Zorbin feared this seemingly simple task might well prove more difficult than the small woman was prepared for. Hers was a life pampered by servants and palaces, not sleeping in the outdoors and taking care of oneself. The dwarf was accustomed to surviving in the wilds. Though he had been trained in the ways of being a dwarf, learning to mine, build and smith, he was an oddity among his race as he had chosen to follow Gorandor’s path and not the path of Ximlin, the patron god of the dwarves. His choice to follow a different path made him a bit of an outcast as an adolescent, and so Zorbin had spent much time traveling the surface of his people’s mountain kingdom. He had memorized every mountain and every pass. He knew the wildlife and had befriended Zanth, his giant wolf, becoming as close to being a brother to the beast as was possible. None of this made his standing better among his own kind, yet here he was, on his way to his ancestral home to plead the case of a human kingdom, whose survival or demise meant little to the unworldly dwarven nation.
Such were Zorbin’s thoughts as darkness began to descend upon Linaya and himself. Though he and Zanth could see well enough in the dark to continue, Linaya and her horse would find night-time travel less favorable, and as such, Zorbin brought them to a halt for the second time that day. Dismounting, he began to set camp without a word. Linaya, taking the unspoken meaning, followed his lead.
Chapter 6
Meet the Neighbors
Darkness had fallen upon the kingdom of Valdadore and, with the loss of sunlight, the night was quick to turn chilly. Garret had led his knights to their destination, west and north of Valdadore to the shore of Hollow Lake. By any standards the lake was not a large one, but was dark and deep, and remained cold all year round. Some believed the depths of the lake reached down into the center of Thurr, and that perhaps the lake itself was part of the world’s soul. It was said that any who drowned here never washed ashore, but instead rose again in the underworld, a place in the heart of the world, where most believed it was hollow. Thus the deep lake had been named Hollow Lake, and those who believed in fairy tales told stories that this place was an open portal to a world of living dead.
Garret had heard such tales of the lake as a child, though he had never seen the place until now. As far as he could tell it was nothing special. Tonight, as the sun sank in the sky and its last rays splayed across the surface of the dark water, Garret found the vision calming, if not a bit boring for a place that had been described as an evil portal. Watching the sunset, Garret and his knights tethered their mounts to a small tree at the lake’s edge, though most of the grass here had been washed away with erosion. Garret saw no help for it however, and figured they would let the horses graze free during the daylight hours when predators were less active. Knowing it would be several hours before Horace would catch up with the rest of them, Garret explained his plan to the men.
“I am sure you have been wondering about the shovels, but I did not want to speak of my plans before now lest prying ears hear it,” Garret said to his knights. “Hollow Lake is not only a vast amount of water, but it is also fed by the Glorian River. What makes it most useful is its higher elevation than that of the rolling hills between Westgate and Valdadore.” Garret added, watching realization dawn on the faces of his men. “We are going to dig a new river from here to the beginning of the first hills, though we will be leaving enough soil in place to act as a dam and contain the water until Sigrant’s army is in the water’s path,” Garret said smiling. “One of you will remain here until I send word to destroy the dam, and at that time, once the water is flowing, you will return to the rest of the army.”
“Sounds like a great plan to me, brother,” said Noah Brightblade, a knight only a few years senior to the new king. “It makes sense to let the army train and prepare while we dig. In our blessed forms the five of us can move as much soil as a few hundred men and probably in less time.” Everyone else nodded their agreement.
Without needing any more orders, the knights began their task. Each man stripped off his armor and gathered from his mount the pair of shovels he had been provided with earlier in the day. These were large shovels and well made in the fashion of Valdadorian farm implements, each of them having a wide, sharp blade and a solid oak handle. Garret watched as Noah prayed briefly and exploded in size with his shovel in hand. Noah was the largest of his size shifters. Though the knight and Garret himself were the same size in their normal forms, Noah was blessed with even more size and strength than the king, growing to five times his usual size in his blessed form. The man became a monstrous thirty feet tall, and now held a shovel with a blade wider than the average bull. Garret could not help but wonder how, with men such as these at his side, Valdadore could possibly fall to the likes of King Sigrant. Within seconds four more men exploded in size, including the king himself. Each of them was a giant mass of bulging muscles as they moved immense amounts of dirt, working methodically into the night. The comrades spoke sparingly as they worked, deciding instead to focus on the task at hand. All of them knew the dire position the kingdom was in, and each understood exactly how precious time was in their current situation.
*****
Seth had bid Sara farewell only moments after completing her new armor and weapons as she left immediately to be trained in the art of combat. Seth was both happy for her and worried, though he knew she would be more than an apt student. With her sharp mind and newfound physical prowess, Sara was the perfect candidate for such training. As much as Seth wanted to go watch the session himself, his duties were piled so high there was no end in sight, and he needed to get back to work. However, unable to send the woman he loved to a fight on her own, Seth had dispatched Jonas along with her to, if nothing else, witness the training so he could tell Seth about it in the days to come.
