The Crowned (The Blood and Brotherhood Saga, Book 6)

by Jeremy Laszlo

  The battle resumed once again as it had been before. By the time the chasm was closed another fifty giants fell, but not without taking a toll. Nearly thirty thousand dead dwarves littered the ground, some of them smashed and smeared to become indiscernible from those around them. Even so, the ratio was beginning to change in the dwarves’ favor.

  Linaya watched as a huge brute of a giant swung his club low to the ground, flinging dozens of crushed dwarves into the air to rain down upon their comrades. Again and again, the giant repeated the process unhindered. Linaya’s mouth fell open as she saw Zorbin charging the brute from behind upon the great dire wolf that served as his steed. Without slowing, the armored dwarf and wolf crashed into the giant’s legs from behind causing them to buckle unexpectedly. Down came the mighty giant, crushing dozens more beneath him as he crashed to the ground. Those nearest that survived the debacle charged in and swarmed over the creature like angered ants. Within seconds the giant’s screams of rage ceased.

  More and more giants fell, and finally it seemed the dwarves would have victory as the remaining giants began to flee. But that was before she realized just what was happening.

  * * * * *

  Zorbin and Xanth brought the brute down in a twisted heap. It was the third behemoth they had felled similarly, and were getting quite good at it. Leaping back into the fray, they dashed across the field to the nearest giant and watched it tumble as they neared. Doing their part they sprang upon the giant, Xanth ripping and tearing with teeth and claws while he brought his massive war hammer to bear against the giant’s joints and skull. They had lost many men, far too many to even be believed. Scanning the field, he estimated they were at half the strength they arrived with. Fifty thousand dead in less than an hour. The thought sickened him.

  Leaning in his saddle to guide the giant wolf, they lent themselves to yet another felled foe and watched as the remaining giants began to flee. Sadly it was not the terrorized flight of a defeated foe, instead the giants ran a short distance and turned to fight once more. At first, Zorbin thought them regrouping. Until he heard the screams.

  Turning in his saddle, he watched the unthinkable. Those dwarves that had fallen in the noxious fumes created by the shaman had begun to stir once more. Their comrades thinking to help, rushed in to lend aid. It was not long before they realized the error of their thinking.

  The re-risen dead of the Dwarven army clutched and clawed their comrades down to the ground, ripping off the rescuers’ armor before beginning to feed upon their flesh. The newly dying cried out for help but none dared enter the fray against such unholy creatures. The giants had not fled, they had simply placed Bouldergate’s army between themselves and the living dead. Once again the dwarves were attacked on two fronts. Without any options, all they could do was begin felling the giants once more as those nearest the revived dead re-killed their own kin.

  Zorbin was now closer to the undead than the giants, and shared a concern with Xanth through their telepathic link. They agreed that Zorbin would do the fighting, in case the wolf could become infected by biting the mindless creatures.

  Charging into the tottering undead, he was disgusted to see that those who had been bitten by the undead began to spasm and jerk about uncontrollably before vomiting blood. These men were repeating what the previous had done and would likely rise again as well.

  Leaping into action, Zorbin began bashing the creatures, learning almost instantly that they ignored any injury that did not put their head out of commission. So it was that he guided the great wolf through the throngs of undead, bashing skulls with his war hammer, as if it were a sickening game of sport.

  Before long, boulders began to rain upon the undead, ending them in mass quantities. Not wanting to risk being struck by friendly fire, Zorbin and Xanth extracted themselves from the undead and watched as the giants began to flee in earnest, their numbers having been whittled down to no more than a couple dozen survivors. The dwarves let them go. Too many had already been lost. Minutes later the barrage of falling boulders stopped, having smashed every last one of the undead dwarves to bits.

  A horn trumpeted, and every dwarf turned and began to converge between the giant altar of fire and the massive arena of caged wolves. Zorbin followed as the dwarves formed into ranks in order to calculate their losses. Some brought the injured with them, others hobbled about confused, and were ushered into place by those without injury. In just minutes a count was made, and Zorbin reached the king and Gumbi just in time to hear the news.

  “Thirty seven thousand sir, and just over sixteen hundred injured.”

  “We lost thirty seven thousand?” Zorbin asked, devastated by the news.

  “No, Zorbin,” Gumbi replied, his face ashen. “We have only thirty seven thousand men remaining.

  Zorbin nearly fainted. Over sixty one thousand had been killed in just over an hour. Sixty. One. Thousand. He wondered how many tens of those thousands were fathers and mothers who would not be returning home to their children. Dwarves were not humans. They lived for hundreds of years naturally, and many here had yet to reach their first centennial. He could not believe the devastation, and wholeheartedly expected the king to pull back his forces and return to their ancestral home.

  He watched as Linaya trotted up on her white warhorse, tears streaming from her eyes.

  “My deepest sympathies, your Majesty,” she sobbed.

  “No, lady Linaya, my sympathies to you,” the king replied, removing his helm. “I can take my men no further…”

  Zorbin’s breath caught in his chest. He had been right. Valdadore would fall without the aid of Dwarven allies.

