudely built cage formed from uprooted trees that had been shoved down into the soil and bound with vines. Within it she could see hundreds of the dire wolves like the one Zorbin rode. These, she supposed, were to be the next sacrifice to whatever god the giants served.
The dwarves, apparently expecting the same as Linaya had, did not seem to know what to do about the massive infestation of their mortal enemies. Breaking into smaller and smaller groups in order to engage so many of the giants, the dwarves’ lines were thinned out. Even so, the odds were near two hundred to one. At least for the first few moments while everyone, including the giants, recovered from the shock of the situation.
For a split second it was as if the world held its breath, as all was silent before the chaos ensued. Linaya watched as the giants began pulling huge clubs from their crude belts, or uprooting yet more trees to bash the dwarves like insects. Though many of the dwarves were blessed, they were tiny in comparison to the giants. Even Zorbin, more than twice his regular size, was only a third of one of the smaller giants.
The dwarves, it seemed, had a few mages at their disposal as boulders formed out of thin air to fall like a rain upon a select few of the giants. Even so, it began as a bloodbath. The giants smashed the dwarves with their clubs and stomped upon them, smearing them from under their feet like cockroaches. Orders were shouted here and there, but could not be heard over the screams of dying dwarves and the giant inferno blazing at center field. Finally Linaya watched as a giant toppled, his ankle shattered by a blessed dwarf’s hammer. Moments later another fell ,and then another, as dwarves scrambled to get out of the way and rushed in once again as the behemoths smashed to the ground. It seemed the dwarves had devised a method to bring the giants down.
Age of the Gods: The Complete, twelve novel, fantasy series (The Blood and Brotherhood Saga) Page 126