Sara and Jonas were only a few yards down the corridor when two of Seth’s soldiers walked into the room, each holding jumbled armloads of armor. Seth quickly made the alterations needed for each soldier. Sending them on their way, he began again with the next pair as soon as they entered. Though Seth did manage to perfect the process, and complete each alteration in a more than reasonable amount of time, it was a long, arduous night filled with naught but repetition and more repetition.
*****
Borrik, relieved of his duties for the night, had no idea what to do with his time. Seth had suggested he spend it with the men, but Borrik already shared every waking moment with them through his telepathic link to each and every one of them. What he really wanted more than anything was a little time to himself, not only to rest, but also to unwind his weary mind. So much had happened in the previous weeks that Borrik had not had the time to properly digest it all. Once a priest, he was now a fierce killer, and the second-in-command to the most powerful mage on Thurr. Where he once was a human, now he was labeled a werewolf: a hybrid creature of man and beast. Where once he was a solitary man, who spoke to few and shared with none, now his consciousness belonged to a group, and thoughts were shared with him that he would rather not witness at all. Though Borrik knew that fate was the arm that guided him, he could not be sure that this was what he was destined to be.
With these thoughts plaguing his mind, Borrik wandered the temple to Ishanya seemingly aimlessly. Lost to the material world, his worries and fears clouding his mind, Borrik walked by instinct through the building and before he even realized where it was he was going, he stood outside a small wooden door. The door had once been the entrance to his own personal chamber. However, with so many changes and updates to the temple, Borrik was sure the room would have been repurposed. He would not be surprised if the small chamber was now used as a broom closet, as it had been nowhere near as grand as all the newly discovered rooms. Sure as he was that he would find the room altered, Borrik could still not help himself but to shove the door open and peek inside. What he found was nearly unconceivable to him.
The small room that had once been his personal chamber sparkled and shone. Nothing had been removed and, for but one
object, everything inside the room was just as he left it. The room had been cleaned, restored, repainted and the stone surfaces polished, but it was still his chamber none the less. Borrik stepped into the room, leaving the door open. He turned in a circle and admired the newly restored condition of the chamber. Everything was precisely as he remembered, only better. The only item in the room that was out of place was a statue of Ishanya, that had previously stood in the adjacent chamber. It had been at the foot of this very statue where Borrik had met Seth and Sara at the beginning of many events that would mold all of their destinies. Seth had said that first day, having just met Borrik, that having touched the statue, the goddess Ishanya had spoken to him. Borrik’s mind was so laden with questions, he could not help but to hope that he too could be so lucky. Deciding that he deserved the answers his soul was seeking, Borrik turned and closed the door, leaving himself alone in the absolute dark with the statue of Ishanya.
Kneeling at the statue’s feet, Borrik leaned and pressed his forehead to the goddess’s toes.
“Ishanya, goddess of power, goddess of wisdom, I pray for your audience,” Borrik whispered into the stone of the statue.
Many long and silent moments passed. As Borrik had sadly anticipated, no answer came. He thought to rise, then believed that if the goddess watched, this would be a sign that he was impatient. Self-deterred, Borrik remained with his head pressed against the feet of the statue.
“Do you intend to spend the rest of your days upon the floor?” a musical but demanding voice questioned from the darkness.
Borrik could not help himself but be startled at the unexpected sound. Rising to his knees quickly, Borrik scanned the room for the source of the voice, yet found that he remained alone in the room with the statue.
“Imbecile mortal, I am here.” The voice spoke again, irritation plainly in the voice.
Borrik, realizing his error, looked up to the statue itself and saw that it was no longer a statue but the goddess Ishanya in the flesh. Exactly as she had been depicted by the stone, Ishanya stood both tall and regal clad in armor of the blackest night. Were it not for his feral eyes, Borrik would not have been able to distinguish any difference at all between the statue and the now living and breathing goddess. If, in fact, she was living; Borrik was unsure how such things worked for an all-powerful immortal.
“Do not just sit there wasting my time, servant. What is it that is so important that would have you call me to this place?” Ishanya demanded, the annoyance in her voice becoming ever more obvious.
“I wish to know my path, Mistress Ishanya. I wish to know what future it is that fate has planned for me,” Borrik pleaded. “I wish to know what you would have of me now that I have broken my vows and laid my seed as well as killed.”
“You brought me here to question my plans for you?” Ishanya spat, her voice beginning to rise. “You want to know your future on this path, yet you whimper like a pup about the deeds you have committed,” she mocked. “Are you sure you wish to know the role I have lain down for you, servant?”
“I am sure, Mistress Ishanya, I must know if I am to follow the teachings of a priest, or the path of a warrior, for I fear it is not in me to do both,” Borrik replied, praying he would not invoke the goddess’s wrath. “I am forever your servant, mistress, only I know not what you wish of me.
“Here is your path, priest,” Ishanya said, accentuating the last word as if it tasted vile on her lips. “Follow my champion until his end. Serve me no longer, only him. Do as he bids, and become a warrior unlike any other bred upon Thurr. Murder, defile and destroy all that stands in his path and you will have followed the road to your fate, for your fate is tied to the mortal master you now serve. I suggest you serve him well.”