  “Ye see, m’lady, here on this field I lost five brothers. They been all the brothers me had. Nine of my cousins fell and two of me uncles. I am the sole remaining male of my bloodline. It is my responsibility to care for all of their families. I am sorry but I can go no further.”

  Zorbin watched as Linaya broke. Already she had been crying, but now she was wracked by sobs. Even so, she nodded her understanding to the king.

  “The injured and any others who must be returnin’ home to carry on their line, or for other honorable reasons will be stayin’ here with me to bury our dead, returning them to the ground from whence we came. Zorbin Ironfist, ye take the rest on with you to Valdadore and see to it my oath to aid your kingdom is kept.”

  Zorbin could not believe the words he was hearing. Even Linaya’s sobs stopped momentarily as she struggled to listen. They abruptly started anew when she realized that at least some aid was still being sent to Valdadore. Only this time they were tears and sobs of happiness and relief.

  Zorbin bowed his head in respect to the king, thanking him for the kindness and sacrifice he shouldered the burden for.

  “What should we do with them?” This time it was Gumbi that spoke, motioning to the enormous pen housing the dire wolves.

  “I might be havin’ an idea,” Zorbin replied, a crooked grin appearing from within his thick beard.

  * * * * *

  Sara sat inside her cocoon of wood and thorn, bustled about like a ragdoll for many hours. If it had not been for her armor, she would have been impaled by the great thorns adorned by the living tree thing that held her captive. Upon breaking the point off of one said thorn, she found it to be hollow and filled with a dark brown, noxious smelling fluid thats scent made her feel dizzy and disoriented. Eventually the feeling had passed, but she could not help but imagine what the dark concoction would do to her if she were pierced by one of the thorns.

  Between the branches she could see their surroundings as they traveled, though even with her improved night vision there were not many useful references to make note of in a dark forest. She did glean, however, that they were steadily climbing up hill. For hours they traversed the forest, and Sara was certain that they were not alone, catching glimpses of what she thought were dozens more of the walking and talking trees.

  It was near morning when they broke through the trees into a c
learing. Ahead, cresting the hill, was the remnants of an ancient fortress. Though parts of the walls had crumbled, and buildings collapsed, much of the structure still remained. Coming to a stop, Sara’s captor turned slowly and sighed loudly, shuddering oddly.

  Peering around, the clearing they inhabited was quickly growing smaller and smaller as more and more of the tree men slowly extracted themselves from the forest, filling in the clearing one by one. When they stopped, they each plunged their root-like feet down into the soil, shaking as if a cold wind had just blown down their spines.

  For several minutes, creaks and groans filled the air as they all settled into position. Moments later a pair of huge oaken men appeared. In one’s great tree branch arms, the creature carried the pair of crushed horses. The other carried the driver and the remnants of the cart. They entered the clearing, and using their great root-like feet they tore at the soil, ripping huge chunks of the ground up with each movement. Within minutes a great hole was dug and into it the horses, cart, and driver were placed. The soil was summarily replaced and then too, these tree men took to the soil, planting their roots with a shudder.

  Sara had no idea what to make of the events. Walking and talking trees that buried dead creatures and carts. Who knew? The real question was, however, what was to happen to her? Did they intend to hold her prisoner long? If so, to what end?

  “What do you want with me?” Sara shouted, not really expecting a response.

  A moment passed and her captor shuddered once more, and the veil of leaves outside her cage parted slightly, giving her a much improved view of the ruins and tree men surrounding it. A great groan broke the silence and from just out of view another of the great tree men leaned forward to come nearly face to face with Sara. She recognized him as the first tree man she had seen after the accident. At least she thought it was him, they all sort of looked the same.

  “Every life is precious,” the tree began hollowly. “And every life deserves its life. But not every life deserves to be among other lives.”

  Sara concentrated on the slowly coming words, searching them for their meaning. She watched the bark upon the creature’s face crinkle and stretch with the movements of its speaking. He reminded her of an old man, the way his features drooped and moved with too much slack.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” she shouted back at the tree.

  Several other trees nearby creaked and groaned before their apparent leader began to slowly speak once more.

  “Every life has a destiny and a fate that can only be changed when encountering another life. Now your life has encountered ours, and so all of our fates have changed.”

  Sara gave up on asking direct questions as there were apparently not going to be any direct answers, so instead she simply repeated her previous question.

  “And what is that supposed to mean?”

  The tree creature paused a moment, its features changing to an expression that might have been contemplation before beginning to speak once more.

  “Your companion and the beasts you enslaved to do your labor perished in our forest because our lives collided. From that collision their fates were sealed, and now their only destiny is to feed us by giving nutrients to the soil. It was a sad and abrupt end. One that would not have befallen them had their lives not first collided with your life. You, foul plague bringer, elicit an abrupt end to most that your life collides with. It is troublesome, and must be stopped.”

  Then Sara thought she understood. Her alteration was being spread and apparently had been noticed by more than just herself. These tree… things… planned to kill her to stop her from creating more vampires like herself.

  “So you plan to kill me then? I thought all life was precious?” she said, sneering at the creature.

  More groaning and creaking ensued from around the gathering, and old wrinkly face started to talk exhaustively slow once more.

