The Calling (Book 7 of The Blood & Brotherhood Saga) (The Blood and Brotherhood Saga) (13 page)

Something about the man was familiar. He was old, yet graceful. His appearance, even in the darkness, was a contradiction to his power. He was both old and beautiful, with features more elven than human. His voice soothed yet called Seth to action, and his aura was bountiful beyond belief. Even so, Seth could see it diminishing at an incredible rate. Focusing, Seth recalled all he knew about the gods when it struck him. He had seen this man before. He himself hadn’t been blessed then, but even so he recognized him.

“I’ve seen you, though we’ve never met,” Seth said, wondering as to the god’s intentions.

“Times were simpler then,” the god replied.

“Were they? Or were you simply too distracted to see what was coming?” Seth asked.

“Both, if we speak truly, but there is no denying now what must be done,” the old man said.

“You recited a poem in a small town once, telling of the fall of Valdadore unless those strong enough to protect it took up the fight.”

“I’ve been known to travel when it suits me,” the god acknowledged.

“Did you know then what I’d become?”

“It was still uncertain, but that no longer matters.”

“Then why do you come?” Seth asked, both confused and worried that his plans had already come to an end.

“Do you not see it?” the god asked. “Do you not know me? Do you not see the only conclusion your path can come to?”

“I know you, Gorandor, though I am not afraid. As for my path, I’ve chosen as best as I am able with the options presented.”

“Then choose one not presented. Those options you see are being stolen out from under your feet. Look past the decisions you make now to those you will need to make to save everything.”

“You wish to guide my hand,” Seth both asked and stated. “All of you want something from us and you wish to alter my path to your own devices. I can’t see another path but the one I am on.”

“Precisely,” Gorandor stated in his peculiar form of flesh and bone.

Seth pondered the god’s words. It was evident he was trying to guide him towards something, but what could it be? How was it possible to see options beyond those presenting themselves? Perhaps the gods were all-seeing, all-knowing beings, but as much power as he had gained, he was still mortal. Such things were obscure to him and he wondered just what reason the god had seen to bring them together at this point in time.

“Do you fear Ishanya?” Seth asked, taking a guess.

“Fear is for those with regrets. Fear is for those too weak to look ahead and behind, and realize that they are the same. Time, you see, is very much a part of fear and a limitation those of my kind do not need to dwell upon. No, I do not fear my ethereal sister, but you alone on this world can see my plight.”

Seth watched the siphoning of the god’s aura. Though it was infinitely more powerful than himself, the tugging drain on the god’s resources were like great rivers filled by flood waters into a raging torrent. The god, though not fearing time, was indeed limited by it. His power was failing. His following dwindling. Gorandor was growing weak, and Seth feared for his brother, the king of Valdadore.

“Ishanya grows in power as you and your kin are weakened. Surely you have done what you can to stay the transfer of power?” Seth asked.

“We cannot reconcile that which Ishanya has done. It is up to you, the mortals of the world we created, to put all in order again. The blight Ishanya has sown cannot be eradicated by my kind, for we can only create, not destroy.”

Seth stopped listening. It finally all made sense. The gods were a power of creation. It was the very reason why they needed the mortals to fight one another to grow more powerful. They had no power to kill or destroy. It was an ability outside of their own nature and as such beyond their abilities. This was the reason Ishanya had made him so powerful. He was the ultimate weapon of destruction. So much so, that the gods themselves were coming down from their realm in the heavens to speak to him.

“If you only have the ability to create, why not create a champion to destroy Ishanya?” Seth asked, solving the gods’ problems in an instant.

“Free will, child. The champion has already been created, but free will can stay its hand or even turn it on its masters. Once something is created, we have no power to un-create it.”

And
that
was it. There was the truth. The gods were afraid. They
could
stop Ishanya, but they feared making something even more powerful than Seth. They could not simply snuff the life from him as Ishanya had threatened. He was untouchable by them directly, though out there somewhere was a champion that was at least his rival, if not his better. The die had been cast into the world and now the gods feared the outcome. Seth was winning on behalf of Ishanya, that much was evident, but he now knew that there was a plot to turn the tides.