With her final statement, the goddess was gone. No flash, no bang, no anything; just gone. The statue remained as it had been before the encounter, and Borrik could not help but to wonder if the encounter that had transpired had been but a figment of his very tired mind. Even if it was his own head, however, Borrik believed the answer to be the correct path in any case. He would serve Seth and only Seth from here on out. He would become more fearsome than any other being upon Thurr, perhaps even more feared than the Death Mage himself. In any event, Borrik decided he would be much better prepared to serve his master if he was well rested. Climbing into what had been his very own bed, Borrik lay down for some much deserved sleep, and without so much as a stray thought disturbing him further, he slept peacefully throughout the night.
*****
Sara approached the knights’ sparring field from the east, and as she did so dozens of torches were set ablaze surrounding the field. She had little to no more human need of such things since, with her altered body, she could see the world around her even when darkness swallowed it whole. Though everything looked unnaturally green at night, she could see plainly enough to navigate through the darkness. Yet she had to admit, even to herself, she still saw in much more detail when there was light. As she neared the field, she could see it was a healer clad in the white robes of her order, as well as a Knight of Valdadore, who lit the torches. Like herself, the knight was completely covered in armor, minus his helm at present. Much to Sara’s surprise, as she approached the knight, he took a knee, bowing to her higher position and station.
“No need for that, Sir Knight,” Sara said honestly. “Here you are the superior, hence the reason I come to learn from you.”
With that, the knight rose to his feet and extended his hand to his new pupil, which Sara accepted happily.
“Please call me Malik,” the Knight of Valdadore smiled. “I am not a man who cares much for titles and such.”
“In that case would you please call me Sara?” Sara replied while she appraised her would-be teacher.
He was not a massive man with bulging muscles like many of the other knights she had seen up close. Certainly he was nowhere near the size of Garret. Malik was shorter than the others, by several inches, though he was still taller than she was. Though his girth was not that of the other knights he was still well-muscled and well-toned. His hair was cropped short to his scalp, and appeared to be of a shade between blonde and brown, and his eyes were a strange hazel mix with hints of many colors. He appeared to be a man in his thirties, still within the peak of his life, and Sara could not help herself but to wonder what the blood of a man of this age would taste like. Would it be like a wine and be sweeter with more age, or more bitter, with a stronger tang of iron. She smiled again, more at her own thoughts than at the man.
“The king has told me to teach you arms and to prepare you for battle,” Malik stated. “Have you any previous training?”
“I have only fought from instinct, I am sorry to admit. But I assure you that I am a fast learner.” Sara replied.
Though Malik was actually disappointed by his current task, he would do his best to train the woman, if to no other end than to enable her to protect herself from rape should the kingdom fall in the weeks to come.
“Do you find you learn better from instruction or experience?” Malik asked, wanting to get this over with so his duty would be fulfilled.
“Experience I suppose,” Sara answered, not truly sure of her own response.
“Good,” Malik replied. “I see you are armed. Attack me.”
“Are you sure?” Sara asked, completely bewildered.
“Attack me,” the knight repeated, and he stepped back, putting some distance between himself and the girl. He hoped he would not injure her.
Sara drew the pair of long, slender daggers from her waist. She held one in each hand but she was clueless as to how to approach the knight, who now was armed with a sword of his own. Circling him, she looked for an opening to attack as she slowly closed the distance. Sara did not know that when she found her opening, it had been left for her on purpose by her instructor. Lunging in towards the knight, Sara attempted to pierce his side with one of her small blades, but before it made contact the knight sidestepped, kn
ocking her blade aside with the flat of his sword. Ashamed by how easily the knight thwarted her attack, Sara immediately tried again, this time leading with one blade overhead as a distraction, but following with a slash to the abdomen below. Again Malik slapped away her strikes without so much as a grunt.
Now Sara was growing angry with her lack of experience as she realized that fighting a large beetle-like insect, which she had done in the past, was not like fighting another person. As her anger grew, her thoughts misled her attention, and Malik lunged towards her, driving the pommel of his sword into her breastplate knocking Sara sprawling backwards to keep her feet beneath her. Though she nearly fell, Sara managed somehow to stay upright. Realizing it was the thinking that was letting her down, Sara did her best to clear her mind. Taking a deep breath with her eyes closed, Sara relaxed and let her instincts drive her.
Bending her knees slightly, Sara leaned forward holding the long daggers in both hands at the ready. Malik hesitated, checking he had not injured the girl, but once assured he lunged towards her again. This time Sara was ready. Crouching low, Sara dove between the charging man’s leg’s, rolling once before rising to her feet again. As she rose she turned to face back the way she had come, as Malik too turned to face her. He smiled. Raising his sword above him, Malik again rushed Sara, and again she crouched. This time as Malik neared, he changed the length of his stride to prevent her from repeating her earlier performance. Though Sara noticed his altered tactic, she had not crouched to repeat herself. Instead as Malik neared, Sara leapt into the air, clearing Malik by several feet. Turning as she descended, she watched as Malik looked up in disbelief.
The Contention Page 9