  “Your plague creates an explosion of life collisions, ending lives and altering others’ destinies to something that has no real purpose. All lives are meant to serve life and creation. The lives you change serve only death and destruction, constantly killing, feeding, consuming, spreading, without want or need to make new life. You, Plague bringer, are to remain our captive until we can decide what is to be your new fate.”

  Then it all came together. The tree man was right. He had said little that she had not heard before from her own husband. Not the exact words perhaps, but the meaning remained. Life was precious. The gods used men to create war in order to further their own agendas. By her alteration, and subsequent series of mistakes, she had changed the natural cycle, accelerating them all to an inevitable end. The end of life for mankind.

  Those infected by her would feed unchecked. They would kill most, and those who were not killed would succumb to the infection and become like her, accelerating the process to only one possible outcome. Eventually her kin would outnumber the uninfected and then it would not be long before there were no more uninfected. Then they would feed on each other. The extinction of every race of man was the destiny she foresaw if things did not change.

  It was her bite, and her inability to ignore the need to satiate the thirst that filled her with wanting the pleasure that came from feeding. Her weakness had served the gods better than any war. She was the plague bringer. She was mankind’s worst adversary, and perhaps worse, she had undermined her own husband, making worse that which he had fought to prevent. He had died trying to save mankind from the evil gods that used them, and she had spat on his efforts.

  Sara began sobbing, the realization reminding her of her grief, her loss, and all the evil she had done. For a long time she cried freely, apologizing through her sobs to Seth for warping the gift of life he gave her and unknowingly using it against him. The tree people watcher her silently, allowing her to get all of the emotion out. Finally, when the sun lit the clearing marking it daytime, Sara’s sobs came to an end. She saw only one solution.

  Hardening her resolve, she turned her face back to the tree man who looked upon her through the living cage.

  “Kill me,” she said, her eyes and nerves steeled.

  Long moments passed and again creaks and groans suffused the air as if the trees communicated amongst themselves. When the sounds subsided the weathered tree man’s face became animated once more.

  “All life is precious. Even yours, Plague bringer. Already our destinies have been altered by our meeting. Your fate does not lie here, for killing you would alter the fate of all those you have touched. We will not kill you, Plague bringer, for to harm you would be to harm life, no matter what your deeds have been in the past.”

  So it was decided. The tree creatures would not kill her, and she could not in good conscious take her own life. Seth had risked his life on too many occasions to save her, for her to simply throw away the gift he had given her. She needed another way to make it all right again. She needed to carry on what Seth believed in. She needed a purpose, but even if she had one, she was a prisoner.

  “What is to become of me then if you will not kill me? What am I supposed to do?” she asked.

  Many moments of groans and creaks, followed by a little rustling of branches and leaves later, the tree creature uprighted himself once more, no longer directly in Sara’s face.

  “We do not choose the paths of other lives, nor do we decide their fates. It is up to each life to do as it chooses.”

  “What does that mean?” Sara asked for the third time.

  “You are free to choose your own destiny, Plague bringer, and through it, find your own fate.”

  With that, the great thorn tree that held her rustled as the branches that formed her bars parted, its thorns turning slowly to face away from her. Leaping from the tree she landed lithely upon the ground, and turning she faced not only her captor, but all those tree people gathered.

  “I don’t know what I am supposed to do. I haven’t… um… chosen a destiny yet.”

  “Then stay among th
e guardians of Shadra, keep in the depths of Shadra forest until you find your destiny, Plague bringer.”

  Looking around Sara decided that the offer was a kind gesture coming from the gentle race of giant plant people. It was daylight and already her eyes were growing weary of the light. If it grew any brighter she would have to suffer the burning pain it brought. Bowing low to her captors, or perhaps saviors, she turned and strode into what remained of the fortress to do some exploring of both the ruins and her own heart.

  She could not stay long. Of that she was certain. She needed to find a way to fix what she had done. A way to carry on what Seth believed was the answer. She needed a plan. She would stay until night and then begin the journey back to Valdadore.

  * * * * *

  Garret stirred and sat up abruptly, thrashing his head back and forth to gather his bearings. Light streamed in from a window, telling him that morning had come and gone already, though how much time had passed was a mystery. Spinning upon his bottom he placed his feet upon the floor, and using his hands shoved himself up and off of the unfamiliar cot.

  Hands. Not hand. Garret looked down, appraising his restored arm and hand with a crooked grin. Reaching across to examine his shoulder, his fingers could not locate so much as a scar where before a hideous, purple, jagged one had been. He raised his arm, testing its movement and opened and closed his hand, wiggling his fingers. Everything worked just as it should. All in all, he felt very well.

  It had been a long time since Garret had gotten any real sleep, and the fog that had numbed his mind the night before seemed to have dissipated. Stretching his muscles after the much needed rest, he turned towards the door just in time to watch it swing open without so much as a knock for courtesy.

  “Garret! Er… I mean, your Majesty!” Ashton said with a boyish smile, his blond bowl cut half covering his blue eyes. “I am glad to see you fully recovered,” he added, eyeing Garret’s arm.

  “Yes I am,” Garret replied happily. “Is this your handiwork?”