“What is it that you wish of me, oh mighty Gorandor? You wish me to prostrate myself at your feet and beg forgiveness? You wish me to turn against the goddess who gave me power and destroy her followers so that you may once again reign supreme? Do you wish that I, Seth Derringer, Prince of Valdadore and soon to be king of Drakenhurst, simply lay down my proverbial sword and bend my will to the influence of the gods for their own greater good?”

“No. I simply want you to open your eyes to the truth that is laid out before you. You already work to thwart the very god you serve, but be cautious what path you tread for the destruction of all is on the brink. A path of mutual gain is there if only you seek it out. Be true to your own values, and all will be as it should.”

Without warning, Gorandor vanished. Seth rather liked the god. He was certainly more tolerable than Ishanya, though the bastard spoke in riddles.
See the path you can’t see,
and such. Even so, the god had divulged a great secret that he had only wondered at for some time now. It was not in the power of the gods to destroy, at least not directly. They could intervene and sway destiny through the actions or inactions of others, but more or less, Seth was untouchable by Ishanya. Which meant something even more important. She had lied.

Just as Seth had presumed, it was now confirmed, he had been restored to the world by Sara, not Ishanya, and the goddess held no power to directly intervene in his plans. It was in his hands to change the course of Thurr’s fate and Ishanya could do nothing but watch. She wasn’t even the source of his power. He was independent of a god and as such held no true allegiance. Sure, she could create champions to destroy him, but so could Seth create his own. The rules of the game had just changed immensely and Ishanya hadn’t been given notice. Grinning to himself in the absolute darkness, Seth turned and began to climb back up the way he had come. He did have an appearance to make after all.

* * * * *

“You wish to meet my master?” Borrik questioned the knight now towering over him. “Bow at his feet, and surrender to him the keep you are sworn to protect,” Borrik demanded, “Then you will know him as the god he is.”

“The keep will never be yours. It is impenetrable and even your dead master cannot breach its walls!”

Borrik grinned as the last of the keep’s banners plummeted down from the stone walls in the distance ahead. Like a great serpent the silken pennant fluttered down to the earth, wriggling and undulating through the air to vanish into the city. The deed was done, the keep was taken. Atop the tallest spire a lithe form appeared. Borrik knew even at this distance it was his master’s wife. Waiting just mere seconds longer, a dark shape shot into the air above the keep before settling down upon the spire. There, atop the highest point, Borrik watched his master spread his wings before unleashing a great green and yellow fireball to blast into the soil behind the knights who stood as Borrik’s opposition.

Startled, the knights and their mounts reared up, turning back in the direction they had come to witness the missing banners and winged demon atop their keep. Several called upon their blessings, only to shrivel back to normal size as Seth robbed them of their power. It took only a moment more for the captain of the knights to turn and face him once more.

“I should kill you for this deceit,” the man scowled.

“You may try. But know this, if you succeed, my master will resurrect me from the dead and I will gut you and feast upon your insides over and over as my master raises you and repairs you again and again.”

It was a boast, and one Borrik was almost certain that was beyond even his master’s abilities, but nonetheless, the look on the knight captain’s face said that he believed. That was good enough for Borrik.

“My master bids you come speak to him. He wishes you no harm. In fact, it is likely he will allow you to resume your position and continue to guard the keep.”

“What of my men?” the knight questioned.

“Those who are loyal will serve loyally a real master with real power. Those who oppose my master’s rule will meet a different fate.”

“And those who guarded the keep?” the man asked, obvious concern on his features.

“Nearly all survive. It is not my master’s wish to end your lives, but he will show no mercy to those who oppose him.”

Borrik leaned down over the now cowering knight. Without his blessing he was no real threat. Peering down his short snout, he bared his teeth, growling slightly before speaking once more.

“If any of you so much as thinks of opposing King Seth, I’ll personally see to it that you, your families, and everyone you have ever known is slowly torn limb from limb before feeding them to my men, still alive and screaming.”

The point was made. Those knights riding with the captain cowered together in a knot of flanks and hooves. He doubted any of them would attempt to attack their new king, but hoped a little that at least one of them would. Setting a good example of what would happen to those who resisted the change in regime might ease the transition a bit. Borrik wasn’t looking forward to a peaceful future, a far cry from the priest he had been so many months ago. Then again, Ishanya was no longer the god he served either. Odd how so much could change in so little time. Borrik didn’t dare to even begin to imagine what would change now that Seth had a kingdom of his own.

Chapter Eleven

Even with their blessings, Garret and Zorbin were having a harder time than they had previously presumed when trying to clear a path through the forest large enough to pass with their immense litters laden with mothers and pups. It was almost as if the forest itself was against their passing. Clearing trees and brush alike, they would find themselves at a steep impasse or a hole where a cave had collapsed beneath the soil. So frustrating were the random occurrences, that only five hours into day two Garret sat down the handles upon the litter he had built and cursed the thing from one end of Valdadore to the other. Ahead, a small swamp prevented them from passing in their blessed forms lest they risk sinking and becoming stuck in its depths. Once again, they would be forced to turn around and retrace their steps, choosing a new course.

If that were not enough, the disdainful looks from Ashton, Zorbin, and the many mothers he hauled, sent him into a line of apologies that he didn’t really mean. Who cared if he cursed in front of the pups? They weren’t really babies. Not like human ones anyway. They were abominations, spared their lives as a means to an end. Nothing more. Nothing less. It was easier, however, to placate his companions and the beast-ridden mothers. Better anyway than to hear them spew on about how he should do better in front of women and children and how it was inappropriate for a king to speak such a way. He was king, and could speak precisely however the hell he wanted.

Sighing loud enough that leaves actually separated from a branch a few feet from his enormous face, Garret turned back in the direction they had come, looking up the trail for an easy location at which they could change directions. Ahead, a grove of young trees they had circumvented looked like the easiest path. Climbing back up the hill, he watched as a wide blade slowly slid out from the top of his wrist. It was an odd thing to watch, but he couldn’t help himself but stare as it happened each and every time.

With his blade prepared, Garret hacked down the small trees while bolts of electrical energy lashed out, exploding the trunks of those beyond the ones he targeted. Down the trunks came as if they were little more than blades of grass, each of them toppling over as Garret shoved and pushed them to fall the way he desired. Looking past the now devastated copse of trees, he could see another fairly easy to navigate path that worked its way down hill towards the road just a few miles beyond. Looking northward, he wondered if Linaya was as anxious for him to return as he was. Already her voice threatened to fade from his mind, and her touch was but a ghostly memory. He needed to get back, and the sooner the better.

Returning to gather his litter against the protesting yelps and growls of the tiny fur-covered pups, Garret hefted the end of the massive litter and began dragging it back the way he had come. Moving with renewed purpose, he didn’t even look back to see if his companions were following.

* * * * *

Zorbin was no fool, he had noted the alterations of Garret’s blessing, but had said not a word about it since seeing his king with the added spikes, blades, and lightning-like electrical charge. It was his place to question neither the king nor the gods and as such he simply stood witness to his master and ally. It did not take long to realize that not only his abilities had changed. There was something else at work within Garret, though he couldn’t quite pin it down.

Something about the king’s demeanor had changed. It was not as if he were better. No. The signs of self-loathing, pain, and mourning were still there, though somewhat muted. It wasn’t exactly as if the king were improved so much as his mood had simply shifted from outright pain and rage to something less volatile but more dangerous. Garret exuded something completely different than he had just weeks before. The man had changed and it wasn’t for the better. What was worse was that he was still changing, and Zorbin no longer knew what to say around him or how to behave. He needed to get through to his friend before the king was lost to whatever it was that was eating at him.